#i feel like im missing several tags but it all seems to check out??

[csoisoi]

i saw a post regarding the grownup misfits from chapter 198 and decided to do a post on purson, because, it got way more length than i first thought

purson's wings grew! theyre significantly larger compared to his current wing size, albeit smaller than the average demon's but somehow i feel like its the perfect size for him

he's wearing the same headress too, i wonder if that signify's his being head of the clan but his father doesn't seem to be wearing it? that unless they only wear it when theyre on Duty

comparing future purson and the above purson's clothing, the sleeves in the grownup version are more fitted with the shoulders more structures, and it looks like his grownup attire is more fitted to his body rather than flowy

personally, the grownup attire looks better by a small amount, the flowiness of the initial attire screams mysterious and elegant, sleeves fluttering as he reappears and disappears constantly, the epitome of being a Purson. i feel like when he walks it feels as if he's gliding instead of walking.

he and his brother seem to be matching! awee

which is traditional purson clan attire!

soi, his brother, and his father seem to be wearing the same thing around their necks as well, i couldnt find what it's called and the closest thing i could find was a chinese knot tassel, but even then it's quite distinct

also to diverge from outfits and to their appearances themselves

soi and his mother look very much alike, and he takes after his mother more than his father; the same eye shape and small wings (though his wings seemed to grow when he grew while hers did not), as well as the small horns on his head

his father's features are more detailed (and he's unfairly pretty oh my god why is he so pretty), he doesnt have any visible horns, but the hair pin he's using looks like a wing! and it being pure black kinda unifies his appearance to those of his wife and (pur)son

and you know who else kinda looks like momma purson?

and couple that with the fact that we haven't seen purton's face, and soi himself doesn't remember what his brother looks like (which is, that's rough buddy), wett being purton is kinda plausible, and we don't exactly know his bloodline magic, and wett looks to be around what purton''s age should be... everything's up in the air!

wett, from the six fingers

the simplistic eyes that we take as a purson trait, the small horns (though they're bigger than momma purson and soi's) his hair is a dark purple which is similar to the soi's lilac hair, we havent seen colored parent pursons yet and changing hair colors easy pretty easy in the mairuma world, a simple first year spell instead of going through the hassle of buying dye

this was initially a purson clan attire post, it becoming a wett is purton theory post? not that surprising i can jump from one thing to another, parkour

#csoi posts #mairimashita iruma kun #mairimashita! iruma kun #mairuma #welcome to demon school iruma kun #welcome to demon school #iruma kun #m!ik #mairuma talks #purson soi #purson purton #im still hung over the fact that his name's purson purton #purson's parents #wett #csoi talks too much #i feel like im missing several tags but it all seems to check out?? #the side effect of rambling through tags

[liliesonpandora]

His Little Girl Is Not Yet a Warrior

Jake Sully x Daughter! Reader

Plot: You are Jake and Neytiri’s only daughter. You and Lo’ak disobey your parents and travel to a dangerous cave where you fall and hurt yourself. Your dad rescues and comforts you while you’re being healed. The two of you have a discussion around your safety.

Warning: blood, injury

You and Lo’ak laugh as you race each other through the thick forest. Your chest burns and your legs are starting to ache, but you refuse to quit. He might be older, but you are for sure faster and you are gunna prove it. You pick up speed and manage to pass him for a second before he inches in front of you and tags the tree marked as the finish line.

“Ha! Point for me baby sister,” Lo’ak says with pride as he jogs in place and pants from exhaustion.

“Yeah yeah whatever, I almost had you at the end there,” you reply with annoyance.

You often hung out with Lo’ak while Neteyam was out hunting and going on missions with your parents. The two of you had not yet become warriors, meaning you had to miss out on all the important missions. Despite how incredibly annoying Lo’ak was as a big brother, you had a connection with him because you both felt like you were living in Neteyam’s shadow.

Lo’ak was the middle child, often ignored unless he was causing trouble… which he usually was. And you were the youngest, always sheltered despite being better at hunting than most kids your age. But for the most part you accepted it, knowing you would prove your worth when the time came.

You bend over with your palms resting on your knees to catch your breath after the race. Just then you got the bright idea to prank Lo’ak. It would be the perfect revenge for when he scared you earlier this morning. You place your hand to your chest and start to breathe heavy, as if you are struggling to get air through your lungs.

“Y/N, you okay?” Lo’ak asks with concern, but you don’t respond.

He runs over to you to see what is wrong. He takes your hand and lifts your face to look at you. “Do you need to sit down?”

“Gotcha!” You shout in his face and push him backwards. He stumbles and falls to the ground.

“No fair, you’re playing dirty!” he yells while sitting up.

“Looks to me like you’re the only one playing in the dirt big brother,” you tease him before holding out your hand to help him up.

Lo’ak takes your hand and proceeds to yank you down onto the ground where he is.

“Another point for me… you never learn,” Lo’ak throws his head back in laughter.

You playfully slap his arm and you both laugh with each other before taking a break to figure out what to do next.

“Wanna head back?” You ask.

“Nah, it’s not even close to eclipse. If we go back now, grandmother is going to force us to do those chores we forgot about.”

“Oh yeah, you’re right. Hmmm, we could check out that cave we found that one time when we were hunting!”

“I don’t know… Dad said we werent allowed to go there without him cause the terrain seemed unsafe. He would kill me if I took you there.”

“You scared or something?”

“Im not scared, I’ve just been on thin ice with Dad lately… I’m trying not to screw up again.”

You give him an annoyed look. You couldn’t believe that out of all the times Lo’ak would want to start a clean streak, it would be now.

He rolls his eyes at you. “Of course you don’t get it, mom and dad let you off easy. Me? Not so much.”

You knew that he was right… your brothers always got into more trouble because your parents gave them more responsibility. But you weren’t giving up that easy. You put on your best pouting face and look up at Lo’ak.

“You and Neteyam got to go with dad last time and he made me stay home. You said the cave was so cool, I just want to feel included.”

Lo’ak looks like he is thinking the decision over. You slip your arms around his waist to hug him and plead. “Please big brother? I’ll love you forever.”

“You already love me forever.”

“I’ll love you forever times infinity.”

After several moments of silence and contemplation, Lo’ak agrees.

“Fine, I’ll take you. But no playing around while we’re there, okay?”

“No playing around, got it. Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

Lo’ak calls to his ikran and hops on. Then he takes your arm and helps you up as well. You sit in the front of him and he holds onto your stomach with one hand to keep you in place while holding the reigns with the other.

You were used to riding as a passenger because you had yet to pass your iknimaya. But the time would come soon, and you couldnt wait to have your own Ikran. Maybe then, you’d be treated a little more seriously. For now, you enjoy the feeling of the wind on your face as you lean into your brother’s chest and begin the journey to the cave.

You arrive at the cave opening and Lo’ak helps you down.

“Hold my hand the whole time, okay? I know the path, but I dont want you to fall.”

“Okay,” you respond and you take your brother’s hand.

Lo’ak begins to lead you deeper into the cave and you look up and around in awe at the colorful crystals surrounding you. “Its so beautiful here.”

“I know right, look at these cool structures over here,” he says while pointing to the left.

“Woah!” You exclaim. Lo’ak smiles at you, feeling happy that you are enjoying it already.

You reach a leveled platform in the cave and he releases your hand. “You can walk here on your own, but be careful. Step lightly.”

Excitedly, you leave his side and walk around to observe all the intriguing shapes and patterns on the cave walls. You stop and stare at one structure with spirals and shimmering purple stones. Pandora was your home, but there was always new things to explore… even more beautiful than the last. You turn back to glance at Lo’ak and see that he is admiring the illuminated stones on the ceiling.

After looking around a bit more, you see that there is a small pool of water to the far right of the area. A pond in this cave? So cool. You walk over to it and kneel down to get a closer look. There are tiny fishes swimming around, creating streams of bioluminescence the water. You dip your hand in and let them graze your fingers as they swim. It tickles, which causes you to giggle.

At the sound of your laugh, Lo’ak turns to see what you’re doing. “Y/N! Get away from there, it doesn’t look stable!” He yells.

“Huh?” You ask and you swiftly stand and move to turn towards him. But as you shift your weight, your foot slips, causing you to fall further down into the cave. Your body scrapes against the rough walls but you barely feel anything with the adrenaline from the fall.

“Y/N!” Lo’ak screams.

You finally stop sliding and your body hits the cave floor hard. You grunt in pain, putting a hand to your head where it hurts.

Lo’ak runs over, carefully slides down to where you are laying, and puts a hand behind you to support your head while he examines your body. His eyes travel to your legs. “Shit, this cut is bad.”

You look down and see a gash running from below your right knee to the middle of your calf. You barely felt it before, but once you see the blood, the pain begins immediately. You wince and feel the tears rising up.

Without question, Lo’ak turns on his comms and calls for your father.

“Dad!”

“Lo’ak?”

“Y/N’s hurt… it’s a huge cut on her leg.”

“Where are you?”

“We’re at the old cave. I know we shouldn’t be here, Dad. I’m sorry.”

“You should have something to wrap her cut in the pouch on your ikran saddle. Don’t move her, go get it and bring it back to her. I’m coming right now. Copy?”

“Copy.”

“Let me talk to her.”

Lo’ak connects the comms to your ear. “I’ll be right back,” he says before leaving to start climbing the cave walls.

“Dad?” You call to your father.

“Hey babygirl, I’m coming to get you. How you doing?”

“My leg is cut, there’s so much blood. And my head really hurts.”

“Lo’ak is getting something to wrap your leg and stop the bleeding. Take deep breaths, okay? I’ll be there soon.”

“Okay.”

Lo’ak comes back quickly, trying to be extra careful around the slippery, unstable edges. He jumps down to where you are, kneels in front of you, and lifts your leg onto his thigh. He wraps it carefully and tightly with some cloth. You hiss in pain as the fabric touches the wound and stings. The blood quickly stains the cloth, but it was the best he could do for now.

You turn to your brother apologetically, tears now streaming down your face. “I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have forced you to bring me here.”

“It’s okay baby sister, don’t worry about it,” he assures you as he wipes your tears and rubs your back.

“Dad is gunna be so mad that we came here. I’m so stupid.”

“He could never be mad at you. I’ll take the blame,” he says as he moves to sit behind you, pulling you into his lap and being extra careful around the more smaller cuts and scrapes on your body.

You and Lo’ak always bicker and tease each other, but you know he would do anything for you. This was a clear example of that. He is selfless when it comes to others, and you feel guilty that he is willing to do this for you.

“Thanks Lo’ak. You can have all the points, okay?”

He laughed in response. “Don’t mention it.”

“It hurts,” you cry.

He places a hand gently on your head to soothe you. “I know, Dad is gunna be here soon and then they can fix you up.”

You close your eyes and wait for your father to arrive. After about 10 minutes, you hear the screech of his ikran and the flapping of it’s wings above.

“Lo’ak! Y/N!” He shouts.

“We’re down here, dad!” Lo’ak replies.

You hear your father run across the cave floor and carefully slide down to meet you. Lo’ak moves aside so your father could get to you.

“Daddy!” you cry. Feeling the tears well up again at the sight of him.

Jake puts a hand on your cheek, “I’m here, babygirl.” He moves to your leg immediately and carefully removes the blood stained wrapping to examine the wound. Blood continues to pool out.

“Fuck,” he blurted out in shock at the sight of the gash, forgetting to censor himself around his children. “That’s gunna need stitches, baby.” He tosses the bloody bandage to the side and begins to wrap it with a new one.

You groan at this statement, anticipating more pain when you get home.

“We gotta get you up this ledge,” he says as he helps you up. He drapes your arm over his shoulder and grabs your side. You hiss from the contact of your scrapes with his body.

“I know it hurts, we’ll be home soon” he says to you before turning to your brother.

“Lo’ak, go up first so you can help her.”

“Hop on one leg baby, I got you” he says to you.

They manage to hoist you up over the cave ledge and your father starts to carry you over to his ikran.

He turns to Lo’ak in the process, “what the hell were you thinking? I told you never to come here without me or your mom, and you took Y/N with you?! What if something worse had happened?”

Lo’ak looked ashamed, but prepared to be scolded as he was so used to it. “I know, I’m sorry Dad.”

“You clearly don’t know, cause you did it anyway. I’m gunna deal with you when we get home,” he says sternly.

“It’s not his fault, Dad. I begged him to bring me here, he didn’t want to.”

Lo’ak raises his head to look over at you in surprise. His expression turned worrisome, wondering what his dad would say.

Jake looks down at you in his arms in frustration. “Alright, we’ll discuss this later.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and bury your face in your dad’s chest, wanting to cry once more. Your wounds are painful… but surprisingly not as painful as getting your brother into more trouble with your dad.

He presses his comms and calls to your mom. “Neytiri, do you read me?”

“Ma Jake, did you reach them?”

“I got em, she cut her leg badly but she’s alright.”

Your mom sighs in relief. “Thank you, great mother.”

“We’re on our way back now, meet us there when you can,” he tells her.

He secures you on his ikran as best as he can and you all take off towards home.

Your grandmother immediately gets to work once you arrive back at the village.

“Lay still my child,” she says to you.

“Grandmother, how much is this going to hurt?”

“Only a little stinging. Once this is over, I will give you something to numb the area. You will not feel the stitches after that.”

You nod to her to continue the treatment.

“Squeeze my hand when it hurts, sweetheart” Jake tells you as he moves to sit beside you. You nod and interlock your fingers with his, preparing for the worst.

“Take a deep breath,” Jake tells you as he breathes deeply, instructing you to follow. He rests his available hand on your heart, mindful of the way it is racing. You feel calmer already, grateful for his presence. “It’ll be okay, I’m right here.”

As your grandmother disinfects the wound, you feel the painful stinging and you grip your father’s hand tight while squeezing your eyes shut. He rubs your back to soothe you.

Mo’at reaches for a small bowl and passes it to Jake. “Ma Itan, rub this generously on her smaller wounds,” she instructs her son-in-law.

Jake obeys and releases your grip to begin placing the medicine gently on each of your cuts and scrapes.

“Does that hurt, baby?” He asks with concern.

You shake your head and he gives you a light smile.

Your grandmother was right, you barely felt the needle from the stitches. Your dad talked to you the whole time to distract you from it. Once it was done, he picked you up and carried you to bed.

“It’s been a long day, we’ll talk in the morning” he tells you as he leans down to kiss you on the forehead.

“I’m not tired,” you lie. You were exhausted, but you needed to speak to him now.

“Hm, I would’ve thought all that crying you did earlier would tire you out” he teased playfully.

“Stay with me, dad? Just for a little while and then I’ll sleep.”

“I’ll stay with you for as long as you want me to, my love.”

He pulls you into his lap and hugs you tight. You let your body relax into his hold. “I’m sorry, I really am. I didn’t mean to make you and mom worry.”

“I know,” he assures you as he holds your head to his chest and tucks your stray hairs behind your ear.

“Don’t punish Lo’ak, he was just trying to do something nice for me.”

“I know.”

You looked up at him in surprise. “You know?”

He laughs lightly. “You cant fool me little one, I know your brothers take the fall for you sometimes. You give em those eyes, and they can’t say no to you.”

“What eyes?”

“The ones you’re giving me right now,” he says before placing another kiss on the tip of your nose.

Your father’s affection makes you feel so much better. You smile and lower your eyes, your face feeling warm from embarrassment.

He let out a deep sigh. “What should I expect though. You are my daughter, trouble calls and you answer I suppose.”

Your smile starts to fade. “It’s not like I wanted to get into trouble.”

“Then why? Why did you convince your brother to take you to do something that I specifically said not to. I told all of you that it wasn’t safe.”

“Because you took Neteyam and Lo’ak there last time. I had to stay home, it’s not fair dad.”

“They are older than you.”

“I’m only 2 years younger than Lo’ak, but you treat me like im a baby.”

“You’re MY baby.”

“Im serious, Dad. Even now, you’re not listening to me.” You sit up and cross your arms, wanting to create some distance between you two. You continue. “Admit it, it’s not cause I’m young. It’s cause I’m a girl, you dont think I can handle it.”

It hurt Jake to hear you say this. Had he let his little girl think she was not good enough?

“That’s not true, Y/N.”

“Yes it is! But I’m a good hunter too, even if you don’t think so! And in a year, I’ll pass that test and have my ikran, and then you cant keep me trapped here.”

Tears begin to roll down your cheeks and you quickly wipe them away, not wanting to show more weakness in front of him.

Jake’s expression softened at the sight of you. He hated that he made you so upset. And he hated that you felt trapped. Had he been going overboard?

“Come here,” he says as he opens his arms for you.

You shake your head in defiance, not wanting to give into him.

“Please, baby? I’m sorry, just come here.”

You began to uncross your arms but your father closes the gap before you have the chance to. He pulls you into a hug and rubs your back. It feels nice to be back in his arms. No matter how mad you were with him, you always felt so much comfort in his embrace.

“Y/n, I know you’re capable. I know you’re a great hunter… and you’re right, maybe I did shelter you a little too much.”

Your expression turns hopeful, surprised that he agreed with you.

He continued. “But… that doesn’t give you the right to disobey me and put yourself and your siblings in danger. Can you understand that I need to protect you?”

“Yeah,” you reply while lowering your head, not wanting to face him.

He lifts your chin so that he could see your eyes. “I’m sorry that I made you think you weren’t good enough to be out there with me and your brothers. And I’m sorry that I don’t consider taking you more often.”

You look up at him as he says this and tears start to form in your eyes again. You blink and they fall down your face.

“You are enough, and you can do anything you put your mind to. Don’t let anyone make you think differently, not even me.”

You smile at him brightly, appreciative of his apology and wise words. “Thanks, Dad.”

Jake cups your face in his hands and wipes away the wet streaks with his thumbs. “There’s that smile, so beautiful. Where’d you get that from?”

“Mom, I think” you say while grinning.

He smiles at you. “Definitely from mom.” He sighs deeply and you both sit for a little while in the silence. “You’re still so little, even though I know you’re getting older. It’s scary sometimes, I just don’t wanna lose you babygirl… but I know I’ve got to let you go at some point.”

You wrap your arms around his waist and squeeze him tight. “I’m not going anywhere right now, daddy.”

Jake chuckles and squeezes you back while running his hand over your hair. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too.”

“Okay, promise me something?” he asks while he holding out his pinky.

You sit up and stare at him intently, waiting to hear the rest.

“Promise me that you wont do something dangerous like this again… and as long as it’s safe… I’ll promise to take you with me on the next mission.”

“Really?”

“Mhm. You need to know what it’s like out there.”

You gasp excitedly and hook your pinky onto his. “I promise.” You connect your thumbs together to seal the deal and he brings your hand up to his lips.

“…after your leg heals up of course.”

“Oh… right,” you reply as you slump over in disappointment.

Jake throws his head back and erupts in laughter.

“Not funny!” You yell.

“Okay okay, I’m sorry. It’ll heal in no time, sweetheart.” He pats the spot next to him. “Come on, let’s go to sleep.”

#atwow #avatar the way of water #avatar #avatar fic #lo’ak te suli tsyeyk’itan #neytiri and jake #neytiri te tskaha mo'at'ite #neytiri x jake #jake sully x daughter!reader #jake sully daughter #jake sully and daughter #dad jake sully #avatar: the way of water #avatar 2009 #avatar imagine #jake sully x fem!reader #jake sully x daughter #jake sully x y/n #jake sully x you #jake sully #lo’ak avatar #avatar lo’ak #jake sully avatar #neytiri avatar

[cultofkakyoin]

Crystal Clear Business

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A/N: This fic was surprisingly popular, I was thirsty for this dirty guy but I felt other fics made Trevor too... Nice? I want Trevor to be so so creepy. Also find it on Ao3. I do try to check these fics for spelling/grammar mistakes but im not perfect so there may still be some, my apologies.

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Relationships: Trevor Philips/Reader, Trevor Philips/Reader/Wade Hebert

Content Warnings!: Rape/non-con, mentions of self-harm, drugs, drug manufacturing, blood, blood as lube. (Tell me if I missed anything.)

"Find her, Ron!" Trevor slams the trailer door shut and stomps off to his truck like an angry child 'aaargh!" He screams. Ron racks his brain on how to find this woman, he doesn't know much about her, she doesn't go out a whole lot, but she does have a presence with the Lost MCs, he only knows she's a woman because of that and Ashley's loose lips...

He also knows she makes pure methamphetamine, not like the kind Chef makes, which puts the crystal in crystal meth. That suggests to Ron that she may have a background in chemistry. But, he still doesn't have a name, she went by Carnie, thanks to a circus carousel on her arm, but Johnny mentioned scars on her arm, suggesting self-harm, Ron wonders if she was ever admitted to a hospital for such things, she also wasn't from San Andreas based on her accent according to Ashley, though she was not the best at naming a region in or out of the US. However, that did help give him some description to work with.

First, he cross-references hospital records of self-harm or depressive episodes with someone with a chemistry background, he finds seven who recently traveled to San Andreas, five are male so that limits it to two. He searches the names, the first woman is only 19 and according to her LifeInvader photos lacks any tattoos, the second woman was practically untraceable via social media, all of it appears to be private and her friends list is small and appears to be only family.

But, one of said family member's accounts are public, looking through several photos Ron finally finds one of this woman... Damn, covered arms. Back to searching. Oh good, a friend, several photos later, finally, he finds a picture of her with a group, arms still covered but what is evident is the people she's with, Lost MC 'old ladies' as it were, and the location was not tagged but with a bit more digging, it's a small bar in Grapeseed, called 'Cherry's Good Time.'

It's not enough for Ron, he's not going to get a woman who might be this 'Carnie' probably brutally murdered. Ron would feel bad and face 'discipline' from Trevor if he got it wrong. He needs more. He goes further back, years back and soon, he finds it, a picture captioned 'Graduation present!' Showing a fresh tattoo on a scarred arm and lucky for Ron (and unlucky for this woman) it's a carousel. Finally, he looks up her name, finding her address, which is just a run-down motel at this current moment in time, she doesn't own any property, which suggests she's probably a cook for another person who can provide a lab to cook in.

...

Grabbing his phone, he calls Trevor "Trevor! I've found her, her name is (Y/n) (L/n), she lives at that motel just outside of Sandy Shores- in room 22. But, I don't think she's working al-" damn, Trevor hangs up before Ron can tell him about a boss. Ron didn't want this woman dead, she seems like a nice person based on the few posts he can find of her.

...

"We're gonna kill us a cook, Wadey boy!" Trevor shouts, wrapping an arm around the young man with a sound of glee. "Do we gotta kill her, Trevor? That meth was really good" Trevor hits the brakes abruptly, turning his head to stare down the Juggalo "her meth is- it's mediocre at best!" He yells, clearly scaring Wade "you only think it's good because it's cut with sulfuric acid that's melting your mind!"

Wade scoots away from his boss "yeah" he rubs his arm. Trevor slams the gas, speeding through every car and taking extra care to bash into any bikers who catch his eye and it didn't help that he started drinking halfway through the ride.

"Fina-fucking-ly" he exclaims, crudely parking the truck "stay here, I'm gonna go get 'er" he slurs, he's clearly drunk or at least buzzed. Trevor lacks any creepiness for this, knocking loudly on the motel door marked 22, the person doesn't answer but he hears a bit of a stir inside.

"You fucking bitch!" He kicks open the door and walks into the apartment full of rage "and I don't mean that in a misogynistic way, I mean that in a I'm going to skullfuck your brains out of your eye!" His tone gets less casual as he continues his tangent.

He hears a few quiet profanities coming from the bathroom and a scramble. Trevor pauses, swaying back and forth just a bit "Look, just open the door. I'm a nice, reasonable, rational guy. We can work this out. I'm real patient."

She doesn't respond, and despite his reassurance, he's not a patient man. "I'm done being patient" he speeds through the sentence before kicking the door open, and finally he lays eyes on the woman, he wants to kill her then and there but that's not going to send a message to whoever she works for.

She's nothing special, a bit young for Trevor's taste, though not too young for him, she looks to be maybe 25-30, that's what he thinks anyway, she could just look good or bad for her age, depending.

"You- you have been treading my territory!" He shouts as he approaches her "you're Trevor Philips, oh no..." She gulps, whispering the last part. "That's right," he says in a sing-song voice "that's me- Trevor Philips- your worst fucking nightmare! You-you meth dealing little- argh! I can't form the words to describe you" he snarls through gritted teeth.

He grabs her arm, roughly pulling her off the ground "you're coming with me" he grits his teeth together, dragging her out of the motel room. (Y/n) doesn't have anything to say, making Trevor even angrier but what is there to say? (Y/n) is well aware of him and who he is, he's not someone to listen to pleas.

Trevor forces her into the bed of the truck, then zip-tying her wrists and ankles together. The plastic bounds are cutting into her skin, slicing through some of her tattoos. "Stay put." He pats her leg before getting back into the driver's seat.

"Where are we going?" Wade asks, Trevor turns the key, starting the engine "we, my dear meth-addicted boy toy, are going out to the desert to show her who owns Sandy Shores." She sees several people staring at the scene, she knows most of them and she can't blame them for not interfering or calling the police, they were all engaging in illegal activities and didn't want to get arrested, she knew that all too well.

The truck passes through Sandy Shores and only stops when she can no longer see any buildings, just sand, and more sand. Trevor gets out of the car, yelling at Wade to follow suit, he pops the back open and grabs her by the ties, which are now slippery with blood from her fruitless struggle.

Dragging her out and letting go she hit the ground below he closes the bed before stepping on her shoulder. "Are you going to talk, (Y/n)?" He asks, removing his foot and crouching down, and tilting his head.

(Y/n) sighs "I don't have anything to say" she answers honestly, Trevor stands up, putting his hands on his hips and gazing up into the stars "well, you could tell me who your boss is, not that that'll save you from what I'm about to do, but I may be a bit more gentle if you do."

"It's not like I have anything to lose if I don't" Trevor lets out an exasperated sigh. He grabs her by the zip ties once again, dragging her along the rocky ground for a few feet. Pulling out a knife he kneels by her feet, cutting the ties on her ankles.

He runs his hands up and down her thighs, before hooking his finger under her waistband and pulling them down along with her underwear. (Y/n) clenches her jaw tightly, she knew Trevor was bad but this? His partner seems equally uncomfortable, fidgeting just behind his boss.

He runs the knife up her hip and to her shirt, gripping the hem of her shirt cutting completely through the fabric with a bit of leverage from his grip, once finished he places the knife back in his pocket. Moving the split garment open he exposes her breasts "not bad... Not bad at all" forcing her hands up about her head he gropes her breasts with large calloused hands, pinching her nipples harshly.

Trevor nestles between (Y/n)'s thighs, pressing his pelvis into her bare one, the denim fabric hurts the sensitive skin of her labia and vulva as he ruts against her, he twists her nipples, making her whimper in pain, and tears soon prick her (e/c) eyes, Trevor up and strokes her cheek with his thumb.

"Don't be like that, now" he croons "this is your fault, after all," his soft touch changes when he grips your jaw and squishes your cheeks, and along with that he digs his dirty nails into her nipple.

He abandons her face in favor of her cunt, prodding uncoordinated her entrance and clit. Abruptly he sticks a finger inside of her, making the woman arch her back and widen her eyes, tears starting to fall now.

"Now, that's a face I like seeing." He kisses her collarbone, forcing a second finger inside he feels wetness accumulate, sitting up and looking he sees it's not arousal but blood, and he grins triumphantly.

"Who needs lube when you have blood, am I right, Wade?" The young man jumps in response, scratching his neck he stares down at the two "I guess..." his eyes fixate on his fingers and the blood that trickles down, his baggy jeans suddenly feeling very tight at the sight.

"Dirty boy" Trevor groans, violently thrusting his fingers inside of her, adding another finger to coax a sound of the pain out of her twitching body. It stung so bad, it was so much- too much at once, snot runs down her face her cries turn into sobs.

He stops thrusting, just letting his fingers sit there buried inside her tight insides. Licking his lips he pulls out, wiping the bloodied digits on her shredded shirt, he gets up "don't move, or I'll spill your guts, sweet cheeks" he threatens.

She looks at Wade, her eyes going lower, staring at his erection, she scrunches her face up and looks away, clearly not finding any sympathy from the other man, she closes her legs as his gaze embarrasses her.

Trevor opens the door of his truck open, rifling through the glove box to find two condoms. He makes his way back to her, forcing her legs back open and resuming his previous position between her legs.

Unbuttoning his jeans he frees his cock and tears open the foil with his teeth, wrapping his hand around his cock he slides the latex down his throbbing appendage, he wastes zero time lining up before he pushes it all inside with one thrust.

Letting out a sigh, Trevor leans back, grasping her hips, he looks at his 'employee' "Wade, take her mouth" he demands, handing him a condom, which the man stares confused at "stick your cock in her mouth, Wade" Trevor growls.

Wade hesitates before taking the condom "are you sure, Trevor, I thought this was just for you?" Trevor glares "if I do this alone, you are a liability and next you'll be in her position well I silence you" with that threat Wade relents, getting on his knees next to (Y/n), he pulls down his pants, locking any underwear as it were, his shirt was too long and covered him up, he places the hem between his teeth as he put the condom on his length.

"Open, please" he muffled out through the drool-soaked hem. (Y/n) complies, turning her head and opening her mouth, seeing no way out of this, Wade slowly guides her head onto his cock with both of his hands, Trevor scowls "and who said chivalry was dead?" He threads his hand in her hair and pushes her head all the way down Wade's cock.

Wade moans into his shirt, closing his eyes at the pleasurable feeling of her wet mouth. Trevor begins to thrust slowly, watching intently as more blood leaks from the abused hole, coating his cock nicely, he strokes her scalp as he allows Wade to rock against her race.

"This is all you needed, isn't it? After this, you'll forget all about whomever it is you work for" he breathes out, it was nice having a cunt around him again, especially one so unwilling, it clenches, trying hard to push him out.

Snot begins to bubble out of her nose as she attempts to breathe, Trevor is quite impressed by her self-control, most people would be fighting hard against both of them but not her evidently, he expected more fear, he wonders if this has ever happened before.

Trevor pulls her mouth off of the cock stuffed in it, letting her catch her breath before plugging it back down her throat and making her gag. Trevor pulls out and maneuvers her on her side, lifting one of her legs onto his shoulder and the other beneath him before he buries his cock back in her aching cunt.

"You're not a bad cook, you should-ah fuck- work for me," he says, biting his lip. (Y/n) opens her swollen eyes to look at him in disbelief at the comment, he was raping her and trying to, what? Employ her?

Trevor notices her confusion "I'm being serious" he grunts through thrusts, gripping her leg tightly with one hand to hold her still and get as deep as he could. "That stuff of- of yours is pure" (Y/n) doesn't know what to say, not that she can with the cock stuffed rudely in her throat.

"What is it, like 75%? That's the purest crystal on the market, Wade even buys it, right?" Said man looks to Trevor and opens his mouth, letting the shirt fall on his head and cover his face "ye-yeah! It's real-ly good" he moans, closing his eyes once again and grinding into her face.

"We'd make a killing, you and I" Trevor admits, pushing the shirt off of her face to look at her. "I'll give you a cut too, that's more than I do for those other fuckwits working for me" Wade, one of said 'fuckwits' is far too caught up in the feeling to respond, that or he's just used to being treated that way, either one could be true.

(Y/n) closes her eyes and attempts to ignore the man, who picks up the pace as he's getting closer "50 for you, 50 for me" that, however, was hard to ignore, she was only getting a 25% cut with her current boss, even though she outsources most of the material and cooks, though she can't exactly speak with her mouth full at the moment.

Money was her incentive to start cooking crystal in the first place. She wonders if all that money would help her get over this little event. She could have chosen a less criminal job but money was the issue, that and a few of her own drug habits.

Wade pushes her head down and holds it there as he suddenly cums, luckily it's contained inside the condom, keeping her mouth free of it. Trevor gets even rougher with that, snapping his hips quickly, eager to spill.

And he does, moaning loudly as he cum, he doesn't stop sloppily thrusting through the orgasm, though he does slow down, thankfully. Wade pulls out first, panting "take off the condom," Trevor tells him, holding his hand out, Wade stares in confusion but does what is asked of him.

"Hey! Careful, don't spill a drop." Suddenly, her chest wells with worry. Once the condom is given to him he pulls out slowly, enjoying seeing her walls cling to him, once free he removes his condom.

He flips her on her back, slipping his thumb into her mouth he presses on her tongue, stroking the muscle for a second before hooking his thumb on her teeth and holding g her mouth open as he lines the ends of the filled condoms up with her mouth.

Her eyes widen as he squeezes the condom, and in turn, the cum into her mouth, she gags as the fluid hits her tongue, it's not a good flavor, in fact, it's disgusting.

Once he's satisfied, Trevor forces her mouth to close "be a good girl and swallow for your new boss" he sees her eyes water once again as she holds the semen in her mouth, after a few seconds of him holding her nose closed she's able to down it, letting go of her face she turns and gag violently.

Trevor pulls up his pants before retrieving the knife from his pocket and cutting the zip ties. She didn't realize how badly they had cut into her until she sees the uneven slice marks, she rubs her wrist but then winces in pain.

"Now, I think you've learned your lesson," he says standing up, she looks up at him with a defeated gaze but looks away soon. "You will meet me at my trailer, okay? And I will work out our deal from there."

(Y/n) wants to tell him to go to hell, but she didn't have it in her. And what was she going to do after this? If she did go, would he make good on the 50/50 deal? She hates him, but goddamn if that didn't sound like it would help fill the void this was going to leave.

She needs time to think.

#dead dove do not eat #reader insert #x reader #fanfiction #fanfic #smut #gta #gta 5 fanfiction #gtav #gta5 #trevor philips x reader

[ramrage]

God, I'm going to fucking kill myself i swear to fucking god. I don't know how I could've fucked my morning any more than I already fucking have. Here, let me detail to you how I am a fucking incompetent idiot:

Phone fucking shut off in the middle of the night so I get woken up an hour late. Shit's not turning on so I scramble to my laptop to tell my boss about the situation. This is perhaps the one thing that is not my fault, but tbh the list on such things starts and ends here

I decide that as it would lead me to being an hour late at least, it'd be better if I worked from home and so I let my boss know that my phone fucking shat itself and as such I'll be working from home lest I be terribly late. because that would be annoying right? well this was the wrong move, for anyone who is in a similar situation. he says something to the effect of "okay whatever you can work from home but not sure how a broken phone necessitates this"a nd like. whatever. fair. i could've. it wouldve been a bit more difficult since i have my train tickets on my phone but i could by more in person and then id be phoneless throughout the day and ideally id fix this shit asap but i dont have to

we're working on this post, which should've been entirely resolved and ready to go this morning, but i sent him the wrong copy for the post which we had discussed last night, so he was like wtf no dont you remember the change? and ugh. yes. i do. i did. belatedly. strike one.

then he wants to tag companies associated with the post except for one company. im fucking frazzled by my completely stupid fuck up and misread it as "tag companies associated with the post LIKE that one company" which struck me as odd since they're apparently weird about us posting about them. whatever. so i go through and list all the companies and send it his way to get an okay, but he's like. write out the company names properly. and this part is just a misunderstanding because the names will correct to the company's page name so it doesn't matter, but i guess he didn't know this which is fine and given my idiot fuckup not moments prior, a reasonable concern

i explain this, fine, and send him a screenshot of the drafted post with the tagged companies. including the one he said to not tag. fuck. now he's pissed like, i literally said to tag everyone /but/ them are you even paying attention. it would appear as if im not. what strike are we on now?

i correct that. he asks me to tag another company, which i do. turns out i didn't tag one of the /other/ companies that i had sent in the shorthand list and now he's fucking PISSED sending in all caps that i need to proof my work and that this post shouldn't be taking 30 minutes. absolutely correct, sir, it should not. i don't even know what to tell you at this point.

like holy shit. this was fucking brutal. i dont think i have ever been so fucking off my shit, and it was fucking THING after THING you would assume that after the first gaff, i'd be extra sensitive to making my list and checking it several fucking times over, but im just, fucking frazzled and i know we wanted this up before the start of the work day ideally so I'm rushing, and i already fucked up with the whole going in thing, which i honestly dont do much because i am scheduled to come in only twice a week and have somehow been managing to get sick on those days and i feel fucking awful that it looks like im probably playing hookie and shit because come on most people hardly miss work and they're there more often i just.

i used to be able to believe in my capabilities, at least a little bit, but im fucking up this ridiculously easy shit like what the hell. and its not in ways that seem to be entirely out of character for me. like, am i always going to be this fucking way? no. i dont have to be. i could put in the two fucking ounces of effort to get better, to improve myself, but i don't. for example, instead of making up shit to do, im writing this fucking sob story about something that probably doesnt even fucking matter that much and definitely isn't a big issue compared to the quotidien horrid shit people encounter.

an aside, as an honest assessment, i don't have much to do at this job which i guess is nice, but it makes me feel so useless and unnecessary. part of the reason i was more eager to just, work from home. obviously it's more comfortable for me, but i feel like im wasting my time and everyone's time and their water and tea and whatever, because im just taking up space and at least i dont have to pretend im busy if im home and i can get food and not be hunger braindead like i am when im there because im too normally-braindead to leave and get fucking food. like an idiot.

i need to get a new fucking job. i can't fucking come in next week (again, only work two days a week because this is a fucking pity job that i only landed because my dad likes networking, like a sociopath) like how do i face fucking anyone. just sit there like a stupid little bimbo looking nepo pity hire, the fucking child in the kitchen that you allow to tear bread into breadcrumbs because it's fine if they fuck it up, which they will, but it's something you can deal with because it doesn't fucking matter anyhow.

i feel like such a burden despite just sitting there. i am so fucking embarrassed and pissed i fucking. ugh. i

#internal dear dumb diary

[forever-rogue]

Feels Like Home

Summary | Bucky just seems a little out of sorts lately, so you decide to do something special for him. 

Pairing | Bucky x Fem!Reader

Word Count | 2k

Warnings | none

Masterlists | Bucky, Main

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Bucky had been different lately. Not bad or mean or anything just...different. Off. 

No matter how hard you tried to figure it out, you just couldn’t. That left you with the only logical conclusion you could think of. 

“Buck?” you were sitting at the kitchen table, silently eating dinner as you sat across the table from each other. About halfway through your meal, you’d lost your appetite and set your fork down before pushing your plate away. That garnered his attention as he turned to look at you with a weak little ghost of a smile. You couldn’t take this anymore so you just decided to go ahead and ask, “are you upset with me?”

“What?” he set his own fork down as his brows narrowed and he gave you a quizzical expression, “what are you talking about, Bub? W-where did you get that idea?”

“Have you really not noticed?” you asked softly as he leaned closer. You could see that there were darker than normal circles under his eyes, and he just looked...tired. Exhausted even. He shook his head slowly as you sighed lightly, “you’ve been different. We’ve been different. Did I...did I do something? Are you going to break up with me?”

“I...no - never. I would never break up with you, Bub,” he insisted, wondering where all of this suddenly came from. You just shrugged lightly as tears pricked at the back of your eyes and you focused on your plate, “I love you, you must know that.”

“Then why have you been pushing me away?” your voice was small and shaking as a single tear rolled down your cheek. Bucky made a small sound in the back of his throat as you swiped at the wetness before looking back up to meet his eyes, “the past couple of weeks, I just feel like you’ve been shutting me out. If I did something, please just tell me. I just want you to be okay - for us to be okay.”

“Bub,” he slowly stood up and walked to your side of the table before sinking down on his knees, turning your chair towards him with no effort. He reached for your hands and gently took them in his, his larger ones easily engulfing yours. You held back a sniffle as you met those ocean eyes you loved so much, “I’m not upset with you, or anything. I’m sorry, so sorry if you think that’s what’s going on. I love you a little more every day - this is...it’s just been rough lately.”

“Is everything okay? Are you alright, Bucky?” you dropped one of his hands and brought yours to his face, gently stroking his cheek. He closed his eyes and keened lightly into your touch, “what’s going on?”

“I just...this feels so silly,” he admitted softly, “but sometimes I’m just reminded by how out of place I am. I’m a hundred and six-year-old man in a modern world. It feels...odd sometimes.”

“Oh Bucky,” you whispered softly. You couldn’t lie and say you understood what he was going through or feeling, but you’d always be there for him. That much you did know, and he knew it too, even if there were times that were harder, “I’m sorry, my love. I know it must be hard sometimes, I can’t even imagine, but I’m always here for you. You can tell me anything, even the most mundane thing. But you do belong here - you belong here with me, and Sam, and Sarah, and everyone else. You’re right where you’re supposed to be, even if it doesn’t feel like it. If there’s anything I can do to help, whatever it is, just tell me, okay?”

“Yes,” he whispered softly, giving you a gentle nod before he took your hand and pressed a kiss to your palm, “I love you. I’m sorry I’ve made you think anything but. It’s not you at all...just me.”

“Hey,” you put your hand under his chin and tilted his face up towards yours, “I love you, James. Always.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It was an interesting thing to be with Bucky. He was a man that, if you didn’t know any better, was very much a man of the times. He dressed, acted, and felt the part. But underneath it all, you knew there were times when he was still left in amazement or awe. You’d say something and he would look at you with that expression. 

But now that you knew better, there were times when you could see something flicker across his face. There were times when you could sense that he was missing something. Even if he didn’t mention anything. 

So when you saw something interesting cross your social media feeds that piqued your interest, you came up with a plan. You hoped he would like it - it wouldn’t be much, but you hoped it would be good enough either way. Maybe a little surprise for your lover was a little push in the right direction to get his mood up a little bit.

Whatever happened, you were willing to try. Anything to put a smile back on his sweet face. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The whole apartment smelled of delicious cooking; you’d been hard at work for the last several hours, attempting to perfect this evening’s meal and dessert for him. You weren’t a huge natural when it came to the kitchen, but you’d watched enough TikToks on how to make meals you knew were a part of his childhood and practically committed them to memory. 

You’d turned on some light jazz that you knew he’d like - and you did as well - swaying slightly to the music as you worked on finishing everything up. Everything did look good, and you hoped that he would like it. If nothing else, you knew he’d appreciate the effort. You could do something as simple as pour him a cup of coffee in the morning and he’d be over the moon. The man really did love you more than you thought was ever possible. For once you wanted to turn the tables around and make him feel as special as he always made you feel.

“Bub?” Bucky’s soft voice surprised you so much that you almost jumped out of your skin. You were putting together a salad and had been so focused on chopping and singing quietly along to the music that you hadn’t even heard him come in. You turned around and gave him a giant smile before almost running over to him, “what’s all this? Smells good.”

“James,” you whispered softly before gently touching his face and carding your hand through his hair, “you’re home just in time. I love you.”

“I love you too,” he promised softly, leaning in and pressing a gentle kiss to your lips, “what’s going on?”

“It’s just...it feels silly now, so don’t laugh,” you insisted as he raised an eyebrow at you, “I wanted to do something special for you.”

“For me?” he asked softly, immediately overwhelmed by the idea that you went through any trouble for him. You bit your lip and shyly nodded, “what for?”

“I just...you mentioned you’ve been having a bit of a hard time lately and I wanted to do something special for you to maybe make it a little better,” you admitted, as you took his hand and pulled him further into the kitchen, “now, don’t get too excited because it’s nothing super special but I hope you’ll like it.”

“You gonna tell me what it is, Bub, or am I going to have to guess?” he asked softly as you realized you hadn’t exactly told him what was going on. You pointed to the various dishes on the counter and food still on the stove that was warm and ready. Bucky looked around and inhaled the familiar smell of the foods he had grown up with back during his childhood. A lump welled up in his throat as his heart felt like it was about. You were beaming at him, waving your hands in a small ‘ta-da’ motion, “you did all this for me?”

“I did,” you admitted, “hopefully the recipes are somewhat real and the food somewhat good? There were a few things that left me wondering what the hell you guys were eating back then! But...I just wanted to do something to make you feel a little more, at home? I dunno. Like I said, it’s not much, but it’s a little something.”

“I love it,” he admitted softly as he turned to you, his blue eyes soft, “I love you. This is...this is one of the nicest things anyone has ever done for me.”

“Wow,” you whispered as he pulled you into his arms, “that’s saying a lot for a man that’s been through hell and back multiple times. You sure about that, James?”

“I am,” and then he kissed you. Softly and slowly, wrapping his arms around your body as he held as tightly as possible in his arms. You threw your arms around his neck as you held him back, “no one has ever seen me like you do, has treated me like you. You are everything. I love you so much. I’m sorry I ever made you doubt for even a second.”

“I love you too, James,” you whispered as you pulled back and cradled his face in your hands, “so much more than you’ll ever know. I would do anything just to see that sweet smile back on your face. Even if it’s something little like this.”

“Little?” he asked, looking around at the mountain of food and dishes you’d prepared, “by the looks of it, this took you some time!”

“Okay...maybe most of the day,” you admitted, “but it was worth it. You are worth it, my love.” 

“As much as I want to eat of all this, will you do me a favor first?” he asked softly, taking a step back and admiring you. It was funny, how he still managed to make you feel this shy and nervous, even after being together for years.

“Anything.”

“Dance with me?” he asked as you realized you still had the music playing in the background. You laughed lightly but nodded, taking his outstretched hand and letting him take the lead. It was quiet for a while, the only sound was the gentle music and the soft whispers of adoration you exchanged, “I love you, Bub.”

“I love you, James.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Marvel Taglist (add yourself to a taglist here!)(strike-through means I couldn’t tag you - please check your settings!)

@qhbr2013  @greeneyedblondie44  @april-showers-and-flowers  @softboiipascal @im-an-adult-ish  @patzammit  @niki-xie  @xxlovingfandomsxx  @startrekkingaroundasgard  @welcometothepedroverse  @actual-spawn-of-satan  @punkerthanpascal  @lazybeeches @someday-when-you-leave-me @justgivemethekeys @salome-c @rosiefridayrogersunday  @neptunesglow  @artsymaddie @haildoodles @amneris21 @star017 @irepostthingsiwanttoseelater @its–fandom–darling @ayamenimthiriel @alyispunk @djarinbarnes @edencherries @ashamed23 @sunsetskywalkerr  @nikkixostan @spookispunk @cable-kenobi @ironicfoxes  @cc13723things @gooddaykate @natthebattygeologist @sociallyantisocialbutterfly @n3ssm0nique @daughterofthenight117 @riddikulus-obsessions @imaginelover88 @saint-bvcky  @sleep-tight1 @missstef23 @moonlacebeam @asylummara @wakandabiitch2 @hoodedbirdie @mysweetlittledesire @reallyloudstarlight @vintagepigeon @froggyy06 @fleurydelacoury @veil-of-time @queenbeean @deedepee @kenzieam @luxeavenger @dobbyjen @bbl32 @frickin-bats @caprisunsister @spacedadmando @bucks-bunny @starlightcrystalline​

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x you

[spacecatchako]

i don't want to be alone anymore (sfw)

you and daichi have been best friends since your first year of high school. now that you're in love (and adults) where will you go from here?

pairing: sawamura daichi x reader

wc: 3,373 words

contains: seemingly unrequited love, confessions, covers the nationals arc, friends to lovers, angst, hurt/comfort towards the end, fluff, reader literally has a breakdown and daichi comforts them, reassurance, cuddles, petnames (baby, princess, doll)

a/n: no, i didn't have any idea how to tag this. this fic is a little all over the place and there are several timeskips. the reader is implied to have issues w family and friends so keep that in mind lol. also i marked diff sections of the fic with ✨ this emoji so if u want to skip over certain parts and go straight to the hurt/comfort feel free babey

you were used to being lonely. sure, you worked hard and you had dreams, but there was some part you that remained unfulfilled. it was like a void that gradually dragged you down. you'd managed to supress it for most of your life up until high school, until all of a sudden something changed.

you met sawamura daichi. he was cute, a first year player on the volleyball team. daichi was kind to you. the two of you became fast friends after meeting on the first day at karasuno. during your breaks in between classes the pair of you would talk about anything and everything- volleyball strategies, your latest sketches, even other classmates that were giving you a hard time. you could be silly with daichi. there was no pressure with him, no need to pretend to be perfect.

but there was something scary about this too. by your second year of school you'd been friends with daichi for about a year. it was then that the realization hit- you had never felt this safe, this accepted, or... this loved by another person. when you'd get anxious because of classes or have issues with your family daichi became a shoulder for you to lean on. he'd go out of his way to send you check up texts and leave you little handwritten notes. the first one that you received was a little post-it note that said "you'll do great on your test today! i believe in you- daichi." he'd blushed like crazy when you confronted him about it. it was new to see your usually sturdy and level-headed best friend blush over a silly note that he'd left. there was something different between the two of you after that first note. instead of walking you home like usual he started to keep a hand on the small of your back.

you hadn't been looking. you'd been talking about how awkward your family was when a stray cat slunked into front of the two of you. you almost walked straight into it before the cat bounded away, crossing the empty street and looking back once to meow at daichi and you.

"sorry, is that too much? i just... want to make sure that you don't trip."

you were confused until you realized what had happened. daichi had steadied you by putting his hand on the small of your back. it felt good, for some reason, to trust him to steady you. trust wasn't an easy thing to come by.

you smiled a tad awkwardly before steadying yourself on your own two feet. "not at all daichi. i don't mind."

daichi smiled and the pair of you kept walking. his hand had stayed where it had been. you felt... guilty for being so touch-starved. and for your best friend, of all people?

"how ridiculous" you thought to yourself. when you came home you knew that no one was there. time to start dinner before your family came home. you'd probably retreat to your room and text daichi when that happened.

daichi was so good and so nice, and by your third year of high school the tiny, lingering bit of attraction that you had had for him flourished into a full-blown crush. you felt embarrassed and guilty. never had you let someone get this close to you. never had you ever let anyone write you notes, check in on you, give you genuine-sounding compliments. it was the little things like "are you okay y/n? you seemed a little quiet this morning. are you getting enough sleep?"

graduation came and went. the notion of parting with daichi and your other friends- asahi, suga, and kiyoko- left a pang of grief in your stomach. you were attending a local university and daichi planned to join miyagi's fire department after nationals. you'd still be close to him and he'd still be living at home, but it was weird to think that you'd be seeing one another a lot less.

nationals was when everything boiled over. you'd promised daichi that you'd be in the stands at every game of the competition, cheering him on.

"id love it if you were there, don't get me wrong. but don't feel like you have to jump through hoops for me! it's a bit of a long trip, i don't want you tiring yourself out." he confesses sheepishly. but you really wanted to go- his mom and siblings couldn't because of school and work, but they'd given him their best wishes.

"I'll hitch a ride with saeko and the crew. she and i work at the same restaurant on the weekends. we already talked and she said she'd be more than happy." you chirp. daichi seems a bit less worried about you after this, but then he remembers.

"um. y/n. you know that saeko drives... well, not badly, just... scarily?" he only seems to be partially joking.

you laugh at his worried expression. "I'll be okay pal. we'll make one of saeko's taiko buddies take the wheel."

daichi mock sighs in relief and you laugh together. this was the last moment that daichi had before nationals where he wasn't laden with anticipation over whether karasuno would succeed or not. he felt relaxed, with you. he thought you were cute, and awkward sometimes, and smart, and... good. so good. you didn't always look to him like he was an authority figure and you were small. he didn't feel the pressure to make sure you behaved or kept you in line because you were good at putting up a front and keeping yourself "in order." sometimes daichi wished that you would let him take care of you, let him listen more often. he wished that you would let him love you.

oh.

oh shit.

"daichi? um, daichi?"

daichi blushed and was snapped back to reality. he... loved you? that's what that care for you was all of these years. that's why he wanted to know if you were taking care of yourself, if you weren't burning yourself out with pleasing your family and school and work. sure, he thought you were cute. he picked up on all of your idiosyncrasies, even sometime pointing them out to you. he had had an inkling that *maybe* he had a little crush on you... but the care that he had come to find that he had for you was so great. he had to do something- everyone was leaving for school and the championships would be over and then when would he see you again? there was this great, big fear of losing you due to confessing. but that fear was minuscule compared to you, his studious and independent friend, pushing him away and forgetting.

"sorry. i was just lost in thought."

✨

yes, you, saeko, and the taiko group arrived a *tad* late and missed the tokonami match. yes you felt guilty for missing it. but when karasuno won against inarizaki and you saw daichi and the team celebrate the win, it was all worth it. you cheered as loud as you can, and once the players cleared from the court, you scrambled to greet daichi.

you see him in the lobby and almost leap into his arms. he laughs. "aaa, hey y/n." he croaks.

you giggle. "hey daichi. congratulations. you were amazing out there."

he's smiling through the sweat and fatigue. you notice, out of the corner of your eye, asahi and suga slowly backing away to leave the two of you alone. suga clicks his tongue, making daichi whip his head around, and he gives the captain a thumbs up." daichi sighs and sets you down, and the two of you are left in the stadium lobby. volleyball players and spectators mingle around, getting food and shopping for merchandise. daichi runs a hand through his hair and turns to you.

"do you want to go outside? there's something that i have to tell you."

anxiety shoots through you. if it's daichi, it can't be bad. of course not. that's one of your best friends. right?

the two of you make your way to the front doors of the stadium and get some fresh air. the sky is blue and the wind is refreshing against your skin. daichi, still sweaty and tired from his game, seems to enjoy it too.

you giggle as he stretches. daichi sits on a nearby bench and gestures for you to do so too. you notice a little shake in his hands as he does so. he's fiddling with the zipper of his karasuno jacket in that cute way that you know he does.

there's a sense of unease, and it's up to you to break the silence. you're alone with sawamura daichi, your best friend and longtime crush.

"daichi? what's wrong?" you ask, concerned.

daichi looks to you, a flush on his cheeks and a light in his eyes. he looks so cute, even when he's tongue-tied and tired from a game.

he takes a deep breath, and the words come out.

"i like you a lot, y/n"

you blink, confused. then it hits you. your crush, sawamura daichi, likes you. like, the boy that you think about way too much, the boy that you feel safe with, the absolute gentleman who cares about you and respects you instead of walking all over you, likes you.

you realize that you haven't said anything before you stutter.

"i-i like you too, daichi. so much."

he's blushing. your face is growing hot despite the winter air. the two of you, literal adults, are reduced to awkward messes because of this confession.

"o-oh. that's... good. i think that that's good." daichi awkwardly says. he laughs a little, then it turns into a full-blown bellow. you can't help but laugh too at how ludicrous the situation is. two friends who have known each other for years, caring about each other, eventually falling for each other. who knew?

"also suga made a bet and told me to confess to you if we won against inarizaki. he told me after the tokonami match. i agreed." daichi huffs after the laughter subsides.

"of course he did. im glad that he did it though." you joke.

"yeah. because then i wouldn't have you." he smiles, getting up. he extends a hand to you, helping you from the bench

"let's go back to the group. i don't want to miss lunch."

✨

it's been months after nationals. you and daichi are in a relationship, happy to be with one another. he's taken you on so many wonderful dates and his family seems to love getting to know you more. but there's still something that's missing. you've always struggled to open up to people completely. even daichi doesn't know what you're like when you completely break.

that changes one day when you have to travel from your dorm, to your parents house, then to daichi's for a date. it was supposed to be casual- just you and him in your pajamas, watching movies and eating takeout. but after being berated by your family for your career choice it triggered something in you. you felt like a little kid again, being told that you're not enough, being slowly manipulated by your family into burning yourself out. dachi helped the loneliness subside, but you knew that, inside, you were still the same little kid. that thought made something inside you recoil, but you pushed it down and made your way to daichi's.

you settle into his bed, your partner beside you. you take a good look at him- your man, sturdy and stronger from work at the fire department. suddenly, you can't help but break for some reason. tears flood your eyes and they won't stop for some reason.

"baby? baby what's wrong?"

you didn't deserve him. why were you even friends with him? someone this nice, this gentle with you, this kind? you wanted him to kick you out for crying. you wanted him to break up with you, because good things don't last.

you were so embarrassed and you'd felt so weak and stupid. you'd never been allowed to cry before, you'd always been told that it was a sign of weakness. good children didn't cry, so now that you were grown up you shouldn't either.

daichi hadn't judged you. he just set the tv remote down and moved in to hug you. other people's touches usually made you flinch and swat them away, but it was never like that with him. not when he supported the small of your back when you fell, not when you jumped into his arms, not when he took your hand after your mutual confession.

the two of you were hugging now, your chin on his shoulder and his head tucked into your side. you could stay like this forever. he was so warm. you could feel the two of your heartbeats almost sinking into one as your sobs quieted down and your breathing slowed to normal. this was the effect that he had on you. it was in this moment that you realized that you loved him- you truly did. the brown-eyed, sturdy, kind, careful, gentle boy that you'd met on the first day of high school had become your friend. then he was your crush. now that you two were adults, he was your first partner. the first person that you had ever fallen truly, deeply in love with.

you felt weak for desiring a love that was this tender. pessimistic you has you thinking that maybe all of the bad things that happened when you were growing up- your family being distant, friends leaving, you feeling alone all of the time- were a sign. a sign that you didn't deserve love. but if you were undeserving, if the pessimistic side of you was right, maybe you could have this moment to keep instead. is that it? if a whirlwind kind of love was too much to ask, you could just keep these moments with daichi close to your heart. if it was possible to take this feeling and keep it in a bottle, you would.

in between sobs, you vent.

"everything sucks, daichi. my family has always been so critical of me. i never get to see any of our friends anymore. im trying to succeed at school but my family won't get off my back. i feel so alone."

daichi pulls away to look at you. his palm is cupping your face and uses his thumb to wipe a tear away. you sniffle. you struggle to meet his beautiful brown eyes, averting your gaze. but you can feel his gaze on you, and when you do finally find the courage to make eye contact, he looks at you with nothing but affection. for some reason you don't feel judged by him. you don't feel... bad for crying in front of him anymore. he's looking at you with nothing but acceptance, nothing but care.

"hey." he starts in a small, gentle voice. "i know how you feel about crying, doll. but it's okay to cry. no matter what your parents say about you, you're a good person. a lovely person, even. you're a good friend too. what they think is stupid." he smiles a little. you love that smile- the way that his eyes crinkle a little and his cheeks dimple. he holds one of your hands in both of his. "i love you. you're good, and smart, and kind, and hardworking. you forget to take care of yourself sometimes, but i think that that's okay. while you're learning how to show yourself more compassion I'll take care of you in the meantime. whatever you need, doll. you're safe with me. no matter what. okay?"

you're crying again. great. you don't stop yourself this time and you throw yourself into his arms. he's there, waiting for you. you let yourself sob into his chest while he gently rubs your back. he holds you in his big, strong arms and hugs you closer. you don't feel suffocated and you don't feel humiliating to be crying. you feel safe. it sucks to cry over what your family thinks of you and it sucks that you don't feel like enough. it sucks that you've felt alone for most of your life. it sucks that you feel guilty for wanting love and it sucks that sometimes, you feel guilty for loving daichi so much. but as he holds you and presses a kiss to the top of your head, nuzzling your hair, all of the pain is tinged with something warm. something safe. something so, so safe. a feeling that you'd never felt before.

it's in that moment that you know- daichi isn't a whirlwind. he isn't a storybook prince that will whisk all of your problems away. no, he's somehow better. he's a pillar of support, a source of comfort, a prince in his own right. no, he won't save you- you still have to take care of yourself. but he'll support you, fill in the gaps, love you unconditionally. maybe a fix-it-all is too much to ask, but you couldn't care less about that now. all that you want his daichi. he takes care of you. he respects you. he loves you, despite your flaws and your feelings of weakness and those moments like now when you just need to be held. he loves you.

when you've stopped crying your voice is croaky and you feel gross. you look up at daichi and he hands you a box of tissues from the nightstand. you're an ugly crier, you know that. but daichi doesn't seem to judge as you dab at your eyes and look to check your reflection in his room mirror. it feels wrong to leave the comfort of his arms, but it also feels like instinct to check your composure. when you're done you turn around to face him, eyes tired.

"do you want to talk about it doll?" you're about to object, in a prefunctory sort of way, but he cuts in. "baby, i don't mind. really. i just want to know that you're okay. i just want to know that you feel safe. you've endured a lot and the way that you feel matters."

you sniffle. "im fine not talking for now daichi. im... tired. just tired. from crying. i just want to sleep." when he shows you nothing but understanding, you stutter out one last request

"ww-will you hold me?"

"of course, princess. ive got you."

you clamber back to bed. daichi and you shift positions so that he's laying down and you're against his chest. he smells like that nice, crisp soap that he always uses. you bury your face in his chest once more, before laying on your side to the sound of his heartbeat.

you sigh. "i love this sound. it lets me know that you're here with me. it let's me know that you're real."

daichi chuckles warmly. you can hear the sound reverberate throughout his chest and it tickles your ear. he's so sweet. it's then that he promises something to you.

"im here, darling. and i am not going anywhere."

your eyes water a little at that. "i love you, daichi. you're my best friend."

he sighs, and it's like you can feel his warm, gentle smile from where you're resting. "i love you too, doll. so much. you are the most precious thing in the world to me."

you know in that moment that you are loved- genuinely, indellibly loved. the roughness and loneliness that you once endured is no more. despite everything, you're learning how to love yourself and to take care of yourself. it feels so, so lonely sometimes and the work seems endless. but whenever you need someone to catch you when you fall, you know that your love, daichi, will be there. forevermore.

his heartbeat relaxes you as you snuggle deeper into his chest. the last words that the two of you utter to one another are ones of love before you both drift off to sleep. you love him- so, so much. and he loves you.

tagging some folks in the longest fic that ive ever written because aaaaaa. if u want to be added to my taglist or taken off plz send me an ask!

@ceo-of-daichi @honeybunny-sawamura @daichis-kitty @goldenshoyo @daichidaichidaichi @kingtamakimurder

#it wouldn't be a fic by calli if it didnt have petnames #also the title is based off of a lyric in demi moore by phoebe bridgers LMAO #daichi sawamura x reader #daichi sawamura #daichi x you #daichi x y/n #sfw #haikyuu sfw fic #fluff #angst #hurt/comfort #boyfriend daichi #firefighter daichi #sawamura daichi #sawamura daichi x reader #daichi fluff #sawamura daichi fluff #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu fic

[hello-yue-here]

thank you @chiptrillino for tagging me in a wip game!

not quite sure what the rules are but based off of your AMAZING POST OF ART WIPS (check it out here yall chip is so talented) ive decided to just share some parts of my writing wips that i rlly like because i cannot draw whatsoever lmao

enjoy some lil snippets hehe

from heart don't stand a chance:

"Zuko couldn’t get over her eyes. She was looking past the camera towards the man who took it. Zuko could see clear as day the love she held for Sokka in her gaze.

It was a perfect moment that Sokka had captured. No wonder held it with him at all times. If someone had looked at Zuko like that, he’d never want to see anything again.

As he took in the photograph, Sokka sat next to him in silence. His hand was clutching the ring around his neck again in his fist, pressing it close to his mouth as he peered over Zuko’s shoulder to look. Zuko turned to him to compliment the picture and saw a sad fondness lingering in his eyes."

this is a scene i wrote a while ago thats gonna appear in a much later chapter. but yeah. more yue angst for you guys im so sorry.

from i love you (and that's all i really know):

"Mister Sokka," a little voice wishpered in his ear as he felt tiny pokes on his cheek, "Wake up Mister Sokka."

"Good morning to you too Izumi," Sokka responded wearily as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He looked towards the little girl who was standing on her tippy toes to see over the edge of the bed and poke his face until he rose.

She smiled at him once she realized he was awake.

"Can we have pancakes?" She asked shyly, hiding her mouth just below the edge of the bed as she looked up at him with hopeful eyes.

That look was going to be dangerous for him later on, he could aready tell.

"Sure thing, Izumi, just let me sleep for five more minutes, mkay?" He asked as he shut his eyes again. He was exhausted from last nights events, and the sun had barely risen. How did Zuko do this?"

this is a scene from the next chapter of this fic. so much sokka and izumi bonding you guys are gonna explode hehehe.

from cherry (the mailee fic i wont shut up about that is now a whopping 19 pages):

"Mai never had to guess with Ty Lee. She always knew when Ty Lee was happy about something because she would use an obnoxious amount of exclamation points. She would send gifs of people or cartoons making outlandish expressions whenever she wanted to react to Mai’s text with a specific facial expression. Sometimes Ty Lee would even send voice memos whenever her thoughts became too long, or she got too excited about a story that her fingers couldn’t type as fast as she could speak."

hehe i love mailee.

from yours (the mailee sorority fic that i promise i did not forget about):

"Mai lifted her head off the pillow again and met Zuko’s eyes. She studied his impassive expression, trying to figure out if he was joking or not. He did seem like he missed Mai and Azula, so maybe he did really just want to catch up with them.

But Mai wasn’t going to give up a golden opportunity like this.

“Tell us everything about the boy toy as well and you’ve got yourself a deal,” Mai said.

Zuko rolled his eyes and sighed, “Ugh, fine. And his name is Sokka by the way.”

“Nuance. You also have to wake up Azula.”

“No chance in hell,” Zuko scoffed, “You’re the roommate and her fellow ‘pong princess,’ wake-up duty is all yours.”

“If she murders me, it’s your fault. She’s a bitch when she’s hungover.”

“Whatever you say, Mai,” Zuko grinned before returning back to his phone."

i have decided that zuko is a little shit for this fic and no one can stop me.

from Where'd All the Time Go? (the yuekka fic that i have severe writers block with that i also promis i have not forgotten about):

"“Sokka I really think you need to take a moment and-”

“I am fine Aang, I don’t have time for a feelings talk right now. Right now I need to find the fucking chief of this damn place.” His words came out harsher than he meant, but he didn’t have the time to dwell on that.

Before Sokka could run off again to continue his search, a hand grabbed his arm. One of Arnook’s advisors, Malina, had started dragging him towards the podium.

“Do you not realize how late you are for this Sokka? The ceremony was supposed to begin with your speech nearly an hour ago-” she hissed at him as she pulled him along through the crowd.

“Malina I’m sorry but I really need to speak with Arnook it is urgent-”

“This damn speech of yours is what’s urgent right now Sokka, you can speak with Arnook later but the guests are getting antsy so you need to give your speech right. Now.”

“But-”

“Now.”

Maline shoved Sokka towards the podium and suddenly all eyes were on him. Every guest in attendance had their focus solely on Sokka."

homeboy is stressed in this scene. things are slowly going to shit in this chapter. i promise i will update this before the end of the year. i swear. im so sorry.

from a currently untitled jetko/sukka boiling rock fic:

"“Oh good, you survived after all,” She said in a mocking tone.

Jet didn’t answer. He knew anything he said would be used against him. He didn’t know where he was. He didn’t know what was happening. But he would be damned if he showed that weakness in front of the fire nation.

“I was told you were more talkative than this,” the girl mused. There was something familiar about her, “my informants were very detailed when discussing your little teashop romance.”

I knew it. Jet snarled in his mind, That bastard betrayed me."

i want this fic to be a little darker but idk how good i am at writing darker fics because i love fluff and humor too much. this could be good angst practice for me.

from a toph and sokka fic that i wrote a while back to help me cope w some shit that i dont know if ill ever post:

"“Sokka? Are you still there?” Toph asked, the slightest hint of concern began to slip into their voice

“Tell me a story,” he was trembling. Despite all of his efforts to sound calm, he knew his voice came out trembling and scratchy and pathetic-

“Is everything okay? You don’t sound too hot,” Toph said through the phone.

Breathe, Sokka, breathe. You don’t want them to be worried, you just need to calm down.

“Please, Toph, I just,” he said through shaky breaths that weren’t nearly deep enough for him to be getting enough oxygen, “I just need a distraction. I just need to hear your voice okay?”"

nonbinary toph anyone?

from a 10 things i hate about you kataang and zukka au:

"“What? Something on my face?” the guy asked deadpanned. He rubbed at his scar as if he were wiping off a smudge of mustard, and Aang’s face went pale.

“Stop scaring the sophomores Zuko, this one’s new. He won’t get your… humor… just yet,” Ms. Wu said as she waved Aang off again.

“I’m hurt that you’d imply I’m not funny, Wu. I’m hilarious,” the senior, Zuko, said as he walked past Aang.

Aang let out a sigh of relief knowing that this Zuko guy didn’t seem all that offended by his awkwardness, and darted out of the room."

zuko is a little shit part 2. the amount of sarcasm i have dripping off of heath ledger zuko is glorious. let zuko be a little shit. i havent added to this in months but when i finish some of my other wips i cant wait to get back to this.

i have more wips and drafts saved but none of them have anything juicy or funny or interesting yet because all of them are like less than three pages so far

but yeah, heres a good chunk of sneaky peakys from my wips!

I hope you liked them!

anyone who wants to do this can totally go for it. imma tag @ambykinns @lumities and @flowers-inthepieshop (only if you all want too!!) because this was fun :)

#liv talks about writing #liv talks ab fanfic #liv wips #liv fics #i love sharing my writing #especially when i have a bit of a block going on with well.... every fic #maybe this will give me inspiration!!! #i love sharing my writing im proud of these little snippets and i hope you all likes them as well :) #atla #avatar: the last airbender

[wickedscribbles]

Come What May, Chapter Four

Masterlist

Pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi x Original Female Character (Second Person Perspective)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: brief description of panic attack -- there is a warning in the body of the chapter as well! Don’t worry. 

Tags: main character has social anxiety, teaching a class with Obi-Wan, sexual tension, lightsaber fights, Obi-Wan continues with the cute pet names, some teacher/student fantasizing, Obi-Wan is still a massive tease, fucking in a supply closet

Word Count: 6.9 K

It's infuriating to know that Obi-Wan is back in the Temple, but that he's too busy to see you. Between Council meetings that drag for hours, more private gatherings with members of the Senate to discuss what the next move in the war should be, and allowing the poor man time to rest, Obi-Wan has been home for more than a week. You've barely caught more than a glimpse of him. Still, it's nice to have him present in your mind.

You know he's still in the Temple every day you wake up to a glowing good morning, love, his happiness to be near you radiating like sunshine even if you haven't had the time to see one another. It’s not safe to talk back and forth, but sometimes if one of you is particularly bored, you’ll trade a few sentences.

Master Yoda is on a roll today. Send help. Starting to think backwards I am.

Pity you I do.

Very funny, petal.

Then he’d be gone again, fading out before anyone got suspicious. The sudden absence hurts, but not as much as having him gone from the Temple entirely. At least here, you can feel him. You know he's safe.

In contrast to Obi-Wan's breakneck schedule, you've had almost nothing to do. It's full-on spring on Coruscant now, the warmth driving cold and flu season away. You have no colicky little ones in the creche to fuss over, no sick Padawans. The most you might see are some old Masters who need their aching bones tended to, or a quick training accident that needs mended. You haven't shipped out to a war-stricken planet in a while, either. It's strange to have downtime. Strange and frustrating, knowing Obi-Wan is nearby but still not close enough. Having a spare moment between all the illness and injuries is a good thing, and you're grateful. If only you weren't so restless.

-----

It’s rare -- almost impossible -- that you get to take the entire day off, but that’s exactly what you’ve been told to do. The medbay sits empty except for a couple of droids, instructed to deep clean while there are no patients. Even Master Allie appears to be taking it easy; her Force is calm as she bids you goodbye. She insists that if anyone turns up in need of healing, she and Barriss Offee would be on call to take care of it. You bow to her and leave, excited about what possibilities this could open up.

The first thing you do is check for Obi-Wan. Of course, he’s preoccupied. You duck out after feeling the level of concentration he’s exerting at something-or-other; it’s mixed with frustration and you don’t want to distract him. Like you, he’s getting more and more impatient with how busy the Council has kept him. You try not to let yourself be disappointed; it would be too lucky for both of you to be free at the same time, on the same day. All you can do is hope that you can find the time to be together before he has to leave again.

With your schedule more open than ever, you head to your favorite courtyard. The least you can do is soak up some Coruscanti sunshine. But only a quarter of an hour passes before you’re interrupted by the sound of footsteps on cobblestones, headed fast in your direction. Around the corner, scattering the kiros birds, comes a youngling you recognize. It's Gil Graven, a spitfire of a youngling you see in the medbay far more than others his age. He drives his minders crazy with his recklessness, but he’s a sweetheart. Even if you swear you have him admitted once a month for sprains and cuts.

Even now he trips and topples, would have earned the Halls of Healing their first visitor of the day, if you hadn't righted him with a quick pull of the Force.

"Easy, Gil. Where's the fire?" You smile, watching the kid tug his too-large tunic back onto his shoulder.

"Fire? There's no fire, miss. I was looking for you!"

His eyes go round with confusion, cheeks red from running. You forgot how literal younglings could be.

"I meant -- wait, looking for me? What's wrong? Who's hurt?"

Kriff. You should've known taking a day off would backfire. Something had happened in the fifteen minutes you’d had your butt parked in the grass. You get to your feet, gripping the pouch of emergency bacta on your belt.

"Oh! It's not a healer thing." Gil bounces in place, thinking. "But you're needed in the training halls! And they told me to find you quick!"

"Gil, calm down for a minute, okay?" The training halls? Why on Ryloth were you wanted there? "Who told you?"

He shrugs, unhelpful. “I dunno. I’ve never met ‘im before. But he told me to go get the Knight from the Healing Halls ‘cause no one’s been admitted today, and you’d be able to help him.”

You’re still not sure if this is a healer problem, or a matter of simple confusion. Gil’s got a touch of what healers like to call bouncy brain. Sweet as he is, he talks at lightspeed and can’t seem to concentrate if he isn’t moving. There’s a real possibility that he’s got something mixed up here. Still, it’s not as if you’re doing anything else. The Force must have decided that you need to keep busy.

You decide to see what he’s going on about. “Okay, Gil. Lead the way.”

-----

Lingering outside one of the larger training rooms is Master Ki-Adi-Mundi, who smiles when he spots Gil leading you over by the hand.

“There you are!” He crouches down to greet your youngling escort, clapping him on the shoulder. “Thank you, Gil, I am so glad you found our friend. You may go now.”

Gil bows to him, his Force blooming under the praise. “Yes, Master.” You both watch as he takes off the way he came, speeding back up to a run.

“No running!” You scold after him. He barely slows before he’s out of sight.

Master Ki-Adi-Mundi chuckles. “That one reminds me of our own Anakin Skywalker.”

You nod, seeing the resemblance. Anakin is five years your junior, but he was still notorious when you were Padawans. Always turning up where he shouldn’t have been, Obi-Wan always three steps behind. Nothing’s changed, Obi-Wan often tells you.

“Master,” you say, hearing the low buzz of voices coming from the room you’re standing in front of. “Gil said you needed me? Is someone injured?”

“Hm? Oh! Oh stars, no.” Master Ki-Adi shakes his head, looking sheepish. “But I was rather hoping you’d be able to help me with a little problem I’ve run into.”

“Of course.” Okay, now I'm suspicious.

Ki-Adi tugs the end of his beard. “My squadron is being called out to fight on very short notice, I’m afraid. I was meant to teach today’s lesson, and was lucky enough to find a substitute for myself on short notice. But my instruction partner is leaving as well, and I haven’t yet found them a suitable replacement.”

“O-oh,” you hear yourself squeak.

Karabast. He wants you to teach? Your stomach drops somewhere near your ankles. This is so far from what you were expecting when Gil led you here. You can’t do this. You can’t.

Ki-Adi must feel your panic, because he continues quickly. “Don’t fret, my dear! My substitute is a very capable instructor. Follow his lead, and everything will be fine.” He claps a hand on your shoulder, turning away.

“Thank you again -- and now I really must be off.” And with that, he’s gone, walking at a brisk pace down the corridor.

CW starts here!

You’re so anxious that you feel like you’re about to be sick. You’ve done many things on behalf of the Council, often without knowing what they even were, but this? You can’t do this. There’s too many people. You lean against the doorframe, struggling for breath.

What’s the matter? Obi-Wan’s concern comes rushing in, and you’re grateful you have him to latch onto, to focus on.

Someone's asked a favor of me -- and I don’t think I can do it. You’re gripping your saber hilt too tight, the metal biting into your hand.

Please try to calm down. Find somewhere to sit and meditate, collect yourself --

Your anxiety is affecting him, making his own thoughts race even if he doesn’t know the cause. This sometimes happens. You’ve jolted awake in the middle of the night more than once with nightmares that weren’t your own, or had thoughts that didn’t make sense ‘til you realized they weren’t yours.

I can’t.

Why not?

You don’t reply. You have to go in there. Master Ki-Adi said that he was already late. Remembering your breathing, you focus on a count of four in through your nose, then hold the breath for a count of seven. When you exhale, you count to eight. After repeating the exercise several times, you can think straight. It’s not the more in-depth meditation Obi-Wan would have preferred, but it helps. All you can do is hope that the instructor carries much of the class, as Master Ki-Adi said he would.

When it feels like you’ve released much of your fear and uncertainty to the Force, you open the door and step in.

CW ends here!

Immediately, twenty pairs of curious Padawan eyes move to follow you, and you cringe. They all sit cross-legged on the padded floor. Three of the walls are lined with mirrors, the better for students to see fighting forms and sparring matches from every angle. On a side wall, a flimsi depicting each form of saber combat stretches the length of the room, cut off only by the supply closet where training accessories are stored. You’ve been in this room and its adjacent siblings dozens of times. But all that isn’t as important to you as the instructor, who’s turned to see why the room’s gone quiet.

It’s Obi-Wan.

Standing bare-foot on one of room-length training mats, in the middle of handing out sparring sticks to the class, he freezes when you lock eyes.

Oh, he says, equal parts shock and happiness.

Yeah.

I say this with the greatest respect, darling -- why did Master Ki-Adi send you?

Because the Healing Halls are completely empty. Also to torture me. You grimace, joining him at the front of the room. He nods to you in greeting, as if you aren’t having a mental conversation.

“Knight Courtee. Glad to see you could join us.”

“I apologize, Master. It was short notice for me, as well.” You bow to him.

Is this what you were so worked up about? They’re only Padawans. They don’t bite -- much.

Once the group realizes that you’re the other instructor that Obi-Wan’s been waiting for, the chatter resumes. They stop ogling you. From the looks of the group, they’re all in the late teens, and bubbling over with energy. Right in the middle of Padawan and Knight, but with all the arrogance to think they’re already the latter. Away from their Masters in a group like this, they tend to get far rowdier than they would otherwise. Each has a lightsaber strapped to their belt.

“Run me through the lesson?” you say, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Quiet!” Obi-Wan demands over his shoulder, and you jump. The loudest cluster of Padawans instantly falls silent behind you.

Sorry, he thinks at you. I’m starting to see why Ki-Adi jumped on the first ship leaving the system.

“Amina, lose the gum. Did you think I wouldn’t notice? Yes, now. Navo, do I have to move you to the other side of the room? Don’t think I won’t.”

Mumbles of yes, Master, break out before he turns back to you, satisfied. You don’t smile but know he feels your amusement.

“We’ll be running through some more advanced katas,” Obi-Wan says. “Then we’ll break them into pairs and focus on the saber technique of each pair. At the end of the lesson, you and I will give a demonstration on a chosen form. Perhaps more than one, if the class requests it.”

“Doesn’t sound too bad,” you admit, thinking back to your own group Padawan lessons. You’d dreaded the paired sparring sessions, having your own form broken down and scrutinized. In the end, though, it had improved your skills. Being able to do the same for this group would be an honor. This is a big piece of being a Jedi, after all; skills passed down from Master to Knight to Padawan.

“It isn’t. Just don’t let them smell your fear,” he grins. “Let’s get started.”

As noisy as the group is, you can tell they’re genuinely excited to be in a session led by Master Kenobi. And Obi-Wan really knows how to lead the room. While you stand stiffly off to the side, nodding whenever he finishes saying something and hoping you don’t look like an idiot, he uses the space. He explains the lesson to them as he explained it to you, then asks if anyone has any questions.

The girl who’d been caught with gum earlier, Amina, raises her hand. Her other hand is busy twirling her long Padawan braid, like she can’t help but fidget with it. “Um, Master Kenobi, why are we using sparring sticks? We’ve had lightsabers for a while now.”

A murmur of agreement washes through the crowd, and Obi-Wan smirks.

“Good question, Padawan. Everyone, close your eyes and reach through the Force. Do you feel how tumultuous the energy in this room is? How excitable? If any one of you lit your saber in this room, I fear someone would lose a limb. And that’s something that Knight Courtee can’t fix for you. So we play it safe.”

Another hand punctuates the air, from the very front of the crowd. This Padawan seems younger than the rest, with hair that sticks up everywhere and eyes focused only on Obi-Wan. He starts speaking before he can be called on.

“All due respect, Master,” he says, in a way that makes you think that he’s used to sharing unorthodox opinions. The corner of Obi-Wan’s mouth quirks up as he fights a smile, and you feel him think of Anakin.

“Why are we here? We’re fighting a war. Many of us have already seen combat alongside our Masters.” He lowers his eyes to the mat, afraid he’s gone too far. When his fellow Padawans start nodding and whispering, he tugs on the end of his nerf-tail, as if unsure of what to do.

Obi-Wan takes a moment to consider this question, hand going to his beard as it often does when he’s thinking.

“I appreciate your honesty, Caleb. And you’re correct. It might seem...redundant to spend your time here when even now fellow Jedi are fighting real battles.”

He pauses, thinking of how to continue. The Padawans are hanging onto his every word, the room silent. “But that’s why it’s so important to refine your technique when we can spare the time, in a secure environment. It will make you stronger when you face a real opponent. It might even save your life. Does that make sense?”

Wow, you think to yourself. He’d handled that beautifully. Even though Caleb had spoken out of turn, Obi-Wan hadn’t belittled him or made the teen feel bad about what was an honest and important question. He’d taken the time to consider the Padawan’s feelings, and had given him an equally honest answer, not something to pacify him. It takes you back to your own Padawan training, when Obi-Wan had been your instructor.

“Yes, Master,” Caleb ducks his head, looking relieved. “thank you.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes search the room. “Anything else?”

After a pause, another hand goes up, toward the back.

“Millu?” You love that he knows everyone by name. Some Padawans turn around to reveal a burly Mon Calamari boy.

“Yeah.” His bright yellow eyes dart over to you. “Uh, speaking of Knight Courtee. Why are you teaching us? I thought you were just, like, a healer.” There’s no real malice in his tone, more like an off-handed curiosity, but Obi-wan stiffens.

Luckily you think of something to say before he can open his mouth. It wouldn’t look good for him to get upset defending you.

“That’s an excellent question, Millu, thank you.” You shoot him a smile, and you swear his scales darken with a blush.

“Being a Jedi with healing abilities does not mean that you get to neglect other aspects of your training. On the contrary, your connection with the Force must be powerful at all times. Healing will swamp you physically and emotionally, so you must keep both body and mind strong to withstand it.”

Your smile widens. “Of course, if you’re asking if you can best me in a fight, we’ll see how you match up during paired spars. Sound good?”

Laughter breaks out, and Millu blushes even darker before muttering, “Sure,” and looking away. Even if it seemed like he was questioning your ability to teach them (as you yourself are), you’re grateful the interaction’s lightened the mood.

Nicely done, says Obi-Wan.

“Very good,” he says aloud, clapping his hands together. “Now if we’re done heckling Knight Courtee, let’s begin with some stretches, please.”

------

Obi-Wan was right, you think, walking around the room. This...isn’t bad at all. You walk from pair to pair, taking in the angle of their weapon, how they hold their bodies, making minor corrections and leaving comments as you go. They look up when you come by, eager to see what you’re going to say to them. It’s much easier to interact with the Padawans on this smaller scale, and you find yourself joking with them, smiling. After a while, they even start asking for you, looking to see if you can demonstrate a move or if they’re holding the training stick the correct way. They aren’t scary at all -- just excitable kids who want to learn.

I’m sorry, Obi-Wan was what?

Looking up, you see Obi-Wan grinning across the room, demonstrating his own correction. In the middle of all this excitable teen Force energy, it’s easy for you to have a conversation and go unnoticed.

You were right. I like this.

And you’re good at it; they adore you. You’re going to make a wonderful Master. He shows you a brief image of a happy Padawan trailing behind you, eager to follow wherever you lead. It’s the best feeling, love.

Unexpected emotion rises in your chest at his pure sincerity. He knows how insecure you are about the fact that you’ll soon have your own Padawan to look after, but he doesn’t have a single doubt that you can do it. For the first time, you let yourself think of the situation in a hopeful light. It was a path you never pictured for yourself, but one that you know you have to follow. Obi-Wan makes it look so easy. Anakin, and even Anakin’s Padawan Ahsoka, look at him like he hung the stars. Of course, so do you.

“Last twenty minutes!” Obi-Wan calls over the noise of sparring sticks clacking together. “Take a seat, class.”

The Padawans rush to do as they’re told, everyone clamoring for the best spot to view your spar with Master Kenobi. They go completely silent, waiting for you to join him. A hush even falls over the Force energy in the room, like they’re all holding their breath.

Obi-Wan sinks into a bow when you’re opposite him, one hand on his saber. When you glance down in confusion, he sends a wave of amusement.

I said I didn’t trust the Padawans, darling. Not you.

Not sure if that’s wise. You bow in return, unclipping your saber also. He ignites his blade, the blue glow casting light over all the reflections of the mirrors. Taking a deep breath, trusting the familiar feeling of your own weapon, you ignite your lightsaber. The bright green light shimmers over your hands, crackling with your energy.

You’re surprised at how nervous you are. It’s one thing to watch him from across the room, to be taught by him as a Padawan yourself, but to spar with Obi-Wan as an equal? He’s going to wipe the floor with you.

“What form does Knight Courtee use?” You hear somebody whisper.

“Form five -- she told me.”

“Oooh, really? That’ll be fun to see against Master Kenobi.”

“Shhh!”

Obi-Wan waits until the group is quiet again to ask if you’re ready to start. Your saber hums hot in your hand, a little less controlled than you’d like it.

“Ready as I can be, Master.”

“Then let’s begin.”

No sooner are the words out of his mouth than he’s in your space, much closer than you want him with a lightsaber in hand. You strike out instinctively and he expected that, anticipated it. He was baiting you. Your blade bounces off of his far more harshly than you like, the zyoom echoing through the room. You take a step back, try to calculate an opening. He mirrors you, waiting to react. It takes you longer than it should to realize that he’s shielded the bond up tight, not giving anything away. The only thing you can hear is your heartbeat and the crackling of the sabers, each one fueled by its master’s adrenaline.

He keeps his blade held at eye level, and you lunge in for a mid-range attack. Obi-Wan blocks but you keep it coming, getting back into the groove of Djem So after spending so long out of combat. It feels good to have the saber be a part of you, to have it grow lighter as it remembers your touch.

Strike, block, strike, block. You’re working at a breakneck rhythm trying to get through his defenses, but Obi-Wan won’t give an inch. Sweat pours down your temple but still you press, using the Force to try and search for a weak point but finding none. He’s too kriffing fast.

There’s a reason they call him Master of this form. It’s infuriating, the almost lazy way he flicks your lightsaber aside every time, using your energy against you. There’s not a hair out of place on him. Every time you lower your blade, wondering what to do, he simply resets, content to wait again. You can tell from the look in his eyes that he knows you’re getting tired.

The Padawans are anything but quiet now -- some shouting Get her, Master Kenobi! while others insist that you can hold your own. Your eyes flick over to them once. Some lean forward towards the fight as far as they dare, a few are even on their feet in support.

When Obi-Wan finally tips his saber in retaliation, you barely manage to block, caught off guard at the change from defense to offense. He strikes again, again, again -- each blow more brutal than the last, each one so close to your skin that you can feel his blue saber’s sizzling heat. He’s driving you back against the wall. Despite your best effort, you’re losing ground where you’d previously held it. When you feel your back slam against the wall he was driving you toward, you gasp and fumble a block -- your last move. The blade of Obi-Wan’s saber hovers near your throat, a win.

“And that’s your head,” he says easily. You lower your saber and extinguish the blade, holding your hands up in a show of defeat.

The room erupts.

“Master Kenobi, that was so wizard --”

“Knight Courtee was letting him have it! Did you see --?”

“I wish I could have recorded that for the holo!”

“Settle down,” Obi-Wan says, but he’s smiling. “I’m glad that you all have found this lesson so illuminating.” He bows to you, signalling the end of the match, and you follow suit.

“You’re dismissed,” he says to the room. The declaration is met with mixed reactions; half are glad to be free, half don’t want the lesson to be over yet.

“No need to hang around and help tidy this time. You were such a good group that Knight Courtee and I are glad to take care of it.” It’s traditional for students to stick around after the lesson is done and help roll up the training mats, collect the sparring sticks, and clean the room in any other way that needs it.

That statement really gets them out the door, though several of them whine about him being far cooler than their regular teacher and why can't he teach them all the time?

Once everyone’s filed out, Obi-Wan locks the door behind them. He turns to you with a long sigh, relieved that the loudness of all those teenagers in one place has dispersed.

“Well,” you say. “That’s not how I expected my morning to go.”

“I’m glad,” Obi-Wan replies. “I was beginning to think that I wouldn’t see you at all in my time home, yet here we are.”

“Like the Force willed it.”

He beams at that, drawing you tight against him. “C’mere. My bright little instructor.”

You grumble, cheek pressed against his chest. “You flayed me within an inch of my life, Obi-Wan.”

All he does in response to your grumpiness is chuckle, placing warm kisses everywhere he can reach on your face. “Yes. I did.”

“It was embarrassing.”

“I couldn’t exactly go easy on you, could I?”

No, he couldn’t. Everyone knows the extent of Obi-Wan’s skill, and while you aren't untalented with a saber, winning or even overcoming him would be unlikely. You’d fought honestly, and so had he. Anything else would have invoked suspicion.

He takes your silence for the correct answer, then gently pries your cheek from his body.

“Would it help if you got kisses as a consolation prize?” He’s looking at you so fondly, like you’re his favorite thing in the galaxy. You nod, already leaning on your tiptoes to reach.

Obi-Wan hums against your lips, sinking against you like he’s been waiting for this -- because you both have. The kisses stay close-mouthed, but he’s pressing them onto you fast, his hands roaming you urgently. Your bond tells you that he wants to take his time with you, would have each moment stretch out for as long as possible, if he could. He wants to savor you. But arousal is winning out.

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, pulling back to brush his nose against yours. “Do you know how much restraint it took not to pin you against the wall and have you, at the end of our fight? To resist sending all the little Padawans away right then?”

You gasp, feeling heat stirring deep in your stomach. The honey-sweetness of his tone contrasts with his words, but he’s just getting started.

“There was such fire in your eyes when we sparred, kitten." Kitten. Yet another pet name to add to your already large collection. This one makes you blush, and you don't miss Obi-Wan's pleased grin. "I had to shut you out so that you wouldn’t get distracted by my, er, distraction.”

His distraction presses up against your leg now, thick and hot. Obi-Wan tugs the end of your braid hard, tilting your head back to expose your neck. You whimper against him, all but letting him hold you up at this point. He loves it -- going to work at once nipping and kissing everywhere he can get to. His breath is heavy on your skin as he ruts against your thigh, trying and failing to bite back his own ecstatic moans.

“We’re alone now,” you choke out, hardly aware enough to string the sentence together. “s-so you can -- do whatever you want with me.”

This makes him pause. “Is that so?” Obi-Wan’s tone is still so light, like you’re having a conversation about what they’re serving in the refectory today, not how badly you want him to fuck you.

“Yes,” you say, embarrassed at how desperate you sound, how easily you melt for him. You can see yourself over his shoulder in the mirrors, and you blush, burying your face.

He laughs a little at your reaction. “What if I want to take you into that supply closet and bend you over?” His hand roams down your body, landing on your crotch. Two fingers rub a strong circle through the material, and you lean into it. “What if I want to take you from behind, make up for all the time we haven’t been together?”

“I’d ask why -- aren’t we already there,” you huff, blinking up at him.

That’s all the answer he needs. In one motion, he grabs you round the middle and hauls you over his shoulder like a sack of meilooruns. Your breath whooshes out, surprise and a lack of air keeping you from forming a sentence as he marches you to the closet as promised. The ground bounces and sways in your vision as you’re jostled -- it’s a strange sensation, being carried. Thankfully, it only lasts a few seconds.

Obi-Wan opens the door and closes it just as quickly once you’re both inside, making you aware of how small, how dark, the space is. You find yourself deposited on the storage bin that the mats are kept in, your legs dangling high in the air. He leans in to kiss you, nothing but hot breath and hungry hands, and you fist your own in the front of his tunic. It spurs him on, and soon his tongue is pressing into your open mouth, exploring every corner.

You moan into him, your fingers going beyond clothes to scratch against his chest. Obi-Wan picks you up again and you lift your legs around his waist, rubbing tight against his cock. He bears your entire weight like it’s nothing, continuing to kiss you as if your legs are planted on the ground. Stars, the strength, the eagerness of him, is overwhelming. His arms are pillars, holding you steady, crossed firm around your back.

"I thought you said," you gasp out, shivering when his tongue flicks out to catch your earlobe, "something about -- bending me over --"

“So eager today,” he says, his voice a tantalizing purr.

“Can you blame me?” you blurt.

"And what does that mean, dearest?"

He already knows what you mean. It’s everywhere in your mind. You can’t hide how you feel when you’ve been this close to him for so long, forbidden to touch him, to even think about it until you’ve reached your breaking point.

Obi-Wan, hands behind his back, patiently watching the Padawans demonstrate their forms. Nodding and sometimes stepping in to correct, placing his hand casually on an arm or leg to shift the balance of their weight. Then the Padawan he’s correcting becomes you, and his touch is no longer innocent. The group is melting away, and his mouth is trailing down your neck, whispering things that have little to do with the kata you’re struggling through.

“Oh,” he chuckles. “I see.”

You bump your head into his shoulder, too embarrassed to answer. As if to reassure you, Obi-Wan sends you an image back.

Both of you in the same training room, but you stand among your fellow Padawans, now all Knights, shuffling anxiously from foot to foot. You don't look that much different from the way you do now, but for the traditional Padawan's hairstyle.

Though you're seeing things from his perspective, the mirrors give him away; Obi-Wan looks younger, too. There are no lines around his eyes here, he holds himself more loosely. Like there isn't a galaxy-wide war. And he's less certain as he flits from student to student, new at this.

"You were always a pleasure to speak to, you know," Obi-Wan tells you, low voice right in your ear. He knows that he's teasing you, knows exactly the effect it's having on your body. You squirm in his tight grip, unable to go anywhere to get away from the softness of his voice.

"Polite and passionate. Made your Master very proud. But…" he trails off, and you shiver, anticipating his next words.

"So anxious whenever you saw me, weren't you?" He muses, fingers flexing on the curve of your ass. "And now I finally understand why."

"Obi-Wan…" you protest, unsure of what you're going to say next but just knowing that you need the teasing to stop. Both mental and physical -- he's hard against your abdomen, almost painful with how tight you're wedged against him.

"Down, love," he says. With effort, you extract your legs from around his waist and plant your feet on the floor, with his hands to guide you. "Turn around."

For a moment, you get excited, thinking that he's done teasing you. Obi-Wan makes quick work of your belt, dropping it to the floor seconds before your pants and underwear. You step out of them, breathing heavily, feeling his chest against your back. There's a clink, and you realize that he's dropped his belt as well, one hand bracing on your shoulder as he fumbles out of his own bottoms.

There's nothing between you now. Obi-Wan's bare dick rubs against your tailbone, leaving a warm dribble of pre-come.

"Now bend forward for me, darling -- that's it --"

You lean on the storage bin, heart thumping a tattoo in your throat. Obi-Wan lines himself up behind you, breath ragged, and sinks inside you in one long push.

"Obi-Wan, oh," you cry out, not expecting how full you'd feel from this angle.

"I know, sweetheart, I know," he says, taking a moment to adjust to the sensation. His mind is a high buzz of pleasure, looking forward to taking you apart in this new, delicious way.

Then he moves. So, so deep and slow. You let out a broken whine, toes curling. He pauses, holds his breath. Then thrusts again, just as unhurried as the first time, and your fingers scrabble for purchase on the smooth material of the bin in front of you.

“Hmm,” Obi-Wan sighs. “Do you know, this reminds me of something.”

You groan, not out of pleasure, but because he’s stopped. How? Where and how did he find the restraint to torment you like this? You’re not sure which part of today’s interaction set him off, but you sorely wish that he’d get down to business and fuck you.

“What does it remind you of?” you ask tightly, figuring that playing along will get you where you want to be faster. As if rewarding you, Obi-Wan’s hands come around to find your breasts, teasing your nipples with the barest of touches. Gods if he doesn’t go faster --

He can hear your mind loud and clear, but says nothing, only sending a feeling of amusement back before answering your question.

"Watching you go through katas in this very room. Or, well, the room outside." Obi-Wan presses into your back, finally starting to push into you in a slow but satiating rhythm.

"Mmm," you manage, pressing your lips together hard to avoid reaching an inappropriate volume.

“Do you remember the criticism I had for you, little Padawan? You were so tense. Why was that?” All the while he’s languidly thrusting into you from behind. As if he expects you to form a coherent response.

“I l-liked you,” you stammer out, bracing yourself on the edge of the storage bin.

"Oh? Well, I liked you too. You were a wonderful student."

"That's not what I --" Thank the Maker that it's pitch black in this closet, because your face is burning.

"But for some reason," he continues, enjoying himself, "you always needed correction in solo practice. The other Masters told me, several times, that that was not an issue in their own lessons."

You can only whimper as he bears into you deeper. He knows exactly what he's doing to you. When you place a hand on your stomach, just above your belly button, you can feel him inside you.

"Tell me, sweetheart. Did you need my hands on your body, as desperately as you do now?"

"Yes, Master," you all but sob. "I need, I n-need --"

"Need me to fuck you?" Obi-Wan supplies, voice going rough and breathy. "Need me to wreck you, the way your mind is screaming for it?"

You slam the palm of your hand on the top of the bin, and it makes a hollow thud, sending pain shooting up your arm.

"Obi-Wan, yes! Please, please fuck me, I need it!" You're aware that your words border on incoherence, but not enough to care.

And he doesn't either.

Just as you've reached your limit, so does Obi-Wan. One of his hands grabs your wrist and pins it, hard, while the other squeezes your hip.

"Are you ready?" He pants in your ear, pausing only to nip at your shoulder blade. Already he's fucking you deeper, so good so thick inside you, that you're writhing under his every touch.

"Wanted to do this -- for s-so long --" Obi-Wan gasps out and so do you, the heat of orgasm reaching a crescendo in your thighs as you feel him come apart in your mind.

"Want to come so deep inside you, darling, oh please, please --"

You know that he's barely hanging on, waiting for your permission.

"Gods, Master, yes --" Like you could deny him this, when you want it so desperately too.

His forehead drops to your shoulder as he rams into you, shoving you against the bin. It takes everything you have not to scream his name when you come, gripping his arm -- the only part of him you can reach from this angle.

Obi-Wan isn't far behind, moaning loud behind you as your orgasm makes your pussy clamp down even tighter on him.

"Yes, yes, oh my Gods --"

The bond flares up sudden and white-hot between you, carrying the sensation of Obi-Wan's pleasure just as it had that night on Odryn.

"Kriff," you say weakly, clutching his arm like it's the only thing connecting you to the planet.

Sweetheart, I'm there, I'm right there

I know, and I'm -- me too --

Again?

Yes

Oh fuck, fuck -- I'm coming, stars, I'm coming, oh --

You come a second time when Obi-Wan starts to spurt inside you, tears spilling from the intensity of it all. With him this tight against your body, you swear you can feel every hot spurt of come shoot up inside you. Obi-Wan's teeth are caught in the material of your tunic, muffling his shout. It feels like you stand there, taking his come for minutes, as he shudders against you.

When it's over you whimper, leaning against his chest on aftershock-weak legs. Slowly, as if his head is one step behind, Obi-Wan puts his arms around you.

"Stars above, Obi-Wan," you mutter, every coherent thought fucked out of your head. Your brain feels like static, but your body's floating. Pulling out and turning you gently to face him again, Obi-Wan plants a line of soft kisses from your forehead to your mouth. His release runs heavy down your thighs, but there's not much you can do about it here.

"Not tense now, are you?" he says, tracing slow, wet circles over your sensitive clit.

You laugh. "You're unbelievable."

"No, I'm committed to a scene," Obi-Wan corrects, as if this was all an elaborate game.

You consider saying something along the lines of, I'm going to commit my boot to your rear end if you don't quit it, but think better of it.

Instead you re-dress, wincing at the mess you'll have to tolerate down your crotch and legs until you can get to the nearest fresher. This is the downfall of spontaneous sex. No easy cleanup.

"Next time, would you like to come with me?" Obi-Wan's asking. You snort, buckling your belt back into place.

"Pretty sure I just did. You didn't notice?"

He pauses, then opens the closet door, letting in a blinding slice of light. Though he's dressed, Obi-Wan looks disheveled and wide-eyed still in a way that you always adore.

"That's...no. That's not what I'm talking about, love," he says, a hint of amusement in his tone.

"I mean, the next time I have to leave. Come with me. I think we've both come to realize that being apart is painful. And that being together isn't just a physical concept anymore."

His voice has dropped to a near-whisper, but you're hanging on to every word. Though you'd never admit it aloud, this is exactly what you want. To follow him instead of lying awake every night, worrying he won't come back from the last distant system he's shipped away to. You want to be beside him, no matter how rough things are.

You are a Jedi, not a housewife. And frankly, being kept in the Temple while he's away risking his neck, the bond blocked for days or weeks at a time, is torture.

Obi-Wan listens to all this, your outpouring of emotion through the bond you never meant to forge with him. He shows his understanding, his respect, his compassion for you, in return.

"Okay. Okay," he says, more to himself than you. "I'll speak to the Council. Knowing them, it may take some time to get an answer, but --"

You cut him off with a kiss. It doesn't matter. As long as you're together.

#come what may ao3 #wickedscribbles #obi wan smut #ziva courtee #obi wan x you #obi-wan series #obi wan kenobi #obi wan x oc #obi-wan x oc

[sunlit-squid]

(simping softness prompts) could i get some “hey, everything's gonna be fine. stay where you are, i'm on my way” or “holy crap, i thought you were dead! never do that to me again!” if you are feeling so inclined? sorry im just in love w ur writing

For those who don't know, my ask box is open. Send me a simping softness prompt, and I'll write a short sbsp ficlet for you. ✰

i'm gonna do "hey, everything's gonna be fine ...", but don't you worry. i will also be doing "holy crap ..." at some point, since someone else requested it.

anyway, thanks for the prompt, and for the kind words! while we're here, i should also say that @wowthwtslame is doing a similar ficlet challenge. their writing is wonderful, so definitely check them out!

also tagging @azumeowth, who requested the same prompt!

ficlet under the cut. thanks again!

The call came in -- loudly -- at around 2 in the morning.

When Squidward rolled over to check his shell phone, the dull blue screen read, simply, “SpongeBrat”, accompanied by a vomit emoji. Sighing, the octopus put his phone on silent and went back to bed. Surely whatever it was the sponge wanted to blabber about could wait until tomorrow. After a decent night’s sleep.

Unfortunately, sleep was hard to come by. Despite having switched his phone to silent, the device’s small blue screen continued to light up repeatedly, like a small, pathetic rave. Every few seconds, the small blue light cast peculiar shadows on the walls of Squidward’s bedroom. Eventually, after thirty minutes of tossing and turning, the cephalopod grabbed his phone to shove it inside the nightstand -- when he caught a glimpse of the screen itself.

43 missed calls. 37 unread text messages. All from “SpongeBrat” Squarepants.

The phone rang again. This time, Squidward picked up.

“Spongebob, do you have any idea what time it is?” snapped Squidward, despite the uncomfortable, worried feeling growing in his stomach. “No? Well, I’ll tell you -- it is two-forty-seven --”

“I-I know, Squidward,” came a small, shaking Spongebob-voice. “I just -- I didn’t know what to do.”

Squidward paused. Well, that was … not the regular Spongebob volume. Or tone. Or pitch.

“Squ -- Squidward?” came the sponge’s soft, sad voice once more. The frycook’s voice was barely audible. There was some sort of loud, constant whooshing happening on the other end, not to mention a weird crackling noise, which made it very difficult to hear. Squidward sighed, wiping a tentacle across his eyes.

“I’m here,” said Squidward. “What’s this about, Spongebob?”

Silence. Then, crying -- and not Spongebob’s usual loud, obnoxious crying. This crying was quiet and gentle, barely decipherable against the loud whooshing on the other end of the line. Squidward sat up then, pressing the phone close to his ear.

“Sponge,” said Squidward, panic rising in his chest. “Sponge, what’s wrong?”

Spongebob sobbed something indiscernible. Then, he stammered, “I’m -- I’m hurt, Squidward. I’m hurt, and … I’m lost.”

Something funny exploded in Squidward’s chest. Before he knew it, the octopus was out of bed, scrambling for his jacket and keys. Gripping his shell phone tight, Squidward asked, “Where are you? What’s going on, Spongebob?”

On the other end of the line, Spongebob snuffled. “I got on the wrong bus,” he explained, in a shaky, uneven voice. “I -- I’m in a place called ‘Deviltown’ now, and the current is so strong, and the signal is pretty bad --” There was that distorted, crackling sound again -- followed by a few more broken whimpers.

Squidward sighed, feeling his hearts crack with every little sob. “Hey, everything’s going to be fine,” he said, stepping out the door and into the cool Bikini Bottom night. “Stay where you are. I’m on my way.”

-0-

Deviltown, it turned out, was several hours away from Bikini Bottom. Squidward’s shell phone indicated the drive not only went straight, but downward -- which was certainly a problem. Oceanic towns grew more and more dangerous the deeper you went, and Deviltown was apparently thousands of nautical leagues under the sea. Wherever Spongebob was, even the sun couldn’t reach him.

Undeterred, Squidward set off on his journey. His boat was constantly maintained, so the cephalopod was certain it could handle the perilous road ahead.

For the first hour or so, the drive was uneventful -- peaceful, even. The streets were smooth and well taken care of, which was good considering the massive tax hike this past year. Squidward even put on some Kelpy G, which certainly helped to soothe his nerves.

Later on, however, the drive got worse. The once well-maintained roads gave way to rickety rocks and slippery sand, with only a few sporadic road signs to get by. Moonlight became sparse, and by the time Squidward reached a vertical road, he had his brights all the way up -- and was still struggling to see.

A nearby rickety sign read “Deviltown, 10 nautical miles downward.” Peering down into the deep abyss, Squidward gulped. Despite his headlights, he still couldn’t see a thing -- just a vast expanse of open blackness.

A tight feeling wound itself around Squidward’s chest. He thought about backing up, turning around, and going straight home. This was ridiculous. Why was he out here, in the wee hours of the morning, chasing after SpongeBrat Squarepants, of all people? The boy had other friends. Certainly one of them would be willing to retrieve him.

Squidward’s tentacle hovered just over the gear stick. That’s when he saw it: in his passenger seat lay Spongebob’s wrinkled little jacket. The sponge must have left it behind the other day, when Squidward (begrudgingly) drove them both home from work.

Squidward’s chest felt hollow, suddenly. He thought of how many times he’d seen Spongebob in that exact jacket over the years.

He thought of never seeing him in that jacket ever again.

Groaning, the octopus switched gears from “Drive” to “Drive, But Downward”, and puttered his way into the deep and black abyss.

-0-

The journey into the inky black was, bar none, one of the creepiest things Squidward had ever experienced. He told himself, repeatedly, that if he just stared straight ahead and focused on the task at hand, then everything would be fine. Still, hearing creepy noises in the darkness (and being unable to see where they came from) was severely unsettling.

After what felt like forever, the vertical road became horizontal once again, and Squidward finally drove into Deviltown. Luckily, the town had the decency to set up some lamp posts, possibly for out-of-towners like Squidward who were unused to the darkness. Still, the lamp posts were few and far between, and there was nobody out and about, giving Deviltown a fittingly creepy vibe nonetheless.

Tense, cold, and worried, Squidward drove further into town, squinting for Spongebob’s bright yellow body. Surely the boy couldn’t be that hard to spot -- he was likely the only vibrant thing down here. Surely --

Oh. Oh, no.

Squidward brought his boat careening to a stop. Clambering out of it, the octopus made his way over to a rickety wooden bus stop, with a flickering lamp post just overhead. On a bench nearby was none other than Spongebob Squarepants: cold, alone, and unconscious. For a moment, a horrible thought passed through Squidward’s head -- is he dead? -- before he saw the sponge’s chest rise and fall, taking slow and steady breaths.

Breathing a huge sigh of relief, Squidward looked up and down the street. No one in sight.

Gently, the octopus leaned down and shook Spongebob lightly. “Hey,” said Squidward, awkwardly. “What are you doing asleep all the way out here? We have work tomorrow, you know.”

Spongebob stirred. In the dim light, Squidward realized the sponge really was hurt -- his usually spiffy shirt and tie were ripped straight down the middle. Beyond the fabric, the sponge’s chest was badly torn up, too, and for some reason, he had not regenerated yet.

Squidward swallowed. “Spongebob?”

The sponge stirred once more. This time, his eyes opened -- and he smiled, weakly. “Squidward,” he slurred, happily. He tried to laugh, then winced, clutching at his stomach and chest. “Squidward, it’s you … you came … ”

“Of course I came,” muttered Squidward, before he could stop himself. “I -- you … ugh, I hate you.”

Scooping up Spongebob, Squidward gently carried him over to the boat, positioning him carefully in the passenger’s seat. The sponge fussed a little about being buckled in, but otherwise, seemed too out of it to complain properly. Taking a deep breath, Squidward got back behind the wheel and started the engine.

“Heheh,” chuckled Spongebob as the boat roared to life. “Vroom-vroom.”

Squidward rolled his eyes and began turning the boat around, back towards Bikini Bottom. “We’re going home now,” he said, with a sigh. “You need to see a doctor for … whatever it was that happened to you.”

Spongebob simply nodded, then fell to his side, leaning all of his body weight on Squidward as he drove. The octopus felt warmth rising to his cheeks, and for once felt grateful for the murky blackness of the ocean void.

Spongebob was mumbling something.

“What is it?” said Squidward. “Are you okay?”

“I …uh … love you, Squidward,” said Spongebob, in a very loopy voice. “I love your big nose, and your paintings, and I wanna … get married, someday. Okay? Can we get married, someday?”

Squidward’s entire face was bright red now. It took everything in him not to just veer in a random direction and crash the entire damn boat. Taking a deep breath, the octopus collected himself. Spongebob was just severely injured, and loopy as a result. He didn’t really mean any of this.

Squidward decided to play along. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, we can get married.”

“Mm,” said Spongebob, chuckling softly. “Can I -- can I wear a dress?”

“Sure,” said Squidward. “Whatever you want.”

“And you’ll … and you’ll kiss me?”

“Mhm,” mumbled Squidward.

“And I can … listen to you play the clarinet around the house … and, and paint with you … and watch your soaps with … you … ”

Squidward looked over. The sponge had fallen asleep, and was snoring loudly. Which was … good. Very good. Excellent, even. That way, they couldn’t talk about marriage or love or any of that absolute nonsense. Now they could just drive forward in sweet silence.

Still, Squidward found himself dwelling over Spongebob’s words far more than he would have liked.

About an hour into the drive home, the octopus glanced over at the sponge, still fast asleep beside him. Fixing his gaze forward, Squidward took a deep breath, clutching the steering wheel in a tight death-grip.

“Spongebob, I …,” Squidward began, shakily. “I love you. I love you, I love you.”

Squidward found that once he started saying it, he couldn’t stop. The words felt good in his mouth, like a massive weight had finally been lifted off his chest.

“I love everything about you,” said Squidward, his three hearts exploding inside his chest. “Your annoying laugh, your stupid singing, all of it. I want to read with you, and garden with you.”

Squidward hesitated, his words floating out into the open water.

“I love you,” said Squidward, one last time. “And I … I don’t know what to do about it. Maybe I’m a coward. I’m sorry.”

Squidward looked over. Spongebob was still fast asleep, snoring away against his arm -- but the smallest of smiles had appeared on his face.

-0-

Squidward woke up in the hospital, seated in a chair next to Spongebob’s hospital bed. The poriferan was wide awake, watching an episode of Mermaid Man and Barnacle Boy on the hospital television. Of course.

The sponge turned. “Squidward!” he exclaimed, his voice loud and back to normal. “You’re awake!”

“Unfortunately,” muttered the octopus. “How are you feeling?”

“Great!” chirped Spongebob. “Better than ever, actually -- but the doc says I should stick around for a little while, just in case.”

Squidward glanced down. Sure enough, Spongebob’s chest had almost fully regenerated. Thank Neptune. When they arrived at the Bikini Bottom General Hospital early that morning, Spongebob was still in rough shape. The doctor said Spongebob most likely had a run-in with a deep-sea predator, and the attack was too quick and too constant for the poriferan to regenerate. Not to mention there were several lacerations to his vital organs.

Still, sponges were pretty sturdy folk -- and all Spongebob really needed was a long rest in a controlled environment.

Squidward breathed a huge sigh of relief. “Great,” he said, awkwardly. “I, uh. Pay attention next time you get on the bus, alright? So I don’t have to come running after you.”

Spongebob laughed. “Okey-doke.”

The two then sat together in silence for an uncomfortable amount of time. All the while, Squidward wondered if perhaps his stupid, impulsive, not-really-a-love-confession-confession had actually gotten through to Spongebob. His hearts twisted up at just the thought.

“Hey, Squidward?”

The octopus looked up, and was very surprised to find splotches of red decorating the sponge’s cheeks.

“What?” said Squidward.

“My, uh, sea flowers have been dying lately,” said the sponge, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. “Maybe you could come by and we could share some gardening tips?”

A brilliant red blush planted itself on Squidward’s face. Then, he cleared his throat, and folded his arms across his chest. “Only if we get to watch a soap afterwards.”

Spongebob grinned. “Deal.”

Squidward found himself grinning, too, despite himself. “Deal.”

References:

“Deviltown” is loosely based off of the Devil Sea, near the Japanese coast.

I will likely be compiling these ficlets into one combined fic on ao3. I originally wasn't going to, but I definitely didn't expect so many requests. So keep an eye out for that, at some point.

#squidbob #spongebob squarepants #squidward tentacles #spongebob #squidward #spongeward #my fics #ask #asks #sunlit-squid

[lord-explosion-baku]

The Return

Yandere!Midoriya x reader

warnings: yandere, mentions of violence, smoking, creepy, dark themes

A/N: This is just a short little snoot based on a scary story I used to tell around the fire while camping. Mind the warnings. 

It had been several years since Izuku Midoriya disappeared without a trace. The police and the heroes alike searched for months and months with nobody finding a damn thing. It was a national tragedy; Deku had the potential to change the world for the better and his loss would never be forgotten. There was even a day reserved for him where people would light green candles and place them on their porches and balconies where they would pray for his return. His mother wailed, his friends mourned, and you were free.

You were free. Free from those yearning stares, those two-long hand touches, those unsolicited gifts, and those unwarranted nighttime visits. You always knew you were never safe with Midoriya around—or possibly you were too safe—and when he stopped existing, your life had gotten better. Easier. You no longer had to live on edge, afraid of catching a tuft of green hair around every corner, spying on you through any window he could find, finding you even when you were out of town. He was gone. 

You were free. Until you weren’t.

It was all over the news: the surprising resurgence of the tragically-lost, rising hero Deku. You’d heard it and seen it. The man who claimed to be Izuku Midoriya had the same unruly, curly hair that bounced when he walked, the same eager, green eyes that complimented his innocent facade, and the same brutal scars from all those times he’d broken his bones that fed his emblem. He looked exactly like Midoriya, only more refined. He was more muscular, a tad taller, and there was a gleam in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. You’d heard from friends all about how he retained all of his memories from before his disappearance—even the ones that nobody would know about except for him—but had no memory of where he’d been or what had happened while he was lost.

There wasn’t a single soul on the planet that didn’t believe that Midoriya had returned. You knew better. You knew that he, whoever he was, was an imposter. But it wasn’t like you could prove it.

For weeks, you avoided places where you knew this faux-Midoriya was going to be. Friends invited you to ‘welcome back’ parties where Midoriya’s life would be celebrated, but you never showed. You didn’t take the main streets where you knew this new hero would be patrolling, always making sure to check the news to see every instance the camera caught him performing one of his many good deeds. You might’ve been getting a little obsessive yourself, but it was worth it to never have contact with the imposter.

It didn’t take much time for the long-forgotten creeping feeling to sneak its way into your home and on your skin. You didn’t think that faux-Midoriya would know to stalk you like the real Midoriya, especially since the real Midoriya had always kept that part of his life secret and safe, just as you kept the event that let you know Midoriya wasn’t really back locked away inside your mind. You hadn’t ever told anybody about it. Still, you knew he was watching you. You never saw him, but you felt him.

As the days progressed, this feeling only got worse. You would find bouquets of flowers left on your doorstep and little notes left on your car. You’d told you friends how you were feeling unsafe, dancing around the topic of how insane you thought the world was for buying that Midoroya had returned, but whenever you brought it up, you were met with rolling eyes and tea sips. Even Bakugou believed it was really Midoriya who had returned, and you’d only found out that little fact when you attended a rather large get-together at a nearby bar to celebrate a huge win for the Ground Zero hero agency.

The only reason you went out was because you thought Midoriya wasn’t going to be there. You missed seeing people, and you’d thought you were going to be safe since Bakugou never seemed to like Midoriya, but it seemed that years away from one’s annoying ex-rival softens one up a little.

Panic struck you as soon as you saw him. The imposter was chatting it up with another hero, asking them questions about their quirk and support items, much like the real Midoriya would be doing, when those soft green eyes slid over to you. His face lit up and he smiled that smile—the one that was only reserved exclusively for you, the one that made chills run down your spine.  

You were out the door immediately, shaking uncontrollably, crumbling against the bar’s side wall. It took a couple attempts for you to finally light the cigarette between your trembling fingers, but before you could take your first drag, you heard him speak.

“You really shouldn’t smoke.” His voice was like sweet cream, rich and soft. Your gaze went up to meet familiar kind, dishonest eyes. “You’ve always had such pretty skin. I’d hate to see you ruin it.”

“M-Midoriya,” you whispered, tone flat, voice hoarse. He crouched down beside you and brushed some of the hair in your face back and behind your hair. It was such a small gesture, but you felt completely violated.

“Hi, bunny,” not-Midoriya said, “It’s good to see you.”

You shook your head, because his appearance was absolutely uncanny. This man was Izuku Midoriya, only there was no possible way that could be true.

Midoriya seemed content by your befuddlement. You were sure he was enjoying this new life, eating up all the attention he’d gotten since his return, but he didn’t have you to torture. The real Midoriya could never live without filling you up with unease.

He eyed the cigarette burning between your fingers and clicked his tongue. “You’re shivering,” he mused, taking the cigarette out of your hand. He smiled faintly at its cherry, took a long drag, and put it out against the brick wall. Then, he clasped his hands over yours. “Do you know how much I’ve missed you?”

“Don’t-!”

His touch lingered like it always used to. He hummed and brushed his thumb down the palm of your hand, gazing up at you through too-long lashes. “I’ve missed that face you’re making too.”

You had to remind yourself that it wasn’t him. It couldn’t possibly be him. You knew better. You knew what happened. It wasn’t him.

“I know what you’re thinking.” Midoriya flashed a wide, pearly-white smile and brought your hand up to his cheek. He was warm from his blushing. He’d always been so warm. He closed his eyes and pushed your hands down to his neck—the last place you’d touched him when he was alive. “But you should know,” he whispered darkly, “nothing will ever keep me from my bunny for too long.”

“No,” you croaked, pulling your hand back. This wasn’t real. He was supposed to be gone. You were supposed to be free.

“Yes,” he crooned, eyes opened and gleaming with delight..

It couldn’t be him. It could never be him. Izuku Midoriya was gone, and this man was a fraud. You were sure of it. He could look, sound, and feel like him, but there was a zero percent possibility that he had returned.

You would know. You burned his body after you killed him.

TAGS FOR EVERYTHING(CLOSED): @ayeputita @yandere-inamorata @dee-madwriter @unboundbnha @rizamendoza1987 , @rubycubix @smbody-stole-mycar-radio @zellllyyyy @sarcastictextstuck @kpanime @lemonlordleah-shinzawa-kitten @captain-sin-allmight-queen @psionicsnow @wickedlewicked @ghost-of-todoroki @kattariapenn @im-an-adult-sometimes @bnhya @local-senpai @eggpienutbuttercroissant @usernamekate94 @reyvenclaww @hi-ho-and-hello 

#bnha x reader #midoriya x reader #yandere!midoriya #yandere bnha #bnha yandere #yandere x reader #yandere male #tw creepy #izuku x reader #bnha reader insert #reader insert #x reader #deku x reader

[guudak]

andante, andante

pairing: jungkook / oc genre + tags: college au, f2l, alcohol, pining word count: 7,522 The aftermath of your best friend singing that ABBA song, clumsily flirting with you and then drunkenly professing his love to you multiple times in the same night.

“Is he ok? Namjoon, what’s he doing?” 

“He’s severely hungover,” he explains to you, propping an arm on the windowsill. His hand gestures. “This is his remedy.” 

You look out the window again, overseeing the frat’s backyard, and down below at the deck - is the person you sought. The gales shake the trees, you can hear it howl, and not to mention the downpour of rain that had you soaked to the skin through your jeans between your sprint from the bus stop to here. You look back at Namjoon, disbelieved. “What, sitting in a hot tub outside in the middle of a hale storm?”

“Erm, well, not the storm bit. That was just unfortunate. Sitting meditatively in a hot tub though, yeah. He does that a lot, moreso when he has something on his mind.” He peeps a discreet eye at you while you claim a seat on the ledge. Your arms cross, huddling your oversized cardigan over yourself as you glance back at the mop of matted black hair on the deck. Jungkook is sitting very still, laying back, eyes closed and his neck craning upwards towards the gloomy sky. A breath of air expels from your nose when you imagine how cold the rain must be. 

“I really wanted to talk to him in person … I don’t know, do you think I should have waited a few days?” You turn to Namjoon who shakes his head. 

“It’s good you came here. I think it would have left him to assume the worst and overthink otherwise, and you know what he’s like - better to confront him sooner than later. He’s been in a kind of sad, mopey daze since this morning.”

Your lips purse together as you mull this over. “I don’t necessarily want to confront him about it now, not if he doesn’t want to yet. I just want to see him and … make sure he’s ok. Because you know, that … overthinking thing he does.”

The upward lift of Namjoon’s lips is soft, the same kind of softness that’s perceptible in his eyes. The look reminds you of Jungkook’s own gentle demeanour. “I think seeing you here will disorient him a litte, but I think deep down he’ll be relieved. ” 

He invites you to sit in the warmth of the lounge downstairs while you wait. The house of Beta Tau Sigma is cosy, and your favourite visits are always during the winter period when they’d decorate the interior, reminding you very much of the setting of a classic Christmas movie. Alas, however, it isn’t winter, and there are still strewn cups around and a broken lamp on the table in front of you; consequence of the party they hosted the previous night.

You’re surprised Jungkook remembers. He’d been so far-gone yesterday, yet you woke up this morning to four successive texts from him -

i’m sorry

im so so sorry.

can we talk

please

You’d thought over a tactful reply; taking into mind Jungkook: despite the calm, rational front he has - is emotional, an individual with a soul as sensitive as they come. You had to be careful with what you said, but soon after aborted all efforts when you’d found yourself backspacing each time. You prefer face-to-face conversation, and for something like this - you couldn’t possibly venture any other approach that would be befitting. For anyone else, perhaps. But Jungkook isn’t just someone else. He’s your best friend.

You check the text in reply that you’d left for him from two hours ago, which is still left unread.

 hi jungkook i’d love to talk

are u ok

Sleeping it over had dulled the shock from the night before, as hearing it from him had been a double whammy for both your head and heart. You hadn’t known what to think, hadn’t known what to say.

In his tastefully tipsy state he’d been very happy. The chirpy go-lucky sort of happy that made you coo. Tipsy Jungkook is sweet and endearing, more affectionate and made it his mission to pull you with him to the karaoke machine. You’d been friends with him long enough to know that he could sing. He’s a soft singer; has a voice that could be lullaby to late sleepy evenings, it’s one you’d heard snippets of because he did it without conscious thought; he hummed in the car, while waiting in line - one of his many mannerisms that makes clear when he’s in his head.

“ABBA? Good choice,” you’d commented, after he jabbed the numbers on the remote. He budged over so you could sit beside him on the armchair. So cramped and close that you moved to drape your leg over one of his, and he welcomed it. “Not their most popular song, but definitely one of their most soulful. That’s a good one, it’s one of my favourites,” and then he stilled. 

At the cease of his movements, you’d found your spine straightening just slightly, as if on guard, but for what you hadn’t been sure. You were about to ask him if he was ok, only to be taking the brunt of his bright puppy eyes that smile at you.

“Me too,” he’d said, with that characteristic gentleness shining in his orbs. 

A few hours later, he’d morphed from sweet boy-next-door with the angel voice to himbo football jock slash and quote “pussy-whisperer,” courtesy and words verbatim of Park Jimin, who vibed with Jock Jungkook like a long lost brother. 

The amount of girls that suddenly flocked to him and sat on his lap had you reeling in hysterics to the extent that you had to bury your face in Hoseok’s shoulder. Even when Jungkook’s on the football team, you’d never thought of him once as a jock. Didn’t they say all jocks are athletes, but not all athletes are jocks? He’d never lived up to the greasy college stereotype. Turned out maybe some alcohol was missing in the mix. Was this what you were missing? Who knew he had it in him?

“How many have you had, man?” Hoseok had asked, and Jungkook grinned, mouth lop-sided, before then thwacking him solidly on the back. 

“I’m good, thanks for asking, man.” 

“That wasn’t what I - ok,” Hoseok winced, clutching at his shoulder blade, and exchanging a bemused look at you. 

You were alert to the sliding gaze of Jungkook on you. He slid into the chair close beside you, and you propped your elbow onto the counter. Head resting in your palm, you’d anticipated it.

“Hey, cutie.”

And there it was.

Your mouth twitched during your attempt to stifle your laugh, but you were eager to play along. You straightened, not shy to look him direct in the eyes, even when his own wandered to your midriff. “Hey.”

A moment’s pause, before he let out a wistful sigh. 

“Holy shit, I love your boobs.”

Hoseok spat into his cup, a succession of coughs after.

“No, I’m just saying, from a non-biased, impersonal point of view …” He made a vague, rounded motion in the air with his hands, “- they’re really nice. I’m saying this objectively.”

“Objectively,” Hoseok wheezed. You aimed a calculated kick at his ankle.

“Thanks! They’re not much but they’re cute, I grew them all by myself.”

Jungkook hummed in acknowledgement, a critical eye on you and his head bobbing solemnly. “You did a good job.”

“Oh my God,” Hoseok was crying; head ducked, full-blown tears of laughter, ears pink and slapping the countertop. “I’m not drunk enough for this.”

“Yours are pretty neat, too,” you told him. 

He looked down at the outline of his chest. “You think so? I’ve been working out but they could do with a bit more volume.” 

Hoseok was doubling over, desperate to leave but at the same time rooted to the spot, thumping his chest to stop himself from choking. “I can’t take this anymore. I’m gonna die if I stay any longer. See you, guys.”

He left, leaving you alone with Jungkook and a few others in the kitchen. “You alright?” you asked, and he nodded again, smiling tiredly and head lolling a little to the side.

“Did you like the song I sang for you earlier?” 

“You sang it for me? How sweet of you,” you cooed, cuddling up to his side. “You know, if you wanted to touch my boobs, if you asked I think I’d be ok with that.”

He seemed hesitant. “You’re bullshitting.” 

“Ok, maybe I am a little,” you chuckled, feeling the rumble resonating from his chest. 

“Seriously,” he murmured, and for a millisecond, you swore you detected the tone of the Jungkook - not this Jungkook who was a confident force, but the one you were most familiar with, “I think I’d -”

Jimin’s voice boomed above the stereo, “Jungkook! It’s your turn! Get your ass back here!”

A heavy sigh was drawn out from him as he slid his chair back. Though, he waited for you to lift your head from his chest before doing so. 

“See you.” He winked at you before following Jimin’s ongoing calls. Though, more of a wink and a half. He never could wink properly with just one eye, both had to be involved.

Then came the finale.

The most recent drunken Jungkook phase - one you’d never witnessed beforehand. If there was anything you could have concluded, it was that beyond his sober level-headed exterior, he must have a lot of pent up anger. Jungkook in drunken phase three transitioned between a three colour spectrum of moods and you’d barely caught up. 

Exhibit one -

“The ocean is so important!” he cried, literally cried as he began bumbling about blue whales and the sheer plastic in the ocean, morosed how the first piece of plastic ever produced still hadn’t decomposed. 

It was no help that Namjoon enthusiastically joined in - the fucking nerds, until Jungkook started bawling and knocked back the salt shaker on the countertop mistaking it for a shot of tequila. 

You’d panicked and dragged him to the nearest bathroom to wash it out of his eyes. The seconds that followed afterwards, was you rubbing his back while he sobbed and puked the hearty contents of his stomach into the toilet.

Exhibit two - 

“If any dude is giving you a hard time, chances are - you’re hotter than them. And on top of that, they made you cry, making you a better person than them!” he proclaimed. Once you’d helped him clean up, he’d bumped into Ola - a girl you recalled was in his media class, and was crying outside of the door of the bathroom you and Jungkook had been in. 

She’d sniffled her way through a story about a boy she’d been talking to for six months, and Jungkook was as revved up as his ocean speech while he pep-talked her about how heartless the guy was; that he gave good guys a bad rep; and that she simply deserved better. Of course, you’d agreed with him. It sounded all too familiar to something you’d said in the past, though who could blame him for adopting your mannerism of speech when he’d spent so much time with you?

Exhibit three -

“Hey, Chad! Why the fuck do you hate poor people?!”

You were mortified. “Jungkook! Literally, where did you get that conclusion from?!” 

“He plays lacrosse and owns a golf cart!”

You groaned, yanking at his arm away from Chad - captain of the boys’ lacrosse team, and who’d also fortunately passed out on the couch, otherwise Jungkook for sure would have had his face beat in. Though, you’d like to think that Jungkook would win, for sure, but you promised sober Jungkook that you’d take care of drunk Jungkook. 

So that was that. 

By now you’d contracted a stress-induced migraine, by which your own best friend was accountable for. And you thought - by God, did he have to deal with this every time you went to a party together while you’d run rampant? This had been an eye-opener, and you should definitely be considerate next time because drunk people were babies, and not in the cute way either.

And finally: exhibit four.

“Hey.” 

You endured all the pet names, had endured being called the Apple of his Eye, Angel Face, and his Compass Star, because flirty Jungkook had been throwing pet names around all night. You’d seen and heard it yourself. But nothing would have prepared you for what he’d say next. 

You glanced at him, just a second to look away from your phone screen. “Yeah?” 

His eyes drooped, form slouched, and head atop his folded arms on the countertop. It was just after midnight, and the kitchen was a quiet lull, besides you and Jungkook who were sitting together; and then there was Jimin and Taehyung, and Seokjin by the sink in their own private conversation … and whatever it was that Taehyung was doing. Admittedly you hadn’t been paying much heed nor did you endeavour to find out.

Body curling into himself; Jungkook looked so much smaller than when he stood to his full stature. 

“I’ve got it bad,” he mumbled, wistfully, “real bad. So bad - I’m doomed bad. End of the fucking world baaad.”

Your hands rubbed at his nape, tender fingers toying with the longer hairs there. He’d been growing it out, and he looked good. You tucked a tuft of hair behind his ear. “What makes you think that?” 

Again - the glossy puppy eyes that gazed up, contemplating you like you’d fallen from heaven. 

His smile was meek, as shy as the drawling voice that spoke, “I … I really think you’re my soulmate. I don’t like saying it too much but I … like, love love you, but we’re only best friends. Someday you’ll date for real - instead of flings, I’d have to accept it. I don’t think I’ll be ok, but I will be, jus’ will take time to get over you. Have done it a few times before. I’ll be ok.” 

Your hand stilled, fingers still tangled in his locks. 

Rendered motionless, like air had been punched out of you from the stomach, unable to bring yourself to salvage the words. Breathless, all you could bring yourself to do was to weakly call his name. 

He hadn’t heard you, and he yawned, leaning into your touch. His body trembled with his giggles. “One time, you were sooo drunk. You were so drunk, don’t think you remembered - blacked out. You flirted with me that whole evening. After that … after that I became obsessed with you forever.”

It was with a sinking stomach when you’d realised that you couldn’t recall that night at all. 

Gulping, you peered down at the mop of tangled hair on the countertop, wishing for nothing else but to properly see his face, but it was half-hidden where he’d snuggled into his arms. 

“Jungkook?” you whispered, gently moving away the hair that flopped over his eyes. “Jungkook?’

No reply. Just steady, heavy breathing.

No reply, because he’d fallen asleep.

It’s a splitting headache that rouses Jungkook from heavy sleep. One of those slumbers where he wakes up groggy, as if he hasn’t rested at all despite it being hours since. He tries to get up, but to no avail. His limbs are leaden heavy, and he collapses back onto his bed within seconds of mustering the strength to hoist himself up.

There are a series of knocks on the door but what’s the point of knocking when Jimin barges in anyway. He snickers seeing Jungkook: a sad, spectacular heap on the bed with a bitching hangover to boot.

“Oh, how the mighty have fallen.” 

“Shut up,” Jungkook drawls, barely recognising the cadence of his own voice. He throws an arm over his face, brow tightening as he shuts his eyes to recall anything that happened hours prior, but even that’s too much of a Herculean effort that his brain isn’t willing to commit to at nine in the morning. Hangovers are not worth the night before for this - this is a different kind of hell. 

Jimin places a glass and a jug of water on his bedside table. “Good morning to you too, sunshine.” 

“Thanks,” he replies. He at least has enough strength to reach for the glass. When he sits up a hand goes instantly to knock against his temple, as if it would stop whatever invisible vice it is that’s squeezing and hammering at his brain from all directions. He notices Jimin’s narrowing scrutiny on him. 

“You remember anything from yesterday?”

“Honestly, not really. Just some bits here and there.” 

“Blacked out, huh.” If Jimin hesitated it’s only for a split second, he stuffs a hand into his hoodie pocket for his phone. “There’s something I wanna show you. Not sure if you’re gonna like it much.”

“Can’t be that bad,” he says, but Jimin proffers a look, and Jungkook frowns. “... Right?”

Jimin licks his teeth in a way that makes Jungkook’s stomach drop just slightly.

“Famous last words, bud,” is all he replies.

 /

The slide of the back doors from the kitchen is what jerks your head up, followed by the sound of feet pattering on tiles. Suddenly, there’s a rise of anxiousness. Until you drum into your head that, no , this is nothing for you to be anxious about. There are the natural nerves budding that stem from confrontation, and you think this may be it.

Towel around his shoulders and dampened hair swept back, Jungkook doesn’t notice you at first when he appears by the doorway. He walks, gazes ahead like his legs are functioning on autopilot - but when he does notice you, he could have skidded. The way he halts and how his body almost springs backwards into the kitchen as soon as he sees your form huddled on one end of the couch, and how Basil - the frat’s cat, is curled by your lap, peacefully asleep and indulging in the soft stroke of your knuckles on his head. 

His expression mirrors a man who wants so desperately to sink into the floorboards. Or to dash back into the hale storm and fully immerse himself head to toe into the hot tub’s waters and never surface again.

The first few seconds of silence is heavy. As if you’re both still trying to process the presence of the other. It’s an uncomfortable silence you’re not accustomed to when with Jungkook. He’s always leaned more to the quiet side of the spectrum; introverted, introspective. But silences had always been comfortable, even when you two clashed. 

You endeavour for eye contact but he’s suddenly so transfixed on a shadow upon the wood flooring. 

“Hey,” you begin, quietly, like the walls are listening in on you. It’s enough gentle encouragement for him to peer up. He hides his hangover well but the mirth, the glint; the starry eyedness that reflected in his orbs from the night before is absent, and no amount of hot tub therapy could conceal the physical and mental exhaustion. 

“Hey.” He sounds almost breathless, smothers the tremor in his voice with a cough. “You’re … you’re soaked.”

“So are you.” Your tone is apologetic, “Sorry I came on short notice, I messaged you but I don’t think you saw it.”

He winces. “Right - sorry. My phone died. Haven’t checked it since.”

You muster a small smile. “I thought as much.” 

Another breath. Another nervous lilt in his voice. “I’m sorry. Not just the phone thing but everything I said to you last night.” 

You sigh. “Don’t be. It’s just … I’m surprised you remember what you said.”

He takes a breath, bicep flexing when he rubs anxiously at his nape. “I don’t,” he admits. “Jimin told me. It’s in this video he took last night of Taehyung eating cake off the floor, you could hear my voice in the background.” 

“Ah. That explains it.” Your lips pursed. “Did you mean what you said?”

His eyes round and flash to yours. He chews his lip, throws a glance at his feet. “... Yeah,” he whispers. 

“Not just the alcohol talking?”

“No.”

You’re quiet, continuing to stroke Basil who’s still fast asleep beside you.

“Sor—“

“Stop apologising,” you snap. You didn’t mean to, but his shoulders tense, and it makes you wallow in guilt that only he out of everyone has been able to make you feel. You haven’t thought this through and now you’re here you’re saying all the wrong things and asking all the wrong questions. But you remember it’s him, and recollect yourself. “Jungkook - it’s just … it’s just a lot to unpack.” 

You peer up, his nod is slow, but he gets it.

He’s tired, you see it clear as day. See it in the trudge of his walk, the dim in his eyes, and neither of you talk on the way up. Not until you reach his room. 

Despite your protests, he insists you help yourself to his draws for a spare change of dry clothes. It’s with that thought when you realise you still have yet to return several shirts to him with the promise of them all being washed and folded; washed and folded they are, but you never have been great at remembering to give them back. Putting it into perspective - maybe it is a little weird. Weird for two people who fall under the label of best friends. But then again you borrowed clothes from your own roommates all the time to the point you sometimes forgot whose is whose. It isn’t weird. Right? 

While Jungkook goes for a brisk shower, you peel off your soaked clothes, hang them over a spot on his clothes rack. His room is mostly devoid of personal touch, though there are a few photos of his high school football days and some of him and his friends pinned to a board. Otherwise, he’s never had much interest for interior decoration, but he likes his room clean and uncluttered. 

There’s a knock on the door a few minutes later. “Are you …?”

“Yeah,” you say. “I’m done.”

The door cracks open, and Jungkook appears, adorned in another change of clothes. His hair is still damp, fluffed at the patches that have managed to dry and his cheeks are pink from the heat of the shower, but he’s less rugged than earlier. Still tired, though. So tired that you don’t question it when he makes a beeline for his unmade bed and collapses face-first into his pillow. You perch on the edge, pulling his duvet over him. 

He wriggles closer to the wall, like he’s making more room for you to sit. You appreciate the gesture and shuffle closer. Outside, the wind still howls.

“You should dry your hair properly,” you murmur, fingers at the damp ends of his nape. 

“Yeah … prob’ly should,” he sighs, muffled where his mouth is buried in his pillow.

You came here to talk about yesterday night, but maybe it’s a conversation for another time. You out of everyone should know how strenuous it is to have a heart-to-heart while being victim to a hangover that gives you the same capacity as someone half-dead. 

You’re staring blankly at the wall, so occupied with the whistle of the winds, so lost in the strands between your fingertips - that when you peer down you’re met with half-open shining eyes, and a lazy blinking gaze directed upwards at your face.

“Yes?” 

“Nothing,” he murmurs, like clockwork, and buries half his face again into the plush of his pillow. It’s enough time for you to catch the shy tilt of his lips before they hid again. It’s almost ironic, how you’re the one next to him while he nurses a hangover when it’s always been the other way round. Here, he’s so vulnerable. Your mind wanders to the possibility - what if it was the other way around? An alternate universe where it was you who serenaded Jungkook with karaoke and confessed. 

In whatever reality, you imagine him to confront you in the way you did now. Perhaps approached it a little differently, would perhaps be a little gentler, but he would never give you the cold shoulder.

For now, you both pretend there’s been no drunken confession. Best friends, like how it’s always been, and you’ll discuss it all when the time comes.

At some point you’re lowering yourself next to him; your head on the same pillow, and your bodies beneath the same blanket. He’s warm. 

And it’s peaceful, as comfortable as it always has been. 

/ 

“Oh my God, where the hell’s your shirt? I haven’t seen you swim once so far,” you scoff, and Hoseok pulls a sour face.

“You’re talking big for being the one in the string bikini.”

You look at him in disbelief. “Yeah, but I actually used the pool?”

“Scooch over, babe.”

Your eyes roll skyward as he plops beside you on the loveseat. It’s another weekend, another frat, another party, another excuse for Hoseok to walk around without a shirt because there’s a pool. Correction: a further excuse for hoards of frat boys to walk around without a shirt, but at this point you’re desensitised to it.

The music booms, a dull vibration you feel through the ground. 

Kappa Omega is infamous for their extravagant parties (at least, as extravagant as college parties can go). Compared to others it’s vastly over-the-top, with most of the guys getting in through connections just like how their college applications got past admissions, but it is what it is. They’re not all bad people, they hold parties for fundraisers but sometimes it can’t be helped not to feel sour when you see what they blow their money on. The Kappa Omega mansion is so big that you’d spent a good portion of the beginning of the night lost.

“Lucky bastards,” Hoseok mutters. He’s said that several times this evening. He’s only here for the booze and the cheese tray. He pops open another beer, chucks the bottle opener onto the low table in front of him, besides the cheese tray he stole from the kitchen. “Which frat party was it again when you blacked out and dived into the pool fully clothed? I can’t remember anymore.” 

“We don’t talk about that, thanks,” you utter, wrapping your long cardigan tighter around your torso. “Have you by chance seen Jungkook around? I thought he’d be here by now.”

He looks up, mid-way from tipping back his beer. “Yeah, I saw him some time ago.”

“What, where?”

“Sat with some food by himself somewhere.” His arm gestures vaguely. “He looked a little sad. You know, in signature Jungkook fashion, you know how he gets sometimes.” 

Your form slumps. “Right,” you murmur. It’s been over two weeks since the last time you saw him. Not that it’s unprecedented. He has football among other commitments that strung him away for days and sometimes weeks at a time, and you had your own as well.

Be that as it may, somehow it feels like the both of you are drawing the whole thing out. Not purposely, but definitely unnecessarily. Neither of you brought it up in your messages to each other either, and it hit you recently that, well - you miss him. You’ve seen him around campus, but never for too long. Nothing more than fleeting sightings of him and his disheveled hair in a half-pony while he rushes to class after football practice; a hand usually holding onto a snack while the other held onto the strap of his half-open duffel bag, but you only had time to exchange a wave and a look that held promise of your next meeting. The fact remains that you miss your best friend, and it would kill you for your friendship to be awkward because of what happened. You had every intention to talk to him tonight in person, and no dallying or delays this time.

Hoseok’s eyes squint your way. “What’s going on between you guys, anyway. You guys a thing or what?”

You sigh, “That’s the thing, I have no idea yet.” 

“Yet.” His lips purse, contemplating you. “He really likes you, you know. So, like, go easy on him.”

Your eyes narrow. “How long have you known, then?”

“As if it was hard,” he scoffs, sitting back. “Guy wears his heart on his sleeve. You have to be thick as a brick not to notice.”

“Wow. Thanks,” you deadpan.

He stabs his fork into the blue cheese. “You know why him and Yerim broke up?” 

“Oh no,” you morose, frowning, “don’t tell me it was because of me. I talked to her after they broke it off and she said it wasn’t.”

“Not entirely. But I think she was bending the truth a little so that you wouldn’t berate Jungkook about it. She’s a cool girl, really nice and a good sport. Knew you two were close and accepted that like a champ. But -” and he pauses for emphasis. A pause which is seconds too long, and then finally he puts his fork down, clutches one of your hands in both of his, and waits for you until you’re hanging on to his every breath while he chews and swallows the remaining in his mouth. He resumes, brightly, “it’s not my story to tell. So you better go and find him.”

You shove him. Harder this time - enough that he topples over, and he cackles obnoxiously. 

“Prick,” you laugh, but rise to your feet. Your gaze spans the backyard, the pool. You spot a hot tub, but it’s filled with other students who are laughing and raucous. 

“Ok, I’m going,” you announce, glancing at Hoseok who’s still very much captivated by the cheese tray before him. It does look really good. “See you in a bit.”

“Yeah, yeah, bye.”

 /

The problem with knowing so many people, and having the same friends as those people - is that in situations where you try to pull yourself away from yet another drinking game you’re taken by the elbow by someone else. Having all of your mutual friends congregated in one domain that is the Kappa Omega House has made your search for the ever-elusive Jeon Jungkook a grand Pain in the Ass. He’s like gold dust. You’ve texted him but you’ve yet to receive a reply.

“Hey, have you seen Jungkook?”

“I saw him at the front porch a few minutes ago?”

“... Seriously? I’ve literally just been there.”

You even scrambled over a balcony and leaped over a hedge when you tried to get away from Chad’s third invitation to join the game of chicken fight in the pool (a parkour stunt that you like to think would put Peter Parker to shame). You give yourself a quiet moment to catch your breath. 

It’s then you realise you’re in a part of the backyard you swear you haven’t been in before. You can presuppose why. It’s dimly lit, less people, and the boom of the stereo is still loud, but is more of a distant noise in comparison to the other parts of the house you’ve been in. Like what the hell, how big is this place? 

“Sooo, you’ve found him yet or what?”

You hear the voice before you see the face. 

Unbelievable. So you cross paths with shirtless Hoseok for the third time and yet haven’t so much as had a hair’s glimpse of Jungkook. 

“Nope,” you reply, quite miserably, hands stuffing into your cardigan’s large pockets. You feel for your phone. He still hasn’t seen your message. At this point you’re one teetering step away from letting go of the remaining wisps of your dignity and yell his name through a megaphone with a hope he'll come to you instead … you’ve probably done that while drunk before but you’re nowhere near tipsy now, and that’s besides the point. 

Behind you, Hoseok hums, quite serene. When you look back you see he’s lowered his back onto the grass, his eyelids shut.

Eyes scanning this part of the backyard, it’s a different ambience to the atmosphere by the pool. More relaxed. There are students either sat or lying on the grass in small groups, their conversations a low murmur with the occasional twinkling sound of someone’s laughter rising above it. There’s a slabbed stone pathway that leads further up the grass, which then disappears behind a tall row of hedges, and with that you find yourself on your feet again. 

“As much as it pains me to leave, there’s only so much of you I can take in one evening before I go crazy,” you tell Hoseok, who’s unbothered reply is no more than a lazy thumbs up from his spot on the grass.

It gets darker the further away you are from the house, but you’re led by the quiet warm-white glow of the lawn lights that highlight the path. It calms your mind to a lull that puts you at peace, something you desperately sought after your hopeless goose-chase just minutes prior. 

The waters of a hot tub glow blue up ahead. You skid to a stop when you come closer and see someone’s in there; shoulders immersed and their head just above the water’s surface. What’s the phrase? When you stop looking for something, it finds you? That’s probably not how it goes, but it doesn’t matter. After futile searching, hedge jumping and greasy frat boy dodging, you finally found him. Of course he’d be in a place like this.

His eyes are dazed, mesmerised by the ripples in the water that his smallest movements create. He hasn’t yet noticed you coming.

You pad closer. “... Jungkook?” and like a switch, his spine straightens, goes rigid as a ramrod at your voice. He’s blinking, head shaking side to side as if to snap himself out of the trance that clouds his head. 

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” you exasperate.

He blinks. “You … you have?”

You scoff, amused at the way his brows knit. “Yeah,” you sigh, stopping so your forearms can lean on the sides of the tub. “May I join you?”

After a beat of hesitation - “Of course you can.” 

You shrug your long oversized cardigan off of your shoulders, and double check that your phone is still in the pocket before you chuck it in a heap on the bench. You secure your footing on the step, eyes intercepting his own. His Adam's apple bobs when the rest of your body comes into view, and you shiver at the breeze but warmth engulfs you the second you’re in contact with the bubbling water.  

“Feels good?” he asks, and you sigh contentedly, leaning back.

“Yeah.” If you really wanted to, you could fall asleep right here, right now. “What is it with you and hot tubs? Always knew you had a thing for them but never asked specifically why. Or does it just feel good?”

“Mainly that. The guys on my team use the excuse that it breaks up the lactic acid in your muscles after training, but it just feels good when you’re sore.” 

“Huh.” When you crack an eye open, he’s already looking at you. 

His lips purse. “Did you want to talk?” and when you nod he sighs, wearily. “I wanted to, honestly. But I … I guess I never felt ready to hear what you’re going to say.”

You frown. “What do you think I’m going to say?” 

“I don’t know. That you don’t feel that way about me, which I’m fine with. I was never meant to let it slip, but I ended up saying all the things I didn’t want you to hear yet. And while I was drunk, of all things.” 

You consider this, broach your tone carefully. “Were you ever going to tell me?” 

His eyes avert to the water. “... Eventually. It would have been after graduation. No step three beyond telling you, no secret ploy to get you to fall in love with me, I only would have wanted you to know how I felt. I’d leave you alone and we’d finally move on with our lives. And what better timing than after graduation? But that’s not how it turned out, did it?” He laughs, but it’s with rueful discomfort.

“How long?”

He exhales. “A while.”

“I see.” You think hard for a second. “Even when you were with Yerim?”

He gnaws on his bottom lip, but you can tell he’s honest when he replies with, “Yeah. But I never pretended she was you.”

“Of course you didn’t, you’re not that type of person.”

At last, he does smile at that, and seeing the tilt of his mouth settles a warmth in your heart.

Part of you wants to ask what happened between him and Yerim, but you think perhaps it’s for the best you don’t know, at least now. It’s not your business nor his obligation to tell you.

Before you could dwell too much on your oncoming words, you continue barging forward or you’ll chicken out from what you’re going to say next.

“Jungkook,” you begin. “What if I said yes?”

A pause. 

“What do you mean?”

“If you asked me out, and I said yes.”

He’s so bewildered he looks as if he’s just been slapped. Suddenly, something more serious shadows his features. “You know I’d never want you to date me just because. I’m fine with rejection, seriously, I’ll get over it. But I don’t want you to settle for less than what you want. You deserve someone you want, and if I’m not that person, that’s fine. You deserve -”

“Last time I checked, you don’t get a say on what it is that I do and don’t deserve. Who I deserve is for me to decide, so stop cutting yourself so short because you’re more decent than most of the guys I know.”

He shifts, looks away. “So what are you saying?”

“Should we try it?”

“What if it doesn’t work out?”

“Then it doesn’t work out,” you say, simply.

“But then it’ll be awkward.”

“You telling me that you became obsessed with me after I flirted with you for one evening while I was drunk already made it awkward. Not like we have anything else to lose.”

A breath of air expels from his nose in a chuckle. “Oh, ouch.”

“Jungkook,” you sigh. “It’s so easy to be around you. If it doesn’t work out, then it doesn’t work out, but how are we supposed to know how it’s going to turn out if we don’t even give it a chance? It’s going to be awkward either way but we’ll figure it out. Like with all the other crap we’ve gone through. I’ve been with enough guys to know that guys like you come far and few between, I trust you enough to want to do this. You’re one of those few guys I know I can trust, alongside Hoseok. Even though he can be a real bitch sometimes.”

Jungkook doesn’t rebuke you, but he laughs. It’s a sound you’ve never been more relieved to hear. 

“So what do you think? I don’t want to force you into it. If you don’t want this, I’m fine with it. If you do, I’m fine with that too. Everything on my end is fine, so what about yours?”

If him confessing happened a year, or maybe two years earlier, you don’t think you would have confronted it in the way that you’d done now. You understand why Jungkook wanted to bide his time. You’re stubborn, fiery, and don’t think things through in the way that Jungkook does. If this happened two years ago, you can imagine you’d have yelled at him on impulse, asking him why, why he let it happen.

But there’s a very particular fondness you’ve honed for your best friend that has unfurled in the years of your friendship, to the point you couldn’t possibly imagine yourself putting blame on him for his feelings. It seems being friends with him has really mellowed you. While Hoseok is the friend you’re most similar to, your other pea-in-the-pod, Jungkook is the friend who balances you out. Someone so different to you, yet someone who still knows what makes you tick.

He’s a friend who doesn’t judge, but yet is always first to call you out whenever you’re out of line. A friend who waits until you’re inside of your dorm building before driving away. The type of guy who pays for dinner and doesn’t expect you to pay him back. A friend who makes sure you’re back home safely when you’re drunk, puts a glass of water next to you and watches over you to make sure you don’t choke on your vomit in your sleep.

Finally, after careful consideration, he nods. He nods, finally.

“So we’re doing this then.” You crack a smile, and he finds it difficult to suppress his own.

“Yeah,” he whispers. “Yeah, I guess we are.”

With an unchanging temper, as still and as serene as waters below the turbulent surface - Jungkook is your anchor, he always has been. The anchor that tethers your feet to the earth when the elements threaten to topple you over.

In the blue glow, you shuffle closer forward on your knees. 

“Can I kiss you?” you murmur, and he chokes on his saliva, spluttering. You smile sheepishly. “Sorry it’s weird, you don’t have to let me if that’s going too fast. I just … I want to see what it feels like.” 

He hesitates. “Are you sure?”

“Pretty sure.”

He mulls it over, but it doesn’t take much thinking. He stares at you, hard. But then you disrupt the stillness with a disarming smile, and unable to resist, he beckons you over. “Come here.”

It’s odd to straddle his lap at first. In the same way it is when you’re getting on a bike for the first time or any kind of first. He doesn’t make any first move, it’s you who he waits to initiate. 

The path of your fingers trail slowly upwards, until they’re splayed against his chest. They remain there, and you detect the quick pattering of his heart, the rise of his chest. His breaths are deep but they’re controlled, and he feels sturdy beneath you. 

Jungkook is stupid handsome, with the body to match. But that’s not what swells your heart. It’s not what pushes you to move further forward in his lap and finally press your mouth to the seam of his lips before you could think twice.

It’s how tenderly he gazes up at you. With the same sincerity and adoration he’d shown the night he’d confessed drunk. His eyes, an opening to his soul which is a whole other wonder. 

When was the last time someone looked at you like that? 

The kiss is soft. No sparks, no butterflies on your end - not yet, but somehow it still feels right. Like missing pieces that have finally fallen into place. Warmth and love spills from him. It saturates your body to the very tips of your ears, all the way down to your toes, like a slow, spreading glow. It feels good.

When shy pecks don’t become enough anymore, you get needy, touching and grasping for more of him. His palms press against your lower back, massaging the skin there, and eventually your mouth parts pliant for him. 

“Oh,” he croaks, his head leaning forward so his cheek brushes yours. You can’t see his eyes, and you attempt to move but he curtains the planes of his face with his hair. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask, having to strain to catch his whisper. 

“I’m embarrassed.”

You chuckle, warmth spreading from the spot on your ear that his lips hover over. “How come?”

“Like, there are probably bricks softer than my dick right now. And … I really, really don’t wanna jizz my pants in a Kappa Omega hot tub. I would have hit my lowest point in life if I do.” 

“Oh my God.” You’re almost crying, shoulders shaking with how hard you’re laughing. 

“Please, I’m so serious right now. I’d never be able to redeem myself.”

“Would jizzing in an obscenely expensive hot tub be so bad?”

“Yes,” he emphasises. “Really bad, actually. Have you heard of that guy who ejaculated in a swimming pool and accidentally got twenty girls pregnant?”

“That sounds like fake news. There’s no way. Sperm aren’t homing torpedoes, Jungkook. They’d be unviable as soon as they’d be in the water. But if you want me to move back, I’ll move back.”

His face is taut, like he’s trying so hard. “Yes, please.” His eyes go stern, but there’s a nervous jitter you feel with the skin beneath your fingertips. “And just because I think it’s worth mentioning, I don’t think we should have sex straight away.” 

“Oh. Right. I see,” you deadpan.

It’s his turn to cackle at the dead-set, disappointed look on your face. “What’s with that?”

Your eyes roll. “You know I’m kidding.” You brush the hair out from his eyes. “Jungkook, will you wait for me?”

His expression softens, and he hoists you until you’re pressed impossibly closer.

“Of course I will. However long it needs to be.”

a/n: when jk says you flirted with me the whole night and i became obsessed w you forever, yea that was from b99

originally posted on ao3! thx for reading!!! <33 

#jungkook scenarios #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fluff #jungkook imagine #jungkook x reader

[simplybakugou]

Zapped

↝ Notorious for his usual happy-go-lucky and goofy personality, you’re stuck with having to look after Kaminari’s new change in ego after he was hit with a villain’s quirk.

BINGO SPACE: Mean x Nice

⋆ PAIRING: prohero!kaminari x prohero!reader ⋆ WARNINGS/TAGS: swearing; fluff ⋆ WORD COUNT: 2245

A/N: another @bnhabookclub​ fic. i initially was going to write this as kaminari being mean to reader but i genuinely can’t imagine kaminari being mean like that so i decided to take a different approach to this! thank you to the anon who requested for kaminari for this prompt and this is the last kaminari fic for the bingo event! also the transparent kaminari cap is from the bnha bookclub drive.

also i had no idea how to end this so im sorry if the ending is actual shit omg

FULL BINGO MASTERLIST

✐posted 08.11.2020✐

“Man, I’m so tired,” Sero said with a sigh. “I feel like we’ve been chasing after this guy for hours.”

“That’s ‘cause we have been chasing after him for hours,” Kaminari groaned to his friend. Normally he would’ve been excited to be able to spend time with Sero who he hadn’t hung out with in months due to their jobs keeping them busy but chasing after a villain was not easy nor was it enjoyable. Kaminari started his tiring day with an early morning patrol, roaming around the blocks of Musutafu to keep an eye on any criminal activity. 

For some reason on that particular day Kaminari couldn’t catch a break as he had to reprimand and track down several villains. This time was no different as he was pursuing a man who was attacking bystanders randomly with his peculiar quirk. Kaminari ended up running into Sero on the way and now the two men were working together to take the evildoer down.

“How the hell does this guy keep disappearing so much? Is that his quirk? Invisibility or something?” Sero asked, looking up towards the rooftops of the many buildings surrounding the area.

“No, he’s zapping people or something. All I know is that I kept seeing a weird light when he used his quirk and the people he attacked acted really weird afterwards,” Kaminari informed Sero, peeking through a window of a local clothing store for any sign of the villain. 

“Zapping people? Like how your quirk works?” Sero asked as the two continued to stroll down the path, briefly waving to any bystanders that recognized them as they weren’t able to stop and sign autographs at the moment.

“Yeah but I don’t attack random people with my quirk!” Kaminari exclaimed.

The two heroes turned down the road, reaching a dead end as the area was led to a vacant lot. “I think we should just head back to the station. I don’t see that guy anywhere around here so he must be long gone.”

Kaminari nodded, letting out a sigh. “You’re right.”

Sero said his goodbyes to his friend as the pair split up, walking in opposite directions to their respective agencies. Kaminari was a little bummed out, upset with himself that he managed to lose sight of the villain. Although he wasn’t able to catch the man, at least he was able to leave early and go back home to you, his significant other who he missed so much and whom he wasn’t able to see as often due to his busy job.

Just as he had finally cheered himself up and was on his way back to his agency so he could go home, Kaminari heard Sero yell after him. “Kaminari! I saw the guy run down here!”

Kaminari turned his head around to face Sero who was using his tape arms to propel him through the rooftops. “Really?! You saw him?”

“Yeah he’s somewhere around here. You check out this area, I’ll be down there,” Sero said, pointing to the plaza a few blocks down.

“Got it!” With this information Kaminari continued to scope out the area, once again irritated with having to deal with such a nuisance of a person.

From the corner of his eye he saw a dark figure dashing in the opposite direction and Kaminari didn’t hesitate to run after it, his quirk activating as small yellow sparks arose from his body. He continued to chase after the shadowy figure down the alleyway and they finally reached a dead end.

“You’ve got nowhere to run so why don’t we just make this quick, alright?” Kaminari offered. 

The man whipped his head around, his face covered in a black ski mask as his lips curled up into a devious smirk. “Sorry, but there’s no way I’m letting a little hero catch me.” 

He grabbed a few bags filled with trash that were left on the ground, green light flashing into his hands as he threw the bags at Kaminari, who caught both bags in confusion as to why the villain would throw something so easily catchable. Just as the bags touched his fingertips, Kaminari felt a shiver run down his spine as the green light from earlier crept up from the bags and onto Kaminari’s arms. 

The villain laughed, watching as the green light from his quirk engulfed the pro hero’s entire body. “I’m tired of you heroes playing nice all the time so here’s my way of helping you out.” 

The villain cackled as Kaminari fell to the floor, a pounding sensation attacking his head and causing his temples to ache. Before Kaminari had the chance to recover, the villain ran past him, wanting to escape as fast as he could. 

“What’s going on?” Kaminari grunted as he writhed in pain on the floor, his glasses from his costume strewn on the floor. His heart was racing and he felt like something inside him was bubbling, like someone had stuck a spoon inside him and was stirring up his stomach.

Sero finally turned around the corner, finding Kaminari hunched over on the bare floor and immediately went beside him. “Kaminari!”

Sero hooked his arm around his back, holding Kaminari up from the ground. “Hey, man, are you okay? Did the guy hit you with his quirk?”

Kaminari shook his head, rubbing his temples as the pain finally subsided. He blinked a few times to adjust his vision that had become blurry and he looked over to Sero and shoved him off. “Don’t fucking touch me. Get the fuck off.”

Sero stared at him blankly, completely bewildered by what had just happened. “Huh?”

***

You thanked the receptionist at the front as you quickly sped through the hospital lobby, managing to get into the elevator before a line formed which would force you to take the stairs.

Please be okay, please be okay, please be okay was all that you could keep saying in your mind as you rode up to the fourth floor. Sero had called you, informing you that your boyfriend had been put into the hospital after an encounter with a villain. He didn’t specify if Kaminari had gotten gravely injured, well more like you didn’t give Sero enough time to specify as you immediately hung up and raced over to the hospital after hearing the news.

You got out of the elevator, scanning the different rooms for the room that Kaminari was staying in. Just as you located his room, the door slid open and a doctor exited it. She seemed visibly stressed as she rubbed her temples and looked down at her clipboard.

“Hi, um, I was wondering if this is Kaminari Denki’s room?” You asked the woman.

“Oh, you must be the person Cellophane told me about,” the doctor said, shaking your hand as she briefly introduced herself. “Well, Chargebolt is fine, physically at least.”

You let out a sigh in relief, placing a hand over your chest as you were grateful that he wasn’t hurt. “Is he okay?”

“He was hit with a troublesome quirk by a villain. It seems that the quirk can change a person’s personality as the user saw fit. The villain must have decided to change Chargebolt’s personality completely because at the moment he is being quite… difficult,” the doctor said. “You’re free to take him home now but if you need help getting him out the door, please don’t be afraid to call one of the staff to support you. The quirk’s effects should wear off in an hour.”

You nodded slowly as the doctor patted your shoulder reassuringly as she left to administer another patient. You weren’t too sure about what she was going on about but nevertheless you opened the door to Kaminari’s room, peeking your head in and smiling to see Kaminari sitting up in the hospital bed.

“Denki!” You exclaimed, quickly going over to his side and holding his hand in yours. “I’m so glad you’re okay!”

Kaminari looked down at your hand entwined into his and shoved your grip off him. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

Your face fell as you stared down at your fingers. “Denki?”

“I’m guessing you’re here to get me outta this shithole?” Kaminari asked, raising a blonde brow at you. “Took you fucking long enough to get here.”

You were taken aback by his abrasive behavior, speechless for a moment before you were able to gather yourself together. “R-Right. The doctor said you’re free to leave now.”

“Thank god,” Kaminari muttered, swinging his legs over as he exited the room, not bothering to wait for you or to grab his things.

“Denki, wait!” You called out, grabbing his briefcase with his hero costume. He didn’t even care to change out of his hospital gown as he practically sped down the hall.

You managed to catch up with him and slip inside the elevator before the doors closed in on you. You glanced over at him, staring intently at the frown on his face. You knew you couldn’t take what he would say from now and the next hour to heart as it wasn’t his fault for behaving this way. 

Kaminari looked down at you, irritated that you were staring at him. “What?”

You shook your head, a small smile on your lips. “Nothing. You just look really pretty.”

Kaminari’s eye widened slightly as he blushed, his cheeks adorning a light pink shade. “Whatever, idiot.” He sped out the elevator but you still kept up with him, laughing at the many stares he was receiving. Then again, who wouldn’t stare at the sight of one of the top heroes dashing outside in a hospital gown.

Seeing that he was about to walk straight into incoming traffic, you grabbed Kaminari’s hand, stopping him before he got run over. You tightened your grip on his hand as you practically had to drag him in the other direction towards the parking lot.

“The fuck you think you’re doing?” Kaminari said, his voice filled with annoyance.

“You’re going to get hurt so let’s just get to my car,” you said adamantly, not caring if he didn’t want to listen to you or not.

Kaminari scoffed, attempting to shake off your hold but actually surprised by how strong you were. Eventually he stopped fighting you and let you lead him to your car. Once you located your vehicle, you unlocked it and opened the passenger door for him.

“I don’t need you to open my door for me,” Kaminari grumbled, entering your car anyways.

“I know I don’t; it’s called being nice,” you said, shutting the door as you entered the vehicle through the other side. 

You began driving, making your way towards your shared house with Kaminari. Normally car rides with your boyfriends were enjoyable as you would both scream out your favorite song lyrics or do small things to make each other laugh. 

But this car ride was one of the most stressful experiences you had ever encountered as Kaminari would frequently lean over, slamming his fist over the wheel and honking and cursing at anyone who was driving safely at the right speed limit. You apologized as much as you could through the window, wanting to sink into your seat to recover from the embarrassment you were going through.

Finally you managed to make it home in one piece and you were more than happy to leave your car and go inside. Kaminari trailed behind you, relatively quiet with his hands in his pockets as he immediately beelined for the couch, collapsing on top of it as he sunk his face into the cushions.

You smiled, dropping his briefcase to the side and joining him on the couch. “I’m so fucking exhausted,” Kaminari grumbled.

“Do you want me to cook something?” You offered.

Kaminari scoffed, sitting up as he glared at you. “I don’t give a fuck. I don’t need you to do shit for me.”

“Denki, you can’t even make toast correctly.”

Kaminari glared at you, crossing his arms over his chest. “Fine.”

You chuckled, getting up and whipping up something quick and easy to make as you weren’t a great chef either, even though anyone could be a top tier chef compared to Kaminari. As you were cooking you looked at the clock, relieved that an hour had passed, meaning the quirk’s effects would wear off at any time now.  

As if on cue, Kaminari began coughing from his spot on the couch as the pounding sensation in his head returned. You could see him rubbing his forehead and you went by his side, confused at what was going on. “Denki, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, it’s okay,” Kaminari said, sighing once the painful sensation finally diminished. He opened his eyes, not hesitating to throw his arms around you. “Y/N!”

You were taken aback, still disoriented by what was going on. He pulled away, his hands on his shoulders. “I’m so sorry for treating you like an asshole. I’ll do the dishes for the next week and do whatever you want me to do.”

You laughed, planting a kiss on his cheek. “It’s alright, Denki, I know it wasn’t your fault.”

Kaminari hugged you once more, not letting you go for the rest of the night in compensation for his crude behavior. It was safe to say that he was going to be more careful in the future about being zapped by certain villains...

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