#hot pants save me but in like a platonic way

[smorhe]

Hot pamt :D

[absolutelynotromealone]

Kay! So saving that one anon how about we do it for the ftm blog about illumi trying to be overprotective of their trans sibling?

(This is literally copy and paste I’m lazy and Yk the idea)

Fandom: Hunter x hunter

Title: meeting the boyfriend

Illumi x male reader

Warnings/tags: male reader, trans reader, ftm reader, platonic Illumi x male reader, fluff, over protective Illumi, mentions of murder, fluff

🌑🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗🌘🌑🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗🌘🌑

(name) was cute, he was illimis cute brother whom he would quite literally murder for, especially against bigots and creeps.

"This is my brother!" (Name) introduced happily, his boyfriend trying not to look horrified at the horror movie that glared at them from behind (name), Illumi extremely suspicious of this so called boyfriend who was slowly but surely meeting (name)s family "Illumi is my favorite brother!" Just don't tell the other siblings he said that, words unspoken as they sat at a cafe "(name), could you get me some more tea?" Illimi asked his brother who bless his heart, left Illumi with (boyfriends name) to get his brother said tea.

"(Name)s a sweetheart, he would do anything for those he cares for though... People often treat him different" Illumi said methodically "what are your intentions with brother, you're not some pervert are you? Fetishizing the trans guy?" Something thats happened more than once, perves finding the concept of a trans person cute 'a girl dressing like a dude is hot' something someone said that lead to them being taken off the census.

"I love him!" The boyfriend said honestly though Illumi just raised an eyebrow as to say 'and?' "he's wonderful and caring and I don't care about the trans thing! Well I do in the way of I want him to be happy and support him but I care about /him/ not what's in his pants! Hes like walking sunshine!" Illumi agreed with these words as his brother was wonderful and perfect "I-I just want to make him happy!"

"How this relationship goes really depends on how you treat (name), he's a sweetheart and... If you hurt him I will kill you" Illumi said holding a needle between fingers "am I clear?"

"They had cookies so I got cookies!" (Name) said happily as he came back with the tea and said cookies "what I miss?"

"Nothing (name), just getting to know you're little boyfriend here"

[ryleigh130]

Nightmares - - ryleigh130

Summary- reader has a nightmare, Price finds them and helps.

Characters- cap. price, mentioned gaz, ghost and soap

Word count- 1.5k

Relationships- platonic!cap. price & gn!reader.

Warnings- gore, death, throw up, profanity, 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself], usage of c/n [code name/call sign].

Note- Thank you all so much for the support I got on my last post! If you enjoy this fanfic then go and check out my other post! As always if any of you would like to have a specific prompt be written about, feel free to message me! That’s all, enjoy!! <33

————————————————————————

Gunshots echo around the clearing. You whip your head around, panting with effort as the gear you're carrying drags you further and further down. Every step is a struggle; it feels like you're carrying the weight of 4 grown soldiers on your back. Your legs burn like fire as you try to continue taking steps. You're exhausted. Still, you can't stop; you have to make it back to the others, no matter the cost.

After what felt like an eternity you finally make it out of the clearing, the sounds of gunshots still linger as you now make your way towards the exfil point to meet with the others.

The metallic smell of fresh blood immediately hits your nostrils as you approach the exfil point. With the last bit of strength you have you rush forward, praying you’re not too late and that you can save them.

You’re too late.

The sight in front of you makes you want to puke. The bodies of your teammates, no, your family, lay before you - bloody, beaten, and dead. You rush forward, tears streaming down your face, and drop to your knees in front of Gaz. Your hand hovers over his dead body, unsure of where to touch. You look to your right and see Soap’s unseeing eyes, with blood still pouring out from the wounds littering his face, neck and torso. You can't move, you can't think, you can't do anything except stare at the horrors before you. Your heart aches with every beat, each second feels like an eternity. The smell of blood and death is overwhelming, making you dizzy and nauseous. You want to scream, but your voice is lost. You want to run, but your legs won’t move. All you can do is sit there, in the midst of the carnage, feeling the weight of the world pressing down on you.

You hear rather than feel a presence behind you. Whipping your head around, you let out a pitiful sob at the sight. Ghost. Except, it wasn't the Ghost you knew and loved. This Ghost was staring at you with such hatred in his eyes that it made you feel sick all over again. This Ghost had blood covering him from head to toe, his mask was half torn, giving the world a view of his usually mysterious face. The sheer terror and hatred in his eyes left you frozen, unable to move or say anything. You just stared back at him, tears burning your eyes as they spilled down your cheeks.

Wordlessly, he unholstered the gun he had on his left thigh and raised it to your head.

“N-no p-please!” You stutter out, terrified. Your begging seemed to have no effect on him as he slowly, took the safety off the gun and cocked it.

“PLEASE! Please, Simon I’-“ a shot rings out.

————————————————————————

"PLEASE!" You feel your eyes fly open, and you throw yourself out of bed, half tripping on the blankets tangled around you. You make a run towards the bathroom, and you make it just in time as you start dry heaving into the toilet, emptying your guts from everything you ingested in the last 24 hours. Tears stream down your face as you rest your hot head on the cool surface of the toilet. You wipe your mouth, flush, and shakily get up to rinse your mouth out to get rid of that disgusting acidy taste.

You let in a shaky breath as you give yourself a good look in the mirror. Your eyes are bloodshot, you have dark bags under your eyes, and tear stain tracks running down your face. In short, you look like ass.

You run a hand through your hair and take a peak at the clock on your nightstand: 3:00 AM. You sigh, you know there is no way you’re going to be able to get back to sleep so instead, you decide to get a quick drink of water from the kitchen.

You walk unsteadily down the hall towards the kitchen where you grab a glass and fill it to the brim with water. You take the glass and chug the entirety of it, you then go to repeat the process. Before you could finish the second cup of water, a quiet voice startles you.

“[c/n]? What are you doing awake?” You turn around and stare like a deer in headlights at Captain Price, who has his arms crossed staring at you with a slightly concerned look. His concerned look deepens when he sees the state you’re in and in a second he’s across the room, gently holding you by the shoulders looking at your face.

“Woah kiddo, what’s wrong?” He asks worriedly. You shake your head and give him a small smile,

“S’nothing. Just needed a drink of water.” Price gives you an unimpressed look as he gently cups your cheek in his hand and wipes away the dried tears with his thumb.

“Yeah?Is that why you have these? And why you look like zombie, walking around here at 3 in the morning?” His tone is light but you can detect the seriousness in his words. You sigh and lean into his touch dejectedly,

“I… had a nightmare.” You look down at Price’s feet, not wanting to meet his searching eyes. Shame burns at your ears and neck as you admit to your Captain you can’t sleep because of a small nightmare. Before you could apologize and make your way back to your room, Price gently lifts your head up with his hand and gives you a firm look.

“Hey” he says firmly, “there is nothing to be ashamed of. Everyone has nightmares; I do, you do, the others do, it is nothing to be embarrassed of, you hear me?” You met his eyes nervously but you see nothing in his face that would contradict his words. In fact, Price is looking at you with such soft and gentle eyes he looks almost affectionate.

You shake your head and look away quickly, the memory of you failing everyone, including Price, still haunts you. You don’t want to fail these people, you don’t want to ruin the one good family you have ever had. You know it’s only a matter of time before you do and by then they’ll probably be sick of you anyway but-

Price cuts off your spiraling thoughts with a gentle touch to your shoulder,

“Do you want to talk about it?” The question catches you off guard and has you fumbling with a response. After a few seconds of hesitation you nod. Price gives you yet another soft look before he nods and motions you to follow him. You follow him down the hall, out of the kitchen and towards his room. He opens the door gently and closes it softly behind you, he then motions you to sit down.

You take a hesitant seat on the bed, you pull your knees up to your chest and hug them. You feel the bed dip and Price sits next to you, he puts his arm around you and pulls you down so you’re lying with your head on his chest. You both sit in silence for a while before you get the courage to speak,

“You should just get rid of me now.” You feel Price jerk as you speak, but before he could protest you continue.

“I’m just gonna let you guys down, I’m not like you guys. I’m not strong like Ghost, or smart like Soap, I’m not nearly as quick witted as Gaz and I’m certainly nothing like you. All my flaws are gonna get one of you lot killed, and I can’t be the cause of that. I just can’t.” You finish off your rant with a shaky breath as the tears threaten to fall from your eyes once again. Before you could process it, you feel Price drag you into a bone crushing hug. You feel a quick kiss pressed to your head.

“Quit it. You are so important to us, to the team, you hear me? You are brilliant on and off the field, you could never and I mean NEVER let us down. So we are sure as hell are not getting rid of you, do I make myself clear?” Price asks firmly, you open your mouth to protest.

“But-“

“Ah! No buts! Kid, you are so important to us, to me. We wouldn’t be able to survive without you around, you are so strong, and smart, and kind. Without you, I honestly think we’d go crazy! Plus, who would we have to drive Gaz crazy?” Price looks at you with bright, teasing eyes. You crack a small smile,

“Soap” you say simply. Price lets out a small chuckle, he drags you closer to him and you lay your head back on his chest.

“That’s true. But still, it wouldn’t be the same.” He gently rubs small circles on your back causing you to start to drift off. After a few minutes you’re almost completely asleep,

“Cap’n?” You say sleepily. Price chuckles affectionately,

“Yeah kid?” You smile softly,

“Thank you, I love you.” Price’s face lights up with love and admiration as he tightens his grip on you,

“Love you too kid. G’night.” You close your eyes. You have a happy smile on your face as you drift to sleep, and if you wake up cuddled next to your favorite Captain in the morning, well, who’s gonna know?

[ratguy-nico]

Mr Fischoeder for the ask game :)

fang did you ask this cause you know how horny I'm for this man? Calvin Fischoeder:

First impression: Gay, yeah Im not kidding, why did this man appear from the fog in an all white suit in the middle of the night, with an eye patch (anyone else feels the eye patch is like super gay?) to exclusively talk to Bob in a very mysterious and private way... what was that? let me told yah, gay behaviour

Impression now: he is still pretty much gay, also hot, but overall a simp. I love this man, I love his daddy issues with Bob, I love his relationship with Felix, who I dont know if you know but is actually his brother, I know shocking

Favorite moment: Hum, every single one. But I have April's Fools too frsh in my mind, "My dear Bob" sir, his whole family is there, keep it in your pants. And some of his first "JIMMYYY, please" I can not forget how he scream that XD Oh and in a more serious and ominous one Calvin rescuing his Bob from a trap he himself put him. But it was sweet of him to save his man. And being totally high too.

Idea for a story: Uh, we can always use more Fischoeder and Bob episodes, but Im craving to see how he lost his eyes, I want a whole Mufasa/ Scar thing, (tw: a lil gore) I want pure terror on Felix's face, his entire body convulsing, clinging to the bloody knife as if it were the only real thing in a world that is slowly becoming blurrier before his eyes, the blood on his brother's face dissolving into shapeless spots in his tear-filled eyes, the sound of Calvin's desperate screams becoming a mere buzz. Calvin holding the hole where his eye used to be not being able to see shit, not being able to recognize his own brother, not understanding what had happened, not understanding how they came to this, and fainting from the pain in his own pool of blood. Uh sorry, I dont know where that came from...should put a trigger warning for blood?

Unpopular opinion: I don't like his relationship that one time with that woman. You can tell me he is bi, but no, no, this man is gay, pretty pretty gay. But more than that I think we all agree, es un papucho, su cara parece tallada por los mismisimos angeles.

Favorite relationship: Oh i dont know-is Bob, is his non platonic totally pathetic uniteral crush on Bob. But also his relationship with Felix is so interesting to me, is the kind of crazy shit that shouldn't be real but if been honest the fact that they're rich make it totally believable. Also his whole relationship with Bob's family specially with Louise, they will bring Hell to Seymour's Bay if they want to.

Favorite headcanon: Felix totally rip of his eye. I used to think the eye patch was just for looks but now Im pretty sure Feliz took his eye and the best part is that Calvin doesn't to care. That's my headcanon, Calvin knows Felix is actually dangerous for him and everybody, but Calvin either cause he made something horrible to Felix or just cause is his brother and he loves him, he pretends, pretends Felix is alright and take care of him. Not letting anyone take him away from him. That and that Fischoeder has a crush on Bob, but Im pretty sure that's already canon.

thankiu fang, for real 🤗

[boxwinebaddie]

okay, so in the vein of writing again ft. someone asking me for peppermint content, i thought i'd share this which i wanted to tack onto the end of chapter nine of pep ( where dying lovesick stan shows up on wendy's doorstep & #bendy rehabilitates bender!stan ) but that chapter was too long and i was unsure about it...

but i mentioned ravenstan's upper, inner thigh sh scars and that's an important universal headstannon to me...which i actually wrote extensively about bc of how important it is to me </3.

-- so given that i'm not posting, i felt like i should share it w/ you. :')

it's not style...per say, but it is platonic soulmate stendy and goes into stan's sh journey. there is some triggering imagery, so tw for obvious mention and discussion of self harm, suicidal ideation and a heavy blood tw, also i wrote this five months ago so be nice to me, but! ya!

tldr; i love you pep stan <3 hope you heal, baby <333

“But….Wait, Stan, there's something…”

Wendy squinted suspiciously at Stan's clavicle where right next to that faint tracheotomy scar that Kyle had made saving Stan's life, was a mark that was not made for business, but for pleasure. She ran her finger along it agonizingly, expression starting to simmer with discomfort.

“...On your neck.”

Her previously playful expression had dissolved into dead seriousness. She looked cautiously over Stan's shoulder at Bebe, who was completely distracted, shooting the shit with the Postmates delivery driver.

“You’re not…” Her voice was a horrified whisper.

“You’re not h u r t i n g yourself again, are you?”

And the very first time that day, intrepid, unbreakable Wendy Testaburger looked truly terrified.

Because Stanley Marsh was a product of harm...

And he harmed himself.

/ ***

With expensive kitchen knives that would go missing after the dishes were done, with cheap corner-store razors that cut more than just his hair, with too-hard, touchdown technical tackles, with the lighters whose artificial flame was the warmest touch he'd felt all week, with potent liquid poisons,

with words,

with words,

with w o r d s. 

Stan's alcoholism was a poorly kept secret because he was loud about that one as a decisive diversion tactic. But he was dead silent about his self-harm. Dead. Silent. When you drank, you looked cool, you made people laugh and everyone liked you. But if you hurt yourself in an ugly, disquieting way, you didn't look cool, people didn't laugh and everyone hated you. That was Stan's worst fear: that people would grow to hate him as much as he hated himself. 

Perfect Boy Next Door, High School Quarterback, Prom King, It Boy, Small Town Treasure Stanley Randall William Marsh had a disgusting secret and while it was hard to hide with the hungry eyes of everyone you knew on you at all times, Honest Stan learned how to lie.

And well. 

It was a secret he kept from everyone. He had fooled his whole family, blindsided his best friends, even Kyle. Especially Kyle. His favorite person on planet Earth, who he was scared would find him so monstrously hideous and disfigured that he would never speak to him again in horror and disgust. 

This list of people Stan had lied to also regrettably included his long term girlfriend, who knew the back of his hand better than her own.

Wendy Testaburger was summertime fine. She was as scary as she was smokin' hot. A regulation South Park High babe and betty. 

Given even the whisper of a chance to sleep with her, people would go to war, but the second Wendy tried to take off Stan's pants he waved the white flag and floored it. Cartman and Kenny gave him regular onslaughts of shit about having the hottest girlfriend in the world and never nailing her, but he always insisted that they were just "waiting for the right moment." 

But that moment would never come.

Because Stan wouldn't let her see.

Wendy couldn't know.

No one could ever know.

So, horny teenage boy Stan, who was actually quite skilled at baseball, never got past second base. Well, on him anyways.

He did a n u m b e r of scandalous things to Wendy, but he never let her return the favor. Ever. And more notably, he'd done all those sexually deviant things almost completely clothed. Stan nearly never took his pants off, so if you caught him in his boxers, it was high praise because that was a serious undertaking. A mishap that usually only happened when he wasted and even then, his guard was up enough that his pants never came down. 

Until one day when they were sixteen. It was their anniversary and Wendy had given Stan a little card with five things on it: an address, a room number, a key card, a time and a magenta lipsticked kiss as a signature. Strawberry Seduction. Wendy's favorite. 

And Stan had just hoped to take Wendy around the hotel gift shop, hit the arcade while Wendy got her nails done, eat at the fancy French restaurant and soak in the hot tub until they were both gross and pruny. But Wendy...had a different idea. Because when Stan finally flung open that hotel door, holding a teddy bear and a bouquet of roses, Wendy was waiting for him...in bed, in lacy lingerie, staring seductively, sinfully strawberry scented.

Stanley Marsh was living every South Park high school student's wet dream and it was his fucking nightmare. 

Which quickly escalated as Wendy tried to rip all of Stan's clothes off and backed against a wall, Stan had front-flipped over her shoulder before locking himself in the hotel bathroom.

It was the worst fight Stan and Wendy had ever had.

And they had had it between a bathroom door. 

At the emotional end of it, Wendy's throat was raw from screaming, her eyes were raw from crying and her heart was raw from trying and trying and trying as she yelled: "Is some sick joke to you? Am I a fucking joke to you, Stanley? Why won't you let me touch you? WHY? Are you fucking with me? Are you using me for something? For my body?! Or is it because you think I'm ugly? Is that why you won't sleep with me? Is it because I'm some kind of horrible monster?"

To which Stan promptly unlocked the door and stepped out. 

"No, it's me. I'm the monster."

And the only sound that interrupted that insidious silence was the sound of a complementary hotel razor falling out of Stan's shaky, bloodstained hand and clambering to the floor.

Because Stan was completely naked, vulnerable and exposed in a way that he had never been with anyone else before. And every square inch of skin on Stan's legs that could be covered with a pair of boxers or swim trunks was marred with an hideous white scar, which stood out starkly against Stan's skin, jagged and odious. Save for one. It was brand new and the blood it beckoned ran down Stan's naked leg and shallowly pooled by his left foot. 

But Stan didn't faint. No, the ironic and heartbreaking twist that Stan's fear of blood took was this: He only fainted when it was somebody else's blood. When someone else was bleeding, it devastated Stan, but when he was bleeding, it d e l i g h t e d him.

It was his only way out.

Wendy had finally seen it. His secret. He looked as ugly on the outside as he felt on the inside.

And he figured she would point and laugh, run or hide. But she just threw her arms around him and held him. And after a long pause, simply said. "You are the most beautiful person I have ever seen."

Sixteen year old Stanley Marsh did not have wild, crazy, animal style sex with his girlfriend that night. But she did give him a bath, where she lovingly lifeguarded him, washed away all the blood and tears, threading her hands through his hair, baptizing him for new beginnings.

She wrapped his wound up with gauze and sealed it with a Strawberry Seduction kiss before Wendy dressed Stan to the nine's in her oversized Nasty Woman sleep shirt and pink fuzzy pajama pants before they climbed into bed, without a note of sexual innuendo. 

Stan did not smash his super sexy significant other on the night of their anniversary, but they did share uncomfortable silences, cry cathartically, talk for hours, devour room service breakfast for dinner, laugh at stupid game shows on the dinky hotel tv and start some Matt Damon movie that they'd never finished because they had accidentally fallen asleep, ironically, during the romantic part.

And since that day, Stan has been two years sober from cutting.

But when his father screams in his face, Stan notices that his pocket knife glitters golden in the low light. Or one particularly bad days, when Stan is shaving his face, he holds the razor blade a little too long over his carotid artery.

When that happens, Stan puts the weapon down and texts Wendy, who always talks him off the ledge. 

And while the past two weeks had been absolute hell, Stan had not broken his promise to Wendy on the night of their anniversary. 

Stan had not hurt himself.

Not with a b l a d e at least.

/ ***

He shook his head adamantly.

“No! No, nothing like that. I promise.” He met Wendy's frightened eyes earnestly, before smiling at the ghost of a memory. He looked a little embarrassed as he traced the line. Man-made. But not by him. “Kyle actually left that…when we kissed the other night. He got me pretty good, but you should see the other guy.” 

Stan winked charmingly, disarmingly, but Wendy's guard never fell.

“Okay, but you’d tell me if you were. You’d --You’d tell me if you felt like you wanted to again…” She insisted, her words desperate and haunted. Wendy's grip tightened as her voice came undone. 

“S t a n . You’d tell me, right?”

Stan smiled softly and knowingly.

“Of -- Of course, Wen.” He coaxed gently, carefully detaching her fingers from his forearm and placing the softest kiss there.

“You’re my girl.”

[the-invisible-queer]

What era of Joe would your rather. And why

Would I rather WHAT nonnie 👀

For those who give absolutely no fucks what I have to say here's a read more so you can keep your sanity

Because it depends on what you mean and in the last 17 years I have thought of this man in every way possible

In the softest ways, in the filthiest ways. I've wanted to fight him. I've wanted to hold him. I've wanted to marry him. I've wanted to bear his children. I've thought of him platonically, romantically, sexually. I've covered all my bases with this man

It's truly been a wild adventure

KEEP IN MIND this is the man that set the blueprint for every man I've ever been attracted to ever

My sexual awakening

My first (parasocial) love, if you will

When I'm thinking about being soft the first era that comes to mind is the 2010 Jonas LA short hair and glasses era

I have such nostalgia for this era because this was the very END of my original Joe fixation. It was also the end of the Disney era. Plus look at him. He's cute as fuck bro. The Jonas LA season is underrated and I can't wait to rewatch it.

NOW I will always have such a soft spot for 2007-2008 Joe because the nostalgia of that era. The beginning of my depression and anxiety. And he was the first person to save my life.

Let's not forget how white pants "Burnin' Up" Joe was my sexual awakening

2022 long haired Joe is so fucking good for no reason toooooooo 😩

NOW if you wanna talk about what Joe era I find hottest it's hands down 2023 The Tour era Joe

It's the hair, his fits, his arms, the fact that he's a certified DILF (and single again 👀)

PEAK Joe Jonas hotness

If you're wondering which Joe I'd rather fuck it's current single DILF Joe

I want to take a shot of tequila out of his jugular knotch

I want to suck his dick so badly

In like 10 years he could potentially start graying and I will lose my absolute fucking mind

If I get to witness salt and pepper Joe that will be what fucking kills me

Honorable mentions:

Blonde fuckboy Joe that I would kill to make a return

2018-19 whatever the fuck was going on with his hair (affectionate)

Bonus:

Joecation Eyes because the hair pull and the growl really gets me every fucking night - I believe this is the most recent one

[chewiedon]

NEVER ALONE | I. OBANAI

REQUEST ;; iguro saves an orphan child from a demon attack only to have the child cling on to him because she views him as his father!

PLATONIC !!!

The image of blood was still fresh in (Y/N)’s mind. Shrunken in the corner of the small house she couldn’t do anything but shake in absolute terror. Soft sobs escaped her lips, holding her hands against her mouth to silence her sharp breaths.

“Hey, you’re safe now. The monster is dead, everything is going to be okay now,” a hushed voice spoke to her.

Her sobs didn’t stop. The person that stood before her was a shorter man with long hair. Upon first glance one might assume he was a woman.

His mismatched eyes, his dark colored hakama pants with his white and black haori.

Just like daddy.

(Y/N)’s cries stopped once she made eye contact with the man, his bandage-ridden face didn’t stop her imagination. He looked just like daddy…

Unbeknownst to little (Y/N), the man that saved her wasn’t her father— but rather serpent hashira Obanai Iguro of the Demon Slayer Corps.

The young girl saw her father get mauled in front of her, but miracles existed. Right?

“Papa? You’re okay!” (Y/N) clung on to Obanai, he remained unmoving.

Confusion racked him, but he stayed quiet so the child would snap out of her shock. (Y/N)’s arms shook lightly around the man, wetting his haori with her tears.

“Child, how old are you?” Obanai asked, his hand lingering over her back.

She sniffled, and looked up at him, “I’m 7, can we go home now?”

At first, the demon slayer was confused. Was this not her home? Unbeknownst to him, (Y/N)’s family had all died from the flu last winter— all except her father who she just killed right in front of her. Her mind was fragile, especially from the mental and physical trauma.

“What’s your name?” he asked, still on the floor.

Another sob broke out, “You don’t remember me? It’s (Y/N)!”

Another rough voice interrupted them, “Iguro! Let's get going!” a man with white hair covered in scars stood in the doorway, “Is that a kid?”

“Yeah… She thinks I’m her dad. She won’t let go of me.”  

(Y/N) wrapped her arms tighter around Obanai once the other man stepped into the house.

“It smells like shit in here,” he commented, “We’ll take her to a wisteria house and then the servants can drop her off at the orphanage.”

For whatever reason, the way he spoke so casual about it struck a nerve within the Serpant Hashira.

“What if she doesn’t let go of me? What then, Sanemi?”

Sanemi scoffed, “We’ll be gone before she notices and starts crying, by then it won’t be our problem anymore.”

Obanai felt a steering rage overtake his body. Despite the growing flames inside his body, he remained cool on the outside. His anger escaped through his tone.

“Since you’re so incapable, I’ll take care of it then.”

𓆙 𓆙 𓆙

The city was beyond crowded, the small man and the even smaller child had to push through the streets surrounded by other bodies. Only a few minutes of pushing and shoving passed before Obanai lost little (Y/N)’s hand. Panic was sent into his veins, unable to hear her protests over the loud chatter of the crowd.

Fuck, this isn’t good. Obanai cursed in his mind, but he was out of ideas when the crowd of people swept him to the sides of the streets. He could finally walk without shoulders constantly bumping him.

“Papa! Papa!”

(Y/N) was further up the street calling out for her ‘father’. Obanai immediately perked up, he tried focusing on her yelling through the booming chatter. He didn’t wanna cause a scene, so swiftly and quietly he jumped over the crowd entirely— using the walls close to him to propel him.

Obanai landed without a noise, (Y/N) had a hint of disappointment in her glossy eyes.

“What’s wrong now?”

“I know you’re not really my dad, I was hoping if I called out for him… The real papa would come,” she confessed, her eyes misty with tears.

He looked down at the small girl in silence as hot tears made their way down her cheeks. He was speechless with guilt. If I had gotten there earlier, I could’ve saved you from this heartbreak. No child deserves to lose their parents, especially not a girl who’s lost so much already.

Leaning down, he looked into her teary eyes, “You can live with me, you’ll never have to be alone ever again. I promise.”

The tears in her eyes didn’t stop, but happiness bubbled inside her stomach.

“Yes. Please. Just, don’t leave me alone!”

[eclectickss]

A Little Bit Jealous

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Warnings: smut, a lil alchohol

Summary: You are a very flirtatious person except with Wanda...

1.7k

wanted to write something before vacation as i'm still drawing blanks on PGATW! Not checked or anything oopsie. <3

You were the most flirtatious person you knew... and it was a little bit of an addictive habit. Not really a good one, either, but you didn't care enough to drop the act. You have had multiple people confess their crush on you, which inevitably ended a friendship or two, but most of the time it was just an awkward conversation about how the excessive flirting is just a platonic love language to you.

Part of it was due to your desire to make other people happy and feel good about themselves, and the other part of the habit acted as an emotional reflex. It was your go-to way of avoiding your feelings, as it also provided a boost of serotonin to witness people's reactions to your comments. So yeah, it was literally addicting.

And maybe you knew that... but at the same time, it was a part of you. You couldn't find reason enough to quit.

There was one person though, that you couldn't bring yourself to flirt with.

Wanda Maximoff.

And it wasn't like you hated her or anything... it's just that flirting with her would be real to you. It wouldn't be a game. It would make your inevitable crush on her a reality that you could never dream of passing up.

And maybe you knew that... but you would never admit it to anyone. You wanted your relationship with Wanda to be as genuine as possible, so avoiding your feelings was the way to go.

Wanda didn't really like that, though. She wanted you to flirt with her. She was jealous.

-

-

-

A knock was heard at your door as you were making your finishing outfit touches for Tony's fundraiser party, pushing the rubber back onto your earring. You opened the door to find Wanda in a sparkling red dress, and you willed everything in you to not stare at her image, much less make any comments. She had on a pair of matching heels and vibrant red lipstick, and her hair was pulled into a loose braid that cascaded down her back.

"Hey," You breathed a soft smile, begrudgingly peeling your eyes away.

"You ready?" You knew she had on a grin behind your back as you went to put in your last earring in front of the mirror.

"Yeah." You turned back around to face her.

"You look lovely, by the way..." She said as she followed you out the door.

"Oh... thank you. You too, Wanda." You bit your tongue. Yes, I might look lovely, but you are stunning, baby. A small blush lit your cheeks that you hoped the Sokovian couldn't see.

"Are you excited for the party?" She attempted to make conversation on the way to the elevator.

"Uhh... yeah! I love spending time with everyone when we're not on a mission. It's fun. Plus everyone is always drunk at the afterparty, and it's a great source of entertainment for someone who doesn't drink." You smirked, remembering the last few parties very vividly.

"Right..." Wanda reflected on what happened last time with a tinge of embarrassment. "I think I'll join you in sobriety for this one."

That made you laugh, remembering her previous situation with alcohol.

"Remind me why you don't drink, though?"

You faltered, not wanting to get too deep into a conversation at the moment.

"Uhh... My dad.."

"Hey! Hold the elevator!" You released a breath that you didn't know you were holding as Natasha walked up to the doors. You whistled when she stepped inside.

"Whew Nat! Who are you after tonight? You look hot, honey! More than normal, at least!" You jokingly raked your eyes down her body as she laughed.

"Oh, shut up. I just thought I might have a little fun tonight." She rolled her eyes.

"Well save a little bit of that fun for me," you smirked as she hit your arm, missing the blush on Wanda's cheeks as you talked with nat.

-

-

-

The time for the afterparty had finally arrived as the team had found themselves crowded on the couches once again, inebriated except for you. Wanda had failed at her word of sobriety, but not by much. Tony had found an empty bottle around, so everyone was getting ready for a game of spin the bottle: seven minutes in heaven.

To your surprise, Wanda wanted to go first. You didn't know if you wanted it to land on you or not, but you would find out soon enough that maybe the Sokovian had made it land on you.

"Alright, Wanda. You game?" You smirked.

"I'm the one who spun it, you idiot. Of course, I am." You laughed as the two of you headed over to the storage closet.

"You know, I could have bet that you couldn't avoid alcohol tonight. I should have." You said as you shut the door behind you.

"Oh, come on. I had one drink." She rolled her eyes and you laughed, but no time passed before she asked a question. "How come you don't flirt with me?"

This caught you off guard as your expression dropped.

"Umm... huh..." You had no idea how to respond.

"Oh come on. You practically undressed Nat with your eyes in the elevator and you were all over Sam and Maria tonight. You don't do that with me. Do you not like me, or something? Why am I any different?" She looked genuinely hurt, and you decided at that moment that you couldn't hold back what you felt for her.

You bit back any comments about jealousy or desire, but for once, forced yourself to spit out your feelings.

"Because... Wanda. If I flirt with you, that means it's gonna be real."

"What is going to be real?"

"My feelings for you are going to be real. I wouldn't be complimenting you to give you a confidence boost, it would be to be vulnerable with you. I wouldn't be undressing you with my eyes just to say that you look good, but because I actually want to undress you. And that's too many ideas and thoughts for me to hold onto, Wanda. And if this conversation made you uncomfortable... you can understand why I don't flirt with you, Wanda." You thinned your lips and leaned back onto one of the shelves, nervous for her response.

"What if I don't want you to hold onto those thoughts?" You looked up.

"What are you saying..."

"When you compliment me, I want to know that it's real. When you dance close, I want to know that you feel the same desire that I do. When you roll your eyes at me, I want to know that it's only because I made you feel that way. And when you undress me with your eyes, I want to know that you're actually imagining pulling my clothes off piece by piece, taking your time to treat me right."

Wanda was now standing right in front of you, breathing as heavily as you.

"How many minutes do we have left?" You whispered.

"five and a half."

"No time to waste then," You crashed your lips into hers, relishing in the touch that you never imagined you'd be allowed to have. A little headstrong, you backed her up into the opposite wall, picking her up and holding her against the shelf. Her thighs hugged onto your waist as your hands made their way around her body.

You moved your lips down her neck as you worked to hike up her short red dress, earning a groan when your hands found their way to her ass.

"How long have you been wanting to do this, darling?" Wanda smirked through a heavy pant.

"Ever since we met, baby. I glanced at you and knew I should stop myself before I even started. Why, what about you?" You placed her back down on the ground as your lips drifted onto her chest and your hands found her inner thighs.

"Ever since you made a suggestive comment to Nat. I realized how much I wanted it to be me."

"Jealous, are we?" You smirked against her skin.

"I never said tha- oh," She moaned as you grazed your fingers over her panties.

"Try that again, baby."

"Ok, maybe a little bit."

"Good girl." You nearly whispered as you pushed the fabric aside and slowly dragged two fingers through her cunt. "You're so wet for me, Wanda. It's hard to think I've denied this from you for so long."

"Yeah, well you can make up for it now, darling." Wanda groaned as you continued to lightly stroke her pussy.

"What do you want me to do, Wanda?" You smirked up to her and she glared at you but gave into begging anyways.

"I want you to shove those two fingers inside of me and fuck me like your little jealous slut. I want to come undone to you, darling... I want to be yours. Take me, please."

Both of you knew that Wanda had long since won you over, but her words sent shocks down your spine as you pushed your fingers in. You didn't hesitate to pick up the speed, watching her expressions to see what she liked and didn't. After a curl of your fingers, she gasped, and you grinned.

You continued to work at that spot, slowly working her clit with your other hand.

"Do you wanna cum, Wanda?" You teased and she quickly nodded. You picked up the pace of your pumps and strokes one more time before finally feeling her release. As you slowed her down, you brought your lips back up to hers.

You slowly slipped your fingers out and brought them up to your mouth, groaning as she watched you with lust.

"How much time do we have left?" She croaked, a knock at the door coming shortly after.

"None."

"Not happening." She grabbed your wrist and teleported the two of you to her room.

"Are you two good in there?" Steve's voice came from the other side of the door. "Hello?" Another pause. "I'm coming in." He opened the door, but nobody was in there, returning to the group. "It's empty."

Everyone looked confused.

"Hey, Jarvis?" Tony yelled. "Where are Wanda and Y/N?"

"Ms. Maximoff brought Y/N up to her room."

"About time." Nat giggled, followed by everyone else. Of course, everyone already knew.

[burnedbyshoto]

cravings & needs

— Even Natsuo has cravings and needs that demand relied even when you, his wife, is pregnant.

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pairing: todoroki natsuo x pregnant fem!reader

warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, pwp, pregnant!reader, pregnancy hormones, slight daddy kink, lactation, breeding kink, natsuo platonic!calls reader mommy.

word count: 2,825

a/n: i am like: breed but no pregnant. but sometimes im like: pregnant but no baby. so basically, I lose.

kinktober day 16 main kink: lactation | kinktober masterlist

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You were going to strangle Todoroki Natsuo until his face turned blue and purple.

Then you will cry.

Then you will profusely apologize as he splutters for breath.

Then you will kiss him soundly, fingers ripping his clothes off, raging hormones simmering your blood. 

Then you’ll shove him off of you, calm once again, and ask if he wanted to go get some ice cream as his pale skin flushed red.

To say the least, you absolutely hated your stupid, good for nothing, utterly super-fertile husband who just had to carry the Todoroki breeding kink gene. You were nine months pregnant, nine months after finally agreeing that both of you were ready for children. Your belly was so large and swollen with your future son that you often cried when seeing yourself in the mirror. Not because you were insecure, but because you didn’t think the skin on your stomach should stretch that much.

“Are you sure he won’t accidentally pop out of my stomach like in Alien if he presses against me too hard?” you had cried to your doctor of a husband who looked like he wasn’t sure if he should be laughing or mortified of your lack of common sense.  “I promise,” Natsuo smiled, pressing a kiss to your swollen hands, but you didn’t believe him.

But your entire body hurt at the moment. Every piece of flesh and contracting muscle was swollen to its max. You didn’t feel cute. You didn’t think you were cute as you lay in your bed with a million pillows fluffed around your body because you could no longer lay on your back. Your lips were pulled into a pout, your eyes shining with tears as you sniffled.

“Natsuooooo!” you wailed, your feet kicking against the mattress pathetically, calling out to your husband, who was doing who knows what. “Natsuoooooooo!”

There wasn’t even a response back to that, and for some reason, it infuriated you. Hormone and pain-fueled anger shot through your pregnant veins as a demanding cry left your lips. “TODOROKI NATSUO!”

“Yes?!” came the distant faraway voice, the scuffing of a chair on the floor and the pittering of feet as you remained on the bed, suddenly feeling guilty and sad. “Coming!”

So when Natsuo peeked into the room, his glasses sitting on the crown of his head telling you that he was probably looking through his research, you began to bawl. You had the audacity to tell Natsuo that you weren’t crying as your face burned with your embarrassing tears and as you soaked not only your pillows but your face with your tears.

“No, no, baby, what’s wrong?” Natsuo asked his face swimming with concern and sympathy for you, his nine-month pregnant wife. He approached the bed, sitting at the edge, but that made you cry harder as you turned away from him, your back to him. You felt his hand touch your shoulder, soothing your shaking shoulders as he let you stay unresponsive as you continued to cry.

“I hate you,” you eventually spat, the guilt no longer sitting in your collection of feelings because this was his fault. You sat up on the bed, or well, tried to. You allowed Natsuo to help you into a sitting position that made his damn bastard kid sit directly on your bladder. You had just peed!

“What did I do?” Natsuo asks, his mouth twitching in that annoying way that told you he was trying to take you seriously, but given all your outbursts lately, his expectations were low.

“You put this stupid fucking bastard demon little fucking shit in my stomach!” you raged, grabbing him by his collar and shoving his face to your stomach where the stupid kid was trying to play open the damn piñata on your stomach! “He has been in here for nine-months too long. My entire body hurts, and my tits feel like they’re about to fucking explode with this milk I fucking can’t even fucking save because this little shit isn’t coming for two more weeks. I want him gone. I want your stupid fucking little not so cute breeding kink demolished,” you hissed, your eyes glaring into his grey eyes that glistened with emotions that made the raging fire of hatred and anger flicker and evolve into one that went straight to your cunt. Fuck.

“You don’t like being pregnant?” Natsuo asked, his hands slipping under yours and manages to push them off of his person. Your mouth runs dry as you stare into his darkened eyes, and you’re subject to his thoughts and actions as your sore back comes in contact with your pillows. His voice is in a soft drawl, each word coming out slow and thick like honey. “Fuck, baby, that’s too bad because you look so fucking bred with my son. You have no idea how excited I get whenever people get to see my pregnant little wife, stuffed with my child.”

His lips are brushing against your collarbone as he says that, the heat of his breath making you pant. Your fingers curl into his shirt, your mewls pathetic and needy.

Stupid fucking hormones. 

“Where do you hurt most?” he asks, lips trailing down the cleavage of your swollen with milk tits.

“E-Everywhere,” you gasp when his hands slip underneath your shirt that barely fits anymore. His weathered hands trailing up the swollen mountain of your belly, you can feel the little shit in you reaching out after his touch too. “N-Natsuo! Don’t t-tease me!”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, my love,” Natsuo tuts as he pulls away from your collarbone, and you shiver as he manages to bring your shirt over your swollen stomach and past your aching breasts. “Do you need daddy’s cock to make you feel better? Maybe we’ll get lucky, and I can impregnate you again right now, so you don’t have to stop being my cute pregnant wife.” The thought of that sends your mind over the cliff. Realistically, you know that would be horrible, but the way his voice spoke in such a husky manner, and knowing that he is fucking obsessed with your pregnant, successfully bred body, a part of you hopes it happens. You watch with horny need and desire, ready for your husband’s mouth, fingers, and cock to please you and your horny state. But as you try to get your hands to his pants, the strain of his cock evident to you, you realize he hasn’t moved. “You’re lactating.”

You blink, and you peer down at your breasts, and you shriek at the murky white liquid dripping from your enlarged, swollen nipples. Through your entire pregnancy, you had managed to never leak milk in front of Natsuo. More often than not, you were with Fuyumi or Rei or your own family when it happened when he was at work, but for the past month, when milk was starting to leak out without your spoken permission, he had never been around. 

Natsuo tilts his head, his tongue pressing between his lips as he coyly looks up at you, grey eyes suddenly appearing jet black. 

You breathing piques.

And you don’t have the time to question why your husband looks like a predator cornering a prey as he sinks down, mouth suddenly enveloping a single nipple.

“NATSUO!” you shriek, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as his hot, wet mouth latched onto your nipple. 

His tongue twirled around your leaking nipples, lapping at the liquid that was coming out on its own, his hand on your other breast, keeping it upright, and you realized with a distant thought that he was somehow preventing the milk from spilling from your unlatched onto breast. You trembled under his hold, body feeling like it was being electrocuted as his teeth slowly sunk into your nipple, and he began to suck on your swollen, inflamed skin. It wasn’t anything different from how he usually sucks your breasts while the both of you fuck, but it felt to a greater degree of intensity and fervor for some reason. A rush of liquid, a slam of electricity slammed through your nerves as you wailed for Natsuo, your legs managing to hook over his waist as he sucked and sucked on your nipple.

Milk flowed from your free nipple, filling Natsuo’s mouth like a bottomless pit. Natsuo drank the sweet, warm liquid in his mouth, some of the murky fluid dribbling from the corner of his mouth as he sloppily drank you. Entirely obsessed with the taste of you.

“That’s so dirty of you!” you cried beneath him, hands weakly beating on his shoulders. “You’re so dirty, daddy! So d-dirty! You stupid, breeding idiot doctor pervert! D-Don’t you know that m-my milk isn’t — nghhh, oh my fuck, yes, yes just like that!!!! The milk — aaaahhhh!!! oh my god — the milk’s for the baby!!! N-Not… fuck, fuck, fuck, not for you!”

You tried to stare him in the eye but found the raw lust and want in his eyes to be overwhelming, your body trembling as you looked away from his gaze. The slight discomfort of having the milk being ejected from your nipple in such greedy, powerful sucks soon fades into throbbing pleasure. Your head knocked back into your once tear-stained pillows as you cry for Natsuo, the milk in your breasts leaking out even more now that there was a hungry mouth waiting to be feed. 

Your cheeks pounding with embarrassment. But you had to admit the feeling of his mouth, wholly and greedily consuming your milk made your cunt throb with heated need, and you were more than delighted to find that even in this position, your cunt ground against his hard cock.

He pulled away with a wet pop, his lips and chin absolutely wet with your milk, and you whimpered at the sight. If you knew any better by the way your breast no longer hurt, you’d say he sucked you dried.

“It’s my responsibility as a doctor, the father of your child, and your husband to make sure your milk is suitable for my child,” Natsuo calmly almost wickedly explained, his mouth suddenly against yours. “It’s my job to fulfill your body’s every little demand and need until you’re fucked and sucked satisfied.”

The sweetness of your milk suddenly invaded your mouth, and you cried at the taste of your milk.

“See,” Natsuo grinned, and you panted as he pulled away. He began to remove his pants and underwear, sliding down his boxers to reveal his beading, swollen cock, and tore your undies, unfazed by your scream of dismay as he spoke the entire time. “How can you hate when I put a baby in you. Especially when you can produce milk that fucking sweet, my love. I can’t wait to stuff you full with another kid, see you this fucking pregnant again. So soft, so cute, absolutely helpless and needy for anything and everything I can offer.”

Your cunt scorched and clenched in need, your panting, barely open eyes focusing on how Natsuo rutted his cock through your soaked folds, and how he had another hand to your other breast, pinching, almost milking your nipple.

Horny fury throbbed deep within you.

“Todoroki Natsuo, if you don’t fuck your pregnant fucking wife right now, I swear to go—aaahhhh!!! Shit, fuck!” you screamed as Natsuo’s incredibly thick cock finally entered your pulsing walls, stretching you out beyond what you were ready for as your body twisted and writhed against your pillows. Jaw slack open, tumbling heaving breathes, and half formulated curses escaping your mouth as his cock entered you.

Your eyes fluttered impossibly fast, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as Natsuo shifted his hips further into you. It seemed that while being pregnant, your cunt had become stupidly tighter, and Natsuo’s cock, which you could take without even breaking a sweat nowadays, had come to absolutely wind you like some blushing virgin as of late. 

“Shhhh, shhh,” Natsuo whispers against your cleavage, his hips rocking into you at a slow speed, teeth skimming and biting alongside your still swollen with milk tit. “Be a good mommy and let your daddy fuck you while drinking your milk, okay?”

You couldn’t even come up with an articulate word to say. Your head nodded, you think, you couldn’t even tell as his cock dragged up your walls, making your head spin just a bit as his mouth enveloped your thus far ignored nipple. 

There were moments where you felt like you’ve come to orgasm without actually orgasming. The sensation of his cock shifting in your cunt that was absolutely so tight, you could feel the pulsing veins on his cock beating against your walls with his pounding blood. But it was that wordless sensation of the milk being sucked from your swollen breast that made your toes curl with satisfying lust, the heat of his mouth, and bite of his teeth on your throbbing muscle and flesh that had your hurting hips shifting for more friction.

Pounding, blissful pleasure washed over you as the slurping noises of Natsuo greedily, hungrily drinking in your milk.

“Faster,” you cried when the not quite an orgasm faded from your skin but left a static sensation in the tips of your fingers and toes. Your hands went from his shoulders to thread and yank at his hair. “Faster, daddy, fuck me faster, drink my milk more! Do it harder, please, please, I need you more! I want to feel this more!”

And Natsuo, true to his belief what a doctor, a husband, and the father of your child should do, did what you demanded.

His hips rocked into you, the squelching noises of your wet pussy were loud and demanding. The rocking juices and essence from your legs seeping out with every rocking slam, splattering onto your lower stomach that Natsuo dutifully avoided. His mouth that was nursing on your nipple sucked and sucked; loud smacks and massive gulps you swore you could feel on your breasts made your thighs tremble with lewd need. You tugged at his hair, absolutely riveted with the way he drank you, shaken with the fact that found this attractive.

Natsuo drank your milk mouthful by mouthful, his blackened eyes piercing through you completely, making your lust haze gaze feel weak and absolutely shallow as the glinted with glee with every successive slam of his hips into your cunt. 

“Fuck, your milk is so fucking sweet,” Natsuo growls against your breast, his mouth taking a break from your breast as you pant wildly. “Gonna take all that I can before the pup shows up.”

The words curl and pulse in your core, and you can barely manage to stammer out his name at the thought of him feeding himself with your milk for the next two weeks before your child finally came. You shake with the need, your head nodding pathetically with the agreement to let him do as he wants as you slowly whine out a verbal response, but there’s no reason to answer. For when you do, your words heavy on your tongue, his teeth sink into your nipple, his cock brushes against your cervix, and the throbbing, heated pit in your stomach, so dense and heavy with your satisfied need and lust, exploded with the peaked wanton need. An orgasm ripped through your body, your heels digging into his hips as you screamed his name. Your body trembles as you can feel that all too familiar heat of his seed spilling within you, the sticky fluid swimming in you as he continues to feed on your milk.

Your nipples ache with the overstimulation, but you can’t muster anything more than a few pathetic whines as Natsuo continues to drink. He sucks and sucks and sucks until he pulls away. The final gulp of your milk loud and sends a shiver down your spine as he wipes the back of his hand to his wet lips. 

Tears somehow explode into your eyes as you stare up at your beautiful husband, who, now that his own hormones have faded looks entirely scared.

“Oh fuck, what’s wrong, my love? Do you need me to go get ice cream? I’ll get the bath running, and we can go soak—?”

“I’m s-so h-happy,” you smile, a watery grin on your face as you grab onto your husband’s jaw that is still slightly wet with your sweet milk. “You make me feel so happy, so good. You make me feel like the best person in the w-world, and I wouldn’t m-mind being pregnant with more kids as long as you keep doing that.”

Natsuo stills, his scared expression melting into one of fondness and slight cockiness, “I think I can make that work.”

[touyasdoll]

ash I think I’ve just discovered that I have a medical kink 🙈 and now all I can think about is veiny-armed dabi putting those surgical gloves on and fiddling around with cannula’s and injections 😩

- 🍄

wait ajdhsjsj wait wait. why. why would you do this to me omg. okay, so.

warnings: mentions of possibly receiving an elective plastic surgery procedure, power play of the doctor/patient variety

what if there’s an au where Touya accepts the fact that he can’t become a hero and instead he takes an interest in medicine like Natsuo has?

and he’s such a good doctor! he and Natsuo both end up going into plastic surgery and once they’ve both established themselves, they open a practice together.

Touya has a soft spot for burn victims, so he does a lot of reconstructive cases pro bono. they both have such high reputations and of course they’re especially great with children who come in needing surgery for one reason or another.

you feel so comfortable going to them because of their stellar reputations and one day, you find yourself in Natsuo’s office having to strip down and put on a gown, so that he can do a consult for a surgery you’re looking to get.

he’s so sweet and charming the entire time. never once makes you feel uncomfortable. you’re actually surprised at how comfortable you are, considering you’re essentially naked and alone in a room with a total stranger. he’s just got that energy. he makes you feel like you’ve known him your whole life. like you can just trust him.

so when he explains that he’d like to get his brother’s opinion, since he’s actually performed the surgery more times than he has, you don’t bat an eye. he disappears and before you know it, you’re sitting on an exam table laid bare before not one, but two Dr. Todorokis.

and it’s fine. everything’s fine. totally normal, save for the fact that two hot doctors have their eyes all over you. Touya then asks if you would mind if he were to touch you and your cheeks burn until you realize he obviously means in a medical sense. you kick yourself and shake your head, insisting that he do whatever he needs to do.

so he puts on a glove, works his very long fingers into it and lets it snap against his wrist before he approaches you. he smells like cedar wood and it’s such a cozy, welcoming scent compared to the sterile, clean smell of the facilities. and then he touches you and despite the barrier of the glove, his touch is warm.

your senses become a little overwhelmed and so when he glides his fingertips across your abdomen, you can’t stop the moan that leaves your throat.

you’re mortified, looking away and clapping a hand over your mouth, but you catch a glimpse of his smoldering blue eyes and the handsome smirk on his lips. he pretends that it didn’t happen, mercifully. you also miss the way Natsuo reacts to the whole situation, a small, knowing grin plain on his face.

he takes his time prodding around, longer than he shoulder, you think, but you don’t mind. every little touch of his hand to your skin feels electrifying and you’re already half distracted as he begins asking you questions.

about why you want the surgery. about who might be taking care of you when you’re recovering. a spouse? boyfriend? girlfriend? you swear you catch him smirk again when you say you’re single and that a friend will be helping you. a very platonic friend, you add, for good measure. just to see if maybe, just maybe, things could take a sharp turn towards the plot of a mediocre porn flick.

and of course, they do.

he pulls his gloves off and takes a step back, apologizing because he doesn’t think that they can do the surgery for you after all, though it depends.

you’re genuinely curious when you ask why they wouldn’t be able to do the surgery and Natsuo, who is fresh out of patience and now sporting an impressive tent in his pants that you cannot take your eyes off of, strolls closer to say that they have a policy against operating on people who they sleep with.

not five minutes later, finding a new doctor is the furthest thing from your mind.

Touya’s on his back on the exam table, which has been propped up at a angle to allow him to sit up while you impale yourself on his cock, facing away from him, so that he can spread your legs wider when you try to shy away from Natsuo’s wide, wet tongue as it batters your clit.

[darkorderaf]

125,26 drabble (if possible smut) with OC🍊

Ty if you do this i love your works ♥️

Ooooh, yes! Thank you so much for the kind words. <3 I did indeed make it spicy; hope you enjoy!!

Pairing: Orange Cassidy x OFC. Prompts: “Save some for me.” “Quit moving, I’m trying to sleep. Wait…are you…what?!” Rating: M. Warnings/Content: Smut! Word Count: 1,981.

(I don’t own gif; credit to hanakimura!)

Sharing a room with Orange Cassidy was relatively uneventful. He functioned off of keeping it casual, taking it easy. And she did too, for the most part. Her and Cass had always been close, even from the early days. She would go so far as to call him one of her best friends and he would just nod if he ever got asked about it.

She didn’t know when the change happened, when her completely platonic thoughts shifted to something decidedly not in the same lane. Or area code.

Maybe it was the time the both of them had way more shots than they should have and they shared the same bed. Completely platonically, of course, but they had never shared a bed before then. When she woke up the following morning, hungover and mouth dry as a desert, she felt him stir under her. His skin was against hers, the lean muscle of him both relaxed yet firm. His hand on her hip.

Her leg had been tossed over his trim waist, her head comfortably in the crook of his shoulder. She didn’t know what to do. Both of them slept in their underwear regularly and they had seen each before in just that, it wasn’t weird. They were just that comfortable with each other. But this was...different. All she could do was stare at him in quiet horror. Horror that dissipated into a heat-driven appreciation as she looked at him. The v of his slim hips, the defined muscles that contracted with each breath, the perfect stubble that framed his perfect mouth. She wondered at how he felt against her and under her, then wondered about him maybe even on top of--

She had pulled away from the proverbial stovetop that was Orange Cassidy and fled to the bathroom.

Oh no.

Her best friend was hot.

They never talked about it. Ever since then, she tried to keep it casual. Take it easy. Tried to ignore the way her heart raced at the sight of him or how she had to press her thighs tight together when she stood outside the ring, being the supportive best friend that she was. They still shared a room and they kept their separate beds. That worked just fine, just what they were used to. She chalked it up to a brief wave of hormones and that was it. She was totally fine and totally not thirsting after her best friend.

Jokes on her, her brain had different plans.

Not but a day later, the dreams started.

The ones where Orange pulled her in the ring and taught her a different kind of submission. Or showed her how to turn it back around on him. The ones where he caught her pleasuring herself and told her “save some for me” before he took her slick fingers into his mouth like it was the easiest thing. The ones where they fit together so well, she woke up with her toes curled and a silent scream of pleasure in her throat. The ones where he slipped his sunglasses onto her as she rode him, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he watched her breasts bounce.

All they were were dreams and when she woke up, she took care of herself in the shower and did her best to shove it to the farthest corner of her brain. It was entirely inappropriate and he was her best friend and he totally didn’t see her that way. She pushed the way that made her heart inexplicably clench and ache to the back of her mind too.

A squeaky hotel bed frame narced on her.

She was in a deep sleep, her mind back in that dreamscape where she opened up for Orange and he murmured to her. Murmured to her how good she felt, how he could feel her squeezing him when he fucked into her just right. How they should have done this ages ago and she moaned in agreement.

Orange was a heavy sleeper. Everyone knew that. But it could take him longer than the average bear to fall asleep. Especially when he listened to the way his best friend thrashed in the opposite bed and the bedframe wouldn’t stop squeaking. Was it a nightmare? She seemed to be having a lot of those lately. Sometimes he heard his name. His dreams were getting more intense too. He never asked about hers and never brought up his. Maybe he should have.

He rolled onto his side to look at her. Her sheets were halfway down her body and sweat made her shirt cling to her torso. He ignored the way he could make out the silhouette of her hard nipples, instead focused on the way she breathed and how her face contorted. Tried to ignore the way he could feel himself getting hard just at the sight of her so breathless.

He didn’t know when that had started. Maybe when she pressed herself right against him that night they got too drunk and mouthed sleepily against his neck that she loved him, that he was her best friend and she was so lucky to have him for a best friend. Pressed against him so tight he could feel all of her. He didn’t look at her like a best friend when the morning light started to bleed into their room. He felt awful for it and when she shot out of the bed in the morning, he thought he might be able to breathe easier about it. It was just a one-off flash of hormones.

Who was he kidding?

“Hey,” he called. She didn’t respond. He shoved the sheets off his body and threw his legs over the side. Maybe they could switch beds or he could talk her out of her nightmare. He stood up with a sigh and crossed the small space between their beds. His hand hovered over her bare shoulder. “Quit moving, I’m trying to sleep.”

“Cass…”

The sound of her heated, desperate voice shot straight to his groin and he bit the inside of his cheek.

“Right here. You’re loud. Are you ok--” He paused when his eyes ran over her body. Traced the path of her arm under her sheets and the movement that disturbed the sheets over her. Hear the sound of slick as she worked herself. Heard the way she begged him please. Oh fuck. “Wait...Are you...What?!”

His hand went to her shoulder, squeezed it, and that snapped her out of her trance. That and his raspy panic. They stared at each other in the dim light of the hotel room, their eyes wide and chests heaving. She slipped her hand out from under the blanket and he nearly groaned at the sound of her panty’s elastic waistband snapping against her skin. The dim light caught the slick on her fingers and they continued to stare at each other.

She wanted to vanish. Maybe call Freddy Krueger to pull her through the mattress and murder her because fuck, how were they going to get past this?

“Cass, I’m so sorry,” she fumbled out, unsure of what to do with her hand or the brink of orgasm she was quickly pulling away from. Her eyes burned in embarrassment and frustration. He knew. He totally fucking knew. “I can get a different room and we can just avoid each oth--’

“I have them too,” he said, far more calm than she was. She blinked at him. “Wet dreams.”

“Cass, this is different. This is weird and gross and god, how can you look at me?”

“About you,” he sat down and the mattress squeaked. His desperate, breathy, frustrated tone froze her. “They’re about you.”

In a moment of panic, she tried to wipe her hand off on her shirt but Orange’s long fingers around her wrist made her pause. He muttered don’t and leaned forward. Didn’t break eye contact with her as his lips hovered over her skin.

“Can I taste you?”

His question burned straight through to her pussy and she clenched her thighs. His words stunned her. All she could do was nod. Slowly, his tongue prodded her slick fingers and wrapped around the digits as he pulled them into his mouth. He took his time cleaning her fingers and when he was finished, he sat back up.

“That was one,” he said, his voice strained. She watched how he palmed himself through his pajama pants and she tried to sit up. Pink stained his cheeks, his neck. Made his lips all the more appetizing. “There’s been...a lot.”

“Do you…” She paused. It was hard to breathe. “Should we, um, talk about them? The dreams.”

“Nah,” he said. Orange offered her his hand and she took it. He pulled her over to his bed, one hand on her ass and the other on her hip. His heavy tone, accentuated by his heavy-lidded eyes and the way his hands slid under her shirt to feel her hot skin, convinced her. Left her worries in a pile of ash. “Wanna show you.”

He took his time pulling her to him. Took his time learning her lips, mapping them out with his own. The bed was quiet when he pushed her thighs apart and tasted her fully. She sighed his name, almost screamed it when his fingers slid inside her and crooked just right. He liked the sound of it. His lips on her felt right. He kissed the inside of her thighs as her muscles twitched. He sat back on his heels and looked at her, glowing and sweat-slicked because of him. It was a different kind of glow than the one she got when he made her laugh, when they talked late at night, when they sat by each other at the bar with the boys and giggled over inside jokes.

When he finally slid inside her, heavy and hot and perfect, they groaned in unison. Her fingers anchored themselves in his hair and her thighs made a home around his hips. Shifted back and forth with him as he pumped in and out of her. He wasn’t known for being talkative but that night, he couldn’t stop talking. Couldn’t, wouldn’t, stop praising her. Wouldn’t stop telling her how fucking good she felt, how they should have done this before, how dreams weren’t shit compared to that moment. Her walls fluttered tight around him and he swore.

“Cass, I’m close,” she whined. “Please, please.”

His head fell to her shoulder and his fingers to her aching clit.

“Come on, come on,” Orange gasped out, sweat dripping from his hair and pale chest flushed. “Wanna come with you.”

Her hips bucked against him and her back arched. She squeezed him impossibly tight and he was done for. With another heavy thrust, he came with her and the pulse of him inside her coaxed a filthy moan out of her. He swallowed it with his mouth, their tongues searching for each other in a mess of spit and low moans that was their first kiss. The last shudders of him passed and his forehead fell to her shoulder. Her fingers threaded through his blonde hair and he picked his head up to search her face. Were they just desperate? Where would they go after this? She seemed to read that in his eyes and her post-bliss smile comforted him.

“That was one of mine,” she whispered to him. “But I’ve had a lot more too. I’m...Would you...Want to talk more about them?”

Orange huffed against her and they both moaned quietly when he pulled out of her. He sat back on his heels and brushed his hair from his eyes. His thumb traced her hip bone. He squeezed her soft skin and she relaxed back into the bed.

“Yeah,” he breathed out with a lazy smile. “Sounds cool.”

[pregnant-piggy]

Snowed in

Hermione Granger x reader

this is part of All I want for Christmas is fanfiction

this is written for @coffee--writes​ writing challenge

words: 2.1k

A/N: I love the snow, but sadly it rarely snows anymore where I live. I would absolutely not mind if I got snowed in with my crush and I would mind even less when it was Hermione

prompt: ‘Why can’t you just tell me how you feel?’ ‘It’s not that simple’

It was dark when you woke up. But not dark because the sun hadn’t risen yet, you realised when you looked at the clock on the bedside table. It was dark because there was something covering the windows and it were not your curtains.

You stepped out of bed and immediately were greeted by an embrace of coldness. It felt like stepping into an ice bath on a hot day. Frantically searching for warm clothes, you hopped closer to the window on one leg, as the other was in the air trying to put your pants on. You pushed the curtains aside and saw nothing but snow.

The whole window was blocked by a layer of snow. The light barely came through the blockage, only through the spots where the layer of snow was thinner. Your bedroom was lit up only by a hazy, pale light.

You opened the window and watched the layer of snow slide down the glass and fall down on the snow on the ground. With a jolt you noticed that the snow was not really on the ground, but it had built up to halfway through the windows on the downstairs floor.

There was movement in the shadows on the snow and you realised that Hermione must have gotten up already. Quickly you closed your window and got dressed further, so you could go downstairs.

‘Good morning, y/n,’ Hermione said when you opened the door to the kitchen.

‘Morning,’ you mumbled back. You sat down at the table and reached for an apple.

‘We’re snowed in,’ Hermione said and she pointed at the windows behind her. The same kind of snow that had been covering your window, blocked half the windows. All you could see outside was the light grey sky and the tops of the white trees that stood at the edge of the garden.

You walked closer to the window and stood beside Hermione. You took a bite of the apple and stared outside. Hermione turned around to the window too and she stood with her shoulder against yours. Her body warmth brought the heat that you were so desperately trying to find this morning.

‘I don’t think we can go anywhere,’ Hermione said and you nodded slowly.

‘Yeah, no, the door must be frozen shut,’ you mumbled.

Hermione’s low hum, made your inside turn and you stepped away from her. Your fingers shut around the apple you were holding tightly and you took a deep breath.

‘Are you alright?’ Hermione asked worried and you flashed her a smile.

‘I’m fine, I just- I don’t know, I think I pulled a muscle when I stepped out of bed or something,’ you lied, rubbing your leg to make it more believable.

‘Can I feel? Because I had the same a while ago and I found a way to relieve the pressure on it…’ Hermione said and she came closer to you.

‘No!’ you quickly said and Hermione’s face cramped together at your loud voice. ‘No, I mean- I think I’m fine. I just… I’m going to put something warmer on, I’m cold.’

You left the kitchen swiftly and tried to ignore the sting in your chest that you got from being so mean to your friend. But you just had to. You were afraid that if you let her come close to you she would notice that there was more than just innocent platonic feelings on your side. The friendship you had with Hermione was one of the most cherished things you had and you didn’t want to lose it. The fear of losing her was bigger than the courage to confess.

In the safety of your bedroom you let out a loud sigh and dropped on your bed. You despised yourself for your behaviour. You wished there was a way to get rid of the feelings, but they only seemed to be getting more intense. Tears pooled in your eyes as you thought of the sad face of Hermione. You didn’t want to hurt her, but you also didn’t want to get hurt.

Maybe you fell asleep or maybe you just stared at the ceiling for a while but after some time Hermione knocked on your door and she came in. She sat down next to you and stroke your hair lovingly. You closed your eyes at the warm touch of her hand and for a moment you let yourself enjoy.

‘I’m sorry,’ you muttered and opened your eyes. Hermione was staring out of the window and you only saw one side of her face. She said nothing but you could see the glimmering of the tears in her eyes.

You sat up and wrapped your arm around her shoulders. She looked at you and smiled sadly. You pulled her close and rubbed circles on her back. ‘I’m sorry,’ you said. ‘The snow just stresses me out a little. We don’t know how long it will last. I shouldn’t have outed that on you, sorry.’

Hermione looked up at you and smiled more genuinely. She sniffed and you wiped the tears from her face, trying so hard to ignore the butterflies in your stomach. You felt your cheeks growing hot and you hoped to all the spirits in the world that Hermione wouldn’t notice.

‘Come on, let’s go do something fun!’ Hermione said with a happy grin on her face.

* * * * *

The rest of the day you spent watching films and baking cookies with Hermione. It was nice to once do something without the stress of your normal daily life. It was for the first in a long time that you fully relaxed, though at all times still careful not to get too close or not to stare too long.

Over time you had learned how to suppress your feelings for your best friend. Day after day you had pushed them down, hidden them from everyone. There was no one who knew about your crush and no one who suspected anything. At least, that you knew of.

A day passes quickly when you do nothing. Before you knew it, it was after dinner and you were sitting on the couch under a blanket, staring mindlessly at the film that was playing on the TV. While the main character confessed his undying love for woman whose life he had saved, Hermione sighed happily next to you.

There was so little space between you two that you could feel the warmth radiating from her arm. A part of you wanted to get closer to her, but the other part of you wanted to be on the other side of the couch. You longed to hold her closer, but you feared she would notice. As your mind and heart were in battle you lost focus on the film and your surroundings. All you noticed was the warmth on the left side of your body and the angel and devil on your shoulders.

But the battle was stopped when Hermione put her head on your shoulder. As a reflex, that was the result of the inner battle, you pulled away. Hermione’s head shot back up and without thinking you got up from the couch and walked to the window.

There was someone in your head screaming at you, cursing you for your brute response, and that voice sounded an awful lot like your own voice. A shiver went through you and for a moment it seemed like you were going to break down just right there, like you would fall through the ice and drown in the cold water.

But a warm hand held you above the surface. Hermione’s soft hand on your shoulder was enough for you to hold yourself together. Or maybe she held you together.

‘It’s wonderful, isn’t it?’ Hermione whispered as she watched the snow.

You looked at her and hummed a response. The contours of her face were lit up by the light of the setting sun reflecting on the white snow outside. The lines of her face were as a golden thread spun around the beauty of her appearance.

Hermione’s eyes were still fixated on the snow outside as she spoke to you. ‘Why can’t you just tell me how you feel?’

Staring at your hands you swallowed. You should have known that she would eventually see through you.

‘It’s not that simple,’ you whispered, your voice barely audible over the sounds from the TV.

‘It is,’ Hermione said and she turned to you. She took your hands, forcing you to look up to her. ‘You make it more complicated than it is. Please tell me.’

You closed your eyes and shook your head. For a moment you felt like a small child, not knowing how to put your feelings to words. There was a fire inside you spitting words to your mouth, but they didn’t leave your lips.

‘I don’t know how to,’ you whispered. Your throat was squeezed shut by the tears that were threatening to fall. There was a lump in your stomach but you knew that if there was ever a moment you had to confess, this was it.

‘Take your time,’ Hermione said and you took a deep breath. Her hands were rubbing up and down your arms softly and when the first tear fell she was quick to wipe it away.

It was now or nothing and you decided to throw it all out in the simplest way possible. You feared for the outcome, but this was what eventually would give you peace.

‘I love you.’

With closed eyes you listened to the silence that followed after. The music from the TV at the subtitles of the film was the only sound that was in the room. You couldn’t even hear Hermione’s breathing and you were pretty sure you had stopped breathing yourself too.

The hands on your arms had stopped moving and the fingers were drilling into your skin. The warmth from them had disappeared and your arms grew numb the longer the silence lasted. You didn’t dare to open your eyes, afraid that you would be faced with your worst nightmare. You couldn’t lose Hermione, you just couldn’t, but now you feared that you had messed it all up.

After what felt like hours there were more sounds in the room. Hermione’s breathing got deeper and you could hear your own breathing too. The warmth from her hands got back on your skin and sparkles were sent throughout your entire body.

‘I love you too.’

All the dark wall around you collapsed and you stood in the clouds. The sun was shining brightly on your face, warming up your entire body. The beams fell on your cheeks like soft hands caressing your skin.

Before you had opened your eyes you felt two soft lips brushing over yours, forming a smile as your hands found Hermione’s hips. Her hands went from your arms to behind your neck and she pulled you closer, pressing her lips to yours.

It wasn’t fireworks, it wasn’t electricity or sparkles but it was ethereal. It was the softest silk and the most velvety clouds. It had the taste of cherries and rosé wine, the scent of peony roses. It was a kiss in the sky, above the tops of the highest trees and passed the mountaintops. It was higher than the clouds, in the pink light of the setting sun.

It felt like all your dreams had come true and for a moment there wasn’t any fear anymore. Hermione and you were all that mattered in that moment, nothing more, nothing less. A bubble of protection and trust was built around you and there was nothing that could burst it.

As you pulled away you could only smile. Hermione’s plump lips smiled back at you and you wished that this moment would stay forever, that the time would stand still and nothing had to change.

There was so much that you wanted to ask, but all that passed your lips was a content sigh that was answered with another kiss. Hermione’s hands raked through your hair and your fingers squeezed her hips lightly. One tap of her tongue against your lips was enough for you to open your mouth more. The divine feeling rushed through you in waves, knocking you off your feet further with every second that passed. It felt like your legs would bail on you, but you didn’t care.

Hermione would be there to catch you.

- - - - - - - 

taglist

general HP: @kitkatkl​ @girllety​ @yuptha-tsme​ @sleep-i-ness​ @iamak20​ @thefuturelawyer​ @weasleydream​ @missmulti​ @deafgirltingz​ @moonstarrnghtsky​ @mytreec​ @lilulo-12fanfiction​ @emmaloo21​ @kashishwrites​ @ananad1​ @figlia--della--luna​ @kylosleftbuttcheek​ @mrs-malfoy-always​ @thefandomplace​ @magicwithaknife​ @mt2413​ @aesthetically-hailey​ @superbturtlemakerathlete​ @the-natureofme​ @missswriter​ @hahee154hq​ @chloer1275​

[kimistorm]

Fly Away my Love || Chapter 1: Step Out (Stray Kids Reader Insert AU)

Masterlist

You didn't have any plan in mind when you escaped, and that left you lost in the wide-open world. Luckily for you, you found some helping hands along the way who proved to be more than strangers who were in the same boat as you...they became something more, and you couldn't be more thankful for the eight men by your side. Stray Kids Supernatural Abilities AU! Platonic relationships as of now~

Warnings: Some violence with mentions of getting hurt, blood, and guns.

Run.

Get out of here!

Faster.

I can’t leave you behind!

Fear.

Stop it!

Go.

You panted as you struggled to keep yourself in the air. The air was cold and dry, and your throat was quickly parched as you tried to gulp down air. The sweat that was causing your clothes to stick to your body felt cold and sticky in the cool air. Making you feel simultaneously hot and cold as your nerves felt alight with burning pain. The sky surrounding you was a light gray that allowed you to see without squinting into the sun but it seemed to suck the color out of the landscape below you.

You knew your wings were already damaged, and to suddenly throw them into heavy use caused a loud protest. You could feel everything that was happening on your wings, you could feel every brush of a feather against another, and every wound screamed as if it were on fire. You heard the sound of guns and blindly swerved in the air, hoping that it was trained on your previous position and that you would escape unscathed. However, that hope was in vain.

You let out a cry as a new wound bloomed from the tip of your wing. You could feel hot liquid leaking out and knew without looking that it was dying your white wing red. More gunshots. Move! A voice desperately cried in your head and you tried to dodge something you couldn’t see. A flare of pain. You clutched desperately at your arm that had been hit. Renewed fire made its way through your nerves and your hand was soaked in red. Tears started to pour down your cheeks from the pain, and the flaps from your wings faltered.

There was another shot and pain erupted from your other wing. This time it hit the center and the pain seemed to seize your wing and make it unresponsive. You desperately tried to regain control as you spiraled to the earth. One wing desperately flapping to keep you afloat while the other was frozen in shock. The earth was rapidly coming towards you and you steered yourself towards an open dumpster that you hoped was full of things that would cushion your fall.

There was a loud crash as your body came to a screeching halt, but luck was on your side for once. While the crunching of metal and the clinks of glass made it sound like there were definitely some soda cans, the top layer was a few bags of thrown out clothes. You let yourself lay there for a second to try and catch your breath. Around you, your wings disintegrated into little white flecks that glowed a soft (f/c).

You didn’t know how long you rested there, one hand clutched around your wound in an attempt to staunch the bleeding (which was working), your breathing slowing down to a calm rate. It was strangely...comfortable. Sure, it was lumpy and you definitely wouldn’t choose it as a bed, but given your current state of exhaustion, laying there in the dumpster felt like the best course of action. You felt your eyes start to flutter shut and you did nothing to try and stop it, especially after your grand escapade. You just wanted to rest.

Your eyes shot open when you heard shouting, “find (pronoun)!” Your heart dropped into your stomach. You thought you had lost them. As it turns out, you weren’t able to get far enough away. Either way, staying in the dumpster would certainly corner you, so even though it felt like every muscle was telling you ‘no,’ you had to get out. Peeking your head above the edge of the dumpster, you checked the area to see that it was devoid of life. Good.

With a hand placed on the edge, you lightly swung your body over it and onto the ground. You checked again, and seeing nobody, ran in the opposite direction of where you heard the shouting. You tried to keep your feet from slapping loudly on the ground as you peered around corners and darted out. You didn’t know where you were going, you just needed to get out. Maybe find the edge of the town and hide out in the area beyond. You hadn’t seen anyone yet, but that didn’t mean the town was deserted. Leaving would lessen the number of eyes and the chances of you getting caught.

You didn’t get far until you heard someone shout, “there!” and you were running for your life again. You didn't know how many people were chasing you, but judging from the chorus of footsteps behind you, it was a formidable group. You doubted you’d be able to take on one person, but a whole group? Biting your cheek, you forced yourself to keep moving. While ignoring the fatigue weighing down on your limbs and trying to get you to stop. At least you had a break from running during your flight and your little not-nap in the dumpster.

You chanced a glance behind you to see how far your pursuers were from you, and you were relieved to find a space between you and the small group clad in black, but that didn’t mean you were in the clear yet. You were still clearly visible to the group chasing you, and if you faltered for a second, they would catch up. A small voice in your head wondered why they hadn’t shot you yet, considering how normally they never restrained like this, but you were too panicked to care.

You turned a corner hoping to lose them, but instead, a hand shot out and grabbed your wrist before pulling you close. Thinking the worst, you desperately punched and kicked against whoever held you, fighting back against the person who grabbed you and pulled you into the shadows. “Stop it!” the hushed yell commanded as the person fought with you and managed to pin you against the rough wall, “do you want to get caught?” a hand clamped over your mouth to keep you from screaming even though a scream threatened to rip itself from your throat. Both from pain and from fear. However, the rapid stomping of feet caused you to still and listen to the stranger. You knew with certainty what would happen if you were captured by the soldiers in black. Falling down that path meant going into a tunnel with no light. This stranger...well, you could always fight back if you needed to. Probably.

The stranger let out a sigh of relief, “they’re gone.” He reported and loosened his tight grip on you. You immediately took the chance and yanked yourself out of his grasp. He desperately tried to catch you and keep his hold, but you were too quick as you put a couple of feet between the two of you and glared at him. You could’ve run, and a small voice in the back of your head was shouting at you to run. Get out while you can. But whoever this was, he saved you, and you were far too curious to know why than to listen to the voice of reason.

“Why did you save me?” you demanded, a bit too coldly for someone who desperately needed that split second of kindness to save you. Your chest was still heaving and it felt like your limbs were heavier than before, but this was still a moment of rest that you hoped would give you enough strength to continue.

Even in the shadows of the alley the two of you hid in, his eyes seemed to emit a faint glow of red as he stared back at you. You couldn’t help but take a scared step back. You didn’t notice it when he held onto you, but he seemed to emit an aura like a demon. He noticed the fear that settled on your face before he blinked and shook his head, “sorry,” he apologized with a sweet smile and the glow disappeared. You blinked. Was that magic? Did he have something like you? “You were running from them, right?” he asked with the same sweet smile.

You were slow to respond as you were trying to be careful about the situation. Revealing that you were trying to get away wasn’t anything that would hurt you, right? “Yeah. Thank you.” Your response was curt. This was still a stranger, and even though there was the slight possibility that he was in the same situation as you, you weren’t going to let that sway you into making rash moves.

“I’m Seungmin.” You couldn’t help but stare at the dark-haired man in shock. He gave away his name so easily. He knew nothing about you, yet he was already offering this hand of friendship?

He was looking at you expectantly, waiting for an answer from you, “oh, uh (stage/fake name. Will be abbreviated as s/n from now on).” He didn’t seem to hold any ill intent, but you weren’t going to be so trusting.

It was almost like he could read the atmosphere off of you and his gaze softened, “I can do magic.”

“Why would you say that?” you immediately snapped. The guarded look and atmosphere was immediately replaced with hostility. “You don’t know if I can do magic, and in this world, magic is a condemnable offense worth your life.” You took another step away from him, this time, not out of fear, but because this man was too trusting. If you let him through your walls and trusted him, if he went down, so would you, and right now it seemed like he would go down very easily. “Thank you for saving me, but I don’t owe you anything.” You took another step back away from him, he didn’t move closer to you, instead, he hung back with an almost disappointed aura around him. “I will be taking my leave now.” Without giving him a second glance, you turned around, gave a quick glance to make sure nobody was there, and ran off.

[sisterspooky1013]

A Lack of Color by SisterSpooky1013

2403 words / Rated M / Read it here on AO3

This is a Darkest Timeline fic. No fluff to be found.

Part of my Inspired By Songs series, this work is inspired by A Lack of Color by Deathcab for Cutie.

2010

The phone rang and she checked the time. She’d stopped answering his calls after 8, too heartbroken by the slur in his words and the pain in his voice, knowing that she was the one who caused them. If she could access the purely logical part of her mind she knew that it was his depression that was responsible for the fact that they could no longer be together, and his own actions after she left were the responsibility of no one but him, but when she heard the choked back sobs around his pleas for her to come home, she felt guilt so profound it twisted in her gut like a knife. Even her mother had gently questioned her as to whether leaving him alone was the right thing to do, whether that would really help him get better. She’d tried to explain that the point of leaving wasn’t to make him better, it was to save herself from going down with him, but she often wondered if this life she’d built for herself alone was much better than the one she’d left behind. Was coming home to an empty house devoid of the clatter of his keyboard and tiny piles of sunflower seed shells preferable to living with his ghost? At least when they shared a home she knew he was okay.

Home. Where was her home? Was it this impeccable, modern house just outside the city? Was it her mother’s house, where she’d spent her teenage years? Was it her apartment in Georgetown, long since occupied by someone new who would never know the depth of loss and joy that lived in its walls? Was it apartment 42, where she had loved, lost, and had Mulder returned to her? Was it the unremarkable home in the country she’d shared with him? These places all held meaning and memories, significance and importance in the story of her life, but in the end they were just buildings. Sticks and boards and concrete that housed each tear and yawn and laugh, that made space for her to fall apart and rebuild again, countless times. If home is where your heart is, then Mulder is her home, and he always will be. There is no distance great enough to separate her heart from his, even that of death or divorce, grief, pain, depression. Depression so profound that it snuffed out the spark in his eyes and drained the life from his smile. Depression that robbed him of his passion for everything, including her. Depression that made her feel invisible and unimportant. Depression that destroyed her home.

It was just past 7, so she picked up the phone, hoping that a sober voice would come through from the other end.

“Hello?”

“Hey. How are you?” He sounded good, like he had some energy. She was hopeful.

“I’m okay, just reading. How are you, Mulder?”

“I’m okay. Hanging in there.”

Silence hung between them. She didn’t know what to say. Didn’t want to ask him why he’d called or he may think she didn’t want to talk to him, so she said nothing. She heard him swallow on the other end of the line.

“I miss you” he breathed, and she could feel the ache forming in her rib cage. She closed her eyes.

“I know. I miss you too.” She fought to keep her voice neutral. She didn’t want to go to the dark place, not tonight.

“Will you come over?” He asked, and she noticed that he didn’t say ‘come home’ just ‘come over,’ which was different than all the other times. He sounded more alert, and she felt something akin to hope tug at her heart.

“Uh, I can, sure, if you need me to.”

“I do need you.” His voice was low and she felt a twinge between her legs. This wasn’t the voice of the Mulder she knew and loved, but she could hear him in there, underneath all the hopelessness. She flashed on the desire in his hooded eyes when he used to hover over her, devouring her body with animal-like urgency. What she wouldn’t give for him to touch her like that again.

“Okay, I’ll be there in about a half hour.”

He sighed, maybe from relief. “Thank you, see you soon.” The line went dead.

She had the urge to shower, to shave, to put on a pair of the sexy panties that were now relegated to the back of her underwear drawer, but she resisted. Too many nights she had paraded around in front of him only to be ignored. Too many times she had reached for him to find him unresponsive, not returning her embrace. Too many times she had slipped her hand into his boxers only to have him push it away, rejecting her advances. She squeezed her eyes shut tight, recalling the ache in her bones as she longed for physical contact. She had gone 7 years without having him in that way, but found that it wasn’t as easy to revert back to a platonic partnership. It was more than just desire, though that was there too. Their physical connection, once established, rooted her to the Earth in a way she never knew was possible. When he was inside her she was more present, more aware of her place in space and time than she had ever been or ever would be again. She hadn’t known that she wasn’t really alive until he breathed his hot, salty breath into her lungs and ignited her. He was her oxygen and without him, she suffocated and slowly faded away. She only barely escaped before she died out for good.

Settling on brushing her teeth as the sole means of preparation, she got in her car and drove to his house, their house, feeling nervous and afraid. Stopping to get out and open the gate at the end of their long driveway, she was reminded of so many nights coming home from work, wondering if today were a good day. If she’d get some shred of the man she loved, or spend the evening staring at his closed office door, eating dinner alone. Going to bed alone. Waking up alone.

“Quelquefois, on est seul chez les hommes;” The quote from Le Petit Prince had never meant so much to her as it did then.

Pulling up in front of the house, she took in the neglected lawn, the porch swing he’d built for her dilapidated, the steps rotting. The house itself seemed to embody their relationship; initially bare and full of potential, blooming into a safe haven with the care of their love, only to collapse under the weight of his demons. She killed the engine but stayed in the car, debating turning around and leaving. Why was she here? What did she stand to gain from answering his call? It was pure hope that drove her. Unrelenting need. As much as she tried she couldn’t give up on him, on them. Would she ever be able to truly walk away from him? Only time would tell. Today, it would seem, was not that day.

As she sat in her turmoil, she saw light escape the front door and his tall shadowy frame appeared, his silhouette gaunt, his hair wild and unkempt. Despite everything, her heart leapt and she felt drawn to him, her true North pulling her magnetically towards home. She exited the car and walked towards him slowly, trying to read his body language and set her expectations realistically. As she maneuvered the steps he came forward, holding out his hand to her.

“Those are getting a little perilous, I keep meaning to fix them” he joked good naturedly, the soft pads of his fingers brushing her palm. Not the hands of someone who was going to hold a hammer anytime soon, she noted. Not the calloused hands of the man who built this porch himself 7 years ago. They stood awash in the light that poured from the open door, hands still clasped. She searched his eyes and all she found was sadness, which was actually an improvement. The last time she’d had occasion to meet his hazel irises, they were empty, devoid of any feeling good or bad. He was gone entirely. Moving from his eyes, she noticed that his cheeks were ruddy and dry without her reminding him to moisturize. It looked like he’d probably shaved recently, though now it was grown into an almost-beard. His lips, though, they were still him. She bit her cheek to keep from crying, wanting more than anything to kiss that mouth, to tug that lip between her teeth. She closed her eyes.

“Thanks for coming over” he said, his voice flat.

“Of course. What did you need?” They’d done this dance before. Where’s my birth certificate? What’s the password for the online banking account? Where is the key to turn off the gas fireplace for the summer? When are you coming home? He always found a way to lure her back in. she could never resist him.

“I just wanted to see you” he replied, and she was surprised to see him roving his eyes over her body, sighing as they came to rest on her cleavage. When was the last time he’d looked at her that way? There was that throb again between her legs. She was afraid to move.

He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her shoulders in a hug, squeezing her to him. She stiffened at first in surprise, but then melted into him, her arms threading around his waist and her head falling against his chest. Home. He smelled metallic, the signature scent of his sweat. No one else smelled the way he did. It was what she imagined the core of the Earth might smell like. He sighed against her and she felt the rush of air from his nose blast against the crown of her head. What a specific feeling to miss. What a strange loss to understand.

His arms loosened and slid down her sides, grazing the dip of her waist, then her hip, and finally passing over the curve of her ass where he gripped her, lifting her up. She inhaled sharply and moved her hands to his shoulders, allowing him to carry her inside and to their abandoned bedroom like a bride, only this was the end of the romance instead of the beginning. He laid her down on the bed and started to suck at her neck while fumbling with the button of her pants. Her eyes were wide on the ceiling, wanting to stop him and ask what he was doing, what it meant, but she didn’t. Even as her mind raced, her body was opening like a flower, straining towards the sunlight of his touch, desperate for nourishment that had so long been withheld. She could feel that she was dripping wet, and she allowed him to strip her pants from her legs in one fast motion, pushing her shirt up to reveal her breasts as he unbuckled his belt. The animalistic way Mulder wanted her had always been a huge turn on, the lust in his eyes as he tore at her clothes and feasted on her body sending her over the edge.

But that was not what was happening now.

He wasn’t looking at her. He hadn’t kissed her, not once. He didn’t want her, he wanted her body. Freeing his erection from his jeans without even bothering to pull them down, he moved to line himself up with her entrance. He still had his T shirt on, her shirt askew as he grasped one breast in his palm, pushing inside her. She let out a single cry as her long-neglected body accommodated him once more, and he didn’t even look up. Didn’t ask if she was okay, hadn’t checked to see if she was ready. She could admit that it felt good, but not that good. This wasn’t how they made love, or had sex, or even fucked. Never once had he skipped right to pleasing himself. His strict “ladies first” policy was a non-negotiable, a given. So as he barreled into her, his eyes on her breasts, she brought her hand to cover her eyes as hot tears rushed down the sides of her face, collecting in her ears.

He finished within a minute, grunting as he came inside her before collapsing on her chest. Eventually he rolled off of her and pulled up his jeans, then grabbed her by the waist so that she was spooned against him, naked from the waist down.

“I’m sorry, I know that probably wasn’t the greatest for you. I’ll make it up to you next time” he whispered hotly into her ear. He held her until he fell asleep while she lie there, shell shocked, realizing that as bad as this all had been, it could get worse. She thought that being completely ignored was the worst way he could hurt her, but she was wrong. This, being treated like a vessel, was so much worse.

She slipped out of the bed and found her clothes on the floor, leaving him snoring. As she walked out the front door and carefully navigated the porch steps, she vowed to herself that she would not set foot in this house ever again.

It was not a promise she would keep.

*Authors note: “Quelquefois, on est seul chez les hommes” translates to “sometimes, one is alone among men”

Tagging @today-in-fic

[jimlingss]

Sugar and Coffee [13]

Chapter 12 - Chapter 13 - Chapter 14

➜ Words: 4.3k

➜ Genres: 99.5% Fluff, 0.5% Angst, Pâtisserie school!AU

➜ Summary: It isn't hard to be a pâtisserie chef, but it's not a piece of cake either. It seems like for you in particular, life keeps throwing in one wrench after another. It always finds ways to make your sweets bitter. The cherry on top is Jeon Jungkook — a rival with a sensitive sweet tooth who always finds ways to complain about you.

cr.

“I’m in love with you,” he asserts.   “Gross.”   Your answer is instinctive. But you’re not disgusted with him. Your features don’t twist. Your lips don’t become lopsided. Rather, the word is stated blankly. Impulsively. After all, you’ve conditioned yourself to respond like that — like anything in relation to romance is now awful.   “Yeah.” Jungkook sighs, hair shagging over his forehead as he looks down. “I know. I’m pretty disgusted with myself too. But it doesn’t change the fact that I’m still in love with you. Fucking head over heels and all that crap.”   You’re rendered speechless, about to ask him if he’s fucking with you, if this is some kind of sick joke.   But then suddenly, Jungkook sighs loudly, startling you. His rigid body deflates, the tension in his muscles leaves and he knocks his head back, taking a deep breath. “God, it feels so good to be honest. With myself and with you.”   The sun is setting over the horizon, the warmth soaking into his skin and softening his edges. The pair of you face each other in the middle of the empty sidewalk on an equally empty campus. There’s nowhere to run, nowhere to take cover.   You wonder how long he’s felt this way for.   You’re conflicted, unsure what to tell him. “Love’s a strong word, Jungkook.”   “I’m aware.”   “H-How are you even sure?”   The dark-haired man looks you in the eye, his own becoming half-lidded. His breathing turns shallow, heavy in his chest and out his parted lips. “I’m sure.”   You know Jungkook well enough to recognize his earnest sincerity. There isn’t a shred of doubt in his gaze nor his expression. He doesn’t waver once in his bold conviction. There’s only truth.   “Well…...shit.” The words sink into you. The claws and pointed ends of each syllable nick into your flesh. In an instant, your impassiveness is torn from you — your placid state taken — your stoic face uncovered. “Fuck. Fuck!”    You scream up into the sky, turning around, hands in your hair. What he’s saying registers and you hate it. You hate that love has to mess up every single relationship that you have. Goddamn. You can’t keep that disease away from affecting the people you care about most.   Jungkook watches you have the small meltdown with widened eyes, not sure what to do or say. But then you whirl around after a moment, determination set in your features. All of a sudden, you grab his hand, patting it with your other firmly as if you were a doctor coaxing and comforting a patient.   “We can overcome this together.”   “What?”   “It’s okay. This happens. If you’re friends with someone from the gender you’re attracted to, it’s natural you end up having a crush on them. It’s expected actually, considering we spend so much time together and interact so much. People encounter this issue all the time, but we can overcome it, Jungkook. Together.” You put your hand on his shoulder, eyes sympathetic. “I’ll help you get over me.”   Jungkook can feel his left eye twitching.   Of all responses, he did not expect this one. You’re acting like his therapist and that he’s got some kind of illness. You even end up thanking him for telling you the truth.   Jungkook might actually need to see a therapist after talking to you.

Infatuation only lasts so long. Personally, in your humble opinion, you aren’t hot shit anyway. You’re not that great. Jungkook will get over himself when he sees you for how you really are.   If anyone’s ever liked you, they won’t for long — you have evidence of that.   “Hey, buddy!” You give finger guns as a greeting, making sure to not get too close to him.   “You don’t need to patronize me.”   Your voice releases stiff laughter. “Alright, bro.” You put your fist out for a fist bump, but Jungkook completely ignores you. He walks right past you with his hands in the pockets of his open coat.   “Are you coming or are you going to stand there like an idiot?” he asks, briefly glancing over his shoulder.   You scoff.   Ever since the whole traumatizing confession, nothing’s changed. But at the same time everything has.   Jungkook doesn’t act any differently — he still glares at you, calls you stupid and a witch. But you also begin to notice how affectionate his physical gestures are, when he taps your arm, when takes your shoulder to guide you away from a crowd, when he pats your head.    And your efforts of keeping things as platonic as possible inadvertently makes everything awkward. It’s even worse now that you’re literally spending so much time with Jungkook. Exclusively. It’s just him, and for the months to come, it will only be him.   You’ve already decided within the first minute that you won’t ignore him or distance yourself. You can’t. Not with the upcoming internship, and not when you’ve had that happen to you. You won’t do such a cruel thing to someone else. Jungkook will always be your friend no matter what and you’ll make sure of that.   You catch up with him. “You know, I haven’t showered in days. This is like three-day old hair. Greasy, right? I just get so lazy showering.”   “Right.” He ignores you.   It goes silent and you noisily clear your throat. “Man, I had the worst shit today. It was explosive, dude.”   “You really think toilet humour is going to make me stop liking you?” Jungkook stops in his tracks and you halt in a delayed manner. He shifts towards you, glaring. “What do you take me for?”   You pout. “At least I’m trying.”   “Try harder.” He pauses. “For the sake of both of us.”   You’re befuddled over his answer and when he starts walking again, you quicken your pace to match his. “What? You don’t want to like me?”   “Not if you don’t want me to. I just wonder what’s more difficult,” he hums thoughtfully, “You trying to get me to stop liking you or me trying to make you like me.”   “I already like you,” you mumble.   “See?” Jungkook points out abruptly as the corner of his mouth quirks into a subtle smile. “That’s not going to help with my situation.”   “Sorry.” Your cheeks puff in your pout.   “Neither is that,” He says and when you quirk your head to the side, brows furrowing, he grins boyishly. “Stop worrying about it before you give yourself wrinkles. Save your energy for the internship. I’m the least of your concerns.”   He’s wrong.    Jeon Jungkook is the biggest thing on your mind lately.

Kim’s Wedding Cake Company sits in the middle of Imlings Avenue.    It’s a bakery played in between two small boutiques. It has tan brick walls and the shop’s sign is slightly worn around the red letters, but still legible. The doorway is narrow and crowded by two large glass windows on either side that invites onlookers inside for a session of cake tasting.   The bell chimes as Jungkook pushes the door open, keeping it wide until you’re able to step in.   The cream walls and the floorboards create a cozy atmosphere like you’re home. But what sets it aside from an intimate abode is the paintings of wedding cakes on the walls and the rounded tables with chairs around them for customers to sit at.   A counter is curved at the corner of the room, cutting off the main area from the back. The moment the bell stops ringing, a short woman comes frantically stumbling out from the doorway.   “Welcome!”    She grins and the wrinkles around her eyes crease. Her brunette hair is in a bun, strays falling to frame her face. The woman is maybe around her early forties. “Congratulations on your engagement!” She grabs her binder and starts flipping. “Do you have an appointment?”   “Oh no! He and I…” You point at Jungkook and then back at yourself, flustered. “We’re not like that.”   Jungkook is holding back laughter, watching you flounder about. You’ve suddenly become so anxious at the idea that the pair of you are engaged. He turns away to look at the woman. “What she means is that we’re your interns.”   “Oh, thank god.” The woman sighs, stepping back. “For a second here, I thought I had completely forgotten about an appointment.” She turns on her feet, placing her hands on her hips and shouts, “Namjoon! Honey! We were supposed to get our interns today?!”   From the other room, a man’s voice screams back. “What?!”   She goes closer to the doorway, shrieking, “Our interns! Were they supposed to come today?!”   “No! They’re coming in a week from now!”   “Then why are they standing right here?!”   “What?!”   “Why are they standing here?!”   You exchange a look with Jungkook, not sure what’s going on. At the same time, a stocky, tall man in the traditional chef's uniform emerges — white double-breasted jacket, black pants and an apron. “I heard you, I heard you.”   “Did you mark it wrong in the calendar again?”   “I swear I didn’t—” The older man’s eyes widen as they catch the two of you standing there awkwardly. You lift your hand in salutation and he laughs. “Well, what do you know! Here they are, today! Welcome to our home!”   Namjoon opens the wooden separator, comes out and wipes his hands on his apron haphazardly to shake both of your hands. His wife sighs and follows closely to greet you. “You must be Y/N and Jungsook?”   “Jungkook,” he corrects in dismay while you try to hide your giggles.   “Right, right. My bad. My name is Namjoon and my wife here is Sejeong.”   Sejeong smiles. “I’m glad you’re both on board. Do you have any experience doing wedding cakes?”   “No, we haven’t.”   “It’s alright,” she reassures, “We’ll teach you along the way.”   “We need all the help we can get.” Namjoon sighs. “Ever since Soohyun went on maternity leave, we’ve been swamped up to our chins. Doesn’t help that it’s wedding season.”   “Auntie.” A four foot eight girl comes out from the back, her long black hair tied into a ponytail at the crown of her head, and coral apron tied around her body. “The chocolate’s melted—”   The girl freezes on her spot, big eyes pinpointing onto Jungkook. You glance at him, and he looks at you with a small shrug.   “Has it?” Sejeong smiles and brushes past her. “I’ll go check.”   The younger girl doesn’t move and Namjoon smiles. “Oh, this is my eighteen year old niece, Yuna. She’s working here part-time to help out, mostly on the weekends when she’s not at school.”   “Nice to meet you.” She timidly approaches Jungkook, clearing her throat and batting her lashes at him.   Jungkook blankly shakes her hand. “Hi.”   You extend your own hand and it’s only then that she seems to notice you and reluctantly shakes it. “I’m Y/N and this is Jungkook.”   “Jungkook,” she murmurs after you. “So you’re going to work here till August?”   “Yes, they will.” Namjoon laughs heartily. “You should go help your aunt look at the chocolate, Yuna. You can only learn if you know what you did wrong or right.”   “Fine.” She exhales and drags her feet away, throwing a fleeting look to Jungkook over her shoulder.   Namjoon re-directs his attention to the two of you with a softened smile. “Let me show you around!”    The back area is a short hall that splits into three. The door to the left is a room with a table and chairs, posters of wedding cakes on the walls and happily married couples on their wedding day. “This is our only private room we have. It’s just in case a couple has a large party with them or would like some privacy when we have our consultation.”   You peek your head into the room across from it. “That is our staff room and our bathroom and where our offices are. You can always eat your lunch or take a break here.”   Namjoon leads you the other way and it’s to the place you know best — silver countertops, stoves, ovens, and sinks galore. “And this is our kitchen. We have a fridge here where we keep our cakes, a small fridge, our pantry. You’ll get yourself familiar pretty soon, don’t worry.”   You return from the tour back to the main area, asking questions along the way which Namjoon is happy to answer. The pair of you also offer more insight into what you know and he’s pleasantly surprised that his two interns are more experienced than expected.   “It can get pretty hectic around here during the wedding season. Some days we just have appointments and cake tasting all day. Other times, we’re rushing to make a wedding cake for the following day or we might be at the wedding venue getting it all set up. We usually open up shop around eight in the morning and you guys are let off at four.”   “Don’t worry, if we have to stay late to catch up on work or finish a cake up, you’ll get paid handsomely.” Namjoon grins. “We work five days a week. Sometimes you’ll have to come in on the Saturday if we have a wedding on Sunday, but it’s not often. Any questions? Comments?”   “Um…” You exchange expressions with Jungkook. “No, not really. I think we got it.”   Suddenly the older man bursts out laughing, startling you both. “You two don’t have to be so anxious! I was a student once too. Don’t they say wedding cake internships are one of the hardest ones you can take?”   “Uh.” Jungkook gingerly smiles. “We’ve heard of that.”   “Yep.” The older man bobs his head. “That’s what I thought. But don’t worry, it’ll be a lot of work, but it’ll be fun. Just don’t get on my wife’s bad side and you’ll be fine and dandy.”   “Are you talking badly about me?” Sejeong comes from the back, glaring at her husband.   “Oh, there she comes.” In spite of his playful warnings, Namjoon laughs, dimples marked on each side of his cheek. He leans over to plop a kiss at the top of her head and waltzes into the back, leaving her sighing.   “That man. Hopeless, I swear. Anyhow...I hope you both are ready!” Sejeong claps her hands together. “No time like the present to start learning and diving into it! We have a couple arriving in an hour for a consultation and I want you guys to lead. Should be easy enough!”   The two of you nod, preparing yourselves.   //   Both Namjoon and Sejeong give you a few moments to yourselves to breathe and not be overwhelmed. But you’re kind of excited. It’s a bit surreal that one moment you’re sitting in a lecture hall learning about theory and the next, you’re in the real world, about to apply all the knowledge you’ve gathered. For a while now, you’ve missed working and being more hands-on.   You glance down to your coral apron they gave you. Jungkook is in the same one and while he grumbled about not wearing much pink before, he looks cute in it. You wanted to take a picture but he didn’t let you. Self-conscious Jungkook is one you’ve seldom seen and admittedly, endearing.   “They seem really nice.” And in love. It’s pleasant to see. Even with how disgusting romance is.   It just isn’t often that you can look at a couple and not think about their inevitable doom.   “Yeah, they are. Thankfully. God knows how many strict head chefs are out there.”   You wonder what it’s like to own a business with your husband and work together all the time — though you don’t voice your question aloud. You have an inkling Jungkook would flirtatiously answer ‘that could be us’ and you don’t need to be distracted by him right now.   His presence is a distraction enough.   “How about Yuna though?” You elbow him lightly in the ribs, giving a nudge while wiggling your brows. “I think she likes you.”   Jungkook’s expression blanches. “She’s still in high school.”   “I’m just kidding—”   “And some other girl showing up is not going to stop me from liking you any less than I do,” Jungkook says nonchalantly, stating it like it’s a fact. He’s unaware of how your face heats.   You quickly take a drink of water in an attempt to cool down. Goddammit — he’s being a distraction already without you having to set him up.   “You still owe me that favour.” You clear your throat, changing the subject. “Remember? When you challenged me saying you could pipe better than I can temper chocolate.”   “I thought we called it even.” Jungkook grins, cutely with the mole dotted underneath his mouth.   “Nu-uh. That’s not fair and you know it.” You put your foot down. “We agreed the loser would have to cover for the winner when they go on break or make a mistake. And you lost, Jeon.”   “Already planning on making mistakes?”   You sulk. “No. I just want you to have my back.”   “You already have that,” Jungkook says tenderly with a smile. “And a lot more.”   Your mouth is filled with cotton. The corner of his mouth curls even more, relishing in your surprised expression. He doesn’t even bat a lash and merely looks away when the bell to the front entrance rings. “Welcome to Kim’s Wedding Catering Company.”   You tear your eyes away from Jeon Jungkook’s profile. “Do you have an appointment?”   “Yes, we do.” The woman smiles, dressed in a white beret and trench coat, her cheeks blushing. She’s accompanied by another woman in a leather jacket who’s holding her hand. “It should be under Lee.”   “You must be Sungkyung and Victoria, congratulations on your engagement.”   The both of them glance at each other, sharing giddy smiles. “Thank you.”   “Right this way.”   Jungkook leads them to one of the wooden tables, setting out a book as you grab the slices of cake on the plate from the back, all decorated and labeled. Sejeong who’s been watching at the counter gives an encouraging thumbs up.   “So your wedding is being held during the beginning of September?”   “Yes and we’re planning to cut the cake during the evening,” Sungkyung says as Jungkook jots it down on his sheet.   “Will this be an outdoor or indoor wedding?”   “We’re planning to have it outdoors in a garden.”   “That’s nice.” Jungkook smiles. “Do you have any themes in your wedding? Any colour scheme?”   “We have butterflies and we have green and purple as our colours.”   “And how many guests do you have?”   “About a hundred.”   “Okay.”   You come to the table with the long plate and two forks. Both of the women are excited, eyes lighting up as you place the cakes in front of them and take a seat beside Jungkook.    “This one is vanilla cake with buttercream. It’s simple, but a classic. This one is coconut cake with coconut cream. Red velvet with cream cheese frosting, chocolate with ganache, lemon with custard filling and fondant, strawberry with salted caramel filling and fondant, and the last one here is carrot cake with butterscotch sauce filling and chocolate buttercream icing. Take your time.”   “I really like this one,” Victoria whispers to her fiancée, fork points to carrot cake. “Or at least the icing part.”   “I prefer this one.” Sungkyung indicates the strawberry cake and takes another bite.   “We can always mix and match,” you tell them with a smile. “It’s possible to do strawberry cake with buttercream.”   “Buttercream usually tastes better than fondant, but if it’s hot outside, it might melt.” Jungkook’s brows knit together and you look at him, humming for a second.   “Well, we always put a layer of fondant over the buttercream so they also get that smooth look and we wouldn’t have to worry about melting.”   The boy nods. “Yeah, that would work.”    “That sounds really good.” The two women smile at each other. “How much would it cost?”   “Ummm…” Jungkook flips through the binder, memory failing him. He finally finds the table of all the prices on the tenth page. “For us, it depends on what kind of cake you end up choosing and how many tiers it’ll be, but it should be around four hundred to five hundred. For a hundred people, I’d recommend…..uh…”   “Three to four layers.” You finish his sentence and Jungkook looks at you gratefully.   You leave the two of them to finish up the cakes and to discuss with one another.   Sejeong who’s been waiting at the back has her compliments prepared. “Great job, you two. Couldn’t have done it better myself!”   It’s stressful to remember the details, but luckily Sejeong is merciful and allows the two of you to shadow her as she goes out to explain the designs, possible flower arrangements on the cake and discuss how they want it to look. She also goes more into detail about prices, providing the women with a write-up of what it would look like.   When the consultation is finished, there’s not a moment to breathe.   You’re ushered into the kitchen where Namjoon is working on a wedding cake.   “So I already baked these babies yesterday and let them cool down in the fridge. I’ve also made the buttercream just now. Today we crumb coat our cakes and colour fondant. Tomorrow, we’re going to cover the cakes with fondant, put dowels in and stack our tiers, and decorate, then it’s all ready for delivery! Easy, huh?”   “Umm…”   The older man laughs noisily from his chest. “I’m guessing you two know how to crumb coat cakes?”   “Yes, we do.”   “Great. Then this is all on you. Make sure not to mess up! It’s the bride and groom’s special day! People only have a wedding once...hopefully.”   There’s not any pressure whatsoever.   Namjoon leaves, coming in and out to help with his wife and niece cleaning the front and watching over your shoulder. But he has little to say to both you and Jungkook when he finds your techniques sufficient.   The cakes are placed on a turntable, bench scrapers and offset icing spatulas in hand. You add a thin layer of frosting to trap cake crumbs and prevent them from popping up in your finished cake. And while you crumb coat two layers, Jungkook does one and goes to colour fondant.   Namjoon teaches him, rolling the fondant into a ball and kneading until it’s soft and pliable. A small dot of pink is added and he kneads the colour until it’s blended.   Once you’re done with the cakes, you help Jungkook with another ball of fondant, kneading until your arms are sore. Afterwards, the two of you assist Sejeong and Yuna, organizing the shelves of baking pans, various coloured ribbons, and bins of cookie and cake cutters.   It’s tiresome, but you feel rejuvenated when they let you try some of the spare cake slices they offer. It’s delicious, melting on your palate and Namjoon jokingly quizzes both of you on what kind of icing works best with what cakes and what ingredients are in each of them.    You’d like to say you won.   They also teach you how to answer emails and phone calls, and both you and Jungkook arrange a few appointments for next week. The day is over before you’ve realized.   “Good work, you two!” Sejeong praises. “You’re very fast learners.”   “I heard you rank high at your school.” Namjoon smiles in spite of your modest protests. “I believe you know her as Miss. Kang. She speaks highly of you two and I’m not disappointed.”   “Jungkook, I heard you wanted to be a Chocolatier?” Namjoon asks and the boy is like a deer in the headlights, doe eyes rounded. He nods slowly.   “Yes, that’s my long-term goal.”   “When we have a moment then, I’ll work on something with you,” he promises with another dimpled smile and Jungkook is visibly enthused. “Anyway, I hope nothing was too overwhelming. Get a good night’s rest and we’ll continue tomorrow!”   They close up shop as the sun sets over the horizon and Yuna waves wildly, bidding Jungkook farewell. “Bye, Jungkook!”   He makes a noise, a small ‘bye’ to her before the two of you turn away after waving to the married couple. You walk down the street together, towards the bus stop where it’ll guide you home.   “That wasn’t bad.”   “Yeah.” There’s a pause. Jungkook smiles at you. “It wasn’t.”   Silence eventually falls in between the spaces.   You can feel your eye bags deepening, your bones creaking with every movement. You’re exhausted from the long day, unable to utter a single word, but the quiet that settles is comfortable rather than awkward.   Your feet are moving on their own against the pavement, the sounds of cars moving past shaping the white noise of the city. It’s a long way back home, but as you glance at Jungkook, walking alongside him with your footsteps synced together, you’re glad he’s here.   The two of you have each other for support.   You’re unknowing to how Jungkook shares the same sentiment. He takes a glimpse of you when you don’t notice, stealing glances like he’s stealing candy. The smile on his face softens.   His own words echo back to him— “I just wonder what’s more difficult,” he had hummed thoughtfully, “You trying to get me to stop liking you or me trying to make you like me.”   It occurs to Jungkook that he’s found his answer. He realizes he can’t ‘overcome’ his feelings. He can’t get over you like you think he can. 

If you rejected him, his concern of making you uncomfortable would far outweigh these simmering emotions inside of him, but you didn’t. The fact of the matter is that Jungkook knows your aversion is towards love, not him. And with such uncertainty and possibilities, it’s impossible to get over you.

It won’t work. Not when you’re you. 

So Jungkook chooses the other path — the other approach.    He makes the decision right then and there. Instead of idly standing by and allowing you to sprout nonsense and drive him even more crazy, he’s going to act. He’s going to actually do something about his feelings—    Jeon Jungkook is going to court you.

[lambourngb]

“It was supposed to be a regular, boring morning shower”

First line tag

A million years ago, an anon sent me this ask for the first line meme. I woke up possessed and wrote “stuck in gravity, clawing for some bravery” in 10 days.  This story is complete, 23,000 words. I put the first two chapters up on AO3 early in honor of the news of our show coming back. The rest goes up tomorrow.

beta thanks to the wonderful @tasyfa

Pairing: Michael Guerin/Alex Manes, Alex Manes/Forrest Long, Michael Guerin/Maria Deluca (past) Kyle Valenti/Maria Deluca (implied/mentioned)

Tags: Starts Forlex ends in Malex, Getting back together, Nebulous Season 3, Angst,  Pining, Alien Soulmate Bullshit, Emotional Infidelity, Communication, Emotional Hurt/Comforot,  Explicit Sexual Content, Dirty Talk , Telepathy, Handprint Sex

Summary: A year after Crashcon, Michael knows three things for certain. 

1. He loves Alex and he probably definitely always will.

2. Having Alex as his best friend makes everything in his life better.

3. Knowing, thanks to his bullshit alien biology, that Alex still fantasizes about his body regularly while dating someone else for a year, well, that is a little more difficult to navigate. 

It’s fine. It is all just fine. 

Author Notes: This content is probably not appropriate for review by a college writing class on tumblr, just saying but you’re welcome to leave a kudo if you like it. 

*****

It was supposed to be a regular, boring morning shower for Michael. 

His first Sunday off in over three months deserved a little self-care, he had decided. The summer had brought an abrupt uptick in work at the garage with increased summertime driving leading to more careless accidents and stranded motorists to tow to safety. While Walt would deny it to the end, Michael couldn’t help but notice the old man had slowed down in his work. Between doing his best to keep Sanders’ in business and taking shifts at the Crashdown to fill in for the still-absent Liz so Arturo and Rosa could have their own break, taking the time for more than a perfunctory late night wash down felt luxurious to Michael.

There was a point to staying busy, with filling every hour inside an engine or on a different project around the junkyard with his trailer and that point was distraction. Distraction from the awareness that everyone was thriving. Max and his new-found ‘cousin’ Jones were reconstructing the history of their people’s language and literature together. Isobel had recently celebrated her three-month anniversary with Monica, an artist who shared the same studio space as Rosa. Maria had made exploring her alien-rooted abilities the focus of her life outside of the bar, combining her knowledge of yoga and meditation to crack the ability of moving forward in time. With that success, she had managed to bring back the answer to saving her brain from damage from the future. Her work with Kyle in developing the treatment for her and Mimi had led a new romance there. Then there was Alex, the true focus of Michael’s need for distraction, marking a one-year anniversary with Forrest. 

It was fine. All Michael had ever wanted was for Alex to be happy. The distractions he had filled his life with helped soothe the edges of knowing who was at the root of Alex’s new-found peace.

In the last year, Michael had built a permanent wooden deck out in front of his Airstream, transforming his fire pit into an outdoor brick barbecue oven, before moving on to recycle discarded auto glass into window panes for a small greenhouse complete with a rainwater cistern off the rear of the trailer. The actual interior boasted its own changes, an expanded shower stall and more of a kitchen set up than a hotplate and kettle with a small split-level stove and expanded countertop. The next task was building a canopy to shield the deck from the elements. At some point, Michael had acknowledged to himself that each piece he had worked on had turned his portable, transient can-go-anywhere Airstream into a stable fixture at Sanders’. 

A home with roots. 

A home without Alex and he had accepted that, respecting Alex’s choice of partner. They were the right people for each other, but were always meeting at the wrong time. For a while, he had waited patiently for things to end with Forrest. He had been happy enough to work on being Alex’s friend in the meantime. Then, once they were truly friends sharing every stupid moment of their days via a text message or over a beer at his trailer, he had felt the betrayal of his selfish thoughts keenly. What kind of friend would root for a break-up? What kind of friend would wish heartbreak on the other?

The asshole kind, he had concluded. 

As the hot water from the shower head poured over his head though, the acceptance he had about Alex moving on was just a little farther from his reach because Alex was currently thinking about him. They weren’t platonic friend-thoughts either.

A ghost sensation of a hand skirted down Michael’s body, lingering over his chest hair, and fuck, Alex had really loved to card his fingers through it. His mind was awash with impulses not his own, hot anticipation and the thrill of pleasure dropped down his body like the free-falling crest of a rollercoaster. Michael closed his eyes, soaking in the feelings. A gasp escaped his mouth, heard by no one in his trailer. Good God, Alex was really ready, waking with morning wood or to someone — Wrapping his own hand around his hardening cock, Michael stroked himself in time with Alex’s thoughts, pushing aside his own. It was best to just give into temptation and enjoy the moment. 

It was something he had learned to embrace with varying degrees of eagerness over the last few years. 

The connection with Alex had formed apparently sometime after the shed, but it had taken him over ten years and Alex moving back to Roswell to realize what was going on between them. The summer they had turned eighteen, they had barely been able to keep their hands off each other in the desert, and when Michael was alone, all he could think about back then, was Alex. His head had been a complex swirl of emotion, slingshotting him from the highs of seeing Alex to the lows of facing his own aborted future. There was the longing for Alex, the sadness that he knew their time was limited because Alex was going to go places, and he was stuck in Roswell watching over Isobel, but in the background, of what he thought was a relic from Jesse’s attack, was always a sense of sick fear, of being caught. Again.

Then over the last ten years, Michael would experience this awareness, and suddenly all he could think about was Alex. How it felt to touch him, the wickedness of his mouth, the burn and the stretch to accept Alex’s cock as he took him inside with a bitten lip- Michael thought it was just his mind, giving him a touchstone to happiness and the remembrance of being loved briefly by Alex. Nostalgia. Afterwards as he caught his breath, with his chest splattered with come, the sadness would seep in again, stealing whatever light that was made by those memories.

It wasn’t until after the drive-in, when Alex had spent almost two months avoiding him in person, that Michael had realized that those moments, late at night or early in the morning, were tied to Alex. It took falling into his bed one night, after visiting Isobel in her pod to finally piece it together. His face had hurt from crying on the drive home and the urge to sleep and never wake up again had been so incredibly strong that it took a moment for him to realize he was thinking about Alex. His cock hadn’t even been on his radar, but suddenly all he could think about was getting sucked off. 

Fuck, he hadn’t wanted it then, too sad and scared about Isobel to feel much connection to his body for the purposes of pleasure, but the sensations and feelings that had overtaken Michael were too intense to fight that night. Later as he panted, open-mouthed and staring at the ceiling of his Airstream with distant thoughts of cleaning up, his phone rang once. Only the once. Then a ding of a text.

Alex -is home: Sorry pocket dialed.

The rush of self-loathing that hit Michael as he read the message had been so strong he had dropped the phone on the floor of the trailer. That’s when he knew it wasn’t his feelings in his head because in all the years of knowing Alex, of loving Alex, he had never once felt disgust toward himself for his feelings for Alex. From the moment across a borrowed guitar, Michael had accepted the tilt of his axis toward Alex Manes as a fundamental fact, like force equalling mass times acceleration.

Alex hadn’t shared that comfort, and the more Michael tuned into what was going on in Alex’s head, the more his heart broke. Two things became clear to Michael over time; the occurrences were sporadic enough for him to know that he only felt them when Alex was specifically thinking about Michael when he jerked off, and the post-orgasm feelings of disgust and self-loathing were not isolated incidents for Alex to feel afterwards.

“Sometimes things end in a whimper, Guerin-” and Michael had numbly accepted that as proof that while Alex might enjoy thinking about his body, about the ways he had pleasured Alex in the past, Alex had no desire for anything more from Michael. The sex was epic, fodder for a late night fantasy, but Michael himself? He was not someone that Alex wanted to want. 

He had changed Alex’s name in his phone from “Alex -is home” to “Alex -is a bad idea” after that and then cursed himself for the trick of alien biology, doomed to be forever aware that he was an example of backsliding to Alex. When Maria had reached for him that night in Texas, he had welcomed her because she seemed at least self-aware of the fact she didn’t want to want him. There was zero chance of a misunderstanding between them that night, even as he kicked himself for still following after people who swore to him that it would never happen again.

For a long time after Caulfield, he had thought perhaps the grief of losing his mother had broken the link with Alex, setting them both free in the wreckage and dust of the prison. The dying psychic screams of his people had rolled over him, scorching his thoughts into cinders as that last connection to love and hope burned out in his mind, his mother’s life extinguishing under the thunder of Semtex and C-4. Then one night shortly after moving his trailer to the Wild Pony, it had happened again. The same overwhelming feeling of need, of longing, but this time the self-loathing afterwards had been accompanied by a crippling feeling of guilt. He had laid there in the twilight of the Wild Pony’s loft, having silently come into his palm while the sound of Maria’s breathing brushed against his ear. For the first time, he had joined Alex in that feeling of self-hatred. 

It was past the time for him to flip the switch from ‘tortured lust’ to some semblance of friendship with Alex, if he could and so tentatively, he agreed to work on uncovering his mother’s past together with him. He updated his phone again with that decision in mind to “Alex -sup bro”.

After Maria had learned the truth about Rosa and sent him away with betrayed eyes, he experienced a moment of weakness for Alex after the visit they had made to the Long Farm. There had been a lightness in how Alex had moved that day, his steps had been considered but committed as they had explored the last place his mother had felt at home on earth. Inside of Michael’s heart, he had been able to feel the pieces moving together while he had stood in a place where Nora had had a family, next to a man who had always represented that promise to Michael. The openness of Alex’s smile as they had waited for Forrest Long to reappear had had Michael thinking dangerous thoughts again about a future with him.

What if.  What if Alex were ready to take a step toward him without the weight of the past? 

That tenuous hope had lasted until the night after Alex had given him the piece of the ship’s console. Standing in his bunker near two am, he had been examining the new piece of his ship, of his past, puzzling over why it wasn’t bonding with the rest of the console when he had felt the awareness of Alex creep into his cells, into his DNA. Eagerly he had opened his jeans with both hands and had fisted his cock, letting himself go with the pull of Alex’s desire. In the aftermath, he had found himself on the floor of the bunker, with come dripping off a fallen drawing of a ship’s engine, but near tears with the knowledge that nothing had changed for Alex. It had still been the same fear flooding his veins, still the same anchor of tortured longing and deep shame weighing his limbs down even as he had been left wrecked by how good his body had felt.

It had been madness for Michael the next few months as he had fallen in deeper with Maria, while the connection with Alex had kept tugging at his soul. There had been little rhyme or reason to when it had happened. Weeks would pass where he apparently hadn’t crossed Alex’s mind once, and then there had been a week when every night Michael had been hit with the same mix of love, lust and bottomless need. Thankfully it had matched with the week-long retreat Maria and Mimi had taken together, saving Michael the work of explaining to her why he was wearing out the washing machines at the Fluff N Fold with his dirty sheets.

The self-torment Alex had felt about him had slowly lifted, to the point when Michael had found out the truth about Walt Sanders, he had called Alex without hesitation. The contact in his phone had changed to ‘Alex- best bro’. If he had finally become a measure of comfort for Alex to remember in his most personal moments, then perhaps Alex could also become a comfort to him, without the mire of their trauma holding them frozen in place. 

He had been fooling himself completely in the aftermath of Alex’s abduction that friendship would ever be enough for him. The wounds from his breakup with Maria had still been bleeding below his skin when he had stepped into the Wild Pony to hear Alex singing about him. About them. Then he had been hit with the connection, blossoming open for the first time ever in Alex’s actual presence under the spell of his song. 

There had still been a ghost of darkness in Alex’s feelings for him, as he had sung about fighting battles but for the first time in a long time, Michael had felt that there was hope that Alex was finally finding peace with Jesse dead. Despite Isobel’s prodding him to stay and make a move, he had known that it wasn’t their time yet. There had been too much grief and regret swirling in his head, and not just from Alex, but he could be patient for them both for the right moment. The connection had never felt more alive between them that night on the promise of a future.

At least that was what he had thought, until time had kept passing yet here he was, standing in his shower with his hand on his dick a year later, while Alex was across town in someone else’s bed but clearly thinking about him.

Michael watched as his seed dripped down the fiberglass walls, the shower spray sending it down the drain in an eddy of his own frustrated longing. His body was calm, at least, and his mind was buzzing with happiness from Alex. He concentrated on the euphoria floating between them in particular. Alex had soaked up pleasure this morning, pursuing it with a greed that Michael couldn’t help but admire, and then he had let himself go without any hint of shame. God, it felt good to know that Alex had finally found that comfort with himself.

He breathed in and out, counting the seconds down until the connection faded. Once it was over, he gave himself five more minutes under the hot spray, letting whatever was welling in his eyes, slip unseen down his face. He cursed his stupid alien biology in the same breath that he clung to it for giving him Alex again, if only briefly. 

After he was dressed for his brunch plans with everyone, he checked his phone before he left, to find a text from Alex. The contact had been updated one more time, six months after the Crashcon, from “Alex -best bro” to “Alex -bf”. Isobel had been way too excited to see that notation, until Michael had patiently explained it had stood for ‘best friend’. Maybe in another universe it was ‘boyfriend’, just not this one.

This wasn’t crumbs, he had argued to her, Alex was still a feast for him in whatever way he could have him. He read the text with his mind still working to box up the feelings that lingered for Alex, “Tell everyone we will be late- overslept”. The ‘we’ was what puzzled Michael the most about the whole situation over the last year. Why was Alex still thinking about Michael the way he did while he was with someone else?

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