#also why the fuck did they move the tag button on mobile I’m still getting thrown off

[meme-sauce]

I love when I’m looking through my own blog and scroll past a long ass post that I MADE. like girl yes I’m you but I don’t give a shit.

#maybe that’s the adhd though #also why the fuck did they move the tag button on mobile I’m still getting thrown off

[taechaos]

Can we have some jealous/sweet smut with textbook love couple?🥲 like I guess OC was wearing an outfit that was a little short and some guy was checking her out and trying to get at her but she didn’t even realize it and Jungkook gets mad and you know😏

this really went off the fucking rails 😷

"I don't see the point in you coming, we just go there to get high."

"Maybe she wants to try it," Taehyung shrugs before looking up from his phone with a mischievous grin. "What if she's secretly a freak–"

"I'm not, I just–" you sigh, reluctant to reveal your intentions behind wanting to tag along with Jungkook to a frat party. His reason is clear: his body is craving another drug trip. Yours is unknown to them, and you purse your lips where you stand uncomfortably in the student lounge. Why would such a motivated student go out on a school night to get influenced? Oh, no reason, just want to damage my organs because YOLO, right? "I want to spend time with you," you simply reason to your unwilling boyfriend.

Jungkook clicks his tongue, an indication of an incoming refusal, "It's a crackhouse with live softcore porn, and I know for a fact you'd hate it there. Remember last time?"

The issue is that you do remember last time, and also the time that you weren't there. Much like a fairytale, it ended happily both times, but the beginnings were rocky—and you didn't want to miss out on that chapter before jumping to the end. It ruins the tale.

"It's okay sugar tits, I give you permission," Taehyung says while playing a mobile game with his tongue sticking out, unaware of the stares he's getting in response.

"The fuck did you just call her?"

"I'm not asking for permission," you roll your eyes and put your hands on your hips to assert the tiniest bit of dominance on Jungkook who you hover over. The two men are relaxed in their seats while you're tense from knowing you're going to have to rebel against Jungkook. He isn't going to give in. "I will come."

"No, no you won't," is his plain and casual command. You send him a subtle glare but he merely raises a brow, as if challenging you to retaliate.

"You're not her dad, dude. If she wants to come, she will," his friend chimes in defensively.

"Thank you," you point at him with wide eyes.

"First of all, you're not even a part of this conversation," he tells Taehyung. "Secondly, I'm looking out for you as your boyfriend," he gives you a pointed look. "Thirdly, not her dad? Wouldn't you beg to differ." The suggestive hint makes your face flush in embarrassment, and his wink worsens it.

"Excuse–"

"You told me not to tell him!" The discussion ends when you march out of the lounge to cool off your heated skin along with your high nerves. This relationship did begin when you didn't take no for an answer, so what's the harm in doing it again?

—————

The night you lost your virginity, it was autumn and easy to figure out what to wear for a party: warm and cozy with some charming color. It's spring now, and a little more difficult to decide on what to wear without looking like a "high school girl" as Jungkook often describes your outfits.

Your roommate is more cultured in that field, and was kind enough to lend you her help.

Soyeon racks her eyes over your closet with a hand over her chin, elbow crossing her stomach as leverage for her other arm. Nothing is exactly screaming out sexy to her, and unless it's a cosplay gathering, your wardrobe needs more diversity; dressing shirts, skater skirts and knee highs are out of the question.

You wait to hear her thoughts while shifting in your seat on your bed until she quietly giggles. "And I thought I was conservative." She cranes her neck to you, not moving from her position depending on your answer, "Do you want to borrow my clothes instead? They're more... suitable?"

You nod. "Sure. I mean— if you don't mind."

You trust your friend to take care of the clothing portion, and it's with a few cringing "ehhh"s and "mmm"s that you are satisfied with the outcome of this minor quest.

A thin black turtleneck with unnecessarily long sleeves cover your knuckles like sweater paws, and the fabric hugs your torso tightly but ends just below your belly button. Soyeon found a solution to your discomfort with the slight exposure of your stomach by matching it with high waisted denim shorts and nude pantyhose. It's chilly at night, so it's the perfect outfit: doesn't stand out and fits in just right. You don't look like a high school girl nor a nun.

You kept your only concern to yourself because it's not much of a big deal, but it bothers you that the denim shorts don't reach your knees. By your standards, it's a little... inappropriate, but your roommate assures you that it's a common choice in this occasion. You let it slide.

—————

Your worries of being too early faded the moment you stood before the frat house that boomed with music and flashed with violet. You don't know the time code for parties, but you must be late considering the crowd inside. People are chattering loudly when you squirm past them, but there's enough space in the living room for you to breathe. No softcore porn or crack yet. Not many are dancing either. It seems all good here.

However, the search must go on because Jungkook is nowhere to be found in the living room. You hear deep howls from the kitchen and it piques your attention, prompting you to look there next. You can only hope Jungkook's not high yet, or has a girl on his lap.

When you walk in, the kitchen that is remarkably smaller than the living room is filled with men taking shots from the center counter, and Jungkook leaning against the other counter surrounding the walls with a joint in his hand. You stand still in the doorway, suddenly nervous of his reaction, but relieved that he's alone nonetheless.

He inhales a deep breath and the small smile on his face falters when his redshot eyes drag themselves onto you. He stands straight once you lock gazes, and you grin at him before he shuts his eyes and clenches his jaw. You unconfidently strut over to him, reaching his side in only a few seconds as he glares at you.

Only a syllable comes out of his mouth before his attention diverts from you to another guy nearby in a flash. "Hey, eyes off," he calmly demands the man behind you. You glance at him when he raises his hands before looking elsewhere. You presume that's sign language for backing off, and your shoulder blades move awkwardly at the guess of what he might've been looking at. "What the hell are you doing here?" he brings your focus back onto him.

"I wanted to check up on you," you lean into him to not yell out your words.

"Check up on me?" He's incredulous. "Do you realize where you are? You shouldn't be here."

The moment is interrupted when Namjoon and Taehyung enter the scene, and you stop gnawing on your inner cheek. You don't have any answers you want to tell him, and your muscles relax when Jungkook's friends notice you.

"Oh shit," Taehyung smiles widely, "you're actually here." He appears to be sober and you smile back at him. Namjoon on the other hand, is as high as a kite as he brings you into a light hug. Your eyes widen and you awkwardly pat his back, fixated on his dazed expression.

"I haven't seen you in so long," he says as he ruffles your hair. Jungkook slaps a hand over his face at the interaction and drags the skin with his fingers. "How have you been? Do you want a molly?"

"Dude," your boyfriend intervenes, annoyed. "Why are you back here?"

"Alcohol." Namjoon disappears behind you to search the fridge and cabinets and you look at Taehyung again. He's drinking in your awkward stance as he licks his lips while Jungkook takes another drag from his joint.

"Girl, you are fucked," he says when his eyes trail back to yours with a snort. "You came here in those clothes, when you have a boyfriend? Jungkookie, I have some bad news for you. Your cock isn't even satisfactor–"

"Seriously though," Jungkook tells you with furrowed brows, "why are you here? I told you not to come." His reaction is influenced by the weed, not so mad as he is confused by your rebellion without reason—you must have a cause for waltzing in here, especially after his warning.

You hum in discomfort and shift your weight onto your other foot. "I already told you..."

"Don't give me that bullshit–"

A yelp cuts off his words when you jolt forward from a slap to your bottom. It wasn't a hard hit, but the surprise factor has you throwing yourself on Jungkook. Taehyung's jaw drops while your boyfriend barely reacts.

"If that isn't the cutest ass I've ever seen," the culprit chuckles without taking his eyes off your butt. He's almost slurring his words, and his lopsided grin doesn't seem intentional; he must feel too numb to form a full smile. You watch him in disbelief much like Taehyung. "You got any coke?"

"She's taken, man–" he takes on the peacemaker role, but it's futile when Jungkook gently removes your arm from his chest and walks forward to the stumbling man.

"Oh, my ba–" his face scrunches in confusion when his cheeks are grabbed and squished, leaving his mouth gaping. You peek from above Jungkook's shoulder to see him raising his joint before stubbing the burning tip onto the man's tongue. A scream resounds in the overcrowded room when it makes contact, and you fall back into Taehyung's arms while the deafeningly loud music tries to drown out the pained sounds. It's barbaric.

"Ah, shit," he pushes you to the side and pulls back Jungkook, who's still abnormally calm. The whole situation feels surreal, and it seems as if no one realizes this isn't a dream.

The man stops struggling against Jungkook's hold when he's released and falls to the ground, crawling back while sucking his teeth. He's whimpering and afraid. "I didn't know," he speaks with a lisp, pathetically begging, "I apologized! I-I'm sorry!"

You cautiously take a few steps back, almost like you're trying to flee the scene, but it just seems like a good idea to avoid Jungkook's temper right now. Just as you're about to turn around and sprint, you're held back by a hand on your shoulder. No words are exchanged when you're dragged away, a bruising grip on your forearm as you stumble out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

"Some fucking deja vu, huh?" your boyfriend fumes, basically shouting out his words without glancing at you to notice your struggles to keep up with his pace.

Lunatic Jungkook: Unlocked.

You trust sober Jungkook to not hurt you when he's angry, but after seeing him commit such a painful act, it's more than reasonable why you're currently terrified of him while he's high. To think you were so comfortable with him earlier because he's high. His calmness makes him all the more unpredictable, and you're unnerved when he shoves you inside a random bedroom. Some reversed deja vu.

"I'm going to ask you again: why the fuck did you come here?" The only attack is with his eyes that send daggers at you, but you keep your guard up in fear of what he'll do. You have to tread lightly.

"I was worried what would happen if I wasn't here with you." Honesty is your only approach in this instance because when he's glaring at you like that, it conveys that he doesn't want to hear any more of your ludicrous excuses.

He rolls his hand, gesturing you to continue. You're nervously forcing out your words, "I didn't, um... know how you would act around other women while you're on drugs when I'm not around." When his face falls into monotone, you defend yourself, still tense, "Last time, you kissed Soyeon and before that, another girl! I-I had my reasons..." Your voice grows smaller, just like how you feel under his gaze. Your eyes flicker to your shoes.

"And those shorts?"

At your silence, he takes a few steps towards you and leans into your face, slightly bending to level with your height. He tugs on the hem of your shorts harshly, emitting a flinch from you. You don't return his stare. "What the fuck are these? You're stupid enough to come here, but coming here in these shorts? Are you okay?" He taps your cheek, encouraging you to look up at him, but it's both humiliating and intimidating. "I know you're not a slut, baby, but why are you so adamant on acting like one?"

"I wanted to fit in," is your weak defence in a mumble, gaze still downcast. You shouldn't feel so ashamed.

"No, you told me you wanted to make sure I wasn't cheating," he counters. "Don't fucking twist things now. You didn't need to dress up to see if I was fucking someone else."

Your round eyes shoot up in panic at whatever he's insinuating, "I didn't want you to realize how paranoid I was."

"So this was your grand idea?"

"Ah," you groan, just wanting this argument to end already. You know what he's thinking: "I was stupid. I didn't learn my lesson, and I ended up hurting someone because I'm stupid."

You release a relieved breath when he gives you distance to sit on the twin sized bed. He's facing you as he says, "When I tell you not to do something, you don't do it. I'm not trying to dictate you, you understand that, right?" You meekly nod and clamp your mouth shut when he continues, "You pull this shit again, I'm going to hurt someone else again. Simple as that. I don't care if they did anything, I'll hurt them as long as it gets you to listen to me."

"Okay," you exhale, shyly walking between his legs at his beckon. You tower him, but it's not helping your confidence as he places his hands on your hips.

"Okay," he whispers back as he plays with the waistline of your shorts. A moment of silence passes, and you allow yourself to calm down enough to sit on his lap and lay your head on his shoulder. "I like the high school girl look better on you."

You sheepishly grin but decide not to respond for the safety of your friend. He pulls on your pantyhose and it slaps against your thigh when he releases it.

"Do you forgive me?"

"Can't stay mad at you," he murmurs before pecking your lips. It's you who leans back in to extend the kiss, and he responds gently. It ends when he chuckles, "Passive smoking, hm? You feeling okay?"

You nod and lock lips again, his hand soothingly rubbing the side of your thigh when you clasp your hands behind his neck. Maybe he's right, maybe you did get a buzz from the secondhand exposure, but it doesn't influence your actions as you lower one hand to his chest. It just happens to fall on his crotch.

"Mm," he pulls away with a suppressed laugh, "you're actually high? Your hands just got a mind of their own."

"Then tie them," you offer in a breath. His brows shoot up, but his surprise doesn't prevent him from unbuckling his belt singlehandedly.

"A bondage kink? Who are you and what did you do to my nerdy girlfriend?" His joke emits a small laugh from you but his smile falters once his belt is in his hand. "Take your shirt off first."

It's no longer a guess when you slip out of the turtleneck in a flash; you are under some spell when you stand and hold your wrists together. The leather grazes your skin and sends delighted tingles down your spine.

"I hope I'm not going fucking crazy and hallucinating this," you hear him whisper behind you. A laugh escapes you and interrupts his internal monologue, and the buckle is clasped. "Now for the shorts..."

He stands up, pressing himself against you and peeking from your shoulder to undo the button of your denim shorts. You can feel his erection grinding against you when he tugs them down to falll at your ankles. You step out of the garment and turn around. When he gets out of your way, he gestures you to lie down and your hands are pressing against your back when you do so.

You watch him take his short off before straddling you and leaning down for another kiss. It's merely foreplay; he cups your clothed pussy and runs his hand down up and down, prompting you to sigh into him. He bites your bottom lip just as he slips his fingers past your underwear, murmuring against your lips, "Can you take me right now?"

"I think so," you shy. "I want to."

"Good," he sighs and removes his hand to massage his erection while undressing you completely. "I think... this is a better lesson."

"For what?"

"You don't know?" he pushes the cup of your bra to pinch your nipple mercilessly, and he hears your pain through your small scream. "A guy got burnt for no reason then?"

"No, no, I know," you gasp when he twists your sensitive nub, "because I'm stupid and I shouldn't have ignored you." Your back lifts off the mattress when you clench your teeth to suppress another scream. Despite your bounds hands, it's him talking down on you that renders you submissive.

"Mhm," he's condescending in his speech, "he did something wrong, but so did you, right? This is just the consequences of your actions, isn't it?"

It's his stinging touch that makes you agree to whatever he says, and you whine, "Yes!"

That's the only confirmation he needs to push his jeans down to his thighs along with his briefs, and your now bare pussy shies away from his cock by bending your knees. He pushes your legs even closer to you, and your efforts went against your intention by exposing yourself to him completely now. "You're so pretty," he admires with slight awe, "but I can't be shallow... You don't deserve to treated well."

His words make you shutter; you didn't do anything that wrong, but you aren't courageous enough to voice your thoughts. Everything he's told you today have turned out right, so he knows better to make that call. You stay unresponsive, head turned to the side to avoid his fierce gaze.

"No, you should hurt as much as he did," he mutters to himself as he trails a finger down your folds. You shiver and his gaze travels to your shy one. "What? Are you scared?"

You are unconfident with your denial, "No."

"Look at me then."

It's with a deep inhale that you glance at him, and your breath is caught in your throat when he shoves himself inside. Your whimpers resound brokenly in the bedroom where the bass of the music drowns it out. You feel the vibrations, but it doesn't serve as a distraction and you're aware that Jungkook can pick up your pained noises. He's simply ignoring you, but you can't dwell on the thought when he lets you adjust for a few seconds only before ramming into you. Your whines aren't enough for him, after all, what's a better indication of pain than a scream of agony?

His thrusts are out of rhythm, but quick and rough nonetheless as his hands push you deeper into the mattress as if to hold you down before taking your nipple in his mouth—more specifically between his teeth to bite.

"Jungkook!" It's not a gentle bite, and you know it wasn't meant to be, but you try to squirm away nonetheless. Your flight instinct is futile because his strength overpowers yours, keeping you in place with his palms while you struggle and cry.

"No more, please!" You wail when he finally sits up, and he watches you bounce back and forth due to the force of his thrusts. It's so pleasing, especially your moans, but mixed with your bitching... it's irritating.

He grunts, the sound bordering on a growl before he says, "You deserve worse."

"I don't! I didn't do anything." Your protests fall on deaf ears, or rather ears that need you to shut up. He wraps his hand around your neck in a chokehold, daring you to speak with his grip as he moans through a bit lip.

"Your ass was hanging out in a room filled with men," he speaks in between moans while you gasp to catch your breath, sounds of pleasure getting suck in your throat when he slams deep enough to hit your sensitive spot. "You didn't listen to me! Ah..."

Your windpipe is getting crushed the tighter his grip gets, and your cheeks start to flush until he drops his hand to lift your hips, spanking you while you wheeze. "You want attention that bad?" His words are mere gasps when he starts to lose himself, now gripping your waist to match his thrusts for you.

"Only yours," you muster out as your eyes roll to the back of your skull, letting him do all the work while you get closer to your climax.

"Lying whore." He slaps your tit before completely concentrating on his release, inching closer and closer by the second teasingly. It builds up in his stomach, and his abs contract and tense while he pistons his cock inside you faster, not drained enough to get sloppy just yet. It's when a loud moan resounds in the room, reducing to pants with slow drags of his length. "God, yes..."

You feel it when he cums, painting your walls white and warming up your insides, and he rubs your clit so fast that it has you seeing stars in mere seconds. It's so quick, the high, and your moan is music to his ears; he's too spent to enjoy it any longer before he collapses next to you.

"Fuck, please let me tie you up again," he breathes while you recover from the euphoric sensation he brought you by twitching and seeing white. You're panting when his hand falls on your stomach.

"Please... I'll be nicer if you let me. Hm?"

#textbook love #jungkook drabble #bts x reader #jungkook x reader #bts fic #jungkook imagines #jeon jungkook #bts imagines #bts scenarios #bts smut #jungkook smut #jjk smut #jeon jungkook smut #networkbangtan #kpopnetwork

[haus-seeblick]

Suptober Day 6: “Who Brings a Gun to a Cemetery?”

For Day 6: Cemetery Boys

Rating: General Audiences; Ship: Pre-Destiel; WC: 3,219

POV Outsider (Original Male Character); full tags on AO3 or below the cut.

Summary: Jerry Wallace has seen a lot of satanic rituals. A lot. Candles and daggers, pentagrams, hoods and chanting; you name it, he’s seen it. As the head of security — and only guard — of Sullivan Cemetery, he’s bound to have run into the occasional devil worshipper. It doesn’t even faze him anymore. There’s not much Jerry Wallace hasn’t seen.

In which: Jerry Wallace encounters Dean Winchester, supposed Satanist.

On AO3 Here (or read under the cut!)

Full Tags: POV Outsider, This poor cemetery guard doesn't know what to do about Dean Winchester, Dean seems insane, BAMF Castiel, Early Seasons Dean and Cas, Pre-Relationship Dean and Cas, Pre-Friendship Dean and Cas, somehow they still manage to flirt though, POV Character is briefly threatened by Dean Winchester but it all ends OK,Humor

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jerry Wallace has seen a lot of satanic rituals. A Iot. Candles and daggers, pentagrams, hoods and chanting; you name it, he’s seen it. As the head of security — and only guard — of Sullivan Cemetery, he’s bound to have run into the occasional devil worshipper (and worse. People dig up graves for really unsavory reasons). It doesn’t even faze him anymore. There’s not much Jerry Wallace hasn’t seen.

But tonight, as he sweeps his flashlight back and forth across the dewy grass, making his rounds and sipping on his steaming coffee, something stops him short. He narrows his eyes and cocks his head to listen. There’s a scuffling sound up ahead, from just outside the Bennett mausoleum. It sounds too big to be any of the usual animals. Humans, then. Jerry sighs. He was hoping for a quiet night, so he could make himself comfortable under the lamp at the cemetery entrance and read the book his teenage son, Andrew, had lent him. Cemetery Boys, it’s called. Jerry finds it fitting.

A man’s rough voice rings out from around the corner of the mausoleum. “Dammit, Sam, you can’t give me any hints?”

Jerry blinks at the audacity. Who sneaks into a cemetery at night and doesn’t even try to be quiet about it? He decides to give these particular satanists a little scare, just to teach them a lesson. He switches off his flashlight and gently sets his precious cup of coffee on top of the nearest headstone. Time to have some fun.

He sneaks on silent feet across the grass, clutching his flashlight tight in hand and deciding which tactic he wants to use. The reliable old jump scare? Flashlight beam to the face and an earsplitting yell — it’s worked well on thrill-seeking teenagers in the past. Or the more tricky option, creeping around and making ghostly sounds to unnerve the trespassers so thoroughly that they leave? More time investment, but also more amusing in the long run — Jerry decides on Option Two.

The wall of the mausoleum gives him excellent cover to start his performance. He sidles up along it, to the very edge. The intruders are just around the corner, and it sounds like one of them’s rummaging around in a bag of some sort. Jerry rolls his eyes. Probably some weirdos with spray paint, here to deface the walls of the mausoleum with symbols that take ages to wash off. Jerry opens his mouth and is about to emit his first long, ghostly moan, when the same voice as before pipes up again.

“Picking the lock didn’t work, Sam, I’m telling you, it’s gonna take longer. You gotta hold her off.”

The other person — Sam — doesn’t reply, though. Jerry furrows his brow. Who’s being held off? He decides to get a better picture of the scene before initiating his plan. Very slowly, he pokes just the right side of his face around the corner. The front of the small white building is washed in moonlight, the nearest lamp a ways down the path.

There’s a man crouched outside the mausoleum, maybe in his late twenties, from what Jerry can tell in the low light. He’s wearing an oversized leather jacket over a patterned shirt, with jeans and sturdy-looking boots. His short hair is spiked a bit in the front.

He doesn’t look like a satanist. Jerry stays very still, breathing shallowly and watching.

The man has both hands in a medium-sized duffel bag, rooting around. The contents of the bag are clanging and thudding. With a triumphant exhale, the man stands up, crowbar in hand. Jerry balks. This is already a step beyond chanting and spray paint. Again, nothing he hasn’t seen before, though.

What Jerry couldn’t see while the man was crouched, that now makes itself clear, is that he has a mobile phone pressed between his shoulder and ear. As the man advances on the door with the crowbar, he barks into the phone, “Update, Sammy. You still kicking?”

Jerry can’t make out Sam’s muffled response, but it obviously displeases the man, because he whacks the crowbar against the mausoleum door with a frustrated growl. “Watch your back. Figure out what the hell I’m supposed to burn!” He flips the phone shut and stuffs it into his jacket pocket.

This is getting stranger and stranger. Jerry watches as the man goes to town on the mausoleum door, an offense that Jerry would usually be more inclined to stop from happening. Something about this man, though, about the way he carries himself and the way he talks, is holding Jerry back.

He’s very glad about his decision to stay put about ten seconds later, when the man drops the crowbar to the ground with a clang and pulls a gun out of his jacket. Jerry doesn’t even carry a gun. His heart starts beating and his palms prickle with sweat. He didn’t sign up for this. Who brings a gun to a cemetery?

The man steps back a couple feet, points the handgun at the lock, hunches his shoulders, and fires. Jerry barely has the wherewithal to throw himself back around the corner and press his hands over his ears before the shot goes off. He feels it reverberate through the wall, twice, as the man fires again. Fully out of sight now, Jerry gingerly lowers the zipper on his jacket and reaches into his chest pocket for his radio. He needs to call this in. This is way above his pay grade.

“Dammit!” the man yells. The gun must’ve been ineffective. Jerry mentally pats himself on the shoulder. He requested upgrades to all mausoleum locks after a series of break ins last year, and it looks like the security company came through.

Jerry hears the keypad of the mobile phone beeping as the man punches in a number, then there’s muffled ringing. Jerry uses the sound as cover to pull his radio out and to inch his face around the corner again so he has a visual of the scene.

The man’s phone rings and rings. With another frustrated yell, the man slaps it shut and paces back and forth in front of the door, one hand running through his hair, the other still holding his gun. After a few moments, he stops in his tracks. He’s facing Jerry’s direction, silvery moonlight throwing his cheekbones in sharp relief. He looks like a respectable young man, really. Jerry wonders where he lost his way.

There’s a set of complicated emotions working their way across the man’s face. His eyebrows are pinched in concentration, eyes squeezed shut, lips moving as if he’s talking to himself. This lasts about ten seconds before he throws up his hands and glares at the sky.

“Oh, come on!” he shouts. “Get your harp-toting ass down here! Castiel!”

Jerry, who prides himself on never swearing, thinks: What the fuck.

The man is obviously disturbed. He needs a doctor. Jerry glances down at the radio in his hand, and presses the emergency button. He can’t afford a conversation with dispatch; the man will overhear. This will at least get someone out here.

When Jerry looks back up, he twitches. There are now two men in front of the mausoleum. The newcomer is wearing a long trenchcoat and standing stiffly. He’s facing away from Jerry, looking at the gunman, sensible shoes planted hip-width apart. His messy dark hair blends into the shadows.

Where on earth did he come from? Jerry darts his eyes around. The mausoleum is on a slightly raised part of the cemetery, visibility clear in all directions. Even if the trenchcoat man had approached from the opposite side of the building, Jerry would have seen him.

“Cas,” the gunman says, voice heavy with something like — relief, perhaps? His tense posture relaxes slightly and he claps the trenchcoat man on the shoulder. “You took your time,” he accuses. “Can you open those doors?”

The trenchcoat man, Cas — is this Castiel? Jerry cannot keep up — turns slightly to regard the doors.

“This is why you prayed to me?” Cas’ voice is deeper than the gunman’s, rougher. He speaks like a robot. “Heaven is at war, Dean. You call me to help you break down a door?”

Jerry’s brain is spinning. Are these… actors? Cosplayers? He learned about cosplayers from Andrew. Some of them do have very elaborate costumes. Jerry squints at Cas’ back. This doesn’t look like a costume, though. Cas looks like a tax accountant. Like he should be at home with his family at this time of night.

“Sam’s in trouble,” Dean’s saying, an ever-so-slight pleading edge to the words. “I gotta get in here, Cas, or he’s gonna meet a real bad end. I know you’ve got the mojo, come on!”

“I do not exist to do your bidding,” Cas replies. He strides over to the doors, though, trenchcoat flapping around his calves. “I do not serve you.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. You’re a warrior.” Dean’s hovering at Cas’ shoulder. “Can you blast ‘em?”

Cas lays a hand on the doors, long fingers splayed against the metal. Jerry glances down at his radio again. The red button is flashing, indicating that he’d called for help, but he can’t hear any sirens yet. He hopes they send enough officers for two grave-desecrating weirdos.

“Stand back,” Cas says. “And tell the man behind the wall to stand back, too.”

“What?” Dean’s head whips around.

Jerry hastily pulls his head out of sight, heart racing. Oh, no. He’s seen enough. He can ID these two for the cops later. He doesn’t need to be on the scene.

He turns heel to run, but makes it only two steps before a hand grabs his collar and yanks him back. The air is knocked out of him and he yelps, feet scrabbling on the pavement as a strong arm drags him around the corner. He lands on his butt in front of the doors, palms scraping on the ground. He quickly raises one over his head in surrender.

“Please— please, I have a family!” He keeps his eyes averted. Dean’s boots are inches away from his legs. “Don’t hurt me, I won’t say a word, I promise!”

“You the guard?” Dean crouches down in front of him. Oh, lord, the gun is trained on Jerry’s face. He whimpers and nods.

“Great. Give me the keys to the doors. Stat.” A palm appears in front of Jerry’s chest, held out in expectation. He hesitates. Isn’t that aiding and abetting?

No way. He’s at gunpoint. He nods again, fervently, and fumbles in his pocket for his ring of keys. His hand shakes violently as he drops them onto Dean’s outstretched palm. He sneaks a peek up at the men.

“Cas,” Dean says, tossing the keys to the trenchcoat man. “Figure out which one it is. I’ll deal with him.”

Cas catches the keys. “So, you do not want me to break the doors?”

“No— just—” Dean closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, lips pressed together. “Just unlock them.” Cas scowls, but begins slotting the various keys into the mausoleum lock.

Dean turns back to Jerry and waves a hand in front of his face. “Hey,” he snaps. Jerry meets his eyes, conscious that he must look utterly terrified. He hopes it’ll appeal to any sense of humanity in this gun-toting lunatic.

“Whatever you think I am, I’m not,” Dean says, quickly and gruffly. “I’m not some pervert tryin’ to get my rocks off with Sleeping Beauty in there. I haven’t got time to ease you in slow, so here it is: ghosts are real. There’s one after my brother. I can gank it, but I gotta burn some hair or somethin’, something keepin’ it here. That’s all. Once Cas opens the doors, I’ll be in and out. We don’t have to get nasty. I’m even saving your doors from gettin’ blasted, as a favor. ”

Jerry picks and chooses what to process of that. “You have a gun pointed at me.”

Dean glances at the gun, like he’s just now realizing he still has it trained on Jerry. He lowers it. “Sorry. Had to let you know I’m serious. You gonna let me do my thing, or we gonna have a problem?”

The police will be here soon, Jerry thinks. It’s not my responsibility to stop this maniac.

“No problem,” he says. Dean nods once, satisfied, and in that moment, the lock clicks. The doors swing open heavily. Dean springs to his feet and races toward the mausoleum.

“Awesome, Cas!” he shouts, slapping a palm against Cas’ chest as he passes. Cas looks after him, a bemused expression on his face.

“I don’t know what to burn!” Dean hollers from inside.

Jerry is so far past trying to understand any of this. He nurses his scraped palms, huddling on the cold pavement and thinking of the book Andrew gave him. He wanted to finish a few chapters tonight so they could talk about them over breakfast tomorrow. He hopes he gets the chance.

Jerry is tough, but his eyes sting a little as he thinks about it.

“Dean is a good man,” Cas suddenly says, in that mechanical way of his. “Righteous. He won’t harm a human.”

Jerry stares at him in disbelief. There’s nothing he can say to that, beyond “Okay.” Cas just nods, and turns to gaze into the darkness of the mausoleum. There’s a lot of scraping and clattering echoing from the room inside, as if Dean is dismantling the place. He probably is, Jerry thinks miserably as the sound of breaking glass reaches his ears.

Dean comes storming back out of the room, assorted items piled in his arms. Jerry recognizes the doll that’s usually propped up behind the glass of the Bennett daughter’s crypt, and a locket that hangs behind the mother’s. A whole array of other personal effects that Jerry spends his nights guarding also end up on the pavement at Dean’s feet. Dean dives into his duffel bag, pulling out a can of gasoline. He douses the whole pile in the acrid-smelling stuff — Jerry’s nostrils sting and he coughs, scrabbling a little farther away. Dean pulls a lighter out of pocket and flicks it several times, cursing when it doesn’t ignite.

“Allow me,” Cas says, stepping forward. He pauses. “Close your eyes.”

Jerry throws an arm over his eyes without a second thought, just catching sight of Dean doing the same. His jacket sleeve does very little, though, to shield his eyes from the brilliant blue-white light that rips through the darkness. It feels like a bonfire, there one moment and gone the next, leaving the tips of Jerry’s hair singed. He cowers, eyes pressed shut, heaving huge breaths.

“Damn, Cas,” Dean says, voice tinged with awe. “Thanks for the assist.”

Jerry lowers his (slightly smoking) arm and peers at where the pile of belongings once lay. It’s completely gone, reduced to ash, just smoldering dust on the pavement. How on Earth—

In that moment, Dean’s mobile phone rings. He frantically plunges a hand into his jacket and rips it out, flipping it open.

“Sammy?” he asks sharply, pressing the phone to his ear. The voice on the other end mumbles something and Dean sags in relief, dragging a hand over his face. “Close call, huh? Yeah, glad it worked.”

Jerry tunes out the rest of Dean and Sam’s conversation. His eyes travel from the smoking pile of dust, to Cas (who’s standing motionless, staring at Dean), to the open mausoleum door, to his own hands, trembling in his lap. A light catches his eye off to the side and he follows it, realizing it’s his radio, abandoned on the pavement, red emergency light still blinking steadily. He gazes at it like a lifeline.

“Is that— Did you—” Dean’s voice is suddenly closer, right next to Jerry, and he quickly looks up. Dean’s looking at the radio, too. His phone is closed in his hand; he must be done talking to his brother.

“The cops coming?” Dean demands, gesturing at the radio. Jerry doesn’t want to let on, he doesn’t, but faced with this strange, complicated, definitely violent person, he can’t hold out. He nods.

“Dammit,” Dean mutters. Just then, the first siren wails in the distance, growing louder by the second.

Finally.

Dean groans and rushes over to his duffel bag, throwing the can of gasoline back in and grabbing the crowbar off the ground to toss that in, too. “Leave the keys, Cas,” he snaps at the trenchcoat man, who still has Jerry’s key ring dangling from his fingers. Cas drops the keys on the ground.

“Can you zap me to my car?” Dean hoists the duffel over his shoulder and faces Cas. “I won’t make it if I run.”

Cas steps closer to Dean, until he’s right in front of him. Their noses are just a few inches apart. Jerry, with nothing else to do but wait for his rescuers, watches them. Dean takes what looks like a shaky breath. His eyes flick down to Cas’ mouth. “You gonna stare, or you gonna help?” he asks, but it comes out small, a weak attempt at bravado.

Cas reaches out and places his hand over Dean’s left shoulder. “I’ll go with you,” he says, deep and measured, and in the next second, they’re gone. Just gone.

Jerry could swear he heard the flapping of wings. He sits there, numb, staring at the spot where they vanished.

Eventually, the yellow beams of flashlights dart across the front of the mausoleum and voices break through the fog in Jerry’s brain. A hand lands on his shoulder. “Sir, are you all right?”

He’s saved.

There’s a lot of questions from the responding officers, a lot of Jerry having to recount what he saw, picking and choosing details — which of course renders his story utterly implausible — and a lot of nobody believing him; there’s a breathalizer test — humiliating — that of course comes back clean (whether that’s better or worse for him, Jerry’s not so sure), and a round of paperwork, and finally, finally, Jerry is allowed to go.

He stumbles down the cemetery path in a daze, passing his long-cold cup of coffee, still perched on its headstone. He snags it and throws it away in the trash can at the cemetery gates. The officers said they would lock the mausoleum and the security station; Jerry was supposed to go home. He stops briefly at his station, though, to grab Andrew’s book.

He’s not quite ready to go home yet. He’s not sure what to say.

Jerry makes himself comfortable in the front seat of his car, overhead light on, and cracks open his book. He starts to read.

#suptober21 #this was fun to write #have some silliness #i enjoy imagining what regular citizens think of the winchesters #poor jerry #he's just doing his job #early seasons destiel #pre-destiel #fanfic #ficlet

[wherevermyway]

why can’t we drink forever? (1/2) // minsung // 18+

one: i will only complicate you series navigation: [desktop] [mobile]

⚠ POTENTIAL TW: READ WITH CAUTION! ⚠ pairing: lee minho x han jisung rating: explicit! 18+ warnings/tags: creator chose not to use archive warnings, explicit sexual content past character death, alcohol abuse/alcoholism, depression, edgy cynical depressed jisung, ambiguous/open ending. word count: 5,883 also on AO3

originally posted: 20 january 2021

After being arrested for driving under the influence, Jisung learns that money can buy his way out of jail time, but it can’t buy his way out of his feelings.

disclaimer: this is a work of fiction! any reference to persons in this work of fiction are purely coincidental. the characters referenced from Stray Kids are  interpretations loosely based on their personalities in the group and do  not represent the real people behind the personas. if this, or any of  the content included in the warnings above make you uncomfortable,  please stop reading now.

“I don’t know how things got this way, Sungie, baby. I’m worried about you.”

A sarcastic huff leaves the lips of the young man seated in the passenger seat of a sleek, new all-white Audi. He kicks his feet up on the dash, earning a frown from the middle-aged woman driving the vehicle. The young blonde stares out the window as he fumbles around his hoodie pocket. Out comes a white pack of Marlboro Gold cigarettes and an engraved silver lighter.

“You and me both, ma,” he tuts as he pops a white cigarette up from the pack into his mouth, flicking the dial of his lighter as he takes in a deep breath. He jams a finger down on the window button, the crisp winter air blowing the grey cloud around, the acrid scent of burnt tobacco filling the car. “Guess if we knew the answer to that, I wouldn’t be in the car now, huh?”

“Maybe you’d have gotten into a better university,” his mother sighs as she shakes her head.

A devious smirk curls up on the young man’s mouth as he brings the cigarette up to his lips again, taking a long drag. He knows better than to verbally respond with a cynical quip.

Maybe I’d be fuckin’ dead.

Alcoholics Anonymous sounded like a cult following: a twelve-step programme where all of its members had to follow a strict code, be mentored by a sponsor, and thank some bullshit deity to be given a new chance every day. “Every day is a new chance,” the cult leader would say at the beginning of every meeting. “May God grant us the serenity…”

“I’m Jisung, and the courts told me I’m an alcoholic, so I guess I’m an alcoholic,” the artificial blonde shrugged his shoulders, the ghost of burnt coffee still dancing on his tongue as he spoke.

The mindless cult drones spouted off a casual “hi, Jisung,” in monotonous, unenthusiastic unity as the young man sat down.

“How did you get here?” The meeting’s leader was relentless in prodding the young man. “You’re not obligated to tell us, of course,” which was a boldfaced lie, “but acknowledging your problems might help your recovery.”

Jisung brought the styrofoam cup full of lukewarm, acrid coffee to his lips and took a long sip. He winced at the taste and pursed his lips as he made eye contact with the leader. “I was abducted by aliens, man, now I’m here. Shit was crazy.”

The leader frowned, ready to interrupt Jisung.

“Nah,” the young man kicked his feet out from under the metal fold-up chair, flipping his hood over his head with his free hand. “I got drunk, went out to get more booze, then hit a tree on the way back and the cops pulled me over since my headlight was out. The internet wasn’t lying when they said all cops are fuckin’ bastards.” His quip earned a laugh from a few younger members, whereas several of the older people shook their heads in frustration.

“Please,” the leader sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “let’s refrain from political commentary. Thank you for your,” there’s a pause as the leader clears his throat, “for your candor, Jisung. Now that we’ve introduced all of our new attendees, why don’t we move along with the next step in the meeting?”

The meeting was pointless, all of the same shit that Jisung had read about in the fliers that were handed to him with his sentencing. He had to endure twelve months of this, but it wasn’t like he was doing much else with his life, anyways. Jisung poured the last of the disgusting coffee from the cardboard takeaway box into his cup, then tossed the box into the large rubbish bin at the end of the table. One last cup of free shitty coffee before he left; it would pair nicely with the cigarette he so desperately craved.

“Hey!” A bright voice came up behind him and Jisung rolled his eyes at the way optimism dripped from the trill. He slowly turned around, taking a sip of the cold coffee in his cup. A young man with neon pink hair, probably the same age as Jisung, smiled widely as he stuck his hand out. “I’m Felix, nice to see someone here that’s about my age.”

Jisung gingerly accepted the hand and shook it twice before quickly sticking his hand back into his pocket. “Charmed. How long are you stuck here for?”

“Oh!” Felix shook his head, smile still wide on his face as he pensively looked down to his shoes. “I’m not here for… well, I’m a psychology major.”

Of course he was.

Felix tucked his hands into his jacket pockets and tapped his foot twice as he continued to smile at Jisung. “I’m also new here and was hoping I could make friends.”

Jisung shook his head, reaching into his hoodie pocket for his pack of cigarettes and familiar silver lighter. “I’m not a good influence. Don’t think I’d make good friends with someone so… nice.” He meandered a white cigarette out of the packet with a single hand, then tucked it behind his ear, lighter still tucked into his palm. “No offence, dude.”

The smile finally fell from the pink-haired man, who quickly pulled his hands from his pockets, “wait, wait!”

Jisung cocked an eyebrow at the man, biting his tongue as he felt the clawing at the back of his head, his synapses screaming a plea for him to get a hit of more nicotine.

“I don’t wanna sound desperate,” Felix ran his bottom lip under his teeth as he looked around nervously, “I just really wanna talk with someone that’s so different than me. I’ll even buy you dinner or something from the diner down the street.”

As insulting as the words ‘so different than me’ came off to Jisung, desperation was a bad look for anyone. “You got a car?” Felix nodded twice, biting his lip as he stared at Jisung. “Lead the way, psycho student Felix.”

Felix’s eyes went wide and his bright smile came back, beaming brighter than before. “It’s psychology, not psycho.”

The blonde rolled his eyes as he plucked the cigarette from behind his ear and tucked it in between his teeth. “I know what I said.”

The food at the diner was mediocre at best: rubbery scrambled eggs and burgers made from frozen patties that were likely a concoction of rejected organ meat slurry and textured vegetable protein. It was cheap, but it was always good. Rich in comfort, lacking in quality: the antithesis to Jisung’s life.

Jisung hadn’t been here in two years, not since his friend turned on-again, off-again boyfriend Changbin left for university, halfway across the country. This was the place they’d come to at three in the morning after hitting up a house party, where they would drunkenly curl up with each other and swap kisses that tasted like stale beer and watery coffee.

This was the place where Changbin broke up with Jisung for the final time, Changbin citing that they wouldn’t be able to stay in contact much anymore. However, he hadn’t told Jisung that he was sleeping with someone that graduated a couple years prior and was conveniently attending the same university as him.

That night tasted like vodka and strawberry soda, the latter of which Jisung never let grace his tastebuds again.

The blonde scowled down at his orange juice, watching the ring light above their table shimmer and ripple in the liquid. He hadn’t heard from Changbin in two years, and he was as bitter about it as the black, burnt edges of the hashbrowns that stuck to his plate.

“You okay?” Felix poked his fries with a fork, bringing one to his lips as he scanned Jisung’s expression.

“Are any of us okay, psycho student?”

Felix furrowed his brows and set his fork down against his plate, chewing on the crinkled french fry a bit before he swallowed. He folded his hands together and rested his chin against the interlaced fingers. “No, like,” he shrugged, eyes shifting around a bit, “I mean it. You seem kinda distant.”

Jisung rolled his eyes up to meet Felix’s and he cocked his eyebrow. He was starting to regret tagging along with this kid he barely knew, feeling like this was less of a potential friendship and more like a therapy session. “You don’t know me, man.”

“No, but I know people.”

“You’re a sophomore psychology student, dude. You don’t know shit.”

The pink-haired man sighed, back thudding against the plasticky booth. “I guess you’re right about that. Doesn’t mean I don’t want to know, though.”

“Your funeral, then.” Jisung followed suit, leaning up against the booth with a bit more tact, swinging his arm around the wood frame. “I had my first sip of alcohol when I was thirteen. Got bored when my parents fucked off to Italy on some shitty trip without me.”

Felix tilted his head up like a dog, suddenly alive with renewed interest.

“They’re only parents in blood and title.” Jisung looked down at the table, scratching inanely at a chip in the pale green linoleum. “I was raised by nannies and tutors until I was fifteen. Most parents would probably panic when they leave the house, coming back to an empty liquor cabinet. My parents? Nah, they just restocked it and told me not to drink too much at once.”

“That’s,” Felix’s voice trailed off as he looked away, milling over the new information.

“It’s fucked,” Jisung finished the sentence, then brought the plastic cup of orange juice to his mouth and took a long sip. He set the cup back down and pulled up the sleeve covering his left arm, presenting the flesh over the table. Felix visibly recoiled as he eyed dozens of scarred lines littered across the skin, some marks still relatively fresh. “Their response to this? ‘We’ll get you into therapy and you won’t do this again.’ It was always the best money could buy, but their money didn’t do shit to my brain.” He shuffled the cloth over his arm again, ignoring the look of pity Felix offered him.

“If money could buy them a better son, they would’ve traded me out, like upgrading a car on a lease.”

Felix stumbled over his words a bit as Jisung rifled through his pockets, pulling out his phone and his wallet. “You still wanna make friends with someone like me?”

It took a moment, but Felix tentatively nodded his head. “Doesn’t sound like you have many friends to begin with,” he nervously sputtered out.

Jisung cocked his head to the side and licked his teeth as he smiled. “I don’t do friends. But life’s full of surprises. Anyway, gimme your phone so we can swap contact info.”

They exchanged phone numbers and Jisung dropped a couple of bills on the table. “Don’t worry about it,” he said as soon as Felix opened his mouth to protest, “you’re a university student and I’ve got my shitty parents’ cash to burn.”

“I’ll see you next week?” Felix questioned as Jisung stepped out of his shoddy 2003 Toyota Camry.

Jisung nodded once, tipping his index and middle fingers off of his forehead. “You got it. Thanks for the ride, mate.” He slammed the door with a fake smile that faded as soon as he turned around. Sure, Felix was the antithesis of everything Jisung was, but he could prove to be a source of entertainment over the next year.

Despite being cynical and vehemently anti-religion, Jisung always said a quiet prayer to himself as he opened the door, hoping his parents weren’t home when he arrived. Today, it seemed like luck was on his side: his mother’s keys weren’t on the key rack, and his father had yet to return from some bullshit ‘business trip’ off in China. Perhaps it was Morocco or Norway; they all blurred together in a haze of indifference. All Jisung was sure of was the fact that his father had probably taken one of his mistresses away to some foreign country he was pretending to secure a business deal in.

“Everyone’s favourite fuck-up is home!” Jisung shouted in the empty vestibule, his voice echoing against the cold walls. He didn’t expect a response, so when he was greeted with a comfortable silence, he smiled to himself. He kicked his shoes off and unceremoniously tossed them into the corner by the key rack.

His heavy, heel-first footsteps echoed as he made his way towards the kitchen, pulling a bottle of wine out of a glass display cooler as he padded towards the main refrigerator. He pulled out a box of takeaway Indian curry from the night prior, setting both the box and the bottle on the marble kitchen island, shuffling his feet towards a drawer. He retrieved a fork and a wine key, tossing them onto the countertop as he pulled out his phone, pack of cigarettes, and his lighter.

Jisung opened the bottle of wine as he sat down on a stool next to the counter, tossing the cork towards the rubbish bin, shrugging as he missed. That was a problem for later, and he didn’t feel like dealing with it now. Completely ignoring the takeaway carton, Jisung grabbed the wine bottle, then took a long guzzle directly from it. He winced a bit as the flavour of fermented floral grapes perfumed his mouth with a sharp, sickly rotten scent. The bottle clattered loudly against the marble, the echoing reminding Jisung of just how alone he was in such a large house.

“Fuck it,” he muttered, bringing his phone up in front of his face, scrolling through one of his playlists until he found the right song. With a few taps, some Drake came through the kitchen speakers. Jisung turned up the volume to near max, his head subconsciously moving to the beat of “In My Feelings”. He took a cigarette from the pack on the table and lit it, the tip turning from paper and plant to a red, ashy ember as he inhaled.

Was he allowed to smoke in the house? Of course not.

Did Jisung give a shit? Absolutely not.

A text message popped up as Jisung aimlessly scrolled through his various notifications. He opened it, barely scanning through the entire message from his mother until his eyes stopped on a blue phone number. His eyes narrowed, poring over the entire message. “A coworker of mine offered to be a sponsor for you: Lee Minho. He’s a few years older than you, but he’s nice. Here’s his number, please reach out to him.”

Jisung sarcastically scoffed, locking his phone as he placed it back on the countertop, swapping it for the bottle of wine. He took a drag off of his cigarette, then took another long swig from the bottle. “We admit we’re powerless to alcohol,” he mutters the first step under his breath as he slams the bottle down on the counter.

“Maybe I don’t fucking care.”

Jisung woke up on the couch to the sound of heels clacking against the hardwood floor just before eight in the morning, his fingers jostling an empty bottle of scotch on the floor as he brought his hands to his face.

“Get cleaned up, please.” His mother’s voice was accompanied by bright spotlights suddenly shining directly on his face. “I’ve invited Minho over to meet with you.”

“I didn’t ask you to.” Jisung’s voice was low and gravelly, groaning as he sat upright. The world spun, his body carried by the false inertia his mind had created.

His mother trotted off to the kitchen, shouting over her shoulder. “I know you didn’t. I did it because I care about you, Sungie.”

The blonde rubbed his clammy hands against his face again, attempting to wipe the sleepiness from his eyes. He grabbed his phone off of the floor, then wobbled his way upright, the living room spinning around him in a familiar sense of uneasiness.

“You don’t give a shit about anyone but yourself,” he muttered under his breath.

Somehow, Jisung managed to make his way upstairs to his room, stripping an article of clothing off with each lazy step from his bedroom door towards his personal washroom. By the time he got to the glass enclosure of the shower, he was totally stripped bare. Jisung distantly stared at his reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirror, a gaunt and ashy doppelganger staring back at him with a pained, empty look on his face.

Instead of stepping into the shower, Jisung approached the mirror, subconsciously bringing his hands to touch his flushed face. His cheekbones were more prominent now than they were earlier in the year, dark circles painted in broad strokes under his eyes. His gaze trailed down the scars he had inflicted on his arms and on his thighs, reminders of the failed attempts to take his own life that he was now forced to carry with him, wearing each line and mark as a badge of shame.

A warm tear rolled down his face as it contorted into an expression of terror and hurt, before he took his fist and crashed it into the mirror in front of him, a spiderweb of the impact left behind in the cracked glass as he pulled his bloodied knuckles away. Some glass shattered to the floor, some still wedged in the gaps between his fingers, and Jisung stared at the crack that split his reflection into several fragments.

How he was still alive was beyond him.

“Mrs. Han, please,” a lilted, unfamiliar laugh travelled up the staircase as Jisung slowly made his way down towards the first floor. He squinted at the noise that caused his head to throb, realizing that someone unknown speaking to his mother, likely the Minho she had mentioned earlier. With each step he took towards the drawing room, the voice got louder, each staccatoed laugh more pronounced.

“Jisung, come sit,” his mother said, replacing the genuine smile on her face with a fake, ‘Vaseline-on-the-teeth’ smile. She motioned towards the empty space on the couch, opposite from the young brunette that turned around.

Jisung met his eyes and it suddenly felt like his surroundings cracked and shattered around him, like the mirror upstairs. Rich brown eyes glistened behind the black and gold browline glasses that rested against the bridge of his nose. Rose-tinted lips curled upwards in a shy smile, revealing large, rabbit-like front teeth that rested softly against his bottom lip.

“Hi,” the stranger said with a gentle wave, “I’m Minho. Resident biochemist at the pharmaceutical company your mother works for.”

As Jisung made his way over to the open spot on the couch, he squinted, refusing to break eye contact with the strange invader. It felt like he was a wild animal on display, about to be poked and prodded by zookeeper staff or by scientists in some sort of underground, off-the-books laboratory. It would fit, after all, since the man was some sort of scientist.

“I’ll let you be,” Jisung’s mother says, rising to her feet. “Maybe you should tell Minho about your little misstep last night, hmm?”

Jisung rolled his tongue over his bottom lip and shook his head sarcastically. “Go enjoy your overfilled glass of wine at nine-fucking-thirty, ma. I’ll be here spilling my guts to a stranger that gives more of a shit about me than you.” Minho winced and his expression fell from cheerful to shocked.

The men stared at each other, Jisung’s gaze layered with arrogance, and Minho’s heavy with awkward discomfort. “So,” the younger man kicked his feet up onto the coffee table, pulling a pack of cigarettes and his trusted lighter from his sweatshirt pocket, hoping to wrap up the conversation as soon as possible. “I know you work with my mother, you’re an alcoholic, and your name’s Minho.” As quickly as Jisung could take in a breath, the cigarette between his teeth was lit, and he was glaring at the intruder through the grey haze that came between them. Their eyes met again, Jisung growing more and more wary by the second. “Why should I pick you as my sponsor, when I feel like you’re just gonna snitch to my mother?”

Minho’s jaw looked like it was clenched too tight, his bottom eyelids squinted upwards as he studied the younger man in front of him. They watched each other, eyeing each micromovement the other’s face made. About halfway through Jisung’s cigarette, Minho finally broke the uncomfortable eye contact, and took a deep breath. “I’m not asking for you to trust me, or to spill your life story,” he shifted, sitting upright, “but for you to see me as a mentor when things get hard and you want to dampen your feelings with alcohol. I’ve been there, Jisung.”

Indignation washed over the younger man’s face, quickly replaced by a familiar wave of arrogance. Jisung shook his head, ashing his cigarette directly onto the floor. “Doubt it,” he tutted, licking his teeth as he nodded his head, staring at the ring on Minho’s finger. He smirked to himself, then turned his head away and up towards the ceiling. “Looks like you’ve got someone that loves you. I don’t know what that feels like; never have, never will.”

The elder chewed on his bottom lip, clenching his fist as his eyes subconsciously scanned the ring on his finger. “Had.”

“What?” Jisung turned his head back towards Minho with a look of disgust on his face, ashes falling from his cigarette.

The brunette sighed, leaning further into the couch, nervously running his thumb over his balled up fingers. “He’s the reason I turned to drinking, to fill the void he left in my heart when he died.”

Shit.

For the first time in ages, Jisung felt a slight pang of regret twinge in his abdomen.

Minho swallowed hard, almost as if he were holding back his emotions. “We were married for five years, together since high school. You’d think I would’ve known the signs, but Chan was so good at hiding things, hiding his pain from everyone.”

The ember in Jisung’s cigarette died out as he found himself enraptured in Minho’s story.

Chan was Minho’s high school sweetheart. They started dating their sophomore year of high school, both attended the same university, and they got married when they were twenty. To Minho, Chan was everything. They supported each other, making the other man stronger and gave them a reason to go on.

Minho had no idea that Chan was severely depressed, holding his true feelings to his heart. Not long after Minho’s twenty-fifth birthday, Chan disappeared, only leaving a journal behind. It had started off with an apology, that if Minho found his journal, that it was too late to save him and that Chan had simply given up. On nearly every page, Chan reiterated that it wasn’t Minho’s fault, that Chan was just too far gone beyond repair, that Minho had given him a new lease on life, but it wasn’t enough.

Exactly three weeks after Chan had gone missing, police were on the doorstep of their shared home.

“Dental records,” Minho whispered, his eyes distant and glazed over as he lost himself in the memory. “That’s how they knew it was Chan. I don’t remember much after that, but I thought that I could find the answer to why Chan took his own life at the bottom of a bottle.”

Jisung’s grip on the arm of the couch was so tight, his knuckles had turned white and they were starting to ache.

“Several bottles,” Minho continued, “several bottles and several near-death experiences waking up in the hospital later, and I still hadn’t figured out the answer. I figured that maybe I’d see him again if I drank enough. Now,” he folded his arms, tucking his chin into his chest, “I’ve accepted that I’ll never know the answer to that question, that I need to live on for him. If there’s an afterlife, maybe I’ll get to ask him myself. Until then, though,” Minho rolled his teary eyes up to meet Jisung’s uncomfortable gaze, “I just want to atone for not doing enough before. I want to help others that are hurting, you know?”

They continued to stare at each other for what felt like hours, until Jisung finally shook his head. His voice cracked as he tried to speak. “Sorry,” his apology was shockingly sincere, “I guess I spoke before I thought.”

Minho awkwardly smirked, dismissively waving his hand in between them. “Don’t worry about it. I just wanted you to know that I’ve been at rock bottom and that there’s a way up and out, as long as you’re willing to put in the effort.”

Maybe Jisung was willing to give Minho a try.

At first, Jisung agreed to meet with Minho once a week after the mandatory AA meeting he attended. It took seven visits spanning seven weeks before Jisung eventually opened up about the neglect he faced from both of his parents, the emptiness he felt from being raised by nannies, feeling like money was more important than his own life.

Ten weeks in, they started hanging out on the weekends. Their relationship shifted from mentorship to friendship, and it was somewhat a relief that Jisung finally had someone he could trust enough to call his friend.

Week fourteen was when things started to shift further. Jisung hadn’t consumed alcohol in eight weeks, and things were clearing up, slowly but surely. He had been meeting with Felix more and more, too — maybe they weren’t quite friends yet, but Jisung was at least trying.

Things were looking up for the first time in Jisung’s life.

At week sixteen, Jisung stayed over at Minho’s apartment, convincing him that he needed to watch Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood. The blonde had vehemently pressed that it was, quite possibly, one of the best series of all time, animated or otherwise. After some gentle pressure, Minho finally caved, and they sat on his couch, diving into the show and into some mediocre takeaways.

They had gotten through the first three episodes and Minho finally relented that, yes, it was a good show and that, yes, Jisung was right.

“I knew you’d like it, dude,” Jisung snickered, playfully poking at Minho’s chest. The corner of his lips tugged upward into a crooked smile, and he wore Minho’s seal of approval as some sort of badge of honour.

The brunette turned away, softly smiling into his shoulder as a rush of crimson started to tint his face. “You’ve got me trying all sorts of new things, Ji,” Minho rubbed the back of his neck for a moment before he flashed his teeth at the younger man. “So much for me being the mentor here, huh?”

Jisung sucked his bottom lip in between his teeth at the nickname, trying to ignore the warmth blossoming up his face. He tried to stumble out some sort of response, but he caught himself getting lost in the way that the overhead lights shimmered in Minho’s eyes, highlighting the soft amber and warm bursts of hazelnut that erupted around his pupils. His expression started to falter, and he felt a familiar rush of excitement bloom in his chest, causing his nerves to come to life all around his body.

He remembered that this was how it felt right before he shared his first drunken kiss with Changbin, but something about this felt different. Perhaps it was the fact that Jisung was completely sober, but he desperately wanted Minho to kiss him, to want him back. However, Jisung wasn’t sure if it would have been a good idea, pondering over if Minho was really ready to start a new relationship, especially with someone he was supposed to be mentoring.

“Something on your mind?” Minho’s voice was soft as it gently guided Jisung back to the moment. “You’re kinda spacing out on me.”

“No, no,” Jisung stumbled around the words he wasn’t sure he could say, suddenly distracted by the television in the background. “I guess I was just thinking about the show.”

Minho’s head tilted to the side, concurrently lifting his brow in confusion. “You guess?”

Jisung waved his hand in between them and readjusted his posture so he was further away from Minho. “Yeah, I mean, I’ve seen it so many times, but it’s one of those shows that you watch and you see something new each time and—”

Warm fingers were suddenly on the side of Jisung’s face, pulling him back into Minho’s space. “You’re a terrible liar.” The voice was soft, yet assertive; low, but so loud. Jisung’s eyes went wide as Minho’s apartment blurred around him, his vision suddenly taken over by the sight of the brunette’s face right up next to his. In front of him.

Before Jisung could process what was happening, he was subconsciously pressing his lips into Minho’s, trying to remember exactly how kissing worked. It was years since the last time he had any practice, but it all came back to him as Minho helped guide Jisung’s face with his hands.

Minho’s tongue was soft, warm, and damp as it gently pressed up against Jisung’s lips, wordlessly pleading for entrance. Without letting his mind mill over the fine details and concerns he possibly had, Jisung parted his lips. Timidly, he rolled his tongue around Minho’s, his hands quivering as his fingers scrambled for purchase in Minho’s hair.

Unlike anyone Jisung had kissed before, this felt right, even if there were some uncomfortable grinding of teeth and awkward nose bumping. Within a reasonable amount of time, they slowly became experts at training the way the other wanted to be kissed. As if Minho could read Jisung’s mind, he would interrupt his soft kisses with gentle nips and grazes at Jisung’s bottom lip.

“Please,” Jisung’s voice cracked as Minho pulled his teeth down his bottom lip, “my neck, I…”

Minho swiftly moved his lips from Jisung’s, peppering tiny pecks against his jawline to his ear, stopping to take the blonde’s earlobe into his mouth with his tongue, grazing the tender flesh between his teeth. Jisung’s back involuntarily arched as the grooves of Minho’s teeth pulled at his sensitive skin, the sensation causing his nerves to come to life with an electrical jolt from head to toe.

The brunette chuckled, his warm breath brushing up against the tiny hairs on Jisung’s ear. He said nothing, simply moving down to press a few soft kisses to the skin just below the younger man’s earlobe. Minho’s lips were soft, gentle, only to be quickly replaced by a sudden, harsh bite into the tender flesh.

A yelp, accompanied by uncontrollable twitching, came from Jisung, who was simultaneously melting into Minho, but also pulling away. The elder’s fingers dug into the blonde’s waist, keeping him in the same position, not allowing him to escape. Jisung’s yelp had faded into a whimper, which evolved into a moan as Minho sucked the flesh between his teeth, quickly repeating the process several times in various spots along Jisung’s neck.

The moans were increasing in volume and breathiness, Jisung subconsciously, frantically rutting his pelvis into the couch. Minho must have caught on to this, letting go of Jisung’s waist to ease him down onto the couch. He pressed his lips to Jisung’s again, dancing his fingertips down to the waistband of the younger man, who was completely blissed out.

“Can I help you with this?” Minho’s voice was somehow both soft yet assertive as his palm pressed against Jisung's clothed erection.

Words eluded Jisung, verbal language suddenly turning into complex algebraic equations that didn’t translate from his head to his tongue. Instead, he groaned in affirmation as he hopelessly rolled his hips upward, finding himself pitiful that he was so desperately craving for Minho to just keep fucking touching him.

Things started to blur in a haze of wanton desire. Minho’s hand gently stroked Jisung’s cock, paying special attention to the way that his fingers and palm brushed against the head. Involuntary twitches took over Jisung as he whimpered and mewled, his shoulder blades grinding into the couch. Minho continued to nibble and bite at Jisung’s neck, occasionally whispering words of assurance and praise into his ear.

“You’re doing so well,” as he slowly dragged his hand from the base of Jisung’s cock up to his head.

“I can’t imagine how incredible you would feel around me,” as he gently thumbed the slit, rubbing precum around the sensitive head and causing Jisung to bite the back of his hand as he failed to stifle a cracked moan.

Jisung’s breaths turned erratic and he was nearly convulsing as his body started to twitch. Minho shifted his weight to his knees, slowing his strokes just enough so that he could awkwardly shift one leg off of the couch to position his head in a way he could take Jisung into his mouth.

“What are you—” Jisung started to question, until he found himself losing control of his body as Minho rolled his tongue around his cock. “Fuck, Minho!” He clamped his eyes shut, arching his back upward, hitting the back of Minho’s throat as he convulsed, his orgasm suddenly completely taking over him. “Minho,” he whined and unclenched his fists; “Minho,” he panted and opened his eyes; “Minho.” With one last breath, he was back to reality.

This had to have been the closest thing to heaven that Jisung thought he would ever experience.

Jisung had stayed over at Minho’s that night, too tired to function like a normal human. They slept on the couch together, necks crooned in uncomfortable positions all night long, bodies stiff from the unnatural firmness that Minho’s couch held. The next morning, they chose not to discuss the night prior, but they did exchange some soft kisses, until Jisung protested, mentioning that their morning breath was distracting him from actually enjoying the kiss.

Their weekends continued on like this: spending time watching a couple of episodes of their chosen programme until they got distracted and lost within each other. Nothing progressed further than handjobs, the occasional blowjob, and the one time that they rolled around naked, making out for so long and so intensely that the way they pressed their bodies together caused Jisung to come without any additional stimulation — and, hey, they liked it.

The budding relationship between them was confusing. During the week, Minho acted like the appropriate, wise mentor, with Jisung as his eager pupil. When the weekend came around, however, all bets were off. In everything but title, they were boyfriends for all intents and purposes. Every time Jisung tried to bring it up, Minho would shut down, saying that he wasn’t ready to really think seriously about it yet.

So, Jisung didn’t press. He was sure that their intimate interactions were causing conflicting emotions to arise within Minho, emotions he probably had been ignoring since Chan’s death, trying to shove them down as time went on. Even though he wanted to navigate the full spectrum of sexual experiences with Minho, Jisung remained silent until Minho was ready.

#why can't we drink forever? #skz fics #skz smut #minsung #lee minho x han jisung #han jisung x lee minho #minho x jisung #jisung x minho #wherevermyway

[peaceoutofthepieces]

Sink Or Swim

tag list: @cleocc @feeling-kinda-so-so @hopelessromanticvirgo @dreamy-slytherin @adora8 @lockerfivethreefive @painfully-oblivious @poeticinemaa @jjustonemorething @saraben00 @wedarkacademia @coolguyssyndrome @hischbabe @suckerforsobbe @tayspots @starmansander @theah0lt @zoenneforever @invisibleme @chibibanane @odi-et-amo85

~^~

Tuesday, 10:33

Song: The Neighbourhood - Sweater Weather

Jens paces across the doorstep as he tries the call a fourth time, jamming his thumb against the button before raising the phone to his ear. It buzzes, and buzzes, and buzzes, and Jens curses under his breath.

“I’m not giving up, so fucking pick up,” he mumbles.

On the sixth ring, Lucas does.

“What the fuck, Jens? Can’t you take a hint?”

“No, and please don’t hang up, okay? I’m outside.”

“You’re what?”

“I’m at the front door of your building. At least, I hope it’s your building.”

“How do you even know where I live?”

“You told me last week when I was going to come pick you up, but I don’t know the apartment number, so let me in. Please?”

There’s silence on the other end, and after a few seconds Jens is worried the other boy has hung up. But when he checks, the call is still connected.

He injects some extra pleading into his voice. “Just give me a few minutes to explain. C’mon, I’m freezing my balls off for you right now.”

The silence extends, and then Lucas lets out a sigh. “It’s number seven. Three flights up.”

The line disconnects and Jens fumbles not to drop his phone as he hears the door buzz and quickly moves to push it open. He tucks the mobile safely into his pocket before climbing the steps, not wasting any time taking in the building in his rush. At the top of the third set of stairs, Jens casts his gaze around for a door with the number seven and instead finds Lucas at the end of the short hall, leaning in an open doorway.

Jens falters in his steps as he slowly makes his way to him, suddenly unsure. He hasn’t actually come with an apology in mind; he’d simply told himself with Lucas in front of him, he’d know what to say.

Now that Lucas is in front of him, his mind runs blank. He barely looks at Jens, instead rubbing a tired hand over his face. His eyes are droopy and the skin of his cheeks is a light, rosy pink, the same colour as the sweater he has tossed on over black sweatpants. He looks sleep-soft and cuddly. He begs to be greeted with a kiss. Jens barely manages to refrain.

He may have spent the weekend freaking out. He may still be freaking out. The feelings filling his chest, his stomach, are unfamiliar, and he’d taken Lucas’s few days of silent treatment to attempt to sort them out. To ponder. To research.

He’d spent yesterday doing quite an extensive bit of research.

When he realises that Lucas has caught him staring, he clears his throat. “Hey.”

Lucas crosses his arms over his chest. “Hey.”

His voice is raspy and sleep-soft, too, and Jens decides this was probably a really bad idea. He sweeps his gaze over Lucas once more and raises a brow. “Did I wake you up?”

Lucas scoffs. “Three missed calls, Jens. One right after the other. Yeah, you succeeded very well in waking me up.”

Jens winces. “Sorry. But I mean, it’s half ten. I assumed you’d be up.”

“It’s the holidays,” Lucas sniffs, and Jens supposes he can’t argue with that.

Jens nods, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth. “Uhm—can I come in?”

Lucas shrugs and otherwise doesn’t move. “You only need a few minutes, right?”

“Yeah.” Jens tries not to feel disappointed, but it’s difficult. It’s difficult to hold onto any control at all, faced with a Lucas who is so closed-off, a Lucas who’s definitely mad at him. Jens wants to get angry, too. He wants to tell him to stop overreacting. He wants to beg and plead for forgiveness. He wants Lucas to stop shutting him out.

He wants Lucas to at least smile at him again.

“Okay.” Jens blows out a breath. “I’m really sorry. I mentioned that Jana wanted to meet up?”

Lucas nods, drawing his arms around himself tighter.

Jens nods back, and he doesn’t really know where he’s going with this. “And you know I was confused, after Friday. I needed to clear the air. The whole thing stressed me out and I just had a serious brain-glitch, or something. I genuinely forgot. I know excuses can sound like shit, but I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t mean it, Luc.”

“So your ex-girlfriend—who you don’t wanna get back together with—messaged you, and your brain short-circuited to the point you forgot I existed?”

At this point, Jens understands that Lucas is still thoroughly unimpressed.

“No, I didn’t—that’s not what I’m saying.”

“So what are you saying, Jens? Because to me, it sounds like it’s yourself you’re lying to.”

“What?” Jens furrows his brows. He isn’t lying to anyone.

Lucas softens slightly, but shakes his head. “You’re seriously still saying you don’t feel anything for Jana?”

“She’s leaving.”

That makes Lucas pause. “What?”

“She wanted to talk to me because she’s leaving. At the end of the week. She’s going to New York.”

“New York?”

“She told us about it during the summer, but back then it was just a plan that had fallen through. When she came back to school, I forgot about it. But it’s happening now. That’s why she kissed me.”

Jens didn’t really expect that this is what he’d have to explain, but it’s now that he sees Lucas’s defense begin to slip. The reasons for why—the potential that Lucas is mad not because he was ditched, but because he’s jealous—sets something stirring in Jens’s chest. The something feels a little too much like an excited thread of hope, and he snaps it immediately.

“Why, exactly?” Lucas asks hesitantly.

“She needed to prove to herself that there really was nothing left. And she did. I already knew. Like I told you. It wasn’t about wanting Jana. It wasn’t even really about Jana in the first place. My head was already a mess because my dad was bugging me that morning, and then Jana messaging me just reminded me that we hadn’t spoken, and I blanked. And I’m really fucking sorry. I’d never purposefully miss out on time with you. Seriously.”

It’s more than he usually likes to admit, but he seems to be in the habit, around Lucas, of giving away more than he probably should. He also knows it’s probably the best course of action—and his hope is confirmed when the rest of Lucas’s defense falls away.

“Dads can be a pain in the ass,” he allows.

Jens grins. “Yeah. I knew you’d get me, if you just heard me out. You’re a stubborn fuck, you know that?”

“You deserved it. I froze my balls off for you first, and you didn’t even show up.”

Jens laughs, and permits a shrug. “I deserved it.”

Then there it is—Lucas’s smile.

Bright and easy and beautiful. It begs to be kissed.

Jens resists.

“That’s what I wanted to see,” he says instead, soft, and he’s granted a blush and a roll of eyes in response. Then Lucas finally holds the door open and nods inside.

The change in temperature is immediate, and Jens sighs as the door shuts behind him and he’s wrapped in warmth. He shrugs off his coat and pulls off his beanie, letting Lucas take both from him and hang them on a hook by the door. It’s only when Lucas begins leading him down the hallway that he realises he’s in the boy’s apartment.

His hands grow clammy, and he wipes them discreetly on his sweats as they enter the kitchen.

“Hot chocolate so you don’t lose any body parts?” Lucas teases.

Jens snorts. “Of course you’d offer hot chocolate.”

“What does that mean?”

“Mr Sweet-Tooth, right?”

Lucas side-eyes him. “So you don’t want hot chocolate. Good. More for me.”

Jens makes a small noise of protest. “I never said that.”

“Uh huh,” Lucas smirks at him. “That’s what I thought.”

He moves around the kitchen with ease, taking two cups from one cupboard and the hot chocolate from another. Jens feels warm as he watches him pull up his sleeves to fill the kettle, exposing lightly-tanned forearms, thin but corded.

Jens has to snap his gaze away when Lucas speaks up again. “Stop being awkward. Sit down.”

“I’m not awkward,” Jens mumbles, awkwardly avoiding Lucas’s gaze as he pulls out a chair. Lucas merely turns his head to hide a smile and doesn’t comment.

“Are you here alone all week?” Jens asks, as Lucas busies himself with wiping down the spotless counter.

“Yeah. Apparently offices don’t get the same holidays as schools. Pity.”

“Aren’t you lonely, though?”

Jens regrets the question as soon as it leaves his mouth, and then ten times more when Lucas turns around to look at him. He leans back against the counter, wrapping his hands around the granite top. He shrugs, tilts his head, and asks, “Aren’t you?”

“Most of my time is spent babysitting,” Jens points out.

“Lotte isn’t a baby.”

“I’m talking about Lies.”

Lucas snorts, and the tension dissipates. “She’s the one you didn’t want me to meet?”

Jens rolls his eyes. “You could have met her if you wanted to.”

Lucas hums, unconvinced.

“Really though, Lucas. I’m sorry I fucked up.”

“S’okay,” Lucas shrugs. “Maybe I was being a little harsh.”

“Maybe a little.”

Lucas tilts his head, unimpressed.

Jens says, “Let me make it up to you.”

That seems to be of slightly more interest to Lucas, who raises a brow before moving to pick up the kettle. “How so?”

“Come hang out with me again. This time I’m going to pick you up from right here so you can’t be left waiting in the cold.”

Lucas asks, “Milk or no milk?”

Jens blinks. It takes him a few seconds to realise he’s talking about the hot chocolate. “Whichever way you prefer it.”

Lucas gets some milk.

Then he asks, “When?”

“Anytime you want.”

“We’re hanging out right now.”

“That doesn’t count. Come on. I’m giving you a once-in-a-lifetime, all-access pass here. I’m completely at your mercy.”

Now Lucas appears intrigued. “Really?”

Jens is not one to backtrack. He hums affirmingly.

“Friday?”

Jens nods, and that same feeling is stirring in his chest once more, the thread unwinding into rivulets of apprehension.

Lucas’s gaze is challenging. “But I’m not organising it. Your apology, your work. I expect big things.”

He sets Jens’s hot chocolate in front of him as Jens grins. “I’m sure something will come to mind.”

#van der stoffels #vds #wtfock #skam nl #sink or swim #vds season fic #sos clip

[mateasha]

rendevous 18.6y

summary: chikage shows up at the front door of MANKAI after disappearing from the face of the Earth for 3 years. itaru is not happy. fandom: a3 pairing: chikage x itaru word count: 4716 tags:  original characters for the sake of plot, friends to strangers to lovers, angst, fluff, flashbacks, mentions of death, bad attempts at action, bad attempts at comedy chapter 3: work Itaru is unhappy. There’s a lot of things he could be doing right now, and he did not expect one of things he chose to do is to be outside in a bar today. With a lot of people. The things he does for money and food. People might call him a glutton, but he would say he just knows how to play his cards right, he thinks to himself as he slides his phone out of his pocket to play a mobile version of KniRoun— which is more just tapping on the screen really fast to kill enemies. 

The bar is decently big, 13 of them seated around a booth, Sakyo, Izumi, Tsumugi, Tasuku, Azuma, Chikage, Kazunari, Omi, Guy, Citron, Tsuzuru, and Homare. 12 excluding Itaru who isn’t really mentally there. But at least he’s there, with a tiny piece of comfort to get him through this arduous time. Arduous to him at least. 

The atmosphere is warm, with a sense of familiarity to it, the yellow lights making everyone look a bit more tan than they actually are. They’ve gone to a different bar this time, one that Chikage recommended (of course) and he won’t lie: this place has good food. 

Not that he’s doubting Chikage’s tastes— which he obviously can and will do, with his no taste buds no spice receptor having ass, but he’s doubting Chikage’s tastes, as he watches him sprinkle nanami that he had in his bag all over his side dish. Everyone is slowly sipping on their respective alcohol, Itaru with some fruity drink that he hasn’t touched a bit, as he takes out his phone just to inspect the time. 

Everyone is having their tiny bit of banter, especially with Chikage as he talks to them with an almost smile on his face, each of them going around, asking questions about whatever he’s doing. He’s not surprised that the conversations Chikage is conducting are not turning into shouting matches, as he’d expect. 

“Chikage! It hasn’t been a long time since I’ve seen you!” Homare shouts, almost alerting the entire bar to whatever their business is.

“Ah, yes. It’s been only a couple days, hm?” Chikage takes a bite of his tataki, savoring the taste a bit before he takes a sip of his weird craft beer that he knows how to pronounce for whatever reason.

“Couple days? Chikage, you’ve been around?” Tsumugi is slowly getting more and more roped into whatever conversation they’re having. Itaru is suddenly intrigued, his ears almost perking up like a cat’s, but not physically.”

“Yeah. I wanted to come around. The graveyard.” He gets a bit somber thinking about it, but still keeps up the slightly cheery demeanor. “It’s nice there.”

“It is.” Izumi chips in. 

“We chose it. Without you.” Itaru glares at Chikage from across the table, finally taking a sip of this damn drink that they called the One Night Stand. Lame name, he thinks, as he takes in another sip, feeling the coldness of the strawberry liqueur down his throat.

“Yeah… I know.” Chikage quickly changes the topic to something else, Itaru left behind to think as he slowly takes more of the fruity cocktail into his system. It’s hard to hear them over the sound of everyone else but it’s nice. It feels familiar. Like nothing’s changed. But he knows that things have changed. For some reason, everyone seems happy to see him. Him included— but he’d never say that. Itaru is happy. Sort of.

It’s a dilemma to miss someone so much that you feel your heart ache and twist but also hate them for leaving. It’ll go down in the textbooks maybe, a textbook example of a dilemma, but he hates it, this feeling of having to choose his emotions— when usually they would pick themselves, like most of the time. On one hand, Itaru is glad— maybe even overjoyed that he’s alive, but on the other, he’s angry that he’s alive and didn’t even tell him anything. He just left. 

But now is not the time to self loathe, as he gets out of the booth. “I’m going to the bathroom.” He quickly pockets his phone with the game still running into his standard jacket, unsure if Chikage caught it— which he probably did, but he doesn’t expect much from him, at least in the court of actually doing something.

But he can almost feel someone’s eyes burning into his back, specifically Chikage’s. He walks into the bathroom, the smell of booze and maybe just a little bit of piss— but he’s used to it, based on the idea that Itaru has had to deal with bar bathrooms ever since joined the damn workforce. But for some reason, the smell of booze is actually a bit pleasant— exclude the piss smell— with a maturity that exudes unconsciously.

He’s still playing the same game, watching Gawain slice some basic slime, Itaru tapping fiercely just to speed up the process— he has to rank for this event and these battles are a little long. Which is why he didn’t want to come, but he owes it to Izumi, who looked significantly more happy when she saw he was coming along for once, after he had declined the past 3 weeks.

But this train of thought is stopped suddenly as soon as the sound of the bathroom door swings open, with a slight bang on the wall, not nearly loud enough to disturb him, but Itaru gets quiet, raising his feet off the ground.

“Chigasaki.” Chikage has a stern voice now. 

Itaru is silent. It’s Chikage. He really doesn’t want to talk to him. 

“I know you’re in here.” Shit.

“No, you don’t.” 

“Just come out. I want to talk.”

One of the worst phrases ever to come out of his mouth, other than “uncute junior.” He walks out a little dejected.

“I don’t want to talk to you.”

He walks away from Chikage, slowly walking to the door with a tinge of tantrum in his steps.

“Wait.”

Itaru continues to walk out before he feels a hand on his wrist pulling him back.

“Wait.” He tightens his grip on Itaru’s arm, forcing him to turn around, their eyes meeting for a bit, Itaru just staring him down as hard as he can which, surprisingly, has a little effect on him. 

“What?” Itaru’s voice is cold and steely. “What do you have to say?”

“I’m here to say sorry.” Chikage is completely, wholly serious, his voice echoing in the bar’s bathroom. He pulls Itaru closer, close enough to where he can smell Chikage’s scent, smelling faintly of alcohol, cigarettes, and oddly but not really oddly enough, gunpowder.  

“...You… you’re saying sorry.” Itaru doubts Chikage a bit looking into his eyes, for some reason are full of sincerity.

“Yes.” Chikage’s face is telling that he’s still serious, which comes as a bit of a surprise to Itaru.

“...What happened?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re saying sorry to me.”

“And? I’m sorry. Izumi told me about everything.”

“Izumi?”

“Yeah.”

“She told you?”

“No, I asked her.”

“You asked Izumi how I felt before you came to me?” Itaru questions him fiercely, his eyes set alight with a tinted anger.

“I thought you wouldn’t respond.”

“But still? You didn’t even try coming to me first? That’s not fucking right, Chikage.” Itaru can feel a little bit of the alcohol in his brain, his thoughts becoming less coherent as he goes on.

“Listen, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you would be so… distraught over me leaving.” Chikage feels a bit awkward, a first for him— then again, tonight might just be the week of firsts, maybe even month.

“I— you didn’t know? Did that moment mean nothing to you?” He thinks back to the first time Itaru went to pick Chikage up.

“It meant something to me, I just— I thought you might’ve been glad, like—“ 

“Glad? Listen; I love having a room to myself but glad? Chikage. You— You really do— matter to me. You still do, but right now I can’t fuckin—“ Itaru chokes up, frustrated that he can barely get the words out, trying so hard but everytime he says the next word it comes out wrong. “I’m going.” Itaru is tearing up as he slowly feels a burst of energy, breaking away from Chikage’s grip before bursting through the bathroom doors.

He’s almost running through the bar, passing by his table.

“Itaru?” Izumi sees him, tears almost in his eyes as he runs past, Chikage trailing behind. “...Chikage.” She pinches the bridge of her nose in frustration. “What’d you do?” Izumi is stern with her voice, almost a scolding tone. 

“I said sorry.” 

“Listen, just give him some time.” Izumi looks at Itaru exit the bar, slowly, almost pitifully. “He needs it.”

— 

Itaru is humiliated.

Crying in front of everyone, well, at least almost crying. God, what if one of his coworkers were there?

He’s walking along the sidewalk of Veludo Way, the night street slightly bustling with the sound of footsteps moving past. The odd warmth on Veludo Way’s spring day slowly sets into the environment, making Itaru slightly sweat through his undershirt that’s just the slightest bit restrictive, as he unbuttons his jacket and then a button off the collar of his undershirt. Much better.

Itaru has much to think about— which Itaru is definitely not used to, as the thoughts race through his mind like they’re Olympic runners.

He’s not angry. He thinks he should be though, as he sits down onto a bench, the weird rustling of the banners hanging from building to building making this day feel off. Everything about this day feels off. Especially the fact Chikage was motivated to say sorry— which half the time (when he was here) he would probably say, “I’m sorry that you felt that way.” like he wasn’t at fault. But a genuine, I’m sorry? 

He takes off his jacket finally, pulling out his phone. Lots of new notifications that he clears immediately, opening his game up again. The area around the bench is secluded, so he knows he can play here. 

He can feel the wind getting his hair into his eyes— god he wishes he was home, but after that whole fiasco, he doubts he can go back. Unless Chikage is doing something. But he really doesn’t want to talk about it with Izumi. As understanding as she is, he isn’t in the mood to deal with whatever advice she has to give. 

He opens up, Lancelot posing on his home screen saying something about Gawain. How fitting. He immediately turns off the phone after thinking about it a little bit. He can’t even try to escape this. He gets up again, taking a longer walk to an even less busy street. He’s gone really far, he thinks, as he looks at his surroundings, a little bit unfamiliar— as far as six years in the same place can be familiar. 

Something is different, he thinks, Itaru settling into the chair and getting comfortable, basking in the sunset’s light that casts shadows long, the silhouettes of people stretching across the sidewalk. It’s not that he’s worried about how everyone else perceives them, they see each other every single day (on a non ranking week). Nothing’s changed. They’re all still close knit— even more close knit than how they were before.

Nothing’s changed.

Everyone talks like they used to, everyone is still friends, even Chikage with everyone else. And there is literally no evidence that Chikage hates him, and he completely understands why he had to go. There’s no evidence that he’s less than glad to see him again after three years.

So why is he so stressed, he thinks to himself, screaming his lungs out internally in anger. He fusses with his phone, turning it over and over again, playing with the home button and the speaker, feeling the engravings on his hand, stroking it fast then slow to pass the time.

“...Chigasaki.” Chikage pulls up to the bench in the troupe’s car. 

“...Chikage.” He looks like a child that ran away after his iPad got taken away. Chikage hasn’t really changed either. Maybe more well mannered. Maybe more well meaning than he was the first time around. His skills are still the same, as Chikage parks on the side, and comes out the car, wearing his signature outfit that doesn’t look like it wore down at all in the past three years.

“Why are you here?”

“Can you just… wait this time. Come into the car. I’ll drive you back.”

“How do I know you aren’t kidnapping me?”

“Why would I need to kidnap you?”

“...To force me to accept your apology?”

“Even I know that’s not how it works.”

“Trying to make a joke here.”

“Not a very good one.” They both chuckle a bit.

Nothing’s changed.

“I’m sorry.” Chikage pauses. “Again. Let me try this again— okay?” He looks to Itaru for approval, almost looking more timid than he used to.

“...you were never unable to.” He mumbles under his breath, almost feeling bad for the green haired man sitting next to him, until his asshole smirk pops up again, his slight irritation, and urge to hurt Chikage in more ways than one increasing. 

“Can we move into the car? I… I can gather my thoughts better there.”

“Sure.”

“Thanks.”

They both get up from the bench, the sun already down, the feeling like time passed by so fast, as Itaru checks his phone for the time. It’s 7:48 pm, Itaru says to himself, as he gets into the car.

“So…?”

“So.”

“Go on…”

Chikage starts the ignition, pulling out of the parallel park, taking his time this time.

“How’d you come find me?”

“A spy never tells his secrets.”

“Mmm.” Itaru can’t help but be irritated, Chikage backtracking. 

“Sorry. I put a tracker on your phone a while back.”

“Dude, what?”

“Kidding. Or am I?” He laughs at Itaru’s kid-like face, pouting like there’s no tomorrow.

“I just needed to talk to you. I don’t want to let this opportunity go.”

“You had a lot of opportunities.”

“I’m aware.”

“A lot.”

“You said that.”

“Now what do you have to say now?”

“Well, as if you haven’t heard it enough— but I’m sorry. Really.” Chikage takes a deep breath, as he nears closer to the dorms. “We need to patch whatever we have up and since it’s quite out of character for me to take initiative in these intrapersonal relationship fixers, I need you to know that I am aware of my mistake, I really should have just come to you. I just didn’t… assess the situation correctly.”

“Wow.” Itaru is stupefied, just sitting in the car chair.

Now the feelings are really rushing in.

“What?”

“I…” Itaru is just sitting there, unsure of what to say, but Itaru’s sudden interjection stops the conversation right then and there. “...okay. Thanks. I forgive you.”

“Is that it?”

“What?”

“Were you expecting… more work?”

“I’m new to this type of stuff, Itaru— at least doing it in a genuine way.”

“I know.”

“Well… I’m glad you forgive me.”

That definitely shuts them up, setting in a familiar aura of familial awkwardness that Itaru can’t wait to get out of, as they pull into the driveway. Izumi is waiting at the entrance, reading some book about dealing with children— like she has to still, but it doesn’t hurt. He slowly gets out at the same time as Chikage.

“...So?” Izumi looks at Chikage and Itaru inquisitively, almost confused as to what happened— as neither of their faces display great discomfort but also not happiness. Which is what she wanted— but hey, Rome wasn’t built in one day. After a momentary silence, Izumi whips her head around to look at Itaru. 

“Don’t run off like that again.” She punches the side of his arm, and walks inside.

Chikage and Itaru quickly shuffle back to their room, Chikage already packing up all his stuff for another trip out.

“Where are you going?”

“Can’t tell you.”

“I figured as much. See you.”

“See you.” Chikage quickly rushes out of the room, leaving Itaru in his messy room, as he gets up from his chair to flop all over the even messier couch, as he moves around some tissues and cans down the floor, laying up and looking at the ceiling, where there’s literally nothing there. Perfect for him. To be alone with one’s thoughts.

Itaru feels bad. He doesn’t know why he feels bad, but he definitely feels bad about something, as he stares up into the whiteness of the ceiling that feels almost engulfing and suffocating for some reason, as he sits up to walk over to his computer to turn it on, taking a seat in his gamer chair, slouching so heavily- even more heavily than usually. He’s tired.

And the first step to becoming “untired” is to address the elephant in the room. Chikage is here and he still, even after all that shit that just went down, does not know how to cope with it. Like he said, Chikage didn’t leave because he resented MANKAI. So why does he feel so bad? He needed time to grieve and time to deal with the stack of bullshit he needed to deal with after his death. It’s fine. 

But as cliche as it is, it’s not fine. Itaru is trying so hard to distract himself, but you can only lose yourself in a game so much. He needs to perceive the reality of him being here.

He straightens up in his chair slowly and groans a bit before laying his fingers and hand on the keyboard before determining that he’s too tired to game for once, which he’s surprised by and can barely push through as he gets up, leaving his computer on as he goes up the ladder to fall asleep.

He doesn’t even need to try.

—

Itaru already is dreading the idea of going to work now that Chikage is here, the thought not even crossing his mind during the weekend-- which makes complete sense, being that for the past three days he’s been thinking of Chikage. Which says a lot about him, really. 

But now he’s been cursed with Chikage hovering over him as they both sit in the car to work, the silence almost deafening, except for the Idolmaster song quietly in the background— which doesn’t surprise Chikage because of his prior experience with Itaru. But when Chikage looks at him, Itaru has a regained focus while he hums along to the song.

Which definitely matters, because for the first time in a while, Chikage is sweating nervously, on the same level as Itaru trying to force down his feelings vomit back into his stomach, but less visible, as he breaks the silence that’s harder than permafrost with his humming— when as a matter of fact— he didn’t really need to do that, when not even god could save this car ride that keeps dragging on and on.

Chikage doesn’t say anything as they pull into the parking lot of the office building quickly, trying to get in without anyone seeing them— which is practically impossible as they rush in, Chikage hearing whispers of “why are Chigasaki and Utsuki-senpai together?” and “why’d they come into work together?” with the occasional coo, which isn’t very helpful to Itaru’s reddening face as he drags Chikage by the hand to round the hall. Itaru stops to catch a little more breath before starting.

“This is so fucking humilating.”

“Does it matter?”

“...Yeah? I have an image to keep up here, and I can’t lose out on that.”

“Listen, we came together once. I’m sure this won’t happen again.”

“What about the like… 8 weeks till closing night?

“I’ll be fine. I can figure something out.” Chikage goes on his phone. 

“God, can we just go. I’ll see you after work.”

“Yeah.”

They walk down the hall, opening the door to the office, and go to their separate cubicles.

—

It’s break, and Itaru is nowhere to be seen, as usual, but Chikage is in the lunchroom poking slowly at his food, which is just an onigiri, which isn’t the most filling thing but he’s subsisted on worse before. He picks it up and takes a bite, looking up at the lunchroom, which is one of multiple in the building, one of the smaller ones, so he’s not around many people at all. But the same sterilized environment starts to get him, falling into the same daily pace, almost making him forget the fact that he had to come to work with Itaru this morning.

Itaru really made a bigger deal than it was, he thinks, remembering his little pouting face as he walked away, his face obviously showing that he was stomping away in his head. Or at least wanted to stomp away, but that isn’t the most appropriate thing to be doing in a workplace setting. His thoughts are interrupted by a voice coming out from the door frame, as he turns his head towards the open door, seeing his coworker in it.

“Utsuki-senpai!” 

He looks around for a bit before registering the fact that there’s someone trying to talk to him, which he wasn’t really expecting while he’s in here, as literally no one comes in here except for him, unless someone really needs to talk to him. “Ah, Yui-san. Hi.” He plasters a small smile onto his face like he’s switching on a light. 

“So… You were seen coming in with Chigasaki-san, I’ve heard.” She pulls out a chair and sits down next to Chikage, putting down her lunch on the table, and opening up the tupperware.

Chikage sighs, struggling to keep that smile taped on with the shitty tape that can’t even stick to walls. “Yeah.” He pauses after a bit of silence, the room stale with slight fear that he’s mad. He’s definitely not mad, that’s what he knows, but he’s definitely tired of hearing the same shit over and over again, since he got here. “What about him?” He’s obviously coming off a little angry that she’s asking about it, which he’s trying so hard not to do— but to no avail.

“Ah… sorry if I made you mad, the workplace has just been a bit curious… we’ve never really seen you interact with him— that’s all!” She tries to reciprocate Chikage’s fake smile with a smile of his own, overbearing— but Chikage can appreciate the effort. “It’s just that he’s a pretty popular actor… Do you know him?” She’s obviously interested in Itaru.

Chikage doesn’t know what to say— whether to say no, they just happened to meet (which doesn’t make sense) or to say yes. And tell them everything. He decides on a half truth. “Ah, I didn’t know he was an actor!” He quietly adds a “still” at the end, so they can’t call him out if they knew his past. “My car broke down, so I just needed a ride here. I recognized Chigasaki-san as I’ve seen him around. He’s quite the popular one.”

“Hah, yeah. He’s very handsome… even I can see that. Never got the chance to talk to him though.” Chikage already knows why, and rolls his eyes in “it was expected from you, but I’m still disappointed.” He adds a side remark. “Are you two sure you have nothing going on?”

Chikage almost wants to facepalm and walk out, but he needs to retain the caring senpai act for a while, so he sucks it up, and stifles his anger to squeeze out at least a tiny neutral remark. “Yeah. We only came to work together like… once. I don’t know why you’re so interested in this.”

“He is handsome… and he’s nice to boot.” 

Are you kidding me? “You sound like you have a crush on him.” She immediately blushes when Chikage even mentions the idea that she has a crush on him. 

“Well, can you blame me?”

Chikage wants to roll his eyes so bad, but rolling his eyes in his mind will just have to do as he tries to formulate his sentence, “Really?” Chikage speaks with disbelief in his voice, like he forgot that no one really is aware of his gamer side. She’s completely unaware of his second side. “I mean, he is handsome. But have you ever even… talked to him? Not doubting his social skills or his personality, but I’m just wondering. You need to know what you’re getting into.

“Well…” She thinks to herself, obviously like she hadn’t talked to him a while. Which is probably right. “I’ve talked to him like… once…? Maybe twice, but that was just in a meeting.” 

“Well, how can you have a crush on him?”

“He’s so nice! I don’t think there’s a way to dislike him. Seriously.” Yui-san looks as if she’s literally swooning, like she’s leaning back in her chair so far back she might fall.

“Mhmmmm…”

“Well, you’re a downer.” She goes back into her food as Chikage finishes up his onigiri.

“Suit yourself. I’m heading back to my desk.” 

 “I’ll see you later. Oh, I forgot what I came to tell you! The boss wants to talk to you. Something about a trip?” 

“I’ll be sure to head over.” 

Trip? He walks quickly out of the break room to escape the awkward atmosphere that he created himself, which is extremely unlike him to do, when he’s usually a bit charismatic in the workplace. His boss doesn’t really intimidate him, as he walks through the hall to head into the office, bumping into Itaru in front of the door.

“... Are you going in?” Itaru looks at him with a neutral face, but he can see the anxiety setting in behind it, as he still keeps up his refreshing businessman facade in front of Chikage, which is a bit irritating, but it’s okay.

“Depends on what you think.” Chikage gives him a shit-eating smirk, a wild difference from the shit-eating grin that Chikage would usually give him.

“Do I really need to say?” He seems a bit tired, huffing a bit from his nose in slight frustration.

They’re both silent for a bit before they start walking, entering the room together. The room is a bit more colorful than most of the office, with the same fish tank still there, and the shelves filled with photos of places he’s been and the occasional family photo.

“Ah! Utsuki-san, Chigasaki-san. Sit down. I’ve been looking for you two.”  The last words strike some sort of fear into Itaru’s heart, almost to the same level of “we need to talk”. “Have you two met?”

“Yes, we have.” Itaru speaks up. “We don’t really… talk much however.”

“Ishii-buchou, what did you need from both of us?” Chikage saves Itaru the energy that he would use if he were to speak to him, which he’s obviously thankful for.

“So, my daughter Kaede is having her birthday soon, and I have a trip to go on with a foreign investor, so you can imagine the dilemma I’m having.” He says it in such a condescending way it hurts a little.

“Oh, happy early birthday to your daughter! So what do you want us two to do?” Chikage is still speaking, taking the lead.

“I’m going to need you two to take a trip on my behalf. You two are our most important and reputable workers here, and I think you two would be a good pair.” He smiles fakely from behind the desk. “Could you two please do this?”

Itaru’s eyes widen open. Can this day get much worse? He wants to scream but he’s still in the office. Chikage still looks fine though, he notices, still keeping up the responsible front up, looking directly at Ishii, while Itaru looks at him with fish eyes, like he’s been asked to move the entire office building.

Chikage speaks up first. “Definitely. I would love this opportunity.” He side eyes Itaru to respond. 

“Ah, yes, sure.” Shit.

“Great! You guys will be going by the end of this week! You two can go now. I’ll send you more information over email.”

Fuck. chapter 1 / chapter 2 / chapter 3 / chapter 4 / chapter 5 / chapter 6

#a3 #a3! #a3! chikage #a3! itaru #a3! chikaita #ckit #chikage utsuki #itaru chigasaki #a3 fanfiction #a3! fanfic

[tisfan]

I’ve been doing a lot of reading recently; between the @bannedtogetherbingo2020 kerfluffle and the BLM protests 

(one thing that I’ve been doing recently that seems to annoy the living SHIT out of my fellow White People is correcting “riots” to “protests.” 

“Were you near the riots --” “I did not attend the protests, but I did donate to the medical fund for the man who was injured by removal of the statue on High Street.”

This seems to drive people absolutely batshit, and I will continue to do it. These are not riots and if they have similar characteristics with riots it’s because cops are treating everyone not even like criminals, but like hostile enemy forces.)

Mostly what I’ve been reading about is the difficulty that POC fans have in getting their voices heard in fandom. That the history of fandom is primarily the history of White Fandom. 

(this is long, so there’s more under the cut - I also tell stories A LOT so brace for personal experience asides)

I’ve been thinking about comments I’ve seen by black and brown fans about trying to get away from racist stories on A03. And trying to figure out if there’s a way to give people what they want -- a way to tag posts/topics/writers/ships on a permanent block list. I know I’ve spoken with several fans who have extensive filter scripts when they go looking for a new read and that shit is EXHAUSTING and doesn’t work necessarily on mobile devices.

I, for instance, have QUITE A LOT of stuff blacklisted on tumblr because I find P*nnyW*se the Creepy Teeth Demon to be horrific and I do not want him on my screen. And the movie’s name is IT for fuck’s sake. I can’t blacklist the word “It” and still expect to see any content at all. So, thinking about how much trouble I had keeping PWCTD off my screen gives me some sympathy to how hard it’s got to be to filter out something that people aren’t even tagging! 

I mean, honestly, most of the time that people tag a fic TW: racist, they already KNOW the character is acting in a racist manner and they’re condemning it. When people don’t realize the character is racist, or a word, or a trope is racist (mystical black character, for instance) they don’t tag it as racist because they either don’t know, are unconscious of their own bias, of they don’t care that it’s racist. 

In the same manner, Person A who’s writing fic they know is dub-con will tag it, and Person B who thinks stalking someone and climbing in their window at night is romantic will NOT tag the same scenes as dub-con.

Which doesn’t make it any less jarring when I suddenly run into a fic that I would absolutely count as noncon/dubcon that’s not tagged for it. The intentions of the author don’t matter TO ME at that moment, what matters to me is that I’m trying to breathe while the romantic interest on my eReader is saying “aw, that’s so sweet.”

So, there’s multiple questions that come up for me -- I’m not a computer person, so while the A03 code is available for use, I wouldn’t know what to do with it if I tried. 

Is there a way to tag something from the outside? An overlay or side program (like an Xkit for A03) that would allow people to permanently blacklist certain tags or authors, tropes, etc? I know there are some hosting sites (unfortunately with ads) that basically funnel stuff from A03 to a reader. There was a big kerfluffle about it at the beginning of the year because OMG, someone is making money off my fanfic! protip, no, they weren’t. they were making money off someone else’s desire for a custom skin. The material itself was never leaving A03, it wasn’t stored anywhere else. A03 does not currently have a phone app and they don’t plan to have a phone app.

So, would it be possible for someone to write a phone-app that did a custom filter for the material. Blacklists are certainly possible, right?

Because here’s the thing; a lot of people who are racist don’t know that they are. Or they don’t care that they are. I have personally had a couple of hard conversations about racism (I’m not even going to call it “unconscious racism” because I am a grown-ass adult capable of reading, so if I act in a racist manner, I’m going to fucking own it. And apologize for it. And try to do better.) in my own work -- whitewashing a character at one point, using a quote from a black woman as a title for a story about Wanda. I’m still not entirely convinced that a Jewish/Romani woman is “white” in any sort of traditional sense. That said, I’m not a POC and I’m going to listen to the person who’s upset because of my usage and not my own feeling of “I don’t really think Wanda counts as white.” This may be partially because WANDA is whitewashed as shit in the MCU and a lot of people in the fandom do not read comics.

That further said, I made the changes as requested and apologized for it in the work/notes. And felt very uncomfortable when some of my white friends said “I’m sorry you had to deal with that.” I’m not sorry I had to deal with it. I wish I hadn’t DONE it, but I am glad that people felt comfortable enough with me to call my on my bullshit and I was able to make corrections and amends.

Still-- All of this boils down to: People are not going to, in good faith, tag their own fic as “don’t read this, I am racist.”  

Everything that gets done on A03 -- which is an Archive -- is voluntary by the author. A03′s policies are pretty much “tag to warn” or “tag that you’re NOT tagging to warn.” The only action A03 takes for inappropriate tagging is to ask the author to update the Warning to match, or choose not to warn. If there’s no compliance, A03 will assign the fic “choose not to warn.” But that’s the extend of their policies.

We all know this history; no censorship. Censorship is a slope that leads to fanwork disappearing. Because here’s another fact: it doesn’t matter what the intention is of censoring a story; that censorship is going to be applied badly. 

So, if A03 was going to ban racist fic, how long do you think it would take before the reporting system was flooded? Even legit reports of racism are going to take a while to read through, judge, contact the author, wait for possibly updates or retractions, and then removal.

A03′s staff are volunteers, and I understand there aren’t very many of them. There are six MILLION works on A03. No one could hope to read them all with a careful enough eye to catch all instances of harmful texts.

And we all know what’s going to happen: it’s easier to delete all stories that get complaints, rather than read them.

So, Fan A gets Fan C’s fic taken down for racial stereotyping and Fan C tells all of her friends, who go on a crusade to report every single one of Fan Q’s fics in retaliation (not because Fan Q did anything “wrong” but because they happened to post a blog about racial stereotyping in fandom) And we’re right back to strikethru.

Yet, censorship is one of those things that makes me very, very nervous. Do I think a white boy who writes a self-insert rape fantasy novella about violating and murdering Zoe Quinn should be allowed a platform? No, I don’t. (And neither did Amazon, who took it down fairly quickly once it was brought to their attention. But that’s only one case, where there are probably thousands of books that are personal attacks and are left merrily alone.)

There are a lot of books on the banned book list. If people thought they could get away with it, those books would be unpublished, unpersoned, black bagged. 

We all know that the rules get applied badly, by the people with the biggest mouths and the loudest complaints. So banning content on A03 does not seem to be the solution.

(Personal story time again, just skip this if you want.)

I came into fandom backward; I was a traditionally published erotica / romance writer first and moved into fandom after the collapse of several small publishing houses for various scandals that I won’t bore you with but you can look here if you want more information. 

Several years ago, I was in an anthology that i was Very Proud of, and I really like the editor I worked with, wanted to work with her again. She sent me a premise for submission that left me cold. Which is to say, she wanted to publish cuckolding stories. 

[x] <-- warning, that link is REALLY harsh and filled with some real WTF moments, from someone who’s pointing out the racism inherent in the system.

Especially when you consider the Mandingo aspects of the fantasy, it’s easy to see why just the existence of it is repulsive.

I declined the invitation to participate because I was deeply uncomfortable with the subject matter. 

I’m not saying that to get praise for my behavior. 

Because when the subject came up again about two or three years ago in some fandom discourse, I sided with my friends who were defending “no censorship, no matter what.”

(End of personal aside.)

Despite my personal feelings about the issue (ew, this is icky and racist and horrible and I would never write it) I still believe that I don’t have the right to say what someone else can write, read, or enjoy.

I’m trying to find the path between “this sort of reading material is harmful and I don’t think it should have a platform,” “this should be heavily tagged to avoid upsetting people,” and “there are people who feel that way about gay, non-christian stories as well.” And what’s more, I’m trying to find it in a way that doesn’t stifle authors’ voices.

Even with my idea of an overlay, that’s putting the burden on the people most affected-- someone would have to rate stories as “racist” or “not racist” (and even then, it’s seldom that clear cut. Microaggressions abound.) and the people best capable of doing that would be readers of color. Which hardly seems productive. Or fair. 

“Don’t like; don’t read” is often the calling card of fandom writers. I’ve said it myself. That’s what the fucking back button is for. But when I say it, I mean “I don’t want to hear your wank about Tony Stark in my inbox” not “I don’t want to be called out for racism when I wrote a story.”

https://ggmadeit.com/blog/why-i-cant-just-knit-the-story-of-a-black-knitter-during-civil-unrest/ -- I’m including this link because this piece really made me think. I can’t ever put down being a woman. I can’t read or watch horribly misogynistic work without being upset, and I have trouble sitting in the room with my male friends who insist on watching it and want to say “it’s only a movie.”

Being black is part of someone’s life. It can’t be erased just because it’s not convenient. Just because it interrupts your good time. It shouldn’t be put aside because “it’s just a story.”

As fans, we have to do better.

We all know what it’s like to be pushed out, to be made second best, to be asked when we’re going to get a real hobby, when are you going to grow up, why did you spend money on that merch? So we need to reach further. 

I don’t have answers. And even if I did, I’m not the one who needs to give them. What I need to do is listen to the people who have answers and HELP THEM get what they need.

We need to do better. We need to BE better.

#writing #fandom #racism in fandom

[boogiewrites]

Reports & Repertoire 17: Resentment & Return

Characters: Eddie Brock x Venom x Candace Miller (OFC)

Summary:  Candy tries to find her way about the world after being roofied and hushed by the media. Eddie is hit with a strong dose of karma, and it's two against one.

Warnings/Tags: Angst. Talk of past trauma and drugging. Revenge plots. Violence and threats.

Click on my icon then go to Mobile Masterlist in my bio for my other works and chapters. 

On the navy comforter of her queen size bed, sat in the middle of her minimalist white and grey room, Candy sits with her best friend Steph who is currently threatening her if she blinks one more time.

“You act like you’ve never put on eyeliner before.” Steph remarks with her judgment not hidden in her tone or expression.

“It’s different when other people are doing it!” She whines. “The makeup artist at work doesn’t do it as hard as you.” She mutters. “She’s also a lot nicer.” She shoots an accusatory brow her way.

“Well she’s getting paid isn’t she?” Steph smirks.

“Fair point.” Candy responds without nodding her head. “But you love me so you should be nice to me. I’m about to go do some important stuff I need support.” She reaches out and grabs at Steph’s unoccupied hand desperately as she bites her tongue and titters.

“Yeah, that’s what you got Eddie for now.” She snarks and shakes her head. “Speaking of, what does he think about all this?”

“He’s as pissed as I am so he’s down. He’s my backup.” She answers with a sultry lilt.

“I’m sure you are backing it up on that beefy, award-winning journalist.” She teases with a fanciful swipe of her hand. “Tell me. When you two have sex do you both have a press conference afterward to discuss the transaction?” Her face remains without a hint of sarcasm as was her skill set.

“As a matter of fact we do. It’s very productive.” She retorts with sassy. “The copy is good to keep and read later alone.” She grins.

“You fuckin’ nerds.” Steph mumbles and shakes her head. Steph was more skilled when it came to makeup than Candy. So for this undercover mission to the rich tech club where the drugging happened, she was helping her not look like herself.

After the initial turn down of her idea to expose the apparently rampant problem she’d been a victim of, she does what few journalists choose to do and gives away her story to someone else. There was a smaller female journalist who did some excellent work at a small newspaper locally. Candy offered her help to give her some footage, evidence and lend the story and support to the endeavor.

The night for the first recon mission was finally upon them. Eddie sits nervously in the modern and cozy living room, knee bouncing and knuckles white with worry. Venom tries to console him, assuring him they would never let anything happen to Candy. Eddie knows, finding his counterparts attempts at comfort to be failing. Putting his favorite person in danger wasn’t really something he could be talked into being excited about. Not a worst-case scenario by far, but a loudly nagging issue, was having to sit and listen to the men hit on Candy all night and that alone was raising his blood pressure.

Candy had pulled out all the stops when it came to mission from the glasses that had a camera inside and nail polish that reacted to Rohypnol, or Roofies. She had to specially ask for the kick starter to be sent to her before the release with the promise of free advertising after the fact to get it. She reveals her disguise, exiting from her bedroom, Venom slithering around the back of the couch to see her before Eddie. She was in something that looked entirely unlike her. A short and tight black dress, a push-up bra with chicken cutlets and enough makeup to give her flashbacks to middle school cheer competitions.

“How do I look?” she asks with a scrunch of her nose.  It’s usual button shape now straight with the help of Steph’s contouring.

“Not like you.” Eddie remarks with an approving nod.

“A big titty goth girlfriend.” Venom says with no humor or irony and the girls begin to laugh. “Why is this funny? This is what Eddie says. Why are you embarrassed Eddie? Large mammary glands and gothic styling are wonderful things in a girlfriend. She wears black. Like me.” he grins as Edie blushes.

“It’s a...an old internet thing, dude just… don’t go around talking about titties so freely. It’s rude.”

“I did not mean to offend… thought it was a compliment.”

“Good use of slang there, hun.” Candy praises his efforts. “I appreciate both of your thinking I have big tits though. It’s just the bra.” she laughs and shakes as Venom’s grin grows wider.

“Calm down.” Eddie groans.

“We are calm,” he says retracting himself back to Eddie’s shoulder. “Are you ready? We’ve got a long night ahead of us.”

“Let’s check the camera first.” Candy says with a clear enthusiasm Eddie did not share.

They run the tests and she learns how to direct her gaze most efficiently. They’d gone over the plan a dozen times. Arrive alone, sit and be bait while Venom lurked on the roof and kept a lookout for her and her victim. They left the house separately, both in taxis that picked them up at places other than her house. She arrived as planned and sat, and waited.

For a girl that looked like her, in a bar like that, it didn’t take long once it was established she was alone. No one recognized her, but she didn’t expect them to, Steph’s contouring really was a miracle worker. She played fun and easy, and it took a few guys, but late enough in the night she finally caught one as she played drunk on top of everything else. She didn’t see the guys who had drugged her before, which was a letdown but anyone who would do this deserved it right?

She talked him up, a trust fund baby who, with his father's money, had a tech start-up. It took no effort on her part to get him talking about his genius and how HE would run Tesla if he had the chance. There were a lot of “Oh my god that’s CRAZY!” and “That’s SOOOO smart.”’s from her but he was so caught up in hearing himself he didn’t notice the soundboard answers as they came from her like a kid hitting buttons on a customized keyboard. With the mere suggestion of her excusing herself and asking him to get her another drink, he was antsy to put his own plan into action. On return, she tested it while distracting him with her chest. A task that proved almost too easy. She fake drank for a while before claiming to feel sleepy and wanting to “get this show on the road” before it got too late.

With a short walk, not even a few blocks down, she knew her alien accomplice was close, slinking in the darkness of the rooftops. The disguised Candy pulls the unsuspecting predator out of the street lamp lit sidewalk and into the dank shadows of the greasy alleyway.

“I  just can’t wait.” she giggles “I don’t want to chance my roommate being in and I want you all to myself.” she coos with a bop of her manicured finger to his nose.

“I mean, your roommate can join in too if she wants.” he offers with a smug smirk.

“Well, the problem is my roommates a dude.” She answers with an upward inflection.

“Ah, red flag much?” he laughs.

“No. He’s my boyfriend… and inhabited by a symbiote.” Her delivery goes flat, sober eyes meet the pursuer turned victim.

“What the fuck? You goth girls are fuckin’ crazy, man. Not even the drugs could come up that shit.” he shakes his head, still laughing.

“No. Really. He’s huge and dangerous and doesn’t like you. You’re a piece of shit who tries to drug women to sleep with them because you're a pathetic excuse for a human who can’t get laid on his own.”

“Wait, what?” he stutters, suddenly standing up straight as Venom drops from the rooftop behind her in an impressive slinking mass. She has to admit, the look of horror on his face did things to her. The sheer terror that only being faced with death could give a dense, self-worshiping asshole like him.

“We’re going to eat you. First that big head of yours...then slurp up your organs like fava beans and then drink your adrenaline glands like a nice  chianti.” His dagger teeth drip with drool, proof of his hunger and intention.

Candy beams with pride for the completion of their plan, stepping back and chuckling quietly at the reference Venom made. The guy doesn’t even have time to scream. There’s not a drop of blood or splatter left of him to find. It’s like it never happened at all.

Candy is left with a deeply satisfied, albeit disturbingly good feeling in her gut. “I’ll see you later, babe.” she whispers and just as quiet as they’d came, they fled.

This continued for a few weeks, the footage of the drugging is stored on an external harddrive Candy kept in her safe. Eddie thought it’d only happen once. But it happened again, twice, three times more before there were articles about mysterious disappearances of the young rich elite in town. Was it the work of the Illuminati some articles asked? She read them with her coffee every Tuesday and smiled knowingly. It pleased Venom. Finally, a human that understood him and his need to kill to eat and protect this planet and its people. But Eddie was more worried than relieved at this point.

—- “You made us stop hunting when we got too much media attention. And now you want to go out and do it again?” Candy could hear the concern for her in Eddie's voice but her own was too strong to heed his warning.

“I wanna find the guy that originally did it to me, Eddie.” Her eyes give away the hurt that’s been fueling her anger as her hands move animatedly while she argues her point. “These are awful people, same as who you get rid of, there’s no reason not to give it one more shot.”

Eddie sighs and puts his hands on his hips, feeling as if he was talking to his old self. “Candy, I don’t want a fight alright? I get why you’re upset and I’d be upset too!” His voice inflected hugger pitched with feeling, “Hell, I AM upset! I get it. I do but ya know you can’t keep pushing it. Your luck will run out… like mine did. You’ll push it just one step too far because of your pride and then boom, it all falls apart.”

“Am I supposed to just let it go what they did to me? To the countless other girls they’ve done it too?” He saw the tears she fought back and his heart hurt for her. He suddenly understood everyone that had tried to warn him of the same thing in the past. It was weird karma to witness.

He sighs and gives her sad and tired eyes, much like the ones she was giving him. “You aren’t… losing by moving on ya know. You can’t win them all, just believe me, babe, please. I’ve BEEN where you are alright? I GET it! I swear I do but you can't fix every wrong out there. You just can’t… I’m sorry.”

“I’m going out tonight. And you’re going to be there. That... I hesitate to call him a person but that asshole will be there who did this to me. I just know it. Let me do it just one more time and I’ll stop okay? Please Eddie?”

He groans and feels Venom wants to give his two cents. He was on Candy's side. But of course, he was, he didn’t grasp the situation fully because he couldn’t, he was damn near indestructible right now and one more buffet of bad guys seemed like it had no downsides when you took into account it meant making Candy happy. And they both wanted that, so desperately. She’d been so much happier since they’d started this after the funk she denied she’d fallen into after the roofie.

“Fine.” He says with more anger. “But just one more time Candy I swear to god, this is the last time I’m helping you do this.” He wags his finger and she doesn’t care. She doesn’t notice. She’d already gotten her way.

—— She had her ritual now she liked to do, the getting ready and primping. The adrenaline rush was enough to get anyone hooked on the feeling. Perhaps it was what made her go against sound advice. Perhaps it was the lack of justice for herself, feeling like a martyr to take on people who seemed untouchable. It was the origin story she’d dreamed of since she was young. A woman wronged, going against the bad guys for the ultimate revenge and winning against the odds. It was everything she’d wanted. And she foolishly thought she could have it.

She was right about one thing. The guy that drugged her was there that night. She and Venom only used this convenient coincidence to shut Eddie up. “It’s a sign!” They’d hissed together.

“It’s a bad idea.” was Eddies defeated reply.

Candy enjoys this one a little too much, a little too true-crime podcast subject for Eddie's liking.

She leads him to the alley with her curves and promises. Her heels giving her no trouble but her wobbly ankles playing like they did all the same to the target.

“You believe in karma?” She proposes, lips so close she could taste the alcohol in the air on his breath.

“Nah, you get what you work for. You gotta step on some toes sometimes to prove you’re the best. If you lose you didn’t try hard enough.” He cockily answered. Something he’d probably picked up from the few interactions he had with him billionaire father growing up. His trust fund was a shield against his own evil deeds.

“That’s a shame. Because I do.” She sighs.

“I don’t think we have to match up on our philosophy 101 ideas, babe.” He chuckles. “Don’t have to have anything in common at all to do what I wanna do to you.” His hands lead to her hips and next thing he knows there’s a knife pressed into his neck. This was new. This wasn’t part of the plan.

Eddie's heartbeat picks up as he sees through Venom's eyes what’s happening. She was in too deep and she was only going to dig herself deeper.

“I’m glad we have one thing in common for what I’m going to do to you.” She snarls, taking her wig and glasses off.

“What the…?!” He says with no fear and only surprise. “Wait aren’t you? Holy shit you again?” He laughs. “So you’re the one doing this little vigilante justice thing. How cute.”

“Cute? You were going to rape me and my friend you fucking disgusting, baby dicked piece of shit.”

“They're onto you sweetie.” He grins. “You can do whatever you want to me but you think killing the brightest minds in the world was a smart idea? Like no one would come looking? You really are stupid.”

“You can call me whatever you want because you’ll be dead and I’ll be able to breathe a little easier knowing one less asshole like you is in this world.”

“Do what you want little girl, but I’m gonna put up a fight you can’t win.” He smirks.

“Doubtful.” Is Venom's response as he appears looking over Candy in the dim and dank alley.

“Good riddance.” She says angrily, putting her wig back on. She continues to mutter curses and name call while her eyes well up with a long-held release that was a long time coming.

“Are you-“

“I’m FINE.” She snaps and wipes at a falling tear. Venom recoils noticeably. “I’ll... see you later.” She rushes out before stomping off.

“Eddie?”

“I know man. She’s just… going through a lot.”

“We are worried.”

“Yeah. We are.”

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

@hardygal69​ @marvelgirl7​ @emerald-bijou @brianaisasongbird​ @vale0413​ @izzy-the-ginger​ @chortletortoise @onomatopoetic-aesthetic @anrm1 @jademox​ @nightcraver​ @venomous-possibiities @tinastarkandco​ @chipster-21​ @ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes​ @queenof-wakanda @s-h-e-w-r-i-t-e-s​ @peakys-mystic​ 

#venom #eddie brock #eddie brock fanfic #venom fanfic #venom fan fic #venom fandom #venom fan fiction #venom fic #tom #eddie brock fic #eddie brock fan fiction #eddie brock x ofc #eddie brock au #eddie brock x reader #eddie brock fan fic

[outerspaceisbetterthannothing]

My Ultimate Reading List v2.0 Fics

A/N: As some of you have heard or seen, My Ultimate Reading List (in it’s original version) has crashed on desktop because of (as I realised trying to restore it) too big number of links, so I’m basically recreating the whole thing in a new format. This post goes for One Shots and Serieses. There’s one more post for Blurbs. I’m really sorry for the tag notifs for the people who has been tagged already in a previous version. Hope it’s not much of an inconvenience. I’m also not going to delete the first version of the list, as it’s been liked and reposted a lot of times, it’s still working on mobile, so some might still use it. But all the updates are going to happen only on this post, which I’m going to put in my bio instead of an old one.

So, this list was created because of my crazy urge to reread favourite fics and blurbs from time to time. It was made purely for me, but if it helps you to find a fic or a writer you’d love, I’d be only happy. I tried to make navigation easy. For blurbs links go to my reblogs, for oneshots and full lengths links go to the original posts. I try to check links from time to time, but if you see that some of them don’t work, please, hmu.

* stands for the implied smut

*** stands for the pure smut

This list is far from finished, that’s just the first things that came to mind and/or were reblogged. Still have a ton to add. So will update it every now and then.

NOTE, pls: There’s no Michael content here! And that’s not because I don’t like him or don’t appreciate him enough. I guess, it’s quite the opposite tbh. There’s no Michael content here because I appreciate him too much. I love this cute little kitten, he’s the most precious soul and, most of the time I think, there would be no 5sos without Michael Gordon Clifford. I just don’t have any fantasies or images of him in me, don’t see him in any way romantically. That’s why I don’t read (or write for that matter) about him as main character. I understand, that I miss a whole lotta great authors and fics because of that. Maybe it’ll change in the future. But for now, it is what it is.

Also HUGE SHOUT OUT TO THE PEOPLE WHOSE WRITING IS ON THE LIST - THANK YOU FOR THIS! THESE FICS AND BLURBS BELOW HAVE REALLY GIVEN ME ALL TYPES OF FEELS, INSPIRATION, MOTIVATION AND CONTENT. I’M FOREVER GRATEFUL FOR THESE WONDERFUL GIFTS YOU GAVE TO ALL OF US.

THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU, WONDERFUL PEOPLE! ALL MY LOVE FOR YOU!

Oneshots

Ashton

Heartbeat by @gigglyirwin [Classic fluff and one of my all time faves]

Our Shining Star [Dad!Ashton] by @myloverboyash [Special thank you to @lashtoncurls for the tracking down the runaway author lol]

Blindfold*** by @cal-puddies​ [Cashton smut which is too hot for this world]

Ain’t nobody got a drummer like mine*** by @myloverboyash [Drumming and banging 👀 at the drum kit]

I Can Love You In The Shower*** by @myloverboyash [Cute giggly shower sex with a little bit of trauma]

Will We Always Be Pretending*** by @myloverboyash [Bff to lovers AND fake dating in one fic, what else could you wish for???]

Wherever You Are*** by @myloverboyash [childhood best friends to lovers]

Let Me Be The One To Save You pt 1 and pt 2 by @myloverboyash [prince!Ashton Au by which I am intrigued and I AM WAITING PATIENTLY, SKYLER, LOL]

Noticed Nights by @calpops [Artist!Ash and another masterpiece by Eve]

Calum

The Little Spoon by @gigglyirwin [Classic fluff] 

Valentine’s Day*** by @angelbabylu

Lucky Shot In Paradise*** by @cakesunflower [Bartender!Cal]

Heartbeat by @uncrownedqueeen [Dad!Cal]

All These Years by @felicitycal

Blindfold*** by @cal-puddies [Cashton smut which is too hot for this world]

No chemistry*** by @novacxlum [Heartbreakingly great college enemies to lovers]

Where were you in the morning?* by @snapbackcake [If this ultimately truthful but sad af one won’t make you cry, consider asking for help, because it’s too sad but also beautiful as hell]

Let me good to you*** by @snapbackcake [The description says it’s 6.8k words of absolute filth, and I have nothing else to add besides of what a great filth it is, so, 18+ kids]

Road Trip: Cake*** by @softforcal [Er, Cake threesome, idek what to say here]

Redamancy by @cakesunflower [Heart wrecking fluff]

Birthday Getaway by @etherealhood [Cuteness and romance overload]

Ghost of you by @myloverboyash [Super angst, prepare to cry your eyeballs out, and i’m still in my feels, Skyler, how could you???]

Picture this by @currentlyupcalsass [One of the best college au’s ever]

Best Friend’s Brother*** by @lukescaboose [Nerdy Cal and soft smut]

Another Ride*** by @babyloontrash [Another Cal smut which is like, really hot]

The Course of True Love Never Did Run Smooth*** by @i-calumhood [Wonderful enemies to fuck buddies to lovers with an asshole college!Cal]

Ice*** by @morningfears [Super hot enemies to lovers with hockey player Cal aka an ultimate dream]

Ka Hopena by @wildflowergrae​ [Soulmate AU, surfing and Hawaii, what else can you ask for?]

We Got That Good Love*** by @myloverboyash​ [Sex in the shower and like wet Calum)]

Balloon*** by @currentlyupcalsass [one of the most precious things I have ever read in my entire live! realisation of love to Calum of mc and absolute happiness for you]

First Concert by @ukulelecal [dad!Cal and kids visiting 5sos concert]

Eleven*** by @babyloontrash [fwb with breakfast]

Luke

Boyfriend’s little brother*** by @lukehemmingssmut  [There was also a second part promised, sooooo ^.^]

Fuck me like you hate me*** by @myloverboyash

Baby*** by @lukescaboose [Sweetest ever bff to lovers with soft boi Lu]

Hashimoto by @burncrashbromance​ [special for Disabled!Sos]

Full lengths and Serieses

Ashton

Hate sex Series*** by @irwinofficial Tell Me How Much You Hate Me, Our Kinky Secret, Good Enough, No Longer A Secret  [one of the best Ash smuts ever 👀]

Side chick*** by @cal-puddies [Beautifully filthiest smut with cheating, all the wrong choices and Cashton love triangle] part 1, part 2

Calum

Sugar Coated Pain by @cakesunflower [Boxer!Cal] [That’s what I lost my 5sos-fanfiction-virginity to, so, hey, Summer, thanks for the experience lmao]

Cigarette series*** by @cal-puddies [Best friend!Calum and a lot of hot smut 👀] Cigarette, Corona, Rolling Papers, Black on Black, Stuck [which was later replaced by the next part, but I’ll put it as long as it exists on the original list of parts, but don’t get confused], Navy Button Down, A Hotter Touch, Pancakes, The Second Thing, Ours, Losing You, Little toes, Holy Water, Date Night, Me, You and Little Hood, Five Years Later

Wherever you are by @mysticalhood [Long distance with Cal and tons of tears with me]

Dates With Cal by @calpops [this is so cute i higkey don’t want it to end like ever] First date, Second date, Second date pt, Third date, Calum cooking part one and two, The next evening, Cuddling and meeting guys, Worrying about ‘his girl’, Being her only guy, Meeting Mali, Soft nights, Talking about her family, Not everybody liking her, Tropical getaway, Being smitten around guys, Leaving talk, Night before the tour, Being away from each other, Cal coming home, Saying ‘i love you’, Cal being jealous of Duke, Watching her in the morning, Taking a bath together, Talking to guys about taking a next step, Grocery shopping, Asking her to move in, Choosing a house, Packing her stuff, Packing his stuff, First night in the new house, Unpacking, Finding out habits

Business Blurbs by @calpops [series of blurbs of Calum and Ash being owners of a record shop, Luke keeping an antique store and Mike having a bakery]

Masquerade Made by @calpops [fake dating college AU blurb series] First party, Fighting in a philosophy class

Veiled Valor by @calpops [pirate!Calum, runaway princess, heart wrecking mutual pining and writing style deserving 19th century prose] Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7

Versace on the Floor by @singt0mecalum [Dad’s friend Calum, age difference and *supposedly* hottiest content] Intro chapter

#writingrecs #readitbeforeyoudie #5sos #5 seconds of summer fanfic #5sos smut #5sos fluff #5 seconds of summer #5 seconds of summer fic #5 seconds of summer imagine #calumhood #calum5sos #calum hood fanfic #calum hood imagine #calum hood fanfiction #ashtonirwin #ashton5sos #ashton irwin fanfic #ashton irwin imagine #ashton irwin fanfiction #ashton irwin fic #lukehemmings #luke5sos #luke hemmings fanfiction #luke hemmings one shot #calum smut #ashton smut #luke smut

[gifted-burnout-archive]

Codename: Candy

Part Ten - Coincidental Encounters

Word Count - 1676

Author’s Note: so, decided to go for a female oc, just made it easier for me to work on the story. I hope you still enjoy, I think it’s for the best. Also, I’ll. be getting on the masterlist in the next day or so, so not long now!

"Bank statement references?" Hawkins questioned, raising an eyebrow. Jack glanced at Candy, who nodded.

"We think that one of Roland's advisors, if not Roland himself, has been using mobile banking apps to communicate with clients. If we track each of the shell companies, whenever the sum of 2.4 million is reached by an anonymous donator over the six accounts, there is always an amount of money sent back from the last shell they paid into. X amount for yes, Y amount for no." Jack started.

"These secure apps allow you to give about 20 characters of detail as you why you are paying a person. And the texts shared between one of our detained men and a higher up confirm that instruction were sent with the money transfers." Candy continued. "For those he decided to meet, a location could be sent, perhaps a date and time... We need access to find out." Hawkins thought for a moment, tapping her manicured nails on the desk.

"Ryan, could you call Colonel Rogers, ask him to ask about these money transfers directly? I don't doubt this theory's credibility... But I need a definite statement from a source if we want to do this all above book. The last thing any of us need is a lawsuit from a bank over privacy breaching laws." Hawkins suggested, and Jack nodded. "Get back to me by tomorrow, and see if we can confirm the sightings rumoured on Monday. Thank you both for coming to me first." She nodded, and the pair left, Jack quickly dialling up Rogers, knowing he wouldn't be asleep.

"Colonel? It's Jack... I need you to talk with one of the detainees again..." Jack smiled at Candy before disappearing down the hallway to take the call. She smiled back, taking the chance to calm her nerves by heading downstairs to the gun range in the basement, smiling as she waved a friendly hello to Matt, who tilted his head over to a free bay. Taking a pair of earplugs, rolled her shoulder and cracked her neck, sending a pain down her arm she hadn't felt since she was shot. There had been a full pain, sure, but the spike sent her to gripping the wall, taking a few deep breaths to balance herself. Once the pain settled, she took off her blazer and unholstered her gun.

"You sure you know how to use that thing, sweetheart?" A voice called out, a man walking over from the adjacent stall, taking little shame in looking her over. "Maybe you need a pro to show you how it's done?" He winked, and Candy couldn't help the laugh that escaped her mouth.

"Aha... Uh, thanks, but I know how to use a gun." She replied, raising her eyebrow at him, almost daring him to continue.

"You learning how to shoot on your daddy's ranch isn't going to help you in the field." He was quick with snap back, and took the gun from her suddenly, moving in beside her. "So, what you want to do is aim just below the target, you know how to reload pistols?" He asked, firing a shot into the car at the far end of the hall to show her.

"You missed..." She commented, and the guy looked down at her.

"That was a head shot!" He exclaimed, and Candy called the card up. The hole grazed the side of the head. He spluttered over his words, "I wasn't trying, let me show you how it's done properly." He started, but Candy took her gun back, send the card out and firing four shots as it moved back to position. She reloaded the gun with a new ammo clip in no more than five seconds, firing another five shots, before calling the card back.

She had managed six on target head shots, and the other three over the heart area of the chest.

"Now, I don't know about you... But I think that's a pretty good-looking card, don't you?" She asked, pressing her heel into his foot. The man doubled over, letting out a groan of pain. "Now, you fucking asshole, back the fuck up. Or I'll give you something real to cry about." She hissed, lifting her heel and pushing him out of her stall, removing the card and putting a new one up, calling on Matt for another gun.

—

Candy left the range about an hour later, handing in her cards and earplugs to Matt, receiving fresh ammo for her registered gun back in return. She glanced at her phone, a reminder pinging for her appointment, and she rushed up to the ground floor, hailing a cab and jumping in.

"Washington Memorial please, fast as possible." She asked, and the cab sped away. The drive was only ten minutes or so, and she managed to be on time for the appointment.

"Hi, Sorry, I have an appointment at 12.30? Lieutenant Jones?" She asked, a little out of breath. The nurse at reception, typed in the details, and nodded. "Room 1.43, just down that hall and on your left." She smiled, and Candy nodded, making her way down the hallway and knocking 1.43.

"Come in!" A voice called, and she entered, meeting a blonde haired woman. "Oh! You aren't Johnathon." She said. "How can I help you?"

"I think I have the wrong room... I'm looking for Dr. Kahn? I have an appointment with him?" Candy spoke up, and the doctor urged her into the room.

"He had an emergency upstairs... By the badge however, I suppose you can't really wait around. If you're ok with it, I can get you sorted? I just finished my shift." The doctor offered, and Candy nodded, closing the door and shrugging off her blazer and holster before sitting on the table.

"Sorry, I'm Jones." Candy introduced herself, smiling at the doctor.

"Dr Mueller." She responded, slipping on a fresh pair of gloves and smiling. "This is the first one of these I've done in a while..." she told Candy, gesturing for her to remove her blouse.

"Where are you usually?" Candy asked, winching as she shrugged off the blouse, her shoulder sparking with pain again.

"Epidemiology..." Mueller responded, frowning at the fresh blood seeping through her bandage. "You seem to have popped your stitches... When were you shot?" She asked, walking over to the drawers and finding surgical thread and a needle. She removed the bandages slowly, examining the damage.

"Uh... Four days ago?" Candy guessed, and Mueller looked up.

"You were shot four days ago and you are already active again?" Mueller gestured to the gun.

"Not really... Well, I was down at the gun range, some douche needed to be put in his place." Candy laughed through the pain of the first stitch being sewn.

"Was it really worth it?" Mueller asked, trying her best to stitch neatly.

"100%..." Candy glanced over, and began again. "I flew in from Afghanistan, got shot there." She explained.

"Intelligence or infantry?" Mueller asked, not looking away from her work.

"Special Forces."

"How long?"

"Just finishing my tenth year active." Candy winced a little.

"You don't look the age to be ten years active..." Mueller complimented, and Candy smiled. "Why are you back in Virginia?"

"New case... My boss actually forced me here, put a reminder on my phone when I wasn't looking." Candy smirked, Mueller finishing her stitches and re-bandaging the shoulder, then turning her attention to her arm.

"Glad he did, your bandages were getting unhygienic." Mueller informed her, replacing her arm gauze and bandage. "Watch your shoulder, you pop those stitches again and you'll be scarred for life."

"Scarring isn't something I'm unfamiliar with Doctor." Candy responded, and the doctor frowned.

"Front or back?" She asked, and Candy felt suddenly exposed. She looked away.

"Does it matter?" Candy asked dismissively.

"Lieutenant could you remove your undershirt for me? I need to make sure you don't have any undocumented damages." Mueller instructed, and helped Candy pull the shirt over her head. Candy took a shaky breath, turning round for Mueller to inspect.

"What caused this?" Mueller asked, assessing the extensive damage. The scar tissue was extensive, the Lieutenant's entire back marked by varying degrees of scarring. She initially suspected a IED, but upon close inspection, some of the scars were nearly perfect circles. Mueller came round to her front, more long thin scars across her front, one running around a breast, and the same circular markings.

"I got myself into a bit of a tricky situation in Iraq." Candy responded, and after Mueller glared her, and gulped. "I was a POW for four months... I didn't talk so..." Candy trailed off, trying to swallow the lump in her throat.

"Ever gets aches in the the lowers section of your back, or spasms?" Mueller asked, and Candy shook her head. "Neck pain?" Mueller questioned again.

"Occasionally, nothing severe." Candy shrugged, and Mueller nodded.

"Could you step on the scales for me Lieutenant, removing your shoes first?" She asked, and Candy did so, looking up as her weight was taken, and standing still as body fat was calculated. "And reflexes. Take a seat." The testing was complete in a matter of minutes, and Mueller smiled.

"I'll going to prescribe you a painkiller, stronger stuff than what you get in Target. Should stop the spamming in your arm while it heals. I implore you to be careful, no two handed weapons for another week at least, give the stitches some chance to work. But apart from that, you are cleared." Mueller signed a piece of paper, handing it to her with a small box of pills. "Once a day for the next fourteen days."

"Thank you Doctor... Epidemiology got a good doctor in their ranks." Candy smiled, pulling her undershirt back on and buttoning her shirt, bolstering her gun and slipping into her blazer.

"Nice to meet you Lieutenant." Mueller nodded, and Candy headed back out to the taxi rank, jumping in and heading back to the office.

—

Tags: @iwantthedean

#fanfic #fanfiction #jack ryan #john krasinski #tom clancy #codename candy #army #female oc #jack ryan x female oc #cathy mueller #part ten #cia

[thepurplebutterflythings]

Damsel in Distress (Part 9/Finale) - Jason Todd

Gif: Dxnninja on Tenor

Tagging: @n-o-e-l-12  @oneshots-dc-marvel  @my-only-friend-is-the-moon@perturbacja @calcatss @attackonnat @batferma @seasidecrowbar @gaeck-o

Word Count: 3.6K

Paring: Jason Todd (Titans) x (f)Reader

Summary: Jason proves to Y/N how much she means to him, regardless of her choice.

Warnings: N/A

A/N: This is a little series I am doing about Jason Todd in Titans. I don’t know Comic!Jason very well so I’m taking all of this from the show, and at the moment he hasn’t been in very often, so please forgive any mischaracterizations.

Damsel in Distress Part 8 | Masterlist |

_______________________________________________________________

Y/N walked out the door of her building and onto the street. It was cold and dark, except for the street lights providing a warm orange glow. She had wrapped a shawl around herself to keep warm and pulled on a pair of UGG’s because even if they were cliché, they were cosy, convenient and comfortable. Y/N looked up and down the street, trying to find Jason. A low whistle caught her attention, and Y/N looked to the other side of the street, on the corner where Y/N and Jason parted the first night they met with Jason as Robin. Jason stood at that corner, holding a box in his arms, wearing his casual clothing. He looked at Y/N softly and gestured for her to come over. Quickly glancing left and right to make sure the road was clear, Y/N ran across, arms folded across her chest to keep the shawl in place.

“Hey…” she breathed as she met up with Jason.

“Hey,” Jason smiled at her.

“Why all this?” Y/N asked, “I mean, you can easily get on my balcony, you did it for over a year.”

“Yeah…” Jason nodded, still holding the box. “I didn’t want to be Robin tonight, I wanted to be Jason Todd.” He nodded to Y/N to sit on the wall near them. They sat there and Jason put the box between them, “and I wanted to give you this, but I want to say something first.”

“Okay…”

“I love you, Y/N, and I want to apologise again for everything I have put you through – you didn’t deserve that,” Jason said, “I never, ever wanted to hurt you, and I hope that even if you don’t want to be with me, romantically, that you and I can still be friends because I would hate to lose you from my life, but I can fully understand if you wouldn’t want that. I do.” Jason sighed and looked at her, “But I want you to know… I will always be mad at myself to hurting you and betraying your trust like I did.”

“Don’t kick yourself like that, Jason,” Y/N told him, “I know you never meant to, and I tell myself that… I guess I was hurt because I felt like you couldn’t trust me enough to tell me yourself.”

“I trust you with my life, Damsel,” Jason stroked her hair, “don’t ever think I wouldn’t trust you.”

“Thank you, Jason, that means a lot to me,” Y/N smiled and looked at the floor, “so, what’d you bring me?”

Jason picked up the box and put it in Y/N’s lap, gesturing for her to take it.

“Go on then, open it,” he said.

Y/N smiled and took the lid off the box to look inside. There was an array of things in the box. Two packets of Oreos, a small bottle of Cola, a first aid kit, as well as pepper spray, a small remote with a button and the necklace he gave her. Y/N sorted through the items, studying each one.

“Jason…”

“The Oreos and Cola are about the times spent on the balcony. The first aid kit to replace the one you used patching me up after I was stabbed.” Jason explained, “The pepper spray is in case you’re lost in a bad part of town – like when I saved you. The remote… well… in case, god forbid, you get in trouble and need to contact me – it will send an alert directly to my phone and your location and I’ll come to rescue you. The necklace…” Jason sighed, “I still want you to have it,” he said, “to remind you that, whatever you need, whenever you need it… I’ll always come for you…”

“Thank you, Jason,” Y/N said quietly as she looked through all the things he had given her, memories of the past, things to protect her, all items which whispered to Y/N that Jason loved her and would protect her, that showed her how much she meant to him, and how that would never change. Jason smiled, leaned over and kissed her forehead, sighing deeply.

“Goodbye Damsel,” he said, “you call me when you’ve made your decision, yeah?”

Jason hopped down from the wall, looked at Y/N one last time as he shoved his hands in his jeans and walked away. Y/N put the box on the wall and ran after him.

“JASON!” She called. Jason stopped and turned to face Y/N. She threw herself in his arms, wrapped her arms around her neck and gave him a big kiss; Y/N pressed her lips against Jason’s, causing him to immediately kiss her back. He wrapped his arms around Y/N’s waist and pulled her close to him. They pulled back for a second, looking into each other’s eyes and laughing gleefully before kissing again. Jason moved one hand to cup Y/N’s face as her hands moved into his tousled black hair, his other hand moved to her back, pressing her chest against his own. When they finally pulled away and rested their foreheads together, Jason made quick on pecking Y/N’s nose with a little kiss, making her giggle.

“So… we’re doing this?” He asked breathlessly.

“Hundred percent.”

“Good!” He grinned. They broke apart and walked back to the wall they were sitting on, holding hands. “I really should’ve listened to Alfred and told you sooner…

“Alfred knows you’re Robin?” Y/N asked, cocking her head to the side, “does Bruce know?” Jason turned and gave Y/N a smile, a smile which told her everything, “NO FUCKNG WAY!” She gasped, “Bruce Wayne is Batman?”

“You can’t tell anyone!”

“Who’d believe me anyway?” Y/N scoffed as they sat on the wall again. “Guess what, Bruce-fucking-Wayne is the Dark Night – I’d be thrown in a psych evaluation.”

“Good point,” Jason laughed, lifting her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to the back of it.

“I suppose we ought to tell Bruce about this…” Y/N mumbled, “tell him I know your identity and that we’re a couple now… unless you’ve told him?”

“He knows that you and I have been seeing each other a lot. He doesn’t know about the… break, or the fact you know my identity,” Jason explained, “I suppose for safety reasons we should tell him, but not yet – the last thing we need is Bruce on our asses.”

“When you say so, we’ll tell him,” Y/N held Jason’s hand tightly.

“Okay,” Jason smiled before looking through the box of items he brought Y/N, pulling out the necklace, “should we put this back on you?” He asked, dangling it on his finger.

“I’d love to,” Y/N smiled, nodding, “it feels weird not wearing it,” she said standing in front of Jason. He placed the necklace on Y/N and clasped it up. Y/N turned to face Jason, smiling, and leaned in to kiss him, placing her hands on his shoulders.

“I love you, Damsel.”

“I love you, Jason.”

_______________________________________________________________

Their friends weren’t at all surprised when Jason and Y/N revealed that they were in a relationship. They all cooed and awed over them as Jason and Y/N sat next to each other at lunch, Jason draping his arm over Y/N’s shoulder.

“I missed hearing you call me ‘Damsel’,” Y/N confessed into his ear as they sat, surrounded by their friends.

“I missed calling you ‘Damsel’,” Jason grinned. They spoke so quietly so only each other could hear, but their friends all could see them whispering to each other, smiling, lightly kissing, and they all glanced at each other and smiled at their friends’ happiness.

“God, you’re so corny,” Sandy playfully teased.

“I can’t believe you two were secret for about a year and we didn’t know,” Kacey said.

“I suspected,” Jessica rose her hand “Y/N wasn’t so sly.”

“Oh my God!” Kacey started giggling, “Do you remember when we first saw Jason?”

“I don’t think I know this story,” Jason looked at Y/N curiously.

“Kacey said you had a great ass,” Y/N stated.

“And Y/N thought you were a total ass,” Kacey said. Jason rose his eyebrows and looked at Y/N

“A total ass you’re now dating,” Jason grinned.

“I was presumptive, so sue me,” Y/N shrugged, “you proved me wrong though. You do have a great ass though.”

“I stand by it!” Kacey toasted her can of Cola before drinking.

“I also remember what you said about Jason – do you?” Y/N teased. Kacey choked on her drink.

“Yes, I am a little embarrassed about that now, considering you and Jason are now dating.”

“Okay,” Jason leaned forward, “now I gotta know what you said.”

“I believe Kacey said, and correct me if I’m wrong,” Y/N grinned, “As long as he keeps his mouth shut, I’ll be fine spending hours with him.”

“Flattered,” Jason chuckled, “but taken. No offence”

“Understand,” Kacey nodded, “not offended. Don’t worry.” Kacey then smiled, “Jason Todd and Y/N Y/L/N makes more sense – you two work together, soul mates, I’d say.”

_______________________________________________________________

Jason and Y/N walked hand in hand down through the park where Jason had planned to introduce Y/N to Alfred and Dick Grayson. Surprisingly, Y/N hadn’t met either Alfred or Dick, although she had heard a great deal about them.

“So… Dick used to be Robin before you came along?” Y/N asked as they swung their hands as they walked.

“Actually, Dick left the mantle and then Bruce found me trying to steal the hubcaps of the Bat Mobile, and one thing led to another and I became Robin,” Jason explained.

“Okay,” Y/N nodded, making mental notes, “and both of them know that I know you’re Robin.”

“Yep.”

“Jason, over here,” called a voice. The couple turned to see a tall, brown-haired man wearing a tan leather jacket waving them over with a smaller, older, white-haired man next to him in a suit.

“That’s them,” Jason said, gently guiding Y/N over to the two men. “Dick, Alfred, this is Y/N Y/N/N,”

Jason didn’t really look at the men, his attention was completely held by Y/N, just gazing at her was pleasure enough for him. Alfred and Dick glanced at each other smiling over how in love Jason and Y/N were before offering their hands to Y/N for shaking, which she took, one by one, still using her other hand to hold onto Jason’s hand. They didn’t like to be apart now they were officially together. After shaking hands, Jason pulled Y/N into him, wrapping his arm around her shoulder and kissing her cheek.

“Pleasure to meet the both of you,” Y/N nodded at Dick and Alfred.

“Likewise,” Dick nodded back.

“Nice to finally meet the young woman who has completely overridden his common sense,” Alfred chuckled.

“I was really that much of an influence?” Y/N looked at Jason who blushed sheepishly.

“Oh, the arguments he and Bruce had…” Alfred said, trailing off as he stopped himself from talking, probably thinking it was best not to. “Anyway, I’m so glad that it all worked out for the both of you – I honestly cannot imagine the pair of you with anyone else.”

“Yeah,” Dick nodded, “you fit well together – a perfect match.”

______________________________________________________________

“Shhh, Bruce can’t know we’ve come down here,” Jason said quietly as he snuck Y/N into the Batcave, where there was training equipment for Bruce and Jason, work stations with their tech and weapons on to improve them. He had told Y/N to wear loose-fitting comfortable clothing, and she complied. Jason himself was wearing sweat-pants and a top while she wore leggings and a tank.

“Then why did you bring me here?” Y/N asked with a giggle as she watched Jason look around to check if they were alone. Once he was satisfied they were alone, Jason walked up to Y/N and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her in close to him and kissing her gently.

“First, I wanna show off to you where I work to save Gotham,” Jason said, nuzzling into her neck, “second, I wanna teach you a little thing or two about fighting and self-defence,” he said.

“Are you trying to find an excuse to get handsy with me?”

“Yes and no.”

“Huh?” Y/N cocked her eyebrow. Jason pulled back and led Y/N by her hand to the training floor, walking backwards as he knew the layout perfectly at this point. He looked Y/N up and down with a small smile.

“While I’m always up for a groping session, Damsel,” Jason grinned, “I will sleep a lot better at night knowing you can protect yourself.” Y/N shifted a little, not liking the idea of getting in a fight, “You don’t have to kick ass if you don’t want to, you just gotta be able to get away, yeah?”

“Okay,” Y/N smiled a little before coughing, “anyway, it’s an excuse to be all handsy, as you said.”

Y/N let Jason help her into a stance before taking the same stance opposite her. Feet shoulder width apart, hands into fists and risen into a defence action.

“Okay, so, if I come at you from this side,” Jason said, slowly moving and demonstrating, “you go for this,” Jason took your hand and placed it against his side, “and you go for it hard – not a tap, Damsel, you put all the fucking weight you have into every swing, got it?”

“Yep.”

“Now, remember when I saved you?” Jason said slowly walking behind you, “the attacker came from behind, I’m going to show you what to do when you’re grabbed from behind – we’ll cover what to do if they have a gun later.”

“Okay,” Y/N nodded as Jason pressed his chest against her back and grabbed her wrists before wrapping his arms around her, securing her in place. Y/N shifted a little as his grip tightened.

“So,” Jason said in a low voice, directly into her ear, “what you wanna do here is turn your hands so your palms are facing the ground,” Y/N nodded, breathing deeply as she felt his breath against her neck, following his instructions, “and then you have to throw your hips back.”

“Really? I have to throw my hips back?” Y/N tried to turn her head to look at Jason, but he tightened his grip.

“You wanna comment about it more or get out of this grip hold?” Jason teased. Y/N smiled as she repeated the actions with her hands and then threw her hips back, using all the might she could muster. Y/N fell down onto the padded floor, breaking out of the grip from Jason; she turned onto her back and looked up at Jason with a proud grin.

“How do I fair, Robin?”

“You got a little kick-ass in you, Damsel,” Jason chuckled, offering his hand to help Y/N up. She took his hand, but instead of getting to her feet, Y/N pulled Jason down, and he landed on top of her with a groan. Y/N then flipped them over so she was on top and Jason was trapped underneath her. Jason looked at Y/N with admiration before pinning her down and holding her in place. “Come on, Damsel, I ain’t going to go easy on ya – I hate losing.”

“And here I thought you were wrapped around my little finger, Knight!” Y/N teased, leaning up and kissing him gently. Jason kissed back quickly, moving his hands to cup her face and pressed his body against hers. One of his hands moved to slide underneath her tank top. Y/N quickly pulled back.

“As much as I want to continue,” she spoke in a strained voice, using all her strength to stop this progressing any further, “I have a feeling that if Alfred or anyone else were to come down here, the worst position they could catch us in is screwing on the training mats in the Batcave.”

“Yeah… yeah…” Jason breathed, “You’re probably right…” Jason climbed off of Y/N and helped her to her feet. “Hey, want me to show you around the Batcave?”

“I’d love that,” she nodded as Jason grabbed two bottles of water, one for himself and one for Y/N, handing one to her. They opened their bottles and each took a gulp before walking from the training area, Jason wrapping an arm around Y/N’s waist and explaining everything to her as they inspected it.

“And this,” he said, walking in front of Y/N, turning to face her, “is the Batmoblie!” Jason leapt to the side and revealed the infamous vehicle to Y/N. Y/N’s jaw dropped and she gasped loudly, nearly running at the car.

“Oh my god, this is incredible!” Y/N said inspecting the car. It was a sleek car of a matte black. She traced her fingers along the shape. Jason opened the door to the driver’s side and gestured for her to peer inside, which she did. There were so many buttons and leavers and screens to touch that it was overwhelming, but Y/N didn’t touch any, just in case.

“What’d you think?” Jason asked as Y/N stood up and leaned against the car, the door still open.

“Jason, this is incredible, I’m so grateful for you showing me this.”

“I’m glad,” Jason said stepping closer to Y/N. “God, I’m so lucky for having you in my life,” he sighed as he stroked her cheek and leaned in to kiss her. His other hand was placed firmly on her waist as her hands were resting against his chest. As their lips locked, Y/N closed her eyes and smiled, savouring the moment. She never thought that this is what her life would become when she and Jason were paired together on that Physics project. They leaned back further against the Batmoblie, the hand Jason had on Y/N’s waist slipped and hit a button inside the car, causing them to jump backwards. Jason grabbed Y/N and pulled her away as he realised he had hit the button which released a small missile – luckily the Batcave was very secure and built for accidents such as a small missile explosion and nothing bad happened. Jason, who had pushed Y/N against the wall and thrown his body against her in protection pulled back and sighed as he looked at the impact mark from missile.

“What the hell?” Y/N gasped, catching her breath.

“Bruce built this place to withstand a nuclear explosion, it can handle a small missile hitting its wall,” Jason said as they walked back over to the Batmoblie, hand in hand, where Jason closed the door.

“Yes, but that was for modification of the Batmoblie, not for make-out sessions against it which accidentally set off a missile.”

The couple leapt ten foot in the air and turned to see Bruce standing there. His posture was perfect with his hands behind his back, staring at Y/N and Jason with narrow, accusing eyes. Y/N glanced at Jason to see him gulp and stand in front of Y/N.

“How long have to been there?”

“Long enough, Jason, long enough.”

“Look, I can explain…”

“I warned you, Jason,” Bruce said, “not to tell anyone.”

“He didn’t tell me,” Y/N spoke up, stepping in front of Jason, “I figured it out. Don’t be mad at Jason,” she pleaded. Bruce frowned and looked at Y/N, but didn’t stop her from talking, “and I know it is dangerous knowing about Robin, and about you, but I swear, Mr Wayne, I will never let another soul know about this. I love Jason more than anything, I can handle this, being with Jason and keeping these secrets, I know I can, and while I know it won’t always be easy, I know I’m up for the challenge.”

Bruce only nodded in response as he stepped forward to the pair. Jason and Y/N grabbed each other’s hand and stared at each other before looking at Bruce.

“Fine,” Bruce nodded, “something tells me I couldn’t stop Jason anyway, so I may as well make my peace with this, but if you even hint to anyone that you know, there will be hell to pay, understand?”

“Yes, Mr Wayne.”

“And call me Bruce,” He smiled a little, “formalities are no longer needed, Y/N.”

“Thank you, Bruce, for trusting me.”

“Well, Jason has good instincts,” Bruce said, looking at his side-kick with approval. Jason smiled and sighed in relief, gazing at Y/N, “Although he needs some fine-tuning. Anyway, I already knew you knew.”

“How long have you known she knew?” Jason asked curiously.

“Since she figured it out,” Bruce explained, “you aren’t as subtle as you believe yourself to be, Jason.”

Y/N started to giggle widely as Jason looked down sheepishly. He had truly believed himself to be good at hiding the events from his mentor, but alas he hadn’t even hidden it for a second.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

“I understand why you didn’t,” Bruce nodded before turning to Y/N, “why don’t you go to the kitchen? Alfred is preparing dinner and would be delighted to have you there. He is quite fond of you, Y/N, as am I and Jason.”

“I’d love to,” Y/N smiled and nodded, trying to walk with Jason, but Bruce stopped them.

“Jason and I have to have a refresher about the risks of bringing unauthorised people into the Batcave,” Bruce said. “But do not worry, you’re authorised now.” Jason gulped and looked down again, knowing he was in for an earful, but Y/N smiled and kissed Jason’s cheek.

“I’ll see you up there,” Y/N grinned, “Good luck.”

“I’ll need it,” he called after Y/N as she skipped away.

Yeah, Jason was about to get an earful alright, but it was all worth it. He had his Y/N, his Damsel, the love of his life. Jason Todd would handle all the earful’s Bruce Wayne threw at him if it meant he could just look at Y/N. It was all worth it.

“Love you, Knight,” Y/N called over her shoulder, giving a playful wave which caused Jason to bit his lip and grin wildly.

“Love you too, Damsel.”

Yeah, totally worth it.

#Jason Todd #Jason Todd Titans #Jason Todd imagine #Jason Todd x Reader #jason todd x y/n #Robin imagine #robin x reader #Jason Todd Robin #Robin Jason Todd #curran walters #Titans #Titans DC #Titans imagine #Fanfiction #Imagines #Oneshot #damsel in distress

[thejollyroger-writer]

Bottom of the Ninth, Two Outs, Full Count

Part Two of Opening Day, Starting Pitch, which is a prologue for Love, Baseball, and Other Things (Part One // Part Two)

Also on AO3

WARNINGS: This story contains both Millian and abusive Swanfire. Sorry if that's not your cup of tea, but this is a prologue, and I'm obsessed with traumatic backstory. This also contains death of a character, grief, alcoholism, verbal and physical abuse, and abandonment. It starts exactly where part one left off.

Thanks again to @welllpthisishappening and @profdanglaisstuff for prompting this story into existence, @ultraluckycatnd for reading over it, and @kmomof4 for flailing so much over this little verse that has become the only thing I can think about. If you'd like to be tagged for future installations, let me know!

(also, sorry there's no cut, I'm on mobile and apparently Tumblr hates me anyway.)

-----

By the time Milah’s birthday rolls around in the middle of April, he has the ring tucked inside a box of letters from his brother and a reservation for the night she turns 26 at her favorite restaurant across town. He even bought them a night at the quaint little hotel next to Washington Square, so they don’t have to trek back across the river to get home that night. And he has the whole thing planned out: dinner, then a show at the Walnut Street Theatre before taking her dancing and taking her back to the hotel through Independence Square, finally lit up for spring, where he’ll stop and ask her to marry him. It’s a perfect plan, really, and he realizes when he calls the restaurant two nights before to confirm the reservation that he has never been this excited for anything in his life.

His friends can tell, too. David is happy for him, planning to propose to his own girlfriend while they’re on their post-graduation vacation, and Emma pokes fun at him regularly about the smile that is always on his face.

So when two uniformed officers knock on the door to his apartment three days before Milah’s birthday and ask if he’s Killian Jones, emergency contact for Milah Smith , it takes all his strength not to lose the contents of his stomach all over their finely-polished shoes.

“Yes, I am,” he says, pulling himself together enough to talk to them, to make sure that he’s not overreacting. “Why, has something happened to her?”

The way their emotionless faces seem to fall at his question causes him to lose his balance, and he reaches out to hold on to the doorway before he falls at their feet.

“There’s no easy way to say this, Mr. Jones,” the one to his left says, and Killian doesn’t fail to see the irony behind the fact that his name is Marry . “I’m afraid Milah was involved in a car accident on the Ben Franklin Bridge this morning, and by the time the paramedics got to the scene, there was nothing they could do for her.”

“Oh, god,” he groans, his shoulder hitting hard against the doorway, the only thing keeping him standing. “No, no, no, no.”

“We’re terribly sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you,” he chokes out, starting to close the door before the men standing on the other side of him see him fall apart. But once the door closes, he loses the strength to stay on his own two feet, and he falls to his knees, his head resting on the cool wood of the apartment door.

In losing Milah, he lost everything. Three days from spending the rest of his life with her, and now he would have to live with the question of whether she would have said yes for the rest of his life.

Of course she would have said yes , he tries to convince himself, but it’s useless. He’s learned to never assume even the easiest of things, that’s how he’s survived everything that’s happened so far in his life. So that little voice in the back of his head keeps telling him over and over that there’s a chance she may have said no.

He has no idea how long he stays seated against the door. He does know that the sun has swung across the sky and begins to shine brightly through the front windows, and that by the time he pulls himself back onto his feet, his legs are numb.

He wishes the rest of him was just as numb.

So that’s exactly what he makes happen.

It started with one glass of whiskey, then turned into three, then six. By the time David and Emma come back from visiting their mother for the weekend, the sun has turned the sky a dark shade of crimson, and he is passed out on the couch, what remains of the last glass still in the cup his hand is wrapped around.

“Killian!” David yells, rushing across the living room to make sure he’s okay. He’s breathing, but refuses to budge, and once Emma finds the now-empty bottle of Jack on the counter, they figure out why.

“I hope he’s okay,” Emma comments, adding the bottle to the pile of recycling under the sink. “He usually doesn’t drink this much, and especially not whiskey.”

“Either something happened, or he just randomly decided he was in the mood for half a bottle of Tennessee whiskey.”

“Well, given that he usually refers to it as ‘number 7 swill,’ I doubt he decided just on a whim.”

David turns his eyes down to Killian, his whole face painted with worry, but there’s nothing they can do for him until he regains consciousness, so they leave him there, returning to the piles of papers they left spread across the kitchen table. They study in silence for a few minutes, the ticking of the clock over the stove driving Emma insane, so she speaks, her eyes flitting up to her brother for just a moment.

“I, uh, need to stay here again,” she says quietly, her eyes glued to the paper in her hands so they don’t have to reach what she knows is a worried glare from her brother.

“Neal again?”

“For fuck’s sake, David, don’t say it like that.”

“When are you going to leave his sorry ass for good?”

“I love him, David. I know you know this, and I know you understand. And he loves me, too, he just has some issues he needs to work out and everything will be just fine.”

“Everything is not just fine , Emma,” David growls, his back teeth grinding together angrily. “You think I don’t notice the marks he leaves on your arms? The fact that you’re always crying after you talk to him? You need to leave him, before he does something that he can’t just apologize for.”

“I can’t just leave him,” she says, her voice soft, and when she adds, “Not anymore,” he drops the textbook he was balancing on the edge of the table.

“What does that mean, Emma? Are you— did he—”

“I’m pregnant, alright?” she says bitterly, throwing the paper in her hands back down on the table so she can hold her head. “I’m almost three months pregnant, and I’m too afraid to tell him because I know when I do, he’ll just leave. Is that what you wanted to hear from me?”

“Christ, Emma,” he whispers, and as soon as he realize that her shoulders have started to shake with silent sobs, he pushes his chair back to walk across the table and wrap his arms around her. She turns in the seat, burying her head in his shoulder. “I can’t — I’m sorry.”

While they stay like this, David shedding a few tears for his sister, as well, Killian begins to slowly wake on the couch, head pounding and stomach churning, and when he slowly makes his way to the kitchen to find some water, he is surprised to find David and Emma, but when they see him, they begin to break away from each other.

Sitting down across the table from them, taking very careful sips out of his glass, he finally says, “I take it this means you heard about Milah.”

When they both seem to be more confused by this statement, he realizes he must have made an error.

“Is she alright?” David asks, and somehow Killian smiles instead of breaking down once more, but it only lasts for the quickest of moments.

“No, quite the opposite, actually. She was killed this morning in an accident on the Ben Franklin.”

“What a fucking day,” Emma says under her breath as David moves back across the table to pull his friend in for a hug.

Four days later, the day after Milah would have turned 26, they hold her funeral in one of the nicer churches in town. After asking Liam and David to wait outside, to give him a minute alone with her casket, there is nothing comparable to seeing her laying there, lifeless, surrounded by silk and flowers. Pulling the small velvet box out of his pocket, his hands grip the edge of the wood, the only balance he can find.

“I was — I was going to give this to you,” he chokes out, doing nothing to stop the stream of tears that fall down his face. “I still… I’ve been trying to decide whether I should give it to you, or keep it as a reminder of just how damned much I love you.” He reaches up to tuck his index finger under the buttoned collar of his shirt, pulling out the chain that holds his mother's ring. “But I think, now that I'm here and thinking about it, that I will keep this, both as a keepsake of you, of the years we spent together, and a reminder that my life has been torn apart one too many times from letting people into my heart.”

He holds the ring out in his palm, staring down at it for a moment before he closes his hand around it, feeling the edges of the diamonds cutting into his palm.

“I love you, my darling,” he whispers, leaning down to press his lips against her forehead, a sob fighting its way up his chest when he feels the coldness of her skin against his.

The pain overtakes him. He spends the next three days numbing himself, a dangerous combination of rum and whiskey and whatever else he can find in the apartment, only leaving the confines of his bedroom to find the next drink or relieve himself. On the fourth day, Emma, Neal, David, and Mary Margaret are sitting around the table in the kitchen, actively ignoring the subject of the grieving man who has locked himself away from the world.

Emma knows that David is worried about him — he’s told her that much at least a dozen times since Killian first told them of Milah’s death. The fact that her friend is struggling so much, so obviously, and no one is trying to reach out to him, though, just angers her.

So she decides she can’t take it anymore.

“Christ, enough of this,” she says, slamming her empty water glass down on the table. “That man in there needs help, and if I have to be the one to give it to him, then I will be.” She pushes her chair back, jumping to her feet, but before she can walk away, she feels Neal's hand wrap around her wrist.

“No.”

She whips her head around to face him. “Excuse me?”

“The darkness that took over Neal's face lightens, but his grip on her wrist does not. “He'll be fine, just give him time. Stay here.”

“What? No, he's — he's not okay, Neal. And on the off-chance that he is, he can be the one to tell me that, not you.”

Even if David wasn't watching his every movement intently, he would have noticed how hard Neal pulled on Emma's arm to get her to step back to the table.

“I'm not gonna tell you again, Ems,” he growls, his fingers beginning to leave marks on Emma's wrist. “I don't want you to go in there.”

“Good thing that's not your decision to make,” David says, his whole body tense, but when Neal snaps his head to face him and he sees some of the tension leave Emma's shoulders, he knows it was the right moment to step in.

“Well, it certainly isn't yours.”

“That is my sister that you have your hand around, if you'll remember.”

“David, please,” Emma says softly, and Neal smiles up at her, though that smile scares her more than anything else.

“Yes, David, please,” Neal repeats, the wicked smile still spread across his face when he turns back to him. “Emma knows how this works, and she knows what happens if she doesn't listen to me.”

“You son of a bitch!” David yells, jumping out of his seat angrily enough that it clatters to the floor behind him.

“David!” both Emma and Mary Margaret yell, but he's already halfway around the table, his hand flying out to grab the front of Neal's shirt.

Neal still hasn't let go of Emma's wrist.

“You're going to take your hands of my sister and never, ever touch her again, do you hear me?”

Neal is still smiling.

“And what, exactly, are you going to do to me if I don't?”

David pulls him out of his seat using the front of his shirt. His hand around Emma's wrist tightens further.

“See, that depends on just how angry you make me, because right now, I want to rip your fucking throat out.”

Mary Margaret has turned so white in her seat that Emma fears she may pass out — but she seems to be the only one that's noticed.

“Can I — can I ask you something, Nolan?” Neal asks, his voice free of any of the fear David was hoping to instill, but Emma feels the way his hand trembles. “Why the Knight in shining armor act all of the sudden? This can't be the first you've learned about me — “

“David, please ,” Emma begs, but David either fails to hear her or chooses to ignore her, taking the bait he's laying in front of him.

“She's pregnant, you bastard,” David practically yells, the secret that he's been trying so hard to keep, not even sharing it with Mary Margaret. “She's carrying your child and you're too goddamned selfish to care about it one bit.”

“David,” Emma whispers, and she is finally able to pull her hand out of Neal's grasp, that's suddenly loosened.

“Oh, Emma,” Mary Margaret says at the same time, her big brown eyes full of both excitement and sadness.

Neal turns slowly to Emma, who has covered her face to hide the tears that have started falling, and David finally releases his fist from his shirt. “Is he — is he serious, Ems?” He has the nerve to soften his voice so much, to suddenly take all of the anger it's always full of away, and it just hurts her all the more. She's so afraid of his anger, his temper, his fear of commitment, but he's —

She nods, a glimmer of hope lightening the pounding in her chest. Opening her eyes, she darts to look at him, and she can tell that he is thinking over something.

And then he shakes his head, raising his hands in surrender, and backing away from the table. “I’m not — I can’t —” he sputters, but his coherency is gone. “I’m sorry.”

The three of them watch, stunned, as Neal grabs his jacket from the back of the chair and walks out of the apartment.

Everything is silent. Still. David and Mary Margaret are too afraid to move, knowing that as soon as they do, everything will crumble.

Emma will crumble.

But instead of either of them breaking the silence, disrupting the stillness, it comes instead from a bright-eyed and uniformed Killian Jones coming from his bedroom. The three of them dare to move enough to turn their attentions towards him, and when he finally senses the tension that has filled the apartment, added only by his escape from his bedroom, he raises his eyebrows in question.

“Where are you going?” David asks the question they’re all thinking.

Emma asks the other: “Are you okay?”

He pushes the front of his hair back to slide his baseball cap over it. “I, uh, have a game. I can’t wallow in grief forever, so I’ve decided instead to focus on my pitching game. It’s what…” his voice drops off, his eyes falling to the floor as his hand reaches up to grasp the same chain that always hangs around his neck, which they all see holds another ring beside his mother's. “It's what she would have wanted.”

The engagement ring , Emma realizes. It's what Milah would have wanted.

For a moment, Emma is inspired. Sure, it took him four days to get there, but he's pulled himself back together after losing Milah — and really losing her, not just having her walk out like she knew Neal was going to do. He's turning the energy he's been using to destroy himself back into something more productive.

She can do that, too.

Grabbing her jacket off the back of her chair, she slings it over her shoulder and follows Killian out towards the living room.

“I'm going with him.”

“What?” Mary Margaret asks, at the same time David says, “Stay here, we can talk about it.”

She turns to Killian, his bright eyes lighting up the shadow the brim of his hat lays across his face, and shakes her head, turning back to David.

“I don't want to talk about it. It's over. He did exactly what I expected, so there's nothing to even talk about.”

“Emma—” David starts, but she walks out of the kitchen, leaving the three of them bewildered.

“No,” she calls through the doorway. “I'm leaving.”

“Yeah, uh, me too,” Killian says, a million questions on his lips, as he follows her out of the apartment.

Their walk down the steps and out to the street is silent, and it continues that way for a few blocks, Emma's hands stuffed into the pockets of her jacket and Killian's fidgeting with the strap of his duffel bag slung over his shoulder.

He has almost decided on how to ask the question lingering on the tip of his tongue when she speaks instead.

“I'm really proud of you, d'you know that?”

He turns to her, but her eyes are still set on the sidewalk at her feet.

“Come again?”

“Your whole world crumbles down around you, and you took a few days to grieve before you pull yourself back up and focus on something productive.”

“Thanks?” he asks, her words igniting a warmth in his heart that he wasn't sure he would ever feel again. “I watched my father drink himself half to death after my ma passed, and when I looked in the mirror last night, I realized I was doing the same thing. The only thing I ever wanted in life was to not end up like my father, and I saw myself doing just that.” He tugs at the chain around his neck, threading his pinky through the ring that has just been added. “And that's not what Milah would want. She always told me to — to stick with the things I enjoy the most, and I realized the reason I stopped focusing on my pitching game was in hopes of finding a career to sustain us. Now that I… now that I no longer need that, I can go back to doing what I love without the fear that it's going to be enough.”

Emma has no response to this, so they walk in silence again for a few more moments.

“Neal's gone.”

Killian breathes out a small chuckle, though once it's out, he can't figure out why. “How long do you think it will be this time until he comes running back?”

Emma flattens her hands against her stomach, but since her hands are in her pockets, Killian doesn't see it. “He's not coming back this time.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“Well, for one, David threatened him. I believe the exact promise was to 'rip his fucking throat out,’ and I wouldn't put it past him to follow through on that.” They both allow themselves to laugh at this, a small release of some of the tension built around them after all that's happened in the past few days.

“And for two?” Killian asks, and when he sees Emma turn to look at him out of the corner of his eye, he returns her gaze.

“He’s too afraid of commitment to stick around and become a father.”

She watches as Killian's eyes grow wide before turning down to her stomach, a smile growing across his face.

“You're pregnant?”

He's relieved so see her begin to smile, too, as she nods her head. Stopping them on the sidewalk, he wraps her in a hug — and she realizes just how excited she really is, even if Neal is no longer in the picture.

Maybe it's even better this way.

“And you know you're not alone, right? You have David and Mary Margaret to help you, and me.” He leans back, his arms still wrapped around her shoulders, and when he smiles at her again, she believes for the first time since she saw that positive sign that everything might actually be okay.

#baseball verse #bottom of the ninth #love baseball and other things #cs fics #my fics #my writing #wordsbymeganmichael #ouat ff #millian #anti sf #anti neal #anti swanfire #tw: character death #tw: assault #tw: death #tw: violence #tw: negativity #tw: alcoholism #tw: verbal abuse #tw: physical abuse

[bitchronan]

lime to the heart

Draco x Percy

College, non-magical AU

ao3

Crowds of obnoxious college-aged kids weren’t out of the ordinary on a Saturday evening at the store where Percy worked - they arrived en masse pre messy nights out to bulk buy vodka and own-brand mixers - but even still, the group that had just passed through the automatic sliding doors exuded the cocky self-confidence that could only be pulled off by the incredibly entitled.

The group was headed up by an arrogant blonde boy drawling loudly into a mobile phone as he pointed his friends towards the liquor aisle.

“I don’t care if there’s vodka there,” he was saying. “If you think I’m going to drink dollar store toilet cleaner, you’re sorely mistaken.”

Percy sighed as he began to unpack the next crate of tomatoes, thankful only that he wasn’t on checkout tonight.

“Can we do tequila shots with pink Himalayan sea salt?” A brunette girl in heels about as high as her skirt was short asked.

“Only if we’re criminally insane,” a dark-skinned boy replied rolling his eyes. “Honestly Daph, you’re as blonde as your sister sometimes.”

‘Daph’ stuck out her jewel-studded tongue at the tall boy and returned to perusing the shelves.

“Marcus says to get more solo cups - they’ve run out - and also to bring him some fags,” the cocky blonde boy announced, having hung up his phone and loaded two bottles of tequila into a shopping cart being pushed by a girl with a razor-sharp bob and a bored expression.

“Oh, Draco don’t talk about yourself like that,” Daphne quipped, causing the girl pushing the cart to laugh loudly and obnoxiously.

“You’re lucky I’m in a good mood,” Draco shot her a venomous look but the corners of his mouth twitched into a small smirk.

“I wasn’t sure,” Daphne replied. “It’s so similar to your bad mood.”

“Is anyone but me going to be useful?” Draco ignored the jab, “Or do I have to do everything myself.”

“Title of your sex tape,” bob girl smirked, blowing a large pink bubble with gum that popped loudly.

“I’m a saint to deal with you lot,” was all Draco replied before he swept ahead of the group towards the fruit and vegetable aisle.

Percy immediately put his head down and tried to look invisible - an impossible feat considering his carrot-top hair and green polo emblazoned with the words ‘ASK FOR ASSISTANCE’ across the shoulder blades, but an admirable attempt nonetheless.

The short-haired girl leaned forwards over the handle of the shopping cart, giving anyone looking an ample view of her chest covered only by what Percy suspected to be lingerie rather than a top.

“What, we need broccoli or something?” She asked, “Worried no one at the party will have enough vitamin C?”

“Scurvy is an admirable cause,” the tall dark boy replied. “And Draco is a philanthropist.”

“Scurvy or preventing it?” Daphne asked with a grin, plucking a peach from the stand Percy had finished stacking only ten minutes earlier and biting into it.

“God, Daph,” the other girl scoffed, popping her gum again.

“Want some?” Daphne asked, holding the peach out. Juice dripped down her wrist onto the shiny laminate floor.

The girl wrinkled her nose and Daphne turned, “Hey Blaise, want some of my peach?”

“Is that a metaphor?” Blaise replied, “Because if so it’ll have to be a hard pass.”

Daphne had just taken another bite of the peach when Draco rounded the fruit display.

“Excuse me?”

Percy didn’t look up from his tomatoes.

“Excuse me?” Draco repeated, louder this time.

Percy straightened slowly, plastering his customer service face on. “How can I help?”

“Do you have any limes that aren’t so… ugly?”

Percy couldn’t help but frown at this, “Ugly?” He repeated.

“Yeah, like more aesthetically pleasing limes,” Draco confirmed.

The unnamed girl snorted from behind Percy, Draco glared at her over his shoulder.

“Whatever limes are out are all we have,” Percy said, dumbfounded at this line of questioning.

“We could go to Trader Joe’s,” Daphne suggested through a mouthful of peach.

“They’re limes,” the dark-haired girl said. Percy stepped out of the middle of their conversation, wondering if he could return to unloading his tomatoes.

“We’re gonna be too drunk to see what they look like in an hour,” she said rolling her eyes.

Draco sniffed, “Maybe you, Pansy. I won’t be able to enjoy myself if I know our limes are so deformed.”

“You’ll be deformed in a minute,” she retorted. “Go grab some limes before I hurt you so badly you won’t be able to enjoy yourself ever again.”

Percy wished fervently he wasn’t experiencing this.

The four of them stood in silence as they waited for Draco to return with the limes. After what felt like an eternity he dropped several into the shopping cart, which now contained two bottles of tequila, several stacks of red solo cups, a tub of table salt, and several admittedly unattractive limes.

“Onwards,” Daphne declared licking peach juice off her wrist whilst waggling her eyebrows at Blaise.

Percy wondered if she was planning to pay for the peach or not.

Pansy threw Percy a penetrating look as the other three left toward the checkouts.

“What time do you finish working?” She asked her gaze moving from him to the crates of tomatoes.

“What?” He asked.

“What time do you finish?” She repeated, “We’re going to a party at Phi Delta Alpha, come along once you get off.”

“I don’t really… do parties,” Percy protested.

“Whatever, I don’t care. You should come anyway.”

“Why?”

“Because,” she said like it was obvious, “Draco likes you and I’m sick of listening to him talk about how depressing his life is, or whatever.”

“Sounds like you’re a great listener.”

“Thanks,” she said, unaffected. “You’ll come then.”

“When was the last time someone said ‘no’ to you?” Percy asked.

“They don’t. I don’t let them.”

“How democratic.”

She didn’t reply, just grinned wickedly and turned towards her friends who were arguing loudly by the door about cocktail umbrellas versus tiny plastic swords.

Percy wished he could claim he didn’t know where Phi Delta Alpha was but it was pretty much impossible to attend UW without at some point acquiring such knowledge. He could, however, honestly say he had never been there before. When he pulled up and squeezed his tiny, shitty car into one of the last spaces left on the street he almost pulled immediately out and left again.

Students spilt out of the front of the house onto the lawn, most holding red solo cups and some smoking and vaping. Percy knew this area was mostly student and Greek housing so parties tended to be thrown here regularly, he’d never come to one before.

Summoning all his courage he climbed out of the car and approached the frat house - he’d changed out of his green polo shirt back into the casual button down he’d been wearing earlier that day but still felt incorrectly dressed for the occasion.

He squeezed through the crowds of people into the house, some rap song Percy didn’t recognise was blaring from the speakers and a keg was shoved unceremoniously in one corner of the living room. Percy stepped over a discarded solo cup, trying not to let his discomfort show on his face and moved further into the room.

A girl shrieked and someone grabbed his arm halting his progress.

“You came!” Daphne screamed at him, more than loud enough to be heard over the music and chatter.

Her brown hair had been twisted into a careless bun on the top of her head, and her insanely high heels discarded in favour of a pair of high-top converse that were clearly several sizes too big for her and had been laced tightly to stop them from slipping right off her feet. She held a solo cup in the hand that wasn’t still wrapped around his wrist; it was full of what looked like Red Bull and sloshed dangerously.

“Want some?” She offered the cup to Percy.

“No, thanks,” he replied. “Did you pay for that peach?”

She screwed up her entire face with the effort of understanding him after he’d repeated the question enough times to make him feel ridiculous she grinned childishly. “What are you the peach police? Peachlice?” She laughed at her own joke then, seeing his frown replied, “Calm your tits, of course I paid for it. Draco’s in the kitchen with Pansy by the way.” She added, taking a swig of the drink.

“Right,” Percy replied. “Cool.”

Someone called Daphne’s name, and she turned away, already smiling widely at the newcomer. She tripped on her too large converse and made her way across the room laughing to herself, wiping red bull off her skirt.

Percy found his way to the kitchen, unsure of why he had come here at all. The song had changed to Barbie Girl and, upon entering the room, Percy found Pansy sitting on the kitchen island, her legs loosely looped around Draco’s waist and both of them singing along to the music. Unsure of whether to make himself known Percy stood stupidly in the doorway until someone walked into him, spilling half a beer down his shirt and causing the rest of the kitchen to turn towards the commotion.

“Watch where you’re fucking going!” The stranger who had poured their drink down Percy’s front swore.

“Crabbe,” Pansy said sharply.

Crabbe turned to look at her, opening his mouth to retort.

“Fuck off,” Draco supplied picking up a drink from beside Pansy and joining Crabbe and Percy by the door.

Crabbe scowled but did as he was told and Draco held the drink out to Percy.

“What is it?” Percy asked frowning.

“Lemonade. You can pour it yourself if you don’t believe me,” he added seeing the scepticism on Percy’s face.

“You were confident I’d come.”

“You came didn’t you?” Draco smirked pushing the drink into Percy’s hand, “Come on.”

Percy followed Draco into the kitchen proper and watched as Draco prepared himself a confusing concoction of drinks.

“I’m Draco by the way,” he said once he’d taken a sip of the purple drink.

“Yeah,” Percy replied slowly, pretty sure he was having an out-of-body experience. “Percy.”

“Right, your name tag said so.”

“Do you normally invite random guys to parties with you?” Percy asked feeling supremely uncomfortable.

“Pansy invited you,” Draco pointed out, taking another swig of the purple concoction.

“Right.” Percy put the untouched lemonade down, “I should go.”

“No, I’m sorry, I just meant - no I don’t normally invite random supermarket workers to parties. That’s more Pansy’s thing, but I’m glad she did.”

“Well, how has your night been so far?”

Draco laughed, “Better than yours I’d wager - you’ve probably made an enemy for life in Crabbe.”

“He walked into me!” Percy protested before catching Draco’s expression, “You’re joking.”

“Yeah,” he replied with a grin. “He has the memory of a possum.”

“How do you know possums don’t have really good memories?” Percy challenged.

“Do they?”

“I don’t know. You’re not as drunk as Pansy threatened,” he added when the conversation lapsed. “Did the ugly limes affect you that much?”

Draco grinned, “Didn’t want to embarrass myself in front of you more than I already had. Although, ugly limes do plague my mind.”

Destiny’s Child was now pounding through the speakers. Percy wondered if he’d been transported to an alternate universe where frat parties played nineties hits and rich kids were actually kind of charming.

Feeling bold he turned to Draco, “Wanna dance?”

Draco looked a little shocked but decidedly thrilled with the suggestion and downed the rest of his drink before overzealously dragging Percy to the makeshift dance floor.

As soon as Percy realised that even if he was sober everyone else was too drunk to care what a fool he was making of himself he found he actually rather enjoyed frat parties. He and Draco danced to the two Destiny’s Child songs that played back to back (Say My Name and Nasty Girl) then, when some techno song neither of them knew came on, Draco dragged Percy back to the kitchen and allowed him to mix him a drink. It turned out the colour of fertiliser but Draco drank it anyway and mostly managed to conceal his disgust.

Percy watched as Draco wiped the corner of his mouth, “That was… delicious,” he said, eyes watering.

Percy smiled wickedly, “I can make you another.”

Draco looked panic-stricken for a moment before he burst out laughing, “You’re a menace!”

Feeling emboldened Percy stepped forwards, closing the short distance between them and pressed his lips to Draco. The other boy responded instinctively, one hand grasping the back of Percy’s shirt at the small of his back and the other reaching up to cup his face. Draco opened his mouth and Percy tasted the remnants of the drink he had made on his tongue.

When they broke apart Draco was flushed and Percy’s shirt had come untucked from his jeans at the back.

Percy pulled a face, “Pansy was right, you must really like me if you drank that.”

Draco laughed, “And you must really like me if you’re willing to come to frat parties and get beer poured down you.”

“Guess we’re even,” Percy said smiling.

“Guess so,” Draco pulled him in for another kiss.

#hpfic #*fic #mine #hp #hp:fic #draco malfoy #percy weasley #draco x percy #thank u ! char for the title i did credit u on ao3 ❤️

[thoughts-for-tom]

Always (Tom Holland x Reader)

pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

summary: Y/n is a senior, and she's the top of her class. She's always been busy because of school work and doesn't have enough time for Tom, her boyfriend. Y/n also received an invitation from Ivy League College which is her dream school, and it required her to stay there for a year, which means leaving Tom behind. How will Tom handle the situation? Will Tom fall out of love?

warning: sexual content, slight swearing, unprotected sex, FLUFF SMUT

word count: 1.8k!

It's been a busy week for y/n. She's been doing school works every day because all of their subject teachers basically just dropped all their assignments including individuals works and group works. Y/n rolled her eyes as she saw her partners Dylan and Layla using their mobile phones instead of helping her out with their project. It was a project for their English subject, they need to write a summary of their chosen stories. This is why y/n hates group project because her partners tend to depend on her just because she's the top student of the class.

She stopped on what she's doing when her phone vibrated. She smiled upon seeing who texted her, its Tom.

From: Thomas ♥

hey baby, where are you? I miss you, can we meet?

She always liked Tom's real name even though Tom hates it, that's why she named it on her contacts. Y/n pursed her lips, she wasn't sure what to reply. She still has a lot of things to do and she might have to turned down Tom. She glanced again on her phone when it vibrated again.

From: Thomas ♥

please :(

And that's all it takes to convince y/n to ditch her project making session with her useless partners. She stood up and walked towards Dylan and Layla. Dylan is busy playing video games while Layla is busy stalking some guy on instagram.

Y/n sighs. "I'm going. You two better finish the project or I'll tell Mrs. Williams you haven't contributed and she would mark the two of you zero on this project." She said as she stormed out from the library. She knew that sounded like a threat but serves them right.

Tom is sitting inside a coffee shop near their school. It's been a week since he had seen y/n, they have always been texting each other but that's it. Tom missed her so much, he missed hugging, kissing, and holding her hands. Tom felt his phone vibrate and he can't help but to smile as the excitement rushed into him.

From: Baby

I'm on my way.

Few minutes later Tom heard the door open and he quickly goes to y/n and hug her. They went to their table and Tom can't stop smiling and staring at his girlfriend. Y/n noticed Tom is smiling ear to ear and she laughed.

"Stop smiling like that." Y/n chuckled.

"I can't help it! I'm so happy you're here." Tom said and reached for y/n hands resting on the table.

Y/n gave a peck on Tom’s lips and giggled, “What did I do to deserve an amazing person like you?”

Y/n and Tom spent the whole afternoon talking inside the coffee shop. Every time y/n is with Tom, everything just feels right. It is as if the world seemed to come to a stop and the moment paused for y/n and Tom’s eyes to lock.

“Oh, by the way,” Y/n held Tom’s hand across the table and gripped it tight.  “I received an invitation from an Ivy League school.”

Tom’s faced brightened up with what y/n mentioned, “I am happy for you! It’s your dream school, isn’t it?”

Y/n’s face began to frown and slightly lets go of Tom’s hand, “But it required me to stay there for the whole school year.”

Tom didn't know what to feel. Does that mean they're going to be apart from each other? Tom think he won't be able to handle that.

"Does that mean you're going to leave me?" Tom said, in his low voice, almost like a whisper.

"Tom. I--" Y/n stopped. She doesn't know what to say either.

"We can still text each other. We can still communicate online." She said to lighten up Tom's mood, but she knows that won't work. Tom looked at y/n, he loves her and he always wants what's the best for her.

"I'm sorry." Tom said. Y/n didn't expect that. Why would he say sorry?

"Tom, you don't have to apologize. What are you sorr--" y/n was cut off by Tom.

"I'm sorry for feeling this way. I know you want this so bad and I wanted you to be happy but I just can't help it." Tom said, and he can feel his eyes getting watery. Tom's always the cry baby in their relationship, whenever he and y/n have an argument, or when they're watching a drama movie on netflix, Tom always cry.

"I understand you Tom, I do. Please, don't cry. You know I hate seeing you cry." Y/n said as she wiped the tears  starting to fall down to his cheeks.

Tom smiled at her. When it was getting dark, they decided to go to Tom's place and watch some movies like they always do. Tom's parents were not around so they can freely do whatever they want, but Tom is not thinking some nasty things. He just wants some quality time with y/n, and maybe some cuddling and kissing.

"You can go ahead upstairs. I'm just gonna cook some food for us." Tom said and kissed y/n on her lips, just a peck. Y/n smile and walked upstairs. It's been a month since she's been here. She missed the scent of Tom's room and suddenly flashbacks of their first sex came rushing into her mind. This is where she lost her virginity, and she was glad it was Tom. It's been a month since she and Tom had sex, and she's being honest with herself, she's definitely craving for Tom's touch. She blushed at the thought, but brushed it away. She turned on Tom's laptop and connected it to the tv.

She picked Everything, Everything because she has a huge crush on Nick Robinson and just right when the movie is about to start Tom walked into his room with nachos, popcorns, sandwiches, and juice. They positioned themselves on the bed with y/n head laying on Tom's chest and Tom's hand wrapped around her shoulders. Y/n rest her hand on Tom's chest while playfully moving it like she was playing the piano. It made a ticklish sensation and Tom can't help but to giggle.

"Nick Robinson is hot." She said when she saw Nick's character on the movie. Tom hummed as a disapproval.

"Hotter than me?" Tom asked.

"Shut up." Y/n chuckles and leaned toward Tom's face.

"Of course, you're hotter." she whispers and gave Tom a kiss. Gentle but long.

When they pull apart from each other, Tom smirked. "You made a mistake doing that." He said, and with that he kissed her. This time it was hard but passionate. It's like they've been wanting this for a long time and they're so hungry for each other.

Tom positioned himself on top of y/n while kissing her, not wanting to break it. Y/n moans as she felt Tom hands roam around her body, caressing gently. Tom kisses went down to her neck and collarbones leaving a mark before capturing her mouth for a kiss.

Y/n moans that me Tom to gain more access into her mouth, and it's been only a matter of second when they find their tongues touching each other. Y/n hands roams around Tom's upper body as her hands find its way to the hem of Tom's shirt. She grabbed it and pull it, Tom groaned and help y/n take off his shirt. Tom is back on kissing y/n while his hands grab y/n's shirt and literally ripped it apart. Y/n moaned as she heard some of the buttons from her shirt fell on the floor. Y/n didn't even noticed that Tom already unclasped her bra and throw it on the floor. Tom stopped while looking at y/n body.

"Beautiful." he said goes down and started nibbling and sucking y/n breasts. Y/n arched her back at the sensation Tom was giving her.

Tom kisses went down into her stomach. Tom quickly unzip her jeans as she felt the eagerness of y/n to touch her down there. Tom smirked and happily obliged, he throw y/n jeans and undies on the floor. Tom kissed her again while his hand caressing y/n breast and the other playfully rubbing her cherry.

"Please." y/n begged as she moved her hips. She moaned when Tom started to insert his fingers and thrusting them into her. When Tom felt her wetness he removed his fingers and unzip his pant and throw them on the floor together with his underwear. Y/n watch Tom's huge member sprung upon removing his pants. The next she knew she is holding it with her hands and started jerking it off. Tom moaned as he felt the pleasure rushed into him.

It was a matter of time when Tom felt y/n mouth on the tip of his member. That's when Tom lost it, he moaned and watch as y/n sucking his manhood. The warmth and the way his manhood touched the tip of y/n is sensational, but Tom doesn't want to cum yet, so he positioned himself on top of y/n again and started kissing her. Y/n felt the tip of his manhood touching her entrance, and she moaned in Tom's lips when she felt him inside her.

Tom started to move slowly and deep and when he felt y/n had adjusted he started to thrust fast, hard, and deep. He felt y/n hands on his back while he buried his face on y/n neck.

"Fuck. I'm gonna--" y/n moaned as she felt the familiar sensation. Tom continued to thrust inside her after her orgasm. Y/n moaned as Tom keeps hitting her spot.

"Shit. I'm coming." Tom said, but he realized he wasn't wearing a condom so he had no choice but to cum outside. Tom pulls out his member and release it on y/n stomach.

Y/n moaned at the sight. Tom quickly grabs his shirt on the floor and wiped his release on y/n stomach. He kissed her and positioned himself beside her.

"I'm sorry, I didn't wear a condom. I didn't see this coming." Tom said and chuckled.

"I wasn't expecting this to happen either." Y/n said, still panting.

"I'm gonna miss you." Tom said, and kissed her.

"So bad."

"I'll miss you too." Y/n said, and this time it was her turn to cry. Tom quickly wiped her tears.

"I'll visit you every holidays." Tom said.

"No need, I'll make sure I'll be home every holidays" Y/n said.

"I love you." Tom smiled.

"I love you too, Thomas. Always." Y/n said and wrapped her arms around Tom. Hoping that this would not be the last time.

~~

Masterlist here.

I hope you enjoyed it! Tell me your thoughts.

If you want to be tagged on my upcoming oneshots, click this Taglist and fill-up the form.

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland smut #tom holland imagines #peter parker imagines #peter parker smut #peter parker #spider-man #tom holland fluff #tom holland fanfiction #fanfiction #tom holland oneshot #mcu #avengers infinity war #tom holland as boyfriend #tom holland boyfriend #tom holland au #tom holland headcanons

[jarchieriverdale]

I'm writing a Riverdale fanfic (Jarchie mainly, with Beronica on the side) which is one of my first proper fanfics ever. Any general tips or maybe even just tips for being brave enough to actually, you know, share it? I'm feeling so awkward about this entire thing!

Can I first start of with saying: so much kudos to you for wanting to put your fic up! Fandoms getting new fics and writers is always a huge YES because we always need more & definitely welcome it ^_^(This definitely ended up being really long, but I made a list further down if you don’t wanna read all my rambling. I’m not sure what specifically you’re feeling awkward about, but I covered a bunch of stuff :))

Reading this I was like, I’m probably not the best person to ask because I have really bad anxiety ?? but then I was like, actually, you know, that’s why I’m probably one of the best people to ask because HOW the HELL do I manage to do this despite that? And honestly it involves a lot of self-talk + bravery + a fuck-it-I’m-gonna-do-it-who-cares mood. And I have a feeling this post is going to be rather long, but I’ll just talk through my own experience and what I’ve told myself, and maybe it’ll help you (or someone else) as well. :D

(I decided to put this under cut IT’S SO LONG IM SORRY (& if you’re on mobile I’m even more sorry t_t) 

I’ve actually been writing stuff for YEARS. I started fanfics in middle school, before that I was writing my own little stories. Little me in primary school and early middle school, so badly wanting to be a writer (I RP’d a lot between 07-10 as well). But I never shared my writing. SOMETIMES with close friends, if I bought up an original story and they were interested I would send it to them. Otherwise, I wasn’t about to share it with anyone. ESPECIALLY not my fanfics when I started. A lot of my earliest have gone unseen by the world (and myself for years). I’m sure this may apply to a lot of people if you’ve written stuff for years, regardless what type of writing it is. I don’t know if you’ve written other stuff before anon, but if you haven’t that’s okay because we all gotta start somewhere & if you want to share it right away that’s one hell of an achievement and damned awesome. On the other hand, if it’s taken a while, that’s great too. Either way, sharing can be one hell of an anxiety inducing situation.

Okay, so when it came to finally posting stuff up, I’d definitely been writing a while, but at this point I knew I really wanted feedback on my writing, and to see if people enjoyed it, so that was a huge factor in me sharing it online. I’d never find out what people thought if I kept it to myself forever. Critique can sometimes be tough (just before my ImperialRemnant account on AO3 I wrote fanfic elsewhere and definitely had “this sucks” reviews - which isn’t so much a critique, but actually being a dick because they weren’t helpful - and definitely had fics that did rather terribly - still do - but it’s all a learning process & you eventually get used to it).

It’s also important where you post it, AO3 would be best of jarchie and beronica, as well as tumblr. Fanfic.net usually does better with gen fics. They’re the only ones I use, although I have accounts on some other sites I still gotta go on.

So I’ll go through things you should remember if you’re nervous about putting up fics (and things I have to remind/tell myself constantly):: 

1. I’ll start with the fact you’ll definitely get reviews/comments/critique like I said previously. But most people are REALLY REALLY nice, so don’t freak out (I tell myself, as I’m trying to rationalise), and I haven’t had anything terrible since making my ImperialRemnant account on AO3 or fanfic.net. And there are always times your fics won’t get any comments at all– and that’s fine too! I’ve had that happen to me, and in the long run, it doesn’t feel like a huge biggy??Also, sometimes people aren’t gonna like what you do and they’ll say that, but that takes me to a second point–

2. It’s not your problem if somebody doesn’t like something. This is really important to know. You wrote the fic because it’s a concept you wanted to write, and something you really wanted to share and that’s amazing. You put tags on everything in your fic, so the person will go in and know what to expect, so if somebody does say something, then it’s like… “it was in the tags/summary? Why did you read this then? Wtf?” then 0% your fault. (Tagging’s important guys! I do find it hard so if you do too then try! You’ll usually be fine). 

3. In regards to quality of fic, there’s definitely is a lot of amazing stuff out there, and that’s overwhelming. But you gotta know, there’s a lot of bad stuff too. I hate to say it, because it’s the nice thing to say all fic is good, but the reality is that’s not true. Your fic may not be the best (hey it may be damn amazing I haven’t seen it xD), but there’s a damn good chance it’s not going to be the worst either. Say to yourself this fic isn’t terrible, it’s fine. Your quality will improve over time anyway when you grow as a writer (Lord forbid there’s stuff from a year ago I published and I’m like… why did I do that…but that brings me to the next point).

4. SOMEBODY WILL LOVE YOUR FIC, I GUARANTEE THIS. I didn’t know this at first but learnt it quickly and have to remind myself EVERY TIME. Even if, later, you’re going “oh god that fic was a dumb idea”, there will be someone, at some point, who will have loved it and enjoyed it and wished there was more. It may just be one or two people but goddammit your audience is always gonna start small, and if it stays that way it will always be worth it for someone (that someone can be yourself too!). The best feeling is when somebody gets excited from your updates (HUGE reason why people should leave comments if they love a fic, because there’s a lot of people who are passive readers even when they love love LOVE a fic & just leave a kudos, definite issue. But I hope as a fandom we can not be like that?).

5. Your writing is not going to be perfect to you, it’ll never be perfect, you’ll be sure there’s a way something could be written better, but maybe you don’t know how to make it better (especially if you don’t have a beta!). I never expect fics, when I go in to read them, to be perfect. No writer is perfect, even properly published writers. You’re going to have to tell yourself it’s the best you can do RIGHT NOW for THIS fic. Put it through an editing program maybe if it’ll make you feel better (I use prowritingaid sometimes?) or leave the fic and go through it later. It’s gonna be fine.

6. Don’t expect much at first. Sometimes first fics can be very successful for people, but there’s a shit-ton of people where this doesn’t happen and it takes a while. When I first put fics up on AO3 they only got less than 10 kudos or something? You will eventually write something that a lot of people may love, but it can take a while. I think… well I’ll give you an example with the Star Wars fandom– I first wrote TFA & Kylux on AO3 before The Force Awakens had even come out, so obviously I didn’t get a lot of attention. When the movie came out, there was few fanfics but I was already there so a lot of people would read my fics (dunno if they liked them, but since they were some of the ONLY ones that existed they didn’t have much choice ;P). If you’re writing fics in a growing fandom you might be more likely get more attention later on your fics, if only because there’s few choices. Some of my fics still have barely any kudos, but I have nearly 60 fics and they’re gonna be a hit or a miss (& they eventually gather more kudos overtime, so even the worst fics have at least a few). With Jarchie, I was actually surprised I got as many as I did, but this fandom’s in the process of growing and I assume a lot of people are reading all the new fics?? It’s probably good for you actually, to right now put a fic when people are reading it and into it. 

6. It gets easier. Man, I ain’t even kidding, the first time I was putting up a fic I was freaking out like mad, going back and forth between the tag, mouse hovering over the publish button, re-reading a billion and ten times. It was ~kinda~ easier in a fandom where nobody was reading the fics because you definitely don’t expect much, but there were a couple of people who definitely enjoyed the series I was writing once I’d put some stuff up. And as time went on, it got much more easier. There’s a huge gap of time I didn’t put any fics up and it was hard to update again, but now that I did it, it’s once again easier to do it. I still have internal battles with myself over it, but it’s quicker to get over it and much easier to win. 

7. I forgot a note so I’m just gonna add it quickly. But if you’re really weird about it, you can first send it to a friend to look over, or a mutual or something. Or, since I myself never could do that, just tell someone about the idea– and I suggest telling someone you know won’t make a negative comment about it. Sometimes a “that sounds interesting” or “that sounds cool” can be even a little helpful. If you’re lucky, might even go a long way.

Honestly, my mind goes through a whole lot of panic, and sometimes it just takes a good mental day, and some excitement about the concept of my fic, to be able to be brave enough to finally put something up. I usually have low expectations when I share it (being a pessimistic person by nature, so as not to disappoint myself), but I’m like… somebody’s gonna like it at some point, it’s not the worst fic I’ve ever seen, it’ll be okay. And if a fic doesn’t do well, then you just need to put it behind and move on (repress memories haha). Leave it up, don’t take it down, somebody may eventually come across it and love it, but there’s no harm done having fics that don’t do well. It might just be that it’s not gonna appeal to most people, and that’s okay.

At the end of the day your fic’s gonna be okay. There’s a bunch of amazing, unique, horrendously weird, terrible, awful fics out there and the last thing you need to feel is awkward. I know this ended up being a monster of an essay but I hope it’s helped, even a little.

tl;dr? No need to feel awkward, sit yo ass down and just fuckin’ do it. Shit’s crazy.

#Anonymous #writing help #feel free to add things #or tell me if it's helped #or just ask me some more questions im willing to answer! #about any writing stuff. Like. I double majored in also writing/literature and have been writing fanfics a while #and seriously guys I love to help i won't bite #I mean this post itself i was freaking over but im having an okay mental day #and the fact somebody's asked me a question I'm just like !!!! #ask

[fyrianking]

♥️™ //shot

I’m on mobile and can’t tag this as NSFW so yeah. This is NSFW. You’ve been warned.

Of course it all started under the warm high moon of Lynchwood. It just as easily could have happened under the cold southern lights of the lonely ice shelf, but Nisha wasn’t about to get fucked by some bandit in some foreign place. As a result, the two Pandorans found themselves in Gunslinger Corner, atop a roof with nothing but a few empty bottles, the warm air sweeping in from The Dust, moonlight filtering in through dancing particles, and each other’s company. It started put rather awkward- after all, the two bandits had gotten somewhat used to each other, and perhaps had might have even become friends of a sort- the sort being the kind with benifits. Captain Flynt sat there, atop the building with hints of erosion, with rosy cheeks and a blank stare into the distance as alcohol coursed through his veins. Nisha was laying on her side, similar in disposition except her eyes were on something slightly more interesting. Years of being on Pandora and away from Handsome Jack was more than enough to make her thirsty for some good company and entertainment. Captain Flynt, on the other hand, was similar to Nisha in that he was cruel and ruthless and also didn’t mind getting laid with a bandit here and there. It just so happened that the interests of these two aligned at one particular moment, leaving the rosy-cheeked drunken sailor leaving back onto his arms, and the mischevious cowgirl pressing the palm of her hand right into his crotch.

Captain Flynt had nearly forgotten, under the blanket of alcohol, the primary reason for his presence. The gentle reminder was more than enough to get him into gear again. The hand that was pressed, through his baggy pantd, against his junk- grasping it and brushing against it and pressing down onto it- was making him chuckle. The laughter brought a smirk of satisfaction onto Nisha’s lips as she took it that the man was enjoying it… So she stopped. An uncertain grunt gurgled from Captain’s broad chest as he glanced down to see why exactly Nisha had ceased. He was about to spit a cuss in her face, but was stopped by a thin index finger to his lips. His brow furrowed- but only momentarily, as he noticed that the hand that was once toying around with him was now at her hip… Right on a rather nice couple pair of handcuffs.

There was a pole jutting out from the roof, and it was perfect to have the Captain bound to her mercy. His hands were together high above his head, and his feet were apart and chained down to a few metal beams that were twisting from the building. The sky was getting darker and darker- and rather being set ablaze fiery oranges and reds and yellows, it was fading into burdungy and purple and violet as the sun began to hide behind the dusty hills of the wasteland. The only reliable source of light that remained was the flaming barrels that lined the streets and a few of the roof tops. Captain Flynt was now at Nisha’s mercy, and the two of them seemed to be enjoying it a little too much. His tattered tank tip had been lifted up as high as it could go- to around his nipples. Nisha was in control now, and she could have as much fun as she wanted with him bound and defenseless. Just her type. As the Ripper rolled out some drunken slurs, Nisha lowered herself down onto his hips, straddling them while drawing a line down his stomach with her fingernail, making him shudder and groan. There were a few whispers, and she even pressed her lips down onto his belly button, but now it was time for her to go to work.

Nisha reached down to Captain Flynt’s belt buckle and slid it away from the zipper, all of which sat right between her legs as she straddled him. It was warm, it was firm, and it was thick and ready to be handled. Captain Flynt’s cock sprung up from the fabric once there was nothing left to hold it down. Ever so slightly, his lips parted as he did his best to look down and see what was all going on, but all that he could see was doubles. What he felt, however, was a whole other story. What he felt made his lips part further and further as, slowly, he lay himself back down onto his back. He could feel it, a warm hand firmly squeezing his shafts, running up and down the entirety of the length, as well as the occasional moist sensation right at the tip. He desperately wanted to reach down and touch Nisha, but all that he could do was flex his muscles and drone a sweet deep throated moan. Nisha could sense that he was already desperate- that he was growing weak so soon, and that prompted her to go even further. One hand was pleasing him, as were her lips, but there was still so much that they had to do.

Flynt began to write in desperation the moment there was that loss of touch, but if he had opened his eyes he would have seen Nisha derobing herself before him. Nisha, having total control of the situation, couldn’t help but let her mean-streak take over once again. She gave him a swift kick right into the side of his ribs, to which he responded with the clenching of his teeth and a slight wince. He stopped squirming. Nisha gave him a cold hard stare for a few brief moments, then shifted her gaze to the large space station in the sky. Giving the “H” a sly smirk, she flipped it off then returned her attention back to the man. She knelt at his side, then pressed her bare body against where he was exposed, running a hand up from his groin then up to his neck. Once again, she whispered something into his ear. Finally, she began to slide her body down hers until her rear met with his penis, and she continued to painfully tease him while staring at his face. She even reached down to one of the piercings embedded in his dick and slapped Captain Flynt in the face while mocking him and laughing at him. He only replied with a lecherous grin and a chuckle as he finally looked at her up and down. Her skin was fine for a Pandoran, and her body was beautifully curved and muscled and right on top of him. The grin was returned by Nisha as she brought herself to her knees to lift herself up, then fiy bring herself down onto Captain Flynt.

Just as suddenly as his eyes opened, they closed- only to be followed by a satisfied groan with a gaping mouth. It was warm. It was moist. It was tight and gripping onto him, and it almost felt like it was being pulled inside. For Nisha, it was also warm- almost hot. It was pulsating to some degree, and she could feel herself stretch on the inside. One of her hands rested on Captain Flynt’s stomach, as one pressed against her abdomen as she began to ride him. Both of their hearts began to race, and both of their breathing became heavier and heavier. Captain continued struggling against the chains, and even more so when she suddenly stopped and got up. Much to his dismay, when she sat herself back down it happened to be on his abdomen. She took hold of his cock again and pressed it against her clitoris, and she could feel the hot breath of the bandit against her back. Much to his delight, she slid his cock right back into her pussy as she lay back against him. Her fingers met with where his tip once did, and she began rubbing her sensitive area while moving with Captain Flynt who was doing all hat he could to thrust his hips forward. Her pressure was firm, but not too firm, and her other band held her lips apart so she could focus solely on the small bulb. All of this, however, was driving Captain up the wall. The more that Nisha would stimulate herself, the tighter she got. The tighter she got, the closer he felt. Even, by now, Nisha was gasping and twisting her head from one side to the other as she forced herself to go further and further until, finally, she felt a wonderful wave wash over her entire body as she climaxed. Captain Flynt, too, reached his peak. His breathing turned to moaning which turned to groaning and carnal noises that loudly echoed through the entire area. He could feel himself come undone, as though he were melting, as a huge sense of pleasure flushed through his body. He hardly even realized that he had just pumped Nisha full of fresh warm cum, and that it was leaking down his shaft, over his balls, and into his pants. Both of their breathing was shakey and irregular, and the both of them were trembling and were entirely tinted with a bit of red. There were no words afterwards. Nisha slowly brought herself to her feet snd gave the man a good stare. His eyes were half- lidded, and there was a stream of drool rolling down his cheek from the corner of his mouth. Nisha considered getting up and leaving him as he was, but she didn’t. Instead, she lay herself on top of him and fell asleep to the warmth of his body. When morning rolled around, however, the hungover Captain woke up to being partially naked and immobilized with nobody in sight to lend him a hand.