#so it would be weird to have a random fic where they just wail on the king. sigh. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

1kook · 4 years

Text

disney+ & bust

this is part of my netflix & chill collection !

summary; There’s a pounding on your door a little past noon, so hard and rough, that you almost think it’s the police finally coming to catch you for all your years of illegally pirating Phineas and Ferb. It’s not. It’s just a really drunk boyfriend wailing for your forgiveness at the door. warnings; arguments, feelings of insecurity, bit of asshole jk, smut in the forms of degradation, dumbification, choking, fingering, spit kink, self punishment, unprotected but [ passionate ] sex, jk losing his cool, return of mean jk, he is actually an emotional mess in this one wtf miscellaneous; ANGST, anniversaries, the L word😳, app developer kook, rip ‘pretty girl’ </3, we all become phineas and ferb stans word count; 13k !!

notes; me: *writes couple who’s whole arc is being silly* y’all: MAKE THEM SUFFER GIVE US ANGST!! u ask I deliver so now we all suffer 😐 ngl it was hard writing this fic n u might notice there’s some parts that seem weird n that’s bc this was TWO fics w diff wording but I ended up mixing them bc I’m insane. still had a lot of fun! felt like I challenged myself!! not proofread bc when I say we suffer we SUFFER

please let me know what you think!!! a simple ask goes a long way <3

previous part: kissanime & foreplay

Approximately one week after The Bullet Bestie’s rise to prominence, Jungkook grows annoyed with it as his weirdly competitive nature rears its ugly head the more and more orgasms that little vibrator coaxes out of you. It turns on a weird switch in him, something slightly stuck up and snooty that he’ll never admit to out loud but is there nonetheless. By the following Friday, The Bullet Bestie is nestled deep in your garbage can and Jungkook’s back to pleasuring you with his tongue and fingers alone.

He had those moments in him, the ones where he liked to think he was better than any and everyone else, and occasionally they manifested against inanimate objects like a bullet vibrator.

Despite his polite and generally soft exterior, you catch glimpses of that cocky spirit more than anyone else. Over the past year, you’ve come to realize that Jungkook’s personality was like a coin that had been left out in the sun too long. He had this sweet and reserved nature you saw most times, a kindhearted boyfriend who adored you almost as much as you adored him. He was your angel whom you knew had a heart of gold, even if you were slowly bringing out his more childish tendencies. You knew him like the back of your hand, knew what his mom’s favorite color was and how he liked to stack the plates in his cabinet according to size and make. It was a side that was rusted from years of being out in the sun, basking in its adoring warmth, and you loved every inch about it.

And still, there was this other side to him you rarely saw. This cocky asshole who hid beneath the soft smiles and careful hands, making his appearance only through sly smirks and a tongue prodding against the inside of his cheek. He was a braggart, a man who knew his greatness yielded for no one and wanted that fact shoved down everyone’s faces. This Jungkook, this other side that never saw the light of day, was like the Hyde to his Jekyll. An unexpected, almost mean side to him that only dared make his appearance when his exhilaration was at an all-time high. Like when he was fucking you into another dimension, or kicking your ass in Mario Kart, or like now, when he was receiving an award at an annual tech ceremony.

On the eve of your one year anniversary, Jungkook’s company invites him to an awards ceremony for other web and app developers like him. It’s a grand event, filled with all the biggest nerds in the developing industry here to present the baby nerds with awards. Jungkook lies somewhere in the middle of the spectrum, both a seasoned player and a rookie all at once. He spends the night tolling you around in a floor-length gown and fangirling over all the “legends” in the room.

You know next to none of these people and none of their accomplishments but still pretend you respect them to hell and back. By the end of the main dinner, you’re sympathizing with Barbie’s ever-smiling features because your cheeks feel sore.

Towards the end of the night, Jungkook wins that random award— okay, who were you fooling? He wins the Platinum Mobile Standard of Excellence Award, recognizing him for all the hard work you’ve seen him put in this past year. It’s probably the highest recognition he can receive at this point in his career. It was an esteemed award that was bestowed upon only the most innovative developer of the year among tech companies, something Jungkook had briefly mentioned he always wanted. It’s basically the equivalent of placing first place in his field, but given Jungkook’s competitive industry and his young age, you think it’s like telling all these old Facebook lords to suck his big fat cock. (But that was your job when you got home.)

He gives a short little thank you speech, promising to work hard and own up to this title. The people around you are swooning, obviously endeared with his soft puppy dog features and melodic voice. They don’t know him like you do, don’t know that uppity twist to his grin like you do. It doesn’t slip off his face even when he steps down off the stage, arms wide open as he comes barreling towards you. Even with you in his arms, the congratulations that are thrown from every direction ring loudly in his ears and swell that ego of his.

The night goes like that for the most part, Jungkook’s acquaintances approaching him every few minutes to rain down their praises. He goes a little crazy at the open bar after a while, shoving the gold trophy into your arms as his beloved work seniors whisk him off for drinks. You don’t mind because you resigned yourself to a night of playing Jungkook’s perfectly perfect partner anyway, watching him politely mingling with his coworkers. Despite his earlier success, you know he won’t brag about it verbally. No, he’ll wait until the two of you get home—your place or his—and remind you how amazing he is with a quick snap of his hips.

As you said, he’ll never boast aloud.

However, that doesn’t mean you won’t.

“That’s my boyfriend,” you explain to the seventh person that greets you that night, excitedly pointing to where said boyfriend was slowly losing all sense of self by the bar. You don’t know anyone here beside Jungkook, and you’re pretty sure no one in their hammered minds is going to remember who you are anyway, so a little gloating never hurt anyone. “He won the ‘I’m Better Than Everyone Else’ award tonight,” you emphasize to the tipsy woman beside you who only laughs at your exaggeration. You assume she’s like you, accompanying one of the many developers here, because as soon as you finish boasting about Jungkook she moves to brag about someone too.

Truth be told, you spend the whole night re-analyzing the Zootopia movie you saw on Disney+ the other night in your head. So if the little fox fellow didn’t control himself would the city have fallen to ruins? Why was the useless sheep girl so evil and bitter? Why was there an unreal amount of romantic tension between the fox and the rabbit? Whatever, you’ll have to rewatch it some other night, and with your new Disney+ account, you could watch it anywhere you wanted to.

Now, you had never bothered to purchase a Disney+ subscription or even tried to swindle Jungkook for his password before. As far as you know, Disney+ was filled with old tv shows from your childhood, sitcoms that made you laugh when you were ten. There’s nothing wrong with that, but personally, you were a firm believer that that which was perfect should not be touched once finished; in other words, you were utterly terrified you’d rewatch an old episode of The Wizards of Waverly Place, only to find out the same joke you’ve been regurgitating for the past ten years doesn’t actually go that way.

However, the harsh reality was that Disney+ was good for a few things. Ugh, you hate when giant corporations provide decent services. Aside from Zootopia, you’ve watched about every animated media on there as well, all of which you replay in your mind as Jungkook has the time of his life with these nerds, knocking back champagne glass after champagne glass.

Anyway, the night ends a little past midnight, and Jungkook who is buzzed on alcohol and high on exhilaration ends up calling an Uber for the two of you. Your apartment— the new one he had not only helped you hunt for but also helped you move into, greatly cutting the cost of movers out with those glistening biceps and thick thighs —is still going through her rebellious phase where the potted plants are trying to take over, courtesy of Kim Namjoon. So for now, there’s a potted plant in an awkward corner that both of you stub your toe against on your way to your bedroom.

You’re thinking Jungkook is going to go to town tonight, given the fact he’s on Cloud 9 and has had his ego stroked by a bunch of dudes for the past couple hours. Maybe you guys can try out the hot role-playing scenario you saw on GirlsWay a few weeks ago, or the handcuffs you impulsively bought from Amazon one Monday night. Or maybe, and this one really makes you flutter, he’ll let you fully take the reins for once.

All those lewd fantasies end up being for naught because just as you shimmy out of your gown (with the help of his hands, of course) and turn to climb him like a tree, he’s on the other side of the room getting your makeup remover out for you. And also talking. A lot. And way more than usual.

“Did you see him, babe?” he sighs, dare you to say, dreamily, handing you the cotton pads as he begins pulling a million pins out of your hair. Slowly and with a lot of confusion, you pull your fake lashes off and begin cleaning your face. “He was amazing.”

“Uh-huh,” you say, having absolutely no idea who ‘he’ is or why Jungkook is so in love with him and not you at this very moment. “But so were you,” you add. Perfect. Stroke his ego and then stroke his cock.

Jungkook sputters at your praise. He’s carefully placing your hairpins on your thigh, cheeks flaming red every time he leans over you. “Was I?” he murmurs, voice sweet in that cute little way it always gets when he’s downed one too many shots of whiskey, enough to be buzzed but not enough to be wasted.

You turn and the pins clatter to the floor and across the bedsheets. “Yes,” you confirm, ignoring his sad huff at the mess you’ve made. Instead, you grab him by the collar of that pink button-up he taunted you with all night. “You were fucking incredible and I think incredible men deserve to have their dick sucked.”

Jungkook laughs at your vulgar statement, holding you gently by the hips as you climb into his lap. “Is that so?” The soft, shy persona is gone now, replaced by the gentle stirring beneath his dress pants. You nod hurriedly, plopping down on his lap and running your hands through his styled hair.

“Yes,” you confirm, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Luckily for you, I know this nymphomaniac who would gladly gobble up your cock at your every command.”

He snorts just as you push him into his back, nose adorably scrunched up. “First of all, you know I hate that word,” he chuckles, finally gracing you with a sweet peck that only makes you want him to fuck you into the fifth dimension. “Secondly, please don’t ever say you’ll gobble my cock up ever again.”

Something inside of you squeals with excitement as he rolls the two of you over, firm body pressing down on yours. “Oh, baby,” you groan, lazily throwing a leg over his hip. Jungkook grins and then decides to entertain you for a few minutes with a sloppy kiss.

You say a few minutes because just as things are heating up, he pulls away. He smiles apologetically. “As much as I’d love to be here with you, I actually have an early morning tomorrow.”

You frown at the sudden change in events. “Huh? They’re gonna make you work the morning after a Gatsby party?” you gasp, sitting up as he gets off of you. With every step he takes away from the bed your heart breaks a little more. “They can’t do that— that’s illegal!”

From the doorway he levels you with a comically raised brow. “No, it’s not.”

You scamper after him down the hall, watch the muscles in his back flex as he pulls his suit jacket on. “You can’t work on our anniversary— that’s illegal!” you offer instead.

He stops at your front door, feet squeezed back into his shoes. “Baby, it’s not,” he rolls his eyes, leaning down to peck your forehead. “It was either I work in the morning or work at night,” he explains, giving your messy hair a soothing caress. He’s looking at you with those eyes, the ones that make your heart lodge itself into your throat and make life a tightrope experience. There’s a devastatingly lovesick part of you that wants this moment, this kind face, to be engraved into your mind for the rest of your life. You want this to be the first and last thought you have and nothing else: just Jungkook’s adoring gaze on you for the rest of time.

The moment ends too soon when he flutters one last peck against your lips. “I’ll be done in the afternoon, okay?”

You pout. “Okay, your place?” you huff, making sure to get one last octopus squeeze around his waist. He nods. “Promise you won’t be late?”

The corners of his gaze soften. “You know I won’t,” he smiles, leaning down to bump your noses together playfully. “Can’t stay away from my pretty girl too long. Besides, I have a gift for you tomorrow.”

It’s with that sentiment and a hammering heart that you let him go. With Jungkook gone, there’s really nothing for you to do now. You took the next two days off in preparation for your anniversary sex, so you don’t have to head to sleep early like usual.

With nothing else planned, you decide on rewatching that Zootopia movie that had plagued you all night, ready to dissect every plot hole to hell and back. You don’t think Jungkook’s seen this movie yet so you add it to your long list of animated movies you’re forcing him to watch.

Part of you is actually really surprised Jungkook left. Well, kinda sorta, very, but not really. Jungkook was a good boy, that much was obvious. He took his job seriously, and if his job wanted him to come in at the asscrack of dawn, then he’d come in before the sun even rose. He was a goody-two-shoes, but even so, you were occasionally able to bring out that darker side in him.

Jungkook working, like actually working in an office setting, was pretty rare though. The dude had a chill job that let him stay home most of the time, and essentially clock in whenever he wanted. Every now and then you were able to convince him to stay, tucking him beneath your body or the covers, depending on the night, and refusing to let him go the morning after.

Once he had eaten you out until the wee hours of the day, ravenous between your thighs, and then went to work the next morning like he hadn’t broken you. Another time you had persuaded him into watching every season of the 2017 DuckTales reboot through the night. When the alarm had rung in the middle of the season finale, he had simply gotten into your shower and gone off to work.

So maybe you were a little confident in your skills, and Jungkook slipping between your fingers tonight was a huge bummer. But there was no use crying over spilled milk, you tell yourself, flinging your bra off somewhere in the corner as you snuggle back into your sheets. You’re ready to tear this Zootopia movie apart, scene by scene.

Even though your apartment is a little cold, you’re comforted by the fact Jungkook will be here to keep you warm all day tomorrow.

All men do is lie.

Despite his promise to come home early the next day, Jungkook ends up lying. The meeting he had been in all morning— the same one that had stopped you from getting bent like a pretzel the night before —drags on well past noon. Then, Kim Namjoon, AKA Jungkook’s favorite senpai in the entire world, catches wind of Jungkook’s success last night and absolutely has to take him out to lunch to celebrate.

You scoff, glaring down at your phone and the impulsive messages you’d sent out an hour ago when Jungkook had first texted you telling you he would be late.

You whirl around to stomp off in the direction of his living room, where all of yours and Jungkook’s favorite foods were growing colder by the minute. You had spent the longest time carefully laying them out, making sure the fried chicken was closer than the pizza but not closer than the breadsticks. Truthfully it’s a nightmare. There are about eight stomach aches worth of food sitting on his coffee table, the greasy stench makes you gag and will certainly stick to your hair for weeks, but none of that mattered because it was all for your beau.

Your very late beau who was making you grow more and more agitated with each minute that passed. Ugh! How inconsiderate of him to test your patience on a day like this. You didn’t want to be upset with him, but this was your first, real milestone as a couple with him. You had wanted to spend the whole day cuddled up, maybe finally tell him how much he really meant to you— definitely not waking up alone with eyeliner crusted eyes and an aching heart.

Deciding you’re being a little too dramatic, you head into the bedroom to calm down. This was fine, you tell yourself, carefully laying out the damn near harlotrous lingerie you had yet to put on. Jungkook would come over soon and everything would be A-okay.

Except for the part it’s actually F-not okay because soon it’s nearing sunset and the food has gone cold so you’ve stocked it into the fridge, and the pretty sheer bra has a wonky wire that’s two seconds away from piercing through your heart, but that doesn’t even matter because Jungkook being late for your all-day anniversary celebration has already ripped it to shreds anyway.

You plop down on the couch in defeat, impulsively opening up the Disney+ app to cry through another episode of Phineas and Ferb. You’ve abandoned the satin robe that came with the lingerie in favor of donning a big t-shirt that smells like him and makes your heart hurt even more. The setting sun paints the living room in muted oranges, the chirping of birds outside the soundtrack to your lonely day.

You end up watching some other cartoon on Disney+, avoiding the Marvel section because you had promised Jungkook he could be there when you lost your Marvel virginity. Well, at least one of you was good at keeping promises, you think bitterly. For a second, you think about randomly watching one of the infamous MCU films out of order just to spite him. But then you think of that soft puppy gaze and how disappointed he’d be in you.

Whatever! It wouldn’t ever match up to the way you felt now.

Anyway, you circle back. When you’re five episodes into Phineas and Ferb you hear the doorknob rattle.

You sit up just as the door swings open, visible from your spot on the couch. He meets your gaze almost immediately, big doe eyes caught in the act. What act? You’re not really sure. In fact, you don’t even know what you’re looking at when he walks in because he’s drowning in shopping bags. His lips twist into a grin. “Honey, I’m home,” he says playfully.

You don’t laugh.

Jungkook frowns, dumping all his bags down at the entrance before waddling over towards you. “Hey, what’s wrong?” he asks, coming to stand before you and cupping your face in his hands. He’s towering over you, so tall and gorgeous but for the first time, you’re not dazed by his beauty.

“Kook, you said you’d be back hours ago,” you say slowly, avoiding his gaze. You try to keep the frustration out of your voice, but you’ve had hours to dwell on it now, and those annoying cartoon characters, though charming at first, had only served to multiply your annoyance.

Jungkook blinks, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I mean… yeah. But I got you presents?” he beams, glancing back at the mountainous pile he made by the door. You look over too. There are some luxury bags squeezed in between other shops you like, the occasional jewelers' logo on the side.

You stand with a sigh, sauntering off into the kitchen with him on your tail. “I don’t want presents,” you mumble, reaching to pour yourself a glass of water. You’re briefly aware of how childish you must seem. Jungkook hovers behind you.

“What? Yes, you do,” he says. “You had an entire wishlist on my Amazon of things you wanted.” It’s his turn to level you with an unreadable expression, slowly crossing his arms over his chest.

Your frown only deepens as you turn to match his stance against the counter. While it may be true that you did indeed have an entire list of impulsive items on his Amazon, that didn’t necessarily mean you wanted them all. Sometimes you just wanted to stare longingly at a pair of satin gloves without actually buying them. You don’t know how to explain this much to him. “They’re not…” you stop with another deep breath. “Forget it. Thank you for the presents.”

Now it’s Jungkook’s turn to question you. “What,” he says in an unimpressed tone, padding over to you before you can escape back into the living room to watch the entire princess movie collection on Disney+. “No, tell me what’s wrong.”

For some reason, that’s exactly what you don’t want to hear. “Jungkook,” you say flatly, narrowing your eyes at him. “You come home six hours after you said you would without telling me why, and normally I wouldn’t care, but today was supposed to be a special day for us.”

Jungkook reels at your bluntness. “Babe, I was out getting stuff for you. I know it’s our anniversary— that’s why I wanted to treat you,” he responds, oddly condescendingly like you’re a child who doesn’t understand what exactly he was doing.

You brush his hands away from your shoulders. “Yeah,” you huff. “Now I know that. But I spent all day waiting for you,” you stress, chest puffing as you grow more and more agitated by his inability to understand you. God, can he let you go now? At least a bunch of animated, geometrically drawn cartoons won’t question you like this and make you feel as childish as he was.

When he doesn’t say anything else you stomp back into the living room, snatching up your phone from its forgotten spot against the couch. “I’m going to bed.”

At that Jungkook seems to kickstart back to life. “What? ___, it’s barely six,” he says as he follows after you into your bedroom. You ignore him, shuffling beneath the covers. In all actuality, you’re going to bed to mope and watch more animated family shows, maybe cry under the guise of the plot just being so sad. Jungkook sits beside you just as you click back on to finish off your episode. “Baby, I don’t get it,” he sighs. “You’re always talking about how much you want this or that, and I go out and get you it all but now you’re mad?”

You bite down on your lip, eyes lasered in on the pictures moving before you. “Jungkook, just forget it.”

“No,” he says, more sternly than he’s ever been with you before. “If there’s a problem, tell me.” There’s a heavy pause, and then he says, “don’t make me waste my time guessing what’s wrong, okay?”

“Waste your time?” you scoff, sitting up with pinched brows that you find match his. “I’m not trying to waste anyone’s time— in fact, that’s hot coming from you, Jungkook.”

He rolls his eyes. “What are you even saying? You’re mad because I took a little long getting presents, for you, might I add,” he huffs, plopping down on the edge of the mattress beside your knee. “You’re always saying you want this and that, but you can’t handle me going out to get those things? Do you hear how weird you sound?”

You whip the covers off of you. “Me talking about things doesn’t always mean I want them,” you defend.

Jungkook snorts. “Yes, it does,” he says. “Anytime you ramble about stuff for minutes like a little kid it’s because you want me to buy it for you.”

You blink. “Like a little kid?” you repeat, stunned by his comparison. Granted, you always knew you were the more childish of the two, but you never thought that would equate Jungkook thinking of you as a child. Something red and nasty flares in your chest. “Well sorry,” you spit, crossing your arms over your chest defensively, “sorry we all can’t be perfectly mature golden boys who would never see the light of day if I constantly wasn’t dragging them out.” You know it’s a somewhat low blow, especially because Jungkook’s told you before how his introverted tendencies were a sensitive issue growing up, but you can’t help it.

Jungkook groans, dropping his head into his hands. “Baby, don’t do this now,” he warns, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. “Stop acting like this.”

“Like how?” you spit, “like a kid?” Jungkook says nothing, leveling you with a blank stare from the corner of his eye. You roll your eyes, phone falling off your lap. Another episode of Phineas and Ferb had started, the corny opening tune filling the space between the two of you. “At least now I know what you think of me,” you mutter over the guitar riff.

“Oh my god,” Jungkook blurts, sitting up wildly. “Of course I’m gonna think of you as a stupid little kid, look at you,” he seethes, gesturing at the phone beside you. You flinch. “All you do is watch kids shows and whine whenever I wanna watch anything normal adults watch. You complain every single day about the most normal things, like your job? Why should I fucking care that you’re working a dead-end office job in a field you didn’t even study for— that’s not my problem, __!” he snaps, eyes narrowed into little slits. “I just won an award last night,” he says suddenly, voice back to its regular volume. “I’m at the height of my career and I’m only going up, but I can’t even enjoy that because I have to come home and cater to you,” he finishes, a loud scoff punctuating the final word.

You had never imagined Jungkook finally bragging about himself would be at your expense.

A beat of silence passes, the angry glint in his eyes quickly fading away the longer you don’t say anything. You sniff once, turning your head idly to the side where Phineas and Ferb is still blaring loudly from your phone speaker. Picking up the device, you throw it across the room where it hits his closet door with a terrifying bang the breaks the silence.

The sound snaps Jungkook out of whatever shock he’d been in. “Baby…” he says slowly, carefully, like you’re a caged animal that’s just escaped the zoo.

“I’m going home,” you say, also a little too calmly. You saunter over towards his closet where your shattered phone screen glares up at you as you yank a pair of sweats off a hanger. Jungkook is still frozen on the edge of the bed, watching you with wide eyes as you move about the room.

It’s when you’re in the hallway leading downstairs that Jungkook finally snaps out of his daze, scampering behind you as you descend the stairs. “Baby,” he rushes out, loudly bounding down after you, “___, wait,” he gasps, catching you by the kitchen counter collecting your keys. “I-I didn't mean that,” he rushes out, eyes wide and frantic as they flicker over your expression. “I don’t think that—I don’t, baby, please, just… let me explain, please.”

“Jungkook, let go of me,” you respond, shaking your wrist in an attempt to release yourself. He’s not even holding you tightly— he never would—but the sound of your heart pounding in your ears makes your movements jerky and erratic. “I wanna go home.”

“No,” he chokes, cornering you against the counter. “No, baby, please just listen to me, I-I—“

“You what, Jungkook?” you snap, placing a hand on his chest and forcefully pushing him away. He lets you, stepping back with a wobbly bottom lip. “You need to tell me how you’re too good for me? How much I hold you down because I wasn’t lucky enough to get a job like yours straight out of college?” He says nothing, swallowing roughly as you jab a finger into his chest. “Well let me tell you something,” you snarl, chest heaving, “I may be childish and a huge complainer, but I’m not stupid enough to let someone walk all over me like this.”

With that, you make your great escape. Truthfully, you don’t want him to see the tears in your eyes as you yank his door open, stomping down his steps and in the direction of the nearest bus stop. The door opens right after you tug it shut, painting your shadow across the sidewalk. There’s the scrambled sound of house slippers against the concrete that follows you down. “Go the fuck back inside,” you snap without missing a beat.

Sensing your obvious anger, he pauses before he can reach you. “Text me when you get home?” he calls out quietly.

“No,” you respond.

You would never admit to anyone that you spend the entire night eating a tub of mint chocolate ice cream. It’s disgusting and makes you gag, but it’s the only one you have in your apartment. And of course, it was brought over by none other than Jeon Jungkook himself a few days ago. Even when you’re trying to comfort yourself over how mean he was, on your anniversary night no less, you’re plagued by thoughts of him everywhere.

As much as you want to brush his words off, put on that cool girl exterior you’ve maintained since high school, there’s something different about this situation. You guess it’s impossible to brush off such hateful words when they come from someone you love and adore so much.

Were you too childish? You had always believed that side of you was what made your relationship with Jungkook so perfect. The two of you meshed well because of your differences, like yin and yang. So how had he been able to so easily deconstruct every inch of that balance in a matter of a few seconds? Was this perfect reality all in your head this whole time?

You want to tell yourself it was just a heat of the moment outburst from Jungkook, give him the benefit of the doubt because he’s never snapped at you like this before. Of course you’ve fought a couple of times in the past year, but neither of you had ever stooped as low as you did yesterday. Furthermore, the insecure part of your brain says he obviously felt this somewhere in his heart to bring it up at all. What he had said to you wasn’t something someone could make up on the spot.

You don’t text him when you get home, partly to spite him, but mainly because you had left your phone at his place anyway. You know he tried calling you last night because the call log is synced up to your laptop. He called on and off for about thirty minutes before he probably found your phone in his room. Whatever, he can mope in his regret for all you care

—is what you wanna say, but the longer he goes without showing himself to you the more your insecurities and hurt fester. Was this it? Was this the end of what was probably the best year of your life? It’s too painful to think about, to even consider the possibility that Jungkook might have gained a new insight last night and decided, hey, maybe this is for the best after all.

You drown yourself in an ungodly amount of sugar for breakfast, your laptop blaring yet another episode of Phineas and Ferb on the dining table. Muscle memory has you making Jungkook’s favorite pancakes before you can stop yourself, and by the time you do realize, you’ve resigned yourself to the blueberry smell anyway.

There’s a pounding on your door a little past noon, so hard and rough, that you almost think it’s the police finally coming to catch you for all your years of illegally pirating Phineas and Ferb.

It’s not.

It’s just a really drunk boyfriend wailing for your forgiveness at the door. You open the door with a fright, jumping back when he slumps forward and almost crashes face-first into the floor. “You didn’t call,” Jungkook cries, leaning a little too much of his weight onto you when you reach out to steady him.

The thundering of your heart slows upon registering it’s him. “Kook?” you frown, nose pinched at the ungodly stench of alcohol wafting off his clothes. “Have you been drinking?” you ask even though the answer is staring you right in the face (and in the nose).

He groans, staggering deeper into your arms. You blindly push the door shut behind him, resigning yourself to this new situation while your pancakes grow cold in the other room. “Baaaby,” he slurs, letting you guide him into the living space. He’s unceremoniously dumped onto the couch, half-opened eyes gazing up at you. “Let me,” a hiccup, “explain.”

You won’t lie. There’s a very obvious sense of discomfort sitting in your chest, torn between two paths that you don’t wish to choose between. His skin is warm and flushed like he’s just walked all the way here in this morning sun. You step over to the window that faces down onto the street below. There’s no sign of his car; you would have killed him if he ever tried to drive in this state.

“Did you walk here?” you ask instead, deciding there’s no need for one singular path, not when you can walk straight down the middle, both cleaning him and grilling him at the same time.

Jungkook’s response is delayed, head lolling from side to side as you help him out of his sweater. His skin is sweaty beneath, scorching to the touch. “Uh-huh,” he groans. Jesus, you sort of assumed but him confirming it really set things into perspective.

By no means did you and Jungkook live on opposite ends of the earth. On a good day, a drive from your place to his took about ten minutes. But walking? Easily an hour. Had he walked all the way from his place, drunk on top of that?

You brush his hair away from his face, his eyes fluttering shut at your touch. His lips are pouty yet chapped, dehydrated from the sun and the alcohol he reeks of. “Sit up for me,” you instruct, scampering off to your room for chapstick and water.

“Anything for you,” Jungkook wheezes, throat probably dryer than a desert. When you return, he’s two seconds from face planting into the coffee table and breaking that pretty face of his. You catch him with a hand on his shoulder, keeping him balanced. “Tell me what to do,” he chokes out, voice hoarse.

“Just need you to drink some water,” you say, pressing a cup against his lips. He drinks it, but a drop still dribbles down his chin.

“No,” he groans, catching your wrist in his hand when you reach up to apply some chapstick on him. “Tell me what to do,” he stresses, “to fix this. Fix us.”

His words make you pause, the tube of chapstick hovering over his plush lips. “You don’t have to do anything,” you respond quietly, trying to finish the application so you can pull away.

Jungkook doesn’t let you go. You try to look away, but there’s something about him that looks off. Maybe it’s the raw skin under his eyes, red and swollen. Or the sad droop to those same eyes that hold you captive. Or maybe it’s the subtle tremble in his hands, the fingers that hold tightly to your wrist, not to keep you there but to ground himself. “I don’t wanna lose you,” he rasps out, shakily bringing your hand to his mouth, where he presses one airy kiss to your knuckles. “Tell me ho-how to fix this and I’ll do it,” he pleads, a vulnerable look in his eyes.

Unable to withstand the sheer amount of agony on his expression, you look away. “___, please,” he chokes out, stumbling off the couch in his drunk and desperate haze until he’s kneeling in front of you. “I can’t… I can’t,” he sniffles, tears clouding those pretty eyes you’ve come to love so much. “I don’t know who I am without you.”

You clench your jaw. “You’re Jeon Jungkook,” you murmur, slipping your hand out of his hold to run through his hair. It’s knotted and a little too greasy, two things Jungkook would usually never allow. “This year’s Platinum Mobile Standard of Excellence Award recipient,” you remind him, trailing your thumb across his cheekbone when he turns to look up at you with those big Bambi eyes. “Sweet and shy, but you love being rowdy with your friends. You love movies and TV and organizing your shirts according to fabric type. You work harder than anyone I know and never complain. You date me, even though I’m a huge child,” you smile sadly.

“No!” he jumps, turning that frantic stare back into you. “Y-You’re not— it’s not,” he stammers, words still slurring together. “I’m a liar,” he cries, resting his forehead on your knees. His shoulders shake. “I don’t deserve you,” he weeps quietly. You place a hand on his shoulder. “Y-Y-You make my life so much better, ___, so colorful and fun. I-I wish I knew you in high school,” he admits, “maybe I wouldn’t have been so emotionally constipated now.”

“You’re not,” you reassure him softly.

He disagrees. “You bring out the best,” he hiccups, “the best in me.” Your heart skips in your chest. “I-I love you, you know that?”

You sputter, eyes wide at his sudden confession. “I… love you so much, y’know? I think about you ev-every night, ___,” he rambles, eyes dreamily gazing off into some miscellaneous spot on the wall behind you. “I can’t get you out of my head. Like you're a song, o-on repeat but it’s not annoying because it’s my favorite song, and I could listen to it for the rest of my life, y’know? My favorite song, I know all the words b-because it’s all I think about! I love... My love… I love you so much.”

“Kook,” you rush out, cheeks flaming as you try to pull him away from where he’s slumped over your legs. His passionate speech has you abuzz, body tingling everywhere until you feel overwhelmed, head spinning like you’re on a rollercoaster. “Let’s get you to bed.”

He nods sleepily, seemingly coming down from whatever alcohol induced rampage has allowed him to walk for an hour straight in this searing heat just to confess to you. “Y-You don’t have to say it back,” he continues to stutter as you guide him through the living room on wobbly legs. “I just-I just— can I?” he babbles. “Can I love you, ___?”

You pass through the kitchen space, where whatever you were watching on Disney+ is blaring loudly. It distracts Jungkook for about two seconds before his attention returns to you. When you don’t answer, he presses on. “Is that okay?” he asks, whirling around to face you, catching your shoulders in his hands. He towers over you by the entrance to your bedroom, dark curls tickling your forehead. His eyes are dark and glazed over, both in tears and an emotion so raw and unfiltered it squeezes around your chest until you can’t breathe. “Is it okay for me to love you?” he murmurs softly, knocking his nose against yours.

Your cheeks blaze. “Yes, th-that’s fine, Kook,” you blubber, placing a hand over his chest, where his heart is also hammering away. “Just need you to go rest now, okay?”

He nods sleepily, nudging your nose with his one last time, like a soft almost-kiss, before letting you push him into the room. “Yes, yes,” he breathes, his body finally crashing from his adrenaline spike. He flops down onto the bed unceremoniously, dark waves fanning across your pillows. You try to wiggle him out of his shirt, but it only gets about halfway up his chest before he blindly reaches for the covers. His legs stick out awkwardly, clad in the sweatpants you’ve come to associate with him.

When he’s all swaddled up in your blanket he finally goes limp, tiny snores leaving his lips as he dozes away from reality. You sigh, pressing a palm to his forehead. He’s still warm and clammy, but at this point, there’s nothing you can do but wait for him to sober up.

With a final kiss to his forehead, you leave the room, closing the door behind you before sliding against the wooden surface. There’s a trapped bird in your chest, wildly flapping its wings in an effort to get out, and it’s all stupid Jungkook’s fault in the next room. Stupid Jungkook who demolished and remodeled your heart all in less than twenty-four hours. It doesn’t calm down, even when you rush off into the kitchen for a glass of water, or when you try to immerse yourself in some other show on Disney+. It stays beating against your ribs and your chest until you’re forcing yourself to sit down on the couch and process.

He wakes up a little before dinner. You hear him from the living room, where you’re flicking through the options on Disney+ for the nth time that day. You’ve seen the first fifteen minutes of about twenty different series and movies by now, always growing antsy and abandoning them early on. The only reason you know he’s awake is because the shower turns on for a few minutes, and then his bare feet are heard padding across the hallway back into your room.

By the time he resurfaces in the living room, you’ve resigned yourself to just more Phineas and Ferb, nonchalantly watching the silly cartoon. (Except you’re anything but nonchalant, and your heartbeat rings in your ears.)

Jungkook hovers by the door, clad in a pair of shorts he’s left here before, and a t-shirt you stole from him. “Hey,” he says quietly, lingering by the doorframe. You nod back in response. “Can I watch with you?” Again, another nod.

Slinking over to the couch, he’s rather careful as he sits down, leaving a few inches of space between the two of you. You don’t even think he can see the screen of your laptop until he murmurs, “he’s my favorite character,” when Perry the Platypus appears on the screen.

You hum. “Thought you didn’t like these kids shows?” you ask. You don’t mean it to sound as petty and backhanded as it comes out, but that’s really no one's fault but his own.

Jungkook’s breathing tightens beside you. “No,” he admits, “I don’t. Only watch them because I know you like them.” You contemplate pausing the episode and engaging in a real conversation with him, but at this point, you’re very tired from the events of the last day. Jungkook doesn’t press either, just shuffles more comfortably beside you.

You get about five minutes in, quiet chuckles shared between the two of you, before he strikes. “I’m sorry about yesterday,” he says, so hushed you almost don’t hear it. His hand is resting in the space between you, pinky brushing against yours. “About… being late. And the presents.”

You inspire slowly. “That wasn't even the problem, silly,” you brush off. From your peripheral, you see Jungkook’s slow nod. “I didn’t want any presents,” you mention, “I just wanted you.” You look away from the screen immediately after, pretending like the spot on the ceiling is actually really interesting.

The two of you fall into silence, the animated characters on your screen rapidly chattering away. “Oh,” Jungkook says after a moment.

You roll your eyes. They’re moist but you don’t want him to see. “Yeah, oh,” you parrot back softly, relaxing into the couch again. “Did you eat the food I left out?”

Jungkook shuffles beside you, the soft lull of the speakers soon being cut as he reaches over to pause Phineas and Ferb. A couple of seconds pass and then he’s leaning into you, head resting on your shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes again, placing a palm over the hand he had been teasing for the past few minutes. “I thought I knew what I was doing but I was wrong.”

His voice is so soft and sincere, it makes your chest ache. You try to burrow your face against your opposite shoulder, try to hide the stray tear that escapes out of the corner of your eye. “It’s fine,” you brush off, voice choked off and hoarse.

Jungkook leans up, pecks your cheek so tenderly it makes you go mushy. “No, it’s not fine. I acted like a know-it-all and said something way out of line,” he murmurs, raising his head to look at you. His hand feels warm over yours. It’s the touch you craved all day and yesterday, the warm feel of his body against yours. You’re embarrassed at how easily you melt into it. “You’re the best thing that has happened to me in a long time,” he tells you, holding your hand close to his chest. “I had no right to say those things to you.”

You sniffle, resting your head against his shoulder now. His heart beats loud enough for you to hear. “Was it true?” you mumble. “Do you really think of me like that?”

He shakes his head, his soft breaths fanning across your forehead. “No, never,” he answers. “I think you’re incredible. My brain was just trying to justify my dumb anger.”

You nod, even if you don’t believe it just yet. But that was a conversation for later, you suppose, sometime in the future when you aren’t on the verge of tears and threatening to crumble apart at the simplest word that leaves his mouth.

“I should have come home like you wanted, thought about my words before saying them,” he says, snuggling closer to you. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop,” you sniffle, covering your face with your free hand as he presses a kiss to the vein that runs over the back of the hand he’s holding captive. “Now it just sounds like I'm just being inconsiderate of your gifts and a crybaby.”

Jungkook kisses your temple softly, gently. “Don’t think about the gifts,” he says. “Just tell me what you wanted to do, doll.”

His voice calms you, has you like putty in his arms. “Watch movies,” you mumble, toying with a thread on your couch cushion. “Be with you.”

He hums. “Then we’ll do that,” he says, reaching for your laptop again. The screen nearly blinds you when it flickers back to life before you, Jungkook’s low breaths against your ear making it near impossible for you to process the titles on the screen. “You liked Disney+?”

Belatedly, you nod. “I like the animated movies,” you admit quietly, the anxieties of before slowly melting away, even more so when he slides his arm around you, pulling you close against his chest.

Unlike other times where he’ll critique the hell out of such childish films, Jungkook says nothing as he starts up the Zootopia movie instead, the same one you had wanted to show him before, right from the beginning. “That bunny looks like you,” you murmur when Judy Hopps first appears on the screen.

Jungkook snorts. “You say that about every cartoon bunny.”

You turn your head to glance at him over your shoulder. He meets your gaze with a small smile you return. “It’s because you’re so cute,” you say softly, lips twisting playfully when his cheeks grow scarlet.

He knocks his forehead against yours, eyes fluttering shut. “Not cute, just lucky,” he chuckles. “Lucky enough to have you.” Your heart turns over in your chest, threatening to burst out of your rib cage at his words. You try to turn in his arms. Before you can say the words that have been sitting on the tip of your tongue for months now, he’s beating you to it once again. “I love you,” he confesses in a hushed whisper, no alcoholic influence.

Something inside of you blossoms, eyes wide as he chastely kisses you. He pulls away without you ever reacting, too caught up in surprise to kiss him back properly. He stays close, curls tickling your forehead as he leans over you. “You don’t have to say it back, I just wanted you to know. I love you,” he says again, long lashes blinking down at you. “So much. It makes me feel like a stupid teenager again, going to the mall to buy a gift for my crush.” He laughs sheepishly, reaching down to tangle your fingers together. “Is that okay?” he asks quietly, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

It mirrors the confession he’d given you that morning, those slurred words and teary eyes. It had been difficult to pinpoint the legitimacy of it before, the meaning scrambled by his hazy mind. But with him staring at you like this now, like you single-handedly plucked the stars from the sky to put them in those sparkly eyes of his, it makes something inside you ache.

Still, you choke on your own spit. “I-Is it okay for you to love me?” you sputter incredulously, realizing the oddity of the same question he’d thrown at you earlier. But now, you’re both sober and you can really tear apart that sentence. Jungkook nods a little too seriously for your liking. “Are you crazy?” He blinks in confusion, brows pulling together as you slowly but surely lose the last bits of your sanity. “You’re an idiot, Jeon Jungkook,” you huff, “a stupidly handsome, rich, walking dream, idiot who goes out with stupid girls like me.”

“Not stupid,” he murmurs, closing in on you again as he finally understands the truth behind your masked insults. He smells minty and like his favorite body wash of yours.

“No,” you deny. “You’re actually, like, insane. You have a bachelor pad, make enough money to sustain an entire litter of kittens, look and talk like every teenage girl’s dream boyfriend— but you mess it all up by dating evil, conniving hoes like me who lose their shit over Disney cartoons.” He says nothing, watching you with an amused grin as you talk over yourself, basically regurgitating his statement from yesterday except it kinda seems plausible now that you’re over it. “It’s stupid. No, you’re stupid. No— I’m stupid.”

Jungkook chuckles, kissing the corner of your mouth gently. “Done?” he says, a dimple appearing on his cheek. You could kiss it away, but you need him to know the amount of stupidity in this room was astronomically high. “You’re not stupid, baby,” he says. You level him with a look. “Well. You have your moments.”

“Moments?” you repeat, standing up in a hurry that has him flopping down beside you. Your laptop is lost somewhere on the cushions, the voices faded as they grow farther away. “I am so stupid. I called Namjoon a whore for taking you out for lunch!” you cry. “I am the stupidest person in the world.”

Jungkook cackles, standing up beside you. “Yes, yes, you’re my stupid girl,” he teases, tapping the pout on your lips playfully. “So stupid she slanders herself instead of just telling me she loves me too.” He bumps your noses together, dark eyes staring at you almost daringly after his claim.

You fold soon enough. “I love you,” you mumble, “even if I’m too stupid to say it.”

He rewards your confession with a kiss, pulling you into his arms soon after. He sighs, almost wistfully. “Whatever shall I do with my very stupid girl?”

After exactly three minutes of feeling safe and loved in his arms, he abandons the living room in favor of leading you back to your room, where he pushes you down against your mattress. You cling to him, leaving him positioned over you at an angle. His chest presses against yours, arm curled around the back of your head. “Gotta get up, baby,” he laughs.

You shake your head, caging him in your arms. “Nuh-uh,” you murmur, legs wiggling when he places a hand on your hip.

Jungkook chuckles, pressing a kiss against the side of your ear. “Your movie is still playing in the other room,” he reminds you, thumb drawing soothing circles on your hip. You don’t release him, his mindless touch only encouraging you to keep him close. “Babe?”

You say nothing, relishing in the comfort of Jungkook’s presence. His hair smells good and feels even softer against the side of your face. The cotton shirt he found is crumpled beneath your fists, dark blue pattern wrinkling. Finally coming to terms with his new home, Jungkook eventually relaxes into your hold with a sigh.

“Alright,” he hums, patting your hip as he repositions himself more comfortably. “I get it. My pretty girl must’ve missed me, huh?” You nod, soaking in every detail about him in this moment. Jungkook shifts, the hand on your hip suddenly falling over your thigh instead. “Or should I say my stupid girl?” he purrs, hand slipping between your thighs. “My stupid, little girl?”

A gasp catches in your throat when he runs his fingers over the front of your panties. Your legs kick out wildly at the sudden touch, toes curling at the hands you dreamt about all day and night. “Oh,” you pant, each brush of his fingers feeling better than the last.

“What?” he says, mouthing against the side of your neck. His tongue feels warm, but the trails of saliva he leaves have you shivering. “Too dumb to speak?” he scoffs, biting down against a particular spot on your neck. You whimper, unsure if it’s because of his hands or his mouth.

“N-No,” you try to sneer back, fingernails digging into his skin through his shirt. His hands are getting braver now, the pad of his pointer finger dancing over your engorged clit. The sheer material of your panties certainly doesn’t help, each touch feeling like it’s being magnified three times over. And if it felt this good with underwear, you can’t even begin to imagine how it’d feel without.

You don’t have to ponder for long, because soon after Jungkook is slipping his hand beneath your waistband, touching your sensitive pussy head-on. “Kook.”

He uses your momentary vulnerability to ease himself from your hold, finally recoiling enough to smother your mouth with his. You moan in surprise, thighs quivering as he gets to work circling your hardened bud sans your panties. Jungkook isn’t the least bit kind as he kisses you ruthlessly, likes he’s trying to compensate for something with his movements. When he finally pulls away it’s with an obnoxious pop and cherry red lips. He huffs, glancing down to see where he’s got his fingers pleasuring you.

Your thighs are squirming back and forth, closing around his hand every few seconds. Jungkook snorts. “Huh, look at that,” he mutters, trailing down until his fingers are gliding over your quickly sopping folds. “Stupid girl is good for something.”

Your cheeks burn. “Kook, I’m not—“

Jungkook levels you with an unimpressed glare. “Not what? Not stupid? But I could’ve sworn you just spent the last few minutes saying you were,” he drones meanly, landing one light slap against your cunt that makes your hips buck.

You bite down a whimper. “I was just…” you trail off, eyes rolling back when he teases one finger against your opening.

“Kidding?” he supplies. “Well, I wasn’t.” Your heart stutters in your chest, eyes growing wide as he finally pushes himself off of you, propping himself up with an elbow beside your head. His gaze is dark and unrecognizable. “I think you’re so fucking stupid, doll,” he sneers. “And what are you gonna do about it?”

You should have seen this moment coming, the manifestation of that shiny side of the coin finally reaching its full potential.

While Jungkook wasn’t exactly shy about his interests, he certainly wasn’t tripping over himself to tell you every new kinky thing he wanted to try. You sort of guessed he had some interest in this sort of play a few weeks ago when you watched the Barbie movie at his place. A lot of that night had branded itself into your three am wet dreams, but there was one particular moment that stood out to you. That was you, on your knees, with him condescendingly patting your head. Or just last week, you vaguely remember the term slipping through his lips as he pleasured you with The Bullet Bestie.

The thing about Jungkook was that, until last night, he would have never admitted, or so much as even thought, that he was better than you. That was fine because you would say it enough for the both of you anyway. Did you think Jungkook was amazing, an absolute diamond among these measly rocks? Absolutely. (Were you slightly biased because you were his girlfriend? Skip.) However, you also had this insane evil villain complex that made you want to brag about everything you possibly could, especially if that meant bragging about your boyfriend.

Realistically speaking, he was better than you, that much you could look past yesterday’s anger to admit, and not even in a stuck-up, conceited way; he had a really good job, an architecturally amazing house, and a hot girlfriend. Meanwhile, you had a mediocre job, an okay apartment, and an insanely sexy Calvin Klein boyfriend, half of which he had pointed out yesterday. Regardless of how powerful that third factor was, he still outnumbered you three to one.

Sue you, Jungkook was amazing. Anyone could see that! Except, maybe, himself.

And if the only time Jungkook would openly brag about his greatness or establish how much better than you he was, was in a post-fight, sex-induced setting, then you were more than happy to be his punching bag. So long as it was on your terms, and not as a result of his weirdly bottled up feelings.

(Yeah, you would have a long talk about that tomorrow.)

But for now, you pout up at him, clamping your thighs shut purposefully. “You’re stupid too,” you defend, “stupid and mean.”

Something in his expression changes. Suddenly, he’s moving at superhuman speed as he snatches his hand out from where you had previously trapped him between your legs, yanking you up by the front of your shirt. “Mean?” he mocks. “Isn’t that what you always wanted?” You shiver, fingers wrapping around the wrist that holds your sweater. “Wanted me to be mean and push you around like a little rag doll?”

Jungkook looks at you for another two seconds, before he’s slowly pulling away from you, leaning back on his knees. His tongue is pressing against the inside of his cheek, jaw tightening from the movement. “Baby,” he says so quietly it instills a prickle of fear in you, tainted with delicious excitement.

“Yeah?” you whisper, sitting up tentatively as you watch him, He was a bit frightening, like a wild animal about to devour you whole.

Jungkook rolls his neck, the joints in his spine cracking as he begins tugging off his shirt. You salivate at the sight, too focused on the sinewy muscles of his body to catch the dark gaze he levels your way. He throws it off to the side, his sleeve of tattoos that wraps around his bicep and begins to crawl down his chest wonderfully unobstructed now. “Eyes up here,” he says and you quickly meet his gaze. He leans forward, muscled arms coming to cage you against the headboard. “Stupid little sluts don’t have the room to make such comments,” he rasps out, unamused expression adorning his normally soft features. “Don’t you think so?”

“I-I don’t know,” you stammer, leaning away as he comes closer and closer, eventually just turning your head to the side to avoid that emotionless look. It’s the wrong move, and Jungkook lets you know as much by forcefully digging his fingers into your cheeks and turning your face back around to meet his gaze.

A hand grabs beneath your knee, tugging harshly until you’re flopping down onto your back with a squeal. You settle with his knee pressed hotly against your core. Jungkook stays towering over you. “Dumb little girls who make me watch cartoons,” he spits, tracing a hand over your chest, molding your breasts beneath his hands roughly enough to make you gasp. “And watch little animal movies on Disney+. Aren’t they just so stupid?”

“So stupid,” you concede, subtly shifting your hips for some desperately needed friction. Jungkook snorts, finally granting you your wish with one rough slide of his thigh against your core.

“I agree,” he says, and surprises you with a hand around your throat as he leans in to properly grind his thigh into you. “All they’re good for is being dumb little sluts with good pussy,” he murmurs darkly, thumb pressing into the side of your neck forcefully. “Sometimes, they don’t even do anything,” Jungkook continues, his other hand on your hip hauling you higher up his thigh. You mewl, soaked panties rubbing roughly against your folds. You miss the soft swirl of his thumb, the gentle prod of his fingers. Even so, you can’t deny this change in Jungkook is doing something to you, riling up a part of you that you hadn’t known existed. Maybe it’s the horniness from yesterday that was left unfulfilled, the one year anniversary sex that was put on pause. “Just lay there and take it, too fucked out and dumb to say anything.”

His fingers loosen for the briefest of seconds and you gasp for breath. “That’s terrible,” you whimper, rolling your hips up into his thigh, so close to his swollen cock.

Jungkook chuckles without an ounce of humor, pressing your foreheads together as he helps grind you to completion. “Isn’t it? I think that stupid little girl is cute though.”

“I’m sorry,” you blurt, vision spotting as he tightens his hand back around your throat. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you moan, stomach tight from all the stimulation.

Jungkook hums, slowing you down with a tight grip on your waist. “Hm, what are you sorry for?” he croons, pink lips pulling into an evil smile. “You said you weren’t that stupid girl, __.”

You shake your head, trying to roll your hips up again but he’s holding you too tightly now, rendering you immobile beneath him. “I am,” you choke out shamefully, grabbing at the hand on your hip in a feeble attempt to remove it. “I am a stupid little girl.”

Jungkook smirks, leaning down to slot his mouth over yours. “That’s right,” he murmurs, “nothing but a dumb little slut.”

You shiver, opening your mouth when he slides his tongue against your bottom lip. He’s not the slightest bit nice, and more messy than usual. He pulls away with a bite to your lower lip, meeting your trembling gaze with that same unrecognizable glint in his eyes. “Come on, dummy, keep up,” he snarks before devouring you again. You try to, you really do, but he’s moving like an animal today, despite his slow and drunken movements from that morning. So you end up with his saliva dripping down your throat, clinging to the corners of your lips as he begins slowly grinding you against his thigh again. He flashes you a wicked smile, pearly teeth on display for you as he glances down at your messy appearance.

“Are you gonna touch me?” you ask, lower lip trembling at the thought after your desperate rutting. Jungkook purses his lips together in thought.

“Mmm,” he hums. “Don’t know yet.”

You whine. “Jungkook, please,” you whimper, wrapping your legs around his waist. “I need you.”

Jungkook chuckles, running his hand up your waist and taking your shirt with him. He slips his fingers beneath your bra, pushing the wire over your chest as he mouths at your neck. “Cute,” he says. “Can’t do it yourself?”

You tremble, chest arching into him as he rolls your nipple between his fingers. “I-I can,” you gasp. “Just feels better with you.”

Jungkook follows your statement with a nip against your skin, tongue soothing over it right after. “Why? Because I do everything better than you? Even make you cum better than you?”

Your cheeks heat up at his blatant ego rearing its head, hands carding through the hair at the nape of his neck. You say nothing, and that only eggs Jungkook on. “Come onnn,” he teases, finally, finally rolling his hips down onto your core. You squeak, head falling back against the pillows as you’re granted the one thing you’d been chasing. “Say it.”

“Say what?” you ask, voice wobbly as he continues to slowly rut against you, the front of his shorts pressing against the soaked crotch area of your panties. “Oh, oh, Jungkook,” you whine.

Suddenly he bites down harshly, teeth digging painfully into your skin. You yelp in surprise, pussy throbbing at the pain that shoots throughout your body. Jungkook pulls away and doesn’t bother soothing over it as he leans up to capture your jaw this time. “Say you’re a stupid little slut who can’t do anything without me,” he purrs, kisses too soft for the words he says.

Your mind blanks, torn between the humiliating phrase he wants you to say and properly checking him in his place. In the end, it’s with a twisted need to please him that you’re repeating the words back to him. “I-I’m a stupid slut,” you whimper, fingers digging into his shoulder blades as he continues pushing you right along the edge. The rope pulled tightly in your core is slowly being pulled apart, threads hanging on for dear life. “Can’t... can't do anything without...”

“Without who?” he asks, reaching down and untying the front of his shorts. “Can’t do anything without who, baby?”

��Without you, without you,” you cry, bucking your hips up against his, the combined movements of both your bodies making you shake like a leaf. “Ah, K-Kook,” you wail, hips stuttering as your orgasm finally swallows you up. Your panties quickly grow wet and icky from your own arousal that pools between your thighs. Jungkook lets you writhe beneath him as you chase your high, mouth sucking a pretty blossom against your jaw.

You know better than to expect the night to end here, especially after seeing the glint that had been in his eyes as he watched you unravel.

He leans close, let’s his nose brush against yours as you catch your breath. “So perfect for me,” he groans, slotting his lips against yours. You can barely keep up with him, languidly going along with his hot tongue. “Perfect, perfect girl,” he murmurs, a stark change from the less than friendly adjectives he used just moments before. “Tell me you love me?” he says softly.

You nod, mind fuzzy as you wrap your arms around his neck. “Love you,” you exhale, letting your fingers knot in his hair. Your proclamation does something to him, makes him grind the front of his cotton shorts hard against you. For someone that was often rough and brutal with you in bed, he sure was sensitive to the mushiest of things.

“Don’t deserve you,” he huffs, hot breath fanning across your skin. He switches gears fairly quickly. “Tell me you hate me,” he begs hoarsely, rutting against your soiled panties. “Tell me I’m a piece of shit and you could do better without me,” he pleads, voice too airy to be another one of his usual sex-induced thoughts.

You shake your head, pressing a kiss to his cheek as he rolls his hips. “It’s not true,” you whisper, “I love you more than you’ll ever understand.”

Jungkook groans, suddenly winding back and tearing your ruined panties down your legs. You gasp in surprise, letting him haul you about in his blind, self-inflicted rage. “Stupid, stupid,” he huffs, though at this point you can’t tell who it’s directed at. With your underwear out of the way, he wastes no time plunging his fingers back into your cunt, bypassing the tight ring of muscle around it without any of his usual care. “You should hate me,” he snarls, lips pressed against your ear.

You moan, back arching at the sudden pleasure that blossoms between your thighs. “I-I don’t,” you gasp, toes curling.

Jungkook groans, the sound traveling down your spine and straight into your pussy. “Stupid girl,” he huffs, slipping an arm around you to pull you so close until you can’t breathe, chests lined up together. His skin is warm to the touch, scorching almost. “Fuck,” he groans, curling his fingers inside of you. You whimper and moan, incapable of staying still beneath him as he tortures you with a thumb to your clit. “Tell me you hate me,” he seethes again.

Despite the fog that’s settled over your mind, you still manage a resolute shake of your head. “N-no,” you cry, digging your nails into his back. They run dark red lines over his skin, making him hiss at the sting.

Whatever punishment he’s trying to put himself through is falling through with your refusal to admit such a thing. It aggravates him even more, your adamant stance on loving him so, and he’s retracting his fingers before you can cum again. “Please,” he chokes, face tucked into your neck. He’s sloppy with his movements; as he pulls his shorts down and kicks them away, he nearly suffocates you with his weight. “I don’t deserve you, ___, please.”

“I love you,” you whimper for lack of explanation. Jungkook leans back, that same madman gaze in his glossy eyes. He’s looking at you in disbelief almost, pouty lips puckered and swollen. Your hands slip from around him, falling on either side of your head.

Like a cobra he strikes, collecting your wrists in one hand he pins above your head. The sudden movement has him leaning in close, lips brushing over yours. His lashes are coated in a wetness he refuses to acknowledge, looking at you like you drive him insane. “If you ever try to leave me,” he whispers, jerky breath fanning over your skin, “I’ll lose my mind.”

He loves you so much it aches.

“I won’t,” you whimper, feeling your own eyes well up with an emotion that consumes every inch of your being. “I’ll never leave you, you stupid, stupid boy.”

A faint smile crosses his features at your words, lips quirking to the side. You relish in it for all of two seconds before he’s ramming his cock into you, your sensitive walls spawning around him. You sob loudly, eyes rolling back into your head. Your legs instinctively hook themselves around his waist, digging into the base of his spine as he rolls his hips into you.

You feel full and complete like he belongs there in this moment and every moment after this. It makes your heart constrict painfully. Jungkook’s soft groans follow your more unraveled noises, the vulgar slapping of skin on skin the underlying melody to it all. “Ffffuck,” he spits, greedily swallowing your moans up. You whine, arms bucking in an effort to hold him close. But he’s determined in his act of restraining you, long fingers tightening around your wrists until they hurt. “I warned you, didn’t I?” he huffs, snapping his hips into you.

Your walls clench around his hard cock, the drag as he exits sending shivers throughout your body. Jungkook’s body towers over you, glistening in sweat as he nails you into your mattress. “Remember what I said?” he asks, voice but a shuddery exhale. You shake your head numbly, overwhelmed by the rough drag across your walls. “All those months ago, when you first came over,” he adds. The hand on your hip abandons its post to cup you beneath the jaw, palm pressing sinfully against your throat enough to block the tiniest of airflow. “I’ll fuck you and keep you forever,” he murmurs, voice deeper than the pits of hell. He licks a fat stripe over your cheek like you’re nothing but a sweet for him to devour. “Do you remember that, pretty girl?”

You nod jerkily, hips arching up into him when he thrusts into you again. It’s a memory that replays in your mind every so often, your first night with the man you had planned to humiliate over a mere misunderstanding, now your boyfriend of one year. “Want that,” you gasp, tears blurring your vision when he begins picking up the pace. “Wanna be y-your pretty girl forever.”

Jungkook groans, kissing the corner of your mouth. His thighs are some magnificent beings, keeping his pace consistent even as he loses himself in his overwhelming need to kiss you. “Always,” he manages, soft lips pressed against yours. “I won’t ever let you leave.”

A shriek tears itself from your lips as he picks up that harsh piston, releasing your jaw to hold both wrists above your head. It makes his curls dangle in front of his eyes, covering that beautiful dark gaze. It makes his thin little necklace swing back and forth too, though it’s too small to actually touch your face. The rhythmic swing has you hypnotized, just like everything else about Jungkook.

With the length of his hair, you’re left staring at his lips, pulled taut between his pearly white teeth. The word from before sits heavy in your chest, begs to drip from the tip of your tongue. But he’s moving too fast and too hard, scrambling your thoughts until all you can think about is the cock plunging into your heat. His name falls from your mouth like mindless blubber instead, arms thrashing as your second orgasm swallows you up. It sends you crashing, body spasming as the sheer euphoria waves over you slowly and then all at once.

“Perfect,” he grunts, leaning down to slot his mouth against yours, “my perfect girl.” Your cum makes the sound of his hips erotic, the loud squelching following your panting. Still sensitive from your high, your body unconsciously tightens around him, keeps his cock from fully leaving. It brings a soft whine out of Jungkook, one he tries to muffle against the side of your face.

“Inside,” you whimper, even though your body feels like jelly beneath him. “Cum inside, Kook, please,” you beg.

It only takes a few more thrusts into your leaking hole for him to finally reach paradise, hips stuttering when that first shot of pleasure hits him. “Fuck, fuck,” he growls, wildly snapping his hips into your achy cunt. You moan, feeling just about brainless at the overstimulation. His cum leaves you full, almost makes your belly bulge from it. When he’s done he doesn’t bother pulling away, simply slumping into your limp form. His cock, though quickly softening, serves as a plug for the cum threatening to spill out of you.

There’s a muted noise coming from the other room, the faint sound of the mail slipping through your letterbox, the quiet chattering of the street outside. And of course, the loud blaring of your laptop playing the Phineas and Ferb theme song. Jungkook registers it at about the same time as you, a soft chuckle leaving his lips.

He pushes off of you soon after, leaning on his palms over you. He’s got that molten look on his eyes, the heat of a thousand suns burning behind those irises as he looks at you. Like he can’t get enough, even though he’s just about taken everything there is to take. “Love you,” he murmurs quietly.

A drop of sweat rolls over his forehead, clinging to the end of his eyebrow. You reach up and brush it away, let your hand trail down his face to cup his cheek. Immediately he leans into the touch, eyes falling half shut. “Love you more,” you respond.

“Impossible,” he scoffs.

Soon after you’re both stumbling out of bed, clothes haphazardly shrugged back on as you drift through the living room. There’s a thin, hot pink package sitting at the door, just having slipped through the letterbox; the stark Sexuality Unleashed logo is printed on the visible side, so you have to wonder what Doyeon could have possibly ordered this time that could be so thin. The laptop is awkwardly sandwiched next to a throw pillow, barely open a crack. Jungkook retrieves it, sets it on his lap as you scamper over to the couch.

“More Phineas and Ferb?” he asks quietly. He hates it, you know he does. And still, he wants to watch it with you.

You nod. “Please.”

He isn’t so concerned with the plot as you, clicking some random episode to start. You snuggle into his side, quietly singing along to the opening. After a moment, Jungkook speaks again. “Phineas and Flirt?” he offers cheekily.

You roll your eyes. “That might’ve been your worst one yet,” you sigh, trying to drown out his indignant huff by focusing on the screen.

“I don’t exactly see you coming up with these,” he points out, obviously feeling wronged.

Without missing a beat you say, “Disney+ and bust.”

epilogue

commercial break one ; the resolution

#goldenclosetnet #networkbangtan #bangtanhq #ksmutclub #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #jeon jeongguk smut #jjk smut #jeongguk smut #bts smut #jjk♡#jeon jungkook #mine

4K notes · View notes

genshin-impacted · 4 years

Text

close proximity // Zhongli x Reader

Word Count: ~1.8k

Notes: gender neutral reader “you”, MAJOR Pining in Zhongli’s POV, touch-starved? Zhongli, domesticity

in the long haul, this would be one part of a(n indulgent self-insert) long-fic where Zhongli finds out that you (adventurer/traveler) have been camping out in the wilderness, so he invites you to crash at his place for an indeterminate amount of time

also, happy birthday zhongli :)

Zhongli thinks that he should have known that welcoming someone so late at night into his home would invite the worst of the gossip. It only grows worse when people see that you continue to come back into his house and that you even have your own key to enter with.

Luckily, the change from your original Mondstadt attire was the decisive factor that allowed you to walk the streets of Liyue relatively unseen, for you are no longer associated with being foreign or wanted by the Millelith. Instead, you are known to be the one that now apparently resides permanently (or so it seems) in Mr. Zhongli’s apartment, and the attention is now directed toward him.

You’ve even suggested that you float down and enter through an unsuspecting open window in hopes of abating the rumors, but Zhongli thinks about the implications of entering in any way other than the front door and saves himself the trouble.

You apologize every time he closes the door on a particularly chatty neighbor, but Zhongli always waves it away. He feels more than justified inviting you into his abode. After all, he has caused you the most trouble, despite what you may think of Childe, with his plans for the harbor. Allowing you to share a space with him is nothing short of a fair trade.

The feeling is only bolstered by the fact that you moved in with only the backpack hauled on your shoulder and nothing else, with Paimon wailing about how good it feels to finally have a pillow to lie on-- much to your embarrassment. (He waves your apologies to this away as well and does not speak of how the bashful expression on your face is rather endearing to see.)

It’s been a few days since the original hubbub, and the rumors have died down after numerous explanations that ‘they are a friend; yes, only a friend, and yes, we are both unmarried and the walls are thin, but you will not need to worry about any unsavory noises, as is routine.’ It’s evident that the nosiest of neighbors believe that he is lying, but he takes his words as seriously as the contracts that bind him.

If anything, the noises that can be heard are the random bursts of laughter or the playful arguments between you and Paimon. If the neighbors expected anything other than this, Zhongli cannot find it in himself to be apologetic because he cannot remember the last time his apartment was filled with so much sound or ever be so lively. The conversations seem ceaseless at times: whether he is sharing facts about Liyue Harbor or the random story he can remember that he thinks you would enjoy or whether you are the ones sharing stories of your own home-- or simply when Paimon asks a question that takes the entire night to explain.

Zhongli likes the way his stories can make you laugh. It sounded sweet on the week's journey to Daudapa Gorge, and it sounds sweeter now in the confines of his home. Sometimes, when your laughter is all spent and your eyes wet from mirth, he sees you look up at him behind a shy smile with cheeks warm from something other than osmanthus wine, and he finds that he cannot stop watching you.

That is not to say that he is lacking in amusement. Paimon herself would be fine entertainment from her ideas and dreams and strange train of thoughts, but with your quick witted humor and easy-going banter, there seems to be no end to his smiles. Even Hu Tao has pointed out that he smiles more during work in the funeral parlor, and that it was, quite frankly, a little weird. Zhongli has no problems not letting that get to him, considering her boisterous demeanor as the head of the parlor herself.

Another unexpected but not necessarily unwelcome change is the domesticity. Zhongli has always had his own routine: wake up at dawn to watch the ships leave the harbor, head over to the funeral parlor if he has been called in, peruse (and if he remembers his wallet, purchase) the new shipments, and come home for evening tea. With your presence, he finds himself waking up to sleepy Paimon and an even sleepier you, cracking an egg over the stone stove to cook breakfast. He eats in the morning now and receives an eagerly given lunchbox for him to take around when he goes to work.

The times in which you leave the apartment differs, just as the time you happen to come back, but you never fail to bid him farewell or greet him when he comes back. You tap his shoulder to call him over for dinner, and you pat his head when you head to sleep.

With you and Paimon, Zhongli gains a new routine-- one that he grows used to at an almost alarming rate, considering how unused he is to change. It’s almost a shame that this is a temporary set-up-- just until the drama dies down when Rex Lapis’ body is finally given its respects, and you can find a place to stay without being afraid of arrest. But as he has learned recently, some things are bound to change, whether he wants to or not.

Which is not a bad thing, per say, he thinks to himself, as he cuts through the onions you have asked of him. If there is anything his time as Zhongli has taught him and of his journey with you, the beauty in many things is that they do not last-- which is why it is ever more important to enjoy it while it does.

“Wow, you really don’t get bothered by the onions, huh.”

Zhongli chuckles, carefully cutting the onions for the stirfry Paimon has requested to eat tonight. He would have suggested eating at Wanmin Restaurant, but a grimace from you when you look at your wallet convinces him to suggest a home cooked meal tonight instead. “It is one of my many talents, it seems,” he says as you put your hands on your hips defiantly.

“You’re going to be cutting all the onions under this roof,” you announce, walking behind him to turn on the stove. “Ack, I can feel myself wanting to tear up just from walking past that. How do you stand that, Zhongli?”

The smell of sesame oil permeates the kitchen nicely when you pour it into the wok, the sizzling a rather pleasant sound to accompany it. “Aren’t you going to tell me where the onions come from?” You ask as he dices the volatile vegetable.

He turns his head ever so slightly at your question, surprised. He prefers to tell you inane, though fun facts and stories he thinks you would be interested in, but he is surprised every time you come to him for things about Teyvat or of Liyuen culture. Though, he would be lying to himself if that does not please him. “Is that something you would be interested in hearing?”

“Yeah,” you say, slightly distracted as you take out the ingredients from the cupboards, “I mean, Paimon and I can never find them in the wild, so I figured it doesn’t really grow naturally… so it must be from a farm?” He sees you wave a wooden spoon in question. “But where? Oh-- by the way, are the onions ready? The wok's ready."

“Ah, the onions are actually grown in the villages north of Liyue Harbor,” Zhongli replies, finishing the last of the dicing on the cutting board. “Though most of farms focus on exporting rice, there are some that farm mainly onions-- which is where you see most of the wares being brought in--”

“Oh shit, I put the fire up too high-- Zhongli, I’m going to grab the onions!”

“Ah, yes, apologies, here--”

He does not realize you are right behind him until he feels your body press against his for a moment, your hair brushing against his cheek as your arm reaches out for the cutting board. He cannot help but feel himself tense, only able to turn his head slightly just to see your face as close as it has ever been to his.

“Sorry, sorry,” you say quickly, taking note of his surprised expression. “Nice cutting-- okay, time to cook--” The moment is brief as you rush to slide the onions off the board and into the flames, if the crackling is anything to go on.

But he finds that he cannot stop thinking about how ticklish your hair was on his face or how warm you were. He remembers the longest embrace in your trembling arms and of your trailing fingertips on his shoulder for a wound that does not exist.

The kitchen is at a comfortable temperature with the stove going on high, but it is by no means hot by any standards. Yet Zhongli feels his ears burn.

“Zhongli?”

He should set the table, he thinks, but for some reason, he feels an ache in a chest every time he thinks of doing anything other than feeling your warmth again.

“Zhongli?” You ask again, shaking him from his thoughts. His hand curls into itself in a moment of panic as he turns around, wondering if his distraction was obvious. If he were not a God himself, he would have thanked the higher beings that you didn't notice. “Sorry,” you say instead, “I interrupted you last time. What were you saying about the onions? Something after onion farms?”

“Ah, yes, ahem,” he starts again. “Most of the wares the Second Life sells is mainly from the villages themselves, and…”

You continue to indulge him as Zhongli speaks about the farmlands of the north and about the mountain trade routes in the east when the two of you set up supper. He tries not to think about the way your fingers brush against his when he passes you a bowl of rice or about the way your bodies press together when you wash the dishes.

(Touch-starved.

He is touch-starved, he finds out much later down the road, when he is able to hold you in his arms without needing to ask. It is why he wishes your hand would linger on his shoulder when you call him to dinner or why he finds himself relaxing at your touch.

Or why he had started hoping that you would never decide to leave.

It seems almost too obvious now, in retrospect, but Zhongli does not mind that he is constantly learning something new about what it means to be human-- not when it means he can finally hold your hand walking down Liyue Harbor and squeeze your hand and feel you squeeze back.)

#genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #zhongli #zhongli x reader #genshin impact imagine #my writing

429 notes · View notes

mrpenguinpants · 4 years

Note

Oh! Sorry for the late reply, but it’s not canon lore, haha. Part of me hopes it kinda was just to give Keqing a bit more introspection but alas, Mihoyo has tens of different characters to make so it’s understandable. I thought of it as a modern au type of thing where Keqing ends up moving in a apartment complex only to be greeted with men she has to babysit as the price JHDJSHDJSJ– It’s a fun little idea, and at first, she hates them all but eventually, walking outside of her place for a free meal becomes an escape of sorts. Ningguang, her dreaded co-worker, makes sure she doesn’t hear the end of it and is like “Please, you’re almost 27 nowz. Get yourself a man already, you have quite the options.”

Also, congrats on getting Xiao! I haven’t gotten him yet but at the end of his banner, I think I can make around 20 rolls so here’s hoping he’ll come with those!

No worries at all, I take FOREVER to reply to anyone. Plus this week was midterms so I’m still recovering from that if you’re wondering why I’ve been so silent. Ahh I see, I still need to read Keqing’s lore but until then 👀 I am fully invested in this. We’ll make a 180k word slow burn fic together. Honestly, I really want to write some Chongyun, Xingqiu, Xinyan, and Xiao interactions. My brainworm mind wants Xingqiu to be the biggest little shit and tells Chongyun that there’s a demon that needs to be exorcised at Wangshu inn. Turns out it’s Xiao but Chongyun being the trusting friend that he is, doesn’t believe Xingqiu would lie to me and fully believes Xiao is a demon. Xiao doesn’t know how to socialize and he doesn’t know how to handle interactions so it’s this entire goose chase. Xinyan comes along because she’s always wanted to see a demon. I can imagine her yelling “DEMON! COME OUT YOU COWARD!” while Xiao is gripping onto the roof beam above them for dear life so he doesn’t get found out.

Ahh, I get that mihoyo wants to bust out new content but it also makes me sad that it will probably be awhile before we get Part 2 to anything. But oh well, I guess we can always make stuff up for part 2′s before Mihoyo proceeds to shred them apart haha. I love modern au, where everything is fine and happy and no one dies. Especially now since we’re all in self-isolation. It’s not much but being able to write is actually kinda therapeutic. Speaking of which, it’s valentines day today. I almost forgot because well, I’m asexual so no relationships for me, so I kinda forgot feb 14 had any importance haha. But hopefully you all that have partners stay safe if you plan on spending today together and for us single folk, hang out with friends^^ I’m having a movie/game night with everyone and I’m pretty excited.

---

But getting back on track. I love roommate schneegans. When I first read this with my sleep deprived brain, I thought you meant that she had to live with the same people she had to babysit when they were children. That’d be so awkward but funny haha. I can imagine Childe being such a wholesome kid like Teucer that when Keqing meets him again when he’s an adult she’s so sad. You were such a cute kid, where did things go wrong? This also applies to Diluc (RIP DILUC MAN) and Kaeya.

Diluc is so socially constipated that he acts rude af because he doesn’t know how to socialize. Reminds me of the type of guy that is thinking of cute puppies but as the scariest resting bitch face. The amount of emotional range he has makes Keqing wonder if he’s secretly planning on burning the apartment complex down to the ground or if he’s slept in the past week. He hasn’t. Man is crumbling so he’s gonna make the world crumble down with him in his woe is me bullshit (jk I love you Diluc). Keqing makes the customary “Hi, nice to meet you. I’m your new neighbor” but Diluc is actually running on fumes (he’s filter feeding at his point) that he looks so scary that Keqing almost runs away. Then the next day she sees him exit his home and he cleaned up so well that Keqing doesn’t recognize him. Assumed that Diluc lived with a brother that was in dire help. So she always offers him weird pick me up items and Diluc doesn’t know how to handle gifts so he just accepts them. He doesn’t know what the fuck she’s talking about since he lives alone but he assumes she’s some random cat lady.

Kaeya is such an ass. Like actually awful. Was the kind of guy to pull the fire alarm just to get out of class for the day. Probably does it in the apartment just to mess with Diluc, which inheritably messes with Keqing very fragile beauty sleep, but he always manages to escape with a slap on the wrist. Keqing has lost so much faith in the justice system after that. He seemed like such a nice guy, well in comparison to her first meetings with Diluc, until he found out she had a fear of frogs and proceeded to mail her a package of them. She’s been haunted by nightmares of waking up to one on her face and she’s wondering if she can get away with setting his home on fire and getting away the same way he does from pulling the fire alarm. It seems like poetic irony but as soon as she thinks this Kaeya is messaging her “don’t do it”. She doesn’t know how he got her phone number and she’s not going to find out.

Zhongli was the guy she went to highschool with where she had the fattest crush on. He still looks the exact same just taller and she can feel her inner agony seeping up when she spots him. Then proceeds to internally wail when they both enter the elevator and they live on the same floor. She’s internally begging and pleading that Zhongli doesn’t recognize her, but of fucking course he does and he remembers every little detail. The most deadpan face as he asks her if she still has the zhongli pin that some crazy club made for the student council they were both apart of. What pisses her off the most is that he’s actually genuinely curious and isn’t trying to make a stab at her. She hates him with every fiber of her being.

Childe seemed like such a cute kid (I fully believe he’s younger than Keqing, you cannot take this away from my cold dead heads) and he mentioned how he was moving away from his family but he misses his cute little sisters and brothers. Keqing felt so much wholesome love in her body until Childe mistaken her as being younger than him and messed up her hair. She almost screamed bloody murder but made the quick correction that she was in fact, much older than him. Which was the wrong fucking move because he became the biggest little shit. Kept calling her old with weak bones, “when are you going to fossilize?” that she’s sure if there wasn’t a law against second degree murder, she would do it right then and there.

---

I totally went off on a tangent right there haha. But yeah, I can imagine them all going to each other places for free meals and it’s actually some wholesome stuff. Kaeya and Diluc relive their childhood brother antics, Childe comes from a big family so he doesn’t get sad when he eats alone, Keqing gets to take a break and turn her brain off from work, and Zhongli is just happy to spend time with others after being in self-isolation and losing his wife (Jesus, reading this back I am so sorry Guizhong and Zhongli. This got so depressing holy shit).

“Please, you’re almost 27 nowz. Get yourself a man already, you have quite the options.” LOL I LOVE THAT SENTENCE HAHA. But ty^^ I’m so glad he came home with diluc. I BELIEVE IN YOU!! YOU’RE GONNA GET HIM. BRING YOUR MAN HOME!! I kinda wanna write some roommate hcs in my brainworm style. I’m going to go write that. Hang on. I’ll be back.

---

Happy Valentine’s Day everyone! Love from me 💕💕💕

30 notes · View notes

stetervault · 5 years

Note

Hello! Do you do rec lists? Would you be willing rec some Steter fics that aren't the most common/popular ones? If not, no worries!

Technically this isn’t a rec-finding blog lol but I do make rec lists sometimes if someone asks and I have the time and I feel like it. Here are some (I think?) less known Steter fics, oldies that people may have missed or forgotten (Idk how well I succeeded, I just picked a bunch that have significantly less reads/bookmarks than the really big fics):

Fear (Doesn't Mean I Can't Fight) by azerblazer

Peter is the damsel in distress, the Sheriff is the hostage, random unnamed hunters are the bad guys.

Stiles has a bat, a hoodie and a willingness to do anything to protect those he's loyal to.

Bring it on.

A Lean and Hungry Look by kototyph

The woods aren't the only place you find wolves.

You're Mine, Valentine by orphan_account

In which Peter decides to court Stiles, and does so by leaving him hearts.

Bloody ones.

Zodiac by Green

"You know, Taurus and Libra make a good match," Peter says with a sly smile.

Stiles looks away. "Yeah. I looked that up, too."

Surviving Peter and the Zombie Apocalypse by Nopennamesleft

Its the end of the world and Stiles has run out of luck. He saves a werewolf from certain death. Will they begin to rely on each other to survive or will the wolf just eat Stiles for a midnight snack?

He Is A Villain By The Devil's Law by neglectedtuesday

Stiles’ lungs are burning, blood is pumping through his veins and he’s pretty sure that if he stops running then he’ll just keel over into the gutter. But God does he feel alive. The sirens are wailing, loud and clear. Just one more block. One more block. Stiles ducks down an alleyway, the bag full of bank notes swinging behind him. It hits his side with a dull thud. The alley smells like cat pee and yesterdays trash so Stiles breathes shallowly through his mouth. He continues walking down it until he reaches the end. It opens out onto the street. He stops just shy of the exit, waiting. He waits a bit more. Then he kicks a can lying idle on the ground. He whips out his burner phone, punching in a number.

“Where the fuck are you?” Stiles growls, “Where’s my goddamn getaway car?”

“Change of plans Stilinski, you’re gonna have to get away on your own. Also ditch the phone.”

Fascinated by lemonstiles, migratoryslashfan

Stiles pontificates over Peter's naked body.

Night-blooming Flowers by imriebelow

Peter always gets what he wants. Stiles learns to live with it.

None of These Things (Are Happening) by Horribibble

After years away, Stiles returns to Beacon Hills just in time to put Isaac's insides back where they belong.

It's cute how people think he's trustworthy.

Peter can smell the violence inside him, the urge to do something grand and possibly cataclysmic. It’s there—mixed with a balance and natural calm, but in the undercurrent, it’s there. He has seen things beyond the scope of Beacon Hills’ petty horror show. He has learned things.

The Terrible Things We Do (For Love) by rospeaks

Being a demon, he’s seen some of the pretty nasty things that humans are willing to do for love. Things that, were he still alive (and human), would make him hesitate to be in a relationship with anyone lest his partner start getting some funny ideas. That said—

"This seems a little desperate for a kid your age," he says to Stiles.

Spin, Sweet Clotho by ChuckleVoodoos

Oh, it’s a beautiful thing to watch, the way they dance around each other, spun in sugar and glittering glass. Like a fragile little fairytale, a tender rosebud just waiting to unfurl. It makes Peter sick.

Because love is a fairytale, and his dear darling nephew does not deserve a happy ending.

whisper by tricksterity

Stiles was tired.

He was done of people pushing him and his pack around. They’d already lost so much and he was damned if he’d let them lose anyone else, especially to this psychopath who had no reasons for what he did other than he liked it.

And that’s when the whispers in his mind grew louder.

Remember Darling, All the While by Sang_argente

It was fire, ice, electricity. It was the first kiss, the last kiss, and every kiss inbetween. It was lips parting, tongues sliding, hearts beating.

Impress Me by ToAStranger

Their new English teacher has gone missing.

Falling Upward by moonstalker24

There is nothing quite like flying. There is a calm and a peace found in the sky that cannot be found on earth. All the chaos of the world is below you and there is no sound save that which the propeller makes as the engine turns it. You are free and unfettered and the clouds are close enough to touch; all you need do is stretch out your hand to grasp them.

Stiles takes Peter flying after he gets out of Eichen House.

Sweeter Than Gingerbread by taylorpotato (Stetallison)

The saying goes that lovers who commit suicide together start their next life as twins. Perhaps that's why Stiles and Ally feel the way they do about each other.

The Shadow Effect by Mysenia

What was the fun in being a twin if you couldn't trick a person or two?

Deep under by Sashaya

There's a reason Stiles knows so much about drowning. He'd rather not remember why...

All the World's a Stage (but the light design is subpar) by BonesOfBirdWings

Peter Hale is a successful Off-Broadway actor, and Stiles is a stage lighter who literally falls into his life.

Peter smiled at him. "Thank you, Stiles. But should I take this to mean that you don't want a meatball sandwich from Banh Mi Saigon?"

Stiles' mouth dropped open. "You - I - Yes, I want! Oh my god, you do the best apologies! Can you piss me off more, please? I accept all future apologies enthusiastically!"

Peter chuckled. "I'm sure that won't be a problem, dear boy. I've been informed that I'm an asshole by a very reliable source."

Stiles beamed. "But you have good taste in food, so things balance out?" he ventured.

Peter threw back his head and laughed. Stiles' grin brightened in answer.

The D.C. Backroom Deal by septima_sum

Stiles is a regular prostitute with moderate life goals – until his current client makes him an offer he can’t refuse.

Strange Duet by BelleAmante, thiliart (thilia)

The past three years have been a series of shocking, or not so shocking, successes for 2018 Tony award winner and two time Grammy nominee, Stiles Stilinski. You don’t typically find classically trained opera singers singing alternative folk rock to crowds at Coachella. Nor do you find indie singer/songwriters winning best actor awards at the Tony’s for their Broadway debuts. Stilinski has made it his lifetime habit to defy and exceed all expectations.

-or-

A Steter fic loosely based on Phantom of the Opera

Hold Me Down by sneksonaplane

Waking up in Peter Hale’s bed was weird. Waking up in Peter Hale’s body was even weirder. Stiles had been disoriented and confused when he’d found himself in a plush, king sized bed in an unfamiliar bedroom instead of in his own room (and seriously, why did Peter even need a king sized bed? Why would anyone need a bed that big?) It had all come back to him when he’d glimpsed the body he was inhabiting, one that was shorter but more defined than his own, and older, and kind of hot.

The one where Stiles and Peter swap bodies, Peter relives his adolescence, Stiles suffers, and then suffers a little less when he discovers Peter's fetlife profile where he's listed as a submissive seeking a daddy.

It Was A Dark And Stormy Night by Guede

This is a ghost story. It’s not straightforward.

Put My Faith in Something Unknown by Twisted_Mind

He doesn’t know how long he sits there, suspended between thought and action, unable to feel. At some point, he becomes aware that there’s a hand on his face. A warm palm cradles his jaw, and a thumb brushes across his cheekbone tenderly.

The Rest of Our Lives by mia6363

“I don’t know, as a kid I watched a lot of movies, you know? And at first I figured like… I’d be on some great adventure that would take me away from it all, you know? Like Indiana Jones comes around and is all, ‘Hey Stiles, buddy, come with me we’ve got to go save the world.’ Then… you and… everything happened… then I just… I figured I’d die before I was eighteen.”

Enemy Action by pprfaith

Once is chance, twice is coincidence and three times is far too many bodies on the ground.

Buy Me a New Pair by Julibean19

"I don't practice law much these days."

"And why is that?" Stiles asked, wondering why a handsome and presumably successful lawyer wouldn't want to continue working.

"I've been drawn away by more pleasurable pursuits," Peter said, lips quirked upward as he spoke.

Tale as Old as Time by wynnebat

The one in which Lydia's got better things to do than be Belle, Stiles is a much more likeable Gaston, and Peter is a beast but not quite beastly.

The clothes make the man by FeelingsDusk

The trick to sneaking into a building where you shouldn’t be is to make it seem to all eyes like you should. Stiles has been doing this since he was a little older than toddler and he wanted to get back his Batman action figure from the evidence room in his dad’s Police Station.

(Spolier alert: just like back then, Stiles gets caught.)

Smile Like You Mean It by NinaRooxx

After sulking about the changing weather over the autumn, Stiles notices that despite the weather getting colder, Peter’s wardrobe isn’t changing at all.

Swing by ShippersList

Stiles wants to fly.

Angels, Devils, and Peter by Triangulum

Everyone has an angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other. They give advice, help guide their human through life. They tempt, they listen, they offer help. Everyone has one of each. Everyone except for Stiles.

Stiles and Peter are murder husbands.

love and madness by sinequanon

Peter and Stiles haven’t seen each other in months when the alphas ask them to meet up to look over an abandoned house. Now, they’re going to be seeing a lot of each other for quite a while to come.

Not This Again by RebaK1tten

There's a rumor that the last episode of the show will have Peter getting killed, again. Perhaps to give him a redemption arc or something.

A Light at the (Near) End of the World by ladyoneill

The world he grew up in has ended in a supernatural war that devastated the human population. A survivor, Stiles lives a solitary, quiet life in Wales until there's a knock on his door.

Through Space and Time by MaroonDragon

When Stiles pulls the body of Peter Hale into his ship, he doesn't expect him to be alive. He also doesn't realise he might have gotten more than he bargained for.

His Color by SushiOwl

“Darling, have you been carrying a throw-away comment I made in your mind for almost four months?”

Stiles’s face felt like it was one with fire now.

After You by FlyAwayMeow (rjaejoo)

It’s true that sometimes what you want the most, you can’t have and that you’ll miss what you once had all along when it’s finally gone.

After breaking his engagement to Chris, Peter heads to New York to start over. He meets Stiles, a young author at his publishing house who helps him piece his confidence back together. When tragedy strikes, he discovers how to finally let go of his past and have the family and future he's always wanted with the pieces already in his life.

Looking After You by Slayer_of_Destiny

Can Peter be a chance for Stiles, can Stiles be a second chance for Peter? When Peter offers Stiles a relationship will the younger man take the chance with the werewolf?

Maybe We Both Are by lavenderlotion

The first time Stiles lets his fingers brush against Peter he wasn’t expecting the response he got. They were sitting on Stiles bed researching something. Or, they were researching. Now they were just talking. They did that a lot these days, just talked. They also ate together a lot. Or got coffee.

these words bear my scars (paint your love on my skin) by WindyRein

One day butterflies and childish codes change to I'm sorry you're meant for a murderer and he won't realize for years how much that changed his life.

Before you let go (and the light takes you in) by Issay

Stiles makes one last errand - goes to leave flowers on all the other graves. Fuck, so many graves. The grief is as endless and as inescapable as the sky.

He goes home and there is a thing wearing his father's face, waiting for him in the kitchen.

The Lady of Lightning by kiranightshade

"Those who foolishly sought power by riding the back of the tiger ended up inside"

Can You Use Lube For That? by AlreadyBoss

“You think your what is haunted now?” Surely he'd misheard. There was no way-

“My vibrator,” Stiles answered with alarming sincerity.

Well. He hadn't misheard after all.

Pianist Envy by Bunnywest

Stiles is the piano player.Peter can think of other things he'd like to see those hands do.Shame the guy's straight.

Everything You Deserve by Areiton

You think about it. More than you should, you think about it. About what would have happened, if you had bitten Stiles instead of Scott.

Home by Ragga

Don't be like him, they would say, and then add, or else you get burned.

Unable to bear the whispers any longer, This One left. He forsook those who forsook him, left him bear his scars alone, the scars he bore for his herd. It was better to be alone, stay off the currents, than swim with those most undeserving of his loyalty. So mote it be.

That is, until he met That One.

Lord Peter by Therapeutic_Steter

Peter rung out the rag before gently placing it on his mother’s head, reaching over to feel his father’s equally flushed features.

“Such a good boy,” his mother said, patting his arm with what little strength she had remaining. His father smiled softly at him even as his fell unconscious. Peter pushed back the lump in his throat, smiling shakily for his mother before venturing out into the living space.

knit me together by nezstorm

Peter asks Stiles to stay the night after a really awful day.

Warriors by CinnamonLily

Peter is ten years old when humans discover Azure, a planet not unlike Earth. From there on, he wants to learn everything about their new neighbors and the planet itself. It takes him over twenty years to get to Azure, but when he does, it's so worth it. His anthropologist heart is happy, and a new acquaintance in the form of an Azurian called Stiles might just make the rest of him happy, too.

#teen wolf #steter #rec list #fanfic rec #ask #anonymous

199 notes · View notes

queenofcats17 · 4 years

Text

A user called ShardsDreamForever asked on the Ink Fumes fic: Are you still doing this? If so, would you do one with Thomas and Allison please? Or maybe Beast Bendy!Joey curling up on the floor when he sees the end playing on some random screen, whimpering? You don't have to, but the Chapter 5 guys would be fun, right?

And I’m not opposed to more Ink Fumes shenanigans.

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

It was happening again. People were hallucinating. This time it was Joey, Allison, and Tom.

At this point, Henry and everyone else in the studio were just resigned to it. Still, when Henry came in and found Allison brandishing a mop like it was a sword, Tom with a pipe (and the arm from the Bendy animatronic?), and Joey running around on all fours, he very much wanted to just go back to bed.

“What’s going on?” He asked Sammy, who was watching the whole scene while drinking his coffee.

“Ink pipe burst, Joey’s back to being the ‘Ink Demon’, Tom and Allison think they’re an Alice and a Boris,” Sammy explained.

“And the robot arm?”

“Joey touched Tom’s arm before he went all weird and I guess that meant Tom’s arm was gone so he needed a new one.” Sammy took a sip of his coffee. “Lacie’s not happy he stole the arm.”

“I’m not surprised.” Henry sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“What do you want to do about it?” Sammy asked, glancing at Henry.

“As long as they’re not hurting anyone, let’s just let this run its course,” Henry said. “They’ll come down soon.”

Allison, Tom, and Joey ended up being under the influence for the rest of the day. Henry had honestly been a bit nervous since Tom had a pipe and was pretty physically strong, but thankfully neither Allison nor Tom attacked without provocation. And Allison took the lead on most “attacks”, which wasn’t so bad given her weapon was a mop.

It appeared that Allison thought she was an Alice and Tom was a Boris. They mostly left everyone else alone, holing up in a room on one of the lower floors. They were incredibly distrustful of everyone else, but somehow very protective of Wally. He was, of course, seen as a Boris and Allison insisted on “protecting” him from the other “horrors” of the studio. Tom was equally protective of Wally, putting himself between Wally and anyone who came near.

“Are you really alright with this?” Norman asked, having been sent to check on Wally. Allison and Tom had put themselves between Norman and Wally when they’d seen him coming, Allison saying something about a projector-headed monster.

“I mean, it’s not that bad,” Wally said. “They’re givin’ me soup.” He held up the soup can that Tom had given him.

“Are you sure you’re not trying to avoid work?” Norman snorted, trying to hide his growing smirk.

“....No?” Wally looked sheepish.

Allison poked Norman in the chest with her mop/sword, eyes narrowed. Tom slapped his pipe against his palm menacingly. This was slightly difficult given Tom was trying to hold the robot arm and the pipe.

“Alright. Have fun,” Norman laughed before walking away.

Meanwhile, Joey kept biting people. Henry didn’t know why this was. He figured Joey was back to thinking he was the “Ink Demon”, but that didn’t explain the biting or the walking around on all fours or his continued attempts to curl himself up in Henry’s lap like a cat.

Near the end of the day, Joey wandered into the screening room while Norman was screening the latest Bendy cartoon for the animators to look over and when The End was displayed, Joey collapsed onto the ground and began absolutely wailing.

“Is...Is he okay?” Buddy whispered.

“Yeah, just...” Henry sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Remember the thing I told you about the fumes? This is that thing.”

“Oh....” Buddy scooted his chair back a bit as Joey continued to wail.

“Just give him a little bit,” Henry said. “He’ll be fine.”

Joey did eventually stop wailing and just laid there, seemingly insisting that he was dead. Henry ended up picking him up and just throwing him on a bed in the infirmary, where Joey remained until he came down from his ink fume high.

#bendy and the ink machine #fanfiction #ink fumes au #allison pendle #thomas connor #joey drew #henry stein #sammy lawrence #norman polk #wally franks #buddy lewek

34 notes · View notes

krizaland · 5 years

Note

I don’t know if your doing requests right now but I really like your stories and I was wondering if you could do an Autistic!Reader x Zim story. I headconon that defective Irkens are similar to neurodivergent humans and I think it would be interesting to see Zim compare how the reader is treated and how he is treated and to start questioning the Empire.

OH MY GOD I LOVE THIS REQUEST SO MUCH HOLY SHIT!!

I’ve always headcanoned Zim as autistic so I fucking love your headcanon!

I’m Autistic myself so I have a super sweet chapter story in mind for this one!

I’ll admit, I got a little too self indulgent on this one but that’s because I wrote it from the bottom of my heart.

Be warned: This fic is loosely based on my middle school days so this fic deals with Ableism and includes the R slur!

With all that out of the way, enjoy the fic!

From the day you were old enough to think, you never felt like you belonged. Everyone always seemed either one step ahead of you or one step behind you.

Everyday your parents would smother you with their high expectations and they would always look down upon you when you couldn’t meet them.

One minute you were praised for your intelligence the next minute you were mocked for not liking the feeling of jeans constricting your waist.

You always saw the world differently than everyone else. Most people assumed you couldn’t do anything right when in reality you simply had your own way of doing tasks.

People always assumed you were an idiotic child. Nobody ever bothered to get to know the real you.

Eventually you begun to believe that there really was something wrong with you. You begun to give up on trying and just wished you could end it all.

The only thing keeping you alive was your ever-growing collection of various toys and stuffed animals.

In truth, your toys felt like your only friends. They never judged nor mocked you. They listened to what you had to say and were always there to offer you a hug when you needed one.

Things only got worse as you got older.

You were forced into social skills classes where they tried to force you to be ‘normal. They forced you to wear unflattering and uncomfortable clothes. They told you to stop talking about your ‘childish’ interests. They even tried to take your toys from you.

But none of those classes worked.

The kids in skool still laughed and mocked you. In fact it seemed the bullying only got worse the harder you tried to fit in.

You tried to eat the revolting cafeteria food but nearly had a meltdown from how awful it tasted.

You tried to ask questions in class but your questions were always called stupid.

You tried to talk about what your peers were into but they wanted nothing to do with you.

However, there was one kid who seemed to understand you.

And his name was Zim.

Zim seemed just as lost and confused as you were.

He often asked ‘stupid’ questions in class and would run off screaming at the mere sight of beans.

He would even sometimes come to skool covered in meat or wearing some kind of ridiculous outfit.

Zim came off as pretty apprehensive at first. Much like you, it seemed as if he didn’t want anyone to bother him.

At first, you assumed he was bullied for his green skin. After all, that Dib kid kept calling him an alien and whatnot.

You always left Zim alone but you did stick up for him whenever Dib was being a jerk.

You would often sit by yourself and try to enjoy some peace and quite before a bully would saunter your way.

However, one fateful day, something wonderful happened.

You sat down at you usual lunch spot and pulled out the lunch you brought from home.

You were about to take a bite when

“Hey! Where did you get that sandwich from?!”

The sound of Zim’s voice made you almost drop your sandwich.

“Oh! Um, I brought it from home?” You stuttered as you caught your sandwich.

“Eh?! You can bring in food from…home?” Zim asked as he inspected your sandwich.

“Of course you can! If you don’t like the cafeteria food then you can always bring something from home! I think…” You explained as you took a bite of your sandwich.

“Huh, so there are no repercussions for bringing outside food and beverages?” Zim’s eyes lit up a bit.

“Nope. None that I know of.”

“Fascinating…” Zim let out a small chuckle.

“What’s so funny?” You grimaced as you put down your sandwich.

“Oh it’s nothing. Nothing at all.. Hey, wait a minute…You’re that Y/N-beast who always defends me from Dib aren’t you?”

“Well I-”

“Aren’t you?!”

“Well I-”

“Aren’t you?!”

“Well I-”

“AREN’T YOU?!”

“YES! I AM Y/N!” You snapped.

“Geez! You don’t have to shout.” Zim huffed.

“Sorry, I get annoyed easily.” You sighed as you resumed easily.

“Yeah, I know what you mean. Humans can be so irritating.” Zim agreed as he sat down next to you.

“I know right? Like I don’t understand why people are always so mad at me! It’s not my fault that I’m not perfect!” You ranted as you kept eating.

“Right?! Humans have such a complicated social structure! It’s almost impossible to keep with with all of these…’trends’.” Zim agreed as he watched you eat.

You and Zim spent the rest of lunch exchanging stories and even cracking jokes about how weird humans were.

From that day forth, you and Zim formed a friendship of sorts.

You and Zim would always sit together at lunch and recess.

You never seemed to run out of things to talk about! The only thing that ruined your fun was Dib barging in and screaming about Zim being an alien.

Of course, you would always defend Zim. Hell, at one point you nearly tackled Dib to the ground to stop him from throwing a burrito at Zim’s head.

It wasn’t long before Dib became convinced that you were an alien too.

“Lack of social skills, often staring off in the distance, and now they’re talking with Zim?! Y/N is totally an alien, Gaz! I bet they’re another Irken monster in disguise!” Dib ranted as he watched you and Zim chat.

“Be quiet, Dib.” Gaz grunted as she continued to tap away at her GameSlave.

“I’ve got to do something! I can’t let these two aliens get away with..whatever it is they’re trying to do!” Dib growled as he slammed his fist onto the table.

The next day, you discovered that Zim was absent! You felt you heart sink a bit but continued on with your day nonetheless.

When lunch rolled around, you sat in your usual spot and picked at your food.

“Where’s your little friend today, Y/N?”

The sound of Dib’s smug voice didn’t faze you in the slightest.

“What do you want, Dib?” You grumbled as you kept picking at your food.

“I want you and Zim to stop trying to destroy the Earth! That’s what!” Dib snapped a finger in your face.

“What are you talking about? I don’t want to destroy the Earth.” You grunted as you backed away from Dib’s finger.

“You don’t fool me! I know what you are! You’re an Irken Invader! Just like Zim! You might have a better disguise but I see right through you! You’re nothing more than a space monster! And I’m gonna put a stop to your evil schemes!” Dib rambled as he slammed his hands onto the table.

You let out a yelp at the sudden smack and cradled your lunch.

“Oh don’t try to act all innocent, space scum!” Dib snarled.

“I’m not acting! And I’m not an alien either!” You countered as you started to pack up your lunch.

“Do you think I’m stupid?! It’s sooo obvious you’re an alien! You have no social skills, you’re always making these weird little…humming noises when you talk, you even have an adverse reaction to cafeteria food!” Dib explained as he adjusted his glasses.

“None of that stuff makes me an alien, Dib!” You huffed as you got ready to move to a different spot.

You were about to leave when Dib grabbed your wrist.

“You’re not going anywhere! Except on the front page of crop circles magazine!”

You let out a scream at the sudden contact. Your breathing grew heavy as you could feel every germ from Dib’s grimy hand slither onto your wrist.

“LET GO OF ME! LET GO OF ME!!” You screeched as you tried to break out of Dib’s iron grip.

“Not on your life, space monster!” Dib cackled as he tried to pull you down.

“Look, Dib’s trying to fight the retarded kid!” A random student cried out.

It wasn’t long before the cafeteria erupted into thunderous laughs and jeers. Some kids even pulled out their phones to record the carnage.

You let out a blood curdling shriek and managed to shove Dib off of you.

Before he could react, you ran off into the hallway with tears pouring down your cheeks.

You zipped into the restroom and locked yourself in a large stall.

“Why couldn’t Zim be here?! He wouldn’t let this happen!” You wailed as you slid down to the floor.

Little did you know, that Zim had watched the entire fiasco from the comfort of his lab and he was practically boiling with rage.

Zim was trying to work on his latest experiment but he wanted to check up on you and see how you were doing.

He didn’t expect to see you being abused and mocked in the lunchroom!

And that word “Retarded”… it made Zim’s squeedilyspooch churn.

“Computer, what does…retarded..mean.” Zim almost vomited as the word fell from his mouth.

“Retarded. Short for mental retardation, often used as a slur against those with intellectual disabilities.”

Zim felt his eye twitch at the definition.

“I knew it..” Zim’s words dripped with venom as his breathing grew heavy.

That awful, horrible word! Zim could already feel a negative memory resurface.

While he was never called retarded, he was called a defective.

His mind traveled back to his training days at The Academy.

“Hey look! Stink is trying to fight the Defective!” Skutch called out.

Sure enough, Zim and Stink were already in an all out brawl.

Zim tried to fight back, only to have Stink quickly overpower him.

By that point, a crowd had formed and they were already howling with laughter.

“Wow! He’s so defective he couldn’t even fight Stink!” Skutch mocked.

Skutch’s comment earned him another round of mocking laughter.

Zim was left a battered mess on the floor, barely unable to open his eyes.

“MASTER!”

The sound of his computer snapped Zim back to the present.

“Master! There was an error in the experiment chamber!”

“Scrap that experiment! I have a new plan in store….” Zim’s voice was a low growl as he typed away at his keyboard.

#invader zim #invader zim x reader #autistic reader #Anonymous

71 notes · View notes

limited-practice · 4 years

Text

In The Bar of Bad Things part 4

Hubcap, Nickel, and Helex continue to have increasingly unpleasant and implausible times in an alien bar where nothing goes right for them.

@jet-teeth my continued thanks to you for the fantastic art you’ve drawn for this fic! It’s all perfect, PERFECT

art for chapter 1 is here, and the drawing for this chapter is at the end of this post.

This nonsense story is a lot of fun to write, and it’s the best thing to talk with people about it because that’s where I get most of my inspiration from. I’m always grateful to everyone who’s read it and talks with me about it it’s the best thing, thank you!

Chapter 1 is here on tumblr and chapters 2, 3 and this one are on Ao3.

2904 words of sfw random antics at a bar where everything keeps going wrong are below the cut.

“It's about time,” Nickel said. She felt someone come to a slow stop behind her, but she didn’t bother to look over her shoulder at them. “Did you get lost in that bathroom?”

“Ha, no! I didn't- didn’t get lost," Hubcap replied. He slid up next to her and plastered a too wide smile onto his face. He laced his fingers together tightly. “I’m here. I'm fine. I'm here and I’m fine."

“We heard some banging,” Helex said in a slow and knowing tone. “We thought you were having a Good Time after sending your message, if you know what I mean."

“WE did not think that,” Nickel said. “I didn’t think about him for a second after he left us.”

“Do you know what I mean?” Helex said, ignoring her. “Because I do. And so does Nickel. But you’re a small sheltered Autobot with no experience, so you probably don’t.”

“I, ha, wait,” Hubcap said. He tried to inject some steel into his voice. “How do you know I don’t have any experience? You could be setting yourself up for major embarrassment here. I could be embarrassed by you for a change.”

Helex gave him a fondly condescending look.

Nickel gave Helex her third best weary look. “He’s got a rotating cast of desperates all throughout the galaxy that message him for Good Times as soon as they can, so it’s safe to say he’s got some experience. We have more important things to do, so just ignore him. And do you know what I’m going to ignore? A continuation of this conversation.”

“But just because he has a list of admirers doesn’t mean he’s got experience with any of them,” Helex said, continuing the conversation. “Or anyone at all. Does it Nickel? Does it?”

Nickel gave him her second best weary look. She paused. She remembered how terrified Hubcap was about replying to his send nudes message. She fought not to think about it any more. She tapped her fingers against her leg. “No. No it doesn’t Helex. It doesn’t. Are you happy now?”

“I’m always happy.”

Helex picked up two full glasses. He drank from one and offered the other to Nickel. “Your one has little bubbles in it.”

He gently shook the drink to fizz it up further. “Look at them go!”

Nickel fought back a smile. “You’re ridiculous.”

She reached out a hand to take it.

WHOOP WHOOP WHOOP!

“What the?" Nickel's head snapped up, the drink forgotten.

Everyone in the bar collectively snapped their heads up. Heads and eyes and sensors swivelled like searchlights to seek out where the blaring alarm was coming from and what it meant.

Helex drank Nickel’s drink in one gulp. He made a face. “I don’t like this.”

WHOOP WHOOP WHOOP!

“It’s an alarm,” Nickel said. “You’re not supposed to like it.”

She put her hands on her hips and looked around. “Is that the fire alarm?”

“Uh, no,” Hubcap said, twisting his fingers together and peering up at the ceiling anxiously. “That’s not the fire alarm.”

“Did you set off the fire alarm?” Nickel pointed a finger at Helex. “Did your smelter slow leak again and set something on fire?”

“No!” Helex held three innocent hands up. His fourth held another drink. “It’s not me! I promise!”

“Because I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve told you to see me as soon as you get a micro-fissure or a heat fracture in it. I’ve lost count of the number of times I've told you, I really have.”

“It wasn’t me! I’ve been standing next to you the entire time!”

“Just because you’re here now doesn’t mean you couldn’t have leaked elsewhere earlier, does it? Does it Helex? Does it?”

“I just said it’s not the fire alarm,” Hubcap muttered to his fingers. “But Primus forbid anyone should ever listen to--”

Whoop Whoop Whoop!

“I’m going to see who’s set the fire alarm off,” Nickel scowled. “That useless bartender had better turn it off soon because one, I can’t see a fire anywhere and two, it’s giving me a headache.”

She stalked away.

Hubcap glanced around. It wasn’t the fire alarm. The frequency sounded all wrong. It felt all wrong. There wasn’t an explosion or any type of mortal threat that he could see, but people were pouring out of the bar as if their life depended on it. The DJD and the Wreckers were nowhere to be seen. They must have been some of the first to evacuate. Which meant that whatever was happening or was about to happen would be serious and life-threatening and a horrible experience in general. Which meant they had to leave immediately. Hubcap made a sudden move towards the nearest exit, but he was stopped by one of Helex’s arms on his shoulder.

“If it’s not the fire alarm, what is it?” Helex asked.

“I don’t know,” Hubcap said, giving Helex’s hand a wary look. “But it’s something bad. It’s something serious. Something serious has happened and people have left. So we should leave too. We have to leave.”

He tried to take a step towards the exit.

Helex gently squeezed Hubcap’s shoulder.

All three layers of Hubcap’s plating buckled. An explosion of alarms erupted and spread throughout his system, warning him of imminent structural collapse and irreparable damage to most of his primary circuit field if this tremendous external pressure continued.

“Nickel’s not back yet,” Helex said.

>//> critical system breach in 6, 5, 4,

“We’ll wait as long as it takes for her!” Hubcap gasped. “I want nothing more in my short little life than to stay right here with you and wait for her but oh god please let go of me I don’t want to die like this!”

“Die?” Helex released Hubcap’s shoulder. He gave him what he considered to be a reassuring look. “You’re not going to die. Someone will put that scary fire out, don’t you worry.”

Hubcap massaged his near crippled shoulder. He muttered desperate thanks of praise to Primus and dark promises of revenge to Helex under his breath.

Helex bent his head down so that his mouth brushed Hubcap’s ear. “What?”

“Ahh!” Hubcap sprang back and gripped his shoulder harder.

“You’re weird,” Helex told him. “I like it.”

Helex looked around. “Where’s Nickel?”

“How should I know?” Hubcap snapped.

Helex flexed the fingers of his shoulder grabbing hand. “What?”

“I said I’m terribly sorry but I’m afraid I don’t know. But I do know that she’ll be fine, and that we’ll do absolutely everything in our power to find her and make sure she’s OK and we won’t, absolutely won’t, evacuate this death trap of a bar until she’s back with us despite the fact that she’s the most capable out of the three of us and could take out anyone with one eye closed and is the one who will outlive us by millions of years no matter what happens.”

Helex nodded slowly. “Do you know what this means?”

Hubcap's processor whirled “...that we’re...going to die while she looks in on us through a window and shakes her head in sadness but not surprise?”

“It means that we have more time for drinking!”

“Yeah, that was definitely going to be my next guess.”

Helex turned back towards the bar. Every inch of the enormous counter was taken up with different sized glasses filled with liquids in every colour imaginable. Some were fizzing, some were smoking, one was hardening into concrete and several were leaking.

“Look at what I ordered while you were having fun in the bathroom.”

“...how…” Hubcap began, as a sense of impending doom bit into his spine and slid down it using nothing but teeth, “...many drinks did you put on my tab?”

Helex took a sip of the drink he now held in a small hand. “Two of each per round.” The liquid slid down his throat, and he blinked in happy surprise. He held out the glass and peered into the roiling mustard coloured froth inside. “Oh that’s good.”

“I should hope so,” Hubcap said slowly, “Because that drink is going to cost me an arm and a leg.”

“It’s going to cost more than that.” Helex drained the glass. “Have you seen how much debt you’re in?”

“...excuse me?”

“It’s a lot.” Helex smiled. “I’ve crippled you.”

“What?”

“But only financially.”

“That’s so much worse!”

Hubcap whipped out his communicator and poked it hard. He brought up his bank account and typed in the password. He looked at the string of numbers that told him how much money he now owed. He made the soul searing sound of eternal pain that all of Helex’s victims made.

“Calm down,” Helex said. “I can’t hear the mysterious wailing alarm over you.”

Whoop Whoop Whoop

Helex put his glass down on the bar. “So. Did your weirdo friend respond to those pictures of questionable content you sent them?”

Hubcap looked at the horrific negative numbers screaming along the bottom of his bank account. They were neon red. They were pulsing. They were underlined. His mouth was open and his spark was fading.

“Well?” Helex prompted.

“How?” Hubcap whispered.

“How what?”

“How did you manage to drink so much?” Hubcap’s horrified eyes scanned the itemised charges and calculated the times they were bought. "Everything on the bar right now is your fourth round! I was only gone for a few minutes!"

Helex patted his smelter fondly. “She’s a thirsty girl.”

“I’m ruined,” Hubcap said to himself. “I can’t pay this back. I’ll have to take out a loan. I’ll have to take out several. I’ll have to rob someone and go on the run for the rest of my life.”

“I’ve already called the Debt Collector of Eternal Interest and Perpetual Payback to take you into Bank Custody.”

Hubcap’s head shot up. “What? Why?!”

Helex shrugged. “Owed her a favour.”

“Oh my god.”

“She’ll be here soon. I gave her our location and your description. And since she’s getting on in years, make sure you’re respectful and shriek extra loud when she starts stabbing you. Her hearing’s on the way out and her frame is frail.”

“Oh My God.”

Whoop Whoop Whoop

“Why are you yelling so much?” Nickel asked.

“Ah!” Hubcap yelled, startled. He gripped his communicator hard.

“I can’t hear the alarm over your wailing.”

She looked at Helex. “It’s not the fire alarm. I checked. I asked the bartender what it was, but all he said was ‘it’s not the fire alarm’ before bolting out of the exit door.”

Helex nodded. “That’s what we thought.”

Nickel looked over Hubcap’s shoulder to see what was on his screen. She cackled loudly. “You’re so screwed.”

“I’ve already called the Debt Collector,” Helex said. “She’ll be here after she’s had a nap.”

“Someone her age needs her rest,” Nickel agreed. “When she gets here I’ll offer to give her a check-up free of charge.”

“That’s nice of you.”

“She works hard. And it’s difficult to get customers in her line of work these days. Hardly anyone has a lot of money now, which means they’re not in a lot of crippling debt that needs to be recovered. It was nice of you to give the work to her.”

“Do the two of you,” Hubcap said slowly, “Really not care that I’m about to get stabbed by a geriatric debt collector?”

“Don’t call her that,” Helex said. “Show some respect.”

“You shouldn’t have gotten into so much debt in the first place,” Nickel said flatly. “You need lessons on how to manage your finances. Swindle runs a basic course for absolute beginners you should go on.”

“I didn’t get into debt myself! Helex put me in it! He’s drinking this overpriced place dry and making me pay for it!”

Nickel’s expression didn’t change. “Because you said he could. Remember? You agreed to pay for all his drinks so he’d cover for you when you went to message your friend.”

Hubcap’s mouth opened to respond. It stayed open. “...I didn’t think he’d buy so many,” he said limply.

“There’s an old Earth saying about Assumptions,” Nickel said. “Swindle covers it in his course.”

“I am not paying Swindle money so he can trick me into giving him more.”

“How’s that worse than tricking yourself out of it?”

“You should definitely tell him this story,” Helex said. “He might name a case study after you. You know, the type of example that everyone laughs at but also takes seriously because they’d die ten times over if it ever happened to them.”

Whoop Whoop Whoop

“That’s really goddamn annoying,” Nickel glared.

Helex nodded in agreement. He unravelled his long tongue and coiled it inside another foam coated glass. He slurped noisily as he cleaned it.

Hubcap put his hands on his head and remembered that there had been a few good times in his life.

Whoop Whoop Whoop!

“First of all,” Nickel said, “The fact that I can hear you over the sound of this alarm is disgusting. You’re disgusting.”

S L U R R R R R P

“And second of all, we need to get out of here. Everyone’s already left. I don’t know what that alarm’s for, but it can’t be anything good.”

Helex unravelled his tongue from the glass and sucked it back into his mouth. “It’s not all bad. It means no-one’s going to try and sneak one of my drinks off of the counter again. They screamed so loudly when I caught them!”

“Exit. Now.”

“I’m just saying--”

“You can stick your tongue in things when we get back to the ship,” Nickel ordered. “Now let’s go.”

Nickel strode towards the nearest exit. “Helex, contact the ship and give them our locations for transport. I’m not going to be stuck in this miserable place for whatever awful thing is about to happen. Hubcap, you figure out what the alarm is for. And stop crying.”

“...I’m not crying. I’m just...thinking. Concentrating. The air’s very dry in here and sometimes that makes my eyes water to compensate and--”

Just as Nickel reached the exit a set of huge black and yellow containment doors slammed shut in front of her face and blocked it.

“Dammit!”

She spun around and immediately headed to the secondary exit. Huge blast doors slammed down in front of those doors too.

Nickel clenched her hands into fists and groaned in deep frustration. “I can’t believe we’re stuck in this dump!”

“Shall we have another drink?” Helex asked.

“Stuck?” Hubcap said, as he tried to surreptitiously wipe his eyes. “We’re stuck in here? We’re actually stuck? In here? Stuck?”

“Stop repeating yourself and calm down. It’s really annoying.”

“Well excuse me for, you know, not being in the best frame of mind given everything that’s just previously happened to me.”

“Ooh, bubbles!” Helex chirped.

“We’re not drinking any more bubble drinks,” Nickel snapped. “We’re going to find a way out of here before whatever bad thing is going to happen to us happens to us, understood?”

“But if it’s stopped then maybe it won’t happen,” Hubcap said cautiously. He looked around the deserted bar, and scanned it with even greater attention and dread than he had examined his bank account. “Maybe it’s already happened. Or it’s been prevented. Or it was never actually going to happen in the first place, and that was just an unfortunate and unintended miscommunication of a defensive or offensive response to an external threat that never ended up materializing.”

“What in the goddamn hell are you babbling on about?” Nickel said. “I am one second away from charging a new spaceship to your account Hubcap. One second! And then I’m going to give Swindle a heads up that despite being broker than broke you’re a prime candidate for--”

“The alarm’s stopped,” Hubcap said bluntly. “Listen.”

Nickel listened. The wailing alarm had stopped. And in its place was a low, slow, grinding mechanical hum that was steadily getting louder and louder and louder.

“That’s not good,” she said.

Hubcap shook his head in agreement.

Tiny white stars drifted down in front of Nickel’s face. She locked eyes with Hubcap. They both followed its spiralling path down, down, down to the disgusting sticky floor where it popped silently at her feet.

She looked back up at Hubcap. Who was already looking up at the ceiling with a horrified expression on his face.

“Like I said, bubbles,” Helex beamed. He held out all four hands and turned his palms up to the ceiling. Small piles of happy popping bubbles collected in piles on them.

Nickel reluctantly looked up. She read the warning. “So that’s what the alarm was for,” she whispered.

A huge hatch covered the entirety of the ceiling. It was studded with jets and openings and switches. Stamped across it in twenty different languages were the words 'Hostile Suppressant Foam. Mechanical Grade. For Use In Emergencies Only. Never, Ever, EVER Ingest.’

The hatch slowly opened.

She heard Hubcap typing furiously on his communicator.

Orange warning lights strobed the room.

She heard Helex lick his lips and swallow.

The ever widening hatch began to rain foam down on them

A tidal wave of deadly foam slowly leaked out of the ever widening hatch directly above their heads.

“We are so screwed.”

#hubcap #nickel #helex #transformers #my writing #in the bar of bad things #they're all idiots and I love them #my post

6 notes · View notes

rmjagonshi · 5 years

Note

You asked for prompts. Will you do mutual pining teen stans as they build the stanowar and imagine whisking thier brother away to be all alone on a ship??? Pretty please?

I didn’t ignore you, anon! Promise! I hope this fits what you were looking for. I have never written a song fic before, so, I hope it’s okay that I did that.

Song by Michelle Branch (All You Wanted)

Stan Pines wasn’t jealous of his brother. Sure, Ford got a lot of attention from teachers and old grannies, and their father, but Stan wasn’t jealous. Ford was interested in nerd things, like math and chemistry and monsters…well, monsters were cool. But still, Stan had other things. He had…well…he had…

What did Stan have?

Ford had his smarts and Stan just kind of tagged along for the ride. But that was okay. He had Ford. They didn’t have much else, but they had each other. And that was enough. That was enough for years.

When the schoolyard bullies came to throw rocks and shove dirt down their pants, at least they were together and they could help each other up. And when their father decided he’d had enough of their shenanigans and wailed on Stan with the metal end of a belt, well…Ford was there. They were never alone. They always had each other. And they always would.

~I wanted, to be like you. I wanted everythingSo I tried, to be like you, and I got swept away.~

But still, it bothered Stan sometimes that Ford was obviously the epicenter of their dynamic duo, and Stan was the poor helpless planet caught in Ford’s orbit. Ford was smart and creative and always had the answer to everything. So, Stan started trying to be like him. He picked a book at random from the library shelf and tried reading it. But the words blurred and he didn’t understand half of what he was reading. And it was so boring. I was talking about shapes or ‘faces’ or bonds…Stan didn’t understand. The book cover showed a picture of a rock and some weird drawn shapes where you could see all the sides.

When book reading failed, Stan moved onto experiments. Experiments were more fun than reading because he got to mix things together and watch what happened. But one too many explosions and one used fire-extinguisher later, Stan was banned from doing experiments without Ford’s help. That only left school. So Stan tried doing well in school. But school work was even harder than book reading. Math was just a jumble of numbers and symbols, and history was all memorizing facts and dates. None of it was interesting, but his grades did improve, if only marginally. He was so excited when he’d studied all week for a test and got a B-. A B-!

That was the best grade he had ever gotten EVER! He was so happy he raced home after detention to show it to Pa, finally something of worth to show him. But Ford had gotten there first. Of course he had. Ford didn’t have detention. Ford had gotten an A+, as usual. All of a sudden, the lousy B- didn’t mean much. He didn’t bother showing it to his parents.

Stan went back to just tagging along and helping out his brother. He wasn’t jealous, but he did kind of wish Ford was so horribly bad at something, so Stan could be good at it. After one bad run in with Crampelter, Stan dragged himself and Ford home to their mom to get bandaged up. Through ringing ears and two black eyes, Stan heard his father tell him he was signing them both up for boxing lessons.

Boxing lessons were more horrible than Crampelter. At least with Crampelter, they could run away or hide or something. And they didn’t always cross paths with the bully. Boxing lessons were every other day and you couldn’t run. Both Stan and Ford came home sore and beaten more and more, but their pa never let up. No friends but each other, no support from family but each other. They clung together tighter and tighter.

~I didn’t know that, it was so cold, And you needed someone to show you the way.~

But boxing lessons paid off in the end. Stan was getting stronger. He stuck close to Ford and together, they stayed mostly out of trouble. Stan on his own would always wind up in detention, but Stan with Ford was able to weasel his way out of most things. Sticking with Ford made Stan aware of the crap Crampelter pulled when Stan was in detention. They both got bullied, but Ford had it bad. He had tried to hide the cuts and bruises and missing notebooks, but Stan saw them. Ford didn’t stand a chance. The next time they were cornered in the field behind the school, Stan fought back. He tackled the lard-butt and wailed on his face with all his strength until Crampelter kicked him off and rode away on his stupid bike. Stan got detention and was grounded for a month, but he didn’t care. When he’d held out his hand to help Ford up, Ford had looked at him like was was some kind of hero. From then on, Stan was the muscle, and he would protect Ford at all costs.

~So I took your hand and, we figured out thatWhen the time comes I’d take you away.~

It wasn’t long after that they found the boat, and the dream of sailing away on the Stan O’ War, just the two of them, was born. Stan threw himself into fixing the Stan O’ War. If no one else wanted them, then they would go somewhere else. Bullies didn’t really pick on Stan anymore. He was popular, exactly, but he was left alone enough that he was a 'pseudo’ jock. Ford wasn’t so lucky. Sure, people liked him, he was smart and could help them with their homework, but they weren’t interested in being friends. It became apparent when Ford had asked Lucy out for drinks after he’d helped her study for the upcoming Physics exam. She’d laughed in his face so long, he’d just gathered up his stuff and left, her laughing echoing down the empty school hall. Stan had gotten pissed when Ford told him about it. She didn’t deserve Ford, and Stan said as much, but Ford was still felling shitty about the whole thing.

“Why do people hate me?” Ford was curled up with his face pressed to his knees on Stan’s bunk. He’d stopped crying (not that there were many tears, but still, he was embarrassed about the few drops that had worked their way from between his eyelids), and was now just sitting, moping and wondering if he’d ever find someone who actually liked him.

“No one hates you! Okay, maybe Crampelter and Sonia do, but they hate everyone. And I think Sonia doesn’t like you because you’re associated with me. And that bitch haaaaaates me.” Stan had sat beside Ford with a bag of toffee peanuts and had refused to move until Ford cheered up.

“Okay, fine. They don’t hate me, but they sure as hell don’t like me.” Nobody liked him. They were only interested in if he could help them, then they were more than happy to drop him. Ford was too weird. And not just his hands, though they were part of it. Ford liked weird things. Shrunken heads and six-legged cats. Sea monsters and the Jersey Devil. Ma did her best to connect, but she didn’t understand his interests, and Pa…well, it was best not to engage Pa with anything that might be considered 'weird’. They only one that had ever tried to understand and take an interest in him was…

“Hey, you don’t need them. I like ya. And once we sail away on the Stan O’ War, it doesn’t matter what these bozos think.”

Ford grinned. Maybe Stan was enough.

~If you want to, I can save you. I can take you away from here.So lonely inside, So busy out there,And all you wanted was somebody who cares.~

Stan doesn’t know when it happened, or what caused it. Like growing up, you know it’s happening, but each change is so gradual, you don’t notice it until you compare it to where you were before. And that’s what he was doing, comparing himself now to how he used to be. Because he never used to think like he does now. At least…he doesn’t think so. He’d always been trapped in Ford’s orbit, and he never really thought much about it before. They were inseparable. And that never used to be a problem. But Stan finds himself thinking about Ford more and more. His brother invades his thoughts more often than anything else, and if he isn’t thinking of Ford exactly, then he’s thinking of something in tangent to him. Thinking about how boring math class is makes him think about how excited Ford it to learn new things. Thinking about his favorite snack reminds him how much Ford hates toffee peanuts. And, of course, thinking about the boat makes him think about sailing away from all the shit they deal with. When Ford starts making an appearance during his dreams in place of Carla, well, it really isn’t all that surprising, if a bit disturbing.

Middle school passed in a whirlwind of working on the boat and keeping out of trouble. Sooner than they realized, they were in high-school. Classwork got harder and Stan was struggling. Stan throws himself into working on the boat. He even takes welding and woodworking when they’re offered. He might not be great at reading a map or doing math, but he can work with his hands to make things and fix things. He gets a part-time job and works down at the dock when he can. He spends more time in the library than Ford does some days. It’s hard. All of the work. He tried and tried and it never gets easier. Sometimes he thinks he ought to leave things alone. Ford had potential to be something. And he wasn’t very good at hiding his feelings. He did his best, lifting porn mags from the corner store and keeping a pin-up calendar tacked to his wall, but it felt hollow. It also didn’t help that Ford had picked up on his acting. Who was he to try and hide something from the person who knew him best? But he still hid. And still thought about letting go even as he wanted so desperately to hang on. Some days, he wants to throw his hands in the air and say 'Fuck It" and give up. But then he sees Ford come home with bruises and busted glasses, or maybe it’s just a smile or a belly laugh at one of his jokes and he’s right back, putting everything he has into making this work. In the end, it’s all for Ford. It always was.

Ford is all too aware that Stan is struggling. And he hates it. He hates seeing Stan like this. There are days, sometimes, where Stan doesn’t smile, at least, not a real smile. Days when he cries because he just doesn’t understand the work. Days when he does whatever he can to prove he’s a man because someone or something convinces him that he isn’t. He does his best to help. He tutors Stan when he can and works out homework problems with him. Stan is trying. He really is, but he gets confused and forgets things easily. He could read a page and not remember anything he’d just read. Every day, Stan would be ridiculed by their father, be constantly told he wasn’t worth anything, constantly told he 'was being a girl’. Every day, Stan would chases skirts and flirt with any woman who looked at him, got into more fights than he had any right to, and tried harder to prove himself worthy.

Ford knew the dream about sailing away on a ship was a childish one. He knew Stan was holding onto that dream with everything he had. But their future was so vague. They needed money to live, jobs paid money. Sailing around the world on a boat wasn’t going to get them there. It was just a matter of fact. But when Stan would get excited about progress on the ship or would tell stories about all the adventures they would go on, Ford found it harder and harder to admit that it was all just a fantasy. When Ford found Stan coming home with a chip on his shoulder and a black eye from getting in a fight with some chump that called him a fag, Ford found himself wanting to take away all the pain and misery. And the dream of whisking Stan away from everything on a ship felt all the more real.

~I’m sinking slowly, So hurry hold me. Your hand is all I have to keep me hanging on.Please can you tell me, So I can finally see Where you go when you’re gone.~

As senior year drew closer and closer, so too did their dreams. Ford was convinced they could sail away on the Stan O’ War to somewhere else. They could live on the boat while they worked and saved up money to get a decent place to live. And if something happened, then they would always have the boat. But they couldn’t just be treasure hunters. It wasn’t possible. He was drawing up a plan to figure out how they could manage. As soon as they were old enough, they were out of Glass Shard. But there was still work to be done to get there. And he still wasn’t sure how to break it to Stan. Stan was so dedicated to the idea that they would be treasure hunters, the he was blind to the reality they were facing. But Ford still wanted to get them away from there. He still wanted to rescue his brother. And maybe…maybe, if they were away from this, Stan could just be himself. Maybe Ford could…

~If you want to, I can save you. I can take you away from hereSo lonely inside, So busy out there,And all you wanted was somebody who cares.~

But things got harder. The science fair came, and Ford saw an opportunity. He could build something that would he could patent. He could sell it and they would have a nice nest egg to get started. But then, West Coast Tech was interested. And the promise of millions. Millions. What would he do with millions? They could do anything. They could sail away for months or years at a time and they would never have to come back to this shitty ass town. Finally, some success. Finally, something good. Ford would make some discovery, make a fortune, and he would come back for Stan. They would escape. He was so excited! He didn’t want Stan to get discouraged. It wasn’t forever. It was only until he was able to make something that would secure their future. And maybe it would give Ford time to process his…desires.

All you wanted was somebody who cares.

Everything fell apart after that. Ford spent years throwing himself into his work, and Stan spent the same time doing everything he could to make it rich.

If you need me, you know I’ll be there…

But when the post card was sent, Stan came without a second thought. And when the call came to correct his mistake, Stan stepped up to the challenge.

~If you want to, I can save you. I can take you away from here.So lonely inside, So busy out there.And all you wanted was somebody who cares.~

And in the end, after more hardship than either one had ever thought, in the end, they found themselves on a boat, with more money than they needed, and no more need to run away. No more need to hide. In the end, none of the past really matters. Because Stan has a family that cares. Ford found a way to use his sills to help. And they finally decide, to hell with all of the fear, to hell with the self-denial. Standing aboard their ship, lost in the middle of the ocean after having hauled up an actual crate of lost pirate gold, Ford and Stan share their first kiss.

#gravity falls #stancest #stanley pines #stanford pines #teen stans #mutual pining #prompts #fic prompts

14 notes · View notes

superthiccthighssavelives · 5 years

Text

One Night

I wanted to read a fic specific to whats in my head, I couldn’t find one, so I took 4 hours to write my own, Enjoy!

Oh if you want a description, its an insert yourself type, one night with Taron Egerton thing, it gets steamy, it has a bit of a long intro but it’s worth it, I promise.

If you wanna know what I was listening to when I wrote this, check out

Woman - City and Colour

Heavy In Your Arms - Florence + the Machine

Muddy Waters - LP

Ok here we go!

I’ve never been one for parties, especially the fancy kind. You know, the kind where you have to actually look like you belong, buy an expensive dress and pretend you fit in.

Working on a movie set was certainly amazing, but all the glam outside of it just wasn’t my style. I’m way more comfortable in jeans and a hoodie. But at least for now, I had to act the part.

It was the wrap party, I was only one of the makeup artists on the set but everyone mattered there. It was a collective effort. I got to know most of the cast on a superficial basis, seen them at their worst, and witnessed tantrums like you’ve never seen. I didn’t work so much with the leads, just some extras and minor characters, but close enough to see all of this happening on a daily basis. But all in all, it was a pretty great gig.

It’s been a long 3 months of shooting, and reshooting, and here we are. Celebrating the end. I’m gonna miss all of it, even the bad parts, the late nights and extremely early mornings. Everyone will move on to the next one, leaving this just another credit on their IMDb page. This was only my second gig, and I still wasn’t used to it. Who knows where I’ll be next.

Back to the party. We were set up in some high rise 10 star hotel, in a ballroom with a terrace overlooking the city. I tried, I really did, but my social skills leave something to be desired, so I made my way out to the balcony with a glass of champagne after aimlessly wandering around nodding and smiling to whoever came in my path. I basically went unnoticed. My dress was uncomfortable, my shoes were hurting my feet and my hair was twisted up too tight, giving me a headache. Sequins and high heels were not for me. I wasn’t much for champagne either, I just held it as I wandered, taking small sips, trying to look like I enjoyed it. The air outside was so wonderful, a nice breeze, not as stuffy and way more relaxing than in that ballroom. Surprisingly, I was the only one out there to enjoy it. The quietness of it all, and the view of the city, that balcony became my favorite place in the world at that moment. I rested against the thin wall separating me from freefalling hundreds of feet down. I was most certainly afraid of heights, but the view was just too breathtaking. I wanted to be as close as possible to the lights, and the stars above. I felt so much peace standing there, gazing at the glitter all around me. I could still hear the faint melody of music traveling from inside, soothing me.

-Taron

These parties were nothing but schmoozing and everyone congratulating themselves for a ‘job well done’. Shooting this movie has been exhausting, it took a lot of me, both physically and mentally. It’s not always fun and games in this business. I was proud to be a part of this though, it was a project I’ve been excited about doing for awhile. I flittered about from group to group, receiving pats on the back and constant 'cheers’ with that annoying clinking of glasses. Truth be told, I was glad shooting was over. I needed a break, I just wanted to sleep for a week and then go eat a cheeseburger. My diet was so strict and working out every day took a lot of out me. I haven’t seen any of my friends or family in months, I was on and off with my girlfriend, the stress just of that alone made me miserable and intolerable for weeks. I got to the point of madness and brought myself back. I had a talk with John, the director, a long talk. After that point, I learned to contain, mostly, the insanity going on inside my head. I made a point to interact with everyone on set, from catering to PAs to the makeup artists. I began to feel better little by little, but of course, not completely.

I needed to relax a bit, have a few more drinks and forget about everything but tonight. I noticed one of the makeup artists here and there, just kind of walking about looking a bit lost. I had seen her in the trailer every day, working on my co-stars, but we never really interacted all that much. Mostly just that cheesy acknowledging smile and random bits of talking about that day of shooting or the weather. After listening to the fifth story of whatever happened on day whatever on set, my eyes wandered around the room, half listening and caught her again. She made her way outside onto the terrace, I can’t say I blame her for making an exit. I’d much rather be at the pub knocking a few pints back with the boys. I excused myself and followed her lead.

-Reader

The champagne glass was still in my hand, feeling heavy. Pouring it over the balcony probably wouldn’t be a good idea, I took a deep breath and just finished it off. Yup, I still didn’t like it. I had a few mixed drinks before this, then the champagne came out, where we toasted and cheered to success and prosperity. I heard footsteps behind me and sighed, there goes my peaceful reflection time. And now I’m going to have to make awkward conversation with someone and pretend I’m interested. Maybe if I just stand here and ignore them, they’ll go away. I can act like I never heard them. I heard a voice say hello and I recognized the accent straight away.

-Taron

She was just standing there, leaning over the balcony, empty glass in her hand. Her dress was glimmering spectacularly against the dark sky. Truth be told, I never paid much attention to her, or much of anyone else really, especially in those dark times. I had been around her for months and only exchanged some meaningless words here and there. Tonight though, felt different. I never noticed it before. I never noticed her.

I found myself spitting out a hello and watched her freeze. I hope I didn’t scare her.

-Reader

I turned toward Taron and awkwardly smiled with a really lame wave, saying 'hey’. “Good idea, coming out here” “Yeah, it was a bit stuffy in there” I wasn’t even looking at him anymore, I was just talking to the city I guess. It was silent for a few seconds. Or minutes. It felt like enternity. “So, it’s over then eh?…the movie” “Yup, I had fun” This conversation was as lame as I had feared it would be. I had no fucking clue how to speak like an adult. I had to find something intelligent, or at least interesting to say. “It was a great experience I mean, learning about the process, seeing how it all comes together from a different perspective” It was silent again, shit, this is why I came out, to avoid this kind of thing. “So we never really introduced ourselves” He turned to face me outstretching his hand “I’m Taron” I smiled, “I know” I took his hand shaking it, kind of, mostly just a weird hand holding, jittery mess. “I’m Y/N” “Well, it’s great to finally meet you Y/N…erm formally”

-Taron

I took her little hand in mine and gave it a gentle squeeze, with a semi awkward handshake. Fuck, I needed a stronger drink than this watered down champagne. “I dont know about you, but this champagne is fucking awful, how about we go find something much, much better?” I don’t know why I asked, I was feeling strange and she was a beautiful girl. I kicked myself for not talking to her sooner. Of course, in all my shameful mess, I wouldn’t have noticed much of anything anyway. I just felt like tonight I needed to do what I felt and forget what was going on inside my head. She looked a little surprised and let out a laugh. “Yes, please!”

-Reader

We headed back inside, trying to stealthily make our way through the groups of people getting drunk off piss water. We reached the door and he grabbed my hand again, leading me to the elevator. I had no idea what was even going on, but I was running with it. I won’t lie, he’s a fucking attractive man. I had a crush on him even before I knew I’d be working on this movie close to him. But I kind of just pushed that away when I saw how much shit he seemed to be going through. I did my job and forgot about it all. The doors dinged open, he pulled me inside with a sly smile. "I know a great pub up the street” “Sure” was all I could say. I stared at my reflection in the shiny doors in front of me. I hope I looked ok, I hadn’t checked myself in hours. I started to feel a little self conscious and I felt a firm squeeze of my hand again. I looked at him and his smile was so big. He looked happy for once. I had seen him so low, so unhappy, it was so great to see that fade away tonight. I hope I could keep that smile on his face. My thoughts went from G to R real quick. Being up close, this close, to him, made my whole body warm. I had an electrifying sensation running through me. I wanted so much in that moment to grab him and feel how soft his lips would be against mine.

-Taron

She was a magnet and I was inching closer and closer to her. I don’t know where this came from, or why, but I had a feeling I wouldn’t regret any of it. I caught her having a moment, staring at herself in the mirror, it looked like some of the happiness was sucked out of her. I squeezed her hand to let her know she didn’t need to worry about that. I wondered if she knew how gorgeous she was. I couldn’t keep my eyes off her. Her eyes were gleaming, her smile was soft and shy. That dress on her fit so well, it enhanced her amazing subtle curves, I felt how much I wanted her then. I could have stopped this elevator and taken her right there. I can’t believe it took me so long to notice.

-Reader

The doors dinged again once more and we made our way down the street. The pub was alive and loud. Grungy rock was wailing around every inch. We headed to the bar to get some real drinks. I felt his hot breath in my ear asking what I wanted. I shivered, even just that made my lose half my senses. He was still holding my hand. We grabbed our drinks and found a corner. I suddenly felt awkward again. We were a bit overdressed. And these shoes were seriously killing my feet. I couldn’t stand it anymore and ripped them off, the relief was amazing. Sure, I was probably standing in old piss, vomit and alcohol, but at least I wasn’t in pain. It was impossible to have a conversation, we just kind of stood there drinking and taking in the scene in front of us. Everyone seemed to be having a good time, dancing, playing billiards and throwing darts. I tossed my drink back quick, ready for another. Taron quickly made his way back to the bar for a refresher.

-Taron

This beer was 1000 times better than whatever they were serving back at the hotel. I felt my senses coming alive finally. And being here, this close to her, I knew my choice was right. I didn’t know what happens next but I was going to enjoy what I had right now. I got us a couple more drinks, and was feeling the electricity running through me. She had taken off her shoes, and was standing on god knows whatever was on this sticky floor. I watched as she pulled her hair out of whatever contraption was holding it up, letting it cascade over her shoulders. She ran her fingers through it a few times, her eyes closed, looking so relaxed and relieved. I wanted her so fucking bad, with every second that passed.

-Reader

I had to take my hair down, it felt like bricks stacked on top of my head, the fucking relief I felt when it fell was heaven. I tossed it about, not caring too much how it looked, I was feeling real good right about now. His body was so close to me, radiating heat and just…good. I didn’t have any other word in my head but that, good. I wanted to touch him, I wanted to feel his skin and run my hands down his body, feeling every inch. I had to control myself, I knew if I had one or two more drinks it would be over and all my inhibitions would be out the window. That white dress shirt was so well fitted against his chest, and his pants clung to those fucking amazing thick thighs. God, I wanted to be between them. I wanted to do …STOP! I needed to really stop myself from these thoughts. I had to get my mind off of all the dirty things I wanted to do to him. I knocked another drink back and made a beeline for the restroom. I had to get a grip. I splashed some cool water on my face and gave myself a moment.

-Taron

I couldn’t help but smile, this night was shaping up to be loads better than I had imagined. And if I could help it, I was going to make sure it stayed that way. Y/N was on her way back over, even the way she walked was sexy. I was mesmerized by the way her hips swayed, finding myself wondering what other ways they could move. I felt my cock twitch at the thought. She smiled at me, it was a sloppy but happy smile. I could tell she needed this as much as I did. I wanted to feel her against me, but I’m sure fucking her on the bar would be frowned upon, so before she made her way fully back to our dark corner, I grabbed her hand and lead her to the dancefloor. And by dancefloor, I mean just some small space by the jukebox. She trailed her hands lazily up around my neck and my hands found her hips. We swayed to the beat of whatever was playing, our bodies in rhythym. Her head fell back, her eyes closed, she looked so fucking sexy. I pushed myself closer into her, moving my hands farther down, wanting to feel more. I slid one hand slyly over her ass and back up to her hip. Shit, I was going to explode if I didn’t get her to my room soon. The way she moved against me made me ready to bust out of my trousers. Her eyes opened, finding mine, half hooded and glazed with lust. I bit my lip trying to resist the urge of ripping that dress right off her and fucking her senseless in front of everyone.

-Reader

He was so fucking gorgeous, his eyes were such a pretty shade of green? blue? Whatever, they were beautiful. His body felt so good against mine, I could feel the heat and pulse beating hard. I felt like I was dreaming, this was too good to be true. His hands roamed and it felt like heaven. I wanted him to do unspeakable things to me. I watched him bite his lip with a painful look in his eyes. I reached my hand up and ran it through his hair, and stopped myself from grabbing a handful while I smashed my mouth against his. I couldn’t do that yet, not here. I turned myself around, my back against him. I moved to the music, feeling every beat. His hands travelled my body again, running up and down my sides, down to my hips and back up. My head fell against his shoulder, I could feel his nose and lips lightly, barely touching my neck and breathing me in, and his breath was warm and hearty when he whispered “Let’s get out of here”

-Taron

I couldn’t take it anymore, I need to get the fuck out of there and take her back to my room. I needed this, so so bad. She smelled like sweetness and warmth. She was glowing against the dim neon signs illuminating every fucking beautiful feature on her face. I grabbed her hand again and we made our way out of the hot bar. I had trickles of sweat beading up from the number of people and the heat I felt everywhere on my body. We quickly made our way up to my room, the tension charging. The door slammed shut. There was only a slight ray of light making its way through the curtain, from the street light below. I could only see her. She stood against the wall near the bed, hands behind her back, looking timid. I walked slowly toward her, my eyes burned into hers. I placed my hands on either side of her face and just took her in, the look in her eyes, the way she she looked back at me, with need. My lips ached so bad, I needed to feel her mouth on mine. My lips crashed into hers and my head exploded. She tasted as sweet as she smelled. My tongue parted her lips, drinking her in. We kissed like it was the last time we would ever feel anything again. We were so in sync, the energy rushing to my head and down my body, my erection growing harder.

-Reader

His mouth was so warm, and he had the softest lips I’ve ever felt. It was feverish and full of want. I couldn’t get enough. His mouth moved to a spot by my ear and down my neck flicking his tongue against my skin. It felt so good, I almost was ready to burst right then. I grabbed a handful of his hair and brought his lips back to mine. I wanted to kiss him forever. He pushed me harder against the wall, his body heavy and firm. I could feel his cock pushing against the thin fabric of his pants, I wanted to feel it all. I ripped his shirt open popping a few buttons off, watching them fly across the room. My hands greedily felt every inch down his chest, bringing my mouth down to his neck, and licking the sharp angles of his jawline. He let out a small moan and I could feel myself getting wet and ready. I quickly went for his zipper and unfastened the button that was separating me from what I wanted. His pants were off in an instant, leaving him in his boxer briefs, exposing those glorious thighs. I pushed him down to sit on the bed as I slid my dress off my shoulders and down my hips leaving me in just black lace. His hands quickly found my hips again and down to palm my ass while his lips went for my stomach. He kissed and nibbled, lightly sucking my skin inching farther down. I hadn’t felt this sensation of insane lust in years, and I never wanted it to end.

-Taron

Jesus Christ, she was a goddess. Her body was art, slight curves, and smooth skin. I wanted to make sure I covered every inch of her with my hands, my tongue, my own body. She was standing before me in some sexy lacy number and I wanted to rip it off of her. Her hands gripped my hair while I inhaled her sweet skin, kissing and wanting more. She dropped to her knees, her mouth kissing my inner thigh, inching further and further up. Fuck this felt amazing. While her hands ran up my thighs and back down, I gently wrapped her hair in my hands. The electricty I felt when her mouth found my cock was unexplainable. My head was going to explode. I watched her methodically move my erection in and out of her mouth, she knew what she was doing for sure. Her tongue and hand worked together and I felt I was about to combust. I grabbed her and stood back up, turning her around and pushing her back up against the wall. I wanted to drink her in before I ravaged her.

-Reader

In an instant I was up again and my body pressed against the wall. I felt him behind me, hands roaming, his fingertips caressing my skin. He kissed my shoulder lightly, breathing and exhaling hot air all over me. I heard him exhale with a gentle groan as he grabbed my hips and pushed himself hard against me. His hands made their way up and to my bra, his fingers running the outline below my breasts. He found his way inside, caressing and gently gripping the soft skin. It was my turn to let out a moan now. It felt so good. Good seemed to be the only word I knew apparently. I felt the clasp come undone exposing me. He had full access now. He spun me around, his mouth locking down on my nipple, ever so gently sucking. Oh my god, it felt amazing. I was dripping, and throbbing, I need to feel him inside me right now. His mouth took turns on each breast and then back to my lips kissing me with a hasty passion. His hands trailed down, slowly rubbing my inner thigh, bringing my leg up to his waist, while his other hand moved back down agonizingly slow toward my center. His fingers slipped inside the thin fabric and onto my wet skin. The sound that escaped my lips was loud and feral. I was about to burst. He worked his fingers slowly, making sure to cover the most sensitive spots, knowing where to make me feel like I was on fire.

-Taron

She felt so ready, so wet, just for me. I loved that I could make her feel this way, and elicit such primal sounds. I wanted to hear more, I was greedy. Her skin was so soft and so warm. I could feel the sweat beading between us, both of us ready for more. I picked her up, wrapping her legs around my waist and kissed her lips more. I placed her on the bed, watching her impatient, waiting for me to give her what she wants. I wanted to fuck her like there was no tomorrow but I also wanted to take my sweet time and relish every fucking amazing moment, who knows when I’ll have another night like this. I kissed her ankle, her calf, the inside of her knee, moving up to her inner thigh, and the sensitive skin near that sweet spot. I teased her by kissing everywhere but where she needed it the most. I heard her softly beg 'please’ and I was ready to comply. I lapped up every tiny inch of her. Her clit was swollen and moist, she tasted like heaven. I couldn’t help but smile hearing her moan and try to stop herself from saying the most decadently dirty things. I licked and sucked as much as she could stand, but I didn’t want it to end. I moved my mouth back up, kissing her stomach, breasts and neck. I looked into her eyes as she bit her lip, so ready for what was next. I placed myself over her, and slowly slid my length inside of her. So slow. My breath was jagged in her ear. She felt fucking amazing. I felt like my head was swimming. I was high.

-Reader

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Holy shit, this is so, ugh, god, yes. I could not bear to say that except in my own head. All I could do was moan and move in time with his body. He slid in and out of me so painstakingly slow, making me feel every inch of him. I gripped him as hard as I could and worked my hips in rhthym. I could feel the pace picking up and the mood shifting, neither of us could take it any longer. I needed him, harder, deeper, fucking faster. I quickly rolled over and placed myself on top of him. He was a thing of beauty and I was the luckiest girl in the world right now. I was drunk with pleasure, and of course a bit of alcohol. But even sober this would still feel like the greatest sin. I grabbed his cock and pushed him inside of me once again. I screamed. The fucking feeling was euphoric. I could not imagine anything ever in the history of the world feeling or being as good as right now is. I moved faster and faster, throwing myself back to sit fully on him. His hands found my breasts, his tongue making its way back to them. Oh fuck, how on earth can anything feel SO good?

-Taron

She definitely knows how to move, my cock is so hard and throbbing deep inside of her. My eyes are so glazed over with fucking lust. I can’t help but watch her move on top of me. Shes fucking art, I want to put her in a museum and watch everyone envy her beauty. My hands find her hips and back to her ass. I move her, thrusting up hard and fast, faster, and faster, both of us panting and aching and crying for more. I growl like a fucking animal as our bodies collide over and over, sweat pouring, desire seeping out of us. I’m grabbing her so hard I’m probably brusing her, but in the moment all I care about is this feeling. I can tell shes close, the way her hips are moving and how much she’s grinding down on me. I’m surprised I haven’t cum yet, but this feeling is too amazing to let go of. She squeezes herself so tight I feel like it’s going to crush me but in the best way. A loud moan and pure ecstacy escape her lips and I feel myself ready to burst. With one last thrust, I let it all go. Fuck! I let out another primal scream and let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. She collapses on top of me, her chest heaving, out of breath. She moves beside me and rolls over on her back. “Holy fuck” is all she can say.

-Reader

“Holy fuck” There is nothing else to say. This has been…unexpected. I have no idea where to go from here but I cannot imagine anyone had as good of a night as we just did. I am exhausted, and drenched in sweat and him. I feel so relaxed I could fall asleep in 3 seconds. He moves closer to me, on his side, head propped up with his hand. He makes small circles on my stomach with his finger and kisses my shoulder. “Thank you” comes out of his lips. “I had no idea what was going to happen tonight, but I didn’t know it would have been this” I don’t know how to take that. “I had an amazing time, and you are fucking phenomenal” I smile and can’t help but let out a small laugh. “Thanks” “You’re welcome”

-Taron

I don’t know what the hell to do. I haven’t had sex with anyone that wasn’t my girlfriend in so long. Should I ask her to stay? Does she want to? Fuck, I need to turn on the a/c. I need a shower too, I feel like I just bathed in sweat. I don’t want to move, she feels so good next to me. “Do you mind if I take a quick shower?” I nod “Yeah of course love, go at it” “Do you want to join me?” She says through a sly grin walking towards the bathroom. I can’t get up fast enough.

#taron egerton imagine #taron x reader #taron egerton oneshot #taron egerton x reader #taron egerton x you #umm is this good #I like it #but what about you #the thirst is real #taron egerton fic

54 notes · View notes

h3l10tr0p3 · 5 years

Text

Headcanon: Deku, the Serial Shipper

Contains- Mentions of sexual activities, established relationship - Bakudeku; Crack pairings- TodoIna, JiroMomo, UraTsuyu, UraTenya, DenkiSero, Kirimina, platonic Kiribaku etc.

(Beware- Long post)

Jesus Christ, I just had this HC and now I gotta spill, otherwise I won't be able to sleep tonight. Here's another annoying Long Post for y'all)

Deku, as a Pro Hero and Katsuki's Duo Partner, has a pretty hectic life since the media are crazy bloodhounds, the villains are a pain in the ass, interacting with fans becomes exhausting at times, and the critics are demons wailing for his blood.

Yeah, very hectic. And on top of that, there's very little time to relax. Most of the days he sneaks some solace in the gym, if he can buy more time he likes to read and immerse himself in his notebooks and research. Fighting Katsuki to blow some steam is a last resort to shed off weeks of frustration and only reserved for off-days or desperate times - because something like that inevitably devolves into gratuitous rough sex or worse, day-long fuck-a-thon. Not that Deku doesn't enjoy it, he simply doesn't have the time to indulge and he knows Kacchan doesn't either, so they try to keep their hands off each other unless the occassion begs for much-needed violent release.

But sometimes, you just want instant relief. Sometimes Deku just wants to kick back and relax like a normal person, go on the internet, without everyone hounding him for a piece of his mind.

So he does.

Under Anonymity.

Et viola @allmight9000 comes alive on several media platforms including Tumblr and Twitter. At first, Deku masquerades around as a hardcore All Might fan fighting anyone who dares to diss the retired Symbol of Peace . But since his retirement, his popularity has gone cold, not many heated debates take place around him anymore and as sad as this makes Deku, he decides to discover new venues.

Now, Deku knows there's this dark void of fanfiction lurking on the net and there's no escape from it should he ever set foot into it. He is also aware of the dark things that beckon him from the sewers like Pennywise the Dancing Clown (eg. All Might/Endeavour, Hawks/Endeavour, All Might Bowl, All Might/ Hero Harem, All Might/Midnight, All Might/Aizawa/Present Mic and so on), things he should rightfully keep a safe distance from. But this is fucking Deku we are talking about- ofcourse he dares to dip his foot into the murk of fanfiction.

For science, he thinks, and takes the plunge.

It all goes downhill from there.

One day, Katsuki comes back from his shift to find Deku face-planted into the sofa, he hasn't eaten lunch, hasn't bathed and is claiming trauma, repeatedly insisting that he has sinned and he is going to hell for it, then he shakily holds up a 367k word fic of Villain Might/Endeavour. Katsuki has to slap him back to his senses. Later that night, Deku calls up Toshinori and asks him for forgiveness, when Toshinori asks him worriedly, 'For what?', Deku assures him he DOES NOT wanna know.

After obsessively going through various tropes and completing every Enemies to Lovers / Mutual Pining / Unrequited Love fic there is (and there is a lot, Deku hates himself every day for it), waiting torturous weeks for dead authors to rise from the ashes for a teeny tiny update, Deku finally gives up his small lake of unfulfilling All Might ships (because frankly it's hard to find a fic that suits his tastes and convincingly fleshes out a love story around a man who has pointedly avoided romance for the better part of his LIFE or a find a fic which is COMPLETE) and sets out into the sea of Ships.

Bad Idea.

Very VERY Bad Idea.

(We know it, he knows it. Katsuki is the only one who is blessedly oblivious because he chooses not to wade into Deku's mental shit and compromise his own sanity.)

Strangely, Deku has come to take an odd satisfaction of returning to fan mentality of shipping two people without restraints (rarely more than two)-it's simple, senseless, easy. It gives his head a break from all the overanalyzing it does and gives him a small dose of endorphins when he cant work out, eat out or fuck out the frustration. He was adverse to it first, since these are strangers trying to ship two random people (people he is friends with), and it was unsettling to find so many people shipping them when they've BARELY had any interaction in canon real life! What's the premise of shipping them at all? He just didn't find any allure to it back then. So he kept his reads under fluff and under mature ratings because he feels uncomfortable reading smut about his friends.

But Deku had a 'Oh my God they were ROOMMATES' moment when Jirou and Momo announce that they are dating to the U.A. Alumni, that too after reading a really fluffy Creati/Earphone Jack fic which accurately referenced their public sightings together and spun it into plot-points quite masterfully. ( the author did a real good job on it) And the most horrifying thing about the fic, Deku finds, is the fact that NO ONE, not even the AUTHOR knows how correct they were in their estimates! No one except Deku.

That realization shakes the foundations of Deku's beliefs and morality as he wonders how many fics out there , sfw or smut, requited or unrequited love, enemies to lovers or lovers to strangers, fluff or smut have come so so close to the truth, been so damn close - like an alternate course of their love-story? and WHY IS NO ONE GIVING IT MORE KUDOS?

This is how Deku ends up being the most irredeemable Shipper of the universe- with a mission in hand:

To curate proof of all valid ships and to supply aforesaid proof of it to the world (as subtly as he can of course, so as to not compromise his own identity or the privacy of the Shipped.)

He begins to scour through the net for paparazzi photos, indulges in gossip, pries out information of who is dating whom from his Hero contacts, authenticates it, creates folders and subfolders of photographic 'proof' (they are just teasers really) and whenever anyone writes a fic that comes anywhere close to the real thing he makes sure to tag them in his tumblr/twitter post with photos which basically pour gasoline over their fiery passion to continue dreaming and writing fics around those Ships. Like:

You wrote a fic of Fluffy Iron Fist x Real Steel? Here you go- an obscure pic of them leaving her apartment together

Uravity x Ingenium and Uravity x Froppy? A love triangle that could possibly end in heartbreak?!! Damn, sistah, who knows? (She's confused too, imho) So here you go- Uravity getting tipsy with Froppy and Uravity snuggling to Ingenium under the rain.

One-shot of Chargebolt x Cellophane getting frisky in an alley? Honey, I gotchu. Here's a pic of them arriving at a villain scene together with dishevelled clothes.

All Might x Endeavour Slow Burn? My dear friend- here's a picture of the Symbol of peace roasting marshmallows with Shouto on flaming Endeavour merch. Please don't make me block you.

All Might x Midnight? Here's a pic of my mom, me and my Dad AllMight. Midnight, Who binch?

Celsius (Shouto) x Gale Force Stripper AU? Oh, hey, look I'm totally that one lucky guy who was in the right place at the right time, okay? I dont know these guys personally, OKAY? Not. At. All. But I have some Opinions™ about your fic? and pics to support it. Just wanna show you that maybe...i mean...MAAYYYYYYBEEEE...the stripper is Galeforce, not Celsius? Yeah? Don't worry though, You're doing good. Love the slow build, keep up the good work!

Deku becomes a sensational fic-writer-enabler and often gives inspiration to writers who are looking to write for a new fandom. Deku's got their backs.

He sinks so deep into this Shipping business that one day Katsuki catches wind of it. It was becoming painful to keep ignoring Deku's descent into madness. Katsuki was okay with it as long as the nerd did his job well and fucked him even better (which Katsuki will never admit to enjoying, even at gun point. Pull the trigger, you coward). So, yeah, Katsuki could have accepted all of Deku's weird stalkerish behaviours (even if they weren't fixated on him all the time anymore and the 'Kacchan, sugoi!' comments had plummeted drastically....who needs the shitnerd to validate his worth, right?! Right...it didn't make him pissed AT ALL. because admitting that would mean he enjoyed it, WHICH HE DID NOT, MIND YOU)

What Katsuki couldn't accept was Deku accidentally using his official Hero twitter handle to post a very platonic (but in the eyes of rabid fans- borderline homoerotic) pictures of him and Eijirou and posted it as #Ground_Riot. The fucking flood of Zeku-haters and pro-GroundRioters had the comments section on FIRE. The post goes VIRAL.

Deku, fucking DEKU, the man who is secretly ENGAGED to him, is promoting GroundRiot like NO ONE's business and HE DOESN'T EVEN KNOW WHAT HE DID WRONG.

Katsuki finds Deku happily puttering around their shared apartment completely oblivious to the PR hell that has been licking at his heels. He immediately attacks Deku's account and is completely gobsmacked. Lo and fucking behold- every fifth picture in his blog is fucking GROUND RIOT.

Not just that, apparently, THIS MAN, his fucking FIANCE, is not only a renowned peacemaker in inane Ship wars, but is hailed as a Soothsayer of Ships for always correctly prophecizing "Ships that will Sail into the fucking Sunset', he is basically some minor god in the Hero fandom who is extorting excitement out of fic writers and fans alike so that 'the crime of incomplete fics' can be eradicated once and for all. And Deku's fucking commited to it.

(perhaps more commited to Ground Riot than his own betrothal because there isn't A SINGLE POST of ZEKU on his blog)

There's even a post where he answers an ask from anonymous. The question: "Are you also anti-Zeku? I have never seen you post anything related to that ship. Is it because you think it won't Sail?" And Deku answers shortly how he isn't explicitly Anti-Zeku, but doesn't like the idea of reading fanfics of that ship. He clearly witholds his opinion if the ship will sail or not. Katsuki also finds the chat which started all this shit.

Chat-

Hey! @allmight9000. I wanted to write a GroundRiot fic? Could you give me some inspiration?

Aww, sure! It's my favourite Ship tbh. I love GroundRiot. I have a whole gigabyte of inspirations in my laptop. I'll send you some when I get back home, okay?

Yup!!! I am actually a hardcore Zeku fan. But recently my friends got me into Ground Riot and I am addicted!! But Zeku will always have a special place in my heart <3

I see. :)

Do you wanna try it out? I know you mentioned you don't like it. But I know some REALLY good fics.

No thank you ^_^ I make it a point to not read those fics. I just can't visualize it working, you know?

Oh...np. Each to their own. But I really hope one day you try reading some if you can?

I don't think so ...😅...uh...but..Any preferences for your inspiration though? or genre youre interested in?

Fluffff!!

Haha, okay! Look out for the new post on my twitter!

YASSS!! Love ya!

You too!

Katsuki sees red, he's about to flip his shit when he decides to give Deku one LAST fucking chance to explain WHY THE FUCK is he promoting Ground Riot when he should be shipping Zeku and demands of him if he really wants their Fucking Ship To Sail Or Not.

Deku gets defensive and says of course he does. Katsuki asks why he has been trying to push him onto Eijirou all this time if he wasnt serious about it. Deku doesnt want to answer. Then Katsuki gets fruatrated and asks WHY the fuck didnt he post Zeku.

"Because I don't want to support it"

"We are literally fucking engaged, you moron. What the FUCK do you mean you don't support it?!"

"I support Us, Kacchan! I just don't wanna support Zeku-shippers! Those two things are different!"

"WHy dont you wanna support them?! tHere is No Difference!"

"There is! I am not obligated to do anything for you. But if I admit to shipping Zeku out loud to the shippers, then I'm obligated to post pictures of us and I know that if I start posting that then my blog will literally be a flood of just Us all over!!"

"What is WRONG with that?!!"

"WE ARE SUPPOSED TO BE ENGAGED IN SECRET! NO ONE IS SUPPOSED TO KNOW! you said it yourself! That you don't like the useless yapping of reporters about your love-life where it isn't their business!"

"YEAH? WELL FUCK THAT!"

And Katsuki whips out his phone, takes a selfie of french kissing the hell out of Deku and immediately posts in on his twitter. Deku has hardly reeled back from that intense kiss when he realizes what Katsuki has done and he practically explodes in shame.

"Kacchan!! Our secret!"

"Your fucking fault, Deku. If I have to deal with the shitty extras at all, it better be for the right Ship, you dumbass. I'll punt you straight to China if I hear Ground Riot from your mouth ever again...capiche?"

"But I like Ground Riot...It's a valid ship, Kacchan. You cant diss on it just like that. It has wonderful scope, and the fluff in this ship is AMAZING. I think I have a soft spot for Uke!GZ and Soft!GZ now... and it is a really mutually productive ship unlike- hrmff!", Katsuki shuts him up with a smack to his mouth and sheds his shirt.

"Shut your mouth and strip, shitnerd. I'll fuck the Ground Riot out of you. Also, let's make this fucking clear that if you mention ANYTHING that goes anywhere near Eijirou's dick,ass, balls or mouth", Katsuki shivers, "then I'll wreck your dick, ass, balls and mouth. Remember that. Now STRIP"

"But what about platonically? That's a solid ship, right? Right, Kacchan? Also It doesn't mention Eijirou's- fuck!!!"

Deku gets wrecked thoroughly.

(Let's observe one moment of silence for his Shipping ass 🙏)

(r.i.p. Deku)

Katsuki later asks him why Deku doesn't read Zeku fics either, cause pretending to not like it to weasel out of obligation is fine, but it doesn't explain why he refuses fo read any either.

"A fic, especially the ones that I like, always are these perfect little stories which always have a happy ending. Can't help it, I'm weak to it, Kacchan- it's why I read fics at all, you know? For the rush of happiness and feels! It's always written with the intention that it will be perfect! And it is. But it doesn't come close to the real thing. There can be fics out there that come really close to what we really have though - but I refuse to accept that any fic could be better than the imperfectly perfect things I have with you, Kacchan. No matter what anyone insists, what I have with you is perfect to me. You are perfect to me. And that's all that matters."

Katsuki calls him an incorrigible sap and turns away to hide a violent flush that turns him red like a stop sign.

Omake:

Katsuki's #Zeku goes Viral too. But at this point no one understands what is going on or WHY. Because GZ appears to be a Zeku shipper when Deku is a GroundRiot shipper. Confusion abounds. Zac Efron memes agonize over Both ships, Captain America Japan Civil War Memes make a comeback. And for some reason, Deku keeps posting Ground Riot afterwards too and everytime he does, the next day he is seen limping.

"Did you have a hardtime with Zero-san at training yesterday?"

Before Deku can answer the one who asks him that, Eijirou comes up, winks and answers in his stead, "Very hard", and runs away to Mina's side before Deku has a shame-filled meltdown.

(The Ground Riot thing stops only when Mina and Eijirou get finally married.)

#bakudeku #katsudeku #katsuki x izuku #ktdk #bkdk #deku the shipper #humour #social media shenanigans #headcanon #fic idea #fanfic idea #too many headcanons #holy crap this was such a shit hc #deku ships kiribaku

166 notes · View notes

shadeofazmeinya · 5 years

Text

Nether Travel Alone (1/1)

Summary: When Ryan's not showing up at the end of a day of work, Jeremy heads down to mines to try to find his other Battle Buddy and let him know the others are looking for him. What he finds instead is Ryan getting in over his head like the idiot he is and Jeremy having to go after him to make sure they both get home safe.

A/N: Heyyo! Sorry for the delays on Solar, I promise it’s being done, but I’ve just been very busy. So enjoy this short lil fic in the meantime!

Done for the @rtwritingcommunity ‘s springfairy event, where I wrote this for @achievementtooth who asked for some minecraft Battle Buddies!! I hope you enjoy! As always, reblogs and comments greatly appreciated!!

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18819391

“Ryan?” a voice echoes around the cave, vibrating around the walls where low torch light flickers. Jeremy tries not to shiver in the cold, stale air, holding his sword a little tighter. He isn’t sure how far down Ryan’s gone. Ryan’s been mining down here all day so there’s no telling how much deeper the mine has gotten. Jeremy hopes he at least lit up the way well enough.

Rocks and pebbles crunch under his feet, kicking past the chipped stones littering across the ground. His torch flickers in hand as he trudges along, ears perked for any sounds. For the telltale moans of zombies, clinking of skeletons, or worse of all, the hissing of creepers lurking in the shadows.

He calls Ryan’s name again as he travels, glancing through shadows and corners. He really wishes he knew where he’s going, but he hasn’t been in the mine in a while. He’s been roped into helping Jack build recently, along with managing the farm. Work he doesn’t mind, but it left him missing the time he’s usually spends alone with Ryan. Exploring caves or helping Ryan on whatever new crazy project he is trying. He hopes Ryan’s been managing ok on his own.

There’s a faint bubbling that Jeremy catches as he continues down. A familiar sound, but something that quickens his heart regardless. As he turns a corner, there’s light spilling down the man-made halls. No heat, but Jeremy knows that will come as he moves closer towards the small stream of lava sitting in silence.

“Ryan? You down here or what?” he shouts again, holding the up his sword a little higher. He’s already gone pretty deep, surely the cave isn’t that much larger. Jeremy tries to swallow the worry at Ryan being so quiet, pushing on.

Jeremy tiptoes around the lava, the heat brushing his skin but not too intense. He looks around to see this area mined out a little more, pickaxe scratches deep into the stone. There’s no dust yet, no signs of the rock being fully settled again. He supposes this must be the area Ryan had been at today. And surely this means he isn’t far.

“Ryan! Stop hiding and get out here! I swear to the Gods if you are trying to scare me, this is not going to end well for you!”

The bottom of the cave opens up to a cavern, more heated light from lava pooled there. Again there is no answer. He walks until he finds himself stepping on something smooth, reflecting the light of his torch in black darkness. Jeremy bends down, feeling the new stone and the realization hits of what it is. Obsidian. Still warm, though that could be from the lava resting on either side.

Jeremy doesn’t remember anyone mentioning they had obsidian down in the cave. Ryan must’ve created it to get across the stretch of lava. As he glances around the open cavern, he easily spots why. The sparkle of gems flicker and Jeremy moves closer, drawn by the shine. Emeralds, if the green color is anything to go by. Blinking and calling in the cave. Jeremy traces the stone containing them; worry pulling his gut after a moment. Ryan isn’t the type to leave any resource untouched. Not after putting so much effort to reach them.

“Ryan?” he says, stepping across the glass, the sound ringing in the chamber. “Please fucking tell me you’re here somewhere. How far did you go? It’s only been a day.”

Again, his voice echoes with no answer. Jeremy curses, shifting his sword in his grip. He follows the obsidian path, heart jumping faster in his chest. He creeps around a column of stone, eyes glancing through every shadow cast across the walls. Then there’s a noise, low and vibrating, he’s amazed he hadn’t heard it earlier. The unnatural hum sets his hair on end, a shiver up his spine.

And then he sees it. Tucked against the wall, standing from the obsidian sea, an archway filled with purple swirls and smoke that dripped what Jeremy could now tell was screaming. Distorted moans of pain.

He stands there, staring at it before the realization dawns on him of what he is looking at. A Nether portal.

Fuck.

Ryan had been talking about them. That’s how he knows what it is, as Ryan had excitedly shown him sketches and diagrams of the thing he had found in some old books. Ryan’s eyes shined as he explained it all to Jeremy late at night, sitting against each other to see in the flickering candlelight. A portal to some other realm, where they can find rare resources and supplies for better potions. It all sounded a bit like a fairy tale to Jeremy at the time. Then again, he should have expected Ryan to be the one to somehow bring a fairy tale to life. But is Ryan fucking stupid enough to have gone in? Alone?

The gateway looms over him, another distorted and twisted wail making him flinch. He grips his sword higher, knuckles white against the grip. He should wait, search around more, look for Ryan in this cave. But he already knows deep in his gut where he went. And, fuck, Jeremy is going to have to go after him.

“What the hell did you do? What the hell am I about to do?” he mumbles as his steps closer echo in the chamber. “Ryan?” he calls out into the portal, but there’s no signs that it’s reaching anything. Giving another curse, Jeremy stands in front of the thing. He’ll need to get Ryan back one way or another.

He hopes Ryan’s ok in there. Please let Ryan be ok.

Taking one more deep breath, he steps up and into the portal.

It’s a strange sensation, moving between worlds. A coldness surrounds him, an unnatural chill without wind, but it doesn’t hurt. He vision is just purple, swirling around and blinding him. If feels like an eternity passes, with his heart pounding in his head and his quickening breath the only sounds that he hears. Then, a blink. And the purple is drained to a deep red. And Jeremy’s new world is heat. Dragging, unbearable heat surrounding him, choking him. Jeremy stumbles from the portal, sword raised and he pushes past the fog of his mind as he preps for anything to jump out at him. But nothing is immediately there and Jeremy can take a few moments to get his bearings.

The landscape expands out before him, heat steaming and creating a haze that distorted the land. The ground is a strange red crumbled stone and it crunches under his feet like gravel as he steps down from the portal. It’s warm but not melting, letting him press pass the fires that flicker and burn on random patches. There’s a ceiling, Jeremy notices as he looks up, leaving no sun or time of day. Lava is flowing in the distance and as he takes some hesitant steps into this world, he sees the flow connecting to what he could only describe as an ocean of lava. It bubbles, and there’s a hiss as some rocks in the distance falls to it, melting. But, there was no other movement yet. Just an endless expanse of hell.

Jeremy wants to call out for Ryan, but stops himself last minute. He doesn’t want to attract the attention of whatever living or undead things that reside amongst the fire here. He remembers Ryan telling him of them, men twisted into horrible beasts, skeletons as black as night whose arrows are tipped in poison, some horrible creatures that control fire. He doubts his iron sword would be able to hold back the monsters here for long. He swallows as he adjusts his grip, setting down his torch since it isn’t needed in here. With no sign of Ryan, Jeremy takes in another breath, tries to stop his hands from shaking, and moves forward.

There’s some sort of cry in the distance, echoing through the barren land. Jeremy jumps at it, but as he turns all around, nothing is there. Too far away to be a threat. Jeremy moves, feet crunching on the hot stone. He sees movement in the distance, around a crest of mountain where lava runs down. It’s too… unnatural to be Ryan, body hunched and twisted in weird way, moving strangely. At least it better not be Ryan.

Jeremy carefully trudges across the terrain, mindful of the cliff edge looming over the lava lake. Another cry is heard, along with some form of grunting echoing around the place. It quickens Jeremy’s pace as moves along, weaving amongst the fires spread across the ground and lava flows. He gives wide space to any shadows walking, but none seem to pay him much mind. Or maybe they just can’t see him from afar. Whichever it is, he just keeps away.

Jeremy turns another corner, having no idea which way he should be going and worry building every moment he doesn’t see Ryan. But then, he catches sight of something, a familiar flash of blonde hair and Jeremy moves faster. And standing there, as illuminated by some yellow light bleeding from some sort of cracked rock, indifferent to the fucking world around him, is Ryan.

“Ryan!” Jeremy bursts out as he rushes to him.

Ryan startles a bit, grabbing his sword but then letting out a breath as he meets Jeremy’s eyes. “Jeremy? What are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here? What the fucking shit are you doing here? It’s dangerous here!”

“I figured out how to build the portal, it took a bit of careful movement of the obsidian, but I got the shape right.”

“So you went through it?! Alone?!” Jeremy spits grabbing onto Ryan’s shirt. “You could’ve been hurt!”

Despite Jeremy’s screaming, Ryan’s face softens, placing his hand over his. “I knew what I was doing. Were you worried about me?”

“YES!” he howls. “You disappeared, Ryan!”

Ryan winces a bit and finally Jeremy can see a hint of guilt in his eyes. Fucking good. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I just wanted to see this place. All of that research and I opened it up! And look at this place! There’s so much to explore and study and learn-!”

“You should’ve at least waited for someone to go with you. You don’t even have a fucking shield!” Jeremy grits, pulling at his shirt to pull him closer, away from the strange stone, whatever hidden dangers could be here.

Ryan sighs. “I got a bit carried away, but-“

A sound echoes around them, the same whimpering and moaning that Jeremy had heard before. They both jump, glancing around. It sounded closer and Jeremy pulls Ryan more against him.

“We need to get the fuck out of here,” Jeremy whispers, not sure how much attention his yelling had attracted. “I don’t like this. What even was that?”

“I think a creature called a ghast,” Ryan whispers back with a frown, a hand reaching out to hold Jeremy close as he looks around. “Dangerous things from what I read, but we should be ok so long as we stay out of it’s sight. You didn’t bring any bows and arrows with did you?”

Jeremy takes his hand, starting to drag them both the way back, as quiet as he can. “No, why?”

“Because they fly,” Ryan says, moving easily with him.

“They fly?” Jeremy pales. “And you still came in here, knowing that? We are going to fucking talk when we get back about you not being such a damn idiot.”

Ryan sighs, but at least has the decency to stay quiet as he follows along with Jeremy. Jeremy hates how little he’s disturbed by this place. Like he’s just exploring some forest or ravine, like there’s no danger to be had but only discoveries to be made. Jeremy would find it a lot more charming if he hadn’t scared him half to death by vanishing in here.

Ryan looks bashful about it now, letting Jeremy take his hand and pull him away. But Jeremy recognizes the excited look in his eyes. He isn’t going to stay away from here for long. There’s far too much for him to learn. Jeremy doesn’t blame him though. This place is fascinating and new and there is probably a lot they can gain from it. He fucking hopes he doesn’t come here alone at least.

They nearly get back without incident. Jeremy’s facing the portal, the eerie, wispy purple, when another cry is heard. This time louder. But they don’t even have time after it’s heard to glance around, look for the source. A blur of white hovers at Jeremy’s side, rising from the cliffs edge.

Then, a scream.

It fills his head as a force, a blast crashes across the ground at his side in the same moment, scattering the stone and fire as it throws him off his feet. His hand is ripped from Ryan��s as his body is tossed backwards, back cracking on the stone as he falls.

There’s a shout in Ryan’s voice but Jeremy’s head swims and he can’t work out what the noise means as he gasps to regain the breath punched from his lungs. Hands pull on his back, yanking to try to pull him up. Jeremy grits as pain shoots through him, burning from his legs and scratches from his arms. But he tries to push himself up, heaving the burning air as strong hands get him to his feet.

“Jeremy! Run!” he understands as his hearing starts to catch up with him. Another horrible screech fills around him but he moves ahead this time, Ryan shoving him to help.

The ground shakes, rocks scattering behind them as whatever was thrown from the creature smashes to the ground. Flames flick at their heels but fear keeps them moving. The portal stands, watching over them as they run, heaving towards it. Jeremy’s body aches and stings, as Ryan holds him and yanks him. He glances back, finally seeing the creature.

It’s huge, a white blob that hovers in the air, flying as Ryan had told him before. It’s multitude of legs swayed in some non-existent breeze and Jeremy watches as it opens it mouth and lets out another horrid scream. Another ball of fire comes towards them, crashing against the walls besides them, scattering the stone, flicking the rest of it on fire. Jeremy’s chest groans, aching and there’s a sharp pain with every breath but he can’t stop. They can’t stop.

Ryan’s hand is steady, grip nearly bruising on his arm as they run. He pulls him closer as they reach the purple arch, skidding to a halt as he shoves Jeremy towards it. “Go!”

“What?!” Jeremy says, glancing back as the beast seems to swim through the air towards them, preparing another attack. “Get in here!”

“I’ll be right behind! Go!”

The beast howls and another flamed rock bursts, hurled right towards them. Jeremy cries out, reaching towards Ryan as the other shifts in front of him, raising his sword. Ryan doesn’t shrink from it, screaming back as he lifts his sword, putting himself firmly between the creature and Jeremy. He swings as the flame approaches and Jeremy can only flinch back, eyes squeezing shut as he waits for the impact.

But the hit doesn’t come, the heat fades away before it hurts. Jeremy’s eyes open, as he’s already grabbing onto Ryan who blessedly still stands ahead of him. He hears the bolder crash back, another scream, different this time, from the ghast. Jeremy doesn’t take the time to figure out what’s going on, wrapping his arms around Ryan’s waist and pulling them both to the portal.

He hears Ryan grunt, but doesn’t resist as Jeremy throws them both past the purple swirls. Again that chill runs up his spine, the feeling made worse with the adrenaline and pain rushing through his veins. The world flashes with purple, vision blank for a moment before the ground is catching up and they’re falling now, crashing onto smooth, cool glassy stone. Jeremy groans, blinking as he feels the heat gone from the air, looking to see such familiar dull grey walls surrounding them. The dull light of left torches flickering and much smaller pools of lava sitting at the sides.

Everything aches and every breath brings more pain as Jeremy sprawls as he’s lying down. He looks over to see Ryan panting besides him, still partially in his arms. Looking harrowed but breathing. Alive. Ok. Jeremy collapses back against the stone, relief overwhelming the pain for the moment.

“Jeremy?” Ryan says, careful as he leans over him, hands hovering but not touching. “You got hit hard. Are you ok?”

“I will be,” Jeremy assures, though his voice is hoarse. “But if we have any healing potions left at the house, that would be really appreciated.”

Ryan gives a breathless chuckle, finally letting his hands brush across Jeremy’s cheek. “I’ll find a way to make them even if we don’t.” He then sighs, deflating. “I’m sorry, J. I didn’t mean to scare you and I certainly didn’t mean for you to get hurt. I got excited about exploring this new place and I had learned so much about the Nether, I thought I’d be fine. But it’s probably too dangerous, that thing could have killed you! Maybe we should just close it off-”

Jeremy reaches up, placing his hand over his, turning to place a kiss to his palm. The movement makes him stop talking and Jeremy can’t tell if the pink in his cheeks is from exertion or blushing. “After all that work? Let’s not destroy it. I want to see what this place is about. I just don’t want you going in alone like that. Without proper fucking armor or anything. We need to be smarter about it.”

“You want to go back?” Ryan raises an eyebrow as he entangles their fingers, of course all he took away from what he said.

Jeremy shrugs, wincing as the movement pains him. “Sure. Not right away though. I need to fucking heal. Those fucking fire blasting-things are awful.”

Ryan frowns, but nods. “Yeah. I’ll help you up. Let’s get you back home. I’m sure the others are wondering what the hell we’re up to anyway.”

“They can wait a little longer,” Jeremy groans. “A few more minutes, then I’ll stand up.”

Ryan hums, leaning down to press a kiss to his cheek. “Alright. A few more minutes. And Jeremy?” he says, voice softer and Jeremy can’t help but look into those brilliant blue eyes, shining now in worry. “Thanks for coming in after me. You didn’t have to do that, not with something so dangerous. Not all on your own.”

Jeremy smiles, weakly squeezing his hand. “We’re Battle Buddies, right? I’ll always come in after you. Even when you’re being a fucking idiot. And that’s a damn promise, Ryan.”

Ryan chuckles, eyes a little brighter as he nods. “Thank you, Jeremy. And I promise the same to you.”

#jeremwood #ah minecraft au #minecraft au #ragehappy #nether travel alone #anyway hope yall enjoy #its like #half edited #sooooo im sorry #going back to solar now whoops

71 notes · View notes

a-writing-bear · 5 years

Text

[PruCan] Chapter 11: Soft-Spoken Calling, They Want Their Shyness Back

Ao3 Link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/11159997/chapters/48552656

This Has been cross-posted onto FF & Ao3 under Aliases: BearBooper

You can read this Fic on Tumblr under ‘Keep Reading’ - Ao3 version is formatted, tumblr version is not. Ao3 is recommended.

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

Fandom: Hetalia Axis Powers

Main Pairing: Gilbert Beilschmidt & Matthew Williams (Prussia & Canada)

AU: College AU - Art Student Matthew and Media/Film Student Gilbert

Age Rating/Mature: Teen And Up Audiences (12+ due to mentions of mature themes as well as swearing)

Trigger Warnings: Recreational Drugs & minor connotations of anxiety (Future addiction to mention themes such as addiction, rape etc.) WITHIN THIS CHAPTER - Mentions a lot of Weed. Unwanted touching (just mentions but slightly uncomfortable)

10 pm was a good time to arrive at a party, they decided. Vanilla milkshakes always made Matthew feel better- however maybe it wasn’t a good idea to have one after that coffee from earlier, and especially considering he was about to jacked up. Oh well. That’s something I'll deal with tomorrow. The Dutchman and himself had been on their way to Matthias & Lukas’ house, music-making his head pound already and feeling antsy over the prospect of more socialising. They had made very little conversation as the Mattie drove- only vaguely keeping attention to Tim’s random commentary and occasional directions. The Nordic couple had been renting out some house in the suburbs with 3 other students- very obviously avoiding living anywhere near the student dorms or the student housing as they liked to prevent interaction with the rest of Himaruya Academy; when you were hosting smoke outs and various amounts of overzealous drinkers and gambling, you tend to want to avoid the loud crowds. These events were closed doors, invite-only per se. Nothing like Alfred’s big bash parties that turned the university dorms into the likes of open summer festivals. They had only just touched the gravel of the house pavement when Matthew was hit with the familiar whistle of a certain Cuban man who had recognised their red car.

“EYYY LUKAS, TIM AND MATTIE ARE HERE.” the Cuban accent used to make Matthew shiver but was meaningless once he learnt Carlos was very straight, and if evidence needed planting then Carlos already on the porch with some girls he didn’t recognise and was flagged to go in after a friendly wave as he was too busy flirting to give Matt and actual hello. Tim had followed behind, loosening his tie as they sauntered up the door, only to have it ripped open by an unimpressed looking face of the shorter man known by Lukas.

The Norwegian seemed to raise his eyebrows to see that they both arrived together, usually, it would always be Tim first before Matthew came coming in. “Hej. Earlier than usual. Matthias is already down in the den with Jack.”

Tim had disappeared into the kitchen, making haste to avoid the heavy drinkers that surrounded the living room and especially avoid that Russian dude that seems to be pouring what looked like half a bottle of vodka into his cup. Meanwhile, Lukas had offered to stash away Matthew’s precious hoodie in the closet as he made their way down to the basement. The hypnotising dragging voice of Tame Impala's Kevin Parker grew louder as Matthew's sneakers hit the staircase floorboards down into the dreary but comfortable den. Jack must have picked the music, but I can dig it. Already he could smell the stink of imported kush, the haziness of what seemed like a spiked stream flowing around- only placated and diluted due to the small basement hopper window that let the smoke out. Matthew kicked off his sneakers at the bottom, already enjoying the vibe- or perhaps already being affected by secondhand smoke. Matthias had opened the basement bathroom to double steam the first few sessions of weed but it proved worthless as there seems to be a continuous stream of smokers mingling in and out of the den. Matthias was a tall blonde mess, a big optimist who wore long shirts under brightly coloured tees- a stark contrast to the bland wardrobe that Lukas wore (Opposites do attract I suppose) and the Danish guy was laying belly up on some very tacky shag carpet, at the feet of Jack who was lazed around on some beanbag, bong in his lap haphazardly.

“Oi Mate- bout time you showed up, I was getting bored. Where’s Timtam?” Matthew shrugged and sat cross-legged right near the dazed Dane’s face.

“Don’t call him that, he’ll throw a fit. What’s this? Yours or Tim’s?”

Jack snickered, the Australian clearly buzzed on something, “Buddy if this was Tim’s hooch I wouldn’t be sharing with goldie over here” he pointed and laughed as he listened to Matthias whine in offence. To be fair, the guy did go through more weed than Jack and Matthew combined so it was a fair enough statement. Matthew leant back, arms behind him as he dug his hands into the soft and a bit scruffy faux fur of the carpet- Matthias was giggling high about something and had pushed his head into Matthew’s lap.

“Hold kæft! I’m not that shit! Fuck Mattttt where’s Tim?”

“Upstairs I think- please pass the bong Jack” Matthew carefully stroked the hair that weaselled its way into his lap, he didn’t mind touchy stoners, he was the same whenever he got a hit- he just wished the big couch wasn’t full of clothes so he wouldn't have to sit on the floor. Just as he had the glass bulb in his hand Tim had marched in from upstairs, throwing a bag of chips and lots of biscuits into the beanbag next to Jack. Matthew tutted as Matthias apologised about not having those maple cookies he liked, whereas the Australian was more pleased to see some recognisable red liquorice. The green-eyed man had pulled out a pipe and dragged the spare beanbag to be behind Matthew, and it was not long before all four of the boys had taken a few hits and became a bunch of giggling messes.

“So whattya been up to mate?”

“Maybe he finally went back to Canada or something right Mattttt?

“Ahaha yea seen any geese or something mate?? Shit, we should have gone- BC bud hol-y” the conversation seemed disjointed and Matthew was already too far gone to think about going back to Canada. He notes that yeah, it’s been a bit since he’d come for a smoke out, and he didn't answer as he was too preoccupied with the stem of his bong and the noise of shouting celebrations of poker players upstairs.

“Schatje has a new uh...gig” Tim snorted, he, however, was definitely less jacked than the 3 who seemed to light up at the sentence.

“Oooooooo who be it?? Who is it, Mattie?” Matthew let out a wail of disapproval at the conversation, Tim was supposed to be his friend yet he’s pushed him into a corner of answers.

“Some dude..guy...fucking cute- uh Gil..red eyes oof real red...shiny eyes.” his mind wandered as he let himself lean on the edge of Tim’s beanbag, Matthias had already stumbled off the floor, excited and eager to hear like some high school girl. Jack had his eyebrows raised and the singlet wearing man moved closer from his position to meet Matthew’s rosy expression.

“Wow, Matties got the giggles for someone huh? Hah Timtam good luck mate.” Tim avoided any eye contact and instead focused on his pipe and refilled it with some mary jane from the communal bag nearby. An indignant noise came out of Tim as he growled at the stupid nickname.

“Wait- Gil? Gilbert? The band shirt guy? Isn’t he the one who got wasted at Francis’ big blowout last time” Matthias mentioned, arms waving and dismissed as he continued to squirm along the floor.

“Oh Gilllly boy, mates with uh Antonio or something, that bitch?”

“Fuck I don’t know...he listens to uh...mom jeans too ya know- fuck me.” the two laughed at Matthew’s comment but didn’t push for more- it’s been too long since Matthew had shown interest in someone, who were they to question. Especially not while they were all getting smoked. Tim looked disinterested in the topic anyway and was more concerned with tangling his fingers in Matthew’s strawberry blonde hair as the Canadian had sat between his legs. God fuck cuddles were nice. Matthew's voice broke out into more wailing as he sung along to Snowy Dunes. The music was soothing. He hoped there was more.

The music melted out into something he didn't quite recognise: “Who the FUCK put Queens of stone age on the queue?” Jack complained. ah fuck. he agreed over the change in the artist. shame, he quite liked Snowy Dunes more than Queens of Stone age At some point, Lukas had dragged his very giggly boyfriend upstairs and Jack had been huddled in a corner snacking by himself. Matthew didn’t know what time it was but he’d wiggled his way from his scarf-wearing friend and clambered up the staircase, laughing at the terrible decor on the walls- he could paint better graffiti than the shitty art pieces the house owners had displayed. He didn’t realise how he’d find himself on the couch near Ivan and some other foreign sounding students. Ivan was cool. Weird. Haha, I V A N. fuck ‘ee van.’ who names their kid Ivan anyway? Doesn't get more Russian than that. Shit ice hockey. Russian players are always so grabby. Man, I’d kill for some Cheetos right now.

There were about 10 people in the room- and some Matthew only recognised by name. Everyone here barely attempted to talk outside of this safe house. What happened on Saturday nights never got passed the lawn, it was an unspoken law. Matthew always wondered was that because of the copious amount of shagging that happened? The excessive card games or maybe the fact that all these people were just kids who can’t bear to go to the bigger parties. Matthew couldn’t decide. He couldn’t even figure out why he was here. Why was anyone here? Why are we still here? Just to suffer? He laughed at his inner joke.

The teen’s mind wandered in circles and had been offered a drink by some Finnish kid he recognised as Lukas’ housemate. The music up here was incessantly blasting rock- something that he’d love if it wasn’t so dizzy. He melted further into the couch, barely turning to watch the poker match of some guys a few meters away. Matthew liked this house. Even with people here, it wasn’t suffocating. He could feel someone touching his hair again. Hosers. Why always my hair. The fingers started roaming his shoulders...and his thigh. Suddenly Matthew felt more sobered as he shuffled away and tried to find a pillow to hide behind. He felt woozy and extremely giddy despite his anxiousness to escape anymore touching. He stood up throwing the pillow outside and went hunting for some water. He didn’t want to feel this light anymore. Not now. Matthew couldn’t remember feeling this light and heavy all at the same time. And suddenly, he just couldn’t remember a lot of things. There was a lot of loud singing. He laughed.

---

Alfred had been dropped off at his dorm building at around 9:20 pm, and by 9:30 he’d launched his discord chat and set up his microphone so that he could huddle on his bed without having to jostle his laptop so much later. The blue-eyed American had only one reason to not be out partying like he usually did with his cousin Francis, only one other reason why he was studying with his brother and one other reason why he hadn’t been chasing up local girls and guys

“Hey, Keeks!”

His voice rattled with poorly disguised joy as his Japanese friend had picked up. Alfred and Kiku had hit it off foundation year, and while it was upsetting that eventually, the black-haired beauty had to transfer back to the other campus, Alfred had made it his job to stay in contact. Kiku was a genius. On par if not smarter than Alfred and that was considered high praise. The two shared stories, For the Asian man it was only just the start of the day so Alfred accompanied him through his breakfast as they shared concepts for different additions to each other’s current project. Robotics has always intrigued Alfred but there was no secret that his wonder had not been merely just been present because of the technological prowess that his crush displayed.

“Alfred-kun. I thought you said you had something with your Brother tonight.” Kiku’s soft voice filtered through the screen, he knew all about Alfred’s personal life and was under the impression the call was cancelled for some family bonding.

“Nah, dude. He’s out with his not-boyfriend. I don’t know what he’s up to. Probably exchanging spit or reading together again.” Alfred Sighed. Knowing his boring brother, he was just watching some movie with Tim again. He’s probably just sleeping.

#prucan #HWS Canada #HWS Prussia #SoftSpokenCalling #prussia x canada #hetalia #hetalia axis powers #Axis Powers Hetalia #hetalia world stars #Hetalia Fanfiction #hetalia fandom #hetalia fanfic #hetalia fanfics #fanfiction #fanfic #APH Canada #APH Prussia #Multichapter

6 notes · View notes

mattatouile · 5 years

Text

Rule : answer 21 questions then tag 21 people who you want to get to know better

I was tagged by @caffeinatemedaily!!!

Nickname(s): Well, people call me Keith now! A couple of people online call me Goose because of my pseudonym during my romance novel blogging/reviewing days. And when I was a kid I was called Hanny Hole.

Zodiac sign: Every inch the Virgo. (To be That Millennial, Virgo sun/Scorpio rising/Aries moon.)

Height: 5′1″

Last movie I saw: Detective Pikachu. I don’t really go to movies. If it was the last movie I watched in my house ... honestly, probably some terrible Nikolaj Coster-Waldau vehicle.

Last thing I googled: “Widow’s Wail’s sword belt” - I was going to add how plain it is to the post about Brienne’s armor. Because, of course, Jaime doesn’t gaf what Joff’s belt looked like. But B’s has to be the most intricate love letter ever crafted.

Favourite musician: H...o...zier? I feel weird listing favorite musicians. I listen to a lot of Hozier and Dermot Kennedy lately, because very darkly sad Irish boys are my jam.

Other blogs: I have several usernames that I always intended to start using and just never did. Including “Jaimemotions” which is, of course, a smoosh of Jaime + Emotions.

Following: 206. I would follow more, but I have this completionist problem where I HAVE to scroll all the way back to where I left off the night before and if I have too many, I can’t DO that. It’s not about content or worthiness. I’M NICE, I SWEAR.

Followers: >.> 1419 (almost all of which are from the past few months. HI JAIME X BRIENNE GUYS. I LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH!!!)

Do I get asks: Sometimes! Usually when I ask to be asked things. But people also pop by sometimes to ask me about my fics or tell me about my fics, and it’s the warmest, bubbliest feelings in the world. I love it!

Amount of sleep: Usually, between 6 and 7 hours, regardless of what day of the week it is. Sometimes, on the weekends, I sleep eight hours. Like a teenager! (I’m being facetious.)

Lucky numbers: Not a single solitary one.

What I’m wearing: a huge grey t-shirt from Target, blue snowflake print PJ bottoms, and my cast!

Dream job: Independent wealth. As for dream job, I kind of have it? I never dreamed of a particular career. But currently, I make a good amount of money, at a place I can wear jeans every day, for a relatively low amount of stress. Literally, couldn’t ask for more because I spent the last 6 years in a deep spiral of work-related depression and anxiety.

Dream trip: A tour of Scotland.

Favorite food: Steak. Rare.

Instruments: I played the flute for...5ish years? I honestly cannot remember now. I don’t remember much of my preteen and teen years.

Languages: English is my first language. Once upon a time I spoke and understood enough French to get by passably in rural France. I don’t remember anything about how to speak or understand German, but I can piece simply sentences together by reading.

Favourite song: Heaven is a Place on Earth. Because I listened to it 15 times today because it came on AmazonMusic and made my soul soar!

Random fact: I was homeschooled K-12. First time I ever stepped foot in a classroom was my first class at College/University. I was also unvaccinated until almost the same time? And then my dad started working overseas and my mom was like, “well, I guess I should do this!” (My mom is pro-vaccination now. The early early 90s were a weird internetless time and we were in an extremely isolated location.)

Aesthetic: Uber-femme but with a butchy haircut most of the time. High contract soft places to cuddle up against. Blankets and cardigans.

I will not be tagging because I suck at tagging and can never remember anyone.

#actual about me!

5 notes · View notes

godaime-obito · 6 years

Link

A Kagatobi soulmate fic! On ao3 and under the cut. I wrote this to avoiding thinking about how the weather is ruining my semester schedule lol

Kagami picks his head up from the desk he’s apparently fallen asleep at. This is a rather disorientating position as he distinctly remembers going to sleep in his own bed last night. He doesn’t remember drinking at any point last night either, so that’s probably not the explanation. Sweeping his eyes over the room reveals it to be a basic set-up, slightly old-fashioned crowded with books and scattered papers, and no furniture other than the bed, desk and chair, and a bookshelf taking up an entire wall. There’s an ink well that’s fallen over and dried on a pile of sealing paper. A small window on the far wall looks out over an unfamiliar street.

Kagami is not going to panic. This isn’t the Uchiha compound, but it’s still Konoha. Probably. He pushes himself up from the desk, intending to get to a mirror as soon as he can, only to stumble over his feet and land on a pile of books. The limb length is all wrong. This isn’t his body. Good. He’s been waiting eagerly for his soulmate swap his entire life, what Uchiha doesn’t? But, uh, it is a bit distressing that whoever it is, isn’t an Uchiha. This could be complicated. The Uchiha have just started settling into the village and they’re still not exactly friendly with the other clans yet.

He just needs to find a mirror, and make sure he, or his soulmate technically, is presentable. Then he’ll go back to the compound to find them and everything will be fine. Kagami picks himself up, carefully, and takes his time walking to the door. Why is his soulmate so tall? Everything is at a weird angle. The door knobs are not supposed to be so low down. Thankfully, the first door in the hall he tries opens into a bathroom.

Kagami could not tell anyone what the room looked like if his life depended on it. He catches sight of himself in the mirror over the sink and forgets to observe his surroundings. It’s not very shinobi like of him, but considering the situation he thinks it can be forgiven.

Senju Tobirama’s face is staring back at him. There’s ink dried on the cheek that was pressed against the desk. He must have fallen asleep while filling in paperwork or working on a seal. Kagami thinks it looks kind of cute. He’s not sure how long he’s been enjoying memorizing Tobirama’s cheekbones and crafting an elaborate romantic fantasy about their honeymoon when he’s interrupted.

“Tobi,” a voice calls. Is that Hashirama-sama? No panicking. He’s probably a very reasonable man. “You need to come out of your room Tobi!”

He pokes Tobirama’s head out of the bathroom. “About that,” Kagami says, pausing at the sound of Tobirama’s voice. Right. He knew it wouldn’t be his own voice. He just forgot for a moment.

“You came out all on your own!” Hashirama wails and then proceeds to throw himself at him like a large octopus. Is this normal?

“Yes?” he replies. He fails at not looking and sounding completely bewildered.

“I thought you were on another research binge. Are you okay?” he wonders.

“Like I was saying: about that, I may be not Tobirama,” he says nervously, “I mean I may not be Tobirama. Which is to say, I definitely am not Tobirama.” He can just call him Tobirama, right? They are soulmates after all.

Hashirama pulls back from attempting to crush his brother’s ribs. He stares blankly at Kagami’s forced smile, grasping his shoulders lightly. “What? You definitely feel like Tobi, but the expression is all wrong,” he contemplates.

“Right,” he gasps, trying to get air in his lungs again, “I guess I’m his soulmate?”

The hands tighten on his shoulders momentarily, before the rib crushing resumes. “I knew he had a soulmate! He’s always such a downer, but you’re never too old to switch,” Hashirama cheers. Kagami is certain his shoulder is getting wet now.

“Are you crying on me?” Senju Hashirama is crying on him. This is even more confusing than he thought the switch would be. “Oh no,” he breathes, “Madara-sama is going to pissed when he finds out.”

“We should go talk to him!”

“What!? Why would we do that? What you should do is make sure he doesn’t find out your brother is in his compound before he goes on a rampage,” he rebukes. This is a disaster in the making.

“Now you’re starting to sound like Tobi,” Hashirama jokes, “You’re even doing his scowl.”

“I refuse to go anywhere near Madara-sama while in this body,” he asserts, “Why don’t you bring Tobirama here and I’ll just stay put?”

“I know,” Hashirama cheers, “I’ll go check on him and then I’ll talk to Madara!”

“Yeah, you do that.” At least Madara-sama will hopefully be distracted for long enough for them to switch back. As he cheerily bounces off to bring chaos down on the Uchiha, Kagami drops to the ground to lay down right where he is. The bathroom floor is as good a place as any to consider how likely he is to survive until his imagined honeymoon.

Tobirama comes to a sudden awareness with the realization that he’s not at his desk anymore. The soft feeling of a proper bed and covers around him is likely the work of Hashirama. He’s always fretting when he catches Tobirama dozing during his research. It wouldn’t be the first time he tucked him in and there isn’t anyone else who could possible move him without the feeling of their chakra so close waking him.

He fights the desire to rest a bit longer and throws off the covers. There’s work to be done. He comes to a stop when his feet reach the ground. This isn’t his room, or any other room he knows, and his feet took longer to reach the ground than they should have. There are a lot of Uchiwa in this room. He stops looking around the room to inspect himself instead. His hands are smaller, his build smaller and leaner, and he’s wearing nothing but cotton pants with the Uchiwa all over them. His soulmate is an Uchiha. The only way this could be more inconvenient is if the switch happened two years ago when they were still at war.

Tobirama does not want to be here when others begin to realize what has happened. He isn’t eager for Madara to set him on fire, or bludgeon him to death, or do whatever specific thing he’s thinking of when he not-so-subtly imagines Tobirama’s demise. He moves to the dresser as fast as his at least three inch shorter legs will take him and riffles through the drawers for presentable clothes. Preferably with no Uchiwa. He’s forced to settle for standard black shinobi pants and sandals accompanied by a dark blue shirt with a large Uchiwa on the back. At least it doesn’t have the traditional high collar.

As he walks toward the door he catches his reflection in a mirror propped up in the corner. His soulmate is younger than him and has fluffy hair, as opposed to the spiky messes Uchiha like Madara have. Tobirama does not recognize him, but… Well, he’s certainly more appealing than any of his clansmen Tobirama’s encountered. He turns his head away from the mirror and straightens his back. He really does need to leave.

He continues to the door and pushes it open softly. Tobirama instinctively reaches out with his chakra as he exits the room and grimaces as his attempt stops short. Even with all his knowledge and prowess at sensing he can’t make up for his soulmate’s lack of natural ability. He can barely make out the Uchiha compound, and certainly nothing further than that. It will be enough for him to get out of the compound and find his body at least.

As he approaches the edge of the compound and can feel more and more of Konoha proper, he begins to sense Hashirama heading towards him. When Tobirama walks out the gates he slips right past him. He looks suspiciously joyful and teary eyed. Sage help him; if Hashirama found his soulmate and is off to tell Madara the great news they’re going to need a new Uchiha compound. He picks up the pace, jumping up to the rooftops and running. It’s a risk to use chakra like this in someone else’s body, with unfamiliar limits, but he wants to be very far away from that encounter.

Tobirama feels himself enter his decreased sensing range several blocks from the Senju main house he shares with Hashirama and Mito. It’s disconcerting to just sense himself this way, really, it’s unsettling to have been away from his own chakra signature at all. Fully aware of how strange it would be for a random Uchiha to just walk into his home Tobirama jumps onto the roof out of sight of passersby and promptly slips in his own window. His harder to disarm his traps with his soulmate’s chakra, but it barely slows him.

He lets out a relieved sigh as he sees his papers and books have not been moved in his absence. If his soulmate had ruined his research before they even met he’d preemptively divorce them. Whoever they are they haven’t moved from where he sensed them in the bathroom nearest his room when they first came into range. What are they doing in there? It would be rather impolite to do crass things with his body before he even knows their name.

When Tobirama sees the bathroom door left open, and his body lying on the floor staring at the ceiling, he isn’t sure if he should be relieved or even more concerned.

“Uchiha,” he says, pressing against his side with a foot, “That isn’t sanitary. You are getting germs on me.”

The Uchiha in his body jerks up in an exaggerated motion, looking around wildly before his eyes settle on Tobirama. “Please, call me Kagami,” he grins.

Tobirama may use his shadow clone jutsu regularly, but it did not prepare him for seeing such a strange half panicked half joyful expression on his own face. He looks more like Hashirama than he’s used to. “Switch back Kagami,” he insists, offering his hands to him.

Their bare hands meet as he pulls his body up and he returns to himself with dizzying rush of warmth. He sways a moment- off put by the switch of position despite having known it was coming. Kagami is even more dazed than he is, but considering he’s been laying on the floor an indefinite amount of time he’s probably just confused in general.

He pulls Kagami- his soulmate -closer. He may not be a romantic the way his brother is, but he’s glad all the same to have finally met his soulmate. The fact that this will enrage Madara is a nice bonus too. “Are you alright?” he asks.

“Yes,” Kagami mumbles, “it’s just you’re, and I, and Hashirama-sama is going to tell and Madara-sama will… explode, maybe?”

“Are you upset it’s me? Would you have preferred another Uchiha?” he wonders.

“No!” he yelps, pulling back to look Tobirama in the eye properly. “You’re great! Your face and biceps and abs and thighs are all great. Not that other things aren’t good too! Umm, you’re smart?” Kagami stammers out.

“I am not entirely sure what sentiment you are attempting to convey, but I appreciate your sincere tone,” he says bemusedly.

“Thanks?” he replies. They both twitch, restraining an urge to reach for a weapon as a large crash echoes from the direction of the Uchiha compound. The sound of rapidly growing trees, which Tobirama wishes he were less familiar with, rumbles in the distance. “Do you mind if I stay a while?” Kagami says sheepishly.

“Of course not,” Tobirama assures him, “It’s only proper that we take the time to get to know one another. Do you want to see my current seal project? We can talk in my quarters.” Someone far away lets out a shrill shriek and it’s loud enough to carry all the way to them. Most likely it’s Madara.

“Can I sit on your lap while we talk?” he answers, finally seeming to regain his footing.

“I appreciate your forwardness. Communication of desires is important,” he says and guides Kagami back toward his room.

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes.”

#tobirama #kagami #naruto #kagatobi #hashirama #fanfic #my writing

14 notes · View notes

fredheads · 6 years

Note

one word fic prompt - OREOS

read on ao3

“Want some Oreos?” is the first thing FP’s new roommate says to him.

Okay, first he says “Hi! I’m a hugger” and hugs FP and makes a whole production out of the fact that they’re going to be squeezed into the same sweaty room for the next two semesters. But this is the first conversational attempt, thrown out as Fred’s suddenly on his way to the door with the hand of a random brunette (she’d been in the room when FP got there) locked in his.

“We’re going to the dining hall. Want some Oreos? Apparently, you just sneak them out in your bag. I mean, or you could come with us.” Fred is bouncing on the balls of his feet, a real energetic guy. “I haven’t eaten all day and I hear the dinners are really good.”

“Nah, you guys go,” says FP slowly, folding a towel with unnecessary precision on his bed. “I have to unpack.”

This isn’t true. FP had left his trailer with exactly one duffel bag, and it wasn’t even full. But the girl is glaring at him like she’s daring him to accept, and Fred seems like a little too much for him right now.

When Fred returns from the dining hall he’s flanked by the same brunette, who FP has begun to assume is his girlfriend. They crowd onto Fred’s bottom bunk and start talking excitedly about their classes and the campus and a host of things that FP has yet to care about. Then Fred has his hand on her thigh, and then they’re suddenly kissing - kissing so frantically and passionately that FP starts looking up from his book to see when and if they’re breathing.

“Hey, FP-” His new roommate says hesitantly at around nine, “is it okay if Hermione stays the night?”

(Hermione. What kind of name was that? Rich coming from someone named Forsythe, but still.)

“No problem,” says FP, and puts his headphones on so Fred knows that he knows what ‘stay the night’ means. Fred wastes no time in putting his tongue down Hermione’s throat again, and FP turns over and faces the wall, turning up the Thompson Twins as far as they’ll go and obstinately not listening to the bed creaking, not listening to his roommate moaning, not thinking about the rustle of sheets or their naked bodies or the way that Hermione moans his new roommate’s name every so often in a way that tells him beyond a shadow of a doubt that Fred Andrews of room 309 knows what he’s doing in the sack.

So Hermione’s not his girlfriend. Hermione’s not his girlfriend, or else Fred’s a horrible person and FP’s become an unwitting accomplice in some kind of guy code for cheaters, because after Hermione comes Debbie, and Sandra, and Sarah, and Jessica, and Courtney, and Faye, and Jeanie, and a whole ledger of young women, enough to fill a small cheerleading squad. Hermione does reappear, and Sarah and Jeanie show up again sometimes - Fred likes redheads, he learns - but mostly it’s a rotating door that creaks open around eleven every night, spilling a giggly Fred and insert-woman’s-name-here into the dark shadows of their dorm room where FP turns over to the wall and pretends to be asleep.

FP’s resigned himself to being the good roommate, to downloading new music onto his device at the library so that he can drown out the girls and the mattress creaks with KISS or Nirvana or AC/DC. Most of the time he’s lucky enough to be asleep, headphones on, by the time Fred gets in, but other nights he hears far too much of Fred’s sexcapades - the volume only goes up so far.

He’s learned a lot about Fred’s sexual habits that he wished he didn’t know - aside from the obvious, he now knows that Fred has a weird, annoying giggle - that a large part of his foreplay is whispering sweet things in the girl’s ear (sometimes, out of pure curiosity, FP dials the volume down to hear snatches of it) and that Fred Andrews is without a shadow of a doubt a giver.

But he doesn’t mention it, just because he doesn’t want to have that conversation, and really who is he is to keep the guy from having a good time? FP’s no one, just some dumb kid who’s here on a football scholarship and who’s failing all his classes. FP’s a heavy sleeper - Fred’s no worse than listening to his dad swear at the TV and break bottles and hit things back home. At least he has his music.

So they don’t talk about it. And in the morning, when the girls slip out, Fred turns his big toothy smile on FP and tells him what a hell of a good friend he is (in Fred’s mind they’re friends now, Fred doesn’t refer to him as a roommate anymore, despite FP never putting effort in) and it’s momentarily like being blinded by the sun.

Fred’s always inviting him to go places - to the dining hall, to the library, to the pub or to some event or another - but FP never accepts. He’s not sure why. Fred never stops asking though, and he’s started leaving dining-hall packets of pre-sealed Oreos all around their room - possibly out of worry that FP doesn’t know how to feed himself.

FP appreciates it. They have a long conversation one day about whether golden Oreos are better than the traditional ones - Fred’s on the side of golden Oreos, though FP could have told you that by looking at him - and until Hermione comes storming in asking what Fred got on the English 100 midterm, it’s almost enough to make FP believe he’d made a friend after all.

They’re about halfway through a mid-sized high school’s cheerleading squad when the door opens at far past eleven on Friday night - almost two in the morning, by FP’s watch - and Fred and another girl come stumbling in. FP had turned down the volume on his music to lull himself to sleep, and hears every word of their conversation.

“Sssh, shh,” Fred is saying, his words laced with that annoying giggle of his, though he’s clearly trying to keep it down. “My roommate’s sleeping. We have to be quiet.” His voice takes on a teasing, scolding tone that makes something go loose and floaty in FP’s stomach. “Seriously”

FP feels a weird fondness for Fred hit him, an unexpected softness in his chest. Fred didn’t have to be that considerate, and yet he was. But the other person’s voice jars him abruptly out of his thoughts.

“Oh, I can be quiet.” It’s a much deeper voice than FP had been expecting - a man’s voice. He opens his eyes to slits and sees them in the sparse light from the curtain - Fred’s clothed form and some muscular, heavy body in front of him that definitely doesn’t belong to someone named Jeanie. The stranger is standing so that FP can only see his back, running his hands slowly up Fred’s arms. There’s a laugh in the voice - not Fred’s sex-muddled giggling, a heavy, warm amusement that’s surely punctuated with a sexy eyebrow raise. “Can you?”

Fred’s voice has gone huskier now too, and FP loses it under the sound of his music. Slowly, very slowly, not really knowing what he’s doing, he inches his hand under the sheets toward the player and taps pause. The silence is like a jolt.

“On the bed,” Fred’s saying, speaking between kisses, and then the bed on the other side of the room creaks loudly as the bigger guy climbs onto it. They keep kissing, lots of little ones that means they’re going slow, taking their time. They smell a lot like beer - the campus pub is one of the few places outside of these four walls that FP has ventured, and he figures they must have come from there. His stomach feels odd, his hands shaky, and he really should have gone to the bathroom before Fred came home.

“Sssh,” says Fred, and then the rustling that means clothes are coming off, the loud unmistakeable sound of a zipper coming down and denim hitting the floor. FP swallows hard and circles the play button with his thumb, knowing what he should be doing but unwilling to do it. The two of them are laughing quietly, the bedsprings squeaking, but as far as FP knows they’re still making out - because he isn’t quite sure how it would work, the other thing, but -

Through his headphones, everything seems somehow louder, like listening to your own blood when you press a shell against your ear at the beach. He waits and waits for the urge to hit the play button again, to drown out their playful, sexy, twisted, loud, lovemaking under the wailing tones of an electric guitar, but it’s like his thumb has frozen, or gone numb, and he can’t hit the button.

He could be annoyed. He could be disgusted. He could at least acknowledge how very, very wrong and invasive it is to listen to your drunken roommate friend make love to a guy twice his size, even if Fred is essentially putting it on display for him like a flagrant piece of performance art.

Only he just lies there in the dark, legs squeezed together, and listens.

To all of it.

Thus begins the boys. Hermione still comes around, and a nerdy redhead or two, but suddenly it’s not uncommon for Joes and Jacks and Mikes and Stevens to slip under Fred’s covers, to stumble laughingly through his door and leave their socks and jeans in a trail toward Fred’s bed. The dining hall offerings from his roommate get better - brownies and cookies as well as packaged Oreos- and while FP could get such things for himself - he pays for it too, after all - it feels oddly touching and important that Fred is apologizing for his transgression in such a way. FP munches his brownies and turns his music up and focuses on not failing his classes.

Once, feeling bold, FP inquires about the name of the first boy Fred had had home - the one with the muscles and the hulking back, who had nevertheless patiently and obediently waited for Fred to give the orders - even as mundane as sit down and kiss me. (FP’s stomach gets a weird kind of churning in it when he thinks about that, which definitely has nothing to do with the Oreos he’s been eating for every meal.)

Fred laughs. “That was Tom,” he says, knotting his necktie in front of the mirror, “but you won’t see him around again. He likes to play straight. I only got him home with me because he’d been drinking.“

Fred had left in the same flurry of energy that he always did, and FP had walked to class alone, his thoughts turning sluggishly through his brain. That was that, then. Fred was the person he’d been warned about - some kind of homosexual predator, stalking the halls of his school and picking out upstanding young straight men, getting them drunk and corrupting them, plying them with drinks and love-talk and his giggly sunlight warmth, luring them into his trap.

Only Tom had acted pretty damn happy about getting caught.

Is he homophobic? FP wonders, sliding into the dining hall after hours, when the place is almost closed. He grabs a sandwich and two packages of Oreos and carries them back to his room, mulling it over. It was possible. His dad had raised him on the loud belief that people like that were disgusting, depraved, barely a step above animals. It didn’t seem to FP that it could be natural, and yet Fred (Fred and Henry, Fred and Steven, Fred and Myles) seemed to make it work every night just fine.

It was just undeniable that he felt a certain way when Fred brought boys home, a way that he didn’t feel when it had only been girls. And he didn’t like the feeling - an antsy crawling, a churning sickness, a heat and heaviness in the pit of his gut that made him squirm and kept him from sleeping.

So maybe he was homophobic. Whatever. He wasn’t going to say anything about it.

And if his thoughts turned to Fred and Tom when he was jerking off, that was his business.

And yet one day he has to bring it up, because Mike or Steven or whoever had been so fucking satisfied last night, had so loudly and so enthusiastically moaned about Fred’s predisposition toward hitting all the pleasure centres down there that FP hadn’t managed a single second of sleep. It wasn’t the noise - he had his headphones for that, and Fred was good about giving his conquests the caveat that his roommate needed his beauty rest - but it was something about the way the guy acted with Fred – too brash, too experienced, too pleased. It was a boy FP had seen before, and this doubled his annoyance - the possibility that this could become a regular ritual, that Fred and this specific man - rather than a faceless, solid, co-ed cheerleading squad of them - could penetrate FP’s four walls and make loving and passionate sex to his roommate for the rest of the year.

He steps in front of Fred while he’s on his way out to meet Hermione for a game of frisbee, a red wool sweater on that makes him look annoyingly sporty and collegiate and brings out the sparse brown freckles on his nose.

“I don’t think you should have guys over anymore,” says FP bluntly. And then, when Fred says nothing - “I don’t want you to."

Fred had swallowed hard, his eyes welling up with tears - FP had managed to say everything in those few sentences that FP Senior had ever said about gay men in his life - and had only nodded, his lips trembly and his eyes looking anywhere but FP’s face. And so the sex stops, and Fred’s smile stops, and Fred being in the room at all stops for awhile, and the Oreos and brownies and cupcakes stop, even when Halloween passes and they have cupcakes iced in orange with confetti bats - something that ordinarily would have sent Fred out of his mind with glee.

FP takes two home from the cafeteria and leaves them on a little plate on Fred’s side of the room, adds a package of cafeteria Oreos as a peace offering. They go untouched.

Fred goes every Wednesday to a meeting that is advertised on posters around the quad by an upside-down rainbow triangle and a heart. FP tears one down on his way home from the pub, hoping that anyone who sees him do so will just think him drunk, or a run-of-the-mill homophobe. From this he gleans the room number and that these meetings are open to all, newcomers welcome.

What the hell. He swallows his pride, combs his hair, and shows up on Wednesday,

The room is a big, airy, window-y one in the campus student centre. Students are sitting on the carpet in a big circle, and there are a lot more people than FP had expected. Nervous, he finds an open patch and sinks into a cross-legged pose on the ground. Fred’s there, and FP devotes all his energy to not looking at him, though he can tell Fred’s eyes are locked on his face with flaming intensity.

The leader is a short girl with too many piercings in her ears and a shock of pink hair. She speaks above the general buzz of conversation, and one by one, the other students fall silent and listen to her. The girl smiles.

"Today’s topic is misconceptions about bisexuality. To start off, does anyone want to share some that they’ve experienced?"

The girl to FP’s right shoots up her hand before he has time to process the question. "People always think you’re down for a threeway."

"That’s right. And some people think bisexuality and monogamy can’t go together. Anyone else?"

"If you’re a girl dating a boy, people think you can’t be bisexual anymore,” speaks up a redhead across the circle.

The girl with pink hair nods. “Yeah, that’s a big one."

FP feels lost. Slowly, without looking at Fred, he puts his hand up as if in class. The girl turns to look at him, and FP feels the same nerves well up in his stomach that he gets in lectures when he knows he’s about to say something stupid.

"Yes?"

FP clears his throat. He can feel Fred’s eyes burning holes into his face. "I- could you explain what that is?"

"Monogamy?” asks the girl, blinking confusedly at him.

“No-” FP’s beginning to regret putting his hand up. His face is warm and he knows he’s blushing, though he couldn’t explain to himself why. “Bisexual. What does that mean."

The girl beams at him, looking around the circle. "Does anyone want to take a crack at a definition?"

"Bisexual is when you like boys and girls,” answers an extremely handsome boy to FP’s left, and smiles at him in a way that hits all the panic centres in FP’s brain. He almost gets up and runs.

“No,” another boy speaks up, cutting him off, “bisexual is when you like more than one gender. Doesn’t have to be boys and girls."

The first boy grins, showing dimples. "I stand corrected."

"Bisexual doesn’t mean threeways,” chimes in an Asian girl with a ponytail.

“Or that you’re slutty,” adds in her friend. “Or open to everyone."

The definition turns into a long conversation, and FP does his best to follow it. His palms itch, but he feels more relaxed now that the attention is off of him. He can’t tell where Fred’s eyes are.

FP’s never dated anyone, but he knew he wasn’t gay. FP had sex with girls, liked having sex with girls - had even had some since he’d arrived at this school. But he had not been made aware - not even by his father - of this third option. His stomach feels very tight.

They break for snacks after the discussion circle, and FP makes a beeline for the cups and water. His mouth feels as dry as the Sahara just from listening. Before he can pour himself some, though, all five-foot-ten-inches of his angry roommate is barrelling up to him and hitting him in the stomach. Fred grabs FP by the arm and drags him out of the room, shoving him into a nearby supply closet and slamming the door.

"Fred, what-"

"You can’t be here!” Fred declares, his voice shaking with anger. In the dim light, he can still see his roommate perfectly. FP’s never heard him so mad. “You have some fucking nerve!"

FP can’t resist challenging him. "Why not?"

"Because this is a safe space!” Fred stands his ground, and FP is reminded with a jolt of the way he had spoken to Tom, who he’d since learned was an RA, a bouncer, and was older than Fred as well as twice his size. His stomach goes floaty again. “For good people. Who don’t want to be attacked. So please just go-"

"The poster says open to all,” FP points out. “A guy can’t want to learn something?"

Fred’s hands are curled into shaking fists. "Why don’t you stay in your world, and I stay in mine."

"Pretty hard to do when we share the same nine feet."

"Fuck you.” Fred looks oddly close to tears, the way he had the day FP had told him to stop bringing boys home. He shakes a fist at FP, which FP finds endearingly brave. “I’m just warning you, if you do anything to hurt any of these people, I’ll make you sorry."

"You’re one to talk about hurting people,” FP retorts angrily.

Fred pauses to stare at him, his mouth agape and his face pink. “What does that mean?"

FP hadn’t meant to say any of this, but suddenly the words are pouring out of him, too fast for him to stop. "I mean you never spared a thought to how I felt when you were parading people past me every night. You never thought about how it might feel to listen to your roommate have sex all the time. Hear everyone talk about what a stud he is. Or wonder if something’s wrong with you because you were kissing every fucking boy on the campus except for me."

FP hadn’t meant to say that last part. Fortunately, Fred’s angry enough that he breezes right by the awkward moment, the air around his retort crackling with heat. "I wouldn’t kiss you if you were the last person on earth!"

"Good,” yells FP, and then before he can think of anything else witty to add, Fred grabs him by the front of his shirt and drags him down to his height and smashes their lips together.

There’s nothing polite about this kiss - it’s all anger and all tongues and open mouths. FP kisses him and Fred kisses back, his tongue on FP’s teeth and FP’s stomach up somewhere around his heart and his heart fluttering up somewhere near his diaphragm. When they break apart Fred starts to laugh, his laughter vibrating against FP’s teeth. “That’s what this was about?” he asks.

“What?” asks FP, spots blinking in front of his eyes. His mind is reeling. Something about the way Fred tasted - fuck. Fuck. His stomach clenches, threatens to empty his guts out onto the floor. His hands are shaking. He’s never envied Hermione so much in his life.

“You were jealous?” Fred’s laughing, but not meanly. His eyes are sparkling. “This whole time?"

"Wouldn’t you be?

Fred kisses him again, tenderly, all heavy tongue and wetness on FP’s lips when he pulls away. FP strains forward to follow him before realizing Fred was breaking the kiss. Fred notices and smiles.

"Do you want to go back to the room?"

FP looks down at his hands, at their two feet, only inches apart on the closet floor. "I, um..” Fred has a hand on the bottom of his chin, is running a thumb against FP’s lip, distracting him. He feels himself blush - worlds away from the cocky jock he used to be in high school. He keeps his voice low. “I don’t really know how-"

"It’s okay,” Fred whispers in FP’s ear, and FP shivers, all the way down his spine to his toes. “I’ll show you. And all those other boys?” Fred licks a stripe up FP’s ear, his breath hot on his skin, and FP almost floats away into heaven. “Consider it practice for the real thing."

#AND THEY WERE ROOMMATES #fred andrews #fp jones #fredsythe #*blows a kiss to briana*#halcooper

13 notes · View notes