#goddamn it feels good to paint my own stuff again
familyvideostevie · a day ago
It's been shown that Eddie is very creative and he makes all the stuff he uses for his campaigns and the club shirts, so I thought it would be cute to have him be interested in an art student whose more quiet (not shy but reserved) and he gets them to interact more by asking them about their projects and paintings
this is adorable! i really enjoyed doing this one, thank you for the ask! let me know what you think <3 | 1.6k, fluff, gn!reader
"I promise I'll bring them back in pristine condition. I'll even clean the brushes!" A voice you only ever hear in the school cafeteria floats out of the art room when you arrive for your usual afternoon painting session. Why is Eddie Munson talking to the art teacher?
"See that you do, Mr. Munson." You don't see them in the main room, so they must be in the walk-in supplies closet. Your current project -- a landscape -- is still propped up in the corner by the window that has slowly become yours over the last year. Your paints and brushes sit unbothered and you sigh when you reach your stool. This painting hasn't been going as well as you'd hoped, but you refuse to give up. Eddie still hasn't emerged from the closet, though your art teacher pops out and waves at you before she goes into her office.
"Shit," you mutter, realizing you need a clean water jar. It's not that you don't want to see Eddie, it's just that you don't know him. And it's hard to talk to people who don't know you since they always make assumptions about the weird student who hangs out in the art room every day. But maybe Eddie would know a thing or two about that.
As you get closer, you hear a suspicious amount of cursing and clanging.
"Christ. How the fu-- where are the brushes? Is there any goddamned silver paint in here?" You lean against the door frame and watch for a moment. You've never really seen Eddie Munson up close before, now that you think about it. You have math together this year but he hardly shows up. He's dressed the way he's always dressed -- ripped black jeans, a band t-shirt and a flannel. His trademark vest must be elsewhere. His hair is an absolute riot and he kind of smells like an ash tray.
"Do you need help?" you ask. He jerks and drops the paintbrushes he's holding, turning to you with wide brown eyes. Oh, so Eddie Munson is jumpy. You find yourself suppressing a smile.
"You scared me!" It's a surprise that he owns up to it. Even more of a surprise when he just grins at you. "It's obvious that I'm lost, isn't it?" He bends down to pick up the brushes but you don't move.
"A little," you say. "Never seen you in here before."
"Never been in here before. But Hellfire is painting figurines this week and I want to make sure we have good supplies." He shrugs. "So, you gonna help me or not?" From anyone else it would sound like a demand, and you know he can be kind of an asshole. You've heard his cafeteria speeches, after all. But something about him in this messy room that you know so well makes you want to help.
"Well, doing detail work means you want smaller brushes," you tell him, plucking some from a shelf he hadn't even considered. He listens intently as you gather a few more things for him and tell him what paints need watering down and what ones don't.
"Sorry," you cut yourself off after a few minutes, cheeks hot. "I'm rambling, aren't I?"
"Well, now I know a lot more about all this shit than I did five minutes ago." Eddie smiles at you and you wonder why you thought he would be mean.
"I hope your painting goes well. I'll just-- " you jerk your thumb over your shoulder and turn to go back into the art room.
"Thanks," he says to your back. "Really."
"Don't mention it." You feel his eyes on you and you think about the things people say about Eddie and Hellfire and you whirl around to face him again. "If you need more advice, or supplies, or stuff, I'm usually here after school. My name is --"
"Oh, I know your name. We have math together this year, don't we? I'm --"
"Eddie," you say. His name feels strange in your mouth since you've never said it before. But he grins at you and you want to say it again so he'll keep looking so happy. "I know you, even if you never come to class."
"What can I say? Got more important things to do." That makes you laugh. A small part of you hopes he comes to class more, now. But why would he? You're just...an art student. Eddie waves to you as he leaves, supplies tucked under his arm and you sit back down at your station, realizing too late you never even grabbed a jar for your water.
Eddie doesn't come to math the next day and you try not to wonder about him as you work on your painting. Your headphones are on and the volume is maybe a little too high which is how he is able to sneak up on you, popping his head around your canvas so suddenly that you jump on your stool.
He mouths something at you but you can't hear until you turn off the Walkman and pull off your headphones. "Eddie!" You frown, but that doesn't deter him.
"I said, not so nice being snuck up on, now is it?" He steps around the canvas and takes in your landscape. It's still bare bones, but you've got the trees in the foreground and are working on some shadows. His eyes go wide. "Shit, so you really can paint, huh?"
You smack his shoulder and realize too late that maybe that's too friendly. You've only spoken once, after all. But Eddie just dramatically leans away like you've punched him, rubbing his arm and glaring at you. "I don't spend every day in here twiddling my thumbs," you say.
"This is amazing," he continues. "Honestly, the way you make it look so real, that's just...Christ. You're so good." Your cheeks warm at his words and you can feel the heat of him next to you. He gently knocks his shoulder against yours and you can't believe how comfortable you feel.
"So, did you need more painting help, or...?" you ask. He crosses his arms and one hand comes up to play with a strand of his long hair. You can see paint flecks under his fingernails, on his wrists. You should have told him the stuff he was planning to use would be hard to get off.
"Just more brushes. And jars for water." You can't help but wilt a little. You wanted to talk to him again, but he's just here for supplies.
"Well, you know where to find those," you say, giving him a small smile. He rocks back and forth on his heels for a second, before nodding and going to the closet.
This is how every afternoon goes for the rest of the week. You paint and Eddie comes in to say hi. He asks you about parts of the piece, watches you mix colors, chats for a few minutes before you remind him he's there for something and he darts into the closet. He waves goodbye, always, your name from his mouth like an endearment. He still doesn't come to math, though. You start to wonder how long it takes to paint D&D figurines.
And then on Friday you're painting like usual, but Eddie hasn't shown yet and it's around the time when you go home. You can't even pretend you're not waiting -- you haven't touched your brushes in like, 30 minutes and you're berating yourself for becoming to attached to a boy who only talks to you because you're in the way of what he actually wants. You sigh and start to pack up your stuff when Eddie's voice rings out from the doorway.
"Uh, can you help me?" You walk around your canvas and see him carrying paints, over a dozen brushes, and far too many jars for one person. In fact, far too much stuff for how big you know Hellfire to be.
"Eddie!" you laugh, rushing forward to help him. "How did you end up with all this stuff?"
"Funny story, actually," he says. His cheeks are pink as you lead him to the sink to drop all of his items. "We finished painting on Monday."
"Oh?" you reply. You're careful not to look at him because you don't trust your ability to keep a straight face, instead starting to wash out his brushes. The thing is, you like Eddie Munson. It's only been a week of talking to him in stolen spurts but he's kind and he's funny and you like him.
"But I wanted to keep talking to you. If that wasn't obvious." He nudges your shoulder with his like he did earlier in the week and you turn to look at him.
"You could come to math sometimes and we could talk then, you know." You nudge him back and he grins at you, a bright thing that makes him look younger.
"I could do that. I could also ask if you wanted to go get dinner right now. It is Friday night, after all." You feel hot all over and can't stop the matching grin that spreads across your face.
"You could," you say. "You could ask me that."
"And what would you say?"
"I'd say we should finish washing these brushes so you don't get banned from the art room." He laughs. "And then I'd say that I like the diner in town."
"Good to know," Eddie says, his voice softer than you've ever heard it. "We should finish these brushes, then. So I can ask you." He grabs some from the sink and rolls up his Hellfire shirt sleeves. Your cheeks are starting to to hurt from all the smiling you're doing. It's a problem you hope to continue to have, as long as Eddie Munson is the reason.
tags: @ruinedbythehobbit @superflannel @eddiussy @greenclues @sunlitide @gloryofroses19 @carpediem1219 @themarvelousbee @sunshinehollandd @katsukis1wife @imherefortea @spideyboipete @lonelywidow @louderfortheback @actual-mom-steve-harrington
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rgbagel · a year ago
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~Misty Mountain Morning~
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intergalacticaquarium · a month ago
more terrible no good headcanons for eddie disaster dreamboat munson
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I said that if anybody made him too cool I'd have to add more and that's exactly what I'm gonna do babes because I had to scroll for way to long to find him making spagetti-os
(posting again bc it wasn't showing in the tag)
(first post)
-genuinely doesn't know what those stains are. Didn't even know it was stained bc he's had the same fitted sheet on it with one corner tugged off for 8 months and forgot about them since last time
-throws away Tupperware if the stuff in it is too gross
-he's pretty sure that green sour candy counts as a vegetable so he does eat at least 3 a day.
-just. Doesn't ever throw things away. Stupid shit like the backs of band aids and paper straw wrappers and napkins and hooooo boy this has turned into a callout post about myself
-sometimes horseflies fly into his hair and get stuck and he can hear them buzzing around and doesn't necessarily so anything about it right away until it stops
-no room for legs in the front seat of his car that space is reserved for old fast food bags
-buys new underwear instead of doing laundry
-hey why do I keep writing genuinely embarrassing things that I literally do irl. Is this really worth putting myself and the 4 huge bags of laundry I have in my tiny car and all my band aid wrappers on blast. Next I'm gonna write that every surface in eddies house is covered in stacks of hobbies and papers that feel like a goddamn archeological dig every time I clean
-psych he does that too
- ok things that I don't also do so that I don't start having a crisis that makes me a tidier person:
-feeds a family of raccoons that live in an abandoned hunting cabin in the woods
-one time he let one live in his closet for a bit and hoped Wayne wouldn't notice (this may explain some of the stains)
-this boy spills. Everything. He's a hand talker and it doesn't matter if he's holding something.
-the hand talking is also terrifying when in a car he is driving
-never drinks water ever and it stresses ppl out
-every single time he sees somebody he knows in public he will try and sneak up on them to scare them
-wears shoes inside bc he broke glass on the carpet months ago and he doesn't want to vacuum.
-the only place he has to actually sit and do anything I his room is his bed because everything else is covered in stuff
-everything is covered in stuff but every drawer he has is empty
-theres one category of things he owns that is organized absolutely meticulously and idk what it is but he's very proud of it and when he says he's "cleaning his room" it means organizing like band tees alphabetically or sorting minifig painting supplies and everything else stays trashed
-it's a perm and he did it himself in his bathroom 100%
-hair dye stains all over the bathroom from an ill advised look a while back. and maybe a few more times
-doesnt have a compulsive habit to bite his nails he does it bc he can never find the damn fingernail clippers
-notes and doodles. All over his arms
- yknow how when u were in school by the last day you'd have like one pencil and nothing else and u kept a hold of it bc you couldn't find any others?
- eddies been at that point since about half way thru his first senior year. He has one pencil and it is a stub (it is a d.a.r.e. pencil and he does find it funny) with no eraser and it's not sharp and it had a million bite marks on it
-has little stoner burn holes in all his clothes all his sheets his matress his sheets and the seats on his car bc he needs to be more careful and is gonna end up starting a fire someday
-wait that last one was a me thing
-maybe this is how I can embrace my flaws. make eddie do em too. it's cute when he's disgusting
-I no longer have improve myself at all
-puts random food in his pockets for later even though it will get linty. Gonna go ahead and say that I don't do this.
-isn't actually that good at guitar it turns out
-I gotta stop myself now because I know they'll just keep comin but add any you can think of or dm me because every time he gets worse he gets more of my love so like 2 give him a hug reblog 2 spray him with a hose
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berrryshortcake · 4 months ago
Sugar sugar, honey honey!
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CHAPTER 2: The “Date”
pairing: sugardaddy!gyu & sugarbaby! reader
genre/warnings: afab reader, eventual angst and smut (minors dni!) and pining, sugarparent-sugarbaby stuff but other than that not much yet tbh, just jeonghan being annoying again, awkwardness for this chapter yeesh
synopsis: Your roommate signs you up for a paid companionship service so you wouldn't have to endure any more shit-paying part-time jobs. To your luck, a young, wealthy CEO takes an interest in you. Or in which Kim Mingyu becomes your sugar daddy and you have to be careful of the blurring lines in your 'relationship'.
word count: 1.8k
a/n: happy my baby my love day 🥺🥺
buy me a kofi? ☕ | masterlist
reblogs and feedback are greatly appreciated!
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From your own research, you knew Mingyu was attractive, one of the most eligible bachelors in the country, but this was just unreal. He was unreal. It felt like you were on a prank show. If you hadn't seen Jeonghan sign you up and if you hadn't looked up just about all the basic info on Mr. Kim, you would've believed as much.
Really, you knew Jeonghan was good, but you didn’t know he was this good. The man sitting before you was so goddamn fucking fine it should be illegal. He was clad in an expensive suit–probably Armani if you had to guess–that very likely cost more than all of your belongings plus your yearly rent. Okay, maybe it's an exaggeration, but even that wouldn’t do him justice. 
You simply couldn't take your eyes off him, even as your heart fluttered and butterflies once again littered your tummy. His tan skin was so clear and smooth and you wondered how it'd feel to graze your finger along his cheek or even plant a gentle kiss on it. Speaking of kisses, his lips just looked so ridiculously soft and inviting, and you wanted nothing more than for him to take you into his– what the fuck, he's buff– arms and pull you into a searing kiss. Then there was his hair; it looked so fluffy and soft and you felt the urge to run your fingers through it bubbling inside you. God, that'd feel so good to do while he was between your legs- 
You're getting ahead of yourself. 
Well, it's not your fault! He’s just so… dreamy. If you weren’t so nervous, you’d probably be swooning at your date (the thought of all this being an elaborate prank planned by Jeonghan lingered in the back of your mind). His smooth, husky voice brought you back to the present.
“Thank you, Nayeon,” a polite smile graced his lips, nodding. “That’ll be all.”
The receptionist gave one last bow, promising to bring a menu for you, before dashing off. Now you're left with your... you don't even know what to call him! Your date? That's ridiculous. Your potential sugardaddy? That's somehow worse than the previous just because this man is so handsome and attractive and rich yet he wants some struggling med student to be on his arm? (You know you’re not bad-looking yourself but it’s so hard to wrap your head around.)
Your thoughts got away from you and Mingyu couldn't help but be concerned over how quiet you are. He figured this was your first time for an arrangement like this, and while he himself was nervous too, he wasn't a stranger to meetings of this nature. His older friends and colleagues always set him up, saying it was a great way to have "company" without the issues of relationships and commitments. The "company" Mingyu gets never lasts for more than a month though. After some time it just becomes this exhaustive way of draining his bank account.
He hopes that wouldn't be the case with you. Mingyu's not sure why, but there's something about you that makes him wish, makes him feel hopeful for the two of you despite being acquainted for not even five minutes. With the way you're looking at him, nervous and seemingly lost in your thoughts, the man can't help but let a warm, inviting smile paint his lips.
"Y/N, right?" His question was gentle, confirming but not demanding, like he was giving you a chance to get up and leave the restaurant; he wishes you wouldn't, feels like he wants to know you better.
Your eyes flitted from his curly, carefully-styled hair to his pink lips, making sure you heard him right. Making sure he actually said your name. You feel like your heart’s about to burst out of your chest with its inane and relentless pounding.
“Yes, hi, nice to finally meet you,” Wow, way to sound thirsty. You inwardly flinched at your semi-word-vomit, sighing in relief when Mingyu only chuckled and grinned, fully showcasing his canines and GOD since when did you find sharp teeth hot? “I- I just mean it’s nice that you agreed to this, s-so thanks-”
“Shouldn’t I be the one thanking you?” Mingyu spoke up quietly, prompting a small ‘Sorry?’ from you. Instead of answering, he merely shook his head. “Nothing, I’m just glad you didn’t stand me up.”
“That’s my line,” you joked because you didn’t want to think about how that might be a jab at you being late compared to him, heat rising to the tip of your ears when he acknowledged your quip with a chuckle and a knowing nod. “Besides, I’d be out of my mind to stand you up.”
“Is that right?” he hummed, swirling the remnants of his wine in his glass. You watched as he took a sip and tried not to be too obvious that you were checking him out. He cleared his throat, leaning forward to take a good look at you, and in this light and proximity, he looked like a god, a statue, like he belonged in a museum. Mingyu noticed you fighting the urge to lean back, noting that you seemed to be easily flustered. 
“Yup,” you nodded, lips in a pursed smile that would’ve annoyed Mingyu because it reminded him of the awkward yet imposing people in his field of work, but that twinge of irritation never came as he looked at you. Just as he was about to make a comment about the weather to ease you, Nayeon came back with the menu she had promised you. 
"Here you are," She handed you a sleek, leather booklet gold-embossed with the restaurant's name. Nayeon's smile was dazzling, and you couldn't help but give her your full attention as she explained the menu in detail enthusiastically to you. "-the chef's choice today is–" Mingyu simply tuned her out, his attention solely on you.
However, you were nodding your head, eyes sparkling as you looked up at her. "I'll just get that then." 
Mingyu did not need to ponder on his dinner, deciding he'll just get his usual, as right now, it's the least of his concerns. His eyes were trained on you all throughout the receptionist's babbling; he found your sparkling eyes too captivating, so much so that Nayeon had to call for his attention twice before he finally spoke up and relayed his order.
"Is that all?" Mingyu nodded at her with a small smile before his eyes were once again set on you. "I'll have your actual server be with you in a few with your drinks."
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Unexpectedly, Mingyu let you have dinner in silence, and you couldn’t help but overthink just about everything. You’re so in your own head that you don’t notice him watching you with a small.. fond? smile.
Am I eating this right? Am I chewing loudly? Should I take a sip of my drink? Won’t he think I’m too eager to get drunk? AAAAAAAA-
“So, med school, huh?” Mingyu wiped the side of his lips with his napkin, eyes seemingly never leaving you. “I don’t suppose I have to ask, but why this arrangement?”
Now that… how are you even supposed to explain this? Just tell him your roommate set you up instead of letting you have another ass job and hear you whine about it? Yeah, that sounds about right. 
You swallowed the piece of meat you’ve been chewing and look up at him. With a nod, you started to speak. “My friend thought it’d be fun, you know, instead of me finding another job so I wouldn’t–” you catch yourself, “nevermind.”
A knowing smile played on Mingyu's lips, and you want to know just exactly what he knows but before you could ask, he's standing up dusting off his lap.
"It was great meeting you, Y/N. I'll have my assistant draw up the contract for you." you stood up abruptly, sputtering as you processed his words. You called out to him, and he stared at you expectantly at the sound of his name rolling off your tongue so smoothly.
"Contract? What, what do you mean?" 
Mingyu walked around the table and placed his hands on your shoulders to steady you; he smiled that warm smile again, inviting and welcoming you but giving you a choice at the same time. He tucked a piece of your hair that fell in your haste. You think his touch lingered for a second too long but you're too mesmerized by seeing him up close to dwell on it.
"It's only natural to want some privacy and confidentiality in an arrangement like this, right?" Mingyu's eyes flashed to your lips before going back to your eyes. You nodded. "That way, we get what we both want without overstepping eachother's boundaries."
You nodded once again to show full understanding; Mingyu took his hands off you and stepped away. It's as if you're frozen in place, because he's already walking away, and as much as you want to catch up to him, you just couldn't.
"Oh, and don't worry about the bill, sweetheart."
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Jeonghan sat you down the moment you walk through the door, you barely had time to greet him before he's screeching.  "Why are you back already?!"
"Please calm down," you sighed as you let your hair loose. Leaning back, you patted at the spot next to you. Jeonghan took the cue and sat beside you, prepared to comfort you. "It went fine."
"Then why are you back already?!" to say Jeonghan's reaction was over the top would be an understatement and offensive to how he's really feeling. This whole thing is his responsibility, his doing. It can't have possibly gone well if you're already back not a quarter after 9?
"I dunno! Maybe he just wanted to see me for himself." You shrugged, and it infuriated your roommate.
"Details, please! God," you're convinced he's gonna get on your last nerve someday and you'll just snap. Today's not that day, however, as you rationalize that he does in fact deserve some details.
"He said he's gonna give me a contract." Mingyu's husky voice and the smile that laced it echoed in your mind as you said the word. A funny feeling settled in your stomach, and you don't know what to make of it.
"Like an NDA?" Yoon Jeonghan, ever business-oriented. "Oh my god, yn!"
"Oh my god, Jeonghan!" you fired back with a roll of your eyes. You don't get why he's so riled up, still. "Yes, I'm signing whatever contract he's giving me and yes, he's hot. Really hot."
Jeonghan fist pumped the air, his mischievous smile making him remarkably look like that menace of a bunny rabbit from that movie about pets. It's bizarre. But nevertheless, you smiled at him, fondness for your roommate swelling in your chest. You stood up from the couch.
"Well," you started, dusting off the skirt of your dress and walking towards the direction of your room. "I'm off to bed. Who knew a dinner could be so draining…"
"Wait, you haven't told me everything yet!" Jeonghan squeaked and scrambled to get a hold of you, but you're already bolting towards your door.
"I already told you he's hot!"
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mypoisonedvine · a year ago
awestruck || lee bodecker x modern!reader
based on a request for how lee would react to today's women.
word count: 1.7k
warnings: smut (including oral, m and f receiving, and anal... lots of anal), degradation/praise, reader being a complete hoe for lee bodecker because I know y'all bitches and I know what you're up to, essentially pwp because I refuse to explain how/why lee is in the modern era
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You were very, very different than the women Lee was used to.
With them it had been months of courting and flowers and seduction to get a few minutes of kissing, maybe even some over-the-clothes touching, but if he went too far he got slapped and dumped.
With you it was a swipe right and half an episode of something called "net flicks" and you were straddling him and grinding on him and kissing him like you had never wanted anything so much.
With them, sex was missionary only, every other week only, in bed only, and even when he made them feel good they didn't like to show too much enthusiasm because it was unladylike, apparently.
With you it was things he hadn't even realized were options-- like the very first time, when you were holding onto his knees for balance as you bounced your ass on him, moaning loudly, your pussy gripping him for dear life.
With women back then, sex was a thing women let men have as a begrudging favor, but you begged him for it, sobbed and shook and shivered beneath him, opened your legs for him constantly... he could barely keep up, honestly, but he was more than happy to try. When he couldn't come any more at least he could get you off with his fingers or devour your cunt, and you loved it.
Almost as much, you loved doing things women absolutely did not do in 1966. Only hookers gave blowjobs then, but you got on your knees and sucked him off gladly, getting wet just from his cock down your throat. You even swallowed his come; you even let him paint your face with it and it genuinely blew his mind.
He was totally in awe of you. You weren't just the woman of his dreams, you were beyond that: never in a million years could he have dreamed up a girl like you. Even further, he never would've thought he'd actually get to call you his girl.
"Yours, yours, all yours," you chanted as he pounded you into the mattress.
"Yeah you are," he agreed, "my fuckin whore, huh? My pretty fucktoy?"
"Yes," you sobbed, and he loved how much you loved being called rude things like that. "Whatever you want..."
"But it's not about what I want, is it?" he grinned. "It's about how you want to be used, all the filthy things you want me to do to you, ain't that right?"
You whined a little but nodded.
"So tell me what you want," he prompted.
"I want... I want you to take my ass," you admitted suddenly, biting your lip a bit as he stopped moving to stare down at you in shock.
"You— I— what?" he stammered.
"You... you don't have to, if you don't want—“
"Oh, I want," he cut you off to assure, "I wanna give you anything you ask for. I just... I didn't even know... How long have you been thinkin' about this?"
"Ever since the first time you fucked me," you admitted, making him choke on his gasp. "Remember, how I rode you and you kept staring at my ass? I kept hoping you'd hold me down and put your thumb in it while you fucked me..."
"Oh Christ," he groaned, "so that's how it is then? You're tryna kill me?"
You giggled, and he pulled out to roll you onto your back, kissing you suddenly.
"You're too fuckin good to be true," he sighed against your lips. You laughed and hugged him closer, wrapping your arms around his neck.
"I'm really nothing special," you denied with a smirk as he kissed his way to your neck, "a lot of girls will do that nowadays."
"It's not that you're willing to do it, honey, it's that you want it so bad," he explained in a whisper right against your ear. "I don't need half the stuff you do, I'd be happy with wholesome lovemaking three times a week. What's so amazing is that you want more... and for some goddamn reason you want it from me."
He kissed you again, a little slower but a lot harder, until he pulled back just enough to growl: "Turn over."
You happily flipped onto your stomach, arching your back to wiggle your butt out towards him.
"Quit actin' so desperate," he scolded with a hard spank that made you groan. "You're a hell of a woman but you sure as hell ain't no lady."
"You like it," you pointed out with a grin.
"Well, that's beside the point," he smirked back as he reached down to circle your tight rim with his finger. You reached up to your bedside drawer, from which a bottle of lube appeared in your hand that you passed back to him. "Now what's a sweet girl like you doing with this in her bedside drawer, huh?" he mocked, popping the cap to apply some to his fingers. "I see, you've got all sorts of guys coming over to fuck you in the ass, I'm just one of your hookups."
"No, just you," you sighed as he started to slide his lubed up finger over your hole. "I just want you, Lee, I swear."
"Hey, you're a modern woman, it would be too much to expect you to be a devil in the sheets and strictly monogamous..."
"Lee, baby, it's just you, haven't even thought about anybody else since I met you— fuck!" you gasped, interrupting yourself as he pushed one finger in.
"Just relax honey," he instructed, "if you can't take a finger I won't put my cock in you."
"No, please, need it," you whined. "I'll be good, please..."
He smiled and pushed the second finger in, slowly twisting within you and starting to stretch you out.
"More," you whispered, almost too quiet to hear but he heard you and quickly added a third finger which made you tense up at first before relaxing again.
He was entranced by watching your body open up for him, amazed at how well you were adjusting and how clearly your noises indicated enjoyment. He wouldn't have agreed to this if he didn't think you'd like it, and he had fully prepared himself for you to change your mind, but here you were... looking like you were having an even better time than he was.
"Please, I'm ready, I want it," you begged.
"No, baby, you need a little more," he assured, pushing his fingers deeper to be sure you'd be able to take him.
"Please please pleeeaaasse, I need your cock in me, I need you to fuck my ass—!"
He cut you off with another spank, pulling his fingers out of you to slather his cock with some lube and line it up with your hole. "You're sure?" he hissed.
You nodded eagerly and he barely moved his hips forward, just enough to start to slide his head into you, and you both let out a deep noise of pleasure together. But he didn't slow down until he met the end of you, one long smooth stroke into your waiting body until his hips met yours and he thought he might lose it right then and there.
"Oh my god," he sighed, "your ass is... so fuckin' tight..."
He started to move a little faster, pinning you down as you gasped and moaned so beautifully.
"Won't be by the time I'm done with it," he promised through his teeth, picking up his pace once again as you clutched at the sheets beneath you— yet your back arched to push your hips up towards him, so it was obvious you loved it. "That's whatcha want, sweetheart? For me to stretch out your ass?"
"Please," you whimpered.
"God, you're good, you're so good," he hissed, his hips slapping into your soft flesh loudly now, his rough hands pinning your shoulders down. “Too fuckin’ good…”
Your moans sounded different than usual— deeper, needier, desperate in a way he very much understood as he tried to hold himself back from fucking you too hard. It was difficult to pick where to look since every part of you looked so beautiful like this but he went ahead and settled his gaze on your face, the breathless moan you were perpetually caught in as your eyes fell shut and your mouth was open slack.
You chanted his name in a hoarse whisper as he fucked you harder, one more reminder to both of you that it was his body filling yours, his cock penetrating you in such a taboo way.
"I'm— I'm gonna come," you stammered, causing his brain to short circuit for a moment.
"You... you're gonna come, from this? Just this?" he realized.
You nodded, and he really had to hold back to not fill you instantly at the thought of you coming from anal alone. He understood now how he had suddenly appeared in this strange time, with no idea how or why; he must have died and gone to a very fucked up heaven.
“Go ahead and come then,” he instructed darkly. “Wanna see you come for me.”
He could all but see the shiver run up your spine, your upper teeth digging into your lip as you whimpered louder and louder— and it was a bit harder than normal to tell by the feel of you that you were coming, but the noises you made were incontrovertibly those of a woman thrown into pleasure. Your eyes rolled back, your moans exhausted and weak, and he couldn’t take it anymore: with a grunt of his own, he filled your insides with his spend, barely managing to hold his weight up so he wouldn’t crush you.
You hummed, wiggling a little under him as you caught your breath, and it was almost too much on his sensitive, softening cock.
“That was… you are…” he started over a few times, not even sure what to say.
“I’m gonna take a shower,” you announced as you sat up and gave him a quick kiss. “Join me later?”
“O-okay,” he mumbled, watching you dash to the bathroom as he fell back onto the bed and contemplated the wonderful insanity his life had become with you in it. Maybe the future really is bright after all...
1K notes · View notes
hoe-doroki · a year ago
steel and lace
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minors do not interact
warnings: 18+, anal play, sex toys, voyeuristic fantasy, scratching, creampie
pairing: bakugou x fem!reader
wc: 3.8k
summary: The only one who manages to get Bakugou’s birthday right is you.
a/n: This is my addition to the Bakugou Birthday Bash collab (masterlist). Many thanks to @lady-bakuhoe​ for helping me flesh out the ideas with this story!! You were integral to this idea, love! And additional thanks to @whats-her-quirk​ and @therealvalkyrie​ for beta reading <333
edit: I no longer write x reader but here’s my old masterlist - mobile | desktop
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Bakugou never took work off on his birthday.
Never. Why would he? Villains didn’t give a shit that this was the day the old hag had unceremoniously had him evacuated into a hospital room however many years ago. They didn’t give a shit that his friends—who were also heroes who should be fucking working, by the way—wanna come over to his house and surprise him. As though his reconnaissance-trained ears weren’t as fucking fine tuned at hearing idiots on the other side of the door as theirs.
What villains should care about was that he was a year older, wiser, and fucking stronger, and he was going to kick all their asses. That was what he told all his idiot friends every year when they asked him if he was going to take off work.
Every year he regretted it.
The idiots he works with really must not care about hero work, because every year they want to send him out on a field post sugar crash from some store-bought cake with his name on it. Or buy him gifts that he’ll probably toss in the trash on the way home. He’s not being rude; he just doesn’t need junk that he never would have bought himself in the first place.
Everyone is always grinning at him, wishing him a happy birthday—as though he’s any goddamn happier to see their ugly mugs flapping their lips at him—and trying to start stupid-ass conversations. If he doesn’t like small talk normally, why would he want it on his birthday?
And the singing.
If people really wanted to wish him a happy birthday, they’d find a way to do it silently while doing some respectable fucking hero work. Make his day easier.
But no, none of that was what happened. So he should have just stayed home. Let the villains have a fucking field day on April 20th, and he could have his real gift killing them all tomorrow on the 21st.
But, unfortunately, he was a dumbass and had gone to work anyway, like he’d learned nothing from the last many years of antics. And the continued antics had got him a little pissy. And when he was pissed off, his heart rate increased, his breathing grew heavier, and, of course, he sweat.
Well. Guess what happened?
“Bakugou, I am currently paying to treat burns and fractures on three villains. Care to explain?”
Best Jeanist was sitting in his office chair, blinding sunlight streaming in behind him. Late afternoon sun—darker in color but way more resentful towards human eyes, apparently. It was reflecting off of all of the neighboring glass corporate buildings, making Bakugou squint behind his mask.
Bakugou shrugged, petulant as he stood behind his chair instead of sitting in it. “Overkill.”
Best Jeanist nodded. “Did you…lose control?”
“Tch,” Bakugou scoffed. As if he ever lost control. “Villains were weaker than I thought.”
Bakugou felt the stare of that one fucking eye and stood firm. He knew he was looking at a suspension, hopefully just for a day or two. It wasn’t like he’d done anything terrible. Villains got hurt sometimes, just like pros did, and they got their care and then they got their justice. It’s not like Bakugou was violent on purpose. Anymore. And Jeanist sure as hell knew that, so it wouldn’t take Bakugou off the field for more than a slap on the wrist. He probably wouldn’t even be technically suspended. Just chained by the fucking dick to his desk with some paperwork.
“Just…” Bakugou braced for it, narrowing his eyes but keeping his snarl to a minimum. “Just be more careful next time. Shower and go home—see you tomorrow.”
Bakugou’s jaw dropped. He closed it quickly, trying not to look like Dunce Face in front of his boss, but in all that was real and true what? He was just about to say something—he didn’t know what, probably something insubordinate—when Best Jeanist took out his own paperwork and waved him away.
“Happy birthday, Bakugou.”
Oh. So that was it.
Bakugou grit his teeth. Happy fucking birthday indeed.
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It was nothing. His brain told him over and over again that it was fucking nothing. He hadn’t been punished, he hadn’t even really done anything wrong; he just hadn’t been squeaky clean up to fucking code. He could still show up for work tomorrow, business as usual. He should be tickled fucking pink.
But he wasn’t. Special treatment for being the birthday boy? What was he? Five years old and given a pass after stealing the chicken nuggets off Deku’s plate? Jesus Christ.
And if he was honest, he was mostly pissed at himself. Sure, he could blame how the weather always seemed to sprint from spring to summer around his birthday every year, strengthening his quirk. He could blame the villains for being weak enough that they had no business even stepping foot in his neighborhood. But losing control of his quirk even a little—and it had been a little—was fucking amateur and he’d have to pencil in some extra time at the gym. Maybe snatch Shitty Hair for some sparring, and, unfortunately, probably nab an extra therapy session and talk about this anger thing again.
At least walking instead of sitting on that stifling, crowded train car was doing him some good. Let him cool off a bit before he got home and you saw that something was wrong. He was nearly entirely relaxed by the time he got to his building’s lobby, even having the grace to nod at the concierge—who didn’t know it was his birthday, thank God—before heading up the elevator.
When he got off on his floor, it suddenly occurred to him that you might have done something truly repulsive, like inviting his friends over. He could imagine Shitty Hair’s shitty fucking hair sticking up from behind your sofa as he tried to hide before leaping up and yelling surprise.
Well, if that was the case, then the surprise was going to be him kicking all his dumb friends out of the apartment with one foot. Ain’t no way he was going to host a party on his birthday.
It turned out his worry was for nothing, though, because when he turned the knob—fully braced to punch out some teeth with his other hand—he was greeted with a totally bare apartment.
Like barren.
For starters, it was perfectly clean. Bakugou kept a tidy house normally, but this was certainly cleaner than he’d left it this morning. But more than that, there was nothing extra lying around. No stupid friends. No presents. No cake or even the smell of one. It was almost disconcerting.
No, it was a relief. A relief because he didn’t want any of that stuff. He’d had the slice of cake at work—and was slightly hangry now to show for it—and wasn’t interested in having another. And even though you’d choose better gifts than the extras at work would, it was nothing he couldn’t buy himself. So no, this was perfect. He was absolutely not disappointed. Maybe a bit confused. But not disappointed.
He took his shoes off and set his things on the small table by the door. Then he wandered into the kitchen, downed some water, and thought about what he might make for dinner. He might have expected that you and he would make dinner together or maybe even that you would have surprised him with something, but he didn’t mind doing it alone. It wasn’t like he’d learned to cook just to find a housewife someday to con into doing it all for him.
He decided to go to the bedroom first to plug in his phone. He was just sliding it out of his pocket when he opened the door, saw you, and stopped short.
You were on the bed—not in bed, but on it—wearing a black zip up with his signature orange x over the chest. You were on your knees with your legs spread wide, looking him dead in the eye with a deadly smirk on your face, painted in bright lipstick.
“New prototype. You like?”
The two of you had met when you were scouted from his parents’ business to design the clothing for his first merchandise line. He’d sworn off dating you from the beginning, because the last thing he wanted was to give the old hag anything to say about, firstly, her being at all responsible for finding  him a girlfriend or secondly, the fact that dating a fashion designer would mean he was dating his parents. He’d said fuck that to anyone who would listen.
But you’d gotten his brain from the beginning. Your designs were all sick from the sketch to mock up to the prototypes you always wore for him. Maybe he was a simple man for falling for a girl dressed in his colors, aiming to please him, but fuck it. You were talented, too smart for your own good, and pretty as hell.
So what? Now he had a dream girlfriend and one more reason to fight with his mom. Net positive for sure.
Still, that jacket wasn’t a prototype. That was from his first official line, no doubt, and he’d seen you wear it hundreds of times. He knew from here how much it would smell like detergent and how much like you.
You caught his eyes, raised your brows once, and then pulled the zip on the sweatshirt.
Underneath was nothing but lace and ribbon, contrasting the black and orange of the sweatshirt with moss green outlining your silhouette. The moss green from his gauntlets and his belt was caged around you in the thinnest strips of fabric, scraps of floral barely covering your breasts and pussy. The lingerie was an all-in-one, with the tiny bra connected to the panties by a few ribbons crossing over your belly. Not hiding a damn thing, but showing it off for all its worth.
“Fuck,” Bakugou groaned when the sweatshirt hit the bed, your arms still in the sleeves, but the look underneath now fully revealed to him. He could feel the blood going to his dick, just seeing you on display like that getting him up to half mast in seconds.
“Not a lot of coverage on this version,” you mused, sticking your thumb under a bra strap. “Maybe an edit for the second try?”
Bakugou growled, taking a step forward, but you weren’t done just yet.
“I was also thinking maybe full panties next time,” you said, turning around, sitting on your heels. The sweatshirt hung just below your ass, framing round cheeks that were caged by thin elastic crosses, and that was it. Not so much as a triangle of fabric to speak of. “Maybe write: Property of Dynamight on them? Or is that too much text?”
That was all it took for Bakugou to pounce. One arc of his fist had his shirt thrown with a smack to the floor and then his hands were on your shoulders, spinning you face up as he pushed you flat on the bed.
“You know I don’t like unnecessary words,” he growled.
And then he was kissing you, a hand running up the falke stockings pinned on your thighs as you pulled your arms out of the sweatshirt. One leg came up automatically to wrap around his hip, and Bakugou began rutting against your center, fully hard already. On his second grinding thrust, his pants snagged on the scrap of lace you were wearing. Wetness was already glistening on his trousers and he moved his thumb down to your core, groaning at what he felt.
“Crotchless panties?” he mumbled against your mouth. “You’re making this too easy, sweetheart.”
“Shouldn’t have to work so hard on your birthday,” you mewled.
There was a rumble in Bakugou’s throat, half scoff, half chuckle. “Yeah, remind me of that next year, will you?”
You were soaked already—the swipe of his thumb told you that much. Either you’d gotten really excited when he’d texted you that he was coming home early, or you’d…gotten yourself excited at some point after. Either way, it meant that foreplay could wait for round two.
He pulled his thumb away from your core and pressed it against your lip, smudging what lipstick had survived the kisses down your chin. You were half ruined already. You stuck your tongue out and licked at essence on his thumb before sucking it into your mouth, eyes wide as you looked up at him. Fuck, he could feel himself straining against his pants, grinding circles against your half-bare cunt for a spot of relief.
After you licked him clean, he took his hand back, leaving your mouth open and wanting as he began to fuss with the front of his pants. He caught your smudged lips again, holding your jaw with one hand as he pushed his pants down with the other. He pulled his lower half away from you, kicking off the pants—hadn’t bothered with boxers for the commute home—and let them slide off the edge of the bed.
“Ready?” he asked.
Your smile was big and you bit the tip of your tongue, nodding your head twice. That was all he needed. He grabbed his cock in his fist and slid it through your wetness just once, and then he pushed himself in.
Immediately, he felt the drag of something hard and angled against your lower wall right along his cock, pressing from tip to base as he slid home inside of you.
“Woah,” he groaned. “What the fuck?”
You giggled, the action making your walls flutter against him.
“Got myself a new toy,” you said coyly, wrapping your legs around his hips. “Promise you can get yourself something pretty on my birthday too.”
Bakugou reach a hand around your thigh, feeling the elastic garter pulled taut against the stockings that were rubbing so deliciously against his back and his hips. He grabbed a handful of your ass, and the tips of his fingers felt a rounded edge of warm metal slid just between your ass cheeks.
“You fucking naughty minx.” Bakugou grinned, showing all his teeth, rearing back out of you before thrusting back in, feeling the novel pressure of the toy on the way out and back.
No wonder you had been so wet to begin with. You must have lubed yourself up before putting in that butt plug—which wasn’t small, from what he could feel of it. He could imagine you, one leg up on the sink, ass sticking out as you fingered yourself, mouth dropping open when you inserted the toy. How cold it would have been when it first touched your pert little hole and how you’d gotten it all warm for him as you waited with your little secret for him to get home.
“It’s curved to hit prostates,” you gasped as Bakugou rocked hard, steady thrusts into you. “In case you’re interested.”
The thought, much to Bakugou’s surprise, sent a thrill right through his belly down to his dick. He couldn’t help but slam rapidly into you, making your eyes roll back. Fuck, was that something he wanted? It wasn’t something he’d ever thought about, and he didn’t have the mind right now to ponder it.
“God you feel so big.”
“You feel so tight, sweetheart,” Bakugou grunted, refusing to acknowledge the fresh heat that was on his cheeks after your previous comment. “Squeezing me from all sides.”
The butt plug left it so there was barely enough room in your pussy for his cock to pump in and out. The pressure was hard on one side, making him fucking twitch every time the head of his cock caught against it, leading him to opt for long, deep thrusts in and out of you. It was so good that he didn’t even care if the only present he got for his birthday was a little hunk of stainless steel halfway up your ass. He’d gotten home five minutes ago and already he could feel his balls tightening, threatening to bust a nut.
“Just think of it, Katsuki,” you said, your voice dreamy as he fucked you raw. “All the women wearing this set, thinking of you when they show it off for their partners. All wishing that you were the one fucking them. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, baby? But they’ll never have anything but their husband’s sad cock that they pretend is yours.”
“Fuck,” Bakugou growled, putting a hand on the headboard and nearly splintering it in his grip. You were riling him up and it made him want to press his palm flat against the burnished oak and let off his quirk, send shards flying. His hand was already drenched with more sweat than it should have been, just like with those villains earlier. Goddamn this time of year. He couldn’t help it; his quirk begged for it. He was in dire need of release of some kind, and it wasn’t like he could cum yet. He had to know how your pussy felt when it convulsed around him, ass cheeks tensing and squeezing that toy hard against his cock until he was spurting into you.
Bakugou let off a few crackling pops from his palm, moaning as relief filled him, the tension lessened for a moment. A faint smell of wood smoke spread through the room, slightly embittered by the resin blackening around his hand. One more scorch mark on the bed frame. You groaned underneath him, taken by the sight of Bakugou’s ever-tight control slipping for you. You knew he’d fuck you through the bed until the rest of the frame gave way if he wanted. You’d both be flat on a busted mattress and he’d keep going until he felt you clench around him.
“How’s that sound, Katsu?” you continued, your voice growing higher as Bakugou took his hand off the headboard and pressed four fingers, still sweaty and heated from his quirk, against the lace covering your clit. It was soaked through. “A-Ah, you’d like the idea of a woman home alone, dressed up just for you, fucking herself on the dildo she hides in the back of your closet, screaming out your name and hoping to God that her neighbors don’t hear?”
Bakugou couldn’t do the long, slow thrusts anymore. Your legs had grown tighter around his waist, your calves soft and silken against his ass as he kept his thrusts deep. The butt plug was rubbing against the base of his cock as he pounded into you, his fingers swiping over your clit with little finesse, but speed and steady pressure making up for it.
“But no matter…” you continued, the words coming out in little huffs as you panted with your head thrown back. Bakugou couldn’t resist leaning down and licking a line up the length of your neck, biting your earlobe when he got to the top, “no dildo, no matter how expensive, no matter how long and fat, will be good enough. The whole time…they���ll know they’re missing out. Oh, fuck.”
All of a sudden, your thighs were squeezing tight against his hip bones, arms thrown over his back and finger scratching hot lines that would mark him even more as yours tomorrow. Then you were gasping, walls squeezing and Bakugou fought against your grip to pull out just enough so that the metal toy was rubbing just over the cleft of his head with every convulsion.
He didn’t stand a chance. There was hardly any warning before he was cumming into you, streaks of his seed dribbling out of you. He couldn’t even pump himself through it; you were gripping him so tightly and, more than that, he didn’t want to move. Everything was white hot, so he just waited it out, barely moving save for where his hand was still rubbing over your clit.
Eventually you stopped him, grabbing his wrist just as the grip of your cunt loosened around him. Then you brought his hand, glistening with moisture, up to your mouth, and broadly laved your tongue from the base of his fingers to the tips, looking him dead in the eye. You then brought his hand down to your neck, and allowed him to streak the combined fluids across and down your décolletage.
Fuck—there was no way he was going to work on his birthday next year. He’d let villains overtake the city first.
“They’ll know they’re missing out,” you breathed, and it took Bakugou a second to figure out that you were continuing your voyeuristic fantasy from before, playing it out to the end, “They might even think they understand. But the only one who will truly know, is me.”
You smiled, your eyes and grin both heavy, sleepy, sated.
“Got that fucking right,” Bakugou said, pulling out of you, his cum already dripping down your ass. He eyed it, only catching a glimpse of the glinting metal plug before your legs fell to the bed, spread and limp. He smacked your hip lightly with one hand. “Roll over.”
In no mood to argue, you flipped willingly, ass up, plug still hidden from view. The lingerie was damp in some spots from where your wetness had spilled from your pussy. He leaned his mouth towards one of the strips of elastic stretching against the swell of your ass and bit. You gasped, back arching, and Katsuki smirked as he pulled away.
“A fucking lingerie line?”
A chuckle escaped your throat. “It was supposed to be a joke, but now…”
Katsuki pinched the elastic with his fingers and snapped it, watching the slight jiggle of your cheeks as you jolted. “No.”
“But Katsuki,” you whined.
“Mm,” he amended, as close to ‘maybe’ as you were going to get. You both could always talk about the idea—truly ridiculous idea—later. Katsuki put a hand on one cheek under the strips of lingerie and spread it.
There was the plug, a stainless steel handle. It was thin and shaped like an oblong donut, not like one of those cheap bejeweled things. This one, even just what he could see of it, screamed quality, and, for a moment, Bakugou wondered again what it would be like to wear. If you’d gotten it in, he sure as fuck could. And he did hold a certain anatomical advantage in using it.
He put his thumb and forefinger to the phalange and gave the toy a twist, pressing it just slightly deeper into your hole. You groaned, your voice low and deep in the pillow like when he gave you a back massage. He smirked and kept at it. Seemed this was a birthday gift for him after all.
“Katsu, don’t tease,” you moaned. “Sensitive.”
Bakugou, however, had no mercy. He flipped you over again, pulling a little yelp from you, and then picked you up bridal style, carrying you off the bed.
“Where are we going?” you asked, your voice suddenly much more awake.
“Shower,” he answered simply. He squeezed the meat of your upper thigh. Not quite your ass but close enough for the point to be made. “I’m not done with my present yet.”
751 notes · View notes
stutterfly · a year ago
Swipe Right 04 | Patch Notes | JJK (M)
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Rating: M (Explicit 18+)
Pairings: Jungkook x Reader, brot7 x friendship
Genre: E2L, fluff, angst, humor, [eventual] smut, PersonalTrainer!Jungkook, fuckboy!Jungkook, Nerd!Jungkook, Nerd/IT!Reader
Word Count: 15.1K
Last time on SR03: You joined a gym to increase your confidence and things progressed the way you want with your tinder match. You ended up in an unlikely competition with your friends when you went new bar together, leading to some unexpected conversations and shenanigans.
CW & Other Tags: Drinking, anxiety/panic attack mentions, muscle tearing injury mention, fuckboy Jungkook, pining, flirting, pick-up lines, sexual tension, Joonie is still Y/N’s best boi, soft Jungkook
Series: Activate your SIMCard
Fic: Swipe Right (4/?- Ongoing)
Do not repost.
⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰
When’s the last time you felt as good as you do right now? Jungkook has pretty much stopped bothering you since that night at Seesaw, your date with Jason went well, and you’ve been sticking to your early morning workouts. You definitely don’t push yourself as much as trainer Hwasa, and you know you should really take advantage of the free trial, but it was overwhelming to take in so much at once and the session made you sore all over for days.
At least your stamina seems to be improving and you’ve discovered post-workout endorphins are real. Tonight is your second date with Jason, a date you’ve uncharacteristically elected to host at your apartment. You can place some blame on those endorphins for your boldness, with pining and disappointment composing the rest of it.
While your first date ended without a kiss, there was enough flirting to keep you hopeful. Neither of you were brave enough to do anything about it then, but you’ve mentally coached yourself into pretending like you have an unbreakable spine with nerves of steel. Meeting him only solidified your attraction, and you’ve resolved to take the lead, even though you feel like you have no idea what you’re doing.
It’s not like you often make the first move, but your confidence in him to do so has waned. You’ve been talking and playing games together online for months without any physical touch. Despite how he’s said he likes you and wants to see you again, you’d still be waiting if you didn’t suggest today.
You’re determined to show him what he’s missing by being a recluse. That’s why you’ve picked out the sluttiest clothes and the strappiest heels you own, decorated your face with expensive makeup, and even styled your hair instead of just letting it do whatever it wants for the day. You check yourself out in the full-length mirror on your bedroom door for the millionth time and pull down on the hem of your dress like it will somehow magically grow longer.
You don’t need the heels; no part of the night calls for them. You’re going to be sitting on the couch with him. If you’re lucky you’ll even move it to the bedroom you spent so much time cleaning. But they’re cute and they make you feel sexy, so you’re going to keep them on until he’s peeling you out of your dress.
Nerves bubble in your stomach, but you have to pretend like they’re not there or you’ll fixate on how hard you’re trying to be confident and cool. You’ll fall apart when it’s obvious to Jason how hard you’re pretending to be everything you aren’t. Checking your phone doesn’t help; it’s almost time.
Taking a deep breath, you pace through the confines of your apartment as you wait, and answer group texts from Jennie and Namjoon. You offer up a selfie, hoping any compliments will build your confidence enough to stave off the anxiety in your gut. A few devil emojis later, some keysmashing, and more than a couple hamfisted compliments from Namjoon, your ego is adequately inflated but you can always use more hyping. Maybe you should send it to Jimin to fish for more compliments? He’d indulge you for sure.
Instead you flop on the couch and open Tinder. According to Jennie, Jason is stringing you along; it’s been months, but you hate to admit that she has a point. So you don’t. She’s been telling you for a while now that she thinks you should pursue other suitors. While you object to her assumptions, she has more experience with this kind of stuff. It’s not exactly something you want to believe, not when you’ve put in so much effort for literal months.
You want to believe in Jason being awkward and dorky and that’s why it’s taken so long for the two of you to hook up. He’s shy and super introverted, but so are you. So why are you the only one trying to make things happen? You want to believe, but at this point you’re uncertain enough to heed Jennie’s advice and keep swiping any time you find yourself in a situation where you’re waiting on him. Like now.
You have your reservations about swiping while you wait for your date to begin, but you can practically hear Jennie cheering you on. He’s late anyway, and it will keep you busy until he arrives. You open the discovery tab and swipe left on a couple incomplete profiles. Most of the guys on here don’t put in any effort. How are you supposed to want to give any of them a chance when you don’t even get a tiny snapshot of who they are?
When you pass on yet another fish pic profile, a blue frame appears around the next guy in line. It takes a moment for your brain to register the name along with the duck-faced photo as someone familiar.
[Jungkook said: Your legs remind me of oreos 🥴 wanna know why?]
How fucking dare he? You match with the intent to ream him out and leave.
You: I told you not to fucking find me on here
It takes only a few seconds before you see the dots move on his end, like he was waiting for the moment you would answer, and it keeps you tethered to the conversation.
Jungkook: Princess!! I couldn’t help myself how are you
Jungkook: Surprised you didn’t block me
You: Don’t worry I’m gonna
Jungkook: it’s bc you wanna know huh
You: ???
Jungkook: Your legs
Jungkook: Like oreos
Jungkook: I wanna split them n lick the cream from the center 😜
Electricity rumbles in your gut, carrying heat and a surge of excitement to your cunt that threatens to flood your panties. You swallow hard and squeeze your thighs together as you stare at the screen. Embarrassed by the response his antics elicit, you scramble to formulate a coherent thought.
You: I wish I could unread 🤢
Jungkook: Aw but that’s one of my favorites
Jungkook: Just like you 😘
You: 🙄
You: I hate you so much
Jungkook: So much that you matched with me?
You stare at the message like a clever response will come to you and when it doesn’t you bite your lip. He’s got a point. Haven’t you learned your lesson not to encourage him? Your eyes scan the top of your phone for any notifications from Jason. Nothing. At least this is keeping you distracted. That’s what you tell yourself.
Jungkook: You’re still here which means 👀
You: It means I’m tired
Jungkook: Of?
You pause for a moment. Namjoon and Jennie can’t know how anxious you are about Jason. It’s the guy’s last strike with them and he hasn’t even met them yet. Jungkook, an impartial third party, might be able to lend an ear. As much as you don’t care what he thinks, you need an outlet for the anxiety in your chest. You start to draft a word-vomit. Jason has been so hesitant to see you in person again and now he’s late. Maybe if you just put it out there to someone you’ll feel better.
Jungkook: If you need to sleep how about a massage?
Jungkook: I’m good with my fingers 🥴
Stupid. In what universe could you confide in Jungkook? Deleting your word-vomit before you can send it, you start to type something else, but your thumb accidentally taps enter at the exact wrong moment.
You: You know what? I want you
FUCK. Goddamn you, sausage fingers.
You scramble to rewrite the sentence but Jungkook is quicker. He has to know it was an accident, but you’re still fucking mortified.
Jungkook: 😈
Jungkook: My place
Jungkook: Ten minutes
You: *to stay off my profile
Jungkook: 👉👌?
You: 🤢🤢🤢
Jungkook: 😩
Jungkook: Now you’re just playing games with me princess
Jungkook: Can’t say I mind just fuck me up 🥴
You: Don’t you have a princess to fuck in another castle? Maybe she can stroke your tiny ego
Jungkook: Ouch felt that from here
He goes quiet and you close the conversation out. Setting the phone down on the cushion beside you lasts all of two seconds. When your phone buzzes twice, you know better than to answer, yet you feel compelled to look.
Jungkook: Hey quick question
Jungkook: Is this the most you’ve used the app to talk with someone you like? 👻
Just like that you unmatch with him and take a moment to seethe. Distraction or no, he’s not worth the mental energy. He always seems to draw you in like a pretty little thirst trap and drain you of your sanity. Not engaging is the safest option so why do you always end up doing so? Maybe it’s that shitty little part of you that gets excited any time he shows you attention.
There’s a gullible girl within you; she sets your pulse on fire when he feigns even the slightest interest, fills your head with wind when he brushes against you, and floods your eyes with tears when he walks away. Still, she wants him to look at you, even if it means he’s really looking through you. You hate her. Why can’t she learn that you deserve better?
You check the time again and wince. Jason is really late now. Not even a text. Or a phone call. Maybe it’s traffic?
Try to relax. Nothing bad is going to happen. You’re going to have fun tonight.
You start up a game to take your mind off the options available to explain his absence. When you’re invested in a game you often lose track of time, but tonight you’re hyper-aware of every minute that passes. You bite at your freshly painted nails during loading screens, chipping the red from their edges. Sounding casual is difficult when you’re worried, but you attempt it anyway via text. It’s ten more agonizing minutes of waiting before your phone buzzes with an answer.
The controller drops to your lap and immediately tears begin to sprinkle your thighs with the manifestation of your heartache.
He forgot.
⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰
An earthy scent fills Namjoon’s apartment as he carefully transfers the last of his plants to a bigger pot, filling in the edges of its roots with fresh soil and patting the edges down with care. His plants have needed this, maybe even more than he needs the mini hangout that will soon follow. The kitchen table is covered in dirt, but at least he’s almost done.
It’s not his fault Jungkook showed up earlier than expected. At least he’s quiet now. It’s been a while, but he’s finally stopped asking about how much longer it will take, so he must either be invested in the show he put on or asleep on the couch.
“Almost done,” Namjoon loudly announces. “Can you text Tae?”
“Kay.” Jungkook yawns as he stands and heads towards the bathroom. “Jin was already cooking when I left so it should be ready soon.”
“Good. I’m hungry,” Namjoon says, carefully transporting the plant to the desk in his bedroom.
As he’s on his way to clean up the mess on the table there’s a soft rapid knock at the front door. The moment he opens it and finds you standing before him, he knows something is wrong. Even the ratty hoodie covering your shoulders can’t hide the effort you’ve obviously put into your appearance tonight. While your makeup seems to have fared rather well, your eyes are red and your cheeks are puffy. His mind automatically assumes the worst about your second date and his jaw tightens.
“What happened? Did he hurt you?”
“He never showed.” You throw your arms around him and openly sob.
“Oh, Y/N…” His arms are around you in an instant, hugging you close while keeping his dirty fingers at bay.
You press your cheek against his chest, letting the tears fall freely. “I’m sorry. I know you probably have plans tonight, but I wanted to stop here—” You choke out a loud sob and wipe your nose with your sleeve as you look down at the floor. “I didn’t want to drive upset but you weren’t answering and I just—”
“Shit. Exam today. I left it on silent.” He pats his pocket to make sure it’s still there, wiping as much dirt as he can on his jeans before placing his hands on your shoulders. “Hey, it’s okay. Deep breaths.”
Jungkook emerges from the bathroom quietly with a furrowed brow and pursed lips. Did he hear your voice or is it his imagination? Unsure if you’re some wishful remnant of earlier texts, he peeks around the corner.
Heels: black, strappy heels with a velvety smooth red undersole. Has he ever seen you in heels? If he has, it’s never been something as flashy as these. His gaze travels up the smooth, exposed skin of your legs until it hits the hem of a skirt. The dark fabric seems a little short; it clings to your thighs, riding up as you embrace his friend. It’s hard not to notice how well it accents the curve of your hips and more importantly: your ass. He’s definitely never seen you in something so revealing, not even on nights where you’ve joined them for dancing.
He pauses for a fraction of a second, eyes trained on the swell of your ass before moving up to find the disappointing sight of your favorite hoodie barring much else from view. Namjoon’s arms outline your shape, but the places his hands rest are far too respectable to glean much else other than simple blueprints.
With his dick leading his steps, Jungkook opens his mouth to announce his presence with a joke. He means to selfishly steal a glimpse of your entire ensemble with some snarky comment but you choke out a sob and his stomach lurches to form a whirlpool of apprehension. His mouth remains open, but his words are swallowed back into the dark swirling pit that now wrenches his gut in circles.
Namjoon looks up just in time to read the confusion and shock on his features. He shakes his head and cups yours against his chest, wordlessly signaling Jungkook to keep quiet.
“Is there anything I can do? Do you wanna talk about it?” Namjoon asks, hoping you don’t see the man behind you slowly backing away like he’s just approached a rabid animal.
You’re sobbing. Why are you sobbing? What happened? Was it what he said before you unmatched? Jungkook tiptoes back into the kitchen without a word. He leans against the counter and shoves his hands in his coat pockets, trying to piece everything together. Did he cause this?
You screw your eyes shut to try to keep the tears inside. It’s no use. They always seem to find a way out. “He didn’t show up and when I texted him, he… he said he forgot."
“I thought it would be good after the arcade date, you know? Like, good chemistry. He’s weird. I like him! He seemed interested and we made these plans and he just—” you choke out another loud sob. “God. Am I really so fucking forgettable?”
You wanted your friends to be wrong so badly that you ignored the fact that it’s been like pulling teeth trying to get Jason to meet up again. For him to forget completely is like a kick to the face that leaves all the teeth intact, maybe a little bloody, but stubbornly intact.
“Y/N, no. It’s not your fault. You deserve better than this fucking guy.”
Jungkook swallows hard. This definitely doesn’t feel like a conversation he should be hearing, but it’s loud enough to carry through the entire apartment. Kitchen, bedroom, or bathroom: his options are limited, but he knows there’s nowhere to go to pretend like he can’t hear it. It’s not like he can just walk out the front door now.
“Do I? It’s seems like a fucking pattern, Joon. I fall for people so easily and they always make me feel like an idiot for trying. Donghyun. Seojun. Jason. Jungkook… It doesn’t matter. No one fucking wants me.”
Jungkook tenses. He may not know all the names on your list, but his is among them all the same. Has he really hurt you so much?
“Hey… Don’t think like that,” Namjoon says, his voice soft as he rubs your back. “You know your worth, and it’s not measured by how well someone else can see it.”
Every time you think you’re done crying, fresh tears begin to roll down your cheeks. “I’m tired, Joonie.”
“I know. I’m sorry. We'll get you home."
As you step back to look at him your ankle rolls, and you begin to fall. Hearing the scuffle, Jungkook winces and peeks around the corner. Namjoon has a good enough grip to stop you from fully tumbling to the floor, but you’re definitely not stable by any means.
Although you now face Jungkook, you’re too distracted by your ankle to notice the extra pair of eyes on you. He allows himself to stupidly linger within your line of sight, raking his gaze across your form to take in the details of your attire, right down to your choice of earrings. Even with a red nose and puffy, smudged eyes, the time you’ve spent on your appearance remains evident.
You did all that for some guy who didn’t even show? If that’s how you dress for your dates then his innocent perception of you is completely wrong. What kind of moron would pass up the opportunity to peel you out of that dress and dive into your cunt? You look incredible. What the fuck.
"God. Shit. Fuck! Fucking stupid heels!” You huff out your exasperation and let a small pitiful laugh pass your lips as you right your stance with Namjoon’s help. “You know, I spent hours getting ready and now I just look stupid. I feel stupid.”
“You don’t. You’re not,” Namjoon insists, his palm squeezing your shoulder.
“Namjoon, I shaved my entire body. Do you know how long that took?”
Jungkook forces himself to withdraw into the kitchen. If you see him now you might murder him. He purses his lips into a thin line and tightens his grip around his arms. In an instant he imagines hiking your dress above your hips and parting your legs so he might brush his cheek against the smooth expanse of your thigh all the way to your core. Are your panties as slutty as your dress? Are they cute? Lacy? Plain?
“Geeksquad…” Namjoon sighs loudly. “I really don’t need to know— Hold up. Wasn’t this the second date?”
“Are you slutshaming me?” The tired laugh that follows sounds more like you, but it still hurts his heart. “I’m stepping up my game.”
“Nah. You do you,” he says, a soft smile on his lips that’s obviously full of pity. “You want to stay and get some food? I think I have some sweats you can change into.”
Tires screech in Jungkook’s mind. Is he going to be trapped here for the night? Without dinner? What kind of karmic torture is the universe putting him through?
“No, I’m sorry,” you sniffle, wiping your face with the sleeves of your sweater. “Jennie wants me to come over but I—I didn’t think I could make it with having a full meltdown. You were on the way.”
“No need to apologize.” He pulls you into another tight hug. “Do you want me to walk you back to your car?”
“No, no it’s fine. I’m right in front. Thanks, Joonie.” Your phone begins to buzz in your hoodie pocket. You pull back and wave it at him, already on your way to the door. “It’s like she knew. I’ll talk to her on the way. Thank you for listening to me cry for the millionth time.”
“Always. Text me when you get there, okay?”
“Will do, mom,” you tease with a soft laugh.
“Zip up your hoodie.”
You grimace at him with narrowed eyes but heed his advice on your way out. You also pull your skirt down as far down your thighs as it will reach. Men are gross and you trust virtually none of them.
Jungkook waits until he hears the click of the lock on the door to breathe a loud sigh of relief. Namjoon rubs the back of his neck and stares at the door. He worries about you.
“Yikes. That Jason guy is a dick huh?”
Namjoon swivels on his heels and rounds on his friend. “Like you were so much better to her?”
Jungkook casts his gaze to the floor. “I didn’t stand her up.”
Even he knows that argument is flimsy.
“It was always just a joke.”
“It’s not though. She really liked you, man. I asked you not to mess with her.”
Memories have warped Jungkook into a jaded man: untrusting although not uncaring. Guilt is the only thing churning in his stomach as he thinks of you. He never expected to genuinely hurt you. Somehow things twisted into a gnarled mess that never really felt like more than a playful game of tug-of-war. But these kinds of games only work when the people involved know that they’re playing. It’s shitty when one pulls another into the mud when they’ve never agreed to participate.
Faced with the reality of how you consider him now, it dawns on him that he’s dragged you into the mud face-first without even the slightest resistance. You’ve stood up and you’ve even yanked the rope in retaliation, but you never should’ve been in the mud in the first place. Regardless of his own emotional ineptitude, he knows you never deserved that humiliation. No one does. The weight of his actions sits heavy in his gut.
Still he tries to justify himself. “All I do now is make pass after pass and she’s the one who turns me down.”
“You said it earlier yourself,” Namjoon sneers, irritated by his friend’s immaturity. “It’s always a joke. You’re never serious and she knows it. Look, you don’t have to like her back. She’s my friend and so are you. Just don’t lead her on and stop with the mind games. Be honest with her. The least you can do is apologize for being a dick.”
“That’s— I feel like… I don’t know how.”
Jungkook can’t bring himself to tell him of your conversation earlier tonight. It just adds to the guilt piling on his conscience. Namjoon used his own words against him and the worst part is it makes sense. It’s so much easier when it’s a stranger at a bar or a random encounter at a club, but you’re neither of those things. He lumped you into that category all the same.
Namjoon clicks his tongue and puts an arm around Jungkook’s back. “Starting with ‘I’m sorry’ can go a long way. She’s a good person and I know you guys can get along. Things were going well until you made that bet, right?”
Jungkook opens his mouth to speak and then closes it. “Mmm.”
“Not every girl is a Jiseo, Jungkook.”
“I think…” Namjoon sighs and shakes his head. “I don’t know. Can you try to just... tone it down? Maybe try to patch things up?”
“Okay.” Jungkook’s brow furrows and he chews his lip as he mulls over Namjoon’s words. He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out his keys. “You ready?”
⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰
Your head dips forward as your fingers glide across the keys. It's hard to concentrate on your task when you're this distracted by your own thoughts. You stare at the monitor with furrowed brows. Namjoon grabs the back of your chair and leans forward to tower over you.
"Went that well, huh? Did he blow the second chance he didn’t deserve?"
The motion jerks you backwards and you grip the armrests of the chair to steady yourself. Despite your best attempt to curb the irritation in your expression, your frustration remains apparent. You sit back and tilt your head up to look at him, trying to think of something to say, some excuse to not reinforce the "told you so" waiting in your future, not after you showed up at his apartment sounding like a dying whale a few days before. When no ideas come to your immediate aid, you click your tongue and let out a heavy sigh as you turn your attention back to the screen.
"Geeksquad," he presses. "Talk to me."
You exhale through your nose and briefly purse your lips before obliging his plea. The words are quick and quiet so you don't run the risk of bawling your eyes out again. "He canceled.”
Namjoon steps back and the pressure on your seat is gone. He places a large palm on your shoulder. "I'm sorry. Do you want to talk about it?"
Despite wanting to give the opposite answer, you shake your head. You don't trust yourself to speak, but you'd like to tell him. He's clever and you know he'll likely find a way to get it out of you with minimal effort anyway. Still, you don’t think you can manage the words without crying like a baby and you don’t want to do that when the morning has only just begun. Silence falls between the two of you as he gives you time to decide if you want to open up.
After a moment of tapping away you finally give in. You know you’ll feel better after you cry.
"He said he had to stay behind and help do clean-up for the party he was at. And that’s nice and all, but we had plans. I feel crazy. I should be glad that he’s so kind, right? Like that shows he’s a good person, right?” Your voice has cracked but it hasn’t quite broken.
He sighs and flops in the chair on the other side of his desk. “Y/N… I think you’re asking me for answers you already know.”
“But tell me anyway,” you press, tears welling in your eyes. “Our first date went so well. So why-y-” Your voice breaks.
“Hey.” He reaches across the desk and brushes his fingers against your arm. “I know you want me to help you make excuses for him... But you deserve someone who values your time. Clearly he’s just looking to waste it.”
“Y/N, you don’t need someone like that. If this is what he’s like before you’re even together, then what kind of effort is he really going to put into a potential relationship? Not enough. There are so many people out there, people that would trip over themselves just to have the chance to be with you. I know you don’t want to hear it, but I think it’s a mistake that you even gave him another shot. He blew it. Twice. Delete his number. Forget him.”
“I know,” you croak. Tears fall from your eyes and you quickly swipe them away, focusing on the task at hand.
Namjoon is right and you know it, but you’re kind of irritated about it. You know it’s not really him you’re mad at, but Namjoon is a good enough placeholder while you try to sort through your hurt feelings.
You muster your most monotone voice as you stand. “I updated your drivers and deleted any cached files that might have been causing issues. Is that all?”
“Don’t be mad at me,” he pleads, rising to block your path as you step towards the door. “You have a big heart and I hate seeing it stepped on.”
In a matter of seconds you melt into his embrace and bury your face into his shirt. “I hate how fast I like people.”
“I know.” He pets the back of your head softly and squishes you against his chest. “It’s gonna be okay. How about udon later? My treat?”
“With beef?” you ask with a sniffle.
“With beef,” he agrees.
“And takoyaki?”
“...You’re pushing it.”
⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰
You slide the appetizer tray across the table towards Namjoon. “Here.”
He shovels a dumping into his mouth right before he speaks. “I could eat this every day for the rest of my life.”
“Could you afford it though?” you tease, taking a sip from the bottle of saké and crinkling your nose at it before passing it to him.
“Not if you’re joining me,” he snorts. “You’re supposed to pour it.”
“No, thanks.” You push the tiny glass full of liquid back towards him.
"Wow. Are you guys on a date?"
You know the source of the voice before you even crane your neck to see Jungkook.
"Pfft." Namjoon waves the question off with a deep laugh.
Despite finding the scenario of ever dating Namjoon absolutely absurd, you can’t help but feel a little insulted by the volume of his laughter. Namjoon’s hangout night was supposed to take your mind off of how unwanted Jason made you feel. Instead, the pit of insecurity within your stomach grows into a thick, tangled brush of hostility. Is being seen with you really so laughable?
“Why would we be?” you snap, turning your attention back to your bowl.
Heat settles in your face and you purse your lips, not daring to look at either of them. You try to wrangle some noodles to shovel in your mouth before you can say something stupid. Their eyes are on you. Jungkook is definitely confused but not alarmed by your hostility. It’s something he’s grown accustomed to. But Namjoon knows when he hurts your feelings, every time, and it’s easy enough to disarm your irritability.
“She’s way too good for a mess like me,” Namjoon says with a light laugh.
“Why are you here?” you ask, tone already softer than before.
"Post-work snackie," he answers, all too cheery for your sour mood. “Came for the noods. Mind if I join?”
He looks to the rosy-cheeked Namjoon for his answer, as you set your hoodie and purse down in the space beside you to give him yours. Namjoon betrays you by scooting over to make room on his side of the booth. You’d mentioned to him before that you’d eventually like to fix things with Jungkook, to somehow make steps for peace. But you only have so much mental energy left to give today.
“Not tonight, Jungkook,” you plead with a sigh.
The frustration in that puff of breath is enough to make Jungkook hesitate. He blinks a few times, wide-eyed. “What?”
“I just… can’t handle your bullshit tonight.”
Jungkook tries to break the uncomfortable tension with a grin. “No bullshit tonight. Promise.”
“No.” Your answer is firm and somehow so fragile that it makes both men worry their brows in the same fashion. “Please, just go away.”
He shoves his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket and takes a few steps back. He doesn’t know what to make of your demeanor, but he can put enough together to know the basics. You’re upset, maybe not at him for once. However unlikely, that’d be a blessing. Maybe you’re still upset about that guy that stood you up a few days ago. If that’s the case, he probably shouldn’t stick around and risk letting on how much he knows about that.
He tongues the side of his cheek and nods, forcing a smile to his face. “Alright. I’ll just order it to go. Planned on that anyway. Catch you later.”
Guilt wracks your nerves as he walks away. The moment you look back at Namjoon, you’re faced with a wall of disappointment that threatens to topple the scale of decision-making in Jungkook’s favor.
“You’re judging me for that,” you mumble. The noodles between your chopsticks slip back into the broth.
“Little bit,” Namjoon admits, watching his friend sulk over to the entrance waitstaff. “You know he told me he’s trying to be nicer to you.”
“What? When?”
“The other day. We hung out.”
He keeps his answers short and ambiguous, hoping your curiosity has been piqued. Maybe this is the golden opportunity he’s been hoping for to patch your friendship.
“Was this before or after he harassed me on Tinder?”
Namjoon’s heart sinks into his butt. Of course Jungkook would make reconciliation harder than it needs to be. “When did he do that?”
“That night I showed up at your apartment like a big crybaby.”
“I went over his place for dinner after you left. Jin wanted to try a new recipe out on us.” That seems to at least make you pause.
“You guys talked about me?”
“Yup.” He goes back to chewing his food, knowing he’s got you hooked.
Your incredulous stare does nothing to pull information past his lips. “Joonie. What did you say about me? What did he say?”
“Mmm?” He slurps up a long noodle. “A lot of things. But they’re not really my words to tell.”
“No one likes clickbait, Joon.”
“Look, all I’m saying is that he told me that he wants to fix things. If you want specifics, maybe we can invite him to come eat with us. It might be easier for the both of you to talk about it over good food.”
You sigh, seriously considering his words even as you shake your head. “Joon, I’m already emotionally compromised. I really don’t want to cry in front of Jungkook tonight.”
“Why would you cry? This is a night for good things only. Namjoon-approved and protected. You don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to... I just thought it might be nice to make some good memories with good friends.”
You roll your eyes but hold your pinky out for him. “Fine. But this is Joonie-Y/N time. You’re cutting into that allotted time slot, you know that right?”
Namjoon rests his elbow on the table, preparing to pinky swear to whatever you’re about to suggest. “Conditions?”
“He sits next to you, he doesn’t make fun of me if I cry, and…. he doesn’t get to talk.”
“Fiiiiine. He can talk. But he better be as nice as you say he’s trying to be.”
“We allowed to talk about Jason?”
“If it comes up…” you sigh. “You know, if he’s mean to me and I cry then you have to deal with it.”
He clasps his long pinky around yours. “Deal. But with how all that just went down, you gotta go tell him to come back. He won’t believe me if I do it.”
“Don’t let him be mean to me,” you plead, tightening your grip on his pinky and locking eyes with him. “Good vibes only.”
“He won’t be mean. Good vibes only.” Namjoon nods with a soft smile. “He really is a good person where it counts, Y/N.”
You push your things aside and force yourself to find Jungkook. He’s leaning against a wall near the entrance, scrolling through his phone while he waits for his order. You quietly request to your waitress that you’d like his food brought to your table. She’s nice enough about it, but your stomach churns regardless. It’s the anxiety.
You gingerly poke a finger against his shoulder as you approach. “Um. Hey.”
He seems startled at first, but smiles when he realizes it’s you. “Hmm?”
You take a deep quiet inhale, trying your best not to get lost in the butterflies his charming smile conjures in your gut. You try to tell yourself it’s anxiety and nothing more. Apologies are hard and scary. That’s all.
“I’m… sorry for being rude. I’ve had a rough week but I shouldn’t take it out on you. Come eat with us, please. Namjoon’s buying anyway.”
His eyes seem to light up with surprise and a warm smile deepens the creases around his eyes and mouth. The hope that these feelings of attraction would evaporate with time is a flame swiftly snuffed out and replaced with a burning heartache that deems denial useless. Even now, pangs of infatuation lurk below your feelings of disdain, breaking the tension of its surface with each beat of your heart.
“It’s okay,” he reassures you. “I shouldn’t have invited myself when I saw you guys. I should really get home and shower anyway.”
He looks so clean that you’d assumed he’d already showered. It’s not like you can smell him from where you stand. Maybe he’s lying, but at least you get the sense it’s coming from a place of politeness.
“Jungkook, I want you to come eat with us. Besides Namjoon wants someone to drink saké with him and I cannot keep doing it.”
“I see.” He offers a small laugh and rubs the back of his neck. “Are you sure? You seemed pretty against it before. What changed?”
“Namjoon told me you’re trying to be less of an asshole to me.”
“Did he?” he licks his lips and tries to hide his pleased smile. “I’m surprised you believe him.”
“He also promised me I could punch you in the dick if you make me cry,” you lie, completely stone-faced.
If he knows that’s a falsified statement, he doesn’t say anything. He looks past your shoulder to quirk a brow at Namjoon, who appears to be furiously texting at the table. Jungkook’s phone buzzes a few times against his palm and he’s fairly sure he already knows who it is.
“Come on. I already asked them to bring your food to the table.”
He reads Namjoon’s messages as he trails behind you.
NAMJOON: If you seriously want to apologize stick around, make her laugh, just listen when you need to
JUNGKOOK: Don’t worry
Before Namjoon can send a text saying that Jungkook's response has the opposite effect, you’re peeking across the table, trying to get a glance at the screen.
“Who’s that?” you wonder. Namjoon’s not usually one to be so secretive with his texts.
“Hmm?” he raises his eyebrows at you and pours you a shot. “Stupid. Don’t worry about it.”
“Ha. Haha. Ha.” You gesture at your face. “You say to the girl with anxiety.”
Crinkling your nose at the glass he offers, you slide it across to Jungkook as he settles in next to Namjoon. “Here. I’m done drinking that stuff tonight.”
He regards it with a quirked brow. Something about your demeanor really has changed, but looking between you and Namjoon does nothing to answer the question of what that may be.
“Okay, so on reddit this guy was reaching. He’s going on about the symbolism in the red scarf—”
Your eyes gloss over the moment he mentions reddit. Is there anything you care less about than Joon’s favorite modern literary discussion threads?
“Got it. Not worrying about it,” you interrupt, bringing your bowl to your lips to slurp some of the broth.
Jungkook hides his smirk by throwing his head back to drink his shot. Namjoon is a genius. It might be scary if he ever decided to use his intellect for nefarious purposes. Lucky for the universe he uses it to protect others, like a real superhero would.
As the three of you dine together, you’re surprised to find that Jungkook isn’t being as annoying as he usually is. In fact, it seems the more he drinks outside of any competitive setting, the more affable he becomes. Maybe there’s something to Namjoon’s clickbaity words. He’s almost the person you remember meeting before the Halloween Party, maybe even more pleasant.
You’re grateful when the two of them start telling embarrassing stories so you can listen and laugh at the way they slur their words and interrupt each other. Laughter makes your heart feel light and full, and brave enough to take the last step to prove to yourself you’re done chasing Jason. As the two men fight over the last piece of gyoza and distract themselves over dessert, you quietly decide to clear your text messages from Jason. Your finger hovers over the delete icon for a second before purging his contact information from your device entirely.
It’s freeing to not have to worry about what you should send him. It’s frustrating to have tried so hard for so long and have nothing to show for it, but at least there will be no conversation history to pick apart anymore. It should feel perfect. That will definitely show him, right? You don’t have to reflect for more than a couple seconds to reinforce the memory of how little he actually reached out on his own.
He still has your number. The only time he ever called was on your first date. He never texted you unless you spoke first. He probably won’t even notice you’re gone. He’s probably relieved he won’t have to answer you anymore. He probably thinks you’re desperate for trying for so long. You don’t realize how well you wear your anxiety.
When you look up Jungkook is watching you while he chews with his mouth wide open. “Hey, why do-” He hiccups and swallows. “Why do you look so sad? You should have some ice cream.”
He scans the table for something to offer you, but he can’t seem to find what he’s looking for in his drunken stupor. After a few seconds his eyes finally land on his own plate where the other half of his red-bean cake sits.
“Do you want my taiyaki?” He holds the tail end of the fish-shaped cake out to you. “It’s really good!”
You can’t help but laugh at the unexpected sweet absurdity of the night. “Jungkook, I don’t want your half-eaten cake.”
He frowns and looks at the pastry. “Is it because I bit it? I’ll break off that part for you if you don’t want your mouth to touch that.”
Although Jungkook definitely is more drunk than Namjoon right now, the older man can’t help but be amazed by how well this is going. He loads up on green tea ice cream and digs his spoon in it. He shouldn’t have been so worried. Jungkook can put away the act when he wants to, especially once alcohol is involved and there’s nothing to prove. You guys are actually getting along. What a relief.
“No, really it’s okay.” You laugh.
Jungkook is already breaking the pastry apart in his hand, watching as it crumbles to pieces on his plate. He blinks a couple times and closes his mouth in a frown.
“I thought that would work.” He sounds utterly defeated.
The waitress walks over just in time to watch Namjoon stick a heaping spoonful of wasabi in his mouth. You're too busy laughing at Jungkook's forlorn expression to notice the way Namjoon's eyes water. His eyes drop to the ice cream he thought he shoveled into his mouth. Right next to the pristine, untouched scoop of green tea ice cream, he finds his spoon resting in the hunk of wasabi adjacent to it. He should really pay attention more. He pushes against Jungkook's side and motions that he needs to get up. The younger man spares a glance his way but Namjoon waves him off while mumbling something about the bathroom.
The waitress tries to keep her composure and looks between the pair of you. "How is everything?"
"Great! Could you please bring us some water?" you ask in your sweetest voice, realizing the two men with you should at least try to start sobering up.
You expected to have Namjoon crashing on your couch on a Friday night, or at least be dropping him off down the hall at Hobi’s place. Jungkook was not part of the plan, but you can’t exactly let him drive home inebriated. You know he’s not your responsibility but you’d feel guilty making him call for a ride home when you’re perfectly capable.
Although you hate to admit it, you’ve had fun tonight. If you’re being honest with yourself you’d like to see what he’s like without Namjoon nearby to police his moves. He’s been nice enough, but you want to know for sure this isn’t an act. You want to ask him if he’s made another bet, or playing some game since he hasn’t hit on you all night. Before you can get your line of questions in order, Jungkook turns to the server with large, pleading eyes.
"Oh! Can you bring some more dessert, please?"
He may be a grown ass man capable of charming the pants off of women everywhere, but right now he is little more than a child begging for seconds. Regardless of everything he's done, your heart softens, endeared and embarrassed by his drunken request to your server.
The waitress nods. "Sure, what would you like?"
His eyes fall to you for an answer. "What do you like?"
You blink at him. "Me? I thought this was for you."
He nods. "Mm. We can split it."
"Um, how about... tempura?"
Jungkook’s voice is full of anticipation and his upturned eyebrows seem to bargain for agreement. It’s so hard to believe this is the same man who has been so cold to you for so long when he seems so open and warm now. You remind yourself it’s probably the alcohol. It’s probably some secret promise to Namjoon. Some bet with Hobi. Some game he’s playing. It’s probably anything other than what your dumb crush-stupefied heart wants it to be.
The waitress looks to you for approval and you give a nod. "Sure. Banana tempura."
The waitress awkwardly smiles as she gathers the empty platters and gives you a chance to break away from his endearingly drunken face. He smiles across the table at you and wrings his hands while you pick up your phone to check on those nonexistent messages. Maybe if you distract yourself enough you can ignore the feelings that are catching up to you tonight.
“Thank you for inviting me back over,” he says, reaching to the nearly empty bottle of saké to pour himself another shot. “I’ve... been wanting to talk to you."
"I’m surprised you didn’t blow up my phone.” It’s supposed to be a joke, but there’s a harshness in your tone that exposes a venomous bite beneath it.
He downs the shot and plants his elbows on the table, leaning forward on them. "I wanted to say it to your face."
“Oh, really?”
You don’t allow yourself to entertain the idea that he’s about to say anything groundbreaking, but you look away from your phone to meet those dark, twinkling eyes. Suddenly there’s hope in your gut. You’re desperate to put some distance between the feelings jumping to the surface.
“I’ve been a dick.”
“No shit.”
Though the fog of alcohol consumes his apology, his eyes focus on you with clarity. “I’m sorry.”
How long have you waited to hear those words? You never really thought about what you might say in response. His apology sits in the air between you for a moment before he speaks again.
“I’m really sorry. Namjoon is right. I am trying to be less of an asshole to you. We don’t…” he catches himself, “I don’t have a lot of close friends who are women.”
“You don’t say.”
That seems to cut through the fog. He hangs his head and focuses his gaze on the table.
“I never wanted to hurt your feelings.”
“Well, you did,” you mumble.
“I know... I’m sorry.” It’s like now that he’s said it once, he can’t stop saying it. He’s not sure how to make you understand. Maybe you do understand and you just won’t forgive him. Can he really blame you for that?
“Why?” you question; it’s the last barrier protecting your heart, the only thing keeping you from caving. “Why do you care now?”
Jungkook’s head lolls to one side as he sits back against his seat and stares at the nearly empty bottle of saké. “I don’t know. I guess I was thinking… I wish I had a save to reload. Before I messed up.”
It seems that’s the best you’re going to get out of him right now. The waitress sets down a beautiful platter of banana tempura meticulously arranged around a simple mound of ice cream, topped with a single cherry and drizzled with decorative chocolate. She places three waters on the table and you both take a moment to politely force smiles and pause your conversation.
He licks his lips and stares down at the plate and then back up at you. “Can we start over?”
“Depends. Are you gonna go back to being a dick when you’re not drunk anymore?”
“No, no. I mean it. I wanna try to be friends.”
“For real?” You swipe the cherry, pop it in your mouth and tilt your head to regard him. You can’t let yourself fully believe him. You want to. The earnestness in his drunken features charms you, but you hold onto a shred of disbelief as a crutch. You’ll wait for the moment he reverts. Hopefully this time you’ll be prepared for the whiplash that comes along with it.
“For real.”
You reflect on his apology as the pair of you dig into the dessert. “Maybe. Prove it.”
He perks up. He’ll take a maybe. Maybe means the damage he’s done might not be irreparable. The guilt weighing on his conscience feels lighter. It’s a start.
“I will. I’ll find some way to make it up to you.”
You roll your eyes, unwilling to put stock in his words. “Is this another bet with Hobi? About how quickly you can make me forgive you?”
Jungkook shakes his head furiously, wisps of wild black hair whipping his cheeks. “No, I mean it. I promise.”
You drag your lip through your teeth as you teeter on the line of acceptance. “What is a promise from a liar worth?”
He drops the flat of his palm to the table and he pouts. “Hey. I mean it…. Hm. If I break my promise…” His eyes scan the table for anything he can use to change your mind. He looks at his arm pressed against the table and then back at you. “You can choose my next tattoo.”
Your eyebrows rise into your hairline. “Really.”
He eagerly nods. “I’ll get whatever you want wherever you want. Just. Not my face.”
“I want that in writing,” you snort.
Jungkook glances around the table and pulls a napkin from under the plate of tempura. “Do you have a pen?”
“Jungkook, you don’t have to—”
“I’m serious.” He’s not taking no for an answer.
You shake your head and rummage through your purse to supply him with a pen. He smooths out the napkin he’s chosen to use as a conduit for his promise. When he’s finished writing he slides it towards you.
I’m sorry. I can make it right.
I promise. Please give me another chance.
If I blow it you can choose what & where my next tattoo goes.
As long as it’s not my face. Let’s be friends? #promise.com ♡ Jungkook
Of course he signed it with a heart. Despite his inebriation, his handwriting is still neat. Well, that’s one hell of a promise.
“Okay.” You fold the note and drop it into your purse. “We can try.”
His face lights up as he stuffs a piece of tempura into his mouth, happily chomping with his mouth wide open. He reaches for the saké but you slide a water in front of him instead.
“Friends don’t let friends get totally shitfaced at Hajime.”
He frowns at you but seems to accept your answer with a pout.
“Speaking of which… Where is Namjoon?” You crane your neck to look around the restaurant.
“Friday noodle nights common for you guys?” Jungkook asks, digging into the dessert between massive gulps of water.
“No, not really. We’re usually watching movies at my place or hanging with Hobi. But Namjoon wanted to take me out because I was sad,” you say, finally catching sight of your friend on the other side of the bar.
Jungkook’s chewing slows and he regards you with furrowed brows. “Sad?”
Before you can decide how you want to answer, Namjoon is scooting into the booth next to Jungkook and reaching for a piece of tempura. “Mmmm. What did I miss?”
“Y/N was telling me why she’s sad.”
Namjoon nods like he understands exactly what you’ve been talking about. “He’s a dick, right? Like how do you even stand someone up, not once, but twice? Makes no sense.”
“And I know what you’re gonna say, but I disagree. It has nothing to do with you or how you look, Y/N. You don’t need to workout like a maniac to try to change anything. Especially not for someone like Jason. I can’t even imagine—”
“Joon.” You click your tongue and slide a glass of water in front of him. “Please, shut the fuck up.”
As you glare at him, he looks at you with raised brows and wide eyes. Unsure what to do now that he’s obviously fubared the conversation, he casts his guilty gaze to his cup and brings it to his lips.
Jungkook stares at you with furrowed brows, trying to wait to let you fill in the blanks even though he’s itching to ask about everything. He picks another piece of tempura and stuffs it into his mouth, but when you remain silent the impulse to pry takes over. “Jason?”
“He stood me up…” you start, but you close your mouth when you realize you’re going to try to defend him. Your throat feels full, like you can’t get enough air through with a giant knot in it like this. You have to whisper so your voice doesn’t crack. “Twice.”
The couple drinking at the table nearby becomes a much more interesting place to rest your eyes than the two men across from you. Tightening your jaw doesn’t prevent the gloss from coating your eyes. Thinking about it makes you feel so stupid and desperate. Bending over backwards a thousand different ways to accommodate him couldn’t convince him to put in even a minimal amount of effort one time.
Jungkook’s eyebrows shoot up in genuine surprise. “Twice?”
The hurt you feel in your chest scorches your cheeks until anger is filling your head like a teakettle ready to release an unhealthy amount of steam right in Jungkook’s face.
“That’s what I get for giving people second chances,” you snap as you focus back on him.
Joon says your name like it’s a warning but you don’t need it. You feel guilty enough for projecting your anger onto Jungkook with a petty one-liner.
“Sorry. It’s not your fault. I just…” Your throat closes around the rest of the words.
Before an uncomfortable silence can settle over the table, Namjoon inches the bottle of saké with his fingertips until it’s in front of him. “Dating is tricky. Jason sucks. It sucks that he hurt you. But you don’t have to twist yourself into whatever you think he wants anymore. And that…” He pours the pitiful remainder of alcohol into a shot glass and slides it towards you.“...is worth celebrating.”
Jungkook silently nods his head in agreement. It’s obvious you’re on the verge of tears and he doesn’t want to be the thing that pushes you over the edge.
A soft smile curls the corners of your mouth. “That’s true, but…” you slide the glass back towards him and steal the last of the banana tempura. “I can celebrate back at my apartment. Finish your water so you’ll be awake enough to join me. Both of you.”
Jungkook perks up and happily reaches for his water while Namjoon gives you a proud, yet confused look. It seems like a new start to something. What that is remains to be seen.
⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰
Jungkook watches intently as the colors of the city shine through the windows. He runs his fingers over the soft blanket you keep in the backseat, mouthing the words to the song softly playing from your dashboard. Namjoon has been talking nonstop from the passenger seat, which is fine with Jungkook since he’s feeling a little tired. The last session of the day was a bit more intense than intended, but the client left happy and covered in sweat. A success. But Jungkook is sore and exhausted. Physically and socially.
A sense of relief floods him at the memory of his conversation with you. Things may actually be okay from here. Who would have thought crashing your noodle night with Namjoon could have yielded such results?
His head bobs to the music as his eyes wander across the scenery outside until he grows bored and they drift to the interior of your car. A graduation tassel swings from your rearview mirror as you turn. He follows the movement of the tassel when it swings towards you and his eyes land on your face, or at least what he can see of it from this angle.
You look focused and calm while conversing with Namjoon but your posture is a bit rigid and your hands remain planted on the steering wheel in complete control. There’s something about this candid snapshot of your persona that puts him at ease. Your voice is a soft contrast to Namjoon’s, but equally enthusiastic.
He tilts his head as he leans back in his seat, pulling the blanket over his lap and twisting the fabric around his palm. Your eyes flicker in the rearview mirror, catching his. He gives a tiny wave and rests his head against the cushion, fighting the temptation to close his eyelids for longer than a second. The more he listens to you laugh, the more he finds himself smiling. It’s goofy.
It’s also kind of cute.
⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰
Jungkook is surprised when Yoongi answers your knock; he thought he would be asleep. He’s even more surprised when you make yourself at home on his couch and guilt him with a puppy dog pout to make you a drink, and he complies. When Jungkook asks the same, Yoongi tells him there’s beer in the fridge while measuring out the ingredients for your cocktail. The suspicious sour ache of jealousy stabs his gut as he moseys to the fridge but he quickly shakes it off, settling on the floor in front of the tv with a beer in hand.
After a couple hours of drinking, laughing, and playing Jackbox games with the three men, you’re feeling much better about everything. Life is good. Friends are good. Alcohol is very good.
It doesn’t take much to get you drunk. You’re about as much of a lightweight as Hobi and for better or worse everyone has come to know that fact. What’s nice about drinking in Yoongi’s apartment is that you don’t have to walk very far to get home. Things don’t get awkward with the three of them together; it’s actually kind of nice, like a mini Saturday night pregame.
Soon Namjoon and Yoongi are snoring on the couch with a movie playing in the background while you stand in the kitchen with Jungkook. He pours another drink for himself, though he knows it will mostly likely remain unfinished. Tomorrow may bring a massive hangover, but tonight has been surprisingly pleasant. He feels like he’s finally on okay footing with you, maybe even on the road to serious repair. Amazing how well you get along when inhibitions are replaced by inebriation. If that’s what it takes, he’s determined to keep it up.
As he turns his back to place the liquor bottle in the cabinet by the fridge, you swipe a sip of the drink he’s concocted. He spins around in time to see you wrinkle your nose and stick your tongue out.
“Hey, that’s mine!” he pouts.
“Blegh. You can have it. Yuck!” Your face screws up again at the aftertaste.
He drunkenly giggles as he slides the drink closer to him. “What, don’t like sour?”
“Too sour!” You reach for the water bottle Yoongi gave you hours ago and attempt to rinse the puckering sensation from your mouth.
Amused, he tilts his head and watches you take gulp after gulp. He purses his lips and holds back the comment itching to escape, deciding to enjoy a sip of his drink instead. You shimmy out of your hoodie and tie it around your waist and his eyes lazily follow the motion of your arms, noting a slight difference in their musculature. Some errant thought about their shape leads him back to an earlier unaddressed comment that he’s finally comfortable enough to prod you about.
“What kind of workouts are you doing?” he blurts.
Suddenly you feel very exposed. You straighten in your seat and suck in your gut, hyper aware of every imperfection of your body on display to someone so in shape. You immediately begin to fidget with the sleeves of the hoodie you just tied around your waist.
“You don’t have to tell me. I just—” he pauses, exhaling a small breath and looking down at his drink as though he’s wary of continuing the thought.
“No, no it’s fine,” you assure him, too curious to say otherwise. “What is it?”
“When Namjoon said…” he sighs and takes a sip, smacking his lips and licking them before looking back to you. “I thought maybe I can prove myself to you by helping you come up with a plan.”
“You don’t have to do that.” You plant an elbow on the counter and lean on it.
“I want to,” he insists, reaching out for your arm.
His hand is like fire engulfing your skin and your eyelids flutter at the sensation. Instinctively you place a hand over his and rub your thumb anxiously over it. He looks down to where your thumb grazes his knuckles and then back up to your face with a surprised smile.
“Um… Everything,” you say, trying to sound as vague and nonchalant as possible so he doesn’t judge you for your lack of knowledge.
“Like, full body?”
“Uh...” You’ve managed to make a habit of going to his gym a few days a week while successfully avoiding him, but it seems that time is coming to an end. “I… machine.”
“Oh. Like at a gym? Did you join one?” He seems genuinely curious.
“Um, yeah.” Suddenly you pull your hand back when you realize the speed at which your thumb is moving.
“Which one?”
The more you say, the more suspicious you seem, but is saying less any better? Jungkook rests his elbow on the counter and simply looks at you but you don’t look back. A slow smile spreads his lips as the possibility dawns on him.
“Princess… Did you join Iron Kingdom?”
You puff your cheeks and force the air through the tiny opening of your mouth. You don’t offer any sort of confirmation and continue to avoid his gaze.
“And you didn’t tell me?” he playfully prods, drumming his fingers against your forearm.
“I… Yeah,” you admit, your voice small as you stare at the counter. “I didn’t want you to know.
“I don’t want to give you another thing to make fun of me for.”
“I’m not gonna make fun of you.” When you don’t respond he tugs on your arm. The motion is enough to angle you towards him. “Hey. Hey. Hey. Hey.”
“What?” you grumble, staring at your lap even as you face him.
He takes your hands in his and drunkenly waves them around. “Heeeeeeeey. Look at me.”
He pouts until you reluctantly drag your eyes to meet his. “What?”
“Everyone starts somewhere,” he says softly. “Even me.”
The shift in his demeanor catches you off guard and you subconsciously lean forward as you relax. “Well I started with Hwasa, but I was too sore to ask for another session with her.”
He nods sympathetically, clapping his hand over yours. “You should try again.”
You shake your head. “I don’t know. I feel like…”
“Like?” he prods when you let the silence trail for a bit too long.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” you sigh. “I feel like I don’t belong there. I look so stupid reading the instructions on the machines. I don’t even think I’m doing it right.”
“What?” He makes a sound between a laugh and a grunt. “There’s nothing wrong with making sure you don’t hurt yourself. Nobody knows how to instantly do things. If they tell you they do, they’re lying.”
“Or they’re Namjoon,” you say with a roll of your eyes, glancing over at your snoring friend.
He smiles and clicks his tongue against his teeth in thought. “I didn’t know what I was doing when I started.”
You’re skeptical. It’s always seemed like he was born in a gym. Or maybe hatched. He’s kind of inhumanly gorgeous. Maybe he sprouted from a flower like a mythical god.
“For real. First time doing squats. I think it was gym class? Yeah, I was like twelve or thirteen. I was… not very athletic. Didn’t play sports or anything. Kind of shy. Didn’t really have a lot of friends either…”
The way he trails off makes your heart hurt. Puberty isn’t nice to most people. It’s hard to imagine a world where someone like Jungkook isn’t instantly popular and naturally fit. While you’re not exactly the same person you were at twelve, a lot of your interests and personality quirks have remained the same. You’re still painfully awkward at times. How did he manage to overcome something like that? Is it not ingrained in him like it is you?
“Just a big dork, you know?” He laughs. “I see this girl I had a crush on, Amber. She’s looking at me. I think I have to impress her. So I’m stacking up weight and I think I’m hot shit and go too fast. Know what happened?”
“Please don’t tell me you dropped it on your foot or something,” you plead, squeezing his palms at the way he’s building up the story. The secondhand embarrassment is too real.
“I hear a pop.”
“No!” you gasp, bringing your hands to your face as if you can stop the past from happening.
“And pain. So much pain. I don’t remember putting the weights down but I remember ending up on my back, staring up at the ceiling.”
“Oh no. Knees?”
“Worse.” He points down to his crotch. “Pulled a muscle in my groin. Had to sit the rest of the day with an ice pack on my junk. Was not fun. My point is: don’t give up. You learn more as you go. Give Hwasa another shot.”
His anecdote gives you pause but you’re desperate to cling to the comfort of your anxiety. “My free trial with her is almost up and I don’t think I’ll be able to afford to keep at it.”
“More excuses,” he teases, taking a sip of his drink. “At this point I should just—” His eyes widen, a lightbulb practically forming above his head as he puts his cup down. “I’ll be your personal trainer!”
“No, no. It’s perfect. We’re friends now.” He smiles, proud of himself for finding a way to prove himself to you. “I can teach you everything you need to know about working out. I can set up a plan for you and figure out the best way to help you achieve your goals. Oh, man we’re gonna have to figure out your goals. What do you—”
“Hold on. Hold on,” you interrupt with a nervous laugh. “You’re missing the part where I still can’t afford it.”
He rolls his eyes and grabs your glass, holding it under the sink to refill it. “Don’t worry about that. I’ll cover it.”
You’re stunned into silence as you observe the expanse of his back, searching the black fabric of his t-shirt for the definition of his muscles. He sets the cup in front of you, waiting for your agreement. When it doesn’t come, he second guesses himself. Did he overstep?
“I mean if you’re okay with that. Would-would you want to do that?”
The innocent drunken sparkle in his eyes makes your stomach do a flip. When you woke up this morning you hardly thought the day would include getting sloshed with Jungkook and having him offer to take you on as a fitness trainee. It’s like he’s opened himself up just enough for you to see the soft mess beneath. You like it. You like it a lot and you kind of hate yourself for it. While you don’t know if you can trust him past the evening, you find yourself hoping you can.
“You won’t make fun of me?” you ask timidly before bringing the cup of water to your lips.
“It’s my job not to make fun of you. We start where you’re at and go from there. And like I said, I’ll cover the fees for as long as you want. No pressure.” He smiles at you. “What do you think?”
“...Okay,” you murmur with a nod of your head. “If you’re serious, then I’m… I’m in!”
His lips part to expose his teeth as his grin spreads. “Yes!”
As he brings his hand up in a sign of victory, his knuckles knock against his glass. You reach for the cup with impaired reflexes, hands fumbling over the slippery surface in conjunction with his. The sour contents spill across the counter as the pair of you struggle to right the glass. While he’s quicker at getting the glass upright, your brain is faster at processing what to do next and you already have a paper towel in hand, wiping up the liquid as fast as possible.
Your eyes follow the spill to the edge of the counter where it’s flooded over the side. Acting on instinct rather than rational thought, you quickly press down where the liquid has begun to pool in his lap. As you fold the paper towel over, you rub frantically as if the action will keep the stain from setting into the fabric. He shifts in his seat and squeaks out a sound so small that you can’t actually tell whether it came from him or the chair.
It only dawns on you how inappropriate your actions are when you glance towards his face and find his wide eyes gazing back at you. His cheeks, already flushed from inebriation, seem twice as vivid and his mouth is parted slightly as though he means to speak, but he doesn’t. Maybe he doesn’t want to embarrass you, but it’s too late for that.
Your palm stills against his crotch as the shape beneath becomes clear in your mind. For a second you’re frozen, but your lips work quickly to mumble an apology. It feels like an eternity before you will your drunken fingers to release the paper towel. The clearing of Jungkook’s throat is followed by a tiny giggle, then a full on snort. A grin spreads across your lips and you soon follow him into a fit of laughter. You thank the universe for the small mercy of being drunk enough to push your embarrassment to the side for the time being.
“I wasn’t thinking!” you wheeze, tears in your eyes from laughing so hard. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. It’ll dry.” He laughs, dabbing his pants and shirt in the absence of your hand. As he stands he pulls the hem of his shirt away from his torso and looks down at it. “Really. It’s my fault I’m so…”
“Sticky?” You quirk an eyebrow at him, a blatant flirtatious action thinly disguised as a joke as you eye the blot of liquor staining the lower half of his shirt.
Both of his eyebrows raise and a mischievous smile curls the corner of his lips. “...Wet.”
You consider his answer with a pleased hum and turn back to the counter to polish off the last of your water. You’re friends now, right? It can’t be that easy. But it kind of is. So what’s wrong with a little harmless flirting between friends?
Drunk brain, who happens to be a notorious hoe, assures you it’s great. Rational brain might disagree, but she’s taking a well-deserved nap. You’ve at least had a good night. You’re not sure it matters at this point who is giving you the attention you crave. It feels good. So good, in fact, you’re sure you can indulge drunk brain a little more.
You’re drawn to the inky shapes swirling around Jungkook’s bicep as he wipes the counter down. Every time your eyes begin to focus on an object marking his skin with some kind of meaning, he moves and you lose it. It’s brush strokes, isn’t it? You’ve definitely seen a paintbrush and mountains and a knife surrounded by roses. A swathe of grey and purple connects to each one you’ve seen, but you know there are more.
Before you can blurt that you’re dying to know how many he has and how bad it hurt to get them, he turns toward the sink and begins to work his t-shirt up his torso. You watch in awe as the toned muscles of his back are exposed. The image of the bright phoenix does little to hide their definition.
Trying to will yourself to look away is of no use; he’s hot and you’re drunk enough to acknowledge that fact. Of course he peeks at you just as the shirt slips over his head to find you open-mouthed and dazed, ogling him as though there isn’t any shame in the world that could pull your gaze from him. He turns to the fridge to give you a moment to compose yourself, nabbing a water bottle from the shelf in the process. You’re clearly not ready for the way he quickly spins on the balls of his feet to face you.
Y/N.exe has stopped working.
Your fingers hang in the air suspiciously until you lazily drop them. But Jungkook dons a toothy grin and has the audacity to look shy. He mockingly shields his chest from you with the shirt clutched in his hands.
“Princess! Are you… checking me out?”
Somehow you don’t let the fire in your face turn your brain to ash.“Pfft, no.”
“What’re you doing, then?” he teases with a laugh as he sits, scooting his chair closer to yours.
“Counting,” you reply simply, brow furrowed in concentration. To drive the point home, you poke at his flesh everywhere you can make out an object drawn into its surface.
“How many?” he wonders, watching with cloudy, amused eyes.
“Mmm…” You trail your finger down his arm and back up, following the curve of the brushstroke around his shoulder. “Can’t tell if this counts as one.”
He shrugs and rests his head on his palm as he leans against the counter. “What do you think?”
You hesitate when he quickly quirks a brow.
“I think… A lot.”
“Definitely accurate,” he says with a grin.
Awkward laughter steers the pair of you towards your waters. The TV in the background provides enough noise to steal your focus; you’re grateful for the distraction from the attractive man beside you. Drunk brain is telling you to touch him again, to grab his hand, to feel the touch of someone just for the night, to ruin every good thing this night has started to rebuild between you. Anything to stave off the emptiness of your bed, the 2AM thoughts of failure, and the drunken desperation to find someone, anyone, who will fall in love with whatever image you happen to project on your dating profile.
Heart pounding wildly in your chest and blood rushing through your ears, your fingertips tap against the countertop as they inch closer to where his arm rests. Luckily your futile attempts at nonchalance go unnoticed. Jungkook anxiously turns his water bottle over in his hands, trying to gather words in his brain before freeing them from his mouth.
“So…” he begins.
You jump at the sudden sound and retract your hand while he’s not paying you any mind.
“I was thinking. About that guy…”
You wish you could at least pretend you don’t know who he’s talking about. You’ve vented plenty tonight, but still your heart sinks. Deleting Jason’s digital footprint from your life was simple and quick, but the feelings of rejection and disappointment that swirl in the back of your mind spill forward the longer his pause continues.
“I know this probably means nothing coming from me. But I just— I know you liked him, but you can do better.“
Your posture stiffens at his reassurance and you find yourself grateful he’s not looking at you. Do you deserve better?
“You deserve better,” he affirms, as if somehow aware of your internal struggle.
“Thanks,” you murmur with a distinct lack of enthusiasm as you stare down your glass.
It's cry hours, isn’t it?
Realizing you don’t believe him, he takes a deep breath and nudges you with his elbow. “Hey.”
“What.” You refuse to look up because you know you’re on the verge of an irrational stream of tears over some guy you hardly knew. It’s stupid and you know it. But the wet warmth coating your eyes tells you it’s coming regardless.
“I’m... sorry that you don’t feel like you do. Some people can’t get over the weight of their own shit. But that doesn’t mean it’s on you to pick it up for them. If they can’t even bother to carry themselves to meet you halfway, then they’re not worth the effort.”
It’s a perfect time for your heart to seize up and it takes the opportunity to do so. The advice he offers doesn’t stave off the tears, but it resonates deep within you. Namjoon said something similar. It makes you ache to hear it again from someone else. It just leads you back to the same questions you keep asking yourself. What’s so wrong with you that people don’t even want to try? Is it your personality? Physicality? Is it a lack of confidence? What is it?
‘I can’t even get a shitty guy to like me. Maybe I’m the one not worth the effort.’ You don’t dare say those words out loud. Pity isn’t something you’re looking for. A warm body to fill your bed maybe, but not pity.
“Sounds easy when you say it like that,” you murmur, trying in vain to will the tears not to fall. You’re quick to swipe at them and force a smile. “I guess I have trouble giving up on people. It’s not that I’m naive. I try to be realistic. But no matter how many times I get fucked over I just... hope for the best in people. I can’t help it.”
He pats your arm reassuringly. “That’s why you deserve better.”
If only it was as simple as hearing those words and magically being able to believe it. A big chunk of your confidence has crumbled away and there’s no clear path to restoration. As the warmth of his palm comes to rest against your arm, you place your hand over his and squeeze.
“I don’t know if I believe it,” you pause and thoughtfully add, “but thanks for saying it.”
His eyebrows raise in surprise and he offers a tiny, “You’re welcome.”
A shaky chuckle passes your lips. All of his features seem to soften the more you look at them. Maybe it’s the drunken gloss coating his big brown eyes or the way his lips slightly part as he looks back at you. The tightly coiled nerves in your belly urge you to unravel.
Although it's a subtle gesture, he licks his lips as he smiles and it practically seals your fate. If you don't leave now you're bound to do something you'll regret.
"It's late. I should sleep."
Or masturbate.
The speed at which you launch yourself from the seat is unpleasant. You're not sure what's worse: the dizzying vertigo or waves nausea sloshing in your gut. Jungkook's reflexes may be delayed but he's a steady mass of muscle the moment you reach out to steady yourself.
"Whoa. You okay?"
"Maybe," you mumble, finding yourself drawn to the heat radiating from his skin. Instead of walking away, slump down to rest your cheek against his shoulder and sling an arm around him. You might be drunker than you thought. "I don't know."
"Hmm. What do you need, princess?"
"Just wanna stop spinning."
His stance shifts to better accommodate the additional weight you press against him.
"How about you take over Yoongi's bed tonight," he suggests softly. "He's passed out anyway."
"No, I should go home." You peel your cheek from the warmth of his skin.
“You gonna make it there?”
“Yes,” you say indignantly. The world may be a bit wobbly right now, but you’re certain you can handle the short stroll down the hall.
"Okay.” He smiles, loosening his hold. As you step back your foot catches on the leg of the chair and it drags loudly against the floor.
Despite Jungkook’s attempt to keep you standing by grabbing at your arms, he loses his balance and he drops to his knees. The chair clatters to the floor before your ass does. Luckily his grip keeps your back and head far from impact, but you’re too cramped to be comfortable.
“Are you okay?” he asks. Those big, dark doe eyes of his are frozen in fear and a frown adorns his face. He looks so serious it’s ridiculous.
You can’t help but laugh, wiggling backwards to make space between his body and the heat steadily building between your legs. “I’m fine. Stop making that face.”
“Huh? What do you mean?” He sits back on his feet and tilts his head to the side in confusion.
He breaks into a fit of giggles when you dramatically mimic his expression. You roll back onto your elbows, making another ridiculous face to further mock him.
“No, no. It’s more like…” Jungkook takes the opportunity to lean over you, reaching with one hand to squeeze your cheeks to pucker your lips. You blow a disjointed raspberry at him before pulling his hand off to the side.
While the clamor of the fallen chair did nothing to rouse the men on the couch, the sound of Jungkook’s hearty laughter is loud enough to disturb the rhythmic snores of Namjoon.
Jungkook sits back on his heels and peeks over the countertop. He seems miles away, even as you sit up and scoot in to bring yourself closer. Laughter fades into a quiet hum as Namjoon’s snoring resumes.
You're lost in the abyss of his gaze as he turns his head to look back at you. All that remains in your brain at this point is a foggy desire to tug on the silky spirals of his ebony hair until he presses himself against you one more time.
Your hand settles for following the curves of his bicep instead, wondering how it might feel to be wrapped within his embrace. Some might say liquor makes you bold and stupid, and they're right. They should say it. But it also makes you feel invincible, like a goddamn glowing Mario star power-up.
Enraptured, his eyes follow the motion of your hand as it slithers around his arm and squeezes. Unable to ignore the prompt, he answers with a flex against your palm. His ego swells when you shiver and noticeably hold your breath.
You know it's a mistake. You know it goes against all of your sober judgement, but you find yourself doing it anyway. It doesn't matter that you still harbor a grudge that holds your heart hostage. Drunk hoe vibes are taking the wheel. You’re tired, drunk as hell, and just want to feel wanted. And he's here.
Every fiber of your inebriated being is singing in unison: Why the fuck not?
Heartbeat pounding against your eardrums, you attempt to gauge his reaction as you lean towards him. It's hard to tell from beneath half-lidded eyes, but you think he's leaning towards you too. If he isn't you suppose you can always play it off like you're just a mess. It's not far from the truth. Focusing on the tiny freckle below his lip, you allow yourself to finally close your eyes and go for it.
But the universe isn’t here for your dumb boozy bitch mistakes.
The front door swings open with the sound of jingling keys dropping to the floor. It snaps you back to reality and you freeze, realizing there's no defense that will save you. Jungkook is quick to disengage, poking his head above the counter to acknowledge Hoseok’s presence with a wave. But his friend is completely enamored with the company he’s ushering towards his bedroom.
“Yeah, baby? How bad?” Hoseok whispers to the giggling girl wrapped around his arm.
He pins the stranger against the door to drag his tongue across her neck. Their bodies move rhythmically in a slow grind, a precursor for what’s likely to come. Jungkook purses his lips. How long until one of them notices him watching? It’s not until the girl moans Hoseok’s name softly that Jungkook spares a panicked look towards you.
Oh shit.
You gesture for him to get down before he draws their attention. The last thing you want to explain is why you’re on your knees in Hoseok’s kitchen with a very shirtless Jungkook standing close by. He obliges your silent request, squatting down beside you.
“Feel how hard you made me?” Hobi chuckles quietly.
The girl giggles, her voice growing closer. “You gonna fuck me right here or what?”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Naughty girl. What if my roommate wakes up? Looks like he has a friend over too. You really want them to see what a dirty slut you are?”
You can hear her giggle as he directs her where to go, failing to keep his voice down so you hear every filthy thing he says after. Your hands fly to cover your mouth. Is your skin made of lava? You want to blame it on the close proximity to Jungkook, but the only thing you can imagine is Hoseok’s dick and the eager mystery woman about to be impaled by it. Can you scrub your brain of this memory? How are you supposed to look at him after this?
Jungkook watches your face carefully, trying his hardest not to laugh. Your eyes look so big he’s pretty sure they could roll out of your skull any second. Are you really so innocent? The way you cover your mouth says you are, but maybe it’s just the shock. Maybe you’re just trying to not laugh. Or scream. Or breathe? It kind of looks like you might pass out.
Are you gonna make it, princess? he wonders.
Once you hear Hoseok's bedroom door close, you fuss your hands over your hair and scramble to your feet, releasing a big exhale. The hushed words fall from your lips while you scurry away like a timid mouse. "I should go."
Despite being too far to make contact, he reaches out as you round the counter. "Wait—"
As soon as the word leaves his mouth he struggles to come up with the rest of his statement. There’s no reason to keep you here, except to maybe laugh a little about what just happened to smooth over any second-hand embarrassment. So why doesn’t he want you to go?
He swallows down the blank space caught in his throat and searches every last crevice of his brain for something of import to say. Guilt weighs his gut down, though there isn’t a clear cause. He’s probably screwed something up again without realizing it.
“Thanks for giving me another shot,” he says softly.
You breathe a sigh of relief and offer a tiny smile as you half turn, your hand already on the door handle. “Don’t blow it.”
He nods with a smile. “I won’t. Goodnight.”
“‘Night,” you mumble.
As soon as the door is closed you practically sprint down the hall to lock yourself within your apartment. Maybe it will also lock out all the mistakes your brain has made tonight.
The world feels colder now that you’re not pressed against the human-shaped heater that is Jeon Jungkook. Thinking about him makes your heart swell and ache at the same time. Regardless of how badly you wish you'd asked him to bed, you know loneliness is fleeting and guilt would be a far worse feeling to be saddled with.
⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰
Jungkook picks up the fallen chair, finding your soft, worn hoodie draped over it. Rubbing a thumb over the material, he considers running it back to you, but he can't remember which door is yours. It's not like he's been here often enough to know. Instead he slips his arms through the sleeves before flipping the hood over his head.
He settles on the floor in the space he previously claimed for the night, pulling a blanket out from under Yoongi's ass. Yoongi rolls his head up, a scowl on his features though his eyes remain closed. He grumbles but lies down, facing the couch.
Jungkook regards his friend for a moment before deciding to drape the blanket over him instead of claiming it for himself. Jungkook rolls onto his side and fluffs the throw pillow under his head. As he watches the credits roll on the TV, he nuzzles into your sweater.
He closes his eyes, thinking of you. He knows he shouldn't linger on the little occurrences of the night, especially with how foggy his brain is. He can't trust anything about his memory.
Still he thinks of the way your fingers trailed along his arm and curled tightly around his bicep. He lets himself dwell on the tiny sound you made, the involuntary tremble of your body, and the subsequent hitch in your breath.
He smiles and inhales the subtle scent you've left behind. A new spark of adrenaline fans flames that inflate his ego, spreading warmth from his stomach up into his chest. The world may wobble around him right now, but the little magical warmth within his gut helps him comfortably drift off to dreamland like he's the world's most immovable object.
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girlfriendsofthegalaxy · 28 days ago
tuesday again 7/19/22
once again i bring you one Extremely long section and several much much shorter sections
listening two very different songs
scene queen's extremely horny new single, pink g-string, which features the lyrics "bling, bling, you look so good underneath me/floss my teeth with your g-string" and "i'm his mistress? fuck if i know/front page scandal? i do my own promo!". i think this is slightly less put together than her last single, pink panther. in particular i don't like the "twerkle pit" chunk of the lyrics that feel like they were transplanted from a different demo? in general, her stuff so far is a really fun throwback to horny late aughts party music with the addition of some sick breakdowns.
also the phrase "they're gonna put them all in one bouquet/for minne the moocher's wedding day" from cab calloway's minnie the moocher's wedding day has been stuck in my head for no particular reason. this song has aged less gracefully that the original minnie the moocher song, and it's less memorable both musically and lyrically, but goddamn if this one fucking phrase isn't stuck in my head.
how'd i come across this: scene queen has a very agressive marketing team, and i think minne the moocher's wedding day was a song the grandmother i saw less frequently liked? who could say. wish i could.
reading i bought this book the week i was moving while in a goodwill looking for a frying pan, bc look at it.
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i do not think i will finish it bc it's one of those stiff-upper-lip-two-blokes-somewhat-retired-from-putting-down-indian-rebellions-uncover-a-dastardly-foreign-plot-while-on-holiday. what's a z-ray? well, it's 1931, so it's more powerful than an x-ray and can bring down planes and can also kill you in ten minutes from what seems to be radiation poisoning. that's all i know a third of the way into the book after some very stupid and unnecessary maneuvers, which seem to be an excuse for a south coast of england driving tour.
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it's one of these. you know? you know. it does not get better.
watching the amaz*on prime series the boys. this show is. hm. a lot. i have watched all three seasons inside a week. the premise is: man whose girlfriend was accidentally killed by a superhero seeks justice and you watch his slow slide from idealism to "ends justify means". i talk about broad themes here and some specifics about the ends of seasons in rot13.
this show is extremely good at creating high-stakes moments and showdowns but making sure the power structures and dynamics are exactly the same at the end of each season. despite the excellence at creating increasingly fucked up extended family dynamics, i don't know that i'll be tuning in for s4. this show is in a good place for me to forget about it completely bc most of my questions are answered.
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i don't like how they are still attempting to rehab one of the rapist superheroes and continue to paint him as a sympathetic character well into s3. i do like how each new little twist and turn the superhero-as-a-product company makes, makes me go "ohhhh of COURSE they would do that. that's just capitalism to its most logical conclusion. of COURSE in this world where there are superheroes there this is specific type and level of rot within the system. of COURSE they're a pharmaceutical company and not a superhero company. of COURSE some child prodigy superheroes would progress from disney channel equivalent stars to c- and d-tier superheroes in their adult years and be extremely susceptible to cults and generally falling the fuck apart."
the strength of this show is this whole underpinning question of "can you save people" which is a fun thing to explore in a superhero series, bc yes that's their job, but there are some wildly opposing character viewpoints. there are also quite a lot of characters who deliberately left or vanished- one for almost every main reoccurring character. everyone is dealing with grief and responsibility very poorly. there is no one character that the show has decided holds the "correct" viewpoint if that makes sense. everyone is fucking up constantly in increasingly new and interesting ways.
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also it's wild to see this show lampoon megacorps and zombie franchies so much when it is a show airing on amazon. the graffiti and general set dressing are extremely high budget, which is also nice. it is dense with a lot of our world's political, social, and activist movements, down to the kendall jenner coca cola ad but with superheroes. that's also really fun.
The Searchers (1956, dir Ford) on in the background of a specific scene did irritate me. felt very twee. also annoyed i recognized it from approximately two seconds of footage.
spoilers behind rot13 for the whole goddamn show and butcher character development:
vg'f ernyyl dhvgr qryvpvbhf fybjyl ernyvmvat gung ohgpure unf orra jung ur jnf sebz gur frpbaq jr fnj uvz, naq jvyy nyjnlf or yvxr guvf. "guvf" orvat na nofbyhgr phag gb uvf irel pber. vg'f abg nobhg uvf jvsr orppn, rfcrpvnyyl va gur pne fprar evtug nsgre ur shpxvat svaqf ure nsgre guvaxvat fur jnf qrnq sbe rvtug lrnef, naq gura jura ur cebzvfrf uvf jvsr ur'yy svaq ure xvq vg'f abg orpnhfr ur ybirf ure vg'f orpnhfr ur pna ybbx tbbq va sebag bs gur oblf juvyr fur bjrf uvz na rabezbhf snibe. vg'f tbbq punenpgre jbex oerag. nyfb sha gb frr uhtuvr naq naavr gheavat vagb ohgpure. ohgpure'f ghea vagb "gung'f zl xvq npghnyyl" vf abg ernyyl n "v'z tbvat gb qb evtug ol zl qrnq jvsr naq ure xvq" vg'f zber bs n "guvf vf fbzrguvat v pna gnhag ubzrynaqre jvgu". be gung'f ubj vg srryf gb zr naljnl.
zber trareny fcbvyrel f2 gubhtugf: vs lbh tvir zr na bcrengvba cncrepyvc fgbelyvar v jvyy jngpu gung fuvg gb gur ovggre raq. nyfb vg'f ulfgrevpny gb zr gung n ybg bs crbcyr va gur snaqbz jrer urnegoebxra fgbezsebag jnf n anmv op uryyb?? ure anzr??? n srzvavfg sebz cbegynaq vf va snpg ZBER yvxryl gb or n anmv guna n erthyne nff ynql sebz cbegynaq. gur juvgr frggyre fgngr va gur abegujrfg puheaf bhg gresf yvxr abobql'f ohfvarff.
how i came across it: ok you have to promise not to make fun of me. i was immune to supernatural. none of the makerspace boys will fucking shut up about mr ackles in this show. i wanted to see what the fuss is about. also im having fun with the worldbuilding, i like karl urban, and the fx are killer. this is a show that's impossible to rec bc it has literally every trigger warning (yes all of them) so it's good that this is not a rec series. it has a lot of chewy layers to it and is more fun to watch than marvel, partly bc it is so deliberately trying to be its opposite in the most gross-out way possible, but there's a little more to it than "what if marvel superheroes were evil and HAD SEX". but most things are better than marvel so that's a really low bar. anyway
playing not a fallow week but nothing bloggable
making learning SQL so i lie a little less on my resume and it's like. wow. we could have been using this the whole time at work and made our lives so much more fucking easier.
as a reminder we're using fucking google sheets!!! bc my boss thinks excel is too scary!!! honestly i think this particular project will not keel over and die as soon as i leave bc there is too much money in it, but it is going to lumber on zombie-like uhhhh forever. incredibly stupid.
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thisisawonderfulusername · 7 months ago
let's save the world
season two, episode ten
five hargreeves x reader
summary: you finally manage to actually save the world.
warnings: not proofread, cursing, violence, ridiculous amounts of fluff (i had a hard time writing it because i kept on smiling too hard lmfao), probably some other stuff, tell me if you see anything
word count: 7.4k (that's 13 pages on google docs!)
a/n: wow. i never thought i'd be able to finish this series after the long break i had, but i'm so happy i got my motivation back because- wow. this is the longest thing i've ever written, and i'm so proud of it.
i left the ending open, without them seeing the sparrows yet, because i don't know yet if i will continue this when the next season arrives. it all depends on what you guys want- and if i disappear again lmfao
anyways, a lot happens here- including what we've all been waiting for. but yeah, i hope you like it, because i sure do.
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“authorities are asking for help identifying several persons of interest at dealey plaza at the time of the assassination. the fbi believes they may be have been acting in concert with the alleged shooter, lee harvey oswald.”
your arms are crossed over your chest as you watch the television, where the grainy image of an older looking man reads from his script. the picture begins to change, starting with the mug shot of oswald, before moving on to the others’ faces.
“vanya hargreeves, wanted in connection with the deaths of several fbi agents inside the federal building at dealey plaza.”
the mugshot from when vanya was taken in. it switches to the picture of diego’s own mugshot from his time spent in the mental institution- you had forgotten that that happened.
“a cuban exile known only as diego-”
“cuban?” diego mutters out loud.
“-who recently escaped from the holbrook sanitarium.”
now a picture of luther with the man he previously worked for appears. “a bare-knuckle boxer with suspected mafia ties who fights under the alias ‘king kong’. when you glance over at the large man, you can see him roll his eyes.
“allison chestnut, a negro radical responsible for instigating and organizing the recent riots at stadtler’s lunch counter.” the picture shows her standing with the protestors outside of the mentioned location, holding one of the many signs.
“and finally klaus,” instead of a picture of him like the others, the tv shows one of the paintings of him from when he was a cult leader, “a controversial cult leader and known tax evader.”
“the fbi is asking the public to be on the lookout for an unidentified boy and girl” a picture from when you were looking over the fence at what was happening appears, both of your looks of shock, “who they believe are being held hostage by the suspected terrorist network.”
“well, it’s true.” five speaks from where he stands as the report continues, “i do feel like i’m being held hostage most days.” he glances around at his siblings.
“you can say that again.” you mumble, mostly to yourself. they all seem to ignore your guys’ comments.
“i hate that photo.” diego states, still staring at the television.
allison is in disbelief, “they’re saying i instigated the riot?” her hands clap together quietly as she looks away, “that’s unbelievable.”
“look, the good news is that we restored the timeline, and we stopped doomsday.” luther cuts in, trying to lighten the mood up. “so-”
“yeah, a bunch of goddamn heroes,” diego states, “we let kennedy die.”
allison pushes away from the railing of the staircase, “yeah, and now we’re officially the most wanted people in the world.” you see klaus making his way down the stairs, “the fbi is after us, the dallas police, the secret service. it’s only a matter of time before they hunt us down here.”
“where are we supposed to go?” you question, an eyebrow raising at her. what was the plan now? was there anything to do? were you just supposed to wait around until the government finds you, maybe try traveling back in time again?
klaus puts his hand up in front of him, making his way down the final steps. “i have this yurt just outside reykjavik. we could totally lay low there. folks there are a little weird, but lovely.” he shrugs.
“hey, numbnuts.” five cuts in, “hiding isn’t gonna make a difference here. the commission will hunt us down wherever or whenever we go.” you run a hand down your face, feeling the frustration wash over you.
“he’s right.” diego states, and you look at him with furrowed eyebrows, “they’ll never stop.”
you take a short breath in, “uh, i’m sorry, but since when are you an expert on the commission?”
“since i got back from there.” he tells you, his gaze on the ground.
“what?” five questions.
“yeah, they headhunted me, offered me a job.” he confirms, “full time with benefits, which i had to turn down.”
“they headhunted you…” five states, “...the village idiot.”
diego looks genuinely offended, “what, am i not allowed to be headhunted? only you two, the almighty, need to be in demand?”
everyone is clearly fed up already, allison taking a seat on the steps and klaus turning away from the argument. “listen, diego, you’re not exactly commission material.” you explain, “you’ve got an… obstinate nature to you.”
“who do you think it was that figured out vanya was the one that causes doomsday and stopped it? me.” he pushes away from the pillar he was leaning against, getting closer to you, “that’s who. i figured it all out on the infinite switchboard.”
“you were on the infinite switchboard?” five questions.
“hell yeah,” diego confirms, “and i made that machine my bitch. yall need to recognize that i got shit going on yall don’t even know about.” he is basically towering over your thirteen year old body, and looks around at everyone else.
allison looks at him, surprised, “oh i’m sorry. you’ve got things going on?”
“this isn’t helping.” luther mutters.
“look, i met the resistance in their secret lair. all right? i went through orientation and i passed and i stopped doomsday.”
an argument breaks out between the siblings and you roll your eyes, not believing what was going on.
between all of it, when luther is laying out that all of you need to move, and diego is disagreeing, vanya comes down the stairs. “i’m leaving.” she tells everyone, and it stops the talk as everyone looks at her.
“what?” you ask in confusion, “to go where?”
“sissy’s farm. something’s wrong with harlan, and i need to help him.” she explains.
“vanya, we need to stick together, okay?” luther steps towards her, “now more than ever.”
“that’s why i’m telling you this. whatever is going on with harlan, i think i caused it.”
god, another thing that she did that contributed to the shit happening. you couldn’t care less about some random, mute kid.
“how?” luther questions.
she looks around, almost hesitating. “he drowned, and, uh, somehow i was able to bring him back to life, and now it’s like we’re connected.” luther asks what it means, which you’re also wondering, but she has no answer. “i don’t know, i can’t explain it. but, i know that he needs my help.” she takes a moment, “and i need your help too.”
“i’m scared.” she tells you, “and for the first time in my life, i don’t want to do it alone. i want my family by my side.”
diego has his arms crossed over his chest as he slowly moves towards her, “look, i’m sorry.” he tells her, “we have other priorities right now.”
from your side, five speaks up. “diego’s right. for once. we need to make our stand here and now.”
the woman looks around at all of you, and you could see that she was close to tears. you felt bad for her, but what diego said was true. “okay.” she breathes out shakily, “i guess i’ll see you when i see you.”
she leaves the room and you bite your lip. vanya was so sweet, and you felt so bad for brushing her off like this. but it was some kid, what was the point?
“we should help her.” klaus breaks the silence between all of you, his lips pressed together, “like you said, we have to stick together.”
“go ahead.” you wave your arm towards the door, “go help her. i just don’t see the point. he’s a kid who’s got something weird going on, it’s probably just… the flu, i don’t know.”
he sighs, “i don’t think so.” he shrugs, “but if you guys aren’t going, fine.”
he leaves the room through the same door, and the others all look around at each other.
“he’s got a point.” allison says softly, and you sigh.
diego looks to her, “let’s go then, i guess.”
they make their way to the door. you see five look at you out of the corner of your eye and you turn your head to meet his gaze.
“you want to go, don’t you?”
“kinda.” he mumbles to you.
“because they’re your family?”
“because they’re my family.” he confirms, and you sigh.
wherever five goes, you suppose you’ll go to. that’s how it’s always been. so you push away from the wall your leaning on and make your way out of the building with him following close behind. you hear a groan from luther and something about, “i guess we’re doing this.” as he follows a bit further away.
the door closes behind you as you see diego and allison get into the backseat, and you head towards the front seat, opening the door. poking your head in, vanya looks at you, “look, you guys don’t have to-”
“i’m only here because five is.” you sigh, looking at close, “children sit in the back.” he nods, hopping over the seat and you slide onto the middle of the long seat.
five sits next to you, shutting the door. “you owe me one, sis.” he tells vanya.
she’s stunned as klaus settles in between the two behind you, looking around at the people who joined her in the car. “guys, i don’t know what to say.” the smallest hint of a smile is on her face.
a second later, the trunk door falls open and luther climbs into the open space as the back of the car sinks down, hitting the ground, kind of ruining the sweet moment. everyone looks at him and he sighs, “anyone makes a fat joke, i’m out of here.”
and so, vanya starts the engine and pulls out of the alleyway, the tailpipe of the car dragging along the road. you suppose this is better than waiting around and trying to think of something better.
when you get to the farm, pulling into the long driveway, you realize you may have been wrong about the kid. over the barn, there is a giant cloud, and in contrast to the green fields surrounding the house, there is snow coating the ground.
“you think whatever’s going on inside is causing the cold front?” diego questions, raising his voice to be heard over the crackling of the storm as everyone gets out of the car.
“well the correlation is high.” five tells him.
a woman comes running out of the barn with a shotgun, pointing it at the group of you. vanya is yelling out to her.
“get back!” she shouts, cocking the gun, “all of you, just get the hell back!”
“sissy!” vanya, who is standing far closer than the rest of you, holds her hand out, “what’s wrong?”
the woman’s eyes dart between her and the rest of you, “carl.” is all she says.
“what did he do to you?”
she shakes her head, breathing shakily, “he’s… he’s dead. harlan tossed him aside like a rag doll, same way you sent those policemen flyin’.” she explains, “what did you do to him? vanya, what the hell did you do to my son?” she asks her.
“we don’t have time for this.” diego begins to move forward, but sissy points the gun at him.
“where you think you’re going?”
he holds his hand out, “to help your son.” he grits out.
“look, sissy, i found my family.” vanya tells her calmly, motioning to the group, “these are my brothers and my sister. and uh- his girlfriend.”
your eyes widen slightly at her remark, feeling your face begin to warm, “hold on, we’re not-”
“oh, you may as well be!” klaus cuts you off, and you sigh. you want to look at five, to see his reaction, but you’re scared that he could be looking at you. so you keep your eyes straight ahead on the armed woman.
her breathing is heavy as she looks at vanya. “were you lyin’ to me the whole time?” she asks.
“of course not.” vanya breathes out, “look, i didn’t know who i was. but i do now. and we are not the monsters that they say we are. we did not kill the president, we are not terrorists. we’re not here to hurt anyone.”
“then…” sissy stares at her, the gun is no longer pointed at all of you, “who are you?”
“the only one who can help harlan.” she answers, and sissy nods hesitantly.
it seemed to get to her, because without saying another word, she allows all of you to rush past her to the barn, behind vanya as she pulls the door open.
you’re met with a swirling vortex of energy, harlan floating in the center. shit, whatever vanya did really messed him up.
as you all gather around, vanya is yelling, trying her hardest to be heard through the whirlwind, but it doesn’t seem that anything will get through to him.
as she takes a deep breath and takes a step into the spiraling energy, klaus calls out to you guys. everyone looks to him, standing at a hole in the barn. “who are they?”
you all join him at his side. “one’s the handler, the other’s diego’s girlfriend.” five informs him.
“lila. that’s my ex-girlfriend.” diego corrects him.
“you know what?” luther joins in, “doesn’t matter. they both look angry.”
allison stares at the two, “yeah, these two have that effect on people.” she waves towards you and five. your face scrunches slightly.
“we’re gonna go find out what they want.” five tells all of them, “you guys stay with vanya and the kid.”
“i’m coming with you too.” diego tells him, and the three of you move across the barn to leave through the door, passing by the still floating boy.
as you cross over the line of snow that lead into the grassy fields, the handler chuckles. “i love the smell of that fresh country air, don’t you darling?” she questions lila.
“makes me want to vomit.”
“all right, what do you want?” you question shortly as the three of you stop in front of them.
lila’s gaze could cut through you if given the chance, “to watch you suffer.”
“what about me?” diego asks, seeming offended for some reason.
she looks at him, her eyes furrowing, “you’re not even worth my wrath.”
“easy.” the handler intejects, “we’re here on official business.”
five straightens his posture slightly, “and what business is that?”
“as the head of the commission, i’ve decided to eliminate the criminals responsible for the assassination of the former board of directors.”
you glance at five as diego chuckles bitterly, “yeah, right. we didn’t kill the board.”
“uhm, actually, diego,” you clear your throat, “that’s not entirely accurate.”
“you didn’t tell them.” the handler states. neither of you answer, “oh, guys.” she pouts her lips.
diego leans towards his brother, “five, what did you do?”
“what i had to to get my family home.”
“until somebody reneged on our deal.” you add in, glaring at the handler.
“somebody wouldn’t have reneged on the deal if somebody could’ve met a simple deadline.” her voice is annoyingly condescending, “alas.”
“you set us up to fail.” five remarks.
“you set yourself up to fail, friend.” she shoots back. “you and your brothers and sister, and of course your little girlfriend.” you roll your eyes at the continued speculation of your relationship with five, “kinda the running theme of your little life, isn’t it?” she laughs.
diego looks at him, “dude, i can’t believe you killed the board of directors.” he seems to be stuck on that fact, “you have no idea how messed up the commission is right now.”
“messed up, who’s saying that?” the handler questions, concerned.
“everybody.” he answers, “christ, even the janitors think it’s going to shit.”
lila decides to join back into the conversation, “that’s not all they’ve killed.”
you all look at her, apparently none of you knowing what she’s talking about. “what are you talking about?” you ask in confusion.
“don’t play dumb, you prepubescent piece of shit.”
“enough.” the handler stops the argument before it can even start, and it seems suspicious to you as she sets her briefcase down. “the point is, all of you are going to die today, hmm?”
“oh,” diego tilts his head ever so slightly, “well i don’t like your chances. eight of us, two of you.”
the handler looks at him with a sly smirk, “you know what, you’re right. let’s change that.”
she lifts her hand up, snapping her fingers together, and not even a second later there is hundreds- thousands, maybe- of commission agents popping into the field in a blue haze. the three of you look in shock as they continue to appear as far as the eye could see.
you let out a shaky breath. damn, how are you going to get out of this?
“what are we going to do now?” diego asks quietly.
“well, we have to choices: fight and die now or run and die later.” five answers, “either way, we’re food for worms.”
he looks at the two of you, “preference?”
you look at the two of them, shrugging your shoulders, “i wouldn’t mind a few more minutes, breathing through these old windbags a bit longer.”
“all right.” the handler interrupts your conversation, “let’s get this over with, shall we?”
she lifts a red cloth into the air, and your eyes widen as you take a few steps back. “run!” five shouts, and you turn on your heel. you’re surprised you don’t fall flat on your face with the first few steps you take, and as you run next to the two boys, you hear the yelling of the commission agents.
they begin to fire, and you feel your heartbeat speed up. you watch as luther, klaus, and allison jump behind a barrel of hay to escape the bullets. you feel five grab onto you and you are on the snowy ground a moment later.
“i feel like i’m gonna puke!” diego groans.
“no time!” you shout back at him.
you take cover behind the wheel of a tractor and you suddenly feel a stinging pain in your thigh. looking down, you see blood beginning to soak through your clothes and you groan. the same leg that had been pierced with glass now, presumably, has had a bullet go straight through. “shit!” five looks at you, and before he can say anything about it, you rip off a piece of your shirt to wrap around it and stop the bleeding, “i’ll be fine.”
he looks to diego, “what now?”
diego has to curl up to fit behind the wheel with you two, “we blink into the house, man!” he yells at him.
five grabs onto the both of you, and instead of being teleported through space again, all that you see is the blue glow around his hands. nothing happens.
“shit, i’m out of fuel.” he breathes out.
diego looks at you two, “go! go, i’ll cover you!”
“diego what are you-” you try to speak, but he simply yells at you to go again. five grabs your hand to pull you up from the ground, and you do your best at running as diego steps in front of the gun fire and slows the bullets in the air. you manage to get up the stairs of the porch and five pulls you into the house as you fall to the floor, the bullets firing resuming as it breaks the glass of the windows.
you crawl under the table next to five, covering your head as you breathe heavily. you think this might be the moment that you actually die, until it all stops. the gunfire ceases and you’re left in a ringing silence.
you lift your head in confusion, poking your head up through the window as five stands up and looks out. all of the agents are dead.
but in the center of all the bodies on the ground, you see your former employer and her daughter standing unscathed. there’s a glowing orb around them that falls a moment later.
suddenly, lila begins to float up into the air, just like vanya, and your eyes widen.
“get down!” you practically scream, dropping back down to the floor and covering your head. the ground shakes and you can hear the energy wave that pushes past you.
luther falls through the ceiling in the living room and you stare at him in disbelief- not at him, but at what just happened.
“luther, are you okay?” you ask urgently as you use the table to push yourself up and stabilize as he lies on the ground in dust.
he groans, “oh, i think i swallowed my tongue.” he rasps.
five stands over him, rolling his eyes, “luther, if you swallowed your tongue, you wouldn’t be talking, you big moron.” he holds a hand out to him to help him up, “come on, on your feet.”
“what happened?” you ask out loud, “how the hell did she do that?”
five looks back at you, “she must’ve redirected vanya’s energy wave.”
“yeah, i know, but how?” you repeat your question.
he’s about to answer, but before he can, the bricks of the chimney begin to crumble. “luther, watch out!” he shouts, pushing him out of the way just before they all fall- right on top of him.
“five!” luther calls out to him, dropping to the ground to start pushing away the bricks.
you look with wide eyes, almost not believing what you just saw. five- he just got smushed by a ton of bricks. it feels like you might break down, but you quickly move towards the pile of rubble, falling and ignoring the searing pain in your leg as you begin to help him move everything.
“oh my god,” you breathe out as you frantically push bricks out of the way, feeling tears begin to fall down your face.
you hear what would usually be five blinking into a room, and your head whips around, hoping that he managed to get himself out, but instead, lila is standing there.
luther quickly stands, “what are you?”
she looks at him, “someone who wants to kill your brother.”
“well, that’s understandable.” luther shrugs, “diego can be a lot to handle.”
you look up at him, “she’s talking about five.”
he glances to you, “him too. but, unfortunately,” he looks back at lila, “they’re family, so you’re shit out of luck.”
he goes for a punch, but you’re surprised when she grabs his hand and holds it back with no problem. he struggles against her, “how is this possible?”
she grins, “you’ve got to believe in yourself, big boy.”
a second later she throws him and he crashes through the wall. you can hear allison outside, calling for him. with all your strength, you push yourself off the ground.
when she’s still distracted, looking out of the hole in the wall at allison, you take your chance. you’re weak, you know it. the wound in your leg slowed you down and made it hard to walk much, but you wouldn’t let her win this.
you grab at her waist, arms quickly wrapping around her as you use all of your strength to pull her back and slam her onto the ground. it takes a moment for her to process the quick change in position, and before she can stop it, your flaming fist is flying at her face.
you get a good punch in before she grabs for your wrist, her skin igniting with flames. so she could copy your powers. that explains that giant shock wave and how she threw luther, the biggest guy you knew, through a wall.
“that’s cute.” she laughs devilishly, before all of a sudden she’s the one on top. you groan in pain as you feel the sharp pains in your thigh. “where’s the help of your boyfriend when you need him?” her hand curls around your throat, cutting off the flow of air.
“screw… you…” you breathe out with all that you have left, and the last thing you see is her maniacal grin.
when you come to, the house is empty, and through the hole in the wall, you can see that allison and luther had moved from where they previously were.
you take in deep breaths as you push yourself up from the floor, gritting your teeth at the pain you feel.
you glance around, seeing that the pile of bricks had been disturbed- five wasn’t there anymore. there was the possibility of his safety. you limp out of the house as fast as you can, and you see the rest of the siblings gathered around diego, helping him out from under the tractor you had been hiding behind. when he gets up, he goes for a high five with luther, who is just confused. “team zero!” the man shouts, “yeah, unstoppable!”
you stop beside the group, bending over slightly to press your hand over your wound. “has anyone seen five?” you question, gaze passing over each person.
“i don’t know, he’s around here somewhere.” luther answers as everyone glances around. he looks to diego, “by the way, your ex-girlfriend can blink like five.”
“yeah, that bitch just rumored me so i couldn’t breathe.” allison added.
klaus waves his hand around, “yeah, and destroyed like, half the farm with a shock wave. so unoriginal.”
“if she can do everything we can, then she might as well just be one of us.” vanya shifts her weight.
suddenly, the siblings go quiet as they look around each other, shock written all over their faces. “no.” luther mutters, “no, there’s no way. it can’t be.”
you look up at them, “it’s a reasonable conclusion. there’s me, i’m like you guys. i just… didn’t grow up with you.”
“she’s right, we need to consider that there’s more out there.” vanya nods along.
as they begin to talk about how their dad could be lying, about what she could do and how she could copy your powers, you notice something in the barn.
blue flashes of light.
your eyes widen, tuning the rest of their conversation out as you begin to hobble towards the building, getting in through one of the holes large enough for a small person to fit through. you didn’t have time to use the door, and this way, you could get behind lila.
as you get in, she has her boot on five’s throat, watching him struggle. “doesn’t feel so good, does it?” she mumbles to him.
your eyes darken as you move towards her, seeing red. you hear five rasping, “eat shit and die.”
it’s your perfect moment, as you tackle her. her balance was already off, seeing as she had one of her feet up.
she rolls on the ground as you fall to the side, scrambling to your feet. you were ready for this to be over. “let’s finish this thing.” you breathe out, knowing that five would have to do most of the work here. you would barely be able to move quick enough to fight- you only got lucky with her being distracted both of the times you managed to get her down.
“no,” lila sniffles, looking between the two of you, “you’re going to suffer for what you did.”
five lowers his fists, looking at her in annoyance, “lady, i got no idea what you’re talking about.”
“ronnie and anita gill.”
he shrugs, “mean nothing to me.”
her head tilts to the side, “nineteen ninety-three, east london. you hog-tied them,” she pointed a finger at you, “and you shot them in the head.” she moves it towards five.
you stare at the ground for a moment, before you remember what she’s talking about. “the flower merchants?” you uttered, looking back up at her.
five looks to you, his eyes widening for a moment before he looks back at lila, “they were your parents?”
she nods, “and they never did anything to anyone.” you can see the tears gathering in her eyes, “they didn’t deserve to die like that.”
“you’re right, all right?” five tells her, “we killed them. but we killed a lot of people over the years.”
you gulp, “it was all just a job, all right?” the pain in your leg is starting to become unbearable- but it’s not exactly possible for you to sit down and take a break. “that was never personal. it’s never personal.”
the woman laughs, “‘never personal’, my ass.” she steps towards you, “yeah, i’ve killed. it’s always, always, personal.”
“that’s why you’re not cut out to be an assassin,” her head turns towards five at his words.
she pulls a knife from her boot and you immediately tense, focusing your attention away from your pain as she inches towards the two of you, “bet your life on that?”
you nearly fall as you try to move back, “look, you wanna blame someone?” you ask, her gaze shifting to you as she continues to move towards you, “blame the handler, all right? she faked the kill order.”
“bullshit, i saw the kill order!” her voice raises, “aj carmichael ordered it, and you carried it out.”
five is holding his hand up, trying to keep her from stabbing you guys right then and there. “lila, listen to what i’m telling you, all right?” she stares into his eyes, and you can barely breathe, “the handler gave us the kill order. she came on the job which she’d never done before.”
you take a short breath, “you’re commission.” you state, “you know execs never go on jobs. but that day in london, she was there. ask yourself why.”
the knife lowers, but her deadly gaze never wavers. “don’t try to muddy the waters.”
five shakes his head, “i never realized what she was up to at the time, but now it all makes sense.”
“what?” lila asks the question that you’re thinking. your mind is going into overdrive trying to think of why she would send you that order. until it hits you.
“she never cared about your parents.” five tells her, and it confirms that you’re on the same page, “she was looking for you.”
you can see lila beginning to realize what was actually happening. but she still doesn’t want to believe it as she whispers, “why?”
“because you’re one of us.” diego’s voice cuts through your talking as the rest of five’s family comes into the barn. “the handler stole you, lila.” the knife is back up again, pointed at him as he speaks, “just like our asshole father took all of us.
“no. it’s not the same thing.” she continues to deny the truth that is staring her in the face.
“you’re right.” diego leans forwards, “because he didn’t have our parents murdered.” he holds a hand out in front of him, “listen to me, lila. you were born october first, nineteen eighty-nine. same as all of us.”
“stay back!” she suddenly shouts, causing everyone to jump back. you nearly lose your balance, but luckily five is there to catch your arm.
diego’s voice raises as he tries to calm her back down, but she’s still unbelieving. “i trusted you. i got you a job, i even introduced you to my mother, and then you took off on me.”
“because i needed to save the world!” he argues back, “she’s using you, lila. the handler.”
“you’re wrong.” she pushes, “she raised me. she loves me.”
“yeah, you know what?” luther suddenly speaks up from the side, “love shouldn’t have to hurt this much.”
the line is cringy. it takes everything in you to not make fun of it- but lila doesn’t mind. she fakes a gag, pointing a finger in her mouth.
the big man sighs. “all right, i tried.”
“he’s right.” five says from your side, “we have to kill her.”
“hey! five, stop.” diego quickly holds his hand out, “i got it. hey, lila.” her head whips back around to him, “truth? she’s dangerous. and you’re scared of what she’ll do with all that new power. that’s why you dragged me to the commission.” he is closer to her now, and you think he may have gotten her to understand. “because i know what it’s like to love dangerous people. difference is…” he looks around at all of his siblings, all who also seem to be impacted by his little speech, “they love me back.”
lila backs away, “shut up.”
“the only thing she loves is power.” he continues, “now, the minute she can’t use you, she will turn on you, and deep down, i know you know that.”
her knife is pointed towards his throat. “you don’t know me, diego.” she tells him.
it feels like you’re watching a movie as he inches closer to her, “don’t i? i know that we can be your family. if you just let us.”
a tear finally falls from her eyes as she begins to look around at the others, who give small smiles and nods. she looks to him, and before she can say anything- gunshots.
your head darts towards the doors- but it’s too late. the last thing you feel is the sting of bullets entering your body before you fall to the floor.
and then everything’s black.
“i know that we can be your family. if you just let us.” as diego speaks, you notice that five suddenly isn’t at your side anymore.
you see him blink by the door, seeming shocked as he pats his body. he looks to the entrance and your gaze follows before your eyes widen, seeing the handler with a gun walking in.
before she can pull the trigger, five grabs her arm, bringing it behind her before being able to pull the weapon from her hand.
her hands are up in the air as he points it at her. “it’s true, isn’t it? what five said.” lila asks as she looks at her ‘mother’. the handler glances to her, but doesn’t say a word. “answer me!” she yells, “is it true?”
there’s a moment of quiet, before she opens her mouth. “well-”\
before she can say anything to worm her way out of this, to manipulate the woman, there are suddenly bullets pelting through her.
she grunts as her knees hit the ground, and she looks up on final time before falling onto her side, blood spilling from her mouth.
you see behind her the one remaining swede.
in the silence, lila begins to move, and luther lunges forward. “the case!”
before he can get to her, diego steps in front of him, tumbling to the ground with the big guy as lila grabs the briefcase the handler dropped and blinked away.
the silence returns as five cocks the gun he holds, standing in front of the swede. everyone looks to the two standing off against each other.
slowly, five lets go of the gun. you feel your breath catch in your throat. “enough.” he says as it clatters to the ground.
the blonde man is silent for a few beats, and you feel like your heart might pound out of your chest. after a few seconds, he says something you don’t understand before dropping his gun as well.
he slowly backs up a few steps before turning on his heel and taking his leave.
“oh my god.” you breathe out, feeling like everything came rushing back to you as you limp forward. it takes you a bit, but you get to five, wrapping an arm around him to stabilize yourself. he looks at you, and you can see the relief that flooded over him.
“who the hell was that guy?” klaus motions to the door, before everyone hears sissy calling out from below.
your head turns as everyone rushes towards the old, wooden stairs, and you sigh. before you can try to move on your own, five puts his arm around your waist, allowing you to lean on him. “i got you.” he whispers.
for the millionth annoying time, you feel a flutter in your heart, but you ignore it as you whisper back a thanks.
he helps you down the stairs as vanya pushes past the swirling energy around harlan, speaking to him frantically. “whatever it is i gave you, i can take it back, okay?”
the rest of you watch as she takes a breath and you see an orange glow on her hands as she places them on harlan.
after what feels like forever, the energy surrounding him disappears, leaving a silence that overwhelms you.
everyone looks at the little boy, not knowing what to expect- but expecting it. he looks around at all of you, before his mom stumbles towards him, wrapping her arms around him.
five helps you limp towards herb and dot as they meet you halfway, stepping over the dead bodies of agents.
“herb, dot.” five greets.
diego is a little more friendly, saying “sup, herbie?” and then they have some sort of elaborate handshake… when did that happen?
once they’re done, the short man looks between you all, “i can’t believe it.” he states, “is she..?” he swipes a gloved hand across his neck.
“really dead this time?” you finish his sentence.
“oh yeah.” diego answers.
“now that the handler’s gone,” five speaks, “what happens at the commission?”
herb seems to be nervous to tell you all- and you start to think it might be bad news. after encouragement from dot, he finally tells you, “we need to elect a new board of directors.” that was your doing, “but, until then, i… uhm… i’ve been voted in as acting chairperson.”
his smile is huge as dot claps beside him. “no shit,” diego nods his head, “congrats, herbie. that’s huge.”
“i’m so goddamn nervous!”
“you’ll do fine.” you tell him, the hint of a smile on your face- but it’s more of a grimace.
he thanks you, and there’s only a second of quiet before five breaks it. “herb, we need a favor.” he nods, telling him he could offer anything, “a briefcase. to get back home, where we belong.”
it had been such an eventful… hour, or so? that you forgot entirely that you weren’t in your time. herb points a finger at him, clicking his tongue as he and dot slowly turn to look at their dead colleagues. he motions around at all the briefcases stranded on the ground, “take your pick.”
the sun had set. everyone had said their goodbyes- allison left raymond a note, luther tried to call jack ruby but had no answer. vanya said goodbye to sissy before the mother drove off with her son, going god knows where.
and you limped out to the back porch after calling the diner you called home for a while, dropping onto the steps next to five. they had asked where you went, why you were known as a hostage on the news, if it had to do with ‘that boy who stole you away from us.’
you couldn’t explain much, but you told them that you loved them and would miss them. it wasn’t a lie. you knew that you would think of them, always.
five gently grabs your hand, pulling you out of your thoughts as your head turns to him. there’s the smallest smile on his face. “we saved the world.”
hearing those words- man, you never thought you’d hear those words. it brings a smile to your face. this time, everything you did was for a reason. you failed so many times to get back to your time, back home, but it wasn’t going to end the way it did last time. the world will be kept in one piece.
you lace your fingers with his, “we saved the world.” you repeat, almost inaudible. “that is- if the other one isn’t back on when we get back.” you chuckle softly, but it’s a bit nervous. what if that did happen? god, you don’t know if you’d be able to handle that.
“let’s hope it’s not.” he sighs, his thumb soothingly rubbing circles on your hand. “i’ve been thinking about what- well, everyone’s been saying.” he tells you after a moment.
many things rush through your mind about what he could mean, but you won’t jump to conclusions. “they’ve been saying a lot.” you chuckle.
“about us.”
“oh.” your gaze drops to the ground, and yeah- they’ve said a lot about the two of you. “yeah, they’re a bit-”
“-i like you.” he interrupts, “more than a partners saving the world way.”
your face begins to warm in the chilly air as you smile at the ground. “that’s not normally how people say it.”
he chuckles, “well, it’s what applies to us.” he softly pushes your chin up so your eyes meet again. “you don’t have to feel the same-”
before he can even think any longer about not feeling the same- my god, how long you’ve felt that way- you lean in to catch his lips in yours. it’s quick, but it’s enough for your heart to basically jump out of your throat. “god, hargreeves, of course i feel the same.”
your mind falls back to your night at gritty’s- the night you took out many of the commission’s men after they interrupted your confession. but then, you thought the feeling was old. you thought that after being away from him for forty-something years, they were gone. these past weeks have proved you wrong- so wrong.
“well that’s good.” he smiles, “it would be weird for you to kiss me if you didn’t feel the same.”
you slap his arm lightly, “quit being annoying.”
“all right, fine.” he laughs, “only if you kiss me again, though.”
rolling your eyes, you lean in once again- your lips only ghost over his before- “called it!” klaus’ voice cuts into your sweet moment.
looking at him with a glare, five sighs, “klaus, what are you doing?”
“telling you that we’re ready to leave.” he points his thumb behind him.
you sigh, “all right. let’s go.”
it’s a bit rough for you to push yourself up from the stairs, but five is quick to help you up and wrap your arm around his shoulder. you guys make your way through the house, the others following behind you.
“guys, these two lovebirds finally kissed!” klaus claps his hands together.
“klaus, are you kidding me?” you glare back at him as five fiddles with the controls on the briefcase.
he tries to look all innocent, “i mean, you did. i saw it!”
you can see the rest of the siblings grinning and you ignore it, turning your head towards the briefcase to focus on that instead.
“okay, everyone ready?” five questions, ignoring everything that klaus had said. it became a second nature for him.
everyone gathers around, “yeah, let’s do it.” luther answers.
everyone grabs onto each other’s hands, looking around at each other, ready for what comes next.
“wait!” everyone looks at klaus, who stands there for a moment before running out of the circle to grab one of those cowboy hats that rested on the porch.
diego leans towards five as the man runs back, putting the hat on. “fifty bucks if you leave him.”
he runs his fingers over the rim of the hat before joining hands with luther and vanya.
you close your eyes as five activates the case, blue energy surrounding you before you disappear from the farm, reappearing in the umbrella academy. everyone stumbles back, and since they’re not use to the effects of time and spacial travel, they have to take a moment to gather themselves.
“wh-what day is it?” luther points to a newspaper on the table and you lean forward grabbing it. “april second, twenty-nineteen.” probably the biggest smile you’ve had in years appears on your face, “the day after the apocalypse.”
“wait, so we stopped it.” allison looks around.
vanya looks at her in surprise, “oh my god, so it’s over?”
“did we…” klaus whimpers, rubbing his head, “actually succeed at something? that’s incredible!”
everyone laughs, and you look at five. “we actually did it.” you say, only loud enough for him to hear as everyone celebrates, talking about drinks.
“we did.” five smiles, and this time, without caring about his family seeing, he kisses you.
you’ve never been happier.
wow i made them kiss, about damn time
main: @horrorklaus @megasimpleplan4ever
tua: @rasberrymay @noodlextrash @atomicpillar @malfovs @andreasworlsboring101​ @lunylovelovegood
five taglist: @anapocalypseinmymind @five-hargreeves-official @insatiable-ivy @coffee-e-addict @xplrreylo @fandomfreakff @colie-babi @flowertoty @avovada @badwolf00593
let’s save the world: @aspiringwriter1 @thetrashypanda423 @lilacs-lavender @wow-lookit-all-the-fandoms @ohmyitsfaith @xplrreylo @fandomfreakff @onedollarduck @sleepygal124 @faith-quake @stripedchickens @youcandalekmyballs @pettyjayy @libidinexx @bts-chub @theoriginalkat @flowertoty @whenyouwantdeath @ot7purple @purblerain @megasimpleplan4ever @whenyouregrungeaff @dumdumsun @malfovs @hxney-lemcn @frnks-stuff @imwaytootires @avovada @badwolf00593 @dumdumsun @zero2461
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asterlark · 12 months ago
ok. samwell college of music au. i wrote all four years let's go babey
eric bittle is this lovely southern tenor (sounds kinda like mitch grassi or ben j pierce) who posts covers (& sometimes originals, but always with neutral or no pronouns because he can't post anything that says he or him ☹) on his youtube channel and has major stage fright but is very talented; he also plays ukulele
he got into samwell college of music on a voice scholarship and his dad doesn’t exactly approve but eric was never the 6′2″ masculine football player he wanted anyway so why not go for his dreams
he auditions for the very competitive samwell men’s contemporary chorus (there’s like 20 choirs; chamber choir, jazz choir, a cappella groups (lax bros do a cappella), combined choirs, etc- smcc does contemporary pop/rock music) and while he’s very very nervous and shaky as he auditions, directors hall & murray see a lot of potential in him (with major grumbling from student director jack)
(the rest of this ridiculously long au under the cut)
the group is small, for a chorus, because the point of the group is not a wall of sound but a focus on all of the very talented guys’ voices coming together in these gorgeous harmonies and basically they’re like one of the best choruses on campus and all the male singers want in
so there’s jack zimmermann, who of course eric knows because everyone knows who he is, he’s the son of bob and alicia zimmermann, both incredibly talented and famous musicians, and basically those genes were in his favor because he’s mega fucking talented
(jack was supposed to sign a recording contract to be in a band with his best friend kent parson when he was 17 but something happened between them and the pressure was too much and jack overdosed on something- there’s so many rumors no one knows what’s real- and kent signed solo in LA & went on to win grammys for his albums about a mysterious ex and jack disappeared for a few years to be a counselor at a music camp and reappears at samwell, knocking everyone’s socks off again like he’d never left, except with a renewed vigor and intenseness that freaks everyone out)
jack is a contemporary writing & production major, freaky talented and sings like a modern day frank sinatra, and he plays like 20 instruments and can read music like breathing air and writes songs like if he stopped he’d die; his music is folksy and mournful and he plays all the instruments on his tracks himself- guitar, piano, strings, drums- it sounds like a full band but nope. just jack. he’s intense
“we all get nicknames in this choir,” justin informs eric on his first day, “we’re those kinda guys.” so he’s bitty, which he finds vaguely offensive (bc he’s not that short!) but still cute, & the rest of the group is introduced to him:
“shitty” knight (voice like colyer) is a musical education major and an enigma of a singer with this awesome, earthy, raspy voice that’s really interesting to listen to and a very.... unique style & look; he writes cheesy but shockingly good raps about social justice topics and he will sing-lecture you if you’ve said something offensive (he also plays banjo)
justin “ransom” oluransi is a music business & management major with an angelic voice you can’t help but listen to; he’s sultry and has an incredible range and does runs like nobody’s business (with a voice like daniel caesar or leslie odom jr UGH)
adam “holster” birkholtz is a voice performance major, wants to be on broadway and it’s all he ever goddamn talks about basically, he’s a belter and has a lot of charisma and starpower and he’ll charm the pants off of you within one note; can also play piano and irritates everyone constantly because his regular volume is like a level 11 (voice like the frontman of my brothers and i combined w/ x ambassadors lead singer)
larissa “lardo” duan is at the local art institute because performing arts is not her jam and she’d much rather paint; she’s a barista at annie’s and supervises open mic nights and keeps the annoying choir dudes from driving away all her patrons
“i’m not even in your dumbass choir,” she says when the group gave her her nickname. holster just told her that she was an honorary member and then started sing-shouting a song at her about how good she is
bitty’s first year is hard because he’s talented and he works hard but he shies away when anyone asks him to sing outside the group and like, he can sing to a camera by himself but being on a stage with everyone looking at you and the sole responsibility of the song on your shoulders is terrifying and no thanks
jack does not. understand this. he’s been performing practically since he came out of the womb and he doesn’t really get performance nerves (what he gets is anxiety about how he did after he gets off stage that follows him home and makes it so he can’t sleep) - so he bothers bitty about it constantly like “you just need practice, you just have to sing by yourself a lot and then you’ll get over it” which like.... that’s true but it’s also hella scary and bitty’s like “no thanks!!!!”
but jack’s annoying and intense so he makes bitty do open mic with him every saturday night and it’s going okay and bitty loves his choir and loves his school and these new friends he’s making and he finally feels comfortable enough to come out to them during his second term
then during their spring choral showcase at the end of his freshman year bitty has a solo and he’s worked really hard on it and he’s feeling good- okay he’s completely freaked out but he’s trying to feel good- but when he gets up on stage there’s so many people and the stage lights are so hot on his face and he flips out a little and maybe he passes out from anxiety and stress right on stage and it’s terrible and he’s so embarrassed and ashamed that he ruined their set at the showcase
of course jack blames himself because “we shouldn’t have given you a solo before you were ready, i misjudged it, i’m sorry” - and they all feel kinda bad bc holy fuck they didn’t know his stage fright was that bad like they didn’t know someone could pass out just by being anxious to sing
he practices all the time over the summer and goes to his local open mic at jack’s insistence and it actually helps a lot because instead of a sea of strangers judging him it’s a bunch of people he knows and they’re all smiling at him and when he finishes his song they cheer for him and it boosts his self-confidence a lot
his sophomore year they have three new members- chris ”chowder” chow (voice like ieuan), an excitable music education major with impressive rapping skills, derek "nursey" nurse (frank ocean or leon bridges type), a songwriting major who can also play violin and guitar, and will ”dex” poindexter (like tom west), a production & engineering major who tried out with chowder bc he needed moral support and didn't expect to get in but impressed the directors with his voice
the year’s going pretty good, bitty’s still pretty scared of singing alone but more confident now and the open mic nights with jack haven’t stopped, so he’s getting better. and one night they’re hanging out at annie’s after closing waiting for lardo to be done so they can walk her home, and bitty suggests that jack sing with him one of these nights, and jack says he doesn’t know any of bitty’s songs and bitty says they can write one together half jokingly but then jack is like “yes.” with that Intense Look
SO they get together a couple days later in jack’s room at the house they all live in together (bitty moved in at the beginning of the year after previous smcc member john johnson called him- how’d he get his number?- and told him he could take his room if he wanted), jack with his guitar and bitty with his ukulele, and it’s a little awkward until bitty says jack should play him one of his songs
and, okay, he doesn’t really know what to expect because the only music jack ever released to the public was that one single he did with kent parson when they were 17 so bitty doesn’t even know if he has anything to play him, but he does- he starts playing these soft, sad notes on the guitar and opens his mouth and sings about being lonely and scared and unsure, about false starts and shaky ground and not knowing where you stand with someone, about expectations and lying awake at night and wishing so hard you were someone else, and bitty watches him sing and just kind of... realizes he’s head over heels for this boy and internally Freaks Out a little
he tries to put that aside and they start to write this song, at first it’s weird because jack’s like “all your songs are love songs i can’t really relate to happy love songs” and bitty’s like “listen... i’ve never even had a boyfriend i just write a bunch of sappy love stuff because it’s not about me it’s about whoever’s listening to it, they’re gonna project their own experiences on my music anyway so it doesn’t matter if it’s my real life or not” and jack’s like “alright while fake af that’s smart and i respect you” (what bitty doesn't say is that he writes about what he really wants which is to fall in love & be in a happy relationship)
they say they’re just gonna write this kinda vague sad song but they both secretly write lines about their actual lives so it ends up being really personal and real and raw for the both of them
they sing the song at open mic that saturday and the crowd at annie’s is never that big but they’ve never got a standing ovation here before, and some girl shouts “MAKE AN ALBUM” (it may or may not be lardo) and they both blush furiously and bitty’s like “... that was really nice, jack” and jack’s like “... yeah it was good good job you’re really getting some confidence out there nice work” (bitty: “THAT’S NOT WHAT I MEANT AAAAH”)
around this time jack’s really thinking about what he’s gonna do when he’s done at samwell, talking with his parents and his agent and looking into different record companies and deciding if he wants to sign with anyone or possibly start his own company- the head of a small company called falcon records in rhode island has been talking to him a lot, and jack talks to bitty about how he thinks it’d be nice to start small, and the record exec georgia and the producer marty had both been really nice and welcoming, and bitty’s so happy for him but also just... sad that he won’t be around jack every day after he graduates
THEN at a haus party celebrating their win of a local choral competition, who shows up but none other than pop star kent parson to Ruin The Fun
bitty sees the way jack pales when kent walks in, notices them disappear upstairs together and feels a little sick worrying about jack but chalks it up to the highly alcoholic concoction shitty and lardo had cooked up but nonetheless decides he’s sick of the party and goes up to his room and hears.... a little too much
and YIKES he’s standing right there and kent parson, pop star, two-time grammy winner, is looking a little rumpled and staring right at him and he puts his hat on and clears his throat and snaps at jack- “hey. well. call me if you reconsider. but good luck with rhode island. ...i’m sure that’ll make your parents proud.” and jack’s shaking, and bitty doesn’t know what to do but jack goes back into his room and bitty’s just kind of standing there like What The Fuck
so.... he kind of stews over winter break but tries not to think about it too much and he and jack text a bit and jack tells him to practice and bitty’s like “oh, you” and jack’s like “im serious” and bitty’s like “>:( it’s christmas”
spring semester starts and they're doing well in competitions and they go to semifinals and then finals for a prestigious collegiate choir competition and the pressure is mounting but they all are so optimistic and really feel like they're on the same page and bitty’s confidence is better than ever and then.... they don't win
jack especially takes it very hard, but then he also has signing to worry about, which everyone helps him with and he decides to sign with falcon records and start work on an album after graduation
speaking of graduation, shitty and jack graduate and it's hard for them but harder for bitty who feels like he's losing jack in a way, he knows how intense jack gets when he's making music and it doesn't feel like he'll have any time for bitty anymore so when they say goodbye bitty goes back to the haus and listens to his and jack's song and just cries
but, like in canon, dadbob has words of wisdom to impart and jack has an "oh" moment and races across campus to kiss bitty
they get together and the next few months are spent with jack working nonstop on his album (which tbh, he'd had many of the songs written already so it's mostly recording and producing) and texting bitty constantly and coming to visit him and playing him demos of all the songs
jack also asks bitty if they can record the song they wrote together & have it as a bonus track on his album & bitty says of course, so when jack visits they set up an impromptu studio and record vocals in the guest bedroom and this deeply personal song they wrote before they were ever together means so much more to them now
and bitty is so happy but so scared and sad too because jack is playing him these songs telling him "they're all for you bits, & a lot of them are about you" and he just doesn't know how he's going to keep all this love inside even though it feels like jack's career is at stake
he tries to shove it down and stay strong though, especially since he's now an upperclassman and they're taking on new members- connor "whiskey" whisk (voice like finneas or the male singer in valley), a music business/ management major who seems to hate bitty's guts and tony "tango" tangredi (like chaz cardigan), a jazz composition major who astounds everybody with his endless questions but also his ridiculously impressive composition skills & naturally perfect pitch (he can also play saxophone??)
i want ford in this au so fuck it she is a composition major with dreams to write scores for musicals and she stars training as a barista at annie's (aka training to corral the smcc)
the pressure of it all proves to be a lot and bitty and jack have their hi, honey moment where bitty's like i can't be this deep in the closet!!! and so they tell the smcc and also jack's label that they're together and that eases things a bit
jack's album comes out to much critical acclaim and shouting in the groupchat ("#1 ON ITUNES BRAHHHHH!!!!!!!!") and several months later, when smcc has already been eliminated from choral competition in an earlier round, jack is nominated for SEVERAL grammys including best album, song of the year, and best new artist
when the time comes he takes his parents and bitty on the red carpet which, everyone keeps being like "who are you here with jack?" and he's like "my family and my good friend :)" and yes it is awkward
jack wins... all three awards. it's the comeback everyone is stoked to see and when his third win is announced, he and bitty are so elated that they kiss before he goes to accept the award
his speech is basically just "um... wow. thank you. i just kissed my boyfriend on live tv. this is amazing and i'm so humbled. i'd like to thank my boyfriend and georgia and marty and my parents and my friends and my boyfriend"
obviously the press has a FIELD DAY with this but bitty & jack are honestly vibing and so happy that it doesn't matter untiiiillll bitty's mom calls and he has to tell her "mama i'm gay and i'm going on tour with jack this summer okloveyoubye"
the last few months of bitty's junior year pass quickly and he's voted student director which is a huge honor considering how much he struggled with stage fright and confidence & how he'll now be stepping into ransom & holster's shoes
r&h and lardo all graduate (the smcc basically crashes the art school graduation and all scream when lardo gets her diploma lmao), which is a bittersweet occasion and they all do a bit of tearing up
that summer bitty goes on tour across the u.s. & canada with jack and his touring band (snowy is a bassist, tater is a drummer and poots does backing guitar, he also brings nursey to play violin on a few songs) as well as georgia who's there to manage logistics
and tour is so fun & chaotic with many bi and rainbow flags in the audience that end up thrown on stage and draped around jack's neck and they spend so many nights in the bus drinking and laughing and fooling around on the guitars and bitty's uke and exploring new cities bitty has never been to before and it's the freest bitty has felt in a long time
summer ends though, and jack leaves for the uk/europe leg of the tour, and with the new school year brings a few new members- river "bully" bullard (voice like gregory alan isakov), a music therapy major who draws his own cover art for his songs, lukas "louis" landmann (like jr jr), an electronic production and design major with a penchant for EDM, and johnathan "hops" hopper (like keiynan lonsdale), a film scoring major who wants to write music for movies and video games
bitty meets and befriends some of the other student directors- shruti, sd of the women’s contemporary chorus; sharon, sd of the chamber choir; and edgar, sd of jazz ensemble (even chad l., sd of the all-male a cappella group)
senior year passes similarly to the comic; coach visits and sees one of bitty’s competitions, jack comes to madison for christmas, smcc does well in competition and goes to regionals etc
however… bitty keeps putting off and putting off gathering the songs for his senior recital
he has a hard time doing that because he’s so focused on the group and making sure they’re performing well and as they advance in competition, everything else starts to fall away
eventually the rest of the smcc has to lock away his uke and change his youtube password and FORCE him to choose songs for it and start preparing because he cannot graduate without doing this recital and doing well on it
he chooses (of course) a beyonce song, a few of his own songs, an ellie goulding song, and an adele song
with all that his breath hitches and his hands shake before he goes on stage, he does really well and his voice instructor prof atley tears up a little in the audience as does his mom
meanwhile smcc goes to semifinals, then finals, of the national collegiate choral competition they participate in
and i imagine bitty faces somewhat less homophobia in this au because i mean, he’s in the performing arts, but i think it’s still there and he also faces a good amount of classism from richer students and performers who think they’re better because they had the resources and money to be performing professionally from a very young age, and he has been practicing via filming himself on a shitty camcorder and posting it to youtube
but they still get there! and the national finals are fucking HUGE and a big deal and a little overwhelming
bitty’s stage fright is Present because this is the biggest stage and the biggest stakes he's ever had and he has a big solo in one of their songs so if he fucks up, he fucks up a national championship for his whole group and school
luckily though, when he steps on the stage with his best friends and sees his boyfriend and family and smcc alums in the audience and they perform their first song, a high-energy pop medley that always gets the crowd going, everything seems to melt away and it's just him living in this moment and singing his heart out
when it gets to the next song and his solo, he forgets to be nervous and belts it out, getting screams of approval from the audience when he finishes
(dex and nursey do have a duet together that they had to practice for many long nights in the practice rooms alone but that's neither here nor there)
their time on stage seems to last both hours and no time at all and then they're done, the crowd gives them a standing ovation and it's at least 30% r&h & shitty's hooting and hollering and jack's enthusiastic clapping that makes bitty & the others beam with pride
then it's just waiting, giddy and nervous beyond belief in their green room, for the judging to be over
after what feels like forever they're back on stage, arms linked together waiting and hoping for their name to be called and it is, they win and it feels like years have built up to this moment, and bitty tears up because years ago when he was fainting from anxiety at having to perform in front of people he never could've imagined that he'd do this, that he'd be the student director that led them to a championship
they get the trophy and a ridiculous amount of flowers from their loved ones and they all are just in giddy disbelief that this is happening, they're national champs!!! they are the best choir boys in the nation!!
they come home and the rest of the school year passes by so quickly that it's very suddenly graduation and bitty can't believe his college career at samwell is over 😢
(he and ollie and wicky take pictures together, o&w talk about how excited they are to devote full time attention to their band & wedding planning and bitty's just like wait you're gay??)
bitty got plenty of offers from record companies but he likes his freedom of creativity and he has a built in fanbase from doing youtube all these years so he decides to make an album independently (jack helps him produce & master it 🥰)
when bitty's album comes out about a year later, full of bops about being gay and in love and having struggled but come out the other side more confident than ever, it doesn't get any grammy nominations- and he didn't expect or need that.
what it does do is it resonates. it makes the rounds in youtube and queer internet circles; people his age reach out to him saying this is the music they wish they had as a kid and kids reach out to him saying he's a role model and they're so glad to have his music to listen to. his album is written about as an underrated gem that shines with queer brilliance and is sure to start a party when it comes on.
his parents may not fully understand the road he's chosen for himself but they're still so proud and promote the album as hard as any of his loyal fans (especially the one country-inspired song on the album that he wrote and dedicated to them).
and jack, jack who saw this album from its infancy to its release date, who took the film photo that ended up being the album cover, who worked with bitty to make sure his vision was realized exactly how he wanted it to be, is proud beyond words.
jack starts using his semi-abandoned twitter again to tweet "stream [album name]" every day and bitty retweets them sometimes, with just a "this boy. ❤"
and they're happy. they're good. they have come so far and they are reaping the rewards of all the hard work they put in to make the music that they truly love.
the end :)
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makeste · 10 months ago
BnHA Chapter 328: Pandora’s Box of Discourse
Previously on BnHA: DEKU TOOK A BATH.
Today on BnHA: 
Also Naomasa grew a beard. Goddamn. 
please let this be a cool chapter that plays nice with my ADHD lol
(ETA: lol I feel guilty because a lot of people hated this chapter, but I’m just happy there was a lot of stuff to make fun of, and also that I have another week to work on my backlog of meta posts since the kids were MIA.)
around one month ago?? ah, okay, so we’re gonna find out what was in that Tartarus security file huh
I love that they just randomly set the place on fire
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was it necessary to do this in order to escape? no. was it a good idea to set the island they were occupying on fire while they were in the midst of still occupying it? uh. was it cinematic as fuck? fuck yeah
wow it’s a pervert!!
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that’s so great that the villains set loose this fine fellow who I’m sure is definitely not a serial rapist. truly the LoV is so noble and misunderstood. they’re just trying to free society from its chains people
oh my god??!
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SHANKED!!! oh my god I cheered for Stain before I realized what I was doing. time to have an identity crisis I guess
so he’s all “hey what’s going on.” which, while a respectable question, is something I personally would have waited to ask until I had put a bit of distance between myself and the fiery murder island. but that’s just my personal preference
Stain you really are tenacious I’ll give you that
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“what’s the point of escaping prison if you’re not gonna be smart about it” well shit. anyways yeah you’re dead right, society is in the process of collapsing and the outside world is in total chaos, good call there
oh shit
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I mean it’s not like we really expecting anything otherwise, but still. fucking brutal. I feel like these guys’ fates were decided the minute that one guy called AFO “scum” back in chapter 94. AFO is unmatched at getting long-term revenge
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ahh, was it the security footage??
fdsdfk he’s still alive??
and he’s immediately launching into an inappropriately theatrical monologue even as the darkness closes in on him fdlfksjdlk. you know, was it ever confirmed that the other guy back in chapter 297 was Seiji’s dad? I’m just saying
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very impressed that he’s still coherent enough to weigh the pros and cons before making the decision to gamble on giving this info to Stain, who at the very least has his own moral code and isn’t allied with AFO. it was definitely still a risk, but as we now know it was also the right call
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what a weird alliance. so Stain tells him that he’ll give it to a just person, and the guy is all,
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okay for real though I’m gonna need someone to run a DNA test on this guy. maybe it was some kind of cuckold situation?? the other guy had the family resemblance, but this guy absolutely 100% raised Shishikura Seiji and you are not going to convince me otherwise
anyway, so Stain is all,
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PRISON GUARD: “???? ??????? what the hell. what the fuck does that fucking mean. I’m dying here, jesus christ, whatever man fuck you”
(ETA: I kind of feel like this might have been Stain’s last appearance in the manga, given all the fanfare. there’s not really much else he can do for the story at this point, and he seems to have gotten all the character development Horikoshi was planning on giving him. so if this really is it, hasta la vista and good riddance I guess.)
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(ETA: I feel like this is meant to be evocative of that Sermon on the Mount painting, but in a really fucked up way lol.)
if it were me stumbling upon this scene I would just shake my head and walk right back into the flaming building. not getting involved in that mess. sorry not sorry. I’ll take my chances with the fire, especially given that it’s half-assed neutered BnHA fire lol
blah blah blah and so he decided to pass the info on to All Might -- HOT DAMN, HOLY SHIT
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“I really like that facial scruff thing Aizawa’s got going on, I think I’m gonna get in on that” yes sir. “also thinking of ditching the tie in favor of the bulletproof vest look. also thinking of getting totally fucking jacked.” good lord. except I’m pretty sure that’s just body armor, but also I don’t care. anyway I should probably stop staring and actually read the fucking speech bubbles here lol
“All Might first handed this information over to Nao, and then went to see Deku, and then came back to Nao” thanks for that tidy little summary Horikoshi. we are capable of piecing events together in sequential order, I just want you to know that. but thank you
“so has Deku finally gotten a bath? also, sucks that Stain saved the day, but what are you gonna do” Nao I missed you so fucking much and didn’t even realize. how am I just now realizing that you are the perfect man
for a second I was gonna ask why Tartarus’s security systems would be cut off from the outside world, and then I remembered that’s a basic security control, and then I actually got impressed by how sensible that is. like, it’s been a while since I could genuinely say that the good guys (excluding class 1-A) did something smart. not that it helped them much in the end, but still
anyway so they’re talking about how AFO was able to coordinate the attack by communicating between his horcrux self on the outside and his ugly peanut-faced self on the inside
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okay you have my attention. I am taking notes here lol please continue
ah okay so he says that prior to Jakku, the transfer of information between him and his Vestige self was only one-way. but post-Jakku when Deku was in the hospital, he was able to tell what was happening inside the OFA Radical Lisa Frank Dead People Book Club Realm when he touched him. I feel like we established that before, actually. but he didn’t talk about how it actually felt, though
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boy we already know this lol. yes AFO can talk with his horcrux self. and he can also communicate with his little bro in OFA too, let’s talk about that sometime why don’t we. what exactly does that imply, based on the rules we’ve established here
my god I cannot get over Naomasa and his fucking facial hair
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no wonder All Might was in such a hurry to leave Deku and get back here
like I have no idea what this radio waves nonsense is but my god, people
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that jawline. also so it’s a quirk, I see. except last I checked Deku didn’t have a radio waves quirk, so that doesn’t really explain his connection to AFO. but whatever, hopefully we’re at least getting closer to some kind of reveal here
(ETA: since I sometimes forget that other people’s lives don’t revolve around my theory posts, here are the two relevant links if you by chance want to know my thoughts about this.
Hagakure is still The U.A. Traitor™ regardless of whether Deku is passing information on to AFO through his psychic link, which he almost certainly is.
speaking of said psychic link, Deku is a horcrux.
just posting these now, because whenever trippy OFA stuff happens I tend to get an influx of theory asks. so hopefully this will be a bit of a time saver lol.)
-- wait, what
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THAT’S what the recording was??!? holy SHIT. I genuinely was not expecting that. y’all wiretapped his fucking telepathy. fucking quirks, man. wild
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-- oh shit wait lol, except I forgot we’re not talking about 38 days from the present, we’re talking about 38 days from the date the conversation was recorded. heh. um
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yeah that’s the face I would make too if All Fucking Might just casually told me we had eight days left until the end times
oh, pardon me. three fucking days
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r.i.p. anyone who thought we were going to have another band arc sob. I sure hope Deku is enjoying that nap
(ETA: I realize people were hoping for a longer rest period here, but given that the man warned us all the way back in chapter 306 that we were entering the final act, you can’t really blame him too much when that turns out to be true. anyway but I do recognize that we’ve reached the point in the story where this kind of discourse is going to become a weekly occurrence, simply because there’s no possible way for Horikoshi’s actual endgame to line up perfectly with the variable headcanons of millions of fans, all of whom have wildly differing and in many cases contradictory expectations which can’t possibly all be fulfilled. anyway, so I’m already bracing myself for that lol. this coming year is going to be a wild ride.)
damn, U.A. out here looking like the motherfucking United Nations
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-- is this U.A.?? I actually just realized, U.A. is four interconnected buildings, not two. wait holy shit is this Shiketsu?
wait holy SHIT
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based on the overwhelmingly powerful vibes of bureaucratic incompetence, I’m thinking this really is the (future) U.N., or whatever organization it is that deals with international hero stuff
“just let them handle it themselves I’m sure they’ll be fine” yeah okay, thanks guys. appreciate it
wait oh shit did he say that it’s not just Japan?
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soooo, what you’re telling me is that AFO is this close to bringing about the end of not just Japan, but the entire world, and you guys don’t think it’s a good idea to help the Japanese heroes stop him? so, genuine follow-up question: are you guys already planning your rich people exodus into space a la Wall-E, and that’s why you don’t give a fuck?? like, what??
omg international heroes
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these guys are from World Hoodie Mission, right? is this Horikoshi’s way of reminding me to buy tickets
(ETA: and it worked too lol.)
WHO??? WHAT???
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don’t tell me you’re introducing yet another badass new female character for me to fall in love with only to watch as you dismember them and/or blow them up, Horikoshi. I’m getting tired of playing this game my dude. don’t lie and tell me this time will be different. we’re not doing this again goddammit
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god fucking dammit lmao. [sighs and rips the previous paragraph into shreds]
on behalf of Americans I apologize for our superheroes always being Like This
I also apologize because I love her already and I’m gonna be shameless about it. so fucking shameless you guys
is her fucking hair red white and blue. it is, isn’t it
this is the volume cliffhanger, 100% lol. it will take every ounce of Horikoshi’s willpower not to put her on the volume cover. he’ll have to settle for the spine or the inner cover this time because Deku VS his class 1-a superpals takes precedence. but it will be a close thing let me tell you
tbh it’s that smile that does it for me. she’s definitely All Might’s protege. get out there and show them how it’s done girl. and maybe call Salaam and BRD and see if you can’t convince them to play hooky from their governments as well. why not. world’s ending in three days you guys. “sorry, I’m busy this weekend” ain’t gonna cut it lol
so while I am not fully caught up with Vigilantes, I have read far enough to know that there’s an American hero named Captain Celebrity whose superpower from what I recall is being a humongous douchebag. and while I haven’t read far enough to know what happens to this guy, I can’t say I’m very disappointed to learn that he’s no longer the number one hero in the U.S. (actually, didn’t they kick him out and that’s why he moved to Japan to begin with?). anyway, so my thanks to Horikoshi for having a marginally higher opinion of Americans than Furuhashi, even though we have definitely not done anything to warrant said opinion lately, and you may have inadvertently opened the door to a pandora’s box of discourse lmao
(ETA: lol I went into the tags and they don’t disappoint. “why is she dressed like a flag” because she’s an homage to Captain America and Major Victory and literally every other character on this list. again, I apologize for fictional American superheroes being Like This. “oh boy another thicc waifu to make the fanboys happy” look, tumblr fandom never seems to have a problem thirsting over Dabi or Tomura or Aizawa or Nao, lol, I’m just saying. “where is Captain Celebrity” idk, probably murdered by the exploding bee cartel, let’s just be grateful for our good fortune and try not to Beetlejuice the man.)
anyway, so let’s see if Horikoshi’s recent character development with regards to making Mineta not terrible anymore will apply to other aspects of his writing as well. I know I was making light of discourse just now, but I do think the complaints about him introducing yet another new character at the 11th hour to be cannon fodder in the final battle are absolutely valid. and again, it wouldn’t be a problem if he didn’t keep maiming/killing off his female characters one by one instead of developing them and letting them kick ass long-term. but that said, I will never complain about Horikoshi adding another female character to the series, regardless of how clumsy the attempt may be. go ahead and pander away, just give us more girl power lol
anyway so we’ll see how it goes, but I think I’m gonna be optimistic and let myself hope once again, even though I’m probably gonna regret it lol. it is what it is. she is standing on an airplane just chilling for fuck’s sake. I’m only human. anyway fingers crossed
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pleasantanathema · a year ago
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Paring: Reiner Braun x Fem!Reader
Rating: Explicit (18+ only)
Warnings: Shower sex, rough sex, possessive sex, light choking, dirty talk, slight yandere undertones 
Word Count: 2.1k
A/N: Thank you to anon who requested this! I have a very, very soft spot for Reiner thanks to @present-mel​. I, once again, got a little carried away. I’ve been wanting to Reiner for a long time now, so thank you for giving me the encouragement and the idea to do so! 💕 My requests are still open 
          Reiner was like a shadow, always finding you, always haunting you with heavy footsteps and flaming eyes, a revenant with wrath in his hands and agony between his knuckles. He’d always grip you too tightly, leaving bruises to swell and bloom upon your skin when he was gone again. But he never strayed for too long, the demons in his mind were always begging to be satiated, always craving to take more of you.
           Tonight was no different. You heard him before you felt him, weighted boots clunking into a wall as he removed them, the shrill of the shower curtain being pulled back as he exposed the cold air of the washroom against your heated skin. You jumped at the intrusion, arms instinctively wrapping around your body as you looked up at him, gaze tracing the steam that billowed over his broad shoulders. The lighting was low, dull yellow lights buzzing on the ceiling that carved him into a dark figure before you.
           “I’ve been looking for you,” he spoke the words like they were a universal truth, something that already was and always would be.
           You felt overwhelmed in his presence, his mountainous stature making you step away until your back hit the shower wall, feet cold against the tile floor.
           For a moment, you wondered if anyone else was in the showers, if there would be any untoward ears to listen to the depravity that was about to unfold. Reiner was never good at keeping you quiet.
           “Looks like you found me.”
           You couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your cheeks as he stepped into the warm spray of water, rivulets dripping down his body like rivers between lines of muscle.
           His massive hands were on you in haste, always attracted to the most vulnerable parts of you. It made him feel powerful to have a fist around your throat, the other shoved between your thighs as his mouth descended upon yours. You moaned against his greedy mouth, his lust making you feel confident, brave against his brawn. You could feel the desire steaming off his skin as your hands pooled against his chest, fingers lost against plush pectorals.
           “Miss me?” he rumbled against your lips, tongue sweeping into your mouth before you could answer. You nodded your head, feeling his thumb and index finger press tighter against the column of your neck. You gasped against the taste of him—bitter and sweet, like elderberries and dark wine—his fingers between your thighs spreading your pussy, gliding between your wet folds in a familiar rhythm.
           His fingers were wicked and well-trained, the wrath within them always coming alive against your body. No matter how many times you begged him not to, he’d always leave fresh prints against your throat, ghosts to remember him by, to ward off others. And he was brutal with your cunt, thick fingers plunging into your delicate heat quick and hard, the pleasure feeling like the jolting bite of a viper.
           “Fuck, Reiner…” he ate up your words, sucking at your lips as your thighs spread wider to accommodate his ravenous fingers.
           One of your hands tangled in his wet hair, nails scraping at the blonde roots. The other trailed down the wall of his body to where his hard cock was twitching against your belly, impatient and ready to take what belonged to him.
           He roughly pumped two fingers in and out of you, smirking as he felt your body shaking and reacting to his touch. It felt so good, too good, heat rushing through your veins with every fresh plunge into your pussy. You slanted your mouth against his in a breathy moan, the stubble against his cheeks brushing against your face. You wrapped your hand around his cock, sliding your palm against the wet, silken skin, splashes of hot water still spilling over your bodies.
           “Such a pretty plaything,” he groaned, releasing your neck from his paw so his mouth could dip down to suck at your skin, “always ready to spread your legs for me.”
           “I have to be ready, you—fuck, you always want me.”
           Pride welled within your chest as he gave an affirmative groan, your head lolling back against the chilled brick of the shower wall. You always hated these dank showers, though now you were sure to have pleasant memories whenever you stepped into this one; memories of a colossal body pressing into yours, of a man so overcome with lust he would hunt you down and take you even here.
           You disliked him when you first met him, loathed how he coated himself in arrogance. But over time you found the cracks within his armor, found the broken man underneath who seemed to piece back together whenever he could get his hands on you, pour his sin into where your bodies became one.
           Reiner curled his fingers inside of you, making your vision flash white for a moment. Your gripped his cock a little tighter as your stomach muscles clenched from the pleasure, your pussy pulling his fingers in deeper.
           “I’m gonna...I’m gonna cum if-if you don’t stop, and I know you want me too…” he always wanted you to cum on his cock.
           He licked a wet stripe up your neck with his tongue, smirk painting his face as he relinquished his hand from your dripping cunt. He washed his fingers off under the spray of water, lips back to yours as he crushed your thighs within his hands.
           “Up,” he commanded, too easily coaching your feet from the floor with his strength. You wrapped your arms around his neck, his broad shoulders providing ample support for your balance. You felt his too-hard cock bounce against your body as he heaved you into the air.
           “Been thinking about this all day, princess.”
           “Thinking about me in the shower?”
           His cockhead nudged at your folds, carefully spreading you apart. You sucked in a breath at the feeling, Reiner’s hands sliding to cup your ass, fingers mean against your flesh.
           He snapped his hips forward, plunging his cock into your depths in one swift motion, sending your head flying back against the wall as your mouth fell open with the drawl of a long moan, eyes squeezed shut as your body attempted to adjust to his almost unbearably fat cock.
           “Mhm, been thinking about that face, how you look so pretty when I stuff you,” he rocked his hips, sliding his cock from within your tight pussy only to slam back inside, “just like this.”
           Curses tumbled out of your throat, onto your lips, falling onto his wet skin and bouncing off the walls of the shower. You felt so full, like some missing part of you was finally shoved back into place to make you whole. Yet you felt like you were cracking, coming undone around the saturation of your senses. Your lungs burned, legs already aching from being spread across his thick waist, neck still stinging from the ghost of his fist.
           “Oh god, oh god, that’s so good.”
           It never failed to amaze you that every time felt new, that his cock always sent you spinning and gasping and clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping you from falling into a ravishing abyss.
           Each thrust had your shoulders banging against the wall, jostles of pain and pleasure tingling through your body. You rolled your hips down to meet him, though his tight grasp on your body kept you steadily in place as he pounded into your pussy, a mixture of water and slick pooling where your bodies were joined.
           He looked up at you with a cocky grin, one ready to split his handsome face, canine teeth bared as he watched your body bounce from his callous actions.
           “Who owns you?”
           Your tongue felt heavy in your mouth, your mind too blissed out to answer him right away. He took this as a sign that you needed to be reminded, needed his cock pushed into you harder and faster to find your words.
           “Fucking say it!”
           “Ah-ah, you! Shit, fuck, you, Reiner, yours!”
           He roared with satisfaction at your confession, wicked laughter mixed into his grunts and groans as he continued to use your body for a means to his own end. Your head hung low, resting against one of your arms that still held on too tightly to his neck. Your moans were overshadowed by his sounds, high pitched mewls bleeding into the chorus of growls from his chest and the beating of cooling water against the tiles.
           “Louder, I want the whole goddamn barracks to hear you, let them hear how good I make you feel.”
           You screamed as he picked up his already inhuman pace, strangled whines fed by the curling, toiling ecstasy building within your belly, swirling and climbing up your limbs, ready to burst from your core.
           “Reiner, Reiner, Reiner...”
           It was a cry to the heavens, a call to a god that had already enraptured you, ensnared you into his brutal arms like you’d never touch the earth again.
           “Think you can do it, princess? Think you can cum just from my cock splitting you apart?”
           God you could, you would, you were so fucking close, every single time his cock buried itself inside of you, you felt that hot thread of sanity threatening to rip, ready to tear apart.
           He shifted your weight slightly, that iron grip on your backside sliding up to your hips, angling you to take him deeper, to have your clit brushing against the thatch of golden curls at the base of his cock. The new stimulation set you alight, had your lucidity burning away as your pussy clenched and sucked at his cock. The lewd sounds of your sloppy cunt hit your ears, the sound and sensation of his balls slapping against your ass cheeks, of his deep, pleasured rumbles echoing against your chest. It was enough, enough to have you crashing into a fiery lake of pure ecstasy.
           “Fuck, Rei-ner,” his name stayed on your tongue, a continuous, honeyed sound of bliss as your world fell apart. You felt your orgasm in your toes, in your ears, even your too-numb fingers that were sunk into the sinews of his shoulders. Every nerve ending was bursting, bright and hot and too much as your pussy fluttered around his thick cock. In your delirium, you’d barely noticed that he’d stopped, that he was holding you flush against him as he poured himself inside of your body.
           It wasn’t until his cum was leaking out of you that you awoke from the pleasure-induced state.
           You felt used, useless, body so heavy against him, in his arms, that you felt like you were falling when he set you back onto unsteady feet. And, for the first time, you clung to him afterwards, face pressed into his chest where his heart hammered away. He caged you into a sweet embrace, big hands smoothing over your wet hair as you shivered from the chill of the water gone cold.
           “Don’t,” you took in a sharp breath, calming the rush of afterglow emotions flooding your nerves, “don’t leave this time.” You felt like he’d shattered you. There was an urge inside of you to linger with him, to keep near in order to find that euphoria again, to feel whole again.
           “You never want me to stay,” he whispered, lips kissing at the crown of your head.
           You normally never did. Usually, it was about this time that you’d feel disgusted with yourself for letting such a beast of a man use you whenever he felt like it, but tonight was different. You felt the haunting stop; you felt him real and full against the borders of his composure, felt like you were both broken, broken and needing to be repaired again.
           You pulled yourself from his too-heavy arms, quickly shutting off the stream of the water so you could grab at a towel and wrap it around yourself for warmth.
           “I need you,” to stay, you meant to finish, but the words spoken hung in the air to be caught by keen ears.
           Reiner stood behind you, palms brushing down your arms as he kissed your dewy neck, tongue eager to drink from your skin.
           You’d never felt his touch so gentle, never felt the burdens he carried within his fingers to be so weightless.
           “I know you do.”
           You weren’t sure if he said it for you or for himself.
           You followed him to his room that night, body aching to be touched again, to be held, to be soothed away by the shadow that haunted you.
1K notes · View notes
domesticadventures · a year ago
bottom shelf. deancas, 1.8k. (ao3)
insp: (x)
Cas is becoming human and Dean, for all intents and purposes, is ruining him.
He’s picking up all of Dean’s bad habits, all his bad taste. When they’re on the road and stop for gas, Cas grabs Corn Nuts and Snickers and Mtn Dew Code Red and Dean stares daggers at Sam, willing him not to say anything as he stands there with his sad overripe banana and bruised apple, looking like a disappointed parent. When they’re at home, Cas turns up his nose at salads, at vegetarian literally anything, at smoothies. He wants Dean to make him burgers and tater tots, the boxed mac and cheese that comes out an unnatural shade of yellow, he wants frito pie and grilled cheese sandwiches and Totino’s® Pizza Rolls® and Dean isn’t going to tell him no.
But he can’t help but think that surely if Cas knew there was better stuff out there, if someone had taught him better, he would choose something else.
So Dean takes it upon himself to be a better teacher, because it’s not just the food, it’s...everything. It’s the way Cas dresses in torn jeans and faded t-shirts and secondhand flannels, it’s the way he’ll spend an entire day binge-watching Catfish: The TV Show, it’s the way he’ll read whatever dime novel Dean puts in his hands but can never find time for Emerson or Thoreau or Kant.
It isn’t too late to fix the damage he’s done, Dean tells himself. They finish working a case outside of Chicago and Dean picks up some last-minute tickets to Anastasia. Cas raises an eyebrow at Dean’s announcement that they’ll be leaving Sam at the motel to spend a night at the theater, but he obediently puts on his fed suit, lets Dean drive him downtown, ignores Dean’s swearing as he tries to find a good place to park. Dean thinks the whole thing is going pretty well right up until the point where Cas falls asleep with his head on Dean’s shoulder before they even hit intermission.
“Do you want to leave?” Dean asks, as the lights come on and Cas jerks awake, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand.
“No,” Cas says. “No. Sorry. Just tired from the hunt.” At Dean’s skeptical look, he adds, “I want to stay. I want to watch the rest of it with you.”
Cas manages to remain conscious through the second half, but when Dean asks him for his review as they make their way out with the rest of the theater patrons, Cas shrugs.
“It was all right,” Cas says. “But I like the cartoon version better. The one with the actual sorcerer in it.”
And it’s not that Dean disagrees, but his heart sinks a little, anyway.
So he tries something different the next time. They off a Jersey Devil and drive into New York the next day, wander through the Museum of Modern Art a bit aimlessly, neither of them really knowing what to do. Cas squints at the pieces made by some dude whose name Dean forgot the instant he learned it, carefully examines all the bizarre art Dean doesn’t understand, even after he dutifully reads the accompanying plaques—the table covered in egg shells, the painted bones, the pot filled a foot past the brim with mussels.
“Well,” Dean says as they leave, “what did you think?”
“I think,” Cas says slowly, “maybe I just don’t ‘get’ art. But I appreciated the experience, anyway.”
After that, Dean decides maybe he’s aiming a little too high. Maybe he just needs to start a little simpler, that’s all. What could go wrong with, say, a nice meal?
Dean picks out a well-reviewed place on Yelp and tries to temper his expectations as he and Cas sit up on a balcony in the ambient lighting, surrounded on all sides by people there for business meetings, for lunch dates.
He’s disappointed as soon as he takes his first bite. By all accounts, it should be good—how did a restaurant this expensive manage to mess up mashed potatoes with gruyere and bacon?—but it just...isn’t. Or maybe it is objectively good and Dean is simply incapable of enjoying it. He was raised on MSG and high fructose corn syrup and maybe he just can’t tell, maybe his taste buds are permanently broken.
Cas’ tiny bites, his half-finished food, tell Dean he feels much the same, and it makes him feel like shit. He can’t shake the feeling that Cas would have been able to enjoy normal people food if Dean hadn’t fucked it all up for him.
Cas deserves better than this, Dean thinks, as he turns on the car, grips the wheel to steady himself. Cas deserves better food, better dates. He deserves someone who can show him all life has to offer, someone who isn’t too scared to get on a goddamn plane, who would take him to see the seven wonders of the world instead of pulling off the highway to see stupid shit like the country’s largest rubber band ball. He deserves to be tired not from running from one hunt to another but from doing things that are actually fucking fun, to lay down at night next to someone who can sleep for more than a few restless hours at a clip. Cas deserves someone who didn’t learn everything he knows about making other men feel good in truck stop bathrooms or against the sides of 18 wheelers, someone who doesn’t occasionally still freak out in the middle of sex and need to be gently coaxed out of the past and back into the present. He deserves someone who knows how to take care of him, who doesn’t ask for so much while giving so little back.
“Dean,” Cas says, startling him out of his thoughts. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” Dean says. “Everything is fine.” The fact that he’s still sitting with the car in park and his knuckles white against the wheel says otherwise, but Cas is nothing if not impossibly patient with him. He clenches his jaw, swallows. “I just wanted you to have a good time.”
“I did have a good time,” Cas says, “with you.”
“No, you didn’t,” Dean says. “You’re being polite about it, but you didn’t like dinner, and you didn’t like the museum or the theater or—or—any of that stuff.”
He can see Cas frowning out of the corner of his eye, but his voice is gentle as he asks, “Dean, what has all this been about?”
“I wanted you to be able to experience stuff that’s actually good.”
“I’ve experienced plenty of good things.”
“That’s not what I mean,” Dean says, heat rising up his neck, creeping into his face. “You find shit like the theater and museums and actual good fucking food just as boring and bland as I do.”
“Okay?” Cas says. He seems legitimately confused, like it isn’t obvious how badly Dean has screwed everything up. “There’s nothing wrong with those things. They’re just not for us, and that’s okay.”
“It’s not okay!” Dean says, louder than he means to. “It’s not okay. I’m—I’m ruining you.”
Cas’ frown deepens. “I’m not a baby,” he says. “You didn't shape me from birth. Give me some credit for my own personality.”
The heat spreads across Dean’s cheeks, burns behind his eyes. “I don’t—I don’t think that. But it’s just…”
“It’s just what?”
“You just. You don’t get it, okay?” Dean twists his hands against the leather, tries to keep his voice steady. “You’re not supposed to be the kind of person who likes the—the—the absolute worst garbage humanity has to offer. If you’d been human from birth, you’d know that. You’d know better. I’m the dollar menu equivalent of a person and you just haven’t realized it yet.”
There’s a long moment of silence during which Dean has plenty of time to imagine Cas telling him he’s insane, getting out of the Impala, and slamming the door behind himself.
Instead, Cas slides closer to him, their knees knocking together, and turns off the car. He reaches up and moves Dean’s hands from the wheel, holds them in one of his own. Uses his other hand to cup Dean’s face, stroke a thumb across his cheek until Dean hesitantly turns towards him, meets his gaze.
“Dean,” Cas says quietly. “You’re right. I haven’t always been human. I wasn’t raised in human society. But I like to think that gives me a certain different perspective.” He considers Dean carefully, looking from one of his eyes to the other. “I didn’t learn what I should or shouldn’t like from other people telling me. I’m learning it by doing. By trying and figuring it out. I mean this in the nicest way possible,” he says, the corner of his mouth ticking up in the barest hint of a smile, “but I don’t have all of your same hangups. To me, there’s just what I like and what I don’t. And what I like is fast food, and dumb movies that will never win a Tony—”
“I think those are the music ones—”
“Whatever,” Cas says, rolling his eyes. “You see my point.” He shifts to sit with one of his legs folded up on the seat, faces Dean more fully. “Dean. I know you grew up in a world that devalued you and the things you love. I would undo that if I could, but I can’t. All I can hope to do is to somehow convince you that you have value. I know what the other options are, and I want you to know that I’m not settling on you. I’m choosing you intentionally.”
Dean squeezes his eyes shut as Cas leans forward, as he presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth—so easily, so gently that it makes Dean’s breath catch in his throat.
“I love you,” Cas murmurs, “just as you are.”
Dean reaches his hand up, lays it over Cas’ own where it still rests against his cheek. “How’d you get so good at this, huh?” he asks, a little hoarsely. He runs his thumb against Cas’ knuckles and hopes he gets what he means—this tenderness, this comfort, this honest emotion. All of it.
Cas huffs a laugh. “This part I did learn from you.”
“Oh,” Dean manages, trying his best to internalize it as Cas kisses him again, more deeply this time, as he runs gentle fingers through the hair at the back of Dean’s neck. By the time Cas pulls away, Dean feels almost normal. Whatever ‘normal’ is for him, anyway. “Okay,” he says. “I’m okay.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah.” He clears his throat. “Yes.”
“Good,” Cas says, sliding back into his own seat. He nods once, decisively. “So can we pick up Taco Bell on the way home? That meal was extremely unsatisfying and I’m still hungry.”
Dean surprises himself by laughing. He thinks, wildly, that he’s never loved Cas more than he does at this moment.
“Yeah, Cas,” he says, turning the key in the ignition. “Whatever you want.”
977 notes · View notes
anystalker707 · 6 months ago
Bubblegum Bitch [Electra Heart] (part 2)
Pairing: Pastel! Frank x Punk! Reader [lowkey 'x Gerard' as well] Word count: ~ 5 600 Genre: Enemies to lovers / Fluff / Funny / Song inspired Summary: "Oh, dear diary, I met a boy He made my doll heart light up with joy Oh, dear diary, we fell apart Welcome to the life of Electra Heart I'm Miss Sugar Pink, liquor, liquor lips Hit me with your sweet love, steal me with a kiss"
> Part 1
Requested by @angie-migel | @broke-and-overwhelmed | anon | on wattpad
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Me: Frank Frnak Fucking Bubblegum Bitch Miss Sugar Pink? 😍🥰😘
Miss Sugar Pink: Hi <3
Me: Where's the book?
I can almost feel my soul leaving my body at the moment the ‘online’ under Frank’s contact name disappears, groaning as I would let my head fall forward on the table if it was otherwise clean and my work didn’t have any chance to be ruined.
Gerard raises an eyebrow from his place next to me and hums, shaking his head. “What’s up, sugar?”
“Frank disappeared with the goddamn book,” I sigh, pocketing my phone, and put my latex glove on again, “and no one else returned theirs yet, so... All I can find are extremely minor extractions from the book around and resumes that say nothing substantial.” The paintbrush dips into the black paint before I bring it closer to paint the details along Mother War’s mask.
“Are you sure you don’t want any help?” Gerard leans over to grab the deep red mix that I was using earlier for the blood drops of his thousandth version of his Demolition Lovers’ drawing.
“Yeah. I need my own perspective of the book for this and I’m already halfway through my essay and all, so... It’d be messy.” I lean over Gerard’s shoulder to take a look at his painting. “You’re so talented it makes me want to give up.”
Gerard snorts a chuckle, rolling his eyes a little. “You’re not bad, dumbass.” He presses a kiss to my cheek and rests his head on my shoulder for a moment. “But why don’t you go after Frank or something? Maybe you can find him during any of the breaks today?” He goes back to adding the spilled blood to his painting, quickly reaching for a lighter tone of red.
“That if I can find him at some point.” I dip the brush in more black paint. Frank wasn’t around yesterday and before yesterday during lunch nor at the library when he usually is, in a way the last time I saw him in person was when I was heading to the dorms and saw him dragging someone around by their hand; either way, he dismissed me quickly. Just like when I text him—well, when he even bothers to answer. “I’ll go find him today.”
Finding Frank turns out to be a harder task than I thought. Normally, it’s easy to find him given how unusual it is to find someone else with a same pastel aesthetic as his, and even the familiar faces that usually are following him around are nowhere to be seen. Okay, that’s maybe unusual; it’s not like I know his habits or something.
Still, what the fuck? Can’t he keep up to his promises or what? Yeah, he’s not dumb or anything, but he’s also not the best person when it comes to commitment and all that stuff. It doesn’t matter how many times I call him right now, I’ll even find his fucking dorm if I need to.
The ringing stops. “Hello, you’ve tried to reach Frank Iero! I can’t answer right now, but if it’s regarding my photography or Pencey Prep, feel free to message me instead! If not, I’ll get back to you as soon as possible!”
No, no, no! Fuck!
“Frank,” I huff after the beeping sound, “you fucking disappeared. Forgot our deal? Call me or else I’ll hunt you down.” The sound of the phone hanging up follows, leaving me in silence with my own anger, which isn’t exactly any better. My fingers itch to toss my phone across the campus—breathe, (y/n), you know that’s not the best option or even a good one at all, it would solve absolutely fucking nothing. Everyone is working on their fucking assignments, hence there isn’t any prevision any other copy of the book will be returned anytime soon, but there I was, thinking Frank Iero, out of all people, would keep up to his promises at least once.
As the anger finally cools down into something else—disappointment, but not sadness; not sadness—, I pull my phone up again, this time opening the browser, searching ‘rent Reductionism in Art and Brain Science’. Maybe it won’t cost me that much or maybe it’ll work using some other people’s resumes as reference with the hope the professor doesn’t count it as plagiarism.
The thoughts honestly stick to my mind during the following lectures, slipping in between the moments of focus just to drown me in the terrible reality again. It shouldn’t be that hard, right? I already knew what making a deal with Frank meant. I know his reputation, I knew this had chances to go wrong, but still. Fuck, why did he have to be like this? Things were going on so well in the beginning. He had to ruin everything.
“You’re a little quiet, sugar.” Gerard scoots a little closer, pulling me to the third option of reality—one that’s not about being stuck in my thoughts or hyper focused on a task. “Is everything alright?”
I pause and swallow before I nod. Why does the situation have such an effect on me? It’s as if something annoying and prickling buzzed under my skin continuously. “I just wanted to finish my assignment in peace. Hand in my assignment and it’d be fine.”
“Is it really about it, though?” He raises an eyebrow, and wraps an arm around my shoulders.
A sigh escapes my lips as I lean into Gerard, pressing a kiss to his cheek because maybe then he’ll avert his attention away from the subject. He smiles a little as he pulls me closer.
Even with Gerard by my side—the way he sometimes takes my hand in his or plays with my fingers a little is simply so lovely—, the lecture continues as torturing as the previous one had been, but with more intervals in which I’m not hyper focused or stuck in my own head. Things at least do feel a little better by the time I’m packing my stuff again. I should have stuck with Gerard for the whole day, but it doesn’t matter now that we are heading to our dorm, with our arms hooked.
“We can watch something tonight, if it helps,” Gerard suggests.
The idea of watching sounds good, like, having my mind off everything else for about two hours. Will I be able to truly focus on the movie, though?
“Can we just cuddle and listen to something?” I sigh softly, already trying to think about a good playlist or at least a few good songs for the occasion. “I think it would help me better.”
A smile tugs on Gerard’s lips as he nods. “Sure, sugar.”
My ringtone brings me back to reality, feeling something digging into my hip at the same time I wonder why it’s so dark until I remember I must’ve fallen asleep while talking nonsense with Gerard while we cuddled, so he’s also responsible for digging his elbow into my hip. The song continues to play in a low but still audible volume until I press down on the green sign—while trying not to get blind by the screen brightness—and press the phone to my ear.
“Hello?” I groan. What time is it, even?
“Hi!” Frank? “Just wanted to know I just listened to the voicemail and we can meet up today during our free hours so we can work on the book. Together because I haven’t had time to do it yet and I was thinking we could figure it out! Is that okay for you?”
“Frank, I— What time is it, even?” I groan, rubbing my temple a little.
“It is...” He pauses. “One fifty-three. Anyways, is it fine for you?”
“Yeah, yeah,” I breathe, “whatever. Just text me the... the time and shit, we’ll meet up, ‘kay?”
“Lovely! See you in the morning!” Frank makes a kissy sound that’s followed by the sound of a concluded call; I hum. What the fuck? At least there still are a few hours left to sleep.
The next time I wake up, it’s actually to Gerard’s allarm going off, sending both of us groaning and shifting at the same time. I’m staring at nothing when Gerard leaves the bathroom, using every ounce of self control left in my body so I won’t lie back down and continue to sleep through the first lecture.
“Do you want to go have breakfast anywhere?” Gerard sprays some of his cologne on himself and adjusts his clothes before he walks over to his bag.
Breakfast anywhere? The thought of doing anything aside from going to lecture and dying silently while the professor talks in the background seems a little too demanding. “No, thanks, Gee, sorry.” The bed creaks a little as I stand up from it, moving to grab my clothes from the dresser to head to the bathroom.
“It’s okay, just thought it’d distract you a little,” he chuckles a little, and comes closer to give me a kiss on the cheek and hug me tightly until I groan in complaint.
We’re leaving for the first lecture when I check my phone properly, getting rid of the useless notifications and taking a look at the messages—art history group, family group, someone asking for notes, unread message from the last week, Frank... Wait, Frank?
Miss Sugar Pink: 11:45 am lecture, outdoors tables near the Neuroscience building <3
What’s that supposed to mean...? Oh, the call in the middle of the night. Right, at least that’s going to be better than nothing.
Even if the lectures and the time at the library seems to pass just as slowly as yesterday, the new context makes up for it at the same time it—thankfully—gives me a new relieving feeling rather than the uncomfortable one that seemed to crawl under my skin. Still, I wonder if this is really going to work. Does Frank study in silence or does he have some habit that may disturb me? I wish things would just work out smoothly instead.
My stomach churns at seeing the clock saying 11:25 am as my hands sweat stupidly, but I guess I’ll just rent the book online in case something turns out wrong and try to borrow money from someone if things get too bad for me later. It’s not a bad plan, right? I don’t want to hear the answer.
Surprisingly enough, the pastel spot is already seen at the table in the distance when I head towards the place Frank agreed with me. He wears a cute pink shirt today and purple shorts that match his Chuck Taylors and socks, using his delicate jewelry as always, eyes covered by his red frame shades, while he sips on whatever he got in his glitter Starbucks cup. “Hello, hun!” His lips stretch in a grin at the same time he sees me—nice gloss. “How are you?”
“Hello.” I take a seat on the bench across from him with a sigh, letting my bag down beside me. “So, you disappeared.”
“Yeah, sorry! I really didn’t mean to!” He pouts a little and brings the shades up his head, setting the cup aside. Some of his stuff already lies across the table, some of his pretty pens plus the basics, and his sparkly silver pencil case sits next to his pastel green binder. Almost all of his items are covered in stickers, wow. Very... Frank. “‘Bet you didn’t hear about it, but the thing is that I met a boy who makes my doll heart beat up with joy.”
“You writing poems about your lovers now?” I raise an eyebrow, but don’t really let him answer despite his intention to, continuing to talk as I start to get my own things off my bag. “Okay, but who’s the lucky one?”
“You wouldn’t know him.” Frank shrugs a little, swinging his feet a little—an information which I didn’t really need, but am aware of due to how he ends up accidentally kicking me under the table. “But he’s from the cinema people. He’s very pretty, like— Gym rat or something, as he likes to call himself.” His lips stretch in a smile as he pulls the book from inside his bag. “I couldn’t answer you and all because I was spending time with him and things will probably be like this for a while, so I thought it’d be cool to meet up like this.”
Oh, okay. What the fuck am I supposed to say about this? It’s weird to think that Frank has other... ‘friends’. What are we, after all? I don’t think we’re even friends despite all the talks. Not as exciting as I thought it would be.
“You’re dating?” I raise an eyebrow.
Frank’s face turns a deep shade of red at the same time my heart sinks into my stomach and he hums, shrugging. “I guess so?”
“Okay.” I nod as I start to skip through the notes for my assignment until reaching a half empty page. “Congratulations.” Is this what I’m supposed to say? “I’m glad you could find someone.”
“I know, right?” Frank giggles with excitement, making me smile a little, even if it’s not because of anything we’re talking about.
“I hope he treats you like you deserve.” I press my lips together; Frank is in silence whilst observing me for a long moment, interrupted once I reach for the book. All I want is for this to be over so this feeling vanishes—it feels like someone is gripping on my throat and lungs.
“What do you mean?” Frank tilts his head.
“What do I mean what?” I furrow my eyebrows, using my finger to mark the page I stopped at.
“I don’t deserve to be treated in some specific way,” Frank chuckles, shaking his head as he takes hold of a pen, “I’m going to be treated according to what the situation allows.”
“Oh, so you’re going to let your significant other change your phone just because they said they’ll break up with you if you don’t?” I chuckle as I shake my head to myself, but... Frank isn’t laughing, so I stop, eyeing him carefully. “Frank?” He hums, tilting his head a little. “Oh, Frank, that’s not how it works!” I pinch the bridge of my nose. Fuck, I can’t scare him, though. “Look, it doesn’t matter what they want, if it invades your privacy or goes against your will, you’re not obligated to agree with it!”
“But what if they love me a lot?” Frank’s shoulders fall as he sighs, bottom lip sticking out a little. “I don’t want to hurt them!”
...Who is this and what did they do with Frank? Nevermind, (y/n), focus.
“If they truly love you, they will understand.” I exhale softly. “Look, you deserve to still have your privacy, to do whatever you want, to say no and all even if you love them and they love you. It may be weird to hear it from me or something,” I mutter with a shrug—because it does feel weird to tell him this at the same time it’s... concerning, like, how does his mind work?—, “but it’s the truth. Like, something everyone should know, everyone deserves it.” Frank looks at me quietly, and even if his eyebrows are a little low, whatever emotion he holds remains a mystery. “Sorry, I ended up ranting.”
Frank blinks and hums quietly, shaking his head. “Don’t worry.” He pulls a lollipop from inside his pencil case and pops it into his mouth.
A weird silence hovers between us, interrupted by the sound of the wind going through the trees’ leaves with some distant voices, lasting up to when Frank frowns a little and stops writing on his binder to look around.
“Something wrong?” I glance at him, finishing to write a sentence.
“Do you mind some music?” He sticks his lollipop back in his mouth after I shake my head and grabs his phone, tapping on it a few times before the characteristic introduction of Saturday Night starts playing. Fuck, Saturday Night? He goes back to writing, but the pen barely touches the paper when he looks at me again, eyebrows furrowed. “Um, do you—”
“You like Misfits?”
A red tone spreads across Frank’s cheeks as he smiles a little, eyes drifting down for a moment. “...Yeah,” he hums and pauses to get the lollipop in hand, “I really like them. Why?”
“I was expecting something like Kyary Pamyu Pamyu to start playing. I mean, no problems if you do like her, but...” I shrug a little, looking at his phone for a moment. Does he like any other rock band or is he just a Misfits fan? To be honest, knowing the kind of artists Frank likes is difficult in general since he doesn’t wear merch very often, so maybe he just listens to music casually and doesn’t need it as bad as oxygen like I do.
Frank chuckles. “Yeah, I can imagine the shock. Like, the visuals—” He motions to himself. “They don’t match, but I do like them. Like, not only them, also Metallica, Megadeth, Slipknot and all that stuff in general.”
Fucking awesome. As thrilled as it gets me, I refrain myself from doing anything rather than nod. “Ever been to a concert?”
“Not really.” Frank shakes his head and licks his lollipop, twirling his pen between the fingers of his free hand. “Never got anyone to go with me. And you?”
“Same,” I hum. We look at each other for a moment, in which I cogitate to tell him I’ll keep it in mind for the next time any of these bands decide to have a concert anywhere near us, but maybe it wouldn’t work, we aren’t even that close or anything. Frank might not like my company like this—or like my company at all. “Maybe your new partner might go with you?”
Frank snorts, rolling his eyes, and goes back to scribbling down. “It’s easier for me to give you the book instead.” Okay, then; I chuckle a little with the lack of better response, taking the book instead, skipping through the pages to one I want. “But he does take me to a few parties, y’know? I confess it’s not exactly my thing, but I will get used to it.”
“You’re not a party person?” I raise an eyebrow, glancing up to see him shaking his head. “I could swear you were.”
“No, no, I’m more of a stay at home and study person...” Frank mumbles, adjusting the binder as he starts writing on another line. “But it’s cute how he always has an arm around me, he is protective and all. I even got a ring.” He puts the lollipop in his mouth to hold up his left hand and show off the delicate golden ring around it.
“Yeah?” I raise an eyebrow, taking his hand in mine to adjust it a little; the ring is adorned by three pink stones, perfectly matching him. His fingertips are rough. “Do you play any instrument?”
Frank’s cheeks heat up and he hums quietly. “Yeah, I play the guitar.”
“True?” I grin, tracing his fingertips a little. “That’s awesome.”
His lips curl up into a shy smile as he looks down then at me again, nodding a little. “I can play something for you at some point.”
“That would be nice,” I say softly and gently let go of his hand. Despite how picturing Frank playing a guitar and something like Dig Up Her Bones is hard, it only makes me more curious about it. I hope he plays for me soon.
“—and, like, I have the whole collection, all the books,” Frank says, pausing to flip to the next page of his binder, “but I didn’t have time to read them yet and stuff.” He shrugs a little, sighing. “My books are really precious to me, y’know,” he chuckles, “I want to have my own library at some point.”
“Oh, really?” I grin wide—the idea of having your own personal library is just fantastic—and Frank nods frantically, smile widening. “I—”
“Wow, plain lunch and you two are here?” Gerard suddenly sits down next to me, raising an eyebrow as he looks down at all the materials scattered across the table.
“Lunch?” I raise an eyebrow and exhale softly once I take a look at my phone. It’s 01:34 pm already. “Wow,” I exhale, leaning back a little. My notes aren’t worth almost two hours of studying—maybe because these hours weren’t used for studying, right? There are enough notes, thankfully.
“Oh, fuck,” Frank gasps, widening his eyes as he immediately stands up, frantically tapping on his phone’s screen before starting to throw his things back inside his bag. “I’m sorry, guys, I gotta go!” He messily zips it up without even putting everything into place properly—quite weird coming from him—, and shows up between Gerard and I, pressing kisses to our cheeks and mumbling rushed farewells. My cheek ends up smeared with gloss, but... Fuck, Frank’s gloss. I must smile stupidly given Gerard’s look, but he isn’t much different from me given how red his cheeks are.
“Where do you think he’s gotta go?” Gerard raises an eyebrow, glancing back at the way Frank went.
“Maybe see his boyfriend?” I shrug. I should gather my things as well.
Gerard chuckles, but goes silent for a moment. “Wait, you’re joking, right?” He looks at me from under his lashes and widens his eyes once I shake my head in response. “Wow. Frank. Dating. Who’s the lucky one?”
“Some guy from the cinema major.” I put my notebook aside first, then start grabbing my pens... I don’t remember having a pink pen like this, a glitter gel one and strawberry scented. Hopefully returning it is enough of an excuse for him not to keep the book away from me for so long this time.
“Damn.” Gerard looks at the nothing for a moment and sighs, shrugging a little. “Anyways, let’s go get you lunch, shall we?”
Even if we don’t talk with Frank a lot, seeing him less and less often is quite unusual and missing his presence is quite uncommon, but... Well, it’s all because of the book, right? I needed the book and nothing else. We had started to text each other more often a little after we sat together to study, but he disappeared again sometime ago. Some things are just not supposed to be. Frank simply isn’t the kind of person to make friendships like this and it is okay. I should stop forgetting this whole thing is due to the book and, to be honest, he returned the book the day after we studied together, so we have no reason to talk anymore. This whole thing was due to the book. The book had a note inside when he left it outside my door after a brief knock, a folded paper between the cover and the first page. Thank you for sharing and helping, xoxoMissSugarPink—it said with a kiss mark near the signature.
At least my assignment was turned in in time and it was pretty complete, in my opinion. As far as I know, Frank’s as well.
“I don’t like it when you’re quiet like this.” Gerard sighs, rolling his shoulders back a little. He leans in closer to the mirror as he smudges the red makeup around his eye, maybe uselessly trying to make it symmetrical to his other eye. “I mean, I don’t mind it when you’re quiet, but this is another type of quiet.”
Yeah, of course Gerard would notice it. “Burned out, it’s all.” It feels like a lie, weirdly enough.
“Sorry about it, sugar. I wish you could come with me and I also wish I could stay here to take care of you.” Gerard pulls his hair back with a sigh and steps closer to take a seat on the edge of the bed, shifting a little before he cups my face with both of his hands. They’re warm. Nice. “I have my phone with me, though, so don’t be afraid to call or anything, okay? Take care of yourself, drink water, you can grab the snacks from my bedside table if you want, I love you.” A smile tugs on his lips and he presses a kiss to my cheek. “In case I don’t answer, you have Bert, Jeph and Ray’s phone numbers, right?”
“Yeah, yeah, but don’t worry a lot.” I lean into his hand a little and pull Gerard for a hug. “Go have fun, you loser.”
Gerard chuckles a little, squeezing me, then finally gets up, still pacing around the room a little until he has all of his things with him and leaves for once after another rant about how I need to take care of myself.
The silence and being alone is comforting. Of course I love Gerard’s presence, but I still appreciate being alone, spread out across the bed, on my fluffy covers... There’s a knock on the door. Gerard again? Well, he does have the keys. A sigh escapes my nose as I push myself up and move to answer the door.
“Hi—” I interrupt myself with the pastel blur that squeezes between me and the doorway to get in the room, taking his shoes off on the way to my bed, where he sits down, practically throwing himself on it. “Frank...?” I raise an eyebrow, taking a look at the empty halls before I close the door again and lock it. “Uh, hi?”
“You won’t believe it,” Frank says, sounding a little breathless, and only now I notice it might be the first time I see him without any makeup, not even having eyeliner adorning his eyes. Not to mention his eyes are kinda red. “Like— That dumbass—” Frank grabs the closest pillow and screams into it. Okay, that’s not how I planned to spend my night, but what’s fucking happening to him? He’s even in his pajamas already.
“Frank...” I take a seat next to him, resting a hand on his shoulder, compelling him to immediately lean against me. “Hey, what happened, do you want to talk about it?”
“That stupid, idiot, motherfucker—” Frank interrupts himself with a soft sound—a sob?—and wraps his arms tightly around me, arms still tight around my torso. “H-He just wanted to use me or something, I don’t know, I just—” He sighs shakily and relaxes against me. “Fuck, it’s just— W-We fell apart.”
“I’m sorry about it,” I sigh softly, rubbing Frank’s back. He squeezes his way out of my grip and lies down on my bed, facing the wall as he hugs the pillow he grabbed earlier close to his chest. “Do you—”
“I don’t want to talk about it, don’t talk to me, let’s just stay in silence,” he says in a single breath. “Don’t talk. Hug me.”
It’s unclear whether sleep is clouding my mind or not, but I turn off the lights and join him. Frank feels so delicate and warm, his sweet smell filling my lungs as my nose buries into the back of his neck.
Unlike Gerard, Frank tosses around the bed a lot during his sleep between intervals of clinging to me and being as far as possible, which has me waking up in the middle of the night with a sharp inhale, staring at the darkness as Frank shifts around until resting his head on my chest.
“(Y/n), are you awake?” His whisper cuts through the thick silence of the room.
“Yes, Miss Sugar Pink.” I smile a little.
“It’s Electra Heart now.” He shifts a little, resting his hand over my chest.
“Yeah,” Frank hums. His fingers trace soft patterns on my chest, bringing me a weirdly soothing feeling. “Y’know, I really like to make the people who I like happy,” he mumbles, words running one into the other with sleepiness, “I like to do whatever they want because... because they just, like, deserve it and stuff. I thought he knew that. I never take people to my dorm and I took him. I never— I even went to parties with him, these stupid parties that stink of stupid beer and stupid cigs...” He sniffles a little at the same time I feel something warm through the fabric of my shirt, so I bring a hand to play with his hair; he melts a little more into me.
“I’m so sorry, Frankie, you deserve a lot better,” I whisper. Fuck, why do my eyelids feel so heavy now? I want to keep talking. “A lot more. But you know you don’t need to sacrifice yourself to make people happy, right?”
“I’m working on it,” Frank says, small and quietly.
“Why did you come to me, Frank?” I dip my fingers into the strands on the back of his neck, caressing and massaging the skin there softly, in a way he hums in response, sighing.
“Dunno, you’re all that I have.” Frank shifts a little, almost shrugging. “We never... talked a lot, but you don’t, y’know, try to kiss or touch me or compliment me the whole time...” He pauses, only the sound of his deep and slow breaths filling the room. “I can talk with you about simple things and it feels like you know me or you care, I don’t know. No one wants to hear me talk about my books, only about my panties.” He exhales sharply through his nose, humorously. “Not you, though, not you...” He says almost in a singing tone, tracing patterns on my chest, soon pausing as he presses a kiss to it through the fabric. “Not you.”
Nothing in especial brings me back to reality—not Gerard walking in, not the sunlight or the alarm clock—, I just open my eyes and stare at the ceiling for a long moment as I think about what happened last night and allow myself to enjoy the warmth pressed to my side and the weight on my chest. He didn’t move away. On his bed, there’s Gerard, tangled in the blankets. Almost a normal Saturday. Better than one.
A sharp sigh comes from Frank as he whines something in his sleep, but tugs on my shirt to bring himself closer to me then relaxes again with a soft exhale. How is he so precious and pretty? My heart flutters a little and, fuck, fuck it if this isn’t good.
As much as cuddling is nice, I can soon feel my bladder complaining, in a way I manage to get Frank to turn around and cling to a pillow while still asleep before I rush to the bathroom as quietly as possible, already starting to get myself ready for the day. Gerard stands shirtless in the room when I’m back, potentially looking for another shirt among the mess under his bed as he pushes the articles of clothing around with his feet, being watched by Frank, who sits on the bed with crossed legs.
“Good morning,” I breathe, closing the door behind me.
“Mornin’!” Frank makes grabby hands towards me; I need to pause for a moment then step close to hug him, letting him cling to me for as long as he wants—which is until Gerard threatens to go to the bathroom, so Frank immediately rushes in ahead of him.
“What’s he doing here?” Gerard asks as soon as he hears the lock turning.
I observe the bathroom’s door for a moment and shrug lightly. “He fell apart with his ex-boyfriend or something, then he came here. I guess I could befriend him for real.”
Gerard raises his eyebrows and nods a little. He blinks slowly, nodding to himself. “Yeah, right. Remind me to update you later about the gig then you update me about the whole stuff, alright?”
“Alright,” I chuckle, moving to grab a new change of clothes.
I make my bed and I’m sitting on it again when Frank leaves the bathroom, giving place for Gerard to finally get in, and immediately comes to straddle my lap. Sweet. I’m about to hug him back when he threatens to leave my lap, so I hug him, wrapping my arms around his waist tightly until he giggles and settles down to wrapping his arms around my neck with a sigh.
“Do you like it?” Frank nuzzles the side of my face a little. “Are you okay if I’m too clingy and stuff?”
“You’re not too clingy.” I press a kiss to his cheek, internally melting at how he holds onto me. He still smells like cotton candy.
“You’re just saying things,” he sighs.
“I wouldn’t hug you back if I minded.” I hug him tightly again, which makes him squeal. “I wouldn’t have held you during the night or anything.”
He hums, giving himself a moment. “Right.”
Frank pulls back enough to face me, furrowing his eyebrows, but quickly presses his forehead to mine, then brushes our noses together a little and... he presses his lips to mine softly, and holy fuck. It’s just... the best thing ever. His lips are soft as they slide against mine just perfectly, compelling me to be careful almost as if Frank were made out of glass or something even more fragile. He hums softly, almost a soft whine, and threatens to pull away, but I deepen the kiss, leaning in more instead because... Fuck, will I ever get enough of it? What does he have? Liquor lips?
A deep red tone spreads across Frank as he pulls back, his eyes focused on my lips—I presume—not on mine. “I think I like you.”
tagging list: @lubbockshusband | @trans-ylvania
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the-insomniac-emporium · a year ago
Bound Blood (Cassandra Dimitrescu/Reader, Soulmate AU) Pt. 4
Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T+ for language, nudity (but, like, for art), and violence Warnings: Unhealthy dynamics, including violence between the shipped pair, leaning heavily into the "enemies" part of "enemies to friends to lovers" Summary: Local vampire discusses art, depictions of certain anatomy, and enjoys the company of her feral soulmate for 4.5 minutes. Then it goes to shit (as things tend to do). 0-60 Real goddamn quick. Previous Chapters: 1: Sharing Is (Not) Caring; 2: Bloodbath, Baby!, 3: Haunt Me Dearly
4: Portraits For Ghosts
“Am I really supposed to just… stay here? Did she honestly think that I, of all people, would behave? The universe gave me two good hands, and by God, I intend to make that someone else’s problem,” you mutter to yourself as you get dressed. It’s not that you necessarily had anything in mind, rather that you hated the idea of waiting around for who knows how long for Cassandra to return. Especially considering what she had done prior to leaving. Sure, you had laughed, but that hadn’t meant much in the end. At this point, you hadn’t even been out of the dungeon for a full day yet, and the memories of what happened there were fresh in your mind. Nightmares, too, even if you had pushed them aside to deal with Cassandra’s. Why did I bother? You wonder, frowning. There was hardly any point to comforting a monster, no matter the way they trembled.
Or at least that’s the lie you sold yourself.
Soon enough, a knock at the door brings you out of your head. Daphne, maybe, you think, remembering the maiden from yesterday. When you open the door, however, you’re met with an unfamiliar woman. She’s a few years your senior, at the very least, and appears surprised to see you. In her hands is a very enticing tray of food.
“Lady Cassandra wanted me to bring this to you. I am… I am glad to see you are feeling better already,” she says, voice shaking. What was with these maidens and assuming you were anything like your soulmate? Though that last part did catch your interest. Something told you that she wasn’t at all referring to your time in the dungeon. If you had learned anything from Daphne, it was that the best way to get information was to be indirect. So you graciously accepted the food, before speaking, dodging your way around your ignorance.
“Yes, it’s amazing what a bit of meditating can do for the soul- and body, that is,” you start, watching closely for any veiled reactions. Even within the first few words you can tell that this stranger wasn’t expecting you to be pleasant. “Out of curiosity, what did my Lady say about my condition? There are, uh, a few details that I hope she did not share. I’m sure you understand.” As soon as the words leave your mouth, the maiden is nodding, appearing eager to satisfy you. Maybe a hint of fear can be useful, after all.
“No worries, Lady Cassandra did well to respect your privacy, and we would not dare question her further. She simply explained, to her family, that you were dealing with a migraine. I only heard this because I was helping serve breakfast,” she explained, smiling softly. You’re quick to nod, mimicking her expression for maximum empathy. “Do you require anything else? I am here to serve, you must only ask.” Ah, perfect. Would she have offered this even if you hadn’t attempted to be charming? Probably, but your politeness certainly didn't hurt.
“Well, there is one thing… as long as it’s no trouble.”
It had been a risk, asking the servant to take you to a room you weren’t sure existed, but one that had paid off brilliantly. Even if said room was nothing like you had anticipated. Who would have thought that Cassandra, you think, would be an artist? What’s far less surprising is the fact that the studio (or ‘study’, as you had called it) is a disorganized disaster. Discarded papers lie scattered around an overflowing trash can, a cabinet with an attached tool rack is missing pieces, and in one corner there are literally random shards of broken glass lying about. What is this, performance art? Part of you feels tempted to clean up the mess, if only to occupy your time. Instead, you decide to examine some of the pieces within the room. Maybe somehow they’d tell you something noteworthy about your soulmate.
First, you move to your left, where a workbench houses strange sculptures. For the most part they’re abstract, jagged edges contrasting with gentle curves, but there is one you think you understand. It’s very clearly a bust… of someone’s ‘bust’. Guess that solves the age old question of ‘boobs or ass’, you think, stifling a giggle. Moving on, you shift your attention to the exposed section of the cabinet. One row is dedicated to small vials, each labeled with a concerning ‘blood’, despite the fact that it’s clearly not refrigerated. Still, you have heard of artists painting with blood before, but you seem to recall them mixing it with something else. Perhaps Cassandra had done the same? Though you did wonder if she had any difficulty resisting the urge to drink the blood, at least prior to mixing it.
Shrugging, you continue to the other side of the studio, squatting to get a closer look at the broken glass. As expected, there’s no discernable pattern or purpose. Huh, you think, wonder why she doesn’t clean up. Maybe she’s waiting for a servant to do it? Guessing her reasoning was rather difficult, especially considering your lack of context, such as how long the mess had been here. Deciding that this was a pointless distraction, you move on to the only other thing of note in the room: An easel, in the center, with a canvas nearly as tall as yourself. So far, there’s little on it other than pencil lines, a sketch marking where to paint certain details. Only the (start of) the background has been colored. Understandably, it’s hard to make out what exactly the finished project would end up representing. Based on what you know of Cassandra and her family, however, you infer that this- with four figures, one larger than the others, protective- is a painting of the castle residents.
“Family means something to you, hmm?... I hope that mine does not miss me much, for I will never see them again,” you say to yourself, instinctively reaching out towards the art. Before you can touch it, or think better of it, the door to the studio is flying open. In storms Cassandra, fists clenched at her sides. As soon as she sees you, she’s rushing forward, pulling you away from the easel. “Hello, darling. Glad to see me feeling better, yes?” You teased, smiling wide at her. Feeling a bit emboldened by your earlier success, you go a step further, leaning in to give her a quick kiss on the cheek.
“I swear to fuck, if you touched any of my stuff-” Cassandra starts to say, intentionally ignoring the kiss, even though her cheeks get flush at the contact.
“Nope, not a single thing. Not even the broken glass. Nice touch, by the way, makes the whole space feel a helluva lot cozier,” you interject. For a few moments she holds you by your shirt collar, staring you in the eyes as if determining whether or not to believe you. Somehow, some way, she declares you innocent, releasing you with an irritated sigh. After pretending to dust yourself off, you return your attention to the central canvas. “Do you do a lot of art of your family? I passed by several pieces on my way here, though they were certainly in a different style.” Another pause, with Cassandra waiting for you to spring a verbal trap.
“Some of those are mother’s work,” she answers, tentatively, eying you closely. When you merely nod in reply, expecting her to elaborate, she starts to relax, little by little. “I doubt you passed any of mine. Mother tends to keep those closer to her quarters, or near the main entrance.” Interesting, you think, why hasn’t she addressed my original question?
“It sounds like she’s very proud of you,” you muse, still facing away from your soulmate. There’s a slight shakiness to your voice, as your mind starts to dwell on memories of your own family. Perhaps noticing this, Cassandra takes a few steps closer, one hand hovering over your shoulder, not quite sure if you needed (or perhaps deserved) any comfort. In this moment, you feel far more vulnerable than you had the day before. Taking a deep breath, you try to center yourself, before perfectly ruining whatever trust you had just established with Cassandra. “Something tells me she doesn’t know about the titty sculpture though, right? Can’t quite imagine that one being displayed where everyone can see it.”
To your immense surprise, Cassandra gives you a blank stare.
“You… you really don’t know anything about my mother, do you?” She says, after several awkward seconds. It feels strange to think that she had been furious, merely a handful of minutes ago. “If you actually behave for a while, I can show you some of her favorite pieces around the castle. Then maybe you’ll understand.” Intrigued, you debate how exactly to respond. On one hand, you did want to see the art, but on the other hand… misbehaving was your goal of the day.
“Sounds like a nice date to me. Why not start the tour right now?” You suggest, hoping to meet your ‘politeness quota’ earlier rather than later. Still, it is in your very nature to be chaotic, and you find yourself giving Cassandra an affectionate shoulder touch. It’s not at all genuine, but the two of you blush nonetheless. How could you not, when your blood was bound together, hearts made to race in sync?
“Don’t get friendly with me,” Cassandra stammers, unadjusted to the way her pulse pounded. “This isn’t a date. We’re just- it doesn’t matter, actually. As long as it means getting you out of my studio, I don’t care.” With that said, she takes your hand in her own, pulling you towards the exit. If she has any feelings about the soft touch, she hides them well… unlike yourself. Cheeks flushed, you’re half tempted to yank yourself out of her grip, hating the way your heart skips a few beats. Would I still feel this way if I didn’t know we were soulmates? You wonder, biting your lower lip to prevent any unwanted comments from slipping out. Soon enough you’d have art aplenty to distract yourself with. Hopefully.
“My God, you were not kidding. I don’t- I can’t even think of anything clever to say,” you chime, staring dumbfounded at the several statuettes of naked women. They seemed to fulfill some other purpose, one you couldn’t parse at the moment, but you could hardly think about the details right now. “I mean, good for your mother, for sticking to a theme, I suppose,” you continue, tripping over your own tongue, uncharacteristically quiet. Clearly amused by your flustered display, Cassandra lets out a hearty laugh.
“Good to know some things can shut you up. I’ll have to keep this in mind for next time you bother me,” she teases, light-heartedly. Her words only fluster you more, though they quickly give you room to counter, much to your joy.
“Is that so? Planning on carrying around a busty bust for the rest of your life, or thinking of going the more au naturel route?” You asked, briefly sticking your tongue out at Cassandra. It takes her a moment to understand what you’re getting at, but as soon as she does she’s smacking your arm with an offended huff. Despite her irritation, the blow is relatively soft, and you swear you can see her fighting to hide a smile. “Starting to go soft on me, are you? I hardly even felt that one.”
“So you’d prefer I hit you harder? And to think you called me kinky,” Cassandra fires back, without a hint of hesitation. Now both of you are laughing, softly, like old friends sharing fond memories. It’s… weirdly nice. A warmth fills your chest, even as you try to remind yourself that you shouldn’t be happy right now. Damn it, you think, suddenly frowning, hands clenching. We shouldn’t be having fun banter, back and forth like a real couple. Not when I’ve still got wounds from her hands on my skin. Instinctively you reach up to your face, thumb running over the marks Cassandra’s nails had left behind. The touch stings, bad, no matter how gentle you try to be. Noticing your shift in expression, your soulmate inches closer. “If your wounds are bothering you, I can have one of the servants get more ointment or whatever it is we have around. I don’t want you to-... There’s no reason for you to suffer more than you need to, besides, I don’t want you complaining all day.” Of course she couldn’t bring herself to imply that she cared. Of course. It wasn’t like the two of you were actually capable of being soft for each other, obviously. All of your confusion melts down, boiled by the warmth in your chest, turning to a familiar, albeit painful, rage.
“Right, right! Because you care so fucking much, yeah? What the fuck am I doing? Why am I-” you jab a finger towards her chest, accusatory- “talking to you? Why am I pretending you're not the one who did this to me? You’re the fucking reason my face hurts, my shoulder hurts, my brain-... I can’t stop thinking about everything that happened down there. I can’t get those goddamn images out of my head, every time I close my eyes, every time I look at you. I…” You trail off, chest heaving a little, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. Cassandra’s standing tall, unflinching, but there’s a noticeable regret in her expression.
“What. Are. You… going to do about it?” She asks, through clenched teeth, fighting back the full force of her emotions. You can’t tell what exactly she’s feeling, but you know that you want her to show you. Every part of you is itching for a fist fight, regardless of how stupid you know the idea is.
“Depends, dickwad, on whether or not these statuettes are properly secured,” you snap, already moving, fully abandoning all impulse control. By the time your hand grips the first sculpture, Cassandra has put you in a headlock, forcefully tugging you backwards. Panic sets in, making you try to jam your elbows into her stomach. Before long both of you are tumbling to the floor, bodies already aching, limbs flailing wildly in an attempt to hit a target, any target. In the end the air is knocked from your lungs as your head smacks against the ground. “Shit, shit, shit,” you grumble, coughing, finally processing just how much of a dumbass you were. It’s clear that at least one of the previous day’s wounds has reopened, and you feel something wet and sticky on your shirt.
“Finished, asshole?” Cassandra wheezes, sounding dazed, roughly pulling you up by your shirt collar. You nod, refusing to meet her gaze. Then she’s sighing in relief, letting you lean on her for support, holding you surprisingly close, considering the circumstances. “Let’s get you cleaned up. Again…”
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In the Night
Summary: Steve has a one night stand. 
Warning: Language. Smut. I barely edited this, I’m sorry. Angst. I haven’t posted in months.
Word Count: 2k. 
A/N: This is for @barnesandco and her 1k writing challenge! Congrats, sweetheart! You deserve every follower, plus more. My dialogue prompt was “You know that’ll never work on me.” I hope you all like it. There’s a bit in here about a previous relationship, I think it’s obvious who it is especially if you read my stories. 
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"I'm proud of you," Nat hits Steve's shoulder. It hurts a little more than Steve is willing to admit. She's never known her own strength. "Go you!"
His eyes haven't left crumbled receipt staring at him on the desk. Your handwriting emblazons it. I like old-fashioned. 917-483-7731. "Should I call her?"
"You're the one who flirted with a stranger and now you're asking whether or not you should call them," Nat sighs, "no one calls. Text."
"I wouldn't even know what to say."
"Talk about art! Ask her a question that will get her engaged. It's not like this is more than a booty-call. It doesn't take much work."
The turn of phrase makes him hot. He's heard Sam use it before, but it doesn't sit well when it's him on the receiving end. "She just wants to sleep with me?"
"Isn't it obvious."
"How did you get that from just the small recap I gave you?"
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You're in need of colored pencils. Wax ones – not oil. Not that janky prisma-color shit either, you don't need wax-bloom with what your next sketch is. In an aisle too small for just you and your carry-cart of supplies, you search for your go-to brand. The narrow rows filled with art supplies may have been difficult for the novice or first time shopper, but Argyle's Art was your favorite place to shop. You know it more intimately than past lovers, navigating the mom and pop store isn't a problem.
Pushing past the other patrons, however, forever remains a task.
"'Scuse me," you say. This is the third time you've done so with the same person. Glasses, hood over his head, but the nice jawline can't be hidden. He can't conceal how good looking he is. Not with that type of frame or the energy he carries.
You’re dying to see more. Artsy fucks, although sensitive and pretentious, are great pussy-eaters. Just a known fact. You can't remember the last time you slept with an artist.
So begins the game.
"Ladies first," hottie says. He turns his body parallel to the aisle, allowing you more room to squeeze by.
"Old-fashioned," you smile, "but I'll take it."
The ball is in his court. If he's interested, he'll take the playful jab in stride and strike up a conversation. If he isn't interested, which look at you, of course he's interested, he'll keep quiet and continue shopping.
"You're navigating this shop with more finesse than I am," he says whilst you pass him. Quickly, a smile blooms on your face. You've got him. "A regular I take it."
"Just a woman who knows what she wants." Is it overt, yes, your flirting is laying it on quite thickly, but, as you've just stated you know what you want. If he can't handle that, then you don't want to waste your time or his. It's on to the next. "Need any help?"
He nods in a lost puppy way. Cute. "Know where the graphite pencils are?"
You know exactly where they are, but don't head to them just yet. You make a game of it, going to find them but wow, they’re not there, I could've sworn that's where they were stocked. And so you check another aisle way. Nope! Not there either. In between looking, you make small talk. Chitchat about inconsequential stuff that you don't honestly care about. What piece is he working on? Is he a hobbyist or does he do something in the field? You don't listen to his answers really, it's just about pretending there's a connection. Isn't that all people wanted after the blip – a connection to something more than just themselves?
You just want the sex this leads up to. That's your release.
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Steve can't get to the part where you both check out and you slide your number to him on your receipt before he has a chance to pay. He doesn't get to mention how you figured out he was Captain America before he even has a chance to give you his name. He doesn't get to mention how beautiful he thinks you are. All those details matter! But Natasha doesn't care, she already has her mind made up.
"Steve, she wants to sleep with you," she says, swiveling in her office chair. "No strings."
He's reluctant. Why wouldn't he be? Dating alone was intimidating, but a person just wanting you based on the pretense of sex sounded... exhausting. Hard to live up to the thought of. Fantasies usually trumped reality anyway.
Natasha, sensing his apprehension, gives him a little nudge in the right direction. "I didn't know you were such an alter boy," she says, taking her sandwich and heading out. "You're making me lose my appetite."
"That's reverse psychology, Nat," Steve calls back to her. She's long gone, but he's sore about it. "You know that'll never work on me!"
It works. Fuck. Steve's weakness is being underestimated and counted out. He can do this and he does. He pulls out his phone, punches in your number and sends you a text. It's forward, it's daring, it's putting it all out there.
It's Steve. Your place or mine?
… this is not him at all.
You make him wait hours for a reply. He's sick to his stomach with embarrassment, Nat laughs at him every time his phone buzzes with a message and he snatches it to see if it's you. It's deep into the night when you text him back. He should be asleep by now, so should you, but he greedily reads your message - just your address and an angel emoji. What did the angel emoji mean?! He's overthinking this.
Get yourself together, Steve.
He's doing this.
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He's nervous.
"Don't be nervous," you whisper against his parted lips. With minimum effort, voila, your bra is gone and tossed aside for no one to care about. A super-soldier like him must've gotten pussy thrown at him every which way, it made you smile to see how human he really was. "S'just skin."
His touch lingers against every part of you, tracing, idolizing every curvature and blemish. Nothing goes unseen and you're not shy about it. You are in fact a work of art, and he, a master of his craft, has to study you. You're worth it, of course.
He kisses and kisses. More and more until his face is sweetly nestled between your legs. There he finds you, Venus, birthed from the waters, as pretty as a pearl. Perfect. This is so unlike him, his heart hammers in his ears and he's radiating warmth to the soles of his feet, but the moans ringing in his ear tell him to keep going. There's something in this you both need. For you, a release. For him, something to quiet the noise of responsibility he carries.
You coming with his name against your tongue, legs ensnared snuggly across the muscle of his back, it drowns it all out. It sweeps Steve away from all that consumes him, and tonight he gets to indulge. In a world where he makes hard decisions and rarely gets the accolades, it's beautiful to see the end result be glorious. Those noises you're making, he wants more of that.
He tells you. Let it out. He needs every bit of it.
"Gonna take more than just a tongue, Cap'n." The shakiness of your voice doesn't hide the laugh behind the phrase. Steve, ever the listener, hears the taunt lacing the retort. It's a dare. One he gladly accepts.
You don't think of him for a second. Not in the moment. You're only in this position because of him. It's his fault he was dusted, you have to move on one body at a time. Still, the irony doesn't escape you. You can hear his voice teasing you over your decision. Captain America, huh. Clearly, you have a thing for military men.
No, you definitely don't think of him.
You're back in the moment, pulled to consciousness with the unceremonious snap of his hips as Steve thrusts into you. The sudden pleasure swells your lungs with air and flutters your eyes open. You're met with baby blues burning sincerely into your eyes. This ain't your normal schtick, eye contact during a one-nighter is too intimate, but fuck if he doesn't feel good.
"Too rough?" he coos, returning that same derision you previously dished. Maybe America's Golden Boy was tarnished. He takes you by the chin, holds you in place as if you are strong enough to escape him, and kisses the corner of jaw. "I'm so sorry."
"Liar," you sigh, rolling your hips. It's a start. You have to find each other's tempo, meet it, and create a work of art. Just how badly does he want it? As much as you? You test the limits, nails biting into his flesh. You dig and dig to gauge how much he can handle, until it touches bone.
Shit. He hisses it in your ear, transfixed and unabashed. Men can be so fickle about making noises during sex, but goddamn, not Steve. He's comfortable with himself. Enough to lavish you with praise. To tell you how good you feel. You look so pretty taking him. It tips you over the edge and brings color into your desaturated world. Hues long gone that you barely remember. He makes you feel, even if it's just something to momentarily numb the ache.
Succumbing to the pleasure overwhelming you both, giving in is the only option. It'll burn you alive if you don't. You're quivering, fragile and exposed, stealing his breath as you kiss him through his come down. It's with closed eyes, hard thrusts, and a strained grunt in the back of his throat.
Everything stills, but the colors remain. You expect them to fade soon enough, but in the moment you relish every bit. They brighten when Steve, now on the opposite side of the bed, takes your hand and kisses the back of it. He really doesn't do this. He's soft, affectionate, not built for the business of fucking-and-leaving. So, you break your rules and allow him to stay the night. He's worth breaking your rules for anyway.
When you wake up the next morning he's gone. The world around your bleeds monochromatic once again.
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Months Later.
The white paint is chipped, revealing an ugly brown wall that's been hiding all along. Makes you think of everyone since the blip. You're all just sallow depressions that you try layering with something shiny and pretty. No one will notice you chipping away or the rotten murk beneath.
You're counting away the ticks of a clock, following the red dial as it makes its way around a black 6. It's Saturday night, twenty ticks away from nine pm, and you sit in one of many aluminum folding chairs that form a circle in a city hall office. Jesus, it's like an AA meeting, except no one's gnarly or fun enough to be an alcoholic. Everyone's here because they're, sad, big fucking deal. Everyone's sad since the half the world disappeared. You have no idea how you found yourself intermingled with these weirdos. You just want to get over him, you’ll try anything.
Two ticks left until nine.
One more.
"Hello everyone." That voice. Noooo wayyy. Your gaze snaps up to meet those eyes. Those baby blues. It's Steve. He's the circus ringleader. Despite everyone else in the room, all he can see is you. He wasn't expecting this at all. Your presence is a sucker punch. "I'm sure this is a shock."
You speak up on behalf of the group. "Your name wasn't on the flier." This was supposed to be a typical group therapy session.
"Thought it would draw too many people here," he says.
"Or push some away."
"Just saying."
"I know this may feel intrusive, these meetings being ran by me, and if this unsettles you I'll take no offense if you walk out that door." He sits in the final aluminum chair, finishing out the circle of people. "But I'd love it if you'd stay. All of you."
You do.
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ikroah · a year ago
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Whiskey river, take my mind, don't let her memory torture me. Whiskey river, don't run dry, you're all I got, take care of me. —“Whiskey River,” Shotgun Willie (1973)
It Keeps Right On a-Hurtin’ #15 - Vegas Outskirts
Collaborative Issue! Guest Colorist: @malpaislegate​ / @socksual-innuendos​
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Notes / Original Pencils / Transcript:
MAN that’s gotta hurt!! Volume 2 kicks off with a bang, literally if you count the gunshot and honorifically if you count Socks’ knockout color job on this issue. Look at those lovingly rendered bullet wounds!! Muah!!!
It’s been a relief having a month off from the comic as I handled a bunch of other things but there’s a lot to look forward to in Volume 2, as you can probably tell from that very forboding fist clench at the end there. Will Agnes and Cass get the revenge they’re looking for? Can they make it big in Vegas? Will it keep right on a-hurtin’? Find out next ish as Cass leads Agnes to meet the first of their new “friends.”
Original Pencils:
The pencils for this issue are like an autopsy report of all the things that can go wrong with your art if you don’t plan ahead and pay attention. Listen, friend, to my tale of woe, and learn from my mistakes so they don’t become yours!
First, you can see a lot of places where there’s floating objects, empty backgrounds, and incomplete heads. Part of this is because I always intended to just copy and paste repeated elements across each panel instead of drawing them multiple times, but other times I was forced to just because of my lack of planning. The top three panels on page two, for example, required me to draw the background I’d use for them on a separate page.
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Second, you can probably tell that I actually had to flip the two raiders around in the final lineart because I forgot to keep the hands their were holding their guns in consistent—and since I couldn’t flip the middle panel on the second page without ruining the composition, I decided to flip all of their other appearances so that they’d be lefties. I doubt you even can seamlessly wield those particular guns left-handed.
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Third, the size of the cart that Agnes and Cass are kneeling behind changes CONSTANTLY and is dramatically oversized from the third page onward. After inking these pages, it took a lot of work to correct the inks and shrink that cart in each panel, but fortunately it came out looking good.
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And finally, I completely redrew the second panel on the fifth page because it wasn’t until I had already handed he pages off to my colorist that I realized having a second profile shot of Cass so soon after a first one was just...redundant and lazy-looking. So I went back to my sketchbook and whipped up a much more unique, striking angle (I also just wasn’t satisfied with the quality of my art on that panel, so I’m very glad I redrew it). But again, my failure to plan ahead bit me in the ass and my redraw attempt wound up taking up a lot more space than I thought it would, so after inking it I had to basically surgically remove it from the other inks.
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I’ll be honest with you folks: part of the reason that I work in such simple, thick, high-contrast lineart is because it’s very easy to make corrections and adjustments with stuff you could technically color in Microsoft Paint.
EXT. SOMEWHERE IN THE MOJAVE, morning. AGNES SANDS and ROSE OF SHARON CASSIDY stand over the wreckage of a caravan, scattered over a dirt road.
CASS: Hell.
EXT. SOMEWHERE ELSE IN THE MOJAVE, midday. Looking over a second wrecked caravan, at the bottom of a ditch.
CASS: Fuck.
EXT. PRE-WAR HIGHWAY OUTSIDE OF VEGAS, mid-afternoon. AGNES and CASS survey a third wrecked caravan.
CASS: Shit. The proof is in the pudding. Or the pile of ash, rather. These attacks were done with Van Graff guns for Crimson Caravan caps. I'm sure of it.
As CASS explains her theory to AGNES, a short distance from the caravan two RAIDERS peer at the two of them from inside a barn at a ruined farmstead. They have snake-bite tattoos on the sides of their shaved heads and are holding rifles.
CASS: The scorchmarks and residue in the wreckages? That's energy weapon shit. Plasma and laser. Silver Rush special. Not like it'd be the Brotherhood. And Crimson Caravan must have bankrolled this fucked-up little hunting trip themselves.
The RAIDERS move out from the barn, sneaking up on two passers-by who’ve stopped at the caravan wreckage.
CASS: That explains why they bought me out...they needed the last loose end to saddle up back west with a tidy sum.
(NOTE: *Agnes delivered it and Cass signed it in IKROAH #7—Lou.)
CASS: It's a racket, Agnes: torch the local competition and it's win-win for both the f—
A gunshot rips out from one of the RAIDERS’ rifles and sears across CASS’ shoulder.
CASS (gasping): —uckers.
CASS slumps down beneath the overturned caravan wagon on the road, clutching her shot shoulder.
CASS: —Aaggghghhhhhhh.
AGNES: Cass! Are you—
CASS: Fuck! Agnes, get down you moron!
AGNES ducks behind the cover of the wooden caravan wagon just as another gunshot splinters the top lip of it.
The RAIDERS advance on CASS and AGNES’ position, firing at them from off the road.
AGNES leans over the top of the wagon with her pistol, returning fire.
AGNES lands a shot right in one of the RAIDERS’ guts, and she drops her weapon and falls down.
CASS, leaning out the side of the wagon, takes as careful of aim as she can with her shotgun by holding it with her good arm. Trembling, she fires, connecting with the other RAIDER.
The would-have-been RAIDERS are dead.
AGNES: ...were those the Van Graffs?
CASS: No. Just some vultures.
CASS leans back behind cover to sit against the bottom of the overturned wagon again, wincing from her shoulder injury.
CASS: Ugghhn.
AGNES (slipping off duffel bag): Cass, your shoulder—
CASS: Yeah, it's been shot. I'm pretty fucking aware.
AGNES (unzipping bag): Quick, can you take your shirt off—
CASS: What!?
AGNES: —so I can dress the wound, Cass!
CASS: Oh! Good! So you weren't coming onto me on what remains of Griffin Wares Caravan.
CASS starts removing her shirt while AGNES produces a bottle of something from her duffel bag, and dampens a rag with its contents.
CASS: And since when are you a fucking field medic, anyway?
AGNES: 2269. NCR Certified.
CASS: What?
AGES: Yeah. I've been one kind of doctor or another since I was six.
CASS: What?
AGNES: Now hold still, this is antiseptic.
CASS: Since you were six!? I...shit, wait, hang on, Agnes—
AGNES pressess the rag onto CASS’ shoulder wound, and CASS winces instinctively. But, confusingly, there isn’t any pain.
CASS: ...isn't this supposed to sting like hell?
AGNES: No, not really. It's an acetic acid solution. Vinegar, basically.
AGNES begins cleaning the wound with the rag.
CASS: I thought you put alcohol on wounds to clean them.
AGNES: That's...a common misconception. It's good for tools, maybe, but too strong for skin. And it can complicate healing if you apply it directly.
CASS: So you're telling me, all my years, I've been wasting good whiskey only making my boo-boos worse?
AGNES: I mean...it's better than nothing in a pinch, but...
CASS: Well, then. Thanks for the lecture, doc. Can you just pass the whiskey anyway? Shoulder still hurts like hell regar—
AGNES hands her the whiskey bottle. She’d already gotten it out.
CASS: —dless. Oh. Thanks.
AGNES unspools a roll of bandages in her hands, then begins wrapping it over CASS’ shoulder and across her chest..
AGNES: So. It's a relatively minor wound, more of a deep graze than a real gunshot.
CASS: You'd know all about real gunshots, huh?
AGNES (unfazed): Uh-huh. I can suture it if necessary, but for now, these bandages will be fine. Just hold still. How do you feel?
CASS: I feel fucking pissed, Agnes!
AGNES recoils, taken aback slightly.
CASS: As I was saying before I got shot in the shoulder—which, however "minor" the wound, is real fucking close to my head, Agnes—this wasn't some random attack. These caravans, my caravan, got hit by the Van Graffs and Crimson Caravan. It ain't just some tragedy anymore. Now I've got names. Places. Faces.
AGNES resumes bandaging CASS.
CASS: I told you—ow! Don't pinch my tit, dammit—
AGNES: I said hold still.
CASS: —I told you, when you told me about this guy who shot you...when I let you drag me out of that fucking outpost...and when we went to Boulder City...that I would do the exact same thing in your shoes. Now, it is the exact same thing. This fucker shoots your eye out, these fuckers ash my caravan...these same fuckers I sold my own goddamn name to on a piece of paper. I mean...what else are we doing out here, Agnes? Getting shot at by Khans and Raiders just for kicks? Are we just fucking around?
AGNES finishes bandaging CASS, then leans back, pensive.
AGNES: No...no, I really guess we’re not.
CASS: That's what I thought. Your friend in Vegas can wait. Help me get mine, and we can get that shitheel together, and that's a prom—
CASS raises her arm  to shake her fist as she speaks, straining her shoulder injury.
CASS: —mmmmmmghhhh. Ooww, oww, oww, oww...
CASS grabs her shoulder in pain while AGNES looks off in the distance and stands up. She looks out towards the horizon—towards VEGAS, and the pre-war casinos and hotels that still gleam and glitter in blinding sunlight.
Her fist clenches. Her brow furrows. Her body tenses, all over, staring at that city, that place.
The caravan wreckage remains alone on the highway, brahmin bones long picked clean by scavengers.
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