#goddamn it feels good to paint my own stuff again

[oh-koenig-my-koenig]

on the phone with 👑

(cw: mentions of ego-shooter video games; age gap 25/41, nsfw, masturbation, dirty talk, praise, MDNI)

part before: painting his nails

I'm tossing and turning.

In my own bed.

Cursing the notion I had, that I couldn't possibly stay for longer at his place.

On Monday morning, I packed up my stuff and hurried to work, after he made me another latte.

Being a good girl, not getting him to fuck me again, even though I would have rather taken him to bed than myself to work.

Texting König about every single minute thing that came to my mind. And him doing the same.

I sent him a pic while I was out getting lunch with a colleague. And he sent me a pic while he was working out. I almost died right there and then.

Firstly, I never would have thought he would do a mirror selfie.

Secondly...

His hair put up in a haphazard way. Damp strands of it hanging down.

The tank top was a tight fit especially for him, showing off his arms. Sweat staining the front of it, the sheen of wetness on his skin...

The shorts. The sight of his burly thighs had me gripping my desk, trying to get a grip.

Thirdly, that goddamned smile. Oh, he knew exactly what he was doing.

When I had calmed down, my fingers typed out a message in response.

Me: excuse me??? sir??? 🫠 👑: you are excused

He's gonna pay for that one.

When I came home from work, I thought it was eerily quiet in my apartment. Nobody else being here. I mean, I live alone and Mimi greeted me as always. But it seemed like was something off. Missing.

I thought back to when we got my stuff and König just waited patiently for me while I packed some clothes and other necessities. Petting Mimi, his whole attention on the little cat. His tall stature dwarfed my living room, and I was actually surprised he didn’t hit his head on the ceiling. The Morbid Angel logo on his shirt was hidden by the black furball purring against him. Mimi sitting on his chest, not a care in the world, meowing when she saw me.

But there was no 6'10'' giant waiting for me in the living room then.

I willed myself - even though my fingers itched - to not send him message about asking for him to pick me up or stay over at my place. I wanted to give him some space after I had his place under siege for what feel like an eternity, but realistically was just three days. And I managed fine yesterday, his goodbye kisses still lingering. Today, even with all of the messages we sent back and forth...

Can you miss somebody like that after knowing them for such a short time?

I knew that he most likely spent the whole evening at home. Alone. Because he likes being alone. Probably reading or listening to the new Trivium vinyl he bought that came in the mail yesterday. Or both.

I stayed home as well, playing games on my computer – I actually started up Counterstrike and tried to play some matches –, but my mind always wandered back to him. Mimi came running, pushing her head against my legs, demanding attention. I lifted her off the floor to set her onto my lap and didn't see the enemy which got me eliminated. The irony was not lost on me, as I thought back to our conversation. How worried he seemed with how I would perceive him when he talked about his work. And now I was sitting here, playing a shooter game to try and relax after work.

I shook my head, at the absurdity of it, and snapped a quick pic in between matches to send to him.

My phone ding-ed while I was in a match, and I tried to ignore it.

As soon as I got the chance though, I opened the message and he sent a picture back. From the waist down, a book on his lap, a beer on the table beside him. The wall of books in the background. The whole room dimly lit except for the opened pages.

God damn it, I just want to sit right next to him on that couch.

me: looking comfy, old man 👑: thank you, i am indeed very comfy 👑: brat

I chuckled to myself and played a few more rounds before I went to bed.

And now I'm here, tossing and turning in my bed, without the big guy right beside me.

I pull the chat up again. Looking at the pictures he sent me today.

me: u still awake? 👑: yes, everything okay? me: can't sleep 👑: me neither

While I'm still contemplating my next message, the crown lights up my phone as a caller ID. Surprise spreads through me for just a moment before I pick up.

Hi?

Hi. Uh, I hope it's okay that I just called.

Sure, I can't sleep anyways.

I ignore the little flutter in my stomach.

What is it? Something on your mind?

‘Yeah, you.’ is what I want to say.

No, just restless.

He sighs.

I feel that.

A little silence falls over us, just for a moment.

What was that game you played before?

Oh, uh- Counterstrike. I'm no good at it though.

He laughs.

Why do you play it then?

It's still fun, I guess. Even if I curse at the monitor like a goddamn sailor.

Oh, I couldn't imagine your sweet mouth doing something as filthy as that.

Yeah, yeah. We both know what kind of filthy things you're imagining with my mouth.

Maybe.

I can hear the grin on his face which makes me grin in return.

Have you ever played?

I never played, no. Don't want to spend my free time with...

He pauses.

Work.

Oh right, I understand, sorry. This must be weird then.

No, don't worry. I know that people play those games for fun.

Yeah, I know, still.

You gotta show me some time.

Really?

Yeah, why not.

Okay, then, I'll show you my shitty gameplay with pleasure.

Which makes us both laugh.

I gotta confess something.

What do you have to confess?

I already had my car keys in my hand.

You did?

Mhm. But then I remembered what you said yesterday morning, about needing to go home and you couldn't possibly stay any longer… and I understand if you need some space. So, I wasn't sure if you'd even open the door for me, if I knocked.

A moment of silence.

Can I confess something as well?

Sure.

I have been thinking all evening how fucking stupid that was of me. And I would've opened the door for you in an instant.

Another silence, this one a little heavier.

But a little smile stalks on my face, an idea of what to say next.

What would you do if you were here?

He chuckles.

Kiss that filthy mouth of yours. And then the top of your head because that's closest to your dirty mind.

What dirty mind?

Yeah, yeah, I see right through you, Fräulein.

I don't know what you're talking about.

No? So, you aren't thinking about me fucking you from behind right now? Or maybe about you spreading your legs and me eating you out, your delicious pussy right in my face? Or about my dick pushing into your mouth until you gag around it, hm?

I clear my throat.

Well, now I am for sure.

Good. Because I'm thinking about it as well.

König?

Yes, Liebes?

I- There's something that always helps me sleep better.

His voice deepens.

And what's that?

Oh, you already know.

I need to hear you say it. What do you want?

I hesitate, feeling a little shy now.

I want to come.

He groans.

Fuck, can't deny you if you ask so prettily.

The tone of his voice sends a little shiver down my spine, but I'm unsure what to say now, the words on the tip of my tongue.

What- what should I do?

I can tell you what I would do if I was there, and you can tell me how it feels, okay?

Okay.

Put the phone next to you and put me on speaker. You're gonna need both of those hands.

I do exactly as he tells me, lying back into my sheets.

You're on speaker.

Good. What are you wearing, sweetcheeks?

I giggle a little.

A shirt and panties.

Hmm, my favorite. I would get rid of your underwear in an instant though.

I laugh and follow his suggestion. I already noticed his disdain for underwear, on himself as well.

Then I would slowly push my hand up your shirt, feeling your soft skin.

Until I reach your breasts, squeezing them.

I do as he says, but it doesn't quite feel the same with my hands, compared to his bigger ones.

I would graze my thumb over your nipples, feeling them harden from my touch.

I'd like to lick them, bite them just lightly, until you squirm under me.

I pinch them, his words mixing with the sensations of my touch, until I softly sigh.

Feeling good?

Mhm.

The sound is more a moan than anything else.

My hand would slowly wander down, until I'm there, just were you want me.

I whimper when my fingers reach my clit, swollen and sensitive.

That bad, huh?

Well, somebody sent a picture of them all sweaty and hot after working out. And I still can't think straight, just thinking about that.

He laughs.

You say such nice things, Liebes.

What would you do next?

I know that I sound desperate. But I need more.

I’d move my hand just a little further down. Not pushing into you just yet. Just teasing. Softly stroking over your wet pussy.

I whine, needy, but I don't dare to stray from his order, getting myself worked up with the teasing touches.

Just feeling how fucking wet you are for me, before pushing my finger into you.

I push one of my fingers inside me, the one digit not nearly being enough.

Miss your fingers, they're bigger.

He hums. A soft erotic sound.

I suppose they are.

I’d add a second one, slowly moving inside you, just how you like it. Hitting that spot inside you that makes you moan and roll your eyes back. Just how I like it.

His voice is getting deeper, his breaths a little more labored, as he keeps talking which sends a shiver down my spine. Knowing that guiding me through it like that, hearing me sigh in response, does it for him as well lets a little smile form on my face.

I do as he says, but I also get a little frustrated, because my fingers can't quite reach like his, my hips squirming, desperate for more friction.

Need more.

I whine.

Okay, then. Brat.

I would flip you on your front, so I could look at your ass.

I can't help the little eyeroll, while a grin stalks onto my face.

But you aren't here, and you can't actually see my butt.

Pssscht, I'm imagining it just fine. Come on, turn around, do as I tell you.

And I do, the rustling of my sheets telling him as far.

Good.

Just this word alone, from his lips, does things to me.

Now, lift up your hips just a little and push your fingers in from behind.

I follow his instructions, lifting my ass, so I can reach a little better, two of my fingers slipping into my pussy. I groan a little bit.

How's that? A little deeper?

Yes.

I sigh.

Good. Now, put your other fingers on your clit.

I push my arm under my body, placing the hand, right between my legs. My fingertips are digging into the sensitive nub and I rub against them needily. I know now why he wanted me to reposition myself.

Oh fuck.

The sounds I’m making are telling him what he wants to know.

Just like that.

Move your hips, fuck yourself on your fingers.

And I do as he tells me, the touches getting me worked up fast, the pressure on my clit changing with every pass, while my fingers are pushing into my pussy.

Hmm, feeling good?

Yeah, just wish it was you inside me.

That little confession dropped out of me before I could think too hard about it.

Fuck, me too. I would bury my dick deep inside you. Fuck you from behind. Hard, just how you like it.

Remember how I fucked you into that bar counter?

How could I forget?

We need to do that again sometime... You took me so fucking perfectly.

I bite my lip, stifling the moans that get louder and louder, the images of us fucking spurring me on, while I finger-fuck myself.

I wanna hear you. Please.

My head turns in the direction of the phone again, making sure he gets to hear all the sounds that are dropping from my lips.

Good girl.

His praise washes over me and I almost choke up when the pull inside gets too much.

Close, so clo-

Fuck, yes. Come. That's what you wanted, isn't it?

The growl in his voice tips me over the edge, moving my hips frantically in search for more friction, when my orgasm crashes down over me.

My moans fill my bedroom, and surely find their way into the phone.

I can hear him groan as well, the sounds from the speaker sounding a lot like a slick hand moving up and down quickly.

Fuck, he’s jerking off too. That thought registers in my brain, before my fingers hit that spot inside me again. The zap of pleasure makes me shake, the waves of arousal washing over me, while my fingers strum over my clit.

Fuuuck…

A low breathy curse that escapes his lips as he comes as well.

Panting, mine and his from the speaker, is all I hear for the next moments.

I untangle myself, my fingers slipping out of me, turning onto my back again. Feeling my own wetness on my hands. I clean myself haphazardly before I grab the phone again.

That was… something else.

Yeah… you drive me crazy, you know that?

I’m still just breathing, trying to calm myself down. My god, I don’t think I ever came that hard with just my fingers inside me. The images he put in my mind… his deep soft voice alone. It does stuff to me. Hearing him say that... how I drive him crazy as well, it makes me all giddy inside.

I feel the familiar fuzzy feeling sweep over me, and I wish I could snuggle into him right now, after he made me come, and my hazy mind is still looking for the right thing to say now.

Feeling better now?

Yes, much better.

Sleepy, too?

Yes, that too. I always get a little sleepy afterwards.

I've noticed.

Like on cue, I yawn.

Thank you.

He chuckles again. And I don't think I'll ever get enough of that sound.

No need to thank me. I'll make you come any day of the week.

I- meant for calling, but that works too.

The grin on my face probably mirrors his, staring off into the distance with our phones pressed to the ear. And he's still not here next to me.

Gotta get myself under the shower, because I made a mess of myself again and I got nobody here to clean me up.

That makes me laugh, the joke and the filthy thought cutting through the sleepiness, when I'm yawning again.

You do that, can't have you all messy like that.

No, we can't.

I can hear the little filthy grin in his voice, and I can imagine how he must look like right now. Sitting on the couch or his bed. His dick still out, all messy and sticky with his cum. His hair hanging over the side of his face, as he relaxes into the cushions. And that god damn smirk of his.

Silence, just two little moments, before I ask what I wanted to ask.

Can you come over tomorrow?

Sure, Kleine, whatever you want.

Okay, good. Good night, König.

Good night, sleep well.

That's the last thing I hear before I drift off to sleep, still gripping my phone tight with my fingers.

next part: gaming with him or more stuff in the Masterlist ~

#metalhead!könig #she likes the dark #könig #könig cod #könig mw2 #konig #konig cod #konig mw2 #könig fanfiction #cod mw2 smut #könig smut #konig smut #cod smut #könig x reader #tw: age gap

[plenilune]

what a weird year it's been! this time last year I remember being so high on not wanting to die for the first time in years that I was ecstatic to greet 2023 and find out what I could do in it -- I don't feel that way this year, buffetted about by circumstance and my stupid human body and brain, but I don't feel defeated. I feel like I made a good first pass at a piece of work and now I'm going to take a hack at another draft. I made some good ground. not all the ground I was hoping to make, but a lot I wasn't expecting. I feel good about my ability to keep building a life and a self I can be more and more joyful to occupy.

I tried a lot of new things and some of them didn't work but most of them did. I said yes to a lot of weird shit. I had so many experiences this year. I'm glad I spent a night dancing and smoking on the fire escape outside a masonic lodge and being absolutely drenched in rain. I'm glad Corey and I went on a gorgeous queer group ride with a bunch of other queer cyclists through the streets of our favourite parts of northern Kentucky and then bicycled back home together. I'm glad I had a not-quite-one-night stand and bused home as the sun rose golden and alive and lovely. I'm glad I re-learned the importance of dancing at clubs until I can barely move. I'm glad I saw Oldboy in the cinema and was so adrenalised that I jumped up and down on the sidewalk and screamed waiting for my bus home. I started painting back patches and sewing things onto my clothing and making jewellery and collaging and cropping all my tshirts and sweaters.

I started writing again .god, I started writing again.

and I broke my phone, my glasses, and my computer and struggled financially and took a nightmarish disaster trip to Philadelphia for my grandmother's funeral and I lost access to meds for reasons that were completely my own fault and thus sunk into a mire of depression and fatigue for several months that could have been completely avoided. I struggled to connect to people and struggled to feed myself and been a goddamn wreck. I didn't really accomplish most of the things I thought I was going to, that I started with eagerness and energy at the beginning of the year.

but hell. I built some shit. now I can keep building on top of it. I feel like a completely different person sometimes now, with different possibilities. I fucked up and lost and careened into walls of bad luck over and over this year but I feel better for and about it than I have in a long time. okay, that's new muscles. okay okay okay. new page, new draft, we can go again.

anyway. this year I want to push forward more deliberately on some of the stuff I found out I could do this year -- obviously I am continuing to work on my goddamn space heist book, but also specifically pursue block printing, drag/burlesque, bass, and making zines in 2024 instead of just experimenting with them. bicycle more, cook more, invest in people more, Not Go Off My Meds At Any Point, play more video games, watch more films. (I watched over sixty this year! after barely watching films for so long I didn't know what my own taste was any more, and feeling the shame and confusion of having once been a kid who wanted to go to film school but didn't know what movies they liked any more.)

anyway. here's to all of you who have kept me alive and interested in the world this year. my beloved partner is making arriabbiata and playing jazz in the next room. I have to work first thing tomorrow but tonight I'm going to finish the first season of Better Call Saul and poke at my novel and the day after tomorrow I'm going to have tea and listen to music and sew patches onto my jacket and best flannel. I'm going to keep finding new things to be alive for. I'm going to create a self I want to live inside. I'm excited to know what things are going to happen to me in 2024. I'm excited to learn about new ways to feel joy.

goodnight, 2023. you were a mess and I loved you more often than I didn't.

#the diary #the new year

[familyvideostevie]

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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#emma's asks #anon ask #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x gn!reader #eddie munson x gender neutral reader #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things x y/n

[mejomonster]

I'm FINALLY watching mystery of the abyss and:

If you took a shot for how many tentacles were in this you'd be dead

I AGAIN wanna know why there's not more tentacle fic in dmbj given how MUCH there is in canon goddamn

Idk if hei xiazi put glow in the dark paint on Xiao hua or a spell lmao but that's so funny "see ya bro im sure you'll be careful lmao I ain't going" ALSO: proceeds to put a tracker on u because u are actually his honey his sweetie pie his darling and even tho ur a greedy shady tomb raider who wants his skill and he ADAMANTLY refused u, he is still going to track u just in Case he needs to save u alright then. Sap hei xiazi I see you I see you

So many SO MANY tentacles. Npss I feel like u should explain some. Stuff

This makes me wanna go watch Tomb of the Sea cause that show In Particular made the early tentacle scenes particularly horrifying like I was legitimately in terror (versus this movie where I'm like lmao when does it turn into very fucked up tentacle porn because it's very Particularly rendered and hei xiazi and Xiao hua are huddled together ToT). On a heavier note I suddenly remember how abusive Li Cu's dad was and how complicated I felt about wu xie being his new surrogate caretaker who at once was Also Toxic and using him no doubt (taking after San shu and no doubt a whole family line of that shortcoming) but at the same time Wu Xie DOES care about people and IS actually loving (even people he hates he can feel compassion for) and so even as messed up as he was in an "action adventure criminal caretaker" way? He was still so much Better than Li Cu's own dad. And now I'm sad ;-;

Npss really I want an explanation an Explanation why do you ship heihua so much now? Why is this a thing? I mean I'm okay with it I enjoy it I LIKE it but. Why did you go this direction. Also npss I insist that you lovingly render near tentacle porn at some point since ur dancing around the concept and frankly have been since Tomb of the Sea and if i have to watch this absolutely horrific bugs-in-people shit you might as well indulge and scar us in other ways

This is like b movie horror EXCEPT the bugs which are fucking horrific. A good tomb raiding story romp!

No I'm not getting over the like 20 tentacles i saw on screen in the past 40 minutes

I want so much backstory on heihua. Desperately!!! I want to know HOW AND WHEN THEY MET, HOW AND WHEN THEY TEAMED UP FIRST. Please. Which book is it in, I'll go read it ;-;. I know in Ultimate Note they kinda play with them first meeting but I want... book...

I love Ji Xiaobing so much. He was my favorite in Fairyland Lovers. I am tempted to watch SCI Mystery for him. I love his acting So Much I'm glad he's Xiao hua in this

So like. We are getting another movie with him and ji chen right? Or another show??

#mystery of the abyss #lb #dmbj #heihua

[intergalacticaquarium]

more terrible no good headcanons for eddie disaster dreamboat munson

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

#eddie munson x reader #stranger things #stranger things x reader #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fic #my writing #eddie munson #eddie munson x oc #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie tag

[percontaion-points]

Delicious Monsters chapters 21 & 22

Today's review might be difficult for some; reader discretion is advised

Click to see the rest of the snark & image descriptions

Click here for the rest of the series!

Chapter 21

I slammed her door shut and rushed to get ready. There was no premade lunch waiting in the fridge, which wasn’t surprising. It was always like this. There would be promises to make life different, and then something would shift, something I couldn’t see that she could, and suddenly it would be over.

This literally lasted a day.

And you wonder why it is that Daisy is so messed up. 

Instead, I found the goat. 

There wasn’t much else to do but stare. It was quiet. No more bleating. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and texted Mom to not let the guests into the greenhouse. 

[...]

I had zero desire to discuss the goat.

I mean, you can guess what happened. 

But actually telling the readers what happened is for fucking squares, I guess. 

I wished that I had Megan’s version of a bad day. A colder-than-usual shower and messy hair. That would be nice.

Chapter 21 summary: Daisy wakes up the next morning to the sound of the goat screaming, and the sound of the birds flapping their wings really hard. The sound of the birds is really triggering to her, because of what happened a week earlier. She finds that the window blind is open, despite the fact that she closed it last night. And her headphones are out, which she’d never do. But she isn’t too worried about the dead, since they’re all attracted to whatever’s in the main house. 

She tries to get Grace to take her across the lake again, but her mum’s motivation to be a good parent has already ended. Daisy is disappointed but not surprised; how can she when it’s like this every couple of months for the two of them? 

As she starts to walk over to where King lives, she sees that there’s already frost on the greenhouse glass, so she goes inside to turn the heater on. Instead, she finds the goat with its throat slashed (the fact of which we don’t discover until the end of the chapter). 

King meets her outside, and they walk over to his house. After Daisy gets into the car, King’s mum comes over and tells Daisy that she’s welcome at their house anytime. Daisy is pretty sure that she won’t take them up on their offer. 

Her school day is glossed over. After school, King has to do grocery shopping for his family, so Daisy decides that if Grace has stopped being a parent, then she’s going to need stuff for lunch every day. As she’s walking around, she runs into one of her classmates, the most bubbly girl that Daisy could find. This was because the happy classmates keep the ghosts away; not because Daisy wanted to be friends. After chatting with Mackenzie a bit, Daisy continues on and sees Katie. She thinks about how different lives that Katie and Grace ended up leaving… But randomly paints Katie as a loser simply because she chose a different path than Grace did. (Yet Katie is the one with the stable job, in a stable marriage, probably not moving from home to home every few months.) 

As they go to check out, Daisy asks King for his phone, and uses it to stalk Noah’s new girlfriend. He immediately identifies Noah as her ex, and then goes on to say that he can get reads on people. But for some reason, not Daisy or Grace. He picked up a bit of info when she was thrashing around in the thornbush, but that’s about it. Daisy tells him to stop being so fucking creepy, and to mind his own goddamned business. Which is kind of fair, NGL.

Chapter 22

I thought about bringing it up with Mom but didn’t. It would just go down like mentioning the worm had.

Pretty sure Daisy could wake up missing an entire arm and Grace would say “It’s all in your head.” 

I got the distinct feeling that little by little, day by day, Mom’s plan was falling apart.

I can’t even pretend to be surprised about this. It’s like she was expecting easy money, and instead, she’s probably pulling back whatever sort of TRAUMA the house caused her 17 years ago. 

“Why did we buy a goat?” I asked. 

Mom’s expression deflated. “Can you just stay on topic and celebrate with me?” 

I pressed my lips into a line. 

“Goat’s milk is good for you.” Mom got her information from a variety of sources, none of which she could accurately cite.

There is literally no way that the ownership and maintenance of a goat (plus the cost of properly pasturing the milk so that you don’t get sick) is somehow less than the cost of going and getting a jug of goat milk from the store. 

But I’m going to file this under “suspicious shit Grace will not stop doing” and move on. 

There was no way the dead in that house wouldn’t eventually create problems. Not to mention, the house must be drawing them in for a reason, and I didn’t think I was wrong to assume that it wasn’t something innocent.

Daisy has already told us that the dead are drawn to misery. Something terrible happened in that house… And judging by Brittany’s chapters, the worst is yet to come. 

She pushed her sunglasses onto the top of her head. “Here we go.”

Chapter 22 summary: Helga and Joe came over and butchered the goat for them. Later, when Daisy tries to ask Grace why she even got a goat, her mom is like “Goat milk is good for you!” without further explanation. I said what I said. Grace is more focused on how popular that the Airbnb is getting than over literally anything else. 

However, as her mum goes to leave, Daisy has a sinking feeling that things aren’t half as good as Grace is making them seem. She knows that no matter what happens, Grace is going to blame her for all of this. 

After Grace leaves for her MYSTERY ERRANDS, Daisy meets up with King and Ivy so that they can go into the main house. In there, Daisy has to move away to avoid being touched by a ghost, and King asks her about it. He also asks about his great aunt who died nearby. But Daisy says that only those unsatisfied in life would linger for so long. But even those would eventually pass over. 

King explains to her that the house, when working correctly, is supposed to attract, trap, and release all of the nearby spirits. His great aunt was drawn to the area, and made a blood pact with the land in order to help keep this running. However, they need the homeowner’s permission to do a “factory reset” on the house. Which they really need to do, since the house is currently only trapping the dead, but not sending them on to the afterlife. 

The three of them start to look around the house after that. King refuses to split up, calling it, and I quote, “White people bullshit.” He’s not wrong. 

#delicious monsters #book review #bookblr

[nicetrynicetry]

148

Monday, so busy painting and listening to Matt and Shane’s Secret Podcast that I almost forget to go to therapy. Shane is discussing his forthcoming SNL monologue, and says Louis CK called him to offer advice. CK told Shane that most of the SNL audience will never have seen him do standup, and so he should use all his best jokes from previous sets. “But didn’t you write new for your monologue?”, Shane asks. Louis says, “Shane, I’m so much better at standup than you”

I picture being Louis CK right now, watching his protege land all of the hallmarks of success that he enjoyed before he masturbated in front of those women. In some ways being a good comedian means not only being very very funny, but also refraining from career-ending sexual misconduct in the vicinity of 2017. Or at least not getting caught. I wonder whether this cuts Louis up inside all over again. There is also the unfortunate detail of said protege managing to overcome a racist snafu and subsequent cancellation of his own, still getting an SNL monologue after only four years. Perhaps racial indiscretions are, in our strange nonsensical media landscape, simply less bad than sexual ones. Or it’s a matter of timing, or of the temperature on Twitter. Or nothing means anything, and Shane gets his Bud Light sponsorship and Louis sells his specials and movies directly from his website and one can call the other a sell out and the other can call one bitter. A perfect night out to me would still be a steak dinner and seeing both CK and Gillis do an hour each. Actually if I’m asking for perfection I am making out with both of them in quick succession and THEN the steak and the standup. Also in this fantasy I drink alcohol without consequence, and my hair is shinier

I make it to therapy with M and we talk in granular detail about the past week and I am told the 8 sessions I committed to back in December are coming to a close. I’m asked if I want to go back to how it was before, namely I let my mental state get so bad that I plead for a session out of nowhere and then, after the session, I disappear for another 8 months. I say I would like to continue with weekly therapy for the foreseeable. I now can’t imagine a week without it. The edges of my eating disorder have been fraying over the years, and I tell M that I find progress this slow completely pathetic. I say it hurts me because in no other avenue of my life would I tolerate this little improvement over this length of time. I want to spit on procrastinators, that’s how much disdain I have for inaction. But I know secretly that this is because I see myself in it, not in the work or admin arenas that it so often takes place in others, because I always get those things done, and quickly. No, in the sense that I have been delaying having to face my demons and my past and learn to feed myself without shame or dysfunction. Procrastinating working out how to live well. The ultimate procrastination. Though when somebody I know tells me they have been putting off answering an email, I’m especially enraged. Because it’s so goddamn easy compared to this deeper and bigger stuff. Recovering from an eating disorder is made up of a million emails, all sent to oneself at every mealtime, and all brutally honest yet somehow also kind. Not that recovery from any other brand of spiritual corruption isn’t just as hard. And nobody, NOBODY, can do it alone. Yet I feel so sad to involve others, my friends or A or my family, making them pay the Issy tax

I watch my WhatsApp notifications go haywire as the boys in my band are prepped for their visa interviews. I make a flyer for the April show on photoshop and decide it’s garbage but that it’ll have to do. I resist writing “FOR ONE NIGHT ONLY” on it, even though this is true. I can’t believe I have to go back into rehearsal and stage fright hell again in a few short weeks. But it’s a necessary hell, like many things. And spring is almost here, which means the cold plunges are also getting less cold

[margridarnauds]

F K and X for the ask game GO

F: Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

“I’m going to need to ask the Duke if he has new stock in,” Heisenberg said. “I’m running out.” 

“He seems to keep up,” Ethan says. “I wonder how he does it, with Miranda controlling everything in the village.” 

Heisenberg shrugged. “I never ask. He sells, I buy, and I don’t go any deeper than that. He’s been around since before I was part of things. But he sells a damn good cigar, and, when he isn’t being cryptic, he’s good company after a few bottles of țuica.” 

“Bottles?” He’d tried a shot of the stuff once, when he’d first moved, and it gave vodka a run for its money. Tasted bit like gasoline and paint thinner combined, with a bit of a plum taste thrown in to make it palatable. Nearly knocked him out.

“Hey, everyone has their vices. Increases the appetite.” He paused. “It used to be a way for people in the village to make a little money on the side. Before every meal, they’d make a toast to Miranda, put a little glass on the side of the table for her. Waste of good alcohol, if you ask me. What the woman needs is a goddamn blunt.”  

Against his own will, Ethan laughed. He wasn’t supposed to be laughing - Rose was in danger, Mia was dead. Everything was at risk, everything. But he hadn’t slept in over 24 hours, unless he wanted to count being knocked out and dragged around by Heisenberg (which he didn’t), and he’d worked enough late-night shifts to know what that did to anyone’s sense of humor.

“What?”

Ethan was able to compose himself enough to say, in the most solemn voice possible, “In life and in death, we pass the bong to Mother Miranda.”  “Okay, now that’s just awful, even for me.” Heisenberg chuckled. “I didn’t think you had it in you.”

So, this scene is coming immediately one of the tensest moments of Door #2 -- it's a time where we start really seeing consequences for the characters and what they've done and the decisions they've made. You have, for the very first time, someone actually dying because of Heisenberg's decisions, on page, you have Ethan not being able to save someone with the power of friendship, and so this is a bittersweet moment where there's all THIS haunting them while there's also a tiny bit of comic relief. (Yes, I DID get Neil Newbon, Heisenberg's VA, to do an autograph he signed "In life and death we pass the bond to Mother Miranda" and I would do it all over again.)

Resident Evil has always had this interplay of comedy, tragedy, and horror, and that's what I'm trying to tap into here, especially with Ethan, since Ethan in particular is a protagonist who has this absolutely devastating character arc while some of his canon dialogue includes things like "That's not groovy." And Heisenberg, in-canon, gets relatively few chances to see that, since in-canon, Ethan spends most of his time being extremely pissed off that his daughter's been kidnapped...totally understandably. Here, he's really getting to see, for the first time, that Ethan has a sense of humor. It's a sign of how far they've come that Ethan is able to approach him like this, getting into his physical space, without Heisenberg snapping at him, and it's a sign on the reverse side that Ethan is starting to feel comfortable enough with Heisenberg that he can joke around with him a little, even if it's in the calm before the absolute shitstorm of the third act. (Also it's a very relatable thing for me as a grad student because my sense of humor really takes a nose-dive at around...I would say the 16 hour mark without sleep, getting progressively worse the longer I'm up.)

I was also really proud to bring in a bit of world building re: the țuica and Miranda -- One thing I wished we'd gotten to see more of, and this is going to be VERY "of COURSE, you're a MYTHOGRAPHER" moment, is that we have this pagan village cult in Romania and we get to see very little of how it functioned. The village ITSELF in Resident Evil Village is possibly one of the biggest wastes of good potential I'd seen, like what does a village that has been under her thumb for over a hundred years look like? What kind of rituals, besides the one we see on screen, did they come up with as a way of appeasing her? What does this blend of pre-Christian belief + Miranda *look* like? And I'm not just looking into edgy "OH MY GOD HUMAN SACRIFICE" because I often feel like human sacrifice is a bit of a cheap way out of things (and I don't think it works for Miranda's MO anyway -- we know there were human sacrifices *before* Miranda, but I'm not sold post, though I think that often depends on how you define "human sacrifices") -- I'm interested in the day to day rituals that Miranda would instate as a way of ensuring their complete loyalty and devotion, including offerings. The world of RE: Village is a lot of fun to pick apart and this was a great chance to do that a little while also letting the characters have a bit of a break.

K: What’s the angstiest idea you’ve ever come up with?

I have spoken about a LOT of REALLY angsty ideas, including some that I'm not sure I can *talk* about here without multiple TWs, all of which you probably know about.

Probably the single angstiest idea, since literally no one is having a good time here, is the Marie Antoinette Canon Divergence AU where Margrid feels guilt ridden after the trial and decides to take Antoinette's place -- it was very much "Servant of Evil"/Tale of Two Cities inspired and it was my attempt at kind of going "...what would have happened if Antoinette DID survive?" Her husband's dead, she's been separated from her children, and there is going to have to be a high human cost to keeping her alive. You know, what happens? (And of course there is Margrid/Orléans and of course it is angsty, because (1) Orléans knows her well enough to know that she'd do something like this and (2) She's too determined to back down from this once she's made her mind up)

X: A character you enjoy making suffer.

Lazare is kind of the expected answer, isn't he? It's a lot of fun to work with him because he's this man in this massive position of power -- he is at the height of where you can really be at his age and his status in the ancien régime, he has his own men under him, he has a massive amount of status at court to the point where the King both (a) recognizes him and (b) takes his military advice into account, and, depending on the production, he doesn't seem to be older than 30, maybe as young as ~25. It's fun to seem him humbled and to chip away at all those little niggling insecurities, to really dissect what makes him tick and then use that against him and to bring out those vulnerabilities that make him interesting.

I feel like something that...doesn't hurt is that we don't see what happens to Lazare post 1789. Like, he's Ronan's greatest antagonist, he's the reason Ronan started all of this, and then we don't see him after Ronan dies and, depending on the production, again, he's *directly* responsible for it. And you can say "well, we know what happens to the nobility" but...do we? Do we? Because, if we assume he's a member of Artois' faction, which has a decent amount of canon behind it, or as much as we're going to get...Artois' faction overwhelmingly got the fuck out of France. I think that Lazare might NOT choose to do that because I think he's (1) a stubborn shit and (2) would live in denial about the state of affairs, but the truth is that, despite the popular image of what a victim of the Revolution looked like, Ronan had he lived would have been at more risk of becoming a victim of the Revolution than Lazare. So it's satisfying, on some level, seeing some amount of emotional payoff for Ronan's death, this sense of Lazare surviving but never really fully recovering from July 14.

[moon-ursidae]

SESSION #9!

as always: THERE WILL BE SPOILERS FOR BOTH GAMES AND THE HBO SERIES BELOW THE CUT!!!

ngl i’m not really feeling this rn so i might not play for very long. and these posts are kinda getting to be a chore and i want them to be fun haha. so idk if i’m gonna keep doing these. i started them so that i could remember my thoughts and stuff when i play. 🤷🏻‍♀️ ANYWAY

total play time: about 3 hours!

hostile territory?? oh geez

i just started the section where abby and manny go to find owen

i’m scared

i’m also fucking horrified for when i get to the ellie fight bc i’ve seen a lot of people say that ellie fights the way that you’ve been playing her??

so she’s gonna be placing hella bombs and is gonna be stealthy as hell and i’m SCARED

god this game is fucking gorgeous

“fuck danny. i’m jealous owen got to shoot him before i did.” hmmmmm. HMMMMMM.

the more i learn about abby the more that i REALLY understand how revenge gets the best of her as well.

abby thanking manny for a bunch of stuff? hmmmm that definitely isn’t a sign of anything

WAIT I’M ON MY OWN AGAIN?? NOOO

i hate being on my own so fucking much

close quarters branch??? hmmm

i like the difference between ellie and abby’s branches

shows a lot about their fighting styles

i hate this long hallway i have to shimmy through

i’m gonna get jumpscared

GODDAMNIT I FUCKING KNEW IT

FUCKING CLICKER JESUS FUCKING CHRIST

damn abby REALLY doesn’t like the seraphites

goddamn

“yea may she guide you right off a cliff” like holy shit bro

“these freaks are in our backyard.” i love how they’re setting it up though. she clearly doesn’t like the seraphites AT ALL. so how she forms her relationships w lev and yara later are really important

i miss seeing what ellie would draw and write in her journal :(

i hear footsteps…

big ones…

am i about to get my shit rocked when i shimmy through this doorway

i was wondering when i’d see infected

i love how you don’t need the code for the safes anymore

i just go through and listen for the different clicking sounds it’s so fun

wait is this egg a goddamn jak and daxter easter egg

fuck yea ‘relic of the sages’

is there an uncharted ring somewhere?

i hope so

SHOTGUN ACQUIRED BABY LET’S GOOOOOO

WHY ARE THERE MORE INFECTED GODDAMN THEY KEEP COMING FROM FUCKIN NOWHERE

woooaahhhhhhh this seraphite truck is cool

“you want peace? stay on your island.” she REALLY doesn’t like them jesus we get it abby

NEW HOLSTER LET’S GOOOO

seraphites!

i’d rather fight people over infected any day of the goddamn week

NO I DON’T WANT TO GO THROUGH THIS CRAWL SPACE

NOPE. I DON’T WANNA

OH MY GOD THIS IS THE ROOM WITH THE FERRIS WHEEL IN THE DISTANCE THAT I SEE ALL THE TIME

i’m about to go crazy in photo mode >:)

WORKBENCH FINALLY

THIS SHIT IS SO EXPENSIVVEEE

there are so many fucking seraphites in here oh my god

god that took so long to stealth bc it was so many different levels oh my god

WAIT WAIT WAIT WAIT IS THE FIGHT SCENE WHERE THEY TRY TO HANG HER HAPPENING RIGHT NOW??????

I’M SCARED

flashback first!

the lights are so pretty in here 🥺

DOG???

DOG WHEN?

is he trying to make moonshine??

LMAO the way he went “abigail.” when she shook the jar

OH I’M ABOUT TO FUCK THIS SCOREBOARD W THIS BOW

YEAAAAA I GOT EM ALL

FUCK ALL YA’LL

13 BITCH LET’S GOOOOOOO

oh my god this is a mural of fucking salt lake city isn’t it?

YUP.

YUP. almost exactly from the pov where joel and ellie were standing

that’s crazy how that’s painted from memory

goddamn

aw the xmas decorations 🥺

THE MUSIC IS SO GOOD

wait is she about to ask him to go to jackson or is this after??

good mood because she found TOMMY.

SO THIS IS BEFORE JACKSON.

I HATE IT HERE.

“who’s more about justice than isaac?” you mean revenge?

everytime i start to like her more they remind me of the crime she committed that was killing joel miller.

but i also see how they keep pushing revenge on both ellie and abby’s side. joel took out the whole hospital to get ellie. to get revenge for taking her from him. for not giving her a choice. then abby wanted revenge for her dad. then ellie wanted revenge for her dad. it all goes in a never ending loop.

if ellie killed abby, lev would want revenge. then someone would want revenge for ellie, and so on and so forth. it would never end. so ellie had to break that cycle.

this is just so crazy bro

ugh okay now that i got that out

please don’t tell me it’s where they’re trying to hang abby

GODDAMNIT I SAW THE RAIN LIGHTING AND TREES AND THIS IS EXACTLY WHAT THE FUCK IS ABOUT TO GO DOWN

OH GOD

THE SOUND DESIGN????????? ARE YOU JOKING????????

SO GOOD.

this looks fucking amazing

if you told me this was shot live action i’d believe you

THIS IS INTENSE

OH MY GOD

IS THAT EMILY SWALLOW????????????

THE FUCKING ARMORER?????????

HELLO????????

WHEN WORLDS COLLIDE HAHAHAHA

HOLY FUCKIN SHIT

YARA!!!!!

CLIP HER WINGS????

ARE THEY GONNA BREAK HER ARMS??????

OH MY GOD PLEASE NO SHE’S JUST A KID

I CAN’T.

A HAMMER????? WITH A FUCKING HAMMER?????????????

I’M GONNA THROW UP

HOLY SHIT. THAT WAS ABSOLUTELY LEV.

YUUUUUP I SAW HIS BALD LIL HEAD

HOLY SHIT ABBY LET’S GOOO

IT BEGINS.

GIMME THAT HAMMER BITCH.

OH SHIT STALKERS??????

THIS IS FUCKING AWESOME. THE SINGLE TORCH THROUGH THE DARK ASS WOODS???

FUCKING AWESOME.

OH IT’S THAT ONE BITCH THAT AMBUSHED ME.

OH. MY. GOD.

THAT WAS BRUTAL.

SITTING HERE W MY JAW ON THE FLOOR.

GOD THIS EVEN STARTS OUT LIKE JOEL AND ELLIE.

ESCAPING THE QZ AND ESCAPING THE ISLAND

ABBY’S ATTITUDE “fine don’t tell me. i don’t really care.” LIKE JOEL WHEN HE WAS LIKE “i don’t care how you got infected.”

AHHHHHHHH NAUGHTY DOG I’M GONNA YELL

NEW MANUAL LET’S GO

INCENDIARY SHELLS??? AYO???

that’d be good as hell for rat king huh?

poor yara man :(

awe abby’s “stay behind me” she’ll deny she cares but you can tell that she does even just a little bit

more infected!

OH SHIT

SHALMBLER I AM BOOKING IT GOODBYE I AM HORRIFIED

I’M OUT

WAIT.

IS THIS A FUCKING AMBULANCE?????

WAIT IS RAT KING NOW????

I’M SCARED WAIT IT CAN’T BE

NO BC ABBY HAS A JACKET

IT’S DEFINITELY LATER

AND NOW CARRYING YARA AND RUNNING LIKE JOEL DID W ELLIE

WHAT THE FUCK

her hand is so red 🥺

oh my god her arm looks fucking awful :(

THE MUSIIICCCCCC

🎶on my own again🎶

wait. is the fucking boat scene coming up?

i’m scared. this building looks like bad news.

LONG GUN HOLSTER LET’S GOOOO

i was fully expecting to see seraphites out here not infected jfc

ALABAMA COIN

“should be a straight shot from here.” abby you forgot that this is a last of us game

it’s not gonna be that easy

WHAT THE FUCK DID I SAY ABBY

i cannot express how much i DON’T want to go into this building

i’m almost at 30 hours 😳

i think i’m gonna end here actually bc it’s almost 6 am haha

super intense this time!

in only a few hours of playing!

#the last of us #the last of us part ii #the last of us part two #the last of us part 2 #tlou #tlou part ii #tlou part two #tlou part 2 #the last of us spoilers #tlou spoilers #the last of us part 2 spoilers #the last of us part two spoilers #the last of us part ii spoilers #tlou part 2 spoilers #tlou part two spoilers #tlou part ii spoilers #mads plays the last of us!🌿 #mads plays the last of us part ii!🍃

[rgbagel]

~Misty Mountain Morning~

Instagram DeviantArt

#artists on tumblr #misty #mountain #morning #misty mountains #camping #campfire #evergreen forest #evergreen #goddamn it feels good to paint my own stuff again #concept art #digital painting #digital art #foggy #foggy forest

[mypoisonedvine]

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

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...

#lee bodecker x reader #lee bodecker smut

[thisisawonderfulusername]

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.

“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.

“okay.”

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

taglists

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

#the umbrella academy #umbrella academy #tua #five hargreeves #five #the umbrella academy x reader #umbrellla academy x reader #tua x reader #five hargreeves x reader #five x reader

[hoe-doroki]

steel and lace

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

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.

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.”

#bakugou smut #bakugo smut #bnha smut #mha smut #tw: voyeurism #not/sfw #bakugou birthday bash

[stutterfly]

Swipe Right 04 | Patch Notes | JJK (M)

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: YOU KNOW I DIDN’T MEAN THAT

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."

“What?"

“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.

“Guk.”

“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.”

“Yeah.”

“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.”

“But—”

“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.

“Gyoza?”

“Mhm.”

“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.”

“Y/N.”

“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

JUNGKOOK: I got u

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?"

"Banana?"

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.

Princess

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.”

“Joonie—”

“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.

“Why?”

“Because.”

“Because?”

“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.”

“Really.”

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!”

“Uhh…”

“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.

"Princess?"

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.

#smutcentralnet #jungkook smut #jungkook fic #bts fic #jungkook x reader #jungkook fluff #jungkook x you #bts fluff #jungkook fanfic #bts fanfic

[anystalker707]

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

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.

“Oh?”

“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.”

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