#through to the tether au

[zargontari]

late night thinking about two Exforce ocs

On one hand, you have an ancient alien artificial intelligence built to wipe out all intelligent life in the galaxy. Whenever the AIs of its group fought, it fought on the side of its programming overtop of a planet capable of hosting sapient life. This AI and another, who called herself Silver (Dawn Rising) both had sentinels. Neither machine survived, but the other AI plummeted to the planet below, landing dssp beneath the ocean— which would then go on to host sentient life.

Then you have a little guy named Joskia, who is the product of that sentient life. A seventeen year old little guy who goes diving with his buddies and finds the wreckage of an ancient ship. Naturally, they strip the thing. He goes home with the world's most useless beer can.

And then convinces a genocidal AI that people are pretty cool, actually. Mixed results on that front.

"Disrespectful kelp. I should teach you the meaning of fear."

"— but you will not."

"You are sure of that?"

"Very certain, yes. You are too lazy."

"Lucky for you in the short term. I will burn your ocean to steam one of these days, and then you will be very sorry for treating me this way."

"I will take note of that. You should take note that being denied a cannon is not a sign of abuse, but instead is a very intelligent act of self preservation on my part."

"I am going to blow containment and take your stupid face and your stupid planet with me."

they are stupid. He names it Foca ("birthed from the stars", with a violent subtext).

[ilmarisart]

Sketch commission for @zargontari!!!

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

I need you to know how much I'm literally bouncing off the walls because of your writing!!!!! Every time you post a snippet my brain is recalibrated and I only think about it for the next few hours IT'S SOOO GOOD🙏🏽🙏🏽🙏🏽🙏🏽🙏🏽🙏🏽

If it's okay to know, is the cult mentioned in the recent fantasy au snippet an actual cult unlike in the modern au, and are they connected to Wally or warlocks in some way?

I hope you're having a good day/night whenever and wherever you are 🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽

!!!! Yippee!!!! Thank You!

no no this is an actual cult lol - there's a whole plot in my mind of them going after Home and successfully separating them from Wally. they're a big problem! i guess they're not connected except in the fact that they want to have a demon at their command, and demons in this universe are very rare / hard to find. Home seemed like easy pickings! and it kinda was! the cult's plan would have gone off without a hitch, except for two things

one, this particular demon is unusually attached to its host. two, there is a group of ragtag maniacs hellbent on hunting them down and reversing what they've done <3

[fostopia]

Glowy Bones.

[muzzleroars]

hmmhmfsgh I love all your work so much, your concepts for the lore of Ultrakill are so interesting, and I wanna eat your art style it's so good

I have a question regarding Lucifer: after everything has calmed down with all the archangels, would it be possible for him to be freed? If they realized he was put away unjustly, could Michael unbind him? Are the chains unbreakable, or would Michael be too afraid/stubborn to go back on the decision?

aaaa thank you!! and i'm so glad i get the chance to talk about this...because i think this is ultimately how michael's redemption arc would have to end and how he could be released from the guilt he's carried all this time. it would come when michael has recalled his mercy, when he is at ease with gabriel's position in hell and has more or less taken up his role as prince of heaven to help what remains of his citizens rather than continue attempting to condemn hell and its sinners (including a very important apology to the ferryman). gabriel would know the time is right to show him to that testament, to reveal to him god's own shame at casting lucifer out and all the lies they must have been told since - he shows it to all the archangels, but it is michael's decision which matters the most. and i think, in feeling that ugly remorse he's carried for eons finally fall on his head, he would make the determination that lucifer's imprisonment is unjust. he must be released...the decision, however, is met with immediate opposition.

gabriel is the least opposed, though he believes in taking this much more methodically and being sure he and v1 aren't left with what might be a bigger problem than they can handle. raphael is outright against it, stating that lucifer is surely far too much now warped by hell to be trustworthy, even if he agrees the original binding was wrong. uriel supports his points, going further to put forth the idea that lucifer may not even be himself by now, instead more an avatar of hell instead given how it's connected to him so thoroughly. michael is staunch in his stance, however, impressing upon them the utter depravity of any decision other than freeing him as soon as possible - he was innocent, and he's endured unending torture trapped in a pit devoid of god's light. regardless of his state, keeping him chained now would be the most hideous act of cruelty heaven could carry out. unfortunately, they can reach no conclusion with raphael and uriel unswayed and gabriel not entirely agreeing with michael's admittedly emotional plan. so they end the discussion at odds, but that hardly matters to michael. he will go with or without their help.

v2 knows this almost immediately, when he comes to see it afterward. didn't go his way, it can tell. but v2 lets him know that hardly matters as it knows what he's thinking now too, and it will join him whenever he's ready. michael of course tries to insist it's unnecessary, but v2 counters that it's not all about him - lucifer is serving out a sentence that should never have been passed, and v2's nature can't abide by that. they will do what's right, even if it's so late, and v2 is proud of him. michael, in return, is greatly humbled and infinitely grateful toward v2 once more, like he has been several times now when it's saved him, yet v2 tells him he'll have to save any praise until they're done. they're both well aware of what they're about to do in the silent pause that follows, but michael leads them on when the moment has passed and he prepares to undertake his final penance. the one he's always been waiting on.

freeing lucifer proves to be just as brutal as he always thought it would have to be. satan in its suffering form, bound up into a dragon that wears his halo skewed and nailed to its face, bodies of angels twisted up into a hard carapace covered in scales of a thousand faces crying out to him. its belly cut open, pouring forth the flayed and decayed corpses of those that were lucky enough not to survive their fall, while michael's own spear pins lucifer to its chest. and hell itself growing onto and into them all, burrowing under shattered wings and into its grotesque frame, with lucifer now seemingly unable to hear michael. whatever it is fights autonomously against them, instinct ruled by agony and lashing out against anything that dare come near it. with each chain michael severs, it grows more wild, encased in ice that begins to crack with deep, resounding shockwaves that carry through all of hell. it alerts gabriel and v1, who move together without a word straight to treachery (gabriel knew this would be the outcome, so they're relatively prepared) and do what they can to support michael and v2. as more chains fall, raphael and uriel appear to plead with michael to stop, yet they too protect him in what ways they can even though he refuses to heed them. he hears nothing but the pain of the monstrosity before him, his own dead body numb to all the damage it does, yet able to feel it in white hot phantoms. he could be torn apart and he would never cease, he is already a corpse anyway. and when he has done away with all the chains, those that could only be unbound by his will, he finally pulls the central spear from its heart...and the beast collapses in a great flood of blood and cinder.

from without, a great sigh of relief rushes over them all, so many of the angels that had been held in that form dying instantly upon its release, and they are glad of it (there is the briefest, faintest sound of a hymn of many voices long since forgotten) stronger angels scatter almost as quickly, unused to a free form and so taken by it immediately to follow the howling winds of hell. only lucifer remains, hands buried in the ash around him and so very aware of every life lost, a name for each voice that only he now knows. only michael goes to him with weapons tossed aside, calling out to him finally once more by his own name that he has long forgotten. yet still, michael, he knows. michael has come and the world must have ended. this is his time, this is their revelation, and lucifer stands on the ashes of all the angels he led to death. he asks to be struck down just as michael reaches him. no more. no eternity of torment. no lake of fire. free him as he has all these other souls, and free the ones that escaped - they know not how they run, they mean no offense. they will surrender to michael as he does now, so long as he destroys them entirely. please. they have sinned and done wrong, now let it end and have your kingdom of peace. let the world be free of suffering within and without. let it be perfect.

it is unthinkable, unknowable, when michael finally speaks after being stricken so still and silent, when he tells lucifer there is no battle, that he came only to free him. not for a thousand years to reign on earth, but for whatever they have left. he is sorry he couldn't save all of them, he is sorry he has come so late, he is sorry his spear ever pierced into lucifer's side and drew the first blood of god's creation. he is sorry he comes to him like this, michael already dead and lucifer a burned out husk in the blood of all those that should still be in paradise. lucifer doesn't seem to take in what he says, or, more likely, he can't, and so only continues to repeat his request, asking michael to at least kill the rest of them. even if lucifer must be left to suffer forever, let it be in solitude. michael only reaches him once he admits god's death, that everything done now is his own will and he releases lucifer from this place...a ringing silence, the whole of hell letting out a long groan. lucifer is what remains of him now, god's own fire still lifting to the dead air in sparks from his charred body. and he screams terribly, millennia of grief, of anger, of deepest hatred, tearing through the halls of hell as his fire lights briefly once more to illuminate a brutally dark, brutally cold cavern to see god's light for the first time. it can't last long, he can't bear it anymore, and he has much more to do if that hatred can no longer find a place. let lucifer bury his dead, let him divide out these ashes into all the angels he once knew even if it takes him one thousand years to make every grave. let him find those that ran, even if they have reached the four corners of the world by now, to offer his apologies for what he did to them. let him seek out the few left of the damned so they know how he regrets bringing sin into the world. let him be sure this can exist as a place where the love of god will never be known, let his own name be forgotten in every soul that managed to survive his tyranny.

THIS IS VERY LONG....but essentially, at least starting out, lucifer needs to actually largely be left alone. he is relatively unresponsive to outsiders, gabriel the only one of the group that can engage him at all in the beginning, and he is more often heard singing in hymns none of them can understand. he travels through all of hell, though he seems increasingly uneasy the higher he climbs and often returns to his place in treachery by his own accord. far from being the ultimate presence of evil they came to believe he was, lucifer is clearly a being broken, a being that's forgotten all his joy, all his memories of heaven, instead locked into mourning. raphael and uriel in particular feel great guilt over disputing his freedom, seeing how he buries each angel he lost, how he preserves their names and relates, to no one, their whole lives in heaven before they came here. he tells of the work they did, of the happiness they made, he eulogizes each of them in words that must have run through his head countless times, words he never thought he'd get the chance to speak. he needs a true grieving period before any significant progress can be made with him, yet there are always sparks of the old lucifer. something is lighter in him seeing the damned minos cares for, actually able to see the city they built here. he rejoices, in quiet, muted ways with each fallen angel he retrieves, and he wishes to make hell a place they can all share in with him. even hell itself. it has suffered too, after all.

[cold-neon-ocean]

Omigooooooaaaashhh 😭😭😭 your last post!!! Somebody PLEEEAASE SAVE BAATAR FROM HIS OWN MIND!! I literally know the feeling of fighting with yourself and your own thoughts and it's truly exhausting, nerve wrecking and draining!! But to have them centered around people who have extraordinary powerful abilities that literally change both the physical world and spiritual world HAS to be torture!! Omigosh by beautiful baby boy needs therapy!!

NO FOR REAL IM TRULY BEGGING HIM TO SEEK A GOOD THERAPIST LIKE SIR PLEASE 😭😭

Kuvira can just see on his face when he starts Thinking Too Much and then has to divert his attention lest he be consumed by the horrors of his own thoughts kshsjs Baatar doesn't like being fussed over like he's helpless and she knows that, but she can't help but check on his heart rate often to tell if he's having an anxiety spike or not. Especially when they're in public because it happens. He'll suddenly realize he's just surrounded by people who he can't ever know the intentions of and he'll just start quietly internally panicking and Kuv can't help but pick up his heart rate through the ground and have to go rescue him from himself :')

Like when he was captured and held hostage by Korra and she threatened him with the Avatar state, sure he called her bluff but that has to be the number one fear of any non-bender because what could they possibly do in response to that? He pretty much had his fear of being subjected to the mercy of someone with bending realized- in the worst possible scenario imaginable, and all he could do was try and talk his way out of it. And yeah Korra would have never hurt him in front of his family but he was still humiliated in front of them all the same. He's a champion at masking his feelings on the surface but I can only imagine how heart attack enduring as a non-bender being threatened by the Avatar themselves would be.

He's got so many mental anguishes going on at once, his status as a non-bender, how that has damaged his relationship with his family, his identity crisis, and also how he internalizes how Kuvira has felt outcast and he just reflexively gets angry for her. The man truly needs a mental health intervention because insisting that he can handle it all on his own has not been going as well as he thinks it has ajshsj

I've reoccuringly daydreamed about the scenario where Baatar does start going to therapy and detangling all his cumulative damage and feelings like that's truly what I want for him the most, some mental peace ;;

[13lov]

tethered. | jjk

Love notes were slipped into your locker on a daily basis. Variations of messy, boyish handwriting on yellow sticky notes stacked upon themselves by the end of each school day. Every Friday night you were invited out with the promise of "You'll have fun, just give it a chance."

You could have any guy you wanted, no doubt about it. Yet somehow, the only one you do want is the tattooed, gothic one that lives a few doors down from your best friend.

✰ pairing. — emo!jk x reader

✰ genre. — early 2000s au, best friend's older brother, childhood friends to lovers, smut, light angst.

✰ word count. — 7k+

✰ warnings. — swearing, family issues, partying, mentions of drinking/drugs, friendship betrayel (?), smut [virginity loss, teasing, fingering, soft dom!jk, "i've waited so long for this" type shit], reader and jk are both 18+, minors dni.

✰ a/n. really love this pairings and would love to have drabbles with them in the future, so pls lmk if u guys would be interested in that! thanks for all the love on the teaser, hope u enjoy! &lt;3

✰ taglist. @ahgasegotarmy116 @hellbornsworld @kissyfacekoo @littlestarstinyseven @skzthinker

Two monumental events had been etched into your brain for eternity, the first being sneaking out in the middle of the night to meet up with your friends at the community pool. The second is fifteen minutes upon arriving at the pool, seeing your best friend's older brother emerge from the chlorine-scented water as if he were Poseidon and realizing you were utterly infatuated by him. 

Jeon Somi isn't blind to this, immediately pulling you away from the crowd to question the longing gaze on your face. "Out of every fucking guy here with us, you're making eyes at my brother? You do know that Jungkook is completely gross, right?" She was so furious, you're surprised no steam was blowing from her ears.

Deny it all you want (and you certainly did within that fifteen-minute interrogation); Jungkook very clearly had a hold on you that lasted many years following that fateful night. He wasn't even your usual type; he wouldn't be caught dead around the guys you're typically drawn to. He had a rebellious side; maybe that's why getting him out of your head was nearly impossible. 

Of course, the eternal guilt of falling for your best friend's older, dumbass brother is also difficult to get out of your head.

It can't be helped, really. Anytime you'd visit their home, your eyes would automatically wander through the crack of his doorway as you'd pass by. Whether he was messily cutting his dark hair while blasting Pierce the Veil from his speakers or giving himself a new Stick-and-Poke tattoo as he waited for a CD to finish burning, you long to break away from Somi for a moment to speak to him. Ask him about his day or if his band had any upcoming gigs. You'd even talk to him about paint drying if it meant you'd get to be in the same space as him. 

So it's safe to say you were completely heartbroken when he left for college. Somi, however, is over the moon. Or so you think.

"… He's your brother, though. You don't think you're gonna miss him at all?" You ask, watching Somi delicately paint your fingernails a pretty shade of purple.

She shrugs, "I mean… it's definitely gonna be weird not seeing him around the house every day, but he'll still visit sometimes. Maybe."

Deep down, Somi knows Jungkook won't visit much. He'd been craving freedom and independence from their parents for ages, and moving away for college gave him the perfect opportunity to live as he pleased. They weren't fond of the clothes he wore or the friends he had, and absolutely couldn't bear the music his band makes. They criticized every little thing about him, and he'd finally be getting a break from them.

As you're about to ask Somi if she's okay, she stands from her bed, screwing the nail polish closed. "I'll be back. I have to let Bam out." Her voice is shaky, and she doesn't look at you as she exits the room.

You take the opportunity to make your way down the hall and to Jungkook's door, which he has conveniently left wide open as he scrolls on his desktop. His knees are pressed against his chest as he's heavily focused on editing his Facebook page. There's a rock song playing lightly from another tab that you can't quite identify; he uses his free hand to gently tap along to the beat of the music.

His room is covered in cardboard boxes, soon to be packed into his parents' minivan and making their way to the University of San Francisco dorms.

Your knuckles tap on his wooden door, your heart fluttering when he turns around, and you realize he's changed the ring on his lip from black to silver.

He nods at you, "What's up?"

"Nothing. I just know you're leaving in the morning, and I wanted to say bye. And wish you good luck, of course." You're not sure why you're so heartbroken. It's not like the two of you were ever a thing. It's not like this would be your last time seeing him. Why were you so upset?

"Cool, thanks." You assume that was his way of indirectly telling you to get out until he reaches into his desk drawer and says, "Catch," before tossing something towards you.

Careful not to mess up your manicure, you easily catch the item, unfolding what appears to be a purple bandanna. "What's this for?" You ask, inspecting the material in your palms.

"To remember me by, duh. Plus, it matches your nails.”

It'd be silly to tell him you genuinely don't need this because there was no way in hell you could ever forget about him. Instead, you clutch the bandana tightly in your fist and make a silent vow to keep it with you at all times; have a piece of him with you at all times.

You thank him and tell him it's nice, but all you can wonder is why he even wants you to remember him in the first place. Maybe you're overthinking. He probably just didn't care for the useless accessory anymore.

When you turn to leave, Jungkook stops you with a gentle call of your name. He turns his head in your direction, tugging his bottom lip between his teeth. "Can I tell you something?"

"Anything." You whisper back, praying you don't sound overly desperate for a more extended interaction with him.

A beat of silence passes, and just as he opens his mouth to respond, Somi is stomping up the stairs and belting out your name. You gaze away from Jungkook to glance behind you, listening as his sister shouts about doing each other's makeup.

"Never mind, actually. It's not important." Jungkook interrupts, and you physically feel your heart sink to the floor.

You're about to be annoying and pry a response out of him until your eyes dart to his floor, and you see it. What slipped out from his drawer when he tossed the bandana at you. 

A condom wrapper. An empty one, at that.

It's embarrassing how quickly your vision becomes glossy, salty tears threatening to release with each passing second. Of course, he's fucking someone. Of course, that person isn't you. Of fucking course.

You shouldn't be surprised; he's probably more into girls with a similar aesthetic. She's probably covered in tattoos and piercings, just like him. She's probably older than you and may even have her own car, unlike you, who still had to catch rides with your parents or older sister. 

It's odd, though. You're not entirely naive; you know Jungkook definitely flirts with you here and there, catching his eye when his gaze lingers on you for a second too long. There's a noticeable tension between the two of you that even your parents have teased about. And this whole time, he's been screwing someone else?

Jungkook hangs out with so many girls it'd be useless to even attempt to uncover who this mystery person is. It's none of your business, anyway. 

So you leave.

You tell Somi you'll get grounded if you're home past curfew, and with tear-stained cheeks, you run home.

The following day isn't any easier.

Somi posted a photo on FaceBook of herself and Jungkook posing together, arms wrapped around each other, with the caption "c u l8r alligator XD". The comments are already flooded with responses wishing Jungkook farewell, some from family members or friends of the siblings.

"Don't 4get abt me!!!!!! >:( "from a girl with red hair catches your eye because it's the only one Jungkook responded to. You can't bring yourself to read his full reply, fingers moving to quickly close the tab after seeing the word 'Never.'

It's probably her, you think to yourself, the one he's sleeping with.

Maybe it's for the best that Jungkook's moving away; it'll give you some time to get over him. 

And you most certainly did.

The only time he ever crosses your mind is when Somi brings him up (which she rarely does) or when you pass by his empty bedroom. Deep down, you know you'll always care for Jungkook on some level, but time away from him was just what you needed. You were too attached to him for no fathomable reason, rejecting any guy interested in you with the premise of being loyal to a guy who didn't even want you. He'd probably been sneaking girls in through his window, with you a few doors down doing magazine quizzes with his sister; blissfully unaware of what was happening down the hall.

You’re better off without him.

That's what you've been telling yourself daily until now. It's the start of summer vacation, and Jungkook's been summoned home to spend it with his family before Somi (and you) transfer to the University of San Francisco. 

Jungkook was hesitant about coming home, as he always is. In constant fear that his parents have some elaborate plan for him to change his major or set him up with someone they deem acceptable, nothing like the girls he hangs around and probably invites back to his dorm.

It took days of convincing until Jungkook finally agreed to come home, under the premise that his parents' intentions were pure and that they simply wanted one last summer together before Somi moved away for college. They also hoped he'd be able to house-sit and watch over Somi for a few days as they took their annual anniversary trip to San Diego. That, however, took some bribing and the promise of gas money on their end.

He's not due to arrive until tomorrow morning, and you've convinced yourself there's no reason for you to see him right away. You'd be fine if the next time you saw him was in a few months as you're moving into your dorm. After years of longing, you've finally moved on from him.

Some of you have debated telling Somi about your past feelings for her brother, but there's no point. It was a one-sided relationship with absolutely zero depth, nothing worth discussing. So when she nudges your side and asks if you're interested in anyone, you reply with a shake of your head.

Somi has no reaction to this; she can't remember the last time you've been into anyone despite having the entire male population at your school practically throwing themselves at you. "Maybe you'll meet someone tonight."

She's referencing the house party you're going to, which she practically had to drag you out of your room to attend. Parties are different from your scene, especially on a day like today when you were hoping to have a girls' night with Somi. She had other plans, however.

"Maybe," you respond, sighing as the house you're attending is finally in your viewpoint. "We're not staying long, right? It looks packed."

Cars are parked throughout the street, one house, in particular, being the center of attention with loud music and drunk people decorating the front yard of a suburban-looking home. Somi looks as ecstatic as ever, looping her arm in yours and picking up her pace. She doesn't respond. It doesn't matter. Her response would've disregarded your concern.

One car catches your eye as you enter the unfamiliar house; it's parked towards the end of the street, and you swear you've been in it before. You're not able to dwell on it for too long, though, because Somi has to practically yank you through the front door.

Your nerves are at an all-time high. The music is entirely too loud, and there isn't a single sober person in sight. You're not sure how Somi even found out about this party, but you really wish she would've left you out of it. You'd go now if it were acceptable, but Somi would've stayed regardless, and you refuse to leave her alone. So, you push your feelings to the side and take her hand as she leads you towards the kitchen. 

"Thirsty?" Somi questions, forcing a red solo cup into your hand.

"Not at all," you respond, sighing as Somi pours something into your cup.

"It's just ginger ale," she reassures you, "I don't think either of us should get drunk here." For once, she's being reasonable.

Somi suggests you do a lap around the house in hopes of running into people you may have gone to school with. And to your surprise, a decent amount of your past classmates have decided to attend. You feel more at ease with them around, a bit more comfortable now that you're around recognizable people. Although you initially hesitated to show up, you're glad you did. 

"Anybody catch your eye yet? Or are you still breaking hearts?" Your old classmate, Yeoreum, questions.

You shake your head, about to explain that you're not interested in dating right now, until she gestures behind you. "That guy is pretty cute."

You shift on the couch, looking around until you spot who Yeoreum had been gesturing towards. You locate him finally, and she's right; he is cute. He just seems so familiar.

That's when it hits you.

"Oh my God," you whisper, eyes locked on him, and you slowly rise from the couch.

It's Jungkook. And the car you recognized was his. He's here. What is he doing here? He isn't due to be back until tomorrow morning.

You almost don't realize it's him until you spot the mole under his lip. He's grown his hair out and stopped dyeing it, the slew of tattoos that decorated his arm (God, did he start working out, too?) nicely connected, now creating a sleeve, and he's given himself an eyebrow piercing. Your feelings for him come rushing back in full force.

Panicked, you reach for Somi's hand, but she's nowhere to be found. Careful not to be seen by her brother, you bow your head slightly, passing through a crowd of sweaty bodies until you finally spot her kitty heels. She's leaned against a wall, swirling around her cup while flirting with some guy you'd seen around school a few times.

Creating some much-needed distance between the two, you tug Somi towards you. "I think I just saw your brother."

"What? No, he won't even be in the city until tomorrow morning." 

Frustrated, you quickly search the crowd until your eyes land on him again. You ignore the fact that he's now speaking to some girl with red hair and tattoos scattered across her arm and point in their direction, "Well, then that guy looks just like him."

Somi squints her eyes in disbelief at the boy in question until the doubt becomes confusion, and the confusion becomes realization. "Oh my God! The fuck is he doing here?" She turns towards you as if you're supposed to have the answer.

"The fuck should I know? You said he wouldn't be here until tomorrow morning!"

"Because that's what he told our parents! How was I supposed to know he was gonna be here? I never would've come if I knew!"

"What are you guys doing here?" A voice you haven't heard in so long interrupts. You don't even want to turn around.

"What are you doing here?" Somi throws back, and the two stare at each other in angry silence for a moment until Jungkook steps to the side. "Upstairs," he says, nodding towards the staircase.

"But—"

"Go."

Somi's clearly aggravated but makes her way towards the stairs. You remain in place with your arms crossed, raising a brow in confusion when Jungkook looks at you. "What?"

"You too."

"I'm not—"

"I'm not asking again," he says simply. You convince yourself that you only take his command because you don't feel like fighting. Definitely not because it's interesting to have him boss you around.

Trudging up the stairs behind Somi, you wait with her in the hallway until Jungkook arrives. "Come on," he says, entering a bathroom and turning the light on. Neither you nor Somi protest; there really isn't any point.

As soon as the door is shut, Somi is yelling at the top of her lungs. "What the fuck are you doing here?! You said you wouldn't be back until tomorrow morning! Mom and Dad had to push their trip back just to give you more time to arrive, and you're already fucking here?! The fuck is the matter with you?!"

"I'm not gonna respond if you're gonna be yelling like this." Jungkook says calmly, leaning against the sink, "Let me get my questions out first, then I'll answer any of yours, deal?"

Somi glances over at you, sitting on the bathtub's edge, and you nod. She returns her attention back to Jungkook, takes a deep breath, then agrees. 

"Now, what are you guys doing here?! How'd you even get invited?! And you're drinking?!" The calm demeanor from earlier slips away in a matter of seconds, clearly a hoax just to get Somi to calm down enough to let him speak.

"It's just ginger ale, and we've barely even had any! We were invited by our friends, okay? We have just as much right to be here as you do."

Jungkook scoffs, clearly unamused. "Right, and I'm assuming Mom and Dad know you're here then, huh?"

Somi nervously tucks a hair behind her ear. You wonder why you even have to be in here with them. It's not like Jungkook is your brother, anyway. 

"We told our parents that we were going to a birthday party at a friend's house." Somi mumbles, barely able to look Jungkook in the eye.

"And what did they say when they dropped you guys off?"

"They didn't drop us off," you interrupt, "we walked here."

"Well, I wasn't gonna tell him that." Somi glares at you, it takes every bone in your body to not to laugh at her.

You're so over this. You didn't want to attend this dumb party in the first place, and seeing Jungkook flirting with some girl who could've been his female counterpart was the icing on the cake. It doesn't matter if your feelings for him were gone before tonight; every little emotion you'd felt for him over the years had returned (as if they ever left).

"And how exactly did you two geniuses plan on getting home?"

"Same way we got here."

"Can you please just let me handle this? Jesus Christ…" Somi shoots another frustrated glare at you, and you can't help but roll your eyes at her. She turns back towards her brother, "Can you answer my questions now?"

Jungkook's eyes anxiously dart around the cramped bathroom, landing on you a few times before he's slowly nodding his head. "Alright, Mom and Dad basically forced me to spend the whole summer here, and I kept asking myself why they were so persistent about it. They finally told me they needed me to watch over you and the house for their stupid trip. I had plans too, you know? That I had to derail for them. My band could've spent this summer touring, making real money, and now we can't. So, they wanna inconvenience me? I'll inconvenience them right back."

"…Inconvenience them by doing what?" Somi asks the exact question you had.

Jungkook shrugs, "By telling them I'm gonna be arriving a day late, duh."

You and Somi exchange an awkward glance at one other before silently agreeing not to tease him about it. If this was his badass way of retaliating, who were you to rain on his parade?

"Are you gonna tell anyone you saw us here?" Somi questions, a noticible tremble in her voice.

"As long as you guys don't tell anyone you saw me."

It's a fair trade, you accept it. You're even more delighted when Jungkook says he's taking the two of you home. Somi, however, isn't too happy about this, claiming there were so many people she didn't get to speak to, and how'd this be the last time she'd get to see them before moving away for school. You're not sure if Somi is really good at getting what she wants, or if Jungkook was tired of hearing her complain, but he finally gives in and grants her ten more minutes to socialize before meeting him at his car.

"If you're not at my car in ten minutes, I swear to God I'm calling mom." Jungkook scolds, holding the bathroom door open as the three of you finally exit.

A loud, drunk voice suddenly shouts, "Woah, Jungkook! Two girls at the same time!? You fucking beast!"

"They're my sisters, you fucking pervert!" He shouts back.

You can't even dwell on how disgusting the original comment was, only being able to focus on the fact that Jungkook just reffered to you as his sister. As conceited as it may sound, you're not used to rejection or guys putting you in the friend-zone. Whatever little game Jungkook had been playing with you over the years was completely new territory. And right when you think things couldn't possibly get any worse, he calls you his sister.

What the actual fuck.

The next ten minutes go by in a blur; Somi has ditched you for a second time that night to talk to the guy from earlier. When it's finally time to leave, you find her Sat on his lap with her arm hung across his shoulder, laughing at an unfunny pickup line he'd used on her.

"It's time, Somi," you interrupt, helping her stand.

"Wait, wait, wait," she persists, directing her attention back to the boy, "tomorrow at five, right?"

"And not a second later." He sends her a disgusting wink that makes your skin crawl.

Somi is so love-struck you're surprised there isn't an arrow lodged in her back. She can barely form a proper sentence, erupting into a fit of giggles every few seconds as you make your way to Jungkook's car. "Wasn't he just gorgeous?"

You shrug, linking arms with her. "He was alright."

Stunned, Somi gasps at you, "Just alright? He was literally like a Greek God."

"I'm not saying he's unattractive; he's just...not really my type."

"And what is your type, Miss. Never-Has-Been-Interested-In-Anyone?"

Now, there's the question of the hour. You have to word your response very carefully; don't be too obvious about the fact that your ideal type is her older sibling. 

"I guess I prefer guys with an edgier look to them, you know? Tattoos, piercings..." Despite your attempt to sound as nonchalant as possible, your heart is beating out of your chest from the mild confession.

Somi snickers, then playfully groans. "It sounds like you're describing my brother."

Now, you really have to test the waters.

"Since you brought him up, would it be so bad if I did like Jungkook? Hypothetically speaking, of course." You're not sure what prompts you to even ask this. It's not like he's even interested in you; he literally just referred to you as his sister.

A beat of silence passes as Somi gathers her thoughts, then she says, "No."

"What?"

You've finally reached Jungkook's car at this point, beating him there. You sit atop the trunk, feet hovering above the ground as the cold, nighttime air swirls around you. Somi shakes her head, "Obviously, it wouldn't be the ideal situation, but I guess I wouldn't mind as long as you talked to me about it first."

"First?" You mimic.

"Like...assuming you'd wanna date him or something. Just so I'm not blindsided, you know?"

This is the last thing you would've expected your impulsive, hotheaded (yet oh-so-loveable) best friend to be reasonable about. Mainly because she lectured you for nearly twenty minutes when she first suspected you had a crush on Jungkook. 

You go to respond, but Jungkook, finally arriving at the car, captivates both of your attention. He finishes off his can of Pepsi before crushing the aluminum and tossing it to the ground. "Ready?" He questions.

There's no point in giving him a speech about littering; you're just ready to go home.

He fishes his keys from his pocket and unlocks the car door; Somi opens the backseat and jumps in before you have the chance, sprawling across the aged leather. "Move over," you nudge her foot with your knee; she pulls away from you.

Jungkook calls your name, "Just sit up front. She's not gonna move."

Now, this is new. You've ridden in the backseat of his car with Somi more times than you can count; he'd never allow either of you to sit shotgun with him; typical annoying older brother bullshit.

Don't make a big deal out of this, you say to yourself, climbing into the passenger seat of his car.

Somi and Jungkook bicker the entire ride to their parent's house, partially out of annoyance with each other, but you also get the feeling that neither of them were genuinely ready to leave the party. You're surprised Jungkook even enjoyed parties; he spent most of high school either working, hanging out at skate parks, or practicing with his band in their garage. College must've really changed him, and you're unsure how to feel about it. 

Jungkook parks a few houses down from their parent's house and unlocks the doors, "Get out," he says into the backseat.

"Where are you gonna spend the night?" Somi questions, stretching her arms outward.

"I checked into a motel this morning. I'll be back here tomorrow around noon. And, hey," Jungkook turns around, pointing a finger at his sister. "Don't tell them you saw me."

Mockingly, Somi points a finger right back at him. "Telling them I saw you would be exposing myself, cock-sucker. Leave me alone." She angrily begins to climb out of the car, annoyed at how little trust Jungkook had in her.

You turn to go, but Jungkook's cold hand on your bicep stops you, "Where you goin'?"

"I'm gonna walk home from here. It's only a few minutes away," you respond.

Jungkook shakes his head, "I'm dropping you off. You haven't moved since I left, right?"

"No, but it's fi—"

"Then your house is on the way to my motel. We're going in the same direction; might as well ride together."

It truly does make more sense to ride together, and rejecting his offer any further surely would raise suspicions. You don't want either of them to believe you'd feel uncomfortable being alone with Jungkook because that couldn't be farther from the truth. You're perplexed about your feelings now, and you don't want to do anything you'd regret just because of the confusion.

"Okay, then." You glance over your shoulder at Somi, "Will you need any help getting ready for your date tomorrow?"

Suddenly embarrassed, Somi shushes you, gesturing that Jungkook is literally right next to you and would prefer that he didn't hear about her dating life. Jungkook genuinely couldn't care less and is instead patiently waiting for his sister to get out.

She does finally, and Jungkook resumes his path to your house. He turns the radio on, switching between stations until he stops on one that's playing a song he's familiar with. You drive silently for a few minutes; the only sounds being heard are the distant noises from the car's motor and Jungkook humming along to the radio.

He breaks the silence by saying, "I was surprised to see you back there. You never really seemed like the type to enjoy parties."

You chuckle, "I could say the same for you; I don't remember you attending any in high school."

"That's 'cause house parties weren't my thing," he explains, "I went to raves or parties that would happen at the skate park. I don't really like being at someone else's house for too long; it feels too intimate."

Now that you think of it, skate park parties and raves seem much more like his scene.

"Well, I only went because Somi was going, and I didn't feel comfortable with her being there alone. Otherwise, I never would've gone." You admit, resting your head against the window.

"Thanks for looking after her, by the way. You're a good friend."

"I'd do anything for her." Your voice is barely a whisper now, getting quieter with every word you say.

Silence passes, and he says, "Did you know your guys' dorm room is gonna be right under ours?"

"Seriously?" You respond, genuinely curious.

"Mmm-hmm. My roommate, Mingyu, and I are gonna be the worst upstairs neighbors ever." He teases as you roll your eyes. Your mind can't decipher whether this banter is playful & platonic or romantic. Everything Jungkook does confuses you.

"If that's the case, I'll be sure to move to an entirely new building."

"What, so you can have your boyfriend protect you?"

Pause. Boyfriend?

You nearly give yourself whiplash from how hard you spun around to look at Jungkook. "Boyfriend?" You ask.

He shrugs nonchalantly, keeping his eyes on the road. "I just assumed you'd have one by now. Do you?"

There he is again with his mind games. What the fuck was he talking about?

After letting out a very frustrated sigh, you mumble, "No, Jungkook, I do not have a boyfriend."

"Good. Focus on school."

Now he's pissing you off. You wish he'd shut up for the rest of the car ride. "It's nice to see you again, by the way."

Holy shit, you feel like jumping out the window.

"Yeah, great seeing you too. Oh, there's my house. I can walk from here." You make quick work of undoing your seatbelt.

"You sure? I can drop you off at the door."

"No, no. It's best if my parents don't see you so they don't accidentally tell your parents that they saw you." You lie, racking your brain for any excuse imaginable.

He nods, deciding it's best to drop you off a little further from your house. "Then, I'll see you tomorrow?"

"What?" You stop dead in your tracks, one hand clutching the door handle.

"Aren't you coming over tomorrow to help Somi get ready for her…thing? I'll be back home by then."

He's right; you'd be back in his house, and he'll be there this time. It's no big deal. You'd only be there for an hour (at most) to help her prepare, and then you could go the whole summer without seeing him again.

"Yeah, I'll see you then."

The following day, Somi is back to her unreasonable self, expecting you to wait at her house for her to return from her date.

"Please? We're just going to get pizza; we won't even be gone that long." She pleads, adding the finishing touches to her makeup.

You'd already spent over an hour helping her prepare, and now she expects you to do nothing but await her return. You know her heart's in the right place; she just wants to be the first to hear all the exhilarating details about her date. Still, a phone call would suffice. 

"What am I supposed to do while I wait for you to come back?" You whine.

"Just hang out here! Watch a movie or something!" She suggests, trying her absolutely hardest to sound enthusiastic. Her phone buzzes in her hand before she has the chance to continue, eyes lighting up as they flicker across the bright screen.

Somi clutches her phone, locks eyes with you, then rushes towards the door. You're faster, though, quickly capturing her wrist before she's barely reached the hallway. "I'm going home."

"No! If you stay here, I'll bring you back pizza, and we can have a girls' night like we were supposed to yesterday! Come on, please?" She begs, pouting her lips.

You go to reply, but the bathroom door swings open, and Jungkook strides out. Just to your luck, he's shirtless; water droplets descend from his hair as he towel-dries it. As he enters his bedroom, he mocks his sister's high-pitched whine, earning a lethal glare and a slew of swears thrown at him.

Perhaps you should stay.

"Fine, but you're lending me your pajamas." You give in, earning an enthusiastic shriek from your best friend. 

Somi wraps you in a brief, yet tight, hug before shouting, "Be back soon!" Then she's rushing down the stairs and out the front door. It's not often that Somi makes you wait for her return, but you absolutely despise it whenever it does occur. She's never back by the time she promises and gets upset when you try to call and check up on her.

And speaking of calling, you're sure your phone is dead by now. You insisted Somi bring her's along just in case, so you're left with one option.

Jungkook's door is wide open (as usual) when you go to knock. He's fully clothed now, pairing his black sweatpants with a matching black t-shirt. His hair appears mostly dry now, chaotic as ever, but dry. You don't think he's ever looked this good before.

He's sat on his bed, flipping through the latest copy of Rolling Stone when you arrive. He glances over at you and lets out a dry chuckle.

"What's so funny?" You ask.

"You're dressed like Bella Swan." He responds casually, eyes raking up and down your body. 

"Who?"

"From Twilight. You know, that new movie that came out?" He seems genuinely surprised that you don't seem to know anything about this movie, not even the name of (who you suspect to be) the main character.

You lean against the doorframe, "Haven't seen it."

"It's a great movie, seriously. Some friends and I are seeing it in a few days if you and Somi wanna come." He suggests, flipping another page in the magazine.

You let him know you'll ask Somi if she's interested before remembering why you came to his room in the first place and ask if you can borrow his phone charger. Jungkook directs you to where it's plugged up by his desk, and you finally have the chance to stroll further into his room. You can't recall the last time you've been in here, but you know it looks much different than before. Many of the band posters that decorated the room were gone, his random trinkets and piles of clothes were gone, and not a single piece of his CD collection was in sight. It felt so lifeless, so unlike him. No wonder he always dreaded returning home; it probably didn't even feel like home to him.

"So," you say, attempting to break the silence, "you're here for the whole summer, huh?"

"Unfortunately." He mumbles, "Gonna try and go by sooner, convince my parents I have to sort out an issue with my dorm or something."

"It's nice to have you back, though." You admit, watching as Jungkook's gaze locks on yours.

"Yeah? It is?" He questions.

You shrug, "Of course. We practically grew up together; it was weird to not see you all the time."

He sits up now, closing the magazine and tossing it on his nightstand. There's something on his mind that he isn't saying; you can tell from the way his brows knit together and how he's anxiously tugging on his lip piercing. "It was weird to be gone," he mumbles and leaves it at that.

"By the way, I'm sorry about last night." He apologizes.

"For what? Calling me your sister?"

He laughs at this, shaking his head. "I didn't mean to do that on purpose, by the way. That guy was just...so weird, I kinda blurted out the first thing that would've made him feel weird for even thinking that."

Oh. That makes sense. You definitely overreacted. 

"I meant," he continues, "I'm sorry if the whole boyfriend assumption thing upset you."

"Oh," you dismissively wave a hand at him, "that was nothing."

Jungkook raises a brow at you, "Are you sure? 'Cause you seemed pretty upset afterward, you were practically running out of my car."

There's no point in lying now, considering you weren't even the slightest bit discrete the previous night.

"If I'm being completely honest, I just felt a little awkward. But that's it, I swear." You assure him, moving to lean against the bedside table.

"Awkward about what?"

God, this was so embarrassing. Is he really going to make you humiliate yourself like this?

"Because I've never actually had a boyfriend before."

Jungkook looks genuinely shocked at your confession, eyes nearly bulging out of his head as he examines yours for any sign of deception. "You don't believe me?"

"I'm not sure. I only assumed you had one just based on how crazy guys were about you in high school. Not to mention you're, like, fucking gorgeous."

What?

"I'm what?" You ask, not entirely sure if you heard him correctly.

He repeats himself again, and you make him do it a few more times until he's too embarrassed to say it again. You somehow manage to get back on the topic of never having a boyfriend before when Jungkook asks you another question. "Have you ever...?"

He doesn't need to finish the sentence. You know what he's asking.

You shake your head.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked. It's none of my business." He berates himself, and you assure him it's no big deal and that it shouldn't even be a shocker to him.

After a half hour of talking about whatever comes to mind, you wind up sitting opposite Jungkook on his bed, legs perched up underneath your body as you go back and forth, questioning one another. 

"So, when are you gonna admit you had a crush on me?" His voice is barely a whisper.

"I never did." You lie.

"Really? That sucks?"

"Why?"

He shrugs, leaning his back against the headboard. "I just always thought that maybe you and I would've ended up together at some point."

You don't remember who leans in first; it doesn't matter; all that matters is after years of longing, your lips are finally intertwined with his. He must've smoked today; you can taste the nicotine on his breath. But it doesn't matter; you don't make the slightest move to pull away. Neither does he, placing his hands on the small of your back to guide you onto his lap. 

Your body is moving on autopilot, limbs moving to do whatever feels right as you silently pray not to ruin the moment. Jungkook can spot your nervousness from a mile away and stop you, "We don't have to do—"

"I want to," you pant, breathless, "I've wanted this for so long."

"Do you trust me?" He asks.

"More than anything."

He kisses you again before adjusting your current position, slowly twisting yourselves until you're lying flat on your back. He moves his lips down towards your neck, leaving a trail of kisses in his path as he settles between your legs.

You reach up to grab a handful of his hair, nearly jumping out of your skin as his delicate fingertips creep up your inner thigh, inching closer and closer until his ghosting over your clothed pussy. "This okay?" He mumbles.

You nod, unable to form a coherent sentence. "Cute," he replies, "you're already so wet." His fingertips stroke your clit through your damp underwear; you don't think to wonder how he managed to get to it so quickly, all thoughts leaving your brain as he makes small circles using his middle and index finger. 

"Jungkook…" You moan, pleading for him to do more.

"I know." He assures you, using a single finger to pull your panties to the side, making just enough room for him to slide a finger into your aching cunt. "Am I really your first time?"

You nod again out of fear that a moan would slip from your lips if you even tried to speak. His eyes are locked on yours, studying your expression as he coaxes a finger inside you. You're embarrassed at how quickly your wetness coated his finger, but Jungkook doesn't care. He likes it, makes him feel fucking amazing knowing the effect he had on you. 

"Take your shirt off." He says, and you do as told, pulling your top up and off your body and tossing it to the floor; making quick work of undoing your bra before he even has the chance to ask.

His lips are back on your neck instantly, trailing down to your collarbone until he reaches the curve on your breast. He halts his actions momentarily before your pitched nipple is caught between his teeth and your back arching off the bed from how overstimulating everything feels.

You curse under your breath, and Jungkook makes another comment about how cute you are, though you feel far from it. He apologizes by lapping his tongue around your nipple, easing the pain slowly as he inserts a second finger into your cunt.

You can feel his bulge against your thigh, though he doesn't even care about getting himself off. He moves over to your nipple, licking and sucking until it's completely hardened, leaving himself breathless. The two fingers that had been working your cunt had picked up the pace now, and there was an unfamiliar feeling in your gut that you couldn't identify.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…" You groan, legs trembling.

Jungkook is all too familiar with these actions and asks, "You're already close? I've barely done anything to you." He teases, chuckling to himself.

You know he's being lighthearted, but you can't help but feel embarrassed at the tears forming in your eyes from how good everything feels.

Suddenly, he's pulling his fingers out of you, and now you feel like crying for a different reason. You go to protest but stop to watch as he takes his shirt off. If you weren't sure then, it's obvious now he'd started attending the gym. 

He makes quick work of tugging his sweatpants down his legs, tossing them into the abyss before reaching into his bedside table and retrieving a condom. "You're okay?"

You nod.

"Use your words."

“I’m okay, Jungkook.”

"You're still okay with this?"

"Yes."

"You sure?"

Jesus fucking Christ, the saint this man is.

"I'm positive." You assure him.

You move to pull down your skirt and underwear, but Jungkook catches your wrist. "Leave them on," he says. There are so many things going on that you choose not to question.

He pulls off his boxers in the meantime, hardened cock slapping against his abdomen with precum leaking from the tip. Though you had nothing to compare it to, Jungkook was obviously slightly larger than average. You shouldn't be surprised; it's always the guys that you'd least expect.

He tears the condom wrapper with his teeth, retrieving the rubber inside before tossing the remains to his floor. Despite being fully erect, he fists his cock a few times before sliding the condom on.

He crawls over you, left arm at the side of his head, while he uses his dick to nudge your panties to the side. "This still okay?"

"I already told you—fuck!" He cuts you off, the tip of his cock slowly making its way inside you. You feel so stretched out from this alone you don't know how you'd manage to fit all of him into you.

Jungkook must be feeling the same, swearing under his breath and commenting about how tight you feel around him. Second by second, he coaxes himself into your pussy until you feel like you could split right open. "Are you all the way in?"

"No, can't take anymore?" He asks, leaning his head down against your ear.

You're embarrassed to admit he's too big to handle on your first time, but it's the truth. You don't want to overextend yourself just to please him and end up hurting yourself.

"You can move, just…not too much. Please."

Jungkook nods, "Whatever you want, angel."

He pulls his hips back and rocks himself back in, being sure to ask if you're okay with his pace. Once you confirm you feel fine and want him to keep going, he continues his movements; his eager hips snapping against yours and his cock hitting your G-spot with each deep stroke. You feel like you're on cloud nine, hands tangled in his hair as he swallows your moans.

That unfamiliar feeling from earlier returns; you feel it through your entire body this time. A moan of his name escaping your lips lets him know you're close. How he can always sense these things is beyond you; it's not worth overthinking. 

"Close?" He asks, and you nod frantically.

Jungkook picks up his speed slightly, careful not to overwhelm you, but just enough to reach your climax, until finally, the bundle of nerves in your abdomen snaps, and your back is arching off the mattress as you come around his cock.

He's only a few seconds behind with his orgasm, erupting in a loud grunt when he finally reaches it. The two of you lay in silence for a moment before Jungkook finally pulls out of you and slides the condom off, tying it in a knot and tossing it into his trash bin.

"Are you okay?" He asks for what feels like the millionth time.

"I'm fine." You respond, and it isn't a lie. Physically, you feel terrific; mentally, it was an entirely different story. "Are you?"

"I'm good, I'm good."

As much as you would love to lay naked with Jungkook in his bed for the rest of the night, you know Somi will be home anytime soon. "I think I'm gonna go wash up."

He nods, crawling under his covers once you stand from his bed, tugging your skirt to its proper length as you search for your remaining clothing. "Oh, it's um…your shirt, it's over there." Jungkook awkwardly gestures towards a pile of clothing by the end of his bed.

Almost as quickly as you shred yourself of them, you snatch your clothing and bundle them up against your chest. 

"Listen, I know right now isn't really ideal, but I meant what I said about liking you, and really think we should talk." He says nervously, barely even able to look at you.

You almost want to laugh at how cute he is; instead, you agree to talk to him about it soon. You're about to head out into the hallway when Jungkook reminds you about your charging phone over by his desk.

You retrieve it and scan the area again, ensuring you haven't left anything else behind. When everything seems clear, you stand upright, but your eyes fall toward the trash bin near his window with the discarded condom. You're embarrassed to even look at it until you realize something seems off. It looks…empty. 

Now, you're no sex expert, but imagine that if Jungkook had finished, there'd be something to show for it in the condom. Right?

Did he fake his orgasm? Was this another one of his fucked up mind games you'd been subjected to? 

You don't know what to think as you step into the bathroom; your emotions are all over the place, and all you really want to do is go home. But you promised Somi you'd be here when she returns, so you stay.

The next time a Jeon sibling asks if you're okay is twenty minutes later when Somi finally arrives and asks why your eyes are so watery.

"I'm fine." You respond, and you're lying for the first time that night.

[ew-selfish-art]

Dp x dc AU - If the Internation Space Station orbits the Earth 16 times a day, then so does the Watchtower.

Danny’s on track to move out of his parent’s house and move to Gotham for college (He swears that Sam bribed the board to let him in- and she wasn’t even going to that university!) but the dorms don’t open for another three days and he cannot wait to escape. Seeing his parents try to perfect yet another weapon to use against him while he changed out the ecto filters on the portal was too much. He’s completely over the idea of staying when he already has everything packed and ready to go.

The solution? Take all his boxes into his haunt in the Ghost Zone, leave them there and then spend some time in camping in space. He’s already explored the Infinite Realms enough to be bored of it for a minute (not to mention he wants to avoid getting more ‘favors’ to do from Clockwork) and hell, he just wants to see some stars.

He grabs his tent, a sleeping bag and all the food and things he could need and brings it into the atmosphere with him. Keeping it all tethered to him, Danny stays in a fixed position above Gotham (Cause that’s where he’s going next, duh) and treats himself to some quality Me-time.

Only problem is that several times a day he has to make himself intangible while he lets satellites and things pass through. Easy enough and honestly pretty interesting to observe as a wannabe engineering student.

He doesn’t know when exactly it happened the first time- but it turns out the Heroes of Earth all congregated in a satelite office building? It was bigger than the ISS! What the heck!?

Going intangible but not invisible, the JL spot Danny and are incredibly confused how an ‘Alien’ teen just happens to appear in their meeting rooms disappearing at the rate (slowly but surely) of the Watchtower moving through space. Was that camping gear? How was he roasting a marshmallow? Did propane camping stoves even work in space??

16 times a day they get the opportunity to ask Danny a few questions. He mostly ignores them or gives them joke answers. Eventually Martian Manhunter phases through the Watchtower to join him.

They talk about how hard transition periods in life can be and having strained relationships with family. J’ohn returns to the watchtower on its next cycle and reports that the kid is just fine, being an adult is just a hard thing to do.

[yeonjuns-beanie]

As It Was

warnings: 18+, weed usage, smut, unprotected sex, soulmate au(kind of), little hatefuckin before real fucking, reader is a brat, mentions of suicide, oral(f receiving, logan is an EATER), claws come out when he…, little bit of primal play, breeding kink, daddy kink, implied age gap cuz i think it’s hot, im prolly gonna write him like an animal, think that’s it!! LOL

Logan Howlett x female!reader

summary: after saving his world from extinction, wade brings home a wolverine. you feel a tether to him but can't quite figure out what it is, but logan does. as the days go by you slowly chip away at the wall between you two and things slowly return to as it was.

word count: 4.5k

title is inspired by the hozier song of the same name....

It’s been three months now and you still couldn’t figure out the pull you felt toward Logan. The moment Wade brought him through the door, Mary Puppins in hand, you felt a tie to him. Now, it was as if the Red String of Fate was punishing you for not remembering your connection with him. It was haunting, aggravating, and pushing you towards sexual frustration because no matter how much you tried to remember, your thoughts would instantly become clouded with your attraction to him. He was brooding, grumpy, and humorous when he wanted to. The stoic exterior of him was just that, a shell. You just weren’t quite sure how to crack his nut yet.

You were sat in the main room of the apartment grinding up some green to pack a morning bowl. As you were getting ready to fill the glass you heard Wade’s voice echo through the apartment.

“You always grind Aunt Mary so hard. Don’t you think she would like to be loved tenderly, sugarbear?”

“And the last time I gave you the grinder there might as well have been a whole nug in the bowl. You damn near burned half my stash.”

“You’d think living with three addicts would be fun, but it’s more like babysitting toddlers fighting to see who can ruin my day first. Spoiler: it’s everyone.”

You chuckled, slotting the bowl into the joint of the bong, and pointed at Wade with it.

“You wanna hit this or not?”

“‘Course I do. How could I pass up a wake n bake with my girl?”

Wade jogged over to you, plopping dramatically on the seat next to you. Rolling your eyes, you took the first hit letting Wade finish off the remaining smoke in the shaft. Exhaling you spoke while the smoke billowed out of your mouth.

“Wade, baby, I love you, but I’m not your girl. What about Nessa?”

Before he spoke, he had his coughing fit like clockwork. Every time, no matter the method, resulted in a cough so bad he looked like a drooling dog. It was free entertainment but you tried your hardest not to laugh out loud because every time you did, it made it worse.

You couldn’t hold it

It was like watching a court jester and when Wade finally caught his breath he was staring off at a wall in the apartment mindlessly reaching for the glass. When his hand was left fondling the air reaching nothing, you let your laugh echo through the apartment.

“You sure you want another one?”

“Just gimme the weed, gorgeous. And to answer your question. Vanessa and I are on a break of sorts, but I’m wounded that I now have lost you too. It’s cause I brought Peanut here isn’t it?”

Wade was feigning heartbreak, just busting your balls in an effort to see if you’d crack. Your relationship was always like this and that was probably why you two got along so well. Nothing was ever too serious and yet still completely vulnerable. As wild as he was, Wade was a safe space for you and for some reason this morning, you felt like sharing.

“Perhaps.”

His head whipped so fast you thought it’d fly off. Coupled with his dramatic gasp and chest grab you nearly regretted your admission.

“I knew it!”

“Will you keep it down, it’s not that serious.”

“Au contraire. This is probably the most serious thing since Blind Al ran out of Peruvian marching powder.”

Rolling your eyes, you swallowed your pride as you knew Wade wouldn’t let it go until you told him every detail possible. As much as you pretended you hated divulging this information, it was kinda nice to let out to somebody. You’d been wrestling with so many feelings since Wade brought Logan to stay with you guys and the weight of it was becoming painful.

“Well, he’s hot obviously.”

“Tell me something more interesting, we all disrespectfully gawk at the honey badger.” Wade quipped.

“The problem is I feel this weird attachment to him. Like I’ve known him before. Maybe we met before they tried their best to wipe my memory, but I can’t shake this one. I’m drawn to him but he won’t let anyone get close enough to figure that out.”

You had your own run-in with the TVA a few years ago and instead of dumping you into the void, they were nice enough to plop you in Earth-10005. You were grateful considering the stories of this barren garbage heap that Wade and Logan told you about but you couldn’t remember why they sent you here in the first place.

You had no real memory of your life before this or what you did that fucked you up so badly. It always haunted you. Maybe you were a murderer. A merciless killer and that’s why they snagged you. A similar fate to Wade’s but they decided somewhere that you weren’t equipped for the job and the TVA orphaned you to another universe.

You weren’t complaining, you loved the life that you had now you just wanted to remember the rest of you. You were roaming this universe, a husk of your former self and no matter how much you tried to convince yourself that it didn’t bother you, it did. It kept you up at night. Until Logan walked through the apartment door.

Slowly, things started to reveal themselves to you but only in a dream. You were forced to piece together your life with the shattered fragments of what your dreamscape gave you to work with. You’d wake up from the most vivid dreams only to remember one instance where you were walking down a street, the sky pouring rain in a godly attempt to cleanse you. Your hands were always coated in crimson when you looked down.

It’d come in flashes and it’d end just as fast. You were patient with yourself but a lot of times you tried to drown out the feeling with various substances. Weed being your vice of choice as alcohol made you suffer. Making you wish that an attempt of self-mutilation or the bittersweet release of dancing with death while your wrists stained the floor garnet succeeded.

They never did.

So you tried your best to make peace with your life and you were doing alright until Logan showed up. Now the universe was mocking you. Testing to see if you’d slip up and forget everything you learned.

“I think he’d like to figure you out, y/n. Do with that what you will.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Wade shrugged his shoulders handing you the bong back. As he stood up you took one last hit and left the glass piece on the table. As you exhaled, Logan’s voice pierced through the silence.

“Jesus. D’ya have to stink up the apartment with that shit? Can’t go outside?”

“Easy, peanut. The art of the wake n bake is sacred. Plus, talk to the gardener if you have requests to make, not me.”

Wade pointed to you as he wandered off into the kitchen and you reached for the bong motioning it to Logan.

“Wanna hit?”

Logan hit you with a short ‘no’ and it almost hurt your feelings. Your gaze flicked over to Wade who was mouthing to you something you couldn’t quite make out but he was pointing to Logan while doing it. Your brain spazzed for a moment before coming up with a response as you stood.

“You want coffee or something, Lo?”

“Sure, kid.”

You walked into the kitchen with Wade and started whispering to him.

“What the fuck? Of course, he comes out while I’m blowing up the house.”

“I don’t see why you’re worried, he doesn’t seem upset.”

You turned around trying your best not to look suspicious.

“Yes, the fuck he does. I’m gonna fuck this up before I even get the chance to start-”

“-You two morons know I can hear you, right?”

You hung your head in defeat finishing up the two cups before setting one in front of Logan and holding yours while you stood. The air was thick, but not uncomfortable. It just felt like everyone needed to get something off their chest and didn’t know how to start. Before you opened your mouth to speak, Wade’s voice cut you off while he sent a text message.

“Well, I’m gonna leave you lovebirds to it. I’ve got a pegging date.”

Again. Mocking you. The universe seemed to just have it out for you and apparently, today was the day of honesty. You took a seat across from Logan wondering where to direct the conversation.

“You hungry? I can make us something.”

“I’m alright kid, not too keen on stoner food in the morning.”

“Hey, I’m still a good cook when I’m cooked. I just wanted to offer.” You paused.

“Also if you have a problem with it, I’ll find a new spot. I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable.”

“No need. Just giving you guys a hard time. We all have something to cope with our shit.”

You nodded knowing he was referencing his drinking habit, or problem if we were feeling honest. You left your coffee cup on the table and stood up, wanting to Irish goodbye in your own home. But you didn’t want to add any more bricks to this wall even though it felt like the silence was already doing so.

“Well, um. I’m gonna chill out for a bit in my room if you need anything.”

He hummed to let you know he heard you and you walked down the hallway to your bedroom before stopping in your tracks. Something possessed you and you had to get this out. The test was walking away and if you finished that journey into your bedroom and locked the door, nothing would be resolved. Turning on your heel, you walked back into the kitchen and faced Logan.

“Why do you hate me?”

He nearly choked on his coffee, the noise echoing in the cup.

“What?”

You sighed, trying to not feel silly about your admission.

“Why do you hate me? And if you don’t, why do you act like it? It’s so hard to get through to you and it feels like I’m talking to a fucking wall.”

“Kid-”

“And stop ‘kid’ing me! If it’s out of endearment it doesn’t feel like it.”

Your heart rate was rising and you could feel your skin getting hot. The months of pent up emotions were finally boiling over and you couldn’t stop it. You needed to know why.

“What is it then, y/n?”

“Why can’t I get through to you? Every time I try, you shut me down by being curt with me and I’m left with the same feeling as before. I can’t shake this feeling that I know you and I can’t even get close to you without you shoving me away like I have a fatal disease. So why, Logan? All I wanna know is why?”

He sighed knowing there was no easy way to escape this.

“Kid–sorry. It’s complicated. I know that feeling. I feel it too, but I know why it’s there and I don’t want to fuck it up again.”

Again?

“What do you mean again?”

Logan sighed and said nothing. Hanging his head in what you thought was shame but most definitely could be avoidance. It frustrated you even more so because why couldn’t he just talk to you?

“Here we go again, nothing?! Is it so hard to just say what this is?”

“It’s not that simple, bub.”

You scoffed and turned around to walk to your room. You needed to clear your head because it was more than apparent that a solution would not be provided for you. Logan didn’t have the courage to reveal what he knew so a walk away from him would have to suffice.

“Y/n! Where are you going?”

“I need to clear my head since obviously you don’t have the gall to tell me what the fuck is going on.”

Slipping your shoes on, you tried to move past Logan but he was blocking the doorway.

“Move.”

“Y/n. Just-”

“I said move, Logan.”

One wall after another you kept hitting, except this one was physically him. He nearly filled up the doorway and his frame was imposing. You tried to figure out how you’d slip past him but you were so heated that you were about to settle for dramatics before he moved his body just enough for you to slip past. You stared at him, looking for something in his eyes to tell you to stay but it just made you more irritated. You walked down the hallway and almost made it to the door before you felt his hand wrap around your wrist.

“Do you get a kick out of torturing me or something?”

“Sweetheart, if you just—just sit down and let me say what I need to say.”

“Oh, now you wanna fucking talk. Let go of me. I’m not in the mood to talk anymore.”

Logan’s grip on you tightened as you struggled against him and you pushed on his chest trying to get him off of you. He was stunned by your actions and so were you but you couldn’t stop. You kept pushing him away from you until he grabbed your upper arms stabilizing you but you still were pressing your hands against his chest. He was calling your name trying to calm you down but you were too lost in your emotions. You thrashed your head up, trying to plead with him silently to let you go even though you knew that was the last thing you wanted.

When your eyes met his, one of his hands cradled the back of your head and before you could register it, his lips were slotted against yours in a moment of desire and exasperation. Bated breath, fury, and sexual confusion fueled the kiss but you’d be a liar to say you didn’t enjoy this feeling. His body flesh against yours, the heat bouncing between the two of you nearly suffocating and it had only been seconds. Logan had you pressed against the wall his hands roaming the curves of your body and his knee slotted itself in between your thighs, completely caging you against him.

He pushed his knee up into the apex of your thighs applying a delicate pressure to your center. You moaned against him, your body rolling your hips into the feeling. His hands were roaming over your body in a frenzy, like if he didn’t touch you fast enough you’d disappear. Your hands wrapped into his hair, pulling on his sandy brown locks as you tried to stabilize yourself into the feeling.

Logan pulled away from you, a string of spit the only thing left connecting you two until it broke and you felt the cold air vaporize the heat on your swollen lips. You were staring at his features, locked in his gaze hoping that if you didn’t break eye contact he’d stay right here. His gruff voice broke the heady silence.

“Since you wanna be a brat and not talk anymore, I have no choice but to show you how I feel, sugar.”

Logan slid his hands down until they were underneath the swell of your ass and told you to jump. As your legs wrapped around his waist, he walked down the hallway to your room. His senses were incredibly heightened at this moment and when he breached the threshold of your room, he was intoxicated by the smell of you swirling the room.

As he laid you down on your bed, your scent wafted off of the sheets with a gentle breeze and he was soon surrounded by a nest of you and your arousal. He prowled over your body, taking you in and memorizing every inch of you, how you were restless against him, and how your lower half mindlessly moved against him in desperate need of some sort of friction.

He uttered a low growl against you as he snaked up to your neck leaving a string of hot kisses against your skin. The scruff of his beard nearly overstimulated you and had you clawing at his skin, frantic in your efforts, soft moans escaped your lips in wordless need of feeling something more.

“Don’t wanna talk but I got you whimpering for me, huh princess?”

“Lo-”

“Shh, baby. I got you.”

Logan bit your ear, pulling at the skin before he tugged at the bottom of your shirt and you lifted your back just enough so that he could slip it off of you. Your upper body was fully exposed to him as your tits pancaked on your chest. As he lowered his face back down to your body, he trailed down your skin with his nose inhaling every last inch of you. The action was so subdued in comparison to the rest of his demeanor that you got completely lost in the feeling.

As his face met your stomach, the scent of your arousal was incredibly inebriating, deluging his mind with salacity. He traced the waistband of your shorts with his nose, encasing his teeth around the elastic piece of fabric before replacing his mouth with his hands as he languidly pulled them down your legs. Tossing them across the room he looked up at you.

“You want this?”

“Please.” You mewled out.

Logan shoved his nose against your panties inhaling your scent before rubbing your bud through the fabric as he came back up your body to capture your lips in a searing kiss. He pulled your panties from your body, your slick stretching as the fabric left your messy lips. The cool air was welcomed but was soon replaced by the warmth of Logan’s mouth against your petals.

He lapped at you like a dog. A wanton primal need taking over his senses. He wanted to be enveloped in you and you in him. In every timeline, he’d claim you and this one was no different. You tangled your hands in his hair, rolling your pussy into his face as he sloppily ate you out. His hands were wrapped around your hips holding you in place as he greedily drank you in.

You could feel the spit dripping down your folds and forming a cool pool of fervour beneath your skin. Eyes rolling back in ecstasy you could feel your orgasm begin to settle in your lower stomach, heat rippling across your skin. Your moans increased in frequency but became more breathy in nature as you came closer to your high.

Logan’s hand snaked up your curves and his fingers teased your nipples, pulling and pinching at the sensitive skin as he felt your body grow more tense with desire. Dragging his calloused hands down your body one last time, he inserted a finger into your wet, libertine cavern and you sucked him in with need. The stretch of him adding a second finger pushing you right to your edge as he curled them inside of you.

“Lo- I’m gonna-”

“I know, sugar. Let it out. Lemme hear you”

He immediately put his tongue back on your clit, and let you ride out your high against his face. Your moans gained volume completely immersed in the pleasure. When the ripples of euphoria finally dwindled, you looked down at Logan and pulled him up to your face so you could kiss him. The tang of your sex was still present on his lips and it ignited something within you.

“You got too many fuckin clothes on, Daddy.”

You were breathless. Lost in a licentious rhapsody as you had him hovering over your body and when Logan paused his movements to look at you, you thought you ruined the moment. He could smell the change in you and spoke before you had the chance to apologize for nothing.

“Say it again.”

He could feel you heartbeat pounding in your chest, arousal returning to the forefront of your mind.

“Wanna see you. Feel all of you, Daddy.”

Your voice was dripping sex, his personal psychedelic. He freed himself from his beater and you palmed his bulge through his sweats. Slipping your hand past the waistband, you stroked his heavy cock.

“Lemme make you feel good.”

You were getting ready to flip your bodies over, but Logan pinned you to the bed his eyes boring through you. You felt so small underneath him, like he could do whatever he wanted to you and you’d let him. When he spoke he broke you from the trance.

“Another time, sweetheart. This is about showing you how I feel about you since my baby needs me to spell it out for her.”

Slipping out of his sweats his cock was on full display, so heavy that it didn’t have the spring to bounce against his stomach. It hung in front of him, heady and in desperate need to be inside of you. Precum and prurience leaked from his tip. Logan crawled on top of you, the tip of his cock rubbing between your folds, coating your slick across his shaft.

“Tell me what you want. Tell me how you want me to fuck you.”

You squeezed around nothing, the action not going unnoticed by Logan. You mewled against him, just wanting him to ravish you in every way possible. You wanted to be marked, for everyone to see that you belonged to him but you couldn’t find the words to articulate this feeling while this sexual heat was radiating off of your bodies and numbing your mind.

Logan slowly pushed his tip into your rapt cunt before pulling it out and sliding it against your clit. The withdrawal of pleasure bringing you to your senses.

“I want you to make me yours. Wanna belong to you, Lo.”

You were wanton with need. The desire for him became nearly unbearable and it was all soon resolved as he pushed his cock past your pious walls, defiling you of any innocence you had left. You wanted to be claimed, he’d claim you. Animal instinct took over as he rocked his hips into your cunt, your walls fluttering around him in ardor. Low growls left his throat as he nipped at the skin on your neck, alternating between kissing the marks and swiping them with his tongue. He was marking you, making you his own.

It was like he couldn’t get close enough to you as he thrusted into you. His arms wrapped around your body as you fell limp to the pleasure. You felt another orgasm on the horizon and you tried your best to warn Logan by sinking your nails into his back, leaving red trails of morbid desire to mark him as yours. You didn’t realize the amount of pressure you were putting on his skin, but the groans that left him had that concern pushed to the back of your mind. Your orgasm washed over you and your pussy squeezed so tight around him that you nearly pushed him out of you. You were entranced, drunk on him and his cock, still desperate for more.

It was like he could hear your thoughts because as soon as you thought of a second round, Logan was flipping you on your hands and knees and you arched your back as he rubbed his hand along the small of it, accentuating your arch. His cock filled your sugared walls one more time and as he buried himself to the hilt. Wrapping a hand around your neck, he brought your body flesh against his.

“Gonna fuckin breed you. Never gonna forget you who belong to, sweetheart.”

You couldn’t help the preemptive squeezing of his cock at the mention of him breeding you. The thought of him filling you with all of him was grossly erotic and Logan took the chance to taunt you.

“Oh? You like that, huh? Want daddy to breed your pretty little pussy?”

You hummed, your eyes lidded as you tried to see him over your shoulder. Sweat was sticking your bodies together and you only noticed how hot it was between the two of you when he pushed your body forward, cool air hitting your back as he began to mold your cunt to the shape of his cock. His tip was kissing your cervix and repeatedly hit that spot deep inside of you that made you squirm against his body.

His thrusts were becoming sloppy, his breaths ragged and you could feel your third orgasm of the night creeping on you. Low growls complimented the whimpers that were leaving your mouth and being somewhat muffled by the fabric of your sheets. You couldn’t hold his hips against you to ensure that he stayed inside so you just whimpered out a small ‘inside’ as you felt your orgasm begin to wash over your body.

Logan wasn’t far behind, one hand resting on your hips and his other by your head steadying himself above you. Sinking his teeth into your neck, you cried out in avidity and rapture filled his veins before painting his seed across your walls. You heard a faint schwing and as you opened your eyes, you saw that his claws were extended. As you moved your hips back into him to fuck you through the rest of your high, you accidentally nicked yourself on one of his blades. He hissed against you uttering a strained ‘don’t move’ as the luxuria dissipated in his body.

As he calmed down, his claws retracted back into skin and he gently rolled you over to gaze over your features. He moved a few sweat-stricken pieces of hair off of your face and placed a gentle kiss on your lips, which was such a contrast from before. Pulling out of you he pushed himself off the bed.

“Be right back.”

Returning with a warm towel, he cleaned you up and grabbed a shirt from one of your drawers waiting for you to put it in before sliding next to you in the bed. You curled into him, tracing patterns into his chest. Looking up at him, you felt none of the tension from before in the room and you decided that this would be the time.

“So, what did you mean by ‘again’ earlier?”

Logan sighed but not out of exasperation like it was earlier, it was softer this time.

“In my world, we were together. That’s the pull you feel. But in like so many other areas in that timeline, I fucked up and I lost you. I’d rather have kept you at a distance than not have you at all, but I fucked that up too, now.”

He laughed the last bit out, a touch of humor apparent in his delivery. Sighing, you felt like something could work here between the two of you.

“Well, whenever you’re ready to tell me what happened between your timeline’s me and you, I’ll wait patiently for it. But until then, know that you’re not losing me here. I’m yours as long as you want me.”

You didn’t expect a response from him, nor did you feel like you really needed one. You wanted to relish in this moment between the two of you and soon enough sleep overtook both of your forms.

© yeonjuns-beanie '24

~Just as it was, baby Before the otherness came And I knew its name The love, the dark, the light, the flame~

[tiazvni]

immature | suguru geto

words : 1k

warnings : fem!reader, black coded, mating press, dumbification, car sex, belly bulge, slight college!au, exboyfriend!geto, possessive!geto, toxic!geto

“who is he?”

you choke as your ex-boyfriend, suguru geto, acknowledged you for the first time since your breakup last year. he looked so frustrated - eyes dark and muscles tense as he caged you into a secluded corner, his body practically shielding you from the blaring music and dancing crowd of the surrounding frat party so that you could focus solely on him.

“s-suguru,” you sputter, trying your best to ignore your racing heartbeat. “the hell are you talking about?”

“don’t play dumb.” his eyes narrowed as he looked down at you from the bridge of his nose. that stare, the way he towered over you - it brought back some feelings that were all too familiar. “the guy you came here with, who is he?”

it took a second for you to process his words. you realize he’s talking about travis, a guy from your sociology class who had offered to be your date to the party tonight. he had left to grab you both drinks shortly after you arrived, providing suguru an opportunity to make a move the instant he began his search for alcohol.

you huffed, crossing your arms over your chest, emphasizing your cleavage beneath your baby blue crop top. you were primed to tell him how desperate he looked right now, but fuck, suguru was standing so close. your senses were overloaded by his scent - eucalyptus with a hint of whiskey reserve, a cologne you bought for him on his last birthday.

and a stark reminder of why you really wish you hadn’t come to this party in the first place.

“um, that’s none of your business,” you match his gaze, priding yourself over your cool, level tone, “so get out of my face, please and thank you.”

suguru raised a sharp brow. “i see you still have that nasty attitude.”

“and what about it?”

he shrugs, the ends of his lips curling in a devilish smirk. “nothing. it just tells me you haven’t been getting fucked properly. what, having trouble finding someone who can handle you?”

you bit the inside of your cheek. travis was the first guy you’ve allowed yourself to go out with since your breakup. he was kind, considerate, and sensitive. a stark contrast from suguru. and having only been on one other date with him, sex was still too early an activity for your…acquaintanceship, if you will.

you try not to squirm where you stood, the beginnings of desire fluttering in your pussy the longer you were under your ex’s scrutiny. “again, that’s none of your business, suguru.”

“why, worried i’ll scare him away?” he chuckles. “‘cause i will.”

you scoff, changing the subject. “i’m not worried, i’m impressed you’re acting this jealous over someone you’re not fucking anymore.”

“i may not be fucking you, but whether you like it or not, you’re still mine,” suguru drawls as he leans closer to you, licking his lips in warning, “and i’m sure your pussy knows it. so you might want to fix that mouth of yours, sweetness.”

you rolled your eyes at his nickname for you, masking the intense wave of arousal flooding your panties under the guise of annoyance, preferring to not give your ex the satisfaction of seeing how much his presence still affected you. no matter how well your pussy responded to his words - traitor.

���god, suguru, you’re so immature! we’re not together anymore, so chill with that possessive shit and leave me alone!”

you move past him, ignoring the electricity pulsing in your fingertips as you pushed against his sturdy bicep, and went to maneuver your way through the frat party in search for your date. but like you were connected by a tether, suguru tugged you back to him, his large hand splayed against the small of your back as he pressed you against his chest.

you gasped, suddenly feeling every rigid muscle hidden behind the fabric of his shirt, and the prominent bulge growing beneath his belt. the thickness of it served as a reminder of all the times suguru had you drooling, incoherent, and twitching from overstimulation.

…why did you break up again?

“last chance, sweetness,” suguru’s hand moves to palm your ass through your jeans, his grip as vicious as his tone, “fix that attitude.”

what happened next was involuntary - like your pussy overrode your brain, spurred on by a mixture of danger and excitement, and chose your response with the hopes of finally being satisfied after months of neglect. your date and his drinks suddenly long forgotten.

“make me.”

_______________________________________________

you ended up in the back of his tesla model x - folded beneath suguru as he dropped his dick deep into your guts, feeding your pussy consistent, heavy strokes while you clawed at his abdomen like a maniac.

he ignored every single one of your cries, ripping orgasm after orgasm from you with his sight hyper-focused on the creamy ring frothing at the base of his dick as he repeatedly buried himself to the hilt.

“absolutely pathetic,” he hissed as you convulsed around him, your body succumbing to yet another orgasm - this one more violent than the last - which he continued to fuck you through, despite your desperate screams for reprieve.

“s-suguru, please! m’sorry!”

it’s been so long since you felt like this. since he fucked you like this. you were on the verge of a euphoric death, the only thing keeping you tethered to this earthly plane being his hold on you - but even then you were hanging by a thread.

“you’re sorry, hm?” suguru licked his lips as he gripped the back of your knees, spreading your legs wider. “what’re you sorry for, sweetness? for testing me? leaving me?”

you were babbling, your mind far too strung to even formulate a proper response. the best you could do was a mixture of please and sorry amidst your hiccuping sobs. suguru leaned forward, slowing his pace to lick away your tears and plant ginger kisses in their wake. an act so sudden, so gentle for someone who just spent the last hour rearranging your insides.

“it’s okay, baby, i forgive you,” he coos, “y’know why?”

he doesn’t wait for your response. instead, he takes one of your shaky hands and moves it between you, positioning your palm over your navel, where the bulge from his dick was the most prominent.

“‘cause nobody can do this but me.”

[1800titz]

WOOO second part to the pornstar!au (Tiger Harry). Find the first part here

If you'd like to read more goodies from me (including a RIDETHET!GER threesome, already up!), my patreon is HERE :)

CONTENT/WARNINGS: p-in-v, anal sex, Sir kink, choking-ish, light dom-sub dynamics

WC: 4K

“They’re both just such pretty holes,” Harry coos, and he thumbs apart her lips before folding over her to reach for his priorly discarded smartphone. His confession is mottled by a sigh, “…I simply cannot decide.” 

Tiger has perfected the art of edging. 

Not even in a literal, tethered-from-the-sweet-peak-of-precipice with an iron hand wrenching backwards sense — though, she’s seen plenty of that through his camera work. It’s a finely formulated craft, making her skin itchy and her cunt weepy before he’s even really touched her. And he hasn’t. She thinks, maybe he’ll nip at her clit with the pads of a forefinger and thumb, but he doesn’t even do that. Instead, he takes a step back. The phone pings. Action. 

“Spread,” Harry tells her. Light. Easy. Pats at one cheek, “Here.” 

Y/N obliges. She rolls onto her shoulders and tucks her arms behind her, splaying her fingers and pulling the flesh apart there. There’s a hiss like a breath coming in through little nooks between his bare teeth. It feels absolutely glorious. 

And lewd. A torrid kind of heat climbs up her neck. Lingers in the apples of her cheeks when Tiger pets at her thigh — probably taping a close-up vista of her oozing pussy — and comments, “Look at that pretty, little cunt.” 

Her digits jolt over her flesh, squeezing it apart almost desperately when he traces the back of a finger beside her clit, and then meanders up to her leaky entrance, prodding with the tips of two fingers. Not quite breaching. Tiger slinks one — a forefinger— up the short trail of her taint and nudges at the hilt of her plug, tracing the petals. Stuffed with silicone flora. Pretty. 

“Fuck. Fucking gorgeous.”

He sighs all soft behind her, and trails lower.

“I think—“

Harry scopes the hood of her clit with a thumb and then pulls it back to scrape with the pad of his middle finger — a motion that makes her jerk and wrests a soft sound from the back of her throat. A deviously mirthy hum comes from behind. 

“I’ll fuck you here—“

The tip of a finger brushes her weepy, pulsing seam.

“—first. Stretch you out a bit before. Sound good?”

She hums against the sheets. Please. Tiger traces the rim and sinks in to the second knuckle with paltry notice. His fingers are long, fill up more space than her own. Lengthier than hers. Girthier. They prod at the nooks and crannies that yearn to be grazed with little effort on his part, and by the time he’s sunk to the base of his chilled ring bands and added a third digit, Y/N is nearly drooling into the sheets. 

“You are such a tight, little thing, sweetheart,” Harry hums. Enunciates his speech with the wet squelch of his fingers plunging, cradled warm and wet by her sloppy pussy.

A mewl gets muffled in linen when he scissors the pair, stretching the seam taut, and rolls his thumb in slippery circles where her slick has trickled. There’s heat swelling in the trench of her tummy; a warm tide pool sloshing in waves that crest. Higher and higher. Building. It overcomes her — this tsunami, blighting her ataraxy until she’s a slobbering mess at the foot of his bed, keeled over. 

“Gonna—“ Y/N warns, brows pleated and mouth pried apart, tongue brushing bunched fabric with little couth. 

Tiger milks her through it, rigid fingers pumping and thumb swirling clusters of spheres into her pulsing flesh, until all that’s left of her are melty shambles with a weakly fluttering cunt. And it does flutter, throbbing emptily as his digits withdraw. Sucks onto them like it doesn’t want to let go, and then spasms around bare atoms like it needs to be corked back up. 

“Good girl,” Tiger praises. He sounds soft and pleased. Concentrated as his cockhead prods at her hole— “Got my fingers all wet, too. That’s two for two.” 

He swipes them at the back of her thigh, so she feels how slick. The pink border of his mouth is probably twitchy. Traces of a smile scratch at his dialogue the way something claws in the pit of her tummy as he nudges with the fat tip. She feels melty. Frozen fudge on a summer day dribbling down the handle. She thinks, for a moment, with her knees and her shoulders seeping into the mattress, that English has slipped her mind. Nothing plucks at her vocal cords, almost as if they’ve been snipped entirely.  A high sound crawls from the back of her mouth, though, when Harry tucks his cock into her. 

He’d been big in her palms — the pads of her digits hadn’t quite kissed around his shaft when she was kneeling, sweeping her tongue at the slit of his ruddy head, and her jaw had strained wide apart to fit him in and swallow him down. Even still, Y/N hadn’t anticipated the stretch. He bullies his cock into her — just about halfway — forcing against her spongy walls in a way that’s nearly too much. Like a paw wriggling into a glove that’s two sizes too small. She feels him in her belly, deep, as he sinks in, inch by inch (hisses escaping the cracks of his bared teeth and scraping at the edges), and bottoms out. She tastes clean cotton on her tongue, mouth wide and muted dumb, eyes screwed. 

A gasp shatters the lull, like one sucked in bobbing to the surface of a sea that’s going to ripple and kick her back under. It thaws in her achy lungs as a soft, dreamy moan when Harry fetters her wrists with one hand at the small of her back, rocks out, and pumps back in. 

“There you go, little bird. Nice and—“

She cries out as his hips snap. 

“Full?”

He rolls out slow, and her fingers twitch when he pummels in to the hilt. Ragged, little noises scarper from her mouth like he’s punched them from her from the inside. The ping of the phone sundering its video doesn’t register, but she realizes he’s tossed the phone again when he pets his free hand over her ass and stamps a sharp, stinging blow to it. Harry sets a brutal pace, then. Soft strokes that strain her rim taut and give her room to adjust simmer off when something scathing boils in the trench of his belly. He grapples her joints in his palm firmly, and the tempo of his hips smacking into her morphs merciless. Used and abused. 

“Oh, fuck, yeah,” Y/N whines when his thumb presses at the hilt of petals stretching her littlest hole. 

“Fuck, yeah,” He mirrors, snarling, and twists at the plug to siphon a whimper. 

Inferno spumes her arteries when he wriggles the plug out, groaning, and replaces it with two wet, blunt fingertips. Three. They stuff her fuller than the plug had and have her wheezing for oxygen to mingle with the scorch that permeates her veins. 

Her knees shuffle over the sheets, she squirms when he drills into her again and again and again, and he grapples at a love handle to keep her tight in place, “You asked for this— and you’re gonna take it, baby.”

Y/N does. There’s not any alternative when he hammers into her and burrows half-moons into her flesh with the ends of his short nails, but she doesn’t want there to be. She scrapes at the side of his palm with crooked fingers — the one that cuffs her wrists together and pants into the sheets. 

She’s seen Tiger fuck. She’s watched the videos — a little redhead clawing at the stair-railing with wet eyes as he coiled her hair tight over his knuckles from behind, or a brunette keening under his frame as he tucked her calves over his shoulders, pounding in from the tip to the hilt and all the way back out. The ones with a curvy blonde clawing at the sheets, whimpering as he pummeled between her thighs, and the one where the woman with the pixie juddered helplessly over his lap, crying out as he stippled a slick trail of open-mouthed kisses up her jugular and manually bounced her over his cock with a firm grip at her hips that dwarfed her size. Y/N has seen so much of the impact in screen captures — slobbered chins, streaming eyes with mucked kohl and smudged liner. Tips of noses hued cerise or pinky and lips swollen and sloppy with spit. Still, she’s somewhat surprised to feel mirrored evidence over her own face as tears drip in rivulets over the apples of her cheeks, as she gnaws at her bottom lip and drools onto his expensive mattress. It’s not the aftermath yet, and Y/N is sure she’s going to be a disheveled mess by the time the camera on the dresser shuts off. 

His cock spits ribbon after ribbon into her with little warning. He pounds into her, something cruel and brutal, husking growls. A groan slides up from the depths of his chest, and he slurs a string of curses, fingers twitching in her other hole when he empties into her pulsing cunt. Y/N absolutely milks him through it. Her slick walls spasm over his cock, and she whines like the same effects curdle her bloodstream and erupt across neurons. 

When Harry pulls out, fisting at the base and gruffing a hum, he thumbs a bead of cum that leaks out to coat her clit. She absolutely sings, at that. 

He lets go of her wrists. Twisting his fingers gently from between her cheeks, Harry blows out a breath and—

Y/N keens like he’s slapped her when Tiger splays his palms over the globes of her ass, spreads, and spits where he’d been fingering her apart. It’s glorious. Harry presses his cockhead to the glob of saliva smearing, still manhandling apart one cheek, and tells her, “Spread,” voice worn and mottled with pants like his heartbeat is thundering ichor in his ears. 

She does. Her own heart hammers behind the caging of her ribs when he makes a lewd sound, breathy and awed as he smacks over her asshole with the head. He slides against her perineum when she jolts, spine zagging, and hums. 

“Is it gonna fit?” Y/N beckons. Her cheek smushes to the wet spot she’s made against the sheets. It’s the most gloriously humiliating revelation.

He winds around the room to the nightstand, where, through tear smeared peripherals (like a bleary windshield coated with condensation), she watches him cull a bottle of lube. The cap clicks. Harry sets a knee up, and the bed creaks, meshing with a sound of amusement and a slick hand working lubricant over his shaft. Her lashes flutter as Tiger works two wet fingers into her, to the hilt, unceremoniously, scissoring. He pulls them out. 

“F’course—“

Y/N gnaws into the smooth, slicky flesh beside her molars. 

Tiger grunts. She’s forced to arch at the palm over the dimples at the base of her spine. As if to test the theory, the slippery head of his cock nudges to the puckering seam. 

“…We’ll make it fit.” 

Taking anal from Tiger, Y/N learns, is a feat. 

A pornographically debauched sort of rite of passage. She’s seen the pictures, too. The teasers he’ll post on X with only the pink tip of his cock in frame, a ringed, vibrantly lacquered hand cradling the back of his partner’s thigh to tuck up and showcase an asshole oozing cum. And the videos; the ones where the girls rake their nails into his tri’s, knuckles bleached, necks strained as garbled moans climb up their throats as he burrows in. They’re always blissed out, after; their visages melty and the lines where their foreheads and hair meet teemed with sweat. She has to wonder, though, as he prods in, how they quite make it fit. 

A high sound and a tight squeeze part-way over the tip has him petting his fingertips over the metacarpals spiking through the skin at the back of her hand. 

“Just breathe for me, baby,” Harry tells her, soft unlike the seat of his jawbone and the grit of his ivory teeth, after, “I’ll go— slow.”

Y/N inhales. It’s stolen from her lungs in the form of a long, low groan when he stuffs the tip past and the rim rides over the ridge. 

“Is that too much, baby? Yeah?” 

She suckles a bit of the sheet between her teeth when he mends the stretch of his sloppy, wet cockhead with a thumb that swipes from her leaky slit and meshes cum against his cock and the taut rim of her other hole.

“…That’s okay, we’ll get you there,” Harry coos, “That’s the hard bit all done, yeah?”

It’s all hard. Hard, vascular flesh like a rock spearing her open, sinking in, sedate and measured. Viciously careful and slick, accompanied by a vicious stretch, despite the lengthy preparation. He’s measured in the way he stuffs in, nearly centimeter by centimeter, pausing along the way down his shaft. Even still, it’s an ache that settles deep the further he sheathes — the kind she feels down to the marrow in the little bones constructing her spine, her pelvis, her ribs when they refuse to expand for her lungs. 

“Relax, sweetheart, relax. Squeezing me so snug.”

It’s just advice, but it’s strained; filthy. It makes her cunt twitch. 

“Push out a little for me. It’ll— yeah, slide in nice an’ easy if you do,” Harry coaxes, pausing the leisure roll forward of his hips. Her hole flutters over him. He makes it another inch.

“Just like that, little bird.”

She’s been holding her breath for twenty-three seconds by the time Harry pats at one of her hands and instructs, “Play with your pretty clit.”

It’s sore, but not in the way that it aches as he presses into her. The pads of her fingers brush milky cum that’s managed to seep out with the flex of her muscles, and they draw a circle over the sensitively overstimulated bud that droplets have leaked over. Her lips pry apart that way her fingertips pry bliss into the outstretched palms of her neurons, grappling for pleasure. 

“Oh.”

“S’it sore?” 

“Mm-Mhm.”

“But it feels good,” Harry states. 

It’s just that — a statement, no inquiry to the borderline prideful cadence of his words when he sinks in three-quarters of the way. It’s enough to have her breathlessly wheezing over her noises, digits stuttering in their shapes as she pinches at the hood. 

“Breathe,” Tiger chastises. 

For the first time, his voice is whetted, like the edge of a cutlass, and she imagines his dark eyebrows creasing. The tattoo of a ruddy handprint — a smack — gleans a loud cry enmeshed from the sheer sting of it and the way Y/N jolts, bouncing forward and back on unanticipated inches. It’s cruel. Mean with his peal of laughter.

He’s soft again. Mirthy. “You did that, not me.” 

“You startled me,” she argues. Her chortles flux into another, blunt, “Oh,” when Harry rocks out a little and back in, cooing in feigned ruth. 

“Oh, did I?” Harry murmurs, trailing a wide palm up the indent of her arched spine with shallow plunges, “Poor baby.”

She squirms when his fingertips wind to the vale of her waist, scrabbling up the ladder of her ribcage lightly. It’s only for a split second, but it draws a squawk and a string of giggles; in turn, a low hiss from him. 

“Fuck,” Harry grapples onto her hips, craning his neck, a grin lining his syllables when he admits, “Every time you laugh, s’like, squeezing me.” 

It’s devious — the way his palm scopes the cinched flesh in the same area it had the first time, reveling in the squeal the wriggling pads pry. Her jaw clinches and she nearly bites through her tongue when her teeth latch together. Despite the stretch, her hips lurch forward on their own volition and her knees shamber towards the headboard, the circles over her clit all but forgotten as her arms outstretch for freedom. It only gives him a wider canvas. 

A soft huff seeps from his nostrils, like the view of her hectically sprawling is entertainment. He pins her bones in place by the hips and lugs her back, sharply enough for her to groan at the pump into her. 

“No,” Harry scolds, tacking an ankle with his hand. He bends one of her knees back and keeps a grip over a love handle on the opposite side. “Where d’you think you’re going? I wasn’t done.” 

He’s polite enough to cease the tickle torture. Considerate, on his part, she supposes, since he’s got the sole of her foot aimed to the Rough sawn oak beamed ceiling. The gunge of kindling lust spumes, and it clogs the sharp anticipation of his thumb pressing to the tender spot between her heel and the ball of her foot, like cruor. Instead, Tiger hones on jabbing into her fluttery asshole, drawing a slew of progressively humiliating sounds. Her top teeth seal over the sheet and she gnaws the fabric in between her incisors like a feral dog. 

She doesn’t really get it until his balls are slapping against her flesh with the fervor of his tempo; what it’s like to be used and abused by Tiger. Mostly, it entails being glazed with cum, inside and out; utilizing the same loads to swipe over her clit that leaks from her sloppy cunt as he pounds into her ass with little mercy. No intent to give. And still, he gives plenty. She feels him deep, spearing somewhere between the knobs of her spine and the soft flesh sheathing her tummy. She can’t recall a time she’s felt so full, vena thrumming something sanguine mottled by him. The ache spurs the bliss building at her pulsing clit, and she retires to chew at the back of her free hand, tucked under her wet face. 

Just up until the point when he yanks at her hair from behind, spiking tingles at the crown of her head, and directs through husky breaths, “Sit up. Up. On your hands.” 

Y/N clambers. An inky forearm hitches over the column of her throat from behind. A sharper arch, a muscular bind over her neck, a palm that dwarfs the knob of her shoulder, and hammering at her backside with no remorse. His nails claw into her love handle, and in turn, Y/N scrapes at the tits of his mermaid, her flowy tendrils, her tail. 

“You really— are a little anal whore, aren’t you, little bird?” 

She slobbers over his forearm, “Yes, Sir— oh— shit, oh, fuck,” so he spiles her mouth with a couple of his fingers. She nips at his knuckles, and he digs green into her deltoid. 

“Fhuh—“ Y/N slurs around the digits. 

He strokes a stuttery whimper from her taste buds. 

She keens, shrill, when Tiger slips his fingers out and smears her own spit over her cheek, “Oh, fuck— you’re so deep—“

Her eyes are screwed, and even still she feels the pant of his grin against the opposite cheek. The way his lips ghost and graze her skin wetly with a low murmur, “Fuck, yeah.” 

He twists his head and siphons the same fingers to his own mouth, gets them wetter, and bats the hand between her legs away to pinch at her clit. To fuse saliva, and cum, and desperation, working ardent over her bud. 

“Such a fucking mess. S’leaking all over my balls, you know that?” Harry purrs, nipping at her earlobe when she whines, trembling, “M’gonna fuck it back into you, after.”

Y/N erupts. It spalls into flinders with sharp borders, somewhere between his cockhead burrowing deep in her tummy, the stretch around him, the pads swiping at her clit, and the filth he muzzles into her hair. She shakes like a waving bract, torn apart in his palms, spewing cries. The tight spasm over his cock has Harry chasing his own release, shuddering behind her and doubling down in a brutal tempo that draws soft whimpers from her mouth. The sharpest one comes when his chest rumbles flush with her back on a long groan, and he twitches in her as he presses deep and empties every bit that he can manage. 

Rough sex, even with a borderline stranger, merits a soft touch to meld the jagged edges of the shards back together. When he seeps out, hissing softly and bobbing, slicked with cum and lubricant, Y/N crumples into the sheets like the junctions of her joints have unfused, slipping from their sockets to melt away into a puddle. It provides an optimal view of her abused holes, one puckering at the air and dripping fresh cum. Just as he’d promised, Harry spoons a rill that trickles out with the pad of his thumb and brushes it back over the slick hole he’d just been tucked into. Feeds it back in to coax a mewl.

“Two for two,” Tiger parrots, dragging the backs of his knuckles up her thigh. It’s an obvious reference to two orgasms each, now, and wears a smile. 

If Y/N wasn’t so melty, she’d probably snort. She manages something like a grunt with her face planted to the mattress. She’s probably losing brain cells. The bed doesn’t feel breathable. 

Harry nudges at her hips until her pelvis sinks flush against the sheets and her feet dangle over the edge of the mattress. Then, he crawls up over her, cock brushing her clean skin soiled along the way. She rolls over against her will. Gets bracketed by his arms as he looms over, mussed, damp coils of his hair pendulous. 

“Hello.” 

She swallows. Her ass is going to absolutely ache tomorrow. Y/N finds she doesn’t mind. 

“…Hello.”   

“You took that well,” Harry tells her, head cocked and talc glinting. 

The boundaries of his ruddy mouth tick upwards into a lax smile, and even still, there’s an eagerly …awake mien to his composition. She wonders how, after that, and how his cock hasn’t gone down, a plurry in shade and sloppily oiled. It prods against the bone at the side of her pelvis. 

“You …gave it well,” she responds, forming the words despite the way they feel garbled in her mouth, between her parted teeth, off her lips like the crevices of her gums have been numbed with lidocaine. 

He ducks his chin and laughs. 

Y/N ends up lodged by his armpit, tangled by the firm muscle of his arms, thighs flush together, with her cheek squished to the plush of his pec; a cushion over where his heartbeat is clattering. 

“I’m all sticky.” 

“You like it,” Tiger sighs, raking a palm back through his tendrils, off his forehead, and musses the tousled curls there further. 

It feels nice when his fingertips graze up her nape, sliding into the forestry of her roots. They tug lightly at the follicles at the back of her skull in a way that makes euphoria seep down her nape. It settles in the first knob of her spine and slink through to the next. She rolls her shoulders. 

“D’you wanna shower? I’ve got one of those rain showerheads on the ceiling.”

If her inner thighs weren’t crusting over, the suggestion would probably feel like a much more intimate dyadic. Especially because she’s well aware he’ll slide in alongside her, slippery. Soapy froth sluicing down his abdomen, sudsy palms cupping at her backside, trailing between her thighs, and rinsing the evidence of their collaboration down the drain. It tastes like another sex tape altogether. 

Harry has grapefruit musk body wash and a citrusy shampoo in his shower. They’re the same ones she’ll lather into her own matted bird’s nest. 

He notes, from the sink, twisting the silvery band and thumbing over the center, where a tetragonal, incarnadine stone is seated, “You got my rings all sticky.” 

Y/N stretches her arms over her head. There’s semen spilling down the insides of her legs. She twists her head and meets him in the mirror just in time to see his eyes crest, his mouth purse and carve into a simper. 

“D’you wanna polish them off with your tongue?” 

[zargontari]

Fun with avatars! (Art by rúe moon!!)

Foca and Skippy occasionally "fight", much to the amusement of the crew.

Fun facts about Foca's avatar!:

- larger than Skippy's, obviously

- it likes very much to put it on people; treats it like a real extension of itself

- if not on someone, may "swim" through the air

Also, if it's actively monitoring a specific room or area, the holo will be there. It has an idle sleep animation if not currently being puppeted.

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Honey Girl. Chapter Two.

Previous Chapter. Next Chapter. Series Masterlist. The Playlist.

Pairing - Dad's Best Friend!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader - soulmate au

Chapter Synopsis - You and Bucky try to navigate what it means to be soulmates - and how difficult it is to keep your hands off each other.

Warnings - smut. cursing.

Word Count - 4k

Author's Note - part two!! thank you SO much for all of the love on part one - it has made me immensely happy. you're all the sweetest and i'm so grateful. i'm going on vacation in a few days, so i'm taking a hiatus for a few weeks as i won't have cell service. so, consider this my parting gift to you <3

as always, reblogs, comments and feedback (even anonymous feedback!) are immensely appreciated!! your reblogs are the only way to circulate my fics, which keeps me going <3 please, send me your thoughts, predictions, desires!! I will get excited with you!!

Masterlist. Inbox.

Sunlight streams through the billowing white curtains, rousing you slowly. The gentle breeze cools the room, salt sticking to the air. Warmth is seeping into the glass of the windows, encouraging you to kick your sheets to the foot of your bed, limbs stretching and rolling.

You wake, and for a moment, you feel perfectly at peace. You feel light, tranquil, relaxed. You flex your neck from side to side, yawning as you do it. You notice that the sun is already up, beaming into your bedroom. It's going to be a very warm day, you think. I better pack sunblock.

You glance to where your bag is thrown haphazardly on the floor, contents spilling everywhere. It's unlike you, to not put something away properly. You take pride in being a tidy person. You must have been exhausted when you got home last night.

That's when it hits you.

Bucky.

The events of yesterday coming crashing down around you like a tidal wave. Hearts racing, hands interlacing, lips melding. Bodies tangling, breaths matching, knees buckling. Two souls, tied together forever.

Your Tethering.

To Bucky. Your Dad's best friend Bucky.

His absence is suddenly all you can think about. He's not here, and you feel like half of your heart is missing. You ache. There's a discomfort that you know can only be cured by the presence of your soulmate.

You're deep in thought when your phone rings, startling you. It's Bucky.

"Mornin' sugar," he drawls. The low tone of his voice is like molten honey, gorgeous and golden.

"Good morning, Buck."

You hear him exhale at the sound of your voice.

"I know we said we'd meet at ten, but can we make it earlier?" he asks. Then, quieter, "Feel like I can't breathe without you."

He murmurs the last part, as if it's a secret. Something sacred.

"Of course, Buck. I can be ready by nine?"

"Thanks, sweet girl. I'll pick you up?"

"Perfect. See you then."

"See you then."

It's almost painful to hang up the phone. It's like there's a gravitational force in The Universe, willing you against it. You ignore it defiantly and press the red button, swinging your legs over the side of the bed.

There's something in your gut telling you that this might just be the first day of the rest of your life. You certainly can't go back to the way things were. You're not sure if you want to.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Bucky arrives at 8:45.

You're in the bathroom with the door closed, so you don't hear him pull up. You feel it. Like a magnetism, alerting you to his whereabouts. You breathe a little easier immediately, knowing he's outside.

You grab your bag and the picnic and pull on your shoes, eager to see him. You feel like a teenager again, giddy with anticipation. Apart from, this isn't your average first date. No, this is your last first date ever. This is a first date with the man you're bound to spend the rest of your life with. No pressure, you tell yourself. One step at a time.

Your heart kicks up in double time, thundering against your ribcage. You inhale deeply, cracking your knuckles. You can do this. It's just Bucky.

You bound down your stairs, practically running to his truck. Bucky's leaning against the passenger door, the wind ruffling his hair, sunlight reflecting off his steely blue eyes. He's wearing shorts and a white button up, which is blowing gently in the breeze. His sleeves are pushed up his forearms, exposing his gorgeous tanned skin. He has several shirt buttons undone, accentuating his broad chest, sunglasses tucked into the breast pocket. He looks so handsome. So classically elegant. Like he belongs in an old movie - a perfect leading man.

He eyes you carefully, gauging your reaction. You can tell he doesn't want to overstep, worried about pushing you too far too fast. You walk over and run your fingers across his exposed chest gently, tracing a path up his neck until you're caressing his cheek. His stubble tickles your fingertips, causing a smile to curl at the corners of your mouth. You finally meet his gaze, and all your stress is forgotten. You feel peaceful again.

"Hi," you whisper.

"Hi, pretty girl," he murmurs back, hands finding your waist. "You alright?"

"I'm okay. Are you okay?"

"I'm okay," he grins. "So, how do you feel about a day of sailing? You, me, and the ocean, baby."

"I think that sounds perfect."

He opens the car door for you, helping you up and into the passenger seat. He climbs in, clicking on his seat belt and starting the engine. Before he pulls away, he turns and looks at you, holding your stare for a moment. Bucky reaches for you, lacing your fingers together, resting your intertwined hands on your thigh. He begins to drive away, taking you towards the ocean. Towards your future.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You know nothing about sailing.

Luckily, you don't need to. Bucky's quite content to keep you sitting pretty on the top deck while he does all of the work, pulling and tying and knotting. The crisp white sails billow in the wind, the ocean waves providing a steady, constant soundtrack. Birds fly overhead, sunshine beaming down, the wood underneath you warm and smooth. It's paradise.

You're soaking up the sun rays when you hear a click. You sit up to see Bucky holding his film camera, pointed right at you.

"Creep," you tease.

"Just want to have something to look back on. Our first day as soulmates. It's an occasion, you know," he grins.

He moves across the boat to sit next to you, thigh pressed up against yours. He's so close you can taste the spearmint on his breath. You tangle a hand in his hair, caressing the back of his head.

"I brought you a few new things to try," you tell him. "Some recipes I'm testing. I want your honest opinion. No sugar coating. Promise?"

"I promise," he winks, holding up a scouts honour. "I wouldn't lie to you, honey."

You reach over and grab your picnic basket, unwrapping various beeswax packages and laying them out in front of you.

"Okay - we have white chocolate and pistachio muffins, raspberry and lemon macarons, earl grey and lavender cookies and carrot and cinnamon cake."

You glance over at Bucky, expecting him to be deciding what to try first. Instead, you find him watching you carefully, gentle smile etched across his face.

"What?" you laugh.

"Nothing," he beams. "I just... I love it when you start talking about food. You're passionate. You light up."

"Don't make it weird," you joke, slightly taken aback by his honesty. He did promise not to sugar coat.

He reaches for a macaron, eager to try one after you mentioned them yesterday. He pops one in his mouth, and lets out a groan that can only be described as pornographic.

"Fuck," he moans. "This might be the best thing I've ever eaten."

"You promised you wouldn't lie," you laugh.

"I'm not," he chuckles, placing his hand over his heart. "I swear to you. These things should be used as medicine. They'd cure anything."

"Shut up," you tease bashfully, bumping your shoulder into his.

He tries the other sweets one by one, complimenting you immensely. He's so specific in the way he commends your baking. He comments on certain flavours, and textures, and the way everything melts on his tongue. He really takes the time to think about what he says. It's so intimate.

"You're gonna do this for a living, right?" he asks, turning to face you.

"I hope so," you confess. "It's all I want to do. Going to culinary school was a huge risk, but I did it. It was difficult, but they were also the best four years of my life. I just learned so much. I want to put it all into practice."

"I think you should. It'd be such a waste if you didn't. You're so talented, sugar."

"Thanks, Buck," you grin. "I just don't know where to start."

He thinks for a moment.

"If you could do anything, anything in the world - what would you do?"

He's looking at you so intensely, you almost want to shy away. His steel blue eyes are boring into you, reading your mind, figuring out your soul.

"I'd... I'd open a bakery of my own. I want a lot that overlooks the ocean. With big windows."

Bucky smiles gently, adoration written across his face.

"I'd be your most loyal customer," he vows. "Oh, I have a better idea - I'll be your quality control. I'll taste test everything before you sell it. You know, just in case."

"Just in case," you laugh. "Right."

"It's a tough job, but someone's got to do it," he winks.

The sound of your laughter is like dopamine to Bucky. It fires off neurons in his brain, receptors buzzing and alight. He almost feels drunk off the sound, floating above ground.

You relax into him, laying down and resting your head in his lap. He's warm, and soft, and so comfortable. You could lie here forever.

He runs his fingers through your hair gently, playing with the strands. The repetitive rocking of the boat lulls you into an easy sleep, the sunlight wrapping around you, taking the place of a blanket. Bucky watches you drift off, unable to wipe the smile off his face.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

A particularly strong gust of wind wakes you, rousing you from sleep. Your fingers are interlinked with Bucky's, head still resting on his strong thighs.

"How long was I out?" you ask, looking up at him.

"Like, twenty minutes? You looked peaceful, thought I'd let you rest."

"Sorry, Buck," you chuckle.

"Hey, don't apologise. I'll take it as a compliment. You know, they say you only sleep around the people you feel safe with."

"They say a lot of fuckin' things," you laugh, repeating his words from yesterday.

"I do, though," you say after a moment. "Feel safe with you. It's not just the soulmate thing. I always have."

Bucky leans down to press his forehead to yours, closing his eyes. He pulls away and kisses the spot where you were just connected.

"We should talk about us," you murmur, sitting up to face him.

"Uh oh. Are you breaking up with me?" Bucky jokes, nudging your knee with his.

"Yeah, right," you scoff. "As if you'd be so lucky. You're stuck with me, I'm afraid."

"I'll survive," he winks. "But we should. Talk about us."

You look at each other for a moment, carefully. You notice that the ocean is reflecting in Bucky's eyes, waves gleaming and blue.

"I don't know where to start," you whisper.

"Maybe start at the beginning," he suggests, reaching out to rest his palm on your thigh, fingertips rubbing comforting circles into your skin.

"I... I think - I think we should do exactly that. Start at the beginning."

He nods at you reassuringly, urging you to continue.

"I want to start slow. Really slow. I know we already know each other, but this... this is different. We don't know each other like this."

"Like soulmates," he agrees. "It's a whole other level. A league of its own."

"Exactly. I know we're Tethered, but, I think we should treat this like a normal relationship. We should date, and just... take this step by step."

"One step at a time," he confirms. "Prepare yourself, honey. I'm about to date the hell outta you."

"Someone save me," you laugh, throwing your head back. "All those poor girls that have come before me - they had to put up with this?"

He laughs with you, the sound rumbling in his chest.

"Trust me, sugar, you're different."

Bucky leans forward and slots his lips to yours, hands going to your waist to pull you closer.

Kissing your soulmate is unlike any other feeling. It's complete serenity. Two bodies, designed by The Universe to fit together perfectly.

Your fingers thread through Bucky's hair as you move to sit in his lap, straddling him. You grind your hips forward, illiciting a groan from the both of you.

Bucky slips his tongue into your mouth, tasting the sugar there. He can't get enough. You're so sweet and soft underneath his hands, underneath his tongue. He wants more.

He tips you backwards, so you're lying flat on the deck. Bucky moves to kneel in between your legs, prying them open gently. He kisses his way from your ankle to your knee, occasionally nipping at your flesh. He likes the idea of there being a mark on you that he left. He feels more protective of you than he ever has of anyone. The feeling vibrates through his bones, fires up his nerve endings. He needs to feel every inch of your skin as soon as possible, or he's convinced he'll burst into flames.

He smooths his hands up your thighs, fingers catching in the waistband of your shorts. He shimmies them down your legs, and inhales sharply at the sight before him. You're laid out on the deck of his boat like a goddess, the white shirt adorning your body matching the white lace underwear underneath. The sun rays are beating down, illuminating you, making you glow from the inside out. Bucky can't breathe, looking at you. He feels like all of the oxygen has been stolen from his lungs, replaced with pure desire.

You're breathless, panting, chest heaving. You're shaking with anticipation, willing him to do something. Anything.

"Bucky," you whine. "Please."

He's never heard a prettier sound. It's like angel song, the way you say his name.

"Patience, sweets. I thought we were taking it slow."

"Asshole," you laugh, poking him in the chest with your toe. "You're a hypocrite."

"Am I?" he smirks, running his fingertips across the inside of your thighs.

"Yes. You can't kiss me like that and then tell me to have patience."

"My apologies, ma'am."

He leans over and kisses you again, biting your bottom lip as he pulls away. Bucky slips your underwear down your legs and tucks them into the pocket of his shorts, ignoring your scoff as you watch him do it.

"Come here, pretty baby," he murmurs, tugging at your hips to pull you closer to him.

He nudges your core with his nose, inhaling deeply. It's filthy, the action, but it makes you ache with want. He licks into the crease of your thigh next, tasting the salt on your skin. Your hand flies to his hair, tugging the chocolate strands. You whine again, and Bucky commits the sound to memory.

He surprises you by sucking your clit gently, causing your hips to buck up towards his mouth. He splays one hand across your stomach, holding you down. He uses his other hand to insert a finger into you, groaning at your warmth. He crooks it up, and you keen.

"I know, baby, I know," he coos, adding a second finger.

You're not sure if it's because of the glaring sunlight or because of Bucky, but there's a thin sheen of sweat coating your skin, dripping down your temple. You're burning from the inside out, white hot heat running through your veins.

He thrusts both fingers in and out of you steadily, curling them on the up stroke. You throw your head back, hips wriggling and writhing.

"Where you going, pretty girl?" he drawls. "Come here - that's it."

He pulls you back to him, fingers never stopping. He looks up at you, and notices that you've thrown a hand over your face, shielding yourself.

"Don't go shy on me now," he practically purrs, smiling when you move your arm away. "Most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

"Fuck," you moan, suddenly glad you're in the middle of the ocean. The sounds you're letting out are filthy.

"I know, pretty baby. I know."

His fingers push you closer and closer to the edge, speeding up slightly. You're whining, keening, hips bucking up into him. You can't stay still. You feel like you're on fire, red hot electricity running through you. It's never been like this with anyone before. It never will be again.

"You're close, honey, I can feel it. You're almost there," he drawls. "Atta girl. Come on, baby. You got it. Good girl."

His low, honeyed words throw you into your climax, back arching off the sun warmed wood. Bucky talks you through it, encouraging and praising you in hushed murmurs. You see stars, bright white patterns flashing behind your eyelids. The world goes quiet for a moment, and all you feel is peace.

Bucky brings you back to reality by rubbing soothing circles into the bare skin of your thigh, still muttering softly. He lets you catch your breath before leaning over and kissing you gently.

"You okay, sugar?"

You smile at him in a daze, still floating on air.

"I'm good, Buck. Very good, actually."

He laughs at your response, moving your hair away from your face. You sit up to look at him, admiring him carefully.

"You're so pretty," you whisper. "I mean, I've always known it. But now, it's so... blinding. You're the most beautiful person in the world."

He's not sure how to process your words. He's never felt so loved, so safe, so appreciated before. It's overwhelming. He doesn't know what to say - so instead, he kisses you hard.

"You're the sweetest girl in the world, you know that right?" he whispers against your lips.

He moves to sit behind you, so your back is resting against his chest. You nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck, breathing him in. He smells like warmth, and salt, and home.

"I don't think we should tell my parents," you say lowly, afraid to ruin the moment. "Not yet, anyway."

"I agree," he reassures. "I think we should figure this out first. Figure us out."

You lean up and peck his lips gently, pulling away to trace your fingertips over the contours of his face.

"It's gonna take a while to figure this out, isn't it?"

"That's the thing, sweet girl. We have all the time in the world."

You relax back into his arms, letting his steady heartbeat lull you into complete tranquility.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You spend all day on the boat with Bucky, soaking up the sun. Your shirts are billowing in the wind, hair blowing in every direction. The ocean rocks you both in routine motion, gentle and calming.

He teaches you the basics of sailing, sitting knee to knee with you while you repeatedly tie knots into pieces of rope. He stands behind you comfortingly as you pull and tug at the rigging, supporting you only when you ask for help.

The two of you sit tangled together on the deck, enjoying your picnic. You take a moment to rub sunblock into Bucky's shoulders, ignoring the heat that rises in your chest when he groans in delight. He's irresistible. This is more than just lust. This is a magnetism, an almost animalistic connection. It's quite literally written in the stars.

The both of you are clearly reluctant to go home. You sit in Bucky's truck outside your apartment for hours, talking about nothing and everything. You don't invite him upstairs. You know that if you do, you'll jump his bones instantly. You've both agreed to take this slow. You have to start being strict with yourselves, or you'll just keep ending up in bed.

Eventually, your stomach rumbles, making Bucky chuckle.

"You should go. Eat something."

"I know. I just... I like being with you."

He leans over the centre console to press a kiss to your lips, revelling in the way you taste like the ocean breeze.

"There's no one else in the world I'd rather be with," he murmurs against your mouth.

You pull away and take a deep breath, preparing to leave Bucky for tonight.

"Thank you, for today. It's been perfect."

"Perfect day for a perfect girl," he winks, making you both laugh.

"One step at a time."

"All the time in the world," he echoes.

"Goodnight, Buck," you whisper, moving in closer to press your forehead to his.

"Goodnight, honey girl," he whispers back, pecking your lips quickly.

He jumps out of the drivers side to help you down from the truck, holding your hand carefully. You smile at the déjà vu. He does too.

You look back at him once more before closing your front door. He's already looking at you, his eyes never once leaving your frame, smile never leaving his face.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You're curled up on the couch when your phone rings, startling you from your peace. You look at the caller ID in confusion.

"Stella? Hey - you okay?"

"Hey, you. Long time no see, huh?"

"It's been a while," you laugh. "I didn't expect a call from you."

"I'm sorry we haven't talked in so long. I've been super busy - I'm opening my own café! It has a bookshop inside it too - oh it's gorgeous, you wouldn't even believe it."

"That sounds amazing, Stella. I'm so happy for you, wow."

"I'm actually calling because I have something to ask you."

"Ask away, Stell."

"I have a sort of... proposition for you. An offer, if you will."

"You're really building the anticipation here," you chuckle.

"Sorry, sorry! So, I'm gonna need a Head Baker. I can't do it, because I'll be manager, and I'm the owner which is a tough job in itself. Opening a café is fucking difficult, you know!" she laughs, before continuing. "You'd have complete creative control - you'd design your own bakes, everything would be completely down to you. There's quite literally only one person in this world that I'd want to do this job, and it's you."

You almost can't believe what she's telling you. It sounds perfect. It sounds like a dream.

"Stella - are you sure? This is a huge deal. You want me?"

"I only want you. I can't picture working alongside anyone else. We made such a good team in culinary school, and we always said we'd find each other in the future."

"I... I don't even know what to say."

"Say yes!" she encourages, giggling down the phone.

"Yes!" you echo, giddy with joy. "God, Stella, yes!"

You're smiling from ear to ear, unable to wipe the grin off your face. Your dream job has been presented to you on a silver platter. You'd be stupid not to take it.

"I mean - when do I start? What should I wear? Do you want a set menu, or can I change it up all the time? Vegan options? Gluten free?"

"I can send you all of the boring stuff in an email - contracts, salary information, all that shit. You can quite literally do whatever the fuck you want, girl. I trust you completely. I trust your culinary skills even more."

"Oh my god, I'm so excited. Thank you, Stella. Seriously. This is just amazing."

"I can't wait to have you here with me again!"

You process for a moment, trying to make sense of what she just said.

"Wait... what? Where?"

"In California. The café is here, in California!"

You can't hear her next words due to the ringing in your ears. Your chest tightens, your hands ball into fists, your breathing becomes ragged.

There's a million thoughts racing through your mind, and you can't quite get a firm grasp on any of them.

Bucky would never leave this place. This is his home. I can't ask him to abandon his life here - I wouldn't want to. We've been soulmates for two days. What about his job? His friends? Would I leave everything behind and move across the country for him? I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I can't have my cake and eat it too. He'd give everything up for me in a heartbeat - I can't let him. It's not fair.

You're suddenly intensely aware - you have to make a choice.

Bucky or your dreams.

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[driaswrld]

🪷 — A ROYAL AFFAIR . . . THE SCANDAL OF THE CHILDHOOD CONSORT

LADY DRIA WRITES . . . ˚ ༘ *

🪷 dearest gentle reader, what is a princess to do when she's caught between two dashing princes, both of which are her childhood friends? — one her betrothed and the other her past love... 4.7k words.

🪷 prince gojo x reader x prince geto jjk regency/royal au, use of regency era terminology, longing and more longing.

🪷 taglist : (lmk if you want to be added or removed!) @angelshimaa @yunymphs @todorokies @satocidal @maeby-cursed @rinniessance @cinnabooonn @shegetsburned @starry-grace2 @selfishdoll @shuuennovirche @wishmemel @riaki @yazzzmints @aphroditisxc @gojorbit @izakyun @satoruoo @irisxyphium @zwtari @/lollipop974 @r0ckst4rjk @softgirlgonehaywire @lilvampirina @brianmaysclog

CHAPTER ONE. . . ˚ ༘ *

L'INCOMPARABLE.

Talks of betrothal began in the last Spring of your youth.

Under the cherry blossom trees, you sit in silence, fuchsia petals decorating the length of your hair in messy scatters.

Satoru Gojo, crowned prince and heir to the Gojo throne, picks the fallen remnants of flowers from your hair one by one as the nobles watch on.

Whispers of ‘they would make such a beautiful match’ and ‘look how the Prince dotes on her’ echo in the brush of the gardens, women whispering among themselves and the men chortling between swings of their mallets — in a near deathly game of pall mall.

“Don’t hide from me,” Satoru dips his head, breath fanning the shell of your ear. If possible, the whispers intensify, cutting past your ears and you bite back a giggle, stifling down the thought that crosses your mind, attention whore.

“I’m not hiding, your highness.” You counter, shifting to the side, your smile hidden behind a porcelain teacup, swift sips of ginger warming your cheeks.

“It’s improper, you know.” The words linger in the air between soft wisps of wind, flurries of foreign fabrics and bright layers of skirts pass your vision — and yet, all is drowned out by him.

Your anointed Prince, the attention whore.

“Improper to gaze upon my companion?” Satoru scoffs, grinning wide, toothy, dimples.

Childhood found you both tethered like bee and nectar, always close, always coming back.

At first, it was through duty, sharp tongued ten year old Satoru Gojo, a prince born with a halo and the title of the realm’s strongest to his name, meeting you, the humble princess of the Western kingdom, born in valor and sprouted in pride, a warrior’s code.

It was a disastrous first few encounters—

(—but then he was your bestfriend, and you his. )

His dear mother, bless her soul, had taken the time out to host this marvelous garden party to welcome the newest maidens into their debuts – moreso, to marry Satoru off quicker than he could leave for another battle, chasing another war – and yet, he cared not to meet with any of the women or entertain them beyond an inch of his being.

Not around you, at least.

“You shouldn’t jest about these things—!” A snort leaves your mouth, and whereas the ever uppity ladies of the palace court gawk at you in utter disbelief and mild disgust, Satoru finds himself bellowing a boyish laugh.

That was the last time he’d laugh like that with you, before a warm spring of youth turned to a burning summer, hot with passion, scorched with lust.

THE SCANDAL OF THE CHILDHOOD CONSORT.

Dearest gentle reader,

As all royal scandals do,

It started with an invitation.

We cordially invite you to the Gojo palace grounds to celebrate the betrothal of our crowned prince Satoru Gojo and his bride to be [name] [name].

This author finds herself compelled and rather . . . intrigued.

What a match made in heaven! Our beloved Prince Satoru and his most dearest childhood friend!

Your fingers tremble at your sides, the aura that is the strongest permeates your very being. The soft hum of piano keys coupled with string and bow becomes near inaudible – the power Satoru Gojo has on you is like a moth to a flame, lamb to slaughter.

But I assure you,

When it comes to matters of the heart —

Carefully, your feet carry you across the crowded ballroom, mass of bodies parting the instant they catch a glimpse of your eyes – that desperation is familiar in young women like you – and they pity you.

You, who should be above them, who should be the next Queen, the current Princess consort to be.

And yet.

“I’ve told you endlessly, I will take no wife!” Satoru’s voice is a staccato, bouncing off the walls of the vacant corridor adjacent to the ballroom, echoing past your ears.

Dare I say, our beloved crowned Prince

Is not the strongest.

“Some nerve you have, boy.”

Satoru’s father, the King, is a stoic man.

You’ve come to know this well in your youth. He rules firm and his word remains law. By no means is he the strongest or possesses any more battle capacity than that of any other noble, but he remains a political stronghold.

And his grip over his family — his subjects, remains unwavering.

“I don’t care for your affairs or your crown,” Satoru’s gaze remains hard, even as he meets his father’s ire in tow, and in such a barely secluded place too. “Let one of your bastards have it, my place is on the battlefield doing what you are too cowardly to.”

Your mind runs rampant, palms pressed against the cold wall concealing your presence.

You wonder what Satoru might be thinking — if he’d be so foolish as to forsake his lineage and do away with his duty, if he’d give up simply because his fate was not his choice — he wouldn’t.

No, Satoru is good and kind, and he would see this kingdom to a new realm of peace just with his bare hands alone.

“And that is all? You wish to do away with it simply because it does not suit your childish desires? I have given you everything! And the one thing I ask of you—”

You still yourself at the near animalistic growl that leaves Satoru’s lips.

“She will never be Queen.”

It cuts through you like blades of grass, familiar, scratching at your skin softly, pinpricks of green drawing blood from your calves.

It reminds you of when you were younger, more naive and susceptible to the follies of men and matters of the heart.

“Who’ll marry you if you spend your days swinging a sword and broadening your shoulders?”

“Aren’t there girls your age you can follow around? I don’t care if you’re a princess, we’re not friends.”

“I don’t know why you’d believe he’d ever want to court you.”

Three months, thirteen days.

Your betrothal has long exceeded and broken the record of engagement wait time.

Most women would be married within the same month of betrothal, the longest and most respectable wait time being a month and a half, only due to cases of overdue dowry payments.

Three million dollars was your reverse dowry.

Paid directly from the royal treasury to your father, and four million dollars paid in return. That was how much yours and Satoru’s hands were worth to your families, a testament to the weight you’d both bear by wearing a crown.

Except, you hadn’t been crowned yet. Or married for that matter.

“—summer solstice hunt!” It’s Yuji who exclaims, voice filled with childlike wonder. Recently knighted by Satoru himself and a renowned protege of the Kingsguard, the boy is eager to please. “Who will you cast your bets on, your grace?”

The confines of Satoru’s private study function as a meeting room for idle chatting — he leaves the letters to his advisors when they are of little importance.

Or discards them entirely when he has company, like now.

You sink deeper into the cushioned seat, Satoru’s arm draped over the back of your chair. A tuft of snowy hair falls over his forehead and he breathes a chuckle, your weight curling in on itself with every rise and fall of his chest.

why don’t you want me why don’t you want me why don’t you want me why don't you want me

“It’s out of question to bet on one’s self, no?” Satoru chuckles and it earns a cackle from Yuji, who, despite himself, has already casted his own bet on his annointed Prince. “I wouldn’t want to make anyone’s head bigger than it ought to be.”

The summer and winter solstice brings with it two separate ceremonial festivals — the hunt being the most anticipated due to its cutthroat competition among nobles and peasants alike.

That, and the prize.

The winner of the hunt, the man or woman to capture the famed primordial stag — which is really a regular stag trained and bred to elude even the most skilled knights — would be rewarded a grand jewel from the Queen’s vault.

Gentle reader,

The famed jewel for the taking

This summer, is none other than—

“I’ve placed my bet on you,” you comment plainly with a shrug and Yuji beams.

It isn’t unlike you to root for one of Satoru’s proteges, the ones fairly skilled and new to knighthood – you’ve always found yourself cheering for the peonies in a garden full of roses — the underdogs full of potential . . .

Satoru glances over to you, and for a second you miss how his gaze lingers.

“You’re too kind, Princess…” Yuji sighs, near dreamily. “I will no doubt do well now that I have your favor on my side.”

( losing dogs, satoru wants to say. all you ever do is bet on losing dogs. )

“You have her bet, not her favor.” Satoru scoffs dramatically before you can even think to lend Yuji your well wishes. “It isn’t something given, it’s something won. And from a maiden, not a Princess consort.”

She’s spoken for, is all you hear though.

There’s an air of uncertainty that passes between you and Satoru that only thickens with your closeness.

A pale palm curls around the cross rail of the back of your chair and you lean into his touch subconsciously – it’s warm, secure – he’s saying, I have your favor, don’t I? Tell me I do.

—The champion’s jewel,

A wraith necklace fit for a Queen.

The L’Incomparable.

“Nevertheless, you have my good faith.” You interject, followed by a sharp inhale, and you stand abruptly from your seat. Satoru’s hand falls to his side. He knows what you're thinking.

Three months, thirteen days.

You’ve sat by and watched Satoru deny you marriage – his excuse, that he’s waiting for his coronation first – you’ve watched him continue to entertain the women around him like he’s done since he was merely a squire, plastering a smile on his face from this glass castle he calls home.

He’s close, but never too close. Stringing you on then letting you loose— it’s routine.

It’s eerily similar to your childhood.

“Yuji,” Satoru speaks, soft yet firm. The young boy is on his feet immediately and offers a swift bow to his majesty, handing his service in tow to the call. “Leave us.” Satoru commands, and just as swiftly as he came, Yuji is bowing to you and exiting through the study doors.

L’Incomparable.

The largest internally flawless diamond in the kingdom and the most expensive chain sitting in the Queen’s vault currently, worth eight billion dollars alone.

Allegedly, it was handcrafted as a gift from an ancient Gojo king to his mistress — whom he had knighted and sent off to fight in the war at her wishes once their affair had been brought to light and scrutinized.

A gift he only got to place on her corpse.

Even in death, he loved her. More than he loved his own wife and Queen.

And though many attempts had been made to destroy the necklace, it remains near indestructible.

“Something troubles you.” Satoru murmurs the moment the door clicks shut. His gaze remains strained forward on your form, from where you fiddle with the frayed hem of your gown, back turned to him.

“I simply think of the prospects of the hunt,” you retort. “There are many promising young competitors traveling to partake— I fear my Prince would simply be. . . thwarted, is all.”

L’Incomparable is not a jewel of love.

It's a sickening story of a woman who loved a man who could not love her back in the way she deserved.

A woman who took what she was given, secret meetings, hushed whispers and fleeting gazes.

And when he did, finally love her back wholly and ardently, unable to bury it behind a locked door in the dungeon he called a heart — she was already gone.

“You doubt me?” Satoru’s voice is closer now, and you wonder when he even stood up – if he'd been taking small steps toward you the entire time.

“No.” It leaves your mouth like a prayer, an oath, worship. Every ounce of confidence you have is in him. He has protected you, kept you, safeguarded your sanity and treated you with grace— “Never that.”

( —he is your friend. nothing more than that. )

He exhales, and you hear the faint sound of a swallow, the click of his tongue. Your ear feels hot with the proximity, yet, he inches closer still.

“Will you give this to me, then?” He whispers, faint, uncertain — almost desperate.

And you turn, faces inches apart, breath mingling. “What is it you wish of me, my Prince?” Your pupils dilate.

“Your Prince,” Satoru repeats, like it knocked the wind out of him. It's a common way to address the monarch, you’ve said it before as have others. “. . . asks for your favor in the upcoming hunt.”

He keeps his hands folded behind him, curled into fists and trembling. Your Prince. Yours. Yours.

He’s a gentleman. He was raised right.

This urge—

( you’re his friend. his advisor. his confidant. this is not what he wants. )

The urge to strip you down to nothing but your chemise, lay you on his desk and hike your legs over his hips, show you things you’ve only seen in dreams or read in books — like he’s done to so many women before — he promises himself he’s not a rake, he’s just a man, but when you look at him like that and say his title so softly—

( it will pass. )

“Then,” your breath slows as he steps forward, so easily leaving you pressed back against the hardwood desk, caged by him. “I will grant my Prince my favor.”

Satoru watches in earnest, places his hands on either side of you on the desk as you remove one of your gloves.

Pure white, pearl decor, lace trim.

He would've laughed if he wasn't so enthralled by such a simple thing. Satoru wants to pull the other glove off with his teeth.

“I’ll return it to you,” he says, a promise. He takes the glove as you hand it to him, leaning forward and chasing the remnants of your fingertips against his once you pull away. “When I win.”

( and maybe then, you’ll understand i am devoted to you, wholly and utterly, if only in these moments and never again. )

There's a knock at the door, brief and soft. A maid, come to drop off another stack of letters.

And just as quickly as Satoru had found himself against you, he’s across the room, opening the door.

As if you had never been there.

The only evidence that he had even touched you is the lace cupped in his palm, middle and index tracing over a minute pearl.

L’Incomparable is a jewel of longing.

Morrow brings with it the beginning of joyous festivities.

You woke to another trousseau. This time, from a distant cousin in the Easternmost kingdom.

Attached was a letter of the newest development in her love life – said development being a defected knight nonetheless.

It made you giggle.

The palace corridors are bustling with life.

Servants and attendants eager to welcome early visitors who have come for the summer solstice, robust back and forth on decorations and food and gossip and many a’ things outside the realm of possibility to be discussed in one sitting.

Your lady in waiting, Areta, whom you’ve known since your youth, creeps into your room with a grin as wide as a war banner – you immediately assume the worst, mischief is your pastime but you fear the poor girl takes ‘eavesdropping on court gossip’ to another level.

“My lady, you would not believe—” Areta huffs, journeying to sit with you on the balcony, wiping an imaginary bead of sweat from her brow. “The things I’ve heard today!”

“You hear things everyday, I fear.” You indulge her, as always. And she begins to talk your ear off, all in good faith of course.

Down below in the courtyard, is the sound of smacking wood and the occasional chorus of baritone conversation.

Satoru, who should be attending treaty meetings with his father, bides his time sparring on the cobblestone with the other men of the Kingsguard – the noise wakes you most mornings.

“—talking to Julietta, you know? The girl who attends to the countess? And she said—”

You hum along to Areta’s words, eyes peering over the edge of the balcony, gaze fixed on the crown Prince.

His snowy hair is damp with sweat, Victorian style dress shirt rolled up at the sleeves, every swing of his wooden sword causes a commotion — muscles in his back flexing under the sunlight, so easily seen beneath the thin white fabric.

“—that her lady told her that she heard from a cousin-in-law who works at the docks that—”

You wonder what expression Satoru has as he pummels through his underlings playfully, hardly sparring but more play fighting. You imagine he’s grinning wide, crystalline blue eyes shimmering with glee—

“—that Prince Geto is coming for the hunt!”

You choke. Audibly.

Areta is quick to shut her mouth and lend you a concerned gaze. “Princess, are you—”

“I’m alright.” You wave a hand, catching your breath. Prince Geto. If you think about it too hard, you fear your chest might burst open and spill out your insides.

Oh, fair reader, it seems

Our dear protagonist has come upon

A treasure trove of memories.

“You were, ehem, saying?” You twirl your index finger in the air as if to prompt a rewind. “About. . .”

Areta raises an eyebrow, but nods slowly. “About Julietta’s lady’s cousin-in-law?” The girl questions, dim.

“No!” You interject immediately, twirling your finger in the other direction. Fast forward. “The other thing— the thing you heard!”

“Oh, about Prince Geto!”

Dearest reader,

Suguru Geto enters.

A man of great mystique,

the northern Prince.

And striking opposite of

our beloved crowned Prince Satoru.

“Yes! About him—”

Suguru Geto.

In many ways you could say he was Satoru’s best friend, his greatest rival and worst enemy all at the same time.

Through solstice events, formal gatherings and other royal duties, the same way you met Satoru, you met Suguru through him.

“Well, Julietta’s lady’s cousin-in-law works at the docks,” Areta begins again, regrettably. “You know? The private harbor where all the spirit and wheat shipments come in, but that's besides the point—”

( suguru was your bestfriend too. in every way it counted. )

“Areta.” You coo, coaxing her to get back to the main point. Why was Suguru coming for the summer solstice hunt? After being away in the North for so long, why now?

The only correspondence you’d had with him was a few letters years ago. And then he stopped writing.

“So, Julietta’s lady’s cousin-in-law saw the Geto family's ship dock in the private harbor!” The girl exclaims hushedly and you hum to yourself, curious.

Rightfully, you’d hold a grudge about never hearing from Suguru.

But in this moment, you feel no resentment or hurt. Instead, excitement that you might see your old friend once more.

And maybe, you, Suguru and Satoru could spend the summer solstice together— just like old times.

( and that’d be enough to get rid of the heat in your chest when satoru gets too close to you. )

Faithful reader,

she could not have been

more wrong.

Four days remain until the summer solstice hunt.

Satoru is scarce around the palace in preparation for his coronation coming soon and treaty arrangements.

You, on the other hand, have exhausted all your hobbies, biding your idle time helping the other ladies at court pick their gowns for tomorrow's feast — the first of seven nightly ones during the solstice.

Another trousseau is delivered to your chambers when you wake.

This time, you’re taken aback.

Instead of an elaborate stack of gifts, a box of jewelry or even a scandalous collection of seductive corsets and nightgowns to remind you of your predicament—

There's a long wooden box, coupled with a sealed parcel.

Inside the box is a beautiful gown, deep burgundy and shapely. Fitted with a low bust cut and short sleeves. It's a mouth watering dress, one you would've bought yourself if you even knew it existed.

But you've never seen a dress designed like this before, down to the intricate details of the underskirts and the hemming.

It's almost intimate.

When you finally open the parcel, you expect a note, but there's none. Instead, inside is a pair of black silk gloves, so smooth it melts in your palms – your mind immediately goes to Satoru and the glove he still holds hostage for you.

You don't think twice before telling Areta that this is what you’ll be wearing to tomorrow’s feast.

( you ought to thank satoru for this gift by wearing it, no? )

˚ ༘ *

The lights in the dining hall are dimmed perfectly to match the moonlight.

When you slip in from the adjacent corridor, greeting visiting nobles and residents of the palace court alike, a sense of nausea floods the pit of your stomach – what will Satoru say when he sees you? Will he like how the dress looks – or rather how you look in it?

Wait, why do you even care?

You’ve never really cared for these things— it must be the tea you had earlier. You nearly feel faint.

Darling reader,

it was in fact,

not the tea.

Your thoughts don't get the chance to linger very long, as the soft hum of music slows to a halt, and everyone begins journeying to their assigned seats.

Naturally, you fiddle with your gloves, not wanting to sit down at the second table yet.

One, it would be very impudent of a lady of your caliber to be seated without a proper escort by a gentleman.

And two, even though you did decline the few men who asked to escort you, you can't help the anxiety that floods your veins when you begin to realize that so many people are sitting already and you're not!

Sure, you're a Princess, but can't a girl be a little shy?

( not that you were waiting for satoru or anything of course. )

Devoted reader,

our protagonist

is in denial.

“It pains me to see such a beautiful lady left unaccompanied.” A voice flits past your ears, so close you can taste it on your tongue — incense, sandalwood.

( oh god, no. )

Your body turns in an instant, almost too quick, and your underskirts almost trip you as the weight sends you wobbling forward.

“Easy—” Suguru Geto’s arm darts out to curl around your waist, steadying you.

“You're here—” “You’re still clumsy—”

The both of you lock eyes at your shared unison of speech, then chuckle to yourselves.

You let your eyes wander over his features, how much he's grown over these past years.

He’s still as ethereal as the royal painters would describe. Prince Geto, the joy to paint, once in an era type beauty, born to be depicted in art, they’d say.

You don't doubt that.

“You look well,” you say. Suguru glances down at you and shakes his head, as if that is too much of a compliment for him to take. “No, honestly— I don't tease, you look very. . . stately.”

“Are you trying to call me old in a polite way, my lady?” He feigns offense, tilting his head to the side a little. You cover your mouth to laugh.

You don't miss the way his eyes linger on your gloves.

( oh, the gloves ! )

“Your highness,” leaves your mouth in a whisper, half teasing, half regal, and you give a brief curtsy, which he counters with a swift bow. “Would you do me the pleasure?” You grin, extending your hand to him.

Suguru — never Prince Geto, not to you at least — had been your solace, your comfort and your refuge.

The greatest friend you could have asked for in your youth.

“The pleasure is all mine.” Suguru whispers, taking your hand in earnest, escorting you over to the table and pulling your chair out for you — settling himself in the seat across from you, on the other side of the table.

( what a coincidence. )

˚ ༘ *

Time passes in waves.

People are whispering, no doubt. As they always do about you. No matter how hushed, you always hear them.

‘Look at the poor Princess consort, sitting beside an empty chair.’

‘You’d think she’d refer to herself as Lady now instead of Consort—’

‘To think even a Princess is not immune from such things. . .’

‘These things happen when you're sold off to a future King.’

“Bitter.”

Your head snaps up at the sound, dessert fork halting mid stab into your slice of cake.

Suguru’s eyes meet yours, as if he’d been looking at you the entire time, like he reads your thoughts as his own.

The people sitting at the table alongside you both fix their attention on him, the whispers halting.

“The cake,” he leans back in his chair, shrugging strands of his hair out of his face, looking down the length of the table at the spectators, nonchalant. “It's terribly bitter.”

You think you’d open your mouth to scold him a little, to not joke about what people say, royals should never engage in such petty gossip – but instead, you smile in gratitude.

( bitter. everybody's so bitter in this place. )

“That's quite unfortunate.” A familiar voice rings out, your fork sliding out of your hand to rest on the edge of your plate. “I hoped it would be rather sweet tonight.”

When you look over your shoulder, Satoru is already at your side, bending a knee and outstretching an open palm to you. “My Princess.”

He looks. . . disheveled.

Not completely out of order, it's something so small — so minute that only those who know him well would be able to point it out. From the crease of his vest to the shaky rasp in his voice—

And the woman in your peripheral stumbling back into the dining hall from the garden entrance on shaky legs. . .

( so that's what he was doing. )

“Your grace,” leaves your lips in a whisper and he kisses the back of your palm before sinking into his seat.

The way he presses his middle finger against his bottom lip like he’d been burned by the silk makes you raise an eyebrow. Does he not even have the common courtesy of pretending to like the gloves he gifted?

“I’m pleased you took time out of your busy schedule for us regular people.” Suguru chuckles, and Satoru’s mother, sitting near you all at the head table seems far from pleased.

“Well, a small act of kindness goes a long way.” Satoru parries and you force a smile, stabbing your dessert once more. “Especially for someone as regular as you, Prince Suguru.”

If you had initially thought this would be a quaint rekindling of an old childhood friendship, you never felt more wrong than in this moment — the air settles thick between you three.

“Isn't the future King Gojo just so kind?” Suguru addresses you, and you swallow, stifling your laugh.

“I pray for your marriage. . .” One of the Dukes seated at the table jests, to which you fiddle with the hem of your dress, the burgundy falling over your palms as a chorus of laughter ensues.

Marriage.

Suguru notices your gaze on him – or rather far away – and he smiles to snap you out of it. “Lady name?”

Just then Satoru’s hand reaches for yours under the table, halting your fiddling with the fabric, his grip steady and soft.

“Princess Consort.” Satoru interjects with a flat lipped smile, which could be perceived as kind, but to Suguru. . . “She changed titles.”

When was the last time someone called you by your name and not Princess consort? Always that. Not even Princess name.

“Pardon me,” you mumble beneath your breath, your grip on your dress going slack. You shrug your hand free from Satoru’s grip, abandoning your seat in an instant.

Satoru rises from his chair only four seconds afterward.

“Name—” he calls to you, following you out of the dining hall and down a vacant corridor.

Your footsteps evade him as he chases after you wide steps.

But he stops dead in his tracks when he hears you slam the door to an empty side room shut.

My dearest reader,

brace yourself for the

next publication.

Your kind author

bids you farewell.

[pr0cyon-lotor]

Au where the whole concept is "I will love you in every life" (Shen Yuan) x "I will find you every time" (Shen Jiu). And it'd be a 5 + 1 things style fic with it being like the five times Shen Yuan found Shen Jiu and the one time Shen Jiu found him.

The first life is Shen Yuan and Shen Jiu meeting as children, but because they're street urchins and Shen Yuan has a weak constitution, he dies during a winter because he was so focused on making sure Shen Jiu ate enough. That's when their promise of always finding each other begins.

The second life Shen Yuan was reborn as a dog within the streets. He follows Shen Jiu and Yue Qi. Shen Jiu is convinced it's the reincarnation of Shen Yuan, so they try to keep it around. When Shen Jiu is captured, Shen Yuan tries to save him and attacks one of the men, but ends up getting killed by one of the men.

The third life it was as a cat within the Qiu mansion probably as Qiu Haitang's cat. He stays with Shen Jiu often. He was disposed off after he scratched Qiu Jianluo's eye out while protecting Shen Jiu.

The fourth life was as a demonic beast. He followed Wu Yanzi and Shen Jiu. He would keep Shen Jiu safe within the shadows. Eventually, Wu Yanzi finds out about him and slays the demonic beast to sell its parts. (Maybe he forces Shen Jiu to do it, and Shen Yuan let's him. Y'know if you want the angst)

The fifth life Shen Yuan was a spiritual fox on Qing Jing. This one is the longest lasting form. He manages to stay with Shen Jiu all the way until he becomes a peak lord. Let's say the way this one ends is with Shen Yuan imploding his core to save Shen Jiu from a threat.

Except this time Shen Jiu refuses to let go of Shen Yuan's soul. He manages to capture it and preserve it. He was forced to do nothing as Shen Yuan sacrificed himself for him, this time he wasn't going to allow it.

Shen Yuan continues following Shen Jiu as a little spirit flame. Legends of the Qing Jing Peak Lord being haunted by someone start to circulate. A few of his martial siblings begrudgingly offer to exorcise the spirit allegedly following him. He shoots down every offer.

Shen Jiu manages to get a sun moon dew mushroom seed and helps to transfer Shen Yuan's energy to cultivate the plant body. Once the body grows, Shen Jiu tethers Shen Yuan's soul to it, and he plays the waiting game once again.

After years of waiting, finally Shen Yuan claws out of the ground. And he looks just like Shen Jiu would imagine him looking if he had a chance to grow into adulthood. He embraces Shen Yuan and says that maybe finally Shen Yuan won't disappear again. And Shen Yuan tells him that even so they'll find each other again.

Eventually, Shen Yuan is actually clothed and Shen Jiu demands for him to stay on his peak. Shen Yuan says something sarcastic about how he already was, but Shen Jiu continues and says that this time as his husband.

Shen Yuan obviously goes through every emotion possible, before indulging Shen Jiu and agreeing.

More rumors circulate after Shen Qingqiu returns with a completely random man that he claims is his husband. Mostly about how most likely his off peak short trips were to visit this man. Well the kids don't mind, their Shizun has been a lot less irritable, and their new Shen-laoshi is actually pretty chill.

[kithtaehyung]

minted (m) (snippet) | myg

title: minted (m) pairing: street king!yoongi x street cart vendor!reader rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , smut ; haegeum au , gang au summary: all you do is wake up, sell your fruit on the dusty streets below your flat, and go to sleep. but everything changes when a customer you always look forward to seeing turns out to be dangerous. really, really dangerous. note: again, this wasn't on the docket for 2024 until i saw one (1) mint yoongi edit on my pinterest feed💀 anyways, this is dedicated to hali @sailoryooons for ur belated bday, nary @joonary for being a cutie pie and letting me adopt the tangerine cart girl idea in general, and luce @minttangerines for ur url and for being a wonderful friend. love you all! warnings: language, violence, weapons (guns/knives/chopsticks/etc.), blood/wounds mentions, drugs, alcohol, murder, gang activity, poor reader is just trying to get through the day, mint!yoongi, haegeum!yoongi, tatted!yoongi, his eyebrow is pierced, knife held to the throat, tension, reader suffers from “my cabbages” levels of disaster, orange!jimin, fight scenes, both versions of yoongi have their own red warning labels smut warnings: to be dropped on drop day but lmfaoooo est. drop date: july 2024! teaser word count: 486 total word count: projecting 15-20k✌️

With a head full of thoughts, you stare into nothing, stirring your noodles and waiting for the heat to die down. 

Maybe you should’ve just walked a shorter distance and checked the shops you originally wanted to browse. If things went to plan, you could’ve been back home by now, freshly showered and curling up on your worn bed. 

But instead, your feet are sore, your head is anything but washed, and you have to trek home empty-handed—on the first day off you’ve had in months. 

Defeated, you sigh, going back to your bowl and watching diced vegetables swirl in aromatic broth. 

At least the food in this area seems good. And the fading decor really adds to the… 

Ambiance. 

Wait. 

You can’t pull your eyes away from the group walking in, bringing heat from the sweltering sun on their clothes and in their eyes. 

But you can only kid yourself for so long because the one that has your gaze tethered is the man in front. The one you haven’t seen in weeks. The one looking right back at you with a visage so shadowed you feel like moving tables to let him pass. 

…Yoongi? 

As he gets closer, you swallow hard, not expecting to see him and having no earthly idea what to do. 

But from the slight confusion pinching his forehead, he didn’t expect to see you, either. Which makes it even weirder when he slowly takes your chopsticks right from your fingers. 

Hold on, what—

“What are you—”

A lone, long digit over lips is the only response you get, silencing you immediately before you whip your head around to watch him rush past. 

All of them waste no time rushing up the stairs, a myriad of blues blending in with gritty paint and smoke. 

And just like that, your reunion is over. 

Home. You need to go home. Leave, leave, leave, because something is bound to be going down upstai—

A thud faintly shoots out into the staircase, and you spin around again in your chair, eyes snapping to the ceiling. 

Shit. 

Even though you’re on high alert, you realize with a quick sweep that no one else is noticing. Or moving. Or even paying attention to anything else but their own company. 

Does no one else care about the commotion? Do hits happen in this area that often? 

Mind running, you can’t decide what to do. Because even though Yoongi’s guys have plenty of weapons, he clearly had nothing since he needed to borrow your damn eating utensils.

Another crash rains dust on conversations around your shoulders, causing you to look up one last time. 

Go home, go home, go home. In what universe would Yoongi himself ever need your help here?

With one more look at your noodles, you curl your lips before biting a side. 

Already yelling at yourself for choosing to book it towards the back staircase.

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tbc :)))

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