#i need everything to go back to normal and i need everything to be Okay and i need to not be so bored and understimulated | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jkwrites-m · 1 day ago

Text

Daddy Kookie (7)

Pairing: idol!Jungkook x female reader

Genre: childhood lovers to exes to lovers, parents au, smut, angst, fluff

Word Count: 6.3k

Summary: After Jungkook dropped all contact, Y/N was left broken - and pregnant. Seven years later, fate brings them back together.

Warnings: MDNI, Explicit, 18+, heavy angst, smut, fluff, childhood lovers, abandonment, young (teenage) pregnancy, hurt, anger, fighting/yelling, heartbreak, cursing, struggle, co-parenting, growth, stress, exhaustion, fear, apologies, trauma response/PTSD, insecurity, self-worth crisis, press, doxxing, industry manipulation/anger, public backlash, saesangs, stalking, harassment, online hate, almost abduction, jungkook going full rage daddy mode, separation anxiety, explicit: praising, kissing, missionary, oral (f. & m. receiving), unprotected sex, body worship, post-sex intimacy, multiple smut scenes

A/N: srry abt posting later than i said 😭 just had some things happening 🫶

MASTERPOST ♡ MASTERLIST

prev ♡ next

═══════

I didn’t even sit down this time.

I walked into the HYBE conference room and stayed standing, arms crossed, jaw locked, already ten seconds away from telling someone to go to hell.

There were only two people in the room. The same two from last time.

The man started. “Did you think people wouldn’t notice?”

I didn’t respond.

“Dinner on a rooftop with fairy lights?” the woman added, folding her hands like she was trying to sound calm. “She wore a diamond ring out of the restaurant. She wore your jacket. The internet isn’t stupid.”

I stared at her.

“I’m aware.”

The man sighed. “There’s still time to spin it. Deny. Deflect. Say it’s a music video concept. A shoot. Maybe a charity event. Something- anything.”

I laughed once. Just one dry, sharp sound.

“You think I’m going to pretend my engagement is a concept?”

They said nothing.

“We’re not confirming anything,” the woman said firmly. “You understand that, right? Not yet. Not until we decide what narrative benefits the company best.”

“Let me guess,” I muttered. “You’re trying to decide if my daughter ruins the fourth quarter forecast.”

Her expression didn’t change.

Which told me everything.

“We’re preparing for the comeback,” she said. “The world tour. Major brand renewals. And now there’s a child involved? A wedding? Do you have any idea what the press would do with that right now?”

I stepped forward.

“No one’s asking your permission.”

“No one’s giving you a green light.”

“Good,” I said. “I’m not waiting for one.”

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

Y/N.

I didn’t answer it.

I was too busy making a new decision.

I’d been walking the line since the start- trying to protect them, trying to keep the label pacified.

But it wasn’t working.

They were still being hunted.

She was still scared.

And I was still muzzled in a life that was supposed to be mine.

Namjoon texted me after the meeting.

Namjoon: You okay?

I wrote back:

Jungkook: They want me to spin it.

Jungkook: I’m done spinning.

He didn’t reply for a minute.

Then:

Namjoon: Then stop letting them write the narrative.

That was the moment it clicked.

I didn’t need to speak.

I just needed to show them.

No faces. No details. No confirmation.

Just truth- quiet, defiant, undeniable.

I went home that night and held them both longer than usual.

Tucked Eun Ae in.

Waited for Y/N to shower.

And opened the photo album on my phone.

There it was.

A silhouette from the park.

Y/N and I holding hands.

Eun Ae sitting on my shoulders, arms out like airplane wings.

You couldn’t see our faces- just our outlines, blurred in golden light.

Just shadows.

Just joy.

No names.

No explanation.

No confirmation.

But anyone who knew love would understand exactly what they were looking at.

I didn’t post it yet.

But I would.

And when I did…

They’d see a family.

Whether they liked it or not.

═══════

It started like a normal day.

Eun Ae wanted strawberries, so we walked to the store down the street. Just the two of us.

I wore a hoodie. No makeup. Nothing flashy.

Eun Ae was in overalls and little pink sneakers, her stuffed flamingo sticking out of my tote bag.

We weren’t doing anything wrong.

We weren’t even trying to hide.

Just live.

But the moment we stepped into the produce section… I felt it.

That pull in my gut.

That shift in the air.

Someone was watching.

I glanced up casually, trying to be subtle.

A girl- maybe mid-20s, long black hair, mask covering her face- stood at the end of the aisle. Just staring.

I moved on.

Eun Ae was picking out apples like a tiny chef and lecturing me about bruises.

I pretended I didn’t see the girl follow us to the bread aisle.

Then the dairy section.

Then the frozen food aisle.

Every turn I took… she was there.

Not shopping.

Not talking.

Just watching.

I started to feel sick.

I turned into the last aisle and stopped short when she was already standing at the end of it, waiting.

This time she walked toward us.

I tightened my grip on the cart.

Eun Ae looked up from the cereal boxes just as the girl reached us.

She didn’t say hello.

Didn’t introduce herself.

Just bowed slightly and looked at my daughter like she was trying to memorize her.

“You’re so cute,” she said softly in Korean. “Do you know how lucky you are to have an Appa like him?”

My whole body locked.

“Excuse me,” I said, stepping between them quickly. “You need to back up.”

The girl looked at me.

And even with the mask, I could feel the smile under it.

“Is it true?” she asked, eyes flicking to my hand. “Are you married yet?”

I didn’t answer.

She leaned in.

“Is she really his kid? She looks so much like him.”

I grabbed Eun Ae’s hand, left the cart where it was, and walked, fast and purposeful, straight out of the store.

The girl didn’t follow.

But I didn’t stop looking over my shoulder until our front door was locked behind us.

I was shaking.

Not angry.

Not even sad.

Just scared.

Because I’d always known people would talk.

But today… someone got close.

To her.

To my daughter.

And for the second time since moving to Seoul, I wondered if I’d made the biggest mistake of my life.

═══════

She didn’t say anything right away.

She just walked in, her hand clutching Eun Ae’s a little too tight, her face pale beneath the late afternoon light. She didn’t even take off her shoes.

I was in the kitchen pouring juice.

She stood there for a beat- frozen- and then said, quietly, like it hurt to speak:

“She followed us.”

I turned.

“Who?”

“A fan. A… sasaeng, I think.”

My stomach dropped.

“She followed us through the store. Watched us. Stared at her. She-” Y/N’s voice cracked, “-she spoke to her, Jungkook. She bent down and asked her questions.”

I put the glass down so hard it cracked.

“Where is she?”

“She didn’t follow us home. I made sure. I walked different streets. I kept my head down. But she was inches away from our daughter.”

Eun Ae didn’t notice the tension.

She was already on the living room floor, coloring.

But I saw the way Y/N’s shoulders were hunched, the way her hands trembled when she reached for her phone and missed.

I walked over and wrapped my arms around her.

She didn’t melt into me like usual.

She stayed stiff.

“She knew,” she whispered. “She knew who Eun Ae was. She looked at her like she was a puzzle piece that finally fit.”

I rested my chin on her shoulder.

“I’m done,” I said quietly. “I’m not waiting anymore.”

She didn’t ask what I meant.

She just stood there, silent, while I grabbed my phone from the counter and opened Instagram.

I didn’t need a caption.

I didn’t need a press release.

I just uploaded the photo.

The one from the park.

Me, standing with Eun Ae on my shoulders, her little arms out wide like she was flying while Y/N held my hand beside us.

Silhouettes.

Golden light.

No faces.

Just love.

Just truth.

I posted it.

No tag. No explanation.

Just one word in the caption:

“Mine.”

The app crashed within ten minutes.

The world noticed.

And I didn’t care.

Because the only person I was protecting now… was standing in our hallway, staring at me like I just handed her a shield she didn’t know she was allowed to carry.

And I walked straight to her.

Held her face in both hands.

And said:

“No more secrets. No more shame. Let them see us.”

═══════

The internet broke within an hour.

I was still holding the phone when the first headline dropped.

“Jungkook posts mysterious family photo - Engagement?”

“Fans divided after cryptic ‘Mine’ post goes viral”

“Who is the mystery woman in Jungkook’s life?”

And then my name trended.

My full name.

Not just in Korea.

Everywhere.

People dug through everything. Old posts, deleted photos, clips from my job at the venue. Someone even posted a blurry picture of me from that time I stood in the wings backstage.

The reactions were split right down the middle.

Half were beautiful- people saying it was inspiring, how brave we were, how happy he looked, how adorable Eun Ae was.

And the other half?

Vicious.

Mean.

Dangerous.

“She baby-trapped him.”

“This is career suicide.”

“She’s not even that pretty, why would he choose her?”

By noon, I’d had five blocked calls, two fake package deliveries, and one person knock on the door pretending to be press.

I was shaking by the time I tucked my phone under a pillow and started cleaning just to do something with my hands.

Then the call came.

Eun Ae’s school.

“Hello?”

“Miss L/N?” the voice said. Calm. Too calm. “This is the administration office at Eun Ae’s school. We need to inform you that an individual arrived before pickup hours claiming to be her guardian.”

My heart stopped.

“What?!”

“They had no proper identification and were turned away. But it appears they knew her name. And yours.”

I couldn’t breathe.

“She’s okay?” I gasped. “She’s safe?”

“She’s completely safe. Our staff followed protocol. But we wanted to alert you immediately.”

I dropped the phone twice trying to call Jungkook.

He picked up on the third ring.

“Hey, babe-”

“Someone tried to take her from school.”

Silence.

“What?”

“Someone went to the school. Claimed they a guardian and they were picking her up. They knew her name, Jungkook. They knew my name.”

Everything in me felt like it was on fire.

“I can’t do this. I can’t- what if they- what if I’d been late- what if they- ”

“I’m leaving practice.”

“You don’t have to- ”

“I’m not asking.”

“But- ”

“I’ll fix it,” he said, voice hard. Final. “Don’t worry. I’ll fix this.”

He hung up.

And I stood in the middle of the kitchen, shaking.

Phone still in my hand.

The post was live.

The world knew.

And now…

So did the monsters.

═══════

I didn’t knock.

Didn’t wait.

Didn’t text.

Didn’t schedule.

I walked straight past the assistant’s wide-eyed panic and into the executive conference room like I owned it.

Because right now?

I didn’t give a single fuck if they banned me from the building.

The door slammed open.

Half the table jumped.

The CEO stood from his chair. “Jungkook- ”

I didn’t let him finish.

I walked right up to the table, planted both hands on the polished wood, and stared them down.

“Someone went to my daughter’s school,” I said. “Pretended to be her guardian. Tried to pick her up.”

The silence in the room cracked like ice.

“She’s seven years old,” I said, voice deadly quiet. “And I want you to hear me when I say this happened because you fucking did nothing. Because you told me to wait. To stay quiet. To play pretend.”

One of the execs opened their mouth.

I cut them off with a glare. “Don’t speak.”

I was shaking. Not with fear.

With rage.

With clarity.

I was seething. My hands trembled, but I didn’t flinch.

“I posted one photo. No names. No faces. Just us. And it was still enough. Do you understand how fucking terrifying that is? Do you get what kind of message that sends?”

I pointed at the woman near the end of the table.

“You want to talk image? You want to talk brand partnerships?” I leaned over, voice low. “You almost let a child get hurt.”

“You’re escalating this-” one woman tried to say.

I slammed my hand down on the table. Hard.

“I will burn this fucking building to the ground before I let you treat my daughter like a scandal. Do you understand me?”

Everyone went still.

“I’ll walk. I’ll cancel the fucking album. I’ll leak the tracks myself. And when the fans ask why?” I leaned in, eyes sharp. “I’ll tell them it’s because my label protected our brand more than my daughter.”

The CEO stepped in quickly. “The comeback is a month away.”

“I know.”

“We’ll release a statement,” he said slowly. “But we need something in return.”

I folded my arms. “What?”

“Full tour commitment. A year. Press, promotions, the works. You’ll do everything we’ve planned and then some. You’ll be the golden boy again.”

I didn’t hesitate.

“Done.”

They blinked like they hadn’t expected me to fold so fast.

“You’re agreeing?”

“You’re finally doing right by my family. So yes. I’ll do the tour. I’ll be your damn golden boy. But if you delay, lie, or spin this- ” I stepped closer, voice sharp-

“I will walk. And I take half the damn fandom with me.”

They didn’t argue.

Because they knew I would.

And this time, I meant it.

I walked out without waiting for approval.

By the time I got to the elevator, my phone buzzed.

Draft statement. In my inbox.

“We confirm that BTS member Jeon Jungkook is engaged and the father of a child. We ask for the public’s understanding and respect of his personal life.”

Good.

Now the world would hear it.

Not from a tweet.

Not from a blurry photo.

From the truth.

And next time anyone tried to come near my daughter?

They’d know exactly who the hell they were dealing with.

═══════

The silence in the house felt louder than screaming.

Eun Ae was napping on the couch, surrounded by blankets and her stuffed flamingo. Her shoes were still on. I didn’t even take them off- I couldn’t move. My hands were still shaking from the phone call with the school.

It could’ve gone differently.

That girl could’ve said the right name, forged a signature, played it smoother.

And in a world where no one was supposed to know who she was… someone did.

I stared at the front door like it might swing open again.

Every creak of the hallway. Every hum of a passing car outside.

I flinched.

Then the phone rang.

Kook 💜

I answered on the first ring.

“It’s done,” he said. No greeting. Just fire and finality. “They’re going to announce it. It’s going live within the hour.”

I didn’t breathe for a second.

“Are you okay?” I whispered.

“I’m fine. They’re not.” A pause. “I told them if they didn’t post it, I’d take the whole empire down with me.”

That should’ve comforted me.

It didn’t.

Because I knew what came next.

The headlines.

The comments.

The threads dissecting my past, my clothes, my face, the shape of my body, the way I held our daughter’s hand too tight or not tight enough.

Everything.

I whispered, “I’m scared.”

“I know.”

The call ended gently. No promises. No fantasy.

Just the truth.

An hour later, I saw it.

First on Weverse. Then Twitter. Then everywhere.

“We confirm that BTS member Jeon Jungkook is engaged and the father of a child. We ask for the public’s understanding and respect of his personal life.”

That was it.

No names.

No photos.

No scandal.

Just truth.

But it was enough.

The world detonated.

Trending #1 in ten countries within fifteen minutes.

Old footage resurfaced. Fan theories. Screengrabs. Debates. Fights.

And somewhere in all that noise… was me.

I closed the app.

Turned my phone face down.

And just sat there on the floor, leaning against the couch, listening to the soft breathing of our daughter- completely unaware that the world just found out she existed.

I didn’t cry.

Not because I wasn’t overwhelmed.

But because there wasn’t room.

There was only weight.

And underneath it, something quieter.

Something that felt like… surrender.

Not in defeat.

But in truth.

I had nothing left to hide.

And somehow, that felt more terrifying than all the secrets in the world.

═══════

I didn’t check the comments.

Didn’t scroll.

Didn’t read.

Didn’t respond.

The moment the statement went live, I powered down every device except the one I used to call Y/N.

I heard it in her voice- the quiet, the trembling.

She didn’t say thank you.

She didn’t say we did it.

Because this wasn’t a celebration.

It was survival.

But we weren’t going to cower.

So I told her, “Let’s go out today. Just us.”

She hesitated. “With people watching?”

I nodded. “Let them.”

We walked to the park- nothing fancy.

Sneakers. Sunglasses.

Eun Ae holding both our hands like the world hadn’t just exploded.

We got ice cream. Sat on a bench under a tree.

Watched our daughter chase butterflies and trip over her own shadow.

She laughed like she hadn’t just been turned into a trending topic.

Then it happened.

A girl, maybe eighteen, walked by on her phone.

She slowed down when she saw me. Sunglasses, hat. Still recognized me.

She wasn’t loud. But she had that look.

The I-know-who-you-are look.

The I’m-about-to-start-something look.

She paused in front of us.

For a second, I braced.

Then she saw Y/N.

Her mouth twisted.

“Oh my god, they’re here. I didn’t think it’d actually be real,” she muttered as she slowly passed. “She’s not even that pretty in person.”

Y/N froze beside me.

Then the girl’s eyes dropped to Eun Ae, who was sitting on the bench licking the edge of her cone.

“And that’s really their kid? Huh. Thought idols had standards.”

That was it.

I stood up.

She stopped walking, clearly waiting for a reaction.

I gave her one.

“She’s not a scandal,” I said quietly, stepping between her and my girls. “She’s my family.”

The girl blinked, caught off guard.

Then I added, cold and final:

“And you don’t get to have an opinion about them.”

She flushed red.

Didn’t say another word.

Just turned and walked fast in the other direction.

Y/N was still frozen. Eun Ae didn’t notice.

She was singing to her ice cream.

But me?

I never took my eyes off that path until the girl was gone.

Y/N exhaled beside me like she’d been holding her breath for an entire year.

We stayed at the park another hour.

Eun Ae made a crown out of dandelions.

Wore it like royalty.

On the walk home, she rode on my shoulders, humming some nonsense song about waffles and dragons and clouds with sunglasses.

I didn’t correct her.

When we got inside, Y/N said nothing just kissed me hard. Just thank you and I see you in the way her lips pressed to mine.

It wasn’t fiery or rushed. It was slow. Careful.

Like she was checking that I was really still here.

We didn’t say anything for a while.

Eun Ae ran off to find her pajamas, singing something about dandelions and dragons.

Y/N leaned against the kitchen counter, arms folded, still watching the door long after Eun Ae disappeared down the hall.

Then she asked, barely above a whisper:

“How are you so calm?”

I looked at her.

Really looked.

She was still bracing.

Still scared the world might crack open again any second.

I walked toward her. Rested my hands on her hips. Let my forehead touch hers.

And I said, “Because I’ve already lost you once.”

She blinked, breath catching.

“There’s nothing scarier than that.”

═══════

That night, I checked the trending tab just once.

Just to know.

It wasn’t #Scandal.

It wasn’t even my name.

It was:

#JungkookFamily

I didn’t screenshot it.

Didn’t repost.

Didn’t text the members.

I just turned off my phone again.

Because the only thing I needed to see…

Was already asleep between us.

═══════

We were a week and a half from goodbye.

The suitcase was already out.

Unzipped. Half full. Still open on the bedroom floor like a wound that hadn’t stopped bleeding yet.

Jungkook was folding clothes while Eun Ae sang to herself in the hallway, pretending her stuffed flamingo could read Korean.

He looked so calm.

I hated that he looked calm.

“Are you excited?” I asked, not turning around.

He glanced up. “For the tour?”

“Yeah.”

He hesitated. “I mean, yeah. It’s a lot of prep but… I’m trying not to think too far ahead.”

I nodded like that made sense.

Like I hadn’t already spiraled through every worst-case scenario in my mind for the past six days.

That night, I couldn’t sleep.

We were curled up in bed, lights off, Eun Ae asleep down the hall. And I just laid there, staring at the ceiling while his hand rested lightly on my hip.

“Do you think it’ll change?” I whispered.

He shifted slightly. “What?”

“This. Us. You being gone for a year. Press. Fans. Life getting louder again.”

He didn’t answer right away.

So I pushed.

“I’m scared.”

His arm tensed.

“Of what?” he asked.

I swallowed. “Of everything falling apart again.”

“We’re not the same people we were then, Y/N.”

“I know. But I haven’t been this happy in years. And that makes it worse. Because I don’t know what happens when you leave. What if the love changes? What if this only worked because it was… quiet? Hidden?”

I felt his whole body shift behind me.

“Wait,” he said. “You think this is going to fall apart because we’re finally living out loud?”

“I think I’m terrified,” I said. My voice cracked. “And I don’t know how to stop being terrified.”

He sat up.

“So talk to me. Tell me what you need.”

I sat up too, brushing hair behind my ear.

“I need to know I’m not going to be forgotten the second someone newer and shinier shows up on stage. Someone who will understand.”

His face twisted.

“Don’t do that.”

“It’s not about you,” I snapped. “It’s about me. I’m scared of being left again. Even if it’s different this time, even if I know you love me- I still wake up at 3 a.m. sometimes and think, what if I just imagined all of this?”

Jungkook didn’t speak. Not for a second.

Then-

“I’ll bring you with me.”

“What?”

“Whenever I can. You and Eun Ae. If there’s a stop with a day off, you’ll be there. If it’s a long leg, I’ll fly you out. If it’s only three days, I’ll FaceTime you three times a day if that’s what you need.”

I tried to breathe.

“And when you can’t bring us?”

He leaned in. Pressed his forehead to mine.

“Then I’ll make sure you still feel like you’re in the room with me.”

“How?”

“I’ll write about you. I’ll talk about you. I’ll post you if you want, or never mention your name if that makes you feel safe. But I’ll never act like you don’t exist. Not ever again.”

My hands were shaking, but I nodded.

He kissed me. Gentle. Deep. Honest.

“We’re not hiding anymore, remember?” he whispered.

And that was the moment I broke.

Not because I didn’t believe him.

But because, for the first time, I did.

Jungkook’s words hung in the air like a promise, heavy and undeniable. I felt them settle into my chest, a weight that wasn’t oppressive but grounding.

His forehead pressed against mine, his breath warm on my skin, and I realized I was trembling. Not from fear, but from the sheer force of his conviction.

He meant it.

Every word.

Every vow to keep me and Eun Ae close, to make us a part of his world, no matter how chaotic it became.

“We’re not hiding anymore, remember?” he had whispered, his lips brushing mine with each syllable.

The phrase was a mantra, a declaration that echoed in my mind.

I nodded, my hands still shaking as they gripped his shoulders. He kissed me again- gentle, deep, and honest. It wasn’t just a kiss; it was a seal, a pact between us.

I felt the walls I’d built around my heart crumble, piece by piece, until there was nothing left but raw, unguarded trust.

When he pulled away, his eyes searched mine, as if to ensure I understood. And I did. My throat tightened, and I swallowed hard, my voice hoarse when I finally spoke.

“I believe you,” I whispered, my fingers tracing the line of his jaw.

Jungkook’s gaze softened, and he cupped my face, his thumbs brushing away the tears I hadn’t realized were falling. “Good,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “Because I’m not letting you go. Never again.”

The tension in the room shifted then, the weight of our conversation giving way to something else- something primal and urgent.

His lips found mine again, but this time there was no gentleness. It was hungry, desperate, as if we were trying to devour each other whole. My hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, closer, until there was no space between us.

Without breaking the kiss, Jungkook moved on top of me. My legs spread, and I felt him press against me, his hardness a promise against my cunt. I moaned into his mouth, my body already aching for him.

When he finally pulled away, it was only to trail kisses down my neck, his lips leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

“I need you,” he growled, his breath hot against my skin.

I didn’t hesitate. My hands went to the hem of his boxers. He helped me, his fingers working in tandem with mine until his boxers were sliding down his legs. He kicked them aside, and I wasted no time, flipping us over and sliding down his legs.

His intake of breath was sharp as my hands wrapped around him, my fingers tracing the length of him. He was already hard, throbbing in my grip, and I smiled up at him, my heart racing.

“You’re perfect,” I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper.

“You’re killing me,” he groaned, his hands tangling in my hair.

But he didn’t stop me when I leaned forward, my lips brushing the tip of him. I took him into my mouth slowly, savoring the taste of him, the way he fit perfectly against my tongue.

His hands tightened in my hair, but he didn’t pull, just held me there as I began to move, my lips sliding up and down his length.

Jungkook’s head fell back, a deep, guttural moan escaping his lips. “Fuck, baby,” he whispered, his voice rough. “You’re so good.”

I hummed from the compliment, my hands cupping his thighs as I deepened the rhythm, my mouth working him with a steady, relentless pace. His hips twitched, his body tensing as he fought for control.

But it was short-lived.

“Stop,” he said abruptly, his voice strained. “Not like this.”

Before I could protest, he was pulling me back up, his hands gripping my waist as he turned me, pressing me face-down on the mattress. My heart pounded as I felt him behind me, his lips brushing the curve of my shoulder.

“I need to taste you,” he murmured, his voice a low growl.

His hands slid up my thighs. I shivered as his breath ghosted over my cunt, his fingers teasing the edges of my panties before sliding them down my legs.

I kicked them off, my body arching in anticipation.

“So wet,” he murmured, his fingers dipping between my folds, spreading me open for his mouth. “Always ready for me.”

His words sent a jolt of heat through me, and I gasped as his tongue pressed against me, firm and deliberate. He groaned, the vibration sending shivers through my body as he began to move, his tongue lapping at me with a rhythm that was both torturous and exquisite.

My hands gripped the sheets, my nails digging into the fabric as he ate me out with a hunger that left me breathless.

“Kook,” I moaned, my voice breaking as his fingers slipped inside me, curling in a way that had me crying out. “Please-”

“Not yet,” he whispered, his lips brushing my clit as he spoke. “Not until you’re begging.”

His words were a challenge, and I met it head-on, my body arching into his touch as he drove me closer and closer to the edge.

My breath came in short, sharp gasps, my muscles tightening as the pleasure built, relentless and overwhelming.

“Kook, I- ”

He didn’t let me finish. With a growl, he pulled away, his hands gripping my hips as he positioned himself behind me. I felt the head of his cock press against me, and I whimpered, my body aching for him.

“Ready for me?” he asked, his voice a low rumble.

“Yes,” I gasped, my voice desperate. “Please, Kook- ”

He didn’t make me wait.

With one thrust, he was inside me, filling me completely, and I cried out, my head falling back as he began to move. His hands gripped my hips, his fingers digging into my skin as he fucked me with a ferocity that matched the intensity of his words.

“You’re mine,” he growled, his lips brushing my ear. “Always mine. I’ll never hide you again, baby.”

His words sent a wave of emotion crashing over me, mingling with the physical pleasure until I couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. My body moved with his, our rhythms syncing as he drove into me, deeper and harder with each thrust.

“Kook- i’m close,” I panted, my voice trembling.

“Me too,” he groaned, his pace quickening. “Cum for me, baby. Let me feel it.”

His words were all it took.

My body tightened, the pleasure coiling tight before it snapped, sending me over the edge.

I cried out, my walls clenching around him as I came, my orgasm ripping through me like a storm. Jungkook followed, his thrusts stuttering as he buried himself deep, his release hot and intense.

For a moment, we stayed like that, our bodies still trembling, our breaths ragged.

Then, slowly, he pulled out, turning me to face him. His arms wrapped around me, pulling me into his chest, and I went willingly, my head resting on his shoulder.

“We’re okay,” he whispered, his lips brushing my forehead. “We’re going to be okay.”

I nodded, my fingers tracing the tattoos on his arm. “I know,” I murmured, my voice soft.

Jungkook’s lips found mine once more, gentle and sweet, I let the uncertainty fade, replaced by the steady, unwavering rhythm of his heartbeat against mine.

That night I held him tighter than I ever had.

Because in eleven days, I’d have to learn how to let go without falling apart.

═══════

The last week blurred.

Between tour prep and press calls, security upgrades, and label meetings, it felt like I barely had time to breathe- let alone exist in the same room as Y/N and Eun Ae for more than a few hours.

But I made it happen.

Every night, I was home.

Every morning, I made breakfast.

I answered Eun Ae’s five million questions about airplanes.

I kissed Y/N in the kitchen, no matter how tired I was.

I slept with one arm around her and didn’t let go.

I paid for full-time private school security.

I gave Y/N emergency contacts in every city.

I wrote songs in secret. One about Eun Ae’s laugh, one about Y/N’s hands, one about the day they first forgave me.

And I made a promise I planned to keep:

They’d never be erased from my life again.

═══════

It was the night before I left.

We ordered takeout and watched a movie in the living room- all three of us tangled together in a blanket pile on the couch.

Eun Ae fell asleep halfway through. A piece of popcorn still clutched in her little hand.

I carried her to her room.

Y/N followed behind me, brushing hair from her daughter’s forehead, tucking the blanket up to her chin, and kissing her softly.

“She’s gonna miss you,” Y/N whispered.

“I’m gonna miss her more,” I whispered back.

We didn’t talk on the walk back to our bedroom.

The air was thick with things neither of us could say without breaking. Every step felt heavy, like we were carrying the weight of the world between us.

The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, it was necessary.

It was the kind of quiet that comes when two people are so full of emotion that words would only cheapen it.

Once the door closed behind us, I turned to face her.

She didn’t speak.

Neither did I.

There was no need.

We both knew what this moment meant.

I took a step toward her, and she met me halfway, her eyes searching mine like they were trying to memorize every detail.

I pulled her into my arms, and we kissed like we were trying to imprint each other into our souls. Her hands shook against my chest, and I felt the tremors like they were my own. My fingers curled into her hair, holding her close, afraid to let go, even for a second.

She pulled down my boxers, and I let it fall to the floor without a second thought. My skin tingled where her hands brushed against it, and I shivered, not from the cool air but from the intensity of her touch.

I took off her nightgown slowly, my fingers grazing her skin as the fabric fell. She stepped out of it, and I let it pool at her feet, my eyes drinking in the sight of her.

She was so beautiful, so real, and in that moment, I felt like the luckiest man alive.

We fell into bed slowly, every movement deliberate, like we were choreographing a dance.

It wasn’t about haste; it was about worship.

Every touch was a promise.

Every breath a plea to wait, to savor this moment, to make it last forever.

I traced the curve of her jaw with my thumb, my fingers lingering on the softness of her skin. She closed her eyes, leaning into my touch, and I felt her body relax under my hands.

“I love you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

“I love you too,” I replied, my lips brushing against hers. “Always.”

Her hands moved down my chest, her touch sending sparks through my body. I groaned softly, my head falling back as she traced the muscles of my abdomen.

She smiled against my skin, her breath warm and teasing. I reached for her, pulling her closer, my hands roaming over her body like I was mapping every inch of her. She arched into my touch, her moans music to my ears.

“You’re so beautiful,” I murmured, my lips finding hers again. “So fucking perfect.”

I kissed her deeply, pouring every ounce of love and desire into that touch. Her body moved against mine, her curves fitting perfectly into my embrace.

I could feel her heart racing, her breath coming in short gasps, and I knew she felt it too- this overwhelming connection that went beyond words.

I moved my lips down her neck, savoring the taste of her skin. She tilted her head back, giving me better access, and I smiled against her, my hands roaming lower.

I cupped her ass, lifting her onto me, and she moaned, her hips grinding against mine.

I could feel her wetness, and I groaned, my control slipping.

“Fuck, I want you,” I whispered, my lips brushing against her ear.

She shivered, her hands gripping my shoulders. “Please.”

I would do anything she ever asked.

I moved between her legs, my hands guiding her as I positioned myself at her entrance. She was already wet, her body ready for me, and I teased her, my tip pressing against her before slowly sliding inside. She gasped, her nails digging into my back, and I paused, giving her a moment to adjust.

“You okay?” I asked, my voice rough with need.

She nodded, her eyes locked on mine. “Don’t stop.”

I didn’t.

I thrust into her slowly, savoring the way she felt around me. Her walls clenched, her body welcoming mine, and I groaned, my head falling back as pleasure washed over me. I set a steady rhythm, each thrust deliberate, each movement a declaration of love. She met me with equal fervor, her hips rising to meet mine, her moans filling the room.

It was slow.

Worship.

A farewell in skin.

Every touch was a promise.

Every breath said wait for me.

Every whispered I love you was a thread tying us tighter than before.

“Kook,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I- I’m close.”

I smiled, my lips finding hers. “Me too, baby. Cum with me.”

Her body tightened around me, her breath hitching as she cried out my name. I followed soon after, my release overwhelming, my heart pounding in my chest. I collapsed onto her, my weight careful not to crush her, and she wrapped her arms around me, holding me close.

We lay there for a moment, our hearts slowing, our breaths evening out. I kissed her forehead, my fingers tracing patterns on her skin.

She cried at the end.

Not a breakdown. Not sobbing.

Just quiet tears that slipped down her cheeks as I held her and kissed her temple and whispered, “You’ve got me. You always will.”

“I don’t want to do this without you,” she said, voice raw.

“You won’t,” I promised. “You never will again.”

We laid there for a long time.

No more countdowns.

No more planning.

No more pretending it wasn’t going to hurt.

I held her until she fell asleep.

Then I stared at the ceiling in the dark- one arm wrapped around the girl I thought I’d lost, my other hand resting in the warm space where our daughter would sometimes sleep when she had a nightmare at 3AM.

Tomorrow, I leave.

But tonight?

Tonight, I was still home.

═══════

prev ♡ next

MASTERPOST ♡ MASTERLIST

♡ requests are welcome ♡ taglist ♡

These characters are fictional and do not represent any real-life individuals. Their likeness is used solely for visual inspiration and does not reflect the actual person or their story.

═══════

Posted: 07/29/2025

Taglist: @mar-lo-pap @lovingkoalaface @whoa-jo @kiliskywalker666 @sucker4jeon @annpeachy-blog @kaiparkerwifes @nikkinikj @asyr97 @jjkluver7 @bammbi-jeon127 @kookoo-kachoo @angelsdecalcomania @kayswatanabe @kelsyx33 @tatamicc @llallaaa @chromietriestowrite @k1ll1ngcl0wns @jahnaviii @mfsitscho @traumaanatomy @yu-justme @bangtaniess @roseda @hottigerboba @xumyboo @bangtansfav-7 @ggukieskookie @granataepfelchen @blubird592 @mellyyyyyyx @gukkiemybaby @likeesapphire @magicalnachocreator @suker4angst @taetaecatboy @somehowukook @busanbby-jjk @ecomidnight @cuntessaiii @jungshaking @nbjch05 @baechugff @jakiki94 @songbyeonkim @xmiaacxio @smoljimjim @welcometomyworld13 @marihoneywk @fiddlebiddls @battlingmyowndemons @rinkud @withluvjm

#jkwrites m #jungkook #jungkook fanfic #jungkook ff #jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #bts #bts ff #bts ffs #jungkook smut #jungkook x you #jungkook fluff #jungkook idol au #jungkook angst #daddy kookie m #©

239 notes · View notes

tarotwithavi · 1 day ago

Text

Let me read your energy like my rent is due (because it literally is)

What's your vibe? What are you attracting right now and everything that you need to know right now

Support this broke reader by leaving a tip 😔 jkjk but I would really appreciate it though

TIP JAR

PAID SERVICES

MASTERLIST

Pile 1

“I would rather die of passion than boredom.”

That was the first thing I heard as soon as I started channeling messages for you. You have this really intense energy that makes people instantly think of you as intimidating. Maybe it’s because you have so much passion for life and for things in general that it literally scares the hell out of people. Because we’ve made “being nonchalant” so normal that it has actually drained people of passion. I wouldn’t be surprised if some of you are Virgo or Scorpio Sun, Moon, or Rising. The way you’re passionate about things that seem so random or small to other people is actually something they admire from a distance. And even though you’re really passionate, you also get bored super easily. You probably have a hundred DIY projects that you started but never finished. It’s not because you’re lazy it’s just because you need things that actually spark your soul to keep going.

You’re definitely not someone who likes this whole “minimalism” aesthetic everyone’s obsessed with. Like, when you realize that grey, white, and black have become the main colors in our lives, you lowkey feel like we’re all turning into robots. It’s lifeless. But you? You want vibrancy. You will never be able to believe in this minimalistic stuff, you're someone who needs colors in your closet, passion in your eyes, and actual love and warmth in your aura. And honestly, I just need to tell you life is going to start treating you right. I don’t care how miserable your past few months have been, because starting August, everything is going to change. I see a lot of you starting new projects, new things, maybe even getting into college, starting a course, or something related to your career or education. I also see that you’ve been manifesting this shift for a while now. And that explains why certain people and situations have been taken from you. Because in order to get something, you always have to lose something. And for you, it was the people and habits that were dragging you down and no longer serving you.

You might’ve also started letting go of things like staying up too late, eating junk, or even alcohol or smoking and if you have, I’m proud of you.

Oh my God, your energy is literally screaming attention. You don’t even realize how many people want to know you, how many people want to be in your circle. The fact that you don’t give a damn about anyone anymore is actually pulling more people in than you can imagine. You are so in your “I’m done with this shit” era, and the universe is eating it up. It’s literally shouting, “YOU GOT THIS GIRL.” No cap but You’re not ready for the blessings that are about to hit. Doors will open. Money will start flowing. Your skin will glow. Let this reading be your reminder for the better things coming your way. Because let’s be real you’re done hiding. You’re done pretending to be someone you’re not. You’re finally stepping into your power. You’re not letting people talk shit about you anymore, and whenever someone does, you’re like, “Say it to my face, you motherfer.”

And that is scaring people. Because all your life, you were the “nice girl.” You were kind. Too kind, actually. You treated people with respect and never got it back. But now? You’ve changed. Okay I’m going to be real, someone you think is your best friend is not. I do see betrayal. Someone is going to do something behind your back that you never expected. And yeah, it’ll break you a little, but that moment will change your entire energy. You will become someone they can’t touch anymore. Idk why but Gacha Life music just popped in my head lmao Your playlist will literally be: “Looking At Me” by Sabrina . “That’s My Girl” by Fifth Harmony. “The Greatest” by Sia “Like Jennie” by Jennie Kim “Love to Hate Me” by BLACKPINK

Anyway, if I had to give you some advice, start being mindful of your money. I do see a situation coming up where you might need to rely on your savings. So don’t blow everything now. And also, be careful who you trust. Sometimes the people who seem harmless are the ones who hurt you most. And the ones who seem rough or rude can be the softest souls ever. Sometimes things feel like the end. Sometimes you’ll be in situations where you’re questioning everything and wondering if it’s over. But it’s never the end unless you say it

Thank you so much for reading this, please show support by liking or rebloging.

TIP JAR

Pile 2

I feel like you were stuck in this space of confusion. Like you didn’t know what to do, how to move forward, or how to keep going. You might have been stuck in your seasonal depression, or maybe you were just deeply hurt by something from the past that kept playing over and over in your head. But Now you’re rising, you're moving. You’re finally coming back to life. I see movement, I see energy. In the next few weeks, I see you travelling a lot even if it’s small local trips, your soul is expanding. I also feel you’ll be connecting with new people, meeting old friends, or just coming together in a way that feels warm. You’re stepping back into community, into connection.

You might have spent a lot of time recently binge-watching, isolating, locking yourself in your room. But that fog is lifting. You’re now making the effort to go out, meet your friends, be around family, or simply just be in places where people are. It’s like this confusion is finally leaving your system, and you're about to get this clear blueprint of what you actually want your life to look like. At one point, it might’ve felt like people around you were ignoring you or straight-up rejecting you. And now your energy is like, “Fuck them.” And that’s exactly what the vibe needs to be. You’re done begging for basic respect.

Also, I feel like you’ve been ignoring the amount of work that’s actually piling up. You might need to clean your room, do laundry, or take care of basic stuff like chores and errands and it’s okay if it feels too much. I want you to know that I see you. I know those days when even brushing your hair feels like a task. Just start small. Fold that one t-shirt. Wash that one plate. That’s enough. You don’t have to do everything in a single day. Now, I know I said to save your money in the previous pile, but for you? It’s the opposite. You’re being called to spend money on yourself. The more you care for yourself, the more you pour into yourself, the more abundance will come. Buy the perfume. Get the cute notebook. Go on that solo date. Take care of you, and money will flow back naturally.

You might be a Taurus, Libra, or Sagittarius Sun, Moon, or Rising. Your energy is a big main character. I’m literally begging you to get yourself a digital camera and start documenting your life. Romanticize everything: your morning coffee, your skincare routine, even walking to the corner store. The more you do this, the better you’ll feel. I also feel like a lot of you are meant to be influencers, or people with a big audience. But you don’t post enough. You overthink. You wait for the “right time.” Please stop doing that. Post the blurry selfies. Start the makeup or lifestyle page. Stop hiding your magic and just hit publish. You have it in you, 100%.

You might be wanting to do the BOOMBAYAH 😏 You might be feeling hornier than usual and no, that’s not something to be ashamed of. It’s normal. It just means your sacral chakra is healing. You’re feeling more confident, more magnetic, more embodied. You might find yourself becoming more comfortable in your body and your desires. And honestly? You deserve to enjoy your pleasure. Own it. Someone is either entering your life or is about someone loyal, grounded, stable. If you’ve been single, a new relationship is on the horizon. If you’re already in one, things are going to level up 😝. I mean real connection with someone who actually shows up, not breadcrumbing. And you’re finally letting yourself receive it. You're letting yourself be seen. Be loved. Be free.

You actually have way more admirers than you think. Fire signs and earth signs are especially drawn to you right now. Some of them are low-key obsessed. This energy spike might be connected to a physical change you make soon, maybe a new hairstyle, a change in how you dress, or something that shifts the way people see you completely. The colours red and blue are very important right now. I feel like you’ll be drawn to red lipstick, clothes, nails, or even accessories. Red is your power colour right now. Your aura is giving it Girl Era and I’m here for it.

Stop holding on to people. Stop gripping so hard. The more you try to control or cling to people, the more they disappoint you. Let them go. Let people reveal themselves. It’s better to have no expectations at all than to get your heart broken by your own overthinking. You are not disposable. And anyone who treated you like you were? They’re already out of your story. And please, be nicer to your body. That body has carried you through everything. That body has kept you alive through days when your mind gave up. That body protected you when people left. Stop judging it. Start thanking it.

Thank you so much for reading this, please show support by liking or rebloging.

TIP JAR

Pile 3

Well, well, well... look who we have here 👀 The Love and Deepspace Player. So, tell me, how does it feel to be out here collecting boyfriends like infinity stones? 😝 Just kidding (unless?). I literally had this random vision of a game, and fun fact I’ve never even played it. But still, it felt weirdly significant, so I had to say it.

Anyway, what I do see loud and clear is that your energy is just overflowing with love right now. It’s like love for yourself, love for the people in your life, and honestly, love for every soul that’s ever existed. You're giving “soft but powerful,” “warm but mysterious.” You're the definition of nurturing literally the mom of the friend group. And you don’t even have to say it. Your energy does all the talking. It’s screaming “MOTHERRR” in all caps, all the time.

You’re the kind of person who forgives easily, maybe too easily. You don’t hold onto anger or resentment. You feel it, but you don’t let it rot inside you. And while that’s a beautiful trait, sometimes it gives people the green light to take more than they should. You’re also the kind of person who holds on to things not out of need, but out of love. You keep tiny wrappers, old letters, gifts, anything with meaning, because it reminds you of someone or something you once cared about. That kind of softness is rare. It's precious.

You definitely live in your own little dreamworld sometimes and I mean that in the best way. Whether it’s manga, manhua, or story-based games where you get to choose your own path, you’re drawn to anything that lets your mind wander and wonder. You love imagining different outcomes, alternate versions of life “what if I chose this instead?” You live in the space between possibilities, and there’s something so magical about that. It’s like your soul prefers fantasy over reality and honestly, who could blame you?

There’s something really dreamy about your energy. Like you're not fully from this world. You carry this soft, ethereal, otherworldly beauty that’s hard to describe. People don’t even know what it is exactly, they just know they can’t look away. You're magnetic without trying.

Seashells, pearls, soft pinks they feel important to your spirit somehow. And I wouldn’t be surprised if you felt a strong connection to Aphrodite. Most people see her as the goddess of love and beauty, but what they forget is that she can start wars for her beauty and charm. And just like her, you might seem like a delicate little sweetheart on the surface but your mind? Sharp. Calculated. You literally make people fight for you. You know you could ruin someone’s life if you wanted to. But you don’t because you’re not petty like that. Your vibe screams “Looks like a cinnamon roll, could k*ll you.” Iconic.

I’m also seeing a whole wave of abundance heading your way. Water might be significant beaches, oceans, maybe even just the sound of waves. If you run a business, expect people to start noticing you more, wanting what you’re offering. If not, there’s still a major movement coming: a job offer, a raise, or finally landing something you’ve been waiting on. It's all aligning.

And you, my love, have a rare superpower of empathy. Real, deep, soul-level empathy. You feel people. You get their pain like it’s your own. You can shift perspectives so easily that it almost feels supernatural. But be careful because that makes you a magnet for people who feed off kindness. Victim mindset peeps, emotional drainers, energy vampires they find you. And if you’re not protecting your energy, it can take a toll on your body too. So please don’t forget to pour that same love and softness back into yourself. Because you deserve it just as much as you give it.

Thank you so much for reading this, please show support by liking or rebloging.

TIP JAR

376 notes · View notes

wonubby · 2 days ago

Text

"WE WANT TO DATE YOU!" - k! bakugou

you saw the way he looked at him. how he stared at his best friend like he had hung the stars up in the sky, longing to hold him. your boyfriend liked, no, loved, his best friend, and it was as clear as day.

the small glances of adornment, the simple acts that felt normal but meant more than they did, blowing you off to help him...

it was all too obvious. like he wanted to be caught. yet, he never stopped caring about you too. he had the same look in his eyes, the one filled with so much love and care; he'd still guide you in a crowd full of people and still tell you he loved you every day.

that's why you needed to talk to him. so, you invited him to your dorm room, which rarely raised any suspicions.

knock! knock!

letting out a breath, you walked towards the door, opening it for the tall blond boy to enter. "hey baby, what'd you call me for?" he asked, tired and gruff.

"we need to talk." the minute those four words left your mouth, his back straightened and worry swarmed through his eyes. fuck.

he hesitated a bit, walking towards your desk and sitting on the chair, unintentionally balling his hands into fists. "is everything alright?" he asked, calmly. too calmly.

"uhh, it could be better," you laughed dryly. how could you bring this up with him? it's been driving you crazy; you just needed to rip the bandaid off.

he tilted his head slightly, confusion flickering in those tired eyes. “what do you mean?”

you swallowed hard. the words felt heavy on your tongue. just say it.

“i’ve noticed the way you look at him,” you said softly, almost like you were afraid of your own voice. “kirishima, i mean.”

his entire body stilled. a sharp inhale. the faintest twitch in his jaw.

"fuck, listen, baby, it's not—" he stumbled, eyes wide and scared.

"nonono, katsu," you were immediately cut off by his voice, loud and afraid.

"no, you need to listen. i'm not going to deny it, but im sorry. fuck, im so fucking sorry; i should've told you the minute i felt it, fuck," he let out a soft sob, his hands covering his eyes.

this was an unusual characteristic for katsuki. you've never seen him this... upset? he continued to ramble about how sorry he was and that if you wanted to leave him, you could — wait... what? he thought you wanted to leave him? oh for gods sake.

"oh, katsuki, you've got it all wrong," you moved towards him, grabbing his face in your hands. a small smile graced your lips as you take the sight of him in. "i'm not leaving you... i'd never leave you. it's just, i," a sigh escaped your lips. "i feel the same. i've also, sort of gained a crush towards eijirou."

confusion etched on his face. did his girlfriend really just tell him that she liked his best friend too...

".... what the fuck," he whispered, voice hoarse.

you laughed, grabbing his hand, "we really suffered over this in quiet for no reason."

"ya fuckin' think? i thought i was cheating on you," his voice broke at the end, tears slowly growing in his eyes.

"aw, katsuki," you whispered, placing a chaste kiss on his lips.

he deepened the kiss, pushing your body flush against his as your hands played with the hairs at the nape of his neck. he stood from the chair, tall and muscular, as his body radiated heat.

knock!

the sudden sound caused the two of you to pull apart, and that's when you finally remembered that you had asked a certain someone to come meet the two of you.

the door creaked open slowly, and in stepped kirishima, all bright eyes and clueless energy.

“hey guys! Sorry I’m late, I—”

he stopped mid-sentence, blinking as he took in the red eyes, flushed cheeks, and the way you and bakugou were still basically tangled together.

“…did I interrupt something?”

clearing your throat and sharing a small glance with your boyfriend, you looked towards the other boy. "no- erm, you're okay! why... why don't you take a seat?" there was sweat building up in your palms, and you suddenly felt nervous.

"okay," he said, still embarrassed and slightly confused.

silence filled the room fast, causing an excruciatingly awkward atmosphere. your eyes couldn't help but dart towards katsuki, holding a silent conversation as you took turns looking towards kirishima.

"okay, well katsuki and i sort of have something to tell you, but we don't want to freak you out, so you're welcome to get up and leave randomly if you'd like to." you said, watching him grow even more confused.

katsuki got up, walking towards the boy, placing a hand on the back of his head. "to get it out in the open, we both fucking like you and want to date you," he said, nonchalantly.

"katsuki! you can't just-"

"WHAT," kirishima yelled. "i'm sorry, what the fuck? are you being serious right now?"

"i knew we'd freak him out kats-"

"oh shut up; you would've taken a million years to get it out."

"that doesn't mean you can just spring it on him, asshat!"

kirishima sat there, in shock and relief, as the two of you fought; he even let out a small chuckle, causing you and katsuki to turn your attention to him in confusion.

"thank fuck, i was going crazy... i sort of like you guys too," he said, suddenly blushing, "...i just didn't wanna ruin anything between you guys." he bashfully rubbed his neck with a sheepish smile on his face.

you stared at him. mouth slightly open. brain short-circuiting.

bakugou blinked slowly, as if Kirishima had just spoken in a different language.

“…you what?” katsuki finally said, voice dry and disbelieving.

“i like you guys?” kirishima repeated, brows raised like duh. “both of you.”

“since when?!” you nearly shrieked, a giant smile creeping onto your face.

kirishima blinked. “since… a while? like, months?”

bakugou covered his face with one hand, groaning loud and miserable. “you’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.”

"this is perfect! katsu, he doesn't think we're a bunch of freaks!" you were overjoyed, wrapping your arms around katsuki's neck, causing him to let out a grunt.

katsuki groaned, his eyes sparkling in joy while his face was stuck in a scowl. "get over here, shitty hair," he grumbled.

kirishima immediately walked over and joined the hug, sharing a small glance with katsuki before smiling down at you. "so, how do we do this? should we just tell everyone?" his question was immediately met with a bunch of 'nononono' and a huge 'fuck no'

you gulped a bit before speaking, "i'm a bit afraid of what people would say... so i think it'd be best if we hung out as a trio and did the couple stuff in private."

katsuki agreed while kirishima was slightly embarrassed that he hadn't thought of that before.

"sounds like a good idea, as long as im not being treated as a third wheel." he joked.

"ya' think we're bitchy people, ei?" katsuki pushed him a bit, ruffling his hair.

"shut up," he grumbled, as you giggled.

you were glad this worked out, the three of you together. like it was almost natural and meant to be this way. looking up, you grabbed eijirou's jaw, pressing a light chaste kiss on his lips before doing the same with katsuki.

"i'll head to bed, you're both welcome to stay." at your offer, the two boys immediately grinned.

"hey katsuki," eijirou whispered.

"yeah?" the blond questioned.

their eyes met, katsuki's wide and bold and kirishima's hesitant and warm. "can i... y'know."

"tch," katsuki grabbed the boys face, pushing their lips together in a fiery yet cold kiss.

kirishima blinked, dazed, lips still tingling.

“…okay,” he whispered breathlessly. “yeah. i really like this.”

you giggled, sliding under the covers as you reached for them both. “then get in here, dumbasses.”

bakugou rolled his eyes but climbed in beside you, muttering something about how “this better not become a cuddle pile.”

it absolutely did.

and none of you complained.

144 notes · View notes

c4tluver02 · 22 hours ago

Text

airport pickup

wc: 1.2k

summary: Being away from Steve for a week is just as hard as it sounds!

cw: literally none just the cutest fluff!!!!

a/n: heyyy guys im back from the dead. sorry i fell off the face of the earth there for a second i had like no motivation to write!!!! but im hopefully back for good!

Being away from Steve was not normal for you. The two of you do everything today, see each other practically everyday– and when you don't everyone around you is aware of it– always attached at the hip.

So when you had to leave for a week for a family wedding it was a big thing, it was the longest you two had been apart since you began dating. But there was a lot you had to do for the wedding meaning the 7 days simply had to be done. And Steve had already exhausted all of his time off work with birthdays and anniversaries, not including the days he didn't work so he could spend the day with you in bed. All in all this was just something you both had to push through.

In the start Steve was okay, filling his time with work and hanging with the kids. It kept him busy the first few days. But then the kids were tired of him and Robin was busy with Vickie and he found himself completely bored. His hobbies were your hobbies and they consisted of things you both did together. His movie nights and dinners felt utterly lonesome without your presence.

Steve's new favorite part of his day was around 9 when you would call telling hom about all that you've done. How much your mom gets on your nerves, how beautiful the wedding venue is, how much you miss him and that you’re counting down the days till you return back home. Steve felt the same except he’s had so much alone time he knows how many minutes till you get home.

And after 7 painfully long days he's now at the airport waiting for you to be back with him. For the routine he has with you to return and everything go back to normal. It was a late flight and normally Steve would be getting ready for bed but instead his adrenaline was rushing. The ac was blasting to make up for the heat his body has worked up from just the thought of being with you.

Once he sees your baby pink suitcase and your silhouette he jumps out of his car. It’s not an area he can just park and leave but his body moves before his mind can stop him. The front door slamming loudly against his car makes you move your eyes directly towards him. Your poor suitcase is almost bouncing up in the air from the speed you're going plus the bumps on the ground. He doesn't even need to meet you halfway because once he's around to the other side of the car you’re there, arms open and your suitcase still rolling.

“Hi baby.” You say into his neck. His hands go under your shirt, needing more than just your arms around him, and his cold hands make you squeal.

“Missed you so so much, like so much.” His cold hands burn against your warm body. The walk through the airport is already enough of a workout.

“I missed you more.” You finally let go of him to see his face, his cold hands still remain under your shirt on your waist. “I think everyone was ready for me to leave, I was talking about you so much.”

His back is now fully leaning against his car and your hands around his neck pull him down just enough to get a kiss. How he hasn't gotten yelled at by one of the airport security for not moving his car you don't know, maybe they think wow this poor couple hasn't seen each other for months! Because that's exactly how you're acting.

“I swear I almost lost my mind when you were gone and the kids can back me up.” He says it between kisses and even with the muffledness of it you gleam. How could you not adore how much your boyfriend is obsessed with you? It's every girls dream.

That's when a loud honk got him off his car, a big truck trying to squeeze its way into a space between Steve's car and another. You open the passenger door as he puts your luggage into the trunk, jogging to get into the driver's seat before this truck fully runs him over.

As he pulls out of the airport his hand finds yours and you can't help but press sweet little kisses to his knuckles. Your body is fully turned to see him and he wishes he weren't driving because he didn't get nearly enough time to look at you.

“So what did you do while I was gone?” On the phone Steve always asked about your days, and since they were fully packed you barely heard about his days. Not that he did much.

“Nothing really, hung out with the kids and Rob. But then they got busy, so I worked some more shifts, and then I watched movies.” He shrugged. Really Steves praying for a red light to come up, he needs to give you another kiss. The feeling of your lips on his knuckles barely holding him over.

“You didn't even try to do stuff did you?” Your grin is hard for Steve to miss, even out of his peripheral vision.

“Doing things alone is so lame, I didn't have you to do it with me.” His head tilted back with a groan. Eyes hooded and jaw prominent, all you can think is how awful is it to ask him to pull over. You’re not far from your place, you should be able to keep yourself together.

You lean towards him to kiss his cheek, grabbing onto his jaw to pull you closer to him since the center console is in your way. And even as it jabs into your ribs you lay your head on his shoulder. Steve's glad to know you’re feeling just as touchy as he is, missing the smell of your sweet perfume. Normally it’s stuck around him 24/7 but you've been gone for oh so long that it’s started to fade. Like your pillow, it no longer smells of your shampoo and conditioner since he’s been sleeping with it. And even the sweater you stole from him, he wore it too much and now it just smells like body wash.

For you all you've thought about is that body wash, or how his hair gel smells when he’s fresh out of the shower trying to get his hair perfect. You even found yourself wanting to buy a little baby version of his cologne just to smell him when you’re busy and not home. However your family was quick to remind you that you’d see him soon with a little hint of judgment in their voice. It was enough for you to walk out empty handed.

It felt like the world can turn again, things can go on and everything is okay. You are back with your favorite person and now you can get a good night's rest. Sleeping alone is a battle you didn't know you'd lose until you had to go through it. Even getting ready for bed made you sad, there was no one to kiss you good night and trap you under the covers.

On the way home both of you were connected in some way. Not letting one another go, happy to be trapped in the car together. And when you got home it stayed that way, maybe even a little more than that…

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #writing #steve harrington x you #stranger things au #steve harrington imagine #stranger things #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things x reader #steve harrington fluff #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x y/n fluff #fluff #stranger things fic

131 notes · View notes

g00d--m0urning · 3 days ago

Text

Not Another Song About Love (Ch.1)

TONY (DATE EVERYTHING) X READER

What happens when an immovable object meets an unstoppable force?

What happens when you (a raging demisexual, asexual?, you’re not quite sure) meet Tony (a raging sexual)?

------------

Your friend Sam brings you out to a lunch date to this new outdoor restaurant 'Two Fusions' and she notices the host from this new, cheesy romance show she watches and knows him…apparently.

She introduces the two of you and both of you come to the quick realization that you are polar opposites and are never going to get along.

And yet the two of you can't seem to get away from each other

(What's that thing they say about magnets?)

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

(Okay, so reader (you) and player character are NOT the same person. This is post Player Character (NOT YOU) realizing everyone and reader (you) has no clue that the people you've been talking to used to be household items (yet).

Does that make sense? It should, hopefully. And yes this is plot relevant.)

Your car rumbles beneath you as you pull into the parking lot of the food truck/outdoor restaurant thing: ‘Two Fusions’ the sign reads. It’s a new place, or new-ish; Sam says it’s good, but you haven’t had the time to check it out until now.

You look around when you get out of your car, trying to find Sam’s bright, ladybug-themed VW Beetle, smiling when you find it. You walk up to the car, testing the door to see if it’s unlocked, rolling your eyes when it is. You snatch a rubber ducky off her dash, pocketing it.

You find Sam already at the front window of the food truck, chatting away with the cashier, an animated smile on her face, braid bobbing back and forth. You sneak up behind her, listening in on her conversation.

“Yeah, you’ll totally like my friend. They’re a little grumpy, but they’re totally a big softie underneath all of it.”

You scowl at her back, coming up behind her, draping your arms over her shoulders, rubber ducky in hand, “You, Samantha, really need to learn how to lock your vehicle.”

Sam jumps, whipping around to face you. She laughs, shoving your shoulder, “You broke into my car?” she asks, snatching the duck back from you.

“It’s not breaking in if your car was unlocked,” you tell her, a faint smile on your lips, “Also, I refute your previous statement.”

“You were listening? Ugh, you need a cow bell,” she scoffs, shoving your shoulder again, then wrapping her arm around your shoulder.

“Okay, Koa, this is my absolutely lovely friend I was telling you about,” she gestures to you, fluttering her fingers at you, “And sweetheart, this is Koa. He makes bomb food.”

The large man, Koa, laughs, setting a hand over his chest. “Thank you, Sam. It’s great to meet another one of Sam’s friends and any friend of Sam’s is a friend of mine,” he reaches his hand through the window, assumingly for you to shake.

“Thanks, man. It’s great to meet you too; I’ve heard great things about this place,” you tell him, leaning forward and shaking his hand. “I’m glad to finally get to try it.”

“Well, buddy, I’ll make sure you enjoy your first time with us,” he promises, giving your hand a firm squeeze before releasing it. “What can I get for the two of you? I assume your normal, Sam?”

“Yep, two of my normals!” she confirms, not giving you the time to look over the menu yourself.

You pull your wallet out, ready to pay, but Sam beats you to the punch, tapping her phone against the reader, “Apple pay, get with the times, loser,” she goads, knocking her hip against yours.

It’s a competition between the two of you every time you go out, both wanting to pay, unwilling to let the other. You guys have had to pull stunts to get a hand up over the other:

“I’m paying for the next one,” you tell her, pulling cash from your wallet instead and dropping it into the tip jar.

“I’m sure you will,” she comments, the smirk on her face screaming mischief, “Let’s go sit!”

She pulls you over to one of the tables (very park-esque tables, it’s definitely a family-friend establishment) forcing you onto one of the benches, sitting across from you. She rests her elbows on the table, clasping her hands together.

“Soooo, how’ve you been?” she asks, leaning forward, “You’ve been so busy, maybe with a special somebody?”

You can hear the excitement in her tone, the wiggling in her shoulders when she asks. You roll your eyes at her, shaking your head. No, there isn’t a special somebody in your life, never has been. Unless you count the marriage you have to your job.

“No, I got a promotion,” you inform, grimacing when she squeals like a tied up hog.

“That’s amazing, you finally made head scientist?” she asks, taking your hands in hers.

“Yeah,” you nod, a proud smile on your face.

You work at this private company called Vortex Labs. You interned there during your college days and they hired you immediately after you graduated! So after several years of hard work and way too many 24-hour shifts spent in the lab, you made head scientist on your team!

“Maybe I should’ve let you pay, damn. You’re gonna be rich-rich now,” Sam comments playfully, scrunching her brows at you, “God, I would kill for a promotion - I should talk to my boss, he seems to be in a better mood these days now that he and his ‘partner’ have made up,” she makes air quotes when she says partners, a knowing look on her face.

“‘Partners’?” you repeat, making the air quotes back at her, “What’s that mean?”

She looks around before leaning in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “Between us, I totally think they’re partners and not just partners, cha’know?”

“I actually don’t ‘cha’know’,” you whisper back, raising a brow in confusion, “But I’m assuming you mean that they’re sleeping together.”

She snickers, rubbing her hands together like an evil fly. Sam’s always been into the whole romance stuff; which includes trying to set you up when you really don’t want to be set up. “Oh, totally and not just sleeping together, like they’re together. I’m pretty sure they’re married on the DL.”

“Ahh, interesting,” you nod slowly, very obviously being sarcastic.

There’s food set in front of the two of you, Koa appearing at the head of the table. Thank god, saved by the incredibly delicious smelling food. Every time Sam gets into one of her relationship moods, she always insists about talking about your nonexistent love life.

It’s not that you don’t believe in love, it’s just that between getting into a prestigious college right out of high school and working towards your doctorates and the internship and then the job that required a ton of time and effort, you haven’t had time for relationships.

Plus the last one you were in ended horribly and the one before and the one before that. You just don’t have relationship luck! Which, you’re fine with.

“Thanks, Koa,” you say, taking the container, bringing it up your nose, “Smells great.”

“If you end up not liking it, you can come up and tell me. I have a full refund policy for first time visitors and we can find something you like.” His smile is warm and inviting, so is the hand he sets on your shoulder.

“If you don’t like it, I’ll take it,” Sam tells you through a mouthful of rice, pointing her fork in your direction.

Koa laughs, slapping a hand on Sam’s shoulder, ruffling her hair before heading off. You unwrap your fork from its napkin, taking your first bite. “Oh, my god,” you moan, bobbing your head up and down, “This is great.”

“Right!?” Sam exclaims, guzzling down some sort of fruit drink, “It’s literally one of the best things I’ve put in my mouth.”

You choke on your food, pursing your lips and dropping your head to keep yourself from laughing.

Sam’s jaw drops, reaching across the table to punch your shoulder, “Ew! Don’t be dirty minded at the dinner table!” she chides, glaring at you, “For someone who doesn’t feel sexual attraction, you are the dirtiest minded person I know.”

Your heart stutters when Sam brings up the fact that you don’t feel sexual attraction, but you ignore it. There’s nothing wrong with being asexual, you know plenty of people who are on that spectrum.

“God forbid, I have the same sense of humor as a teenage boy,” you drawl, rolling your eyes dramatically. “Don’t act like you’re so innocent, missy, need I remind you about the texts you sent me last weekend.” “I…was drunk,” she stammers, her face going about as red as her hair.

“Ooooh, yeah you were,” you nod, overly amused by her embarrassment. Last weekend she got completely sloshed and sent you a play-by-play about what she wanted to do to this man she met at the club. “‘Ugh, he’s so hot, I just want to chew on his biceps.’”

“Okay, but did you see his biceps? They were hugeeee, like a grapefruit,” she points out, jabbing her fork into a piece of pork, “I’d kill to be crushed between them or his thighs.”

“Let me guess, those were like tree trunks?” you ask, more rhetorically than not, grabbing her drink and taking a sip. “Hmm, that’s refreshing.”

“A.) Yes, it is, it’s delicious. B.) Yes! They were,” she confirms, unabashed by anything about admitting this. “I know there’s another trunk he has that I’d like to see.”

“Who’s nasty at the dinner table now?” you quip, balling up a napkin and tossing it at her, “Do you even know his name?”

“I think he told me…I don’t remember it..” she admits, chucking the napkin back at you, bouncing it off your forehead and into your empty food container. “That’s the thing, though: I don’t need to remember his name, just his pretty face and a good night with him.”

“That’s disgusting, actually,” you grimace, shaking your head in disappointment at her, “You should know his name, you need something to moan!” you point out, dropping the disappointed scowl for a small smirk.

“You whore!” she gasps, beaming at you. She so loves it when you play into it with her, which is why you indulge her.

Part of you is almost jealous of the way she can do that: have meaningless sex with a nameless stranger just because it gets her gears turning. “What? I’m right, aren’t I?”

“Not necessarily,” she shrugs, a mischievous glint in her eyes, “Some people are just as into the anonymity thing.”

“Oh--”

“Oh. my. god,” Sam slaps a hand on the table, leaning forward with her jaw dropped. For a moment you're almost worried she’s choking, until she points over your shoulder at somebody, “That’s Tony.”

“I thought you said you didn’t know the guy's name?” you ask, brows furrowing slightly. This is literally the conversation you just had.

“No, no, Tony. From Fix it Ton’,” she clarifies, waving her hand in the air to really drive in her statement.

“Oooooh, that stupid romance show you watch?” you ask, scowling at the mention of the show she made you binge watch over a weekend long sleepover.

Someone scoffs from beside you, “It’s not a romance show, sugar. It’s a love show; there’s a difference.”

Your head slowly turns to find Tony standing there and it dawns on you that Sam’s hand waving wasn’t just gesticulating. She was waving at him. To come over here. And for him to hear you insult his show.

“Yeah, what’s the difference?” you ask, an unamused look on your face, pushing right past the initial embarrassment.

“A romance show is shallow, scripted; like Love Triangle Island,” he rolls his eyes when he brings up the show, personally offended by it, “A love show, like mine, isn’t. I fix relationships, help people actually fall in love. No script.”

“Ahhh, okay, sure,” you nod slowly, smiling so fakely, “That makes total sense because people totally fall in love within a thirty minute episode that ‘isn’t’ scripted.”

“My episodes are forty-five minutes, actually,” he corrects you, crossing his muscled arms over his even stronger chest. “What? You one of those love sceptics?”

“No, I believe in love. I just don’t think it happens in the span of thirty--forty-five, sorry--minutes,” you tell him, clasping your hands in front of you, “Especially not when the show makes tacky merchandise.”

Sam slaps your shoulder, giving you a look that’s telling you to cut it out. You glare back, communicating silently with her. Thankfully, the action got Tony’s attention on Sam instead.

“Sammy, how’ve you been, doll?” he asks with a disarming amount of charm, sliding onto her bench, slipping an arm around her shoulders. “And what’re you doing with buzzkill over there?”

That last bit is stage-whispered, pretending like you’re not meant to hear it, but he meant for you to hear it. If the entirely unsubtle-subtle nod he gives in your direction is any indication. Sam giggles, playfully swatting his shoulder, pressing a kiss to his sharp, stubbled jaw.

“I’ve been greaaaat, and that there is my friend, so be nice,” she stage-whispers back, glancing at you, who’s sporting an incredibly annoyed look at the moment.

“You’re friends with,” he looks over at you, looking you up and down. He smirks, almost pleased with what he finds, “that love-hating buzzkill?”

“I don’t hate love!” you exclaim, throwing your hands up. You told him that less than a minute ago, “I just think your show is stupid!”

“Okay, girls, simmer down,” Sam butts in, raising her hands placatingly, “Let’s put the kitty cat claws away.”

You glare at Sam, then Tony before rolling your eyes and turning away slightly, “He started it,” you mutter childishly.

“You’re the one that insulted my show,” Tony retorts, sneering at you, “I’m sorry you hate fun, sugar.”

“I have a name,” you snap, resisting the urge to lunge across the table and strangle the insufferable jerk.

“I wouldn’t know, considering you haven’t told me, sugar,” Tony points out, enjoy the way your jaw tics at the extra emphasis on the nickname. “‘Sides, I think I’ll sugar, since you're so sweet.”

You grit your teeth, using the power of force to blow up his mind. Sadly, it doesn’t work. You open your mouth to respond, but Sam interrupts, blurting your name out.

Tony looks at her, confused by the drop, “What?”

“That’s their name,” she explains, looking between you and Tony, hoping neither of you continue arguing, “And yes, they’re my friend,” she finally confirms, smiling at you. “They’re just a little grumpy.”

“Why, you needa get laid or something?” Tony questions, raising a thick brow at you, “I can help with that.”

You glower at him, raising a hand and flipping him the bird, “As if I’d ever sleep with you.”

Tony is shocked for a moment, realizing how his words must’ve come across. He doesn’t backtrack, only leaning forward slightly, an infuriating smirk on his face, “I didn’t mean it like that, but…” he trails off, looking you up and down again.

Sam cuts in before you manage to, “Actually, they’re asexual, so they don’t feel sexual attraction.”

Your skin crawls when she tells Tony that, hating the way you want to shrink in on yourself. It’s not that you don’t feel sexual attraction or… It’s hard to explain, you just don’t feel it in a normal way! You never found a label that resonated with you, so you stuck with asexual. It’s common enough that people get the gist and you don’t have to overexplain why your body doesn’t work normally.

“Oh,” for once the tool doesn’t seem to know what to say and that makes it feel infinitely worse, “That’s cool. I mean, hey, I’m a-sexual too.”

The line makes a shiver go up your spine; you understand it’s supposed to be a joke, but if you had a dime for every time you’ve heard it, you’d be rich. “Funny,” you deadpan.

“I try,” and now he’s right back to his charming self, “It was great seeing you, Sammy, but I have an appointment. With a client,” that comes with a pointed glance at you.

“Ditto, have fun, and ‘fix it Ton,’” she says, giving his hand a squeeze as he stands up, “I’ll see you soon?”

“You know you it, doll,” he confirms, winking at her, which makes her blush. “Maybe I’ll see you too, sugar.”

“In your dreams, cupid,” you quip, smiling in an overtly sweet fashion that could only ever be read as sarcastic.

You sigh as he finally walks away, pinching the bridge of your nose, “You could’ve told me that you know him,” you tell Sam, gathering the trash off the table.

“You could’ve not insulted his show,” she counters, standing up with you to toss her trash into the can. “... I am sorry about outing you like that, though. I know you like keeping that to yourself. I shouldn’t have told him.”

You sigh softly, bumping your shoulder against hers, “You’re good, I know you were trying to help out,” you assure her, lacing your hand with hers as the two of you walk to the parking lot.

“I had fun, thank you for dragging me away from my work,” you tell her, opening her car door with a bow, “My queen.”

“I had fun too, thank you for remembering that I existed,” she says, kissing your check before getting into her car, “Are you heading back to work?” she asks, leaning through the rolled down window.

“Yep, you know me, work, work, work,” you confirm, running a hand through your hair, “I don’t have much left to do today, so I’ll get home at a decent hour…hopefully.”

“I’ll call you tonight, make sure you actually get home and eat,” she promises, pulling the rubber duck you gave to her earlier back on the dash. “Toodles,” she blows you a kiss, starting her car.

“Toodles,” you echo, mimicking the action of kissing the air kiss, watching her peel onto the street. She’s going to break that Beetle one day, you swear.

You follow suit, getting into your car and onto the street. You pull up to a redlight, looking out of your passenger side window, only for your eyes to be assaulted by an obnoxious sign, with an even more obnoxious face on it.

“‘Fix it ton’,’” you mock, with a cheery tone, under your breath, flipping off the billboard.

The person beside you honks, redrawing your attention, finding them flipping you right back off; clearly having thought you were flipping them off. Idiot. God, today is just getting longer and longer.

You can’t wait for Sam’s call tonight.

#date everything x reader #date everything #tony date everything x reader #tony date everything #sam date everything #player character date everything #koa date everything #Sam (date everything!) x player character #asexual reader #gender neutral reader #Not Another Song About Love

78 notes · View notes

noxemma · 2 days ago

Text

--- As promised, here's a longer part! Thank you all for being so patient and nice in the comments (stop that, I might get used to it lol). Also a dash more of Bal for the one person who asked for it 😂

--- Dean does fix his shirt, blushing with embarrassment and then with awareness as he feels Cas' eyes roaming across his skin and tattoos. Once he's deemed presentable and Cas has also pulled on a shirt, a polo this time instead of the button up, they head down through the casino following signs for the buffet. The place is crowded with people and Dean is just starting to worry that they'll have to call Gabe and get directions when a small hand slips into his. He startles a little but reflexively grabs it. "We're over here! Dad, can I sit between you and Mr. Dean?" Jack asks brightly, grinning ear to ear. "If that's alright with Dean, I don't see why not," Cas responds, smiling over the child's head at Dean as Jack forms a human bridge between them and leads the group toward their table.

"What am I, Jack? Chopped liver?" Sam teases, tickling Jack until he's giggling and fleeing behind Gabe. "I got to eat with you a couple times yesterday, and this morning!" Jack groans, sticking out his tongue to show he's joking. "Fine, I guess that mean's I have to sit next to you, Gabriel." "Actually, I believe that seat is reserved for me," Dean recognizes the man and the accent from brunch but can't quite place his name. "Bal! You made it, good. I needed reinforcements, as you can see, I'm out numbered," Gabe sighs dramatically. "Indeed. I don't believe we met. Balthazar, cousin from across the pond," Balthazar introduces himself to Sam. Sam returns the introduction and handshake and then everyone disperses to find food. Jack starts off with Cas and then somehow latches onto Dean, wanting to try everything he's putting on his plate. By the end, Dean is juggling two plates full of food and a cup of coffee while Jack uses both hands to carry his cup of juice. "Oh, there you are! Jack, you can't wander off like that! Sorry, Dean. Here let me help you," Cas apologizes, swiftly relieving Dean of one of the precarious plates. "Dude, seriously, no problem. Although, your dad is right, Jack, you have to let him know where you're going," Dean reprimands, though his stern face melts away when Jack stares back up at the two of them with wide eyes. Dean locks eyes with Cas, looking for help as he starts caving in to the puppy eyes, only the concern has already melted from Cas' face leaving nothing but love so deep that, if Dean hadn't been sure he was making the right decision before, he is now. Dinner is an oddly wonderful experience, so different from the other meal he shared with Cas' family. Gabe and Balthazar tell jokes and embarrassing stories of when Cas was younger and Dean joins in with his own of Sam. There's laughter and good-natured arguing and Dean helps Jack cut up his meat and he can't help the warmth at how normal it all feels.

It feels like family, Dean realizes as Jack grabs his hand and begs him to come get dessert with him and Cas. They're watching Jack debate every single option of cake, pie, and ice cream when Cas tells him, "He likes you, you know." "What's not to like?" Dean teases before getting serious when Cas rolls his eyes. "I like him too. Jack's an amazing kid. You've done a great job raising him. Have you- What are you going to tell him, about, you know ... us?" "I-" Cas starts but no more words follow. Dean watches his eyes go wide and helpless and he can't bear to see Cas panic again. So, when Jack finally comes back, thrusting a slice of cherry pie into Cas' numb hands while he grips his bowl of cookie crunch ice cream, Dean just blurts it out. "Hey, Jack. Would you be okay if Cas and I got married? Like tomorrow?" Jack comes to a full stop, nearly dumping ice cream over the edge of his bowl. "It would be pretend! Just to help your dad out, kind of like what I'm doing by being his date, only for a little longer," Dean rushes to explain. Jack stares at Dean for a few seconds, with the same unnerving intensity that Cas does sometimes, making Dean question whether the trait is inherited or learned. "Would you move in with us? And would Sam come over to visit?" Jack asks when he finally speaks and begins walking again. "Uh, yeah. Would you be okay with that?" Cas stares at both of them, fingers gripping the plate of pie so tightly as he watches the scene play out that Dean is a little nervous he's going to shatter the dish. Jack thinks about it for a moment, face adorably twisted in concentration, before he nods. "Yeah, I think it will be fun, like a long sleep over party," Jack says before turning to pull on his father's arm excitedly, "Ooh ooh, can I be the flower girl?" Cas locks eyes with Dean, still teetering on that edge. "Of course you can, unless Sam wants to fight you for it." Jack sets off as fast as he can for the table to question Sam. Dean laughing his ass off as Sam whips around to glare at him.

It isn't until he's sitting down that Dean realizes he never got any dessert for himself.

"Shoot, I didn't get any pie. I'll be-"

"I'm sorry, Dean. I think this was the last slice," Cas says, wincing.

"Oh," Dean tries not to act too disappointed, pastes what he hopes is a believable smile on his face. "Ah, no worries."

"You, you can have it if you want. I really don't need it."

"No, no. It's okay. Jack got it for you, I can go get a slice of cake or something," Dean responds, ignoring the way Sam is staring at him like he's lost his mind.

"Sam's face seems to indicate that you aren't being honest," Cas deadpans, too damn observant.

"Pie is kind of sacred to Dean," Sam offers up.

"Traitor," Dean grumbles.

"What? He should know about your weird obsession if you guys are going to be married," Sam snarks back.

"Married? I'm sorry, did I miss something?" Bal asks and both Gabe and Sam start filling him in when neither Dean nor Cas make any move to.

"I have an idea! Mr. Dean, you switch seats with me, then you and Dad can share the pie! 'Sharing is caring,' right, Dad?"

"Um, that's right, Jack. I, uh, we could- I wouldn't be opposed to sharing if you don't mind, Dean."

Dean and Jack complete their little game of musical chairs and Dean finds himself shoulder to shoulder with Cas, each of them taking turns eating bites of the pie and ice cream.

It feels too close to daydreams and fantasies Dean has had before, too close to that something that feels like its missing in his life.

He's just about to excuse himself to the bathroom as the warm bump of Cas' thigh and shoulder become too much when Jack tugs at his shirt sleeve and leans in to whisper into his ear.

"Why is it pretend? Don't you want to marry him for real?"

Dean's stops cold, the happy sounds of the table muffling. Because, yeah, he realizes, he kind of does want to marry Cas for real. Even if they never become a real couple, he wants the cuddling and the shoulder to lean on when things get tough, he wants someone to be there when he gets home from work, wants to be the one waiting up to greet Cas too. He wants more late-night conversations illuminated by Baby's dash and starlight, he wants holding hands. He wants more too, but he'd be content with just this.

The ache that follows the realization seems to bury itself into his very soul, etching these desires and the secret bigger want into each of his ribs, marking him as forever changed by this blue-eyed man. "It's kind of a complicated adult thing, but, hmm. How do I explain this easily?" Dean whispers back, thinking for a moment before slowly saying, "It takes two to want to make something real, Jack. Does that make sense?" Jack nods slowly, but his brows are pinched. He's just opening his mouth to say something when several things happen at the same time. First, the fork clatters from Cas' hand and he reaches underneath the table to place a death grip on Dean's knee. Second, a voice Dean is really starting to hate calls out "You must be Jack!" Third, every head at the table swivels toward two figures approaching them. Dean instinctively wraps his arm around Jack, pulling the boy in close to protect him. "Dad, who are these people?" Jack whispers to Cas, eyes never leaving the pair as they stand awkwardly across the table, ungreeted by anyone. "Jack. This is-" Cas starts only to be cut off by Naomi. "I'm Grandma Naomi and this is Grandpa Chuck." Dean has to actively suppress the urge to growl. "Oh, so these are the assholes who sent people to kidnap us," Sam stage-whispers to Gabe, eliciting an indelicate snort from Bal and a glare from Naomi which Sam returns full force. Dean couldn't be prouder, smiling at Sam when he winks at Dean. "Eh-hem, yes, well. We do apologize for that. We were just so excited to meet you, Jack," Naomi says, voice sugary sweet. "You made my dad, worry. That's not very nice," Jack states firmly, but then he seems to lose bravado under the weight of both the Shurley's stares, "but the plane ride was kind of cool." Chuck looks like he's going to add something, but Dean cuts him off. "Hey, Sam. You wanna take Jack up for bed? I'm sure he's tired after today and we have some stuff to discuss with the Shurley's." Sam nods, jumping up from the table. Jack looks up to Dean who nods. The boy wraps his arms around Dean in a hug before sliding off his seat and giving Cas one as well, then scampers off to grab Sam's hand, only dignifying the fuming 'grandparents' with a wave.

"I'll go help him. Bal, you want to stay? They might need a witness and I'm not exactly impartial," Gabe announces. "I suppose I can, if both parties are amenable to that suggestion?" Bal agrees staring between Cas, Dean, Chuck, and Naomi with raised brows. He takes their silence as agreement, moving chairs so that Naomi and Chuck can sit across from them while he sits at the head of the table. "Right, we are in public, so let's do try to keep this civil." Cas' hand is back on Dean's leg, holding on with more emotion than shows on his face. "Chuck, Naomi. I assume you've come to a decision?" Cas says coldly. Instead of responding, Chuck sets a stack of papers on the table. Bal reaches for them when neither Cas nor Dean do, reading through the pages as the other four at the table continue to stare at each other with open hostility. "Well, everything looks to be in order and legitimate. Don't worry, I do know what I'm doing, I am actually a licensed solicitor, though I stopped practicing because it was far more tedious and less exciting than I expected it to be. The short of it is, Cas will marry Dean tomorrow in place of Michael and Abagail. You will remain married for no less than two years. During that time, major holidays will be spent with the Shurley's as well as mandatory attendance at a few key publicity events such as the charity gala and the annual investors' banquet. If you agree to these conditions, they will relinquish all custodial claim to Jack. The agreement is, of course, null and void should any of the stipulations be violated." "Anything in there about Cas' trust fund," Dean can't help but ask, only realizing after the words are out how it might make him look like a gold-digger. "No. I thing we've compromised enough on this agreement without lining your pockets as well. Plus that Gabriel supplements Castiel's paltry income already," Naomi sneers. "Besides, we know you two aren't really engaged. Michael overheard Dean earlier, confessing to the farce on the phone, in public. I also believe he heard you say, how did it go, oh, yes you were going to 'get a little extra padding' for your brother's tuition fund."

Do not strangle Cas' parents, do not strangle Cas' parents, Dean chants to himself, his hand going down to grip Cas' tightly. At least not before Jack is safely Cas'. "Cas?" Dean whispers to Cas, praying he hasn't royally fucked the man over with his big mouth and his pride. "Fuck. I'm sorry. I was on the phone with Sam and-" "Those terms are acceptable. I wasn't interested in my trust fund when I left at eighteen and I have no interest in it now other than the collegiate education it could have funded for Jack, but we'll be fine without it." "You will have to continue to pretend to be in love. I'm sure Balthazar can confirm for you that one of the stipulations is no scandals or negative press revolving around your marriage for its duration. We need this to promote a ... diverse and family friendly brand in order to get an edge over our competitors, at least for the next few quarters," Chuck drones, Dean not really listening as he realizes that Cas said yes to marrying him even though his parents know it isn't real. There's more said, more slights and jabs thrown, but Dean doesn't hear any of it. He barely remembers signing the documents along with Cas. No, the next thing he is actively aware of is standing outside of their hotel room with Cas, having parted ways with Bal in the elevator at some point. "Dean? Are you alright?" Cas asks as he swipes his keycard and opens the door. "Yeah?" "That's very convincing." "Hey," Sam whispers, meeting them by the door. "Jack's passed out on the bed. I made sure he brushed his teeth, though he didn't have pajamas to change into. How'd it go?" "Dean and I are getting married tomorrow, late afternoon. I apologize, but I'm going to have to cancel class on Monday. Chuck and Naomi want to do a formal dinner reception to do damage control with the press, one of several stipulations for giving up custody. Here, you can look over the documents," Cas answers, handing Sam the copy of the agreement that they'd received. "Oh, wow. You're really doing this," Sam utters as he glances through it. Cas shifts beside him and Dean finally snaps out of it. "Yeah. We are," he agrees, reaching out to grab Cas' hand and squeeze encouragingly. "Alright. Well, goodnight, Cas. I guess we're going to be brother-in-laws after tomorrow, good thing there's only a couple more weeks left of the semester. I don't expect any special treatment alright and, uh, congratulations." "Of course not, Sam. And thank you," Cas replies awkwardly. Sam slides past and opens the door, turning back to look at Dean. "Well, you gonna grab your stuff?" Dean stares at him, confused as to what the hell he's getting at when he follows Sam's pointed look toward the bed where Jack sprawls over the side Dean had occupied the previous night. "Oh, right. Uh, I guess I'm bunking with Sam tonight. It kind of works out I guess, can't see the bride before the wedding and all that," Dean teases, trying to mask the disappointment he feels. "Are you implying that I am the bride or you are?" Cas quips back and Dean's stomach does somersaults because he's sure he sees Cas' shoulders slump a fraction, convinces himself there's a hint of mirrored disappointment in Cas' eyes.

"Depends. Which one of us do you think would look better in a dress?"

Dean grabs his bag and toothbrush, pausing in the doorway even though Sam is yawning and tapping his foot in the hallway. "Uh, goodnight, Cas. Guess I'll see you in the morning?" Dean says, unsure of what he's fishing for or why he's stalling. "Goodnight, Dean," Cas murmurs, giving him a gentle kiss on the cheek, "Sleep well." --- Dean doesn't sleep well. He rolls over for what has to be the eighteenth time and still can't get comfortable in the twin bed. Sam's light snoring from the other bed only makes it worse, taunting Dean that sleep comes so easily and gently for his brother. After another half hour of staring at the ceiling and feeling like he's going out of his mind, Dean gives up and rolls off the bed. He quietly pads to the bathroom and sits on the closed toilet, keeping the lights off so he doesn't wake Sam. He pulls out his phone and opens the short text thread he has with Cas. He begins typing, then deletes everything. "You can't text him at two twenty-seven in the morning, that's just cruel. He's had enough to deal with today without me adding my stupid insomnia on top of it all," Dean chides himself. He gets up from the toilet and wets a washcloth with warm water, hoping maybe that will help him relax enough to sleep for at least a few hours. He's just about to lower himself onto the bed he's beginning to hate when he feels his phone vibrate. Castiel Novak (Hot Prof): Dean? Why are you still awake? Dean: Trouble sleeping, but that's normal for me Dean: Why are you awake? Dean: Worried about tomorrow? Dean curses himself for sending off so many texts and nearly has himself convinced that he'd imagined Cas' first text when his phone vibrates again. Castiel Novak (Hot Prof): No. I mean yes, there is some lingering anxiety about tomorrow's, well I suppose it would technically be today's, events. However, I was not lying earlier. I also have trouble sleeping. Dean smiles at his phone, at Cas' carefully typed paragraph and he is seized by the urge to see him. He tries to think up any excuse before landing on one that's actually viable. Dean: Hey, since you're up. I left my suit in your room. Mind if I run up and grab it? Dean bites his lip and clutches his phone as he watches the little ellipse dots blink for a frustratingly long time that he knows is probably only a few seconds.

Castiel Novak (Hot Prof): Of course. I'll bring it to the door for you. It's all the green light Dean needs, springing from the bed, stopping only long enough to throw on one of the fancy robes and slippers from the bathroom before he's out the door. Dean tries not to be too pleased by the fact that the hotel door opens almost as soon as he appears in front of it, tries not to come to the conclusion that Cas was waiting for him. "Here you are, Dean," Cas says, his voice extra gravelly. Dean leans against the door as he accepts the hanger with his suit on it, needing to support his weight with something other than his suddenly wobbly knees. "Thanks, Cas." "Of course, Dean." They stare at each other, each waiting for some signal. A door banging shut somewhere further down the hall jolts Dean out of his stupor. "Okay, well I guess I should get back to my room. Try to get a few hours and all that. Big day today. I'm getting married, you know," Dean says dopily, fully blaming Cas' presence and lulling voice for causing him to relax and finally feel the pull of sleep. "Is that right? You know, I just so happen to be getting married tomorrow too." "Yeah? Must be a lucky guy," Dean says wistfully, forgetting reality for a moment. Cas tilts his head and grins, a sweet I'm-trying-not-to-smile-but-can't-help-it grin. "I'm pretty sure I'm the lucky one. Dean hums and finally manages to find the will to push off from the door. "Goodnight, Cas." "Goodnight, Dean." Dean gets all the way down to his and Sam's room before the stupid smile falls from his face and panic sets in as he pats at the robes pockets. "Son of a bitch. No, fuck. C'mon, tell me you weren't that stupid, Winchester." But Dean comes up empty, staring at the door that remains locked, his key sitting on the bedside within, left in his foolish haste to see Cas. Dammit. Either I wake Sam up or go down and try to get another key, although Gabe paid for the room so I don't know if they'd give me one, Dean ponders his options, biting his lip. Or ... Dean pulls his phone out. Hovers over his text thread with Cas, then sighs and swaps over to his favorites and jabs his thumb angrily at Sam's contact. The call is surprisingly picked up after just one ring. "Hey, Sam. I'm an idiot and locked myself out of the room, can you open the door? I'll buy you some fancy omelet or coffee tomorrow to make up for interrupting your beauty sleep." "Um, Dean?" That is not Sam's voice. Dean knows it isn't, even though he's sleep deprived and the phone speaker is shit, he knows that's not his brother's voice on the other line. "You're locked out of your room?" "Fuck, shit. Sorry, Cas. I didn't mean to bug you again. I must have hit the wrong button. Uh, don't worry about it. I'll figure it out, you go to bed, okay?"

"Dean, I'm the one who texted you first, remember? And, you're not bugging me. I, um. If you didn't want to wake Sam, you could, I mean you know how ridiculously big the bed is in here, I'm sure that the three of us could fit. Or, well, if you're uncomfortable with that I guess I could call Gabe and ask him to get a spare room key," Cas stammers, going from in control to unsure in seconds. "Uh, thanks. That would be- I'll, um, I'll be up in a second." Dean's once again feeling warm gooey feelings as Cas opens the door before he can even lift his hand to knock or text. "Here, I'll put this back in the closet," Cas offers, taking the suit from Dean. Dean waits for Cas in the darkness, letting him lead the way to the bed. Cas gets in, gently nudging Jack away from the middle, leaving a small space for Dean on the edge. Dean slides onto the mattress, lets out a breath he was apparently holding when he feels the heat of Cas next to him, feels the reassuring press of his chest when Dean turns on his side to be the little spoon so they can fit more comfortably in the space left over from Jack. Dean lets out a sigh, of relief and contentment, not realizing until this moment that he hadn't been able to get comfortable in the twin bed downstairs because one perfect night in Cas' arms had apparently ruined sleeping alone. What the fuck are you going to do for the next two years? I doubt Cas really wants you sleeping with him after the wedding, you might be moving in but that doesn't mean you get to invade every aspect of the guy's life. Dean bats the worry away, pins it in a corner of his brain to deal with later when he isn't happily cuddled up next to Cas. "Dean? Are you- Is this comfortable?" "'m perfect, Cas. Never wanna leave," Dean murmurs before finally drifting off to sleep as Cas' arm gently drapes across his waist.

@colorlessjay @destielfangirl24 @chokinghazardchirp @o-birdseed-o @examishbookwyrm @planterflush @t0asssty @dead-sirens @hate-babe-27 @profanitybasedfun @azriel-rodas @ghost-in-the-light @kwazle96 @icarus-falling-down @beingbluee @sassa-v @demons-i-get @greeneyedgrasshopperandhisangel @hereswhatimyellingabouttoday @sesquipedalianisms @sadundefinedbread @nyc-pizza-rat @bluetiger3000 @thefantasyvoid @marita2503 @indigo-dear @thecaffeinatedcatlover

#hehe did y'all think I'd really make them sleep in separate beds? nah #cas totally was up on his phone wanting to text Dean 'cause he was missing him too #he saw those dots and sent the text before he could regret it #we are so close to a wedding!!!#Dean was this close 🤏 to quoting My Fair Lady “I'm getting married in the morning”#we embrace the insomnia here #destiel #spn #supernatural #castiel #dean winchester #destiel fic #tumblr fic #steering through the rearview

140 notes · View notes

yourfatherlucifer · 2 days ago

Text

Take it, Baby | K.YS

Kang Yeosang x afab!reader

Summary: Alone time with Yeosang in his room, Yunho in the next.

Warnings: SMUT MDNI

WC: 600

Genre: Smut

Enjoy this shitty short drabble ~

“You want to do what?? Yeosang, Yunho is in the other room,” Yeosang continued to climb on top of Y/N’s retreating form, “Wait, Yeosang.”

The idol shrugged as if he didn’t care. Well, he actually didn’t, “Don’t care, baby. He can hear us for all I care. All that matters is that I need you. Bad.” He gently laid her down, hand beneath her head, “I’m sorry I really want to. You just look so good.”

“Dude, I’m literally just wearing sweats and a sweatshirt.” She cocked her eyebrow with concern before Yeosang was already undressing them both with ease. Their bare naked forms collided as their lips followed suit.

Yeosang rubbed his cock against her folds, ready to push in but he couldn’t. Not until he decided to move up her body, hovering above her head, “Now, baby, I normally don’t behave like this, you know that.” His sweet gestures, gentle hands on her face, “But I want you to do something for me, okay? Can you do it?” Yeosang’s lisp was clear as day as he tried to be tough, dominate. It was working.

“Anything for you, Yeo.” She smiled, his balls hovering over her chin. The moment those words left his lips, his cock was slapping against her cheek, telling her to open wide; and she did.

Mouth full of cock and muffled moans, “Mmm, mm, ngh, yeothong.” The girl could barely speak, how could she?

Yeosang’s grunts began to fill the room, one hand on his hip while the other worked his cock inside of Y/N’s mouth. Her gagging only continued to turn him on. Shoving his cock deep, deep down her throat, “Just like that baby, come on. Such a good girl, taking me so well.”

Just before he could cum, his cock was sliding out, a string of saliva connecting them both.

“Fuck, you look sexy.”

Yeosang flipped Y/N onto her stomach, ass perked and ready for the taking, but that’s not what Yeosang wanted. No…he wanted that leaking cunt. All his. The idol wet his lips before he dove in with his tongue, swiping and wiping every drop of her fluid before he pulled away, “Ready? I won’t go slow. Not this time.” Much different to his usual love making, his cock was pushed right in, no resistance much to his surprise.

“Fuck! Yeosang!” All cautions thrown out the window the moment his cock intruded inside, “Oh fuck, please, just use me, Yeosang. Please!”

The idol took her up on her offer almost immediately. Harsh thrusts, medium to fast pace, hands gripping her hips so tightly that bruises already began to form, “This is what you wanted, right? Begging me to take you? Oh crap. And with Yunho in the next room? So dirty.”

The bed began to fight back, creaking harsh sounds and creaking following after. The bed wasn’t going to last much longer with his rough movements. Her head pushed into the mattress as their skin slapping began to spread through the dorm.

Anything and everything could be heard around the dorm.

Soon enough, Yeosang was teaching his peak, burying himself deep inside before he spilled, “Baby, come on. Join me.” His hand wrapped around her torso to fondle her clit, teasing and pinching, “Cum, you can do it.”

His cum began to spill out from around his cock and out of Y/N’s cunt. The sheets ruined. Her own orgasm followed after, splashing in the same pile, convulsing from the aftermath, “Shit, Yeosang, can we- can we go again?”

“Can I join this time?”

“What the fuck!”

#ateez x reader #ateez smut #x reader #Yeosang smut #Yeosang x reader #Kang Yeosang smut #Kang Yeosang x reader smut

65 notes · View notes

mashed-brainrot · 16 hours ago

Text

──𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 [𝐈]

❝in any other circumstance, she would’ve taken your worries with soothing whispers. she would care for you, nurse you to health, tell you that everything would be okay. none of that softness is shown in her now. she needs you present, in the moment, and ready to fight.❞

PAIRING: cho hyun-ju x f!reader GENRE: romance, fix-it fic, everyone i care about lives ending WORD COUNT: 9.7K WARNINGS: slight squid game spoilers! graphic descriptions of violence/gore, canon divergence, afab reader, reader is an ex-hitman (john wick inspired), reader is stated to be an american but race/skin color/body type is not specified, mentions of childhood bullying relating to transitioning, unrealistic depictions of labor/birth (canon), bonding over killing someone, porn with plot except the smut comes in the next chapter.

NOTES: i am so normal about cho hyun-ju. anyways, here's a fic where player 100 gets brutally murdered, you cry with a baby in your arms, and player 333 gets tagged teamed by two bad bitches. it got so long that i had to split the smut to another chapter hope yall don't hate me :')

✩ CHAPTER TWO COMING SOON | | CHO HYUN-JU MASTERLIST

The colored ball in your hands weighs nothing. The plastic object is cheaply made with seams where the plastic came off of the mold. If you exert just a bit of pressure, you could make a dent in this ball.

You didn’t choose the color. There was a fifty-fifty chance of getting red or blue.

There are a hundred more like it in the outside world, but in here? This ball determines your fate in the next game.

Simple objects, like the plastic ball in your hands, are no longer just a ball.

It’s the team you’re playing. A team that will become your entire identity, consuming the last bits of your own worth until you’re nothing but a plaything. Your humanity is stripped away as you’re forced to play in another set of deadly games. All because you’re stuck in a room full of gambling addicts and sociopaths who think they’re the ones to beat the odds and survive another round. Just one more. One more game. One more person eliminated. Another faceless player with their names replaced with numbers, branded like cattle.

Because to the guards, you’re nothing more than livestock. Fodder to whoever set the games in motion to feed their bloodlust.

Your plastic ball is blue.

Your vest is blue.

Your team is blue.

And for the next thirty minutes, you are nothing more than that. You are nothing more or less than the color of your vest and you will be hunted down by another set of face-less players—the red team. Similarly dehumanized, except they have the advantage of being armed.

You automatically search the crowd until you find Cho Hyun-ju. A stranger to you for most of the games until the rebellion. She doesn’t look any more confident than you, but there’s hope in her face. You’re on the same team. She can help protect you.

You have nothing more than your teeth and the key in your sweaty palms to defend yourself with.

At least, until someone agrees to switch places.

— — —

“No, you won’t be able to do it. How could you kill a person with this?” Geum-ja holds her knife in shaking hands with a trembling voice, looking around the room towards the blue-vest players. “Even as a kid, you’d always let other people beat you up like a fool whenever you got into a fight.”

Yong-sik sits still beside his mother, equally as terrified. “What about you? Could you go and kill someone like that? Dad beat you all the time and you couldn’t even fight back.”

Hearing them go back and forth made your heart heavy.

It’s an impossible decision. No one wants to trade with them, which means that they have to make the hard decision themselves. No matter what, they’ll be on opposite teams and possibly have to encounter one another.

The two of them, though loud and co-dependant, are the reason why it’s bearable to even continue in these games. Their love for one another binds them together and you can see how many sacrifices they made that led them here. They’re good people. Much better than you’ll ever be. A mother shouldn’t have to make the decision to have to kill someone or have her do-gooder son kill someone in her place.

You clutch your key in your hand. Although some people argued that being on the blue team is easier, you would much rather not be a target to Nam-gyu and the other blood-thirsty players. You’re dehydrated and hungry as it is. Weakened and without proper rest. It’s barely been a month since you left New York City and you still carry the injuries that came with that departure.

You knew the consequences of getting out of the crime underworld, trying to rid yourself of a path that was forged through countless lives and debt that rose higher than skyscrapers. The Russian mob is ruthless and as their top hitman, you had to be just as bad, if not worse.

Your boss gets to sit in his chair, puffing exotic cigars and sitting in hours-long business meetings while you got your hands dirty. He points his finger and expects to roll over. He barks an order and you obey without mercy. He asks for an entire family to be wiped out and it’s you that has to remember their bloodied faces.

Geum-ja went into debt trying to pay for Yong-sik's mistakes. Yong-sik sticks by his mom like a shadow with each game despite the fact that she’s a liability. They bicker. They argue. They curse at one another. But their love for one another is pure, it’s just been tainted by the bad cards they’ve been dealt with. Had Yong-sik’s dad stayed faithful and never abused him, perhaps he wouldn’t have a bad gambling habit; Geum-ja wouldn’t have agreed to be in the games in hopes to pay off her son’s debt.

They’re good people and you’re painfully not. They deserve to win and you’re going to help that happen.

You walk up to them in measured steps. Their bickering dies down when you stop in front of them.

“I’ll switch with you, Ms. Jang,” you say, steady and confident in your decision. “That way you and Yong-sik can be together. If you stick together as a group, you have a much better chance at fending off the red team.”

Geum-ja looks between you and her son, as if she couldn’t believe the offer you were giving her. “A-Are you sure?”

“I’ll feel better knowing the two of you are together.”

Her frail hands grasp your forearms, relieved and thankful. “Find us when you’ve passed.”

You nod, taking off your vest before handing it to her.

You pretend to not feel the burning stare of Hyun-ju as you place the red vest on your body.

Though the vest is a single layer of polyester, it still feels weighted. The knife in your hand brings more ease to your bristled nerves. You can manage this. Being on the red team gives you more control. It’s easier to align yourself with the hunter rather than the hunted.

Without much thought, your feet carry you across the room to where Hyun-ju is. She sits on the floor, watching you approach her.

Any words you wanted to say die on your tongue the closer you get. It’s hard to keep your heartbeat level whenever you’re in the same space. You hope your face doesn’t betray your rampant thoughts.

You settle down next to her, mindful to keep a breath of distance between the two of you.

Before the rebellion, you couldn’t bring yourself to be near her. Of course you’ve taken notice of her—a tall, beautiful, striking woman will always make your head turn—but you’ve kept your distance. After the first game, you didn’t want to form attachments if the people around you are just going to die anyway.

You heard Hyun-ju talk about her struggles transitioning. Her goal to move to Thailand. Her voice as it holds hope of making something out of her life. You pretended like her words didn’t affect you. You ignored the way you saw a bit of yourself in her—wanting to move to another country to start fresh and leave everything behind.

You planned on keeping a low profile, staying silent and isolated so that it wouldn’t hurt seeing people die left and right.

But Seong Gi-hun starts a rebellion and the striking woman from before is holding a gun in her hands like it’s rightfully hers. She stands tall and battle-ready, fighting for a chance to end the games once in for all.

It was a stupid plan.

Yet you grappled a gun from one of the guards and took down a few of them before they retreated. You watched as Cho Hyun-ju explained the basics of handling a MP5 with such power in her voice that you couldn’t help but listen, even though you could take apart your gun with your eyes closed.

Even though the rebellion didn’t work, you found yourself sticking by her and talking to her instead of listening in on her conversations like a creep.

You exchanged names. You gave her a piece of your past: you were a contract killer and you had to wipe out all of the rival gangs in New York City in a single night. You came to South Korea with nothing more than the clothes on your back and an aching body.

In turn, she gave you pieces of her life. She laid down in the same bed, talking to you until exhaustion took over.

“Five minutes until the games begin!” the automated voice over the speaker says in a deceivingly cheerful tone.

For a moment neither of you say anything or look at each other. The chatter of the room and your own heartbeat drowns out anything in your mind.

Hyun-ju finally tilts her head towards you. “It’s nice, what you did for Yong-sik. It should be easier to be on the blue team.”

You hum, twirling the knife in your hand in a practiced motion. The awkward hilt makes it hard to balance, but you manage. “I’ll come find you guys. I know you’re probably gonna stick by Ms. Jang and Jun-hee. After I eliminate Player 100, I’ll try to make my way to you.”

You lazily point your blade to said Player on the other side of the room. He catches your small smirk and hardened stare and scurries away like a cornered rat.

Hyun-ju lets out a small chuckle at the scene. “Do me a favor and drag out his death a bit, yeah? He’s part of the reason why we haven’t had a majority vote to leave.”

“Will do, Sergeant,” you say in mock salute.

It’s moments like this—wher Hyun-ju crinkles her nose and rolls her eyes—that the world silences and time stops. For a second, it’s just the two of you. No guards holding sub-machine guns and the walls don’t stink of sweat and blood. Hyun-ju looks at you with that small, shy smile that emphasizes how beautiful she is. She’s smiling because of something you said. She’s happy—even for this split second—because of you.

She looks at you with such softness that it makes your stomach twist into a million knots. You’re so used to feeling like you’re nothing, that you’re a robot made for killing, a monster with no will of their own. Yet from the moment you made yourself known to her, she makes you feel seen. She talks to you like your words matter. She makes you crave a life outside of mafia work and blood money.

Hyun-ju’s smile falters, but she doesn’t look away from you. Her mouth opens, hesitating, unsure. Then, she says, almost whispering: “When this is over—if we get out of here…do you…?”

A pause. You wait for her to finish but the words don’t come out. Her breath is held in her lungs and you see her body getting tense.

“Do I…what?” you ask, soft and nervous. Pretending that your heart is not thundering underneath your ribs.

She doesn’t respond immediately. Still hesitant, tense. Looking at you, making sure she’s making the right decision. As if you’re worth something to her, despite only knowing each other for less than twelve hours.

“Do you want to get food together?”

You have a strong suspicion that she changed her question, but you didn’t let it show. Instead, you gave a small smile. “I would like that. Especially if it was with you.”

You watch as her breath hitches—just barely, but you’re close enough to notice anything. You see the apples of her cheeks redden a touch, her throat constricting as she swallows down her nerves.

She opens her mouth to speak but the alarm blares, signaling the blue team to enter the arena first.

— — —

The sudden buzz of the alarm sets your heart in motion.

“Red team, please enter the arena.”

The knife is a comforting weight in your hands. Familiar. You feel a lot safer with a weapon in your hand.

You walk in an uncoordinated line as all of the red team is being pushed into the arena. You hear the subtle gasps and comments before you can see the maze itself.

The lights dim, the hallway narrows, and suddenly you are faced in a dream-like space.

Twinkling stars are painted against a deep blue background. The walls are split perfectly horizontally with uniform stone walls. Some of the walls show small yellow houses next to child-ish drawings of trees, others show neatly drawn graffiti in Korean. All the players are taking small steps, scanning the room, huddled together as if they were the prey themselves and the real predators are lurking around the corner.

You shift your weight between each leg. You hold the knife tighter. You force the muscles in your arms and legs to relax. A small, yet effective routine to get you into the mindset needed for survival.

Killing people is your home turf. It was your occupation long before you came to South Korea. At least your old boss had some decency when it came to carrying out hits—effective with as little mess as possible. Fast, clean, surgical.

It’s easy to compartmentalize your feelings, boxing your empathy in the recess of your mind until you’re safe. Just kill one person and you pass. Just one and you can live for another day.

“Ready or not, here I come!” the speakers blare out.

The timer starts.

The world suddenly moves, the crowd disperses and you find yourself running past every one with one objective: to kill someone and regroup.

— — —

In ten years, you’ve killed around three hundred and fifty people on record. Your boss only cares about the people he personally requested to be killed off and didn’t bother keeping track of other casualties.

The true number of people dead by your hands is around two thousand. Casualties that either got in the way of killing your target or retaliated when you did so.

Some of your kills occurred in the safety of a tall building with a bolt-action sniper rifle trained onto your target. You would sit in one spot, waiting for your victim to come marching into view before you exhaled and took the shot. Glass would shatter, people would scream, and by the time someone looked to the building next to them, you were already on the street with your gun packed neatly into a briefcase.

However, if your boss needed large scale extermination, he found it more efficient to get you up close and personal.

There were times where you found yourself cornered and unarmed. Gunfire would blare into your ears, your limbs are shaking with adrenaline, and you’re severely outnumbered. You would find your magazine empty, your knife too slick with blood to hold properly, and the feeling of death looming over you.

But you always found yourself alive despite the odds stacked heavily against you.

Some people call it “complete immersion”. Others describe it as a spiritual experience where your soul exists outside your body.

You see it as a way for your sub-conscious to completely take over your body. Your body feels feather-light. Time slows down until you are perceiving the world through a distorted lens. Your body is suddenly optimized to exhale right when you exert yourself. Every sense blurs into one cohesive feeling. You don’t falter. You don’t hesitate. You don’t think before you strike.

The other red players are skittish, their movements sluggish and their bodies untrained. They only use their sight to navigate the maze before them.

You stopped when the maze fell too silent. None of the other red players are nearby—you’ve outran them once the timer started. It gives you a chance to catch your breath. You try to steady your heart and listen to your surroundings.

Heavy breathing. Shuffling feet. A muttered curse. Anything to reveal the location of one of them—a blue player.

Just one. After that, find Hyun-ju—

Faintly, barely audible, you hear the scrape of shoes against the concrete floor.

The moment you saw a flash of blue and grey hair in the corner of your eye, there was nothing that could stop you.

Player 100 may have had the initial advantage of having a two minute head start, but that did little to help him escape from your heightened awareness. He might’ve gotten lost and made his way back to the entrance of the maze. Whatever the case, he won’t escape you.

He ducks past a corner and it sets you into motion.

You’re running at full speed. He may be out of sight, but you hear which door he opens. You can see the ends of his heel when he runs around a corner. You don’t let the screams of other players distract your focus.

He knows to keep making sharp turns in hopes of shaking you off. You would have to remedy that.

You pick up the pace until you have him in sight.

Everything dulls in your ears. The screams, the thundering noise of your footsteps, the maniacal laughter of Nam-gyu somewhere nearby.

All of it quiets when you throw your knife in a deadly line, straight into the back of Player 100.

The force of your throw buries your knife in the flesh of Player 100, all with way to the hilt. He lets out a pained scream as he tumbles to the ground.

He writhes on the ground trying to reach for the knife. With a shriek, he pulls the blade out from his lower back, pointing it towards you. You don’t pause. You keep walking forward, closing the distance.

“P-Please!” Player 100 begs. Tears springing from his eyes and snot trailing down his face.

Despite him holding the weapon, he knows you’re more than capable of taking him on.

There’s no way he could win a fight against you. Not at his age and lack of experience.

You walk, slow and methodical. Keeping eye contact as you back him into a corner, cataloging every expression he makes.

Blood pumps through your body. It pulses hot in your ears, under your skin, burning in your veins.

You need to make this quick. There’s no telling where Hyun-ju and her group are. With an elderly and pregnant woman, they can’t be too far. You have to kill Player 100 if you have any chance of finding them, or worse if another red player finds them first.

“I-I’ll give—give you anything, please!” he begs again, the knife trembling as he speaks. He’s full on sobbing in front of you. “It’s money, right? I’ll give you half my share! No, I’ll give you seventy percent! Anything! All of—”

All at once your body moves, quick as a whip. Player 100 swings the blade blindly, closing his eyes hoping he will hit something. Your movements are precise as you twist his blade-holding hand, hearing the soft clank as the weapon hits the floor.

Player 100 may be old and inexperienced, but that doesn’t make your job any easier. You’re still weakened. Hungry and exhausted. Player 100 kicks, writhes, scratches like a wild animal. He tries to buck you off his body, but you’re not letting him get any advantage over you. You secured both of his hands before slamming your forehead into his nose. You hear a loud CRACK and the feeling of his blood dripping down your skin.

He’s hyperventilating now. You’re fully on top of him, seated in the middle of his chest, feeling each quick rise and fall of his chest. Your forehead is throbbing, a phantom sensation of his nose still present on your heated skin.

“P…P…lease…”

“Just one more game, right?” you say in a mocking tone, barely holding in your anger. You pick up the discarded blade beside you, holding it tightly in your hand. “Who cares if more people die? At least it’s not you, is that what you’re thinking?”

He violently shakes his head, sobbing words out but it’s unintelligible to your ears.

You suck your teeth, “Bet you’re wishing you voted to get out, huh?”

You pressed the blade into the folds of his neck and in one swift motion, you sliced his throat. No fanfare. No wasted breath. Zero hesitation because you’ve done this countless times to an unimaginable number of people.

The blade is so sharp that it cuts through Player 100’s fat and muscle like silk. Blood splatters across your body, your face, every surface that faces him. The blood is thick. The metallic smell hangs in the air, coating your body, filling up every space between you two.

His eyes go wide. He makes a gargling noise and continues moving for a few more seconds. You watch motionless, silently observing the struggle leave his eyes.

“Player 100, eliminated!”

You stand on steady legs. The warmth of his blood still lingering on your skin.

— — —

“Player 249, passed!” a distant speaker says, muffled but still audible.

Hyun-ju would be lying if she said she wasn’t straining her ears, listening for your number to be called off. Her shoulders relax and she lets out a heavy sigh of relief.

She stands guard of a room that’s painted in childish drawings of shapes with a large rainbow on the walls. Geum-ja and Yong-sik are comforting Jun-hee as her stomach pains worsens.

“That’s (Name)’s number, right?” Yong-sik asks, a sprinkle of hope in his voice. “Do you think she’s gonna find us?”

“I’ll kill her if she doesn’t,” Jun-hee huffs out.

“Do you think the speaker goes off in proximity to the killings?” Geum-ja looks at the timer on the wall with a worried look on her face. “Only five minutes passed. If she’s found a blue player already, that means red players are close. I think we should move.”

“What about Jun-hee?” Yong-sik asks.

Jun-hee lets out a sharp gasp, holding her stomach. “I…I should be fine. I can manage a few more minutes. I hope.”

The three of them look to Hyun-ju for the final verdict.

While Geum-ja is correct for assuming the red players are nearby, that also means you are close as well. The odds for you to find them are higher if they decide to camp in one spot, but so are the chances of another player finding them. Hyun-ju and Yong-sik are the most capable of fending off attackers, but he won’t be much help if they face off against a group of red players.

Hyun-ju opens the door slightly, keeping watch of any movements. “Jun-hee, are you sure you can walk?”

Jun-hee stands a bit straighter, gripping Yong-sik’s shoulders to keep herself steady. “I can.”

“You and Ms. Jang should stay between me and Yong-sik,” Hyun-ju says. “We keep going until we find another room.”

The three of them gather around Hyun-ju as she takes one last look into the hallways. When the coast is clear, they walk out, gripping onto one another.

Hyun-ju keeps watch, twisting her head and straining her ears for any noises. “Yong-sik, keep an eye out for any red players.”

“Yes, ma’am!” he says, gripping onto Jun-hee tighter.

They slowly, but surely, make their way through the maze. They flinch when they hear the screams of fellow blue members, but Hyun-ju keeps them focused.

The maze is meant to imitate safety—childish drawings, soothing colors, a soft glow to the poorly-drawn stars that are reminiscent of a night light. It mocks Hyun-ju. There is no safety, not when another blue player screams helplessly, their cries echoing off of the walls.

They turn a corner and are met with carnage. Another player. Geum-ja and Yong-sik make a startled gasp, rightfully appalled by the scene. Whoever killed the player gave them no mercy or dignity in death. Multiple lacerations across the body—too many to be considered accidental.

Darkened blood is pooled beneath the body. It should’ve been out of place in a maze filled with childhood nostalgia and soft lighting. But it doesn’t. The blood is smeared on the floor, mirroring the novice paintstrokes of the stars above them. The blue vest blends with the night sky and dim atmosphere.

Hyun-ju gives a moment of pause for their fallen teammate, but nothing more. It’s only a matter of time before Jun-hee gives into the growing pressure in her stomach.

The four of them maneuver past crooked hallways and open doors with bloodied knobs. Their eyes purposefully avoid the corpses of fellow players, a reminder of what their fate would be if their luck would run out.

Because that’s all this game is. Only those without empathy have the true advantage in this maze. It would be easier for Hyun-ju to drop her hands and find the exit herself.

But she can’t. Not when these people beside her had given her hope to live outside of the games. Not when they bestowed kindness for a girl who has been harassed and belittled for being her true self.

Hyun-ju makes a sharp turn, pulling the rest of her group with her movements. She presses a finger to her mouth.

A low hum of voices and the sounds of steady footsteps. Not hurried or rapid. Slow, steady, calm.

The group of red players walk past their hiding spot without a second glance.

None of the voices sound like yours.

Jun-hee makes a sharp sound, dropping Hyun-ju’s hand to clutch her swollen belly. “I don’t…I think I need to rest.”

“There’s a door here,” Yong-sik says, tilting his head towards the end of the hallway. “I think it’s a square lock.”

Hyun-ju grabs the respective key from the collection around her throat. Geum-ja and Yong-sik form a protective guard around Jun-hee, keeping a lookout while Hyun-ju twists open the lock.

“Shit!” Yong-sik says, grabbing Hyun-ju’s sleeve.

“I knew it!” a low, unfamiliar voice rings through the narrow hallway. “Guys! I found some!”

A red player, brandishing a knife like it’s a toy. His smile is too wide for Hyun-ju liking and from the looks of it, he already killed someone.

“Get inside!” Hyun-ju says, never looking back from the man.

The other red players—their voices eerily joyous—step into view. Blocking the entrance to the hallway. Cornering them. Each of them with blood on their faces, eager for more.

One of them points to Hyun-ju and the door. “Now, now. There’s no hiding from us. Just let us kill you and we won’t make it hurt…that much.”

Hyun-ju’s heart pounds in her chest. She’s confident she can take on one or two of them, but there’s four grown men wielding knives. Overly-eager to spill more blood and Hyun-ju is certain that is only to fill their bloodlust and less so the need to get more money.

“I won’t let you,” Hyun-ju says. The odds are stacked against her. There’s no way she can feasibly take them down. Even if she did, would she be too injured to continue on?

That earns a hearty laugh from the group of players. It rings through the maze with tears in their eyes and mocking faces.

Hyun-ju has been faced with this before. Her whole life she’s been met with humiliation left and right for being too feminine, too weak, too wrong. It’s the same laughter that precedes every tragedy in her life.

Now that childhood shame, that ridicule, has come back to haunt her. To kill her. To put an end to her winning streak. To snuff out the hope of a better life. To kill the only people in her life that care about her.

Her hand closes to a tight fist. She doesn’t cower under the predatory gazes of the bloodthirsty men in front of her.

She will protect the people she cares about, even if it’s the last thing she does.

Another pair of footsteps can be heard.

Hyun-ju can’t see the other person, but she hears the sound of someone hitting the hilt of their knife against one of the men’s necks.

Player 019 falls to the ground, their weapon clattering on the floor until it halts in front of Hyun-ju’s feet.

The laughter stills.

Hyun-ju’s heart falters at the sight of you.

She almost didn’t recognize you. Blood is smeared messily on your face, like you tried to wipe it off but there was too much of it. You stand tall, defiant, and so eerily calm that it sobered up the rest of the men standing.

“What are you doing?” one of the men asks. “You can’t attack us, we’re both red players!”

You don’t look at him. Or any of the men. You don’t give them a response as you slowly walk towards Hyun-ju.

Hyun-ju should feel threatened by your unblinking stare. You still look tense, ready to strike at a moment's notice.

A hand grabs your shoulder roughly, taking your attention off Hyun-ju.

“Answer me when I’m—”

You don’t waste a second before twisting the man’s arm behind his back and kicking his legs from under him. Before he has a chance to recover, your knife is pressed hard against his throat. Even if you’re not physically strong enough to hold him down, your knife keeps him from moving.

You twist his arm further and he shouts in pain.

The hallway falls silent, save for the harsh breathing of the man in your hold.

“That’s true, I shouldn’t be attacking you guys,” you say, “but I don’t really care.”

Your knife momentarily leaves the man’s throat, only for your blade to make harsh contact with the side of his neck. Player 336 slumps on the floor, unresponsive at your bloodied feet.

“Player 336, eliminated!”

You look at Hyun-ju.

She gives a curt nod.

Hyun-ju grabs the blade by her feet just as 172 lunges at her. She narrowly dodges his attacks as he swings his blade uncontrollably. She brushes past him, curving her arm in a deadly arch before slicing 172’s rib. He howls in pain, clutching his side.

The cut isn’t deep, but it’s enough for a bit of blood to appear on his side.

Hyun-ju can hear the sounds of your fight but there’s no time to check when 172 lunges at her once more. She waits until the last second before dodging out of the way, slamming her blade into the man’s chest.

Warm blood gushes into her fist, but she keeps going. The two of them topple to the ground with Hyun-ju on top. She uses both of her hands to press deeper, ignoring the choked sounds of 172. There is little resistance against the blade as it makes contact with his organs.

Hyun-ju stands, pulling up the blade as she does so. She turns and stabs the neck of 019—still passed out—for good measure.

“Player 172 and 019, eliminated!”

A high-pitched shriek and the sound of a blade ripping through flesh—

“Player 296, eliminated!”

You appear beside her, bloodied some more, gripping two knives. Uninjured and out of breath.

There’s something truly unsettling about you.

While the group of men are fascinated by death and are eager to chase that high, they are nothing more than children playing make believe.

You are the real deal.

Blood coats your knives and four bodies surround the two of you like trophies.

Hyun-ju isn’t looking at you—Player 249. The girl who switched places with Yong-sik so he could be with his mom. The girl who took arms and fought in Gi-hun’s rebellion. The girl who dreamed of moving to a new country to start fresh.

Hyun-ju is faced with a hitman who is more than confident in her ability to take down a group of armed men. A killer soaked in blood; a true monstrous predator.

“Are you okay?” you whisper to her. Deceivingly vulnerable. Like you didn’t kill two men in cold blood a moment before.

Hyun-ju crosses the distance between you two, enveloping you into a hug. You’re overwhelmed by her—the smell of her sweat and blood, the warmth of her body, her heart beating out of her chest. You stand rigid, completely blindsighted by her affection.

The two blades in your hands fall to the concrete floor. You return her hug earnestly, gripping her jacket, breathing in her scent. Relieved that she’s alive.

“I’m okay now that you’re here,” she murmurs into your jacket.

You can’t help but smile at that.

— — —

Any relief you feel quickly evaporates the moment Jun-hee’s water breaks.

Despite Jun-hee going into active labor a few weeks earlier than expected, she kept apologizing for her inconvenience. Yong-sik gave her his jacket to bite on to muffle her screams, but you can still make out the words “sorry” being yelled over and over again.

You stood against the doorway the whole time to “keep watch”, but really you felt…uncomfortable. It didn’t feel right to be in the presence of someone’s birth when you took the lives of so many people. It’s an intimate moment, one where you felt like your presence was invasive.

Hyun-ju lets Jun-hee strangle her hand as she pushes the baby. You hear the muffled sobs escaping Jun-hee and your heart breaks with each one. Hyun-ju is whispering encouraging words and Jun-hee looks ready to kill someone.

With less than fifteen minutes left on the countdown, Jun-hee gives birth to a baby girl. Hyun-ju is first to hold said baby, with tears and a smile that reaches her eyes. The baby coos and wiggles in the messy swaddle of Yong-sik’s jacket, healthy as it could be given the circumstances.

Hyun-ju looks up at you, baby in her arms and eyes shining brighter than the poorly drawn stars outside, and you can’t help but melt.

“Would you like to hold her?” she asks, rocking the baby in her arms.

You open your mouth to protest, but Hyun-ju is already at your side. She helps you adjust your arm to support the baby’s neck and watches your reaction.

You probably look stupid with your mouth slightly agape and your eyes wide. You’re covered in foreign blood. There’s a knife sheathed in your pockets. You wiped out entire families. You’ve taken joy from others. You shouldn’t be holding something so delicate, so purely innocent.

You’re so still that Hyun-ju is certain your heart is stalled too. You’re aware of all eyes on you, watching intently.

The baby is warm and tiny. Her face is bright pink and her dark eyes are trained on you. Then she wiggles in your rigid hands, making the smallest huff of annoyance before she lets out the tiniest yawn you have ever heard. She closes her eyes, comfortable and protected, falling asleep in your arms.

Hyun-ju watches your lip tremble.

These past few days have been draining. You’ve kept your composure, keeping your mind focused on surviving. You’ve gotten sliced, shot at, beaten within an inch of your life—none of that got an emotional response from you. But this?

A tear falls. Then another.

“I-I don’t…” you whisper to yourself, holding the baby tighter. “I don’t deserve this. I shouldn’t be holding her.”

Geum-ja walks up to you, her hands gentle as she grasps your shoulders. “You protected this baby. You killed for her—both you and Hyun-ju. That alone makes you more worthy than any of us.”

“Which was totally badass by the way,” Yong-sik interjects. “It was something out of a Hollywood spy film. The way both of you took down those men—just wow.”

He tries to shadow box to prove his point, but the movements are so awkward that it knocks out the sadness in you. You chuckle softly, tears still flowing down your face.

The baby in your arm starts to move again. Geum-ja is quick to take the baby, leaving your arms and your chest empty. Your hands linger onto the swaddled baby as much as you could.

“She’s probably hungry,” Geum-ja says, passing the baby back to Jun-hee. “Best we get it over with so she doesn’t cry and alert any red players.”

You wipe away your tears, trying to get your shit together. The game isn’t over yet. There is no telling how much longer you can stay in this room.

Distantly, you can still hear the echoes of speakers, though the walls do a good enough job at muffling any attacks. There’s no telling how close an enemy player is by the sound of attacks alone. You got lucky with Player 100 and the gang of men from before.

“There hasn’t been any break between elimination announcements,” Hyun-ju mutters beside you. “Do you think—”

“Player 014, eliminated!” a disembodied voice echoes, loud enough to draw attention from everyone in the room.

The hollow feeling in your chest hardens. The speaker was definitely closeby. A red player is not too far from your hideout.

Yong-sik curses from his spot, running a hand through his greasy hair. Geum-ja squeezed Jun-hee’s shoulders, trying to remain calm.

You look at Jun-hee’s weary face, exhaustion written clear on her. “She won’t be able to keep up with us if we leave.”

“I know.”

You turn to fully face Hyun-ju. She’s got a determined look on her face that you’ve seen a few times during the rebellion—the same face she made before running after Dae-ho to retrieve the magazines.

She makes a half step towards the door but you’ve already got your back against it with your arms crossed over your chest.

Geum-ja, Yong-sik, and Jun-hee look at the two of you apprehensively.

Hyun-ju’s mouth is set in a hard line. “Move.”

“I’ll go find the exit,” you say, chin held defiantly to Hyun-ju. “If I go, none of the other players will target me.”

Hyun-ju doesn’t look entirely convinced. “You’ll need the keys to open any doors.”

You held out your hand, eyeing the layer of necklaces hidden beneath Hyun-ju’s tracksuit. “You’ll put yourself in danger if you walk out, even with a knife.”

“Then we switch vests.”

Yong-sik raises his hand like a nervous student. “Isn’t that against the rules?”

“Yeah, it is against the rules,” you parrot to Hyun-ju.

Hyun-ju rolls her eyes at your stubbornness. “Ten years as a hitman, yeah?” she asks rhetorically. “Between the two of us, you have a better chance at keeping the other three safe from attackers. You stay, I go.”

“Do we have to split up?” Geum-ja asks. “Wouldn’t it be better if we move together? Or stayed?”

Hyun-ju sighs, her patience wearing thin. “Jun-hee isn’t in good health to move quickly or for long distances. If there’s a bigger group than before, we could easily be overwhelmed while moving between rooms.”

“I don’t think I can fight while simultaneously keeping you three unharmed if we leave,” you admit with a tight voice, a bit of shame spilling out.“But if we knew where the exit was, maybe you guys would have a chance.”

Hyun-ju nods in agreement. “I should at least try to find the exit so that we have a plan if things go bad. Since (Name) is more experienced in fighting, she should be protecting you guys. I’ll take her red vest so I won’t be hunted when finding the exit. Is that clear?”

Everyone nods except you.

Your arms are still crossed in front of you. You would feel better if Hyun-ju was with the group and you went out to the maze. But she had a point. You had experience with these things. Unequal fights. Groups of men twice your age and of different weight classes. That’s familiar to you.

But the bravado you held in the beginning of the game has been thrown out the window. Your composure is barely there. It shattered the moment you held Jun-hee’s baby and now you’re left open and vulnerable.

You had always faced imminent death every time you had a mission. This is the first time that fear extends towards others and it scares you. Sure you had to protect your boss when he went to business meetings and cover for him when shit hit the fan, but you didn’t care about him personally.

If Hyun-ju were to die out there? If any of your newfound family were to die? You would hardly have any strength left to carry on.

“I don’t…I don’t like this at all,” you mutter. “Maybe we can camp here. Both of us can stay together and take down anyone that comes—”

Hyun-ju grabs the collar of your tracksuit forcefully, yanking you towards her with a strength that left you blindsighted. Your sentence cuts short, lodged in your throat. You blindly grasp onto her forearm, keeping yourself upright.

“We don’t have time to argue.” She lets out a ragged exhale. “Do you seriously want to risk that? If the exit is nearby we can leave this game early.”

You know it’s stupid. It’s selfish to keep her near. You don’t want to lose her. You don’t want to sit in a box, covered in blood, waiting in suspense between muffled walls, not knowing if a nearby scream is hers or not.

Hyun-ju can see it again—the slight tremor in your lips. The cracks in your armor grow wider with each passing second.

Your voice sounds desperate and so, so unraveled that you can barely recognize it as your own. “I want you here too. I can protect you. You don’t have to break the rules and get punished.”

“You didn’t care about the rules when you killed other red players,” she retorts.

“That’s different.”

“How is that different?”

“Because I’m the one breaking the rules. If we switch vests, you might get in trouble and—”

Hyun-ju tightens her hold on your collar and you feel the taut muscles of her forearm flexing beneath her sleeve. Your heartbeat pulses, warmth from your core spreading from within. Her breath fans across your lips, her eyes darkened in mounting frustration. Your own breath mingles with hers, trying to calm yourself down.

In any other circumstance, she would’ve taken your worries with soothing whispers. She would care for you, nurse you to health, tell you that everything would be okay.

None of that softness is shown in her now. She needs you present, in the moment, and ready to fight.

Hyun-ju’s tone is bordering on threatening. “You don’t get to decide whether or not I break the rules.”

Your body involuntarily shivers at her commanding tone.

It’s nothing like the soft, shy woman you would see in the bathrooms. The same woman who whispered stories in your ear through the night before she fell asleep in your bed.

This is the woman who can carry an automatic weapon like it’s an extension of herself.

Sergeant Cho Hyun-ju stands before you, eyes cold and determined. Heat pools between your legs, your mind barely registering what she says over the possessive way she holds you.

Her voice lowers so that only you can hear her. In a tone that leaves no room for negotiation.

“Take off that vest before I rip it off of you.”

You swallow down any retort you had prepared, pretending you don’t see Hyun-ju’s eyes drift down to the damp column of your throat. Her jaw clenches. The harsh lighting emphasizes the angles of her face, carving her out, igniting your desire.

A choked, barely audible whine forms in the back of your throat. You force it down, or try to anyway.

You have no choice but to listen. To heed her command. To obey without question, thought, or protest.

You jerk out of her grasp before peeling the vest off of your body. Hyun-ju mirrors your movements, keeping her eyes on you the whole time. You avoid her hardened stare; you don’t want everyone in the room to doubt your competence in taking off an article of clothing. You exchanged vests with a bit more force than necessary.

There’s something alluring with Hyun-ju wearing a blood-soaked vest. She transforms before your eyes, going from protective Sergeant to something deadly. She wears your vest like a shield, her toy-like knife that would’ve looked comical if not for the dried blood coating every inch of the blade.

You think wearing her vest does something for her too. Seeing her number stamped on your chest, your pleading eyes, the way you take on a look of innocence in a color that signals weakness to other players—

“Stay alive for me,” she commands, only addressing you.

Your tongue feels heavy, your jaw is too tense to open. You only nod in response.

But that’s not good enough for her. “Promise me. Say it.”

“I…I promise.”

Hyun-ju lets the words hang in the air. Savoring the tone of your voice. Memorizing the worried look on your face—just for her, only for her.

It takes effort for Hyun-ju to turn away from you.

Hyun-ju glances at the other three, her tone still carrying the same authoritative weight. “The same goes for all of you. If I can’t find anything in five minutes, I’ll make my way back to you.”

“Yes!” Geum-ja, Yong-sik, and Jun-hee speak in unison.

Hyun-ju takes in your appearance one last time. You feel a tether to her, a primal need to stay by her side.

The door opens, creaking slightly as Hyun-ju steps outside the hideout.

You force yourself to stay planted to your spot, watching her disappear into the maze, gone and without your help.

The timer ticks down to ten minutes.

It only takes thirty seconds before the speakers in your room blare out: “Player 028, eliminated!”

Which can only mean another red player is nearby.

— — —

A red player did find your hiding space, only for her to be tackled outside by you. Yong-sik closes the door, pressing his entire body weight so that no one comes in. The sounds of the fight faded as the two of you grappled each other down the hallway. Yong-sik did not dare to leave the door.

Geum-ja and Yong-sik look horrified when you stumble back into the hideout two minutes later. Jun-hee was passed out in the corner, the baby asleep in her arms.

You looked like you crawled straight out of war. Sweat and blood coat your entire upper body.

You’re heaving against the wall, trying not to collapse right then and there.

Ironically, you feel a lot better. More put together, less on edge. You’re back into the mindset of survival, clear-headed. You’ve long since let go of the shame with associating killing people to being calm and focused. It’s a surefire way to sober you up after your emotions go haywire.

“We should be fine,” you say between heavy breaths. “I should…I should be fine.”

Yong-sik’s eyes dart from your face to your bloodied and noticeably empty hands. “What happened to your knife?”

“That cheap shit broke when I stabbed one of the red players,” you grumble. One of the red players because you had to kill two of them when you left. Your blue vest is a beacon, luring them towards you. “How’s Jun-hee?”

Geum-ja brushes Jun-hee’s bangs from her sweaty forehead. “She was shivering a bit when you left, possibly a fever. If she doesn’t seek medical attention soon it might get worse.”

You slump down to the floor, your muscles aching from all the hits you sustained. Nothing you haven’t dealt with before. Your throat is raw. The metallic taste of blood coats your tongue, filling your nose with its coppery smell.

Yong-sik looks at you worriedly. “Are you still able to fight?”

You gave him a sure nod. “You should’ve seen me during my final night in New York. One hundred and two people in a little under twelve hours.”

Yong-sik’s eyes widened. He stutters: “O-One hundred? As in one zero zero?”

“On hundred and two,” you correct, “but that’s only for a single night. Then again, I was heavily armed with a bullet-proof suit.”

“Did you enjoy it, even a little bit?”

Geum-ja pinches Yong-sik’s ear, which earns her a yelp. “Have I taught you no manners? You can’t ask someone that.”

“Sorry,” he says meekly.

You can tell from Geum-ja’s face that she doesn’t find the apology satisfactory, but she drops it. Too exhausted to drag it out.

“It’s okay,” you say genuinely. “I’ll tell you more about it later. After this whole shit show is ov—”

You let out a subtle wince, feeling a harsh cramp at your side, likely because of electrolyte loss. You massage below your ribs, kneading the skin, fat, and muscle there to soothe the ache.

“Are you hurt?” Geum-ja asks.

You grimace, but you shake your head. “Just some soreness from fighting. Nothing bad.”

Geum-ja gives you an apprehensive look, but doesn’t comment. The room settles into silence. It’s safer. Easier to hear for any footsteps, screams, or speakers.

You absentmindedly brush against the scabs and bruises along your knuckles. There is an uncountable number of other small injuries all over your body. Fractured bones that are halfway done healing, bruises that dot along your body like islands on a map. Tired, hungry, utterly deprived of rest, but you can’t lower your guard. Not even after you make it to your sturdy mattress that’s tucked into the corner of the dormitory. Not until you escape with Geum-ja, Yong-sik, Jun-hee and her baby.

Not until Hyun-ju walks alongside you, safe and unharmed.

The timer ticks down silently, taunting you. Hyun-ju should be making her way back now. You should be alert, tense, ready to strike on a moment’s notice.

Your body is winding down. Your erratic heart is slowing and your breathing evens out. You can’t sleep, but your eyelids grow heavy.

Before you know it, you’re shifting in your spot, your head knocking against the wall until your ear is flushed against it. You feel your shoulders drop, muscles finally relaxing—

You hear it.

A rhythmic sound, periodic and controlled. Too precise to be accidental.

Your heart falters. You scramble to your feet, startling Geum-ja and Yong-sik.

“Is something the ma—”

“Shhh!” You hold your finger in the air, shutting Yong-sik up.

Voices. Footsteps. They’re getting louder, which only means they’re getting closer.

“Keep quiet,” you whisper harshly.

Maybe they are fellow blue players. You can’t risk opening the door and finding out.

— — —

None of the other red players bat an eye when Hyun-ju passes by them. Your bloodied vest serves as a shorthand to the other hunters that she’s one of them. It gives her the power to move efficiently, not having to worry about watching her back while she checks all the doors near the hideout.

She marks her way back to the hideout with blood of fallen players. If a door leads to a set of stairs she moves on to the door next to it. Rinse and repeat. The countdown on nearly every wall serves as a makeshift timer to keep her on track.

Still, a worry is pressing in her mind. That somehow her group—her family—has gotten hurt while she’s away.

You proved to be an expert combatant, possibly surpassing her in skill. You of all people are more than capable of handling themselves in a death game of hide and seek.

It’s Geum-ja, Yong-sik, and Jun-hee that she’s worried about. If Jun-hee hadn’t given birth, they might have a chance in finding the exit together.

Hyun-ju glances at the countdown. Six minutes left. She should make her way back now.

Her hand grips another door. Unassuming and plain as the others. Just one more door, just in case.

She takes the triangle key from her layers of necklaces and clicks it into the lock.

The room inside is a bright sunflower yellow. Warm, inviting, and a complete eyesore after spending so much time in the dim maze. Rainbows are plastered on all three walls with trees and houses. In her exhausted state, Hyun-ju almost missed the hangul scribbled on the top of the next door in the room.

Almost.

The word EXIT shines brighter than any paint color.

Hyun-ju felt her heart leap to her throat, nearly stumbling back at the sight. Hope surges in her chest in a way that leaves her body buzzing. She found it. She fucking found it with minutes to spare.

She sprints down the chaotic maze, dodging the wayward bodies, her body already tracing a path back to the hideout.

She’s a few turns away, determined to get all five of you to the exit and get out of these godforsaken games—

Hyun-ju nearly jumps out of her skin when she sees Geum-ja, Yong-sik, and Jun-hee rush around the corner, all looking like they’ve seen death.

“What are you doing here?” Hyun-ju demands, checking for any visible injuries. Jun-hee looks the worst out of all of them, but that can be chalked up to having given birth a few minutes prior.

Geum-ja grabs Hyun-ju’s arms frantically. “W-We were found out! Two players came, but (Name) gave us a chance to escape and now she’s by herself! You have to go back to her!”

Hyun-ju’s heart stalls at the mention of your name, but she has to stay level headed.

She takes out the keys around her neck and shoves them into Geum-ja’s hands. “I marked the hallways with the blood of other players. Keep going straight until you reach the end of the hallway then make a right. The exit is in a yellow room with rainbows and houses.”

“You found it?!” Yong-sik asks in disbelief.

“Tell me all about it when you reach it!” Hyun-ju says over her shoulder as she makes her way back to the hideout.

Her footsteps are thunder against the concrete floor. She no longer has the lingering fear of being caught—of being prey.

She hears the carnage before she sees it. Metal slicing air, a body getting slammed into the wall.

She’s unprepared to see the moment you get stabbed in the side. The sound of the knife cutting through skin, fat, and muscle is loud in the darkened hallway. Your face is scrunched tight and a choked gasp leaves you as Player 333 lodges his knife deeper.

Hyun-ju takes pride in her ability to keep calm under immense pressure. She’s had years to hone that skill and turn it into something deadly.

But all those years of training her mind to compartmentalize distress into a box in the back of her mind turns to dust.

She doesn’t think. She doesn’t wait. She grabs Player 333 by the scruff of his vest and pries him off of you with a hard yank. He stumbles back, trying to see his new attacker, but Hyun-ju sends a harsh punch to his jaw, enough to set a tooth loose from his mouth.

He sputters out blood but Hyun-ju keeps going. She doesn’t just want to kill him, she wants to see him in agony.

Player 333 blocks a few of her punches before kicking her in the stomach, enough to get her off of him. Hyun-ju’s knife falls from her grip, scattering to the side. He tries to make a run for it, but you’re quicker.

You take the knife that was in your abdomen and shove it into his lower back. He lets out a painful shout, loud enough to ring in your ears. You keep him close to you so he doesn’t fall, your nails digging into his neck, controlling him despite his writhing. His wild movements force you back into the wall, the knife plunging deeper into his body.

Hyun-ju grabs her discarded knife and delivers the killing blow. Her knife enters from below his sternum at an upward angle. Player 333 jerks violently, his screams of pain only muffled by the blood coming from his throat. She forces the blade deeper, watching his face for every change in expression.

Then her eyes meet yours.

Wild, frenzied, completely focused on her and her alone. Hyun-ju watches as your pupils are blown wide open.

Player 333 spasms between you two, pressed against your bodies until the blood loss becomes too much.

Only when he becomes completely still do you and Hyun-ju release him. He crumples to the floor unceremoniously, neither of you breaking eye contact with one another.

The sounds that could be heard are your combined breathing, harsh, heavy, and relieved.

Hyun-ju drops her knife in favor of holding your face in her hands. Her thumb gently caresses the newfound gash on the side of your face, blood still beading where the skin splits. Her lips are inches away from yours. Her eyes memorizing the shape of your face, cataloging the injuries she sees, guilt building in her chest with each bruise and scratch she sees.

You cling to her like there’s nothing you would rather do more. Your fingers are numb and cold, trembling to keep yourself upright.

Hyun-ju presses you back further against the wall, caging you in, doing everything in her power to not devour you right then and there.

“At least…I kept your promise,” you whisper, raspy and exhausted. “Did everyone…?”

“I found the exit,” Hyun-ju says. “It’s not far. They should’ve escaped by now.”

Your shoulders sag and the tension in your face clears. “Good. That’s all I wanted to hear.”

You don’t know if Hyun-ju was the one to bring you closer or if it was you who pulled her near. Your lips met in a bruising, hungry kiss, enough to make your body jolt and your head foggy.

Blood coats your lips, inside your mouth, but Hyun-ju didn’t care. She presses against your body and claims you. There’s nothing gentle about the way she’s kissing you. You reciprocate with equal ferocity, your hands threading into her hair, pulling her nearer until her chest is flushed with yours. Your lips ache, your legs can barely support yourself, and your lungs burn.

Hyun-ju’s hands drift from your face to your back, mapping the slopes and curves she finds with a steady path. Her heat engulfs you. Sends your body alight with a burning desire that unfurls in your core and blooms out until every inch of your body is scorched.

Only when you feel like you’re going to pass out do you pull away from her. Hyun-ju makes a harsh groan as you part, a string of saliva connecting your lips.

You breathe harshly, frazzled and dazed like you’ve been drugged.

She looks just as wrecked, if not more so.

A loud buzz overhead disrupts the charged energy, reality crashing down on your small world with Hyun-ju.

“This concludes the end of the game. All staff members, please collect the eliminated players.”

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ PLEASE LIKE, COMMENT, AND REBLOG ❤︎

ADDITIONAL NOTES: chapter 2 is in the works as i post it, shouldn't take more than a week or so. hopefully.

taglist:

@crvshedpetals @barnes70stark @sonebeam @carlandoxlestappen

#cho hyunju #cho hyun-ju #cho hyun ju #player 120 #cho hyun ju x reader #cho hyunju x reader #cho hyun-ju x reader #player 120 x reader #cho hyunju smut #cho hyun-ju smut #cho hyun ju smut #cho hyun ju x reader smut #cho hyunju x reader smut #cho hyun-ju x reader smut #player 120 smut #player 120 x reader smut #squid game #squid game 3 spoilers

54 notes · View notes

mew-cake · 3 days ago

Note

tshd would be so much better if the queerness the author wants to portray wasn't sexual considering they are like 16. kinda gives freak vibes and the fandom shipping them and writing fanfic and drawing are missing the point or are just happy to be weirdos. you seem like a normal cool person please think hard about how the show could have been about adults or not eroticized like for example yoshiki could have been dealing with asexuality or transness, being queer doesn't have to be sexual especially when your characters are kids.

I think you just want a different story, Anon.

Yoshiki and Hikaru(?) are kids, yes. They are teenagers, specifically. And that's the age where everything changes for a person. That is the age when sexual desires typically start to occur. There is a reason coming of age stories are so common all around the world. It's the transitional period between childhood and adulthood. Things are confusing because the body itself is changing. And there is nothing wrong with exploring that in fiction.

In fact, I think it's important for stories to be made about teenager characters exploring their sexuality. Because it's important to represent that experience. And, obviously, those stories can't be written by teenagers because they don't yet have ability to look back on those experiences while they're still living them.

There are erotic and sexual aspects of TSHD, yes. But the characters are never sexualized in a way that the audience is supposed to take pleasure from. You cannot say something has "freak vibes" simply because it's a story with teenagers and sexual undertones. There is nuance in that type of thing. If the story makes you personally uncomfortable because of that, it's okay to stop watching or reading. But that doesn't make other people bad or the author bad for writing it or enjoying it.

Teenagers are sexual beings. And sexuality is a fundamental part of queerness. It's not always about sex, but it's an element. Sexuality is part of the human experience in one way or another, therefor there will always be stories that explore that fact. And explore the moments when those feels first start to occur.

I want to leave this off with an interview from the author. And I hope that helps to resolve some of the frustration you're feeling.

"If you could give advice to teenagers who may have feelings similar to Yoshiki, what would you like to share?" MOKUMOKUREN: Yoshiki grew up in a secluded rural town and has many difficulties in life. His mother's an outsider, his sister doesn't go to school, his parents fight, and the way people around him look at him. He's also concerned about his gender. He's by no means a particularly unfortunate character but a protagonist with problems that can be found anywhere. And when Yoshiki faces the monster called "Hikaru," he must also face himself. There comes a time when almost every teenager, no matter where they live, must face themselves. They need to confront the parts they don't want to acknowledge and the contradictions within themselves. I'm sure that's the same for adults as well. I don't want Yoshiki to be an ideal hero, but a protagonist who is close to those kinds of realistic concerns.

#ask #anonymous #the summer hikaru died #hikaru ga shinda natsu #tagging cuz relevant and also it's an interesting discussion to be had #no one be mean to anon

59 notes · View notes

lovelyrecs · 2 days ago

Text

Slowly, reality kicks back in and you remember snippets of what’s happened. The mission. Bucky dying. Crushing your amulet with the heel of your boot. Energy and power rushing through you, consolidating themselves. The time loop. Shit, the time loop.

SHE REMEMBERS THE TIME LOOP YES

“What day is it?” you whisper. Another hint of that smile you adore. “Pretty late on Saturday.”

THEYRE OUT THEYRE OUT AND THEYRE ALIVE AND THEYRE TOGETHER IM SO HAPPY

He tilts his head at you. “I’m not about to leave my best girl after she’s just saved the world.”

MY BEST GIRL

You pull off the lid, and there it is again, nestled into the corner of the box like it wants to hide away from prying eyes: the time stone.

THAT'S WHAT WAS ALMOST THE SIZE OF A COIN?? I WAS WONDERING HOW THE FUCK DID SHE DO THAT

“We can rent a cabin,” you continue, “do absolutely nothing except read and go on walks and just—shit, what about our cat?”

our <3 Our Cat <3 because alpine loves her too now

“I think I restored it to an earlier stage, before it ever got pulverized in the first place.” You frown. “I’m not sure why it changed colors, though.”

okay thank you! she's so powerful i love her

“You know—going steady?” you wince. “Is that the right phrase?”

she's trying to speak his language LMAOO

You feel the world return to its normal speed with a gentle whoosh. The AC hums. There’s music in the living room, and you can hear Sam potter around in the kitchen. Alpine purrs in her sleep.

she's just Doing That now? just pausing time with him? oh my gosh !! ohhhh my gosh!!!

Hey hon, it’s me. Sorry for calling so late, the kids are driving me crazy. Listen, I got your voice message and I’m worried about you, so call me back soon, alright? I miss you, too. I’m always there when you need to talk, I hope you know that. Love you. Call me!”

oh my god oh my god!! i was going insane trying to figure out who this could be, i thought maybe the person bucky was calling in that one chapter but then. one of the notes said nat?? you said in response to chapter 4?? where reader calls to tell her she misses her voice?? nat's responding?? from somewhere else?? where she has KIDS?? AND SHE'S ALIVE???? i got chills i genuinely got chills. ohhhh my god

holy crap! holy crap!! i can't even remember when i started reading this series and i'm sooo glad i found you on ao3 and even gladder i found you on here and i'm so so happy to have so many more chapters!! this series has been so incredible, you're a spectacular writer!!

i copy and paste a lot of the lines i scream at because they make me feel. a Lot, but there are so many!! in so many of the chapters, it's been every other line that's just so poignant in some way that i can't even describe!!

the amount of time and work that you have poured into this series is blatant, everything is so well thought-out! every single detail, from things that are going to happen later on in the series either referenced or foreshadowed earlier or just the whole time magic aspect of it, which is SO confusing LMAO and you've managed to understand it and explain it and use it to create this incredible thing!! thank you so much for coming up with it and writing it and finishing it!! even when it wasn't finished, it was one of the best things i'd ever read. imagine now!!

i adored this fic!! i love it so much, i love my dear twelve reader and grumpy bucky and sam and alpine and peter parker and i have just. had the time of my life reading this. i feel like i've gone through the entire spectrum of human emotion LMAO i was STRESSED and then i was happy and sad and gosh dang!! oh my gosh!!! can't even express how much i enjoyed it!! thank you so much!!

time after time [fin]

series summary: After what starts out as a fairly normal mission, you find yourself stuck in a time loop. Which would already be bad enough in itself if it didn’t also mean having to watch Bucky die over and over again.

pairing: bucky barnes x f!reader

word count: 3.5k

chapter warnings: a whole bunch of fluff and a couple of last minute cameos 💚 also a mid credits scene? gotta stick to the genre. please note that my blog is rated 18+. minors dni. ageless/empty blogs will be blocked without warning.

a/n: this is it, folks 🥺 it's been an absolute honour.

series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3

epilogue

You can hear rain.

It’s a soft noise and you’re drowsy, but the sound lingers at the back of your mind, keeping you awake. Your limbs are heavy and, oh, so comfortable. It’s like you’ve been padded with marshmallows.

Breathing is weirdly difficult, though. It feels as though an elephant is sitting on your chest.

Unwilling, you blink your eyes open.

At first, you’re confused, because this isn’t your room. You’re in a hospital bed in a white and quiet room. When you turn your head to the side, you see a small bouquet of fresh flowers and a little box on your nightstand.

Next to it, Bucky is curled up in a chair. His limbs are too long for the position he’s in to be anything but uncomfortable, but he’s managed to nod off despite that. His hair is damp and he’s got several nasty cuts on his face; but he looks almost peaceful like this.

Shit, the time loop.

"Bucky," you croak. Your voice sounds like a stranger’s, raw and unused. You try and reach out for him when he doesn’t wake up, but your arms are just too damn heavy. "Bucky!" you try again.

He jolts upright, concern immediately settling into his features before he realizes it’s you who woke him. His face gets softer, then.

"You’re awake." You’ve never heard him sound so careful, so unsure.

A flurry of emotions rushes through you, and you can’t make sense of all of them because you’re still so sleepy. The past few hours—days? weeks?—feel hazy in a rather pleasant way, like they’re waiting for you to pick through and unravel them at your own pace.

Whenever you’re ready.

"You look like shit," you say quietly.

Bucky breathes a laugh that eases some of the tension in his shoulders. "Fuck you."

Your fingers twitch towards him, but he either doesn’t notice or pretends not to, studying your face like he doesn’t believe you’re really in front of him. It’s exhilarating, to be looked at like that.

"What day is it?" you whisper.

Another hint of that smile you adore. "Pretty late on Saturday."

The rush of relief that courses through you is enough to make your vision blur. "Are you sure?"

He takes a newspaper from a pile on the floor you hadn’t noticed. "They kicked me out for a while earlier. Bought every copy they had at the stand round the corner."

You gasp slightly, painfully, as you read the date printed on the title page. Saturday, July 5.

"It’s really over?"

"It’s really over," he confirms, solidly settled in this brilliant, magnificent new world that is Saturday. "And we’re both alive."

"Sam?" Hope tastes different without the bitter tang of things stuck in stasis.

Bucky’s eyes twinkle. "Went home about ten minutes ago. He’s gonna be pissed, he was here all night, too."

You really could get used to this warm feeling in your chest. "You were here all night?"

He tilts his head at you. "I’m not about to leave my best girl after she’s just saved the world."

"Hardly," you mumble, even though you feel your cheeks heat up.

Tentatively, you reach out for your powers. There’s a tired spark of acknowledgement you’re too exhausted to do much with; it lets you breathe a little easier.

Bucky’s chair screeches closer to your bed. "How’s your head, gorgeous?" he asks quietly, fingers trailing along the sides of your face.

"'M okay." You scrunch up your nose. "I can’t believe you made me stomp on my necklace and it worked."

His grin is easy, relieved. "I’ll buy you a new one."

"How did you know that’d work?"

"It was a calculated risk," he shrugs.

You groan. "Reckless idiot."

"Look who’s talking." He rests his forehead against yours. "You had me a little worried there, sweetheart."

You wince when his voice twists painfully in your stomach, guilt settling heavily.

"I’m so sorry," you whisper. "I’m sorry I didn’t warn you, and that I just—"

You can feel him shake his head. "Not right now. We’re gonna talk about you nearly giving me a heart attack another time, but not right now."

You swallow. "Okay."

"I might lock away our firearms for a while."

"That’s fair. I don’t plan to do that again any time soon."

"You better don’t," he growls.

You put your hand up to his chest, and there it is, the steady thumping you’ve never been able to let go. You feel that? it seems to say. It was all worth it.

"No dying for either of us for a while yet, alright?" you say quietly, and Bucky huffs.

"Deal."

"Are we good?"

He breathes you in, slowly. "We’re okay."

The monitor next to your bed starts beeping loudly enough for a nurse to rush into the room. She has to clear her throat twice for Bucky to finally sit up again.

"I see you kept the drip in and everything," she tells you with raised eyebrows. "Good job."

"Bucky?" you say admonishingly.

"Ignore Claire," he says. "I’m fine."

She sighs in exasperation. "Despite your best efforts. Now shoo, I need to look at my patient." Her hands are cool and efficient, and the way she ignores Bucky makes you think this isn’t her first time patching up lone Avengers. "How are you feeling?"

"Like shit boiled in the microwave," you mumble.

"Good. Then I did my job right." She takes your temperature and nods approvingly, referencing your vitals on her tablet. "You have a mild concussion and a sprained ankle as well as a couple of minor contusions, so we’re gonna keep you one more night just to be on the safe side."

"Sounds great," you croak sleepily.

Bucky looks at you warmly as the nurse—Claire—finishes your check-up and helps you sit up a little straighter.

"I’ll see if we can find some food for you, you’re probably starving," she concludes, giving you one last scrutinizing look. "Do you need anything else?"

"Actually, could you open a window?" you say.

Claire frowns. "You sure? It’s a downpour outside."

"I know." The thought is making you positively giddy.

Bucky helps push your bed closer to the cracked window. Heavy raindrops hail against the glass. The sky outside is gray and wild, and there’s the cacophany of traffic and sirens and a howling wind.

But the air smells like rain and new beginnings.

You remember the stone just after Claire has left you to your own devices again, your eyes widening. "Did you take the—”

He drops the small box from your nightstand into your lap. "Is it what I think it is?"

You pull off the lid, and there it is again, nestled into the corner of the box like it wants to hide away from prying eyes: the time stone.

Different than you remember, so small, so unassuming; and yet, it hums with magic, familiar and changed all at once, a warm pulse connected to your very core.

"Pretty sure," you say.

"What are you gonna do with it?" Bucky asks.

You contemplate the stone a moment longer, thinking about all the different possibilities; all the realities that could split off from this one. In all honesty, though, you’ve known the answer all along. "I think I’ll bring it back."

"Good call."

"Thank you. I have my moments." You put the box aside, looking at him. "You know what I’m gonna do after that?"

"What?" he says warily.

"I’m getting out of this town immediately. In fact, I’m kidnapping you and we’ll go to, I don’t know, Canada."

"We are?" Bucky chuckles.

"We can rent a cabin," you continue, "do absolutely nothing except read and go on walks and just—shit, what about our cat?"

Something in his gaze shifts, turns it even fonder. He kisses you, careful not to put pressure on you. Your heart pounds against your bruised ribs.

"What was that for?" you whisper against his lips.

"Nothing. I like your plans."

You smile tiredly. "When did you turn soft on me, Barnes?"

"Sweetheart, if you don’t know already, there’s no use in telling you."

You exhale, your lungs stinging. "Maybe you should, though," you say. "You should keep telling me."

A light blush creeps onto his cheeks. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

He kisses you again.

* * *

It’s still overcast a few days later when you’re standing in front of Bleecker Street’s Sanctum Sanctorum, your heart hammering. The air around you hums with familiar whispers.

I knew you’d be back. Still not good enough after all this—

"Oh, fuck off." You pull the door bell.

Your neck prickles with nerves as you stand there and wait for someone to come to the door, shuffling from one foot to the other. Bucky offered to come with you, but this is something you have to do on your own. You’ve told him as much.

Besides, you’re no longer scared of these people.

"What are they gonna do, trap me in another time loop?"

"Not funny."

He’s sitting in the coffee shop on the corner. You let him think you’ve not spotted him there in his cap and sunglasses; he needs that win, after the week you’ve both had.

While you’re there on the doorstep, you pull the time stone out of your bag again. For something supposedly so powerful, it really looks rather harmless. Just a pretty little stone with sharp edges. When you close your fist around it, you can feel a soft vibration, like a content low hum. It makes something tickle pleasantly down your spine.

"Sorry, sorry, I got your tip right—whoops. You’re not the pizza."

"I—" You stare at the young woman in front of you. She doesn’t look particularly Mystic Arts-y with her graphic t-shirt and electric blue shorts, and yet she looks like she’s very much at home.

Maybe things have changed since the Blip.

You’re still gonna take a little shortcut; for old times’ sake.

"Whoops. You’re not the pizza."

It’s great to have your powers back.

"Hi Katy. Is Wong in?"

She sighs. "I know you want me to ask why you know my name but you’d be surprised how quickly you get used to this shit. You wanna come in?"

You step over the threshold with a smile and the entire building whoomps.

It’s a sensation that’s not quite physical, like a sigh of air blasting out of all the windows at once, rushing through your hair and making the lamps in the foyer flicker. The stone in your hand pulsates warmly.

"Okay, that was freaky," Katy tells you. She turns around to shout up the stairs, "Wong? It’s for you, it’s—what was your name?"

"Y/N."

"It’s Y/N!"

It takes a couple of seconds before a muffled shout responds, "Do I know a Y/N?"

"How am I supposed to know?!" Katy answers.

There’s another break, followed by a crackling in the air and a string of curse words in a language you’ve not heard in a long while. "I’ll be there in a minute!"

"He’s gonna be five," Katy says. "You’d think timing’s the one thing they get right but …"

"Oh, I know what you mean. I like your boots, by the way."

"Thanks! They’re really uncomfortable."

You put the stone back into your bag and sit down in one of the couches near the stairs and she crosses her legs underneath her like she’s done it a hundred times before. Weirdly, you’re still not curious enough to ask.

This house feels like the kind of place where people just show up.

"Afternoon," Wong frowns about seven minutes later, looking at you from head to toe. "Have we met?"

You smile. "A couple of weeks ago, but not yet."

He nods slowly. "Tea?"

"For the record, I hate this."

"It’s just a teeny, tiny paradox," you tell Katy with a grin. "They happen all the time. The more you think about it, the less sense it’s gonna make."

"Believe it or not, that doesn’t make me feel any better whatsoever, but thank you for trying."

"Any time."

"Don’t you have anything better to do?" Wong asks.

"Not really. I’d love some tea, though."

"Tea comes with a side of time talk," you warn her.

"Never cared much for tea. You guys go ahead."

Wong sighs, gesturing towards one of the doors on the far side of the entrance hall. As it turns out, it leads to a rather cozy little office with a large window overlooking Sullivan Street. It smells like old books and candle wax, and there’s a framed Sopranos poster above the unlit fireplace.

"So, Miss Y/N," Wong says, sitting down behind the desk. "What can I do for you?"

"I came to you to report a time anomaly."

You start your explanation with the loop. With Bucky’s death, with the countless fruitless attempts to save his life and your reluctance to ask for help. You tell him about your meetings with Strange, about Bucky starting to remember the loop, about your previous visit to the Sanctum.

You talk about the way it ended as your tea goes cold.

Wong’s a good listener, only interrupting for a few clarifying questions. He doesn’t, you notice, inquire about your initial distrust of the Mystic Arts.

Finally, you’re coming to the last part of your tale, rummaging through your bag. "And then … well, I thought I’d return this."

You set the time stone on the table in front of you.

Wong’s chair clatters to the ground when he stands abruptly, his mouth agape.

"I think I restored it to an earlier stage, before it ever got pulverized in the first place." You frown. "I’m not sure why it changed colors, though."

It’s a rather nice shade of orange. Much less jarring than the cool shade of green you remember it being.

"Remarkable," Wong mutters, holding up his hand. The stone lifts off the table, humming gently. The sound vibrates through your chest. "I’ll have to do some research, but as it stands—you seem to have reached for the last remaining strands of the dying loop’s energy and knotted them into this one, and so they … crystallized."

In other words, you beat the closed system theory. Schrödinger can go fuck himself.

"Does that mean what I think it does, though?" you ask, leaning your head on your crossed arms on the table. "If the stones are interconnected, does that mean they’re all back?"

Wong shakes his head. "Quite possibly."

You hum. "Someone should probably go check on that."

"And you’re telling me that you did all of that—including resets of the entire timeline instead of performing a simple time slip, for your entire life—you did all of that by accident?"

You shrug, watching the amber specs of light dance all around the room. "I like the thought of serendipity."

* * *

"Hey."

"Mmm. Not yet."

"Sweetheart. It’s been an hour."

"No. It definitely hasn’t. It’s barely been thirty seconds."

Bucky chuckles, the only sound in a languidly slow universe on a perfectly cloudy afternoon. His breath tingles the back of your neck as he kisses your shoulder.

"Why do I get the feeling this is less about me and more about you procrastinating your meeting?"

"What meeting?" you say innocently.

"You know, time wizard shit? Happens every Friday?"

"Oh, that meeting." You burrow your nose into his shirt. "It got canceled."

"No, it didn’t. I saw you curse out your calendar yesterday."

"What are you, my overseer? We have a cat for that." One that’s currently curled up near the foot of the bed, sleeping. "Besides, I’m fine," you continue. "I can skip the meeting every now and then. Every week is just excessive."

"Doctor’s orders," Bucky reminds you, and you groan.

Wong’s unfortunately been too busy, so you’ve once again been stuck training your powers with a freshly multiversal Strange.

("Three-Eyes, are you sleeping?"

"Very funny."

"How do you sleep with it?"

"Silenor."

"Am I gonna get one of those?"

"No."

"Because I really don’t think it would work with my complexion."

"Are you done?"

"Sure. Let’s take the table quite away.")

Suffice it to say, he’s been even more on edge than during the loop. You’re quite sick of hearing about interdimensional travel and multiversal theory. What you lack and crave is practice, not philosophizing, and yet, somehow, it always seems to circle back around to that.

You sit up to scowl at Bucky, propped up as he is on your pillow. "Why do I feel like you want to get rid of me?"

His fingers continue tracing invisible patterns across your back, gentle and unwavering. "I don’t want you to exert yourself."

"You wanna do that yourself." He nudges you playfully and you laugh. "Seriously, I’m good. Ever since the stone’s been returned, my powers have felt … lighter. So much easier."

"Yeah?"

It really has been easier. You’ve gained a new confidence around your powers, even though you know, deep down, that you probably couldn’t create something as complex as that time loop again if you tried. It’s a pretty good thing you have no intention of doing anything like that ever again.

"Promise," you tell Bucky, and hold your hand up.

He wraps his pinkie around yours and pulls it close to kiss it. Warmth spreads in your chest and your belly.

"I’m not winning this one, am I?"

"Nope," you grin.

"And here I was gonna buy you coffee on the way."

You hum into his mouth. "You could do that later."

"Think you’ll be able to walk later?"

"Honestly, Buck, in front of the cat?"

His laugh is muffled by another kiss, soft and familiar by now, and yet no less electrifying. He kisses you like he doesn’t need air to breathe, and when you finally separate and he looks at you, his eyes are full of disbelief and wonder.

"Is this real?"

His hands are solid around your hips, anchoring you to the moment. You’re not entirely sure you’d be convinced if he didn’t provide that reminder; the world is too deliciously content to be believed.

But he’s here. His cheeks pink, his eyes dark enough to drown in, his heartbeat strong and steady and fast under your touch.

"You want me to pinch you?" you say, lightly scratching the back of his neck. His hair’s gotten longer since the loop, and now it’s thoroughly mussed by your fingers.

"I’d rather you didn’t," Bucky says. "If it’s not real, it’s a damn nice dream for a change."

There’s a slight waver in his voice that rasps against his careful façade of lightheartedness. So instead of teasing him further, you kiss him again.

Honestly, you should’ve been doing this all along. For months. Years. Lifetimes.

His lips slant perfectly against yours, coaxing, tasting, a soft, silent declaration of something yet unnamed spilling from his mouth to yours.

How people in relationships got anything done at all is beyond your comprehension.

People in relationships.

You try to banish the thought. Somehow, after everything you’ve been through, it feels both too trivial and too intense.

"What’s wrong?" Bucky murmurs into your mouth.

"Are we … that is, you and me …" you trail off, looking desperately for a turn of phrase that doesn’t come on too strong. "You know."

He moves to nudge his nose against yours, grinning. "Yes?"

"An … item?"

"An item."

"You know—going steady?" you wince. "Is that the right phrase?"

Bucky snorts. "Sure, it is."

You bite the inside of your cheek. "So?"

He tilts up your chin again, your gazes locking. Oddly bright blue eyes that have always been able to see right through you.

"Sweetheart," he says softly. "I’ve wanted you to be my girl for a very long time. Whatever you wanna call this is fine with me."

A gentle shiver trickles down your spine.

"Okay. I’d like that."

You feel the world return to its normal speed with a gentle whoosh. The AC hums. There’s music in the living room, and you can hear Sam potter around in the kitchen. Alpine purrs in her sleep.

Gloriously, life goes on and on.

"A very long time, huh?"

Bucky smirks. "Are you gloating?"

"Well, it’s not every day I hear about my accidental charms. It was the post-its, wasn’t it?"

He’s still smiling as he pulls you back towards his lips.

* * *

Error: Delayed transmission.

Your call has been forwarded to an automatic voice message system. Your dialed number is not available. At the tone, please record your message. When you are finished recording, you may hang up, or press one for more options.

Beep.

"Hey hon, it’s me. Sorry for calling so late, the kids are driving me crazy. Listen, I got your voice message and I’m worried about you, so call me back soon, alright? I miss you, too. I’m always there when you need to talk, I hope you know that. Love you. Call me!"

July 4, 2025 at 10:19 PM

[Call Back] [Delete]

—fin—

this story began at 1am in my notes app when i couldn't fall asleep one night and was suddenly struck by an idea for a time loop story i tentatively called july 4th. i'd never written for bucky barnes before in my life. i'd only been reading reader insert fanfic for about a month. that was exactly four years ago, almost to the minute. since then, i've not spent a single day not thinking about this story. my life has changed in so many ways since it began, even though it's not always felt like it. it's a story about love, and about grief, and everything that connects the two with just a sprinkle of magic. it's meant the world to me and it will always mean the world to me, and i hope that it resonates with some of you.

in my life, i've been exceedingly lucky in one area, and that's friendships. it'd take too long to shout out every single person that kept me going through this strange and lonely process that's writing a time travel story (i tried, but i tend to ramble), but i will say this: i have, without a shadow of the doubt, some of the kindest, loveliest, most wonderful mutuals ever to be found on this earth. i've been talking about this fic nonstop for the past few years, and you were there, listening and encouraging and telling me you think about this story. that's absolutely everything a fic writer could wish for.

so: for every kind word, for every kudos and comment and moodboard and bookmark, whether you just found this story or you've been waiting for its conclusion for over three years—thank you. finishing this story was so fucking hard, and i'll never forget the boundless support i got from the people in my life. thank you thank you thank you 💚

#i'm sad it's over but i'm also really happy for them LMAO like this means they're out #they can be happy and i love that for them #the fucking. end credit scene?? emotional damage on top of emotional damage that was crazy #ive screamt in your notifications a lot and if i ever feel like i need to feel something trust that i will be in there again. because jesus #bucky barnes series rec #marvel rec

129 notes · View notes

octuscle · 20 hours ago

Note

I found this phone at the gym today. I am a beginner at the gym and found it on the bench in the locker room. The weird thing now is I feel weird. Can you help me?

When you pick up the device, it hits you like a jolt. It’s really weird. You set it back down on the bench, but it slips and crashes to the floor. The screen shatters. But the phone is unlocked.

You look at the display…

No idea what this thing is. But curiosity wins. You tap “Activate.”

From the direction of the restrooms you hear, “Fuuuuuuuuuuuck!” Shit, what did you just do?!?!

The bathroom door swings open. A massive dude walks out. Looks about 6’7”, maybe 400 pounds, 15% body fat. Exactly the numbers on the screen. “Uh… little buddy,” the big guy says in a dumb-sounding voice, “do you know what I’m doin’ here? I mean, I’m just takin’ a piss, and then—bam! I’m like, what the hell am I doin’ here?”

He smiles, scratches his head… then his junk. And you realize the random IQ setting must’ve been maxed out at 80. Scratching turns into straight-up jerking off. While staring right at you. Like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

“Fuck?” he grunts.

You stash the phone in your locker real quick.

And then you let him fuck you. Fuck, that libido setting must’ve been way above average.

The guy railed you like a beast. Shit, his dick was huge—and you’re no stranger to size. You limp outta the gym, still leaking his cum. You forget to pick up your dry cleaning. You forget the grocery run. You’ve got only one thing on your mind:

Testing that app.

What the hell did it do—and how?

First thing you figure out: you need to scan your face and fingertips to start customizing. “Target profile locked!” says the display.

Now it shows your stats: 39 years old. 5’10”. 195 pounds. 28% body fat. IQ 103. Libido 20%.

You scroll further. Hair color, hair length, body hair, skin tone… Damn, you can tweak everything. Even dick length.

Well, of course you try that first. Why not? Go big or go home: 16 inches. Activate.

You black out for a second. No surprise—blood had to leave your brain to fill that monster cock. You look ridiculous. But damn, it feels good. So good. You need both hands to jerk it. You get hard. You black out again. No blood left upstairs.

Okay, got it—giant dick comes with problems. Time to try something else. Let’s go for height: 7’10”.

Error message. “Incompatible parameter combination.”

Right, a giant can’t weigh just 195 pounds and still have 28% body fat. So you boost your weight to 310 pounds. Activate.

Your head almost hits the ceiling.

It’s close to 4 a.m. when you finally crash. No idea how many times you tapped “Activate.” No idea how many times you came. This Chronivac is fucking insane.

But now you need sleep.

Even though there’s a “Vital Mode” setting. You’re currently at 34%. You could just push that back up to 100%. But somehow… you’d rather crash. Your bed creaks under 400 pounds of muscle.

“Hank, new shirt?”

Your boss has never spoken to you before. Not if he could help pretending you didn’t exist. And here by the copier, he easily could’ve looked the other way.

You casually flex your pecs. Let ‘em bounce a bit. “Yeah, cool you noticed,” you say, your voice now three octaves deeper.

Your boss stares at your chest. Pretty sure he’s about to drool. Says you should swing by his office later—he’s always wanted to talk about your career prospects.

Three weeks later, you’re the new department head. Now responsible for the entire East Coast region.

You play that Chronivac like a grand piano. And when you want (like the other night at the bar), you’re a damn good pianist. Or a chess grandmaster. Whatever fits.

Only one thing still kinda scares you: Going full dumb. You find the idea hot as hell. But what if you couldn’t use the Chronivac anymore? Nope—IQ setting stays untouched. 150. Locked in.

Thirty minutes ‘til boarding. The body you used this morning for that meeting? Perfect. Just the right balance of respect and admiration to seal the deal. That tough-guy outfit? Nailed it.

But now, for the flight home?

No way you’re pulling off bathroom sex in that form. Even business class would be tight.

So now you’re chilling in the lounge in a tracksuit. 5’10”, lean 160 pounds, 17% body fat. Libido? Cranked to 120%.

Whoever gets the seat next to you is in for one hell of a ride.

#male transformation #muscle transformation #ai image #male tf #chronivac

45 notes · View notes

riorsonwife · 3 days ago

Text

Always Been You Chpt. 3

Pairing: Bob Reynolds x Thunderbolts reader Summery: Bob can't feel this way about his best friend, he just can't. Warnings: Minors DNI. Mentions of male masturbation A/N: Hope you guys enjoy bobs pov! Word count: 1.4k previous chapter - masterlist - next chapter

Bob stared up at the ceiling, the glow from his bedside clock painting faint red lines across the room.

His bed felt… wrong.

Empty.

You weren’t there.

He rolled onto his side, then his back, then his stomach, trying to get comfortable. It didn’t work. His pillow didn’t smell like you. The blanket didn’t feel right without your shared warmth cocooned in it. The silence around him wasn’t peaceful—it was loud.

All he could think about was you. The way your voice sounded this morning, soft and tired. The way your fingers brushed through his hair while he held onto you like a lifeline. The way your lips pressed against the crown of his head before you left—just a kiss, a small one, a normal one. You’d done it before.

But this time… It hit different.

It sent fire down his spine and something thick and unbearable into his chest. He needed you. And not in a friend kind of way. Not anymore.

That morning had been torture.

The nightmare had been brutal—so vivid he still swore he could feel the echo of it. You’d been there, and then suddenly… you weren’t. And in the dream, he couldn't find you, couldn’t reach you. He’d woken up sweating, breathless.

Then you stayed. Longer than usual. Played with his hair. Made him feel like everything might be okay.

But when you leaned down and kissed the top of his head before leaving, his heart flipped. His whole body reacted. The ache that settled between his legs was instant, undeniable, and impossible to ignore.

He’d had to lock the bathroom door and crank the water too hot—just to drown out the guilt while he got himself off, face pressed against the shower wall, trying not to imagine your mouth on him. [He hated himself for it.]

You were his best friend.

You weren’t supposed to make him feel like this.

You trusted him. Counted on him. And he had the audacity to want you in ways he knew would ruin everything.

By lunch, the shame was a brick in his stomach. He could barely look at you without hearing his own thoughts scream. He kept his head down, gave short answers, picked at his food like it had personally offended him.

He’d hoped you wouldn’t notice. But of course you did.

And that was the final straw. He needed help. Advice. Something.

The only person he could think of who knew you well and wouldn’t immediately throw a punch was Yelena.

So he found her.

And, somehow, the words came out.

Not all of them. He left out the part about the shower. About the moaning-your-name-in-his-palm part. But the rest… yeah. He said it.

He told her how confused he was. How wrong it felt. How bad the guilt was eating at him. How much he needed you, and how he was terrified he was going to destroy the one relationship in his life that felt safe.

Yelena’s response?

“Jesus, lap dog. You’re a mess.”

They went back and forth for a while. Her tone was blunt, sarcastic—but not cruel. She didn’t judge, not really. But she didn’t sugarcoat anything either.

“You either tell her,” she said, arms crossed, “or you keep your weird little cuddles and suffer in silence. Those are your options.”

And that’s when you walked around the corner.

He saw the look on your face—concerned, careful, like you were approaching a wounded animal. And something in him snapped.

He couldn’t take it. Not with Yelena still watching, not with his heart on fire, not when his feelings were too big to cram into the quiet space between you anymore.

So he shoved it all down.

“I don’t care. I’ll meet up with you tonight,” he said, trying to keep it casual. But he could already hear the coldness in his voice. Too distant. Too stiff.

And then he panicked even more.

He went back to his room and started spiraling—changed his shirt twice, ran his fingers through his hair over and over. Tried to think of what movie wouldn’t make things worse. What tone to take. How to sit. What not to say.

By the time he looked at the clock, he was thirty minutes late.

He rushed to your room, heart hammering, trying to look composed. Cool. Normal.

But he wasn’t.

He picked the first movie he could find and sat at the far end of the couch like an idiot. You looked at him, confused. “Come here.”

And that was it.

The thread snapped.

He collapsed into your arms, and for the first time in a long time, he let himself fall apart. He didn’t speak. Couldn’t. He just held onto you like he was drowning, face buried into your shoulder, crying because everything felt too much.

Too much guilt. Too much fear. Too much love.

You didn’t ask. You didn’t pull away. You just held him. Like always. Like he didn’t deserve it, but you gave it anyway.

By the time the movie ended, he knew he had to leave.

If he stayed... he wouldn’t be able to stop himself. From touching you. From whispering the truth. From kissing you like he’d dreamed of doing for months.

So he stood up.

“I should get to bed,” he said, forcing the words through his throat like broken glass.

You blinked. “Wait… aren’t you gonna stay?”

He paused. Couldn’t look at you.

“Better not,” he whispered, and walked out.

Now here he was.

In his own bed. Alone. Empty. And missing you like hell.

He stared at the ceiling like it owed him answers, but all it gave him was silence and regret.

His chest ached—physically ached—with how badly he wanted to be wrapped around you right now, to feel your breath steady against his, your hand in his hair, your heartbeat where his ear usually rested.

But no. He left. He had to. Right?

He let out a long, slow exhale and pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes until colors bloomed behind his lids.

This couldn’t keep happening.

He had to fix this.

It was like a switch flipped in his brain. Resolve surged through the cracks of his guilt. He couldn’t lose you. You were too important, too you, and if he ruined that because of whatever was happening inside him, he’d never forgive himself.

He just needed to get things back to normal.

Yes. That was the plan. Back to normal.

He’d make it up to you tomorrow. First thing. He’d get up early and make you breakfast—something simple, something comforting. Pancakes? No, you liked those weird fancy toast things—avocado and egg or something? Yeah. He could do that. With tea. The kind you liked that he always pretended was gross but secretly didn’t mind.

Then lunch—like always. Same table, same seat, same quiet commentary about Yelena’s chaotic snack habits. And after that, he’d ask if you wanted a movie night redo. A clean slate.

He wouldn’t be late. He’d pick the movie in advance. He’d be normal. Friendly. Platonic.

No crying. No breakdowns. And definitely no... morning issues.

Bob groaned and threw an arm over his eyes, suddenly very aware of how much his body betrayed him lately.

"Please," he muttered into the dark, "just let me wake up tomorrow without a goddamn boner. That’s all I’m asking."

Because if he could just get through the day without thinking about your lips, or the way you looked in his hoodie, or the feel of your fingers in his hair—he could pull this off.

He could bury it. All of it.

His feelings. The guilt. The heat that crawled under his skin every time you smiled at him like he was your favorite person in the whole damn world.

He could push it all down. He had to.

Because he’d rather be your best friend forever than risk losing you for even one second.

So he made a promise to himself, right there in the dark:

Tomorrow, he’d fix it. Tomorrow, he’d pretend everything was okay. Tomorrow, he’d win you back—quietly, carefully, like the coward he was.

And maybe, if he was really lucky… you’d never have to know just how in love with you he really was.

#bob reynolds x reader #bob reynolds #bob thunderbolts #marvel x reader #thunderbolts fanfic #thunderbolts #x reader #thunderbolts x reader #thunderbolts smut #bob reynolds smut #x reader smut #smut

41 notes · View notes

messerscest · 2 days ago

Note

okay okay, hear me out (again...), tboy Remus... fem VAMPIRE Black brothers... feral Remus on his period.... thoughts??

(ps I'm so sleepy writing this but I'd forget this wonderful thought before morning if I didn't type it out)

-💥

monster fucking, black/starcest, period sex, blood, cum drinking, blood drinking

VAMPIRE BLACK BROTHERS<3 Oh, i love them. i love them so much this was delightful. Im writing them as more androgynous and gender nonconforming than fem but vampires are just too sexy to be limited by gender

Remus Lupin is a man of many things, intelligence, kindness, resourcefulness and even patience on his better days and yet today he seems ready to kill someone and he has absolutely no patience or energy for anyone.

The Black siblings are divinity on legs, sex that moves and so gorgeous to the point that people fawn over them until they get the sharp teeth grins and it scares the majority of people away.

Which is exactly what remus needed today, so he finds himself tucked between the two vampires. Despite him being the tallest of the three, he can feel the world dodging his bubble thanks to his much smaller protectors who are happily talking and pretending it's normal. Maybe it is normal, for them.

Remus is in agony and all he wants is for everything to go quiet so he can curl up and rot away until the cramping and bleeding ceases.

The siblings are doing well, theyre keeping calm but between sirius rambling nonsense and regulus listening theyre speaking with their eyes, they can smell remus, can smell his problems, the staining of red thats making them drool, the reason he's so irritable was already clear but its especially telling to them.

They want to help. they're going to help. They guide him straight to his dorm, sirius, allowing the regulus to follow them up, the portrait clicking shut behind them, and the dark room feels like heaven to all three of them.

Remus immediately sinks into his sheets, assuming the creatures will simply entertain themselves or leave once he's settled but after minutes of his own breathing he cracks his eye back open and he almost shrinks.

Theyre staring at him, both of them with grey eyes that seem to tear into him without any sound or movement, he feels so seen and it makes his gut twist even more, pain mixing with the instinctive urge to flee, it makes his face scrunch in pain.

Sirius moves first, gently helping remus sit up at an angle, gentle and cold fingers pressing into his abdomen, releasing the pressure from his stomach. The relief is instant, and regulus watches from his spot at the bottom of the four poster bed.

Remus is melting at the touches sirius is giving him, eyes falling shut and his body following the tugs and pulls, sirius is guiding his body up and down ever so gently, sliding fabric off of him until he's in nothing but boxers, the little dark stain being the treat they crave.

Regulus joins sirius beside remus, a second set of cold hands joining the expanse of skin remus has on display now, the werewolf letting it happen as the relief is the best he's felt in days.

Pulling the boxers down made their mouths water. Remus naked is a sight in itself, but for them, the mess of dark hair that litters up from his thighs, curlier and thicker with the higher they let their eyes wander.

The dark curls that split, curling out around the growth of his dick and his hair is damp, its stained a dark red, so dark it almost looks black, the hair sticking to the flesh of his lips and the gap where his hole would be, the blood so thick that the hairs are covered in the leftovers of clots, his hole hidden from view, perfect dinner and dessert left out of sight for later.

Regulus moves first, returning to where he was placed before, the bottom of the bed, a place where he can see every curve, every scratch and every hair that covers him and he can also see the hole that drips, the little pool of blood caught just on his rim tempting to join the rest which stains brown hair dark.

His mouth is on it before he can comprehend, he's lapping at it, tongue parting the hairs and his spit dissolving the dry blood, it coats his tongue and lips in red.

Remus gasps and moves his hips into it, the feeling of anything down there solving another kind of cramp he'd been having.

Sirius takes his chance while remus is shifting, grabbing his chest and squeezing, gripping them and listening to the moan that tears through remus' throat. He wants to chase the feeling on his tongue, so he does, latching onto remus' neck and sucking and licking until the skin smells sweeter from the blood vessels, raising up towards his tongue.

Remus is going insane, there's so much yet so little happening. He needs more, he needs them to do more. He says so, he thinks, mumbling something akin to please and the siblings simply grin at eachother.

Sirius makes his way down next to his sibling, Regulus shifting to the side to make room, spreading remus' legs even further apart. Strings of blood connecting the sides like a maze of vines. They want to lose their tongues in it.

Regulus turns to sirius first, making out with him, forcing his bloodied tongue into his siblings mouth, both of them moaning into eachother with the taste dancing across them.

Remus watches them, how they kiss, how their tongues play against each other, and he's never been so turned on in his life.

Sirius pulls away, wanting to taste remus directly, he forces his tongue directly into his leaking hole, tongue fucking him, dragging the blood down so he can taste it properly, it stains his lips and chin and he makes a mess of the wolf above them but he doesnt care.

Not when regulus' hand is touching him, stroking his already hard cock, not when he dips his head down and joins sirius, tongues both forcing their way into remus, bouncing off eachother.

Remus is grinding down on their mouths, squirming and clenching doing nothing but give them more fresh blood to devour. They're drinking it as it spills for them and the siblings are stroking eachother quite desperately.

Sirius cums first, spilling across his little brothers hand, regulus just brings it up between them, fucking remus' cunt with cum covered fingers and prioritising sucking the hard tdick above his clenching hole.

Sirius watches as remus takes it, his hand moving on regulus quicker but deciding to move, slipping beneath his siblings legs and sucking. Sucking and sucking until his own mouth fills with white.

Only then to they focus on remus again, regulus moves, focusing soley on remus' cock, lips sealed tight around the growth, tongue teasing the tip between sucking.

Sirius takes over remus' hole, spitting regulus' cum inside and tonguefucking it deep, the siblings cum mixing together and turning pink with the blood.

The Siblings are sloppy, tongues still managing to brush together, remus' cunt is almost cleaned from blood with the way they devoured him.

Remus cums with a shout, his hole reacting around sirius' tongue and his cock twitching in regulus' mouth. They dont pause their actions until he stops twitching and pulsing.

Gently cleaning him up after and rubbing his stomach and chest.

#carnal desire #💥anon #the marauders #marauders era #marauders #answering sin #sirius black #regulus black #trans remus lupin #remus lupin #wolfstarcest #moonstarcest #starcest #moonwater #wolfstar #blackcest #remus x regulus x sirius

33 notes · View notes

polysyndetonaddictsupportgroup · 14 hours ago

Note

but does first ever stop possessing Izuku for good like is izuku just back after the shie hassaiki or is it just until the quirk destroying drug wears off

Izuku being back is temporary. One for All is like a software that all for one changed the settings on. It’s set to run First as the primary person in this body. They don’t know how to switch the settings back. But when that software is interrupted, all that’s left is the hardware that is Izuku’s normal body.

Izuku is back while one for all is gone. But he suspects that when (if) it comes back, he’s going to be shoved back down beneath first. But this is a opportunity to get a message to him that he cannot fucking miss.

But that is not Aizawa’s priority right now. He has his student and he is not letting go of him until he is back, safe and sound, and they can make sure he is back permanently. He may handcuff Midoriya to him. It’s been that kind of time.

They just need to get him the fuck out of here. This was an already-sensitive mission that just turned 9000% more sensitive. They don’t know if all for one has been informed that Midoriya was here, somehow, or that it’s Midoriya running this show instead of his brother. They expect the fallout to him discovering either of those pieces of information to be cataclysmic.

And they still haven’t contained Chisaki yet. Fuck. They need to get Izuku and Eri the fuck out of here.

Izuku: um

Izuku: what exactly does he look like

Aizawa:

Aizawa: what did you do

Izuku: Imayhavecutoffhisfingers

Aizawa:

Aizawa, bewildered: why

Izuku: he seemed to need them

Aizawa: … why.

Izuku: most people need their fingers sensei

Aizawa: midoriya.

Mirio: he woke up and he locked in sensei

Izuku, at the exact same time: sensei, I woke up I locked in

Okay. Fucking whatever. Chisaki still needs to be contained but he is also… dealing with some things. Other people can handle him. But Midoriya is being immediately evacuated and Aizawa is sticking to him like glue.

Izuku has a problem with that.

He sort of needs them to let him fuck off.

Aizawa, immediately: absolutely not

Izuku knows what All for One is capable of. He knows what he’ll do. If he finds out that Izuku is back in charge of his body, he will lose his fucking mind trying to confirm whether his brother is permanently gone. He will tear through anyone he has to in order to get to Izuku and confirm if his brother is still in there.

And Izuku doesn’t know if he’s been told his brother was here. The league was fucking here, apparently, but Dabi seemed to be… going through a lot. He’s not sure if anyone told All for One. But he needs to assume the worst case scenario, which is that all for one is fucking en route, and he needs to plan for that.

So he needs to pretend he’s still First. And First would fuck off.

Izuku promises that he’s going to come find them immediately. He’s promises he’ll come back. But if he’s First, then he’s fucking off into the streets and hes going to fucking ground while his brother has a lead on his location. He won’t be anywhere his brother may otherwise suspect, like with the heroes.

He’s doesn’t know how much time he has. He needs them to trust that he knows what to do here. Just trust him, Sensei.

Aizawa struggles to do it.

It’s not about trusting Midoriya. He believes him. It’s about everything else in the world that he cannot control.

The last time he saw Midoriya, Midoriya had just saved Kota. His arms were broken. He came upon Aizawa in the woods. Aizawa knew that he needed to be removed from the field immediately.

But he let Izuku take a message to Mandalay.

And then he heard Todoroki screaming Midoriya’s name through the woods. And he just sort of knew that he’d lost him.

And Midoriya’s just been gone since, in a way they might never reclaim him from. Aizawa has been carrying the guilt of knowing that Midoriya may be gone for good and he had a chance to keep him by his side and keep him safe and he just. He didn’t. He thought Izuku would just be gone for a few minutes. And now it’s been months.

He needs to know that he’s going to see Izuku again. He need to know that this won’t be the last time. He’s willing to risk it otherwise. They can, they can cover Izuku up before he’s out there, get him in a car, be careful about any tails—

Izuku goes to nighteye. He offers him his hand.

Nighteyes never fucking talked to this kid. He’s the kid that he thought wasn’t good enough for the job, and the kid whose loss has been tearing apart all might since. He’s surprised Izuku even knows his quirk, let alone offers him his hand.

He takes it.

There. Izuku’s going to see them again, right? And soon.

Nighteye confirms it. And Aizawa reluctantly agrees.

Perfect. Izuku needs someone to help stage his escape from police custody. He needs it to be subtle, elegant, classy. Something all for one won’t notice if he doesn’t already know First was here, but something he’ll believe was First if he does already know. Senpai, you up for the task?

Mirio is so fucking down.

It’s subtle. Classy but passionate. Izuku does have a brief misstep when they first exit, because the last he remembers it was summer, why is it fucking cold outside, but he recovers easily. Mirio once again channels his horse girl trying to soothe a wild stallion energy, but it’s just not enough to convince “First.” “First” fucks off parkour style, and Mirio loses him after a brief but fervent chase. Mirio expects that his Academy Award is in the mail. He cannot wait for his little kohai to work through his possession stuff because he thinks they really have some magic between them.

Aizawa, grabbing Nighteye, immediately: where the fuck is he going

Nighteye, pained: he realized that the last thing all for one would expect from either of them after escaping was to be cooperative with us. He’s going to the school.

Which really wasn’t what Aizawa was expecting. He was expecting to have to go hunt his student down at some dive motel or shitty restaurant in a part of the city without cameras. He didn’t expect he’d just fuck off and go straight to UA.

Kirishima, however, did.

This is because he grievously misunderstood what was happening just now. He assumed his homeboy would be going right back to UA because like, where else would he go. Wait was it a possibility that he might go somewhere else.

Anyway he immediately made a group chat with the entire class in it except for Bakugou or Todoroki. He did not think either of them would be chill about this.

He tells everyone what’s up and tells them to start having people casually walking into the entrance of the school in groups of two or three in like, five minute intervals or something. He doubts Midoriya has his keycard what with the kidnapping and possession and all, and they need him to enter in a very casual way that will not tip off that megalomaniac who wants to adversely possess his body. So everyone needs to go to the fucking konbini right now so he can casually join their group and walk in with them just like any other student. Everyone is out of toothpaste and needs to get some immediately. Except for Todoroki and Bakugou, who, again, will not be chill about this. Tell them after Midoriya is inside the gates. Babygirl is coming home and they are getting him over that finish line.

Before all of this, Izuku didn’t really know how to shake tails and make sure he wasn’t followed. But First did, and he has like, a weird patchwork of First’s memories now. He lived through a select number of First’s memories, many of which were very horrific. But when he was in those memories, he remembers being first, who remembered more than just the instant moment. He personally lived the memory of sitting in the diner with all for one. But when he was in that moment, he thought he was First. And First remembered what his brother did to make him so pissed, and the dead orphanage directors, and the shoe at the bottom of the ravine. So Izuku has some memories he lived and some memories he remembers remembering. The result is a weird hazy patchwork but he definitely remembers how to make sure All for One can’t follow him. He spends the walk over trying to figure out how he’s infiltrating the school without all for one noticing, only for it to be a nonissue.

Iida is slowly walking to the front gate with Kaminari and meaningfully talking about how, oh dear, it looks like he forgot yet another item at the konbini, he may have to go back once more, perhaps in five minutes. Izuku simply slips in between them and tells them to be cool about this.

They are cool about this. They have to be cool about this. The risk of not being cool about this is why Todoroki and Bakugou were not invited.

Bakugou, meanwhile, looking around the common room: *bewildered* where the fuck did everyone go

Iida is still struggling not to cry as he swipes his keycard.

Kaminari does immediately text Todoroki and Bakugou as soon as they get Midoriya fully inside because like. He’s inside. That’s how long Kirishima said it needed to be a secret for. That has passed.

And frankly the tension has been suffocating. Todoroki is radiating gay depression and Kaminari cannot do it anymore. Don’t even get him started on Bakugou. He loves the dude but he’s never met anyone less equipped to handle his own emotions like Jesus Christ

Todoroki, getting this text: *takes off at a dead fucking sprint*

Bakugou, who lives like one of those moms that leave their phone on the charger in another room and just roams life without it, doesn’t have his phone: what the fuck??

Todoroki, not bothering with shoes: MIDORIYAS BACK AND HES IN CONTROL OF HIS BODY

Bakugou, tripping to follow him: wait FUCK WHAT

Kaminari also does this because Midoriya immediately takes the fuck off at a dead fucking sprint the second the gate closes behind him and he is not headed for the dorms. Where is he going actually. Fuck.

Izuku has a limited amount of time he is working with. He has no idea what he was shot with. He suspects it may have hit him in the ass, because. Ow. But he doesn’t know what happens when it wear off, or if it’s going to wear off, or how long this kind of drug is expected to last for. If this is permanent and all of the past users are just gone, all for one may try to actually end the world and they don’t have one for all to fight him with anymore, in which case they’re all fucked. So Izuku is going to be operating as if one for all is coming back and stacking his deck for that possibility.

He knows what he needs to do

He has not been conscious for god knows how long and he likely will fall back to unconsciousness soon

He has potentially a very limited time he is working with and he needs to prioritize how he uses it. And Izuku knows that if he can only talk to one person before he goes back under, there is only one person that it should be.

And that person is

Shinsou Hitoshi

While Iida has not taken Izuku’s loss in quite the same way Todoroki or Bakugou has, he has still taken it very badly, and he is not about to let his dear friend just go off alone. Where. Where is he going.

Huh. Izuku has no idea. He was just in the moment. He has no idea what day it is. Do they have classes like are classes a thing today. Why is it cold out now. He thought it was July.

Anyway he needs Shinsou Hitoshi, general education student, right fucking now. Where can he find him. Please tell him it is still on this campus he has such limited fucking time, maybe, probably, he thinks.

Likely he would be in the gen ed dorms. Iida will take him there while impressing upon him just how much he’s missed him. He feels he will not get much of an opportunity after Bakugou and Todoroki arrive.

Todoroki, reading Kaminari’s live text of what’s happening: they’re going to the gen ed dorms now??

Bakugou, slamming into his back: fuck WHY

Iida also would like to know that. He has no idea why Shinsou is the one person on this campus Izuku wishes to speak with, particularly considering how fervently certain other people wish to speak with Izuku. He has spent too much time with Todoroki lately, admittedly trying to ease some of the gay anguish he’s experiencing, and because of that he immediately starts worrying that there’s some kind of clandestine romance that happened between Shinsou and Midoriya before all this and Midoriya is seeking his paramour. He is worried specifically because 1) Midoriya is his friend and if he had some kind of partner who was left bereft Iida would have liked to be there for him and 2) he cannot put into mortal words how cataclysmic of a breakdown Todoroki will have at this revelation.

But no. Shinsou has not spoken to Midoriya since that guy judo flipped him on live tv, thereby crushing his hopes and dreams. He does feel bad for him, because his life seems to have since become fucked in a kind of way that may legitimately be unprecedented in human history. But it’s not his business. He’s like, possessed or something now. And even if he wasn’t possessed there is no reason why Midoriya would ever seek him out specifically.

So there he is in his dorm room. Unproblematic. Moisturized. In his lane.

Midoriya Izuku bursts into his dorm room with an air of wild desperation and an entourage

Shinsou, was not expecting this: I… knock??

Izuku, has had a long… however long it’s been: I—sorry.

Shinsou: it’s fine. *beat* I thought you were possessed.

Izuku, Exuding An Energy: the last I remember it was July and. I don’t think I owned these pants.

Shinsou: it’s November

Izuku, was hoping for a mid September at worst: I—November??

Shinsou: yeah. You uh. You just. Done with that possession thing now?

No. Izuku doesn’t think so. He thinks it’s going to happen again, in an indeterminate amount of time but likely very soon.

He cannot explain further. Todoroki and Bakugou barrel into Shinsou’s room like heralds of the end times. Oh, look. More company.

The energy just gets weird fucking fast. It’s kind of gay. And if it is like, whatever, good for them, but like. Why is it happening in Shinsou’s room. Specifically. They have their own rooms to be gay in. He feels like his room is out of their way. And also it’s sort of attracting a crowd, and he has homework, and also he still has no idea why the fuck Izuku’s here…

Fuck. It is attracting a crowd. Bakugou did not wait for anyone to open the door for him and blasted the electronic lock. That would attract attention without the everything else. Everyone’s wondering what the fuck is happening over there. They thought Midoriya was possessed and like, doing some kind of guerrilla warfare vigilante thing. It made the news.

Izuku is worried now. All for One’s a complete freak who will show up here if someone goes and posts this shit online.

Bakugou acts decisively.

Everyone give him their phone because he is blowing them up. Anyone who posts this shit online or tells anyone is getting an explosion up their ass. No the phone thing is non optional he trusts none of them do not think you can hide from him

Shinsou just. Would love to know why this is happening to him. Specifically. In his room.

Okay. Fuck. Izuku has someone else stuck running his body right now, and Izuku's just… buried beneath most of the time. Right now he’s back in control, but he’s positive it’s temporary. Mostly. Like 60%. he is aware that's not very positive. Whatever. He needs to assume that this is a problem that still needs to be fixed and plan accordingly.

And the way to fix this involves Shinsou.

He’s not going to lie to him. First’s brother is a freak. If he finds out that Shinsou is helping Izuku get his body back, he may go after him. It may be dangerous. All for One may actually try to kill him if he finds out. But Shinsou said he wanted to be a hero and Izuku needs one.

He needs Shinsou to help save him. Will he?

And like. Shinsou’s not saying he’s thought this about Midoriya specifically. But he’d been lying if he said he’s never fantasized about someone bursting into his room and telling him that they need a hero and it needs to be him, that he’s got some special nebulous something that means he’s the only one who can save them. He wants to be a hero like he needs to breathe. It’s existential.

Midoriya’s offering him a hand, and he takes it.

Iida insists that they should take this back to their dorm. Izuku registers, for the first time, that they have dorms now. When. When did that happen. This is a new building entirely that he's standing in. Oh god it’s November. Like. From his perspective it feels like it’s been years so in a way that’s better but. Fuck he lost so much time.

They need to get Midoriya back across campus without risking more attention. Bakugou has already destroyed a terrifying number of cellphones and also this dorm’s WiFi router. Iida expects a lecture from Mr. Aizawa and possibly Nedzu imminently. Perhaps a disguise is in order instead of… fire and violence? Something to cover his hair and features. They’ve already garnered too much attention.

For some reason both Bakugou and Todoroki interpret this to mean that they specifically should take off their hoodies and try to physically put them on Midoriya.

Midoriya does not have time for this. he has Shinsou and he needs to get to the next phase of his plan let’s go let’s go

They spirit back to the class 1-a dorms. Todoroki has latched onto Izuku’s hand like he’s scared he will take off at any second. Izuku, upon review, realizes this seems to be a common theme in people’s responses to him thus far. This does not surprise him. Third was emphatic that First must be having a legendary crash out right now.

They get to the dorms. Aizawa, Nighteye, Kirishima, Uraraka, Tsuyu, and Mirio have made it back from the scene of the raid. Nighteye saw that this would be where Midoriya ended up, and also the group chat has been popping off. Kirishima knows exactly where his homeboy is. Kaminari has been living texting it. All Mights there too. Nighteye called him, and also half of class 1a frantically texted him to tell him that their boy was back. Class 1a is ready to dogpile Izuku with love and relief.

But Izuku does not have time for any of that shit.

Or maybe he does. He doesn’t know how long he’s back for and is not willing to risk it. Everyone shut up and be happy to see him later—he needs a phone, duct tape, and a permanent marker fucking now.

He sees Uraraka go for her phone. He quickly clarifies he needs a phone he can keep because he needs to duct tape it to his body so First is certain to get it. He needs to record a message to him and he cannot guarantee that they will get the phone back.

He can have todoroki’s phone. And also his dad’s credit card. Just in case he needs it. Todoroki is a provider if that matters.

That’s… Okay. Fine. Thanks. He doesn’t know if this is permanent or how long it lasts if it’s temporary. He doesn’t know when first is coming back.

Mirio explains that there were definitely permanent kinds of those bullets, good thing no one got tragically hit with one in battle, unless Midoriya did, in which case yikes. But if it was the temporary kind then Tamaki got hit with one and his quirk was back like ten hours later. So he probably has time?

But Izuku doesn’t know that. What determines the duration of the drug? Is it the same for everyone? Is it different based on body weight? Metabolism speed? Quirk power? Is it a shitty yakuza drug so they’ve probably not made a standardized formula/dosage per bullet and its expected effects may therefore vary? For all he knows he has seconds someone film him

Izuku explains it all to first. One for All is so much more than they thought. It’s stockpiling in its purest form, and they’re all in there, everything’s still in there. Every memory, every feeling, every user.

Kudou’s in there. First should know that.

He thinks they’re sentient Quirk manifestations. Perfect copies of who they were in life. He’s telling himself that at least because he’s haunted by the metaphysical implications of it being actually them trapped in there. Like do they all have souls and are those souls trapped inside Izuku’s bones. Have they inadvertently locked themselves out of the afterlife and will they all be trapped in the purgatory in miniature existing inside Izuku until they stop passing along one for all. Like flies stuck in a glue trap but for human souls. He just. He would rather they be sentient quirk copies instead of like actual ghosts. He’s. He’s getting off topic.

He knows how All for One did it. He figured out what Quirk he used to switch them out, and it was one for all. He used a Quirk that let him momentarily take control of it, and he manipulated it to swap out Izuku for First. And if All for One can use One for all to do that, then they can use it to reverse it. And he and the rest have been trying to figure out how.

But it’s difficult. They can navigate one for all from the inside, but they can’t activate it. First can activate it from the outside, but he can’t navigate its depths. And they can’t communicate across the divide. The others apparently thought they were getting close to reaching Izuku through his dreams before this all happened, but first was really the best at that… and also they’re all pretty sure First hasn’t really been sleeping much so it’s been hard to find opportunities to try to reach him that way.

One for All is like an ocean of information, and they’re trying to figure out how to manipulate it in the right way to force the right information to surface. But it’s got all of these different levels beneath the surface that are easy to get lost in. It’s almost impossible to get everyone all on the same level where they can work together to operate the quirk.

But there’s an exception. There is one time where they’ve all been on the same level of awareness within one for all. And there’s one time that they’ve managed to activate it from the inside. First managed to activate it from the inside.

And it was when Shinsou Hitoshi put them under during the sports festival.

First reached out. He triggered their quirk and knocked Izuku out from hypnosis. And that’s the only time any of them have been able to manage something like that.

For some reason, Shinsou quirk forces them all onto the exact same plane of awareness within one for all. They can see each other. He thinks they may be able to interact if he stays under long enough. And it may let them activate it from the inside. After First is back, he needs to find Shinsou—uhh, this is Shinsou, point the camera at Shinsou—

(Shinsou, wide eyed, also there: •_•)

Find Shinsou and have him put him under. Then they can all work together to reverse this. Shinsou’s cool and is going to be a hero and said he’d help them. Izuku is writing Shinsou’s cellphone number on his arm in permanent marker. Call him and they can go from there.

Aizawa can’t help but cut in. Because Midoriya’s really preparing like First is just not gonna be there after the drug wears off. They can arrange for first to speak with Shinsou. And that. Doesn’t involve leaving Shinsou’s number in permanent marker on the arm of someone being hunted by a murderous freak. Which could be. Dangerous for shinsou.

And like. Izuku guesses but also isn’t it sort of safer this way? Not for shinsou—sorry shinsou—but like to make sure first gets the information. He may just fuck off when he wakes up and like. Then they’re back at square one. Hence duct taping phones to his body and writing Shinsou’s number on his mortal body in black sharpie. But maybe he can do it on like, his stomach or something? He feels like that’d be more reliably hidden than the arm. And ergo safer for shinsou.

And there’s some awkward eye contact exchanged amongst the adults.

Because the plan was to sort of ensure first couldn’t do that when and if he woke up.

And they sort of assumed Midoriya would be okay with that. And like. Cooperate in making sure that happened. They were sort of going to ask him to just wait to switch back with first in a nice and comfortable but very very locked holding cell because they have not been able to get first to listen to them otherwise and they can’t have him carrying on the way he is

First has been fucking off, homeless and unhinged, and fighting everyone he possibly can. In Midoriya’s body. He risks getting caught by all for one. He risks getting seriously hurt or killed, and if he gets killed then all for one may try to sink japan into the fucking sea. They have been trying to do everything short of capturing him in a net for Midoriya’s and society’s sake, because everyone is so so distressed by whatever the fuck he’s doing.

Izuku doesn’t get it. The only way they’d be able to stop him is by not letting him leave, possibly by locking him in some kind of locked room and/or vault, which, as everyone knows, is one of the worst and most fucked up things you can do to another person.

Have they. Have they been trying to do that to first.

They are not monsters for trying to get First to stop fucking off into the night and stay in a nice safe house where he’d be protected—

And oh my god, Izuku is so fucking sorry to first. He is horrified right now. Aghast. He cannot believe they are acting like this and he, too, thinks they are monsters for it. He is behind first 100%. He gives first his blessing to fuck off and do whatever he thinks is right. Izuku’s body is his body. Izuku trusts him completely so lock in, do what he needs to, go plus ultra

Aizawa needs Midoriya to stop encouraging First, please.

Izuku stares at him a beat.

Honestly he may just write Shinsou’s number on his body and let them just take it from here (shinsou do NOT tell them if first calls do not—)

izuku is emphatic that First needs to be allowed to come and go as he pleases. It’s actually so fucked up that they considered not letting him do that. As everyone knows, forcing someone to stay in a place is one of the most fucked up things you can do to a person.

Izuku may or may not share a lot of First’s skittishness around vaulting now.

He remembers being in the vault, is the thing. He thinks he was only like, actually experiencing the vault for a very short period of time, the memory he slipped into probably lasted for under an hour, but that wasn’t just a short memory of being in the vault. It was a memory of being in the vault after having already been in it for years.

It was. Uh. Izuku’s trying it to think about it, actually. But it wasn’t good.

If First has been running from them, that is on them. It is very normal to fuck off at first signs of confinement. He can’t believe they’re being like this. First, don’t you worry, man, Izuku gives him full permission to use his body to bite his loved ones if needs must. Izuku would do the same and may still if they don’t stop being so unreasonable about this.

Aizawa is getting the sense that something deeper is going on.

Okay. They need First to start working with them and stop doing… whatever it is that he’s doing. Like. Is this like a test or something? If they give First the ability to leave freely will he decide to stay and work with them because he just wanted the option?

And Izuku is like. No. Don’t be ridiculous. He’s going to leave. He’s going to do things while he’s gone. He will not tell them in advance what those things are. Izuku thinks they should simply let him.

Aizawa is taking deep breaths.

If it makes them feel better, he’ll probably come back and cooperate more if they weren’t trying to keep him locked up? But like. They cannot try to lock him up. He will be gone. They will not find him. God someone hand him the duct tape he needs to strap this recording to his thigh before he goes under again and they drive away first with how insane they’re being.

Okay. Okay. They come to a compromise. It’s less of a compromise and more of Izuku saying that they can go ahead and try that idea and see how badly First bites them over it.

They can’t just let First fuck off the second he returns. He’s going to try, but they need to talk to him first. They can’t just let him go off into the streets with Shinsou’s phone number written on him in sharpie and Todoroki’s phone strapped to him with duct tape. And. Endeavor’s credit card. So they can try to confine him just long enough to have the initial conversation, with the caveat that they absolutely must let him go after. Izuku is emphatic that long term restraint is not a fucking option, to the degree where Aizawa thinks he may genuinely try to run himself to save First the trouble.

Something’s definitely up with that.

Izuku doesn’t think this is going to go well. But hey. They want to try. And he can probably help them talk First down? Like. Getting Izuku back is as simple as getting Mr. Aizawa to erase his Quir—

Todoroki, who wanted to try that literally months ago: OKAY. OKAY.

He is not taking this with grace. He had that idea the night this shit started. He could have had Midoriya back months ago. He means they. They could have had Midoriya back months ago. This was equally important to all of them for all the same reasons.

Okay. Obviously, this Quirk didn’t work the way anyone thought it would. And Mr. Aizawa erasing him isn’t a permanent fix, so in a way they were both right—

But they weren’t. Todoroki was right. He is not accepting criticism at this time. They could have been doing this shit months ago he is so unspeakably upset right now

Anyway, that’s all Izuku really had to say. Though, uh.

First should know that Second is so fucking sad without him. Everyone thinks so. He misses him so, so much. And he’s waiting for him, okay? He’s not gone.

And that’s it. Izuku has conveyed the necessary messages. He has written Shinsou’s number on him in sharpie. Phone? Duct taped beneath his shirt. He has done it.

Izuku is still here.

So admittedly it seems that he does have time before the drug wears off so like. Uh. How’s everyone been?

He gets tackled.

It’s chaos, for a bit. Everyone’s hugging him, talking over him, crying. He was missed. He was loved. He was so, so loved.

Todoroki is holding both of his hands in his own. He is staring soulfully into Izuku’s eyes. Izuku can’t remember how this came to be. He doesn’t think he minds, though.

Iida and Uraraka are also holding hands. This is it. Confession time. The moment they’ve been waiting for it. They’ve been helping Todoroki through his homosexuality induced anguish because they’re friends, but also fucksake it’s agonizing. He’s so sad and gay that it’s hard to tolerate. Hes been impossible to deal with since the failed sleeping beauty attempt and now finally, finally he can tell Izuku how he feels

Todoroki says: “I’m… glad you’ve gotten a break from your possession.”

Izuku smiles at him sunnily. He is too.

Iida, in the distance: IS THAT IT

In the chaos of the crowd, Shinsou gets jostled up to the front. He catches Izuku’s eye. He feels like he should say something because like, everyone is, but also what the fuck would he say to him. They talked one time and it involved Izuku judo flipping him on live tv. Shinsou wasn’t exactly personally affected by his loss.

Shinsou says: “I feel like having outside help from a ghost should be grounds for disqualification from the sports festival”

Which he immediately regrets. But Izuku laughs, so he guesses it’s okay.

It starts to dwindle pretty quickly. This is not by choice from the rest of the class. They want to all hold hands in a massive class daisy chain. But they legitimately have no idea when the fuck First is coming back, if he is at all. But he has responded to having to exist near them with indiscriminate violence thus far, and they can’t have that happening in the middle of the common area.

Izuku is not surprised by this. This is probably their fault. If they were trying to keep him locked up, then First’s reaction is on them.

First is also likely to lose his entire shit because he is In A Place now. This is a very understandable reaction to Being In A Place. Izuku would and has done the same, re: chisaki’s fingers. They should all make sure to not be within biting distance.

Aizawa, growing increasingly concerned: Midoriya do we need to talk about something

Izuku: no why

Anyway, the more time passes, the more pressing the need to get him in a more controlled environment. He should stay in his dorm room for the next few hours. Aizawa will stay with him so First doesn’t immediately punch through a wall and fuck off into the night. Yagi will also stay with him because he’s still emotionally fragile at the idea of losing Izuku again. Either his Quirk will come back and they talk to First, or his Quirk comes back and this was the metaphysical equivalent of turning his Quirk off and back on again to reset it so he’s just back now, or his Quirk doesn’t come back and they start making plans for handling the fallout.

Huh. Izuku has a dorm room?

Yes, yes he does. The class decorated it for him. They refused to accept that Izuku was not coming back and decided to make sure his room was ready for him. They really put their hearts into the design.

The room looks like all might merch store meets hot topic meets a boxing gym meets a supply closet meets an open jar of glitter. And there’s a photo of the class, all of them, printed and framed at the head of his bed.

Izuku loves it immensely. He bursts into tears when he walks in the door.

During this time, he’s still here, and people can talk to him. They’re just trying to make sure he’s in a more enclosed space with less. Potential victims. If first comes back.

Iida, looming over Todoroki: is there something you wish to tell Izuku before he is possessed again

Todoroki isn’t sure.

(Uraraka: HOW COULD YOU NOT BE SURE)

He promised himself he’d tell Izuku how he felt as soon as he got him back. He didn’t tell him the first time around and he almost lost the chance for good. He promised himself he’d not make the same mistake again.

But he also sort of thought he’d get Izuku back for good. He thought that the next time he was in control of his body, this possession mess would be resolved.

Izuku’s very likely going to go back under soon. He’s going to be just. Stuck inside his own body unable to act on anything. Wouldn’t it be a lot to put his feelings on someone before that? Like what is he supposed to do, say, “I don’t want to be just friends, I want more, I want it so bad that being without you has been an agony i never want to go through again. Also I sleeping beautied you and it failed. Don’t look into that too much. Anywho just wanted to let you know, let’s put a pin in this until you become un-possessed”? Maybe he should wait.

Bakugou does not have the same dilemma. Out of his way, gay boy, he’s got an emotional resolution to make happen.

Izuku does not know why Bakugou is here asking to speak to him privately. And he does not know what to do with it when he finds out why.

They spend a lot of the conversation just missing each other. Bakugou tries to apologize, tries to set it all out, how all of this came together to him being so fucking sorry for everything that happened between them. Izuku doesn’t get what he’s talking about. He doesn’t have to be sorry about Izuku getting possessed—Izuku can confirm that there’s nothing Bakugou could have done to stop all for one—

It’s not. It’s not that exactly. That’s part of it. But it’s not that.

The Bakugou everyone pretended he was growing up should have been able to stop it.

The Bakugou everyone pretended he was growing up wouldn’t have been there to begin with, because no one would have questioned his heroic potential. He’d never have been called a villain and never been kidnapped as a fuckin. Evil recruitment drive.

But if he was there, then he’d have stopped it. He’d have done something spectacular and stopped it. It was metaphysical to that Bakugou, the imaginary one. He never failed. He always won. He was assured to be the one who would save the day before it was ever in trouble to begin with. He was guaranteed to be right, to be victorious, to be a hero.

Even though he wasnt doing anything that could be called heroic back then.

If he couldn’t save Izuku, that means that Bakugou didn’t exist. He wasn’t real. He never had been. And that means that all that, that shit Bakugou put him through when they were kids was just. Him being a piece of shit. Because if he wasn’t somehow inherently good and right and already a perfect hero—

Then he was just an asshole.

And he’s sorry. He’s so fucking sorry. And he’s been trying to fix things. He’s been trying to be better. He’s trying to be the kind of hero that Izuku used to think he’d be, back when they were kids and before it all got fucked between them. He thinks that’s the kind of hero he wants to be.

Izuku just sort of sits there. He doesn’t know how to respond.

He’s not sure how he would have taken this before everything. But it’s not as easy deciding now. Because he’s got so many of First’s memories clanging around his head. And First wouldn’t have taken this well.

It’s not about Bakugou. It’s about the sheer mind fuckery of being in any kind of relationship with All for One. And All for One wouldn’t exactly apologize, per se, but he would try to… smooth things over? He’d do something incredibly fucked and then suddenly he’d do something to emphasize how he loved First and how First was his absolute priority. And then he’d start like. Manufacturing ways to smooth things over. In ways that were profoundly fucked. First was convinced that his brother was drugging him, before the vault, before the first time he ran, when they just lived together in a house. First was arguing with him constantly about what was happening between them, how controlling his brother was becoming, about what he suspected his brother was doing in his “work.” Then, suddenly he started having dizzy spells and blacking out. And there was hero big brother, so goddamn concerned for him, swooping in to catch him when he started to stumble, confining him to bedrest, calling for that dumb fucking weasel of a doctor who diagnosed first with a mystery condition that required him to avoid getting upset. And any time First tried to talk to All for One about anything after that, it devolved into All for One harping on about his health and how much he cares for First and how all for one would do anything to keep him healthy and safe so just leave everything to him and stop worrying so much. And stop upsetting himself. Remember what the doctor said.

Izuku knows Bakugou’s not doing what all for one did to first. It’s not even in the same universe. But First was just really, really terrified of relationships and trusting people in general, especially when there’s been issues in the past. People promising him that things would change between them and it’d be better usually preceded a lot of agony. And Izuku’s got just. Pieces of First jumbled in with himself that are hard to separate out from the rest.

It was easy to say things. And it’s easy to not mean them. He hasn’t been here to see if things are different or if Bakugou’s sorry but not enough to change anything. Like. He’s glad Bakugou’s working through things but he doesn’t know what that means for him.

Bakugou stares at him for a long time. Then, he decides, he's going to show Izuku. He's going to prove it to him. Izuku's going to get his body back and he'll see. Bakugou’s going to be the kind of hero they dreamed of as kids. And then. Then maybe things can be different between them.

Aizawa and Yagi, standing outside the door, trying desperately not to eavesdrop: •_• •_•

They know when First comes back because Izuku goes from talking normally with them to rag dolling onto his own bed. Instinctively, Yagi rushes over to help him... only for First to immediately lock in and head butt him.

It then took them seventeen tries to get First to stop fighting long enough to listen.

It could be said that First has what the kids nowadays are calling "trauma." But First likes to call them survival instincts. It's kind of like how it's not paranoia if they're actually out to get you--it's not a complex trauma response if it's really a measured reaction given the probable circumstances.

He's got this entire thing about beds and specifically about waking up in them that he just. He doesn't like to talk about. Which is frankly true of most of his survival instincts. He hates to admit why he has them because then people look at him with those big sad pity eyes and he just. he hates it.

Being in a bed has usually been. bad. for first. specifically.

He grew up in an orphanage that just didn't really give them beds. they got like, army cots. the bouncy kind, that were more fabric on a frame than anything. But then his brother came and got him and he just started like. waking up places. beds, specifically. His brother never really got how unsettling it was for First to just wake up In A Place because he was a kidnapping piece of shit who had a fundamental inability to grasp personal boundaries. And then he got into that phase where First was pretty positive his brother was drugging him and it was just. frequent. He'd be doing something and then he'd get dizzy and then he'd just. be in a bed.

and it would have happened again. And he would never know what happened to him while he was out.

And then First was homeless and on the run for a bit and like. You don't have easy access to beds when you're homeless and on the run. no beds involved. he knows he's waking up a free man when he's waking up Not In A Bed.

and then his brother caught him. and he woke up in a bed. tied down to it. in a vault.

and then he stayed there. for a very long time.

And after that his brother just got really into tying first to beds. like he "lost bed privileges" or whatever because he wouldn't love his fuckass brother and also kept trying to kill himself with any possible object available to him so he usually didn't have one but his brother would make an exception when First had gotten sick or managed to hurt himself. his brother hated it when he got sick or managed to hurt himself because it reminded him that first may actually die one day and he usually liked to foreclose any possibility of first's condition getting worse and of course first was actively trying to make his own condition worse and all for one knew that and. well by the time they got to the vault point his brother decided that first needed to be fully restrained whenever he was sick or injured. First couldn't try to hurt himself then. He couldn't try to rip out whatever IV or feeding tube or stitches he ended up with that time. and he couldn't resist his own treatment. his brother thought it was an all around excellent solution.

Meanwhile first counts it among the top five reasons he occasionally suspected he had died and been sent to actual hell? the only thing worse than being stuck in a single boring fucking room for all eternity was also being completely unable to move while you're in there. he just. he always sort of associated it with those times he fucked around and unlocked a worse, more agonizing hell than his everyday.

First's life had taught him the importance of immediate and decisive action. He feels a bed under him, decides that's probably bad for him, and then resorts to blind violence with the ultimate hopes of bursting through the wall like the fucking kool aid man and fucking off into the night.

Aizawa keeps having to erase him to prevent this.

Izuku feels like he is stuck in a zoetrope where the characters become increasingly disheveled with each frame.

Aizawa, bleeding slightly, appears to have been bitten: this isn't working

Izuku: don't take this the wrong way but i feel like you're not even trying

Aizawa: *stares*

Izuku: we could always just--

Aizawa: we cannot just have him fuck off into the night with shinsou's phone number written on him in permanent marker and hope for the best

Izuku: *shrugs* then you need to stay out of biting range

In the end, Second has to intervene.

He grows. increasingly frustrated. none of them really realize when one for all is erased because it's just brief non-existence. they don't even feel themselves leaving existence, it's too immediate. The only reason why they know something is going on is because Nine is telling them. So he has nine telling them, from his perspective, “okay yeah they failed again. Again. Failed again. again. Oooohh I think first managed to bite mr. Aizawa that time. Again. Again. Agai—”

Second feels once you hit double digit failures you should reevaluate a course of action. But that’s just him.

He’s been struggling with a very overwhelming sense of helplessness this entire time. All of the Past Users love First and are enraged by his brother’s newest way of fucking with him, but Second knows, with unique intimacy, just how badly this must be affecting first. It’s like All for One frankensteined together all of his husband's worst nightmares to invent a new level of hell to force him through.

Like. Confirmation that not even the veil of death will keep his brother away from him? Check. All of his loved ones being dead by centuries so he has no hope that they're out there surviving somehow? Yep. Other people's lives being destroyed directly so his brother can gain access to him? Yes. Threats of vaulting? imminent.

But First also had all of these issues around bodily autonomy that Second suspects has been aggravated to no end. His brother treated him like a fucking knickknack that he could tote around as he pleased. He has a profound fear related to things happening to his body while he's unaware. There were innumerable times in his husband's life where he woke up in a new place or with the realization that something had been done to his body while he was asleep. his clothes will have been changed or something will be obviously different. and he'd never know what exactly happened while he was out. So he imagines people repeatedly knocking him in and out of consciousness in an attempt to confine him is probably making him less likely to listen to these people with every single attempt.

He is not doing this to help those idiots. He feels that letting first fuck off into the night with a teenager's phone number written on him and endeavor's credit card was a fine plan. But they've apparently set themselves to this task and will not abandon it despite all indications that they should.

Second is willing to give… advice about how to calm First down when he’s panicking while waking. But if this information gets back to All for One and becomes another thing he can use against First, Second will find a way to crawl out of Nine’s bones and shoot them in both knees. Convey that message exactly.

(Fifth: yeahhhh second i bet you advice on how to wake up your husband—)

Not. This time.

Second has been on the receiving end of a lot of loving ribbing about his marriage with First since the news broke. It’s frankly fair game. It is the Past Users’ god-given right to dogpile him for carrying on some kind of Austen love affair for two hundred years right beneath their noses. They’ve all been subject to his and First’s repressed fucking stolen glances and always disappearing at the same time and have earned the right to tease them. First had more of an “outwardly friendly but also you could not waterboard information about his past out of him” demeanor with the rest but Second’s all about presenting as a stone cold soldier. Finding out he has in fact been sappy with his husband this entire time is the hottest tea that’s dropped in decades and frankly there’s not a lot going on in any of their lives/deaths, they are ghosts in a child’s bones. Their entire social calendar is each other and only expands when someone new dies, bitter and unfulfilled. The closest thing they get to new gossip is spying on literal school yard drama because Nine is like. Eleven years old. They at least used to have all might’s whore escapades and now they have the Disney channel running on endless loop, if Disney channel had the occasional attempted murder. This is the greatest thing to happen to them in fucking ages and the only thing dampening the revelation is, you know, first being gone.

Second can put up with their teasing. Most of the time. But not this time. he is boiling in his own misery without First and frankly could not possibly be more anxious about all this.

Like. He genuinely does love his husband. He loves him in the sappy, existential, sun-moon-and-stars, saccharine romance novel kind of way. He will not admit it out loud, but he does. They weren’t overt about their relationship but they were sincere in it. He doesn’t know if there’s an afterlife beyond one for all, but he’s grateful that they got a second chance within it. They didn’t have enough time in life. They’ve had two hundred years together in one for all, but it still isn’t enough time for him. He misses First like a limb.

And at least in life he knew that if First’s bitch of a brother ever succeeded in taking First back… well, he’d either be too dead to know about it or he’d be alive and then. Then he’d have a chance to get him back. It was so far from what he wanted to happen. First had been enormously clear with him how badly he wanted to die before ever going back to that place. He begged Second to let him die before being recaptured, even if there was some hope of rescue.

That was how he ended up in that hellhole to begin with. His friend hadn’t wanted him to die, and thought she could rescue him from his brother after he was healed. She told him it’d just be for a bit. She’d come for him. And then she died and he woke up in the vault. He couldn’t do it a second time. He made Second promise.

But the possibility of all for one recapturing him despite their best efforts lingered over them. And Second knew it would be agony if it ever happened—but he’d only ever considered the two possibilities if it came to pass. He’d either be dead and unaware or alive and able to do something. He never imagined being just. Stuck and helpless like this. Especially with how dedicated all for one is to forcing first to live forever. He’s helpless and faced with a potentially permanent loss.

It’s eating at him, especially now. Because he knows that Nine’s teacher probably views this as a profoundly aggravating road block to getting his student’s body back. But for Second, this represents yet another moment that’s going to dig into all the places First is hurt and First isn’t going to tell a single person about it, because Second was the person he’d talk to about it. Second’s drowning in quiet, repressed concern and is just. At the end of his rope. They will not be discussing what he’s about to say.

Izuku: okay second has some advice you’re gonna need some paper and a pen

Aizawa, exhausted, bewildered, bitten: why

Izuku: he has something you should say to first but he doesn’t want you saying it

Aizawa: … why.

Izuku: uhhhh I think it’s for gay reasons honestly.

Aizawa, despairing: what

Izuku: yeah they were like. Super married and grossly in love in life. Don’t ever mention that I told you any of that because second can’t hear us while he’s erased but he’ll find out if you bring it up later. He said he’s not accepting questions and not explaining we just have to do what he says. Also if all for one finds out about this he’s going to find a way to shoot you and like. Honestly I think it means I have to shoot you on his behalf which like. I don’t want to shoot you sensei

Aizawa, staring at the ceiling: … so this will calm him down

Izuku: oh no haha. if anything he’ll get angrier

Aizawa:

Izuku: second says that first is going to assume that you used a mind reading quirk or something to get this information and get even more violent over it. He recommends having distance and possibly a shield. It’s going to stun him before he gets angry though and that’s the opportunity we’re gunning for. He says to shout very loudly while he’s still processing that you got into contact with me and that I told you this and let my video explain because he’s going to be too angry to talk to you but he’ll want to talk to me. Also emphasize he can leave after the video

Aizawa:

Aizawa: okay fine

First is incredibly stressed. These fuckers apparently have some kind of Quirk that makes him lose time. He keeps waking up to them Over Him trying to calm him down which is, of course, making him panic so much harder. But every time he tries to get out of here and out of range of whatever Quirk is doing this, it’s like he blinks and he’s back where he’s started. It’s sort of nightmare fuel for him.

Except this next time he wakes up and he’s facing some random piece of paper that reads You’re right here with me

First bluescreens for a moment.

Because the only person who used to say that was Second when First woke up from some nightmare and was too disoriented to remember where he was. He’d assume he was In A Place and freak out because if he’s suddenly In A Place then his brother put him there. He’d always snap out of it when he realized he was still with the resistance, and Second always said the same thing every time, but the only one who knew that was him and he’s dead

Which makes First conclude these fuckers got a psychic quirk and are using the memory of his dead husband against him. In which case he’s punching them in the fucking throat.

Aizawa, from behind the door, shouts to him that Izuku gave him that message. He got it from someone else and Aizawa cannot emphasize enough that he does not know what it means or why it matters. One for All was temporarily erased and Izuku came back. They’re just trying to give him a video from Izuku to explain everything and then First can go.

Normally First would fuck off anyway. Assuring him he can leave and then using his hesitation to trap him is the exact sort of shit he’s usually wary of.

But the message gives him pause.

He wants so badly for it to actually be from Second. And he’s wanted to talk to Izuku since this started. He’s wanted to tell him how sorry he is. So if there’s a chance—

Fine. Kick the phone to him.

Wha—he has it? It’s duct taped to him? He thought that was his gun. Well not his gun gun, his die hard gun. Secret backup duct tape gun. Oh god his gun gun is gone too. Okay fine he’ll watch it.

Aizawa has never seen First more quiet or still than when he watches Izuku’s video to him.

He’s been chasing First, just like all the rest. First has been closed off and uncooperative since the very first day. He usually figures out Aizawa is on his tail and loses him before Aizawa can get close. He’s apparently been more cooperative with Yagi, but not enough to allow Yagi to bring him in. And Yagi claims he always takes off too soon to press the matter. And he refuses to share how First has been getting in contact with him to begin with because he’s trying to get Izuku back and he doesn’t want to endanger the contact and. Anyway Aizawa has never had any kind of experience with First that didn’t involve him aggravated and/or violent.

When the video finishes, he sits there for a long time. He doesn’t move. He just stares. And then he asks if he can send a message back. Aizawa says yes. He can record his own video and Aizawa can erase him long enough for Izuku to watch it and reply.

The only thing First asks is if Kudou’s really in there.

First doesn’t remember that. He doesn’t remember—he doesn’t know, being a ghost living on inside the other users. Is it—does Izuku just mean he’s been going through memories of them? Or is it. Is there. He needs Izuku to be sure.

He blinks. There’s a reply in his hands.

And Izuku’s like. Oh no, everyone’s really in here. He’s really hoping it’s like, a sentient Quirk manifestation thing, which like. If that’s the case First himself is a sentient Quirk mutation, not sure how First feels about that. Izuku’s really grappled with what a human soul is and whether he’s got seven adult ghosts shuttered away from the light of god within him so like. Sentient Quirk manifestation feels better to him but it may not to First. Or maybe it does. But Second is still around to the same extent that First is. And he’s definitely independent from memories. He’s new and changing, but memories of him aren’t. Also Second wants it to be clear that he only helped these—sorry Mr. Aizawa it’s his words not Izuku’s—bozos so they’d stop blacking First out.

Oh and First should know that Third found out that he and Second got married and kept it secret for like two hundred years and he told literally everyone. He says it’s revenge for not inviting him to the wedding. The past users are planning to subject the two of them to the most obnoxious do over wedding when first is back. Fifth called dibs on flower girl, it’s gonna be a whole thing. It is 100% mandatory seven’s gonna hunt him through Izuku’s bones if he tries to evade.

First looks like he got punched in the face.

Aizawa can’t really tell what he’s thinking. First just sits there, looking stunned. He sends back a message.

Third? Who’s third?

Oh, Bruce. Sorry, everyone calls each other by their numbers, except for Second and Third, since they knew each other in life. And probably First too, since he knew them. Izuku’s not sure why the rest use numbers, come to think of it. Third actually asked Izuku to pass on a message after the last one—he knows first is probably going to crash out after hearing that there’s like, a bunch of ghost time he apparently doesn’t remember. He is convinced that First will remember everything once they get him back in here. One for All saves literally everything. Even if it’s not automatic restoration, they’ll figure out how to get the memories back. So don’t worry, because they’ve got his back. Just like they always said, yeah?

First struggles more visibly than Aizawa’s ever seen.

His voice cracks when he replies. The only thing he says is “I did this to Bruce too?”

First sort of suspected it? Bruce was the only one he could imagine Kudou trusting with the fight against all for one. But it’s different to know it. To get confirmation that this fucking fight killed his husband and went on to kill their best friend and he’s still stuck dealing with First’s brother’s bullshit two hundred years later.

First would never admit this out loud, but he’s always sort of felt like knowing him is the worst thing to happen to most people. And it seems to be true for Bruce.

Izuku feels like this is one of those things he needs to immediately confer with Third over. A moment.

Third says that the way the question implies First somehow feels guilty or at fault for this and he shouldn’t. It’s Second’s fault—Second hit Third when he said that, to paint a picture.

Third was fighting First’s fuckass brother before he knew First. And he had plenty of reason to take over the fight after them. Including the fact that all for one just killed his two best friends. He wouldn’t change a thing if he had to pick again. And he’s not sure about any afterlife—uh, for accuracy’s sake Izuku should admit that Bruce specifically said that Nine had this panic spiral when they met over the metaphysics of this all and if they’ve “locked themselves out of heaven” that he didn’t really get but Izuku was not panic spiraling it was a philosophical thought experiment—but he wouldn’t want any afterlife that didn’t include their dumb asses. Which is why he deserves invites to weddings. He cannot believe you two assholes subjected him to fucking middle school pining as if you hadn’t even held hands when you literally got married. He is bullying First so hard when he gets back inside this kid’s bones.

First asks Aizawa to leave. He’s not running. He just. He needs a second.

He’s alone in Izuku’s room for a lot longer than a second.

And Aizawa’s pretty sure he hears him crying in there.

Right. uh. First needs to tell Izuku just how sorry he is. This was his brother and his problem and he—he’s been trying to get Izuku’s body back for him. He swears he has. He’s sorry that First’s bullshit has done this to him. He never meant for this to happen.

Oh. It’s fine. Well like. The entire thing sort of sucks but it’s not like it’s First who needs to apologize for it. If anything, he’s the one who’s the biggest victim of this. Izuku gets to hang out in his own bones with the past users, who are pretty fucking sick and who are teaching Izuku knife tricks and how to steal cars via their own memories. Marketable life skills. And also Izuku can shoot guns now. So. Could be a lot worse as far as forcible possessions go. But First has to deal with his freak of a brother which. Honestly the short end of any stick.

He knows he doesn’t have to, right?

Okay like. Yes, All for One is making him do it right now because he’s the fucking worst, but like. First is dead. It’s Izuku’s turn to deal with this guy. All for One’s his responsibility

(Aizawa, in the background: “Midoriya I do not care what ghosts are haunting you fighting mass murderers is an adult responsibility—”)

He knows his first encounter with All for One didn’t exactly go great, and he’s sorry to First for that, because now he’s stuck doing this shit again. But the Past Users are preparing him for the next time. First can focus on getting back to the others. Izuku will handle his brother from there.

First ends it quickly after that.

He should, uh. He’s gonna take off. He uh. He’ll come back. He’s got that kid’s phone number… written on his stomach. And… the credit card of someone named Todoroki Enji? Is he. How did he get this. Is he supposed to have this. And he’s inexplicably wearing two hoodies he wasn’t wearing this morning so. Pretty set.

He’s not—he’ll do it, the plan with the Shinsou kid, he just. Historically reacts very poorly to mind control quirks and he’s sort of. Not in the best mindset to try it right now after. All the other stuff. Nine seemed to think it was going to be a more long term “invent a new way to use their quirk” thing and tonight’s just. It’d be setting them up for failure to try tonight. He’ll be back soon. Ish. He’ll call. But. leaving.

Yes. Leaving. That thing they promised Izuku they’d let him do. And he can do it. They just want him to know he does not have to. They have a room for him here that’s—honestly kind of trashed now, but there are spares. And other options. Safe houses. All Might’s house. Lots of options.

Awesome. Since he can do it, he’s. He’s gonna do it. Now.

That’s definitely a decision he can make. But he doesn’t have to. Like maybe it could be a test—

It could be. But it’s not. He’s. He’s gonna go.

Okay but would he just maybe consider not doing that

It’s not about his—everything. All of that highly distressing vigilantism he’s been up to. They’re shelving that issue

He’s been living on the streets. They don’t want him to be homeless. They can get him an apartment, a room, something. It doesn’t have to be with them.

And first is like. Oh. He’s pretty okay with it. Like. being homeless in the modern day is better than being homeless back at the dawn of quirks—

They don’t want Midoriya’s body being homeless.

Oh.

Yeah. He gets that. He just. He’s gonna.

He’ll freak out. Bad. Really, really fucking bad. If he feels trapped. And going to some room they prepared feels sort of like stepping on a mouse trap and just hoping it doesn’t snap so if he does he’ll. Freak out. And he’s really been trying not to do that in this kid’s body because he gets kind of. Reckless. You could say. It’s. It’s better this way. He’s not actually gonna use this guys credit card because you can track that so. Probably should take it back.

He eventually agrees to take a giant wad of unmarked bills from All Might. He’ll try to get a room or something. And he’ll be back.

He promises.

#first possesses Izuku au #Aizawa realizing that this somehow hasn’t been first freaking out: •_•#like first has been freaking out but there’s freaking out and then there’s Freaking Out. he’s still in the lowercase drifting hazardously #towards the upper. it’s. he needs to get the fuck out of there so he can have a panic attack over 9 different things. in a lowercase freak #out way. uppercase freak out involves him being 700% more self destructive and possibly a bomb. like first is really trying to pull back his #own crash out over here. for Izuku’s sake. he quit smoking for this kid. granted it was easier because this kid wasn’t addicted to nicotine #but /spiritually/ he really fucking needs a cigarette. he’s been eating he’s been maintaining muscle mass he has avoided most knives he’s #TRYING so it’s lowercase freak out still with the days events threatening to hit caps lock. first needs to go. this isn’t a test he hates #being near them all in real life. he is leaving and he is doing it now. he needs to get out of here before those kids who keep telling him #shit they should be telling a therapist or possibly the police find him. hes holding himself together by fingernails over here #first has a lot of complex feelings around Izuku that just got more convoluted. like his brother really invents new kinds of hells for him.#he’s got all these issues around bodily autonomy and things happening to his body when he’s unaware and now he’s stuck doing that to some #kid he doesn’t even know. he’s forced to be the perpetrator and he has no choice.#and it’s worse because the more he learns about Izuku the more he thinks of him as the hero first wishes he could have been. which is a #weird fucking complex to project on someone who’s like fifteen. it’s just. everyone talks about Izuku like he was the kindest most heroic #most life changing soul who was beautiful on the inside and out and saved them specifically. first says he just did the super hero thing #to fuck with his brother and didn’t mean for it to go this far but secretly he wanted it. not the stupid outfits. he wanted a world where #people genuinely were good at heart. where they had power and chose to do good with it. to be good with it. to love strangers and save #people and not just. /eat/ everyone else to stop them from eating you. he wanted dumb fucking indulgent Spider-Man great power great #responsibility things. he wanted heroes. and here he is two hundred years in the future and a lot of people are pieces of shit in ugly #fucking outfits but this kid. this fucking kid has 27 different people crawling out of the wood work to say how he saved them. how he’s #their hero. how he didn’t get anything out of it. it was just right. and first is the one who fucked this kid over. who ruined his life. and #then he finally talks to the kid and the kid. the kid says he wants to save first too. don’t worry about his brother because the kids going #to save him. first is an adult man who was a wanted terrorist he can’t pin his complexes and hopes on some fucking kid it’s so fucked up #and he needs to go have a panic attack and possibly throw up over it. he’s. he’s not okay.#but don’t worry he can help save the kid he’s got a complex over he just has to subject himself to mind control the other thing that #RELIABLY MAKES HIM FREAK OUT. this is all so within firsts skill set he can so do this #this is where I thought my original stopping point was going to be I thought I was close to getting there haha no absolutely not I am so bad #at grading how close i am in a story. anyway I continue to be mentally ill

29 notes · View notes