#when I get stuck on one fic another rears its head

[manicr]

What's Owed to Us: 'Twas the night before Christmas

Summary: Bullseye finally has a good day.

Pairing: Crossbones/Bullseye EXPLICIT

Additional tags: canon typical violence, explicit sex, mental illness, manipulation, power dynamics, possessiveness, dependency.

#manicr writes #crossbones #bullseye #what's owed to us #crossbones/bullseye #brock rumlow #marvel #when I get stuck on one fic another rears its head

[quillthrillswriting]

there are lots of people who've wondered what the gaang as a whole would have been like if they'd been older when they went on their world-altering quest, but... what if just aang was older? what if he had been frozen in his iceberg at age 16, instead of age 12?

for starters, i'm sure it'd change the dynamic between him and katara. maybe she'd look at him differently more quickly, maybe we'd get a bit of a reverse crush? he'd be taller than sokka much earlier on, and when zuko found him, he'd be "just a teenager," not "just a child."

essentially, to recap. ATLA aang aged up AU fic. kataang. where she falls first, and he falls harder.

i present to you... excepts from "the teenager in the iceberg", my newest ao3 fic 🤍

---

Shining blue eyes. Bright robes made up of strips of fabric coloured in shades of sunset they almost never saw down in the Southern tribes. 

The most beautiful boy she’d ever seen .

---

“W-Will-” he struggled, the words so hoarse that it was as though he hadn’t used his voice in decades. He cleared his throat, eyes sparkling distractingly, grinning roguishly. “Will you go penguin sledding with me?”

Katara blanched, momentarily caught off guard. She looked back over at Sokka, who had been watching the exchange with narrowed eyes and a suspicious expression as he recrossed his arms over one another. 

“I- um-... yes?” she answered, hesitantly, just as Sokka’s voice overlapped hers, yelping the words “She absolutely will not!” Katara shot him a scathing glare as the boy rose to his feet, shaking the snow off of his cloak like a polar-bear dog. 

Sokka continued, his voice both indignant and commanding.“We don’t even know your name, Mr. Walking Ice Cube! What were you doing in there? Were you trying to mimic a snow-man and you got too carried away?” 

“And you aren’t dressed for the cold,” Katara added appraisingly, giving him a once-over. “You look-”

“Dashingly handsome?” The boy smoothly interjected, accompanied by a grin that felt like it was just for her.

“...Cold.”  she said flatly, hoping she wasn’t furiously blushing as she shot him with what she hoped came across as a scathing glare.

---

Katara still wasn’t quite sure what to make of Aang. The Water Tribe boys had always been all flashy muscles, seal-jerky breath, and overconfidence, so Katara had never seen someone move, carry themself, the way Aang did.

---

Katara had admittedly forgotten how much fun penguin sledding was. “Spirits, I haven’t done this since I was a kid!” she called to Aang as he raced past her, surprisingly skilled considering that he’d never even seen a penguin until half an hour before. 

“You still are a kid!” He called back over his shoulder. “A kid who’s losing this race, badly!”

Katara’s competitive streak reared its head, her eyes narrowing as Aang stuck out his tongue. She sat up slightly, no longer gripping the penguin’s fur as tightly. “You wish!” She shouted back the words as she raised her hands, breathing deeply. Her hands moved through the positions she had practised from the few bending scrolls the tribe still held on to, and before Aang knew it, the snow in front of Katara turned to ice, and she shot past him as his own ice trail suddenly became dry snow with too much friction to slide on. 

She made it to the bottom of the hill, beaming, breathing heavily. The wind had whipped her hair out of her bun, and she knew without checking that her hair must have looked like a lion-turtle’s mane. She watched as Aang made a show of drying himself off with a gust of wind that he then redirected at her, messing up her curls even more. 

“You’re a cheater !” Aang gasped, mockingly clutching imaginary pearls at his throat. “I demand a rematch.”

Katara strode past him, only turning her head to cast him a smug smirk. “Maybe you’re just not as good of a penguin sledder as you thought.”

“Oh, not so fast!” Aang grabbed her wrist, tugging her back towards him, and she internally questioned why the momentary brush of their skin made her heart flip. He tried to trip her, she tried to flip him, and they both ended up on their backs in the snow, giggling, cheeks and noses bright pink from the cold. 

---

“Gran, I want you to meet Aang, he’s-”

“An airbender.” Her grandmother said the words with complete and utter awe. “The last airbender.”

Aang’s nose wrinkled in confusion, his head tilting and mouth opening to ask for clarification, but Gran’s next words stunned him and the rest of the room into silence. 

“The Avatar .”

Sokka and Katara’s jaws dropped, both pivoting to face Aang. Katara looked up at him, expecting to see shock and confusion, but she was met with sheepishness as Aang rubbed the back of his neck with his hand.

“You are .” Katara breathed. “Spirits, you’re the Avatar.”

♥ this (multichapter) fic is still in progress, but check out the first chapter here!->

#aang is a GOOD PARTNER #and i STAND by that they have such a sweet relationship #atla kataang #kataang #atla fanfic #atla fandom #ao3 #avatar the last airbender #writing #ao3 recs #ao3 works #ao3 link #ao3 writer #confessions #fluff #eventual romance #atla sokka #katara #aang #kataang fanfic #aang aged up au #older aang #quillthrillsatlafic

[ayyy-pee]

your hc about kishibe being jealous about readers’ ‘little vacation’ with aki was so 😵‍💫😵‍💫 i need a fic about peepaw like that 😭😭

omgggg hahaha when yall call him peepaw, i lose it lmfaoooo. i was thinking about this while i was working. but i got a little drabble for you. nothing crazy

i'm a firm believer that aki is the only person who can pull jealousy out of kishibe. he's someone kishibe actually respects who understands your lifestyle, can empathize with you and honestly may be more similar to kishibe than he would like to acknowledge

so in the company meeting held after your return, when kishibe stumbles in a little more tipsy than he intended and misses his opportunity to sit next to you, he's just a little bit bothered to see you sitting shoulder to shoulder with aki. only a tiny bit annoyed when aki leans over and whispers something in your ear that makes your eyes widen and has you giggling behind your hand

you two seem to have gotten closer since your little stint in the hotel together. when kishibe thinks about it, it makes sense. you both survived what he's sure was a traumatic experience fighting a devil together. but when he sees you and aki together, hears you and aki make your inside jokes, sees the way aki's gaze lingers on you a little longer than kishibe likes, he can't help but wonder if anything happened in that hotel room

it's pathetic really. he knows you'd never do that to him. he knows aki wouldn't dare actually make a move. it's all in his head, which only makes him drink more. he hates the notion of being jealous. hates the notion of losing you to aki (or anyone) even more

company meeting or not, kishibe pulls out his flask and takes a large swig of whatever he dumped in there this morning. he can't remember

when you get home later that night and crawl into bed with kishibe in nothing but your little panties and t-shirt, he finds himself wondering if aki got to see you like this, that green eyed monster rearing its ugly head again. he'd drink the feeling away, but he left his liquor in the kitchen and he's too lazy to get it now. but you wrap your arms around him, kissing along his neck, across his jaw, along the scar on his cheek and the feeling subsides, if only for a moment

"i missed you so much, kishi," you whisper against him. his hand drifts under your shirt and up your bare back, a small groan rushing past his lips when he gets to feel your warm skin. he didn't think he'd be able to do this when you had disappeared without a word with aki. he was ready to accept that yet again, someone he cared about had died

the jealousy comes back, again thinking about you stuck in bed just like you are with him, but with aki next to you. it couldn't be comfortable sleeping in your uniform, surely. some possessive part of him fights his way past the alcohol already in his system that would usually keep the jealousy down. it makes it's way to the surface and then kishibe's lips are slotted against yours- sloppy, greedy, hungry. he wants to claim you, make sure you don't forget you're his and his alone

he moves so that his body lays atop yours, wasting no time with gentle caresses before his hand is in your panties, fingers finding your clit and rubbing rough circles while his mouth latches to your neck. he sucks hard, sure to leave a mark, reveling in the sharp cry it brings out of you

good. he thinks. maybe that topknot little shit will back off when he sees it

"how much did you miss me?" he asks, sucking a new mark on your neck, this one right above your throat. he really does want to know. were you thinking about him while you were stuck in the room for days with aki? or was he the last thing on your mind?

"so much, so much, kishi," you pant, arms looping around his neck to pull him in for another kiss. his fingers slide through your folds, faster, easier as your arousal builds, your slick coating his digits.

"ohhh- kishibe, ngh fuck, i missed you so fucking much. fuck me, fuck me please" you whine. he's happy to oblige, yanking your panties down, pulling his pants and boxers down just enough to free his throbbing cock and then he's pushing into you, hard and deep, rough groans mixing with your soft ones. then he moves, thrusting into you with vigor

the sloppy, wet sounds of his balls smacking against your ass fill the room. your loud moans make kishibe grow harder as he fucks into you. he thinks you're so pretty like this. mouth open, brows knitted, head tilted forward so you can watch kishibe's cock disappear into you. so pretty

and then there's that jealousy again. thinking about you and aki possibly cuddled in bed together. it makes him want to be a little mean

"hmm, so wet already. you missed me that much? didn't enjoy your little vacation with aki?"

"w-what?" you gasp, a little surprised by the poor timing of his question

his large hand grips your thigh, his thick fingers molding into the soft flesh, "you heard me, beautiful. you and aki" he shifts his hips, drives into you deeper, hits that sensitive spot right above your cervix that makes you keen. and he likes that sound a lot. he buries his face back in your neck, sucks yet another new mark into your skin before he's mumbling against you, "had a lot of time to get to know each other. seem real buddy buddy now"

he can hear your lips part, surely trying to come up with a coherent response, but the tip of his cock keeps pounding into that spot and it's reducing you to nothing but a stupid, speechless mess

"i see how he looks at you now," kishibe grunts, squeezing your thigh. "he wants you so fuckin' bad. it's obvious"

"no he doesn't," you finally tell him and he laughs against your skin

"oh baby, i know you're smarter than that"

"i don't wanna talk about aki, kishibe"

"he wants to fuck you, you know" he tells you, slowing his thrusts when he feels your walls tighten around him slightly. he pulls back, cocks his head to the side before he looks down between you. "oh? maybe you wanna fuck him too"

you shake your head. "i don't. i only want y-"

"you sure?" he asks. "maybe i'll share you with him. or maybe i'll let him watch"

your walls clamp down on kishibe's length, pulling a harsh grunt from him.

"looks like you'd like that," he says through gritted teeth. "never gonna fuckin' happen but maybe i'll let him watch. let him see what you look like when you're takin' my cock so fuckin' good. let him watch and wish he knew what it felt like to be balls deep in this sweet little pussy"

kishibe is well aware he's being childish, doesn't care though. it's not as though he gets jealous often, if ever. this is a new feeling he hasn't experienced before. he can't really help it. doesn't think he could stop it if he tried. you make him a little crazy crazier than he already is. he really can't explain it

kishibe releases your thigh so he can lean back. he presses his fingers to your lower belly, tracing the outline of the bulge that flattens and swells each time he fills you with his cock

"maybe aki'll get the message if i put a baby riiiiiight here" he taps right below your belly button and you gasp, your pussy tightening around him again

"kishibe, i- oh my god - i'm gonna-"

he leans down, runs his tongue along your bottom lip before he takes the soft flesh between his teeth and sucks hard

"do it then" he interrupts as he resumes his rough pace from before. "cum on my cock. mine. aki will never fuckin' have you. i don't care how many times you end up locked in a fuckin' time loop with him. you're mine. only way you're gettin' rid of me is if you die"

he feels your walls fluttering around him

"yes! i'm yours! all yours! only yours," you cry out, repeating him without him asking.

"good girl," kishibe mutters, feeling your entire body shudder suddenly when your release crashes over you, your pussy squeezing down on him so hard he feels dizzy. or maybe it's the alcohol. doesn't matter. it has his hips stuttering, his body coming forward to loom over you as he keeps thrusting in and out, in and out. has him burying his face in the space between your neck and shoulder as a guttural groan rips from his throat

he just loves the way your velvet walls wrap around his cock, swallowing him whole over and over until you're milking him for all that he's worth, thick ropes of cum painting your insides white. he'd die before he lets aki ever think he has a chance at experiencing this. this is heaven. you are heaven.

and when kishibe comes down from his high, panting above you, giving you sweet kisses as you catch your breath, he nods along with your reassuring words of only wanting him. it soothes him, makes him hard all over again. then his hips are moving again, fucking his cum back into you slowly, staking his claim until there's nothing left for him to give

the next day at the office is...awkward as kishibe watches with hardly concealed humor and satisfaction when aki enters the conference room. his cool blue eyes dart between you and kishibe who has taken his spot next to you, then his gazes drifts over every mark left along your neck from the night before. hard to hide them all when there's so many. you try to play it off, give aki a smile. he returns the gesture awkwardly as he finds another seat at the table

kishibe places his large hand on your thigh beneath the table where no one can see, gives you a gentle squeeze as he feels the normalcy return, the jealousy he once felt now nowhere to be found

#kishibe x reader #kishibe hcs #old kishibe x reader #kishibe x you #kishibe smut #this kishibe brainrot will kill me one day #i need him so bad #they didn't have to animate him that way #KISHIBEEEEEE CALL MEEEEEEEEEE #csm kishibe x reader #kishibe x y/n #kishibe x black reader #x black reader #x reader #anime x black reader #anime x reader #kishibe i cannot stop thinking about you

[c-e-d-dreamer]

What If I Told You I’m A Mastermind? (Part One)

A/N: Well, in a completely unsurprising twist, Option B won, so here it is! The first part of my Witchy Nesta fic series. Now, I know what you’re thinking as you’re reading this, but Caty, where is Witchy Nesta? To which I say, this is only Part One. I need to set it all up, ya feel me? Also, you know I had to use a lyric from Miss Swift’s new album for this fic! But you’ll never guess who the mastermind in question actually is ;) Just kidding. You probably can. Anyways! All that to say, hope everyone enjoys :) 

Lightning cracks across the sky, a silver chasm that cuts through the inky black of the clouds overhead and brightens the world below if only for a blink. The rumble of thunder that follows shakes the earth down to the roots of the trees that surround Cassian’s backyard, and Cassian swears he can feel the echo in his own bones. He continues to watch out the back window of his kitchen, waiting for the lash of rain to blur the pane, but it seems the clouds are set on holding their breath just a little while longer.

The trees groan and shift under the wind as it picks up, red and yellow leaves losing their battles and swirling down to the grass below. It’s then that Cassian catches movement beneath one of the larger trees, a streak of black that darts under the shrubbery. He feels bad for whatever squirrel or raccoon it is, hopes it can get back to its burrow before the rain starts, but then another streak of lightning brightens the sky, and Cassian gets a better look at the black and white fur, spots pointed ears and little paws and whiskers.

A cat.

There’s a cat in his backyard, and the skies are seconds away from opening up with this terrible storm.

Cassian doesn’t even bother throwing on shoes. He yanks open his sliding glass door and hurries into the backyard barefoot. Of course, as soon as he’s made it over to the brush, that’s when the clouds finally stop holding back, rain pouring down in cold streaks all around him. Cassian hunches his shoulders against the onslaught, pushing his wet hair out of his face, as he crouches down.

“Hey there, little buddy,” Cassian speaks over the sound of the storm, reaching his hand toward the bundle of black and white fur. The cat rears back on its haunches, hissing at him, and Cassian winces, praying to the Mother that he doesn’t earn a scratch or bite for his trouble. “Come on. You don’t want to be stuck out here in this storm, do you?”

Cassian continues to hold his hand out, waiting, counting mentally even as his clothes soak through more and more with rain. The cat continues to eye him, almost calculating with each sweep of those golden eyes. Finally, the cat takes a tentative step forward, sniffing at Cassian’s fingers before pressing under his hand so his palm slides down the fur of its head. With careful, slow movements so as to not spook the poor thing, Cassian shifts his hand to wrap around the cat’s belly, scooping the cat up and tucking it against his chest, using his other hand to continue offering soothing pets.

Cassian rushes back inside as fast as he dares without potentially dropping the cat, yanking the door closed behind him. He sets the cat down gently in the kitchen, heading into his bedroom to peel off his drenched clothes. Once he’s changed into a soft, dry pair of sweats, he grabs a towel, rubbing it roughly through his hair and stepping back into the kitchen.

It’s easy enough to find the trail of watery paw prints along the hardwood, and Cassian finds the cat sniffing and exploring around the cabinets. He uses the towel to scoop the cat back up, gently drying it off despite the cat’s meows of protest and attempts to wiggle free. When he finally pulls the towel away from the cat’s face, its fur is extra fluffy and sticking up all around its face. Cassian just barely holds back his laughter at the sight, and he swears the cat scowls back at him with narrowed, yellow eyes.

“What?” Cassian asks innocently, setting the cat back down and grabbing a bowl to fill with water.

While the cat drinks, Cassian snatches up his phone where he’d left it on the kitchen counter. He snaps a photo of the cat, telling himself it’s so he can post about finding a lost cat and hopefully find the owner, but really, he just sends it to the group chat with his family and friends. It earns him a series of question marks from Rhys and a slew of questions from Mor about being a cat dad now. Cassian does let out a laugh at the response, drawing the attention of the cat who peers up at him and offers up another meow.

“Feeling better now?”

Cassian crouches down so he can scratch behind the cat’s ears, eliciting a series of deep, rumbling purrs, the cat’s eyes falling shut as it leans into Cassian’s touch. He continues to run his hand down the cat's head and back until his own back starts to ache from the position, but when he stands back up, the cat just starts to weave back and forth between his legs, knocking its head against his shins.

He decides to scoop the cat up again, carrying it into his living room and settling on his sofa with the cat on his lap. The cat seems more than okay with the change, curling up without any coaxing. It’s easy enough to find a film on the television, and Cassian relaxes back, aimlessly stroking his hand through the cat’s fur. With every purr, every slide of the soft fur beneath his fingers, Cassian sinks deeper and deeper into the cushions, can feel himself unwinding one muscle at a time and the tension from his work week slipping away.

Perhaps a cat has been what he’s needed this whole time after all.

~ * * * ~

Cassian steps out of his bedroom the next morning, rubbing the remnants of sleep from his eyes and lazily scraping his hair back away from his face. He already has directions to the nearest pet store pulled up on his phone, already has a mental list of everything he will need, starting with food and cat litter. He’s started wondering if he should name the cat himself or ask his family for name suggestions, well past worrying that it makes him a terrible person for not even considering putting up “found cat” posters. The cat doesn’t have a collar on after all.

He finds the cat in question sitting in the front entryway of his house, meowing at the door. When it realizes Cassian has stepped into the room, it stands up and walks closer to the door, looking at Cassian with a look he swears looks like expectancy. As if that isn’t enough, when the silence continues to hang in the room, Cassian not moving and continuing to stand there watching curiously, the cat seems to roll its eyes. It lets out another meow and raises a paw, knocking it against the door.

“Do you need to… be let out?”

Tentatively, Cassian steps toward the door, unlocking it and pulling open. He barely has it open a crack before the cat is darting out, not even bothering to look back, and scampers down the front steps.

“Fuck,” Cassian curses under his breath.

Cassian rushes back into his bedroom, pulling a hoodie on over his sweats. He practically trips over his own feet in his haste to get a pair of shoes on, and then he’s sprinting out the door after the cat. His eyes dart back and forth around the block, trying to figure out where the cat could have possibly run off to. He spots it sitting on the sidewalk at the end of the block. For a moment, Cassian half thinks the cat is waiting for him, especially when it turns its head and meets Cassian’s gaze, but then the cat is taking off again.

Despite Cassian’s best attempts to catch the cat, it leads him to the next block of his neighborhood and down the road to a house that sits on the corner. Cassian’s steps stutter to a stop as he takes in the Victorian architecture, the dark shutters, the wide porch, the turret built into the left side of the house. Has this house always been here?

Cassian has to forcefully shake his mind back into focus, but by the time his thoughts have caught back up to the present, the cat has already made its way up onto the porch. It lets out a meow and the large, wooden front door swings open, the most beautiful woman Cassian has ever seen stepping into view.

Her golden brown hair is braided away from her face, wrapped around to look like a crown atop her head, but a few strands seem to have fallen loose and they fall in whispers along her temples and cheeks, adding to the cutting lines of her features. She’s wearing a black dress, the sleeves of it almost sheer. The v of the neckline accentuates her collarbones and chest, and the hem flutters against her thighs, showing off long, toned legs. Cassian can’t breathe, his whole mouth drying up. He’s never been so mad at himself for wearing sweats out of the house. This woman is a goddess incarnate, and he looks like he just rolled out of bed.

“Finally decided to return home, did you?” the woman asks the cat at her feet, her voice almost melodic. Already, Cassian wants to hear her speak again, wants to hear her say his name, wants to know if her laugh will sound as lilting and lovely.

The cat lets out another meow then looks back toward Cassian. It draws the woman’s attention too, and a pair of eyes so blue they almost look silver land on him. Cassian wants to drown in them, wants to stare into them until he forgets his own name, have them on him for forever. Gods, if he thought she was beautiful before…

The woman tilts her head, those eyes narrowing slightly, and Cassian realizes with a jolt that he should say something, that Cauldron knows how long has passed in just silence between them. He’s standing here, outside her house, like an idiot, his mouth practically hanging open while he openly stares at her. Between that and his appearance, he’s officially making the worst first impression known to man, and Gods, does he want to make a good first impression. He wants a lot of things with this woman.

“Hi, I’m… uh… Cassian,” Cassian starts, nervously rubbing a hand against the back of his neck. “I found your cat in my backyard.”

The woman hums, her eyes sweeping Cassian up and down. It feels like fingers grazing along his spine and he has to swallow hard, even as his blood heats and blazes fire down his limbs. He waits expectantly for the woman to respond and tell him her name, practically thrums with anticipation for it. He swears he can hear it whispered on the autumn breeze swirling around him, swears something deep within his chest rises to meet it, to meet her.

“Thank you for bringing him back,” the woman tells him.

But the woman doesn’t say anything more. She spins on her heel and heads back into her house, her cat trotting in after her. The door swings shut behind them, as if flicked with a phantom hand, leaving Cassian alone on the sidewalk.

It takes all of his willpower to walk away and head back to his own house, but he can’t fight the smile that pulls its way across his face. His mind continues to circle back to that woman. That beautiful woman and the few words she actually said to him. Already, Cassian wants to know more about her, wants to see her again, speak with her. He wonders if he can figure out an excuse to do just that, wonders if he can convince her to go out and get a drink with him.

—

Taglist (let me know if you would like to be added or removed): @moodymelanist @hellogoodbye14 @nestaspegasus @nesquik-arccheron @sv0430 @lady-winter-sunrise @talkfantasytome @secretlovelybeauty @dontgetsalmonella @swankii-art-teacher @mis-lil-red @bookstantrash @eirini-thaleia @sleeping-and-books @wonderland--memories​ @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter​ @sayosdreams​ @ubigaia​ @duskandstarlight​ @live-the-fangirl-life​ @chosenfamily-valkyriequeens​ @fromthelibraryofemilyj​ @luivagr-blog​ @autumnbabylon​ @xstarlightsupremex​ @lifeisntafantasy​ @deedz-thrillerkilller16​ @superspiritfestival​ @faeriebambula​ @almosttenaciousmoon​ @vanjaulven​ @laughadil​ @magdoi​ @hiimheresworld​ @birdsdontwearshoes​ @marigold-morelli​ @goddess-aelin​ @sweet-pea1​ @emeriethevalkyriegirl​ @pyxxie​ @dustjacketmusings​ @hallway5​

#nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #acotar #nessian fanfiction #nessian fic #nesta x cassian #witchy Nesta #my fic

[fuckyeahtransformersfanfic]

TFP FICS

Some of my favorites that take place in Transformers: Prime!

💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠

Primacy (yelling all the way down) Series by towards_morning (@decepti-thots), harperuth, stiction

Ratchet follows his naive friend Orion into his and Megatronus' attempt to reason with the council. It ends poorly, at least by his measure.

Dratchte, Megatron/Orion Pax/Starscream, Deathsaurus/Tarn, Multiple With A Side of Everyone is Hot for Prime Ratchet | TFP | G-E | Ongoing | 70k+ | 16 Works

Contact by auri_mynonys

Orion Pax knows there's a word for what Megatronus means to him. He just can't quite put his finger on what it is.

Which is probably how he missed the moment where he asked Megatronus to marry him.

MegOP | TFP | E | Complete | 98k | 11/11

I'm All Full Up on Yesterdays, Don't Sing Me No More Blues by DesdemonaKaylose (@desdemonafictional)

Jazz turned in his seat, cube at his lips, just in time to spot the white pursuit vehicle steaming and panting in the doorway. “Jazz of Staniz,” the enforcer shouted, “surrender the matrix and come quietly!”

Jazz knocked back his drink. “Well!” he said to the open-mouthed bartender, “time to split!”

JazzProwl, MegOP | TFP | M | Complete | 40k+ | 8/8

Come in, Roswell by cassette (@cassettemoon)

They said that the aliens hadn’t hit Roswell.

They said that the aliens had hit Jasper.

(There's something different about Jasper, and Jack Darby ends up right in the middle of it)

KOBD, June Darby/Arcee | TFP | G | Complete | 18k+ | 1/1

Life in Glass Houses by blueskyscribe (@blueskyscribeupdates)

No one would have thought Bumblebee and Knock Out were capable of getting along, but when they're stuck in a strange new world and their only hope of survival is cooperation . . . Yeah, they're probably doomed.

KOBD | TFP, TFP: Shattered Glass | T | Ongoing | 119k+ | 33/?

If I Could Just Know What You Wanted by dropout_ninja (@dropout-ninja)

Knock Out wanted to give his old partner another chance. If only he felt (he first came to realize when he was already looking over Autobot Outpost Omega One and the glares of its inhabitants) more confident that this was what Breakdown would have wanted. AU after S2 Episode: Crossfire.

In which Knock Out tries his best to listen, Breakdown tries to enjoy neutrality, Bulkhead tries his best to adjust, Dreadwing tries to be the officer the vehicons deserve, a vehicon with a grudge fills Knock Out's old role, the decepticons fall into chaos, the autobot base gets far too crowded, and a few forgotten enemies rear their ugly heads.

Or: it’s all Brainstorm’s fault for encouraging this madness, but what else is new?

KOBD, RatchJack, MegOP (Past) | TFP | T | Complete | 390k+ | 107/107

#tfp #fuck yeah transformers fanfic #maccadam #maccadams #transformers #fic rec #fic rec list #i may have some authors I am particularly fond of

[napneeders]

since I never finish anything I might as well just publish fragments so here's the opening of the fic that was supposed to be stizzy porn but immediately started demanding blackhands history

this is the "vanilla sex makes Izzy dissociate" one and also the Chekhov's bloodstain one (aka CW for blood eating)

***

"Izzy?"

His mind drifts back, and he realises he has been thinking of Hornigold's ship, walking its empty rooms. Stede is pulling away, pulling out, and a cold fear grips him.

"Izzy? Are you okay?"

Bonnet is on his knees beside him looking concerned.

He sits up fast, suddenly vulnerable now that Stede's weight is gone from his back.

"What are you on about," he snaps.

He had killed three men that night. The rest had been on shore, or had run that way when trouble started.

"You weren't… it didn't seem like you were enjoying yourself."

The memory is soothing to him: walking through the ship, room by room, the emptiness and quiet making it unreal and holy. Drawing a map with his steps. Pulling it back into realness, hall by hall, cabin by cabin, yard by yard, for Ed.

He's trying to focus but the present avoids him like the wrong end of a magnet.

"Did I do something wrong?" Bonnet asks.

Shut up.

"No." He finally finds a corner of the moment and sinks his teeth into it: "You need me to tell you what a good job you’re doing fucking me, every second of the way?”

That, in fact, is what Bonnet tends to do, a running litany that suffuses the air.

“Well, no –” the man splutters, clearly offended.

He lies down with his arms behind his head, hoping that Bonnet will take the hint.

Bonnet lies down too.

"What were you thinking about?" he asks kindly.

"Ship floorplans."

After a while Izzy leaves to check on the crew.

*

He comes to the captain's cabin last. He doesn't knock.

His blood soars at the sight of the ruin: the broken chair, the page caught by a knife stuck into the table, the dark stains in the curtain, half torn off the window. Soars higher at Ed, sitting in Hornigold's throne of a chair with his legs hanging over one curving armrest, every inch the victor. He's sucking on a pipe, the other hand holding a bottle loosely in his lap.

A dark trail leads from the chair to the door where they dragged out the body. Izzy follows it in. A puddle of blood gleams in the candlelight before the chair, feet from where he stops.

"Ivan and Fang are manning the helm."

"Good," Ed says somberly, and then grins.

"Fucking lunatic," Izzy huffs mildly, "taking a ship with four men." He turns over another chair that has fallen to its side and falls into it.

Ed hands him the bottle and he takes a long swig.

"Nevermind that, how are we going to sail a ship with four men?" Izzy continues.

"Izzy, Izzy," Ed surrurs like his name is a shush. "We'll get more men. Tonight we're celebrating."

Izzy takes another sip before handing the bottle back.

When the rum is done, Ed grabs the front of Izzy's shirt and pulls him into his mouth. There's no preamble, there rarely is, just lips turning into teeth, hands gripping his shoulder and side. Teeth on his neck. He pulls Ed's hair. Ed pulls back harder.

"Come on," he says and drags Izzy up by the scruff, pushes him across the room and into a wall. Sharp nails under his shirt, a thigh pinning his crotch, Ed's mouth sucking bruises under his jaw.

"You'll leave a –" Izzy pants.

"Who cares if I leave a mark," Ed growls. "I'm the fucking captain now."

Something inside Izzy floods.

By the time Ed stops, Izzy is sure his whole neck is going to be a bruise tomorrow. He's aroused beyond recognition, heavy and slow and frantic. Ed manoeuvres him around again, ending back at his chair.

"You should clean that up," Ed says wickedly as he sprawls into the chair, nodding at the stain on the floor.

Annoyance rears its head. "I'm not fucking cleaning now."

Ed leans forward and smiles, going from a little too sweet for comfort to a claw in his lung.

"Kneel," he says, voice even and heavy like a burning iron. Izzy folds under it, folds to his knees, and looks up, mouth opening to a question.

In answer, the heel of Ed's boot hooks onto his shoulder and pulls him forward.

It only feels unnatural for a second, then Izzy's gone, lapping it up like it's his blood that he's trying to get back into his body.

#my writing #ofmd fanfiction #blackhands #stizzy #blood #don't think too hard about the timeframe here #o

[cloudninetonine]

*walks on in tiredly while utilizing high heels, stares at the chaos, shrugs, offers you tea then sits down with biscuits to watch the world burn* I have zero context about what I just walked into, but darn it if it ain't entertaining after a long week of bull, hope y'all are doing good and getting enough rest plus doing good today! May existence treat you decently.

I would honestly feed you more mythological lore right now but it's unfortunately the middle of a storm with lightning and my brain is tired, so maybe in another ask, but a fun little factoid here: Cú Chulainn once broke a divine sword made by the gods themselves after using it precisely two times, so I personally find it funny if the reason Fi breaks down in TOTK is because Fia/Seraph pushed her too much and didn't take her to a smith before he died and then she just ended up in Wild's hands which wasn't any better, unintentional and probably not a true parallel but just thought I'd share. Plus an excerpt of what he looked like during the Riastrad according to Thomas Kinsella's Tain:

"The first warp-spasm seized Cúchulainn, and made him into a monstrous thing, hideous and shapeless, unheard of. His shanks and his joints, every knuckle and angle and organ from head to foot, shook like a tree in the flood or a reed in the stream. His body made a furious twist inside his skin, so that his feet and shins switched to the rear and his heels and calves switched to the front... On his head the temple-sinews stretched to the nape of his neck, each mighty, immense, measureless knob as big as the head of a month-old child... he sucked one eye so deep into his head that a wild crane couldn't probe it onto his cheek out of the depths of his skull; the other eye fell out along his cheek. His mouth weirdly distorted: his cheek peeled back from his jaws until the gullet appeared, his lungs and his liver flapped in his mouth and throat, his lower jaw struck the upper a lion-killing blow, and fiery flakes large as a ram's fleece reached his mouth from his throat... The hair of his head twisted like the tangle of a red thornbush stuck in a gap; if a royal apple tree with all its kingly fruit were shaken above him, scarce an apple would reach the ground but each would be spiked on a bristle of his hair as it stood up on his scalp with rage."

Just some fun facts.

Lora fic is 45% complete, song of choice is under wraps but I can send in an excerpt when it's not storming outside?

Player's Newly Gifted Wolf Vs Wolfie for the role of best doggo, fight! That or the wolf and horse are immediately Player's besties and help them get up to shenanigans, Legend being overly suspicious? Horse pushes him down with their head and the wolf walks on by at the precisely convenient time, Player wants to play a prank on Wild? Wolf is there as a distraction while the horse helps Player get away with the promise of sneaking them meat bits during dinner, plus I can see Seraph/Fia just LOSING it in the afterlife. On another note, Seraph/Fia noticing neither Wild nor Hyrule are teaching Player how to handle weapons, sighs and immediately goes "Fine I'll do it myself" by pulling a Hero's Shade and teaching them whenever they're in fairly isolated areas, look he respects their view and approves of it, but he also was a Gladiator and had to kill his shield brother so I feel like him teaching anyone self defense is a must, next time Dink comes by the Chain he just gets immediately shanked by Player who at least learned how to use daggers efficiently, or throws down hand to hand with Dink on the ground while Seraph is practically hollering proud comments like a coach or something, or lends them a bit of his strength/magic in a semi-Riastrad state temporarily to help, idk I'm tired, might dive into it later.

Also I have discovered what's arguably a rare Link variant, and that'd be Sir Raven aka Legend's Ancestor, double agent hero of Labrymna from the OOA Manga and Time's descendentant

My sleep deprived self personally thinks it's important more people know he exists.

Something something, au where everything is the same but Player is a Herscherr, or more aptly has a Herscherr personality that's either more like HoV or HoS from Honkai, or au where Player is basically Shin Shin Yuseung from ORV. I only have half an idea how that would work, but let's just say Dink would have a bad day either way, FD would probably be intrigued and First and Sky would once again be divine bait.

Anyway that will be that for today, hope you're having a nice time of the day and existence!

-A Very Awkward and Tired Summertime Musician.

HI SUM I HOPE EVERYTHING ON YOUR END IS OKAY NOW!

Also SIR RAVEN I LOVE HIM

He's such a handsome man.

The idea that the reason Wild breaks weapons so much is passed down from Fia/Seraph makes me cackle- like ancestor like descendant I guess OIBDEWOICEI.

ALSO HERO'S SAHDE SERAPH TYPE BEAT I LOVE IT- sure he's gotta deal with Player screaming the first time they see him but it's a very enlightening experience seeing someone dead in your dreams so mans just gotta suck it up. At least Player gets to shank Dink, that's all they care about.

Wolf and Horse duo! We love to see it! Player's little buddy with too much sharp teeth and the horse who people wish wasn't a predator! Their main focus being Player is cute too.

I'm not very informative about Honkai, other than what my friend has info dumped on me but I do slightly remember a herscherr so good luck with that Dink OHBEOIEO

#cloud answers

[hotdamnhunnam]

Jax + 👀⏰🚭

Thanks for your request for my Emoji Fic Fest! 💗

..................................................

Up in Smoke

Pairing: Jax Teller x F!Reader Warnings: smut, swearing, overused tropes y’all have already read (friends to lovers + only 1 bed) Word Count: ~1.3k Emoji Prompt: 👀⏰🚭 (key words are in bold)

“What?”

You glare at him and keep your mouth shut. How the fuck dare he ask what.

He went and said it as if he has any right to look so hot when he’s supposed to look like shit. Just sitting there. Sleep-deprived stare, messy ass hair. Ratty old shirt stinking of sweat and dirt and he just doesn’t care. Jax Fucking Teller never looks like shit, not even just a little bit.

Last night he got stuck in a fight and needed somewhere quiet he could crash and hide. As his best friend you somehow got caught in the middle of it. Now you and Jax are cooped up here in this motel out on the roadside. Some unspoken tension rears its ugly head between you two and you’ve no clue how to get rid of it.

Actually you do—you have more than just a clue—you know you need this stupid sexy piece of shit to fucking fuck you.

“How’d you sleep,” you ask without lifting your voice into a question. Your own sleep wasn’t that deep. You’d tossed and turned in every possible direction. On a mattress that felt like the pit of hell—expected nothing less from this motel, given the room was so dirt cheap.

He gives you that signature you’re-a-stupid-whore look which between friends is endearing. Friends or not, coming from him it’s fucking hot. A whole damn kink. “How do you think.”

You cross your arms and scowl. He chose to sleep on a scrappy old towel. “Christ, don’t be a dick about it. I told you to take the blanket but you said you’d be fine on the floor without it.”

Jax ignores that and just pulls a cigarette out. Sticks it in the sweet pink pucker of his mouth. You want to be that cigarette right now. You wish he’d read your mind somehow. Why can’t this big blonde idiot figure it out…?

He takes a puff and looks so hot you might start choking. You can’t handle that today. “Put that away. This room’s non-smoking.”

Snickers at you as his broad shoulders lift up in a slight shrug. “Do I look like I give a fuck?”

You start to fume, the smell of smoke and your own slutty desperation swirling all around the room. “You’re gonna set off the alarm—”

Reach down to yank the cigarette out of his mouth but then he swiftly grabs your arm. That ice-blue fire in his eyes that could do you serious harm. The way you wish he would—he’d rough you up so fucking good… he’s more the fire-breathing dragon than Prince Charming but to you the beast has all the fucking charm.

Last night he’d been a gentleman and had insisted that you take the bed. Today you’re mad ‘cause you had been desperate for him to share the bed with you instead.

He doesn’t know that yet. But he could sense it from the second that you grabbed his cigarette. Jax doesn’t want your lifelong friendship to go up in smoke but he’s been itching to get in your pants for years and if you’re standing here and handing him a ticket… maybe if the sex is epic then it’s worth getting his dick wet. Epic sex is one thing Jax Fucking Teller never regrets.

***************

“Bitch, all you had to do was ask.”

He’s such an ass. That shit is so typical Jax.

He growls it fierce, ridge of his teeth grazing the soft lobe of your ear—thick fingers slide across your slick sensitive clit, seeking the tight heat of your slit—then fucking pierce—he can’t believe he has you here and holy shit—it’s stark how different you appear. He tells himself it’s just a fuck, but no such luck, as something sparks and runs him over like a truck.

Jax Teller never feared the dark but just the light: something that felt too fucking bright. Done so much wrong he has no right. Having you near—this was exactly what he’d feared. Had tried to fight. He’d won last night. He’s losing it with you right here.

The lines between friendship and whatever this is should’ve stayed clear. For fucking years, that was the path he’d tried to steer. Stroking his dick alone in bed, or drowning in another chick he had just met—picturing you instead—that was the closest he could get.

Until you grabbed that motherfucking cigarette.

It’s barely been a minute yet, and you’re already dripping wet. It hits him now that’s how you’ve always been for him. It hits him now that you adore him. That you’d do anything for him.

Hits him in the way you hold him like you’re on the verge of death—the way you lick into the heaven of his kiss with your sweet tongue, fucking explore him—suck the smoke out of his lungs, white hot and seething. You’re the fire that the beast in him is breathing. He’s your first and last and only fucking breath.

You’re set to shatter into pieces on his knuckles, and he wants to fucking cry at just how beautiful you are, but that’s the shit that would cut deep enough to scar, and so instead he fucking chuckles.

Makes you weak; you’d scream at him if you had words to even speak. Just leave it to this piece of shit to fucking lighten it. He drags his fingers from your soaking cunt right in the instant just before you hit your peak, and you can’t keep him in no matter how you tighten it.

Here you had thought you both felt something that meant everything, but suddenly you worry that your inner slut got carried off imagining. Suddenly you think of course that’s not what’s happening. You’re just spread out beneath your best friend on the crap mattress of some seedy motel, and there’s no fucking way the fallout from this session will go over well. No way you can go back to what you were, after this ravaging. No way you can go further and become more in the future, which is what your stupid little heart desires more than anything. No way in hell. No way in fucking hell.

You’re slipping fast and he can tell. Tripping somewhere inside yourself. He’d run away from all the weight of that—or fuck through all the issues, if it’s not too late for that—that’s what he’d do, if you were anybody else.

You’re not.

You’re you and that’s what scares him. Like, a lot. He’s never felt something that tears him, but he’s shocked to find the pain and fear of feeling more than he can even bear just makes him harder, pushes him to take this farther. God, it’s super fucking hot.

The doubt and heartbreak radiating from you twist him up in knots. Jax had no clue, just what that little laugh off of his wicked lips would do. He did it to protect himself but didn’t think it would screw you. He sees it’s true, your pretty face painting the picture of your thoughts. Inches from pushing him away but pull him close instead ‘cause whether friend or lover, you’ll still love him like no other. Cling to him with all you’ve got.

He knows you better than he has any damn right to. He’s in you before he ever drives inside you. Always has been. This was real before it happened.

Holds you as you’re gasping—big strong hand soft on your face, the other keeps your hips in place, forehead against yours as he looks at you with eyes the blue of hope and then becomes the rope you’re grasping.

All the lines of who you were—the blindness of before—didn’t just blur. They fucking broke. You take him deep into your core, and let him wreck until it hurts, beg without words, for him to fuck you like a whore and so much more, and breathe him in so deep you choke.

There’s light on both ends of this cigarette, and no regret, as everything goes up in smoke.

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Emoji Fic Masterlist

Emoji Fic Tag List – below; if you’d like to be added or removed, just let me know!

@happyhunnams @band--psycho @est11 @edonaspanca @starbooty @innerpaperexpertcloud @i-love-scott-mccall @six-camelot @alexa-rae-dreamz @coffeebooksandfandom @thesuicidalflower @flaireandsynch @helloheyhihowdyheya @gemini0410 @waywardodysseys @zozebo @bettergetusetoit @emilykjh @little-diable @rocketqueen @mrspeacem1nusone @miss-smutty @rayslittlekitten @abby-splace @chubbychubbs28 @miraclesoflove @tegggeeee @hunnambabe @missusnora @kesskirata @vixenrebellion @thexhostess @pomegranatearildreams @kandii395 @severewobblerlightdragon @itspdameronthings @niki-xie @cind-in-real-life @saweetspoiled @poge-life @few-proud-emotonal @samanthaisnthome @melodranas @soaharleys @charlie-hunnams-old-lady @simpmasterjr @nataliewalker93 @lovebarefootblonde @marvelousmermaid @tsukuyomi011 @sciapod @midnight-dreams-23

#jax teller #sons of anarchy #soa #charlie hunnam #jax teller smut #sons of anarchy smut #soa smut #charlie hunnam smut #jax teller imagine #sons of anarchy imagine #soa imagine #charlie hunnam imagine #jax teller fanfiction #sons of anarchy fanfiction #soa fanfiction #charlie hunnam fanfiction #jax teller x reader #jax teller x you #charlie hunnam x reader #charlie hunnam x you #emoji fics

[1kook]

disney+ & bust

this is part of my netflix & chill collection !

summary; There’s a pounding on your door a little past noon, so hard and rough, that you almost think it’s the police finally coming to catch you for all your years of illegally pirating Phineas and Ferb. It’s not. It’s just a really drunk boyfriend wailing for your forgiveness at the door.  warnings; arguments, feelings of insecurity, bit of asshole jk, smut in the forms of degradation, dumbification, choking, fingering, spit kink, self punishment, unprotected but [ passionate ] sex, jk losing his cool, return of mean jk, he is actually an emotional mess in this one wtf miscellaneous; ANGST, anniversaries, the L word😳, app developer kook, rip ‘pretty girl’ </3, we all become phineas and ferb stans word count; 13k !!

notes; me: *writes couple who’s whole arc is being silly* y’all: MAKE THEM SUFFER GIVE US ANGST!! u ask I deliver so now we all suffer 😐 ngl it was hard writing this fic n u might notice there’s some parts that seem weird n that’s bc this was TWO fics w diff wording but I ended up mixing them bc I’m insane. still had a lot of fun! felt like I challenged myself!! not proofread bc when I say we suffer we SUFFER

please let me know what you think!!! a simple ask goes a long way <3

previous part: kissanime & foreplay

Approximately one week after The Bullet Bestie’s rise to prominence, Jungkook grows annoyed with it as his weirdly competitive nature rears its ugly head the more and more orgasms that little vibrator coaxes out of you. It turns on a weird switch in him, something slightly stuck up and snooty that he’ll never admit to out loud but is there nonetheless. By the following Friday, The Bullet Bestie is nestled deep in your garbage can and Jungkook’s back to pleasuring you with his tongue and fingers alone.

He had those moments in him, the ones where he liked to think he was better than any and everyone else, and occasionally they manifested against inanimate objects like a bullet vibrator.

Despite his polite and generally soft exterior, you catch glimpses of that cocky spirit more than anyone else. Over the past year, you’ve come to realize that Jungkook’s personality was like a coin that had been left out in the sun too long. He had this sweet and reserved nature you saw most times, a kindhearted boyfriend who adored you almost as much as you adored him. He was your angel whom you knew had a heart of gold, even if you were slowly bringing out his more childish tendencies. You knew him like the back of your hand, knew what his mom’s favorite color was and how he liked to stack the plates in his cabinet according to size and make. It was a side that was rusted from years of being out in the sun, basking in its adoring warmth, and you loved every inch about it.

And still, there was this other side to him you rarely saw. This cocky asshole who hid beneath the soft smiles and careful hands, making his appearance only through sly smirks and a tongue prodding against the inside of his cheek. He was a braggart, a man who knew his greatness yielded for no one and wanted that fact shoved down everyone’s faces. This Jungkook, this other side that never saw the light of day, was like the Hyde to his Jekyll. An unexpected, almost mean side to him that only dared make his appearance when his exhilaration was at an all-time high. Like when he was fucking you into another dimension, or kicking your ass in Mario Kart, or like now, when he was receiving an award at an annual tech ceremony.

On the eve of your one year anniversary, Jungkook’s company invites him to an awards ceremony for other web and app developers like him. It’s a grand event, filled with all the biggest nerds in the developing industry here to present the baby nerds with awards. Jungkook lies somewhere in the middle of the spectrum, both a seasoned player and a rookie all at once. He spends the night tolling you around in a floor-length gown and fangirling over all the “legends” in the room.

You know next to none of these people and none of their accomplishments but still pretend you respect them to hell and back. By the end of the main dinner, you’re sympathizing with Barbie’s ever-smiling features because your cheeks feel sore.

Towards the end of the night, Jungkook wins that random award— okay, who were you fooling? He wins the Platinum Mobile Standard of Excellence Award, recognizing him for all the hard work you’ve seen him put in this past year. It’s probably the highest recognition he can receive at this point in his career. It was an esteemed award that was bestowed upon only the most innovative developer of the year among tech companies, something Jungkook had briefly mentioned he always wanted. It’s basically the equivalent of placing first place in his field, but given Jungkook’s competitive industry and his young age, you think it’s like telling all these old Facebook lords to suck his big fat cock. (But that was your job when you got home.)

He gives a short little thank you speech, promising to work hard and own up to this title. The people around you are swooning, obviously endeared with his soft puppy dog features and melodic voice. They don’t know him like you do, don’t know that uppity twist to his grin like you do. It doesn’t slip off his face even when he steps down off the stage, arms wide open as he comes barreling towards you. Even with you in his arms, the congratulations that are thrown from every direction ring loudly in his ears and swell that ego of his.

The night goes like that for the most part, Jungkook’s acquaintances approaching him every few minutes to rain down their praises. He goes a little crazy at the open bar after a while, shoving the gold trophy into your arms as his beloved work seniors whisk him off for drinks. You don’t mind because you resigned yourself to a night of playing Jungkook’s perfectly perfect partner anyway, watching him politely mingling with his coworkers. Despite his earlier success, you know he won’t brag about it verbally. No, he’ll wait until the two of you get home—your place or his—and remind you how amazing he is with a quick snap of his hips.

As you said, he’ll never boast aloud.

However, that doesn’t mean you won’t.

“That’s my boyfriend,” you explain to the seventh person that greets you that night, excitedly pointing to where said boyfriend was slowly losing all sense of self by the bar. You don’t know anyone here beside Jungkook, and you’re pretty sure no one in their hammered minds is going to remember who you are anyway, so a little gloating never hurt anyone. “He won the ‘I’m Better Than Everyone Else’ award tonight,” you emphasize to the tipsy woman beside you who only laughs at your exaggeration. You assume she’s like you, accompanying one of the many developers here, because as soon as you finish boasting about Jungkook she moves to brag about someone too.

Truth be told, you spend the whole night re-analyzing the Zootopia movie you saw on Disney+ the other night in your head. So if the little fox fellow didn’t control himself would the city have fallen to ruins? Why was the useless sheep girl so evil and bitter? Why was there an unreal amount of romantic tension between the fox and the rabbit? Whatever, you’ll have to rewatch it some other night, and with your new Disney+ account, you could watch it anywhere you wanted to.

Now, you had never bothered to purchase a Disney+ subscription or even tried to swindle Jungkook for his password before. As far as you know, Disney+ was filled with old tv shows from your childhood, sitcoms that made you laugh when you were ten. There’s nothing wrong with that, but personally, you were a firm believer that that which was perfect should not be touched once finished; in other words, you were utterly terrified you’d rewatch an old episode of The Wizards of Waverly Place, only to find out the same joke you’ve been regurgitating for the past ten years doesn’t actually go that way.

However, the harsh reality was that Disney+ was good for a few things. Ugh, you hate when giant corporations provide decent services. Aside from Zootopia, you’ve watched about every animated media on there as well, all of which you replay in your mind as Jungkook has the time of his life with these nerds, knocking back champagne glass after champagne glass.

Anyway, the night ends a little past midnight, and Jungkook who is buzzed on alcohol and high on exhilaration ends up calling an Uber for the two of you. Your apartment— the new one he had not only helped you hunt for but also helped you move into, greatly cutting the cost of movers out with those glistening biceps and thick thighs —is still going through her rebellious phase where the potted plants are trying to take over, courtesy of Kim Namjoon. So for now, there’s a potted plant in an awkward corner that both of you stub your toe against on your way to your bedroom.

You’re thinking Jungkook is going to go to town tonight, given the fact he’s on Cloud 9 and has had his ego stroked by a bunch of dudes for the past couple hours. Maybe you guys can try out the hot role-playing scenario you saw on GirlsWay a few weeks ago, or the handcuffs you impulsively bought from Amazon one Monday night. Or maybe, and this one really makes you flutter, he’ll let you fully take the reins for once.

All those lewd fantasies end up being for naught because just as you shimmy out of your gown (with the help of his hands, of course) and turn to climb him like a tree, he’s on the other side of the room getting your makeup remover out for you. And also talking. A lot. And way more than usual.

“Did you see him, babe?” he sighs, dare you to say, dreamily, handing you the cotton pads as he begins pulling a million pins out of your hair. Slowly and with a lot of confusion, you pull your fake lashes off and begin cleaning your face. “He was amazing.”

“Uh-huh,” you say, having absolutely no idea who ‘he’ is or why Jungkook is so in love with him and not you at this very moment. “But so were you,” you add. Perfect. Stroke his ego and then stroke his cock.

Jungkook sputters at your praise. He’s carefully placing your hairpins on your thigh, cheeks flaming red every time he leans over you. “Was I?” he murmurs, voice sweet in that cute little way it always gets when he’s downed one too many shots of whiskey, enough to be buzzed but not enough to be wasted.

You turn and the pins clatter to the floor and across the bedsheets. “Yes,” you confirm, ignoring his sad huff at the mess you’ve made. Instead, you grab him by the collar of that pink button-up he taunted you with all night. “You were fucking incredible and I think incredible men deserve to have their dick sucked.”

Jungkook laughs at your vulgar statement, holding you gently by the hips as you climb into his lap. “Is that so?” The soft, shy persona is gone now, replaced by the gentle stirring beneath his dress pants. You nod hurriedly, plopping down on his lap and running your hands through his styled hair.

“Yes,” you confirm, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Luckily for you, I know this nymphomaniac who would gladly gobble up your cock at your every command.”

He snorts just as you push him into his back, nose adorably scrunched up. “First of all, you know I hate that word,” he chuckles, finally gracing you with a sweet peck that only makes you want him to fuck you into the fifth dimension. “Secondly, please don’t ever say you’ll gobble my cock up ever again.”

Something inside of you squeals with excitement as he rolls the two of you over, firm body pressing down on yours. “Oh, baby,” you groan, lazily throwing a leg over his hip. Jungkook grins and then decides to entertain you for a few minutes with a sloppy kiss.

You say a few minutes because just as things are heating up, he pulls away. He smiles apologetically. “As much as I’d love to be here with you, I actually have an early morning tomorrow.”

You frown at the sudden change in events. “Huh? They’re gonna make you work the morning after a Gatsby party?” you gasp, sitting up as he gets off of you. With every step he takes away from the bed your heart breaks a little more. “They can’t do that— that’s illegal!”

From the doorway he levels you with a comically raised brow. “No, it’s not.”

You scamper after him down the hall, watch the muscles in his back flex as he pulls his suit jacket on. “You can’t work on our anniversary— that’s illegal!” you offer instead.

He stops at your front door, feet squeezed back into his shoes. “Baby, it’s not,” he rolls his eyes, leaning down to peck your forehead. “It was either I work in the morning or work at night,” he explains, giving your messy hair a soothing caress. He’s looking at you with those eyes, the ones that make your heart lodge itself into your throat and make life a tightrope experience. There’s a devastatingly lovesick part of you that wants this moment, this kind face, to be engraved into your mind for the rest of your life. You want this to be the first and last thought you have and nothing else: just Jungkook’s adoring gaze on you for the rest of time.

The moment ends too soon when he flutters one last peck against your lips. “I’ll be done in the afternoon, okay?”

You pout. “Okay, your place?” you huff, making sure to get one last octopus squeeze around his waist. He nods. “Promise you won’t be late?”

The corners of his gaze soften. “You know I won’t,” he smiles, leaning down to bump your noses together playfully. “Can’t stay away from my pretty girl too long. Besides, I have a gift for you tomorrow.”

It’s with that sentiment and a hammering heart that you let him go. With Jungkook gone, there’s really nothing for you to do now. You took the next two days off in preparation for your anniversary sex, so you don’t have to head to sleep early like usual.

With nothing else planned, you decide on rewatching that Zootopia movie that had plagued you all night, ready to dissect every plot hole to hell and back. You don’t think Jungkook’s seen this movie yet so you add it to your long list of animated movies you’re forcing him to watch.

Part of you is actually really surprised Jungkook left. Well, kinda sorta, very, but not really. Jungkook was a good boy, that much was obvious. He took his job seriously, and if his job wanted him to come in at the asscrack of dawn, then he’d come in before the sun even rose. He was a goody-two-shoes, but even so, you were occasionally able to bring out that darker side in him.

Jungkook working, like actually working in an office setting, was pretty rare though. The dude had a chill job that let him stay home most of the time, and essentially clock in whenever he wanted. Every now and then you were able to convince him to stay, tucking him beneath your body or the covers, depending on the night, and refusing to let him go the morning after.

Once he had eaten you out until the wee hours of the day, ravenous between your thighs, and then went to work the next morning like he hadn’t broken you. Another time you had persuaded him into watching every season of the 2017 DuckTales reboot through the night. When the alarm had rung in the middle of the season finale, he had simply gotten into your shower and gone off to work.

So maybe you were a little confident in your skills, and Jungkook slipping between your fingers tonight was a huge bummer. But there was no use crying over spilled milk, you tell yourself, flinging your bra off somewhere in the corner as you snuggle back into your sheets. You’re ready to tear this Zootopia movie apart, scene by scene.

Even though your apartment is a little cold, you’re comforted by the fact Jungkook will be here to keep you warm all day tomorrow.

All men do is lie.

Despite his promise to come home early the next day, Jungkook ends up lying. The meeting he had been in all morning— the same one that had stopped you from getting bent like a pretzel the night before —drags on well past noon. Then, Kim Namjoon, AKA Jungkook’s favorite senpai in the entire world, catches wind of Jungkook’s success last night and absolutely has to take him out to lunch to celebrate.

You scoff, glaring down at your phone and the impulsive messages you’d sent out an hour ago when Jungkook had first texted you telling you he would be late.

You whirl around to stomp off in the direction of his living room, where all of yours and Jungkook’s favorite foods were growing colder by the minute. You had spent the longest time carefully laying them out, making sure the fried chicken was closer than the pizza but not closer than the breadsticks. Truthfully it’s a nightmare. There are about eight stomach aches worth of food sitting on his coffee table, the greasy stench makes you gag and will certainly stick to your hair for weeks, but none of that mattered because it was all for your beau.

Your very late beau who was making you grow more and more agitated with each minute that passed. Ugh! How inconsiderate of him to test your patience on a day like this. You didn’t want to be upset with him, but this was your first, real milestone as a couple with him. You had wanted to spend the whole day cuddled up, maybe finally tell him how much he really meant to you— definitely not waking up alone with eyeliner crusted eyes and an aching heart.

Deciding you’re being a little too dramatic, you head into the bedroom to calm down. This was fine, you tell yourself, carefully laying out the damn near harlotrous lingerie you had yet to put on. Jungkook would come over soon and everything would be A-okay.

Except for the part it’s actually F-not okay because soon it’s nearing sunset and the food has gone cold so you’ve stocked it into the fridge, and the pretty sheer bra has a wonky wire that’s two seconds away from piercing through your heart, but that doesn’t even matter because Jungkook being late for your all-day anniversary celebration has already ripped it to shreds anyway.  

You plop down on the couch in defeat, impulsively opening up the Disney+ app to cry through another episode of Phineas and Ferb. You’ve abandoned the satin robe that came with the lingerie in favor of donning a big t-shirt that smells like him and makes your heart hurt even more. The setting sun paints the living room in muted oranges, the chirping of birds outside the soundtrack to your lonely day.

You end up watching some other cartoon on Disney+, avoiding the Marvel section because you had promised Jungkook he could be there when you lost your Marvel virginity. Well, at least one of you was good at keeping promises, you think bitterly. For a second, you think about randomly watching one of the infamous MCU films out of order just to spite him. But then you think of that soft puppy gaze and how disappointed he’d be in you.

Whatever! It wouldn’t ever match up to the way you felt now.

Anyway, you circle back. When you’re five episodes into Phineas and Ferb you hear the doorknob rattle.

You sit up just as the door swings open, visible from your spot on the couch. He meets your gaze almost immediately, big doe eyes caught in the act. What act? You’re not really sure. In fact, you don’t even know what you’re looking at when he walks in because he’s drowning in shopping bags. His lips twist into a grin. “Honey, I’m home,” he says playfully.

You don’t laugh.

Jungkook frowns, dumping all his bags down at the entrance before waddling over towards you. “Hey, what’s wrong?” he asks, coming to stand before you and cupping your face in his hands. He’s towering over you, so tall and gorgeous but for the first time, you’re not dazed by his beauty.

“Kook, you said you’d be back hours ago,” you say slowly, avoiding his gaze. You try to keep the frustration out of your voice, but you’ve had hours to dwell on it now, and those annoying cartoon characters, though charming at first, had only served to multiply your annoyance.  

Jungkook blinks, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I mean… yeah. But I got you presents?” he beams, glancing back at the mountainous pile he made by the door. You look over too. There are some luxury bags squeezed in between other shops you like, the occasional jewelers' logo on the side.

You stand with a sigh, sauntering off into the kitchen with him on your tail. “I don’t want presents,” you mumble, reaching to pour yourself a glass of water. You’re briefly aware of how childish you must seem. Jungkook hovers behind you.

“What? Yes, you do,” he says. “You had an entire wishlist on my Amazon of things you wanted.” It’s his turn to level you with an unreadable expression, slowly crossing his arms over his chest.

Your frown only deepens as you turn to match his stance against the counter. While it may be true that you did indeed have an entire list of impulsive items on his Amazon, that didn’t necessarily mean you wanted them all. Sometimes you just wanted to stare longingly at a pair of satin gloves without actually buying them. You don’t know how to explain this much to him. “They’re not…” you stop with another deep breath. “Forget it. Thank you for the presents.”

Now it’s Jungkook’s turn to question you. “What,” he says in an unimpressed tone, padding over to you before you can escape back into the living room to watch the entire princess movie collection on Disney+. “No, tell me what’s wrong.”

For some reason, that’s exactly what you don’t want to hear. “Jungkook,” you say flatly, narrowing your eyes at him. “You come home six hours after you said you would without telling me why, and normally I wouldn’t care, but today was supposed to be a special day for us.”

Jungkook reels at your bluntness. “Babe, I was out getting stuff for you. I know it’s our anniversary— that’s why I wanted to treat you,” he responds, oddly condescendingly like you’re a child who doesn’t understand what exactly he was doing.

You brush his hands away from your shoulders. “Yeah,” you huff. “Now I know that. But I spent all day waiting for you,” you stress, chest puffing as you grow more and more agitated by his inability to understand you. God, can he let you go now? At least a bunch of animated, geometrically drawn cartoons won’t question you like this and make you feel as childish as he was.

When he doesn’t say anything else you stomp back into the living room, snatching up your phone from its forgotten spot against the couch. “I’m going to bed.”

At that Jungkook seems to kickstart back to life. “What? ___, it’s barely six,” he says as he follows after you into your bedroom. You ignore him, shuffling beneath the covers. In all actuality, you’re going to bed to mope and watch more animated family shows, maybe cry under the guise of the plot just being so sad. Jungkook sits beside you just as you click back on to finish off your episode. “Baby, I don’t get it,” he sighs. “You’re always talking about how much you want this or that, and I go out and get you it all but now you’re mad?”

You bite down on your lip, eyes lasered in on the pictures moving before you. “Jungkook, just forget it.”

“No,” he says, more sternly than he’s ever been with you before. “If there’s a problem, tell me.” There’s a heavy pause, and then he says, “don’t make me waste my time guessing what’s wrong, okay?” 

“Waste your time?” you scoff, sitting up with pinched brows that you find match his. “I’m not trying to waste anyone’s time— in fact, that’s hot coming from you, Jungkook.”

He rolls his eyes. “What are you even saying? You’re mad because I took a little long getting presents, for you, might I add,” he huffs, plopping down on the edge of the mattress beside your knee. “You’re always saying you want this and that, but you can’t handle me going out to get those things? Do you hear how weird you sound?”

You whip the covers off of you. “Me talking about things doesn’t always mean I want them,” you defend.

Jungkook snorts. “Yes, it does,” he says. “Anytime you ramble about stuff for minutes like a little kid it’s because you want me to buy it for you.”

You blink. “Like a little kid?” you repeat, stunned by his comparison. Granted, you always knew you were the more childish of the two, but you never thought that would equate Jungkook thinking of you as a child. Something red and nasty flares in your chest. “Well sorry,” you spit, crossing your arms over your chest defensively, “sorry we all can’t be perfectly mature golden boys who would never see the light of day if I constantly wasn’t dragging them out.” You know it’s a somewhat low blow, especially because Jungkook’s told you before how his introverted tendencies were a sensitive issue growing up, but you can’t help it.

Jungkook groans, dropping his head into his hands. “Baby, don’t do this now,” he warns, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. “Stop acting like this.”

“Like how?” you spit, “like a kid?” Jungkook says nothing, leveling you with a blank stare from the corner of his eye. You roll your eyes, phone falling off your lap. Another episode of Phineas and Ferb had started, the corny opening tune filling the space between the two of you. “At least now I know what you think of me,” you mutter over the guitar riff.

“Oh my god,” Jungkook blurts, sitting up wildly. “Of course I’m gonna think of you as a stupid little kid, look at you,” he seethes, gesturing at the phone beside you. You flinch. “All you do is watch kids shows and whine whenever I wanna watch anything normal adults watch. You complain every single day about the most normal things, like your job? Why should I fucking care that you’re working a dead-end office job in a field you didn’t even study for— that’s not my problem, __!” he snaps, eyes narrowed into little slits. “I just won an award last night,” he says suddenly, voice back to its regular volume. “I’m at the height of my career and I’m only going up, but I can’t even enjoy that because I have to come home and cater to you,” he finishes, a loud scoff punctuating the final word.

You had never imagined Jungkook finally bragging about himself would be at your expense.

A beat of silence passes, the angry glint in his eyes quickly fading away the longer you don’t say anything. You sniff once, turning your head idly to the side where Phineas and Ferb is still blaring loudly from your phone speaker. Picking up the device, you throw it across the room where it hits his closet door with a terrifying bang the breaks the silence.

The sound snaps Jungkook out of whatever shock he’d been in. “Baby…” he says slowly, carefully, like you’re a caged animal that’s just escaped the zoo.

“I’m going home,” you say, also a little too calmly. You saunter over towards his closet where your shattered phone screen glares up at you as you yank a pair of sweats off a hanger. Jungkook is still frozen on the edge of the bed, watching you with wide eyes as you move about the room.

It’s when you’re in the hallway leading downstairs that Jungkook finally snaps out of his daze, scampering behind you as you descend the stairs. “Baby,” he rushes out, loudly bounding down after you, “___, wait,” he gasps, catching you by the kitchen counter collecting your keys. “I-I didn't mean that,” he rushes out, eyes wide and frantic as they flicker over your expression. “I don’t think that—I don’t, baby, please, just… let me explain, please.”

“Jungkook, let go of me,” you respond, shaking your wrist in an attempt to release yourself. He’s not even holding you tightly— he never would—but the sound of your heart pounding in your ears makes your movements jerky and erratic. “I wanna go home.”

“No,” he chokes, cornering you against the counter. “No, baby, please just listen to me, I-I—“

“You what, Jungkook?” you snap, placing a hand on his chest and forcefully pushing him away. He lets you, stepping back with a wobbly bottom lip. “You need to tell me how you’re too good for me? How much I hold you down because I wasn’t lucky enough to get a job like yours straight out of college?” He says nothing, swallowing roughly as you jab a finger into his chest. “Well let me tell you something,” you snarl, chest heaving, “I may be childish and a huge complainer, but I’m not stupid enough to let someone walk all over me like this.”

With that, you make your great escape. Truthfully, you don’t want him to see the tears in your eyes as you yank his door open, stomping down his steps and in the direction of the nearest bus stop. The door opens right after you tug it shut, painting your shadow across the sidewalk. There’s the scrambled sound of house slippers against the concrete that follows you down. “Go the fuck back inside,” you snap without missing a beat.

Sensing your obvious anger, he pauses before he can reach you. “Text me when you get home?” he calls out quietly.

“No,” you respond.

You would never admit to anyone that you spend the entire night eating a tub of mint chocolate ice cream. It’s disgusting and makes you gag, but it’s the only one you have in your apartment. And of course, it was brought over by none other than Jeon Jungkook himself a few days ago. Even when you’re trying to comfort yourself over how mean he was, on your anniversary night no less, you’re plagued by thoughts of him everywhere.

As much as you want to brush his words off, put on that cool girl exterior you’ve maintained since high school, there’s something different about this situation. You guess it’s impossible to brush off such hateful words when they come from someone you love and adore so much.

Were you too childish? You had always believed that side of you was what made your relationship with Jungkook so perfect. The two of you meshed well because of your differences, like yin and yang. So how had he been able to so easily deconstruct every inch of that balance in a matter of a few seconds? Was this perfect reality all in your head this whole time?

You want to tell yourself it was just a heat of the moment outburst from Jungkook, give him the benefit of the doubt because he’s never snapped at you like this before. Of course you’ve fought a couple of times in the past year, but neither of you had ever stooped as low as you did yesterday. Furthermore, the insecure part of your brain says he obviously felt this somewhere in his heart to bring it up at all. What he had said to you wasn’t something someone could make up on the spot.

You don’t text him when you get home, partly to spite him, but mainly because you had left your phone at his place anyway. You know he tried calling you last night because the call log is synced up to your laptop. He called on and off for about thirty minutes before he probably found your phone in his room. Whatever, he can mope in his regret for all you care

—is what you wanna say, but the longer he goes without showing himself to you the more your insecurities and hurt fester. Was this it? Was this the end of what was probably the best year of your life? It’s too painful to think about, to even consider the possibility that Jungkook might have gained a new insight last night and decided, hey, maybe this is for the best after all.

You drown yourself in an ungodly amount of sugar for breakfast, your laptop blaring yet another episode of Phineas and Ferb on the dining table. Muscle memory has you making Jungkook’s favorite pancakes before you can stop yourself, and by the time you do realize, you’ve resigned yourself to the blueberry smell anyway.

There’s a pounding on your door a little past noon, so hard and rough, that you almost think it’s the police finally coming to catch you for all your years of illegally pirating Phineas and Ferb.

It’s not.

It’s just a really drunk boyfriend wailing for your forgiveness at the door. You open the door with a fright, jumping back when he slumps forward and almost crashes face-first into the floor. “You didn’t call,” Jungkook cries, leaning a little too much of his weight onto you when you reach out to steady him.

The thundering of your heart slows upon registering it’s him. “Kook?” you frown, nose pinched at the ungodly stench of alcohol wafting off his clothes. “Have you been drinking?” you ask even though the answer is staring you right in the face (and in the nose).

He groans, staggering deeper into your arms. You blindly push the door shut behind him, resigning yourself to this new situation while your pancakes grow cold in the other room. “Baaaby,” he slurs, letting you guide him into the living space. He’s unceremoniously dumped onto the couch, half-opened eyes gazing up at you. “Let me,” a hiccup, “explain.”

You won’t lie. There’s a very obvious sense of discomfort sitting in your chest, torn between two paths that you don’t wish to choose between. His skin is warm and flushed like he’s just walked all the way here in this morning sun. You step over to the window that faces down onto the street below. There’s no sign of his car; you would have killed him if he ever tried to drive in this state.

“Did you walk here?” you ask instead, deciding there’s no need for one singular path, not when you can walk straight down the middle, both cleaning him and grilling him at the same time.

Jungkook’s response is delayed, head lolling from side to side as you help him out of his sweater. His skin is sweaty beneath, scorching to the touch. “Uh-huh,” he groans. Jesus, you sort of assumed but him confirming it really set things into perspective.

By no means did you and Jungkook live on opposite ends of the earth. On a good day, a drive from your place to his took about ten minutes. But walking? Easily an hour. Had he walked all the way from his place, drunk on top of that?

You brush his hair away from his face, his eyes fluttering shut at your touch. His lips are pouty yet chapped, dehydrated from the sun and the alcohol he reeks of. “Sit up for me,” you instruct, scampering off to your room for chapstick and water.

“Anything for you,” Jungkook wheezes, throat probably dryer than a desert. When you return, he’s two seconds from face planting into the coffee table and breaking that pretty face of his. You catch him with a hand on his shoulder, keeping him balanced. “Tell me what to do,” he chokes out, voice hoarse.

“Just need you to drink some water,” you say, pressing a cup against his lips. He drinks it, but a drop still dribbles down his chin.

“No,” he groans, catching your wrist in his hand when you reach up to apply some chapstick on him. “Tell me what to do,” he stresses, “to fix this. Fix us.”

His words make you pause, the tube of chapstick hovering over his plush lips. “You don’t have to do anything,” you respond quietly, trying to finish the application so you can pull away.

Jungkook doesn’t let you go. You try to look away, but there’s something about him that looks off. Maybe it’s the raw skin under his eyes, red and swollen. Or the sad droop to those same eyes that hold you captive. Or maybe it’s the subtle tremble in his hands, the fingers that hold tightly to your wrist, not to keep you there but to ground himself. “I don’t wanna lose you,” he rasps out, shakily bringing your hand to his mouth, where he presses one airy kiss to your knuckles. “Tell me ho-how to fix this and I’ll do it,” he pleads, a vulnerable look in his eyes.

Unable to withstand the sheer amount of agony on his expression, you look away. “___, please,” he chokes out, stumbling off the couch in his drunk and desperate haze until he’s kneeling in front of you. “I can’t… I can’t,” he sniffles, tears clouding those pretty eyes you’ve come to love so much. “I don’t know who I am without you.”

You clench your jaw. “You’re Jeon Jungkook,” you murmur, slipping your hand out of his hold to run through his hair. It’s knotted and a little too greasy, two things Jungkook would usually never allow. “This year’s Platinum Mobile Standard of Excellence Award recipient,” you remind him, trailing your thumb across his cheekbone when he turns to look up at you with those big Bambi eyes. “Sweet and shy, but you love being rowdy with your friends. You love movies and TV and organizing your shirts according to fabric type. You work harder than anyone I know and never complain. You date me, even though I’m a huge child,” you smile sadly.

“No!” he jumps, turning that frantic stare back into you. “Y-You’re not— it’s not,” he stammers, words still slurring together. “I’m a liar,” he cries, resting his forehead on your knees. His shoulders shake. “I don’t deserve you,” he weeps quietly. You place a hand on his shoulder. “Y-Y-You make my life so much better, ___, so colorful and fun. I-I wish I knew you in high school,” he admits, “maybe I wouldn’t have been so emotionally constipated now.”

“You’re not,” you reassure him softly.

He disagrees. “You bring out the best,” he hiccups, “the best in me.” Your heart skips in your chest. “I-I love you, you know that?”

You sputter, eyes wide at his sudden confession. “I… love you so much, y’know? I think about you ev-every night, ___,” he rambles, eyes dreamily gazing off into some miscellaneous spot on the wall behind you. “I can’t get you out of my head. Like you're a song, o-on repeat but it’s not annoying because it’s my favorite song, and I could listen to it for the rest of my life, y’know? My favorite song, I know all the words b-because it’s all I think about! I love... My love… I love you so much.”

“Kook,” you rush out, cheeks flaming as you try to pull him away from where he’s slumped over your legs. His passionate speech has you abuzz, body tingling everywhere until you feel overwhelmed, head spinning like you’re on a rollercoaster. “Let’s get you to bed.”

He nods sleepily, seemingly coming down from whatever alcohol induced rampage has allowed him to walk for an hour straight in this searing heat just to confess to you. “Y-You don’t have to say it back,” he continues to stutter as you guide him through the living room on wobbly legs. “I just-I just— can I?” he babbles. “Can I love you, ___?”

You pass through the kitchen space, where whatever you were watching on Disney+ is blaring loudly. It distracts Jungkook for about two seconds before his attention returns to you. When you don’t answer, he presses on. “Is that okay?” he asks, whirling around to face you, catching your shoulders in his hands. He towers over you by the entrance to your bedroom, dark curls tickling your forehead. His eyes are dark and glazed over, both in tears and an emotion so raw and unfiltered it squeezes around your chest until you can’t breathe. “Is it okay for me to love you?” he murmurs softly, knocking his nose against yours.

Your cheeks blaze. “Yes, th-that’s fine, Kook,” you blubber, placing a hand over his chest, where his heart is also hammering away. “Just need you to go rest now, okay?”

He nods sleepily, nudging your nose with his one last time, like a soft almost-kiss, before letting you push him into the room. “Yes, yes,” he breathes, his body finally crashing from his adrenaline spike. He flops down onto the bed unceremoniously, dark waves fanning across your pillows. You try to wiggle him out of his shirt, but it only gets about halfway up his chest before he blindly reaches for the covers. His legs stick out awkwardly, clad in the sweatpants you’ve come to associate with him.

When he’s all swaddled up in your blanket he finally goes limp, tiny snores leaving his lips as he dozes away from reality. You sigh, pressing a palm to his forehead. He’s still warm and clammy, but at this point, there’s nothing you can do but wait for him to sober up.

With a final kiss to his forehead, you leave the room, closing the door behind you before sliding against the wooden surface. There’s a trapped bird in your chest, wildly flapping its wings in an effort to get out, and it’s all stupid Jungkook’s fault in the next room. Stupid Jungkook who demolished and remodeled your heart all in less than twenty-four hours. It doesn’t calm down, even when you rush off into the kitchen for a glass of water, or when you try to immerse yourself in some other show on Disney+. It stays beating against your ribs and your chest until you’re forcing yourself to sit down on the couch and process.

He wakes up a little before dinner. You hear him from the living room, where you’re flicking through the options on Disney+ for the nth time that day. You’ve seen the first fifteen minutes of about twenty different series and movies by now, always growing antsy and abandoning them early on. The only reason you know he’s awake is because the shower turns on for a few minutes, and then his bare feet are heard padding across the hallway back into your room.

By the time he resurfaces in the living room, you’ve resigned yourself to just more Phineas and Ferb, nonchalantly watching the silly cartoon. (Except you’re anything but nonchalant, and your heartbeat rings in your ears.)

Jungkook hovers by the door, clad in a pair of shorts he’s left here before, and a t-shirt you stole from him. “Hey,” he says quietly, lingering by the doorframe. You nod back in response. “Can I watch with you?” Again, another nod.  

Slinking over to the couch, he’s rather careful as he sits down, leaving a few inches of space between the two of you. You don’t even think he can see the screen of your laptop until he murmurs, “he’s my favorite character,” when Perry the Platypus appears on the screen.

You hum. “Thought you didn’t like these kids shows?” you ask. You don’t mean it to sound as petty and backhanded as it comes out, but that’s really no one's fault but his own.

Jungkook’s breathing tightens beside you. “No,” he admits, “I don’t. Only watch them because I know you like them.” You contemplate pausing the episode and engaging in a real conversation with him, but at this point, you’re very tired from the events of the last day. Jungkook doesn’t press either, just shuffles more comfortably beside you.

You get about five minutes in, quiet chuckles shared between the two of you, before he strikes. “I’m sorry about yesterday,” he says, so hushed you almost don’t hear it. His hand is resting in the space between you, pinky brushing against yours. “About… being late. And the presents.”

You inspire slowly. “That wasn't even the problem, silly,” you brush off. From your peripheral, you see Jungkook’s slow nod. “I didn’t want any presents,” you mention, “I just wanted you.” You look away from the screen immediately after, pretending like the spot on the ceiling is actually really interesting.

The two of you fall into silence, the animated characters on your screen rapidly chattering away. “Oh,” Jungkook says after a moment.

You roll your eyes. They’re moist but you don’t want him to see. “Yeah, oh,” you parrot back softly, relaxing into the couch again. “Did you eat the food I left out?”

Jungkook shuffles beside you, the soft lull of the speakers soon being cut as he reaches over to pause Phineas and Ferb. A couple of seconds pass and then he’s leaning into you, head resting on your shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes again, placing a palm over the hand he had been teasing for the past few minutes. “I thought I knew what I was doing but I was wrong.”

His voice is so soft and sincere, it makes your chest ache. You try to burrow your face against your opposite shoulder, try to hide the stray tear that escapes out of the corner of your eye. “It’s fine,” you brush off, voice choked off and hoarse.

Jungkook leans up, pecks your cheek so tenderly it makes you go mushy. “No, it’s not fine. I acted like a know-it-all and said something way out of line,” he murmurs, raising his head to look at you. His hand feels warm over yours. It’s the touch you craved all day and yesterday, the warm feel of his body against yours. You’re embarrassed at how easily you melt into it. “You’re the best thing that has happened to me in a long time,” he tells you, holding your hand close to his chest. “I had no right to say those things to you.”

You sniffle, resting your head against his shoulder now. His heart beats loud enough for you to hear. “Was it true?” you mumble. “Do you really think of me like that?”

He shakes his head, his soft breaths fanning across your forehead. “No, never,” he answers. “I think you’re incredible. My brain was just trying to justify my dumb anger.”

You nod, even if you don’t believe it just yet. But that was a conversation for later, you suppose, sometime in the future when you aren’t on the verge of tears and threatening to crumble apart at the simplest word that leaves his mouth.

“I should have come home like you wanted, thought about my words before saying them,” he says, snuggling closer to you. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop,” you sniffle, covering your face with your free hand as he presses a kiss to the vein that runs over the back of the hand he’s holding captive. “Now it just sounds like I'm just being inconsiderate of your gifts and a crybaby.”

Jungkook kisses your temple softly, gently. “Don’t think about the gifts,” he says. “Just tell me what you wanted to do, doll.”

His voice calms you, has you like putty in his arms. “Watch movies,” you mumble, toying with a thread on your couch cushion. “Be with you.”

He hums. “Then we’ll do that,” he says, reaching for your laptop again. The screen nearly blinds you when it flickers back to life before you, Jungkook’s low breaths against your ear making it near impossible for you to process the titles on the screen. “You liked Disney+?”

Belatedly, you nod. “I like the animated movies,” you admit quietly, the anxieties of before slowly melting away, even more so when he slides his arm around you, pulling you close against his chest.

Unlike other times where he’ll critique the hell out of such childish films, Jungkook says nothing as he starts up the Zootopia movie instead, the same one you had wanted to show him before, right from the beginning. “That bunny looks like you,” you murmur when Judy Hopps first appears on the screen.

Jungkook snorts. “You say that about every cartoon bunny.”

You turn your head to glance at him over your shoulder. He meets your gaze with a small smile you return. “It’s because you’re so cute,” you say softly, lips twisting playfully when his cheeks grow scarlet.

He knocks his forehead against yours, eyes fluttering shut. “Not cute, just lucky,” he chuckles. “Lucky enough to have you.” Your heart turns over in your chest, threatening to burst out of your rib cage at his words. You try to turn in his arms. Before you can say the words that have been sitting on the tip of your tongue for months now, he’s beating you to it once again. “I love you,” he confesses in a hushed whisper, no alcoholic influence. 

Something inside of you blossoms, eyes wide as he chastely kisses you. He pulls away without you ever reacting, too caught up in surprise to kiss him back properly. He stays close, curls tickling your forehead as he leans over you. “You don’t have to say it back, I just wanted you to know. I love you,” he says again, long lashes blinking down at you. “So much. It makes me feel like a stupid teenager again, going to the mall to buy a gift for my crush.” He laughs sheepishly, reaching down to tangle your fingers together. “Is that okay?” he asks quietly, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

It mirrors the confession he’d given you that morning, those slurred words and teary eyes. It had been difficult to pinpoint the legitimacy of it before, the meaning scrambled by his hazy mind. But with him staring at you like this now, like you single-handedly plucked the stars from the sky to put them in those sparkly eyes of his, it makes something inside you ache.

Still, you choke on your own spit. “I-Is it okay for you to love me?” you sputter incredulously, realizing the oddity of the same question he’d thrown at you earlier. But now, you’re both sober and you can really tear apart that sentence. Jungkook nods a little too seriously for your liking. “Are you crazy?” He blinks in confusion, brows pulling together as you slowly but surely lose the last bits of your sanity. “You’re an idiot, Jeon Jungkook,” you huff, “a stupidly handsome, rich, walking dream, idiot who goes out with stupid girls like me.”

“Not stupid,” he murmurs, closing in on you again as he finally understands the truth behind your masked insults. He smells minty and like his favorite body wash of yours.

“No,” you deny. “You’re actually, like, insane. You have a bachelor pad, make enough money to sustain an entire litter of kittens, look and talk like every teenage girl’s dream boyfriend— but you mess it all up by dating evil, conniving hoes like me who lose their shit over Disney cartoons.” He says nothing, watching you with an amused grin as you talk over yourself, basically regurgitating his statement from yesterday except it kinda seems plausible now that you’re over it. “It’s stupid. No, you’re stupid. No— I’m stupid.”

Jungkook chuckles, kissing the corner of your mouth gently. “Done?” he says, a dimple appearing on his cheek. You could kiss it away, but you need him to know the amount of stupidity in this room was astronomically high. “You’re not stupid, baby,” he says. You level him with a look. “Well. You have your moments.”

“Moments?” you repeat, standing up in a hurry that has him flopping down beside you. Your laptop is lost somewhere on the cushions, the voices faded as they grow farther away. “I am so stupid. I called Namjoon a whore for taking you out for lunch!” you cry. “I am the stupidest person in the world.”

Jungkook cackles, standing up beside you. “Yes, yes, you’re my stupid girl,” he teases, tapping the pout on your lips playfully. “So stupid she slanders herself instead of just telling me she loves me too.” He bumps your noses together, dark eyes staring at you almost daringly after his claim.

You fold soon enough. “I love you,” you mumble, “even if I’m too stupid to say it.”

He rewards your confession with a kiss, pulling you into his arms soon after. He sighs, almost wistfully. “Whatever shall I do with my very stupid girl?”

After exactly three minutes of feeling safe and loved in his arms, he abandons the living room in favor of leading you back to your room, where he pushes you down against your mattress. You cling to him, leaving him positioned over you at an angle. His chest presses against yours, arm curled around the back of your head. “Gotta get up, baby,” he laughs.

You shake your head, caging him in your arms. “Nuh-uh,” you murmur, legs wiggling when he places a hand on your hip.

Jungkook chuckles, pressing a kiss against the side of your ear. “Your movie is still playing in the other room,” he reminds you, thumb drawing soothing circles on your hip. You don’t release him, his mindless touch only encouraging you to keep him close. “Babe?”

You say nothing, relishing in the comfort of Jungkook’s presence. His hair smells good and feels even softer against the side of your face. The cotton shirt he found is crumpled beneath your fists, dark blue pattern wrinkling. Finally coming to terms with his new home, Jungkook eventually relaxes into your hold with a sigh.

“Alright,” he hums, patting your hip as he repositions himself more comfortably. “I get it. My pretty girl must’ve missed me, huh?” You nod, soaking in every detail about him in this moment. Jungkook shifts, the hand on your hip suddenly falling over your thigh instead. “Or should I say my stupid girl?” he purrs, hand slipping between your thighs. “My stupid, little girl?”

A gasp catches in your throat when he runs his fingers over the front of your panties. Your legs kick out wildly at the sudden touch, toes curling at the hands you dreamt about all day and night. “Oh,” you pant, each brush of his fingers feeling better than the last.

“What?” he says, mouthing against the side of your neck. His tongue feels warm, but the trails of saliva he leaves have you shivering. “Too dumb to speak?” he scoffs, biting down against a particular spot on your neck. You whimper, unsure if it’s because of his hands or his mouth.

“N-No,” you try to sneer back, fingernails digging into his skin through his shirt. His hands are getting braver now, the pad of his pointer finger dancing over your engorged clit. The sheer material of your panties certainly doesn’t help, each touch feeling like it’s being magnified three times over. And if it felt this good with underwear, you can’t even begin to imagine how it’d feel without.

You don’t have to ponder for long, because soon after Jungkook is slipping his hand beneath your waistband, touching your sensitive pussy head-on. “Kook.”

He uses your momentary vulnerability to ease himself from your hold, finally recoiling enough to smother your mouth with his. You moan in surprise, thighs quivering as he gets to work circling your hardened bud sans your panties. Jungkook isn’t the least bit kind as he kisses you ruthlessly, likes he’s trying to compensate for something with his movements. When he finally pulls away it’s with an obnoxious pop and cherry red lips. He huffs, glancing down to see where he’s got his fingers pleasuring you.

Your thighs are squirming back and forth, closing around his hand every few seconds. Jungkook snorts. “Huh, look at that,” he mutters, trailing down until his fingers are gliding over your quickly sopping folds. “Stupid girl is good for something.”

Your cheeks burn. “Kook, I’m not—“

Jungkook levels you with an unimpressed glare. “Not what? Not stupid? But I could’ve sworn you just spent the last few minutes saying you were,” he drones meanly, landing one light slap against your cunt that makes your hips buck.

You bite down a whimper. “I was just…” you trail off, eyes rolling back when he teases one finger against your opening.

“Kidding?” he supplies. “Well, I wasn’t.” Your heart stutters in your chest, eyes growing wide as he finally pushes himself off of you, propping himself up with an elbow beside your head. His gaze is dark and unrecognizable. “I think you’re so fucking stupid, doll,” he sneers. “And what are you gonna do about it?”

You should have seen this moment coming, the manifestation of that shiny side of the coin finally reaching its full potential.

While Jungkook wasn’t exactly shy about his interests, he certainly wasn’t tripping over himself to tell you every new kinky thing he wanted to try. You sort of guessed he had some interest in this sort of play a few weeks ago when you watched the Barbie movie at his place. A lot of that night had branded itself into your three am wet dreams, but there was one particular moment that stood out to you. That was you, on your knees, with him condescendingly patting your head. Or just last week, you vaguely remember the term slipping through his lips as he pleasured you with The Bullet Bestie.

The thing about Jungkook was that, until last night, he would have never admitted, or so much as even thought, that he was better than you. That was fine because you would say it enough for the both of you anyway. Did you think Jungkook was amazing, an absolute diamond among these measly rocks? Absolutely. (Were you slightly biased because you were his girlfriend? Skip.) However, you also had this insane evil villain complex that made you want to brag about everything you possibly could, especially if that meant bragging about your boyfriend.

Realistically speaking, he was better than you, that much you could look past yesterday’s anger to admit, and not even in a stuck-up, conceited way; he had a really good job, an architecturally amazing house, and a hot girlfriend. Meanwhile, you had a mediocre job, an okay apartment, and an insanely sexy Calvin Klein boyfriend, half of which he had pointed out yesterday. Regardless of how powerful that third factor was, he still outnumbered you three to one.

Sue you, Jungkook was amazing. Anyone could see that! Except, maybe, himself.

And if the only time Jungkook would openly brag about his greatness or establish how much better than you he was, was in a post-fight, sex-induced setting, then you were more than happy to be his punching bag. So long as it was on your terms, and not as a result of his weirdly bottled up feelings.

(Yeah, you would have a long talk about that tomorrow.)

But for now, you pout up at him, clamping your thighs shut purposefully. “You’re stupid too,” you defend, “stupid and mean.”

Something in his expression changes. Suddenly, he’s moving at superhuman speed as he snatches his hand out from where you had previously trapped him between your legs, yanking you up by the front of your shirt. “Mean?” he mocks. “Isn’t that what you always wanted?” You shiver, fingers wrapping around the wrist that holds your sweater. “Wanted me to be mean and push you around like a little rag doll?”

Jungkook looks at you for another two seconds, before he’s slowly pulling away from you, leaning back on his knees. His tongue is pressing against the inside of his cheek, jaw tightening from the movement. “Baby,” he says so quietly it instills a prickle of fear in you, tainted with delicious excitement.

“Yeah?” you whisper, sitting up tentatively as you watch him, He was a bit frightening, like a wild animal about to devour you whole.

Jungkook rolls his neck, the joints in his spine cracking as he begins tugging off his shirt. You salivate at the sight, too focused on the sinewy muscles of his body to catch the dark gaze he levels your way. He throws it off to the side, his sleeve of tattoos that wraps around his bicep and begins to crawl down his chest wonderfully unobstructed now. “Eyes up here,” he says and you quickly meet his gaze. He leans forward, muscled arms coming to cage you against the headboard. “Stupid little sluts don’t have the room to make such comments,” he rasps out, unamused expression adorning his normally soft features. “Don’t you think so?”

“I-I don’t know,” you stammer, leaning away as he comes closer and closer, eventually just turning your head to the side to avoid that emotionless look. It’s the wrong move, and Jungkook lets you know as much by forcefully digging his fingers into your cheeks and turning your face back around to meet his gaze.

A hand grabs beneath your knee, tugging harshly until you’re flopping down onto your back with a squeal. You settle with his knee pressed hotly against your core. Jungkook stays towering over you. “Dumb little girls who make me watch cartoons,” he spits, tracing a hand over your chest, molding your breasts beneath his hands roughly enough to make you gasp. “And watch little animal movies on Disney+. Aren’t they just so stupid?”

“So stupid,” you concede, subtly shifting your hips for some desperately needed friction. Jungkook snorts, finally granting you your wish with one rough slide of his thigh against your core.

“I agree,” he says, and surprises you with a hand around your throat as he leans in to properly grind his thigh into you. “All they’re good for is being dumb little sluts with good pussy,” he murmurs darkly, thumb pressing into the side of your neck forcefully. “Sometimes, they don’t even do anything,” Jungkook continues, his other hand on your hip hauling you higher up his thigh. You mewl, soaked panties rubbing roughly against your folds. You miss the soft swirl of his thumb, the gentle prod of his fingers. Even so, you can’t deny this change in Jungkook is doing something to you, riling up a part of you that you hadn’t known existed. Maybe it’s the horniness from yesterday that was left unfulfilled, the one year anniversary sex that was put on pause. “Just lay there and take it, too fucked out and dumb to say anything.”

His fingers loosen for the briefest of seconds and you gasp for breath. “That’s terrible,” you whimper, rolling your hips up into his thigh, so close to his swollen cock.

Jungkook chuckles without an ounce of humor, pressing your foreheads together as he helps grind you to completion. “Isn’t it? I think that stupid little girl is cute though.”

“I’m sorry,” you blurt, vision spotting as he tightens his hand back around your throat. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you moan, stomach tight from all the stimulation.

Jungkook hums, slowing you down with a tight grip on your waist. “Hm, what are you sorry for?” he croons, pink lips pulling into an evil smile. “You said you weren’t that stupid girl, __.”

You shake your head, trying to roll your hips up again but he’s holding you too tightly now, rendering you immobile beneath him. “I am,” you choke out shamefully, grabbing at the hand on your hip in a feeble attempt to remove it. “I am a stupid little girl.”

Jungkook smirks, leaning down to slot his mouth over yours. “That’s right,” he murmurs, “nothing but a dumb little slut.”

You shiver, opening your mouth when he slides his tongue against your bottom lip. He’s not the slightest bit nice, and more messy than usual. He pulls away with a bite to your lower lip, meeting your trembling gaze with that same unrecognizable glint in his eyes. “Come on, dummy, keep up,” he snarks before devouring you again. You try to, you really do, but he’s moving like an animal today, despite his slow and drunken movements from that morning. So you end up with his saliva dripping down your throat, clinging to the corners of your lips as he begins slowly grinding you against his thigh again. He flashes you a wicked smile, pearly teeth on display for you as he glances down at your messy appearance.

“Are you gonna touch me?” you ask, lower lip trembling at the thought after your desperate rutting. Jungkook purses his lips together in thought.

“Mmm,” he hums. “Don’t know yet.”

You whine. “Jungkook, please,” you whimper, wrapping your legs around his waist. “I need you.”

Jungkook chuckles, running his hand up your waist and taking your shirt with him. He slips his fingers beneath your bra, pushing the wire over your chest as he mouths at your neck. “Cute,” he says. “Can’t do it yourself?”

You tremble, chest arching into him as he rolls your nipple between his fingers. “I-I can,” you gasp. “Just feels better with you.”

Jungkook follows your statement with a nip against your skin, tongue soothing over it right after. “Why? Because I do everything better than you? Even make you cum better than you?”

Your cheeks heat up at his blatant ego rearing its head, hands carding through the hair at the nape of his neck. You say nothing, and that only eggs Jungkook on. “Come onnn,” he teases, finally, finally rolling his hips down onto your core. You squeak, head falling back against the pillows as you’re granted the one thing you’d been chasing. “Say it.”

“Say what?” you ask, voice wobbly as he continues to slowly rut against you, the front of his shorts pressing against the soaked crotch area of your panties. “Oh, oh, Jungkook,” you whine.

Suddenly he bites down harshly, teeth digging painfully into your skin. You yelp in surprise, pussy throbbing at the pain that shoots throughout your body. Jungkook pulls away and doesn’t bother soothing over it as he leans up to capture your jaw this time. “Say you’re a stupid little slut who can’t do anything without me,” he purrs, kisses too soft for the words he says.

Your mind blanks, torn between the humiliating phrase he wants you to say and properly checking him in his place. In the end, it’s with a twisted need to please him that you’re repeating the words back to him. “I-I’m a stupid slut,” you whimper, fingers digging into his shoulder blades as he continues pushing you right along the edge. The rope pulled tightly in your core is slowly being pulled apart, threads hanging on for dear life. “Can’t... can't do anything without...”

“Without who?” he asks, reaching down and untying the front of his shorts. “Can’t do anything without who, baby?”

“Without you, without you,” you cry, bucking your hips up against his, the combined movements of both your bodies making you shake like a leaf. “Ah, K-Kook,” you wail, hips stuttering as your orgasm finally swallows you up. Your panties quickly grow wet and icky from your own arousal that pools between your thighs. Jungkook lets you writhe beneath him as you chase your high, mouth sucking a pretty blossom against your jaw.

You know better than to expect the night to end here, especially after seeing the glint that had been in his eyes as he watched you unravel.

He leans close, let’s his nose brush against yours as you catch your breath. “So perfect for me,” he groans, slotting his lips against yours. You can barely keep up with him, languidly going along with his hot tongue. “Perfect, perfect girl,” he murmurs, a stark change from the less than friendly adjectives he used just moments before. “Tell me you love me?” he says softly.

You nod, mind fuzzy as you wrap your arms around his neck. “Love you,” you exhale, letting your fingers knot in his hair. Your proclamation does something to him, makes him grind the front of his cotton shorts hard against you. For someone that was often rough and brutal with you in bed, he sure was sensitive to the mushiest of things.

“Don’t deserve you,” he huffs, hot breath fanning across your skin. He switches gears fairly quickly. “Tell me you hate me,” he begs hoarsely, rutting against your soiled panties. “Tell me I’m a piece of shit and you could do better without me,” he pleads, voice too airy to be another one of his usual sex-induced thoughts.

You shake your head, pressing a kiss to his cheek as he rolls his hips. “It’s not true,” you whisper, “I love you more than you’ll ever understand.”

Jungkook groans, suddenly winding back and tearing your ruined panties down your legs. You gasp in surprise, letting him haul you about in his blind, self-inflicted rage. “Stupid, stupid,” he huffs, though at this point you can’t tell who it’s directed at. With your underwear out of the way, he wastes no time plunging his fingers back into your cunt, bypassing the tight ring of muscle around it without any of his usual care. “You should hate me,” he snarls, lips pressed against your ear.

You moan, back arching at the sudden pleasure that blossoms between your thighs. “I-I don’t,” you gasp, toes curling.

Jungkook groans, the sound traveling down your spine and straight into your pussy. “Stupid girl,” he huffs, slipping an arm around you to pull you so close until you can’t breathe, chests lined up together. His skin is warm to the touch, scorching almost. “Fuck,” he groans, curling his fingers inside of you. You whimper and moan, incapable of staying still beneath him as he tortures you with a thumb to your clit. “Tell me you hate me,” he seethes again.

Despite the fog that’s settled over your mind, you still manage a resolute shake of your head. “N-no,” you cry, digging your nails into his back. They run dark red lines over his skin, making him hiss at the sting.

Whatever punishment he’s trying to put himself through is falling through with your refusal to admit such a thing. It aggravates him even more, your adamant stance on loving him so, and he’s retracting his fingers before you can cum again. “Please,” he chokes, face tucked into your neck. He’s sloppy with his movements; as he pulls his shorts down and kicks them away, he nearly suffocates you with his weight. “I don’t deserve you, ___, please.”

“I love you,” you whimper for lack of explanation. Jungkook leans back, that same madman gaze in his glossy eyes. He’s looking at you in disbelief almost, pouty lips puckered and swollen. Your hands slip from around him, falling on either side of your head.

Like a cobra he strikes, collecting your wrists in one hand he pins above your head. The sudden movement has him leaning in close, lips brushing over yours. His lashes are coated in a wetness he refuses to acknowledge, looking at you like you drive him insane. “If you ever try to leave me,” he whispers, jerky breath fanning over your skin, “I’ll lose my mind.”

He loves you so much it aches.

“I won’t,” you whimper, feeling your own eyes well up with an emotion that consumes every inch of your being. “I’ll never leave you, you stupid, stupid boy.”

A faint smile crosses his features at your words, lips quirking to the side. You relish in it for all of two seconds before he’s ramming his cock into you, your sensitive walls spawning around him. You sob loudly, eyes rolling back into your head. Your legs instinctively hook themselves around his waist, digging into the base of his spine as he rolls his hips into you.

You feel full and complete like he belongs there in this moment and every moment after this. It makes your heart constrict painfully. Jungkook’s soft groans follow your more unraveled noises, the vulgar slapping of skin on skin the underlying melody to it all. “Ffffuck,” he spits, greedily swallowing your moans up. You whine, arms bucking in an effort to hold him close. But he’s determined in his act of restraining you, long fingers tightening around your wrists until they hurt. “I warned you, didn’t I?” he huffs, snapping his hips into you.

Your walls clench around his hard cock, the drag as he exits sending shivers throughout your body. Jungkook’s body towers over you, glistening in sweat as he nails you into your mattress. “Remember what I said?” he asks, voice but a shuddery exhale. You shake your head numbly, overwhelmed by the rough drag across your walls. “All those months ago, when you first came over,” he adds. The hand on your hip abandons its post to cup you beneath the jaw, palm pressing sinfully against your throat enough to block the tiniest of airflow. “I’ll fuck you and keep you forever,” he murmurs, voice deeper than the pits of hell. He licks a fat stripe over your cheek like you’re nothing but a sweet for him to devour. “Do you remember that, pretty girl?”

You nod jerkily, hips arching up into him when he thrusts into you again. It’s a memory that replays in your mind every so often, your first night with the man you had planned to humiliate over a mere misunderstanding, now your boyfriend of one year. “Want that,” you gasp, tears blurring your vision when he begins picking up the pace. “Wanna be y-your pretty girl forever.”

Jungkook groans, kissing the corner of your mouth. His thighs are some magnificent beings, keeping his pace consistent even as he loses himself in his overwhelming need to kiss you. “Always,” he manages, soft lips pressed against yours. “I won’t ever let you leave.”

A shriek tears itself from your lips as he picks up that harsh piston, releasing your jaw to hold both wrists above your head. It makes his curls dangle in front of his eyes, covering that beautiful dark gaze. It makes his thin little necklace swing back and forth too, though it’s too small to actually touch your face. The rhythmic swing has you hypnotized, just like everything else about Jungkook.

With the length of his hair, you’re left staring at his lips, pulled taut between his pearly white teeth. The word from before sits heavy in your chest, begs to drip from the tip of your tongue. But he’s moving too fast and too hard, scrambling your thoughts until all you can think about is the cock plunging into your heat. His name falls from your mouth like mindless blubber instead, arms thrashing as your second orgasm swallows you up. It sends you crashing, body spasming as the sheer euphoria waves over you slowly and then all at once.

“Perfect,” he grunts, leaning down to slot his mouth against yours, “my perfect girl.” Your cum makes the sound of his hips erotic, the loud squelching following your panting. Still sensitive from your high, your body unconsciously tightens around him, keeps his cock from fully leaving. It brings a soft whine out of Jungkook, one he tries to muffle against the side of your face.

“Inside,” you whimper, even though your body feels like jelly beneath him. “Cum inside, Kook, please,” you beg.

It only takes a few more thrusts into your leaking hole for him to finally reach paradise, hips stuttering when that first shot of pleasure hits him. “Fuck, fuck,” he growls, wildly snapping his hips into your achy cunt. You moan, feeling just about brainless at the overstimulation. His cum leaves you full, almost makes your belly bulge from it. When he’s done he doesn’t bother pulling away, simply slumping into your limp form. His cock, though quickly softening, serves as a plug for the cum threatening to spill out of you.

There’s a muted noise coming from the other room, the faint sound of the mail slipping through your letterbox, the quiet chattering of the street outside. And of course, the loud blaring of your laptop playing the Phineas and Ferb theme song. Jungkook registers it at about the same time as you, a soft chuckle leaving his lips.

He pushes off of you soon after, leaning on his palms over you. He’s got that molten look on his eyes, the heat of a thousand suns burning behind those irises as he looks at you. Like he can’t get enough, even though he’s just about taken everything there is to take. “Love you,” he murmurs quietly.

A drop of sweat rolls over his forehead, clinging to the end of his eyebrow. You reach up and brush it away, let your hand trail down his face to cup his cheek. Immediately he leans into the touch, eyes falling half shut. “Love you more,” you respond.

“Impossible,” he scoffs.

Soon after you’re both stumbling out of bed, clothes haphazardly shrugged back on as you drift through the living room. There’s a thin, hot pink package sitting at the door, just having slipped through the letterbox; the stark Sexuality Unleashed logo is printed on the visible side, so you have to wonder what Doyeon could have possibly ordered this time that could be so thin. The laptop is awkwardly sandwiched next to a throw pillow, barely open a crack. Jungkook retrieves it, sets it on his lap as you scamper over to the couch.

“More Phineas and Ferb?” he asks quietly. He hates it, you know he does. And still, he wants to watch it with you.

You nod. “Please.”

He isn’t so concerned with the plot as you, clicking some random episode to start. You snuggle into his side, quietly singing along to the opening. After a moment, Jungkook speaks again. “Phineas and Flirt?” he offers cheekily.

You roll your eyes. “That might’ve been your worst one yet,” you sigh, trying to drown out his indignant huff by focusing on the screen.

“I don’t exactly see you coming up with these,” he points out, obviously feeling wronged.

Without missing a beat you say, “Disney+ and bust.”

epilogue

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[mieohmy]

little chances | jung jaehyun

you grin, pushing his shoulder as you stroll down the path together. “and then what should we do? your mother would actually scream if i jumped into the lake,” jaehyun says and you burst out into laughter. “yes, perhaps. well then, any other suggestions?” but at that moment, you catch the setting sun and turn to jaehyun with delighted eyes, not realizing as he stares at you for a little too long.

“look at the sun!” you say before adding with a frown, “not for that long or else you’ll hurt your eyes, idiot.” you share smiles before you run off the trail, into the wild meadow and green grass. you hear footsteps following, crunching the blades with every step.

you look at jaehyun with a mischievous look. “what about joining the-“

“let’s be together. let’s run away together, y/n,” he speaks abruptly, and you falter.

“what?”

he takes a step closer and you take a step back. “i love you. i want to marry you, do whatever with you. i don’t care- i just want you to be with me.”

your eyes widen, breath leaving you with a whoosh. “no, no. you don’t.”

jaehyun furrows his eyebrows. “what do you mean i don’t? i’ve loved you for a long time, and i can’t help myself anymore. you’re what i want. i want to be with you for the rest of my life!”

anger, confusion, and nausea fill you as you try to grapple with how sudden everything he has just thrown out to you. no matter how many times he, or your family, or his has alluded to it, the thought still wrestles forcibly in your mind. you throw your hands out harshly in front of you, “you just can’t propose to me!” you can feel the heat begin to build up inside of you, rearing its head to eventually explode.

“i’m in love with you, y/n. i thought you were supposed to love me back- after all this time, i’m still mad with love for you-“

the stress and desperation in his voice grow, and you can’t stand it. “no,” you shake your head firmly, almost violently. “i don’t owe you anything, and i didn’t expect anything from you.”

you hate to see the pain evident on his face grow, but the way he attempts to lean into you -not like when he makes a joke and looks to you for your reaction or when you ask him for help reaching something too high for you- it’s not the jaehyun you know and cherish.

“but you can’t just reject me, not without a chance.” he tightens his fists and takes heavy breathes in. you can feel your eyes getting teary, but you still shake your head once more. “we don’t need a chance, jae. i can’t be that one for you, and you’ll soon know it as well. we would never be happy like that. please,” you urge with a trembling body, “don’t make me when you know i can’t- not ever.”

“why? why can’t you love me?” his voice raises as he practically begs you, eyes yearning for an answer. it makes you sick.

“i do!” you yell, “but not the way that it works for everyone else, and that means we can’t be together.” you take a breath before continuing with a steadier voice, “i’m telling you right now, jung jaehyun, that we cannot marry. we’ve been friends for so long, i know you. and you know me. so, i’m telling you right now that i do not love you.”

he looks down, hands on his hips. you exhale shakily, voice now considerably softer. “you’ll find a good, sweet person who loves you greater than you ever thought before. but me, i’m stuck as me who cannot change their feelings, no matter how much you and everyone else wants.”

he looks at you, distraught. “and i’m stuck as someone who will never be able to love another as i do for you.”

“that’s not true. don’t say that,” you whisper. “you don’t love me,” he repeats instead and you close your eyes.

“i’m just a little person in this world full of many others. how much could that mean to you?”

pairing: jung jaehyun x reader

genre: angst, tiny fluff + humor

wc: 705

notes: inspired by little women if it wasn’t obvious enough lol- future fic reference? ;)))

#cznnet #jaehyun x reader #nct 127 au #nct 127 scenarios #nct 127 x reader #jung jaehyun x reader #jaehyun scenarios #jaehyun au #jaehyun imagines #nct 127 imagines #jung jaehyun scenarios #jung jaehyun imagines #nct x reader #nct x you

[joannasteez]

Hey!! So, I have an idea. Could you write a fic about EZ and the reader’s wedding night? With smut of course 😏. I feel like he’d be so sweet and he’d be giving so much praise. You’re a wizard at combining fluff and smut, so I know you’d do amazing with this! Sending you lots of love 😁🥰

Short Summary: You and EZ turn in earlier than planned from your wedding reception.

Gif Credits @losaslut

Taglist: @my-rosegold-soul @appropriate-writers-name @est1887 @xladymacbethx @blessedboo @brownsugarcoffy @elektriknachosss @queenbeered @sesamepancakes @superhoeva @witching-hour @noz4a2 @withmyteeth @rae-gar-targaryen @cruzwalters @rose-bliss @youlovetkay

𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄, 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒

It was a quake in his belly, ravenous, spreading wild and untamed, free, like fire, just a hairs breadth away from desperation. Starvation. It was hunger, jolting tingles prickling, crackling the tips of his fingers, an electric feeling of desire, need. He knew then, knows now, in his soul he’s got to have it, reach out to it, grab at it. Hunger, it’s a shift in his breath, his whole life stuck on the upturn of an inhale but now, finally, feeling free enough to fall, to breathe. And then without wait, breathe again. The body, his body, aches for it --always has-- needs it, this little thing called love. Craves it, so much so that it trembles, forlorn in the way that it lays, stands, sits, exist, till it has it. Till he has it. Has love. Till he can touch it, hear it, smell it, feel it, taste it, hold it gentle in the palm of his hand because... 

“Remember Ezekiel, love is a vulnerable thing, don’t waste it”. Felipe’s voice always so mellow and coarse. Reminiscent. “Don’t waste it son, don’t waste it”. 

“Can you go three weeks without me Reyes?” You were such a damn tease, even if he could hate you he wouldn’t. 

He felt like a madman for saying yes. Just a heel - toe away from insanity. 

Three weeks of sweet faint kisses, the taste of your lips ghosting, melting no where else but the very tip of his tongue, and barely felt touches, like a breeze born at dawn too busy moving, flowing, to cascade along the leaves that live for its graceful feel, all because you wanted him needy for you. Hungry. 

He couldn’t say “I do” fast enough. “Lets get out of here”. His whisper breathy and warm at your ear. Feet shifting with his, fingers in each others embrace, dancing beneath a chandelier sky. 

You’d said “I do” so perfectly. The phrase rich off your lips, dripping like honey, so bright, warm and embracing, a promise. Like some sweet summer melody. It was heavenly. 

“You still with me?” The question just above a whisper, your fingers ruffling aimlessly through the hair at his chin. 

“Of course”. 

“What were you thinking about?” His lip becoming the object of your thumbs affection. The rosy pink flesh so demanding to the eyes, tantalizing. 

“How much I need you”. 

But it’s a painful longing Ezekiel has, burdening him more than he’d ever be able to tell, one that aches well and deep at the heart of him, melting away bone and wearing the strength of his nerve, leaving him open to the air of you, raw and helpless, but it’s good all the same. He’s weak in love. It’s exhilarating nonetheless, the type of yearning he works tirelessly to sate but begs also never to leave him for fear that he would never feel so wholly, so deeply for another this way again. Finding such pleasure in this love stricken pain, he realizes as he stares into your eyes, only you could do something like this, possess him to feel such an adoration for the way you weaken him. And the silk dress helps him none, the soft white fabric draped along your body drawing him in, persuading his fingers to ruffle beneath, the dig of them measured as they stretch over your thighs, inching towards the sweetest place he knows. 

His gaze never leaves you, the straps of your dress slim and dainty as you slip them away over your shoulders. 

The shake of his head is a mixture of wonder and disbelief. How were you so beautiful, and he so lucky? “Goddam”, he whispers, the white lace accessorizing your skin calling him, pleading for his strong, gentle touch. 

You slip easy into his lap, the end of the plush bed dipping. 

Your lips feather over his, breath as soft as your caressing hold along the sharp edge of his jaw. So close you could taste him. “I know how much you love me in lace”. 

He groans, placing a hand at your back before he turns to lay you at the heart of the bed. Present himself properly your beauty. “You’re incredible. So perfect”.

Drowning, after three weeks of nothing you’re neck deep in a passion far too great just to be your own, the faint taste of champagne running fresh, swirling on your tongue from his. Three weeks, and finally, he gives you a breathless kiss. Deep, demanding, and addictively unbearable in a way that makes you want to fall into it, wander into the heart of it till you’re lost forever. But what does it all mean?, to be so unearthed in this moment, to fall and fly at the same time? Delve face first into heaven and earth, what else does it mean if not becoming weak in love too.

“I missed you”, his lips lazy at the lace dressing your breast, tongue drawing slow till they’re twisted hard and aching, but he doesn’t stop. Of course he doesn’t, because when has Ezekiel ever given up the opportunity to tease you? Cause your body such an alluring grief. “I missed this”. Wet kisses swirling and melting into your skin till he’s suckling hard at your lace covered slit, wetness pooling in an instant. “She missed me too”, he chuckles, before it slips into a moan at the roll of your hips. Rosy lips traveling, mapping the underside of your thighs. His eyes blown, glazed over with want as they peer into yours. “You’re so pretty baby”, a small kiss to the peak of your right knee. “So beautiful”. Another just above your navel. “All mine”. 

“You can stare and admire me later. I need you now”, you fight the whine threatening to wrap smooth over your words. Fingers reaching for him, wanting him close. 

He’s at your ear in seconds, the weight of him pressed well into you, hand strong as he takes one of your legs to wrap secure around him. “How do you want me hermosa?. Tell me”. 

“Slow. Make love to me”

He’s moving like the earth has stopped so generously for this moment, calloused fingers relieving you of all the beautiful lace like you’re some precious gift, and then his bottoms are gone, clothes forgotten like everything else that isn’t you. If nothing else in the moment, it’s his sudden affinity for patience that’s most agonizing, but deep down you know you deserve it, leaving him touch starved for three weeks was a bit low. But even patience, with the right touch, wears thin quick, the heel of your left foot settling at the base of his back, both legs now warm at his waist. It’s the creeping roll up his spine that gets him, like a call to action, a firm hand that makes him fall to you with a fluidity, such grace in motion you haven’t seen in weeks. ‘Again... three weeks... why’d you make him wait?’, the small pieces of you wonder, till he’s sinking in hard, hot and thick inside you. 

“That’s it”, he encourages. Reveling in your tight fit, utterly dazed in the way it satiates the heat reddening his skin. “Let me in baby”. Another groan escaping all drawn out into the hot skin of your neck when he bottoms out. 

“Oh fuck”. Your moan slurred in that delirious way. Eyes daring to roll, your jaw clenched, hiss smooth sailing out and into the air. 

He’s moving slow like you asked him, but his hips are digging deep, really giving you the type of passion that glazes your eyes, ears heating, whimpers broken as your fingers press into him. He’s as close as can be but you need him closer, but you’re not really sure what you’re looking for with your fingers, what you’re digging for. Maybe some grounding? Yeah, that’s what it feels like. That’s what shuddered breaths and parted lips tell you anyways. ‘You need grounding’, because he’s determined to imprint himself inside you, mold you to him, make your tight heat recommit him to memory till it’s unrecognizable where you end and he begins. 

He’s heavy, within and without, a strong, uncompromising force rocking into you so perfect every time. Your wetness pooling with every filling push of his hips, sounding sweet. “You make me feel so full baby”. 

He’s fluid still, the delicious grind he works into you at a steady pace. Thats it, that’s it, that’s it, a mumbling chant parting off his lips, close to yours. They meet and fall off your own, tongues slipping lazy, coming together with every push of his length, walls slick and warm as they hug him in, pulling and sucking so fucking good before his waist rears back, lips breaking for just a moment, before he’s home again. Your foreheads are a resting place for the other, right hand of yours meeting his chest, the other nailing gentle at the nape of his neck. “You’re always so good to me”. He’s at your ear again, whispers soft, but still ringing so loud, your thigh gripped in his left hand, his body anchored on the weight of his arm at the right, the digging turned into a brute snap. “So good for me”. His hearts pounding hard, matching the beat of yours, you feel it, like thunder under your touch. “Fuck”, the slim ring of golden brown in his eye meeting yours. “I’m never letting you go”. 

A tear slips slim off to the side of your cheek, pressure in your belly building strong. “I love you EZ”. 

He thinks it’s enough, hearing it the one time. It rises, saturates his skin, breaks him down, builds him back up, makes him whole, and then it dissipates. He needs it again. “Say it again. Tell me you love me”. 

You hold him close, lips brushing. It’s sweeter this way, always has been, always will be. “I love you baby, I love you so much”. 

A tear and a whimper, but it isn’t yours. Another kiss brushing your lips, thigh tight in his hold. “I love you so fucking much”, trembling between the gentle intensity of another whimper and the soft sincerity of a whisper. Either way, it’s truth all the same. 

His hips rear back again, hitting once, twice, and then a third final time. The coils winding in your bellies unraveling sharp. Bodies burning in white hot bliss. 

Falling and flying face first into heaven and earth. It’s amazing. 

#ez reyes #ezekiel reyes #ez reyes x reader #ezekiel reyes x reader #mayans mc #soft #fluff #joannasteez

[thran-duils]

Lost In Your Current (P.1)

Title: Lost In Your Current (Part One) Summary: Fem!Reader x Dark!Tony Stark. After the snap, the team realizes that certain males were given Alpha status and certain females were assigned as Omegas, all across the galaxy, as a way to control procreation. Only Omega can give birth now. Both are marked and their DNA is tied through their marks. Tony lost Pepper and fell into depression after being rescued by Carol. Even the information that he could have happiness again could not pull him out. Until the loneliness and his new Alpha gene got to be too much. When Steve contacts him that his Omega had been found, Tony cannot resist to collect her. Words: 2,033 Warnings (for the whole fic): Dub-con, a/b/o elements, smut, forced mating

Part Two || Masterpost (mobile) || Fanfic masterpost

After he had been brought back from space and found Pepper gone, Tony had been devastated. He isolated himself despite the remaining Avengers efforts. He only let them know he was alive and was reviving himself from being starved and dehydrated in space. When he had received the intel that in the snap, males were given mates, an Alpha and Omega pairing, he had rejected the idea at first, ignoring the small A that had engrained itself on the web of his hand between his forefinger and thumb. But as time waned on, he found himself empty and even admitting that to Rhodes opened up the conversation again about finding his Omega. Rhodes was convinced Tony would find healing in that connection. Thanos had done it to set couples, control procreation. No out of wedlock. There would not be another overpopulation problem. Only Omega were able to breed now. In any corner of the galaxy, it seemed.

Somehow despite his isolation, Tony had gotten word an Omega had been captured and her imprinting mark, an outline on her gland yet to be penetrated, matched his DNA. It was not a surprise to Natasha considering his incessant need for information and adept ability to hack practically any system.

Or maybe it was because Steve had told him. That’s what Tony divulged to her upon his arrival.

“I did not tell you yet for a reason,” Natasha told him.

They were standing in the observation room. Like many Omega after the snap, she had gone into hiding as soon as the information was out, and she had noticed the mark on her neck. People were not keen on being forced into submission and this situation was no different. Quickly, a drug had been developed and distributed. Still, the Omega had stayed in hiding, still fearful they could be detected despite the suppressants.

“Yeah, I’m used to you not telling people things,” Tony told her coldly. “You learned that from Fury well enough.”

Natasha swallowed his insult, knowing he was getting himself riled up just at the sight of her. She needed to be delicate about this. She had planned on telling him and inviting him to the compound but she had wanted to give Y/N time, get her as calm as possible to meet her Alpha. Steve had ruined that. So, she had to just go ahead now that Tony was here, ready to pounce. He had held off for so long, but the loneliness and loss had gotten to him. Or the drive to find himself buried in his Omega had sunk in; hormones were a bitch.

“She’s been on the suppressants. It may take a while for her to feel her heat,” Natasha told him.

“’A while’? How long has she been off them?”

“We’ve had her in here a few days. But a week at least.”

Tony growled and turned away from her. His eyes found Y/N again on the other side of the glass, watching her meander in the room serving as her cell to keep her safe. “She’s so close! A few days at best!”

Tony could already see it, smell it. It did not matter there was a wall separating, she was coming in through the circulation. And she already smelled deserving of his veneration.

Natasha inhaled sharply and took a step towards him. Firmly, she asked, “Do you need to leave, Tony?”

“No!” he spat, shooting her a threatening glare. He was just daring her to try to force him to leave.

As if he would let his prize out of his sight. He had been lost the moment he had laid eyes on her, smelled her sweet scent of sea breeze and jasmine.

Natasha would threaten him in return. She was not afraid of him, unlike most people. She was firm when she told him, “I won’t allow you to mate an Omega without their consent. She won’t realize she’s in heat yet. You need to wait until next cycle. Even if it is your soulmate and you think it’s for the best. And by think, I use it lightly cause I can see your fingers are white with how hard you are trying to hold onto that ledge to keep a grip on control.”

Tony snorted impatiently. Next cycle? Fuck that. He had been stuck in space and been screwed over by Thanos. He lost Pepper. He deserved this. He deserved her, he deserved this new start. He had gotten himself healthy again. And why not for this?

His Alpha was rearing its head; he had his soulmate so close, and he was so convinced he could trip her into heat early.

His eyes were fixated on his mate on the other side of the glass. She was moving around unbeknownst that he could see her, that he was watching her. His cock was tight against his jeans, and he adjusted, shooting a glance at Natasha who did not miss the movement.

He paced more, keeping his eyes set on her. She licked her lips, her hands wringing together as she sat down on the bench at the window she was allowed. She would have so much to look at when she was at his house. He had moved north, bought a large house settled in the mountains. So much space for her to wander, under his direction of course. He could not risk losing her either. But he wanted her happy. Only if happy meant she was with him though. He would not settle for anything less. He would force that mating bond on her if that is what it took to ensure she would warm his bed.

Out of Tony’s sight, Natasha cocked her head towards the door and Carol followed her. They thought Tony did not even notice them leave. Not that that was unexpected considering how zoned in he was.

Outside the room, door closed behind them, Natasha told her, “I’m gonna kill Steve. She needed a week—”

“Steve is just as meat headed as Tony. As little of time I’ve known him, I’ve realized that I’m not shocked he gave him the tip. He has been pretty happy with his mate that he found. I thought someone as virtuous as Captain America would have at least given the situation a second though, but…”

“Hormones are not a joke,” Natasha murmured. She swore and said exasperated, “Tony is not going to leave that fucking room without an armed guard dragging him out.”

Carol shrugged. “Then leave him in there! Let him watch her and keep the eye out he thinks he needs to. As long as he doesn’t break the glass—"

“He’s on edge already, Carol. If he sees anyone enter that room — even IF they’re beta, which is the only people I will send in there now regardless — he could lose it. Send himself into a rut. But she needs testing still and food. She has to interact with our doctors.”

<><><>

Tony had certainly noticed them leave though. And he smirked as soon as the door closed. Idiots.

Waiting for the door to close after Carol and Natasha stepped outside the room, Tony hit his watch.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y…. Hit the ventilation. Knock them out outside the room I am in and hers.”

<><><>

Tony stepped over Natasha and Carol slumped on the ground and then over the guards in the hallway. He held up his watch to the keypad and F.R.I.D.A.Y unlocked the door, giving him access. He shivered physically smelling Y/N full on, her wafting out to him as he pushed the door open. The room was penetrated with her and it was intoxication. The alcohol had done nothing for him since he had returned, no amount of money spent, no amount of women he had taken to his bed. But he actually felt something when he stepped into the room.

She turned away from the window, eyes wide and curious. He made sure to close the door behind him, a barrier to her escaping. He had read in the information he had been given all those months ago that Omega were unruly when they were not claimed yet and the thought made him growl internally. If she tried to run from him… his Alpha was furious at the thought, ready to pin her.

The two of them stared at each other and he could hear her heart beating faster, reacting to him. Natasha was right; she was not ready quite yet but just being in his presence was having an impact. Yes, he could trip her if he got her home, immersed her in his environment. If he was all she could see.

His eyes raked over her and he said, “Well, they certainly don’t know how to dress you all here.”

She looked down at her loose gown and then flicked her gaze back up to his, looking embarrassed. “I’m sorry…”

She was delectable. Submissive. She already wanted to please him, and she had not been properly introduced to him yet. Tony felt his cock hardening. If only he could take her here and now. But he needed to drive her home. He tried to fight the hormones trying to hijack his psyche.

“No, sweet one, don’t apologize. You still look lovely. You’re so fertile….. look at you. Dripping.”

<><><>

You perked up at the compliment. The multiple compliments. You were doing good. Weren’t you? On many levels. Fertile. And wet.

Wait, wait?

He came closer. Still looking entirely in the brink of losing it but he smelled good. He smelled like home.

And that instantly set you on edge, a clear thought cutting through your arousal.

No.

It was him. The Alpha you had been assigned to. And Jesus. It was Tony fucking Stark. Why else would he have this effect on you? Natasha had promised to speak to you and let you decide as you weaned off the suppressants. She had lied and now you were being thrown to the wolves. And no wonder. Tony was her friend. Why would she deny him anything?

You stood quickly and your back hit the wall. You were closing in on yourself, trying to be small. He bristled at your squirrely movement and cocked his head. He immediately placed himself between you and the door to prevent you leaving, holding up his hand. Your heart was hammering.

He was here. He was here to take you away, lock you away.

“You don’t have to be afraid…” Tony said, his voice rolling over you like a high. It was sugary, sweet. “You are safe with me, sweet one.”

Safe. Yes. He would protect you.

You shook your head, closing your eyes tight, trying to shake his influence. Safe meant under his thumb.

Tony was closing the space quickly and you cowered. He was stronger than you and would undoubtedly win a fight.

“Omega…” he said, the title falling from his lips like a song. You froze and he took a few more steps. He shivered, seeing your response. “Be good. You don’t have to be trapped in here anymore. This room is so small, confining. You can come with me… up to our cabin.” Our, the word usage was not lost on you. “There’s a lake. Space to wander. You will have freedom there. With me.”

Half of you was screaming to listen to him, go to him, obey. The other half was screaming at you to try to duck around him and find an escape to make sure you would not fully come off the suppressants and be his puppet, his breeding machine.

Tony was there, inches between you and your chest pulled towards him, wanting him to touch you. He noticed the movement, hunger swimming in his eyes, pupils blown wide.

“That’s it, Omega. Be good.”

A soft whine left your lips, embarrassingly, at the command to be good.

Yet, another thought flashed. This was not right. And your eyes hardened. His jaw clenched at the sight, and you knew you were in trouble. Before you could react, he brought his hand up, and all you felt was cold metal against your neck before you saw black.

~~~

Marvel tags: @coconutqueen21 @undecidedsworld @holl2712 @agustdowney  @biiskuitx @buttercupfangirl

#tony stark x reader #dark!tony stark #dark tony stark #alpha tony stark #alpha!tony stark #dark marvel #my shit

[thera-daydreams]

INDAY

± A Trese Fic ±

[Crispin/Basilio/Maliksi/Dominic x Skymaiden!Reader]

01: Noon at Ngayon (✓)

02: Ang Kambal na Anak ni Datu Talagbusao, Diyos ng Digmaan (Link)

03: Ang Prinsipe ng Mga Tikbalang (Link)

04: Ang Pinuno ng Mga Aswang (Link)

05: (Link) 06: (Link) 07: (Link)

01: Noon at Ngayon

Back then, long before you were born, your mother used to work as a katulong of the Trese Family and was very close to its matriarch, Miranda Trese. Coming from the province, she was no stranger to superstitions—even more so after knowing the work of Miranda's husband Anton Trese, who was actually the Babaylan-Mandirigma of Manila.

Years later, after giving birth to you around the same time Miranda gave birth to her twins (one a stillborn, unfortunately), it was you and Alexandra who became best buddies instead, as different your personalities were. You two had practically grown up together and you yourself heard countless stories of the supernatural from your Tito Anton. It wasn't that hard to believe when he and his sigbin companions would sometimes come home tracking blood prints on the floors (which you'd helped your mother clean up). Heck, you'd even met Señor Armanaz, the Great Stallion himself and the ruling tikbalang of the Armanaz herd. That pretty, white-haired diwata seemed extremely fond of you, too, which was evident when you'd sneak in with Alexandra to Tito Anton's meetings and she would smile (even wave) at you happily.

You had absolutely no idea why the fae-like lady was so nice to you, but you weren't complaining at all!

However, in spite of your experiences with the supernatural, you and your mother always believed that you were normal humans. In actuality, that was who you were for the majority of your childhood. It was only until Miranda herself saw a vision of you—a much older you—fighting the monsters of the Underworld alongside her own daughter. During dinnertime, Miranda told your mother that she saw you blessed by the heavens with powers that would aid in the battle against evil.

It sounded absolutely ridiculous, right? Yeah, your mom thought so, too.

Your mother only laughed it off as she placed a steaming bowl of tinola in front of Alexandra's brothers, who instantly dug in like they haven't been fed in years.

"Boys! Dahan-dahan lang," Anton reprimanded his sons. "Or else you'll choke and the soup will come out of your noses!"

"Okay, Papa."

"Grabe ka naman, Miranda. I doubt that anything like that's going to happen to my daughter," your mom chuckled, watching your little hands try to feed Alexandra with a piece of chicken. "Unlike you guys, our lineage isn't anything special. Ordinaryo lang ang lahi namin."

Miranda sighed, looking at you and her only living daughter enjoying your time being kids, "I guess you're right. Baka panaginip lang talaga 'yun."

Anton glanced at her knowingly. Although he was aware that you and your mom didn't dabble in magic or anything like they did, he knew that whenever Miranda—one of the Seven Seers—had such vivid dreams, it was something of great importance. But he decided to say nothing, understanding how much your mother wanted to let you live as normal of a life possible in this household.

That was when you were seven years old. One year later, Miranda died fighting against a group of aswang who decided to betray Anton. Said man found the eight-year-old Alexandra hiding in a corner behind the waterfalls, scared and holding Sinag close to her heaving chest as she tried to hold her tearful sobs in.

Of course, a few days later, you and your mother attended the funeral with the mourning Trese family. All the brothers had done their best to stay strong, especially for their little sister who didn't fully understand yet what just happened. Little you ran towards Alexandra, holding her hand tightly as her mother's casket was lowered. Around you were various comrades, both human and non-human, paying their respects to their bereaved allies.

That day, as you turned your back to return to your mother's arms, you knew you would never forget the feeling of numerous unearthly eyes following your every movement.

Even they could sense that there was something about you, a so-called regular human child. You smelled human and had the aura of one, but there was something they couldn't place. It was like a tiny rock getting into your shoe, not coming out at all.

Much changed after that, but you and Alexandra remained close together. To your dismay, just after you graduated elementary, you and your mother had to move back to the province to stay with your sick grandparents. The last thing you could remember was kneeling in the back of the car, looking sadly through the rear windscreen as Alexandra and her brothers waved goodbye to you.

More than a decade had passed since then. You used to write letters to Alexandra, but after Hank told you she had to undergo the trials of the Puno ng Balete, you haven't heard from her (although Hank did disclose that she'd managed to come home safely, which was a great relief to you). You didn't blame her; you knew Tito Anton had passed away in the five years she was gone and that she had to take over the title of Lakan, as well as the Babaylan-Mandirigma of Manila. It was a demanding job! You remembered Tito Anton sometimes staying up all night—breakfast would be served and he would still be in his study, going over paperwork. On other days, he would be gone for consecutive nights handling cases all around Manila. You could only pray Alexandra was fine.

Your life had continued on, as well—you took care of your ill grandparents until they died, helped your mother in the province, went to a good highschool, then earned your degree in another prominent city that wasn't Manila.

Your mom actually recommended that you go to school somewhere else, given the constantly rising number of attacks in the capital of the country. And so you did. Life was hard, but normal until then.

The funny thing was that, when you reached the age of twenty-one, you finally understood why those supernatural creatures kept looking at you weirdly as a kid (and why Lady Diwata liked you so much).

What was even funnier was that the dramatic revelation came to you when you weren't in the Philippines. It was after you freshly graduated college, when you were traveling all over Asia to volunteer in charity projects. It was always your dream to one day expand your horizons not only beyond your province, but the Philippines itself, while also doing good in the world.

And here you were, walking that path you dreamt of.

The organization you luckily managed to become a member of provided everything you needed, and every few months, you would move from country to country. Because of that, you'd already been able to travel to so many places. First it was Thailand, then Indonesia, China, South Korea, India, Japan, Sri Lanka, Singapore, Malaysia, and currently, you were in Vietnam. Visiting those places was fun and gave you a whole new perspective of the world you lived in; it was a... learning experience, too.

Still, that incident happened when you were in Thailand, when you were the last one in the rented apartment balcony taping up the boxes for the donation drive tomorrow. Yawning, you cut more duct tape and stuck them to the open boxes tightly.

"Inday," someone said from behind you. You didn't bother turning around, thinking it was one of your fellow volunteers looking for you this late at night. Probably your roommate. She was the only one who usually called you by your nickname instead of your real name.

"Hmm?" you hummed, taping up more boxes. "Papasok na ako sa kwarto, Lyn. I just have a few more boxes to close. Alam mong mapapagalitan ako kung may hindi madidistribute bukas."

"Hindi ako si Lyn."

You paused, then slowly turned around, flinching at the sudden bright light that shone right against your eyes. For a moment, akala mo namatay ka na at hinaharap mo si San Pedro.

It was a glowing figure in white whose face you couldn't clearly see, which frightened you even more.

"Ay, mama!" you exclaimed, shielding your eyes and falling to your knees. Then, you gasped loudly, patting your body and panicking with closed lids. "Oh my God, am I dead? Nasa heaven na po ba ako?" Your lips wobbled. "Ngayon pa nga lang ako nakaalis ng Pilipinas... I haven't even done all the things I've wanted to do! Hindi pa ako nakapagpaalam sa nanay ko—aray!"

You'd felt something hit the back of your head. Hard. It was the glowing figure in white, but now you could see their unimpressed face scowling at you.

"Kalma lang, Inday. Hindi ka pa patay, pero makinig ka nang mabuti," they shushed you urgently (you weren't sure if they were male or female). "Do not be afraid. I am a messenger from the heavens, and I bear great news!"

"Great news...?" you trailed off, then your eyes widened excitedly. "Like, nanalo ba ako ng lotto? Isang milyon? Bilyon? Hala! Wait, is this a Mama Mary moment? I'm not ready to be the next immaculate conception!"

They glared at you, making you shut up instantly. "Sorry, I'll shut up now," you apologized with a mumble. This person (thing?) was kind of... strict. Whatever did you do wrong? You were just sleep-deprived and running on energy drinks (as well as kape).

"I have come to tell you that you are the vessel of the last skymaiden," they revealed, arms wide open. The light around them seemed to grow even brighter, making you squint. You felt like you were about the go blind! "Ikaw ang huling biraddali, Y/N L/N."

At ayun, zero brain cells remaining. Tunay na nagloading screen ang brain mo. Nag-error at nagcrash pa nga siguro, eh.

"... Ha? Ano?"

You blinked, completely speechless—as seen by how wide your jaw had dropped open. It wasn't that you were unfamiliar with the biraddali, it was just that you'd only heard of them once when you were just a young child. Your Tita Miranda had mentioned they were long gone from the world of the supernatural.

"Oh no, me? A biraddali? You're joking," you stuttered out, pointing at yourself. "Aren't they extinct or something? And, uh... not human?"

They nodded, "Yes. It is correct that everyone in the mystical world thought that the biraddali were long gone, even before the colonizers came to conquer the native lands. However, before the skymaidens all disappeared, the youngest and most powerful one among the seven sisters sealed her soul away to the rivers of time until the strength of a heavenly being was needed to help purify the evils of the world." The figure floated closer to you. "That last biraddali's soul, along with its corresponding power, traits, and knowledge, had chosen to reside deep within you the moment you were conceived."

Honestly, how were you even supposed to react? Your life was nowhere near ready for something like this. Was this a prank by your friends? Your colleagues? The light around this person seemed too authentic to be fake, though.

You stayed in shock for an entire minute, silent. The being in front of you only waited for a response.

"Ano 'to, Sailor Moon? Winx Club?" you whispered to yourself, before slapping your own cheek and scolding yourself. A stinging red mark was left on your face. "Inday, kakamanhwa mo 'yan! Nasosobraan ka na ata, matulog ka na!"

Sighing heavily, you rubbed your face tiredly, still in disbelief that you—according to this stranger—were apparently some old soul from a species of ethereal beings that were long gone. It sounded like something out of those reincarnation webnovels you got addicted to. What now, you were the MC? Wattpad ka, girl?

"Look, this is a mistake. I still have to wake up early tomorrow to give out the donations," you spoke to the glowing being (or whatever it was), laughing nervously. "I'm sorry, but I think you have the wrong person. Either that or I must be hallucinating from sleep deprivation, because I'm definitely not a divine creature. You're probably just a product of my imagination. Sorry, I'm going to bed."

Bang!

At that moment, the power in the building went out. The only thing you could see was the thing who assumed you were a biraddali (they were so bright they were like a flashlight in the dark for you).

"Brownout?" you blinked. It felt wrong, though. It was eerily silent. "Did a fuse blow up?"

"Nagsimula na ang iyong unang pagsubok, Y/N," they announced seriously. "Creatures of the dark have already begun to take over this building. You may not have noticed, but all throughout your life, you have always been helping and giving. It is your nature as a being descended from the heavens themselves, and now, it is time for you to accept your destiny."

"Hoy, sandali lang! Sandali, sandali!" You were absolutely wide awake now as you heard the sounds of strange whispers around you. It was terrifyingly creepy, much creepier than whatever you'd seen back in the Trese Residence (and you'd seen a lot in that house). You did not want to be a part of a horror movie-like lifestyle. "Don't I have a choice in this?! I—I don't have any training or fighting skills! Hindi ako Alexandra Trese o Babaylan-Mandirigma! I'm not ready for this, holy sh—"

The candescent creature raised a brow at you, "Inday, I just told you that you have the power of a lost mystical being. And tell me, if you had the power to save your companions in this building from the forces of evil, would you save them?"

You were silent, knowing the answer.

"Well?" they prodded.

You bit your lip, "Oo naman. I'm not heartless!" But you were a little impulsive. And apparently, insane.

"That's what I thought. I just need you to believe in yourself," the being encouraged, gentler this time. It transformed into something smaller and rounder—like a ball of light. "Ikaw ang huling biraddali, Y/N, at marami kang kapangyarihan. Isa dito ay ang pagtulong sa mga nangangailangan, lalo na laban sa masasamang nilalang."

Bestie, what had you just gotten into?

You swallowed apprehensively, then nodded in determination, "Sige. So, how do I save the people in the building? Biraddali were said to be able to shapeshift, right? If I remember the tale correctly. Oh my God, I can't believe this is happening to me right now."

"That's just one of your abilities, but I'll teach you. I'm actually your guide," they replied confidently. "With me, you'll be able to master your powers and exceed your capabilities in no time!"

"Wait! Anong pangalan mo?" you asked breathlessly, following them as they speedily flew out of the room. "Grabe, slow down! I'm not athletic! I haven't even exercised this week, goodness."

"... Gabay. Ako si Gabay."

Despite the adrenaline and fear running in your veins, you still grinned up at the ball of light, "Okay. Nice to meet you, Gabay."

This was just the beginning of your supernatural combat training abroad. When you returned to the Philippines three years later, you were stronger, faster, and more powerful than you'd ever felt before. It was crazy.

Oh, that guy who tried to rob you when you came back to Manila was crazy, too. The two identical-looking men in dark suits and white ties—you wondered how they were surviving the heat in that attire—could only watch in awe as you chased down that man who stole your bag while doing acrobatics and parkour.

"Uy, Kuya Crispin, sino kaya 'yun?"

"Ewan ko, Basilio."

"... She's kind of pretty. Type ko. Type mo rin ata."

"The more important question is, paano niya na nahuli ang magnanakaw?"

"Oo nga, no? One in a million chance 'yan dito sa Maynila, haha! Ang astig ni ate!"

(Next Chapter.)

± Author's Notes ±

Ayieee, type daw tayo ng kambal! 😌

How the hell did I write this entirely random thing in one day? 2k+ words? Ano daw? 😃⁉️

You know, this was supposed to just be a Trese one-shot or a bunch of drabbles for the characters I'm currently simping for... but it turned into a full-blown, shameless self-insert slash crackfic. Kakacellphone ko 'yan. 🤦‍♀️

Nagresearch pa ako ng articles about Filipino skymaidens because I wanted something similiar to the Japanese celestial maidens (tennyo). Very random idea but why not? Gusto ko ng badass Y/N na hindi takot lumaban sa mga mumu! 👻

Also, pagbigyan niyo nalang ang matandang 'to kasi ilang taon na akong hindi nagpopost ng mga writings ko. May track record pa naman ako bilang author na hindi nagtatapos ng mga fanfic, hehe. I also haven't read the comics so please forgive me for any inaccuracies and of course, misspellings/errors. Gusto ko lang matapos 'to para makakabalik na ako sa Jujutsu Kaisen. 🥲😗

Anyways, comments and constructive criticism are welcome! Hit those heart, reblog, and follow buttons for updates! Just comment if you want to be tagged in the next chapters. ❤

#trese #trese netflix #trese 2021 #crispin #basilio #maliksi #dominic #x reader #kambal x reader #crispin x reader #basilio x reader #maliksi x reader #dominic x reader #trese x reader #thera.writes

[aconstantstateofbladerunner]

The Glitch

I get the Broken Reality au is a haha funny joke but there’s been some legit great art for it and since Butterfly is over and I haven’t gotten into the groove of my other projects yet, I decided to try some flash fiction of my interpretations. Note that this is very small and informal; I used whatever idea came into my head over the course of an hour or so instead of the weeks of planning that go into my usual fics. This was an experiment for fun. But if people enjoy the concept, I may be tempted to expand on it.

Credit to @lollitree @moonpaw @gentrychild​ @owlf45​ and @cyber-phobia​ (I’m sorry if I missed someone I lost track of how many people were involved in this mess).

Content working for reference to infant death.

Please enjoy!

The city shut down for a typhoon warning.  Thunder rumbled in the distance.  Dark clouds blocked the sun so much that by mid-morning it still looked like it never bothered coming up.  And yet the humidity made it too hot for coffee.  Inko didn’t know how to feel.  Work would have been a good distraction.  But she didn’t want any coworkers or clients to see if today got to be too much.  And it was already shaping up to be.  She caught herself making two plates of food for breakfast.  

Inko sat alone in the kitchen.  She couldn’t bring herself to finish her own plate.  Sickness set in fast.  The food had been cold for a long time before she summoned the strength to get up and throw it away.  Then she stood over the open trash can a while, debating whether to try and hold it together, or just throw up and get it over with.  She eventually managed to keep her stomach steady enough to go back to her bedroom.  There was another trashcan in there anyway.

A sound stopped her.  From her office.  The distinct sound of something heavy falling onto the carpet.  Right as she walked past the door.

Please not this again…

She opened the door with her eyes closed.  Her mind conjured a familiar image.  A bedroom full of books and hero posters.  Bright colors and personal touches.  A child’s room.  Inko opened her eyes to her drab home office.  Some of the older case file binders slipped off the pile again.  She really needed to sort those into storage. Not today though.  She didn’t bother to pick it up.

Inko walked faster than normal the rest of the way to her room.  She doesn’t want to face the temptation to search for old toys she remembers storing in the empty closet.  Or search the walls for scuff marks from action figures tossed into them she could always see even after the walls were painted. She hid her planner on a tall shelf and put the ladder away to make it that much harder to go through it over and over looking for doctors’ appointments and school events she knew were coming up.  Finally reaching her bed brought no comfort.

Of course she knew today’s date by heart.  She hadn’t put it on a calendar in the fourteen years since she used to look at it every day.  Inko stuck her head under her pillows, as if they could block out the silent noise of her memories.  Memories of before, the time even when she was by herself, she was never alone.

Fifteen years now, today.  With a shuddering gasp, the tears finally came.  Thunder crashed outside.  It’s not fair!  Why is it still this hard after this long?  Phantom kicks in her belly joined the growing ice there.

The hardest part was she still felt like that sometimes.  Like she wasn’t really alone.  Inko didn’t believe in ghosts, but the lost of what could have been was more than haunting enough.  She felt it watching her.  Judging her. Waiting just long enough for her to settle down into a peaceful, content existence before it reared up to plague her heart all over again.  Cliché hauntings like spooky faces in the mirror or blood coming out of the drains would have been preferable.  Those would be generic enough not to remind her directly.

Rain started outside.  Her phone lit up with a notification she ignored in time with a thunderclap.  The storm was getting closer.

Maybe I should call Hisashi, the thought crossed her mind.  Maybe he’s going through this too.  She bit her lip bloody.  Her frustrated memories weren’t in question like the others.  Probably not though.  I don’t want to talk to him anyway.

Hisashi had been stuck in the denial stage of grief, which often came off as him acting like he didn’t take hers seriously.  Not a year, not even half a year looking back, after they came home from the hospital, he wanted to try again.  

“We can’t let mourning hold us up forever,” he said.  “And it’s not like we lost a once in a lifetime opportunity!  We’ve got at least another twenty years to keep trying!”

But we did lose him! she had wanted to scream.  Still did, years later.  Why didn’t he understand?  He was your loss too!  Inko wanted for the next roll of thunder, then shouted.  

“I don’t just want any baby!  I want Izuku!”

The lights went out.  The temperature rose five degrees instantly when the ceiling fan stopped going.  The rain stopped.

Power outage.  Inko sat up with a sniffle.  Turns out the notification was a warning about roving blackouts.  Of course.  Oh well. I wasn’t really in the mood to cook tonight any-

Thunder boomed even louder than before, making her jump.  Then another.  Lightning flashed outside at the same time.  It was right on top of her.

What?  I thought the typhoon wasn’t supposed to make landfall until later toni-

Another crash.  It vibrated through her bones.  Then another. The lightning lit up her whole room. Except for a shadow on the wall. Inko jolted to look, holding her breath, and found only her own shadow in the next flash.

“I’m such an idiot…”  She went for her phone again.  For peace of mind, she decided to use her data to check if an evacuation order went out. Or any updates at all really, since the weather came so much faster than the news said.  “Nothing,” she sighed annoyed.  “I hate being alone for weather like this…”

A new notification pinged.

[Mom]

Inko blinked rapidly.  The message remained.  All of her insides turned inside out in an instant, and she started crying again. Was this someone’s idea of a sick joke? No one ever got a chance to call her that.  She touched the note to open it, but nothing happened.  No app or source was displayed.  Nor did it go away after a few seconds like normal.  

“Wha- What’s going on?” she wept.  In a mix of sorrow and rage, she wound up to chunk the device across the room.  But she froze.

Outside her window, floating against the pitch-black sky, were two small orbs.  Perfectly circular and glowing.  Watching her. She didn’t dare move.  

Another ping.  She looked without moving.

[I’m sorry]

“…  What?”

For a moment, all the sounds in the world dropped out.  They all came back at ounce.

Lights flickered.  Both the ones inside and the lightning going outside.  Multiple strikes laid on top of one another.  No relief.  Thunder pounded over and over like a drum solo.  It shook the whole building.  Inko ran into the closet away from the window.  She slammed her hands over her eyes but it didn’t help.  Her terrified cried were whispers to the screams of the storm.

A child’s scream.  She heard it. Each flash of light came with a cry. The distinct sound of a little boy calling out in pain blended with unyielding nature.  It came from every direction.  Every hair on Inko’s arms stood up in fear.  She felt the charge in the air.  But she had to go out.  Her baby was crying for help.

She burst from the closet into the living room.  All the lights and appliances turned themselves on and off.  The TV showed only static between its flashes. Something drew her too it.  The storm was deafening.  It pounded through her head like a heartbeat.  The beats got faster.  The static flashes started to look like a face.  Her usual caution was abandoned as she fell to her knees and touched the screen.  The snow cleared for a single instant.  Just long enough to look like the blank eyes from the window.  She felt the heartbeat there too.

Then it stopped.  All of it. The noise and lights all went quiet and dark.  The TV went completely cold in an instant.  Inko, stunned, palmed over it looking for something.  Anything.  The pulse. Warmth.  A burnt fuse or faulty wire.  But nothing.  The rain started again.

She pulled her hands back to her lap.  Her heart was still racing and tears kept flowing down under her chin. She looked around.  Everything in the living room and kitchen looked the same. No sign of the earthquake-like convolutions the whole appartement experienced only minutes ago.  Inko combed the entire space for evidence.  An object knocked off the shelf.  A picture frame fallen from the wall.  The notifications.  Toys in the closet or scuffs in the wall.  Still not a sign.  She even stepped outside her door to check the sky.  Only light rain and shattered thunder, just like the news said the day before.

There was only one thing out of place.  Back in her bedroom, the bottom drawer of her nightstand hung open.  Inko had to steal herself before approaching it. There were only two things in there: a little green blanket, and a picture of the ultrasound.  The most recent one from her last appointment. The doctor said he was doing fine.

“Izuku…” she whispered to it in her hand.

She remembered the squealing little bundling being put in her arms for the first time.  The first time he smiled at her.  Teaching him to walk, then immediately launching into play.  Him coming home with bruises and scrapes after the kids at school were mean to him, and crying in her arms.  Then, him coming home with his first real friends in a long time. She made them all dinner. Katsudon.  That was Izuku’s favorite.

Only she didn’t remember.  The same way she didn’t really remember the toys and scuffs.  Those were fantasies.  Daydreams of what could have been.  She just thought about them so often they felt like memories. Especially today.  It was his birthday after all.  They’d fade back into vague dreams by tomorrow.  They always did.  

And she would be left with reality.  The silence.  The cold, still little hand between her fingers.  Soft cheeks without blush.  Eyes that never opened.  Clutching him too tight to her chest, knowing the second she let go he would be gone for real and it would all be over.  

But it was never over.  Inko went through this same torturous song and dance every year for fifteen now.  All the guilt and dread would subside slowly over the next one, until it all came back at once.  Just like this.

At least it’s done for now, she tried to reassure herself, climbing back into bed. It still wasn’t even noon yet.  Plenty of time for another breakdown.  Hopefully the next one won’t be, feel, as loud.  She sighed heavily into her sheets.  This sort of thing can’t be normal.  I should really try therapy again.

Against her better judgement, she kept the blanket out, and clutched it to her chest.  Static electricity pricked her fingers.  With her other hand, she reached across the bed, and tried to imagine someone else there. Not Hisashi, never him anymore.  Izuku.  He was fifteen and happy, but the storm was making him nervous so he came to lay beside her.  She remembered it like it was now.  If she closed her eyes, she could feel his warm, soft skin, with a healthy, if a little anxious heartbeat just underneath.  The mattress warped as he sighed.

“We’ll be okay.  It’s just a little rough weather,” she promised.

“Okay, Mom,” Izuku answered quietly.  “…  I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”  I’ll start trying to get myself together tomorrow.  For now, let me have this.

Izuku didn’t respond for a while.  “I love you.”

“I love you too, baby.  Happy birthday.”

#midoriya inko #midoriya izuku #broken reality au #the glitch #mha #bnha #mha fanfiction #bnha fanfiction #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #aconstantstateoffanfiction #april fools #the long con

[foli-vora]

i’ve got you

A/N: This fic is dedicated to @rise-my-angel and anyone else who has been stuck in a bad place mentally as of late, and is in need of a little bit of comfort & love. Frankie’s got you ❤️ I hope you enjoy. Love you, angels.

Another comforting Frankie fic if you need here.

Pairing: Francisco ‘Catfish’ Morales x gn!reader

Word count: 1.8k

Warnings: insecurities, anxiety, depression, panic attack

+

You wipe at your face, desperate to rid the evidence of your sadness before Frankie comes home from dropping Mena off at Santiago’s. It’s happening again, you can feel it. The shadow hanging in the back of your mind is growing, slowly eating away at everything in its path and you feel it now, scratching away at the back of your throat, desperate to get out. Push it down, push it away. You’re fine. Everything’s fine.

Tears return to your eyes and spill out before you can even think, cascading down your cheeks and leaving heated trails across your skin that chill instantly from the frigid air of the bathroom. Your chest tightens, and your hand flies to your chest, rubbing away at your skin like you could somehow rub the horrible constriction you feel wrapping around your lungs.

It’s not worth it. You’re not worth it.

No, you know that’s not true.

But what if it is?

No. Frankie loves you.

Does he?

Breathing becomes harder, as if the oxygen in the room has vanished, leaving you standing at the sink gasping, fighting to fill your lungs with something that will keep you going. The porcelain is ice under your hands as you clutch it, curling over the sink to remain steady and keep from falling to the floor.

Your eyes flicker up and meet your reflection in the mirror, and shock rattles through you. That’s not you. It can’t be. You feel your face crumble and tear your eyes away from your reflection, unable to watch the wave of anguish flood your face.

Legs shaking, you slowly lower to the cool tiled floor and succumb completely to the feeling clawing at your insides, harsh sobs wracking your frame as you feel the last of your steeled composure fade. And once it starts, it doesn’t stop.

The tears come in vast, unforgiving waves; your lungs struggling to keep up with the strength at which your cries tear through your body.

It was scarily overwhelming. Soon your surroundings blurred into nothing, your eyes unable to focus on any single thing around you.

You’re vaguely aware of something dropping to the floor and clattering against the tiles behind you – the sound of it only just breaking through the overwhelming fog drowning your senses. Strong arms wrap tightly around your torso and then your back is meeting a firm chest. Your hands fly to the legs spreading out beside you, skin rubbing along the rough fabric and fingers digging into the muscle beneath.

A voice is echoing in your ears but you can’t hear what they’re saying, you can’t focus on their voice. The ringing’s too loud. There’s too much static, too much blood rushing through your ears. It hurts. Everything hurts. Why can’t it just stop? When will it stop?

“Breathe with me,” someone murmurs in your ear, breath fanning your skin. Frankie. Your Frankie. He’s home, he’s here. He moves your hand, resting it softly on your chest before he covers it with his own. Your heart is erratic under your touch, chest jolting uneasily with the intensity of your gasps.

“I’m here. I’ve got you. Breathe – nice and steady.”

You try to listen, try to let his deep voice soothe away the all-consuming panic you feel coursing through your system. He pulls you tighter against his frame, exaggerating his deep breathing so you could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against your back.

It’s taking too long. You’re going to chase him away. He won’t want to be with someone with a screwed-up head – why are you the way you are? Why can’t you just be normal? He deserves someone better, someone who won’t have an attack in the middle of his bathroom.

This is his house. His house he shares with his daughter, and you’re ruining the warm loving atmosphere they created together with your stupid, stupid brain. You should leave. You shouldn’t be here. You don’t deserve to be here, in a place full of such love –

You don’t realise your breathing’s getting worse until he’s talking again; his words, by some miracle, melting through the dread pulling your body to the floor.

“I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.”

He’s not? But why? He deserves better –

“I’m here.”

He’s here?

Yes, he is.

He’s here. With you.

You’re not alone.

“That’s it, baby. I’m here.”

He’s here, and he’s got you.

“You’re safe. I’ve got you. Keep breathing.”

You’re safe? Safe.

He’s got you.

Oxygen floods your lungs as you try to match the movement on him breathing behind you, and though it calms your mind somewhat to have someone speak so soothingly to you, it takes a while longer for your breathing to steady. He doesn’t move, keeping his arms locked firmly around you.

“I think we need to see someone about this, honey.” He mutters quietly, carefully; thumb rubbing along your cheek soothingly. “There’s no shame in it, okay? I want you to know that. There’s no shame in seeing someone about this.”

You sniffle as you nod, eyes scrunching closed as the last of the gasps settle into something a little less harsh and finally, finally, your body releases the last of its rigidity and you melt into his embrace, exhaustion weighing your movements.

“What do you need, baby? Let me help you.”

“You.” You whimper, turning further into his hold and inhaling his familiar scent. “I just need you.”

He loosens his hold for only a moment, leaning to hook a hand under your ankles and then he’s bringing you across his lap to tuck you deeper into his arms. Heat seeps through your clothes and pierces through the chill covering your body as warm hands slowly, soothingly, rub up and down your back.

You stay like for what feels like hours, cuddled tightly and comfortingly in his embrace. You’re not too sure when you fall asleep, exhausted from your episode and wrapped tightly in Frankie’s arms, but it’s not until you feel a slight movement under you that has your eyes are blinking open, taking in the familiar surrounds of Frankie’s bathroom.

Your head moves from its resting place on Frankie’s firm chest, the arms wrapped around you relaxing as you shift. It’s dark beyond the bathroom window, and a quick check of your watch shows you’ve been in here for just shy of two hours.

“Morning sunshine,” he murmurs light-heartedly, eyes blinking tiredly at you as you sit up. He winces as he moves, the aftermath of sitting in one position so long on an unforgiving surface now rearing its ugly head. But he’d do it again in a heartbeat, over and over. For you, only for you. “How do you feel?”

“Tired,” you admit quietly, eyes downcast and unable to meet his. You were ashamed. He shouldn’t have had to see that. You should’ve been able to bury it. You were weak –

His reassuring touch has that thought being shoved to the back of your mind as he helps you up from the floor, hands guiding your sides as you stand on unsteady feet. Fingers pinch your chin and gently tilt your face up, his gaze flickering across your face.

“Do I look ugly?” You deadpan, eyes feeling incredibly raw and swollen. You definitely look like a mess – no doubt about it. How could you not, after something like that?

His smile grows, fingers moving, trailing across your cheekbones and along your jaw tenderly. “Never.”

You smile before you can help it, the stretch of it pulling at your tight cheeks. His heart warms as you grin shyly.

“Shall we have dinner? Watch a movie? Whatever you want…”

“That sounds good.” You agree quietly, unable to keep the smile from falling as he pecks your nose playfully.

He stays close, standing right by you as you wash your face, the cool water shocking to your skin but surprisingly pleasant, and cleansing away the leftover mess of dried tears. He’s ready with a soft towel when you straighten, dabbing it gently over your face before he’s whisking you away and leading you downstairs. His hand doesn’t leave yours until you’re both in the kitchen.

Automatically you move for the cooking utensils and start to prepare, but are stopped in place when he steps in front of you, a small frown of disapproval pinching his brows.

“No.” He takes the chopping board from your hands and nods to the counter, raising his brows when you don’t move. “I’m cooking, and you’re staying there. Now up.” His hands fly to your waist, helping you slide onto the surface and then he’s moving about the kitchen, turning the oven on and grabbing ingredients from the fridge.

You watch him fondly, chest tightening every now and then when he would catch your eyes and send you a little smile.

“I love you, Frankie.” You say softly, watching him pause and gaze at you, your chest so full of gratitude and love you feel it could burst at any moment.

He drops what’s in his hands and comes to stand in front of you, slotting himself between your legs and cupping his hands gently below your jaw. His warm brown eyes burn directly into your soul, your heart picking up as he leans in to kiss you gently.

“I love you.” He mutters against your lips, sealing his tenderly spoken promise with one more sweet press of his lips. You melt into him, lashes fluttering as he pulls back. “Forever. Do you hear me?” He watches a smile curl at your lips, stomach turning pleasantly as it brightens your features. “No matter what that says–” he pokes a gentle finger against your forehead, “–I love you, and I’m not going anywhere.”

You don’t shy away from the tears that build in your eyes this time, instead thankful they came from a place of love rather than pain. His thumb smooths the one lone tear that had escaped away, and kisses where it had fallen on your cheek.

“Go and pick something to watch while I plate up.”

You do as instructed, picking a random movie from Netflix before snuggling under a blanket and smiling when Frankie comes in soon after balancing two plates in his hands. Everything’s quiet as the movie starts in the background, Frankie snuggling close to your side as you both half pay attention to the screen while you eat.

Once finished, the plates are moved to the small coffee table and you both wind around each other under the blanket, arms and legs intertwining, and Frankie’s fingers always somewhere on your body tracing soothing circles or lightly tickling any skin that peaks out from between your clothes and relishing in your quiet giggles.

It’s when the movie finishes, the room plunging into darkness, and when Frankie’s breathing deepens to an almost snore, that you finally feel the remaining fog lurking at the back of your mind dissolve. You stay awake, long after Frankie dozes off, basking in the love and affection that still pours from him even when sleeping.

Things would get better.

It would take time, of course, but the storm would clear.

Everything would be alright, especially with Frankie by your side.

+

Tags: @anu-simps​ @seasonschange-butpeopledont​ @withasideofmeg​ @you-got-me-starry-eyed​

#frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x gn!reader #francisco morales x reader #francisco morales x you #francisco morales x gn!reader #frankie morales #francisco morales #triple frontier #triple frontier fic #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal

[fruitcoops]

ok so firstly I love any loops and jules fic but secondly could we have one where jules is having a really tough time (either missing loops/ picked on etc. ) and then we see loops (not coops) surprise him and is just so protective - just sibling fluff that’s it

Oh Jules, I’m sorry I did this to you. What a wonderful prompt, though! I’m always down to write sibling fluff! SW credit goes to @lumosinlove <3

TW for bullying (older kids picking on younger kids)

Contrary to popular belief, Jules didn’t brag about his brother every minute of every day. There was no point, and he wanted to be known for his own talents rather than living in Remus’ shadow for the rest of his life. Unfortunately, some people didn’t seem to understand that.

A balled of lined paper smacked into the back of his head. “Heads up, Loopy!”

Jules threw the ball back; it bounced off the end of the table and hit the ground pathetically. “Nice shot,” Aidan snorted as he passed, bumping his shoulder against Jules’ and making him stumble. Several people laughed. His face burned with embarrassment.

“Yeah, I bet your brother’s really proud of that,” Luke sneered. He was a big kid, far bigger than Jules both in height and muscle even though he was only a couple years older.

“Don’t talk about my brother,” Jules said, much quieter than intended.

Luke raised his eyebrows. “What’re you going do about it, Loopy?”

“Just shut up.”

“Who’s gonna stop me?” He leaned across the cafeteria table and Jules fought the urge to back away. “Huh? Your brother? He’s never around.”

“He’s busy.”

“He doesn’t want to be here.”

“He does,” Jules insisted, feeling his throat tighten. “He does, he just doesn’t have time—”

“He’s a celebrity, dude, no wonder he doesn’t want his tagalong brother around.”

It’s not true, Jules told himself. It’s not true. Time and time again, Remus had told him that hockey came second to family, but after months of not seeing him it was starting to feel false. “Shut up.”

Luke shifted in his seat and folded his hands. “Face it, Loopy: your brother’s not around because he’d rather spend time with his cool friends than an annoying little kid.”

“Leave me alone.” Jules’ voice cracked and Luke grinned.

“You’re gonna cry?” he asked, full of false sympathy. “Aw, poor baby.”

“It’s not true.” It was getting harder to believe the words. “He visits whenever he can.”

The lunch bell rang before Luke could retaliate; he ruffled Jules’ hair too hard to be comfortable and left, already laughing with his group of friends. What a dick, Jules thought as he swallowed down the tears.

He made it through the rest of his classes in a daze and walked home on muscle memory. It was a cold day for April, but maybe he could blame his red-rimmed eyes on the wind. Maybe Luke is right, part of him argued. There wasn’t a lot of evidence, but it was enough to make him want to throw up.

“Hey, baby, how was your day?” his mother called when he opened the door.

That was the tipping point, the tiny pebble that shattered the cracked glass dam holding back his tears. Jules sobbed once, dropped his backpack on the floor, and ran for the safety of his bedroom. “Jules—” The slam of his door cut his father’s concern short.

He grabbed the family picture off his wall and threw it across the room—there was no glass or frame, only tape, so seeing it flutter to the ground was far less satisfying than he had hoped. Remus had him on his shoulders for the picture; they all looked so happy. Jules sat down on the other side of his bed and buried his face in his arms, letting the emotions he had been holding in for three full hours flood out.

Deep down, he knew Luke was a liar and a bully with nothing better to do than pick on younger kids. That didn’t mean his words hurt any less.

A few minutes later, there was a gentle knock on the door. “Go away!”

There was a brief pause, then another knock.

“Just—just please give me a minute, mom!”

“I’m not mom.” Jules’ heart skipped a beat. “Can I come in?”

You’ve never been around to help me before. Anger reared up in his chest. “No!”

Remus hesitated for a moment. Jules hoped he was shocked, stunned, hurt. “Okay.”

There was a rustling noise; he looked around the foot of the bed to see a shadow in the crack beneath the door. “Are you—what are you doing?”

“Sitting down.”

“Go away.”

“No.”

“Mom, make him go away!”

“What did I do, Jules?” Remus sounded sad. There was none of his usual teasing in his tone. The anger twisted around in Jules and he scrubbed at the tears and snot on his face.

“When did you get here?” He knew he was being rude; his mother would have given him a pursed-lips look if he talked like that to anyone normally.

“A couple hours ago. It was supposed to be a surprise.”

“It’s a terrible surprise. Go away.”

“Not until you tell me what I did.”

Jules took a few shallow breaths before answering. “You’re never here. Never.”

“I know. I’m s—”

“I hate you,” he sobbed, bringing his knees tighter to his chest. “I hate you so much.”

There was a long stretch of silence on the other side of the door, but the shadow remained. “That’s fair,” Remus said quietly.

“No, it’s not!” Jules clambered to his feet and stomped over to the door, wrenching it open. “It’s not fair! I shouldn’t hate you, this is your job! You should—you should—”

Remus looked up at him from his crosslegged seat on the carpet. “I should what?”

“You should yell at me. Or make me open the door, or do anything that makes me angry at you.” He sniffled and hugged himself.

“When have I ever yelled at you?”

“The rat. And the water balloons. And when I stole your sticks. And when I froze your underwear.”

Remus winced slightly. “Fair point. I don’t keep yelling once you’re in the room, though, right?”

Jules deflated. “No.”

“So I’m not going to yell at you. Also, your bedroom smells weird, so I don’t want to go in there unless I have to.”

A smile tried forcing its way out and Jules covered it with his best scowl. “My room doesn’t smell weird.”

Remus sniffed the air, then shrugged. “Whatever you say.”

“Why are you here?”

“Mom said she was getting ice cream.”

Jules perked up. “Did she?”

“No.” Remus held up the car keys. “We can fix that problem, though. Go get your shoes.”

“Can I drive?’

“If you can convince dad, sure.” Remus stood up and mussed his hair; his hand was gentle, though, unlike Luke’s. It was a welcome change.

He grabbed his sneakers from under his bed and hopped down the hall as he pulled them on. “Dad, can I drive?”

His father didn’t even look up from the paper. “When Hell freezes over, buddy.”

“Lyall,” his mother scolded from the kitchen, though her eyes crinkled at the edges. “Remus, remember not to swear around your brother!”

“I won’t, I won’t,” he said, holding the door open for Jules as he shrugged his coat on.

They drove in relative silence, save for the Top Rock Hits of the Eighties cassette that they had each heard half a billion times. Remus pulled into the Dairy Queen drive-thru and rattled off Jules’ favorite without even having to ask. Somehow, that both soothed him and upset him even more. He handed the cone over carefully, stuck his blizzard in the cupholder, and started driving in the opposite direction of the house.

“Are you kidnapping me?” Jules asked, licking a stray drip of vanilla off the cone.

“I don’t think I can, seeing as we’re related.”

“You can. You don’t have custody.”

“Why do you know that?”

“Why don’t you, Mr. Fancy Degree?”

“This might surprise you, but they don’t exactly cover the intricacies of kidnapping in PT school.”

“Shame.”

Remus made a noise of agreement around the straw of his Blizzard as they rolled to a stop at the red light. “So, are we going to talk?”

“We already are.”

“Dude.”

“I don’t hate you.”

“Yeah, I figured.” He made a face when a chunk of Oreo got stuck the straw. “If you get that out before the next light, you can have a sip.”

Jules took it and squeezed the thin plastic. “Luke Sanders is an asshole.”

“Language.” The car stopped again and Jules showed off the unblocked straw. “Do continue, though.”

“You’ve hit every red light since we left the house. That’s got to be a curse.” He took a long sip, then handed it across the console. “You like hanging out with me, right?”

“Obviously. You’re, like, my favorite person.” Remus gave him a confused look.

“Okay, cool.” Jules felt his hands start to shake again, and he was pretty sure it wasn’t from his ice cream. Just hearing him say that made a tsunami of relief run through him. “Cool.”

“Did Luke Sanders tell you I didn’t?”

“He said a lot of stuff.”

Remus pulled into a parking lot, then took the key out and turned in his seat. “Like what?”

Jules shrugged one shoulder. “That you don’t want to be here.”

“And?” His voice had softened.

“And that it’s my fault, since I’m an annoying little tagalong.” Jules picked at the paper wrapper around his cone and didn’t look up. “He’s got a p—”

“If you say he’s got a point, all your underwear is going in the freezer.” All traces of gentleness were gone from his tone, leaving tightly-controlled fury in its place.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t—” Remus sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Please don’t apologize, Jules.”

“You’re upset.”

“Yeah, because some little shit was picking on my brother and I wasn’t there to kick his ass.”

“I can handle it.”

If anything, that seemed to upset him even more. “Does this happen a lot?”

“Sometimes.”

“Have you told anyone?”

He shook his head. “I don’t want to be a tattletale.”

“Jules, there’s a difference between being a tattletale and reporting a bully.” Remus tipped his chin up. “Hey, what’s going on?”

Jules’ lower lip wobbled. “I missed you. I always miss you, but he’s been really awful recently and he keeps saying the same stupid stuff over and over.”

Remus’ nose and cheeks reddened. “I missed you, too. If I could be here all the time, I would.”

“I know it’s not your fault, and I know you’re busy.” He wiped away another tear and tried to pull himself together. “But it’s not fair.”

“It’s not,” Remus agreed. “It’s not fair that I’m gone nine months out of the year, and it’s not right that people are making fun of you for it. Hang on for a second, okay?”

Jules nodded, still drying his cheeks. Remus got out of the car and jogged to the other side, then opened the passenger door and gestured for him to get out; as soon as his sneakers touched the ground, he was lifted almost a foot into the air. “I’m sorry for yelling,” he managed, burying his face in his brother’s neck.

Remus kissed the side of his head and held him close. “I’m sorry I’m not around more.”

He hooked his chin over Remus’ shoulder. “Can you promise me something?”

“Anything.”

“Will you be here whenever you can? I know that might not be often, but just…when you can.”

He felt Remus’ chest hitch against him. “Always,” he whispered. “Always.”