#ALREADY REARRANGED MY ENTIRE LIFE AROUND THIS PICTURE

[stormyoceans]

THIS IS NOW MY LOCKSCREEN MY HOME SCREEN MY LAPTOP BACKGROUND IT'S BURNED INTO MY RETINAS IT LIVES IN MY SOUL

[lil-oreo-cookie]

(LINK TO THE DIRECTORY)

Hello Hello mutuals, followers, and fellow fans of Star vs the Forces of Evil!

There isn’t much to add other than what I’ve already put in the pictures.

As a Writing Major, this path feels right for me to hone my skills and improve as a creative. Although it’s not the creative direction I’ve had for my AU all these years, it feels right for me and who I am now. I hope you all aren’t too disappointed, upset, let down, or betrayed by this decision. I was just as excited as you to see this project be successful in its intended medium, but life and shit happens.

Is there an intended release date? Not as of yet. First drafts will be done as able until first quarter ends and more consistently throughout winter break. I hope to get the first chapters out by next year, considering I’ll be going through the entire writing process (multiple drafts with editors/proofreaders and beta readers) and creating art pieces for each chapter. But trust me. This will be faster

What will happen to the comic? The comic will be kept up on my Tumblr blog (although the timeline will be rearranged) but I will be archiving them from Instagram once chapters start being released.

I hope you all stick around to see this leg of my creative journey. I love you all SO much!!

(If you have any questions feel free to ask my inbox or in the comments)

[radiowallet]

Home

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x Marcus Moreno Summary: Dieter takes Marcus to a party in the valley. WC: 4.5K Warnings: 18+ MDNI Sexual content. Exclusive M/M dynamics. Written in third-person POV, male protagonists. Anal sex, dirty talk, kissing, cum play, semi-public sex. Small angsty moments. Yearning. So much yearning. AU Marcus Moreno (no wife, no Missy). A lot of purple prose and waxing poetic.

A/N: Hi, hello, it's been a very very long time since I've shared any writing here. I don't have any good excuses other than real-life stressors, mental health and anxiety, and the overall stress of being on Tumblr really really got to me. I'm trying to ease my way back in. Slowly. I've really enjoyed catching up on all the amazing fics you guys have been writing. Thank you to everyone, still here or otherwise. Even when I was off dealing with irl stuff, I could feel the support.

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For any new writing follow @radiowallet-writes and turn on notifications.

Marcus chewed at his nail bed, surveying the house from the backseat of his Uber. It was hardly the first time he’d pulled up to the Sherman Oaks home. He was comfortable with the routine at this point. Tapping in the code for the front gate with practiced ease. The same one Dieter had scribbled onto the back page of a forgotten script after that first night together in New York City, his cell ringing incessantly from his back pocket, a car waiting down the curb to whisk him away. Marcus swore he could still taste the mint and menthol on the actor’s breath when he stepped in close and pressed the paper into his hands, kissing him until his toes curled. 

“Please say you’ll come visit.”

After that, it had been one strategically planned visit after the other. Marcus was almost mathematical in his process, arranging flights out west around his patrol schedule, switching shifts, and taking on extra duties just to rationalize the time away. Burning the candle at both ends but not caring even in the slightest, happy to run his tank on empty. He’d drive all fucking night if it meant more time with Dieter. 

So he took to the task with a vigilant level of focus, texting details and arrival times, the actor responding with a barrage of emojis, always ending with a heart. 

Marcus liked the way the little pixelated picture made his stomach flip.

Once together, it became less of a routine and more of a dance, the two of them falling into an easy rhythm that Marcus had no desire to predict. They would lose themselves in each other, wrapping tightly around the other, the heat impossible to turn away from. There were late nights and early mornings, the color of the sun replacing the hours on the clock. Sometimes, he would give up on sleep all together, content to match the actor’s eccentricities, watching Dieter move from room to room, minute to minute, until the other man would return to his arms. 

But as each visit came to a close, Marcus would find himself falling back on easy habits, his mind already making plans and rearranging schedules, focusing on that instead of the overbearing weight of goodbye. 

In the middle of one farewell, Dieter had grinned and nipped at his bottom lip, a tease curling around the curve of his cheek. 

“Don’t worry so much about the vigilante shit, sweet boy. You’re welcome anytime.”

Marcus had frowned at that, but Dieter was unfazed, humming an off-key pop song under his breath before giving one more piece of advice. 

Be spontaneous. 

Marcus had gnawed on those two words the entire plane ride home, the concept both enticing and diabolical at once. He imagined all the ways he would have spoiled Dieter if they lived in the same zip code. Spur of the moment cups of coffee, flowers just because, nights in and out and everything in between. But even those daydreams felt out of reach, Marcus unable to let go of the need to control everything. Everything. Everything that he possibly could. 

Except Deiter Bravo. 

The actor was bound for overseas, a six-month shoot looming ahead, lonely and large. They had spent the weekend before much the same way they had any other. Twisted together, sweat and cum and lips and hands pressed into bare skin, ignoring the ticking of traitorous time. Cruel miles were taking the other man away from him, and Marcus couldn’t stop the swell of jealous fear flaring inside his heart. 

Would he even be missed when the whole luminous, wonderful, exciting world was waiting for Dieter on the other side of the tarmac? 

A deep cough from the front seat dragged him back to the present, and before he could second guess himself again, Marcus climbed out of the car, tapping out five stars with one hand and grabbing his overnight bag with the other. He hesitated, just the smallest moment of debate, before he knocked, three sharp raps on the large black door. There was a shout from inside, Dee’s voice alerting someone he would get it, a breath and a curse as the lock was fiddled with, and then they were standing face to face after only 39 hours apart. 

Dieter seemed shocked to see him and he didn't bother hiding it, his jaw dropping in time with his arms, the shirt he had been buttoning hanging open to reveal his bare chest. Marcus couldn’t help but steal a glance of tan skin and a soft belly, licking his lips in anticipation. When Dee called his attention back up, the other man was smiling wide. 

“This is…”

“A surprise?”

“A great fucking surprise.” 

It was almost a blur after that. Fumbling hands and broken laughter as they came together in a messy kiss. They managed to make it up the stairs and down the hall, Dieter’s bed barely breaking their fall. 

Marcus wanted to take his time, should have been taking his time, but Dieter’s voice was in his ear, thanking him — thanking him? — for showing up tonight. Thanking him and begging him and pressing salt-slicked lips into the curve of his neck. And before he could breathe the other man in, savor the moment that was coming out of nowhere, they stripped away each and every layer, Dieter panting beneath the hurried press of Marcus’s fingers deep inside. 

Sooner rather than later, Marcus was sliding into the other man one final time, their hips flush and their fingers laced. He came with a groan, face buried into the dip of Dieter’s neck, while the actor sunk his teeth into his shoulder, the pleasure burning away into the edges of pain. Only after they both found their breath, bodies pliant and limbs loose, did Marcus find his voice. 

“Do you want to order in?”

Dieter didn’t say anything and Marcus craned his neck up to peek past the other man’s chin and catch a glimpse of him worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. 

“Did you already eat? Because that’s okay.”

“No…,” he started, fingers tracing a line of muscle from the top of his shoulder and back around, lingering along the teeth marks he left there only minutes earlier. “I haven’t eaten. I…there’s this thing I have to….well, not have to. I was getting ready for it when you knocked—“

“Dee?”

“There’s a party,” he finally blurted out, eyes finding the swing of the ceiling fan above, a grimace pulling his lips into a jagged line, a deep shade of pink settling on his cheeks. 

Marcus leaned up on his elbow, watching the small battle of wills dragging across Dieter’s face. He thought maybe he should try to comfort the other man but he was suddenly anxious, those creeping realities working their way up his spine. 

“A party?”

“Yeah, it’s sort of this farewell thing my friends are throwing,” he explained, not needing to. “Really, just an excuse to get blitzed.” 

The lack of eye contact suddenly made much more sense. 

“You wanted to go.”

It wasn’t a question. 

Dieter was up and over him in a flash, one large hand bending around Marcus’s jaw, thumb pressing the seam of his lips shut. “I didn’t want to be alone.” 

Marcus pursed his lips, the pad of Dieter’s thumb still pressing firm. He felt the callous from where Dee cheated his paintbrush, a perfect spot to push a kiss before pulling away. 

“You want to go.”  

Dieter searched his face, eyes wide and cheeks flushed, trying to pull apart the determined set of Marcus’s jaw. When he came up empty-handed, he fell back to his elbows with an exaggerated sigh, one large hand still cupping the cut of the hero’s cheekbone, keeping his thumb close enough to touch. 

“I want to go with you.” 

———————

Marcus smiled from where he was leaning against the doorway, watching Dieter rummage through his ridiculously sized closet, a string of muttered musings leaving him as he pulled item after item off of hangers. The Heroic had slipped back into his jeans and t-shirt once the decision had been made that they would attend the party together, not really packing (or owning) anything that fit the L.A. scene. 

He was two steps towards the bathroom, intent on fixing his messy hair when Dee stopped him with a strong grip on his elbow. 

“Leave it,” he teased, a quick kiss pressed to his lips, fingers tugging at one of the sweat-slicked curls. 

Now he was standing behind him, sliding a stone-washed jean jacket up one arm and then the other, one more kiss, this time gifted to the back of his neck. The jacket hangs a bit loose around him, Marcus guessing a mix between the cut and style, and Dieter’s broader frame both at play. He couldn’t help himself, tugging the collar to his nose and inhaling deeply, the smell of weed and cologne and something subtle sweet filling his lungs. 

He felt Dieter’s eyes, watching him carefully in the reflection of the mirror, his hands finding the dip of his waist beneath the bulky fabric, gripping hard then soft, one, two, three times. Marcus took in the pair of them — sex-mussed hair and bright blush on him, wild eyes, and a teasing smile on Dieter — and he suddenly had no desire to go to this party. Any party. 

No. 

All he wanted was for Dieter to pull this jacket off the same way he had so easily slipped it on, and drag him back down to the safety of the mattress. 

“Come on, sweet boy,” he hummed, the hook of his nose tracing the shell of Marcus’s ear. “Sooner we get there, sooner I get to take you home.”

The word followed Marcus down the stairs and out to the car, his stomach flipping each time he let the meaning of it roll around inside his head.

Home?

———————

Driving in L.A. was an experience in and of itself. Marcus had made his own attempts, managing to find a rhythm in the few times he had been sent out to the west coast on assignment. It wasn’t much different than driving in any other city, as long as you were prepared to sit in what felt like endless hours of traffic. Of course, Marcus had the pleasure of abusing side streets and off-ramps when it came down to emergency situations. 

Driving with Dieter behind the wheel was a different experience altogether. He seemed unfettered by speed limits or traffic lights, one hand on the wheel, the other wrapped around Marcus’s knee, singing along to the song on the radio but only getting about half the words right. If not for his powers and years of honing his reflexes, Marcus would have maybe suggested he do the driving when he was in town. 

As it was, it was nice to settle into the plush leather seat and listen to Dieter’s slightly off-key voice, his hand squeezing Marcus’s knee in time with the beat of the music. He leaned back and closed his eyes, weighing the risk of asking Dieter to just keep driving. Maybe if they kept going, all night and all day, they could avoid the inevitable goodbyes looming in the distance.

———————

The last time Marcus and Dieter had been at a party together, they had only ever heard of each other, recognizing names and faces from newspapers and movie screens. They didn’t know any different than what was said in headlines or plastered on billboards, rumors and hearsay coloring in their opinions of one another. How many assumptions had Marcus made about the actor upon that first meeting? That he was pompous. Self-centered. Selfish. An addict. An asshole. A monster. 

Or maybe Marcus was afraid that was how Dieter saw him. 

The monster in the night. The shadow that lurked in the corner. Fighting away the evils of the world, the palms of his hands so very dirty with blood and secrets and violence. Living in the between of good and bad and never knowing where he really stood.

But when their eyes met across that darkened alley, only the glow of Dieter’s cigarette casting shadows between them, those half-truths and packaged lies that Marcus took for granted started to fall away. Somewhere between their small secrets and one smokey kiss goodnight, he started to learn who Dieter Bravo really was. 

This party was different in so many ways than that first elegant affair. Gone was the light classical music, replaced with something loud, a heavy bass and fast lyrics. Bowls of chips instead of passed trays. Stiff black and white was traded in for soft denim, Dieter’s scent surrounding Marcus from room to room. They entered the party together, no longer separate, no longer strangers, and instead more.

So much more.

Dieter’s arm was wrapped around Marcus’s waist, holding him close by his side as they navigated the packed mansion. The crowd parted around them, little waves of people ebbing and flowing to make room for the two men, boisterous cheers of joy raining down upon them. Dieter preened beneath the attention, his smile wide and his cheeks warm, the hand wrapped around Marcus’s waist squeezing hard to grab the Heroic’s attention. 

“They like to make a fuss,” he hummed into Marcus’s ear. 

He couldn’t help but cock his own grin back, turning his head just enough to brush his lips along the shell of Dieter’s ear, delighting in the shiver that followed. “I think you like the fuss.” 

———————

They get separated about an hour in, an inevitability between the number of people vying for Dieter’s attention and the sheer size of the house. Marcus excused himself to the bathroom, trying and failing not to be annoyed when the first empty one he found was on the opposite end of the party. By the time he made it back to where he left Dieter, the other man had moved, now sitting on a couch, friends and fans alike draped around him. 

There was something strange about watching Dieter Bravo in what some would consider his natural habitat. He was bright and shiny and impossible to look away from. He almost looked relaxed, his arms thrown over the back of the sofa and his legs stretched out long, only the tap tap tap of his heel giving him away.

Marcus wanted to insert himself. To crowd himself beside the other man and press his palm to the bend of his knee in hopes of soothing away the small tremor of anxiety, but he hesitated, his own worries holding him in place. So he stayed where he was, back glued to the wall, arms crossed and frown firm, as he tried to decipher the scene playing out in front of him. 

Was Dieter’s laugh real just then? Or was the one Marcus had teased out of him hours prior? The sounds seemed so similar, a copy of a copy that looked and felt and sounded real. Were his cheeks pink because he preferred their attention over Marcus’s? Or was it because this room was too damn hot? What did it mean when Dieter touched her knee? Or kissed his cheek? Or leaned a little bit more into their touch? 

And why did Marcus care? 

He didn’t consider himself a jealous man. 

But it almost felt inevitable, the dark tendrils of jealousy seemingly always present, ever since that fateful moment in the alleyway, smoke and secrets traded away for unspoken promises for more. Marcus clenched his jaw and narrowed his eyes, watching the other man glow beneath the attention of others. Was it merely a reflection back of the attention poured upon him? The mirrors of a disco ball catching in the light and shining for the delight of others? Or was Dieter just enjoying another moment in the limelight? 

Marcus couldn’t seem to see the line between real and fake, or what side he stood on. 

Someone handed him a drink in the midst of his brooding, and the sting of the alcohol paired well with his bitter mood. He was trapped in a hell of his own making, refusing to look away from the crowd gathered around Dieter, but hating every second of it. 

The jealousy burned inside of him. What had just been something dark mingling in the background was now present and in full force. Marcus was jealous. Jealous at how effortlessly Dieter lived his life, able to navigate crowds and fame and fervor without ever breaking a sweat. Jealous at how his smile seemed just as bright as it had when he opened his door hours earlier. Jealous at how someone else held the attention of his sweet brown eyes. 

And suddenly there was fear. Icy cold and horrifying reality. 

Marcus didn’t belong here. Here with these pretty people and their clean lines and bright lights. He was messy edges and dirty hands, stained with years of violence that would never scrub clean. There was dirt on his ledger and red on his chest, and Dieter was beautiful. So very very beautiful.

Another wave of panic gripped tight at Marcus’s throat. 

When was the last time he told Dieter he was beautiful? Yesterday? Or the day before that? Either way, it wasn’t enough. Not nearly. And he couldn’t fathom a world where he lost the chance to say it again. 

He couldn’t lose this. He couldn’t lose him. 

The lights above them flickered, an unwelcome side effect of his superpowers, Marcus’s unruly emotions too much to handle all at once. It was just enough to drag everyone’s attention up, stealing their eyes away from Dieter, but only briefly. The actor caught his gaze in the small interim, brows pinched and lips curved, his sharp mind putting the puzzle together. Marcus blushed beneath the scrutiny, feeling very much like a child caught in the midst of a crime. He slammed the cup down on the nearest surface he could find and shoved his dirty hands in the pockets of Dieter’s jacket, and turned away, the lights flickering one last time as he made a quick and embarrassing exit. 

From behind he could hear the shout of a stranger.

“Hey, Dee where’s your boyfriend headed?”

Marcus was so focused on the fact that someone else called him ‘Dee’ that he missed the way Dieter's eyes lit up at the word boyfriend.

The bathroom he had found earlier was blissfully empty, and he took care to lock the door behind him. He braced himself against the sink, the cool porcelain a balm to the heat of his palms, breathing in and out, sharp and fast, to match the beat of his heart. A knock came seconds later, Dieter’s voice chasing the sound. 

“Let me in, Marcus.”

It didn’t sound like a request.

Marcus unlocked the door with a flick of his wrist, and the actor slipped in, eyes pinning him in place as he locked the door behind him. For a moment both of them refused to speak, 2 feet of space between them, and enough silence to last a lifetime. It was Dieter who finally broke the tension, stepping forward until Marcus was within his reach, the palm of his hand cupping his cheek to keep him close.

“Flattered as I am, I can’t decide if I like jealous on you or not.” 

Marcus knew it was foolish to lie at this point. If his fucking superpowers hadn’t given him away, then storming off surely had, and any denial would have rung hollow. Besides, they had promised. Months ago, in an opulent hotel room, cum and sweat sticking them together. They promised to always be honest with each other. 

“I don’t belong here, Dee.”

“Shut up.” The sentiment came out as a tease, the tip of Dieter’s thumb tracing the stubble along Marcus’s cheek, but the look on his face was serious. 

Marcus shook his head, unsure how to say what had seemed so clear to him only minutes ago. “I’m not…I’m not g–”

“I swear to fucking all, if you say the word ‘good,’ Moreno.”

His mouth clamped shut, and he smiled for the first time since he left Dieter’s side earlier in the night. The other man yanked him in for a quick kiss, only pulling a breath away when he spoke again.

“You are better than all of us, sweet boy. Please tell me you know that?”

Marcus wanted to shake his head in disagreement, the very idea that Dieter saw the good in him too much to bear, but the actor was already kissing him again, lips slanting sweetly along his own. When they broke apart for the second time, Dieter said it again, and then again, each time pairing a kiss with his words. Marcus thought maybe he would have kissed him a hundred times and then a hundred more, praise and adoration passed between them until the inevitable end of time caught up. 

But then Dieter crowded in closer, kissing him with much more fervor, his intent clear. Hands scrambled as belts were tugged free and pants were pulled down, bodies twisting until Marcus was plastered to Dieter’s back. He slipped inside the broader man easily, still slick with his release from earlier. Dieter whined at the stretch, pressing back into Marcus, fingers curling around the edge of the bathroom counter as he began to beg. 

“Hard, baby. Please.”

Marcus nipped at Dieter’s ear, refusing to move, the entire length of him buried to the hilt inside him. “How hard?” 

“Hard,” Dieter begged again, squirming in Marcus’s tight grip. “Hard as you can. Need to feel you. F-feel so good.”

It was an intoxicating rush, reducing Dieter Bravo to stumbling pleas and wanton moans, and Marcus swore as long as he was able to pull air into his lungs he refused to take that feeling for granted. He pressed a soft kiss to Dieter’s skin and gently nudged his nose to the back of his head, coaxing his gaze up to meet Marcus’s in the mirror. 

He dragged his hand up Dieter’s chest, stopping to feel the steady thump of his heart, one, two, three beats, before moving up to wrap his fingers around the other man’s throat. He whined again, writhing to and fro, the sound more pitiful with each passing second that Marcus refused to move. 

“I’ve got you, mi cielo. I’ve got you,” he hummed the promise, pressing another kiss to Dieter’s sweat-damp curls. He squeezed the actor’s throat again, watching as his cock seemed to pulse in time with the action. He bit back his own groan, his own cock painfully hard where he was buried inside the other man. 

“M-marcus…please…”

When he finally moved, it was slow, almost torturous for the both of them, but Marcus refused to be rushed. Not this time. Fuck any and everyone who dared to knock on that door. That dared to interrupt them. That dared to break between this moment. He pulled the other man closer, one arm wrapped around his waist, the other still gripping tight to his throat. Dieter’s hands were still scrambling, designer soaps and over-priced products falling to the floor as he seeked some sort of leverage. He finally found it, stonewashed denim bunching between his fingers as he dug them into Marcus’s forearms.

And only then did Marcus give into his request, snapping his hips as hard as he could, teeth sinking into the curve of Dieter’s neck. There would be bruises, bad ones, but he couldn’t bring himself to care, too overwhelmed at the thought of marking the other man as his own. Dieter didn’t seem to mind either, begging Marcus again and again to give him everything he had. 

“Want to feel it,” he sobbed, the pleasure just on the other side of pain. “Want to feel you when I’m gone. Please.” 

“You will, baby. I promise,” Marcus growled. “You’ll feel me for days. You won’t forget me. P-please… don’t forget me.” 

The admission fell out of Marcus before he could stop it, along with his own broken sobs to match. The pain and tears burst to life, the broken pieces he had hidden all over his body finding new life as he begged Dieter to take it all with him. Each slam of his hips and bruising touch of his hands. Every bite from his teeth and kiss from his lips. The words and the promises and the things neither of them knew how to say but felt all the same. 

“Take me with you, Dee. Please, take me with you.” 

“I will, sweet boy,” he gasped, his body shaking beneath Marcus’s anguished hands. “Sweet boy. Good boy. I promise.”  

Dieter came first, though Marcus wasn’t sure how, his sobs and sighs of pleasure long past any sort of coherence. His cock twitched and pulsed, coming completely untouched. Marcus watched Dieter’s face break apart in the reflection of the mirror, his brown eyes wild and skin flushed, lips parting around a feral scream. 

Marcus fell apart in kind, sparks of heat bursting at the base of his spine as tight velvet squeezed around him, Dieter’s voice in his ear, his jacket sticking to his skin. He spilled inside the other man, tears and spit and snot pressed into Dieter’s neck, little words of praise coaxing him through the brunt of it. Eventually, the tears turned to laughter, the two of them clinging tighter as they made guesses at how many people heard them.

“Either way, I hope they enjoyed the show because I sure did,” Dieter teased, nipping his teeth on the hinge of Marcus’s jaw. 

They did a piss poor job of cleaning up, Dee’s cum barely wiped clean from the porcelain with a towel found below the counter, too high a thread count for something so filthy but neither man really gave two shits to look for an alternative. The products were tossed haphazardly into the sink, the idea of stacking them neatly ridiculous. They both agreed; you get what you ask for when you throw a party in the valley. 

Marcus took better care when it came time to clean Dieter up. He warmed up the water from the sink as best he could, using that same fancy towel from before to wipe up the trickle of cum slipping slowly down his backside. He couldn’t stop from stealing one small indulgence, using his thumb to press some of himself back inside the other man, Dieter’s legs visibly shaking from the sudden stimulation. Marcus shushed him with a soft kiss to one of the many bite marks littered across his neck, humming out a quiet apology.

“Do they hurt?”

“They do,” Dieter grinned, tilting his chin to admire the marks as he tugged his jeans up over the swell of his ass. “I’m gonna need a few more before I get on that plane tomorrow.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mmmm, definitely.” 

Dieter pressed something hard into Marcus’s hand and when he looked down he could see it was his car keys, the silver teeth catching in the light. 

“Take me home, sweet boy. I have plans for you.”

There was that word again, breathed out so easily, like a promise he knew he would keep. 

Home. 

[salad-006]

I know you already gave us your thoughts about Eddsworld Legacy, but what do you think about Eddsworld Beyond for now?

To be completely honest, I'm really on the fence with beyond. They're in like this weird fluctuating state, and to me that comes off like them not knowing what they're doing

Sometimes we'll get something hilarious, but more often than not beyond feels awkard and rushed. Stilted is the best word i think. (I'm also just really not a fan of jons animation for the show, which doesn't help at all. His EW style has always felt extremely flat to me ,sorry jon)

More options down below vv

Stuff usually feel unfinished or rushed somehow , ex surf n turf. Part one was probably the most uncomfortable episodes we've gotten so far. you could've easily rearranged things so that the intro of them arriving at the beach was at the beginning of part two, and have it be a single episode. It feels like filler before the actual plot starts next episode

It kinda feels like they're trying to imitate every aspect of Edds work, and it's giving me like. Skinwalker vibes. I get it, Edd made little short animtions with random new characters occasionally. But when a full team makes one with a new character, ties an ad read to it, then never touches that character again, it feels confusing and out of place. IDK i just feel like you loose that ability to just make whatever you want when you put together a team, even if its a small indie group. Maybe im wrong there but the point is i thouht the birds and the bees was dumb

I'll keep my option on the team brief. I don't hate anyone on the team nor do i think any of them are Bad People, but there's definitely been a lot of questionable behavior that has come from these guys. Example, I've always been offput by their relationship with Tord’s characters. In the website they put this:

Yet consistently tease the fans with his existence (ex the caveman episode, tori being canonized, his picture clearly torn out in SnT1, having an entire month of tord merch) Either address the situation or don't, guys. You can't sarcastically be like "oh get over it" when YOU'RE the ones that keep bringing him back. You didn't even answer the question dude, no wonder so many kids beg for his return

I guess I can't be THAT pissed when the money all went to charity, but it still just feels inherently weird and disrespectful to merchandise this character after his creator removed him nearly 15 years ago. Atleast Tomska allegedly asked permission and had good intentions. This feels like they (beyond) just don't give a fuck. If any team members are reading this I'm BEGGING YOU: STOP LETTING THEM BRING BACK TORD . THEY CANT KEEP GETTING AWAY WITH IT . Tord Larsson deserves to be left alone, and to stop getting connected to this show in his past.

Despite everything, I still want to support the team. I'll be honest, SnT2 gave me hope for the series I haven't had in quite a while. It wasn't the greatest, but it was a step upwards. And I'd love to see them keep going up ! Genuinely, I would love nothing more than to see these guys succeed in recreating what made the show good initially. Eddsworld changed my life, so really its incredible to see it still kicking around today. Even if it's in this weird, amorphous glob state. They just need to figure out what the hell they're doing

TLDR: the current state of the show is kinda rough, the team feels discombobulated and has made some weird decisions, however I still have hope that they can make this into something amazing someday

[gogodollie]

Throws everything against the wall with my brain. Have this unfinished Valentine’s day fic in the middle of September because I thought about Sister Imperator receiving flowers and felt sick to my stomach.

///////

Another morning, another rush. At least, in Papa’s case it’s yet another rush. Sister had woken up before dawn as usual to get a roll on her daily routine- pray, body shower, undo the curlers that have already begun frizzing from the humidity seeping into the house, and iron her habit for the second time to ensure it’s up to par.

She now sits at the island counter of their kitchen and cards through the mess of complaints, bills, and sloppily annotated sermon notes that had collected on her work desk the night prior. As Imperator waits for her lover, she’s able to lazily peruse and fit together a picture of what her day will look like. Speak to Sister Beatrice about the greenery budget. Collect the ghouls for post-ritual cleanup duty. Tell Psaltarian to harass Nihil into reading his father’s old sermons (or for Christ’s sake put him into Sunday classes with the ministry children).

The white noise of the shower disappears and the comfortable sound of footsteps padding about the tile, Act II of Papa’s morning routine commences. Echoes of drawers being opened and closed, one thin black comb being tossed to the side, deodorant falling onto the floor and then set back on the left side of the sink. Imperator has memorized this all by now and she sits on that knowledge for a moment, on the domesticity she’s fallen into with only a little over a month spent in her newlywed state.

Since the birth and the following marriage of and to her very own Papa Emeritus Nihil, things had moved so fast that she hardly had time to have a second thought. Impromptu wedding, collect his belongings, have the new Papa ordained, move to the hills. Nothing too crazy, right? To Nihil’s credit, she had to say that the past month had to have been the best of her life. Or at least, that’s what the constant flood of endorphins and adrenaline told her. Being around him was a high of its own and one she was planning to ride on the rest of her life. Though they’d been wed in only hours of knowing one another, she felt in her soul that she’d known him an entire lifetime. Satan had never led her astray before and she believed that the blessing of the union from their very own dark lord was all she needed to know that as long as Papa was beside her, the rest would fall into place.

Finally out of the bathroom, she can see the man run to the front door to retrieve his shoes as usual but he stops abruptly before he can grab them. Nihil trips over himself as he backtracks, stumbling into the hallway pantry for a moment and she listens to him rearrange the old cans of food and coffee tins (one with their emergency cash and the other with the only coffee she would bother drinking, imported specially and with a hefty price tag to show for it). He peaks around the corner to ensure that she’s still at her spot and clears his throat for attention. And used to the theatrics but in a way that brought comfort rather than annoyance, she straightens up and raises a brow to signify get on with the show. The sister is presented with a blur of browns, reds, and purples in a hurry that feels uniquely Nihil.

“I got these for you,” he pushes the bundle towards her, still sounding winded from his rush to get ready. “I know the church does their own… thing for Valentine’s Day but I felt weird not getting you something.”

The church thing just so happens to be an orgy and only a month into marriage, a month into the ministry, and a month as the damned anti-pope Nihil couldn’t find the words to say: Well I felt that maybe fucking you in front of all of your peers is a little much (and a little on the nose, come on satanists) so I thought that these stupidly expensive flowers would do. It’s not some good old-fashioned exhibitionism but give me another month and maybe I’ll be ready to give orgies a go.

Imperator is completely expressionless as she looks down at the bouquet he holds out. Her hands are limp in her lap and she makes no move to grab the gift, stares at it like it’s some sort of threat she hasn’t figured out yet. The flowers are limp against the butcher paper they’ve been wrapped in, their petals beginning to unfold and colors dampened from the moisture.

She’s twenty-four and has never received flowers before. The sister can’t say that she’s ever had any desire to be properly courted nor has she ever expected it of anyone she’s been with, including her husband-pope who seems to be even more of a romantic than she’d assumed of him.

He catches her stare and sheepishly looks up to apologize, “I swear they looked nicer when I bought them, I thought they’d be fine overnight- here I can probably get the florist to swap them out.”

It’s only been a month or so since Nihil had joined their church but she can’t help but notice just how much he’s changed in the short time he’s been here. Black hair has begun curling around the tips of his ears and the back of his head seems more like a mop now, weighed down against his neck where it begins to brush against his shoulders. She had offhandedly made a suggestion about him growing it out in order to blend into the ministry a bit more, something to distract from his sweet doe eyes and pure white chasuble. He’ll always be her perfect lamb to the slaughter though.

“No!” She’s quick to pull the bundle close against her and shoots him a stern look. “They’re fine,” comes and goes her blunt explanation, “thank you.” Imperator can’t help but let a glimpse of the smile that she’s been biting back shine through, throat swollen as she holds the bundle with both arms against her chest like it’ll be lost to her if she even considers being away from it. The sister slides from her barstool and stands on the tips of her toes to kiss Nihil gently below his chin, lipstick stain less noticeable to the unsuspecting eye against the white paints.

The man is a bit hesitant about her decision to keep the pathetic-looking gift but knows better than to question her at this point. If she wants wilted flowers, then wilted flowers she’ll have.

[god-entity]

Hello to friends and followers! Sorry for no new original art (and sorry about the creepypasta pride art that I never posted.... I'm working on it I swear)

I got a full time job that honestly is really nice (but also stressful because it's a new building I'm unfamiliar with,, but I know the job so it's not as bad) but I'm also currently, as of typing this, rearranging my entire bedroom to get rid of furniture.

You see, I have 3 cats and a dog. 2 of those cats are actually mine and unfortunately have to stay in my bedroom with me because they're aggressive to other animals (but thankfully not to people). They've got litterboxes and food and water and plenty of vertical space to jump on, and I make sure I spoil them daily when I can. But my bedroom is small and some of the furniture straight up isn't mine. So I'm working on moving some things around! Like a little apartment that doesn't have plumbing. ((I live with other family, so I do have actual plumbing in the house)). If y'all would like, I can post after pictures! Unfortunately no before pics because I've already started moving shit around LMAO

TLDR; new art soon I promise!! Just life things.

Oh also! My birthday is in a few weeks!

[phoenix-of-jade]

Kibum liked to think of himself as the type of person who would always jump right into action if needed. He couldn't stand seeing injustice, not when it was happing right before his eyes. Even it it meant losing, he would still not simply stand there and look as if it was not happening. Besides, children were the most exposed to harm in this world. He witnessed many times bad things happening in public spaces when he was just a child, yet people people would simply pass by. That's when he promised that he would not grow up to be like those people.

"No worries, kiddo" he smiled reassuringly, playfully ruffling his black hair. "Oh, that's not a good philosophy in life, though. Just because you know someone's name that doesn't mean they're automatically your friend. So don't apply that in all cases, alright, Xuan? My name is Kibum" he grinned and grabbed the backpack, keeping it hanging off his right shoulder. "You never had crepes before?" he asked and looked around in hope they will see a crepes stand in their way and luckily there was one. "Do you mean that one right there? Is that the one you saw prior to losing your friends?" that was a good start. "Sure, we can have crepes, though" he completely agreed, the kid was probably hungry and Kibum was also in the mood for a sweet treat himself. "Which one of the exposed presentation pictures looks more delicious?"

Xuan glares slightly at him when the older male ruffles his hair, quickly going on to rearrange the now messed up strands of his neatly brushed bangs. For such a young kid, he seemed really preoccupied and careful about his appearance, at least that's what could be drawn from this. "I know, that's why I didn't say we were friends. All I did was note that we wouldn't really be strangers anymore now that we know each other's name." Xuan notes calmly, and continues walking unphased. "Pleased to meet you, Kibum." At least his manner of talking was entirely disrespectful.

The question regarding the crepes earns Kibum a head shake from the boy. "No. This is the first time coming to Korea for me and I can't really say we have these stuff back home, or at least they don't serve it at school. That's why I am curious to try it out." Xuan explains and looks eagerly for the stand to come in sight, since he could recall the path he took when coming here to find his target. Once the stand spotted, the child's eyes spark with that typical child like enthusiasm and he quickens his step to get there faster, disregarding Kibum's question. Well, at least this should have indicated that yes, this was the stand he'd seen before. "That one there. I want that one!" He points at the chocolate combo crepe, his mouth already watering in expectation for it.

[themculibrary]

Blanket/Pillow Forts Masterlist

A First Time for Everything (ao3) - RiotFalling bucky/tony G, 577

Summary: "You've seriously never done it?" Bucky demands, one eyebrow raised.

"Um, no?"

"Well now we have to!"

"You can't be serious," Tony says with a laugh, but he knows that determined tone all too well.

Sure enough, Bucky is already pushing himself up off the couch and marching towards the hall closet like a man on a mission.

All I need is you (and a few blankets) (ao3) - skyeicer (browneyedgenius) G, 145

Summary: Philinda and blanket forts, with a dash of Daisy.

A Very Scientific Experiment (ao3) - Monstrous_Femme bruce/tony T, 1k

Summary: Tony's built a pillow fort in one of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s spaceships. Needless to say, Fury is not pleased.

Blanket Fort Head Rubs (ao3) - RogueWolf steve/bucky N/R, 1k

Summary: When they were little, Steve and Bucky used to build blanket forts all the time. Decades might have passed since then, but that doesn't mean anything to the two boys from Brooklyn.

Blanket forts (ao3) - Lookatallmyships peter/wade G, 305

Summary: Peter unlocks the door to his and Wade's apartment, and steps inside. He greeted with the sight of the furniture rearranged together, and what has to be every single blanket in the house draped over top, creating a fort.

Blanket Forts and Dramatic Effect (ao3) - HKThauer bucky/darcy G, 302

Summary: Darcy wants to know why there are so many blankets are on her couch. She doesn't get an answer.

But With Fewer Minotaurs (ao3) - RiotFalling bucky/tony T, 1k

Summary: "What, you've never seen a blanket fort?"

"This is more like a blanket castle."

"Do you want to enter the blanket structure or not?" Tony demands, and Bucky refuses to let himself think of the pout on Tony's face as adorable.

Close Enough (ao3) - frog_wlw bruce/thor G, 833

Summary: Thor and Bruce comfort each other

Day (ao3) - thenigotthisfamily (guitarplayer3) G, 4k

Summary: A look at an entire day in the lives of Natasha and Yelena while Natasha is on the run.

Hold the Fort (ao3) - sunalso T, 877

Summary: Set near the end of S2. With Bobbi still in the infirmity, Hunter needs a safe place to hide. Coulson agrees.

I'll Share My Blanket Fort with You (ao3) - orderlychaos clint/phil T, 1k

Summary: Clint smiled. “Stay here then,” he suggested. “We’ll make a blanket fort.”

Phil hummed. “That sounds good.”

When the morning is too tough to face, Clint and Phil make a blanket fort, and then Clint asks a question that might just change his life.

Pillow Fort (ao3) - startrekkingaroundasgard bucky/tony N/R, 2k

Summary: Bucky finds Tony in a state of severe sleep deprivation and enlists his help to build a pillow fort in the hope that that might finally get him to sleep.

Pillow Forts (ao3) - geoffox steve/bucky N/R, 1k

Summary: Bucky's building forts again. Hold onto your hats everyone.

Smother Me (ao3) - deepspaceprincess steve/bucky G, 858

Summary: Bucky makes Steve a blanket fort after he gets into an accident.

Stitches (ao3) - suyari steve/bucky G, 490

Summary: Blanket forts had changed in construction in seventy years - or perhaps it was simply the construction materials. Bucky really didn’t remember much, but he absorbed it all with a professional eye as he went, unable to stop after years of conditioning. Steve didn’t mention it, merely lead him to the middle and settled down.

Surround Me With Warmth and Hope (ao3) - BrokenHazelEyes steve/bucky G, 1k

Summary: Bucky was curled up around a thick, fluffy pillow, and other pillows and blankets were arranged around him in an almost nest-like manner. The man had bags under his eyes, and was fast asleep. Steve didn’t have the heart to wake him and ask why there was a fort taking up a large section of the room, nor the heart to leave and grab his phone and get a picture. --- In which Bucky builds a pillow/blanket fort and cuddles ensue.

This Is Not a Drill: Blanket Fort (ao3) - roguefaerie bucky/clint/steve M, 100

Summary: They get a bigger bed, and Bucky is already making plans for how to use it well. But first he knows what they all need. A blanket fort.

What’s the Worst that Could Happen? (ao3) - LibbyWeasley lance/jemma T, 679

Summary: Jemma comes home to a blanket fort. What’s the worst that could happen?

won't let go (ao3) - sapphirescribe steve/tony G, 504

Summary: Most nights Steve can just rest his hand over Tony's chest, feel his arm rise and fall with Tony's breaths, comforted in the knowledge that the person most important to him in the world is alive and well.

You'd Make me the Happiest Man (ao3) - DepressingGreenie steve/tony G, 300

Summary: Steve and Tony finally get a break from their busy schedules. It might just be the chance Tony has been waiting for...

[roboticgunner]

Love me a good CRT TV

So I got a CRT TV again. Been messing around with it for a bit, and I am in love with it.

Scared the shit outta me when I first turned it on. I brought it in, plugged it in, pressed the power, the and resulting BWOMB that blasted out of the thing would've knocked me on my feet if I wasn't already sitting on the floor lol. Been a lot quieter after that.

First thing I plugged into it was my original Xbox. It's fine and all, playing it on a modern flatscreen, but a CRT just feels right, y'know? Got some Jet Set Radio going, along with some Half Life 2.

It looked great. The picture was clear enough, with enough fuzz to smooth out what would otherwise be incredibly sharp, noticeable edges. It had a bit of a warm feel to it, kinda homey.

I really like every sound it makes. The sound of it turning on and off, the static crackling, the slightly muffled speakers, even that high pitched whine while it's running. Does give me a bit of a headache, though lol.

Only issue is that the thing is HUGE. Thing's so fat I had to rearrange everything on my console stand. Takes up like, two thirds of the entire thing. Guess I forgot how big these things really are lol.

[wulfhalls]

already rearranged my entire life around this picture its me and this picture against the world with this picture by my side I can do anything this picture changed my outlook my perspective and the trajectory of my life

[minisugakoobies]

Next Christmas | KTH

Pairing: Taehyung x Reader

Genre: fluff, holiday, established relationship, non-Idol!AU

Rating: T

Warnings: kissing, mentions of pregnancy

Word Count: 1.1K

Disclaimers: I don’t own BTS - they just inspire me

Summary: Taehyung's trying to help you get ready for this Christmas, but you're already thinking of the next.

A/N: This was written for the BCC x FI 12 Days of BTS Holiday Event! My advent calendar prompt was "Next Christmas, we'll be needing one more stocking." That insta video of Taehyung in front of the Christmas tree sent me off down a totally unexpected path. This is pretty much just a long drabble!

Unbeta'd as usual. I’d love to know what you think - my inbox is always open! 💕

Masterlist 💜 Find me on AO3 💜

“Hey baby? Did you bring all of the decorations up from the basement?”

“Yes, love,” Taehyung calls out from the kitchen.

“Are you sure? I really thought we had more stuff.” You glance around the living room at all of the boxes cluttering the space. “I don’t know if this is enough?”

Taehyung walks into the room, wrapping his arms around you as he rests his chin on your shoulder. His dark curls tickle your ear as he rocks you back and forth. “You really think we need more decorations? Or is this just you being nervous about the party?”

“Both?” you sigh and lean into him, resting against his solid chest as he hugs you. “Sorry. I just want this to be perfect.”

“I know,” he says, kissing the top of your head. “It’s going to be just fine.”

So many boxes. It’s amazing how many memories they hold, Taehyung muses, as the two of you begin to unpack. A string of lights reminds him of the first Christmas you’d spent together, in your old apartment. How, the moment you’d plugged in your tree, wrapped in strand after strand of colorful bulbs, you’d blown a fuse, plunging the entire little studio into darkness.

A light-up Santa Claus figurine brings back the time the two of you went to the mall to have your picture taken with Santa for your Christmas card. He vividly remembers the way Santa had laughed merrily when the two of you removed your coats, revealing matching green reindeer onesies adorned with fuzzy antlers on the hoods. The elf assistant taking the photo couldn’t stop laughing either, leading to a slightly off-frame picture, which now hangs on the wall with all the other snapshots of your life together.

But nothing could top last year’s Christmas, of course. He pulls a snowglobe out of its packaging, giving it a gentle shake to stir up the flakes. Inside the tiny glass are two snowpersons, their stick hands intertwined. As he stares into the snow, he remembers how you’d giggled as you read the silly inscription, `I Love You Snow Much,’ only to gasp in surprise when you glanced up to find him down on one knee, ring in hand.

Now, that same ring sparkles on your finger as you carefully hang a gingerbread man ornament on the tree. He takes in the far-away look in your eyes as you rearrange the branches, making room for more trinkets, and sighs.

“You’re still worrying. Tell me what’s on your mind.” He winds some garland around the bookshelves.

“I just want this to go perfectly. It’s our first time hosting here, and I want it to be the first of many parties we throw. Like, that’s why we bought this house, right? To fill with friends and family?”

Taehyung nods as you continue, his mind wandering a little at that last word. “Yeah, that’s right. But you’ve hosted so many parties before, in our old place. This isn’t anything new.” He smiles warmly. “Everyone’s excited to see the house, sure, but they’re more excited just to see you and get to spend Christmas Eve celebrating with you.”

“Why are you always so sweet?” you hum, pausing in your decorating to drop a gentle kiss on your fiancé’s cheek. Your fingers brush against the dark stubble sprouting there. He’s trying to grow a beard, and you can’t help but admire how the slight shadow changes his face, making him look more mature. Sexier, too, which is incredible given how gorgeous he already is.

“It’s all that hot cocoa I’ve had recently. I’m overflowing with sugar,” Taehyung answers as you giggle. He jokes, but he’s always taking care of you like this. It never ceases to amaze you how much love he has to give.

Taehyung reaches into the box of ornaments to grab a wooden tree inscribed with a series of names. It’s one of your favorites - a family tree given to you by your parents as a gift last year.

He rubs his fingers over the empty space beneath your name and his.

“Namjoon’s coming to the party, right?” he asks.

“Of course! He was one of the first to RSVP.”

Taehyung nods as he hangs the ornament on a branch. “Of course he was. Will he and Lisa be bringing little Hyejin with them?”

You glance at your fiancé. His face is impassive as usual, but his eyes give him away. “Yep. I told them little ones are welcome at the party. And I knew better than to keep Hyejin away from her favorite uncle.”

“I’m not really her uncle. That’s just what Namjoon and Lisa call me.”

“You’re close enough, baby. And that little girl loves you so much.” It always twists your heart to see Hyejin light up whenever Taehyung holds her. Namjoon’s daughter has him wrapped around her chubby little fingers.

Taehyung hasn’t moved from where he stands, staring at the ornament as it spins in the soft glow of the tree. He doesn’t have to say a word, you know exactly what he’s thinking. What he’s wishing for. Threading your arms through his, you nuzzle into his back, and he wraps his long fingers around yours as he hums softly.

“I think that’s everything,” you declare after a minute, stepping away to start clearing the empty boxes. “I guess we did have plenty to properly deck the halls after all.”

Taehyung grunts, only half-listening as he helps you clean up.

“I’m not sure it’ll be enough for next year, though,” you continue, stopping at the mantel to straighten one of the stockings hanging there. “After all, next Christmas, we’ll be needing one more stocking.”

“Mmm,” Taehyung replies, flopping down on the couch. Then he sits back up as your words sink in. “Wait, what?”

You simply beam back at him, one hand resting on your lower stomach.

“Love? Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” He crosses the room slowly, as if afraid that if he moves too quickly, he’ll jinx something. That your answer will change. He’s held on to this hope for so long that he’s not sure he can let go.

Nodding, you take his hand, lightly pressing it to your stomach. It’s too soon to feel anything, but neither of you care. Taehyung tries to speak, but just shakes his head. You squeeze his hand.

“Merry Christmas, baby. Our gift is on its way.”

© 2021-22-23 by sunshinerainbowsbts/minisugakoobies. Crossposted to AO3. Please do not copy or repost.

[miekasa]

okay but what about airport!levi? he gives quiet businessman vibes sitting in his slacks and turtleneck

IN HIS TURTLENECK 😭😭 He would also be quiet and to himself, but not in the emo way. You got me thinking about all of them now, so here are my other thoughts about the boys at the airport.

Levi

He thinks the idea of separating classes on an airplane is beyond stupid, but if the flight is particularly long, or particularly packed, he’s not above paying for business class for a little extra personal space for the two of you.

When he doesn’t do that, tho, he never picks your guys’ seats ahead of time, so sometimes you’ll be separated. Good thing he’s also not above lying at the check-in desk, “I’m in Zone 1, could my wife be seated next to me so that we can board together?”

They respond with an “of course,” and move your seats together, and Levi walks back with a content nod of appreciation. You are not married, and marriage sucks about as much as class separation on a 30 foot long plane, but it has its benefits.

Masks on, regardless. No debates. Pandemic or not, the mask stays on. Do not perceive him, keep the pressurized air sharing to a minimum.

Doesn’t wander much in the airport. There’s nothing in there that he hasn’t seen already, except for the marked up prices on touristy t-shirts.

And if you wander, he’ll usually just sit in the waiting area to watch your bags while you window shop and do your thing. If you’re gone for more than 30 mins, he might call, under the pretenses of, “Making sure you didn’t get lost. You know that Starbucks was near gate 41 to the left, not the right, right?” Like he’s a comedian or something 🙄

He does encourage you to get snacks before you board, tho. Airplane food is gross, and he would much rather pay for a $13 sandwich that you can snack on later, than for you to have to eat mush.

He’s got a little portable mug he takes with him for when he’s wants to buy a hot drink before getting on his flight. It’s cute.

Doesn’t fall asleep on the plane ever. No matter how long the flight is—at most, he’ll take a quick power nap somewhere in the middle if it’s over 9 hours, but other than that, he’s good to go.

Doesn’t mind if you fall asleep, and he always adjusts your neck pillow to make sure you don’t get cramps.

Jean

Travel champion. This man loves being in the airport even though he’s convinced it’s a time capsule, he fucking loves it.

King of “your airport fashion matters, babe.” Not necessarily wearing a whole three piece suit, but he does put in a little effort; it’s not just the first pair of sweats he has laying around.

Swears coffee tastes better in the airport. It does not. That does not stop him from buying it. He should learn to quit tho, especially for someone who hates airplane bathrooms as much as he does.

Charming with all the security personnel and desk assistants. You could be checking in for a flight at 4am, and Jean’s got people smiling and cheery for their shifts.

Bitches about the selection of movies on the flight, and learns to just download his own ahead of time. Gets really startled when he’s watching something and the flight attendants try to grab his attention for food or drinks—the very loud, classic, Jean Kirstein “HUH?”

On that note, he also gets startled by the loudspeaker announcements in the airport. He doesn’t know why he has to hear about American Airlines flight 2170 to Cancun, when he is not on American Airlines flight 2170 to Cancun.

Not opposed to paying extra for better airplane food or drinks on the plane if it’s the right time of day. He always finds something to toast to, plus he likes to treat you whenever and wherever he can.

Takes care of your overhead luggage and helps out the people around him if he sees they’re struggling. Gets shy when you call him a gentleman for it, and he rubs his neck, grumbling, “I was just helping the line move a little faster.”

Great timing, generous, will pick up your checked bags for you, and already rented a car a week in advance: 10/10 travel buddy.

Porco

He doesn’t like planes and there’s no solid reason why—nothing bad happened to him as a kid, and it’s not even that rare unfortunate incidents freak him out or anything—something flying just makes him a bit uneasy.

He won’t say it though, and he tries to keep it together when you’re checking in, but you can tell he’s anxious once you’re sitting and waiting for your flight to board.

He’ll ask to switch seats if you have the window seat, because somehow the feeling of being boxed in between the plane wall/window and another person makes it feel more like a car than a plane and he’s okay with that.

Going to the airport is one of the few times he hair won’t be styled, and falls in his face a bit. He usually throws on a beanie to cover it up, but you think he looks pretty cute either way.

Can’t usually fall asleep and he hates it because he just sits there thinking about the worst for the entire duration of the flight. But when you travel with him for the first time and coax him into taking a nap it’s so much better.

It’s about the only time he’ll let himself be publicly babied by you; but it makes everything so much easier that he doesn’t even mind.

So now, whenever you get on flights, he just puts his hood up, lays his head on your shoulder and waits for the magic to happen.

Bonus: you’re traveling with his friends, and Pieck and Marcel past to your seats, surprised to see Porco fast asleep on your shoulder. Pieck squeals, going on about how you must be a wizard to have gotten him to nap, to which Marcel just shakes his head, “Nah, he’s just really in love with her. Look at his face, that’s the calmest he’s been since he was five.”

Connie

Loves the airport. Not an ounce of organization in his soul though. By that I mean, yeah, he’s probably forgotten his passport at home, or forgotten that a full size bottle of body wash cannot go into his carry-on luggage.

Forgets to wear shoes that easy to take off and is fumbling over himself after the security check trying to lace them back up or put them back on.

Likes for you guys to have coordinating sweatsuits, and even though you don’t travel super often, Connie’s got at least 3 pairs of them lined up for you guys.

Sweet enough to drop plans or rearrange his schedule to travel with you if you were originally gonna be alone. He knows you can handle yourself, but he doesn’t want for you to travel alone if you don’t have to, especially if you’re going someplace far and/or for an extended period of time.

He always finds breakfast food to eat before he gets on his flight (if you two even have time to spare for food that is). It could be 9pm, but Connie’s asking for a breakfast wrap.

Hates waiting in the little pre-flight area. Claims it’s boring as hell and that’s why there’s no reason to get there 3 hours early 🙄🙄

He always spends at least 30 minutes browsing all the movie and TV show options available on-board, loudly exclaiming in excitement when they have something cool to watch—only to fucking fall asleep 10 minutes later. Right on top of you when he was oh-so-excited to watch Madagascar 2.

Always steals the aisle seat, even if it’s yours. It’s probably for the best though, because he has to get up to pee at least twice, no matter how short your flight is.

Makes some cheeky remark about you meeting him in the bathroom. He doesn’t mean it... unless he does. Unfortunately, you’ve never... successfully been able to do that out of fear of being caught by the flight attendants, but there have been a few quickies in the “family” (“It’s ethical, because technically we’re participating in the act of making a family, babe”) bathroom before you boarded. It’s his fault, not yours.

Armin

He really likes planes, and traveling in general. I think trains would be his favorite mode of transportation, but airplanes are good too.

I hate to say it but he claps when the plane lands. I will not elaborate or defend my stance on this.

Prefers the window seat because he likes to look out at the clouds as he’s in the sky.

He took his passport photo a little before he cut his hair, so the security personnel always hold it up and flicker between his ID photo and his current appearance a few times before stamping it. It makes him a little embarrassed because he can’t tell if they think he looks better or worse and sometimes he’s really fighting for his life convincing them that that’s him in the picture 😭

Listens to music rather than downloading a movie or watching a show, and always brings wire headphones to the airport so that it’s easier to share and listen with you.

If you fall asleep on him first, he’ll likely fall asleep on you shortly after. If he’s tired enough, he’ll fall asleep first, though he’s somewhat embarrassed and disappointed because he wanted to see the descent and skyline outside.

When he’s not asleep or window-watching, he’s somewhat fidgety out of excitement, rather than nervousness. He’s excited to be traveling and looks forward to wherever you’re going, even if it is just a weekend long work trip.

Hates traveling alone, though. It just feels particularly lonely to him to be going someplace foreign without company by his side. So, he’ll call you at every checkpoint and send you updates.

He only ever buys two things in duty free: shot glasses with the name of the city/country you’re traveling to, and whatever variety of button down short-sleeves are available to him.

Erwin

You knew this was coming, but this man is absolutely at the airport 18 hours before your flight takes off, and he’s driving like a manic getting there, like you don’t have all the time in the world.

Fascinated by anything and everything in duty free. Definitely spends more money than necessary on your return flight on the grounds that he was getting a good deal.

Exchanges money in the airport and keeps cash in his fanny pack. There’s no traveling without the fanny pack.

Plays crossword puzzles on his phone on the plane, and it’s just about one of the only games he has. That and Candy Crush—I get the feeling he’d be on level 500+ of that game and he always knocks out at least 10 levels on a flight.

Always a little surprised when he feels his your head on his shoulder, but he says nothing, and acts like he didn’t even notice, but there’s a telling little smile on his face.

Takes the most foul selfies of him and your sleeping self. In his defense, he had the best intentions; but that angle was flattering nobody. It’s too bad he’d already paid for the in-flight wifi and sent it to Hange because now you’ll never live them down.

You could probably get him to put on a (skincare) face mask during your flight. He forgets to take it off tho, and if you don’t tell him, he’d fully walk through customs with it on his face.

Accidentally gets drunk because he doesn’t understand that just because he can handle several glasses of whiskey in his favorite bar on a Friday night, does not mean it will translate on a plane.

[yeojaa]

come over, pt. i

pairing.  jjk x f!reader.  rating.  explicit.  tags.  this is pwp.  smut in the forms of:  kissing, oral (m/f), fingering, deepthroating, hickeys, protected sex.  use of the pet name shy girl.  wc. 6.2k.  beta reader.  @hobi-gif and @snackhobi aka the loves of my tiny life.  author note.  this is an adaption of an rp with my beloved @velvetwicebang​.  while the writing is all my own, i owe so much to loma for inspiring me and being such a wonderful partner. 💛 if you enjoy this, feedback goes a long way.  tysm for reading!  (and yes, there will be a second part.)

You’ve been friends for thirteen months, classmates for another three before that.  You’ve worked on countless projects together, watched him fall off a roof, and have had to bail him out of campus security’s grubby little hands. Your friendship is easy, based on mutual suffering in Professor Kim’s class and long study dates spent in the library.  He smuggled you chocolates in his pockets and you brought iced coffee to the 8 a.m. lecture you shared.

You’re not sure why you’re riddled with uncertainty now then, every nerve ending shot, lit up bright like the still-up mini Christmas tree sitting in the corner of your dorm room.  (You know you should take it down but it’s so cute, slouched ever with a tiny gold star-shaped bell hanging from the end.).  

Spending time with Jungkook was normal - a part of your weekly routine - but then again, you hadn’t somehow developed a weird little crush on him until recently.  

(If you think hard, you could probably pinpoint it to a night a few weeks ago when he looked particularly good, fluffy powder puff of hair stripped of shadow and gleaming gold beneath the warm lecture lights.  You’d never had a thing for blonds but he made it look good - surprising you when he’d dropped into his seat beside you and winked in response to your surprise.) 

(It’s something you can't tear your thoughts from now, that infuriatingly charming smile burnt into your retinas.  It sits at the forefront of your mind, stealing your attention from the movie that's playing on the television hung across from your bed.  One of those blockbuster flicks, because who didn’t love gratuitous action and lens flares?)

A hand reaches for the chip bowl propped between you - homemade chex mix, because you’ve been obsessed with the recipe since discovering it a few weeks ago - and you flinch away when it brushes the hand that's already in there.

"Sorry!"  You squeak before coughing, a quick-witted (but not altogether believable) attempt at hiding the sudden heat that flares across your cheeks.  The same hand disappears between your knees, fingers curling into the soft throw laid over your legs.  You tell yourself to relax at least three times before speaking, peeking at your companion from beneath a fringe of sleep-tousled strands.  “Stop stealing all my chips.” 

The boy beside you only grins, tosses that lazy smile in your direction before turning his attention back to the explosion on the screen, entire expression lit up by the fireworks that explode in flashes of colour.

You think you’ve gotten away with it - that he hasn’t noticed - and then he’s speaking again, pointedly staring forward, seemingly unbothered.  (You know better though.  Jungkook’s infuriating like that, picking up on all the little things despite the fact that he’s a dumb boy, too good at reading between the lines when he barely studies.)

“You’re blushing.”

The callout is, well, uncalled for. 

You choose to ignore him at first, opting to shove two chocolates past your lips.  They’re unbearably sweet, minty and cold - your favourite - and the richness spills across your tongue, eliciting a soft hum as your teeth buzz from the sugar.  (Note to self:  thank Jungkook for the chocolate later.)

“You’re blushing,”  you retort once you’ve swallowed, cheeks puffed out and a dent gathering between your brows.  “I’m just—“  Hand waves wildly - nearly hits him in the face with how wobbly it is - and you pretend-glare at him, faux affront laid in spades.  “—hot.”

It comes snappier than you mean it to, spoken in something close to a pout.  You aren’t actually.  The campus is notorious for having garbage heating, floorboards more akin to packed snow in the dead of winter.  It’s just annoying.  You refuse to be another one of those girls.

(Not that there’s anything wrong with said girls.  It’s more an issue with Jungkook, stupidly handsome and charming and far too popular for his own good.  People already told you all about Jungkook’s escapades - even though you often heard them from him firsthand and in gruelling detail.  One of the downsides to being friends with someone who, for all intents and purposes, carried the title of campus heartthrob.) 

“Pay attention to the movie.”  The same hand reaches for the mix again, careful to avoid brushing his this time.  You think you’ve succeeded, snatching up a piece of pretzel, morsel halfway to your mouth when it drops to your lap.

The same lap that suddenly has a hand on it, palm warm over your knee.  

If you’d thought your nerve endings were shot, now you knew they were.  Every inch of skin was on fire - heat shooting up your spine and over your neck the moment his hand comes in contact with bare skin.  Damn your need for comfort, damn your choice to wear shorts, damn his freaking hot tattooed hands—

You almost yell at him.  The sound’s on the tip of your tongue when you bite down, stare trained wholly on the movie and the blood that splatters across the screen..

Really, you shouldn't be surprised.  You’ve known Jungkook for nearly two years - okay, not quite.  You’ve heard all the rumours about him, the whispered words that sound something like playboy and flirt and be careful.  You know and yet you’ve found yourself in this situation, desperately trying to figure out what the hell is going through his mind as you stare straight ahead, refusing to move a muscle.  

His profile is picture perfect from your periphery;  he's focused too, acting like he's done nothing wrong.  Sly as a fox, as always.

“Still blushing,”  he repeats conversationally, as if he’s commenting on the colour of the sky or how cold it is in your room.  Not as if he’s got a hand where it shouldn’t be, ink spilling over his skin in pretty patterns, burning the shape of it where he touches.

"I didn't blush.”  It’s a retort made for only argument’s sake and even then, without weight.  Feather soft and feeble in an attempt to keep your voice level.  It's hard when you’re burning up, a livewire settled where you feel him.  "I'm not blushing."

It's a lie - you can feel the flush, embarrassment flooding from your cheeks all the way down over your chest.  It’s an inferno beneath your skin, lava coursing through your veins.  

It spreads further and further, blooms somewhere new when his hand drifts lower, tracking across the soft inner of your thigh.  Doesn’t cease even when his hand does, palm firm over your leg, the ghost of a touch passing so close to your core you can’t help but jolt.  It’s as if he’s rearranged your pieces, mixed them all up.  A brush of his finger over your clothed entrance feels like it hits you right in the chest, snaps your heart to attention.  It roars to life, thundering madly, pulse erratic when he repeats the gesture, with that much more pressure.

You’re dripping, you realise to your horror, cotton of your thong sticking to your skin, grey of your shorts made darker by the arousal that spills over the one not-so-innocent digit. 

A part of you wants to run from the room.  Nearly do, heart hammering in your chest when Jungkook's face is suddenly too close, the warmth of his breath stifling against your neck.  It feels good, anticipation and desire fizzing in your stomach like fountain pop.  (The movie theatre kind, that’s somehow flat and too bubbly all at once.)

"Kook."  You mean to say it reproachfully, with a hand pushing his wrist away.  Instead it comes out like a whisper, a soft sigh of his name that sounds almost needy, laced with worry and anticipation that makes you want to tear your own hair out.  Fingers remain locked around bone, other hand digging into the blanket and the linen beneath it, searching desperately for some form of composure beneath the material.  

For the first time, you hazard a glance - know it’ll be bad for your own well-being - dropping your stare to where his hand rests.  (You have to admit - you like the sight of those tattoos, a stark contrast to the unblemished softness.)

Like it almost as much as his kisses, the first of which lands exactly where you want it most.  Delicate, polite, right on the junction of your jaw.  A sigh escapes before you can help it.  "Shy girl,”  he coos, teasing in a way that makes your heart skip a beat. 

“I’m not shy,”  you huff - try to, anyway, around the kaleidoscope of butterflies that are threatening to choke you.  "We're watching a movie."  You’re trying to redirect his attention, even as you’re desperate for it, even as you think you’d give your whole heart for it. 

You’re this close to combusting, eyes widening the moment he extracts his hand and tucks it back into the bowl of chips.  A part of you wants to yell at him - for starting this in the first place but mainly for leaving you high and dry, turned on and soaking through your underwear. 

(It’s not fair, but then again, you’d never expected them to be.  You’ve seen the rules Jungkook plays by - namely those of his own creation.  Term paper due the next morning?  He’d somehow pull it out of his ass that night.  Break something at a house party?  He’d be let off with a smile and a wave, those doe eyes of his utterly lethal when paired with his pout.)

“Watch the movie then.”  He sounds almost bored, utterly unbothered as he seamlessly slips back into the proper role of friend, classmate, study partner.

"Let's."  Without tossing another glance in his direction, you stare straight ahead, own hand delving for snacks.  So what if you very purposely brush your fingers against the pieces he's just touched, popping the pieces into your mouth before slotting your thumb against your tongue, cheeks hollowing around to suck the last bits of salt and butter off.

Despite your nerves - you’re hoping he's watching - you readjust, bringing knees up, crossing legs until one is resting atop his own thick thigh.  The full of your bottom lip disappears between your teeth, worried to within an inch of its life as you shift beside him, seemingly manoeuvring your shorts into their rightful position.

(You’re not.  They’re hitched higher than they were, barely worthy of the title of shorts, more akin to a belt.  So revealing it’s almost uncomfortable, wet of your arousal sticking them to your skin.)

(Two could play this game.)

(Maybe him better than you, but still.)

You know what you’re doing and yet you’re somehow surprised when he’s suddenly disappeared from your side and situated himself in front of you, eating up too much of the space on your small double bed.  “What’re you—“  The question disappears in the same moment he does, unable to track his movements when Jungkook slips forward, pressing his mouth over yours.

You’ve kissed a lot of people.  (Okay, not a lot, but enough.)  You were a senior in college, where kissing was like talking and fucking happened more often than dating.

You’ve never kissed Jungkook before.  

Why hadn’t you?

His lips are terribly soft, pink and pouted, slanting across yours as if he’s trying to devour you.  There’s no semblance of delicacy, nothing gentle and sweet like those brushes against your neck.  They’re forceful, demanding payment in full when his tongue glides over the seam, seeking entrance despite the fact that you think he might’ve slipped in anyway.

There’s not a single wall he couldn’t break down, not a lock he couldn’t pick.  Not with how he moves, purposeful and reassured, tongue sliding over yours, sucking it into his mouth as if it’s something he does every day.  (Which it very well could be - just not with you.)

“Shy girl,”  he repeats with a mouth filled with affection, praise that pours over you honey sweet and sticky.  “You don’t have to pretend with me.”

The thing is, you’re not pretending.  You’re half-afraid this entire moment is going to explode into a thousand pieces, a dream shattered by reality.  You hope it doesn’t.  Couldn’t bear it when he feels so nice, hand spanning your waist, tucked beneath the safety of your shirt and the fleece blanket between you.  

“I’m not.”  

“Oh?”  There’s something in his eyes, something that coils heat in the pit of your stomach.  You swear you can see the devil sitting on his shoulder, gleeful little smile rearranging his features.  “Do I make you nervous, ____?”

Did he?  Of course he did.  Had, even before you’d known him.

(You’d grown comfortable, though.  Found a way to separate the popular heartthrob from your friend.)

But you’ve lost your marbles, gone certifiably insane when you make a noise that sounds nothing like you.  Because you’re once again far too interested in the way Jungkook’s touching you, manhandling you as if you’re some sort of puppet.  It really shouldn’t turn you on so much, slick coating your bare thighs when he guides you onto your back, pushes you back against your too many pillows.

He’s your friend and he’s told you all about the way he fucks girls until they can’t walk.  

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want the same treatment, though. 

The moment Jungkook’s mouth finds your skin - sensitive and soft and so close to your soaked core - you keen, hands immediately flying into his silky head of hair.  It threads between your fingers like fine silk, filaments of gold overlaid in colour by the movie that still plays.  

“Oh my god,”  you gasp, entire body arching off the back of the bed in an effort to bring some form of  relief.  You can’t help the heat that burns your cheeks or how you sound, begging and pleading as you tug gently at his blond roots.  “Don’t tease me.”

You’re not asking very nicely but you figure Jungkook will give in.  It’s his fault, after all.  

His fault - which you don’t mind when he hooks fabric aside and drags his tongue across your slit, the flat of his tongue arching your back from the bed.  Can’t mind when he does it again, rounded nose bumping against your clit.  You’re trying to stay just a little bit decent, moans soft and caught between your teeth.  You’re practically biting a hole through your lip in an effort to stay quiet, hands curled into fists.  Gold spills between them and you imagine it hurts but he doesn’t stop, only works harder to drive you crazy.

Of course he’s good at this.  Too good, if you’re being honest.

You’re dripping, legs trembling in his firm, unyielding grip.  There's molten heat building in your stomach, creeping up your spine, and with each pass of his tongue over your sensitive core, it only expands.  You want more - need it - and almost beg when he catches your clit between his teeth.  A breathy baby spills out on accident when your eyes meet, gaze half-lidded.

It’s bad for your health, how good he looks right now, chin slick, lips rubied and pretty like jewels.  “Shy girl sounds so pretty.”

There's something about his praise that completely ruins you, the words dragging a delighted, sexpot moan off your tongue.  You want him to tell you how pretty you are now and later, over and over.  

You want to be his pretty girl. 

"I want you.  I need more,"  you whine, hips rutting desperately, slick messy across your thighs and shining across Jungkook's mouth.  He smiles then - brighter than the sun, utterly radiant, so devastatingly handsome you swear your brain short circuits - and then he’s doing exactly as you’ve asked. 

He eats you out like it’s an art form, flicking his tongue over your clit with practiced precision, sucking the pearl between his lips.  When he grazes his teeth over it - just the lightest pressure - you jolt, the feeling of a finger sliding into you stealing the breath from your lungs.

He’s always had nice hands, big broad palms and long fingers.  They reach places you could never hope to, stretching you deliciously when he sinks another in alongside the first, exploring you with ease.  The sting is slight, the fullness overriding any pain, further dulled by the suction of his mouth on your clit.  

He even hums when he finds the spot he’s been looking for, hooking his fingers against it and pressing.  (You swear you see stars;  you know you feel him smile, lips spread like butter over your skin when you sob.)

You can’t help yourself, writhing and moaning, trying to ride his face with a desperation that has your chest heaving.  It feels so good to have him between your legs.  You almost miss the appearance of his other hand - in view for but a moment before it disappears past the waistband of his sweats.  Dark as they are, pitch black like most of his clothing, it’s impossible to miss the way he touches himself.  It has you even needier, pussy clenching at the thought of him fisting his own hard cock.

“Do you want a hand?”  You ask as if you’re doing him a favour and not salivating at the prospect, eyes wide, blinking down at him from behind thick lashes.  

“Fuck.”  He’s sin incarnate, undeniable when he sheds his sweats, kicks them off with just one hand, other still slotted snug against your pussy.  He never ceases his movements, fucking you on his fingers even as he sits upright, leaned back on his calves.  “You want a taste?  Shy girl wants a big fat cock in her mouth?”  

There's something about hearing him so turned on, the expletive shooting a dizzying bolt of desire straight between yours legs.  You’ve seen Jungkook worked up - he was awfully competitive, after all, dominating most intramural sports, breaking PR records in the gym - but it's something else completely when he's making you drip cum all over his hand.

"Wow.”

Jungkook's cock is pretty, flushed and glossy from the pre-cum he spreads with his thumb, massaging over the tip like it owes him something.  

You want to taste it.

A contented hum rolls off your tongue at his question, though you don’t give him the satisfaction of an answer.  His ego's big enough without it and you’re much more interested in stroking something else.  Still, you lean into his palm, nuzzling your cheek against the warmth of it when he threads his hand through your hair, gathering it in his fist.

Then without looking away, your mouth falls open, tongue peeking past your lips to lick a fat stripe up the length of his cock, from base to tip.  It's hot and heavy on your tongue, the salty taste of his pre-cum better than candy.  You hum again, swirling your tongue around the head, and keep your gaze locked with Jungkook's, almost smirking when you drag your tongue over his fingers, gently grazing the edge of your teeth against the pad of his thumb. 

“Please.”  You’re usually far more reserved, not the kind to ask for more until you’re three months into dating and certain of where you stand.  You simply can’t help yourself now, the feeling of your own wetness painting your skin, making you clench around nothing.  "I need it."

The groan that comes sounds more like Christmas, a gift given by Santa Claus himself.  It filters into your ears and has you grinning up at him, not even bothering to hide the pride that flutters your lashes and has you pursing your lips around the head of his cock.  

When he speaks again, it’s dangerously quiet, low in his throat, laced with whatever same emotion that seems to shackle your limbs.  “Open up, ____,”  he instructs, though he offers little time to adjust, guiding his cock forward, stuffing your mouth full.  “Show me how bad.”

You don’t mind.  If you were to speak, it’d practically be a prayer, tongue tracing the veins that run the length.  A chorus of yes please more when he takes just as much as he gives.  You love the power that comes with Jungkook speaking so filthily, drunk on it when he continues, spewing filth in time with each rock of his hips.

Lips seal around the swollen head each time he withdraws, cheeks hollowing around the tip.  Tongue passes over his fingers again before your hand rises, fingers curling around his wrist to pull his own away.  (You probably shouldn't - it's too romantic - but thread your fingers through his in the same instant you sink down upon his cock, taking him halfway before pulling off with a pop!)

"Do you think you'll last long enough to fuck me?"  You’re pushing his buttons on purpose, just like he had yours during the movie. 

Something close to a snarl comes, a growl that reverberates out of that big cavernous chest of his, and he grips your hair tighter, tries to hold you still as he grins down at you.  The expression is so at odds with the warmth in his eyes, the boyish tilt of his head.

You repeat the motion again and again, taking him a little bit deeper until the head brushes the back of your throat, reflexively swallowing around the intrusion.  He's still so long and thick you haven’t even taken him all, drooling around his length, breathing through your nose and pushing past the desire to gag.  Then you relax your jaw just a little more, humming when your nose brushes the neatly groomed patch of hair at his base.

Your free hand slinks across his thigh, nails digging into the meat, delighted by the flex of muscle and sinew beneath your hand.  He's so hard, both on your tongue and beneath your touch.  It prompts you to shift forward just a bit more - you can feel the slick on your thighs, dripping down onto the sheets with each movement - and trace across his thigh to gently palm his balls.

If you could speak, you’d probably ask for more.  For Jungkook to use and abuse your throat as much as he wants.  As it stands, you can only moan around him, spit and his pre-cum smeared over your lips.

“Look at you.”  He’s talking to himself, lost in his own world as he fucks into your mouth, soothes the pad of his thumb over your cheek.  You adore the way he sounds now, dazed and a little messed up.  “Look so pretty with my cock in your mouth, ____.”

You can’t do much more than look up at him, batting your lashes when he compliments you, dragging your tongue everywhere you can reach as the head of his cock batters the back of your throat.  It's not an easy feat, drool all the way down your chin, trailing down your neck and staining the silk of your camisole.

At some point, you’ll need to pull off - get a proper breath of air - but not now.  Instead, you swallow around him, savouring the feeling of him filling your mouth, and squeeze gently at his balls.  When you wink up at him, it's half-hearted and with moisture in your eyes, lining lashes in the form of little gemstones.

You do it again and again, moaning lewdly around his cock before it gets too much, pulling off of him with a gasping breath and tears down your cheeks.  “Is it my turn yet?”  You’re only half-joking, made needier by the soreness in your throat, the same you want to feel so desperately between your legs.  Pressing a sweet, chaste peck to his head, tongue dipping into his slit to gather the pre-cum that leaks out, you offer the sweetest smile you can, saccharine sweet and soft.  

“Your turn?”  The way Jungkook snorts is derisive, playful.  It pulls straight off his tongue - which finds yours, swapping spit as he guides you back to the bed.  Teeth collide, lips grown swollen by the intensity of your kiss, and you startle when he nips hard at the bottom petal.  “I thought you were shy.”

“I am,”  you retort, returning the gesture, biting into the curve of his jaw with surprising repose.  Colour blooms beneath the edge of enamel, a smattering of colour that makes you smile, eager to leave more.

Which you would do, if Jungkook weren’t stripping before you, peeling his shirt from his front, tugging it over his head in that weirdly hot way that somehow all boys did.  It reveals skin in a single fluid pull, clothing discarded to the side before he levels you with a smile of his own, one that stirs to life the dimple in his cheek, eyes squinting with the intensity of his delight.  He looks deceptively sweet this way, nothing like the demon who’d just stuffed his cock down your throat.

You’re not sure which version of him you like best.

Seeing him now, dressed in nothing but that absurd, devilishly handsome grin of his, you’re not prepared.  You’re unsure where to look, gaze bouncing between the tattoos that crawl up his arms and span over his left pec, down the neatly defined ridges of his abs, and all the way back to his swollen, shiny cock.

“You’re drooling.”  Of course it’s something he’d say - because he always knows what to say, plucking perfect words from thin air.  The casual banter calms the rattle in your chest and refocuses it on his face that’s too close, looming over yours as his hands make quick work of your clothes, shedding the fabric from your form with deft, measured movements.

You’re ready to say something teasing - anything to distract from the fact that you’re still ogling him - when he catches you in another kiss, softer this time, infinitely sweeter.  Suddenly, you’re shy - which really makes no sense, given what’s transpired.

"Don't make fun of me,"  you mumble, as bashful as you were during the movie, embarrassment burning across your cheeks.  Arms rise to cover what little of your chest you can, folding around his broad palms that encompass them whole, tweaking at the straining buds.

“I’m not,”  Jungkook reassures against your lips, face dropping into the crook of your neck.  He nuzzles against you, sucking affection into the column of your throat, shamelessly laying a wreath of lust into the delicate skin.  You wonder whether he can hear the stutter of your pulse, the reaction his next words elicit.  “You’re pretty when you do it.”

You can’t quite pull your eyes away from his face, shrouded in lemon tart, so good-looking it’s unfair; his broad back and the muscle that threads it, undulating with each movement;  or the way his thighs flex between your spread knees.  You’re dragged through heaven and hell by the brush of his lips, each glide overstimulating your senses to the point of no return.  You’re still burning up, all the foreplay leaving your legs like jelly, cunt dripping with need.  "I bet you say that to all the girls."

Probably not the best thing to say with the position you’re in but the reality of the situation is hitting you and you’re feeling a little vulnerable.  Want an answer that’ll soften the sharp edges of his teeth, the intoxicating glint in his stare.

“No, just you.”  Whether it’s true or not, you can’t say for certain.  You hope it is - wish upon a star for it, laying all your hopes and dreams into the constellations in his eyes.  They’re lovely, winking down at you from the darkest depths, guiding you home.  

You don’t mean to scoff - really, you don’t.  It comes of its own accord, spilling forth like a glass too full.

“You don’t believe me?”  He sounds almost offended, the picture of innocence when he reaches down, hand scrambling about for pooled black fabric.  Comes back up with a packet between his index and middle finger, held aloft like a prize.  

How can you when he’s ready to devour you whole, primed to feast as he rolls the condom over his length, stroking himself once, twice, gaze never wavering from where it rests between your legs.

“Always prepared.”  It’s scathing but somehow tender, too mesmerised by the way he fucks into his loose fist.  You’d say more - maybe make a flippant comment about his reputation - but can’t find the words when he’s teasing you, swollen head tapping teasingly over your core.  It feels like too much, leaves you breathless when he hikes your legs up and nearly folds you in half. 

When he presses into you, the sound you make is sinful, a moan you can’t help.  Jungkook’s so fucking big you’re sure you’re about to split in half, pussy clenching tight around the sudden intrusion.  “Oh my god,”  you whine, hands coiling into his hair, trying desperately to relax, the sting of the stretch battling the pressure that builds as he sinks further in.  “You’re so big.  I c-can’t—”  You’re starting to babble nonsense and he hasn’t even begun moving yet, lips hot over the sweat-slick column of his throat when he bows, burning his presence into the grace of your neck.  A hickey of your own creation blooms right where your mouth is, right over his shoulder.  The salt of his skin distracts you, makes it easier to accommodate the fullness.  “You feel so good, Kook.”  You rock experimentally beneath him, clenching tight as if to draw him deeper.  “Please, move,”  you beg, aiming to form another bruise beneath his skin.

The first thrust chases all the breath from your lungs, a gasp ricocheting off your tongue and into the minimal space between you.  He's absurdly big, stretching you out so well that every stroke feels like heaven.  When he pushes back in, snaps his hips in that easy, effortless motion of his, you’re making the most obscene noises, words lost to his hair as he lavishes your tits with attention.

B-big! is all you manage to squeak out.  It sounds like that, anyway.  With how he's filling you, it's hard to speak coherently;  you can practically feel him in your throat.  (Or maybe that's just from choking on him earlier.  You’re not really sure.)

Hands find their way around his neck, over his shoulders, periwinkle-painted nails leaving light etchings in their wake.  They bloom colour over his back - not too hard, careful still, motor skills barely functioning - before you tangle your fingers in his hair, holding him recklessly close as the pressure builds and builds, flooding your abdomen in heat. 

There’s slick all across your thighs.  You can hear the wet sounds each time Jungkook slips almost all the way out and then rocks back in.  It's terribly messy and so hot but you’re greedy, drunk off the feeling of having this Adonis break you in half.  "Harder, p-please."  Eyes wide, you tug gently at the soft strands at the nape of his neck, meeting his with a flutter of your lashes.  "Please?"

He acquiesces without hesitation, fucks you harder, deeper, like an animal in a rut.  Grinds against you with each thrust, pushing you to your limits.  Even has the audacity to push further, until the strain in your hips conflicts with the pleasure skipping up your spine, melting you into a boneless mass.

You’ve never felt like this, stretched out and used.  You’re used to gentle lovers, sweet - if not boring - lovemaking.  The way Jungkook's pounding into you is unheard of and you’re loving it, his name whimpered on a feedback loop.  A steady Kook, Kook, Kook that twinkles in your ears, inarticulate and pleading as you rock shamelessly against him.

“You like that, ____?”  It’s a question for his own ego, something he knows but asks anyway.  (It’d be impossible not to know the answer when your cunt’s sucking him in, coating his cock in a pretty sheen.)

You’re nodding dumbly, breathless, eager to meet him each time he snaps forward.  (It’s not easy like this, practically prone beneath him, twisted into a pretzel.)  "Like it so m-much.  Feels so good.”  You can’t stop smoothing open mouthed kisses over his fluffy hair, basking in the sunshine that radiates off him. 

There's an ache starting between your legs, pussy swollen around his thick length.  You’re grateful for your natural flexibility, the hot yoga sessions you’d entertained on-and-off for years.  You’re sure you’d feel it in your legs too, knees pushed all the way up by your ears, if not for that.  

But still, you’re defenceless, made to experience each and every thing he has to offer:  every vein and ridge, the head of his cock reaching so deep it's almost too much.  With each stroke, Jungkook’s brushing against the sensitive spot that has pleasure skyrocketing, blossoming like a rose garden in spring.  "R-right there,"  you manage, rolling your hips purposefully, nearly crying each time he brushes against your g-spot.

“Right there?”  He parrots it back, infuriating and adorable, the teasing tenor dripping over you like raindrops.  They settle beneath your skin, sinking into your bones as he rears back just enough, enough to steal a kiss that’s far more tongue than it needs to be.  

It’s almost as if he’s trying to drown you, sink you beneath high tide.  

Spit descends down your chin, trails over your neck and it’s a little gross but you don’t care.  The attention he’s giving is shameless, passed over your cheeks, your throat, your breasts.  He gives and gives, both with his lips and the praise that comes unfettered.  “Perfect,”  he hums, sucking your nipple into his mouth, worrying the bud until it’s straining and puffy, too sensitive when he kisses you again and your own thigh brushes against it.  You whimper at the feeling, pulling softly at his hair, unsure whether you want less or need more.  “So sensitive.  Such a shy girl.  Such a pretty girl.”

Every word of praise has you beaming, nearly purring with delight despite the pain that comes when he puts you through the same once more, laving over the other bud with abandon.  He's sweat-slick, beads of it running down his neck, over the mosaic of bruises you’ve left behind.  It's almost embarrassing how dark his throat is coloured, a dozen reminders left all over his skin.

(You wonder how long they’ll last, how many days will pass as the colour shifts, changing like autumn leaves.  Whether they’ll still be there at your next lecture, if he’ll wear them with pride or cover up beneath one of his big baggy sweaters.)

(You hope it’s the latter.)

(Maybe he’ll let you give him more.)

(Maybe he—)

There’s a change of pace and you’re crying out, hiccupping with each thrust, the head of his cock finding your g-spot with unbearable, unrelenting precision.  Clawing at his arms, long nails digging into the firm muscle of his biceps, something between a sob and a plea rolls off your tongue, over and over.  "So big.  It's too m-much.”  And yet you don’t want him to stop, punch drunk from the way he reaches deep and pulls you tighter against him, hips risen off the bed. 

You’re begging again, eyes rolled so far back in your head you can hardly focus, the coil in your stomach pulled so tight you know it's about to snap.  When Jungkook laughs - a sweet giggle that proves his duality - you clench almost painfully, tears finally spilling over. 

One last brush against your most sensitive spot, one last thrust of that monster cock, and you’re peaking, coming so intensely you feel as if you’re soaring. Everything's suddenly so much more wet, release soaking into the linens beneath you, coating your thighs and his legs and dripping between you.

You’ve never come like this before, without some sort of direct stimulation on your clit.  It’s pleasurable in a different way, severing all your sensibilities, explosive in its magnitude.  It tingles beneath your skin, flooding all your senses. 

"Kook—please—come for me.”  You’re rocking up, forward - trying to, at least, folded as you are - singing his name, pleading for him to fuck his cum into you (momentarily ignorant to the fact that you’ve been responsible, a thin wall of latex separating you from your fucked out fantasy).  

Despite the sensitivity, you’re clenching around him, eager to bring him to his own high.  You want to feel him come apart above you, eroded into a mess like you are.

He’s just as pretty reaching his peak as he is at any other time, handsome face screwed up as if he’s reached nirvana, bliss slacking his features the longer he rides it out, bucking into you as he fills the condom and still doesn’t stop.  It’s almost unbearable, oversensitivity spilling into pleasure until he leisurely grinds to a halt, stops the inconsistent pressure against your bundle of nerves, the assault on your fluttering walls.

When he collapses against you, whole face squished between the valley of your breasts, you can’t help but laugh, the sound breathless and endeared.  “Are you okay?”  You don’t mind where he is, weight comforting, skin sticky on yours.  He’s unbelievably warm - a blanket fresh from the wash and yet so much better, lulling you into a sense of security.

“Better than okay,”  he murmurs against your chest, smothering open-mouthed kisses over skin, snickering when you jolt at the feel of his teeth over your nipple one last time.  “You’re welcome.”  It’s an indulgent, facetious expression of gratitude, one that you haven’t asked for.  You laugh all the same, ducking your head into the crown of spun gold atop his head.  

“You too.”

tag list.  @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound @codeinebelle​

[youwerenevermeanttofeelalone]

Lesson Learned | Five Hargreeves

✦ pairing — Five Hargreeves x female!Plus Size Reader

✦ word count — 5.1k

✦ college AU-ish

✦ request — Could you write a story in which Five asks reader to teach him to kiss because he has a date (they’re in high school or college if you prefer) but gets carried on and they have sex so it becomes the norm and she thinks they’re fwb but he thinks they’re dating so they get into a fight when she tells him she can do it anymore because she fell for him and has turned other people down?

✦ warnings — nsfw, Five and reader are in college, language, Five is a virgin, smut, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, angst, jealousy, misunderstandings, awkwardness, fluff.

✦ author's note — I changed the ending, but for the most part, this is loyal to the request.

════════════════════════

He had to be joking. Sure, Five wasn’t one to joke around too much, but he wasn’t one to talk about his love life with you either.

You glanced at him. With his back flush against the backrest of your desk chair and hands on his lap, he stared back.

“I can explain it to you...”

He rolled his eyes. “It’s not the same! Many things could go wrong. Dad always said to start small and practice.”

You rubbed your forehead, exasperated. “But I’m not an expert on kissing.”

“I’ve seen you make out with people at parties.”

Parties he always complained about. You understood where Five was coming from, he had been strictly homeschooled his entire life. It was a miracle that Reginald accepted to let him enroll in college.

Resigned, you left your seat on the bed, motioning for him to stand up too. Five complied, eyes on your face as he waited for you to say something else.

Swallowing your spit, praying you would stop hyper-salivating soon, you rested your right hand on his left cheek.

Five looked down at your hand, frowning.

“They’ll probably touch your face if they kiss you.”

Forcing him to slant his head, you explained, “Tilting your head makes it more comfortable. That way, when you move your lips against theirs, your noses don’t get in the way.”

Gently, he placed his hand on your cheek. Five pushed your head to the side so you’d tilt it too.

You could feel your heartbeat quicken which prompted you to take a deep breath. “You should be gentle at first, don’t stick your tongue into their throat or something like that.”

“I know the theory,” he snapped. “Can you just teach me the practice already?”

“Right.” You brought him to your height, unconsciously wetting your lips.

His breath fanned on your face, warm and rigged. You closed the gap between your mouths, fluttering your eyes close when he started moving his lips on yours.

It felt good, natural. You doubted it was his first kiss until his teeth grazed your bottom lip as he got too into the kiss too soon.

Swiping your thumb over his cheek, you pulled away to explain some more. “Easy. You’re just learning.”

Feeling him nod against your hand as he puckered his lips up to kiss you again, you added, “There’s nothing wrong with going at your own pace. If the other person really wants to kiss you, they’ll understand. You should do the same with them.”

Five pulled you closer to him, dropping his mouth onto yours. His kiss was intense, and you couldn’t help but match the passion he was pouring into it.

Your fingers slid into his hair which made him shudder. He added his teeth purposefully this time, bitting down your bottom lip.

“Well,” you breathed out, “I think you’ll do fine.”

“Oh, shut up.” He kissed you again, dropping his hand to your shoulder and letting it travel down your arm.

His fingers brushed yours yet he didn’t stop there. He planted his hand on your hip, groaning when you tugged on his hair.

Your tongue slid across his bottom lip, catching him off guard for a millisecond. Five opened his mouth, granting you access more than happily.

Gripping your hip with no inhibitions now, he walked you backward. You broke the kiss, gasping for air, confused as to what he was doing.

It clicked when your calves hit the base of the bed. You searched for his eyes, wanting to make sure he knew what he was doing. Finding dilated pupils, you gulped.

“You’ll have to teach me,” he panted on your mouth, voice deeper than earlier.

You nodded, lightly pushing him off. You had never been anyone’s first before, much less taught someone how to have sex. Nervous, you slowly dragged your hands down his chest and torso.

Pulling at the hem of his t-shirt, you waited for him to lift his arms to discard it. You looked at him appreciatively, already having expected a fit body due to his training.

Grabbing his arms, you leaned over to leave a tentative kiss on his neck. Five hummed, bringing his hands back to your body, skimming your back.

The reaction encouraged you to be more firm with your ministrations, adamant to find his sensitive spot.

Fisting your blouse, he rasped, “Let me take this off.”

Standing straight, you lifted your arms like he had done. Five slid the item off quickly, throwing the blouse to the chair.

He traced your breasts, looking at you to see if you were okay with it. Placing your hands on top of his, you encouraged him to touch you firmly.

As he kneaded your breasts from on top of your bra, you resumed the attention you were giving to his neck. You seemed to find the spot you had been looking for under his ear.

He held you flush against him as you kept kissing his skin, breathing unsteadily. Five groaned, attempting to undo your bra with shaky fingers.

“Fuck,” he blurted a curse as you harshly sucked on his neck, “you’re driving me insane.”

“That’s the idea,” you chuckled, hands moving to the front of his jeans. Brushing his bulge with your knuckles, you felt his breath hitch.

He dropped his head forward, lips caressing your shoulder as he hid his face in your neck. You cupped his bulge, and his hips thrust forward in reaction.

Five kissed your neck like you had been kissing his earlier, yet he got messy quicker. You moaned softly, feeling him suck on your skin like his life depended on it.

Unfastening his jeans, you pulled them down. He kicked his shoes off immediately, pushing the denim down his legs and kicking the jeans to the side too.

You palmed his cock, only for him to remove your hand. Before you could assume he didn’t want this anymore, he pulled your leggings down.

Abashed by the fact that you were wearing mismatched underwear, you got rid of the leggings. Turning around, giving him your back, you instructed, “Watch my hands.”

Five tried really hard to pay attention as your fingers unclasped your bra, but the only thing he could do was picture your fingers around his cock.

You grabbed his hand as you faced him, guiding it back to your breast to teach him how to pinch your nipples.

He rolled your nipple between his thumb and index fingers, making you let a whine out. Getting confident, wanting to hear more of those sounds that went straight to the tip of his cock, he started using both hands.

This time he didn’t stop you from touching his cock. You didn’t touch him much, he was almost completely hard already and both of you knew he wouldn’t last long.

His cock sprung free when you took his underwear off, beautifully hard. He hissed at the change of temperature — the hiss quickly turned into a low groan as you wrapped your fingers around his shaft.

Huffing a sigh out, he clumsily got rid of your panties.

Reaching for the drawer of your bedside table, you pulled a box of condoms out. He frowned upon seeing it, but made no comment.

You handed him one and let him take his time to put it on. Rearranging your pillows to be more comfortable, you laid on your back.

Five kneeled on the bed, dragging his eyes down your body. You opened your legs for him.

Crawling closer to you, he looked down to see what he was doing and hesitated.

“It’s okay if you want to stop,” you reminded him.

“It’s not that. I don’t want to hurt you,” he admitted.

“Oh.” You cradled his cock, gently guiding his tip in. He shut his eyes as you did so, swallowing rather harshly. Craning your neck upward, you kissed his throat, letting go of his cock as he slowly continued to push in.

Five cursed. The strained tone made you clench around him, prompting him to let out a growl.

Ready, adjusted to his size after a tense moment, you told him, “You can move whenever you want. Slow at first.”

Opening his eyes, he placed his hands on your thick thighs. The movement of his hips, slow and hesitant, showcased how nervous he was.

You smiled at him in assurance, hoping he already knew you wouldn’t judge him if things didn’t go as he expected.

It worked to some extent, his clammy hands slid to the sides of your thighs once he felt comfortable with going a little faster.

Lewd sounds filled the room, making Five wonder how could you be that wet. You winced, afraid of embarrassing yourself.

Hovering over you, he kissed you. Forcefully gripping your thighs, rocking his hips at a desperate pace.

He couldn’t believe how good it felt. Five hadn’t given sex much thought before, he didn’t have time for most things — now everything he could process was how warm you were around him, wet and tight.

His stomach contracted as the coil inside him wound tighter. Taking deep breaths, he tried every trick he had read in order to not cum yet.

“It’s okay,” you panted, caressing his hair tenderly as you felt him twitch inside you, “let go.”

Relieved, he spilled into the condom, whining. His hands trembled, eyes wide open. Five never imagined it would be different from coming after jerking off. Oh, how wrong he had been.

“Hold the base when you pull out, that way you don’t make a mess.”

He did as you instructed him, tying the condom once he had taken it off. Five threw the discarded condom into the trash can, chest heaving up and down.

He laid beside you, catching his breath as he looked up at the ceiling.

“You didn’t come, did you?”

“That usually happens the first time you have sex with someone.”

“Don’t make excuses for me.”

You rolled to lay on your side. Five had his jaw clenched, the muscles in his abdomen were contracted, and he was frowning.

“Hey.” You reached for his face, making him look at you. “There are many ways to please someone. Everyone is different. That’s not your fault.”

He scoffed. Five didn’t like being like other people, making other people’s mistakes was stupid, unoriginal.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, I promise.”

“I clearly didn’t do something right!”

“Women tend to have a hard time coming the first time they’re with a new partner. It’s just... normal.”

“What makes you come?”

“It depends from person to—“

He interrupted you, “I asked you specifically.”

“It doesn’t matter. I can get myself off.”

He rolled on his side, resting his hand on your waist as he breathed on your face. “Tell me,” he insisted.

“Fingers should be enough,” you mumbled, eyes on his mouth.

Five dragged his hand down, following your curves. He stopped at your inner thigh for a moment, watching you, mapping your face.

Your eyes were hooded, wanton and pretty; mouth slightly open as you waited for him to please you. Him.

He parted your labia, assuming that was what he had to do to enter you, and gasped upon feeling just how wet you were. It was better than hearing it; it felt real now. He had made you wet. He.

“How many?” The question was low and firm, husky tone going directly to your clit.

“Two.”

Dipping his index and middle fingers into your pussy, Five licked his lips. He was torn between asking more questions and finding out what you liked by himself.

It couldn’t be that hard. He caressed your walls, exploring one side with his index. His knuckle brushed your other side, applying pressure. You whimpered, lulling your head to the side opposed to where he was.

Five shifted his fingers inside you, making you drop your hand to his shoulder as you tried your hardest not to move against his digits.

Intrigued by the spongy mound he had grazed, he touched it again. Your walls squeezed his fingers, hips lifting as your body jolted up.

His name escaped you through a sob. It was too much, you needed him to take you there already. Just a little push and you would explode.

Remembering how good it felt when you kissed his throat, he dropped his head into your neck to do the same, curling his fingers inside you when he realized it was easier to touch the soft sponge that way.

Your moans, mixed with the wet sounds of his fingers deep inside you, got him feeling hotter. He needed you to say his name again, even if it was just once — the sound had been so sweet, so sensual, he was sure he wouldn’t need porn to jerk off ever again.

Hand planted on his neck as you looked for something to hold onto, feeling as though your soul would leave your body if you didn’t find something to ground you, and only half-aware of what you were saying, you clamped your legs closed.

You were finally there, squealing his name so he wouldn’t stop. And he didn’t, not until your whimpers and cries subsided. Even then, Five found the pressure and fluid wetness on his fingers pleasant — so pleasant he unconsciously continued fingering you.

Your legs trembled and a loud sob broke through you. “Too much,” you choked out.

Five stopped moving his fingers, lifting his head to look at you. “Did I hurt you?”

Not able to form a coherent sentence, you pulled him into a kiss. He kissed you slowly, using his position to his advantage to lay you on your back so he could caress your cheek with his free hand.

The kiss had to be cut short when you grew breathless. Fluttering your eyes open, you found his own focused on your face. Your thumb traced his jaw as your hand stayed firm on his neck.

Five pulled his fingers out of you. Hissing, you shifted your hips. He played with the slick coating his fingers, admiring its glisten.

Before processing what he was doing, he licked his fingers.

Both of you moaned at the same time.

════════════════════════

That saying of never meeting your idols had always sounded a little too pessimistic for your liking.

Now you were sure you had a better one. Never start fucking your crush who happens to be your childhood friend.

You should have known you wouldn’t be able to stop. Teaching him became an excuse, until the excuse didn’t hold up because there was nothing else to teach him. At least not on your behalf.

He never told you how the date went. You preferred it that way, pretending you were the only person he was seeing was better.

Extremely easy, too. You spent a lot of time together — hanging out, doing homework, having sex...

You caught him staring from across classrooms or hallways sometimes, and others he caught you. He always smiled, never showing his teeth but always acknowledging you warmly.

Not seeing him on Friday night and Saturday was fucking with your head. He had things to do, at least that was what he said — probably someone else to see.

Every time he kissed you or touched you made you fear it would be the last. He would eventually settle for someone, you knew how much he needed some sense of normalcy in his life.

And you knew it wouldn’t be you.

Your roommate threw herself onto the couch, lifting her eyebrows as she stared at you. “Soooooo,” she sang, “what’s going on between you and Five?”

You closed your laptop, tired of staring at the blank screen with no idea how to start your essay. “Nothing.”

“Then who gave him that giant hickey he’s been trying to hide with a turtleneck?”

You shrugged. “Ask him.”

“(Name),” she said, trying to sound serious. She failed, too amused by your attempt at being nonchalant. “You’re the only person he hangs out with.”

That wasn’t technically true. He had some acquaintances here and there, and he spent a lot of time with his siblings.

Either way, one doesn’t have to hang out with someone to be involved with them in other ways. For instance, the last time you had seen someone casually, none of your friends got to meet them.

Someone knocked on the door. Assuming it was her partner, you let her open herself, resting your belly on the arm of the couch as you stretched to place the laptop on the table beside it.

You would probably prepare something to snack on and watch a movie unless she needed the apartment for herself.

You heard a familiar “hello” and froze. The couch dipped, prompting you to kneel in order to acknowledge Five.

He leaned on his back to stare at you. Following his tongue with your eyes as it came out to wet his bottom lip, you bit the inside of your cheek.

“I brought your favorite cookies,” he announced softly, nodding upward.

A paper bag laid on the wooden table at the center of the living room, next to your roommate’s tablet. As you deviated your eyes, she gave you a cocky smile, lifting her eyebrows again.

She made an excuse to leave you alone, reminding you that she would be back in the morning. Finding the comment pointless, you rolled your eyes playfully at her and told her to be safe.

Five sat properly, cradling your face to kiss you. The kiss was short, a mere greeting gesture. You observed the bags under his eyes which were bloodshot yet made no comment.

Leaving the couch with the excuse of refilling your water bottle, you offered him something to drink but he declined.

“I’ll be in your room,” he stated as he walked past the kitchen.

He didn’t give you time to answer. You sighed loudly once you heard the door creak open and went back to the living room.

Grabbing the cookies and your laptop, you turned the lights off.

He was discarding the tied-up hoodie he had been wearing to hide the marks on his neck when you entered the bedroom.

You left the laptop on your desk. As for the cookies and the water bottle, you placed them on your bedside table before sitting down on the bed from where you could reach them whenever you wanted.

Five rested his head on your lap, kicking his shoes off to get more comfortable. He grabbed your hand, guiding it to his hair.

Burying your fingers in his dark locks, you started massaging his scalp. He sighed, wrapping his arms around your waist.

You asked, “Are you okay?”

It took him a while to answer. Humming, clearly tired, he said, “It’s been a long weekend.”

“Wanna watch a movie?” you offered. You needed the distraction urgently. Thinking about what could’ve been bothering him wasn’t good for your health.

If it was someone he was seeing, it would break your heart. If it was something that had to do with his family... well, that would also break your heart.

Five fit himself between your legs, using your belly as a pillow. One of his arms was around you while his other hand fiddled with the elastic of your sweatpants.

You continued playing with his hair mindlessly, resigned to the fact that you wouldn’t focus on the film.

“You smell good,” he purred, rubbing his face on the ends of your t-shirt as he shifted to bury his nose in the material and sniff it.

He fell asleep on your lap before the third act of the movie started.

════════════════════════

He hadn’t wanted to attend the stupid party. Five was tired, sleep-deprived, and quite worried. Klaus wanted him there, and he couldn’t say no to his brother when he had his own reasons to attend.

Regardless, he should’ve imagined Klaus had dragged him there with other intentions.

“Pleaaaaaase?” Klaus whined.

Five gritted, “I said no. I am busy later.”

Five adored his brother, he often gave into Klaus’ whims, but covering for him wasn’t that easy, and he had plans already.

Things weren’t going as smoothly as he wanted them to, and the logical solution was taking time to do them right before it was too late. It was his primary focus.

He had spent days asking around, doing research, planning things. Letting Klaus ruin everything because he wanted to get laid couldn’t be allowed.

Klaus pouted, narrowing his eyes as he scanned the room. “I’ll ask (Name) then.” He then giggled, “But not now. Or later. She might get some tonight.”

Five opened his mouth, “How did—“ he stopped himself, Klaus wasn’t looking at him anymore but at something behind him.

Turning around, Five found your frame a few meters away from him. You were chatting with a guy he had seen in passing, hand on his bicep — he believed the blond idiot to share a class with you.

What was his name? Something dumb, clearly. Fuck, why couldn’t he remember names now? Luke... or Lucas? It started with an L. It suited him.

Not thinking much of it, aware of how friendly you were, he took a sip of his drink. Five almost choked when he saw you throw your head back in a fit of laughter.

Everyone knew your companion wasn’t funny or smart. Why were you laughing with him? And why hadn’t you approached Five to say hello?

Leaving Klaus without a word, he walked toward you. He recognized your laugh as a painfully fake one, too giggly to be of your own or natural. It was vomit-inducing.

Five stood at your side. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” he lied.

You shifted to acknowledge him, speaking through your teeth. “I’m a little busy right now.”

Thrusting his drink into your hand, he ignored your companion. “It’s your favorite,” he smiled at you sweetly.

Your heart fluttered in your chest, prompting you to take a sip to keep yourself from giggling. For real this time. A smile had never made you so nervous.

Then again, Five rarely smiled genuinely.

Your companion cleared his throat, trying to get your attention again.

Turning to look at the other man, Five nodded upward. “Oh, hey Luke.”

“It’s Lance.”

“Right.” Five nodded dismissively. Sliding his arm around your shoulders, draping his hand as his knuckles brushed your jaw, he told you, “Can you talk to Liam later? I need your help.”

“My name is—“

Five gave Lance a tight sarcastic smile. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

You passed the cup to your other hand, wrapping your arm around Five’s waist. Choosing him, always him for some stupid reason.

Lance scoffed. “I’ll see you around, (Name).”

He glared at Five as he made his way toward his friends. Uncomfortable, you looked down. This was the third time you turned someone down for Five, and you were growing tired of it but couldn’t stop doing it.

“You didn’t answer my texts earlier.”

“You know I’ve been busy.”

“Yeah, like you were busy with your new bestie now.”

His harsh tone made you face him. He was glaring at the empty space in front of you, where Lance had been standing.

“You said you needed my help...” you trailed off, desperate to get past the uncomfortable silence.

He nodded. “Let’s go.”

“Where?”

Giving you a look that told you not to ask more questions, he pulled you closer, dragging you with him.

Leaving out of nowhere, without warnings or apologies to your friends, wasn’t wise. They could worry, or get mad at you when it had taken them so long to convince you to stop brooding and attend the party.

They surely would understand if you explained that Five had needed your help. Or tease you for dropping everything to be with him.

The weather outside of the venue was nice, nicer than the previous days when the heat had been so intense you had been tempted to sleep naked.

“Are you at least telling me what’s wrong?”

He looked up at the sky, humming in thought. This wasn’t the way he had intended to apologize, or to say anything. “I was hoping you would tell me.”

“You’re the one who needs help.”

“I clearly lied.”

You rolled your eyes to yourself. He was acting as though you were always willing to put everything aside for him. And you were. Fuck.

“Can I go back to the party?”

“Back to that idiot?” he mocked you. “I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to tell you all about the underage girls he has been grooming.”

Jesus fucking Christ. You just wanted to have fun for a night. Just one night of not going to bed wondering if he was in someone else’s room. Lance had seemed willing to make you forget — it would’ve been a transactional night, nothing more and nothing less.

Your silence only made matters worse. Bitterly, Five gritted, “One would think that after a week of being so busy you couldn’t hang out with your boyfriend you would be happy to have some time alone with him, but for some fucking reason I’m not enough tonight.”

“With my what?” You asked, baffled.

He shifted, twisting his body to gaze at you. “I know you’ve been busy, okay? And I have also been focused on other things, extremely stressed too.” Five leaned his head on the concrete wall. “It’s not an excuse. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, yeah.” You nodded. “But what did you say earlier? Like... seconds earlier.”

Struggling to repeat it, worried you would agree, he stammered, “That I’m not good enough tonight?”

“You used the word boyfriend.”

Five looked at you like he didn’t understand what you were talking about. “That’s what I am,” he said, obfuscated by the fact that he had to state the obvious.

“You are?”

“Am I not?”

“Well... no, but a little bit but not really? I mean—“ interrupting yourself, you shook your head. Acting like a babbling schoolgirl would get you nowhere.

Sure, you wanted to throw up; and yeah, you were probably getting what you wanted — but things weren’t supposed to go that way.

“You never asked,” you reminded him. How could you have known he was taking things so seriously? “I assumed we were friends with benefits.”

“We spend our free time together, making out and whatnot.”

“Yeah! Friends with benefits do that. Those are the benefits.”

“We go on dates,” he challenged you to find an explanation that would follow your warped logic. Friends with benefits! What a dumb thing to assume when he was giving you every drop of his love and attention.

Dates? What the fuck was he talking about? Hanging out at cafés and going to the movies?

“Those aren’t dates.”

“That’s stupid. Why would there be so many fucking rules to be in a relationship?”

You blew air out through your mouth, willing to explain it to him. “It’s not about rules. If you don’t clarify your intentions, people can only assume. The only qualifier for something to be a date is calling it that. It’s not that hard.”

“Fuck.” He rubbed his palms against his face, gripping his hair as his hands traveled up his head. “I feel like an idiot.”

“It’s okay, I shouldn’t have assumed anything either.”

He shook his head. “It’s something much more embarrassing.”

“Should I even ask?”

“Don’t laugh.” He lifted a finger, pointing at you in a threatening stance.

“I won’t,” you promised. How bad could it be?

Oh, it was bad. Okay, not bad, just... over the top. You wanted to laugh really badly — not at him, but out of nervousness. And maybe a little bit at him.

He had managed to scatter flower petals all over a hotel room floor while candles formed a trail toward the bed.

Light from more candles emanated from the bathroom where you could see even more flowers, beautifully arranged around the bathtub.

You opened and closed your mouth, trying to find something worth saying, a reaction that wouldn’t offend him.

“It’s romantic.” He made a pause, twisting his clasped hands. “Right?”

“Y—yeah.”

Five tsked. “It’s too fucking much, I know. I wanted to be romantic because my girlfriend has been stressed out and turns out I look like a fucking lunatic by doing this!” Lifting his hands in a frustrated gesture, he clenched his jaw.

You placed your hands on his shoulders. “It’s sweet.” He was pouting now, prompting you to be more firm, “I mean it.”

“You don’t seem to like it.”

“Of course I do! It’s just news to me that we’re dating.”

“Have you...” he made a meaningless movement with his hand, wetting his lips. “You know... seen other people?”

“No.” You decided to tell him the whole truth, “I tried a few times, but it didn’t feel right. It’s kind of embarrassing, I’ve turned people down because of you while thinking you didn’t care about me.”

“And I thought I was the delusional one.”

“You would’ve saved me from a lot of stress if you had stated your intentions clear,” you defended yourself. “Put yourself in my shoes, we had sex the first time because you wanted me to teach you.”

“We had sex the first time because you turned me on,” he corrected you, gripping your hips, making your dress inch up. “Why are you wearing a dress?”

“You don’t want to know.”

Five brought you closer to him, face red and eyes sharp. “You are right, I don’t.” He leaned over, trying not to focus on anything else but your lips.

You met him in the middle, kissing him first as you captured his bottom lip between yours. “I’m sorry,” you mumbled on his mouth, only to kiss him again.

Five slowed the kiss down for once, giving you short kisses instead. He rested his forehead on yours, arms around you as he swayed you to a rhythm you didn’t really know.

“Is it a bad moment to tell you I’m in love with you?”

With your hands on his shoulders, you shook your head. “It would only be bad if you didn’t mean it.”

“I never meant anything more in my life.”

“I’m in love with you too.”

He smiled, angling his face to give you another kiss. Sweet and long, as if he had all the time in the world. Five peppered kisses all over your face, huffing more smiles as he gazed at your reaction.

“Do you want to take a bubble bath?” he asked, mouthing your jaw. “I brought your favorite scent.”

“Are you joining me?”

“That was implicit, honey.”

You grabbed his hand then, bringing him into the bathroom with you.

[anonymousfiction211]

Meeting Tom Hiddleston 2

Summary: After meeting Tom Hiddleston you both have to fly back to your own countries. Once you read the inside of your signed book, you decide to text him. Thinks take an unexpected turn. 

Word count: 2.539 words

Warnings: Smut

A/N: Click here to read chapter 1. But this chapter can be read seperatly.

Challenge accepted The weekend that you spend with Tom and your friends was amazing. Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end. You were back in your own country and Tom in his. Even though you had exchanged numbers, you were too afraid to text, afraid he wouldn’t reply. You unpacked your suitcase and came across the book you had Tom signed. You realized that you never opened the book, too wrapped up in his company. You took the book from your suitcase and sat down on the bed. You slowly opened the first page to see in eloquent handwriting:

Dear (Y/N),

I will certainly conquer your world, if that means I will have you kneeling before me 😉

- Loki

You felt yourself heat up and took a deep breath. Images about the first night, and the others were rushing back to you. You involuntarily squeezed your thighs together to relief some of the tension. Then you realized that this was a good excuse to text him. At least if he didn’t text back, you could try and move on. Hoping to fool yourself to think that would ever be an option. You were thinking about different replies, actually writing them down on paper. It had happened far too often that you were in the middle of rearranging the words of a text, only for you to hit send and come off as a complete idiot. It took a while but eventually you send:

I read your message in the book, you can certainly try but the last time I checked Loki wasn’t really that good at conquering worlds. x (Y/N)

And now came the part that you hated. You had to wait for him to reply. And while you were waiting you ran every worst-case-scenario in your head. From him not texting back, to him finding it weird, to him being disgusted. You were mentally slapping yourself all day for sending a text like that. But he liked the challenge the first time you questioned Loki’s method, maybe he would like your text? Or maybe you should have started with something more mundane, like how his day was going? You had checked your phone 10 times in the last 5 minutes. You knew it was ridiculous to expect someone to reply that fast, still, you felt like you had blown it.

The day went by agonizing slow, you tried to distract yourself but nothing worked. You didn’t know what was wrong with you, you barely had crushes on guys. The fact that you had sex with Tom and he spend a few days with you and your friends was amazing. You figured it would be out of your system by the end, but no. Now that you had a taste, you needed more. Much more! You were ripped from your thoughts when you heard your phone ringing. Looking at the screen you saw the person calling low key. That was Tom, he had asked you would not put his real name in your phone in case you ever lost it and someone would find it. Your stomach tied in knots and you felt like you were going to be sick. After a few seconds you realized you had to answer, maybe it wouldn’t be that bad.  

‘Hey darling, hope I’m not calling at an inconvenient time?’ he asked. The way the word ‘darling’ rolled of his tongue in his British accent had you lightheaded.

‘N- no of course not’ you stammered.

‘Great, I just wanted to ask how your day was going’ he said.

You told them about his day and after that you asked him about his. When he was telling you, you started to wonder if he even read your text. After some chit chatting you were convinced that he hadn’t, maybe he never received it?

‘Oh, by the way, good new! I will be shooting a movie near by you. I will be there for a few months next week. I was hoping we could meet up’ he said.

‘Yes, of course! That would be great’ you replied eagerly.

‘Great, I have to go now, but I just wanted to let you know that I accept your challenge’ he said.

‘Challenge? What challenge?’ you asked confused.

‘The text you send me. I will conquer your world and have you kneeling by the end of the first day’ he replied in a low dark voice. Before you could reply he hung up. It took a moment before you realized what he meant. You swallowed hard and had to admit you were turned on by those words alone. You wondered what Tom had planned to complete the challenge. It was a challenge you for sure were going to lose, which felt like a win.

Over the next week Tom had texted some dubious things that got you worked up. He had sent some pictures of himself, after he was done working out, swimming or just ‘lounging in bed’. Most of them shirtless and his pants were so low you could see the V-shape by his hips. The pictures of him in bed were especially hot. He showed of his abs, his large hands near his crotch which was visibly hard. With the picture he had send a recording wherein he whispered in a dark voice al the filthy things he wanted to do once he was with you. You couldn’t help but touch yourself, the picture with the voice was too much. Tom clearly knew what kind of effect he had on you, because he called you a few minutes after he send it. You reluctantly answered the call, still extremely horny and wet.

‘By your panting I can only assume that you are doing what I think you are doing’ he smirked over the phone.

When you embarrassingly admitted it, Tom started to talk dirty over the phone. He was instructing you what to do and encouraging you to lose yourself in your pleasure. Which you did. After you came he said ‘that’s my good girl’ and hang up. The words did something to you, you were a bit surprised by it. You didn’t know if it was the praise, or the fact he called you his. Tom was a wicked man, a wicked man indeed. The next day he let you know that he would fly that day to your city. He asked for you address, since he had a lot of time that day. Thankfully, it was weekend, so you were also free. You didn’t which time he would come, he didn’t answer you after he got your address. Until you got a text that late afternoon that said:

Wear something that can easily be removed

Deciding to indulge him further you choose a short dress. You were staring at your lingerie and decided to tease him, you were going commando. Right before you were about the cook yourself dinner you heard a knock on your door. You squealed a little from excitement and rushed to the door. When you opened it, you saw Tom smiling brightly at you with his arms wide open. You immediately hugged him, he pulled you up and spun you around.

‘I missed you, darling. This week was torture’ he said.

You laughed a little ‘You surely tortured me the entire week’.

You let him in and to your surprise he still had his suitcase with him. But you couldn’t care less, right now the only thing you wanted to do was kiss him. Tom must have had the same idea, because once he closed the door behind him, he grabbed you and pulled you close to him. His lips were on yours in a second. There was nothing gentle about the way he kissed you, it was passionately, desperate. Like he had been starved and finally the thing he craved for. His hands started to explore your body and you were already helping his out of his jacket. You felt him smile against your lips.

‘Naughty girl, no panties. What happened to the good girl I met a week ago?’ he whispered against your lips.

‘Hmm, you corrupted her slightly’ you answered.

He just chuckled ‘Good, because I’m not done yet’

Once his jacket was off he helped you with the buttons of his shirt and stood half naked before you. He had kicked his shoes of and you were now undoing his belt and pants. A second later he was completely naked and you marvelled at the sight of him. Tom just smirked and helped you out of your dress. You wanted to kiss him again but he grabbed your wrists and hold you in your place.

‘Kneel’ he whispered in your ear. It sends shivers down your spine. You wanted to kneel, but you were curious to see this side of him. So, you shook your head ‘make me’ you challenged him. A wide smile appeared on his face, and you briefly wondered if this was a good choice, a bad one, or both. Tom walked to the couch, while still holing your wrists together. He sat down, his erect cock standing proudly between his legs. When he pulled you down you instinctively tried to get his cock inside of you, but he would let you. With his hands he pulled your wrists to your back and held them together with only one hand. You were facing him, your clit close to his cock which was begging for attention. His other hand slowly stroked your hips. You tried to squeeze your thighs together, but couldn’t. Your legs were around his, spreading you as he had spread his as wide as he could. Your clit was exposed and you were completely immobile. His stroking hand soon found you clit and you moaned loudly when he started to circle it with his fingers.

‘Tsk, darling. Already so wet, and I’ve barely begun’ he teased you. You only moaned his name in response.

‘I’ve been thinking about you all week, how it felt to have that pussy of yours clench around my cock, milking it like your life depends on it’ he said while stroking your clit faster.

You felt your orgasm build up and were craving your release. Right before it hit you, he stopped. Instead, his hand found your breasts and started to massage one. He ignored your whining and pleading for him to continue. You struggled against the hand that were holding your wrists, but he didn’t budge. He took your other breasts in his mouth and started to circle and bite your nipple. After that he left multiple bite marks on your breasts, he leaned back and looked proudly at his work. Then he grabbed his cock and he started to tease your clit with the tip of it. You felt your muscles tense up again and you threw your head back.

‘You’re so beautiful’ he whispered to you. ‘Before you send that text I was going to be a gentleman. Now, I want to fuck you every chance I get while I’m here’ he continued.

‘Maybe I will take you to set, stuff that pretty mouth of yours with my cock between takes’ ‘Or make you wear a remote-controlled vibrator the entire day, while I play with the buttons’

You were close, so close. But right before you came, he stopped again.

‘Tom, please’ you panted. You didn’t know you could take more of his teasing.

‘Tell me, what are you begging for’ he mused.

‘Take me, please’ you begged.

‘Is that the best you can do?’ he said with a twinkle in his eyes.

‘Please, please, I want you so bad’ you said.

He leaned further back and released your arms ‘then kneel’ he said.

You didn’t have to be told thrice. You quickly got off him and kneeled between his legs. Before he could say anything you took his cock entirely in your mouth and hurt him groan and curse. You eagerly started to suck him, while swirling the tongue around his tip. You flattened your tongue and put more pressure on it when you slide it against his entire shaft. Tom’s hands flew to your hair and he pulled a little. When he noticed you started to suck him more enthusiastically, he pulled harder.

‘That’s it. My good girl’ ‘You’re a fucking goddess’ he praised you.

You felt his muscles tense and he moaned loudly. You knew he was close, but you didn’t stop. Tom grabbed a handful of your hair and pulled you off his cock. You looked questioningly at him.

‘I want to cum inside of you’ he said darkly. He pulled you on his lap and didn’t waste any time to plunge his cock balls deep inside of you. You eagerly started to ride him while he was guiding your motions with his hands on your ass. His gaze was locked at your bouncing breasts. When you felt your orgasm build up, you threw your head back. He seized that opportunity to bite your neck, surely leaving a mark. But you couldn’t care less. When his fingers found your clit, he circled it a few time, and you came immediately. Your walls clenched around him and you felt his cock twitch inside of you. After a few more thrusts you rest your head against his forehead, and both of you tried to control your breathing. His cock was still inside of you and his possessive hands on your hips held you there.

‘That was..’ you started, Tom hummed in agreement.

‘Love, you have no idea what you are doing to me’ he whispered.

You laughed and wanted to move off him, but he tightened his grip and held you there. ‘Not yet’ he said. ‘Shouldn’t you check into the hotel tough? Usually, they don’t let you check in after dinner, which is almost’ you asked him.

He kissed you deeply. ‘I have till 10 pm to check in’ he answered. ‘When I’m here I would be busy and the hotel is like half an hour away from your place. And the set even more than an hour. So, I was wondering what you would think about me staying at your place?’ he asked.

You tried to think it over, but Tom started rambling ‘I mean, I don’t want to pressure you. I just, wanted to spend most of my time with you. But if you are not comfortable I will take the hotel. I didn’t mean.. It was maybe stupid too..’ You kissed him to shut him up and tried not to giggle at his change in personality. You liked how he could go from the dominant sex god to the sweet rambling idiot, just like that.

‘You can stay here’ you smiled brightly at him. Tom looked very relieved to hear you say that. You felt his cock harden again.

‘I- I should however start to cook, for dinner’ you said while trying to get off him.

Tom held you in place and kissed you deeper. To your surprise he stood up and held you impaled on his cock. ‘Bedroom?’ he asked. You pointed him towards the door behind the two of you. He started to walk there while kissing you. He laid you gently on the bed and slowly started to thrust. Your hands caressed his back and your legs wrapped around his waist. Tom left open mouth kisses on your lips, cheeks, and your neck. ‘I will help you cook, once I have you more intimately. Deal?’ he whispered.

‘Deal’ you moaned.

Tags: @delightfulheartdream​ @the-best-phineas​

[darkwritingsnshit]

Consequences 9

Warnings: This is a dark fic. Please do not read if you’re under 18, or are uncomfortable with dark characters, noncon, kidnapping, alchol mention, drug mention, asshole characters.

Look this went in a different direction I’m as confused as anyone else.

The words didn’t make sense. Your father was dead, it had broken your mother when he died, the two of you barely survived the move away from New York, your mother doing what she had to do in order to process everything. But the man in the picture was clearly your father. His face was the same one you had memorized, the laugh lines mirrored the black and white photograph in your mother’s drawer. But this was a new photograph; Steve and Bucky looked largely the same, the man looked just like your father, but older, the bright colors jumping at you from the page.

“What, the fuck, is this?” You were angry now, angry and not ready to believe that this man was your father, that Steve knew your father. 

“Do you need a minute?” Steve was playing with you. 

“A minute?” You snarled back, “A minute?” 

“I know this is a lot to take in.” He leaned back in his chair, watching you, staring at the picture, waiting for your response. 

“What the fuck is this?!” You repeated, this time nobody stopped you when you stood, waving the picture in front of Steve’s face. Steve snatched the paper from your hands, giving it a once over before placing it back in his drawer. 

“I was worried that might upset you.” He turned his attention back to you. “But to answer your question, that is a picture of your father, your brother, Bucky and myself.”

“Brother?” Your head was spinning, your entire reality tumbling down around you. 

“Sit down.” Steve snapped his fingers at you. “If you really want to have this conversation then you’re going to be polite about it.” 

As if dragging you into his office to tell you a horrible, world upending secret hadn’t been his idea. Even more upset, you slowly sat, more aware of Bucky and Sam’s presence than you had been before. Bucky had known your father, had Sam? 

“Better.” Steve was smiling again, pleased that you were listening. “Now, I guess there's a lot to unpack here.”

“You GUESS?” If you had to sit you would sit, but you weren’t going to be polite. 

“Stop yelling, jesus christ.” Sam let out an exasperated sigh, like these men hadn’t rearranged your whole life.

“He’s right, by the way.” Steve looked at you. He ran his hands through his hair and sighed, like this conversation was too much for him. You were seething. 

“Your mother kept you safe.” Steve leveled his eyes with yours. “She was always trying to protect you, that’s why you never met your father.” 

“My father died years ago, I don’t know who you think this freak in the picture is but that’s not my father.”

“You can lie to yourself as long as you want, but it’s not going to get you anywhere. Especially when you already know the truth.” Steve was right. This really was your father, you could see the man identical to the photographs you memorized, the same dark hair and eyes that looked at you from the bathroom mirror. 

“Why are you telling me this?” You sounded defeated, you felt it too. 

“So we can finally be on the same page, sweetheart. So you can finally stop trying to fight with me when I tell you what’s best for you.” The way he was surveying you from across his desk made you uncomfortable. 

“This doesn’t make me feel better Steve! Finding out I had a secret family does nothing to calm me down, or explain to me why I’m here!” 

“Your father was a very powerful man, who just died very tragically. You need protection right now, and there are people out there who are far more unkind than I am.” 

“Unkind?” You could feel the bruises on your face, the split of your lip. “You killed my mother.” 

“She wasn’t your mother.” It was Bucky who spoke this time, his deep voice catching you by surprise. You spun around to get a better look at him, his face as serious as Steve’s.

“What are you talking about?”

“He’s right.” Steve nodded his head in agreement. “She was never your mother, she was just someone who wanted to keep you safe. I told you I didn’t kill your family.” 

“Just someone who wanted to keep me safe?” You were incredulous. “She raised me, she loved me, how could you say she’s not my mother?” 

“Biologically-” Steve began again.

“Biologically doesn’t mean shit, she was my mother Steve!” Steve put his hands up in front of him.

“Okay, okay I get it, it’s touchy. My point is that I didn’t kill any of your blood family, and I never would. I brought you here to keep you safe from the people who wouldn’t hesitate.” 

Your head was spinning. Nothing made sense again. 

“What am I supposed to do with this information?” You breathed out. Suddenly everything in your life had changed; your father had recently died instead of years previously, your mother wasn’t your mother, you had a brother, what else didn’t you know about?

“Well,” Steve looked at you, “you could start with a thank you.” 

“A thank you? A thank you for what? If this man is my father, and my mother isn’t really my mother, then who is? And what the fuck did you say to me about a brother?” You were in a panic, breathing too fast, head spinning.

“Let's just take a minute to breathe, okay?” You heard Steve stand up and cross the room. He mumbled something to Bucky and Sam and they left without a sound.

Could the things Steve was telling you possibly be true? The photo looked real, but anybody could doctor a photograph, right? The man looked too close to your mother’s pictures to be an imposter, but how could he be alive all these years later? Your existential crisis was cut short, a drink set down with a thud in front of you. You watched the condensation drip down the side of the glass. It was cool beneath your fingers, fiery under your tongue. 

“Tony always kept secrets, but you certainly were his biggest.” Steve was surveying you over the rim of his glass.

“Tony?” You were quizzical.

“Wow, you really had no idea, did you, even when we were dating?” You felt stupid under Steve’s gaze, but you were still waiting for the big reveal. “Tony, that was his real name.”

“What does that have to do with our dating history?” Steve wasn’t explaining anything, just raising more questions.

“Sweetheart, I’ve known who you are the whole time we dated. I’ve been very interested in you for several reasons, for a very long time.” He looked smug, like an animal that had finally caught their prey. 

“What does it matter who my dad is? He’s dead, and he left me with nothing, that doesn’t put you in some pretty position of power Steve.” What was he trying to gain?

“That’s actually not true.” Steve leaned forward, more interested in where the conversation was leading. “In his will, there’s a section with some very… interesting wording. In fact there’s a few things he left to his ‘oldest child’.”

“Are you going to leave me in suspense?” You didn’t want to admit that he had piqued your interest.

“Look, I was never privy to the specifics of it, but from what I’ve heard, Peter believes whatever was left to Tony’s ‘oldest child’ is his. I mean he was never told of your existence, so you can’t blame the kid for being so obtuse.” There was a hint of a smile behind the words, a soft spot for some kid named Peter you supposed.

“What exactly did he leave me, Steve?” Apparently you needed to be specific. Steve shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly, looking you over another time.

“Nothing to write home about, on its own. Some choice property, a chunk of cash and some shares in his company.” That didn’t sound like nothing. “But the shares of his company he left you, combined with mine, Sam’s and Bucky’s give us complete control over the kid, and over Stark Industries.

There it was. There was the end of Steve’s plan. The end game had always been in place, you knew Steve to be meticulous in everything he did. You could only imagine how upset he was when you broke up with him last year, could only imagine the giant hole that tore in his plans.

“So this was your whole plan, wasn’t it? You found me and dated me just so you could get your hands on someone else’s money?” You were livid.

“Of course not, sweetheart. Unfortunately when you broke up with me that put a dent in what our lives could have been, but you’re back where I want you. I wanted to tell you all about this while your father was alive, he would have loved to know you’re doing well. Besides, he always approved of me, he would have been thrilled by our whirlwind romance. But sometimes the universe has a different way of working.” 

“You never gave a damn about me!” You cried.

“That’s simply not true.” Steve looked frustrated. “I’ve always cared about you, even when you made it difficult. Yes, I was interested because of you you were related to, but now I care about you because I love you. My motivations have changed.”

“Bullshit!” You yelled, “You’ve always wanted my father’s money, so take it!” 

“Maybe that’s what it was about at first, but I fell in love with you. What’s important is that you’re here where I can take care of you and make sure you’re safe.” 

“Safe? You call this safe?!” You gestured towards your bruised and bloodied face, Steve rolled his eyes. 

“You’re in one piece, you’re alive, aren’t you?” The same confusion on his face as before.

“Steve, you hurt me.” It was all you could do to keep your voice from shaking.

“Baby, I'm not hurting you, I’m helping you find your palace, that’s all.”

“My place?” You wondered aloud.

“Your place is with me. Here. In our house, where I won’t let anything hurt you, I won’t let anyone touch you.” 

“Except for you,” your eyes were dead. 

“I know this is a lot to take in, princess, this is hard.” He was looking at you with pity again, his favorite patronizing nickname leaving his lips. “But I promise, as long as you listen, you’ll always be safe here with me.” 

“As long as I listen? That’s not comforting Steve. Am I going to meet this brother I have, and what about my real mother?” 

“Your mother was one of Tony’s earliest mistakes. She was vulnerable, your grandfather didn’t like her. After you were born she disappeared, nobody is really sure if she’s alive or not, but your grandfather made sure she stayed out of Tony’s life. After your grandfather got rid of her, Tony thought it was best to keep you a secret, for your own good.”

“My mother was a mistake? Excuse you?” Did he expect you to go along with this?

”Hey, not my words!” Steve defended himself. “You’re probably lucky your grandfather never found out about you, he had some very choice words about bastard children. He did love Tony, he was ecstatic when your brother was born.” 

“So he just cast off my father’s first child like I was nothing?” The words hurt leaving your mouth.

“He really didn’t know about you, Tony went to some lengths to keep it from him.”

“But he was fine with Tony having a boy?” You were incredulous.

“Tony got married years after he had you. Pepper is a good match for him, your grandfather set them up actually. Peter is seventeen, almost everything was left to him and Morgan, your father’s daughter.”

So now you had a sister too?

“How many damn kids did he have, how many siblings do I not know about?!” Steve laughed at your question, realizing how hard this was to take in.

“No baby, it’s just the three of you. I know this is a lot for you, but I do want you to meet Peter, especially once we’ve figured out all the legal aspects of receiving what Tony left you.” 

So Steve wanted to use you as leverage, as a weapon. A weapon against a teenage boy mourning the loss of his father. This man was a monster.

“You’d really steal from a teenage boy?” You asked in disbelief.

“Technically it’s not stealing, it belongs to you. I guess I’m just taking advantage of the situation. But hey, life is hard, the kid has to learn sometime.” Steve looked like it was an obvious answer. 

“You’re a terrible person.” You glared directly into his eyes, you wanted Steve to know how much you hated him.

“Sweetheart, you had no idea.” Steve snarked back with a grin. “But why don’t I show you?”