#fic: never look back at the faded silhouette

[kiwiana-writes]

Six(ish) Sentence Sunday

I've already shared a few snippets from my trans!Alex Fandom Trumps Hate fic, which I am SO fucking excited about—but I've also taken my usual batshit chaotic approach of 'just write stuff as inspiration hits and fit it all together later', and I realised a not-insignificant period of time into doing this that I'd written some stuff that was inherently contradictory. But I also LOVED it all and didn't wanna give anything up... so long story short, now I have TWO trans!Alex WIPs 🤣 One is the longer, more Big Feelings fic for FTH... and the other is this, which will be a bit shorter. And pornier. I mean, they'll both have porn and feelings, because I am who I am, but... you know. Let's fucking go. (I might try to smash this one out for @rwrbgenderfunkyfest if I can!)

“Jesus fuck, sweetheart.” Alex buries one hand in his own curls as he comes down, the other resting on the top of Henry’s head, who has only moved far enough away to press soft kisses to Alex’s thigh. Henry’s face is a fucking mess, and he looks… well, he would say Henry looks unduly proud of himself, except for the fact that his knees currently have the approximate consistency and weight-bearing capabilities of a particularly booze-heavy jello shot, so really, Henry’s earned the smugness that’s radiating out of every pore. “That was—” “Yes, it was rather.” Henry smirks, his eyes locked on Alex’s as he flattens it, dragging it up towards his hip before planting a hard, toothy kiss there. His hand slides up Alex’s other leg until his thumb is resting at the edge of the scar above Alex’s pubic bone, and Alex reads the question in his eyes half a second before he voices it. “May I?” Alex blinks. In his experience, people tend to ignore his scars completely during sex, even if they have practical questions about the equipment. But Henry’s already sucked him off until he saw God—if he gets any better at it, Alex might die. “If you want.” Henry’s smile softens into something sweet and hopeful and breathtaking, and then he leans forward to press an almost unbearably gentle kiss to the raised skin there. “Christ, you’re beautiful.” It’s so quiet, Alex isn’t sure he was meant to hear it at all.

Tagging @agame-writes @affectionatelyrs @anincompletelist @blueeyedgrlwrites @cactusdragon517

@celeritas2997 @cha-melodius @clottedcreamfudge @cricketnationrise @dumbpeachjuice

@everwitch-magiks @firenati0n @getmehighonmagic @happiness-of-the-pursuit @heysweetheart-writes

@hgejfmw-hgejhsf @indestructibleheart @inexplicablymine @jellibuns @junebugclaremontdiaz

@leaves-of-laurelin @littlemisskittentoes @lizzie-bennetdarcy @matherines @myheartalivewrites

@ninzied @nocoastposts @nontoxic-writes @notspecialbabe @orchidscript

@piratefalls @read-and-write- @rmd-writes @sherryvalli @ships-to-sail

@sparklepocalypse @stereopticons @thesleepyskipper @tintagel-or-cockleshells @welcometololaland

@whimsymanaged and, as always, anyone who wants to play! (If you take the open tag please tag me so I can see!!)

[annievrse]

joyride

chuuya x fem!reader —ᡣ𐭩 fic summary: you and chuuya go for a drive w/c: 1.2k c/w: suggestive [mdni], reader gets called wife & good girl heh a/n: obvi inspired by kesha's joyride

“We're going for a drive.”

Chuuya gives you no room to decline as he unlocks the car Mori provided for the mission and slides into the driver's seat. You stand staring at the red car. Of course, it's red. A red Ferrari, at that. You roll your eyes at the unsubtly and open the passenger's door.

The mission was tough, and you assume Chuuya needs to drive the anger out of his system. Usually, you wouldn't encourage such destructive behaviour, but you can't help the giddy feeling rising in your chest when your boyfriend drives.

The 812 purrs to life, and Chuuya grips the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turn white. He'd slid his coat and gloves off before you got in, sitting in his crisp white dress shirt. You inhale deeply, reaching over to slip his hat off his head. Orange locks fall free and frame his face. You place the hat in your lap and thread your fingers through his hair. Chuuya says nothing, but you know he appreciates the affection.

As industrial streets slimmed into the flat countryside, paddocks stretched like a midnight quilt stitched together with wire fences. The moon provides little light behind the clouds as the road fades into the night, and the reflective broken lines fly by in flashes. Driving on country roads at this speed is stupid and dangerous, but you feel like you are flying; it is almost freeing. Besides, when Chuuya drives, you feel at ease. You trust him more than yourself, especially with the addition of Upon the Tainted Sorrow.

The car is warm despite the cool air conditioning, and you squirm in your seat. Chuuya accelerates when he passes the final car on the stretch of the road. Natural gravity forces you back into your chair, your stomach rolling with adrenaline and fear. You can't look over at Chuuya, so you stare straight ahead with a smile etched on your cheeks. 

You are hyperaware of Chuuya's movements. He changes gears fluidly and turns corners smoothly; you can't help but admire his handiwork. You glance at the odometer, reading 160 on the dial, and your stomach lurches. Silhouettes of trees pass like ghosts, and your hands sweat where they rest on his hat. You were never good with being in fast cars, but having a boyfriend and a best friend who loves being behind the wheel was something you had to digest quickly. 

“You good?” Chuuya's breathless voice cuts through the thick air. Your head turns toward him. You try not to speak while he drives this fast, 125mph. Instead, you nod.

“Use your words, I can’t look at you.” His eyes remain on the dark road. You tongue the inside of your cheek, a smirk on your mouth.

“Yeah, I’m okay," You sigh. Your stomach churns as the road curves, and your hands are firm on your legs. 

Chuuya shakes his head and paws at your thigh quickly before he places it back on the gear stick. Goosebumps rise on your skin, and you look over at him. He's so devilishly handsome that you feel you may sin if you dare to look at him, even after all this time. Strands of red hair fall lazily over his forehead and blow softly in the air conditioning.

As Chuuya turns a corner faster than recommended, you quickly lift his hat and fit it over your head.

"You're gonna kill me," Chuuya mumbles, sparing a glance in your direction. His cheeks are rosy, even in the midnight light. Your eyes flicker to his full and pouty lips, the shade of rich wine, and then to his lean biceps strained against his white dress shirt as he straightens his arms to stretch out. "Definitely gonna be my wife."

Your face feels like fire at his muttered words, and you whine in response. "Stop teasing."

"You stop teasing," Chuuya mutters. "Makin' me hard."

Your skin gets impossibly hotter. "You're crazy."

He scoffs and turns his head to look at you. The car is flying down the road, and you pretend to ignore the red aura of his ability around the vehicle. You meet his gaze, turning your whole body toward him.

"And whose fault's that?"

You shrug. "Dazai."

Chuuya chokes on a surprised laugh, and you smile when he turns his attention back to the road, disgust making his lip curl.

"Don't speak about him when I just told you I'm hard."

Your eyes flicker to the strained fabric of his black slacks.

"I'm not giving you head when you're going 200mph."

Chuuya rolls his eyes and uses his right hand to fix his crotch. You cover your laugh with your hand and turn to look out the window.

“Home?” Chuuya asks, his voice laced with desperation. The car should be going slower since you entered residential streets, but due to his predicament, you guess he doesn't care.

"Yep."

“Okay," He swallows, running a red light. "We're sleeping in my bed tonight."

You laugh and take his hand when it returns to your lower thigh. “I want the left side.” 

The car finally lurches to a stop at a red traffic light, and Chuuya gives you an incredulous look. “No fucking way, that’s my side. You know that.”

If you hadn't shifted the tone of the conversation, you doubt you'd be sitting at this light. You shrug and place his hand on the gear stick. “Guess I'm sleeping in my bed, then."

You see him roll his eyes in your peripheral as you stare at the traffic light impatiently. Chuuya sighs dramatically, and when you glance over, you see him torn between pouting and glaring. But you remain impartial, nodding forward once when the light turns green. 

“You’re so…” Chuuya trails off, shaking his head and putting his foot down. A ghost of a smile plays on his lips.

“Careful,” You warn playfully, and he shoots you a dark look as the silence thickens with tension. 

“You’re so pretty it hurts, darling,” He clutches his chest. "Especially with my hat on."

You laugh, tipping the brim. "It definitely looks better on you. I don't think it suits me."

Chuuya's expression morphs into a scowl. "Shut the fuck up, or I'll make you."

"Chuuya!" You giggle, reaching to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear.

"Don't piss me off with that shit talk, alright?"

You purse your lips to suppress a smile. As he puts the car in park, his grey eyes find yours in the dark. His hat sits tilted on your head, and Chuuya doesn't believe he's ever seen anything as beautiful in his life. The feeling makes his chest hurt.

"Alright?" He repeats, but his voice is void of the previous sharp tone.

You lean forward and press your mouth against his. Chuuya's hand slides to your neck, leaving goosebumps in its wake. You pull back and watch through lidded eyes as he chases your lips. After one last peck, Chuuya kisses both of your cheeks and falls back in his seat.

"Good girl."

[frostdayz]

First meetings

Loki x reader (f! reader)

genre: Fluff

summary: Loki turns smitten when he first lays his eyes on you.

AN: it took me not kidding like 25 minutes to post this short thing. I had to edit and post a paragraph each minute. Anyway, I got frustrated and deleted the actual summary so enjoy that mess. BTWWWW if anyone has good Logan (Wolverine) fics/ one-shots send them my way, thanks

my stories never really describe the readers gender so unless stated otherwise all my stories are gn!!

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The grand hall of Asgard was a sight to behold—glittering gold, towering columns, and a ceiling so high it felt like the sky itself. I had only heard stories about this place, about the grandeur, the power, the gods who roamed these halls. But none of it compared to standing here, in the heart of it all, among legends.

Thor led me through the grand entrance, his booming laughter echoing in the vast space as he recounted tales of his many adventures. "And then," he chuckled, "I turned to Loki and said, 'You, brother, are as slippery as a snake!'—and he didn’t even deny it!"

I smiled politely, though my attention was elsewhere. There was a figure at the far end of the hall, standing alone by a window, his dark silhouette contrasting against the golden light streaming in. He had an air of mystery about him, his raven hair falling in soft waves to his shoulders, his sharp features etched with an intensity that made my breath catch. It was as if the world had paused momentarily, the air around him thrumming with an energy I couldn’t quite place.

"Ah, and here he is!" Thor called out, nudging me forward with a playful grin. "Loki, brother, come meet our guest!"

The figure turned slowly, and my heart skipped a beat as our eyes met. His gaze was piercing, emerald green, and filled with something unreadable. I could see the flicker of surprise in his expression, though he masked it quickly with a cool, collected demeanor. He stepped closer, his movements graceful and deliberate, and I found myself rooted to the spot, unable to tear my gaze away. "Lady Y/N," Thor continued, clearly enjoying himself, "this is my brother, Loki. Loki, this is Lady Y/N. She has come to Asgard as a guest of our realm."

Loki stopped in front of me, his eyes never leaving mine. There was a subtle shift in his expression—something softened, something curious. "Lady Y/N," he said, his voice smooth as silk. "It is… a pleasure."

I managed to nod, feeling the weight of his attention on me like a physical presence. "The pleasure is mine, Prince Loki." Thor, ever the observant one, let out a hearty laugh. "Well, well, would you look at that! I’ve never seen you so taken aback, brother. Normally, you’d have some witty remark ready, but it seems Lady Y/N has rendered you speechless!"

Loki shot his brother a look—half annoyance, half amusement—but I caught the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "Do you always announce my thoughts so loudly, Thor?" he asked his tone light but laced with a subtle challenge. Thor clapped Loki on the shoulder with a grin. "Only when it’s so obvious! You should see the look on your face."

I felt a blush creeping up my neck, and I tried to focus on anything other than the fact that Loki’s gaze hadn’t wavered from me. It was as though he was studying me, trying to unravel some puzzle he couldn’t quite figure out. It was both unnerving and… thrilling. Loki tilted his head slightly as if considering something. "And what is it, Thor, that you think you see?" Thor chuckled, leaning in closer as if sharing a secret. "I see a brother who is completely smitten."

Loki raised an eyebrow, but there was no denial in his expression. Instead, he simply looked back at me, a slow, almost imperceptible smile curving his lips.

"Perhaps," he mused, "there are things even gods cannot anticipate."

My heart fluttered at his words, and for a moment, it felt like we were the only two people in the room. The world faded into the background, and all I could focus on was the way Loki’s eyes seemed to see right through me as if he knew me—understood me—on a level I hadn’t even realized was possible.

Thor’s laughter broke the spell, and I blinked, the world snapping back into focus. "Come now, Lady Y/N," Thor said, still grinning, "let us continue our tour. I’m sure Loki will join us once he’s done… collecting himself."

Loki’s gaze lingered on me for a moment longer before he stepped back with a slight nod. "Enjoy your tour, Lady Y/N. I’m sure we’ll meet again soon." As I followed Thor through the hall, I couldn’t help but glance back over my shoulder. Loki was still standing there, watching me with that same intense gaze. And in that moment, I knew—whatever this was, whatever had just passed between us—it wasn't the last time I'd see it.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Depths 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, stalking and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: fisherman!Geralt of Rivia x artist!reader

Summary: your sleepy existence is thrown into chaos by a mysterious man.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

The water crashes onto the coast. The sound is dulled by the distance of your perch. The sky melds into the lake's surface as the sun hides behind a swathe of clouds.

You lean in to squint at the strokes on the canvas, sweeping your brush in repetition of the rippled horizon. You use the wnd of the brush to scratch your cheek.

Almost...

You peek above the easel and watch the small speck growing larger as it moves across the water. The fishing boat is there so often that you've added its silhouette to the acrylic tides. A stalwart to your early mornings and listless afternoons.

Day after day is layered before you in shades of cerulean, slate, and lavender. The grey sky with a tinge of golden sunlight, the waters stirring in sparkling shades of aquamarine and pearl, the coast rippled in fawn and umber. Another eye might see it and deem it finished but not you.

You step back to let the paint dry and rinse your brushes in the jar. Hmm. You're out of clean water.

You close up the easel and hook the canvas on the backside, carrying it like a briefcase as you pick up your canvas bag with your roll of brushes and pots of paint, your palette around your index finger.

You make a slow descent down the cliffside and curl around towards the shore. You veer away from the dock and head down into the silt. You put your stuff on a flat rock. You take the used brushes and palette to rinse in the shallows.

The water laps over your sandals as you linger in the soothing cool foam. The approach of evening skews the water with emerald and jade. You shake it all off and step back to dry it with a paint-blotted cloth.

You rearrange the bag so it all fits and hook it over your shoulder. You look down at the your linen apron. You can recall where every splotch and streak came from.

You take your easel and canvas and head back up along the dock. As you reach the post, the fishing boat knocks against the other end. You peer over at the man that lays a board across the spanse between.

You see him every night. You couldn't forget a man with snow white hair and golden eyes. His age is less than his locks might suggest and his eyes seem to look through you, not at you.

You smile, like you do every night. He doesn't react. Just like every other time.

The smell of fish wafts in the boat as he drags his net across the wooden ramp. You turn and press on. He's much to busy for you. It doesn't bother you. You came out here to get away from people.

Your feet leave divets in the dirt as the rock of the boat knocks in a rhythm against the dock. The man's toil adds to thunks and thuds and they fade behind you. The peace here is immaculate, you wouldn't want to ruin it for anyone else.

Past the seaside houses left vacant in the colder seasons and the smaller basins of the lake, between the rocky ridges and grassy knolls, you return to your little house.The cornflower paint chips from the wooden siding and the stairs are worn in the middle from the tramp of feet. A bench stands on the other side of the white railing between a plinthed flowerpot and folding table with a book forgotten on its slats. Home.

The spindly wreath on the front door rattles as you push through and the screen door snaps behind you. The evening breezs drifts in through the mesh as you set your easel down and rest the canvas on crate just beside the mat. You put your bag in front of the wooden stand and bask in the calm.

You hang your wicker hat and untie your apron. Your hands are covered in paint. You'll wash them before you eat. You leave your wet sandals at the door.

You pull out the pot of chowder you made two nights past from the fridge. You put it over a burner and wait for it to warm. The fare lasts you near a week when you take the time to put it together. Every ingredient must be used to its last, especially when it is so far to market. And expensive.

You scoop out a bowl and eat it on the front porch. Your eyes are too tired to read. When you finish, you recline on the bench and yawn. You lay in the dimming hue of the evening as the stars wink down at you.

A whistle carries on the wind. You sit up and look for the culprit. They are close enough to hear but that could still be far. It could even be a bird.

You take the empty bowl inside and rinse it. You retreat to the bedroom and change

You open the window to let the night in. Around here, you can do that. Not like the city and its grated windows.

You laze in the dusk shade and drift slowly into yourself. Sleep enshrines you atop the cushy bed, the water stirring from afar, the loons calling into the dark. Tomorrow you'll figure out the exact right colour for the undertow.

You're more than due to sell a new piece. You need to if you want to stay in paradise.

[floylia]

# MESSAGE IN A BOTTLE ⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾

04. I’m so wet tonight 💌

Destiny and fate are liken to strings you can’t untangle with ease. Two simple words with inexplainable concepts. A belief split into millions of definition.

But this might be fate—a doomed fate.

Cerulean eyes meet yours upon striding inside the store. The contact lasts longer than necessary. But within those few seconds, recognition is acknowledged on both sides.

That fateful day when a guy embarrassed himself and you watched it unfold.

You thought that was the last of it. Perhaps not.

You scan the small dairy isle, searching for an energy drink and a bucket of ice cream, while ignoring the pleads in the back of your head—constantly screeching about the humiliating past.

But who are you to feel embarrassed for him?

Why do you feel shame in the first place?

“Cash or card?”

“Cash.” You pass him the total amount, grabbing the wrinkled change you had in your wallet.

He takes it hesitantly, “By the way, about last time...”

Here we go.

“There was a rat in the locker room so I ran out like that. As for what I said… I don’t remember why I did that. But I promise, I’m not… a pervert,” The last phrase was faint as he whispers it in a breath.

You chuckle, “It made me laugh, don’t worry.”

One moment ago he was a grey cutout, now colors are back in his face as a grin reaches the wrinkles of his eyes, “So we’re cool?”

He looks like a dog wagging his tail after seeing a treat.

You nod, “Was that bothering you for a while?”

He breathes a sigh of relief—staring at you as if he had been derived of oxygen, “Yes! I was tossing my body back and forth that night, because my head refused to stop replaying the scene every time I closed my eyes. Can you imagine yourself doing that? Here I thought I was being mysterious.”

Not a single bone in his body was mysterious.

“People remember their own embarrassing moments more than other people’s, don’t stress about it.”

He shows his paper white teeth, “You have a way with words.”

“And you don’t,” You blurt out, recalling that moment.

Laughter engulfs the tense atmosphere.

“Fair enough. Fair enough. I’ll never live that down. My friends tease me enough already,” he hands you your change and the plastic bag worth of snacks.

The pit-a-patter outside makes your head swerve towards the window. Rain droplets fall from the heavens, gearing up as you spend minutes inside the establishment.

Checking the weather today slipped your mind, otherwise you would have brought an umbrella. Even though your dorm is nearby, running through the heavy downpour is not something you enjoy doing on a school night.

Navia would jerk her head in disapproval.

The ginger must have realized your conundrum.

“Here,” He offers you a small black umbrella, “You can use this.”

“No, no it’s alright. You might need to use that later.”

He shakes his head, “The store owns it. We have extra. Just borrow it for tonight. Then you can come back and return it. Think of this as an apology.”

“Thank you. I didn’t want to be drenched today. I’ll return this, I promise!”

A gentle smile pervades his face as he waves a goodbye. He observes you, crossing the street from the foggy window until your silhouette fades with the night sky.

In truth, the store didn’t own the umbrella. They don’t have an extra. It was his — but that is his little secret.

No harm done with a white lie.

NOTES:

kinda rushed (wrote the written parts in one night, i dont usually finish fics in one sitting)

ig he gained aura points?

was gonna post this later but fuck it 🤷‍♀️

SYNOPSIS: There’s a line Childe knows he shouldn’t cross; A line built on years of friendship; A line that happens to cross you, his best friend’s younger sister, grieving her first love; A line where he plays savior, wears a halo, then feign ignorance, because love is a game for fools—and he happens to be the biggest idiot when it comes to love.

When a new stranger invades your life and an old poet writes back.

CHILDE x FEM!READER

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[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Lonely This Christmas

Pairing: Billy Washington (Trigger Point) x f!reader Warnings: Dark and obsessive behaviour, stalking, smut, dubious consent. Word count: ~4.5k

Summary: On a rare occasion when her and Billy both find themselves home for Christmas at the same time, they admit they've always fancied each other. However, as things develop between them, she soon realises that for Billy it's something much more sinister than a harmless crush. Based on this request.

Author's note: For my darling @heimtathurs. I don't have a tag list. Please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

She walks up the pathway to the front door, the combination of the bitter cold and the handles of the plastic carrier bag cutting into her flesh causing her fingers to sting painfully. The cans in the bag clank noisily against each other as she jostles it from one hand to the other, raising her fist to knock at the door. Her breath comes in hot, cloudy puffs as she shifts from foot to foot, relief flooding through her as she sees the silhouette of her best friend, Lana, appear through the glass in the door.

“Let me in then!” She grumbles, pushing past and handing Lana the bag, once the door is open. “It’s bloody freezing out there!”

It’s December 23rd, and time for her and Lana’s annual tradition of Christmas Eve Eve film night - a ritual that they’ve managed to keep alive since they first met in secondary school, though as the years have passed their taste in films has matured and they can now sit and openly drink beer, instead of needing to sneak a bottle of MD 20:20 back and forth between them beneath a duvet, like they did as teenagers.

The location never changes - always at Lana’s parents’ house - even now that she’s moved out, she always comes home for two weeks over the festive period, and like clockwork the two of them sit on the sofa the evening before Christmas Eve and stare at the TV until they can no longer keep their eyes open.

She shrugs off her coat as she moves through the hallway, into the living room, the warmth from the central heating causing her skin to prickle with the pleasant rise in temperature. Rolling her eyes as she spies the DVD case for Die Hard on the coffee table, she sits heavily down on the sofa, kicking her shoes off and tucking her legs beneath her.

“We watched this last year,” she says to Lana, who follows a few paces behind, having deposited the contents of the bag into the fridge in the kitchen, “It’s not even a Christmas film!”

“It’s set at Christmas, so it’s a Christmas film,” Lana shoots back, handing her a can of Stella, before flopping down beside her and cracking open her own. “And Bruce Willis in that vest? I’m gripped.”

She snorts a laugh, opening her own beer and taking a deep sip, enjoying the way the coolness of the bitter liquid fizzes against her tongue.

“How’ve you been anyway? Your mum and dad not in?”

Lana swallows and pokes at the inside of her cheek with her tongue. “Nah, they’re out for the evening, think they could use a break since face-ache moved back in. I’ve only been back here a few days and he’s already doing my head in.”

She feels her cheeks heat up at the mention of Billy. She’d met Lana’s younger brother when he’d started at the same secondary school as them and, although he was a couple of years below them, she’d always thought he was cute. He was tall, if a little on the lanky side, and his floppy blonde hair and big blue eyes instantly attracted her to him. She’d kept the fact that she fancied him to herself though, feeling it was inappropriate to lust after her best mate’s brother, especially a younger brother.

As the years had passed, Billy’s seemingly permanent cheeky smile had faded into a persistent look of misery. He’d done badly at school, left with failing grades and been rejected each time he’d tried to apply to join the army.

Meanwhile, Lana had flourished, leaving school with a handful of As and Bs. She’d enrolled at college, before enlisting in the army and from there her career in the police force had taken off. She’d moved away from home, had a place of her own and had made her parents proud.

Billy, on the other hand, had struggled with chronic unemployment, eventually falling in with an alt right group who had set him up for a potential terrorist attack. He’d barely escaped the explosion on Cranstead Gardens, and had never really pulled himself back together afterwards. His relationship with his long-term girlfriend, Becky, had broken down and he’d moved out of their flat and back in with his parents, where he’d been living for the last six months.

She hasn’t seen Billy since they left school, but Lana tells her all about him whenever they hang out or chat on the phone. She’s always felt strangely protective of him, where Lana and her parents have given Billy a hard time, she has opted for a softer touch, believing he just needs someone to understand him.

“You can’t be so hard on him,” she says, finger pinging against the ringpull of her can absentmindedly, “he’s been through a lot.”

Lana sighs, grabbing the remote from the coffee table. “You don’t know him like I do. He’s not paying any rent, never tidies up, isn’t bothering to look for work. We can’t help him, he won’t let us, doesn’t wanna help himself.”

“Where is he at the moment?”

“Skulking around upstairs,” Lana nods towards the staircase. “First Christmas he’s not spent at Becky’s mum’s in a long time and he’s taking it…well, I couldn’t tell you how he’s taking it, he never leaves his bloody room.”

She nods sadly, letting the topic go as they settle back into the sofa cushions as the opening credits for Die Hard begin to roll.

“I’m empty,” Lana says around twenty minutes into the film, shaking her beer can. “You want another?”

“It’s alright, I’ll go,” she tell hers, taking her empty and heading towards the kitchen, eager for a break from a film she had no interest in watching last year, let alone again this year.

She chucks the cans into the recycling bin, before opening the fridge and retrieving two more. She yelps as she closes the door, startled by Billy standing there.

“Jesus, Billy–”

“Sorry, sorry…” he mumbles apologetically, a tinge of pink dusting itself across his cheek bones, as he averts his gaze. “Wasn’t tryna scare ya, just came down to make a cuppa.”

She exhales through her nose, a smile tugging at her lips. “S’alright. How are you getting on, anyway? It’s been a while.”

“Yeah…” he says uncertainly, filling the kettle from the sink and then flicking it on to boil. “Guessing you heard what happened then?”

She nods, placing the cans on the side and wiping the condensation off of her hands onto her jeans. “Lana told me. I’m so sorry, Billy, I really hope you’re okay.”

He says nothing for a moment, dropping a tea bag into a mug, followed by a generous pour of milk.

Milk first. Ugh.

“It’s been hard, y’know,” he finally says, “tryna find work, but there’s fuck all out there. What are you up to these days? You’re looking well.”

The sudden shift in focus doesn’t go unnoticed by her, he’s clearly not keen to talk about himself, but she can’t help but smile at the small compliment, feeling herself grow bashful.

“Got a job at a marketing agency,” she tells him, “nothing fancy, but it pays the rent.”

She’s actually a high ranking executive, living in one of the area’s most expensive flat blocks and has a tidy sum saved away for a deposit to eventually buy a place of her own. She’s unsure of why she’s downplaying her achievements, perhaps on some level she feels she owes it to Billy to not rub her success in his face when he’s clearly having a rough time of it.

The kettle boils and Billy fills his mug, stirring the tea bag around with a spoon, before squeezing it out with his fingers, making her wince - that has to burn, but if it does it doesn’t appear to bother him. He discards the used bag on the side, before turning to her. She can see what Lana means about him not tidying up now, it would have taken two steps for him to put it in the bin, and he hasn’t bothered. The laziness almost makes her want to laugh.

“So you and Lana doing your film night then?” He asks, noisily slurping his tea, then fixing her with a soft, yet unblinking gaze.

The intensity of his baby blue eyes flusters her, and for a moment she forgets what he’s asked, feeling the same old butterflies from their school days return. She clears her throat, shaking her head as if to rid herself of the feeling.

“Y-yeah…I’m surprised you remember. You were a teenager the last time we did one of those with you here,” she smiles warmly.

He nods, keeping a hand wrapped around his mug, pushing off of the kitchen side towards her and suddenly she’s aware of just how tall he’s grown, her throat running dry as she feels the kitchen counter bite into her back as she presses herself against it.

She deflates slightly, letting go of a breath she wasn’t aware when she’d been holding, a little disappointed when he brushes past her, lingering in the kitchen doorway.

“I remember,” he says, a ghost of the lopsided smirk she loved so much from their school days playing upon his full lips, “remember what a racket you and Lana used to make pretending you weren’t pissed on that nasty blue stuff.”

She grins, her gaze dropping as she fiddles with the cuff of her jumper sleeve, thinking back to all those years ago. “Sorry, Billy,” she finally says, looking up at him, “we’ll keep it down tonight.”

“No worries, I’ll be upstairs,” he tells her. “Enjoy your film.”

“Billy?” She calls softly after him as he moves to go back upstairs.

He turns, looking at her questioningly.

“You’re looking well too, by the way.”

The dusting of pink that had appeared across his cheekbones earlier now returns in earnest and he gives a simple nod before turning and heading up the stairs.

She deposits his now cold, used teabag into the bin, then grabs hers and Lana’s beers from the side and goes back into the living room.

The rest of the evening passes uneventfully, her and Lana finish off Die Hard, then move onto Gremlins.

On the couple of occasions that she goes upstairs to the bathroom she can hear the sound of Billy playing Call of Duty through his closed door. She thinks about knocking to invite him down to join them, but figures if he had wanted to do that he’d have asked in the kitchen, so she leaves it.

They’re halfway through Jingle All the Way when she feels her eyelids start to grow heavy. She leans forward, placing her half drunk can on the coffee table and turns to Lana.

“I’m gonna have to push off home, babe, I can’t keep my eyes open.”

Lana nods, pausing the film and sitting forward with a yawn. “Yeah, should probably get to bed myself. You gonna be alright getting home? Need me to call you a cab?”

“Nah, it’s only down the road, I’ll be fine walking,” she insists as she puts her shoes and coat back on.

“Alright, well, text me when you get home, yeah?” Her friend says, pulling her into a hug.

“Course,” she smiles, hugging her back and heading towards the front door. “Have a great Christmas. See you for New Year’s.”

Lana waves her off and as the front door closes behind her, she’s about to head back down the pathway when the glowing ember of the end of a lit cigarette catches her eye.

She turns to see Billy leaning against the side of the house, smoking a roll up.

“You off?” He asks, exhaling a plume of smoke that’s made larger by the cold that clings to the puff of his breath.

“Yeah. Was good to see you, Billy,” she says, trying to ignore how her pulse races at the way the soft glow of the street lamp illuminates the sharpness of his side profile.

“I’ll give you a lift, if you want?” He offers, crushing his cigarette beneath his foot.

“You don’t have to do that, I’m only twenty minutes down the road,” she says, suddenly feeling awkward, putting her hands in her coat pocket.

“And you could be five minutes down the road if I drive,” he retorts with a smirk.

She sighs, her gaze softening. Not having to walk home in the cold would be nice, actually. “Yeah, go on then.”

Billy walks around to the front door, opens it and fishes around on the key hooks until he has the set he needs. They walk down the road until they reach a red VW Polo and he unlocks it.

“New car?” She asks nonchalantly, having expected to see his old silver Vauxhall Cavalier.

“Nah, this is mum’s. Haven’t had a car since…well…y’know.”

Since it blew up. Fuck, how could she be so thoughtless?!

“Oh god, Billy, I’m so sorry, I–”

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, opening the driver’s side door. “Do you mind just giving me a minute before you get in?”

She nods, keeping her hands in her pockets, watching as feels all around the car’s interior, checking inside the glove box and under the seats.

Checking for explosives.

He finally settles behind the steering wheel, gripping it tightly, attempting to calm his breaths.

“Honestly, Billy, I don’t mind walking…” she says quietly.

He looks up at her, as though just remembering she’s there. “No…no, it’s fine. I want to do it. It’s good for me, I have to.”

“Can I get in now?” She asks, giving Billy a reassuring smile.

He nods, and she walks around to the passenger’s side, climbing in and buckling her seatbealt.

Billy starts the car and they drive in silence for a few moments before he finally speaks.

“You must think I’m such a loser,” he mutters, fingers flexing against the steering wheel.

She turns slightly in her seat, shocked by what he’s said. “I’ve never thought you were a loser. Please don’t say that.”

“I’ve got no job, no car, I live with my mum and dad, can’t even drive without needing to check I won’t fucking blow up first,” he scoffs, “don’t bullshit me.”

“I’m not!” She protests. “You’ve been through so much, Billy, you need to give yourself a break.”

His lips quirk, he pulls a hand away from the steering wheel to pull at the collar of his t-shirt. “S’not just what happened though, brought it on myself dad says. I’ve always been a loser, ever since school.”

“I never thought you were,” she assures him gently, “I actually really fancied you back then.”

Billy draws in a sudden breath, glancing sideways at her as he pulls up outside of her block of flats.

How does he know where she lives? Lana must have told him.

“And now?” He asks, turning off the engine and twisting in his seat to look at her.

It feels as though all the air has left the car suddenly, as they stare at each other. She isn’t sure what possesses her, perhaps the three cans of lager she’s drunk throughout the evening, but she finds herself leaning over the centre console and pushing her lips against his.

He reciprocates, soft and unsure at first, but quickly gains confidence, his mouth moving against hers with more urgency.

She cups his face, her fingers grazing over the stubble at the corner of his jaw that he always seems to miss when shaving and she smiles into the kiss, enjoying its roughness against her fingertips.

Billy seizes the opportunity to slip his tongue into her mouth and she moans softly as it slides against her own.

Their pupils are wide with lust, the windows of the car fogged up when they finally part for breath, keeping their foreheads pressed together.

He strokes his large hand over the back of her head, his voice barely above a whisper. “Can I come up?”

She swallows thickly, not wanting to reject him, but knowing it’s not a good idea to rush things. “Not tonight, Billy, I–”

He jerks away, hurt flashing across his features, rubbing his nose on the back of his hand. “Right, yeah, sorry, was stupid to think you’d want that…”

“No, no, it’s not that!” She says, reaching over and taking his hand in hers, running her thumb over his scarred knuckles. “We’ve waited so long for this, I don’t wanna rush it. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want you, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, his shoulders relaxing as he breathes an audible sigh of relief. “Can I text you then?”

“I’d like that,” she looks at him through hooded eyes, “let me give you my number.”

“I’ve got it, don’t worry.”

Oh. Something else Lana must have given him.

“Alright then. Well, goodnight.”

She leans over and pecks him on the lips, then exits his car.

When she goes to sleep that night it’s with a smile upon her face, knowing that her childhood crush feels the same way that she does. In the back of her mind, she knows that Lana will go mad when she finds out, but that’s a bridge she’ll cross when she gets to it.

She is less than enthused when she awakens the next day realising it’s Christmas Eve and she needs to make her annual visit to her great aunt’s for room temperature sherry, mince pies and questions about why she isn’t married with children yet.

Her face lights up when she sees a text on her phone from an unknown number and realises it’s Billy.

She grins excitedly to herself, calling her great aunt and feigning a migraine, before showering and readying herself for her day with Billy.

True to his word in his text, the buzzer to her flat sounds an hour later and he is at her door a few moments later.

It’s awkward at first, as they both stand there sizing each other up, unsure of what to say or do, until he takes the initiative and steps forward to kiss her.

It all feels so easy and natural, as though it’s something they should always have been doing, and when he takes her hand in his as they walk into town she can’t help the way her heart skips a beat at how perfectly her hand slots into his.

They walk around the Christmas market together, hand in hand, drinking mulled wine. For the first time since they were at school together, she sees Billy laugh, a genuine, happy laugh. He makes jokes, a sparkle returning to his eyes and he looks so relaxed, she is finally able to see his potential again, all that he could be if he wasn’t constantly wallowing in self pity, lurking in Lana’s shadow and taking his parents’ criticisms to heart.

When he walks her home that evening, she doesn’t hesitate to invite him up. Gentle affirmations of “I had a nice time today” rapidly escalate to needy kisses as they tug at each other’s clothes. This is the Billy that she wants, and she sees no point in waiting any longer.

His large hands eagerly grasp at her hips as she pushes him down onto the sofa, straddling his lap.

They are a frenzied clash of lips, teeth and tongue, her hands finding their way into his hair, pulling his head back slightly to mouth at his jaw and neck. He groans at the sensation, hips bucking up to meet hers.

When he slides down his tracksuit bottoms and boxers to free the ample hardness that has been pressing against her thigh for the last five minutes, she lifts herself, meaning to remove her tights. She gasps when his long fingers pluck at the crotch, tearing them open and pushing her knickers to the side.

His digits swipe through the wetness of her folds and she shudders against him. “You on the pill?” He asks gruffly.

She nods in affirmation, a whine escaping her as he replaces his fingers with the head of his cock, slowly pressing into her.

The sounds he makes against her ear as he thrusts up into her are lewd, but with every grunt and breathy moan she clenches around him. This is a purely carnal act of desire, fulfilling years’ worth of pent up animalistic need. There will be plenty of time for gentle lovemaking, but right now she just needs to feel him, and judging by the way slams her down to meet each quick thrust, jaw slack and brow furrowed, she is certain he feels the same way.

The throbbing of him inside of her, as he spills deep within her, drives her over the edge and she peaks with a strangled cry, tightening around him in quick successive pulses.

They remain like that for a long while afterwards, resting against each other on the sofa, in the darkness of her living room.

“I’ve wanted this for so long, you’ve got no idea,” he whispers eventually, once his breathing has returned to normal.

“Me too,” she whispers.

“I wanna stay, but–”

“It’s Christmas Eve, Billy, it’s alright. You should get home before your mum gives you an earful.”

They pull unsteadily apart, adjusting their clothes, and she walks him to the door.

“I’ll text you, yeah?” He says.

“Yeah,” she smiles before kissing him softly, “Merry Christmas, Billy.”

“You an’ all,” he murmurs, pulling her into a tight hug and then walking away.

Christmas Day is uneventful. Presents and a roast at her parents’, followed by an afternoon of board games and films.

She gets a happy Christmas text from Lana, and smiles when she gets one from Billy too - the first he’s ever sent her.

By the time Boxing Day rolls around, she’s already thoroughly fed up with her family and eager to be back in her own space. She grins when her phone buzzes with a message from Billy.

She pulls out her phone, thinking carefully about what to send to her best friend, before typing a message.

She arrives at Billy and Lana’s parents’ house an hour later and is given a warm welcome by everyone. It’s strange not being able to interact properly with Billy, considering how close they’ve become so quickly over the last few days, however, he carries himself with a confidence she’s never seen him have in front of his family before.

He stands a little straighter, actually bothers to make eye contact when he talks to people. It spreads a warmth within her chest to see him no longer looking so downtrodden and defeatist, she can no longer sense the anger that used to simmer just below the surface like she used to be able to.

His eyes find hers whenever no one’s looking and she can’t help the smiles that she directs his way.

The leftovers have been dished up and they’ve been sitting around the TV for an hour when she goes upstairs to use the bathroom.

Noticing Billy’s bedroom door ajar on her way back downstairs, she can’t resist a peek inside. She’d never dared go in when she’d come to see Lana when they were younger. She pushes the door fully open, nose wrinkling at the rumpled bed sheets and assortment of dirty socks and boxers that litter the floor, but smiles as she casts her eye over the Oasis poster on the wall and the acoustic guitar that leans against the chest of drawers.

She twiddles absentmindedly with the PS4 controller, when a box that’s been shoved haphazardly beneath the bed catches her eye. She drags it out, pulling out a scrapbook that sits on the top.

Her heart hammers in her chest, her blood feeling as though it runs ice cold as she flips through it. It’s filled with old school photos of her, plus newer pictures that have clearly been printed off from her social media accounts.

Rummaging further into the box she pulls out items she’d assumed she’d either lost or that Lana had borrowed on the occasions she’d stayed over - there are scrunchies, old lip balms, even a pair of her underwear. Disgust causes bile to rise in her throat, a mixture of fear and disbelief quickly spreads its way through her body.

“You weren’t supposed to see that,” Billy’s voice says quietly from the doorway, causing her to gasp as she looks up in fright. “Doesn’t matter now though, don’t need that shit anymore, not now I’ve got the real thing.”

“Billy,” she pleads, her voice shaking, “what is all this?”

“I’ve always wanted you, never thought you’d feel the same though. She looked like you, y’know,” he tells her, stepping closer and shutting the door behind him.

“Who?” Tendrils of icy fear spread to her belly, every nerve in her body screaming at her to run, yet she stays rooted to her spot on the bed.

“Becky,” he says simply, “she was the spit of you. Only reason I went out with her, to be honest. I was gutted when she ended things, but she doesn’t matter now. Don’t need some cheap knock off, not when I have you.”

“Please, Billy, you’re scaring me,” she whispers, tears pricking her eyes.

“Everything’s gonna be alright. Job hunting, the bomb, none of it matters because I’ve got you.”

“Listen to yourself, this isn’t you,” she pleads, backing up on the bed away from him as he towers over her.

“You’ve seen how much better I am with you, you can’t take that away. I need you. And I make you feel good too. Look, you just need a reminder.”

He looms over her on the mattress, his hand darting between her legs and she whimpers.

“Billy, no, please…”

She wants to scream, to cry out and make him stop, but the thought of attracting the attention of Lana and her parents and them coming up here and seeing all of this is more than she can stand. So she lays there, lets Billy slide his hand up her skirt and into her underwear, hating the way her body responds to his trust.

“See?” He murmurs again the shell of her ear. “Only I can make you feel like this. Everything is gonna go my way now that you’re mine, you’ll see.”

Her vision goes watery, a combination of tears and building pleasure causing the poster on the opposite wall to blur.

She tenses as his fingers work her quickly towards her climax and she screws her eyes shut, shuddering with a quiet whine as she falls apart.

“There you go,” he coos gently, “I’ve got you now, and I’m never letting you go.”

The way he says it sends a shiver down her spine. Billy is a man with nothing to lose. He means it. He’ll never let her go.

[koiiiji]

broooo, one, one plsssss… do one work by windbreaker, i swear, i’ve read all your works..all..😭😇😇😇🫶🏻

author’s note ; i hope you enjoying my lookism hyperfixation era bro🪄✨🤓

but i agree, it’s been a while since the last time i’ve carried entire windbreaker hashtag on my back… seems like time to finally go back to my windbreaker babies here too😌💗🎀 but for now just one-shot just to tease y’all 🤭

author’s note 2 ; okay now serious topic, empty blogs, pls update at least something in your blogs - age, some info like “here for fics/reblogs/etc/“ or at least some pfp, otherwise i will recognize you as bot blogs and will block you, thank u!

tw ; no, fluff, reassurance, established relationships, au! where hummingbird already win over monster and it’s time for final round

pairing; hyok kwon x gn!reader

“you sure he worth it?” you asked Hyok calmly, watching him practicing his balance on nearest to your apartments building playground.

playground now quiet under the twilight sky, it’s bathed in the soft glow of streetlights, casting long shadows that dance with the breeze. the air is warm, almost velvety, carrying the subtle fragrance of blooming flowers and freshly cut grass. you stand there in Hyok’s oversized jacket, its familiar fabric rustling softly with each gust of the summer breeze. his jacket envelops you, providing a comforting weight and his lingering scent. you watch him as his silhouette mixing with determination and grace, backlit by the moon light.

your voices blend with the ambient sounds of the night – the distant hum of cars, the occasional chirping of crickets, and the gentle rustle of leaves, - “it’s not about his worthiness or something…” Hyok muttered softly as he focusing on his bike and legs. - “it will be about me to show difference between me and him… that we stand on different levels…” - you can clearly hear that Hyok was tensed. you know he would never admit that - being nervous over some schooler… what a nonsense for Hyok Kwon.

you chuckled softly, looking at him and making self note that if he actually wasn’t worried about Jo Jahyon you two now would peacefully sleeping in your bed. but here you are, just came back from studying the route where tomorrow race will take place, and now watching his final practice with his tricks. but you still enjoyed your boyfriend’s company at peaceful playground at night, right?

when Hyok finally moved from place he was standing still on, he drives towards you with a relaxed yet purposeful stride. he stopped few inches away from you and without hesitation wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer. his bike was still between his legs as he wrapped his arms around your waist. embrace is warm and reassuring, and as he buries his nose in the crook of your neck, you feel his breath against your skin. you hummed softly, snuggling up to him, stroking his hair back and mumbling some words of support meant just for him, - "look at me" - you pulled his head a little, making him look straight into your eyes - "you are the most talented cyclist i ever met Hyok..." - you took a pause combing his ravenly black hair back with your fingers, placing your palm on his cheek, studying his features as if you never did it million times before. - "you will tear that hummingbird apart tomorrow, will win competitions and after..." - you pulled him closer rubbing your nose against tip of his nose, - "we will take deepest nap we've ever experienced" - you softly mumbled into his lips with a warm smile. it seemed to you that Kwon almost purred with pleasure when he closed his eyes and pressed you even tighter towards him, kissing your forehead and freezing in that position for a couple minutes, enjoying the moment. the world around seems to fade away, leaving just the two of you, connected in that perfect summer moment.

[riality-check]

for the mini fic thing! 17 with Steve & Eddie? i love your drabbles!!

This is exceptionally late, and I'm slightly adjusting the prompt, but here you go!

17. "Things I wish you hadn't said"

"You know you gave me the nickname, right?" Eddie says.

He does that a lot, Steve has learned. Starts conversations in ways that sound like the middle of them. It's one thing among many he's noticed about Eddie, since March '86.

"What?" he says, half to make sure he heard him right, half because he's a little slow from the joint they've been passing back and forth.

"The Freak," Eddie explains. He says it like he's talking about the weather and takes another drag of the joint before he passes it back to Steve. "You regretted it right after you said it. Well, right after Carol shouted it loud enough for the whole cafeteria to hear. Could see it right on your face."

Steve remembers that day. His sophomore year, so Eddie's junior. Daniel McCain had gone up to Eddie, angry as anything about something Steve just had to know about.

He's glad he's not that guy anymore.

"Do you know why he came up to me? Danny?"

"No," Steve says. He interrupted that would-be conversation before he could hear any of it. He had to make himself the star of the show, all the time.

A sophomore, and already king.

He was such a prick.

He passes the joint back to Eddie without taking another drag.

"Do you remember my nose being broken?"

Steve has a flash of a memory, of a younger Eddie with hair curling just under his chin, bandages on his bruised face.

He nods.

"I kissed him the day before," Eddie says. He extinguishes the joint in favor of picking at his fingernails instead. "He didn't take too kindly to it."

Oh, shit.

"And you asked him what he had to talk to The Freak about."

For probably the hundredth time in his life, Steve hates the person he used to be. Because not only did he give Eddie the nickname that stuck with him all through the rest of his high school career, not only did he add insult to literal injury, but Steve couldn't even remember this particular cruelty in a sea of cruelties.

He wants to go back in time and shake that kid by the shoulders until his head's back on straight.

"I'm sorry. I wish I hadn't said that," he says, and it doesn't sound like nearly enough.

Eddie waves him off. "Can't go back. Besides, if you didn't say it, someone else would have. Probably me, to be honest."

Steve leans back, propping himself up on his elbows on Eddie's bed. He looks up at Eddie, sitting near his nightstand, cross-legged and still in a way that he never is when he's sober. The way he's backlit makes his hair seem like a gold halo, makes every stark detail of his silhouette stand out in a way that keeps Steve from looking away.

Not that he wants to.

He doesn't think that logic holds up. It's not worth thinking about "what-ifs," but he can't help it. He can't help the thought that if he had watched his mouth for once in his life, Eddie wouldn't have been tormented with that particular phrase.

Eddie doesn't seem to resent him for it, though. Robin always says that no one is as hard on Steve as he is, and this seems to line up with that.

Still.

"If you're not mad about it, then why-"

"I couldn't think of a better way to tell you I like boys," Eddie blurts.

Oh.

Steve has had plenty of people interested in him. He knows how to flirt back, even when they're as awkward as Eddie is, eyes burning a hole through his mattress.

It's not often that he's interested back. Really interested back.

Huh.

Guess I like men, he thinks to himself, and while thinking can wait for the morning, when he's sober, he knows that what he feels isn't going to fade along with the high.

And he knows exactly which moves to pull.

He sits up and moves a little closer to Eddie.

"Why do I need to know that?" he teases.

Eddie's head snaps up. He studies Steve's face with slightly reddened eyes, and when he finds, or doesn't find, what he's looking for, he relaxes. "Because I like you."

"You gonna do anything about it?"

"Yeah," Eddie says, leaning closer. "I'm gonna kiss you, and I hope you won't bre-"

Steve runs out of patience. He grabs Eddie's face with both hands and pulls him in.

It's a good kiss. Definitely not one worth punching over.

"You asshole!" Eddie laughs when they break apart. "You didn't let me finish my line!"

"Are you mad about it?"

"A little!"

"Too mad to kiss me again?"

Eddie pauses, grabs Steve's face, and kisses him fiercely.

Something tells Steve the answer to that last question is a resounding, "Not at all."

Prompts here.

[bearlytolerant]

Fandom: Star Wars: The Acolyte

Pairing: Qimir x fReader

Fic Rating: E (explicit)

Chapter Rating: M

AO3

ONE TWO

Dreams.

Dreams weave your sleep into a fitful tapestry. It is dark. So dark. Too dark. Where you expect shapes to take form, there is nothing except the chill on your skin. Instinctively you draw your arms across your chest, finger pads tap, tap, tapping along the goosebumps as you blink, hoping your eyes will adjust to the darkness. When that adjustment never comes, you reach out blindly. Sinking to your knees, you crawl with one hand outstretched and the other cemented beneath you. Hands finding a smooth, solid surface, you lurch forward. Your fingers brush up against something wet and sticky. You recoil as another something rips. The sound reverberates in your skull as a streak of light pours in. Throwing your hands in front of your eyes, you peek through spread fingers as your eyes adjust.

“Well, are you coming?” A voice asks you, a silhouette standing in the light.

You crawl toward that silhouette and the light grows wider, brighter with every inch of progress, until hands grip your forearms and you’re yanked through the opening. The bright light fades to just the steady orange glow of a campfire. Standing on your feet, you glance behind you, only to discover you were inside the belly of a great and hairy beast. The way it’s hair (fur?) falls around its wide face feels familiar. And its eyes—its eyes remind you of—home.

You can’t peel your eyes away from it. You’ve never seen a beast like that before. Tempted to touch it, you take a tentative step forward but it deflates, skin and hair melting away and leaving behind a brittle boned corpse. Another step. Another moment of silent contemplation and you remind yourself that you’re dreaming. The beast isn’t real. Not real at all. None of it is. You turn back to the fire.

The stranger who helped you has their back to you, a helmet on their head. Your eyes flick to his arms, beautifully toned and you wonder what the rest of him looks like. You swallow, shaking your head before this dream shifts into fantasy territory.

“Thank you,” you murmur. “For saving me.”

“You saved yourself,” he says.

Stepping closer to him, you sit down in the sand. “I didn’t.”

“You’re closed off to it. But it was you.” He pokes at a log in the fire and the sparks lift, glimmering once before floating off as ash. “You are afraid to confront it. But if you do nothing, it will confront you.”

“What do you mean?” You rub at your arms, a shift in the air making you itch. “I’m not afraid.”

He snatches up your wrist in his hand. A tight grip with nails that press into your flesh, you try to wrangle free as he tilts his head, helmet lined with metal teeth that eerily smile at you.

Deep down you enjoy it.

Enjoy this.

That slight pinch of pain.

This stranger’s confident and masked countenance.

That inner whisper that begs you to humble him. Make him kneel before you and do as you say.

His voice breaks through and you clear your head of those thoughts. “Where you’ve brought us tells me otherwise. And the sooner you embrace your fear—the sooner you’ll be free.”

“I’m not afraid of you.”

“No. No. No. You—you’re afraid of yourself.”

The words bite like his nails in your skin. You tug your hand away. “Who are you?”

“You’re asking the wrong question.” You can’t see his face but the shake of his head reveals his disappointment. “But I can guide you—teach you to ask the right one.”

“I don’t need a teacher,” you bitterly reply.

He hums a reply and shifts, rising above you. “I believe you will change your answer when you need me.”

But for now, we’ve run out of time. You need to wake up.” With the toe of his boot against your chest, he shoves you. Your back hits ground, breath a huff of surprise leaving your body.

[charliehoennam]

cat-n-mouse

summary: David embarks on a chase and ends up with a date

pairing: David Loki x GN!Reader

warnings: questionable police procedures, language, mentions of drugs gif credit to the most amazing person in the world nd this whole fic is dedicated to you <3 @stephendorff

SHARING IS CARING, SO PLEASE REBLOG

"This is 13-40 responding. I'm 5 minutes from the park, I'll look into it. Stand by."

The call from dispatch was to send a unit to the local park after receiving a call about a mysterious person hanging around the area with possession of drugs; more specifically, marijuana.

David personally didn't care too much about this sort of misdemeanor. God only knows he had his good ol' days smoking pot back in high school and he figures this could just very well be a not very bright teenager.

Pulling into the parking lot, he climbs out of his unmarked vehicle and takes a look around the vast park.

At this time of day, people in the park isn't very common especially with the approaching winter weather that is fairly harsh on the people of Conyers.

The sun had already set, leaving a pale blue glow in the sky as dusk begins to cover the small town. The early winter evening darkens the naked trees against the sky, bringing a familiar sensation that you could never quite explain but admired nonetheless.

The abstract silhouettes of the woods became shadows as a shade of hazy gray covered the town, hypnotizing you as the warm sunset faded into dusk.

After roaming a bit, David spots you from a distance staring up at the haunting treeling. He watches and wonders if you were the one who made the call or if you were the one the call was about. Either way, he can't understand why anyone would stay out in this weather any longer than they had to.

Your tree-gazing is cut short when you catch the shape of this mysterious shadow from the corner of your eye; his stare boring a hole into your side. You can't tell who they are, but what you can tell is that it's the figure of a large strong man.

Slowly turning your head to look over at the stranger, the winter chill slithers up your spine and makes your hairs stand on end.

Even though you don't want selfishly assume anything or jump to any presumptuous conclusions, at the same time, you can't seem ignore the increasing sense of danger. Or his thick-browed stare which is fixed on you and it's intimidating enough to make you squirm.

Maybe it's the start of dusk or the unsettling silence that exudes an eerie energy from his presence. But, when he begins taking slow steps towards your direction, that's when you decide to it's time to leave.

You turn your gaze to the ground as you begin walking towards the park trail that leads back to the main road. Glancing over your shoulder, you realize the man is now following you.

The frozen earth crunching under your boots does nothing to ease the adrenaline that starts coursing through your tense body.

You become even more uncomfortable when his footsteps become audible, growing closer and closer.

Trying to pick your speed, you walk as fast as your legs allow you to. Your heart is thumping loudly in your head. Not enough to drown out the sound of his footsteps when he does the same to catch up with you.

Panic overtakes you. You try to hide until you suddenly burst into a spring, running down the pathway. You want to look back, but the fear pumping in your veins demands that you keep running.

"Hey!" The man shouts as he begins running after you, ensuing what is now a pursuit.

Being much taller and faster than you, he catches up eventually and tackles you down to the wet ground, forcing a grunt from your lungs as you land hard on your side.

"Get off me!" you plead trying to wriggle away from his grasp. "Help! Help!"

He ignores your cries as he forces you onto your front. There's no one in sight. Shouting is useless and, if you don't try to help yourself, no one will.

You're not going down without a fight.

A strong elbow to his gut is enough knock the air out of his chest and loosen him off of you, so you try to quickly spring to your feet. But it's no use. His hand quickly grabs at your legs, pulling you back down to the ground.

His large frame overpowers you and he holds your hands behind your back. Metallic sounds ring from behind you as handcuffs lock around your wrists.

"Suspect is in custody" you frown as the man speaks into a walkie -talkie.

"Suspect?! You're a fucking cop?!"

"Get up," he orders breathlessly, ignoring your question as he climbs off you and forces you on to your feet.

"What the fuck are you even arresting me for?!"

"Whatever you were running for."

"I was running because you were fucking chasing me, you creep! You could've at least identified yourself! I wanna speak with your captain!"

In the back of his mind, he knows you're right. He didn't think about how freaky it could have seemed for you, being alone in the park with a stranger approaching you suddenly.

His body acted before his mind could process the protocols. Captain O'Malley is bound to rip him a new one for fucking up standard procedure.

He catches his breath in silence as he escorts you to his car for a pat-down. His guilt only grows when he doesn't find any illegal possessions on your person.

Your loud protests echo through the parking lot until he helps you into the backseat of his car.

He shuts the door to let you calm down and informs dispatch that back-up isn't necessary, assuring that everything is under control. Once your muffled ranting quietens down, he opens the door to talk.

"I need your name."

"Oh, sure. It's Y/F/N Go-fuck-yourself Y/L/N."

He repeatedly blinks hard before closing the door again and shares your name into the walkie-talkie, understanding why you're angry. He fucked up and it could cost him and the department, but as a cop, he knows he's entitled to stop and search given a certain level of suspicion. It doesn't mean he doesn't feel about giving you the scare of your life.

Looking through the belongings in your bag over the truck of his car, he locates your I.D to confirm your identification and shares the information with dispatch, who informs him that you have no warrants or any history of issues with the law, so he puts your things back into your bag and walks over to open the car door once more.

"Am I under arrest?" you ask impatiently as he helps you out and positions you against the cold surface to release you from the cuffs.

"No, you're not. I apologize for the scare. We got a call about a mysterious person lingering around the park with drugs and it's obviously not you."

"You can't just treat people like they're all criminals, you know."

"I'm sorry. If you'd like my badge number, you can make an official complaint at the station."

Although you know you probably should, there's a glint of guilt in his eyes that beg you not to. And, looking at him much closer and under the bright street light, you realize where you recognize him from.

"Aren't you the cop that found those little girls? The Thanksgiving kidnappings?"

"I was assigned to the case."

"I remember. I saw you on the TV," you nod with a pause. "I'm not gonna file a complaint, alright? Just don't chase people without any cause at night. It's fucking creepy."

"I'll make sure to identify myself next time. But, just out of curiosity, the fuck are you doing out here? It's cold as shit."

His big blue eyes narrow at you as you rub the soreness from your wrists.

"I cut through the park on my way home from work."

"It's not a very safe route this time of year. Empty and far like this..."

"Yeah, I didn't realize that until you tried to kidnap me."

"I wasn't kidnapping you. Although, I understand how you would have that impression in hindsight and I really am sorry about it. Why don't I give you a ride home? Make sure you get home safe?"

You look towards the road and think about how far you still are from your house. After the scare you just had, walking home alone in the dark doesn't seem very appealing.

Your gaze moves to the badge on his hip. You remember what your uncle taught you when you were younger: how to tell apart a fake badge and a real one.

"Yeah, alright."

You climb into the passenger seat as he opens the door for you and settle inside with your bag on your lap. Once he's back in the driver's seat, you tell him your address and he starts the drive there.

"I heard you're a tough cop. Made that boy kill himself."

He stays silent and glances at you guiltily.

"That never shoulda happened."

"But it did."

"I had two missing little girls to find. My methods may have been questionable, and I was reprimanded for them. But there's no excuse for them. And the girls were safely found alive. That's all I cared about."

You watch as he blinks nervously. He doesn't seem like an intentional asshole. You've met plenty of them to tell them apart. Despite his social awkwardness, he seems like a sound-minded guy.

"I'm not trying to tell you how to do your job. You seem like the kinda cop that actually cares about his victims. 'm just saying, not everyone is a suspect."

He nods silently with another firm blink. You sound just like O'Malley.

The rest of the drive to your house is quiet. The car rolls to a stop in the driveway, so you unbuckle your seatbelt and thank him for the ride.

"Just do me a favor and take Norma Lane next time? It's safer and busier this time of night."

"Fine. Just as long as you promise you won't go randomly kidnapping innocent people."

"I wasn't kidnapping you."

"Could've fooled me" you smirk jokingly at him, reaching for the door handle. "Thanks again for the ride."

"You uh think I could maybe get your number?"

"Seriously?"

"Just in case I need to bring you in for questioning or something?" he tries to smile slyly. "I'd like to make it up to you."

"You take everyone you falsely arrest out on dates to make it up to them?"

His cheeks turn a shade of pink as he looks away from your mischievous gaze.

"Not everyone, no."

"Well, I guess it's only fair" you nod unable to fight back a smile as he takes his phone out. "I mean, I don't really date cops but I could make an exception. I think I'm entitled to some compensation."

"I couldn't agree more" he chuckles handing you his phone, open to a new contact screen. "Although you did give me a mean elbow to the ribs that's probably gonna bruise."

"You deserved it," you smirk as you finish punching in the numbers to your cell phone. "You'd better call, Detective Loki."

He frowns curiously, trying to remember if he'd told you his name earlier but he can't remember if he did.

"How do you know my name?"

"Saw it on the news back in December. I have a good memory for names. Besides, Loki is a pretty cool one. Hard to forget."

"Makes sense" he smiles impressed. He admires the fact that you're smart enough to look out for yourself.

"Don't break my heart, detective" you smirk climbing out of his car.

As you walk up to the front entrance, you don't miss how he waits until you're safe inside to start the car back up and pull out of your driveway.

Despite the rocky introduction, you enjoy the way he made you feel safe. You just know you won't be able to stop thinking about him all night.

As you go on about your routine, settling in on the couch with a plate of dinner, getting ready to watch your favorite TV show, your phone flashes with a text.

"Now you have my number too. Better call me, Y/L/N."

[kiwiana-writes]

Six(ish) Sentence Sunday

I've been incredibly focused on original writing this week (apparently when you quit your job to become a writer you actually have to write?? A scam) but I pulled together a bit of one of the trans!Alex fics for y'all. And I'm throwing you right into a panic attack here, sorry.

Alex hasn’t had this much trouble breathing since he was fourteen and puberty came for his chest and his sanity all at once; since he was pulling a binder on top of a sports bra, avoiding mirrors and ignoring the ache in his ribcage. He sinks to the floor, one hand buried in his curls with his fist tight enough to tug on them and the other one splayed over his as he tries to calm himself down. He needs to pull himself the fuck together, this isn’t about him, he needs to get back out there so that he can— “Alex?”  Fuck. Of all the people to walk in right now, Henry is at the bottom of the list of People Alex Wants To See. Alex opens his mouth to tell him to fuck off, but all that escapes is a sob. “Oh, Alex.” Henry’s voice is low and rough, and he sinks to the floor. One hand comes to rest on Alex’s shoulder, and it’s… well, it’s actually really fucking grounding. “I promise you, not a single person—including Leah—doubts that you did your best.” And honestly, fuck Henry Fox-Mount-Too-Many-Middle-Names for somehow knowing exactly what Alex needs to hear.

Tagging @agame-writes @affectionatelyrs @anincompletelist @blueeyedgrlwrites @cactusdragon517

@celeritas2997 @cha-melodius @clottedcreamfudge @cricketnationrise @dumbpeachjuice

@everwitch-magiks @firenati0n @getmehighonmagic @happiness-of-the-pursuit @hgejfmw-hgejhsf

@indestructibleheart @inexplicablymine @junebugclaremontdiaz @larkral @leaves-of-laurelin

@lilythesilly @littlemisskittentoes @lizzie-bennetdarcy @myheartalivewrites @ninzied

@nocoastposts @nontoxic-writes @notspecialbabe @orchidscript @piratefalls

@porcelainmortal @read-and-write- @rmd-writes @sherryvalli @ships-to-sail

@sparklepocalypse @stereopticons @thesleepyskipper @thinkof-england

@tintagel-or-cockleshells @welcometololaland @whimsymanaged and, as always, anyone who wants to play! (If you take the open tag please tag me so I can see!!)

[firefly--bright]

etymology of acting

jean kirstein x reader (modern au)

summary ; the lights are out but you've never been able to see things so clearly. his silhouette isnt just a shape anymore.

warnings ; nothing more than some hurt/comfort as usual

a/n ; i've realised. i like writing oneshots more than i like writing series. so i am very sorry that im not updating my bigger fics i just,,, need more motivation for them.

taglist ; @holding-infinity-and-a-book , @mrsnobodynobody , @hopeless-anti-romantic , @jeanscremebrulee , @berrijam , @happxme , @cherrypieyourface , @imgayandshesanime , @moonmalice , @kivernova , @potaho3frog , @xakilicious , @katestrophes , @gojo-ana , @ppushable

masterlist is in pinned post! ✿ enter my taglist! ✿ song to listen to while reading! ✿

You’ve never really been sure of what you are.

Maybe who you are would be a better question. How do words come to be? Is it the cultural significance that makes them more important or is it just the fact that theyre the most used? You decide your name holds none of the meaning – be it heavy or light – that all the other words do. Not really significant or most used or said or thought about.

You knew your place in the world well enough to know where your name fit. Moreso, how your name didn’t fit, feeling foreign coming from familiar faces, feeling even further away coming from you. it sounded more like of what you should, of who your parents wanted you to become, hope you’d turn out to be. Something far greater than yourself. At least you knew this – you wouldn’t live up to it.

It takes a while to get used to at first. A way to let people down gradually. Nothing dramatic, nothing noticeable; but when you go through the same pattern as you always have countless times, you start seeing it as such. As something more dramatic, to give yourself more meaning. Youre waiting for the moment to come crashing down on you, waiting for the light to stop being bright an consuming and more of just a flicker. But that would be giving yourself too much importance. Giving yourself too much meaning.

“I mean… I didn’t, haven’t, fought people before,” jean says, “or – wait. Maybe I have.”

You breathe out a laugh. “you don’t remember if you’ve fought people before?”

“I mean, its not…whatever. Maybe I was too small to remember.”

“five year old jean, tearing into people’s jaws. What a rebel.” You say. Its his turn to smile.

The marble tiles of your kitchen floor are cool, your thighs resting on them, back against the glass of your oven. He sits in front of you but you cant see more than his outline. The lights have been out for a concerning amount of time now, and the curiosity of wanting to find out why had long since died down, turning into simple acceptance of this nights fate. His voice is the only thing you can hang off from, even if youre anchored to the ground.

it’s the in-betweeness of this. The space between your bodies, though not far away, knees touching only briefly, is when you realize you’re going to fade away soon. He’s going to find it mundane to look at the same face you had been seeing. The light is going to flicker, and you can feel it. The anticipation of something that will undoubtedly hurt nobody but you, quiet and accepting, and you’ll end up having to face the light again; wait for another light that needs to be snuff out. You’ve never been the greatest in having yourself be enough.

It's a performance at first. Jean had sat next to you and you’d started, lights and all. Smiling soon turned to relentless, comfortable teasing, turned into the second act. The deeper feelings that would be kept with you and only you for the rest of whatever you were living. Act three started just as act two did, gradually, softly, and you could sit in silence without having to find the strength to speak something more important than you into existence. You knew what would happen next. The end act, before the bows, before the close curtains. Your name wouldn’t be credited after this, no, he’d leave the theatre and not look back, forgetting why he spent the evening there. Maybe it was necessity, maybe it was boredom.

Act three, scene four, your voice spoke again after the pause, after catching his voice in your hands. The shared can of the energy drink was getting warm because of jean’s hand, your cold ones doing nothing to help. “I used to pretend I was in, like, a tv show when I was five.” You said. A hook to another unimportant, soon forgotten story, but it was in your script. So you spoke. You couldn’t see his smile, but he hummed lowley, your cue to continue.

“there was this show I used to watch a lot, like, to the point where I memorized almost all of the script.” You say, taking a sip of the drink. The carbon had fizzled out, leaving sugary residue on your lips, coating your tongue. “so when the house was empty in the afternoons, I would play all the parts out myself.” You say. Your words carry more weight now than they ever have and you’d probably have to clean up the mess it would make on the floor in the morning, having the light of the sun to accompany your mistakes. But for now it was okay. Improvising your lines was easier when it was with him. Act three, scene four, you could let your performance waver because you knew it was coming to an end.

“Is that why youre so good at talking to yourself?” he asks, his voice laced with a smirk you can almost feel against your cheek, despite him sitting across you. his hand brushes against yours, warm, calling, and you hand the can to him. You roll your eyes and you know he cant see it because it’s improvised. “im an amazing self-talker. Give me some credit.”

“alright. You’ve won my oscar.” He says. You snort. “your oscar?” “for your groundbreaking performance.” He says. Another sip.

You breathe in the way his words shape you. you don’t know which row of the audience he’s sitting in, but it feels awfully close, enough for him to catch you breaking character. Amazing performance, he said, not knowing what he meant, but you took meaning in his comment anyway, just as you did with everything else given to you. all words had their meanings, whether good or bad, cultural or just because of their uses. Everything had meaning and he was calling it an amazing performance. Your laugh makes no noise – youre breaking character.

“I was shit scared of the dark when I was five, too.” He says. The can is still with him, and you tilt your head. “you were a very accomplished five year old.” He scoffs, you continue, “starting fights and being afraid of the dar-“ “as if. I won those fights.” “is that why you forgot they even happened?” “maybe, yeah, what about it?” you laugh, breaking character. He grumbles, “whatever. I was brave.” His chest puffs up in faux confidence.

“right, what were you saying?” you ask. He clears his throat. “I was just gonna say I don’t mind being in the dark now.” “that’s deep.” “can you be serious for, like, two seconds-“ “you know me better than to ask me for that.” “right. I like nights now because of you. That’s all. Make fun of me.” But then you don’t say anything. Breaking character. Being on a thin ledge so he could see you and being pushed back, making you lose balance, suck in a breath.

Act… three, was it? Scene five. You don’t know what to say. He continues where you don’t. “like, I mean – okay, I like working with you at night, and I like staying up with you. it… im not scared of the dark anymore because of you. don’t look too much into it, it’s whatever, don’t. don’t make this weird.” He says, effectively making it weird, but you don’t mind. Youre on the stage, pleasantly confused because jean is in the audience with a smile and not with indifference.

youre on the stage and he’s telling you its okay to not be on one, to break character, to join him in the dark of the seats and leave the bright, overhead spotlight that makes you squint against it’s pressure.

The distant wailing of an ambulance sirens plays somewhere in the distance, the honk of cars, the shout of a crow that was somehow awake, the rustling of leaves. And with everything – all of the things outside of the theatre in your head, making you less important, was jean. There was barely any identifier to know he was in front of you except for his silhouette and his voice that had gone quiet. His thumb played an invisible beat on the can.

“when… when I was five,” you started, finally, not knowing what was coming out of your mouth, not following a script. Act three? Which scene was this? Jean was infront of you. you didn’t know how, but your voice held importance. “I was alone a lot. I used to be scared of ghosts. Especially at night. But since I was alone I decided that I had to fill the space up with games. With plays. Talking to myself.” Because that was the only thing that made you important – tied to the ground -  but then jean’s hand in on your knee, warm. An anchor. The curtains are closing. “and now I have someone to listen to me. Im not one of the ghosts in my house.”

If jean’s eyes were the only pair that were ever to witness you, you’d let that be. You’d be important in the darkness of your house and not under the all-consuming, weighted spotlights on top of you, shining against your every move, making it more important, but then the lights turn on, all of them at once, making you witness how you’ve made him.

His cheeks are red, warm, the tip of his nose in the same shade, his hair now lit up by the overhead shine, creating an almost gold halo on the crown of his head, a little frizzy and messy from raking his hand through them so many times. but really, its his eyes that make you break the character you were trying so hard to keep, because it didn’t make sense that he was looking at you the same way in the dark, going unnoticed, his gaze soft and now highlighted with a small white dot around his pupil, browns swimming, tethered to your figure. He was looking at you without your performance, without the proof of light to guide him.

Breaking character. Remembering there was a character to break but not caring about it, not in this moment, not when the spotlight has shut down, no-body controlling your lines except for yourself and the air in your apartment, still and full of life, unsaid confessions.

He clears his throat, shifting behind, looking up to the light, realising that there was brightness apart from you. “well.” He says. What else is there to say?

“well.” You echo, but neither of  you get up from your seats. There was secrecy in the dark, but now that everything is in front of you, youre a little more afraid. “it’s… lat-“ “you wanna watch a movie?” he asks, interrupting your invitation for him to go back home and away from you despite wanting nothing more than to stay by his side. You smile, unabashedly, cheeks stretching. “yeah.”

“not-“ “ten things I hate about you-“ “no. not that.” He says with a roll of his eyes. He doesn’t get up. His hand is still on your knee. “come on, you liked that movie!” “yeah, for the first two watches. We’ve seen that like, a thousand times now.” “not a thousand. Twenty, maybe.” “close enough.” “which movie, then?” you ask, jean shrugs. He hadn’t thought this far into the moment, and really, he doesn’t mind watching the same movie again as long as you were next to him, letting him sit too close to you, letting your shoulders relax, letting your thoughts ease. He liked you like this, not dancing around yourself, not trying to do something spectacular. You already were.

But he cant say it. So instead he says your name. with purpose, with meaning and weight that anchors you to the ground and brings you back into your body. “youre…not a ghost.” He attempts at something bigger than what he means to say. He doesn’t know how you do it. But you look at him like you know exactly what he means. Words have meaning, culturally or just because they’ve been too much, and you look like you understand them more than anyone else. Reading in between the lines, each letter having its shape and sound being heard even if its quiet.

“thanks to you.” you say. His thumb traces a circle into your skin. Unscripted.

“speaking of ghosts-“ you start, making jean groan. “do not-“ “we should watch conjuri-“ “I will kill myself.” “that’s also what one of the ghosts does to herself.” “jesus fuck.” “come on, its so bad and cliché.” “i… fine.” He concedes.

Your smile is brighter than the lights. It comes naturally to you, the script lies forgotten and you join him in the audience, sitting close.

[breezybangtanbebe]

3D: JJK Part 2

A/N: Jungkook is in a closed triad with Janelle, the bubbly brown skinned bookworm with alluring eyes and luscious hips, and Katya , the semi alt bartending vixen with copper toned curls and a silver tongue.

Tags: Jungkook AMBW fic with original characters. Sex, raw and protected. Oral (female and male recieving) Threesome. Some fluff anx mild plot because theyre lovers after all 😌

6.3k words

The night after leaving the diner....

Jungkook lingered in the bathroom doorway with his shoulder pressed against the frame.

Just a few feet away, the shaded silhouette of Janelle's curves could be seen through the foggy shower curtain. She hums softly, soothing and melodic as she washes her body.

God, he loved her voice. It was the first thing that got his attention. Like the twittering of a songbird at the crack of dawn, she appeared to him in the bleakest of places. And now some years later, she'd never left and Jungkook considered himself a lucky son of bitch if you were to ask him.

He didn't realize the thought of her importance had him smiling until it faltered at a different thought.

Tonight was...weird.

Meeting Kat at their usual spot was supposed to put everyone at ease instead of the inevitable awkwardness that came with asking someone to be a third in a two-party relationship.

He was nervous, halfway expecting their mutual friend to be offended by such a proposition.

But it was the fact that it went exactly the way Janelle predicted that surprised him.

And worried him...

*knock knock*

The curtain draws back just to reveal her angelic face that is haloed by dark loose dripping curls. She blinks rapidly to dispel the water dripping over her brow, locking eyes with a very distracted-looking Jungkook.

"Hey.." she exhales, wiping her face. Jungkook perks up at the greeting, his smile returning.

"Hey.." was all his discombobulated brain would let him say, although Janelle didn't find him out of sorts. Jungkook tends to be a man of few words.

"Something wrong?" she lifted her brows and Jungkook shook his head empathetically.

"Naw, nothing at all. Was just seeing if you were still in here.." he lies, something he rarely did when it came to her unless he deemed it necessary.

At his quick response, the slight worry fades from Janelle's expression.

"Oh, well I won't be long in here if you want to hop in after me." she goes on to say, still fighting rivets of water from getting into her eyes.

Of all things crowding Jungkook's mind tonight, a shower was at the very bottom of the things he wanted to do. But perhaps it was the in he needed to begin getting some things off of his chest.

Jungkook's distracted gaze falls to the bunched-up curtain barely covering Janelle's body, his bottom lip tucking itself between his teeth.

"How bout I just hop in now? Save some water?" he tilts his head cutely, his eyes returning to her face.

Janelle smiles at his unsubtleness, knowing he didn't give a hot damn about saving water.

She nods and Jungkook moves to join her, stripping out of his clothes smoothly, stepping in behind her, and pulling the curtain back in place to shield them from the cold air creeping in.

"You washing your hair?" he asks her from behind, placing his hands on her hips to guide her closer to him under the steady streams of hot water. Jungkook nearly stood at 6 feet, putting the top of Janelle's head just below his nose. From that vantage, her hair was all he could see.

Janelle's dark brown curls were elongated and stretching down her back from the saturation of water and whatever sweet-smelling concoction was dripping from it.

He inhales the scent of it fondly, enhanced by the humidity encasing them.

"I wasn't trying to but it got wet anyway. So I'm just conditioning it now. I'm gonna blow it back out tomorrow." Janelle confirms as she begins sectioning her hair down the middle, gathering half of it to the side to section again and begin twisting.

Jungkook watched her hands move expertly through her curls with usual interest. He loved playing in Janelle's hair when she'd let him. Whether it was oiling her scalp, taking down her braids, or just coiling his fingers in her curls to watch them spring back into place, he jumped at any opportunity he had to run his fingers through her thick mane.

"Hmm..Need my help?" he asks, already running his finger down the crooked part splitting at her nape. Janelle's shoulders rise at the ticklish sensation and she gives him a look.

"Not if you're gonna do that.." she smirks over her shoulder. Despite her words, she reaches in for the conditioner and squirts a generous amount in Jungkook's eager hands.

Working the milk and honey-scented conditioner into the strands at the back of her head as he slowly twisted it, Jungkook unwillingly allowed his thoughts to revert to his original anxieties.

Normally, being this close to her calmed his mind but there was just too much noise in his head to allow the night to go on another second without them discussing the obvious.

"You're happy, right?" he asks her seemingly out of nowhere. It had been a little quiet since she allowed him to help her with her hair but Janelle didn't think much of it.

"Of course. Why wouldn't I be..." she mutters distractedly, coiling the end of her twist around her finger as she completes it. Working much slower than her, Jungkook continued to wrap the small sections of hair around each other.

"I don't mean in general. I mean with how tonight went. With Kat." he finishes the twist, pulling it to watch it bounce the way he always did.

"Oh. Well, yeah." Janelle shrugs a shoulder.

Another pump of conditioner fills her palm and she lathers it between her hands.

"She seemed up for what we were offering. Which was surprising. I expected her to look at us like we had five heads.." she laughed breathily as she finger-detangled another section near the front of her head. Jungkook tossed the fat twist he'd done over her shoulder, finding most of her head already done and leaving him with nothing left to do.

"She kind of did, Nell." he chuckles, reaching around her to rinse his hands. Janelle is caught against Jungkook's muscular chest and between his arms, the shadow of his body darkening the wall in front of her.

"Eh...only when you flirted with her. I don't think she was expecting that from you. Here, switch." she taps his chest for him to give her the space to reach outside of the small shower for a shower cap she'd left near the toilet tank.

Without any resistance, Jungkook stepped around Janelle as she covered her hair beneath the cap so that he was now under the shower head.

Jungkook tips his head back, allowing the water to soak his hair and face thoroughly before turning his back to Janelle, who was sudsung up a washcloth in preparation to wash his wide back. Something that was now routine for them after sharing a space for so long.

"Hey...That 'Kitty Kat' thing didn't bother you did it? I knew she'd hate it but then I considered you and I felt like an ass as soon as it came outta my mouth.." Jungkook asks over his shoulder with his eyes closed, shaking his head shamefully at the memory. Janelle continues to wash his back, running the soapy towel between his shoulder blades.

"Naw..I thought it was cute. Kat didn't seem very flattered by it and I think that was the point. To get under her skin."

"Yeah.." Jungkook chuckles dryly.

Janelle smirks.

"Yeah. Yall's interactions are funny to watch." she giggles, gliding the washcloth around to Jungkook's front, where he takes it from her gently before she can poke into his naval to tease him.

It was something she always did because of how ticklish he was there. And normally it would catch him off guard, but he was too wrapped up in his worries.

"Hm.." was all he uttered in response as if there was something more he wanted to say but just wouldn't. Janelle frowns at his stiffness, taking a small step back from him.

"What's wrong?"

Jungkook could just about see her face even though his back was to her. Eyes big and full of concern. Lips pursed and pretty.

He sighs.

"Nothing. It's just..."Jungkook shrugged nonchalantly as he washed his chest, turning his back to the shower head to face her.

"I'm happy if you're happy. This is something you've been thinking about for a while. And I'm honored that you feel safe enough with me to explore that but.." he tapers off, his gaze trailing towards the clear pool gathering at their feet as he lifted his arm to wash underneath.

Janelle watched the soap drizzle down his naked body aimlessly, that suspected concern puckering in her brow.

"But?"

Jungkook switched arms, scrubbing his armpit for a few seconds before setting the dripping cloth aside with a deep sigh.

"Ok look.....I'm gonna sound like a huge bitch for saying this but, I'm nervous about how this whole "throuple" thing will affect us. Like I said before, I have no desire to be with anyone other than you. Cheating has never crossed my mind..." he begins and Janelle's eyebrows go up.

"Never? Like ever?"

Jungkook blinks.

"Never. I swear."

"Even when you're mad at me?" Janelle tilts her head, a hint of unseriousness and disbelief in her voice. Jungkook huffed at the idea.

"When have I ever been mad at you Nell? I piss you off more than anything.." he chuckles, earning a stiff nudge in the chest.

"Stop it. I'm sure I get on your nerves more often than not. Or what about when you're just tired of me and think about being with someone new...you could tell me, you know." her eyes widen earnestly, her hands now sliding up Jungkook's torso to rest on his shoulders.

He melts under her touch, returning the affection by caressing the dip of her waist, his thumbs strumming over her hip bones as he squeezes her.

"I am telling you. Trust me..it just doesn't cross my mind. You're pretty much as perfect as a human could be. Your farts don't even bother me."

At that, Janelle snorts in offense, tugging on Jungkook's pierced earlobe playfully.

"That's disgusting and a lie because you don't deal with my farts. Like ever.." she denies adamantly. Jungkook winces and leans into her pull with a charming grin.

"Oh please. Don't give me that 'I don't fart' bullshit. We're not new.." he shakes his head, flinging his soaked hair about over his forehead. Droplets of water flick her in the face as she rolls her eyes.

"I'm not claiming that I don't, I'm only saying it doesn't happen around you. I'm pretty stealthy with mine at least.."

It was Jungkook's turn to snort incredulously, reaching up to smooth his wet hair back and out of his face for Janelle to see how sure he was.

"You can't account for every single fart, Babe. We do share a bed at night, remember?.." he wiggles his brows suggestively and Janelle blanches at the thought of Jungkook being awake while she's asleep and pooting happily into the sheets.

Counting them like sheep from his side of the bed and snickering maniacally like an idiot.

"Shut up! ANYWAY....Say I wasn't in the picture at all and you were single. You don't find Kat attractive? You wouldn't date her?"  she steers them back on topic, much to Jungkook's disappointment despite him being the one to bring it up. His shoulders drop, as does his expression as he contemplates his response.

"I mean...She's attractive, yes but.."

"And don't you two have a lot in common?" Janelle cuts in, seeming too hopeful for Jungkook's liking.

"Babe, that's not the point." he starts but Janelle is already shaking her head.

"We don't have to do this if you're uncomfortable. I can call Kat tomorrow and let her know. I'm sure she'd understand."

It wasn't that Jungkook was 100% opposed to it. Hell, what guy wouldn't be willing to try being in the middle of two gorgeous women? And if he were with someone other than Janelle, he was sure there would be no apprehension.

But Janelle was different. And Kat was soooo different from Janelle.

Jungkook scoffs at the suggestion, his eyes going to a milky white stream of water and conditioner threatening to drip down Janelle's face. He lets go of her waist to swipe it back into her widow's peak with his thumb

"Sure she would. And she'd feel like she was right about all of this. That you're being coerced into liking girls and Im a scum bag manipulator boyfriend pulling the strings and convincing you we need another person in our lives when all I want...all I need is you..."

There was a pout in his voice that was far too endearing to ignore. Janelle twists her lips to the side as she regards her boyfriend's worrisome expression, reading every line on his face carefully.

"Since when do you care what people think, huh?" she gazes up at him sweetly, melting the tension in his jaw slightly. Jungkook hissed lowly between his teeth, looking away bashfully.

"I don't. I care what you think.." he gives her an emphatic look before returning his attention to yet another drizzle of conditioner about to drip between her eyebrows. His mouth sets in a grim line as he uses his full hand to wipe over Janelle's forehead again, this time pushing back the shower cap, running his palm over her hair, and squishing the fat twists to extrude the excess product from her curls.

All the while, Janelle considers everything he's said.

How he was worried about offending her when responding to Kat's brattiness the way she expected him to.

How adamant he was about her knowing he was happy with just her, even though he never outright objected to the idea of them doing this.

"Oh my God.." Janelle gapes and Jungkook's eyes snap to hers warily.

"What?"

Janelle doesn't respond immediately, only reaching up to cup Jungkook's cheek before running a hand through his soaked hair.

"You're afraid," she says after a beat and Jungkook tilts his head back in surprise.

"Um.Not the word I'd use..." he mutters.

"And I am so selfish..wow." Janelle continues, dropping her hand to stare off into space.

"Another word I wouldn't choose.." Jungkook slides in under his breath again and Janelle sucks her teeth in disagreement.

"But it's true. Here I am, thinking you're just going with the flow because you're invested in the idea of us doing this...when it's just to appease me. Oh God...I'm the scum bag boyfriend." her hand goes to her mouth and if she weren't so damn cute, Jungkook would have been able to keep himself from laughing.

Whatever tension was there dissipated with the fog surrounding them, and the shower water started to cool from being on for so long. The temperature hitting his back now was the least of Jungkook's concerns that Janelle was blaming herself for his insecurities.

While they were valid, he still didn't want her to blame herself.

"No baby...." he pulls her hand from her face, lifting her chin with his knuckle. Her bottom lip trembled a bit, further breaking his heart as he locked her in his gaze.

"I'm not scared. I just don't want you to end up hurt, that's all. So many things are playing out in my mind where that happens. I'm happy with you and you alone. You know that. But if doing this makes you happy, we can try it out. Hell, there are no rules so we can pretty much structure it however we want. We can set boundaries. The extent of me and Kat's involvement can remain strictly platonic." he shrugs assuredly. Jade's expression shifts to confusion at his suggestion.

"Really? You'd be ok with that?" she asks and Jungkook smirks.

"Why not? She can't knock you up so beyond that, I'm good." he jokes, his attempt at humor barely thawing the tension.

"But seriously. You two can have your own thing and I won't interfere. We won't kiss or have sex...She seems more interested in you than she is in me anyway so.." he turns away from her briefly to cut off the water, which was now ice cold and no longer comfortable.

Janelle realized that her hair was still full of conditioner but rinsing it in the sink would just have to do. She blinks up at Jungkook's subdued face shyly, sucking her bottom lip between her teeth before mumbling.

"But...I want you to."

Jungkook blinks back at her, partially due to the water running down his face from his drenched scalp.

"You.......want me to?" he lifts a brow, genuinely oblivious to what she was getting at. Still worrying her bottom lip until little divots formed from her teeth, Janelle steals a glance at the misted shower curtain before responding.

"You know..." she peeps, shrugging a shoulder, and Jungkook watches her avoid eye contact just long enough for him to figure out exactly what she meant.

"Wait...You want us to..." he trails off, waiting for Janelle to look at him. When she does, her expression is expectant. As if she'd be faced with some sort of judgment in the face of her partner for wanting something so unexpected.

When she says nothing, an impish smirk spreads over Jungkook's dripping lips.

"Oh.." his eyes flutter in realization, still not instilling confidence in Janelle based on how her brows slanted worriedly.

"Oh?..as in 'oh hell naw' or.." her voice tapers with Jungkook's rejection and judgment already accepted in her mind. She hugged herself against the chill that was now filling the shower space, but it was clear her body language read deeper than that.

She was closing herself off, retracting her willingness to be open and vulnerable with the one person she should be able to be with. After being with her day in and day out for a while, Jungkook knew how hard it was for Janelle to be open in her past relationships.

It was hard enough being so soft-spoken and a chronic people pleaser, but dating self-serving assholes didn't encourage her to speak up for herself when it came to what she wanted.

At least until she met Jungkook...

Jungkook sighed, cursing himself mentally before pulling one of her arms that covered her chest. He lifts her hand to his mouth, brushing her soft knuckles against his lips.

"Naw...' Oh' as in...' Oh, ok cool'. Or 'ooooh you nasty.'..." he wrinkles his nose, pulling her to stumble into him over the bath mat. He then smushes her cheeks between his fingers, forcing her lips to pout out for him to ravish in a playful kiss.

Janelle yelps as his other hand skims down her wet and slippery back to cup her backside, squeezing a healthy serving of her booty cheek until she squeals again against his lips.

She reaches back to grip his wrist, steadily giggling in his grasp.

"Stahp! And don't call me nasty! You nasty. I feel you getting hard against my leg." she notes, the bridge of her nose scrunching in mock disgust despite not pulling away. Jungkook grins and bites his lip as he presses their bodies closer together.

"Duh. You're naked and wet. So tell me something...Why is that something you want?" he hugs her, his hand still resting at the crease of her ass. It didn't matter that the water was no longer running and the warmth of its steam was long gone. Janelle felt perfectly content standing in the bathtub, trapped in her man's embrace.

His question had her feeling shy all over again, her face tingling with the rising blush under her skin.

"I...I don't know...because I think it would be kind of sexy to...ya know..watch. Sometimes." she shrugs, keeping her gaze fixed on Jungkook's throat. His Adam's apple shifted a little when he tilted his head, in an attempt to summon her eyes towards his.

"Watch? Oh, you nasty foreal..." he teases.

At that, Janelle was over it. She stifled her smile as she pushed him away, yanking at the shower curtain to make her escape. Jungkook chuckles as he follows her, both of them stepping carefully over the damp bathroom floors. Janelle is already wrapping a towel around her body by the time Jungkook finds another conveniently folded on a shelf.

"I don't know why you're acting all innocent about this. Everyone knows you nasty Nell. Me more than anyone.." he shakes his mop of a head out before rubbing the body towel over it.

"Oh, whatever..." she waves him off, securing the towel's fold at her chest.

Janelle reaches past him for the cabinet that contains her skin products. She selects her favorite scented body butter and oil and shuffles to perch on the edge of the bathtub to begin moisturizing her skin.

Jungkook continues dabbing the water from his hair with his eyes screwed shut. He remains unabashedly naked in front of the sink, his inked-out sleeves flexing with the subtle movements of shuffling the towel over his head.

Oh so domestic and cozy with each other per usual.

Janelle's eyes lifted casually to watch him as she rubbed the cream over her knees and shin, admiring his height and muscular frame without him noticing. 

Jungkook dropped the towel from his head to hang over his shoulders, his hair now half dry and spiking in all directions. He turns to face the mirror and regards his reflection with a focused scowl, turning his head to inspect his skin. As he does, Janelle's sneaky gaze falls from his face and impressive upper body, to what she could see of the wobbling appendage between his legs, hanging handsomely and only slightly erect as he leaned closer to the mirror to poke at a tiny pimple threatening to form on his chin.

Salacious thoughts roll through her mind, some including him bending her over the counter right now and easing the ache between her thighs. All this talk about their relationship and exploring the unknown together did something to her.

On top of Jungkook looking like a literal god, a statue of marbled stone sculpted by Michaelangelo himself.

Another thought pops in of her dropping to her knees in front of him and surprising him with her mouth as he attends to his lazy skincare routine. She could already taste him at the back of her throat.

And then, as that scenario continued to play out in her head, the image of herself stroking his shaft is eventually accompanied by a pair of pale pink and slightly freckled lips wrapping around his mushroom tip.

Lips that weren't hers but equally as full and wet.

Equally as pretty, with a long pierced tongue that curved around Jungkook's girth.

Janelle's vision of Kat laving his dick in front of her on the bathroom floor has her going silent Her lips part slowly as she zoned out, her eyes shifting off focus while her oil-covered hands moved slowly over her legs.

Kat's moans, or what she imagined her moans to sound like.

Deep, a little raspy, and whiny.

..surrounded Jungkook's dick as best as her mouth could. Her head bobs slowly, siren eyes lifting to watch Jungkook's brow furrow in ecstasy.

"Fuck.." his lip ring jiggled with the hoarse curse, water still dripping from his dark wavy mane as he watched his dick get coated in Kat's saliva. Janelle's hand continued stroking him from the base and his hooded scowl shifted to her as he groaned.

"That's it..fuck, that's it.." he reaches for Janelle, caressing her cheek with tatted knuckles. She looks up at him adoringly and Jungkook smirks down at her.

"You're so fucking pretty baby..." he praises her, grazing her bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. Kat whines childishly with bubbling spit pooling at the corners of her mouth. She pulls off of his dick with a dramatic slurp and glowers up at Jungkook.

"Hey..what about me?" she simpers and both Janelle and Jungkook chuckle. Janelle turns to Kat, giving her her signature sugary sweet smile.

"You know you're the prettiest Kitty.." she says to her, using her free hand to tuck a loc of disheveled copper hair behind Kat's ear before running her fingertips down her cheek. Jungkook hums in agreement, licking his lips.

"Mmhmm..especially with my dick in your mouth.." he mirths, covering Janelle's hand that was still wrapped at his base to take hold of himself. His swollen tip smooths over Kat's lips like an applicator, smearing the remnants of her spit and his pre cum over her bottom lip teasingly. Janelle's eyes fixed on the wet point of contact between Kat's pliant lips and Jungkook's dick, her mouth beginning to water.

"So pretty.." she echoes, her fingers curling under Kat's chin and coaxing it to drop. Kat's mouth opens just enough for Jungkook to slide himself back in with a strained hiss between his teeth.

"Ugh..yess.." he calls to the ceiling, tipping his head back as Kat's mouth engulfed him in her warm and wet sanctuary.

She sucks him deeper, earning another growl from above that sends her pussy into a clenching frenzy. She whimpers around him again, her eyes rolling back as she resumes sucking him off slowly, taking as much of his length in as she could. Jungkook takes his hands off of himself and away from Janelle's face and uses them to grip the counter's edge, relinquishing all control over his pleasure to his lovers.

He looks to Janelle, tipping his chin in Kat's direction.

"Help her out, baby. Show her how I like it

..." he croons, sending a shiver down her spine that manifests in a slow drip of arousal down her inner thighs.

Nodding, Janelle moves any distracting curls from Kat's face before pushing her head down hard on Jungkook's dick, gagging the redhead until tears rolled down her cheeks.

Janelle pulls her head back with a handful of copper tresses in her clutches to allow Kat a moment to catch her breath, eventually guiding her back towards the angry red tip in front of her.

"That's my girl...fuck.. don't stop either.."Jungkook ruts slowly, matching the pace that Janelle set for their girlfriend, aiding her in taking every thick inch that their boyfriend had to offer.

"Babe."

"Babe..."

"Janelle."

Jungkook's voice pulled her from her daydream, the sound of her name in his stern voice startling her. Her eyes flutter up at him attentively, her hands still coated in oil idling over her ankle.

"Hmm?" she pouts her lips.

Jungkook's towel was now wrapped loosely at his waist, a peak of his pubic hair just barely visible over the fold. His hair was a damp spikey mess, as expected, but he looked fresh off the pages of some magazine spread.

"What are you over there thinking so hard about? You've been lubing up the same leg for 3 minutes." he chuckles.

Janelle's doe eyes flit from her boyfriend's face to his happy trail and her brow crinkles into a scowl of thought.

At her silence, Jungkook smirks. He approaches her at the bath, squatting down so that they are at the same level.

He tilts his head, waiting for her to look up at him.

"Talk to me." he lifts the brow twinkling with silver.

Janelle locked eyes with him inevitably, stifling her smile at how Jungkook stared at her, his hands resting on her knees. She bites her lip worriedly before relenting.

"Ok. Be honest. Is it weird that I want this? To want to see how you are with someone else and me because it turns me on a little... a lot." she admits after a beat. Jungkook's expression is unwavering as his mouth shrugs at the question.

"Weird? No..Different, yeah. It doesn't matter though. If you want it, you got it, baby. As long as you are comfortable at the end of the day. I am curious though..." he pauses.

Janelle's eyes follow his as they drop where his large hands are still resting on her knees. They moved up her thighs slowly, pushing the towel back and encouraging them to part as he filled the gap on his knees.

"Has this always been a thing? This fantasy..or is it just with me?" he asks, his hands massaging Janelle's shimmering flesh in slow circles with his thumbs. He inches closer, teasing the tip of his nose against hers until she smiles.

Fuck, she loved him. For every rough edge, there was a softness that Janelle liked to think was only for her. The intimacy. The tenderness. His hands had traveled so high up her thighs, that her towel was barely covering her lower body anymore and goosebumps tickled her skin from the exposure. He was inches away from grazing a part of her that begged to be touched by only him.

Jungkook noses at her cheek, planting a little kiss to her jaw before pulling back just a little to wait for her response.

She barely remembered the question, hell...

"Just...just you.."  she stammers in reaction to his lips and Jungkook makes a sound from deep in his throat that makes her tremble. She steadied herself by holding him at his biceps as he threatened to nudge her into the tub.

"Hmm....so, you've imagined me being with other women in front of you?" he probes further, similarly to how one of his hands was snaking up to rest on her hip while he pressed against her heat. His thumb passes over her clit just barely, making Janelle gasp.

"Um. I didn't used to..not until I saw Kat. She's just so...sexy confident and bold. Everything I wished I was all the time, she just is. Sure of herself and is unapologetic about it."

Jungkook would have disagreed with her words wholeheartedly any other time. But the fact that Janelle was being this transparent with him kept him quiet. He didn't want her to stop talking, nor did he want to stop touching her the way he was.

"I read people pretty well, y'know?..It's just something about her. It's funny. She actually reminds me a lot of you."

At that, Jungkook pulled back with a confused brow, halting his teasing hands for a moment.

"Huh? How?" he turns up his nose. Janelle shrugs.

" I don't know. Just does. Yall like the same kinds of music and movies and fashion. Even a little about sports. More than I know at least, I sit between yall thinking I'm listening to Simlish." she laughs, although Jungkook is too stuck on her seeing him in another woman.

He sits back on his knees, resting his hands on hers again.

"Wait. So you've been fantasizing about me having sex with basically the female version of me..and that gets you hot?" he furrows his brow with a smirk, a look that made Janelle's core constrict.

"Yeah, but it's not just about sex though. It's the bond we could all have. Her attending to needs you have that I can't or me having someone close to confide in on things that just a friend can't understand. It's hard to explain. Like I said, I don't want you to do anything you're not comfortable doing. Me and my kinks are just that and I don't have to indulge them. They aren't anyone else's issue but mine.."

Janelle drops her chin after speaking, seeming to feel some form of shame that Jungkook would not tolerate. He places a finger beneath her chin, making her look back up at him.

"They kinda are though, Nell. Not an issue but...I mean..we agreed that we'd be honest with each other about stuff like this. Keeping an open mind and shit."

"And that's all I'm doing..." Janelle cuts in.

"Opening my mind to something new and kind of taboo. I know the risks. I'm not delusional. You two can hit it off and end up much more compatible than you and I are.."

Jungkook snorts loudly.

"That ain't happening. If she really reminds you of me, then that tells me that there is very little about our personalities that'll mesh. I'm a bit of a dick. She already seems like a bit of a brat as is. I hate brats." he grimaces and Janelle scoffs at the blatant lie.

"Please. You love brats. Look at all your exes."

He'd rather not. Nothing about the women he was with before Janelle was worth the memory.

"You're not a brat, and I love you.." he smoothly states, rising back up as his hands sneak up her legs again.

He doesn't pause to tease or make her anticipate his next move. Jungkook just kisses her. One peck to solidify his point. Another to savor the taste of her lips the way he always did.

Janelle melts into him, wrapping her arms above his shoulders and digging her fingers into his damp scalp. She kisses him back with less fervor, knowing their conversation would cease if she allowed his tongue to slip past her lips one more time.

She abruptly tips her head back, breaking the kiss, much to Jungkook's disappointment.

"You're cute. Doesn't mean you love brats any less though. So it's a perfect match if you ask me. You're dark and broody, she's loud and moody, and then there's me, bringer of light and balance in the middle." she smiles adorably, booping her nose against his for emphasis.

Jungkook's pout gradually shifts to a smirk of surrender. At least he could agree with the last part of what she said.

Janelle was the light. She brightened up his life the moment she entered it and there was no way anyone could get him to look away. Even if it blinded him, he'd stare into her sun until she forced him not to.

A day he prayed would never come.

Easing back to just look at her, to admire the softness in her eyes and the perfection of her honey-brown skin, Jungkook narrows his gaze at her.

"You really wanna do this, don't you?" he asks her, his tone soft but serious.

Janelle's smile softened too and she nodded.

"I do. But only if you do too."

Jungkook regards her for a moment, recalling everything that she said, as well as everything she'd ever done for him throughout their relationship.

Janelle was selfless and kind. She never made trouble or fed into drama. She never picked fights or nagged at Jungkook when he knew he deserved it. His initial resistance to commitment. His ugly habits. In her delicate way, she smoothed out his roughness like sandpaper. Loving the hell out of him., literally chasing away the demons that convinced him he'd never find a love as pure as this.

He owed her this, at least.

What was the worst that could happen?

"Ok."

Janelle's eyes brightened at his short response, her spine straightening immediately.

"Ok?" she verifies and Jungkook nods.

"Yeah. I'm with it. We can try this thing out and play it by ear. Take it one step at a time. As long as you know who you are to me. And how much I mean it when I say I would never, ever..do anything to hurt you. At least not on purpose. I'm still a dumb ass sometimes.."

Janelle's lips crash into Jungkook's before he can finish his sentence, and he chuckles sharply through his nose as he reciprocates the kiss. He hugs her waist, pressing his body flush against hers with her legs wrapping around him.

If he'd known his being on board would make her this happy, Jungkook would have never raised the issue. But he was glad he did.

Something about this moment brought them closer, and there was very little he wanted more.

Janelle breaks their kiss again to gaze upon her partner's face, and Jungkook doesn't pout this time.

He too basked in the beauty that was Janelle, asking himself how the hell he got so lucky.

"I love you." she sighs.

"I love you." he smiles, wagging the silver hoop at the corner of his mouth.

"And you're not a dumbass. I told you about that." she scolds him lightly.

"Mmhmm....Well, what word would you use? He asks sarcastically, but Janelle's eyes shoot to the ceiling as the invisible Rolodex of 'Jungkook Adjectives' sputtered in her mind.

After a few seconds, she settled on one.

"You are.... exceptional." she muses, the apples of her cheeks rising.

Based on what he knew of the word, its connotation was fairly neutral. Unusual. Uncommon. Not typical. That said a lot considering what he just agreed to.

Gaining a better understanding as to why this was something she felt was needed, more for her satisfaction than his, was surprisingly comforting. Here he was worried that she felt like this was something he secretly wanted because let's be honest..

Most men probably would.

And the old Jungkook was like most men.

But this version of him in this alternate dimension where he actually learned how to love someone non-toxically, he'd do anything this woman asked him to do. Even being willing to share her with someone else. Something most men, even under the best circumstances, wouldn't be secure enough to do.

So maybe he was the exception.

Maybe they both were.

Jungkook's eyes danced between Janelle's irises, his gaze and little smirk darkening by the millisecond.

"Hmm..Whatever that means.." he snickers, leaning in to slip his tongue into Janelle's mouth again, hoisting her up to straddle his hips as he walked them carefully out of the bathroom.

Effectively ending their conversation.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Helping Hand 13

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of divorce, manipulation, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: Jonathan Pine, 40s reader

Part of the Bookstore AU

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

The dull hues speckle in your vision. You've grown used to the haze and when it fades, you long for it. The pain melts way enough for comfort but not enough to be forgot. Always there, always aware of your own futility. 

It isn't the pain that rouses you that night but a sensation just as pertinent. At first, you're not sure what it is. Gentle waves on your skins, spirals that raise bumps, caresses that make you shiver.

You bring your hand up to meet another. Your touch lingers on Jonathan's wrist as your lashes flutter open. His silhouette is limned by the lamp behind him. The shadows set his features in a sinister way.

You murmur but don't speak. He hushes you, trading the strap of the sling that binds your arm. You groan at the ripple of pain underlined by something more. Something unbidden.

“All I want, dear, is for you to feel better,” he says as he pets your cheek, “do you know that? It's all I've ever wanted.”

You blink. You have no strength to argue. To point out the obvious. He's the one who has you at your worst.

“That day in the bookshop, when we met,” he turns onto his shoulder and lays on his side, “you looked lost and I felt as if I'd found you.”

You shake your head and squint. His words confuse you. He weaves such sweet soliloquys yet what he's done cannot be painted with pretty lies.

“You put that man above you for how long? And even after he abandoned you, you still could not put yourself first,” he cradles your face, “darling, can't you see that's all I'm doing.”

“No…” you whisper and close your eyes. 

You whimper and try to turn your face away. He catches your chin and tuts, keeping you in place as he lifts himself again. He surprises you as his lips meet yours. He kisses you softly, as if he means every word he says. A new sort of pain sparks in you.

He lets his fingers dance to your hairline. He moans into your mouth as his tongue delves inside. You squeeze your eyes tight, unable to resist. As much as you could blame the drugs, you know it's as much your own weakness. Just like those days you laid on your back and fulfilled your vows.

His fingertips graze your temple and cheek, down tour neck and along the crook of your collarbone. Further and further, feeling you through the light layer of fabric. That too big tee shirt that serves as your only shield.

He grips your hip as he leans over you, the slight pressure of his weight makes you squirm. You break away from his lips and gasp, grabbing him with your free hand, the sling keeping you trapped below him. 

“Please, Jonathan,” you beg.

“Darling, darling,” he kissed along your chin, “I only want to take care you, hm? Just because he never did, doesn't mean no one will.”

“No, stop,” your voice crackles, “please…”

“Sorry, darling, sorry,” he rasps between nibbles along your neck, “I won't mention him. It's best…” he kisses your shoulder, “if we both forgot that pesky ex.”

“N-no,” you squirm, “please…”

“I won't…” he let's the sentence dangle, “no, I only want a little.”

You wriggle, groaning at the agony it nails into your bones. You still to quiet the pangs, whining as he lifts himself over you. His hand wanders up and down your side as his lips descend your body.

He pushes up the bottom of the tee and bares your stomach. You babble and hide beneath your eyelids. He rolls the fabric above your chest as his lips tickle the tender flesh there. You quiver as he nips and pecks at you.

For a moment, you think it might be delirium. That the painkillers have skewed your mind. You want to believe it but it's all too real.

Just as real as that flamed stoked in your core. That glimmer of desire that lights your horror. You shouldn't like it. You shouldn't want it. It's that desire that comes from neglect. Of desperation.

His hand roves over your body, admiring you, worshipping you. No, consuming you, controlling you, violating you. You shudder as he teethes and kisses along your chest, toying with your sensitive buds and your overwrought nerves.

“It feels nice, doesn't it darling?” He speaks into your flesh, “I can tell, the way you tremble…”

You let out a moan, tortured but easily mistaken for delight. His hand brushes along your hip and down your thigh. He cloying drags his fingers back and forth, circling nearer and nearer your vee. 

You bite your lip as he nudges you lightly, shifting his legs between yours. He hovers over you, smothering your lips once more. He kisses you hungrily as his fingers trail along your pelvis. He delves between your folds as he swallows your groan.

He rubs you, slow but firm, curious but certain. His touch awakens your body even as your mind stays foggy. He draws pleasure from you easily. Expertly. 

As before, you are defenseless. You have no way to resist him. He is above you in every way. More than physically. 

He rolls your bud beneath his fingertips. He kisses you ravenously, puffing and panting, moving his hips in time with his hand. He slides his fingers down and dips them inside you, pressing the heel if his hand against you.

He rocks his hand, electricity shooting down to your toes and up to the crown of your head. You tense as the unyielding pain mingles with your stolen delight. You whine and turn your head away, his lips smearing across your cheek.

He breathes in your ear, growling as he tilts his hand, adding to the pulsing pressure in your core. You can feel how wet you are. You can hear it. You bite back another moan.

This isn't fair. It isn't. But life has never been very fair to you. Nor have the men in it.

[sweatinghoneybee]

Drew out what Glowburst would look like in the fic! Since there hasn’t been any concept art on what Glowburst looks like i’d like to take a crack on what she would probably look like by the little description that we do get of her!

I drew out her past, present and future looks cause since it’s confirmed that Glowburst looks differently from what she looks at present time at the fic and a future look cause i feel like it’s all set and done when she has her family whole again after reuniting with sire again, she’ll have a healing arc where she’s taking herself and gets to spend some quality family time. Even tho there’s a hint that she’s gonna die, but for now i’m gonna be an optimist and just hope that MC will not be tortured by the plot traumas of the future (i know this is in vain but a girl can only wish ok!!)

But disclaimer tho, some of the things i put on Glowburst’s design is sort of headcanons from me with the ideas i come up with the things that are hinted about Glowburst and hasn’t been said yet in the fic, so no one better tell me that i’m off track when future chapters are added cause this design is just what i THINK she’d look like not what she DOES look like at the moment! And I’m honestly just having fun with her design kay? Plus i sort of kind of re-using a failed draft of my version of MC when she got older.

I mostly start with the present one since we got a description from ms.seacucumber that Glowburst looks old and that her paint is faded and since it’s said by MC that she looks like her carrier i got a pretty good draft on what she’d probably look like. I tried to base her off of MC but with slight differences since the sire’s genetic also got inherited so i didn’t want MC and GB to look too similar, and also i sorta made her look like she’s covered up cause i feel like the modification that got hinted in the new chapter 23 would be put over her past armor somewhat like trying to contain the fire in Glowburst to prevent it from well, bursting. And sorta like a symbolism that she’s being constrained and forced to being something she’s not. Also little funny reason on her color picking, i got the idea from A.B.A’s new design in guilty gear where there’s like a theory of sort that her hair is made of copper and that’s why her red hair is now greenish blue because of time and the other theory that it’s because A.B.A tried to dye her hair but ended up coloring it wrong, and since it’s confirmed by Spring that Glowburst has ember color scheme in her past and ember has reds in them i just roled with that color idea. Tho i wonder if i put enough greenishnest in the fading blue paint tho. . . . ? Maybe i’ll meke it more greenish in the future with the blue. . .

And with the present done it’s easy to think of past and future since i just need to branch it out. The reason why I thought of 80s type of inspiration for the past look cause of the description of Glowburst being old and since transformers has already existed since the 80s, I thought that it’ll be a good fit! Tho also fun fact, to get some some ideas on 80s look i looked up 80s cartoons and one of the cartoons that i found on that 80s cartoon list is Jem and the holograms, and i was like “hey MC likes to sing, that could be a good inspiration fit for her mama!”. Also i just really want an 80s based look for Glowburst cause i wanted to give her the poofiest big bursting flames ponytail like those poofy hairs back in the 80s that were popular at that time! And come on her name is Glowburst! Her flames gotta be “bursting” from those “glowing” hues of flames of her’s!!

And the future look i just sort of mismatched both the past and present look since i feel like Glowburst would definitely want to look like back when she was in her past look but with how she’s grown she’s now matured better then her past, and hey blue ain’t a bad color for her just that she never took care of herself that she pretty much neglected her paint till it’s faded so i thought a more vibrant color of the blue symbolizes that she’s now healing since she’ll maybe reunited with her conjunx and now has met Nebula plus having grandkids so she’s a happy elderly now! Also i thought of Glowburst getting accesories that MC made since i thought that Glowburst would love to experiment with her looks plus 80s have some over the top exaggerated accesories so why not? Plus the transformation that i saw with the femmes in G1, their vehicle modes usually only have their chest and thigh parts showing on the outside so i believe that the accesories could work! Plus i mean there’s no way they haven’t figured out how to make accesories right? They already figured out spacebridge portals to teleport them threw galaxies and even multiverses but they couldn’t figure out how to make accesories for fun?

I’ll probably update on her design in the future cause i feel like Glowburst looks will be described more and who knows maybe i can add alittle more things in her design or just feels like that something could suit her more! This was a fun challenge tho, can’t wait to see what sire would look like so that i can make a draft blueprint for him too!

X - X - X - X - X

If anyone is curious and wants to read the fanfic that i’ve been rambling above on the fanart i made, here’s the link to the fic made by a lovely friend of mine!

Spring (the author) works hard to make this lovely work of theirs so please give them some love kay! They’ve been really sweet to answer my questions on what Glowburst looks like and oh darn are they just so sweetly patient with me cause i wanted to not miss a detail of Glowburst’s design since this is an old oc she made that she hasn’t even drawn yet so i wanted to give her design the justice it deserves!! Man can’t wait when Glowburst’s mystery gets revealed along with her conjunx!! I’m so excited!!

[linksthoughtbrambles]

When Twilight Fails to Fade

A mini-fic for @zelinkcommunity Zelink Week 2024 prompt fading. 600 words, BotW Adventure Log+ AU.

It’s something about the fading light, Link thought, his hands shaking as he raked one through his battle-caked hair: smoke, sweat, blood, and Goddess knew what else.

 He glanced at Zelda, then the Sheikah Slate’s screen.

She wasn’t watching the adventure log.

Good.

He could freak out in peace.

His gaze rose once more to the horizon, its dull crimson glow fringed by the deepest possible blue and the near-black of Hebra Peak’s silhouette. Sunset would end soon. The red would be gone.

Suddenly, the world tilted, Link hurtling in no direction into the glare of another sun. It wreathed a tower-topped mountain he knew but had never seen before, fear and bile rising in his throat and every muscle tensing as he reached for the sword on his back.

It wasn’t there. He searched feverishly and found it in a scabbard on his waist.

There were golden stones beneath his feet—and something dark in the sky, darker than clouds, acrid like smoke but fouler like sick, and all along the horizon, everywhere, the trees glistened black like oil.

“Zelda?!” he said.

The ground thrust upward and Link inverted into another impossibility, assaulted by a thousand odors and phantoms around him, their faces rotten. He flinched back with a wolfen whine and saw the sky, a thick dark that wasn’t night and a dull glow that wasn’t sun diffuse, everywhere.

Zelda?!! he said but didn’t say—he felt his throat vibrate, his cry not at all Hylian.

“Link?!” Zelda said.

His already-open eyes saw again.

She stood before him, the slate clipped to her belt, her hands on his shoulder and cheek, her face stricken. “You cried out,” she said.

He nodded. He gulped. He felt for the scabbard at his waist—it wasn’t there. His sword was back where it belonged—his hair brushed past the pommel as he moved. “It’s something about the fading light,” he said. “I’m—seeing things.”

And smelling things.

“What things?”

“Other places—other… twilights,” he said, shaking his head, knowing he knew them, but knew them like a fading dream from childhood, all indistinct lines and blurred colors, one moment separated from the next by void.

They are memories, said Fi. Of worlds overrun by our enemy.

Zelda embraced him, pressing his eyes to the nape of her neck. “Do not watch the sky, my love. Rest a few moments.” She squeezed him tight. “I wish I could remember with you.”

“Don’t,” he said. “It’s better if one of us can see clearly at sunset.”

“…Every sunset then,” she said. “Each one we can see. I will be your eyes.”

Link snorted. “What if we’re in the middle of a battle?”

“Heh,” she shook her head and stroked his hair, apparently unperturbed by its sticky contaminants. “Then I advise you not to look west.”

“What if there’s moblins there?”

“I shall shoot them.”

He laughed, pulling back, and taking her advice for the moment—centering her, and only her, in his vision. “It’s a nice thought, but I kind of think the monsters will catch on.” His smile began to fade. “No, I have to learn to deal with it—stop it from happening. How do you stop flashbacks that aren’t really yours?”

“I don’t know,” Zelda said, “but we’ll learn together. And until we have, please accept my assistance at sundown.”

He pressed her to him with a kiss to her forehead, every bit as filthy as his. “Stare at you at sunset. Got it.”

He felt her smile against him.

----

[This is a scene that should show up in the future, just written differently, in Adventure Log+! I felt inspired to write it by the prompt].