#and it all feels real fucking dystopian

[oflgtfol]

i think the 2099 worldbuilding is so fucking bleak what with this capitalist dystopia but what i find really fascinating is this whole like new religion propped up around thor, the whole thorite thing, and the way they worship spiderman as the “harbinger of thor” and all that. like i dont know if anything is ever going to come of this and im fine with that because having it as just an unresolved background thing is fascinating all on its own

#so like with the whole. doomsday thing and the end of the heroic age #theres no more superheroes #so like. did this new religion prop up because thor is like. a god? not a normal superhero? #i mean i think they said all superheroes DIED #but surely not thor? like did he just fuck off and leave earth then #cuz then the thorites are all about like the next coming of thor #very christianity lite but i mean considering thor is legit real in this universe #and considering how bleak and dystopian and - almost apocalyptic? with whatever ended the heroic age ?? #i feel like warping christianity so that thor becomes the new jesus figure like. could be a thing #idk. lol #brot reads marvel comics #spiderman 2099 (1992) annual 1

[girlypopification]

im so upset why tf do i keep getting ads with a weirf strange anthropomorphised pikachu man like i dont wanna see this go bacj... why r tumblr ads so fucking weird....

#GONNA BE REAL W U THOUGH BETTER THAN OTHER SITES #like id rather this fucked up insane shit than my actual interests. makes me feel all warm and fuzzy and safe #dystopian reality innit #pari.txt

[syrinq]

my ass when they need to put in stereotypical american werewolf wahhh gwahhh twist in black mirror season 6 somewhere and admittedly funny demon episode but it DOESN'T turn out to be a hallucination and actually real so it's all spectacle and crap

#sy.txt #okay fine introduction to red mirror but why. why do you have to fuck up something else to introduce it #is getting your ideas pitched this fucking difficult you have to slam it into another show marvel multiverse-style #like okay not all previous episodes of black mirror had that underlying dystopian feel of 'wow this phenomenon could occur in real loife' #why the fuck introduce the interesting premise of immoral papparazzi bizz and then slamdunk it with werewolf shit? YOU WERE ONTO SOMETHING #WAHHHH I LOVE COMMENTARIES ON HUMAN PHENOMENON AND SOCIETY WHICH IS WHY I LIKED JOAN IS AWFUL EVEN #THOUGH IT'S. SO OVER THE TOP WITH THE HUMOUR LMAO #I LOVE THE EXPLORATION OF THE SHITTIER PARTS OF HUMANITY COME ON!!!! GOSH

[brookheimer]

phenomenal episode overall. kendall demanding clouds because he saw them in berlin and trying not to cry when the stagehands cannot in fact build berlin in a day. matsson walking barefoot across a tarmac. shiv and tom biting deep into each other's forearms to see who can withstand the pain the longest in public at a fancy business event. roman firing a random woman because she didn't seem to think he lived up to his dad. roman firing gerri because she doesn't think he lives up to his dad. roman regretting firing gerri immediately and asking ken to undo it but ken is overjoyed and says it's what dad would do so roman smiles and says okay. kendall floating faceup in a body of water that he dove into of his own accord. shiv booking an empty conference room to cry in when no one's around. gerri saying fuck. karl serving cunt. roman genuinely feeling bad about not including shiv, apologizing to her, and asking if they could all hug. kendall announcing a bizarre dystopian real estate project that's framed as 'like a cruise but on land and forever and by forever we mean forever we're talking cryogenics.' tomshiv playing straight chicken all episode. roman listening to an edit of his father insulting him over and over on the ride home. everything i ever could've wanted

#EXCEPT FOR TABITHA. WHERE THE FUCK WAS SHE #in the trailer rome had on the shirt he wore in this ep when he kissed her hand sooo.... whered she go. #so many thoughts overall. like so much to say about so many specific moments #like idk. not an all timer ep for me like TMB or obviously connor's wedding -- it's the sum of its parts more than anything else but GOD #if those aren't some fantastic hilarious sickening fucking parts #little bit of a buildup episode i think tho. next ep they're gonna Get Into It and the episode after that... welll. we r fucked #succession #succession spoilers #100 #500 #1000

[netherfeildren]

Honey, Stomach, Mine ; 3. I Was a Child Once, I'm Not Any Longer

Series Masterlist ; Part 1. ; Part 2.

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics; Dystopian Society; Outbreak not Cordyceps AU; Slow Burn; Soft!Dom Joel; Sexual Inexperience; Small booby worship; FLUIDS — like lot’s of fluids forreal omg; Tummy Bulge; Heat Sex; Knotting; Biting; Mating; Blood Mention; Loss of Virginity; Squirting; Pussy Slapping; Breeding Kink; Size Difference; Size Kink; Power Dynamics; Creampie; Emotional Hurt/Comfort; Older and Experienced Alpha; Young and Needy Omega; Possessive Behavior; Age Gap

A/N: It's raining here right now and feels really like a perfect morning to post this, I hope you like it.

Word Count: 12.4K

Read on AO3

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3. I Was a Child Once, I'm Not Any Longer

When you make your way into the kitchen a while later – he’d left you with clear instructions of bathroom and teeth, thinking to give you some privacy to adjust to yourself once again after what you’d done together this morning – you’re nothing more than a little omegan mess. Hair a birds nest, his too big t-shirt sliding over one naked shoulder, and worst of all, almost bringing him to his goddamn knees, in the bright morning light shining in through the big bay windows, he can see the glossy mess of your slick smeared all down and along your pretty thighs, almost reaching your knees. 

Jesus fuck, but he’s in trouble. His teeth hurt, his gut aches, his cock – a mind of its own. It’s all starting, and he’s afraid and unprepared and too desperate to put into words. He wants it all now, he realizes, despite his fear, he can’t help himself but want it all. 

You step into the room primly, nose turning up in the air to sniff curiously at the smell of what he’s making you for breakfast, and when your eyes swing around the room to him, shy. Shy as if you’re remembering your modesty only after you’d let him finger your cunt and slicked his cock. The look makes him want to be gentle, a thing he often is not. And when his eyes move further down, something goes soft and shy within him as well: two of his too big socks, mismatched and sagging around your ankles. 

There’s something about you that’s impeccably vulnerable and honest, something he needs to guard fiercely. 

He blinks away, looking back at the cooking sausages he’s got sizzling in the pan. No one had ever cared for you before, not in any real and true way, and he’d received you here with nothing but promises of more uncaring gestures, threats to send you packing. The wrong foot indeed. He’s such an asshole. And he’d not seen to his responsibility properly last night, hadn’t made sure you’d had a rich and filling dinner, left you in bed alone and cold and without him, entirely unequipped for this little life that had suddenly been placed in his hands. But you’d also scared him last night, out on the cliff, more scared than he’d been at the simple notion of you, that of losing you, like with the letter, the bidding pool and the threat of you being given away, there was something wrongly terrifying about it all, the sudden possibility of you not being with him. Scared into want, into wakefulness, perhaps. 

Out of the corner of his eye he watches you tip toe into the living room, making your slow exploration around, to the big window where you pause to watch the outside world for a long moment, palm splayed against the glass as if you could reach out and touch it all, pluck the world into the cup of your hand. Then to the fireplace, bending in half to peer into the hearth and watch the flames pop, the sofa next, where he’d brought out another stack of blankets. You’d start nesting soon, and he needs to make sure you have the things you’ll want. 

He watches as you bring the corner of one of the quilts to your nose, smelling the scent of him that lingers there, rubbing it against your face, and then moving to the stack of his sweaters he’d left beside, you bend to bury your face in the soft, worn wool. His heart thumps and thumps and thumps within him. You pull one blanket first, laying it before the warm hearth in the spot of rug he’d cleared for just this. And then another and another, some pillows on either side, sweaters tucked and stuffed between, starting to build your nest. He’s hard, knot tight and hot and ready, and he has to take a few steadying breaths, force himself to look away and pull the biscuits he’d made from the oven, flipping the gas on the stove off and pulling the eggs and sausages from the heat, grabbing the bowl of oatmeal he’d readied for you as he moves towards the bar. 

“I made you some oatmeal, c’mere,” he calls, voice graveled with strangling want, but he appreciates the look of bright curiosity you swing his way. He’s coming to realize he finds everything about you, everything you do, devastatingly arousing, even just a simple look, the shift of your jaw. He pulses beneath his jeans as you approach, remembering the leak of your cunt against the throb of his cock from earlier and wanting more of it already. 

He hoists you onto the bar stool when you reach him, he’d draped a folded throw over the hard curve so you’d have something soft to sit your sore little cunt on, and turning you to face him, he slots you between his spread thighs on his own stool, close as he can get you. You stretch towards the spread of food, and give a little sniff, scrunching your nose at him in distaste. 

“Don’t gimme that face. Look, whatever you want–” He shows you the eggs and sausages and the oatmeal. He’d wanted to give you options. “I put honey and milk and cinnamon in it. Berries–” He pulls the bowl of blackberries closer. “You’re gonna be a good girl and eat all of it, and I’m gonna sit here and watch you do just that. C’mon, sweet thing, do as I say.” You look at him suspiciously, but with those words, as if your obedience were a foregone conclusion when he asks the right way, you start to eat. Slow little kitten licks and sips from the spoon of honey milked oats, and he has to force himself to turn and not burn you with the intensity of his gaze, piling his own plate high with biscuits and gravy and eggs and sausages, gut roiling with hunger not for food, he forces himself to eat, one palm still gripped at the back of your stool right up against your ass. He needs to feel you, to keep you close, it’s all starting now. 

“Do you eat meat?” He asks, taking a bite of the savory and fatty sausage. You scrunch your nose again, nothing but wide eyes and a bout of sweet timidity now that your greedy cunt had gotten what it needed. “No? You wanna try?” You shake your head no, shrug that bare and tempting shoulder, end on a nod, leaning forward to take a small nibble of the meat from his own fork. Plush blossom mouth opening to slick itself against the metal where his own mouth had just been – his cock leaks. You chew slowly, thinking, come back for more. He pulls you even closer, tugging the stool loudly against the hardwood floor, feeding you from his own plate and hand, watching the shift of your jaw, the bright of your eyes as you enjoy all the food he’s made just for you, until his plate is clear, and he’s so fucking hard he feels faint – all the blood that’s supposed to be in his brain pooling at his groin.

He could feed you forever. He will. 

Picking at the blackberries now, carefully choosing the fattest and shiniest one first, he presents it to you, watching your eyes shift from the berry to his eyes back and forth until you finally decide to humor him, plucking at his wrist with two tiny fingers, only a quarter of him in your grasp to pull him towards you, and opening your mouth so that he can place it on the dip of your tongue. Your mouth purses around it, they're sweet and tangy this time of year, and your nose scrunches again at the sour zing, and you’re so– he can’t help himself. Joel feels like a fucking animal, wholly himself. He yanks you towards him, up into his lap, head wrenched back and fucking eats at you, licking into you, tasting the fruit on your tongue, swallowing it down his own throat along with your spit. It’s disgusting only because it’s not enough, only because he wants more. And you– you respond to him immediately, little warbling song of a different sort of hunger in your throat, hitching higher in his lap, pressing closer, tugging and clawing at him. 

He feels insane. He feels insane. 

It’s a difficult thing to want so much, to be so confronted by the depth of your desire, your nature, to hold it within the palm of your hand as he is now. 

You climb over him, moving to straddle his lap, to rub that needy cunt over his lap, ravenous huffs as you push and pull him this way and that, kissing his face, his ears, his neck, smelling his hair. He has to plant his bare feet wide, steadying himself to hold the two of you upright as you lose control a little bit. It’s almost time, it’s so near. 

He lets you do as you need, grinding against him, marking him with your scent; your inexperience obvious in your desperation. For the life of him, he can’t fathom what his excuse is. 

His hands slide over your knees, “Look’t what you’ve done,” he tuts, passing a ghosting thumb over the skinned little cap, adventure wound from last night, up your thighs, beneath the hem of the t-shrit, no fucking panties, fuck, his fingers slip against your slick covered thighs to grip the meat of your ass, slippery, pulling your ass cheeks apart to feel all that glorious wet sliding everywhere. He needs to calm down, but he pulls you tight against the pulse of his cock, grinds and grinds and pants up into your own open mouth. 

You’re staring down at him now, wide eyed, and your frantic movements slow, hands on either side of his face, fingers clutching at the curls that wrap around his ears. He slides one hand lower to cup your sex, the smooth and bare little palm-full of it, the other sliding up your back, over your shoulder and down your arm to grip and squeeze your wrist tight, your eyes flash, and then he moves to cup your little tit, pinching and twisting the soft puffiness of your nipple, smiling up at your little gasp, and tucks the tip of his index finger inside of you, just a crook of the first knuckle, just to feel you tremble around him. You gasp, oh, and he wants to tie you up in strings and play with you, make you whatever he wants at that moment. Yeah? Just like that? He whispers up at you, and he wants you to give him so many things and everything, and suddenly, the possibilities of him are endless, so much potential to be born from you. He wants to fuck you full and breed you and keep you forever, and he feels insane and finally soothed. 

It’s the rut starting, he knows, and it should be considered a cruelty to want something so much, but you only feel like a gift. 

You sigh a shaky little exhale that makes his stomach clench with how sweet it sounds, lashes fluttering shut at the feel of him breaching you just this little bit. He bends his head to bite at your nipple over the worn cotton of his shirt, keeping his eyes on yours, on the shocked look you’re wearing. He gives one sharp tug with his mouth, and then shoots back up to press one more swift, hard kiss to your open mouth. When he pulls his finger from your leaking hole, he gives your pussy a gentle pat, right on the clit.

“We gotta calm down,” he says slow, can hear the sticky splash of your cunt against his patting fingers. You nod your head, but shift your hips side to side, trying to find friction. “Told you we gotta time it right – take our time. Didn’t I?” But his hand provokes you still, looking up at you with all the wonder of a man coming across something he’d searched for all his life and yet, at the final moment of discovery, is still shocked. 

“You need to eat too,” you say shyly, fingers still twined around his ears, one single tip laid flat against his right gland, applying soft pressure, pulling away, tapping twice, applying pressure again. Your shared want in a clicking language. 

You slide off his lap, back to your own stool, but keep your knees hooked over one of his own thighs, two little feet pressed against the other, fingers still shifting in his hair, petting him while he piles his plate again and digs in. You touch him everywhere you can reach, tugging on his ears, hand smoothing over the muscles in his arms, poking the soft of his belly, gripping his jaw on either side to count his chews, and then palm cupping his throat to feel his swallows.  

He feels suddenly, desperately impatient for the heat to start in full, to spread you wide on the ground and fuck into your slicked, open cunt, to pump it full of his semen and tie you to him with his knot. To own you in a way that only the thing you are and the thing he is would allow. 

You stare at him intently, focused concentration, like you’re reading his mind, brows furrowed and chin tipped. 

“Can I help you?” He crooks a brow at you. 

You shake your head, staring him down, chin to sternum. “No– You eat so much.”

“M’hungry,” he mumbles around a forkful of eggs, desperate to fill that hollow concaved feeling in his gut he knows is ravenous for something other than just food. But you nod solemnly, as if it were a thing of the utmost importance.

“I understand,” you say very seriously, still nodding. 

He swallows, tipping his head to look at you. And he realizes you’re right, in the obvious way of all such designated things, that you do understand him, and perhaps, for reasons other than just that mere designation. And on the tail end of that realization, another: he feels suddenly, starkly, like a victim. A victim in the same way you were, are, would have been, would no longer be. That same white box, that same perilous ledge, both of you trapped between precarious truth and free will. Both of you the same, and sitting here, side by side, now free, as well. Even despite your ties to each other. Of course you understand each other, you’re the same.

“How ‘bout we go down to the beach?” And your eyes go bright as that glowing comet, immediately throwing your arms around his neck and taking a bite at his ear, excited as a puppy. 

Oh, please, please, please, yes. Yes, let’s go, you squeal and strangle him, almost rip his hair out of his head, but it feels good. It makes him feel real. 

-

He’d dressed you in too many stupid, stifling layers, buttoned to the chin. Long thermals beneath your jeans, a sweater, a large puffer jacket, two pairs of socks, ridiculous, scarf wrapped around your throat you’re sure he’d use as a leash to stop you from galloping so far ahead of him across the wet sand if you gave him the chance.  

You want to run naked and reckless and free down the cold, battered shoreline. 

Everything is gray, everything is dark and cold and wet and so very unlike you. But you feel like it all allowed you to shed that blanket of shyness you’d donned at breakfast, after the kiss. All this: vast and endless and huge in a way you’ll never be. It makes you feel, for some reason, very steadfast in your smallness. Like, look how large the world is, look how unending, look how the sea crashes and prepares to strangle anything that would fall into it. What does it matter, my size in the world, my significance, when faced with all this? I might as well just be. 

You turn back to look at where he meanders slowly in the imprinted path of your bootprints, laughter in your throat you can’t help, holding the pail he’d brought down for you to collect treasures out of the sand. The sky is angry, and from this distance, lashed by the wind as he is, he looks as small as you feel. This is comforting; the two of you are the same.

You are the same. 

Standing still, you wait patiently for him to reach you, rolling the laugh like a stone over the surface of your tongue, enjoying the hurt of the saltspray, the biting wind that penetrates all the layers he’d insisted on. Soon there’ll be no part of you left unpierced. 

And when he finally reaches you, he pauses but two steps away, and God, he has eyes like mirrors, staring down at you from his great height, and silently puts the pail out for you to drop the new additions for your hoard, a sparkling shard of blue green sea glass, a two halved clamshell, the inside: a star hued lavender, cream and silver glow. Surely what the flesh of a dream must look like were it to come alive. 

Your thoughts turn suddenly, you spit the laugh out into the world and watch as it jars him, remembering how you’d read once, in all the many things you’d read in your many years of not life, that when a chest is split open during a traumatic emergency, that the procedure of splitting both halves of the sternum and ribs is called a clamshell thoracotomy. The process allows for access to both sides of the thoracic cavity – full exposure. 

And you can’t, for the life of you, explain why the thought comes into your mind now, staring at that little purple dream as you watch it fall from your sand wet fingertips into the pail he holds poised for you, but you’re sure that whatever the connection might be, it lies only with the idea that you’re prepared for him to do the same to you, that you’re ready for anything when it comes to him.  A splitting, a keeping – what more could be done to a creature used to only half measures? Half life, not life, half omega – not mated, full omega – mated. The intricacies of it all no longer matter, only the yes or no. 

“Will you still send me away?” He’d said he’d changed his mind, but you still ask anyways, voice sliding over the screaming of the sea, throwing him off kilter. You want to hear the words. It’ll storm soon, the waves tell of this by the way they throw themselves against the sea stacks. Poor things, you think, nothing but beaten. 

But you’re not like that. Let him say what he will, you feel buoyant and helpless and completely uncaring. 

And he’s very silent for a long moment, chewing on the possible rejection that you’ll spit right back at him if need be. But then: “Don’t you want your own life?” He asks, and his tone makes you pause, the look in his eyes makes you pause for the fear in it all, for the trepidation it’s made up of. You tilt your head at him this way and that, inspecting him very closely, reading him for all he’s worth. You wonder if he realizes how transparent he’s suddenly become to you. All his hurts, faults, strengths, nature, revealed to you with one question. 

Choice.

He’s asking you what you want. 

“Can’t I make a life here with you?” You counter. 

“Wouldn’t you like to see the world as only yourself?”

Further clarity – the marrow of all he is: afraid. 

You go very soft on the inside, all you are in light of all he is. “I already am myself, Joel.” The sea lashes and howls, his name off your tongue does the same. “Can’t you understand that? This is me, this is what I am.”

He frowns so darkly at that, “I do understand, but I–”

And you step to him, reaching up to cradle his face in your hands, size dwarfing you, fear not: “No. You don’t. But it’s okay, I’m going to show you,” and you turn to continue your path along the water, secure in your certainty now that he’ll follow regardless of anything else. 

Joel wants you to have choices. You’d failed to realize this before, you’d seen only his withholding. 

He moves alongside you after a while, after you’ve allowed him a moment of consideration, idling patiently while you dig through the sand, crouching down to hunt for shells and rocks and glass, fingers wriggling deep beneath the freezing cold sand to feel the burn of it. And after a distance longer, and with much bravery, you clasp two of his too big fingers in your sand crusted fist and hold his hand as you walk together, gently leading him down the path you choose, and he’s so grumpy, and you can’t help but be endeared. 

“I think that's the end of the world out there,” you say, pointing to that stopping point where your eyes won’t go any further.

 He looks out at the sea, eyes stopping as far as the world allows, swings back to your face. And you clutch at his arm, pressing your cheek against his bicep, taking in his scent which has deepened and swelled and grown a body within the last hours – the musked cardamom of him – staring out at all that immensity, personification of all you feel for him, this want that is violent and grown teeth, that exists as nature exists. This want that, yes, perhaps you did not choose, but is still what you want, is still what’s right. 

“The sea is so beautiful, and I’m so happy to be here.” No, you don’t want to go out and find another life. You want to find life here. 

You already have. 

When you turn your face up to his again, he’s staring down at you with that strange look from before, but changed now too. Devouring. No one has ever looked at you like this, and you don’t think anyone else besides him ever will. It’s only him, you see, with eyes like mirrors that reflect back your shared sameness. 

“Is that what you came out here for? To find the end of the world? To hide?” You don’t care if you shouldn't ask, you don’t care about any of the things you shouldn’t do, only about what you want in this moment here and now. 

Selfish, selfish, selfish. Yes.

“What does it matter?”

“I don’t know,” you say. “But it does.” It means everything.

He doesn’t respond, only more of that unfathomable look. You don’t care about this either, let him have his silence like a weapon or a punishment. 

“How old are you?” You ask now, realizing that no one had ever told you, that you’d never even cared to ask – bad of you. But not that it would have mattered or made a difference. 

“Too old. Old enough to be your father.” And this makes you angry, sparking angry. Your father – you’d had a father. A stranger father, but still yours. Joel is not that. So, this is anger like Leo’s. Anger at his offhandedness, anger at your own want, despite his words that sit like rust over your skin, anger at the violence of your own want. 

You fight to swallow it, roll your eyes at him. Insist: “How old?” 

“Forty eight.” And he says it like an admission of guilt, which you snort at blithely. 

You flash two held up fingers at him twice, mouthing the words, twenty two. 

His gaze is sad again, and you rub his arm gently, soothing. “I know.” 

And yes, you think, he surely knows so much, but not everything. “I’m not anything else but what I am, you know? What I want to be.”

“Too young–”

You ignore him, voice insistent, “And neither are you.” You turn to face him full on now, taking two steps away so you’re not forced to crane your neck up at him, he cants towards you as if he can’t bear the distance. Nature: he surges toward it hungrily, and just as quickly, surges away. The wind buffets his scent against you, washes you in it. “You can’t make me any of these things you’d thought I’d be. I’m only what I am, and you’re only what you are. Whatever the rest of it is you want to force, or the world wants to force, or the white box says I should be– I don't give a fig for any of that.” You swipe your hand in a cutting gesture through the salted air, and he looks like he might smile first, lands on a flinch instead. “I am not ornamental, Joel.” 

And he flinches again, jarred by his name, but then seems to remember himself, to be reminded of himself by the sound of it, and musters his strength, tightens his seams and says, “‘Nd I’m not here for you to impose yourself on. I’m going to make my own choices.”

“So will I,” you say slowly, and you suddenly want to cry. “So do I. This,” you, “Is my choice because I’m also an omega.” You suck in a tremulous breath. That truth, like a sea between the two of you. You’d thought he’d seen, understood, that he wouldn't have touched you as he had this morning, as no one else ever had, if he didn’t understand the gravity of that. “And if I’m not scared of that, you shouldn't be either.”

He swallows once, twice, devastated mask in place. He looks so forlorn, bearing a weight beyond his years on his shoulders. He turns out to face the water and asks it, “But what about what I want?” Not what he needs.

You close the two steps of distance, pressing against his side, circling his thick wrist in both of your hands, feeling the weight and strength of the bone beneath fevered skin. His sweater is thick, cable knit, soft and worn, a tiny fray at the edge of the sleeve, and a deep navy color, layered over a blue green flannel. No jacket again, he’d donned the colors of the sea instead, but you know now that he isn’t cold. It’s almost time. 

You’d felt so shy after this morning, as you’d walked out to face him in the light of day, sat in his lap and kissed him, newly made, newly minted. Now, you feel as if you know everything you could ever need to know about everything there is to know about you and him. 

“What about what you want? What do you want? Tell me,” you beg. “Say it out loud so we can both hear the truth of it no matter what it costs you.”

“Sweetheart, please,” he begs for mercy, looking down at you again, standing within the confines of your shackle, something further than devastation on his face now. Something like shedding years against your will, going back in time, stepping within a vehicle that would take you to the worst of it all, that point at the end of the world which he already stands on. 

The two of you feel, very much, like two unexploded bombs, existing with great care beside each other. 

The highs of his cheekbones and the tip of his nose are cold reddened, wind lashed, curls damp from the spray of the waves, burning with that dogged nature he fights and fights and fights. And he’s such a part of the world, standing here like this, tall and broad and vital. You want to be like that too, you think, large in a changing way. And he’s strong, strong in a way other creatures aren’t, strong in a way you aren’t. 

But weak in others. 

You release his wrist, forgo the shackle, remain in place. There’s a desperate plea coming from either of you, which though, you’re not entirely sure. 

And then suddenly, and you can’t even be sure from where it comes from because really, if you’re the most honest you can be, you know nothing of this thing. “Have you ever been in love?”

He goes so still that the sea seems to grow more violent in comparison, an offset to his freeze. “Yes. I have.”

“Will you–” swallow your fear, be the brave girl, “Will you ever love me?” You must ask. There’s no other recourse for you in this, you want all of it or nothing.

He bends to you suddenly, getting right in your face, cold nose to cold nose, teeth bared, animal. “I am selfish and jealous and cruel. And I will keep you in a strangle. Do you understand that? Can you even understand what it’ll mean to belong to me? To belong to a thing like this? Yes, I will love you.” So then there’s nothing else to care about. He spins away from you, paces, paces, “I’ve– I… fuck–” fights the dog fight – you wonder how long he’s waged it for, maybe his whole life – turns back to face you, and there’s the look of a boy now too, like Leo, lost and angry and faced with what he is in an insurmountable, unwinnable way. We are what we are, truth impossible to ignore. 

And then finally, fight lost, his face does a funny thing, a strange fracture and decision happening across the canvas of it, all at once. “I used to be a father. I used to have a daughter,” he tells you. 

Entirely unexpected. Entirely terrifying. “Used to?” You take an urgent step toward him, use an urgent tone, the memory of your aunt and of would-be parents flashes in your mind. You don’t want him to say what you know he’s about to say. “Where is she?” You aren’t so naive.

“Sarah,” and he says her name with so much love. “She died.”

You shake your head no, tears swept away with the wind, freezing salted on your lashes. “No,” you say again, louder. 

“When the outbreak happened – in the confusion. We were attacked ‘cause of what I was,” and he shakes his head once, hard and fast as if trying to jostle the confusion out of his mind, or perhaps knock it back into coherence, “Am,” voice limp at the end.

And then he’s the one coming to you, taking you up into his hold, cradling you more gently than the world could ever imagine a thing like him capable of. He finally understands what you are, you can feel it in the way he holds you. “Oh, no, Joel,” you cry into his neck, hugging him to yourself, pulling his head down to rest on your shoulder. “Oh, no. Oh, no.” Your poor alpha. Your poor alpha, he’d been so alone, so hurt and so afraid, and you realize now that you’ll have to be strong for the both of you, that you need to help him in ways only you can, that you need to be strong when he can't. And there’s only sameness here, of the most important sort. Both of you together, equal. When one could not, the other would. 

It’s obvious the way all truths are. 

“If I care for another thing…”

“I understand,” you tell him. It’s obvious the way all truths are: he’s afraid. 

You kiss his face, cup his ears to warm them, bring one of his too big, rough hands to your mouth, pressing your lips to his knuckles, letting him know you’re here now to protect him in the ways he’d never been and had always needed and would never want for again. 

-

He pulls you against himself in a hurt lock, tight enough he lifts you straight off your feet, face buried in your hair, teeth at your neck, biting hard enough you let out a bay of hurt. He can’t explain it, but there is so much care in the words you choose to wield against him, so much wisdom despite the innocent naivety, a clarity about the way you see him and all the rest of the world that sends him into such existential vertigo, makes him want to take a bite out of you so that he might swallow some of that innocence, some of that wisdom down for himself. An honesty about you that gives him no choice but to choose that which he knows he’s always wanted but has never let himself need. 

“I understand,” you’re whispering, letting him savage your throat as he needs. “But everything is going to be okay now–” a moan of pain, “–that we have each other, don’t you see that? We’ll take care of each other.”

He digs his teeth deeper at the fine tendon in your neck, and then slides his tongue up and over your gland, tasting the leak of pheromones there. It’s time now, he can feel it pulse and beat, glowing bright within you. He had been stupid and carelessly blind. He’d been a liar. “I see now – I see. It’s alright, sweetheart. Don’t cry. I’m alright now.” But you wrap your arms around his head, comfort and cradle him, and he has to have you with a desperation that brandishes teeth and boils. 

He shoves you back by your hips, keeping his grip on you steady, and turns to push you back down the beach the way in which you’d come. “Home. Now.” But you push back against him, rubbing your ass against the heft of his cock, presenting him with that cunt that belongs to him. 

“No. Here.” It’s a demand, you have an instinct for this. 

“Absolutely not,” but he’s gripping your hips hard enough to bruise anyways, grinding against you, tension vibrating his too big body, as if he were actually considering it, taking you here and now. 

Please.

“You’d let me knot you right here on the beach with the whole ocean and God watchin’?”

“Yes. Yes, I don’t care.” You try and turn in his arms, head craning back, hungry mouth seeking his own lips.

The insanity of the fever. Now, omega, he rumbles, and there’s no mistake in the burr of his tone, his nature on display, loud and clear – an alpha ordering his omega back to her nest so that he might have her there. He shoves you forward gently, setting you on your way, and picks up your pail full of treasures to stalk after his own. He takes in the sparkle of seaspray like gems in your hair as he follows, the shiver of your frame beneath the too many ridiculous layers he’d forced you into, the stumbling of your feet as you turn back to spy him hunting after you.  There’s wet on your face, and he doesn’t know if it’s the salt of your tears or the salt of the sea, and he wonders if when he drags his tongue across it he’ll be able to tell the difference. He’s sure he will. 

Your scent like a leash leads him, stronger and fuller and warm enough to burn. His gut is tight and aching, cock so hard he feels he can barely stand up straight. He’s sure he can smell the pouring of your slick from your finally readied cunt, the bloom of it obvious in the air around you, juniper berries everywhere – something warmer, spiced vanilla, earth. It’s so good he wants to swallow it down like liquid, drink from your well. 

He follows and follows, and if you weren’t already at the end of the world, he’d follow you there too. Up the stone steps etched into the cliffside, the steep incline sending you to huff and puff in strain. He’d feed you more, make you strong, feed you his cock and fill your belly with his come like honey. His breaths are bullish, bursting out in white clouds of steam, his neck hot and damp, skin boiling beneath his clothes. 

You keep turning back nervously, your left hand stretching back as if to reach for him, and then speeding up again in agitation, going as fast as your much shorter legs can take you compared to his. But he measures himself, lets you get there in your own moment, and eventually, he’s pushing open the cabin’s front door and shoving you inside, forgetting to measure his strength, lost in his delirium as he is, so that you’re stumbling, being snapped back like a rubber band with his fist wrapped in the back of your jacket. 

He rips it down your arms, uncoils the scarf, pulls the sweater over your head, hair a mess, all disoriented and malleable, and yanks you back and into his chest, heaving you up into his arms so that he can clamp his teeth at your throat again, laving his tongue over your gland, slicking you in his spit, sucking hard at the patch of skin, the burst of flavor on his tongue now, bubbling, carbonated almost, so strong his knees buckle and his cock is surely leaking a stream of precum down his leg. So fucking sweet, he’s growling, murmuring like a madman, grinding his erection into the lush of your ass, fingers sneaking under your shirt to squeeze hard and tight at your little tits. Your belly is a ball of embering fire, like you’d swallowed a comet, and he presses down on it gently, hand low on your pelvis over where your little womb is, this place he’s about to fuck full of his spend. 

“The way you smell – your scent – I’ll go fucking crazy, I swear I will.” His voice sounds not his – coming from some source outside of his body, ringing hollowly in his head empty of everything else except you. 

It’s started, it’s started, it’s started. 

You’re full of glorious heat, and he soothes at the soft swell of your belly with gentle circles, hand sliding down to cup the little palm-full of your cunt, rubbing back and forth over your jeans, and then goes to his knees behind you, pawing at the button, ripping them down your legs along with the leggings he’d forced you into beneath them, panties and all; the popping of seams – his or the clothes he can’t be sure. He traps you in the tangle, leaving them around your ankles, boots still on and takes a too sharp, too aggressive bite of your ass cheek, leaving teeth marks, leaving Joel marks, enjoys the sound of your baying that ends on a shocked little squeak, a little ah, ah, ah. He grips your asscheeks too tightly and spreads them wide, watching the delicious little wink of your holes provoking him, and licks the broad flat of his tongue from cunt to asshole, finally, fucking finally tasting you. 

He’s entirely lost to his madness from that moment forward.

He licks your ass again, again, pushes you forward to deepen the arch of your spine to eat at you better, and you mewl, whine, Joel, I’ll fall, but he can’t find it in himself to care. “Fall,” he tells you, “I’ll catch you.” But he spins you in his hands, fast and stumbling, trapped as you are, to face him on his knees before you as he is, as he should be, and you’re so small, morsel sized, perfect for swallowing whole, and open mouthed, he inhales at the mound of your cunt, tongue swiping out to find your clit swollen already. 

You smell like nothing he can describe, too delicious to allow him the choice of clear thought. He pulls you down to the ground, rips your boots and pants the rest of the way off, and right there on the floor by the front door, he spreads your legs wide and eats your cunt. 

Eats it. 

Nothing gentle or restrained about it as he probably should, this being your first time a man licks your pussy, small and innocent as it is, he fucks his tongue inside your shaky hole, sucks hard and sharp on yor clit, your first orgasm, sensitive as you are, trembling through you already. More, more, more, he wants more. He hunches over you like the beast he is, tiny thing, pulls you up, palm cupping your bottom, one knee knocking against his ear, the other leg splayed wide, sliding down his arm, so he can suck, suck, lick at your clit, a gentle kiss as a prize for taking it so well, and then his tongue is back into your cunt to taste the river of slick you’re spilling just for him. Your flavor, so musk heavy, sweet and thick like honey; he feels full and set to burst, no more hollow pit. And he wants more, to gorge and gorge like a glutton. You come again, a splash against his tongue, so wet you’re slipping and sliding in his grip. He can hear your high pitched cries and whines, your Joel, Joel, Joel’s he shushes, soothes with his tongue, little kiss to your little clit that pulses against his mouth. 

“Y’taste so fuckin’ good, baby.” He lets you down, crawling over you, pushing your shirt up to get at your tits, sucking and biting hard enough to hurt. He wants you to feel it all for days after the heat’s over, to leave marks, to make sure he’s left in your skin forever. Forcing your jaw wide, he slicks his tongue along yours, feeds you the taste of your own cunt, salty, sweet, his, and you take it so well, half limp and yet still clinging to him weakly, two orgasms forced on your virgin pussy back to back. 

He scoops you up, belly to belly, spider limbs around his neck and waist, grabby hands yanking at his hair like you’re angry he’s not put you on his knot yet. His knees pop, his back aches something fierce as he heaves the two of you up, muscles in his thighs bulging to support you – he’s fucking old – and walks you over to your nest, setting you down on your back, spreading your knees wide, cunt ripe and blooming, so red, a wound of all the world says you’re meant to be.

Slicking his thumb over the soaked curve of it there’s a sticky string of omega drool that leaves him connected to you when he pulls back. He presses again at your swollen clit, thinks he can almost see the pulse of your rushing blood beat here at your spread cunt, slides down to the tiny winking hole and circles his finger there, giving you the slightest pressure, pressing in a tiny bit, up again to tease your clit. 

“I’m gonna fuck this soft little hole until it’s so full of my come I don’t fit inside no more. Would you like that, sweet baby?” He asks so gently, don’t spook the fawn, don’t spook the beast. 

Your eyes are fevered, face covered in a shine of sweat, your belly glows with heat, and you nod slowly, little smile playing tricks with him whispering across your face. His hands slide up, circle your waist, squeeze and squeeze and squeeze as if he could watch you burst, witness all that heat explode like a comet, then further up to your chest, two big hands covering two little tits.

“You’re so pretty, little omega.” And you preen, you glow, suffused with such vulnerable, honest pleasure. Joel has to be so careful, he has to be so good for you. He will be. You circle one of his wrists, tender little hand, fingers of vapor, he has to be so good for you, he has to be so careful. Again, remember, remember. He bends to press a soft kiss to the pretty tip of each nipple. 

“They’re too small,” you whisper in an even smaller voice. 

“No. No, baby, no.” He presses another kiss, drags his teeth over a peak, sucks on the other, switching back and forth. “They’re fucking perfect, so pretty and so soft. I love them– I’m fuckin’ obsessed with you.” He opens his jaw wide and takes the whole soft mound of it into his mouth, sucking on the whole thing of it. He probably shouldn’t say such things, he doesn’t give a fuck. “Look–” he says around the little globe, “Whole thing fits in my mouth.” He bites some more, kisses some more, sucks on them until you’re whining and pushing him away, until they’re sore and stinging and still he doesn't stop. He shows you just how obsessed he is.

He kisses you all over, your belly, your waist, the soft spot beneath your ribs, your thighs, and the pulse between your collarbones. Slow, slow. He has to be slow and gentle and patient for as long as his looming rut allows, he needs to ease you into this. Taking an ankle first in one hand, he presses a kiss to the gland just there on the inside of it, suckles a little, then the other, and watches as your cunt becomes more and more needy and swollen, red as a bloom, until you’re so desperate for it you’re writhing around wantonly in the nest of blankets, almost entirely lost to your fevered delirium, but not just yet, not just yet. 

“Will you– will you put your big thing inside me now?” You slur innocently.

And he laughs gently, a tenderness pinching his heart which if he was less lost to himself, he might cry for. “My big thing?”

Oh, please. “Please, I– I think– please, I think I really need it now.” You twist this way and that, pulling the blankets up to your face to hide yourself away. 

“Almost, sweetheart. Almost.” But he feeds you two of his fingers then, playing in your slick, the sticky wound of softness, and crooks his fingers to wedge them just inside of you. “Like that– oh, isn’t that nice?” He croons, pressing a little further in, feeling the stretch of you around him. Your eyes go wide and shocked, your back arching in a taught curve, hips opening for him to sink deeper until he’s palm to cunt. He leans over you, watching the place where his hand disappears inside and hooks his fingers, petting at the textured little place at the front of you, so, so sensitive. You keen loudly, a warbled sound that’s all fucking his. His control is so close to snapping. 

He pulls his fingers from your cunt suddenly, watches how it shudders while you screech at the loss, looking up to search for him with bleary eyes as he rips his shirt and sweater up over his head, and then he’s pressing his two fingers back inside, thrusting into you a little harder, the splash and slap of your cunt as he fucks in and out of your tight hole. “Perfect little thing that's all mine.” He has nothing but praise for you, his good girl, taking him so well. 

He pets and pets at that soft spot, molten heat pouring from your cunt, and when he starts to shake his hand, a little jiggle to knock your next orgasm loose inside of you, you give it up so, so nicely. Pussy going tight as a fucking fist, strangling his fingers, and then spilling loose and soaked, flooding his hand. When the contractions of your little womb have abated he stuffs a third finger in, forgoes some of that gentleness, and pressing a hand low on your pelvis, he shakes his hand hard and fast inside of you. “Want’cha to fuckin’ soak me,” he grits through clenched teeth, head slightly dizzy, slightly faint with want. And with pressure both from the inside and out, you do. Gush of come following your high pitched moan, tears soaking your hairline as much as your pussy just soaked the lap of his jeans. He pulls his fingers from your gaping hole, bends to lick through all that glorious omega slick and swipes his fingers through it from side to side, tapping on your clit harshly, slapping it a little, sucking on it again, fast, fast his fingers from side to side, forcing you into just one more little climax before he lets you rest. 

You’re all twisted in the blankets, face turned and buried in the pillows. He crawls up over you, contorted as you are, cunt splayed wide and pulsing, and unbuttons his jeans as he goes, finally, fucking finally letting his raging cock free. It hurts, it needs you so fucking badly, leaving a sloppy trail of drool slicked along the already wet curve of your belly as it drags heavily against you, bobbing obscenely from his open zipper. He buries his face in your neck, kissing and licking up the taste of you, sucking on your gland. 

“Please, please now. Please, now,” you keep mumbling into the blankets where you’re hiding. Please, now. Begging for his cock and his knot, so ready to take your first fucking like the perfect omega you are. 

“Not yet,” he soothes, petting your hair back from your steaming face, pressing a kiss to your sweaty hairline. Please, you whine high, and he lets his cock rest heavily against the curve of your red cunt, slicking it there, dragging it back and forth, giving you both the weight of what you’ll have so soon. You kick one leg out weakly. “Not yet, it’s okay. It’s okay, sweetheart,” he pitches his voice low, soothing, gathers you to himself. “Let’s rest a little. No, no – just for a little bit,” he says over your whines and cries. You cling to him weakly, hips rocking against him. “I know, baby. I know,” he hums, letting you rub your sticky, sore cunt against the wide head of his cock, nothing but a boneless little mass of omega, stuck to him with tears and slick and sweat. 

He rolls over with you on top of him, the brand of your cunt enveloping his erection between swollen lips, and his knot is ready to pop, it fucking hurts, his rut is near too. But he can tell you just need a little more time – a few more hours to soften and ripen just that little bit more, to lose yourself a little bit more so that he might fit himself inside of you, his too big body in your too little one. 

He gets up eventually, shucking his jeans, and getting a glass of water to force you to take, and leaves the large, cold glass near for when you’ll need it again with all the slick you’re producing. So much that it runs down your thighs, slides up your back and all over him and the blankets and everywhere; everything sticky and heady with your scent. This is, he thinks, right before he succumbs to sleep too, head and balls throbbing from not having come yet, the most singular way an omega claims ownership over an alpha. That scent like a shackle that would keep them together at all times, that scent that after long enough, is impossible to be without. He buries his face in your hair and breathes deep, letting your smell move through him like a tangible thing, a kaleidoscope through his mind until he finally falls asleep. 

-

Your hips move in a slow rocking swing over his belly, slicking the curve of it, making the hair covering him here clump sticky and soaked in this stuff that will not stop coming out of you. There’s so much, and you feel so empty, your head, your head is full of nothing but heat and bubbles and a throb that glows, and you don’t know why, but– oh, finally, he’s waking up. Yes, yes, alpha, wake up now. 

He shifts and rumbles deep in his chest, and you feel his big thing poke you in the butt; it’s so heavy and so thick and it smells so good. You’d sniffed it, and you’d tasted it a little too when you’d first woken up, but you need to make sure to remember to taste it more later again because it had been so yummy, and long too. You can’t understand how it’ll fit, but you’re sure you’ll make it somehow. And it has a funny soft bit of skin at the end, and thick veins that pulse under the warm, incredible softness that covers it. 

His left arm stretches out and over his head, he’s thick here too, big muscles under his skin that’s so burning hot it hurts to touch and feels good all at the same time. He has a dark vein that runs from his shoulder over the bulging muscle, and you’d tasted that too, then pressed your face into his hairy armpit to sniff him there also; gone all drunk and light headed at the scent.  You rock harder; the little nub at the front of your cunt – it belongs to him – it hurts and it’s swollen and when you press your fingers to it, it has a little tiny heartbeat that you’re sure beats to the sound of his name, Joel, alpha, Joel, alpha, and everything is so, so hot. 

You whine that sound you know he likes, the one that you know provokes him, rubbing your slippery cunt all over his stomach, grinding and sliding against him, trying to make the throb go deep and hard again like he’d made you do with his mouth. And oh, he’s so– he makes you so upset, and you feel big and little all at once, and that stretched soreness of your cunt, it’s all his fault, and the bruising around your nipples too, and he needs to put it inside. 

He stretches again, blinks open slowly, long lashes, dimple beside the corner of his mouth, and you dig your nails into the hard muscles of his chest, dragging your blunt edged fingernails down his skin as you slide lower, over his big cock – that’s what it’s called, and you love the sound of the word, think it sounds how you imagine it’ll feel, cock – and try to put it inside, shifting and rolling over it, trying to impale yourself on it. It’s so heavy, and you know the heaviness will make the hurt inside you, the bruised feeling inside you, go away, if only he’d just do it. 

You huff at him, cry a little, whine a lot, try and make it go inside again, slipping and sliding in all the slick that won’t stop coming out of you all while he blinks slow and patient at you, a little smile on his face, and he’s so pretty he makes you so, so upset. You bend forward suddenly and bite his nipple hard, yank on the hairs on his chest and thighs. Hard enough to hurt. He grunts, but lets you, only twinning his fingers in your hair tightly, letting you chew on him until you’ve released his skin on your own. 

“You upset with me ‘cause I haven’t fucked you yet? You gettin’ impatient with me?” You huff at him. “Think you’re ready, sweet thing?” Oh, please, please, please. 

You know that you’ve never been more ready for anything in your entire life. 

He rolls you over, spreading you wide to play with your cunt again, and you start crying for real. “It hurts, alpha, please. It hurts, and I glow.'' It's so hot everywhere. 

“You’re full in your heat now, baby. Don’t worry – knot’s gonna make you feel all better. You’re gonna be so full.” And his voice is so soft and deep and hard too, all at once. It floats away and it comes back, and he sounds like all the things and all the sounds that can have ever existed in the whole world, and also, just right enough to let you remember, only for a second, very calmly and in a moment of bright clarity, that you’d always known he’d come to fix it all. This is only the last part of that at last. 

“My brave girl,” and he pauses a beat above you, between your spread thighs, his cock hanging heavy, tip-slicked between his thighs, giving you a sticky kiss every time it bobs against your tummy. He drags the pad of his thumb at the hollow beneath your eye, catching fallen salt water there, only of desire, not the sad sort, you know the difference so very well by now. And his own eyes, they’re so dark, so full of all that heat that’s so chock full inside you too, but also different, something like cool and serene and full of knowing, full of patience. Eyes like mirrors. The two of you are the same. 

He wraps his big hand around his ever bigger cock, and smears the tip against your swollen, needy sex, pressing hard at the aching nub, sliding down and pressing hard at the bruised little hole. You growl an impatient quipping noise at him, but he returns it in kind, deeper, scarier, full of an order to settle. 

“We have to go slow,” he says, “It won’t fit just like that.”

But you rock your hips in hitching jerks anyways. “No, I’ll make it fit,” you promise, clawing at his chest to achor yourself, find the right angle, find relief. 

He shakes his head, continues to smear and press against you, and then oh, oh, oh, he’s just there, first a big stretch like from the morning, and it hurts, it burns, but not as bad as being without, and you make a sound like you’ve never made before, feeling a feeling you’ve never felt before and had waited your whole life and a year for. Inside, please, please, inside, alpha. He feeds you himself, makes the heat brighter, fans the flames and soothes them all at once, and oh, it really does hurt and feel so good. 

He’s panting like a bull above you, sweating and groaning, and the sounds he makes, the sounds he makes, rough and wounded, like you’re wounding him, like you have the power to wound a great thing like him. “Ain’t that so fucking good?” He coos and croons and pets at you, feeds you and feeds you and feeds you. It’s so big and it splits you, cleaves you wide and forces you into the place and thing you’d lived your whole life waiting to be. “Look at my girl,” he’s saying, “Look how well my little girl takes my big cock in her tiny cunt.”

He pushes a little more, touches a thing inside of you that is swollen and bruised and so sensitive, and, “Oh, you’re in my belly,” you gasp when he finally stops pushing in. You cup your hand over your tummy, pressing down. “I can feel you,” there are tears slipping form the corners of your eyes, and your cunt feels so full it’ll burst or swallow him whole or a little of both, “I can feel you from outside.” You press down harder, rub over the bulge of him inside you; a cock in your belly under your palm. 

So good, just like that, he’s murmuring and you close your eyes to better listen to the dip and hum of his voice. “I am. I am – gonna fill your little womb. And we’re gonna do it just like this for now,” he starts to move, “Just half so you’ll let me in all the way.”

“There’s so much,” you hitch, breath quivering, chin trembling, tears leaking, cunt leaking even more. 

I know, I know, he rubs your belly, soothes you so well, rocks and rocks and rocks, a cock rocking inside of you. He kisses your jaw and your shoulder and your breast, and then changes something, and you finally open your eyes. He touches something so raw inside of you, something that screams and sings and throbs, and there’s something going swollen inside. He’s so beautiful, silver streaked, creased, lines over his forehead, alongside his eyes, his whole life painted in roadmaps and metallic patterns across him. Other places slicked and wet, red and flushed and sun touched, and you make him look like this, and then he presses the swollen thing again, and it bursts. Your cunt flutters, goes so tight it hurts, forces more tears out of your eyes, you claw at him, your body feels not your own, only his. Oh, fuck yes. Good girl. Fucking come for me. For him, for him, for him. 

You shiver and shiver, there’s only hot air and the rocking cock in your belly, the heartbeat inside of you everywhere, and when he finally presses once more, finds the end of the world inside you, he’s all the way in, making a sound that you’ll have to force out of him for the rest of forever; a perfect sound. He tugs you up onto his thighs, sits up, belly to belly and heart to heart and glow to glow, and he fucks you like he said he would. Hard. You finally understand what it means. His cock punches the bruised thing that lives inside, that has you keening a wounded sort of noise, clawing at him, mouth searching for his gland, sliding across his clavicle, up his neck until it’s there, swollen and throbbing and it tastes so, so good you can’t help it when you sink your teeth into the softness of it, the salted rust of his blood sliding over your tongue, down your throat and into your belly like a promise. He makes that glorious sound again, and he fucks you so rough it hurts in only the way fucking a man so much larger than you can hurt. He splits your cunt wide and ruts into you like a beast, and you take it because you want it, because you were made for it, because it’s so right. And you suck on the pierced gland, swallow the taste of him and when a pressure worse than what you could have ever imagined starts to swell within your battered and bruised opening, he pulses and pulses and spills inside of you, filling your womb like he’d said he was going to also. 

Then there is his knot, finally, within you. “Again, baby. Come on my knot, sweetheart. You’ll feel so much better if you do.” And he’s right, as you shiver into it once more with only his command to prompt you, his knot swollen like a lock, connecting you together, it soothes the bruise and the heat from the inside out. He rips your teeth from his neck by your hair, swallows your protests, tasting his own blood on your tongue as he comes inside of you, fills you with a heat more potent than anything the glow had ever made you feel. 

When you fall together like felled weeds, knot tugging gently, mewl falling from your lips, he soothes you so patiently while he continues to spill inside of you, all plugged up as you are, belly set to burst full of semen. He suckles at your nipples, bites and pinches and makes them hurt, and you can do nothing but let him do as he pleases. And you don’t sleep this time, for the throbbing is so strong inside of you, his soft groans sometimes turned to whimpers so wonderful you need to be awake to listen to them forever.

 There’s nothing of the not life anymore, there’s only him here with you. 

He does sleep though, after a while, or he goes very still and very quiet. His lashes quiver and his eyes move beneath their lids as if he were watching a dream, and his body steams and shudders, but eventually, the knot softens enough that you can shift and wiggle over him, and his eyes flash open, predator gaze zeroing on the little omega trying to leave her trap, he presses a big hand down on your tailbone, grinding your cunt that feels raw and full and bruised and right against his pelvic bone. “Where do you think you’re goin’?” Voice a deep burr. 

You give him a shy, appeasing look, nuzzling his belly, his thick pectoral and shift and shimmy up towards his face, feeling the heavy weight of him fall wetly from your bruised sex. It stings and flutters madly, clenching around the too large space he’d made inside you. Shuffling up on your knees, you peck at his chin, his mouth, suck on his lip. And when you look down between the two of you, there’s a puddle of thick white semen slowly drooling from between your legs onto his belly. 

You shuffle down now, licking up the mixture of slick and sweat and come, tasting the crease between his thigh and pelvis. You move lower, and resting your head on his thigh, you mouth at his cock, wet and slobbering, pressing a kiss, tasting the flavor of your cunt. 

“I feel so lovely,” you sigh dreamily, pressing another kiss.

He groans low, “A little more tongue– there you go. Oh, fuck– omega, that’s so good.” He threads his fingers through your hair. “It’s because you’re full of everything I just gave you. You’ll need more soon.”

You open your mouth wider, try to swallow him down, enjoying how his come slips out of you, making the tops of your thighs, your ankles you’re sitting on, all sticky wet. All mine, you mumble around his thick length, and his answering laugh is so vital, oh, everything really is so wonderful. He tugs you up by the roots of your hair, jaw hanging wide and spit slick so he can stick two big fingers in there and rub at the slimy surface of your tongue, grunts a hungry sound. 

-

He pushes you back, hand still fisted in your hair to spread you wide and inspect the wreckage he’d left between your thighs. “Lemme see–” he murmurs. “Look at how red and swollen you are, baby. Little cunt’s all fucked open.” He gently scoops his come back inside, smearing it along your cunt. 

Ah– Ah– You protest when he presses his fingers inside to feel the slip of his semen along your walls. Poor, baby, he coos. His cock stirs at your little sounds of hurt, soaked as it is, streaked with come and slick and a little pink tinge of blood. The sight makes him fully hard again. “You did so well, first time taking a knot. It’ll be easier next one.” You writhe and arch as he pets your cunt, spreading your legs wider despite your limp sounds of protest. Head rolling back against the blankets, you grip your tits in both hands and squeeze, whimpering at that too. 

When you lift your head to look down at them, lifting the two little handfuls in your palms to take in the sight of your chafed, swollen nipples your eyes go wide. “Look’t what you did to them – they hurt now.” And although he’s sure you intend to sound like you’re cross, the moan you end on, the way you’ve begun to rock your hips, tells of different things. 

“My poor girl, lemme kiss ‘em.” He stretches over you, taking your hands away to press a barely there kiss to the tip of each breast. “Poor little tits – poor little pussy too, all split open.” And he bends to kiss your blood tinged cunt, the flavor of lost innocence and come on his lips. 

He kisses you again, nibbles on your thighs, and your eyes are hazy, fever full, and you sigh a fluttering sound of oh, “Everything’s so lovely,” you say again. “And you’re so beautiful, alpha. We should eat green apples. I love green apples so much.” Delirious, a little nonsensical. 

“We will. We will– whatever you want,” he says, but he’s already mounting you again, wedging his fat cock into your tiny, battered hole, enjoying the sound of your half pleasure, half pained keen. And he doesn’t give you the grace of going slow, the rut is full on now – he fucks you into your nest hard, fucks against your womb until he’s filling it again. Only gentles once when you mumble into his ear, slurred and almost drooling, I want to watch it go in and out of me.

And despite his ferocity, the way he uses and abuses your cunt, he knows you need it from the way you open that little blossom mouth and try to swallow him whole, hungry thing. You yank at his beard and pull on his hair and scratch at his skin, bite his gland again and again, and he shocks himself by being nothing like afraid, nothing like uncertain. No, he only feels settled now. Joel only feels himself. 

He realizes that he had always needed this, but now, he wants it too. The distinction is stark and important beyond measure like some sort of primordial state of consciousness. He is only himself, dog fight lost and left victorious for it. 

You pass the days of your heat and his rut locked on his swollen knot, a steady stream of his come being pumped into you constantly. There’s no way he hasn’t bred you by now, and it makes something pleased and terrifyingly savage swell within him. 

He’s forced to shove an ice pack between your legs on the third day, between bouts on his knot, during a moment of clarity for the both of you while he feeds and waters you. But then later, after he’s given you one of the strawberry cream popsicles he’d made and frozen for you the day before you’d arrived, you sit, swollen cock buried deep, slowly rocking back and forth while he watches with an almost sick sort of rapt fascination as you eat the popsicle in little kitten licks, leaning back on his lap ever so often to bare your cunt to his gaze, slick and split wide, red as the strawberries in your sweet treat. 

“How is it?” He doesn’t specify which, the popsicle or the cock rocking inside of you, but you peer at him with the brightest and keenest sort of gaze, a look that tells him all he needs to know about himself, all that you see within him which is everything. You flash him a huge, cheesy grin, all the answer he’s getting, and you’ve got a tiny gap between your two front teeth that he finds so, so endearing, and his answering laugh is so vital, so alive, it’s like he steps into himself again after twelve years of vacancy. 

And with that bright light of clarity, a blink, blink, you seem to come fully awake for a moment. “Tell me of the things you like,” you order, taking a large bite of the iced treat and pressing your cold mouth to his, passing the flavor of strawberries onto his tongue.

He takes the moment and tastes it, pulls you close, “I like how the fire plays over your skin,” a palm ghosting down the slope of your naked back to the place where you’re connected. “How it makes shadows and shows me that glow inside.”

And as the fever fades, he switches to handling you with carefulness, gently stroking at your sensitive, come-filled pussy, careful of the stretched soreness of your little hole and the bruising around your nipples. With more awareness you remind him that he’s a big, stupid alpha with a big, stupid knot and that you hurt and want more.

But there’s still time and heat to take advantage of, and on the day he knows will be the last day of this animal lust, he stretches you out flat on your belly, his weight completely over your back, and he fucks you prone and immobilized, caged in by his bulging arms, telling you of how you own him now, how he belongs to you, how he’s going to keep you full and happy forever. “Make me come. Clench – good girl. Again,” he orders, and when his knot swells for what he knows will be the last time of this rut, relishing in the last whispers of your heat filled belly, he sniffs through the curtain of your hair and finding the still swollen gland at the nape of your neck, he slowly sinks his teeth into the vulnerable patch, binding your mating. 

-

Dawn peeks over the horizon like a faint suggestion, and you’re married on the cliffside one bitingly cold winter morning, the sea as your witness. Ellie and Dina are there, and they’re your friends now. You have friends, real friends, no more half life, no more half friend.You have friends, and you are important and significant and as vital and alive as Joel is. You’re real, and he helped make you so, yes, but really, you always had been. 

You wear flowers in your hair and a dress the color of the sky, and he has mirrors in his eyes, and the two of you are the same. Equal and only yourselves, and you love each other more than anything in only a very true way, nothing soft about it. 

When you know you’ll have a baby, he swallows your fear and your worry, marks your gland again as a reminder of all he is, all you are. And when you ask, for you can’t not share with him, “Will they come one day, to check if we did what we were supposed to? To see if we had a baby?”

He tells you, “Yes, they might,” very solemnly.

“What if–” a difficult thing to say out loud, now that you understand the thing you are and the way of the world so well, now that he’s shown you all there is to be shown, “What if they’re an omega like me – will they take them?” Give them their own white box and a not life to be nurtured by instead of a mother. 

But like all obvious things, he shares with you, always, only truths. “Never.” And the look in his eyes is so serious, eyes like mirrors, that you know his words are fact. “I’d never let that happen, I swear to you.” 

And the glow still comes, and the heat still takes you, but he’s always there now and nature is still an inescapable thing, but the perilous edge is no longer such a danger when you’re protecting each other. 

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

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#HSM fic #vic fic #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #the last of us AU #alpha/beta/omega dynamics #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader

[txttletale]

Not the same anon but i would like to answer, as an artist i really dont like the idea of my art being used in an algorithm without my consent because well, its my art. When an algorithm takes it i have no say in what its being used for, and could be used to actively represent something that i do not support. Its also just kinda dystopian, yknow? While its not the same as voice actors having their voice stolen, it feels wrong to have an artists work taken to make something they themself didnt approve of. I dont think its a big deal when were talking about fuckin van goghs art or whatever but real alove people's current art has no right being used like that imo (not angry or anything, i cant tell how my wording comes actoss)

i mean, i understand why that might bother you, but it could already happen. it famously happened to matt furie, creator of pepe the frog. he drew a silly frog for his silly webcomic and it became the face of the usamerican far right. he has tried multiple times to use IP law to try and impede this usage but, like, y'know--it hasn't worked. pepe is just fascist now. & all that happened without any AI involvement at all. it fucking sucks for him but there is absolutely no way to prevent that kind of thing without IP laws that would send the quino estate kicking my door down for my mafalda icon.

i also think many people are just fundamentally misunderstanding the technology. AI models do not have your art saved anywhere -- if they did, they'd be dozens of terabytes big. they cannot repurpose your art for anything. your art is used, essentially, to demonstrate to an AI what images look like -- it is the same level of 'use' as if, say, someone made a big excel spreadsheet of 'how many images in the world have the mcdonalds logo in them' and they put your image next to a big NO or YES in their spreadsheet and then from that they produced a statistic for how many images in hte world have the mcdonalds logo.

like i understand there might be some intangible sense of violation in that case, but i hope that people who feel that way can also understand why that would be a dangerous precedent for basically everything

#ask #ai art

[bangtangalicious]

placebo (m) | pjm (3)

pairing: jimin x reader (ft. jungkook & namjoon)

premise: you're assigned a soulmate backed by the science of compatibility that hopes to promote healthier, long-lasting, loving relationships. you find yours: park jimin is the exact opposite of you. a member of a notorious resistance gang, he doesn't believe in science, love, or the state.

summary: you find out that jimin isn't your true soulmate. he was a placebo - a series of control trials to see if simply thinking someone is your soulmate would be enough to make you fall in love. the issue is, you did. you did fall in love. hard.

genre: 18+ romance, smut, angst, soulmate!au, dystopian, love triangle, romeo-juliet, opposites attract, hurt-comfort

characters: student!reader, vigilante!jimin, student!jungkook, scientist!namjoon

warnings: 18+, contains smut, angsty smut, rough penetrative sex, creampie, cock warming, breast play, a lot of kissing. like a lot. emotional sex, oral sex (m), fingering, praise kink, jimin is a pro at snapping that bra off, a lot of stimulation, a lot of foreplay, aftercare, they're in love okay it's cheesy, feelings of fear, hurt, government conspiracy, medical procedure, memory loss, cursing

taglist: @tornparts @loona15 @effielumiere @agustdream8 @jnghs @dragons-flare @xiusmarshmallow @ratherbefangirling @infires-imagines @aretha170 @dvalitaes @kookiejeonie @ddaeng-angmoh @idk123906 @cuteipat @uarmyhore @natalie-rdr @yawnkive @sukunabitch @withluvjm @thesmeraldogirl @theceraunophilegirl

wc: 7k | series masterlist | part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

Jimin—

“We’re not actually soulmates.”

Disappointment couldn’t even begin to explain what Jimin was feeling as he saw your eyes shatter in front of him. His heart was already beating wildly with a sense of pounding worry—all from your tears. He wasn’t the kind of guy who expressed himself. He was a pawn. A soldier, of sorts. He took action.

Right now, he was paralyzed. Every drop of blood drained from him in one rush of cold. He was left with nothing. Not even your touch held enough comfort to warm the life back into him. His breath even, mocking him with a charade of calmness.

You continued to explain. He heard you—he swore he did, but everything seemed to numb him from comprehending.

“It was a placebo, where the chip signals but we aren’t actually compatible. So the basis for everything we felt—or everything we think we feel, was a lie. Jungkook found out and,”

Jimin blinked. Looking at you. You were still there. You were still real. Your eyes swollen with tears. Hearing your words hurt, but seeing you like this hurt even more. He needed to be strong for you—you were falling apart in front of him, and he was too stubborn to let you.

He wasn’t going to let you go.

Because he didn’t care. He didn’t care—in fact, a rush seemed to pulse into him, beckoning him onwards—the fact that you might have been some government-implanted craving he had was the only reason he was trying to stay away from you initially. You fought for him. And fuck, he loved you. It was too soon to say it. Hell—probably too soon to feel it but he didn’t have a doubt in his mind.

Last night, as he fell asleep in your arms, all he could wish for was to have that every day for the rest of his life. He had never felt so strongly bound to another person. Never felt so seen, so cherished.

This wasn’t about some microchip in your necks. To him, it never had been. You cared for him when he was hurt. You were a fucking nerd, obsessed with your geeky job in a way that enamored him. You worked so hard, were so fiercely determined and dedicated to your cause. You were messy, clumsy, a stickler for rules where Jimin liked to bend them, break them, or ignore them altogether.

He loved the person you were, unfiltered—he loved the person you wanted to become, and most of all he loved the way you loved him. Your heart on your sleeve. Calling out his bullshit. And always being exactly what he needed even if he didn’t know it himself.

And he knew all of this. So why did he feel so fucking terrified?

Jimin swallowed deeply. His hand leaving your face as you searched him for a reaction through glassy eyes.

“Tell me what this means to you, doctor” His words were hushed. His fingers gliding over your wrists before circling them into his hold. His lips hovered over yours, foreheads resting against one another.

Jimin wasn’t an idiot. He knew exactly what it meant to you. But he needed to hear you say it. He knew how hard you had fought for him. He had tried so hard to push you away, but you persisted because you believed in the Soulmate Initiative so strongly. That had been the catalyst. For you—it had been the condition of your love.

“Jimin” You exhaled. The regret in your voice carved into his heart.

“You know that never mattered to me” His grip on your wrists tightened, as if his touch would make you understand. It was all he could do to not scream—not begin to pathetically beg you not to care. Not to change anything—not to leave him.

He could see you scrambling for words. “There’s still a chance—” You attempted to reason. Because that’s who you were. Hard facts and logic. Your voice choked—Jimin couldn’t look at you a second longer. It was too fucking painful. Too painful to sit there and watch as you gave up on him.

He needed to leave. Get far away from you and think. Because right now he felt so helpless, so powerless—he didn’t trust himself not to say something he’d ultimately regret.

His eyes were red, wet with anger. A façade to cover the shattering in his chest.

“I have to get to class, doctor” His voice was serene. His gaze, tumultuous.

“Jimin please,” You tried to pull him back as he stood up. He yanked his hand away from you, rougher than he meant to, but enough for you to get the hint. “I’m so sorry”

He took a few steps towards the door. Turning back, he looked at you one last time. Your tear-stained cheeks. Your quivering lips.

“I’m not sorry” He swallowed thickly. Pulling on his leather jacket and grabbing his helmet, he tucked in under his arm. “I will never be sorry for falling for you, doctor”

“There might—” Jimin held up his palm.

“I’ll come back” His eyes softened as if to ease your anxiety, “We can talk about this later”

He was out of the door in seconds, unable to look you in the eye again. The fresh, cold air hit him like salvation from the tension. He gasped, breathing the sharp air in as his tears unleashed.

Sinking to the floor, he buried his head between his knees. His fingers gripping his hair in frustration as he sobbed quietly. He jerked his head back, hitting the door as he punched the ground next to him. Cursing loudly as he crumbled.

You—

Jimin would be back any second. You’d never felt quite so nervous. So anxious—not even when you opened your decision letter for your PhD program—not ever. He’d be back. Be home. And you two would have to face the impending doom you’d introduced to him.

More than anything, you felt guilty. Guilty that you were responsible for what he was going through right now. After trying so hard to convince him that he even deserved love, let alone from you—to gain his trust and then put him into this grey space of uncertainty. It wasn’t lost on you how unfair it was.

The mere thought of living your life like you had before Jimin—was pointless. He had awoken something within you. As frustrating as he was, as much of a tease and a flirt—he made every day feel like an adventure. He brought you to life in a way nothing else quite did.

But if your real soulmate was out there, you couldn’t help but wonder. Was it all fake attraction? Was what you could find with someone you were truly compatible with even better than this? More magical? More right?

You had to know.

And you knew Jimin wouldn’t see it that way. But even if you chose to ignore it—to let it go, it would drive a wedge between the two of you inevitably. Jimin’s flaws seemed to glare at you in a way that they hadn’t before. Everything impossible about your relationship seemed to weigh on you because you didn’t have the blind faith in the system anymore. You didn’t have the promise that this is how it was supposed to be.

The ring of your doorbell sent your heart into somersaults. You buzzed him, nervously tugging at your sleeves. You wanted to look pretty for him—unsure if that was cruel of you, but you couldn’t help but think that these were a collection of your final moments together.

He walked inside. Tired eyes, raven hair wispy from the wind. The cold tinting his cheek and nose. His black motorcycle jacket hugged his figure. The familiar scent of cigarettes and gasoline which you had come to associate with comfort. A scent that once made you nauseous.

Slugging his backpack off, he set it aside. Neatly, he unlaced his boots before stepping inside. He regarded you with a soft smile. His deep brown eyes were simultaneously relieved and broken.

“Hey you”

You approached him slowly, immediately wrapping your arms around his torso. You inhaled him. His unadulterated bliss. He was cold, but so warm. And when his arms wrapped around you, cradling your head to the crook of his neck, leaning into you—you wanted to simply melt.

You looked up. His pretty eyes—the way he looked at you—God. His touch flushed you over with heat as his palm reached your cheek, thumb caressing over your jaw, teasing your bottom lip.

You didn’t know what to say to him. It seemed, you didn’t need to say anything. Jimin sighed into you, his lips relaxing against yours. So soft. So tender. Incredibly sweet.

And you wouldn’t stop him. Maybe it was avoidance. The impending melancholy of the night you were about to have. The inevitable heartache. You deepened the kiss, pulling Jimin closer to you desperately.

He grinned against your lips as you did. Hands falling to your hips before cupping the backs of your thighs. He lifted you up, still kissing you with the same delicateness. Taking you to the couch where he sat you both down.

Falling to his back, you crawled on top of him. Lips not parting. Breaths getting heavier.

Because when you kissed, nothing else mattered. Nothing else even existed. There was only him. Him and the storm of pleasure brewing in your chest. The heat coursing through your veins. The dizziness spinning in your head.

His fingers curled over your hip as he flipped you down. Hovering over you now, he admired you. Eyes memorizing your every crevice. His chain fell from his neck, the cool metal making you shiver as it glided across your hot skin.

He peeled off his jacket, leaving only his tight white t-shirt, before returning to you. Body caging yours in. Forearms resting on either side of your face as his fingers traced your cheeks.

“I don’t tell you enough” He murmured. You raised your eyebrows, curious. “You’re so fucking beautiful, doctor. So pretty,” His eyes were half-lidded, kissing you chastely, “Sexy..gorgeous..mine” He smacked against your lips between each word—sending a rush of praise to your head.

And you loved it. You loved his words like they were feathers tickling against you. His voice was silk and you wanted to dance in it for eternity.

The pressure of his body felt incredible against yours, his heat like a blanket. You’d never felt so safe—so cherished in his hold.

“Where the hell did you even come from, doctor?” He hummed playfully against your lips, “How the hell find me? You’re a fever. You’re my disease and my cure”

You tugged at his chain, urging him to kiss you harder. To glue his lips to yours.

He groaned, hips rolling flush against yours as his mouth worked you into serenity. You could feel how badly he needed you, but he was taking his time. On the other hand, you were frantic. Your fingers tugging at the hem of his shirt. Tugging it up his torso as he chuckled. You could feel his scalding skin on your fingertips. Exploring the expanse of him. The contours of his body, the soft skin.

His teeth tugged at your lip, nipping at you playfully as you scratched your nails against his chest. He finally allowed you to pull this shirt over his head, giving you a moment to admire him, chain contrasting against his golden skin before you tugged off your own top.

You were left in sheer light green bra. Delicate. Something you had bought as a joke a long time ago, wondering if it would actually make you feel more confident. Jimin’s pupils darkened.

“Let me” He exhaled shakily. You turned over, on your knees as Jimin held you up—one hand on your neck pulling you back to him. His fingers gripped your jaw as he kissed your cheek, smirking against you as his other hand expertly snapped your bra off. So fast that it sent shivers down your spine. He replaced where the latch once was pressing into your back with his own lips, kissing up your spine until melting at your nape.

You arched your back as the bra slid down your arms, onto the floor. Jimin’s coarse fingers immediately covering your breasts. Pinching your nipple between his fingers sensually. Trailing butterfly kisses up your neck. You twitched under his touch. Small, needy gasps leaving your parted lips.

He hummed with pleasure, tasting you across your jaw, chest pressed against your back.

“So good to me,” He kissed your cheek. The blisters on his fingers against the soft skin of your breasts making his touch so incredibly erotic, it had you weeping in your core. His touches so subtle, and yet you were reacting to him so desperately. Craving him, overwhelmed by how fucking good it felt when he touched you.

“Please” You weren’t even sure what you were asking for. He chuckled softly, teeth grazing against your ear. “Jimin p-please”

“I love that. I love it when you ask me so nicely like that” He pushed you down on all fours. You let out a surprised gasp at his sudden roughness, but your cunt tightened. He pulled off your jeans, and then his own. Leaving your panties on he grabbed a handful of your ass and squeezed it.

“So fucking perfect,” His large hands moved all over the flesh of your thighs. He let two fingers tease along your damp slit. “What’s this huh? Wet for me already baby?”

His fingers pushed the cloth aside, finding your tender clit. You bit back a moan as he began to trace small, slow circles. He leaned down on you, the feeling of skin on skin riling you up even further. His lips caressed the back of your shoulders with hums of approval as his fingers continued to coax you. His other hand holding your hip steady. Pinching your ass tenderly.

“Jimin” You gasped breathlessly, fingers gripping the couch tight. His fingers continued to push you further and further towards nirvana. He pulled you up suddenly, fingers still on your clit—but he needed to see you. Needed to look into your eyes as you came. Hand wrapped around your neck, enough to feel his control but not enough to choke you.

“You gonna cum for me doctor?” Jimin teased, forcing your jaw towards him. A grin on his lips mirrored the mischievous glint in his eyes. You nodded pathetically.

“Yeah?” His tone raised, taunting you further as he smashed his lips back on yours. Tongue pushing through your lips as his fingers circled your clit faster. Your moans were swallowed by him—body going limp as waves of pleasure crashed down on you. Your body bucking forward, taking Jimin down with you. Twitching all over as your cunt leaked onto his hand. His rough, desperate kisses muffling your screams.

“That’s it baby, so good for me” His fingers led you through the aftershocks before dipping into your sensitive cunt. “So good and wet all for me, right?”

He pulled himself off of you, and you turned, on your knees—reaching for his cock.

“I want to suck your cock”

Jimin blinked at you incredulously.

But you were determined. You began to stroke him gently. He hissed, reaching behind you to steady himself against the back of the couch.

“You’re so desperate for me, aren’t you baby?” He leaned down to kiss you cheek. You looked up at him, eyes earnest—because you wanted him to feel so good.

You wanted to make up for all the pain you knew you were about to cause him. He deserved everything—heaven and the stars and everything beyond, you wanted him to have it all. For now, you let your lips kiss the flushed tip of his cock.

“F-fuck,” He reached for your chin, stroking your jaw tenderly. “You’re so good to me baby fuck”

“I,” You diverted your eyes with shame as heat crawled over your cheeks. “Tell me what to do”

Jimin gulped, eyes shifting as he understood your words.

“Open wide” He pushed two fingers against your lips until your mouth opened enough for him to slide them inside. “No teeth okay baby—and then just take it in as far—” He pushed his fingers down your throat. You tried your best not to gag, until finally you couldn’t help it. He pulled his fingers out, a string of saliva following. “As you can”

His thumb brushed against your bottom lip, tugging on it playfully as he cooed at you. It was the eagerness in your eyes. The fierce determination he knew you were feeling to please him.

“You’re so” He chuckled softly, “God I—” He choked on his words.

Now was hardly the time.

You beamed at him, taking his cock into your mouth little by little. His head tilted back as he cursed to himself.

You loved seeing him like this—amazed that you could make him feel like this. Motivated by his response, you began to slowly bob your head. He exhaled verbally, letting out a loud groan.

“Just like that baby, fuck—good girl” His voice was pained as if he was losing his resolve and it only fueled you to move faster. He tugged your hair, giving you a warning stare. “If you do that I’m gonna cum baby. Slow down”

You gave him a mischievous look, deciding to disobey.

“Y/n” His voice was low, demanding. He recognized you were teasing him, and as much as he wanted to fuck you—he couldn’t bring himself to stop you. His thumb swiped at the drool from the edge of your lips. A shock rippled through his body as he reached for your shoulder to keep him steady.

“Fuck. Fuck. Baby I’m—” His hips bucked, cock twitching inside your mouth as you felt his warm cum on your tongue. You let him go, swallowing his cum—and before you could even process it, he lifted you up, forcing your legs around his waist and carried you to your bedroom.

He laid you down on the covers gently, kissing the inside of your thighs, all the way up your stomach, where he showed you a little extra love, up to your breasts—he nibbled on them playfully, loving the way you’d twitch for him. His eyes stayed glued to yours. Dark and needy.

“I’m gonna need a little bit” Jimin confessed after deciding your breasts had been abused enough by his mouth. For now. He let his fingers continue to toy with them as he hovered over you. “But we should talk, hm?”

You inhaled sharply.

“Y-yeah we should”

Jimin grinned, taking a peak back into his mouth, this time letting his tongue run rampant on the plushness.

“Jimin” You hissed, grabbing his hair.

“You taste so good baby, I can’t help it” He kept on kissing your chest. Rolling onto his side, he pulled you into his embrace. Your naked bodies intertwined as his hands roamed all over you. You cradled his head against you, fingers running through his silky black hair.

You whimpered, hopelessly aroused by his actions. Your pussy pulsing, wishing so badly to be stuffed.

“I need you” You nudged him. “I need you so bad”

Jimin grinned, pulling away from you. He kissed you softly.

Then his eyes grew serious.

“Y/n” His tone had changed. He wasn’t teasing anymore. “If I asked you to just let it go,”

“You know I can’t” You responded. Jimin looked away. His fingers still tracing your sides.

“Yeah” He said after some time, kissing your cheek, “I know”

You gulped, cupping his face in your hands. “Can I just say that, right now, in this moment, based on every experience I’ve had in my life up to this point—I love you?”

Jimin scoffed, but he couldn’t hide the smile in his eyes.

“I just need to know”

“If there’s someone else, you mean.” Jimin gave you a pointed look. “What happens then, doctor?”

“If someone else is my soulmate, that also means someone else is yours. I can’t keep you from that”

“I know I don’t want that” Jimin gripped your hips possessively, pulling you impossibly closer. “I don’t care. I love you”

A tear rolled down your cheek. The hurt that you so blissfully ignored moments before, returning.

“I’ll meet Dr. Kim Namjoon at the conference in a few days. He can check for us, and then”

“You already know though, don’t you?” Jimin challenged. “You think we aren’t compatible”

You paused. “Well I—”

“Go ahead, doctor” Jimin smiled, a hint of despair in his gaze, “Go meet your soulmate. No one in this universe will love you the way I do, I am sure of it. So sure that I’ll take the chance of losing you forever if it means you’ll believe me one day”

He began to get emotional. You ached for him. Ached for the pain he felt in his chest. The pain you didn’t want him to feel.

Your hand rested on his chest. Feeling the beat of his heart against the tense silence.

He kissed you again. Desperately. His fingers tugging your panties aside as his now hard cock slid against your folds.

You kissed him back—even more desperately. Savoring whatever you had left with him. Losing yourself in him as though time were running out. Spreading your thighs to grant him entrance, he fucked into effortlessly. Filling you up until you felt so right—so whole. He stilled, nose tracing yours as he gazed into your eyes.

Tears threatened the edges of his pretty brown eyes.

“I don’t trust them Y/n” He whispered, the tear unleashing, “What if they brainwash you—what if seeing your soulmate resets your brain chip and—” He gasped, lip trembling.

“I won’t forget you, Jimin” You assured him with a comforting hand stroking his back.

“You don’t know that” Jimin gulped.

The true fear in his eyes hit you like a reality check. Reminding you that this man had no trust in the system, and you were asking him to take a gamble on it.

“Maybe you’re not supposed to know about the Placebo. Maybe they’ll do something to you, and me—and you’ll be in danger and I won’t know”

You kissed him sweetly. “Baby” You mumbled, knowing you’d never called him that— “Don’t think like that”

“I mean the fact that we fell in love, without the compatibility assessment, means the whole system is bullshit—doesn’t it? They could pick any two people and condition them to love one another with the chip. That’s not something they’d be okay with people knowing”

“N-not necessarily” You sighed. “Baby—move” You urged him, as if he forgot his cock was nestled deep inside of you. He hadn’t.

He gave you a tight thrust. Your lips parted, and he did it again, watching your expression intently. He held you close—you held him close. He buried his face into your neck, pushing you onto your back so he could fuck you deeper. His hips slammed against yours, deep, quick thrusts that you could feel throughout every inch of your body.

“You’re heaven” Jimin gasped, kissing your cheek again, “I don’t think you fucking understand what I feel for you, doctor—I swear I”

“I do, Jimin” You assured him, “I feel it” He began fucking you faster. “And I love you”

He stilled so he could kiss you again. “Say it again” He begged, “Please. Say it, mean it, please”

“I love you” You stared into his starry eyes. His fingers intertwined with yours, pushing your arms above your head as he resumed his ruthless pace. His lips pasting against yours in between your confession, “I love you Jimin—I do—So much”

He burst inside you, but he couldn’t stop. The moment was too charged, too emotionally ripe. He kept himself sheathed inside of you, cum stuffed deep. Hugging you close, he kissed you—a man addicted, and you were his vice.

You fell asleep, at some point.

You heard him whisper against your eyelids—I won’t give up, at some point.

You woke up, at some point.

He was gone.

You—

You arrived at the conference. You hadn’t heard from Jimin since that night—but preparation kept you distracted. This was a huge moment for your career—and you’d worked too hard to fall short now.

Jungkook was by your side, dressed in a light grey suit—the conference badge contrasting the plain white button-down shirt that gripped his chiseled chest. Around you were folks of similar adornment—chatting with their colleagues, setting up posters and grabbing coffee.  

“Good—you made it” Your boss, Jung Hoseok, who you loathed approached the both of you. “Is everything set up for my talk later?”

You exchanged an irritated look with Jungkook, who bit back a smile. “Yes, sir”

Dr. Jung hummed, pleased with your response. “Very well. Go network. This conference has the best of the best. Y/n, I know you were interested in meeting Dr. Kim, would you like me to make an introduction?”

You stiffened. Dr. Kim Namjoon. He was the most brilliant biochemist of your time. He single-handedly piloted the Soulmate initiative with the help of his neuro-engineering team. He developed the compatibility algorithm that you spent your whole life studying. Appreciating.

He was infamous. And it didn’t hurt that he was gorgeous too—you had all of his books, memoirs, magazine articles. It was safe to say you knew quite a bit about the man. And soon he’d be right in front of you. In the flesh.

“If you don’t mind” You held back your excitement, but your hand trembled, gripping onto the pamphlet that a volunteer had forced into your hold earlier. Dr. Jung nodded, motioning for you to follow him.

“I’ll come too, if that’s okay” Jungkook quipped. You made a face, but knew you had no right to take this opportunity from him either, as much as you preferred to meet him alone to discuss your dilemma.

Up the elevator, Dr. Jung led the both of you to the top floor of the hotel in which the conference was taking place. From the clear glass, you could see the city sprawled out—serene, snow beginning to melt off of the ground. More folks were out and about. Children playing in the now cleared-up parks. Spring was coming, soon.

You stepped out of the elevator, and were met with a series of guards lining the hallway. It made sense; you mused. Kim Namjoon was a high-ranked State scientist. Which meant he was a prime target for a Resistance kidnapping or attack.

Your lips wavered. A part of you was disappointed at the lack of hope you had that you’d find out you and Jimin were compatible. Your gut knew you weren’t. But you loved him, so it could be. It could be him, right?

Why did you love him, if you weren’t compatible? It was so easy to think of all the reasons—so simple in your mind, but hard to find the words. You trusted him with your life. He was attractive, kind, in a bad situation but had big dreams. Dreams to make change, and you admired that.

As you walked past the guards, Jungkook’s hand brushed against yours. You looked his way and he winked at you excitedly. “You ready?”

He whispered against your neck. Too close—maybe it hadn’t been before, but now it felt too close. Nevertheless, you smiled back at him and nodded.

It occurred to you that Jungkook might be your real soulmate.

“Namjoon!” Dr. Jung opened the double doors to the suite. You took the room in. Hardly a room—there was a whole lab set up in there. Humming with the soft whirr of state-of-the-art machinery, bright white lights everywhere. Translucent monitors display complex molecular structures and neural pathways. Simulations.

The middle of the room had a holographic interface projected a three-dimensional model of a chip. The chip. Tiny filaments extended from the chip, resembling delicate neurons connecting to an unseen network.

Your heart skipped a beat. This was paradise.

There was not a drop of chemicals in this lab. Everything was tech-based, simulation and modeling predicting chemical interactions, hormonal regulation, neural response and bodily action.

“Hey Hobi” You heard a low, smooth voice. Your clenched your fingers into your palm. Taking a deep breath, you turned the corner where Dr. Kim was sitting.

God.

He sat casually on a stool set up by a plain workstation. He was dressed in a black turtleneck, black trousers—his black hair gelled up. You’d neve seen him without a white-coat on, as that’s how he tended to appear in media pictures. Here, in front of you now, he was relaxed. He was just a person. He was a man.

His dimpled smile made your throat tighten. A smile that reached his eyes with such a genuine glimmer. He greeted Dr. Jung with a suave fistbump, exchanging some words with him before chuckling lightly, patting him on the back and swiveling his chair towards you and Jungkook.

His smile widened.

“Hey there” He nodded his head politely. Both you and Jungkook bowed slightly. “So you’re the poor kids who got looped into helping this motherfucker” Your eyes widened at his comment, but Dr. Jung simply rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah—I’ll see you downstairs. Drinks tonight? The usual?” Dr. Jung pointed at him for confirmation as he reached the door. Namjoon nodded.

“Of course Hobi, I’ll see you later” He redirected his full attention to the both of you, shutting the computer in front of him. “Please, take a seat” He motioned behind him and a small robot pushed two stools over to where you were standing.

“I’m Y/n L/n” You extended your hand to him.

“Ah yes, I’ve heard about you. You study my work, huh?” He winked, making your face rush with heat. His eyes passed over to Jungkook. “And you?”

“Jeon Jungkook, honored to be here, sir”

“Good. Good, so tell me about yourselves”

“Actually” You exhaled. “Dr. Kim, if you don’t mind—there’s a matter I’d like to discuss with you”

He raised his eyebrows. Folding his arms over his strong chest in a way that made you aware that this man worked out, he leaned back. “Oh, sure. Let’s hear it then”

You were about to speak when Jungkook interrupted.

“Y/n’s soulmate was a placebo. We’d like to run the compatibility test to find out who her real soulmate is”

Your mouth felt dry. Namjoon’s eyes flashed with interest, gaze remaining steady on you.

“How’d you figure it out?”

You looked at Jungkook.

“I uh, hacked some data” Jungkook confessed, shyly.

Namjoon let out a soft laugh.

“Well alright. As you know, any scientific RCT trial needs a control group. We use these placebos to understand the actual effect of the Soulmate algorithm’s deployment on the outcomes of interest. Procreation, individual health and wellness, etc.”

He was speaking to you. Directly to you, even though Jungkook was right by your side.

“The way the chip works is that you see someone who surpasses your compatibility threshold. There isn’t one soulmate. I suppose there could be, but we have to factor in proximity and chance for encounter. That’s why the microchip will only give the Soulmate signal once you meet someone who has also passed the cognitive-sexual threshold who surpasses your compatibility level. Another threshold, unique to each person and defined by many metrics”

It was nothing you didn’t know. Jungkook on the other hand, was fascinated.

“Wait so, both and Y/n and I were past out cognitive-sexual threshold and we saw each other all the time before she met…her placebo. I didn’t meet her compatibility threshold?”

Namjoon seemed to bit back a giggle. “Well, Jungkook? Is it? Right, it goes both ways. She didn’t meet yours either” His eyes flashed at you. You couldn’t help but notice that they were honey-brown, almost gleaming gold in the light.

Jungkook seemed to recede into himself.

“Is there a way I can check my compatibility with my placebo soulmate?” You asked, tugging at your sleeves.

“Well, I suppose” Namjoon took a second to think, “If you know where they are right now, and get to them without looking too many people in the eye” He chuckled.

Right, you mused.

“Because if you reset my chip, and I see someone else, it’ll register they’re my soulmate before I can even look Jimin in the eye” You mumbled.

“Exactly. We can do that, if you’d like. But no law says you must be romantically involved with your soulmate. Either way, your choice is still your own”

You gulped. You just had to know.

“Please, if it’s alright, can you reset my chip?” The words felt like acid leaving your mouth. Namjoon shrugged nonchalantly.

“Sure thing. Jungkook—this is a medical procedure, technically. We will need some privacy”

“Oh, right” Jungkook scrambled to his feet, rushing out the door rather quickly. Namjoon reached for a tablet set near the window and tapped a few buttons. Some robots arrived, removing the table and stools and setting up a medical bed in it’s place.

“Do you not like your placebo soulmate?” Namjoon asked, while the robots were at work.

“Actually I like him a lot.” You confessed. “But I believe so strongly in the benefits of your algorithm. So I just need to know for sure”

Namjoon squinted at you, but nodded.

“Do most placebos work out?” You blurted, covering your stomach with your crossed arms. “Is there a statistically significant difference between outcomes with truly compatible soulmates and placebo ones?”

A grin tugged at Namjoon’s lips. The robots finished setting up the medical equipment and he motioned for you to lie down.

“What do you think, Y/n?” Namjoon mused as he connected a few wires to the back of your neck. “Do you think placebos would work out the same way? Is believing someone is your true love enough to make you love them?”

You gulped. His fingers brushed against your nape as he plugged in your chip. 

Until it hit you.

“It doesn’t matter” The thoughts came to you as the words left your mouth, “It isn’t even about love. Compatibility. Or health.” Your eyes quivered as you noticed Namjoon’s grin widening.

“I-It’s about your faith in the State” You drawled, “If you believe in the State—in the Soulmate Initiative, then it’ll work. And if you don’t—”

You sat upright suddenly, feeling uneasy. Jimin’s fears echoing in the back of your mind.

“Don’t worry—you did fall in love. You clearly believe, so you have nothing to worry about.” Namjoon admired you for a moment. “You’re very smart, Miss. Y/n. It’s a shame it took us until now to meet”

Namjoon proceeded to tap a few more things on his tablet.

“Now before we do this, you should know. There is a small chance the reset will cause both you and your placebo soulmate to forget that you’ve seen each other. Not to worry, though, I can make sure that you head his way after the procedure to see if you two are compatible”

You gripped the edges of the seat with your trembling fingers.

“But don’t worry, you’ll be unharmed”

Forgetting Jimin—that’s harm. That’s fucking harm. Your mind was screaming warning.

“Wait actually I don’t—”

“Relax,” Namjoon placed a hand gently on your shoulder, pushing you back to your chair. “I’m here. I’ll tell you to go find this fella and look him straight in the eye before anyone else. You can trust me”

Strangely enough, you believed him.

“Okay”

“What’s his name?”

You hesitated. Drawing attention to Jimin’s citizen file wasn’t a smart idea given what you knew about him.

“P-park Jimin”

“Good. Now close your eyes. This might give you a brief migraine”

Jimin—

It had been pathetic. Jimin showed up at the steps of Jin’s home—the home he shared with a few other members of the resistance. It was late—he could hear the debauchery happening inside loud and clear. The familiar stench of tobacco and liquor radiated from the dim light behind the shuttered windows.

He inhaled sharply. He spent the whole day wandering. Trying to drown himself in schoolwork until even that seemed pointless. He needed a distraction. Something to ease the pain. Until he figured out how the hell he would get you back. He needed anything.

He sat down on the splintered porch steps, ignoring the fleet of giggles from what he assumed were sex workers. Staring at his palms, he recalled the sensation of your touch. His fingers curled into his palm, wishing your hand was there but instead grasping at the crisp late winter air.

“Well look here,” Jin’s familiar voice boomed from the entryway. Jimin looked back to see him, a flimsy tank top under his leather jacket which was being pulled off by a beautiful, voluptuous woman. “Ay, fuck off whore—that’s my little brother and oh,” Jin pouted, shoving the woman off of him, “He looks so sad” Jin leaned down to tug Jimin’s cheeks in a way he always used to do when Jimin was younger.

“Why you sad baby boy?” The woman cooed, “If you’d like, I can make it all better”

Jimin rolled his eyes, “No, thank you.” Redirecting his attention to Jin who slid down to sit by his side, a bottle of beer in his hand— “God, doesn’t it ever get a bit old hyung?”

Jin scoffed, “I’ve had about enough of you sitting on your high horse and judging us, Jimin. You are one of us. We’re at war. Well—” He took a sip, “We will be, soon enough, and we need you. Your brother was—”

Jimin hissed. Jin took the hint, luckily.

“Look,” His tone grew serious, “We had one of our mole’s hack into the microchip database. We were right. The kind of data they collect and the way they use it to strategically puppet aspects of our society—it’s robbing free will. Altering memories. Manipulating thought through exposure and environment. And because there’s not specific legislature that oppresses people, they play it off as the way the world works. No. They built these structures, Jimin-ah. We have proof.”

Jimin gazed up at the obscured night sky. Clouds veiled any semblance of starlight, mirroring the shadow over his thoughts.

“She isn’t even really my soulmate” Jimin chuckled bitterly. “It was a fucking placebo”

Jin stared at him for a moment, before his eyes softened with pity. “Fuck Jimin,” He handed him the bottle. Jimin took it, sipping the sour & bitter liquid. “You really like the bitch, huh?”

“Hyung” Jimin snapped. Jin simply chuckled.

“My bad, my bad. The scientist. Whatever the fuck her name is. Listen. If you want to know if your feelings are genuine or not, you need to take out your microchip. It’s the only way you’d know for sure. The fact that there is a placebo cohort for something like this is kinda fucked up. Whatever happened to ethics?” Jin scoffed. Jimin took another swig of the beer.

Should he? Should he take it out? The microchip was the physical embodiment of the state's reach into his very soul.

Jin could sense that Jimin was considering his idea.

“Honestly, it’s about damn time you did Jimin. Things are getting serious around here. We’re going to start taking real action, advocating for our cause. We want you in—we’ve always known you’re a smart kid. Good with words and all that. Hell, you’re not meant for the battlefield Jimin. You’re meant for a throne”

Jimin set the bottle down, again looking up to the skies. “I don’t want a throne. I just want to not be a fucking puppet anymore. For them, or for you guys”

“Then take what’s yours. This is what your brother wanted, Jimin. Be more involved. Take charge. Your girl didn’t give up on you—the state fucking manipulated her to give up on you. They took everything from you—it’s damn time you see that. It’s damn time you fight for what you deserve”

Fight. He was going to fight for you. He had promised you that. Promised himself that.

He reached for the back of his neck.

“Fuck the State” He mumbled, “I want this out. Let’s go”

Jin grinned ear to ear, “Fuck yeah!” He patted Jimin on the ack excitedly. “We’ve got a bot that can do it in the back, come on”

You—

“Y/n?” The soft call echoed in the sterile room. Your eyes, weighed down by the fog of unconsciousness, fluttered open. The harsh fluorescent lights above you forced a squint. A lingering scent of antiseptic filled the air, accompanied by the gentle hum of machines.

Behind you, a subtle tug and disconnect confirmed the unplugging of your chip from the machine. The cool room air kissed your skin, sending a shiver of unease through you.

“Good, your vitals are all normal. You’re doing great,” Namjoon's voice reassured. Turning, you saw his back as he typed notes on his laptop.

It came back to you: where you were. Who you were. Everything seemed to click. Your heart seemed to hurt. You couldn’t understand why.

“Do you remember Park Jimin?” Namjoon asked. You blinked in his direction.

“Who?” Your response was automatic, a clouded memory of someone fading into obscurity. The emptiness inside of you seemed to pulse.

Namjoon continued typing, his focus on the screen. “There’s a man,” he hummed, “I need you to go directly to him and look him in the eye to see if he is your soulmate or not. His file suggests he may be at the University Law Library. Try to minimize eye contact with strangers as you head there.” Namjoon turned back around.

You looked at him.

In those honey eyes. Those sweet, smiling, kind eyes.

A sharp pain in your neck burned.

They say you’ll just know.

­come scream in my asks! thanks for reading you hotties~ lmk what you think <3

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

#bts masterlist #bts series #bts soulmate au #bts smut #bts jimin smut #jimin x reader #bts fic recs #park jimin smut #namjoon x reader #bts imagines #bts fanfic #bts fic #jimin fic recs #bts fanfiction #jimin fanfic #jimin smut #park jimin x reader #jimin fluff #bts scenarios #jimin angst #bts scifi au #bts smut recs #jimin #jimin bts #jimin x you #bts jimin x reader #jimin x reader smut #jimin series #jimin fic rec #pjm x reader

[esamastation]

Shizuroth, part sixteen

Previous parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen

-

Though Shen Yuan had played Final Fantasy VII and Crisis Core way back when, mostly because emulation was easily available and everyone praised them a lot, he'd never really gotten that into it. He'd sort of missed the hype train, and all the hot takes had already been taken, and Advent Children was kinda weird and overall it just didn't grab him.

But he has to admit that Midgar is a really cool setting.

It's dumb, of course, like, on every logistical level. Oh, look, there's thousands of kilometres of free real estate in every direction to build on, but you know what we should do? A massive fuck off blast plate of million billion tons of metal fifty metres of the ground, that's what we'll do, and we'll build a city in top of it too!

Like, why?! In what realm even remotely attached to sanity does that make sense?! Is there something wrong with the ground, is there an issue of sudden mega floods, or something? No, it's just. A thing they did! 

Logic and sanity aside, though, it's cool, as a videogame setting, it's very cool. With the rule of cool there's no reason for, you know, reason. It's iconic. 

And it's the closest thing to a modern city he's seen in - in a while! And, damn, but the scale of everything in real life is so much bigger than any of the games conveyed.

It's a real city! With real city traffic and bustle and dystopian advertisements everywhere! There's also an ever present haze of pollution that gives all the neon signs a dreamy glow. It's almost pretty.

And it's only powered by the lifeblood of the planet, too. Technically the souls of the dead! Wonderful.

"Please stop gaping at everything like a damned tourist and get in. People are starting to stare."

Sephiroth looks down to the car that had just stopped in front him on the sidewalk. Genesis had told him to get to the front, that he'd meet him there, but…

Genesis has a car. It shouldn't be a surprise, the guy is rich and the city is big, but it is. It's a really nice car too. A fucking oldtimey wine red convertible. It matches Genesis' outfit. How extra can you get?

"... Do I have a car?" Sephiroth asks slowly, rather than point out how ridiculous and in character it is.

"You have a motorcycle you never use," Genesis says, sounding tired. "Get in."

Sephiroth has a motorcycle. Of course he does.

He opens the convertible's side door and is immediately smacked in the face with a mix of nostalgia and incredulity at the old familiar feeling of something so simple as a car door mechanism at his fingertips. The seat is too much in the front for Sephiroth's long legs, but the seat goes back, and that's a familiar feeling too. Kind of.

He always had to pull his seat forward, rather than back.

Swallowing the sudden, long suppressed homesickness for a world he's two transmigrations away from, Sephiroth looks for a seatbelt. There isn't one. Hooray for corporate dystopia.

Genesis joins the four lane traffic in front of the Shinra building with the reckless expertise of a man who drives a lot in the city, and hates it almost as much as he loves his car.

"How far is it?" Sephiroth asks, trying to figure out where to put his hands. It's a really nice car, and it looks polished, inside and out.

He can't believe he's in a car. He can't believe he's in a world with cars again. He also can't believe how badly the games conveyed the scale of Midgar.

"Sector six," Genesis says and glances at him. "You're looking a little green there, are you feeling alright? Don't throw up in my car."

"I'm fine," he's really starting to get sick of saying it. "Stop fussing."

"Who's fussing! I just don't want you to make a mess," Genesis scoffs. "Also you aren't fine. You have amnesia."

Sephiroth snorts and leans his arm on the door, looking away and at the Shinra building.

It's huge, and weird. It sorta bulges out, this lumpy mass of a building with enormous pipes running up to it with a big barrel shape in the middle. It's the biggest building in the city, though - it's the only real skyscraper, towering over all the smaller buildings around it.

After all the metal in the Shinra building, it's weird to see brick and mortar again. Why brick and mortar? What did they run out of steel and concrete building the plate? None of the other buildings go higher than eight levels, too.

"We've covered one thing you remember perfectly. Anything else? You recognized Angeal and me, but how about anything else?" Genesis prods at him. "Hey, are you listening to me?"

Oh, he hates this. At least in Cang Qiong Mountain people were too polite to really pick on him or point out how badly he acted as Shen Qingqiu. They were nice enough to take his bullshit at face value and let it slide. Plus there was propriety to think about - none of his disciples had the standing to really call him out.

Genesis doesn't give a shit about his thin face and actually smacks him on the shoulder, "Hey!"

"What's there to say?" Sephiroth answers, because he has no answers to give. "I wouldn't know what I don't know, would I?"

Genesis sighs, irritated and stalls at the traffic lights. "And I can't tell you what to look up if you don't tell me. You must've figured out something by now."

"I figured I really could've used the day to myself," Sephiroth mutters and watches as a delivery truck advertising pastries runs a red light. "I don't know what you want me to say. I don't know, Genesis."

"Shit," the other SOLDIER says, running a hand through his hair while steering one-handed. 

There's a break in the discussion as they go through a checkpoint, where the guards in infantry uniforms just wave Genesis through. The people on the sidewalk stare at Genesis' convertible, and whisper.

Sephiroth looks away, and then blinks at the dump truck not far away from them, also going through the checkpoint.

Weird - somehow he didn't expect Midgar to have public services. Where do they go to empty them? Do they just dump their trash down the plate?"

"So you remember… nothing?" Genesis asks as they leave the checkpoint behind

"I know - some things," Sephiroth says defensively. "But - the details escape me."

"Things like what?"

"I don't know. You, Angeal. This city. The war. Don't ask me for the president's name, but I know there is one," he sighs and leans back, watching an enormous advertisement for LOVELESS pass them by. 

He also knows that sometime soon Genesis will get hurt and the wound will never heal, kick-starting the plot of Crisis Core. He has no idea when, though. He isn't even sure how to figure it out - the timeline in these games wasn't exactly clear.

"Does Angeal have a student?" he asks.

"What, like a personal student? Not that I know of," Genesis says and glances at him. "Why?"

"Ah, nothing, never mind. Must've been someone else," Sephiroth says smoothly.

So, Zack Fair, the protagonist of Crisis Core, hasn't appeared yet? Or Angeal hasn't met him. Hopefully that means there's still some time.

Genesis is quiet for a moment and then sighs. "I'll get you some intel. Personnel files for people you should know, reports from missions you've been on. The information packages handed to Thirds should help at least a little too. But Sephiroth, there's a lot about your past you've never shared, if someone asks about it…"

"I'll just say I don't want to talk about it," Sephiroth says, watching another neon lit advertisement fly by. "Thanks, Genesis."

"I expect to be compensated in full for my efforts," Genesis says firmly.

Sephiroth leans his cheek on his knuckles and wonders what Cultivation might do for the deterioration Genesis - and Angeal too - have ahead of them. "I'll do my utmost to pay back my debts."

"You better," Genesis says and turns the car from the main highway to a side road, full of expensive looking store fronts and equally expensive looking cars.   "That's it over there. Let me find a place to park and then we can get you a coat that fits."

"Much obliged, Genesis."

#Fanfiction #ffvii #ff7 #svsss #shen qingqiu #shen yuan #sephiroth #genesis rhapsodos

[decolonize-the-left]

I just think you're weird for suggesting ai should be an alternative to anything when y'all can't even treat Humans correctly. Like did y'all forget?

The only reason ai exists is so they don't have to pay a fucking human for the same job.

"yeah but I'm embarrassed when I rp"

You should be! It's fucking embarrassing! So what???!

"I can't make art tho"

Then don't!!!

I'm 10000000% convinced that it's privilege that makes people believe that just because you Want something then you should be able to do it or have access to it even when you have No meaningful way of accessing it yourself.

Like when people get pets when they literally aren't even home enough to take care of it so they use those dystopian ass software to train their dogs when they aren't even home. You know the ones that even spit a treat out at them?

Like???? That dog deserves a real fucking person to take care of it and to Spend the Time training it. What the fuck is the point of having a dog if your TV is the one doing bonding activities with it?

It's just for you. The dog's needs are secondary to what you wanted because those needs were inconvenient for you.

AI is no different and the arguments y'all have for it are largely fucking gross.

"I'm too anxious to interact with real people and I'd inconvenience them or something so I'll just use this ai"

Cool so now we're opening up a gate to push care for disabled and mentally ill people off on AI? Cuz you know who Else is seen as too inconvenient to be worth someone else's time?

What the fuck?

And y'all are enabling that "well it's true they would be a bad rp partner."

ITS RP NOT SURGERY WTF ARE YOU EVEN SAYING RN???

Maybe learn some fucking patience? The fuck you mean you'd rather someone talked to fucking AI???

We as a society have FUCKED UP when people are suggesting and enabling AI should deal with people nobody else wants to.

Why doesn't anyone else want to?

Can AI tell you that? Can AI fix that??

The worst part is that AI should be cool. It should be an amazing fucking step forward and instead it's racist and half of y'all act like it's a crutch for having no fucking interpersonal relationships/skills and it's NOT.

I say this as someone who is in fact physically disabled and mentally ill as fuck, okay? I'm not super young either. Like I am, and will continue, to lose my ability to do things and never in a fucking million years will AI be a stand in for a Real Person's talent or skill or help.

Society can't handle taking 30 seconds to put on a mask before they walk out the door and you DONT want me to be upset about all the "helpful" things AI can do?

We wouldn't even need AI if people could afford to go to school or had time to learn to paint or could afford the supplies or had the healthcare to go to therapy or had more people In school to Be therapists or had access to a writing class or-

Hayao Miyazaki was fucking right and more people should be saying it.

“I would never wish to incorporate this technology into my work at all. I strongly feel that this is an insult to life itself.”

AI exists because capitalism's very nature is to exploit humans to our fullest extent. Now capitalism doesn't even fucking need humans to create products. We are the product they use to train our replacements.

And this is.....okay with y'all?

#is it me??? am i the crazy one??? like what the FUCK is going on??? #i am so unhinged about this. like theres a lot of stuff i care about but AI???? AI will be who i find in hell #ai #rant #vent

[pluckyredhead]

The Lost Titans in Canon: Rose and Eddie

Hello, friends! Are you ready to get your heart broken?

Rose and Eddie both joined the Titans during the 2006 One Year Later gap (when every DC book jumped one year ahead after Infinite Crisis) and first appeared on the team in #34 of the 2003 Teen Titans series. They're already buddies, at least enough to...hang out in the kitchen together, not facing each other and throwing oranges on the floor? This art is baffling:

What mind-bogglingly prudish teenager instituted that swear jar, let alone decided that "damn" was enough to qualify?

We later learn that Rose vouched for Eddie to get him on the team, apparently two seconds after having met him. Rose herself was on the team because Dick asked Tim to give her a chance.

Eddie is already protective of Rose, like when Cassie, uh...punches Rose hard enough to give her a nosebleed for the crime of being annoying.

Guys, you should...you should probably quit this team. I know it's just your first issue, but yikes.

Their second issue features a drunk Rose climbing into Tim's bed and trying to seduce him, and then Cassie showing up and everyone attacking everyone else, and then Marvin hitting on Cassie (I'm glad you're dead, Marvin), and it's pretty much just trash all around.

But it also features this moment:

Eddie has never recovered and NEITHER HAVE I.

Rose then confesses that she's afraid that the Titans will kick her off the team, since Tim doesn't really want her or Eddie around, just his real friends. (I could write a thesis on how Rose is afraid of being kicked out so she deliberately tries to provoke them into kicking her out, but this isn't the time.)

She hides it better, but Rose has never recovered from this, either.

Then Eddie gets hurt and Rose pulls they "Stay with me!" trope:

It has only been two issues! They're obsessed with each other!

But Rose warns him off:

Eddie continues to be ride or die for Rose, defending her when she's accused (falsely) of being a traitor to the team, and protecting her when his own dystopian future self shows up and tries to kill her. Also, Jaime joins the team and Eddie is wildly jealous of how much Rose seems to like him:

Rose 100% knows Eddie's right there and is doing this to make him jealous, btw. This is extremely explicit in the issue. She doesn't actually care about Jaime one way or the other (and Jaime tells her very clearly that he has a girlfriend).

Meet Rose Wilson! She has absolutely no idea how to cope with liking a sweet boy who is nice to her, so she spends an entire issue trying to make him jealous and making fun of him in a way that's genuinely mean! Oh, honey, no.

Between Rose blowing hot and cold, Tim and Cassie being just incredibly nasty to Eddie all the time for no reason, and the trauma of, you know, having sold his soul to the devil and being functionally orphaned and all, Eddie makes a very bad decision. He invites a bunch of civilian teens to Titans Tower, where they promptly run amuck. The Titans are furious, and Eddie is left feeling completely friendless and about an inch from being kicked off the team completely.

That's when he's approached by the Terror Titans, a team of teenage edgelords led by the Clock King, who DC was trying to make into a cool scary villain by having him *checks notes* fuck teenage girls and constantly murder people on-page as gorily as possible. This whole storyline is trying so, so hard to be cool and edgy but it's just incredibly tiresome.

Anyway Eddie recognizes that actually all these people suck, and refuses to join them and betray the Titans. So they kidnap him and Clock King proceeds to torture him.

Meanwhile, the Terror Titans attack Titans Tower. The only people there are Wendy and Marvin, who are non-combatants, and Rose. Rose defeats every member of the Terror Titans, gets Wendy and Marvin to safety, and then, beat to hell, walks back into Titans Tower to fight the Terror Titans again. Why?

THEY'VE GOT EDDIE.

Rose drags herself back into the Tower, hurt and bleeding, to beat Eddie's location out of the Terror Titans. It's such a good gender reversal of this trope, where the damsel in distress is an eldritch horror and the grizzled warrior coming to his rescue is a teenage girl. The execution of every single bit of this story is absolutely awful and unreadably stupid, but the idea in there is so good! Theoretically!

The Terror Titans manage to escape Rose's wrath, but Rose follows them to where Eddie is being kept: an underground cage fighting ring for captured teenage metas. The Teen Titans also realize what's happening and show up to rescue Eddie as well.

Rose saves Cassie's life and defeats Clock King, but Cassie is still like "Rose is crazy and dangerous and shouldn't be on the team" and Tim's like "Hm maybe you're right"...and Rose overhears.

Meanwhile, Eddie learns that Rose went apeshit when he was kidnapped, and is thrilled because maybe this means he has a chance! He shows up with flowers...

...and Rose is already gone. She's quit the team.

Rose is gone for about ten issues (she temporarily joins the Terror Titans, which is as unbearably stupid as you might imagine), and during that time, Eddie loses his powers and becomes just a regular guy. And then Rose makes her glorious return:

AND EDDIE LITERALLY SWOONS.

But Rose is not okay. She's becoming addicted to huffing adrenaline to enhance her precognitive abilities [insert eyeroll here]. Eddie, of course, is the one who notices:

I love that first panel in the last row. They've moved past the point where Rose can pretend she doesn't care about Eddie and Eddie can't tell the difference. The intimacy of that line (and that touch) - he knows her, and he's telling her so. UGH MY HEART.

Rose gets into another fight with Cassie, and it convinces her that she doesn't belong on the Titans. And, she argues, neither does Eddie, who has no powers and no training.

AND THEN THIS PAGE HAPPENS AND I HAVE NEVER RECOVERED:

Rose leaves. Eddie stays. And in the very next storyline, he dies. YOU SHOULD HAVE GONE WITH HER, EDDIE!

I'm not going to recount Eddie's death because I've done that already, but during this time, Rose had a backup solo feature in the Teen Titans book, and it included her hallucinating conversations with various characters. The last hallucination is of Eddie:

The next page is his last line: "...but that doesn't mean you'll never get another chance someday..." She doesn't know he's already dead. I WEEP. I WEEP ETERNALLY.

And that's pretty much the end of the canon Rose/Eddie story. Rose returned to the Titans in the next issue, but there's no scene of her learning or acknowledging Eddie's death - iirc she never mentions him again, which honestly I feel like is pretty in character. Her grief is private.

The comics Rose and Eddie appear in together are objectively awful. But somehow there's still a really compelling and heartbreaking little almost-romance in there, and now that Eddie's back in canon, I'd love to see someone at DC remember this couple, because they are so, so good together. (And imo much more interesting that Jason and Rose, who are functionally the same person and work better as two halves of the Eddie Bloomberg Defense Squad.)

Anyway if you also think they're neat, I wrote a sequel to The Lost Titans about them! You should read it: Five Couches Eddie (Tried to) Crash on After He Was Rescued from Hell (and One Time He Went Home).

#eddie bloomberg #kid devil #red devil #rose wilson #ravager

[epicbuddieficrecs]

Weekly Recap | November 13th-19th 2023 (Part One)

For the first time ever, I have a podcast and podfic recommendations! 😃 The podcast is Dispatch: a 9-1-1 Podcast @dispatchpodcast and specifically the episode with @mistmarauder that inspired me to try podfics!

Complete

🔥 eddie diaz vs the pta agenda by mmtion/ @mmtions (Season 5, Jealous Eddie | 19K | Mature): Really, Eddie doesn’t care that the PTA aren’t his biggest fan. He knows he misses too many meetings, and it’s not like he’s best friends with any of the other parents. But then Buck picks Christopher up from a class trip and it all goes to hell. Like, of course Buck is everyone’s dream guy. He’s responsible with kids, and kind, and funny and interesting and hot to touch. That’s obvious. But now Eddie’s fighting to keep the PTA moms, teachers, and dads, all off an unsuspecting and tempting Buck. Because Eddie is a good friend. Right?

The 118's Secret Book Club by Asplenium, QuietLittleVoices/ @hawkeyefrommash (Post-Season 5 | 15K | Teen): Eddie dropped the book on the counter. “Taylor Kelly wrote a book. I haven’t started it yet. But I was thinking –” “Book club?” Karen asked. Eddie nodded eagerly. “I know I can’t complain about this to Buck, but –” “Say no more,” Hen said, flipping open the book to the introduction. “We’ll get some copies from the library.”

daylight (i can never look away) by evcndiaz/ @evcndiaz (S4, Quarantine | 3K | Teen): or; a single moment between two almost lovers who don't know where to go next (otherwise known as the buddie quarantine fic nobody asked for)

101 Ways to Say 'What the F#%&' by evcndiaz/ @evcndiaz (Humor | 5K | Teen): The point is, Eddie knows Buck. Or at least he thought he did. Now, Eddie's starting to think the whole relationship has been built on LIES. Because somehow, in some way, it has completely escaped Eddie's vast amounts of knowledge, that Buck is a fucking polyglot.

wait for me to come home by evcndiaz/ @evcndiaz (Season 5, Pining | 3K | Teen): Chris doesn’t take the lego. He keeps staring at Buck with those big, doleful eyes, and says, “Why can’t you be with my dad instead?” His voice is soft and sad, naive and hopeful all at the same time. It’s positively heartbreaking is what it is, especially compounded with the fact that Buck has been asking himself the same question for months now. Buck offers him another smile, softer and tinged with a little of his own sadness, and says, “It’s complicated, buddy.”

spilled milk by evcndiaz/ @evcndiaz (Post-Coma | 4K | Teen): or; In the aftermath of Buck's coma, Eddie can't look at him. (Part 1 of longing tastes like grief and desire)

something familiar by evcndiaz/ @evcndiaz (Post-S6E15 | 1K | Teen): or; Buck and Eddie get burgers after visiting Marie's grave, and Eddie feels too many things. (Part 2 of longing tastes like grief and desire)

standing on the edge (of great) by evcndiaz/ @evcndiaz (Ediie/Ana Break-Up | 5K | Mature): or; eddie says buck's name during sex with ana. it goes about as well as you would expect. and then somehow, it gets a little better

🔥 Love in the Time of TikTok by evcndiaz/ @evcndiaz (Post-S4 | 5K | Teen): It seems kind of dystopian to let millions of people know he’s in love with his best friend before telling said best friend first, doesn’t it? Whatever. Fuck it. It’s not like anyone he knows in real life watches his Tik Toks anyway, so he can be a little freer with the truth even if doesn’t tell his followers everything. He already keeps a tight cinch around his emotions when he’s at work, he can let his guard down a little on here, right?

this life that we've created (or: how silvia rodriguez learned to believe in fairytales again) by evcndiaz/ @evcndiaz (Post-S4E5: Eddie Begins, Outsider POV | 2K | Teen): or; eddie makes buck christopher's legal guardian told from his lawyer's perspective. because why not

hear me now by evcndiaz/ @evcndiaz (Post-S4E5: Eddie Begins | 5K | Teen): or; eddie finds the footage of buck trying to dig to him in Eddie Begins. conversations and feelings ensue

When My Eyes Are Closed (Til Right When They Open) by mintedwitcher (Season 5, Getting Together | 2K | Teen): When Chris has a tantrum, Eddie slips and refers to Buck as Chris's dad. A lot of feelings are revealed and Eddie has a few realisations at his kitchen table. Buck, as always, is right there. 

The First Place I Go (When I'm Trying to Hide) by mintedwitcher (Season 5, Getting Together | 2K | Teen): A companion piece to When My Eyes are Closed, wherein Buck realises he's in love with Eddie because Chris talks with his mouth full.

hungry for your love by evcndiaz/ @evcndiaz (Getting Together | 1,8K | General): prompt: "who’s gonna write a fanfic where chris is not cooperating with buck and eddie accidentally says “listen to your dad”?"

I wanna spend my forever like that by wikiangela/ @wikiangela (Sick Eddie, Getting Together | 8K | General): Eddie catches a cold and stubbornly denies he's sick, while a fondly exasperated Buck is trying to take care of him.

nicknames, supernova similes and the family we make by thewolvesof1998/ @thewolvesof1998 (Established Buddie | <1K | General): Bobby and Athena meet Buck and Eddie's new baby girl.

Nobody Can Do Everything by browney3dgirl6/ @hoodie-buck (Canon Divergence, Teacher Buck | 4K | General): It's parent/teacher night, Eddie having brought Carla along to help him navigate through the vast school. Most of the teachers are unmemorable, save for the pretty English teacher, though she isn't the one that keeps his attention. No, that would be the one with blue eyes, the one his son is always talking about.

if I could see you (once more, to see you) by colonoscopys/ @colonoscopys (Canon Divergent, Coma | 21K | Teen): Or, in the aftermath of a building collapse, Eddie mourns. Buck dreams.

Kiss Me Drunk When You're Sober by giselleslash/ @gigi-gigi (Getting Together | 5K | General): Buck makes a drunken confession and Eddie makes a decision.

Podfics

🔥 [Podfic] Curl Up in My Heart and Let Me Keep You by liketherestofla, MistMarauder / @mistmarauder (Animal Transformation | 1-1.5h | Teen): When an orange tabby cat starts hanging around the Diaz house, Eddie doesn't think anything of it. The little guy's cute and cuddly, and seems to always know when Eddie's having a bad time. Weird how the cat's never around when Buck is, though.

🔥 [Podfic] Love in the Time of TikTok by MistMarauder/ @mistmarauder (Post-S4 | 30-45 min | Teen): It seems kind of dystopian to let millions of people know he’s in love with his best friend before telling said best friend first, doesn’t it? Whatever. Fuck it. It’s not like anyone he knows in real life watches his Tik Toks anyway, so he can be a little freer with the truth even if doesn’t tell his followers everything. He already keeps a tight cinch around his emotions when he’s at work, he can let his guard down a little on here, right?

WIP

🔥 Things We're All Too Young to Know by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Canon, S1 through S6 | 99/? | 261K | Mature): This is a love story. Even if it doesn’t always look like it. Even if it doesn’t always feel like it. A look back on Eddie and Buck's lives up to now, and what led them to each other, interpreted from the current 9-1-1 canon.

🔥 Both Blade and Branch by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Post-S6 | 4/13 | 16K | Mature): The chances of being struck by lightning twice are incredibly minute, but Buck still manages to pull it off. During a double date with Marisol and Natalia, nonetheless. Eddie manages to resuscitate him, but as Buck recovers from yet another trauma, Eddie can’t help but notice there’s something very different about him. He’s not quite sure what version of Buck he got back.

🔥 and here, too, am i by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Future fic, Married Buddie | 3/4 | 31K | Teen): Six months into their marriage, Eddie is still struggling to decide whether or not he wants more kids, when he knows Buck does. The universe may not scream, but it certainly talks.

Innocence died screaming, honey, ask me I should know by JJK/ @trenchcoatsandtimetravel (Demon Buck, Canon Divergent | 7/? | 12K | Teen): Buck is a demon with the power to help with pregnancy, childbirth, and infant health. When the Buckleys make a deal asking for someone to help 'save their baby', Buck leaps at the chance as it will give him what he's always wanted: a life on earth. But demon deals are tricky and neither of them gets quite what they're after. This is Buck's journey as he navigates growing up on earth and remembering how to help those in need.

Fractals from the Lightning Bolt by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels/ @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (One Shots Collection | 38/54 | 73K | Not Rated)

I Haven't Found A Better Title For This Than "Read This In The Six Months Before I Made This Blog And It Somehow Made Its Way To My History Now So I'm Reccing It Post-Facto"

🔥 tomorrow will always and forever now be today (tomorrow is our always and forever) by withmeornotatall (Post-S6, Time Loop | 43K | Mature): eddie gets trapped in a time loop on the day buck marries natalia

#buddie #buddie fic #911 fanfic #911 fanfiction #911 fic #buddie fanfic #buddie fic rec #buddie fanfiction #epic buddie fic rec

[seeingivy]

time travel 

satoru gojo x f!reader 

in which you have horrible news waiting for you in the future 

an: i wrote this for a class. i don’t even know what this is. is it dystopian...apocalypse....??? idk don’t ask me I have no clue it’s finals week

- 

“The best way to do things in life is to cheat. If we go in the future, we can figure out how to solve the problem at hand.” 

You turn to face the absolute idiot jabbering in your ear right now, who was none other than the one and only Satoru Gojo. 

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. We need to sit here and think about a real plan. Have you never watched Back to the Future? Knowing you, you’ll somehow make it worse.” 

Your rejection of his idea leads you and Satoru into breaking out into an argument - like you always do. There’s never an absence of talk back from him and there’s never an absence from you either. You’re sure that the two of you could fight till the end of time, but people always broke up apart before it ever got that far. 

Satoru Gojo is the neighborhood idiot. After graduating from college, you opted to live with your grandmother, who conveniently lived one town down from your college. You were able to keep your job, your current friends with a respectable commute. Plus, the drive gave you time to scream music in the car on the way to and from work. 

Why your lovely little grandmother decided to befriend that absolute asswad Gojo was lost to you entirely. You figured he was abusing her for the food she always made him and were constantly trying to convince your grandma of his devious ways. This sparked a little bit of animosity on his side. 

The girl - whose name you don’t know that Satoru claims can time travel - stands between the two of you. Her eyes are pinched shut, her palms facing towards the ceiling. You look over the top of her head at Satoru and signal for his attention. You mouth at him. 

what the fuck is she doing 

the hell if i know, she’s your grandma’s friend

In a flash, her palms whip to the top of you and Satoru’s shoulders, knocking the wind out of you entirely. 

 - 

When you come to, you find yourself flat against the marble floor, Gojo still passed out next to you. You lean over, trying to nudge Gojo awake. 

“Gojo.” 

“Gojo, wake up.” 

You can feel the despair settling in your chest, nearly shaking his entire frame now. 

“Satoru, please wake up.” 

His eyes flutter open and a smirk makes its way across his face. 

“Well, since you asked so nicely princess.” 

“I hope you choke and die on that fucking tongue, Gojo.” 

He stands up first, extending his hand out to you to lift you up. The two of you take in your surroundings realizing you are not where you were a few minutes ago. You can see the confusion you’re sure is plastered all over your face is absent from his face all together. 

First of all, the floor you were passed out on was marble. But your grandmother had granite floors. The cabinets have been changed from their wooden exterior to white cabinets, the kitchen neatly set up. Your grandmother couldn’t cook without causing a hurricane - so whoever’s house this was, it wasn’t hers. 

“Where are we?” 

“I think your skull got thicker on impact. The future can do that to you.” 

“The future?” 

“Yeah, dumbass. That’s what she was doing with the palms and eyes closed thing.” 

You turn to glare at him ready to start, arguing with him again. You get a few insults in before you’re interrupted by a set of two footsteps behind you, freezing the two of you in your spot. You and Satoru turn around to find you and Satoru staring back at you. 

It’s…you. But it’s not you. Maybe it was someone else? You can see a shadow of your features on the face of this person, but she looks nothing like you. She can’t be you. Her hair is longer, with streaks of purple. There are more wrinkles on her skin than yours, smile lines indented along the eyes and the cheeks. 

And that can’t be Satoru. He’s actually attractive. He’s grown much taller, fitting perfectly into his frame. His shoulders are broad, his arms toned, but you can tell that the older Satoru still has that boyish charm to him, from the way he’s smirking at the two of you. 

“Do you remember this happening, ‘Toru? I know that you traveled in the future but I didn’t realize I did too.” 

“I don’t remember this one, bug.” 

You and Satoru cannot move. Your feet stay planted on the ground, staring back at not-you and not-Satoru. You hesitantly walk forward, staring the two of them down. Your Satoru stays in his spot, and you can feel him grimacing at how weird you were acting. 

“My apologies. She can be weird like that.” responds Satoru. 

Not-You and Not-Satoru laugh. You turn to Not-You, glaring daggers at her. “Shouldn’t you be on my side? Aren’t you me after all?” 

She turns to her Satoru, raising her hand to laugh at what you just said but you’re caught off entirely by the two rings secured around her ring finger. The first is a small, delicate gold band with a small diamond in the middle. The second ring is a plane gold band, with words you can’t discern engraved on them. 

“Wait. We get married?” you whisper. 

Not-you smiles, the look on her face radiating warmth. The smile lines suit her face. Your face. The scar decorating the top of her forehead, which you didn’t notice before, seems entirely out of place on someone who seems so…happy. Are you happy? 

You hold her hand in yours, your touch ghosting against her hand. You’re scared the universe will explode if you touch her too hard. She is you after all. The ring is pretty pretty. You get married. Someone loves you. 

“But to who?” 

“You really were stupid at that age, weren’t you bug?” says not-Satoru. 

“Tell me about it.” responds your Satoru. 

You nearly forgot about that idiot, totally distracted by Not-You. You turn to glare at both Satoru’s, trying to figure out which one to slap across the face.  

“That glare is never not scary, bug. You were a horrifying teenager.” 

“Bold words coming from someone who fell in love with that glare - the first time he saw me too.” responds Not-You smirking at her Not-Satoru. 

He fell in love with that glare. He falls in love with you. The first time he saw you. Your eyes dart down to Not-Satoru’s hand, an identical gold band secured around his ring finger. You make an odd choking sound, the air constricting in your throat. 

“He gets less annoying as time goes on, I promise.” responds Not-You, handing you a glass of water. 

It’s quiet for a few seconds, the four of you awkwardly staring at each other. You can’t look at your Satoru, embarrassed to think about the fact that you might spend the rest of your life with him someday. You can’t look at Not-Satoru either because every time you do all you can help but think about how hot he is.  And you can’t look at Not-You because she looks disgustingly happy and to think that it’s because of Satoru is even more disgusting. 

You can feel a light pounding in your head, steadily continuing. 

“You feel that?” asks your Satoru. 

You nod, your eyes stinging from the pain. 

“We’re about to get sent back.” 

He turns to face Not-You and Not-Satoru, giving them a small smile. 

“It was nice to meet you, again.” 

You feel like the universe is playing a sick joke on you. How is he not phased? We just traveled to the god damn future and found out that we get married. 

“Congratulations on the baby!” 

You feel your eyes boggle out of your head. You look down and don’t understand how you missed the protruding bump in the first place. Not-You is pregnant. You feel the wind knock out of you once again, falling back onto the floor. 

 - 

You feel two hands shaking you, bringing you back to the present. When you open your eyes, you see Satoru and your boyfriend, Kenny, leaning over you, their eyes drowning in concern. 

You sit up and Kenny wraps his arms around you, pressing a kiss against your forehead. His lips burn on your forehead, the image of Not-You and Not-Satoru still in your mind. Your eyes dart around looking for Satoru, until you see him in the kitchen, with a small smile on his face. 

You ask Kenny to leave and grab some medications for you at the store. You’re fine, really. But you just want to talk to Satoru. Sans Kenny. 

As he slides out the door, pressing yet another kiss to your forehead, you take a deep breath to face Satoru. You pad into the kitchen, to find him hunched over a tub of vanilla ice cream. 

“Satoru?” 

“Hm, bug? What is it?” 

You feel your cheeks turn warm at the endearment. Not-Satoru called Not-You bug. Your Satoru has never called you that. Until now that is. The words knock around in your mind, until you feel them spill out of your mouth. 

“The first time you saw me?” you whisper, looking up at his eyes. They’re warm, still free from the wrinkles and smile lines you saw on Not-Satoru’s face. 

“That’s cheating, bug. You’re not supposed to know that yet.” 

You frown, lightly pushing him as you walk past him. You dig for a spoon from the drawer to eat some of the ice cream he left out. 

“It didn’t...phase you. To find out that we were married.”  

He leans over, his fingers ghosting on the side of your face. 

“That’s because I knew that already.” 

You pause, turning to face him. 

“I’ve…met them before. A few years ago. The girl, she’s not your grandma's friend. She’s mine.” 

You pause, taking in his words. He’s known he gets married to you this entire time. Apparently, he’s loved you since the first time he saw you. 

“Satoru?” 

“Yes, bug?” 

“What did you see…the last time you went?” 

He smiles, pulling you close into his chest. Your face is resting against his chest and you can hear his heart hammering against your ear. 

“I’ve tried to do that before. Go to the future to see if there’s a solution to our problem.” 

“And there isn’t?” 

“No.” 

You frown, pulling back from him to look at his face. He looks down at you, still holding you in his arms. 

“That’s so bleak, Satoru. We’re going to be fighting curses…forever.” 

He smiles, his hand reaching to cradle the side of your face. 

“That’s not how I saw it.” 

“What other way is there to see it?” 

“What I saw when I went back was...retribution. We fight so hard to keep the peace. And we’ll stay fighting, when we’re older too. But the universe paid back our service.” 

You look up at him, shaking in his hold. 

“I get to marry the love of my life. I get to wake up to you every morning, see that smile you hide everyday. And even better - we get to make a family together. A tiny little you and me.” 

You shove your head into the crook of his neck, trying to hide your tears from his line of vision. He was being so sweet. He wanted to...marry you. Someone wanted to be with you, to love you. 

You feel his hands move, one rubbing small circles into your back and the other one tangled in your hair. You cry silently into his shoulder, the array of emotions suddenly too overwhelming. 

“What’s wrong, bug? The thought of marrying me is that bad?” 

“I just never thought anyone would love me like that. Like want to spend the rest of their life with me.” you whisper. 

“I’d fight my entire life if it meant I got to spend the rest of it with you. Loving you...is like breathing air.” 

The door clicks open, Kenny bursting in with multiple bags of groceries. You and Satoru break apart, the air feeling cold from the absence of his arms. Loving you is like breathing air. Kenny offers you the bottle you asked for and runs upstairs to start a bath for you. You watch his retreating figure, the stirring in your chest getting all…tangled up. You’d forgotten about him entirely. 

“I have every intention to wait for you, if you’ll have me. Granted, he’s at a disadvantage. I know I’ll win already.” he says, swiping the tub off the counter and walking out the door.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen satoru #jujitsu #jujutsu gojo #gojou satoru x you #gojo satoru #satoru x you #satoru x y/n #gojo satorou #gojo fluff #gojo x y/n #gojo x reader #gojou satoru x y/n #satoru #satoru gojo #satoru x reader #gojo x you #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x y/n #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #gojou x you #gojou satoru x reader #gojou #gojou x reader #gojou x y/n #seeingivywrites!

[piratesexmachine420]

I've been thinking about mules, and how fucked up the Discourse™ would be if humans and some other sapient hominid were in the same situation as horses and donkeys. The chromosomal mismatch (horses have 64, donkeys 62, mules 63) renders their offspring infertile and bring out some "primitive" traits not commonly expressed by their parents-- imagine what might happen in the development of a sapient creature.

Can you imagine how fucked up the fight for equality in marriage, sex rights, etc. would be? Would it be justifiable to have a child with your partner, knowing said child will suffer the consequences for your actions? Full scale eugenics is probably off the table for ethical reasons, but would it not also be unethical to bring into the word a child guaranteed to be infertile, developmentally delayed, or unable to live longer than their parents? The fight for LGBTQ+ rights has been ridiculously difficult, and there's literally no downsides. The debate over the rights for Human-46s and Human-48s to get it on would be terrifying.

It only matters in cases where pregnancy is a concern, but we all know how fucked everything about normal birth control is. How bad would your offspring need to have it for mandatory sterilization to be on the table? The dating scene for straight people would be so fucking dystopian. Sure, you like this guy, but do you like him enough to get a hysterectomy? Are you sure he's the one? That you won't fall apart in three years? That you won't find yourself with someone of the same species, craving children of your own, but unable because of a decision you made as drunk college kid? It matters less if you're gay/straight but one of you is trans/otherwise unable to produce a child via raw-dogging, but I trying to envisage the discourse around "The government forced me to tie my tubes even though my partner tops" makes me feel ill.

Growing up as a Human-47 would also have to suck -- knowing your parents cared more about a five second orgasm than the fifty years you get to spend knowing you're inferior to both of them. "Was it really worth it, Mom?" you ask. "Did he make you cum well enough to offset my fifth-grade reading level?"

The flip side is also bad: what if Human-47s were better than their parents, but still infertile. Are you so committed to the survival of your species that you're willing to forgo that hybrid vigor? Is it more important to you that your child produce sperm/eggs than be capable of true, total self-actualization? Do you you love your spouse enough to (relatively) stunt your children? On the flip side, is your child's success more important than letting them raise a family? Growing up Human-46/48, especially if you don't even want kinds, can you forgive your parents for their choice? Can a wanting Human-47 mother or father forgive their parents?

Not trying to draw explicit parallels with real-world issues here, and I think most of these questions aren't too hard to find good solutions to-- but I've been turning this idea over in my head like a rotisserie chicken for months and I think it might kill me if I don't get it out.

#counterfactual timelines #biology #genetics #my thoughts

[hamsterclaw]

Fic Library: Jungkook (Part 1)

I realised whilst compiling this library just how many Jungkook stories I've read and recced. It's probably because Jungkook stories are far and away the most prolific on my feed and also probably because the maknae looks and acts like he does. I hope you enjoy these, don't forget to show these writers some love.

Rattled JJK x reader, single dad JK by @gukslut. The Jungkook in this story breaks my heart with his grit and humanity, and the MC is so relatable it hurts. If you haven't read this, do yourself a favour and be prepared to have your world rocked. Probably my favourite fanfic of all time.

The Cul-de-Sac Cons JJK x reader, JHS x reader, con artist AU by @bonvoyagenoona. I've read and re-read this a lot, the love story between JK and reader is fraught with intrigue and danger, and all the side characters - cuckolded husband Hoseok, Yoongi, Namjoon, are fleshed out perfectly as well.

Lonely Hearts Club JJK x OC, dystopian sci-fi tattoo artist AU by @joonbird. A story that made me think about fanfic in a completely different light, angsty and terribly sad.

Ego JJK x reader, fuckboi college AU by @suga-kookiemonster. A series that had me hooked from the first chapter, a rolling romp, with the perfect ending. Adore.

Feels like summer by @badbhye is a sweet, funny, coming of age story featuring reader and an grown-up, glowed-up next-door-neighbour Jungkook. Also features the immortal line 'Fucking Aquarius bastard' which makes me laugh every time I think of it.

Blink and you'll miss it by @satnin-darling is a fun, fast-paced story with great scene-setting featuring a street-racer reader and rookie lawyer JK.

Spin Cycle by @miscelunaaa is a slow burn series where reader meets Jungkook in a laundromat and their relationship develops over a collection of fun-size drabbles.

Damsel in shining armor by @jimilter is a follow up to the equally great Knight in distress and features chaotic chaebol JK and a competent, take no prisoners reader. A fast-paced, hilarious caper involving reader trying to do damage control as JK wreaks havoc.

Burning bright by @snackhobi is a Pacific Rim AU featuring Jaeger pilots Jungkook and reader, and an unforgettable classic in my book. I love this, and it always reminds me how damn talented fanfiction writers are.

Ghosts just wanna have fun by @sugaxjpg is about a Jungkook who has the ability to see ghosts set in a med school AU and features Yoongi and Taehyung as cockblocking spirits. Sweet and so, so funny.

Blackout by @bonvoyagenoona is set during one night when the entire neighbourhood loses power and Jungkook and reader navigate the neighbourhood block party. It's the perfect romantic almost first date.

Under the stars by @madbutgloriouspond is a sweet, cute, fluffy, real story about Jungkook and reader in a college AU that I love, love, love.

THAT nose riding drabble by @here2bbtstrash honestly doesn't even need a title. JK is sweet, clueless but willing, and Yoongi? He's the voyeur of my dreams.

Disaster management by @jimilter is gold. Unruly chaotic chaebol CEO Jeon Jungkook is back, and company President reader is right by his side as they try to avert disaster.

Leave the door open by @here4kpopfics is a strangers to lovers neighbours AU story that makes me think about how annoying and irresistible Jeon Jungkook would be if he lived next door.

Car sex by @musicloverxoxo7 features co-workers Jungkook x reader who flirt their way to a smutty, sexy encounter.

Euphoria by @btssavedmylifeblr is a beautiful study of life, love and mortality that is one of the best stories I've read. Unforgettable.

Part 2

#fic library: jungkook #fic rec list: jungkook

[akajustmerry]

The fact that half of twitter posted about a football game, and the other half posted about a genocide in real time. What a sick world.

This is literally why Suzanne Collins was inspired to write the Hunger Games: “Yes, I was flipping through the channels one night between reality television programs and actual footage of the Iraq War, when the idea came to me.”

........ yeah I think we're past the point of using a YA dystopian novel written by a white woman who was inspired by how hard it was for her father serving in the Vietnam war. I love thg, but it's a too US-centric and overall centrist text to be a reference for the genocide in Palestine at this point. I know what you're getting at. And believe me I understand how fucked up it is having to bear the cognitive dissonance of witnessing, but we can't center that horror of witnessing over the horror of the genocide itself. Also, I don't mean to be rude or mean, but I really don't like my askbox being used like a personal journal. I'm not sure why I'm sent peoples thoughts like this at all or what I'm meant to say in response. Though I know it's not your intention, It makes me irritated. I'm Arab and you're coming into my askbox expressing how weird it feels for YOU to watch people like me being slaughtered. What am I meant to say to that?

#anon

[aeternallis]

Ren's Kimchay Fic Rec List

I'll try to add onto this as I read more, but suffice to say that having enmeshed myself into the world of Ao3's Kimchay tag for the past seven months, I have definitely found some hidden jewels that I highly recommend you give a go if you can! :3 I read all kinds, if you're looking for something out of the ordinary and special! And yes, I also read smut gratuitously, so there will be a handful of that as well here!

I myself also write, but I only have one ongoing Kimchay fic at the moment, if you'd like to give my work a shot!

The fics are in no particular order! This list is also a work-in-progress, since I have a lot of talented authors to cover! Most if not all of these are either one-shots, completed, and/or can be read as stand-alone.

Long post, so the fics are under a cut!

Last Updated: 08/21/2023

come home by reasonwasoutforlunch (@emmelineprufrock) Eldritch!Horror Kimchay, monsterfucking, memory alteration shenanigans, supernatural elements, etc. Comments - This is one of the most beautiful and haunting Kimchay fics I've ever read and thus, one of my ultra faves the fandom has to offer; the prose is so elegant, and the horror elements (Tankhun's mindset and abilities are fucking scary and nerve-wracking, but he loves his brothers, //sobs) the author implements just works for the overall setting. I first read this fic at work a few weeks back, and believe you me, it's still churning around my noggin. Like, for reals, this is one of those fics that just stays with you for some time, yknow? I definitely want to draw something for it in the near future!

there is no time for this by heedoyurims (@radishayuan) Kimchay smoochies while there's a gunfight outside. Comments - I love reading short pieces like this, and the author does such a wonderful job creating the atmosphere between these two lovebirds. You can just feel the want and desperation between Kim and Chay in this fic, and I regularly go back to it since it gives me wonderful art inspo!

ninety-six hours (KimPorchay) by coldeyesroni (Twitter - soobellus) Novel!verse, canon-divergence. Kim and Chay meet while Kinn and Porsche are lost in the woods. Incomplete, but each fic in the series can be read as a stand-alone. Comments - Such an awesome read when I first stumbled across it a few months ago! The chemistry between Kim and Chay is electrifying, and the author does a marvelous job of hinting at the different aspects of Kim's character. Highly recommend so you can get a taste of how Kimchay is in the book!

wolf house by venagrey (@venagrey) Dystopian, Dubious Consent, ABO Dynamics (Alpha!Kim/Omega!Chay), Wolfboy!Kim agenda, Feral Kimchay agenda, Respect the Sex Workers. Comments - Honestly, every fic Vena has written for Kimchay is to die for (this fic is but one of them), and I am one of those on my last ounce of life whenever I read their work, for reals. Vena's world building when it comes to their fics is incredibly rich, detailed, and just freaking phenomenal. Vena is truly #writinggoals. They never fail to build the tension and rawness that surrounds Kimchay's relationship, and I am HERE for it. Wolf House in particular reads like a classy, vibrant noir film to me, so it's definitely one of my most favorite fics in the fandom! Definitely art inspo material!!

Reversible Error by saturnscoded (Twitter - saturnscoded) Lawyers!Kimchay, canon-divergence, Angst, friends to enemies to frenemies to lovers, Porsche goes to jail for a crime he didn't commit. Comments - A true comfort fic for me. It's a marvelous AU that the author has created for Kimchay, and the tug and pull of their tense working relationship never fails to make me both swoon and breathless. The author also does a good job of highlighting Chay as a very determined and brave character with real human flaws, which I truly appreciate and can never get enough of.

Year of the OTP (Kimchay Edition) by sapphicblight (@sapphicblight) weathered down by pouring rain ain't no time for talking when we're tongue tied blow out all the candles Canon-compliant, Reconciliation, Post-Canon, Mutual Pining, Light Angst. Comments - When it comes to a good 'ol reconciliation fic, this author is among one of the best! <3 I love this author's characterization of Chay specifically, and how much of a simp their Kim is. Their fics are my comfort zone, and on bad days at work, I often turn to their fics to get me through the day. Their Year of the OTP fics are all marvelous in their own right, but I wanted to take the time to list out my favorites from the ongoing list. They also have a Hanahaki fic that never fails to make me cry and which features 2 endings, so like—whichever you’re in the mood for in terms of ending, this author’s got you covered. XD Please give their stuff a read whenever you can, they're like balls of sunshine that'll make your day better~

Stain of Sun by Lilla_Torg (@lillatorg) Hacker!Porsche and Grifter!Chay, Aged-up characters, ABO Dynamics (Alpha!Kim/Omega!Chay), Mating Bonds, takedown scheme gone wrong. Comments - All of this author's works for KP are truly stunning, and I have them all on my iPad for my regular reading pleasure. Their worldbuilding is downright amazing; particularly with Stain of Sun, it's a fast-paced story that keeps you on the edge of your seat with its twists and turns (I love me one crafty Chay, Your Honor). I genuinely admire this author's prowess when it comes to dialogue as well, and they do an awesome job at balancing out the three main ships. Definitely recommend this author's works! <3

Chains And Crowns, A Flower Can Both Make by Sweet_William (@sweet-william-writes) Regency Era!Kimchay, Arranged Marriage, Hints of MPreg, Angst. Comments - Listen, I am a sucker for Regency fics of my ships, and this fic definitely delivers, okay! I love this one-shot fic to pieces, and it's also a work I regularly go back to and reread! The dialogue of the era is perfectly captured by this amazing, brilliant author, and the smut ofc is to die for! The Kim in this fic doesn't know how to communicate his feelings very well, but he's trying dammit, he's so much in love with his gorgeous wife and I. AM. HERE. FOR. IT. They do a lot of dead dove KimChay fics as well, so if you think you’re up for it and can handle the glorious madness this author writes, I also highly recommend them~

You are my last peace by nubeazul Light Angst, Reconciliation, Domestic Bliss, Fluff Comments - This author’s post-canon fics for KimChay are so poignant and lovely, I love them so much. There’s a softness to their KimChay that I appreciate so much, especially since we hardly get any domestic scenes of KimChay together in the show, yknow?

Whiskey Sour by alphanetic Canon-divergent, Angst, Reconciliation, the Kittisawasd siblings disappear after they are threatened by Korn. Comments - Say what you will, but I am a hopeless romantic/sucker for “I will find you to the ends of the Earth” kinda vibe fics, yknow? And this fic just satisfies that trope so very well for me. The desperation of the chase, the unhinged pleas to return home, I just love it so much. This fic is actually part of a series called Alcoholism, in which the author delves into KinnPorsche and Kimchay’s respective relationships from a variety of different angles, both canon-divergent and canon-compliant. I always love me a versatile author, so I definitely recommend their works! //chef’s kiss

The Success by s6115 Werewolves, Some body horror, elements of Teen Wolf and the Dread Doctors, non-linear narrative, Chay is dying from a certain condition, and Porsche chooses to make his little brother’s last days count. Comments - One of the very first KP fics I ever read for this fandom, and still one of my most favorites. This one isn’t actually centered on Kimchay, but Kimchay is featured in the story. Truthfully, I’m in love with this author’s world building of their fic, and the marvelous way in which they’re able to really establish the tension and fear that Porsche and Chay go through due to their condition. The story reads like a high-stakes adventure with lots of angst and dealing with impending death; it’s very dark in some places, very intense in some, but at the end of it all, there is a light at the end of the tunnel. And by that I mean it’s a happy ending, despite my short summary. XD

Hunting Down the Bambi by fancifulnim (@fancifulnim) Canon-Divergence, Suicide Attempt, Non-Consensual Touching/Kissing, Toxic Relationship, but when all is said and done, they’re gonna make it work somehow. Comments - Another fic that was one of the very first I came across for this fandom and thus, one of my most favorite and holds a special place in my heart. To this day out of all the fics I’ve ever read for Kimchay, the characterization of Kim from this particular work is definitely the darkest I’ve read, and to be frank? I just love it so much. This fic is wonderfully a partial thought-provoking character introspection piece, as well as a vibrant experiment of seeing how far down the rabbit hole one can go for this ship. I still re-read it regularly, so I highly recommend it, if you’re willing to give this author’s Kimchay a shot!

In this Moment (Picture Perfect) by eggwars (@eggwars) Canon Compliant, Character Study, Missing Scene, Fluff, Sweet Kimchay, set during before the break-up Comments - Such a fluffy, wonderful fic! <3 Perfect for any day, any time! I read this one on a particularly bad day at work, and lemme tell you, it did wonders for lifting up my mood (the text messages were so cute, omfg)! This is definitely a scene I can picture happening in the show, considering for at least half their airtime, Kimchay were pretty much off in their own little world and playing out the Wattpad story of Chay's dreams. Lol It's a brilliant piece that also explores Kim's different facets and how he's seamlessly able to create some semblance of order in his lifestyle, despite his two opposing careers. The fic is heartfelt and tugs at your heartstrings with the sweet innocence of their relationship in the beginning~ Ah, I love it so much!

#kimchay #kinnporche the series #fic rec list