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shycoconutt · 3 years ago

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I Need You (Kakashi x Reader Smut)

A/n: Oh boy do I got some smutty smut for you. This is my first time writing smut and I think I did okay! Please let me know what you think and, as always, feel free to send some requests my way! 🤍

Summary: You find yourself unbelievably horny waiting for Kakashi to get home from work. The night goes exactly as planned.

Word Count: 4200

Warnings: NSFW ( minors, there's the door -> 🚪), fem!reader, vaginal sex, rough sex, doggy style, cunnilingus

Gods, why am I so horny?

Sat in the reading chair in the corner of your and Kakashi’s bedroom, you find yourself unable to focus on the new novel you picked up at the bookstore this morning. Each time you try to focus on the words in front of you, your eyes start to drift off the page and fall on your bed across the room. The bed where Kakashi and you have had sex now maybe a dozen times. You two have been platonic partners for years, but it wasn’t until recently where you both allowed your feelings to blossom into romance. Some would say that your relationship with Kakashi came on fast, but those who say that don’t truly know either of you.

After the war, and after keeping your feelings for each other bottled down for years, Kakashi took you on a vacation to a quaint village on the outskirts of Konoha. During your stay, you two could finally relax and find comfort in each other. The future seemed less uncertain, and you allowed yourself to open up in ways you never had before. You both knew you loved each other, that you were meant for each other, but the stress of war and the lack of knowledge that either of you would come out alive prevented anything from happening. The last thing either of you wanted to do was take the other’s heart six feet under.

It was the third night on the trip when he proposed to you. Kakashi and you were naked together in the natural hot spring, embracing each other in the water. The words he spoke to you that night are etched in your brain, never to be forgotten.

“My whole life I’ve been fighting; fighting for Konoha, fighting for my team, fighting for our friends, fighting my demons, fighting the truth, and fighting the feelings I have for you. I never understood why it was so hard to escape you, but it isn’t until now where I finally understand. Loving you is the easiest thing I’ve ever had to do. Our love is so natural, so pure. It pains me to know that our reality has muddled it for so long. You are the best thing that’s ever come into my life, and the gods only know how thankful I am that you have been by my side through it all. Everything I’ve ever gone through, every challenge I’ve had to overcome, you’ve guided me along the way. I used to think I was undeserving of your love, but now that we both are standing here, bruised and battered by our past, I realize that it was always supposed to be this way. You and me. Forever.”

That was the night you and Kakashi shared your first kiss. The night you first held each other in a naked embrace. The night you touched the skin normally concealed under each other's clothes. The night you trailed kisses down his chest, to his stomach, his hip, and up his shaft. The night you grabbed him in your hand and stroked him while looking into his eyes. The night you felt his tongue draw across your nipples. The night you felt him suck and nibble at your neck. The night you felt his fingers, god his fingers, trace up your wet heat to rub onto your most sensitive spot. The night he held onto your hip and slid into your tenderness. The night you whispered sweet nothings in each other's ears while he pumped into you. The night you made love, four times.

It’s been a week since your mini-vacation of ultimate bliss. Immediately after arriving back to the village, you both moved out of your individual apartments and moved into the Hatake estate, per Kakashi’s request. When you asked him if this is truly what he wanted, he assured you that this was the place he wanted to make a home with you and your future children. He also liked that the estate is largely removed from the Hokage tower, where he will be spending the majority of his time in the future. Renovations are far from over, but your bedroom was the first area of the house to be set up. It’s your shared sanctuary, and to be completely honest, you’ve never felt more at home.

The only word to describe this week between you and Kakashi is passionate. Even with opposite schedules, you both make time for one another every day. You’ve been insanely busy at your new job that you acquired post-war, spearheading the mental health resource center for war veterans and shinobi still in active duty. Kakashi is busy shadowing Tsunade while she sorts out post-war rehabilitation plans for the village. This is your first day off and, unfortunately, Kakashi is out doing future Hokage duties. Though frustrating, both of you are super understanding of each other's roles in this village and you respect that time with each other may be limited in the coming years. That’s why any chance you get, you both check in on each other throughout your day. Whether it’s offering to take his ninken on a walk while he’s in the office, or him bringing you breakfast when you get to work, you find opportunities to be present in each other’s daily lives.

The evenings, however, are a whole other story. Both of you are usually home a little after eight, and you’ve adapted to having late dinners with each other. After cleaning up, the rest of the evening is spent wrapped up in each other. One thing you weren’t expecting about being with Kakashi is that he is constantly touching you when you are alone together. His hands are either on your thighs, wrapped in your hair, caressing your face, squeezing your arms, massaging your shoulders, touching your lips, or any other way he can get them on you. You crave his touch, so to say that you enjoy this side of him is an understatement. Not only does Kakashi adore touching you, he also adores being touched.

Touching leads to caressing, caressing leads to groping, and groping leads to passionate lovemaking.

Well, geez (y/n), maybe if you stopped daydreaming about Kakashi’s hands all over you then you wouldn’t be this goddamn horny.

Here’s the thing with you and Kakashi’s newfound sex life. You are in the early stages. All the sex you have is all about romance, making up for the lost time, and finally expressing your feelings with your body. It’s amazing and you wouldn’t change your lovemaking for the world.

But right now, you don’t desire lovemaking. You desire rough, animalistic, dirty, dirty sex.

The kind of sex that makes you shudder in desire and fear.

The kind of sex that makes in between your legs sore the next day.

Realizing you’ve been daydreaming for the past fifteen minutes, you close your novel shut and toss it aside. You look over at the clock on your nightstand to find that it’s almost time for Kakashi to be home. Usually, you would already be cooking something up for dinner, but you have a feeling that any food you make would just get cold. Eating is not your priority right now, Kakashi is.

A devious smile forms at your lips when you consider what you plan on doing with him when he walks through the front door. Should you take him right there? Get down on your knees and beg for him? Run a warm, candle-lit bath? Put whip cream on your tits and tell him that you’re his dinner? All great options, but none are really representative of how much you need him.

In one swift movement, you are up off your chair and running towards your closet. He could be here any minute and there’s no time to waste. Once there, you take in how disorganized your closet is. You have yet to unpack any of your clothes, as all you’ve worn the past week is your jonin uniform and your pajamas. Rummaging through the boxes sprawled out on the floor, you finally find which box you are looking for. The box looks like any other box, but written on the side in marker is the word intimates.

Bingo.

One might think you are a sex fiend with all the lingerie you own, but that is far from reality. The truth is, lingerie has always made you feel sexy. Most of all, it’s just so pretty. You love the power it gives you. You love the fact that no one knows that some days you are wearing the world’s skimpiest lingerie underneath your uniform. It’s like you have an edge on someone that they don't even realize. Also, when you did happen to end up in bed with a man, you were over-prepared. The look on their faces when you stripped off your clothes was priceless. It was your way of telling them that you expected them to want you.

There are way too many options to choose from, and you find yourself starting to panic as time passes on. You know you’re overthinking this as, honestly, Kakashi would love anything you put on. Some things you know about Kakashi are that his favorite color is blue, he loves your thighs and is obsessed with how soft your skin is. Therefore, you should obviously go for the baby blue lace and silk set. It includes a lace balconette bra, a thong connected to thigh garters, and a silk robe to go over the top. After putting it on and taking a look at yourself in the mirror, you knew you made the right choice.

Before finding a comfortable spot on the bed, you quickly grab some baby oil and rub it all over your body. The oil will allow Kakashi to slide his hands all over you effortlessly, which is exactly what you need. Satisfied, you grab your book and lay on top of your made bed. You weren’t planning on actually reading, but you think your casualness while wearing such a sexy outfit will have Kakashi’s head spinning.

So there you were, belly down, ass out, feet intertwined, book in hand, when you heard the lock click and the front door open. Perfect timing.

You could hear Kakashi kick off his shoes and take off his vest as he walked into your home. Usually, you would be standing in the kitchen where he would come and give you a warm embrace and kiss you until you told him that he has to eat dinner. But, you're not there, and you can sense his confusion.

“Where’s my babygirl?” Kakashi’s voice projects throughout the house, a hint of concern in his voice. You smile at the thought of the pout that’s probably on his face right now.

“Sorry sweetheart, I’ve been caught up in my new book. I’m in the bedroom,” you call back to him.

You hear what sounds like a sigh of relief as his footsteps make their way down your hallway in the direction of your bedroom, the sounds of pieces of his uniform dropping off of him every few steps. You make sure to keep your head turned to the door so you can take in his reaction to your state.

“Oh, the new book you got this morning? How is it? Let me guess, you already finished-”

An indescribable feeling shoots through your whole body as Kakashi enters your bedroom. He just finished pulling his mask down his face, as his hand is still caught to the fabric pooling around his neck. With a smile on your face, you soak in his expression as he’s stood in the entrance of your room, a deep blush forming on his cheeks and his mouth still agape in mid-sentence. His eyes dart back and forth from your face to the bottom of your ass that’s hanging out of your silk robe.

Damn, you really did that (y/n).

“What’s wrong, Kashi?” You say in the most innocent voice you can muster. You bat your eyelashes and flip over to sit up so he can get a good look at you. You let your book drop off the bed and land on the floor.

There’s another pause before Kakashi slowly walks towards you on the bed. Without speaking, he reaches a hand out to you. You take it and he pulls you up so you're kneeling on the bed as he stands in front of you. His dark eyes bore into yours as both of his hands drop to your thighs. Slowly, he grazes them up over your hips, your waist, up the sides of your breasts, to wrap around the back of your neck. You can feel the hairs on your skin stand in anticipation. With his hands still wrapped around you, he brings his head down to you and grazes his mouth on your jawline. From there he plants small kisses up the side of your face until he reaches your ear where he nibbles before speaking to you in a strained, low tone.

“You’re a very dangerous woman, (y/n).”

He must have felt you shudder because you could feel him smile against your cheek. Standing up straight again, Kakashi’s hands drop to the tie of your robe around your waist.

“May I?” he asks, giving you the sexiest look you’ve ever seen. Kakashi has been so effortlessly attractive since you met when you were young. Having these intimate moments with him almost seems surreal.

“Of course, Hatake,” you smile up at him.

Taking the tie in his hands, he starts to unravel the knot keeping your robe together. Once loose, he lets it fall over your shoulders and off your body completely.

After a few moments taking in the sight of you, Kakashi lets out a deep sigh and shakes his head.

“You’re so out of my league,” he confesses to you.

You let out a small giggle.

“Absolutely not,” you protest.

Without missing a beat, Kakashi grabs on to you and tosses you back on the bed so you are laying down underneath him. One of his hands wraps around the back of your head while the other cups your breast. Pulling the fabric of your bra down, he kneads your nipple between his thumb and pointer finger. One of his knees lands in between your legs and he brings it up to press on to you. You can’t help the moan that escapes as you feel him all around you.

“So what’s the deal?” Kakashi teases. “I leave you alone in the house for one day and I come back to this?” He looks down at your body and back up again. “Where did you get this outfit, hm?”

“Oh baby,” you start teasing him back, “I guess one thing you don’t know about me yet is that I wear lingerie like this all the time.”

“Oh really?” he questions.

“Yep, all the time.” You smirk at what you’re about to say next. “Actually, remember that one time we were stationed together in the Earth country for a month for that S-rank assassination mission?”

Kakashi nods, confused where you’re going with this story.

“We let our guards down and almost hooked up the last night before we came back to the village.”

“I remember.”

“Well,” you pause for effect, “guess what I was wearing underneath my uniform that night?”

Kakashi remains silent, brows furrowed waiting for you. You smile at him deviously as you say your answer.

“This.”

Kakashi lets out what can only be described as an aroused, defeated groan when you utter your confession. He quickly comes back down and your mouths crash together in a heated frenzy. It isn’t until now when you realize that his bulge is hard against your leg, asking to be broken free from the confinement of his pants. While making out, you reach down and slip your hand under his waistband and grab onto his throbbing cock, stroking it in your hand. Although rock hard, the skin of his cock is soft and velvety.

Kakashi moans in your mouth when you make contact with him, but quickly escapes your grasp and gets up off of you. Sprawled out on the bed, you watch him strip down naked in front of you, starting with his shirt, then his pants and briefs. His body is truly something to marvel at, as decades of being a ninja have carved his body into perfection. You love the way his member slaps against his lower stomach when he pulls it from its confinement, excited and eager for you. He stands for a moment, contemplating what to do with you.

“I don’t want to take that pretty outfit off of you just yet. I guess I’ll just have to work around it for now,” Kakashi says as he stands at the end of the bed. Grabbing your ankles, he pulls you towards him and bends your legs upward until your knees meet your chest. Holding both of your legs up with one hand, he takes the other and spanks your ass cheek with a loud slap. You whimper from the sting while he rubs the mark he left. Kakashi sucks in another loud breath.

“Ugh, (y/n), you look so good for me.”

Before you can respond, Kakashi takes your thong and slides it over so you are exposed to him. Getting down on his knees, he brings his face to your glistening cunt and flattens his tongue against it. There he gives you one long lick up your slit to taste you. A moan erupts from him as your wetness meets his taste buds.

“You’re already so wet for me baby,” Kakashi breathes before going in to suck on you.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day,” you confess through your moans. “I only get this wet for you.”

“That’s because you're mine and mine only.”

Kakashi takes his time with you, almost as if this is his last meal on earth and he wants to savor it. He’s delicate in some moments and fierce in others. Incorporating his fingers, he slides them into you and curves them up to hit your g-spot repeatedly while eating you. Your hand instinctively cradles his face while the other intertwines with his silver locks. You start to feel tightness in your lower stomach as he brings you close to climax. The sound of his moans muffled inside you is enough to send you over the edge.

“Kakashi, baby, I’m gonna-”

“Come for me, baby,” Kakashi nods, giving you permission to let go.

Letting go of Kakashi, you grip onto the sheets around you, feeling the tightness build and drop out of you. Closing your eyes, the waves of ecstasy ripple throughout your body causing you to scream out in pleasure. Riding with you, Kakashi slowly continues to work you through your climax, cleaning up whatever juices spill over.

“Good girl,” He says to you while bringing your legs back down onto the bed. Slowly, he kisses up your thighs while hooking onto your thong, bringing it down off of them. While he does this, you reach around and unclasp your bra, throwing it aside. Once the thong is thrown aside as well, Kakashi lifts himself off the floor and flips you over so you're laying on your stomach, another smack landing on your ass cheek. The high from your orgasm is immediately replaced with anticipation for what he plans on doing to you next.

You feel Kakashi’s naked body slide on top of you until he's flush against your skin, his body completely enveloping yours. Once his face is level with yours, and his cock is hard against your backside, he brushes your hair away from your face.

“Are you ready for me?” Kakashi whispers into your ear.

You nod into the mattress, chest rising and falling with every strained breath.

“You need to use your words, (y/n),” Kakashi scolds you while tucking your hair behind your ear.

“I need you, Kakashi. Please, I need you.” Your words come out as a plea, not being able to take his absence any longer.

You feel Kakashi’s weight lift off of you as he reaches around your waist and lifts it up so your ass is tilted upwards. From there you can feel him position his tip at your entrance, slowly rubbing it up and down to spread your wetness.

“Please, Kashi, I need your cock inside me,” you beg.

Without further hesitation, you feel every inch of him slide into your folds until he’s bottomed out inside you. The feeling of him deep within you sends you into euphoria and you can feel yourself tighten around him.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Kakashi whispers.

Starting off slow, he pumps into you with control. You feel pleasure and pain as Kakashi kisses your neck while grabbing onto your hair. After each thrust you feel him going faster and harder, your bodies smacking against each other. To gain more leverage, he lifts off of you and brings you up onto your hands and knees. With his hand gripping your shoulder, he pumps into you with ferocity.

“For years I’ve touched myself thinking about getting to fuck you like this baby. You’re so beautiful and so good to me. Everything about your body draws me to you,” Kakashi says in between moans. You feel him start to twitch inside you, his thrusts getting more out of control. You look over your shoulder and meet his gaze.

“We deserve this baby. You deserve this. Give me everything.” You both know your words mean more than just sex, and Kakashi relishes them.

Lifting you up by your neck, Kakashi brings you toward him so you're both kneeling while he continues thrusting inside of you. He brings one hand around your front to circle your clit and the other cups your breast. Your hands lift up behind you to grab onto his face. Turning your head to him, you kiss him with every ounce of passion you have left. This new position is hitting you at your core and you can feel yourself tighten again. Kakashi must have felt it too, as he broke free from your mouth to tilt his head back in pleasure. Without exchanging words, you know you both are at your limit.

With a few last staggering thrusts, both of you reach climax in unison. Feeling yourself go limp, Kakashi wraps his arms around you to keep you steady. You feel streams of his hot semen pool inside of your contracting walls. With Kakashi’s moans singing in your ear, you can’t help but smirk at his vulnerability. With him still inside, you hold onto each other, trying to catch your breaths. After a few beats, you both begin to laugh at your exasperated states.

“Stay here, I’m going to get a towel,” Kakashi says while shifting out of you. After pulling a towel from the cupboard in your bathroom, Kakashi brings it to you and cleans up between your legs. Before you have time to move, Kakashi picks you up bridal style and spins you around in his arms.

You scream and start to laugh as he plants kisses all over your face. “Kakashi!”

“Hm?” he hums in your ear, pretending he didn’t just lift you with little to no effort.

Holding you up with one arm, he grabs a blanket off the bed and carries you to the chair in the corner of your room. There he sits down and places you sideways on his lap so you’re facing each other. He then takes the blanket and wraps it around you both so you can stay warm while cuddling each other. Kakashi has always had a knack for knowing exactly what you want at any given moment.

“I thought we could get some inspiration for our next round,” Kakashi says with a smirk as he pulls out a copy of Icha Icha Tactics from underneath the cushion.

“What? How did that get there?” you laugh.

“Oh, I have multiple copies of these everywhere,” he jokes, waving the book in the air.

You laugh and lightly hit his chest. Tucking the blanket up closer to your face, you lay your head down on Kakashi’s shoulder while he flips open to a page in the book.

Before he starts to read to you, Kakashi lifts your chin to kiss you. Every time your lips touch his, flashes of your joint past enters your mind. Although it was hard, and you faced many difficult trials on the way, you are forever thankful that you were both able to live long enough to experience these moments. You took care of each other, lifted each other up when they were in the dirt, and now you can finally share the love you’ve always held for each other. You wouldn’t change any of it. After your kiss, before pulling away from you, Kakashi looks deep into your eyes.

“I love you, (y/n).”

You smile up at him, tears brimming in your eyes.

“I love you too, Kakashi. Forever.”

A/n cont.: Well, whattdaya think? :)

#kakashi #kakashi hatake #kakashi fanfic #kakashi fanfiction #kakashi x reader #hatake kakashi #kakashi imagine #naruto fanfiction #kakashi x you #kakashi x y/n #kakashi one shot #kakashi x yn #kakashi sensei #kakashi smut #kakashi hatake smut

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lesbianrobin · 2 years ago

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The steddie bingo board makes me think of the Robin as the queer guide BUT she’s also doing so from the most heterosexual lens possible. @ everyone who has her make fun of steve and tell him that guys don’t notice other guys (bc hello!! masculinity and sexuality are complicated but the entire existence of superhero body types and also that thinking is why you end with guys telling you they’ve never noticed a six pack before bc they’re scared of gay allegations) you owe me ten dollars and also a brief read into any introductory sexuality class. Idk it’d be one thing if the narrative took genuine care to show that information is hard to find when you’re a closeted lesbian in a small town pre internet and stereotypes are easy to accidentally latch onto, but a lot of it is treated as though that’s the simple truth. Also Robin just deserves better than to be Steve or Eddie’s great gay mentor. Lastly, total agree that Steve is shown to be pretty forward and very chill with sex (also as someone who barely qualified as a jock stop making him scared of naked men he did swim which is sooooo much exposed skin that literally every swimmer on my team was like the sight of anything short of a full frontal does not phase me. Also they canonically have showers in the locker rooms??)

all so real and true. specifically the stuff ab steve being desensitized to naked dudes and robin deserving better. she's her own person!! let her be her own character goddamn like i hate when people only use her as a plot device yknow like. that's my baby. my angel. my cinnamon apple. respect her or die by my sword. sorry i forgot what i was talking about

#asks

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mentallydatingahotcelebrity · 3 years ago

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Ok. I am pissed off over the Shitshow tonight.

Specifically:

“There’s no Thor without Loki, and there’s no Loki without Thor.”

I hate the show for its crap writing, bad acting, and shit direction (Herron sucks, I don’t give a fuck what you think; she’s bad. Might improve with time and experience, but that remains to be seen). But I’m realizing that I also hate the show because it did NOTHING to further Loki’s character personality. We learned NOTHING about his personality. NOTHING. “Oh, oh but MJ we did!!” You cry, like a moron.

No, scone, we didn’t.

“Oh but MJ, we learned he likes princes and princesses!!!”

Did we learn that? Did we really? Or were we just TOLD THAT?

Bingo—anything so-called “new” we learned about Loki we were TOLD through vomit exposition from the characters. Loki “doesn’t like killing”, he cries—and proceeds throughout the entirety of the series to have no problems wielding a knife against anyone he perceives as a threat. Loki “likes boys as well as girls”, he says softly—but all he does is moon over female characters/shittily attempt to charm them. Loki is a selfish narcissist who enjoys causing people pain, he managed to bite out after being kicked in the balls fifty thousand times—this is the same Loki who, in every previous encounter with causing people he cares for pain, sheds tears and looks as if it killed a portion of his soul to commit that violence.

The entire story of the Shitshow is telling the audience how they should properly interpret the character known as Loki—instead of showing them through the character’s behavior.

But let me come back to the fact that this entire waste of six and a half hours didn’t embellish Loki’s personality any further. It didn’t illuminate him at all or give us further internal knowledge about him. We learned nothing about what he thinks, how he feels, and what his problem-solving thought patterns are. The series completely failed to build on ANY of the foundations for Loki’s character leading up to it. In fact, the SINGULAR TIME it used previous data was simply to rerun scenes (an UTTER waste of time) to torture Loki emotionally for thirty-odd minutes (in reality it was just to torture the audience with memories of the character incarnation we liked better, but that’s a topic for another time…). But apart from that… Loki just floated. We never learned what “makes a Loki a Loki” or why Loki DOES ANYTHING. Because the show NEVER GOT INTO LOKI’S HEAD. It stayed artfully superficial. We had the APPEARANCE of getting into Loki’s emotions and mentality without actually diving in and getting to the nitty gritty. Fuck it all we got more from Sylvie-Sue than the alleged main character!!!

What makes Loki himself has absolutely nothing to do with the shit the show tried to spew, but everything to do with the fact that Loki is who he is because he cares so fucking much that it rips him apart mentally until he can’t see the forest for the trees. Loki isn’t driven by narcissism and ego—he’s driven by FEAR. The fear of FAILURE. Of being unsatisfactory. Of being insubstantial. Of being powerless. Loki is who he is because of perfectionism and anxiety and paranoia that everyone is looking at him and expecting his failure, so he has to study the hardest and endure the longest to keep the laughter that doesn’t exist at bay. Loki is always eight steps ahead because he’s insecure and consumed by the dread of mockery.

In this show, we should have established that most of what motivates Loki is fear, and longing. He wants to be good enough, to belong, to be seen, to be needed. And we should have received a resolution of him discovering that HE HAD ALL THOSE THINGS. We should have had a moment with Frigga, a moment with Odin, a moment with Thor. We should have had confessions and forgiveness. SOME GODDAMN CLOSURE, and some building on the foundations of the previous films Loki showed up in.

We should’ve had a call back to Loki knowing the paths between realms, of “the sun will shine on us again”, of “am I not your mother?”/“you’re not”, of “a master of magic”, of “we were going to use you to bring about peace between the realms… but none of that matters anymore”, of “you truly are the worst brother”, of “you think you know pain? He will make you long… for something sweet as pain”.

Instead all we got was BULLSHIT, and a bizarre as fuck toxic forced relationship struggling to pass itself off as some sort of romance?!?!???

This Shitshow could not be any more a waste of time and resources than it is. Truly the most wretched thing DisneyMarvel has done since Captain Marvel. Utterly useless and advancing to nothing except MAAAAAYBE the multiverse. And even that is on thin fucking ice.

#loki #loki critical #marvel critical #anti loki show #loki show critical #mcu criticism #mcu critical #Loki

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radiosandrecordings · 4 years ago

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@bluesecrets4 and I were talking about aro-spec Martin so. he.

Honestly, why did it have to be him?

Pick anybody else. Anybody else. Tim was right there, he liked guys, and Martin knew, objectively, that he was attractive. Sasha, too, and while it had never happened before he hadn’t exactly gotten enough relationship experience to rule women out of the question entirely.

So why on god’s green earth did it have to be-

“Martin, can you come in here a moment?”

“Two seconds, coming now!”

Goddamn traitorous heart, hammering away behind his ribs like it was determined to shatter a bone. Was this strictly necessary? Any other time it would be welcome, the fluttering in his chest cradled and coo’d over, like a rare bird come down to land in his window box, framed by carnations and daffodils. But now? He hardly had a life outside of work, what with the growing fear of the unknown, and the residual terror of a long dead worm-woman hanging over him. He didn’t exactly have the time for romance. Which, he supposed, was exactly why it was who it was.

There’s only so much you can go through with a person before you grow to like them, their own in-built prickliness aside. Like them as a co-worker, as a confidant, as a friend, like them as whatever it was that was making Martin’s hand shake ever so slightly as he carried the tea towards his door.

And god, the tea was a whole other thing. Probably something internalised there, Freud would go nuts, but it was all he knew to do. He wasn’t qualified for this job, he wasn’t even qualified for the job he’d had before, up in the library, though he’d say by the end of six years he’d earned his place. But tea you didn’t need to study, you didn’t need qualifications, you put a bag in a cup and you poured water on it, add milk and sugar to taste, serve to your annoying and beautiful boss because you’re worried if you don’t get some fluids in him now, he’ll pass out at his desk.

He pushed the door open, cup held in front like an offering. “Here, brought you thi- Oh. Going out?”

Jon was standing next to his desk, dark woollen coat hanging on a frame noticeably smaller than it likely was when the item had been purchased, sorting through his leather side bag. He looked up as Martin entered.

“Hm? Oh, well, I thought- It’s one thirty and I had presumed- It’s past when we usually leave for lunch, so I had assumed you’d be anxious to leave soon.”

Martin glanced at his watch. Sure enough, one thirty glared back at him. Although there wasn’t a strictly assigned times, he usually went for lunch at one just to break the day in half. These last few days, he’d somehow managed to drag Jon with him, for fear that he would simply forget to eat if he wasn’t peer pressured into it. He’d been successful three days in a row so far, and it almost felt like he was trying to make bingo. Today, however, he’d gotten so caught up in researching a case that he hadn’t even noticed the clock tick over. But Jon had.

“There’s- I saw this new place on my way home yesterday, it’s a few minutes walk but you mentioned you haven’t had sushi in a while and it appears to serve that- Unless you’ve already gone out for lunch?”

Jon looked nervous. Martin had seen Jon scared, angry, irritated, even occasionally happy, but he’d never seen him nervous before. “No, no I was working on some research. Do you want to head out now?”

“That would be good. I’ll let you, uh, get your coat.”

Martin nodded, and stepped back, letting the door close behind him. The tea was still clutched in his left hand. Had Jon just asked him to lunch? No, no he didn’t ask him to lunch he just.. Was adhering to a routine the two of them had set, to the point where he was expecting Martin to also be following it. Huh. That was a new one.

For the first time in a long time, his chest hurt. It was nice.

#My Post #My Writing #Jonmartin #Martin Blackwood #The Magnus Archives

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aipilosse · 3 years ago

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Feeling bold, so I'm finally going to do a pinned post of my writing.

The main 'verse

These absolutely don't need to be read in order — each is standalone. I also reserve the right to decide something I wrote at an earlier point was stupid at any time and contradict myself. Nonetheless, these do all have recurring OCs, locations, headcanons, and pretty persistent characterizations. Listing them in chronological order, more or less.

Fair They Wrought Us

Multi-chap, Teen, Gen

The story of Celebrimbor in Gondolin, snatching some joy and friendship between fallen cities. Making weird UT lore work, so I can have Celebrimbor live in Gondolin, reignite his friendship with Idril, become friends with Coroniel, and craft the Elessar.

What Joy Here is Left

A collection of ficlets done for tumblr requests, Teen, mostly gen although some Silvergifting slipped in. Most take place in the Second Age, although there are a few Fourth Age pieces.

The Evil Ex-Boyfriends Club

Multi-chap, Explicit, Celebrimbor/Fingon.

YES. You read that right. The first fic I ever wrote was Celebrimbor/Fingon, and I still think they work as friends with benefits - maybe I should revisit this pairing. After returning from Mandos years after everyone else in his family, Fingon has a difficult time coming to terms with his past. Aredhel thinks a change of scenery will help. Elsewhere in Aman, Celebrimbor is also trying to cope.

Feanorian Week One Shots

I wrote a collection of one shots around each of the sons of Fëanor leaving Mandos. Most are G, one is Teen.

What Brings Us Together

WIP, Mature, Silvergifting

My attempt at making post-canon Celebrimbor/Sauron work. Featuring a cat named Miaulë, a hotly anticipated wedding, and Galadriel losing her goddamned mind.

Other One Shots

Works I didn't really envision as being part of the main 'verse. Most were written for exchanges and events.

Goldilocks and the White Bird

G, Gen

Written for TRSB '21 and comes with beautiful art! When a strange white crebain shows up at Bag End, Goldilocks and her brothers are determined to find out everything they can about their visitor. Their discovery brings about a summer full of magic, machines, and trying not to let their parents find out what they're up to as they try to help the bird.

Greetings, O Favored One

Teen, Gen

Written for the B2ME Mini-Spring Bang and this *also* comes with beautiful art! Six encounters Celebrimbor has with the Maiar and the perils and blessings of the Holy Ones favor.

Darkness Inescapable

Teen, Gen

A pinch hit for TSS '20. Elrond dreams of Númenor.

You are the New Day

G, Silvergifting

Written for TSS '20. I love a good torture fic as much as the next person, but sometimes you need soft, holiday silvergifting too.

The Yawning Grave

Teen, Gen

Eluréd knew there were rules. He chose to break them. A dark fairy tale re-telling of the Second Kinslaying.

Prophetic Tears

Teen, Gen

Idril Celebrindal’s life with a Cassandra twist

The Porn

Listen, we all love gen, and the Tolkien fandom is full of it. But sometimes you need some smut.

You can stop at any time

Silvergifting

Annatar really only has himself to blame. That just makes things worse. Featuring orgasm delay/denial and cock rings.

Brim/Gil stuff

Three one shots featuring Celebrimbor/Gil-galad. Indulging my need to write slutty Celebrimbor. That's all you really need to know.

The Nature of Stone

Galadriel/Melian

Written for MSV '21. Melian is an excellent teacher, and Galadriel is eager to learn everything she is willing to share. Featuring object insertion and the chillest Thingol you will ever meet.

Alas, I don't think I'm going to succeed in finishing the Season of Kink bingo. But here are the three fics I managed to write:

Tools of the Trade

Silvergifting featuring pervertables and light bondage. Perhaps the most Red-Flag-Annatar I've ever written.

Disastrous Expense

Reincarnated Feanor/Nerdanel featuring breath play and soul bonds.

Submission

Sauron/Ar-Pharazôn featuring a submissive Sauron. He's also throwing red flags left and right, but Ar-Pharazôn is a bit too conceited to detect them.

Getting Along

Galadriel/Celebrimbor/Sauron written for undercat. I cannot believe this trio didn't exist already.

#my writing

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yeojaa · 4 years ago

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( SOMETHING COMFORTING. )

Jeon Jungkook loves Overwatch, drinking games, and Halloween. What he loves more than that? You.

pairing. gamer!jjk x named f!reader.

genre + rating. idol!au set in room filled with bunnies and a cotton candy machine that’s exploded. it’s just that fluffy. (but also explicit cause why not.)

tags / warnings. established relationship, gaming (overwatch), dorky weeb references, mentions of drinking, yugyeom makes an appearance (!!), fingering, soft soft soft love making in the shower.

wc. 9.7k

beta reader(s). the lovely @kerikaaria read through this to make sure i didn’t get too nerdy. tysm! 💛 i may like further changes once my beloved @hobi-gif gets her hands on it but i’m a potato who wanted to post this quickly. oops...

author note. this fulfills the “jeon jungkook” square of @btsholidaybingo‘s bts holiday bingo 2020 and this is the couple from angels & airwaves. while this story isn’t super plot-driven, it’s meant to be a little peek into the lives of a couple that live in my mind rent-free and continue to make me soft and gooey inside. i hope you enjoy it!

You don’t know how he talked you into it or how it really happened. You remember, faintly, the mention of a party. Something about it being a small thing - just a few close friends, the members, etc. He’d said it so offhand, like commenting on the sky or asking for another package of Choco Boys, so you hadn't given it a second thought. If it was important, he’d bring it up again and if not, well, you hardly remembered it anyway. Win-win or whatever.

So you’d given up some intelligence points, traded them for space to fit more gaming knowledge. Somewhere along the line went your memory too - the conversation wiped from your brain like Will Smith had lasered it clean.

“Zarya’s one! Zarya’s one—“ You’re not sure how many times you can repeat yourself, shrieking through comms to a team that doesn’t seem to want to listen. You’re blasted into oblivion, Mercy’s prone body launched across the map as you watch your Rein fall too. There’s an irritation bubbling in your stomach, fizzing uncomfortably like the Japanese honeydew soda you’d had at lunch. “Zarya’s actually one!”

No one cares. She’s healed by the time you respawn and make it back across the map.

“Jesus—“ Your push-to-talk remains off for that flippant comment, distaste colouring your words a bitter shade of blue. You almost want to let your Ashe get headshot by the enemy Widow, only switching the stream from damage boosting to healing when your teammate starts spamming their hotkey.

I need healing! I need healing!

What you need is a team that listens to your calls or at the very least communicates in some way. Doesn’t seem like it’s going to happen though. There’s near radio silence in the voice chat, the only other person remotely helpful being your bouncing booping Lucio that’s trying to keep a flanking Tracer off point. Stupid. You almost feel bad for him, Guardian Angeling to him when no one else seems to want to offer any support.

Ah, the life of a support player in masters ranked. So infuriating and yet— nope. Just infuriating.

You lose the first round with 1:56 to spare, to no one’s surprise. Okay, maybe to your Reinhardt’s surprise. He’s being surprisingly chipper in text chat, sending WP and a dorky smiley face. You think he must volunteer at the local animal shelter and buy coffee for the people behind him in the drive-thru. He’s far too well-adjusted, not shooting off a single accusation to anyone on the team. A silver lining, you suppose.

Your second round starts well enough. Your comp is solid - as much as it can be in the current off-tank dominated meta. Hog, Zarya, a private profiled GM Widowmaker, Tracer, Lucio, and you as Ana. You’d prefer to play Mercy - find the most comfort in her skill set - but on an attack map, you’re not risking a headshot right out of spawn. Broken maximum damage good stuff means healers are squishy and you don’t have your usual DPS to boost. (He’s off doing god knows what - maybe filming an ad for Samsung or breaking the internet with his permed man bun.)

You make it through the choke without much ado. The enemy Rein is wildly out of position, eager to make some big brained play that goes terribly wrong. Your Lucio chuckles through voice and you join him, tossing a nade when your Zarya looks like she’s about to die to a poorly executed 360 shatter.

“You winning?”

It’s your boyfriend peeking over your shoulder, so close you nearly scream, mouse launched across your desk with the intensity of your reaction. You hadn’t heard him come in, the stupid sneaky bastard as quiet as a mouse.

(It’s not your own fault. He knows you can’t hear anything when you’ve got your headphones on, the noise cancelling in your state of the art Sennheisers not something to scoff at.)

“Jeez, Kook!” You want to be more mad. Really, you do. You’re scrambling across your desk to retrieve your mouse, squeaking a quick apology into team voice when your hero stays in one place for too long. Luckily, Hog - previously sweet kind Rein - throws his big fat piggy self directly in front of you, effectively saving you from an otherwise miserable death at the hands of Torbjorn.

“What?” Jeon Jungkook has the audacity to look scandalised, shiny eyes so wide and innocent they feel more as if they belong in an early 2000s anime.

You’re not even looking at him when you huff - too invested in your Overwatch game to give him the hell he deserves. All you manage is a swift don’t scare me like that! as you pump your tanks back to full health.

You notice Jungkook hasn’t moved away, still peering curiously over your shoulder. You know he hasn’t had much time to play lately, too involved with appearances for their comeback, his schedule too packed even for you some days. You don’t blame him when he pulls his chair up behind you, rolling into place so he’s just within your periphery.

It’s a little distracting; he smells good, like his - and by extension your - favourite laundry detergent and a fruity, nectarine-heavy shampoo you’d picked up for him when he’d run out of his usual. You notice then that his hair is wet, just the wrong-side of too damp with droplets beading over his neck. Moisture soaks into the top of his shirt and you think it might be more soaked than you can see; it’s hard to tell when it’s a jet black shirt, one of the many he keeps in your closet for the nights he stays over. You realise then that he must’ve been home far longer than you’d thought, if his freshly washed pink cheeks are any indication. (Because he takes seriously long showers, nearly doubling your water bill in the year you’ve been together.)

You want to ask what he’s doing here - you’d sworn he was busy for the next few days - but can’t find the adequate brain power to do so. You’re playing an incredibly high skill character (your words) and if you don’t get this goddamn shot on your Lucio to keep him up, your team is going to die (your ego’s words).

‘Ask Kook about his day’ gets scribbled on a paper on the desk in your head and filed away under To Do Later in your overflowing brainiac filing cabinet.

“Can we pleaaaaase focus their Zarya? She has grav.” Though you offer the tidbit of information, you don’t assume it’s going to be relied upon. Your team is well on their way to taking first point - surprisingly - and there’s still nearly three minutes left on the clock. If the six of you idiots can keep it together and kill that goddamn Zarya, there’s no doubt in your mind you’ll win the game.

Alas, fate is but a cruel mistress and said Zarya gets said grav off, sucking your own Russian tank and Tracer-turned-Soldier into her hell void. Not even your well-timed nade can save them from the Genji that dragon blades directly into their faces. Your poor Lucio dies to the same ult and you imagine you or your Widow are next. Your Hog’s just respawning, his lumbering silhouette not even on screen.

“Rip,” says your boyfriend - like the sound, not the letters - from beside you, a droplet of water splashing across your wrist when he shakes his head. He looks disappointed - as if he’s the one that’s lost the match. It makes you laugh, the sound tripping off your tongue despite the overwhelming rage you’re currently battling.

“Rip is right,” you mumble back, tossing yourself off the map. If you’re gonna die, it'll be on your own terms. Jungkook chuckles at that.

By the time you respawn, both you and Widow are joining a fight that looks like it’s going surprisingly well. There’s no one on point and you’re capping uncontested. Widow even headshots a wayward Moira.

“You should go top left.”

You don’t turn your head. Jungkook’s always been a bit of a backseat gamer, whether he’s watching your stream while he’s out of town or sitting right beside you. Sometimes, you love it; other times, you hate it. Most times, though, he’s right. He has surprisingly good game sense, despite being lower ranked than you (something you remind him of constantly, without shame).

“Can we go top left?” You parrot into your speaker.

For once, your team listens, most of them running up the sidewall with Widow right down main. Not for the first time you wish you were playing Mercy, if only to be able to damage boost your sniper while she distracts the enemy team. Still, you make due, taking your boyfriend’s next piece of advice when it comes, unsolicited. “You should be back right by the stairs. You can see up the hall and still heal Widow on top.”

You’d kiss him if you weren’t so intently focused, unable to tear your gaze from the screen when the enemy team seems to pluck their strategy directly from Jungkook’s skull and hold conservatively on point. Amazing.

“Your Zarya has grav. She’ll probably throw it on point so you should nade as soon as you get in and Widow can pick them off without full charge.”

If he were anyone else, you’d probably be giving him hell for mansplaining your favourite game to you. As it stands, you follow his instructions to the letter and the Team Kill marker flashes across your screen.

“Told you,” he quips, ever the snooty dork you adore.

“I was going to say thank you.” Just not right now. You can’t multitask quite like he can.

If you could look over, you think you’d see him grinning from ear to ear, buck teeth and dimples on full display. “I know.”

As it stands, the other team has trouble getting on point fast enough and you’re left with a whopping 3:56 left on the clock. Thank freaking god. You can win this, you think. Easy. No problem.

“Go Ana on defense.” At some point, Jungkook had gotten up to find a snack and he returns now, bag of shrimp chips in his hand and packet of matcha Pocky held between his teeth. You open your mouth for a stinky tasty treat and he shoves four crisps in, unceremoniously and with his signature dummy grin.

You manage to crunch crunch crunch through it all but shoot him a glare the entire time. He only smiles wider, all perfectly white enamel and enough cuteness to make your heart skip a beat.

“Do you just want to play?” You don’t mean it seriously. You don’t mind him watching and you know he enjoys pretending like he’s better than you. It’s a strange give and take but one that’s uniquely yours, built over nearly a year of online friendship and another year of a real-life relationship.

“Nah, I’m snacking.” He punctuates his response as a child would, shoving a handful of chips into his mouth. You wonder, briefly, why you love him so much when he’s a certifiable goon.

The third match begins and you’re not too proud to say you spend most of it following Jungkook’s directions. He tells you to sleep the enemy Genji trying to scale the right wall - you do. He tells you to nade once their Rein gets in because your own Rein is going to shatter - you do. He tells you to do the macarena and— okay, that, you don’t.

You sweep the match, leaving the other team without a single tick.

When it comes to the final round, he seems to have lost interest in the game, instead rolling himself back to his computer with a parting, wayward ruffle of your hair. You don’t blame him but you thank him nonetheless, blowing a kiss before he settles his headphones over his ears.

You, of course and unsurprisingly, win the game. There’s nothing like using a Sym portal onto point when they’ve got a Bastion set up off point and no shield to protect him from the back.

Satisfied, you don’t bother requeueing and instead force yourself into your boyfriend’s personal space, draping your arms across the idol’s neck as he scrolls through YouTube like a zombie. “We won,” you sing-song into his ear, proud and a little smug.

“Of course you did.” He sounds equally smug and you suppose the win does belong to the both of you. He’d been a great coach.

“What’re you doing here?” It’s pure curiosity offered in the form of a kiss to his cheek, fingers locked across the broad expanse of his chest. He’s delightfully warm beneath you, familiar and unyielding as you sink over the back of his computer chair. (You can feel the chair creaking as it reclines. You don’t care.)

“Whaddya mean?”

The look he levels you with makes you think you’ve grown a second head.

“Your schedule said you had a thing tonight.” You remember, because you’d been disappointed. Halloween was one of your favourite holidays and all you’d wanted was to watch some campy horror movies and use him as a personal eye shield and security blanket combo.

“We have a thing,” he states, like he’s talking to a moron. You know it isn’t meant meanly, too emphatic and amused to hurt your feelings.

When you echo his words (“We?”) you swear you see him roll his eyes in the reflection of his computer screen. Luckily, he laughs, sweet and cracky, somewhere high in his throat - a barking hyena. It’s so cute - your favourite thing in the world - that you don’t have it in you to shame him for it.

“Yeah, we,” Jungkook repeats around something close to a snicker. “Halloween party, baby. Seriously— you forgot?”

It’s then and there you have two crises: (a) you don’t have a costume and (b) Halloween party? You didn’t think idols had those. Weren’t they all too hip and cool to get together to dress up and act stupid?

(You know the answer is no. Exhibit A being the costume-wearing dance practices BTS put out.)

“I don’t have anything to wear.” It’s truly the one thing holding you back, creasing the soft skin between your brows to resemble a peach. It’s also nearing seven in the evening and you’re absolutely certain you’re not going to find something so late in the day.

To your surprise. Jungkook looks flabbergasted, that same you-have-two-heads stare wrought across his face. It’d be endearing if it were directed at anyone else but with it trained on you, it’s rubbing you and your confusion the wrong way. Why’s he looking at you like that? Why’s your memory so bad? Why hasn’t he said anything to answer all of life’s questions?

“You said you’d go as witch Mercy.”

All at once, you’re pulled back to the offhand conversation, the pleading in his eyes, your half-asleep acceptance. It’s the memory you’d lost somewhere along the way in upgrading your in-brain video game storage. A conversation had in bed, his cheeks so big and full of joy they’d waned his eyes into crescents, and your uncoordinated answer because you’d just wanted to go to sleep and not think about anything after indulging in a few too many mochi cream buns.

“I— don’t remember that.” You’re lying through your damn teeth. Your parents would be devastated, all their hard earned money wasted on the braces-straightened enamel that was now letting lies pass.

“But you did!” He’s like a kid being denied candy, rounded bottom lip dropping into a pout that should, frankly, be illegal. It’s far too powerful on him, paired with those Bambi eyes that scream don’t eat (hate/deny/etc.) me! You can only scowl at him, because you know your own puppy dog eyes only work 100% of the time half of the time whereas his track record was immaculate.

“Okay, but I forgot to get the—“

“I have it!”

Jeon Jungkook has an answer for everything, it seems.

“I picked it up on the way here. It’s in your room along with my costume.”

The knowledge of his own intrigues you, squarely centring your curiosity on that and not the fact that you apparently need to get tested for early onset dementia. “Who’re you going as?”

“You’ll see.”

Your costume is spectacular. You can’t even find it in yourself to put up much of a fight when your boyfriend reveals it like you’ve won the lottery, throwing his arms wide in a flourish.

It’s incredibly well made, intricately tailored in a way that makes you worry how much it costs. (When you bring it up to him, Jungkook simply shrugs. You think it’s as much a gift for you as it is for him.) It’s witchy and eye-catching, the belt hung across your hips clipped with an actual book - hollowed out, thank god but also poor thing. The hat that sits on your head is neatly crumpled, sitting at such an angle you worry whether you’ll need to avoid too-low door frames. Your wings - well, you’re almost too afraid to touch them; Jungkook has to help you pull them over your arms, falling into near hysterics when you twitch your elbow the wrong way and smack him right between the eyes.

“I don’t think I can pull this off,” you state, somberly, despite the fact that you’re not terribly self-conscious. (You were, once. Being in a relationship with someone that worships your body has helped with that.)

The top of your outfit is fitted, boned and ribbed and snapped together in all the right places. Leather stands in stark contrast to your skin - summer-soft and gently golden - and hugs curves that don’t quite exist, falling short in a way that has you glaring down at your own chest. You’ve never wanted a Playboy body but in this sort of costume, it practically demands it. (You try not to dwell on the fact that you’ve been conditioned to want to look like an impractically designed video game hero.)

From the foot of your bed comes a snort, a derisive sound that draws your attention. Jungkook’s unabashed in how he admires you, stare roving over every inch like he’s about to devour you. You’re not sure how you can feel so soft for him when he looks completely the opposite, jaw set and expression sharp. A Greek god carved from hardened honey, dressed in Balenciaga blue. “You look great, angel.”

Your heart skips a beat - plays a funny little game of tag with itself - and you can’t help the smile that comes, brought to life by his reassurance. It isn’t necessary to rebuff him then - eyes rolling, laugh spilling - but you do it anyway. “You have to say that. You’re my boyfriend.”

“I don’t have to say anything,” he retorts, levelling you with a look that has your insides molten. It’s the look that reads don’t test me but also I love you and you’re my idiot. It’s your favourite look in the world, lending wings to your flimsy heart. “You look great because you always look great, no matter what.”

“What about when you found me in the shower ?”

Jungkook hesitates then. He’s no liar and he had almost had a heart attack the first time it’d happened. He’d been minding his business, half-asleep and battling the need to piss, when he’d noticed you curled up in the bathroom. How he hadn’t realised you were missing from bed, he’s not sure. All he knew was that you’d terrified him, mentioning something about invading refrigerators when he was pulling his dick out of his boxers.

His scream was what had woken you up; yours was what had him bashing his head into the wall, foot slipping on the soft pink bathroom rug. You could laugh about it now but at the time, you’d thought he’d cracked his skull right open, shouting his name so loudly the neighbours had complained.

(Lucky for you two, they were a nice elderly couple who sometimes had you babysit their grandson. They’d laughed it off when you’d apologised with a loaf of fresh bread and a bandage wrapped around your boyfriend’s head.)

“Okay— that was scary. I thought you’d crawled out of the drain or something.” A shudder rolls through Jungkook’s body, shaking him from his shoulders all the way down to his knees. It’s a strangely adorable reaction from someone who looks like he could bench press you.

“You’re calling me the Grudge?” You’re deeply offended, gloved hands clasping over your chest as if to pull out the treacherous dagger he’s just lodged there. He only rolls his eyes, leaning forward to catch you in his arms; he’s relentless as he drags you to him, side of his face pressed to the bare skin of your thigh. His cheek’s searing but you’re not surprised; Jungkook ran hot, keeping you warm in winter and sweltering in summer. (Ah, the price you paid for love.)

“Yeah, you haunt me in my dreams.”

“That’s not the Grudge, Kook.” Your scoff earns you a pinch, right where the top of your stockings end. It blooms red beneath his fingers, a little reminder of his competitive I’m-never-wrong nature. You swat his hand away, not too bothered when it only finds a home elsewhere, hooked behind your knee. Jungkook had a habit of needing to be in constant contact. A little quirk of his you adored.

“I’m serious. You look—” You should clock the look on his face, the wiggle of mischief up his nose. A dead giveaway shining bright - a beacon. “—bewitching.”

If the book weren’t attached to your hip, you’d be clobbering him with it. Instead, you’re left to whack him with the equally intricate Caduceus staff, booping it over his shoulders. You feel like a certain shamanic mandrill, Jungkook the idiotic lion that’s asking for an earful.

“Shut up!” You’re laughing despite yourself and he is too, holding you so recklessly close it’s hard to hit him without hurting yourself. All part of his plan, you suppose. “You’re so freaking corny.”

“It’s because I’m a-maize-ing, ang—”

Another wap! to the head, shielded only by a tattooed hand that curls over his ear.

“Okay! Sorry!” Except he doesn’t look very sorry. More pleased that you’ve stopped the assault, dark hair pushed back from his forehead as he stares up at you. You hate how he’s so handsome - how you forget yourself when he smiles that smile, nearly yeeting your whole heart directly into the sun.

“Are you going to put on yours yet?”

It’s quarter past nine already and all you’ve done is rope him into eating some chapaguri - you’ve been obsessed with it since a few weeks ago - and play real life Witch Barbie. You have a feeling if you don’t get him into his own costume soon, you’re never going to leave the apartment. (Not that you really mind.)

Your boyfriend - bless his heart - pretends not to hear you, suddenly intently focused on an indiscernible spot past your hip. It’d be more believable if he was glued to his phone or doing anything remotely interesting. Instead, you stare down at him and count the seconds until he realises just how silly he looks. It usually comes around six, paired with a forced chuckle and that lisp you love.

Today, it comes after the fourth count.

“You’re gonna think it’s lame.” Well, of course you will. As his girlfriend - and one of his best friends, you’d like to think - it’s your relationship-given right to shame him for his more often than not absurd ideas. It’s what you deserve for suffering through all his bad jokes and 3 AM Instagram spams.

With a hand on his cheek, you squeeze the apple like you’ve seen a certain member do a million times. “So?”

He’s not really sure how to respond to that, mouth drawn into a pout that reminds you of children’s television show about penguins. It’s unfairly adorable. Still, you push. Jungkook’s bad at saying no to you - always has been, even before he really knew you. From “one more game!” to “bring me bingsu”, you always got what you wanted.

(Which wasn’t to say you asked for a lot. You were happy - more than that, ecstatic and over the moon - with the bare minimum. A selfie while on the plane, some shoddy cinematography during dance practice, a voicemail to wake up to. You didn’t love Jungkook for all the things he gave you; rather, you loved him for who he was, who he’d always been even before you knew who he really was.)

“Don’t laugh.” By the look on his face, you’re worried it’s something awful. The cheesiest thing in the world come to life to haunt you on your beloved spooky holiday.

It turns out to be the opposite: one of your favourite characters realised in the form of your achingly handsome boyfriend. He looks so good you’re not certain whether it’s your attraction to him or him in that particular guise that’s stronger. You figure it doesn’t matter one way or another. For tonight, they’re one and the same.

“Joker? Seriously?” You can’t hide the delight. It colours every syllable, sets them glowing like a neon sign.

Your boyfriend only rolls his eyes, as if he’d predicted this reaction. Dressed as he is, the movement is impossible to miss, brought into focus by the white domino mask. “Don’t sound so excited.” It’s an actual concern of his. He’s seen you sink upwards of ninety hours on the video game, playing it in the early hours when he’s fast asleep and you’re battling another night of insomnia.

Once, he’d asked whether you loved him or Joker more. He hadn’t liked the answer (joking as it was) and had spent the better part of the evening pouting.

This time, you’re sweet as pie, eyes so dark and twinkly he wonders whether he’s staring at the night sky. You wonder the same yourself almost every night, lost in the constellations of his irises. It’s the most intimate form of stargazing you can afford, a luxury you indulge in frequently. You’ve mapped the different formations, named them in honour of all the special moments you’ve shared; you think to label one for this night too.

“You look so good.” You don’t hesitate to brush his hair from his eyes. It’s still relaxing from the perm he’d gotten days ago, curling like classic calligraphy over his eyes. It’s surprisingly soft between your fingers, silk despite the constant heat styling. Bastard. “I can’t believe you’re going as Joker. You don’t even like Persona 5!”

By how Jungkook looks at you then - the same way he did the first time you met standing on the street corner in Dotonbori and a hundred more times since then - you realise it doesn’t matter. He’s dressed this way because you like the character.

“Oh,” you say, because there’s not much more to say. Nothing that needs to be said as he grins down at you, so heartbreakingly handsome you’ll never get used to it.

“Yeah,” he parrots back, a little smug.

Bangtan’s golden maknae is having the time of his life. He’s four cups deep into a game of beer pong that’s played like the Wimbledon classic, back hunched, jaw set. You’d think he was battling it out for the title of God of Beer Pong if you didn’t know better. (You suppose he is.)

“Angel, come here!” He’s giddy - slightly glazed in the eyes - as he waves you over, a red-gloved hand beckoning you to his side. Despite how good he looks in the costume - every weakness of yours encapsulated by the intricate dress shirt that hugs him like a second skin - the gesture is decidedly adorable, an eager puppy seeking unconditional love. There’s simply too much affection in his voice, so much sugar-spun love that you can’t deny him (even as you consider jumping his bones at a party full of people).

He’s shining as bright as the sun and you want nothing more than to live within his warmth.

With your fingers twined, he pulls you to him, drawing you tight against his side like he doesn’t need that same hand to throw another ball. You don’t mind. You know he’ll sink it even with his left hand.

“I’m winning,” he states, as if it weren’t wildly obvious by the fact all cups remain untouched on his side.

Across the table, Yugyeom’s eyes roll so far back you want to laugh. Jungkook’s competitive side is endearing at best and infuriating at worst. Luckily, his competition is enjoying himself too much to give him shit.

(He’s also probably too drunk to, given how badly he’s doing.)

“I see that.” You’re not a big drinker yourself but you like seeing Jungkook in his element. He thrives in this sort of setting, showing off all the talents he has and then some. It’s just another stage to him, somewhere he can prove himself (even if it’s over something as small as how good his bounce-shot is). “How many games have you won?” Because he’s been at this table for the last hour, dropping his competition like flies.

“All of them.” God, his ego. You know you shouldn’t stroke it but you can’t help it, brushing a hand through his tousled hair in the way he likes best. Fingers over his scalp, thumb rubbing soothing circles across the nape of his neck. He nearly melts then, tilting his head into the gentle caress.

“Good job, Kook.”

You’re so lost in your own little world that poor Yugyeom has to pull you both from it, launching a poorly-aimed white ping pong ball at the two of you. To no one’s surprise, it careens past your heads, hitting the wall behind you and disappearing off to god knows where.

“Can we play?” Again, that eye roll, visible just past the bandages that loosely wrap his cheeks. You know he’s only teasing, that he’s actually quite a fan of your and Jungkook’s dumb coupling (he’s told you), but you return his mockery with a raised hand, thumb and forefinger waving in salute.

“Losers don’t get to complain.”

The idol throws a hand to his chest, the gesture bordering on sloppy from the liquor that threads his limbs. Still, it’s cute, earning a sweet laugh from you and a witch’s cackle from your boyfriend. (How fitting.) “I’m hurt, Yoojin-ssi.”

It’s Jungkook’s turn to tease, brattiness flipped on like a haywire lightswitch. “No, you’re just bad at games!” He’s a sniggering schoolgirl, lines wrapping the delicate skin of his nose, streaking joy into the wrinkles beneath his eyes. Slightly-too-big front teeth are on full display, his expression the embodiment of an “uwu” emote.

That riles Yugyeom up, powder puff of hair bounding over to you before you have time to blink. In the next moment, your boyfriend’s half-wrestling with him, their arms locked around each other like some sort of weird four-limbed octopus. (Video game protagonist vs. hot mummy— who will win?) You jump back just in time, avoiding a wayward fist and laughing merrily. Idiots, the both of them.

“You guys have fun.” And then you’re gone, off to busy yourself with people who won’t accidentally give you a black eye or knock over the nearest thing not bolted to the ground.

You can still hear them tussling when you latch yourself to the back of a certain blond. He’s dressed like one of your greatest nightmares - an actual clown, drawing inspiration from a certain 2017 blockbuster - and yet somehow still manages to look good. You don’t understand it and frankly, you’re a little envious, but such was life.

“Jimin-ssiiiii.”

“Ahhhhhh, stop!” It’s the same reaction he always has, paired with wiggling shoulders and sweet laughter that bounces around the room and stirs to life your own. Indisputable and lovely, the sound is brighter than the sun or the lights that currently swing through the chandelier lights above your heads. “You two are ridiculous.”

“He’s ridiculous, not me!” You know it isn’t true. Separately, you and Jungkook were idiotic enough, finding humour in the silliest things (funny threads on r/Relationship_Advice and four year old Vines). But together? It was a two-person circus, graduate professors at clown college.

You absolutely loved it.

“Sure, sure,” the dancer hums, delightfully disbelieving as he takes another shot. One of three lined up across the counter, clear in little orange cups made to look like pumpkins. A whiff tells you they’re strawberry soju - your least favourite flavour. You decline with a wrinkled nose and waving hand when he offers you one. Jimin shrugs and downs the next, delicately wiping the corner of his mouth when he misjudges the pour. “Aren’t you drinking?”

You wiggle the half-empty Cass bottle in your hand in response and receive a scoff, different bottle - green, unopened - thrust into your other.

“Drink this!”

“You want me to drink an entire bottle?” You’re incredulous. Jimin’s seen you on the edge of intoxication and more than a little sloppy, giggling like a schoolgirl. It’s not unbecoming - you know better than to get blackout - but laughable nonetheless. Something to record and post on Snapchat with a voice-altering filter.

“It’s Halloween!” The pumpkin shot glass makes you go cross-eyed before he’s knocking it back too. “Live a little!”

Who are you to say no to the recent birthday boy? It would simply be bad manners and you were nothing if polite (though, you’re sure some might beg to differ - Yoongi, maybe?).

The remnants of your beer are swallowed down in the next moment, so quickly you almost choke on it. Your life flashes before your eyes, Jimin’s hand on your shoulder as he beats breath into your body. “Don’t die!” He cries, despite the fact that it’s his fist that’s making it worse, doubling you over with hacking coughs.

“K-Kook’s g-going to kill you—”

“No, you’re fine.” He’s reassuring you just as much as himself, laughing too loudly as you straighten up. You wonder how red your face is when he takes your place, slapping his own knee as he shakes with amusement. “Your face, oh— Your face.”

It’s not meant to be offensive but your buzzed brain demands payment for each giggle.

The base of the green bottle collides with the back of his knee - gentle, gentle - just hard enough to have him properly toppling over, collapsing onto the carpet like a frail old grandpa without his cane. You can’t help the snicker that careens off your liquor-laden tongue.

That is, until he’s pulling you down with him and the two of you are a giggling, giddy mess, tucked beneath the edge of the bar as you laugh together. It’s a chorus of sound, unrelenting and building the longer you both sit on the floor. Jimin’s practically hunched over, head caught between his propped up arms. You imagine it’s a funny sight - two people in their twenties acting like college freshmen.

“Baby?” It’s your boyfriend, amused and confused as he stares down at your and Jimin’s prone bodies. He’s got that dent between his brows, the colour of his eyes all but swallowed up by the way his cheeks press wide with his smile. “What’re you doing down there?”

“Just hanging out,” you answer, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. At your side, Jimin’s still trying to collect himself, parroting your words around his lungfuls of quieting laughter.

“Are you drunk?”

You’re not, but that doesn’t stop you from gasping, overdramatic and with your unopened bottle of soju held aloft. A modern day olive branch. “No?”

Jungkook snorts and then all at once, he’s close. Too close - smelling of beer and your favourite cologne of his, citrusy and woodsy and every other nice thing you like. It fills your senses just as his smile does, blindingly bright and bunny-like. Even behind the mask, his good looks take your breath away. You must be staring up at him idiotically, all one hundred and sixteen pounds of ooey gooey tenderness. “You sound drunk, angel,” he teases, warm red-covered palm coming to cradle your cheek. It sears heat everywhere it touches, guiding the same hue over your skin. It creeps up your chest and over your ears, standing in contrast to the material of his gloves. “Pretty.”

(He really is, you think.)

“Get a room,” comes Jimin from beside you. There’s no malice in his voice - just soft affection for a couple of lovesick idiots.

“That’s the plan,” Jungkook replies, as if he’d been waiting for the moment. It skips off his tongue and settles into your ears, tipping your head curiously as you stare at him. He’s never been very shy about wanting you - at least, not since you’d made things official, so many months ago - but you’re surprised by the insinuation. When he speaks again, you realise your brain has been rolling around in the gutter, fallen out of your ears like candy from a worn pillow case. “Want to head home?”

You do. You really, really do.

When you stumble into your apartment - the same one with the polka-dot welcome rug and crisp white paint - you realise you were perhaps wrong about how drunk you are. Everything’s coming at you quite quickly, the ground beneath your feet somehow suddenly rushing at you like Mach Five.

“Whoa—” There’s an impossibly solid warmth against your back, fingers locked around your wrists that feel more like flimsy chicken feet. “Careful.”

Your boyfriend’s keeping you upright while stepping out of his boots - impossibly expensive supple dark leather - and you’re giggling all the while, practically sinking against him as he does his best to shuffle his shoes away and get you further into the hallway. “Sorry,” you offer in a terrible stage whisper, smiling wide when you catch sight of his, small and endlessly amused. It slips across his face even as he tries to bite it back, warring with the patience he holds in spades.

“Let’s just get these off.” He means the boots - the intricate, vaguely absurd things that creep up almost the entirety of your leg, neatly wrapped and knotted midway up your thigh. Dexterous as he is, it’s a task to unravel the strings and thread buttons when you’re weighing on him like a bag of bricks.

You’re fumbling for the tops, haphazardly smacking his hands away. “Here, let me.”

Somehow, you manage to get them off in what feels like record time. (In reality, it takes a good five minutes of futility before they’re left on the ground and Jungkook’s swept you into his arms, seemingly over waiting for you to do much else.)

“Oh, my prince charming,” you tease, clinging to him like a koala. You’re locked around him, practically suffocating him, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He’s used to it when you’re this way, just a little too much liquid courage turning your level of affection to eleven. “Or are you the court jester? That’s what Joker is, right?” It’s a joke and a bad one at that. Still, your boyfriend indulges you, depositing a forced laugh against your shoulder as he navigates to your bedroom.

“You’re drunk.” He says it more kindly than you expect. Perhaps even more kindly than you deserve. You know he’s not exactly sober himself, his gaze verging on heavy-lidded. There’s sleepiness blending seamlessly with intoxication, softening the edge of his jaw, the narrow of his stare. It’s terribly tender, skipping your heart when you look at him dead on.

It comes without thought. You have to tell him. Your drunk brain and your puppy dog heart demand it. “I love you.”

Jungkook returns the confession with humour, eyes sparkling despite the haze of alcohol that dims them down. As always, he indulges you, giving you support in the form of his heart and his hands. (Literally, he’s still holding you even though you’ve reached your destination.) “Love you too.”

“Is it time for bed?” You’re surprisingly tired, despite the fact that you’d slept until late in the afternoon. You certainly wouldn’t mind falling face first into your mattress.

“You need a shower first.” It’s a simple statement of fact, you know that. You’ve got at least ten pounds of makeup on and your hair’s the furthest thing from soft and silky, carefully coiffed to mimic Mercy’s signature style. You still pretend like you’re just a bit offended, scowling into the face of your boyfriend even as he rolls his eyes, already somehow able to read the words written into your expression. “I meant we and no, I’m not calling you stinky.”

He’s stolen your thunder, as he so often does. You pout, as you so often do.

“Okay,” you relent, finally, moving to rest your head against his shoulder. You could get down - walk on your own two tired feet - but you’re enjoying the closeness, how warm and real he feels in comparison to the swimming surroundings. “Will you wash my hair?” You don’t really need to ask but do anyway, because you like the sound of his voice when it’s so close.

“You know I will.” Because he always does when you shower together (and it falls on a designated hair washing day - that was important).

You offer your thanks with a kiss, laid right over the jumping pulse in his neck. When Jungkook hums in acknowledgment, you feel the way the muscles constrict, his Adam’s apple jumping beneath your lips. You zero in on it with laser precision, mouthing over his throat. Somewhere above you - against the shell of your ear - he exhales a laugh, breath hot.

“We’re showering, baby.” As if that’s meant to stop you. He, more than anyone, should know how adamant you get, singularly focused on whatever’s got your attention. He’s been on the receiving end of it more than enough times, strung into playing another one, two, ten matches of Overwatch or hunting down the limited edition Funko Pops that now sit proudly on your white shelf (and behind your plants and on the ledge by the front door).

“We can shower and have fun,” you mumble into the expanse of his chest. He’s so pleasantly warm, unyielding and firm and so, so comfortable. You think you could live in the feeling of his arms. (You’re lucky you get to.) You don’t even mind the sudden cold of the counter or the space that forms between you when he sets you down, because he’s still caging you in where it matters most. “Right, JK?”

It’s a nickname you rarely use now - one that only comes out in times of desperation. You’ve never quite understood why it affects your boyfriend the way it does, stuttering the rhythmic beating of his heart, but you love it nonetheless. It makes you grin, high on power and giddy with nothing but sweetness.

He’d explained it to you once. Jay was how you’d met him, the version of himself you’d loved first. Jungkook was the side of himself he’d wanted to give you but couldn’t. JK was the in-between - the chaos and the calm. Hearing you say it brought back all the memories of year one and he liked that. You could only laugh at his sentimentality and tuck the piece of knowledge somewhere deep, to be pulled out in instances like this.

“Right, angel.” You don’t miss the colour on his cheeks - so pretty you reach your hands out to cup them, squishing them between your palms like an old grandmother testing a watermelon. You continue to hold him until he pulls your hands from his face, guiding them to the edge of the counter with gentle pressure. “Gotta get undressed to shower,” he chides, that twinkle in his eye that makes it hard to look away.

Really, how can he expect you to do anything when he’s got an entire unexplored galaxy hidden in his irises? It’s an absurd ask.

“Or I’ll help you.”

Your clothes fall away while you’re still staring up at him.

First, the gloves, peeled from your fingers with utmost care. Kisses fill the spaces between each finger, passed from knuckles to wrist, all the way up to your elbow. You squirm when his teeth graze the sensitive underside of your bicep. He stifles a snicker into the skin.

Next goes your cape and wings, hung on the door handle. His mouth warms the suddenly bare skin, pressing affection into the line of your shoulder, up over your neck. You don’t squirm this time, instead humming a noise of delight. You hardly notice when the corset goes next, undone by surprisingly nimble inked digits. There’s hardly a moment to savour the freedom - you can finally breathe - when his hands replace the cups, palms eager over your chest. He doesn’t hesitate to hold you, pinching your perked nipples with a sly grin.

“I thought we were going to shower.” The words are barely out before turning breathless, stolen by the way he easily palms your breast, dropping his face into the crook of your neck.

“We are, angel,” Jungkook teases, rolling your bud between his thumb and forefinger, other hand moved to splay across the now-bare small of your back. It’s almost embarrassing how easily you fall into him, drawn against him like a moth to a flame. “Just need to get you warmed up first.”

“The shower’ll be warm,” you say - or think you say, anyway. It isn’t quite articulated, half your brain left somewhere at the party (or maybe caught dead centre in the coil that’s tightening in your stomach).

“Do you want me to stop?” It’s so quiet you almost miss it, too distracted by how he slips the rest of your costume off. Shorts, thong, stockings, silly witch’s hat. “Tell me if you want me to stop, baby.” Ever the gentleman, he’s patient, meeting your glazed stare with something close to concern. You almost laugh in his face then - stopping short only when you note just how serious he is, the tell-tale set of his jaw shining like a familiar beacon.

You return your hands to his face, palms cradling his chin like he might break otherwise. “I never want you to stop.”

That’s all Jungkook needs before he’s slotting himself between your legs, mirroring your motion with hands creeping up the side of your neck, fingers ascending into the roots of your hair. He holds you close and kisses you like it’s all he’s ever wanted. “I love you,” he breathes, speaks against the corner of your mouth.

You parrot the words back at him and he grins, stepping away in the next moment. He laughs when you pout, offering a kiss in apology as he undoes the buttons of his dress shirt, slipping the soft cotton off. You stop then, entranced by the revealed skin, how it shifts with each adjustment of muscle, sinew tight over his arms and shoulders. You wonder, not for the first time, how you’d managed to luck out so spectacularly.

“Start the shower.”

You hop down with the direction, slipping past him to do exactly that. You don’t miss the way he rotates, brings himself closer as you move away. The magnetism is undeniable - always has been.

“I love you,” he states, again, bare against your back as you hover by the edge of the glass door, one hand stuck past to test the slow-warming stream. He’s solid, familiar and comfortable, as he slinks his arms back around you, heat burning the shape of his hands over your ribs, the shape of your hip. You think he might mark himself there, just as neatly as the floral ink does. You wouldn’t mind.

The water is welcome, bathing the both of you in steam when you step inside. It’s an incredibly relaxing feeling, being caught between the spray and the hard body behind you. You hum a noise of pure delight, turning your face toward the one that nuzzles itself into your neck, and bring your hands to rest over his, fingers slotting between ink.

“Hair?” You’re not in a terrible rush but you like redirecting his attention (pretending to, at least) - the teasing that formed the base of your relationship presenting itself in the quiet reminder. It earns the laugh you expect, muffled into your hair, featherlight over the delicate shell of your jewelled ear.

“Patience, baby.” It’s something Jungkook tends to say a lot, whether waiting in queue in Overwatch or in bed, with you a complete mess. He repeats it easily, like he’s the poster boy for the virtue. (He isn’t.)

“What am I waiting—” The question dies, swallowed whole by the gasp he draws from you with a wandering hand. Fingers slip across your stomach, digits deftly seeking out warmth as if you weren’t already enveloped in it. It’s a touch that’s tantalisingly slow, unfairly light, but it still makes you keen when it drags over your lips. A single digit pushes past muscle - so shallow you’re not sure you’re not just imagining it - before retreating, dragging your slick back up to your clit. The moment the pad of his finger makes contact with the sensitive bundle of nerves, you almost jump. Would, if he weren’t caging you with his other arm.

You feel the cold of his teeth bared against your neck then, the throaty laugh that pulls out of his chest and deposits itself into your hair. “Patience,” he repeats, swirling his fingers over your clit, his mouth moving in tandem with the twist of his wrist. He peppers love and affection in the form of kisses, presses devotion with the edge of his teeth, soothes all your nerves with a sweep of his tongue.

“Kook,” you sigh, already well on your way to being a boneless mess. There’s tingling in your toes, fizzing in your stomach, butterflies in your chest. A whirlwind of emotion and sensation that he stirs to life effortlessly.

“Relax for me.” You do so because it’s easy, because he’s so devastatingly good to you.

The figure eights skating over your clit cease, fingers dropping further down to nestle against your cunt. He pauses there, almost experimentally flexing against the muscle that aches and clenches around nothing, eager for more. You think he’s smirking by the way his lips form with his kisses, a little lopsided and devilish. (You wish you could see him.)

A single digit enters you then, to the third knuckle as if your body was made for this, for him. (It was.) He coos against your neck when a garbled mess skips off your tongue and nearly laughs when another slips in alongside it, turning the mess into nonsense. Despite how badly you want it - need it, really - it’s a sensation that’s too much and not enough all at once, toeing the line between pleasure and pain.

It was how Jungkook loved you - recklessly, shamelessly, in no half measures. With more love than you could ever hope for, giving you things you didn’t even know how to ask for.

“Relax, angel,” comes as he begins scissoring both fingers inside you, stretching you out with an otherworldly amount of care. Even your neglected clit is given some sort of relief - anything to ease the sting of two long fingers - his thumb gliding over it with each stretch of your walls. He knows exactly where to touch you, how much pressure to apply, and you’re melting, lost in the feeling.

When he’s had enough and he curls his fingers within you, seeking out that particular spot, you’re trembling, caught off guard. Heat builds quickly with the precision of which he taps against that spot; it starts low in your back, climbing each vertebrae of your spine until you’re quivering in his arms.

“K-Kook.” It’s both a plea and a demand, nonsensical as he guides you through your orgasm, keeping you upright against him when your knees feel like they might give out.

“I’ve got you.” And he does - hook, line, and sinker. He holds you steady as the pleasure crashes over your head, keeps you anchored to the here and now and the pleasure that rolls through you like a relentless wave. It sinks beneath your skin, settles heavy into every atom, and he never lets you go. He’s got you.

When sensation returns - slowly, so slowly it feels like you’re stuck in the Twilight Zone - you only want to turn. See him, hold him, whisper sweet nothings as you kiss him silly and thank him for his service. Instead, you’re held in place, two hands firm upon your hips even as you crane your neck to look over your shoulder at him. You should recognise the look on his face. “Kook?”

“My turn.” It’s a statement more than anything, a kind heads-up as he nudges you forward. There’s that same twinkle in his eye, the only source of light around the pupil that’s blown out, otherwise engulfing the constellations he so normally offers you. It’s a black hole and one you’d gladly get lost in. “Hands on the wall, baby.”

You’d never been one for shower sex - it’s too small a space, too much happening at once, a guaranteed freak accident waiting to happen - but you can’t deny him when he asks so nicely. (It really hadn’t been that nice but you were a certified sucker for one Jeon Jungkook.)

Hands find themselves on the wall, palms flat, fingers splayed. In the same instance you wiggle your hips, there’s a ghosting touch over your spine. It trails up and down, soothes the residual heat that lingers, and then slips higher, palm gentle over your throat. His thumb rubs reassuring circles over the nape of your neck, pressing gently into the sensitive spot behind your ear. It’s distracting and you realise much needed when he sinks into you with one fluid press of his hips, filling you so full you can’t help the gasp that bounds past your lips and bounces around the glass enclosure. “Oh fuck,” he sighs, his grip on your hip tightening incrementally.

He sounds like sin and feels like heaven.

“Always so good for me.” Another thing he says, often and without prompting. It still feels just as good the umpteenth time, sparking pride deep in your chest as he pulls out and drives himself back in, staring in rapt fascination at where your bodies meet. “Always so perfect for me.”

“Because I love you,” you quip, more than a little out of breath and jostled by the way he thrusts into you, measured and with enough force to shake your legs.

“Love you too, angel.” He doesn’t need to say it back - you know, can feel it by how he holds you, drives you to brink of insanity with his cock - but he does it anyway. He always says it back, no matter what, even if he’s half-asleep or distracted. He’ll never stop saying it.

The hand on your hip falls, slinks across your hip and between your legs, and you’re pushed further forward, his feet gently kicking yours further apart. Jungkook assaults your clit then, timing each pass with each thrust. An attempted glance back has fireworks going off before your eyes, specks of pleasure lighting up your vision; it’s a technicolour lightshow, framing the way his face scrunches, brow set and jaw hard. He’s determined, focused on bringing you to another orgasm before he hits his own high. You assist him as best you can, swiveling your hips and grinding back against him even as the coil pulls impossibly tight in your stomach, barely held together by threadbare strings.

“Kook,” you whine when the tension becomes too much, hands scrabbling across the wall of the shower. The same overwhelming tingle sparks beneath your skin, entire body trembling like a leaf when the head of his cock brushes that spot inside you at just the right angle.

He doesn’t relent, rhythm turning almost punishing as he drives you over the edge, launching you headlong into your second orgasm. You’re not sure how you stay upright, near sobbing when you crash into euphoric bliss, neither his fingers nor his thrusts ceasing. It’s almost too much and yet you know how close he is, so you push back, whimper words you know he wants to hear.

“P-please, Kook. Please.” You’re reaching a hand back, desperate to interlace your fingers with his. He gives in easily, catches your hand in his own and plants it on the swell of your hip as he chases his own release with desperation. “Come for me, Kook. Fill me up.”

Jungkook does just that, balls tight as he spills himself inside you, hand at your throat so tight you’re seeing stars. Somehow - with the feeling of him grinding into you, overcome with so much sensitivity - you come for the third time, crying very real tears as the sensation washes over you. It’s weaker than your first two but unravels you all the same, seeping the energy from your limbs. You’re grateful for how well he knows you and the fact he catches you before your arms collapse, pulling you to him with gentle movements.

“I love you,” he whispers against your temple, out of breath and sweat-slick despite the water that rains down upon you.

“I love you,” you answer, pressing a kiss to the hand that still twines with yours. “But I still need you to wash my hair.” It’s cheeky and you know it so you don’t even mind when he bites into the meat of your shoulder, leaving a pretty red mark that’ll bloom for the next few days. “Ow!”

“You’re a brat.” Said even as he’s reaching for your shampoo bar, teasing it through your roots with practiced movements. He’s careful despite his scathing tone, gentle despite how he glares at you from the corner of your periphery. Each tangle is neatly undone and not a single bubble gets in your eye, much to your joy.

“I thought I was an angel.” You’re taking a page out of his book, speaking in fluent pout.

He catches your lips with his own, pushing your lathered up head beneath the steady stream when he withdraws and speaks. Suds run across your cheeks, eyes shielded only by the hand he keeps steady along your hairline. Even so mean, your boyfriend is still terribly nice. “You’re my angel - but you’re still a brat.”

You can’t argue with that.

tag list. @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound @snackhobi

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ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa · 4 years ago

Text

With Cherries On Top

Chapter 6: The Dog & The Heart-to-Heart

Summary/Author’s Note: Max has another run in with Kevin that winds up putting the both of you in a very...awkward situation. The two of you have your first talk that doesn’t involve just ripping each other to shreds with insults. Is Max opening up? Are you? Are either of you prepared for what is going to happen when those walls start coming down? (This chapter is BIG guys. No smut yet but we are getting closer. Also I know the gif is not of Max Phillips but it is pretty spot on for what I picture Max to look like out of a suit.) Gif credit to @pajamasecrets

Pairing: Max Phillips x Reader (The Proposal AU) Word Count: 4.1k Warnings/Rating: R/18+ - so naked. so wet. Nudity, hilarity, banter, flirting, sexual innuendos, mutual sexual harassment (although is it really harassment at this point with you two?), feelings, confessions, soft!Max

[Chapter 5] [MASTERLIST]

You hated running. You hated it with every fiber of your being but you wanted to be breathless, you wanted your lungs and your limbs to ache, you wanted to punish yourself. So this morning when you rolled over and saw that it was still dark out, you had pulled on wool socks, insulated leggings, and an old hoodie. Tip-toeing around Max’s sleeping form with your sneakers in hand, you laced up on the porch and watched the fog roll off the water.

You could do this--one foot in front of the other, rinse and repeat. You put your iPod in the small pocket of your leggings as you took off, but not even the fast paced music could drown out the thoughts that refused to stop coming. Fuck it. The path that you took along the gulf and through the woods felt familiar and you were glad for it because it meant you thought less about where you were going and more about your situation.

Max was winning over your family one day at a time and the way your mother's face lit up when he put his arm around you made you feel sick. She just wanted you to be happy. And if you said you were in love with Max Phillips, then she believed you and supported you. And it was all a lie.

"Fuck," you cursed quietly as you started to pant and you shook your head, changing directions down a smaller path.

Despite everything horrible that no doubt lay on the horizon of this half assed plan, it hadn't been as terrible as you had imagined. When he wasn't making your life a living hell or having you keep track of his daily planner, Max... wasn't that bad. He was charming, but you already knew that, that wasn't the interesting part. What made you pause was every time he laughed, he made a joke, or he did that god damn grin that caused the corner of his eyes to crinkle gently. It was confirming what you thought you always knew--the business tycoon and prince douchebag that he donned every day like a suit, was all an act.

Then there was your dad. You knew you shouldn't be surprised, but he held narrow-minded thoughts about Max and his vampiric nature, and he was still holding out the hope that you would throw in the towel and move back home. Your dreams meant nothing because they weren't achievable to him. Being born in a town like Sitka meant you grew old with your highschool sweetheart, a white picket fence, and at least two children balanced on your hip--no thank you. That would never be you, you longed for the unconventional, and the way your dad saw it, choosing Max as your fiance went far beyond unconventional. It was down right crazy.

At some point you had turned back towards the house, on the path that led out of the woods and around the barn at the edge of the property. Your mom had been decorating a setting up for a get together for the last two days and you were not looking forward to the potluck and barn dance that she had no doubt invited the entire town to. Of course you had no one to blame but yourself--if you came home more than every couple of years, maybe she wouldn't make such a big deal about it.

Sweat dripped down your temple from your hairline and was chilled almost immediately by the cold autumn air. Your legs were sore and your stomach growled as it reminded you that a hot cup of coffee and a warm muffin was far superior than this self deprecating jaunt.

You put your hands on your head to open up your aching lungs and breathe deeply as you walked back to the house. This was going to be the easiest part of your day and you wanted to soak up every last bit of it. Hopefully everyone would still be asleep so you could take a shower and drink your coffee in peace.

Max had been awake when you quietly left this morning and it had been incredibly tempting to reach his hand out and grab your ankle. You would have probably tripped and it would have been hilarious, but he refrained. Christ, he was off his game lately. As the door clicked closed and he listened to the fading sound of you going down the stairs, he opened his eyes and rubbed his hand down his face.

"Fuck," he cursed as he folded his hands on his chest and looked up at the ceiling.

Another night of restlessness and listening to you sleep quietly ten feet beside him. He had made sure to eat before going to bed last night and yet you still smelled delectable. It was driving him crazy, he felt insatiable, like a man half crazed, and it worried him. He had been a vampire for a little over a decade, he had control of himself, but you made him want to bury his face between your--

"No, nope, no," Max shook his head and sat up, stretching his arms above his head and letting out an exasperated groan.

In five years he could count the number of times you had seen his fangs on one hand, and he knew for a fact you had never seen his true face. The one that morphed when he was pissed, when he lost his last shred of humanity, when his features pulled together and his snarl was permanent. His eyes would go yellow and his skin would darken, and he once had it described to him as going full-blown Buffy--and that wasn't far from the truth.

He could continue to sit here and argue with himself about how much he didn't want you, or he could get in the shower and wash away whatever these feelings were. He didn't have a better idea yet, but maybe one would come to him. Great ideas were always hatched in the shower, right? Right.

Max turned off the water and was no closer to finding a solution to his current problem. Now he was just wet. Wet and frustrated. He threw back the curtain and shook out his hair, shoving it back from his face as he looked around and clicked his tongue against his teeth.

"Towel? Towel. Where's a fucking towel?"

He looked at the rack, the counter, and the wicker laundry basket and there was nothing that he could even use as a towel. Fuck. He stepped out onto the rug and wiped his feet as much as he could so he wouldn't fall on his ass on the tile. He thought he heard the sound of the door and froze, but nothing followed. Then he remembered, the armoire, the one with the goddamn baby maker blanket, there were towels in there.

He cracked the door and leaned his head out, looking around the bedroom. He called your name, but no one answered. Letting out a deep breath, he put his large hand over his groin, just in case, and hurried out to the cabinet. A high pitched bark made him jump as he turned around and cursed loudly, making eye contact with your horrific fuzzy demon of a dog.

"Shit!" Max glared and pointed at the Shiba with the hand that wasn't currently cupping his dick and balls. "Listen, I just need a towel--you little fluffy bastard--fuck!"

It continued to bark at him, hopping slightly with each noise and the action put it closer to him. Max involuntarily took a step back each time and he swallowed the lump in his throat as the beast started to growl.

Before he was turned, he loved dogs. His family had owned one when he was a child, but that had changed when he got back from Romania. It was as if the creatures could sense something was wrong with him, something not human was staring them in the face, and they hated it.

"Look," Max continued to try and reason with the orange canine. "I've never once thought about eating you. That should count for something, right?"

By now the animal had backed him back into the bathroom and he let out a frustrated growl of his own through his nostrils as he looked around for a weapon of some kind. His eyes fell to your cordless hair dryer on the edge of the sink and he couldn't help the smirk that overcame his face.

"Bingo." He scooped it up and grinned as he aimed it at the dog and flipped it on. The handheld device whirrrrr'd to life and the dog leaned back away from it as the warm air rippled its fur away from its face like it was in a wind tunnel. "Yeah--that's what I thought. Who's your daddy, now?"

Max dropped his hand from his crotch to hold the dryer with both as he aimed it like a six-shooter and took a few careful steps out of the bathroom towards the dog.

"That's it. There ya go," he chuckled as he aimed the dryer and made the dog switch places with him. "That's a good boy, that's a good, dumb dog," his voice dropped and cooed at him like a baby as the dog pranced backwards towards the bathroom to avoid the stream of air.

As soon as the dog crossed the threshold of the bathroom, Max lunged forward and grabbed the door handle and slammed it shut. He let out a yell of triumph as he effectively locked the beast in the bathroom and ensured his own safety. He spun around to toss the hair dryer on the bed and instead collided with your naked body as you walked in from the deck, your headphones still in your ears from your run.

In the time it took Max to realize he didn't have a towel, you had come home and back into the bedroom. Max was nowhere to be found and it was still dark so you had grabbed a towel, stepped onto the covered balcony, and stripped off, leaving your sweaty jogging clothes in a pile. Your loud music thumping in your ears had left you oblivious to the cowboy western showdown that was happening in your bedroom. And now you were pressed against your boss, both of you as naked as the day you came into this world and not only did he hit you with force, but he was very wet and very slippery.

"Oh my god, oh my fucking god," you said, as your headphones fell from your ears and you started to fall. You would have welcomed the bruised ass because it meant you would have stopped touching him. What you didn't expect was for him to put his arm around your waist to keep you from falling. All it wound up doing was making him fall to the ground with you in a tangle of limbs and an ungraceful thud.

"Max??" "Fuck!"

The two of you looked at each other with wide eyes and open mouths. You were suddenly hyper aware of your breasts pressed flush against his chest as your hands found his shoulders for balance. He caught himself as much as he could with his hands on either side of your head but you still felt... something pressing against the inside of your thigh--and it was much larger than you had imagined it would be. Not that you had ever thought of such things...about Max fucking Phillips.

"Why are you naked?!" He yelled as he finally found his voice.

"Why are you wet?!" You yelled back as you slapped at his damp chest and tried to push him off of you. "Get off me!"

"Gladly!" He snarled as he rolled off of you. You scrambled for the towel that you had in your hands before he caused you to drop it and covered your breasts and the apex of your thighs. "Ugh, goddammit!" Max picked up the baby maker blanket to cover himself and once he realized what it was, he tossed it aside and grabbed one of the pillows off the bed.

"Get your dick off of my pillow! I use that to sleep!" You gestured to it as he gripped it tightly and pressed it firmly to the front of his waist.

"Okay, well it's either this or I drop it!" He snapped back and you groaned.

"Why are you wet and naked in my bedroom?" You asked.

"Our bedroom--forget it," he growled and threw an arm out to gesture towards the bedroom. "I showered and there were no towels--and then the dog--"

"Kevin?" You looked at him like he was crazy and looked around but the dog was nowhere to be found. You looked at the shut bathroom door and quickly opened it as the dog gave a yip and sprinted out of the bathroom and out the slightly cracked bedroom door. "What is it with you and this dog??"

"He hates me--"

"Oh, yeah, my mistake. You're right," you put a hand to your chest and gave a mock gasp. "Barely got away with my life just now."

"Oh, shut up!" Max rolled his eyes at you. "Go shower, you stink!"

"Fuck you, Max!" You gave a frustrated groan and made sure the towel covered your ass as you started towards the bathroom.

"Nice tattoo!"

He got one last jab in and you realized he could see the ink that he had only guessed about previously on your ribs. You stuck up your middle finger at him before you slammed the door so hard you hoped it didn't wake anyone up.

You and Max avoided one another for the rest of the day. Which was easy to do as your family was content to keep you both busy helping to prepare food and decorations for the party. Your mother insisted it had nothing to do with your engagement and that she had had it planned even before you and Max had given them the good news. Good news…if that's what she was calling it.

So that's how the day went, with you and Max on opposite ends of the table, in separate corners of the room, refusing to make eye contact with one another. Without even looking at him all you could think about was how soft those broad shoulders actually were. You were surprised how muscled his thighs were and how they lead to what was even the most surprising, which was his---nope. No. Definitely not. You refused to think about Max in that way and the fact that the thought made you blush like a schoolgirl, pissed you off even more.

You decided to go to bed early and when he followed you upstairs you almost stopped and asked him what the hell he was doing. But your mom was watching you both with so much adoration that it made you take Max's hand as you told your parents goodnight and retreated to the comfort of your own space.

After an awkward dance of taking turns using the bathroom to get changed and trying not to look one another in the eye, you laid your head down on the pillows with a loud huff. The soft crackle of the fireplace brought a warmth and a glow to the room that made your shoulders relax slowly. You should have thanked Max for making it but you didn't, it was just better to say goodnight and go the fuck to sleep and forget this day ever happened.

"Goodnight, Max." You said bluntly, pulling the covers up over your shoulder and closing your eyes. When he didn't respond, you opened them back up but stayed still.

Max had heard you but as he folded his hands on his chest and stared at the ceiling, he said quietly, "So...naked."

You sat up and looked in the direction of his spot on the floor. "What was that?"

"I said, you were so naked. I saw... everything." He grinned even though you couldn't see and you groaned and laid back down.

"No you didn't--"

"Oh, yes I did."

"We're not talking about this--"

"You're thinking about it, aren't you? You saw my dick."

"I didn't."

"Yes you did," he insisted. "I saw your tits--well, felt them--"

"Max enough! Good. Night."

The two of you were silent again for another few minutes. The fire popped and the crickets chirped and you knew he was just waiting for the right moment to open his mouth again. And sure enough, without fail, he said the next best thing to piss you off.

"So, what's the beef between you and your dad?"

"I honestly would rather talk about how you saw me naked."

Max chuckled. "As tempting as that is, I want to know. You two seem to really hate each other."

"I'm sorry but that question isn't in the binder. Please play again." Your voice was that of a sarcastic game show host but he was relentless.

"You really think INS won't ask about family drama? Because I think--"

"Max. Not this. I--please."

Maybe it was the 'please' that finally made him drop the topic, but you were thankful regardless as you thought about the conversation you had with your dad yesterday and your throat became tight. Your eyes started to burn and you rubbed them furiously. This was not a topic that you wanted to discuss with the man on the floor, not now, not ever. A silence fell between you again and when Max cleared his throat you prepared for him to continue to press the issue, but he didn't.

"I like the psychic network." He said flatly and you opened your eyes.

"What?"

"We need to start learning the binder right?"

"I guess…"

"Well, I like the Psychic network. And no, not in a ha-ha, look at those idiots believing in that trash, kind of way. I actually kind of enjoy it. I mean vampires are real, maybe other shit is too, ya know?" He shrugs and lets out a heavy sigh. "Um. Let's see. I took piano lessons in the sixth grade. Lynda Carter was my first crush when I was nine. I don't like giving flowers to women or having them in the house because they remind me of funerals. I try to read Wuthering Heights every year at Christmas--it reminds me of my mom. My dad thought it was trash but that wasn't the point." He paused and let out a sad chuckle and you bit your lip gently as you listened to him. He let out a heavy sigh and waited and when you didn't say anything, he prompted. "Your turn, sweetheart."

"I...sorry. I'm just processing," you said honestly and he chuckled again.

"Take your time."

"I also took piano lessons when I was little, but I was so terrible I quit. My fingers aren't long enough," you said quietly as you flexed them in front of you as if to show him. "My first record my dad gave me was Lionel Richie. Uhh..I haven't slept with a man in eighteen months."

"Wait--"

"Shut up, you said it was my turn." You cut him off before he could draw attention to that particular factoid. "The tattoo on my ribs--they're birds, just your typical basic girly silhouette type but I got them when I was sixteen. They're mid-flight to remind me that I don't want to stay here for the rest of my life. That no matter what anyone says, it's okay to leave and live my own life." You swallow hard and blink quickly, feeling like an idiot for continuing to get emotional in front of the one person you were pretty sure didn't have emotions. "And despite the front I put out there, I went in the bathroom and cried the day that Evan called me a poisonous bitch and reminded me that I was never getting promoted. Because then my dad would be right--I took a risk, made a big deal of blazing my own trail, and I have nothing to show for it."

Max lay patiently with his hands on the edge of the blanket, playing idly with the fringe as you told your facts to him. His eyebrows furrowed together and his heart felt like a rock within his chest. As if he didn't already hate Evan before, your confession made him want to beat the little prick down 5th avenue. He quietly committed everything you just told him to memory, like you had done moments before when he was the one making his confessions.

"Um...are you still there?" You asked quietly.

He realized he had paused for too long and the meek tone in your voice made a lump form in his throat. "Y-yeah. I'm here."

"Say something, please." Your voice sounded small even to you but you know he heard you.

"You really haven't slept with anyone in eighteen months?"

The laugh that bubbled from your chest broke whatever tension had been in the air before. It felt real, and that's because it was. The question was so on par for Max that it felt good to know that despite what had happened in the last few days, it was still him. He was still the same man.

"That's all you took from that? Of course it is."

"I'm just saying, that's a long time." He said, holding out his hands in self defense.

"Yeah? Well, I've been a little busy. My boss is just a tad demanding."

"He sounds like a prick," Max scoffed.

"He's not all that bad," you shrugged without hesitation and the statement made both of you pause as the awkwardness returned once again.

"Who--um," Max coughed, changing the subject. "Who's Lionel Richie?"

"Seriously?" You sat up and looked at him with wide eyes. "You know 'hello'? 'Dancing on the ceiling'? 'All night long'??"

He shook his head and looked up at you as you crawled to the end of the bed to look at him. "Sorry," he shrugged. "Not ringing any bells."

You looked up and silently cursed yourself for what you were about to do but you decided to throw caution to the wind. You fought back the blush as you very quietly started to sing the chorus and bob your head. "All night long. All niiiiight. All. Night. Long. All niiiiight."

Max leaned up on his elbow and looked at you with a slack jaw and wide eyes. His expression made you lose the fight with your blush as you felt your cheeks burn red and you wanted to crawl under the bed.

"Is that you singing?" Max teased.

"Maybe! I just can't believe you don't know who Lionel Richie is--"

"I know who Lionel Richie is, sweetheart. I just wanted to hear you sing it." He grinned and you gaped, but it felt good and before you knew it you were laughing again. The laughing only intensified as Max started singing, too, making sure you didn't feel too singled out. "Everybody sing, everybody dance. Lose yourself in wild romance.."

"We're gonna party--" you joined him and the two of you both bobbed like there was a beat somewhere to be heard.

"Karamu.."

"Fiesta.."

"Forever.." He paused and tried to make his voice go higher. "All. Night. Long!" His voice cracked and he shook his head, "I haven't been able to sing that high since my balls dropped."

You fell into a fit of giggles and flopped back against the pillows on the bed. It felt good to laugh for real for the first time in this hellacious trip, and you would have never guessed it would have been because of Max. When you gave a snort, your hand flew to your face to cover your mouth and Max laughed even harder. He had a good laugh, it was warm and deep, and not at all superficial or fake like it was when he was trying to make a sale.

Eventually the laughter died down, and you both stared up at the ceiling in silence. Except this time, the silence didn't feel overwhelming or awkward, it was soothing.

"Sweetheart?" Max asked quietly and you felt your breath catch at his tone.

"Yeah, Max?"

"Don't," he let out a heavy breath before continuing. "Don't take this the wrong way...but you are a beautiful woman."

You put your knuckle to your lips and failed to suppress the smile that came with his words. He had said something he had never said before. He wasn't talking about your tits, or your ass, or the way your pencil skirt complimented your curves, no, this was different.

"Goodnight, Max." You said quietly as you rolled on your side and tried not to think about how hard your heart was beating.

"Goodnight."

Its already like an hour late so I am posting it without the tags and reblogging it with tags so enjoy!

#max phillips x you #max phillips x reader #max phillips #bloodsucking bastards #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro character fic #the proposal #with cherries on top

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baebeyza · 3 years ago

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Kingdom thoughts - Bae edition

Not gonna make individual posts this time, I watched the show at 1-3 am after sitting in a tight space for 30 hours with almost no sleep.

Just gonna share my bingo card and my thoughts under the cut! ~

No spoiler thoughts: show overall gets a 8/10 from me!

A little loose with the definition of personality for Unicron, but I did like the few scenes he had :D

Thoughts:

1. BW Megatron

Honestly? He worked. Good character, understandable motivations, nice use of references, you could really feel his affections for the Silver Megatron and how desperate he was about winning the future he fought for.

10/10, good german voice work, epic design, nice shows of the fact that he is still kind of an ass, he was STRONG, showed that he can be boss when needed, nothing to complain about, also YES, T-REX HEADPAT! xD

2. Dinobot

My brain-deprived head had trouble making sense of his actions, but overall it was fine, they could have needed more time for him though. And unlike most other BW references, I didn't like them with his character - the refs they used from "Code of Hero"...ike, that BW episode has a lot of build-up plot-wise and character-wise. The quotes matter a lot in that episode.

It just doesn't fit or have the same amount of weight as they thought they would in Kingdom. The honour quote didn't even make much sense context-wise.

But overall, nice enough. 8/10

3. Primal

10/10, loved him so much. Every scene with him was epic, the way he was written was great - Snarky, sarcastic at times, far less patient and calm than Prime, still a great leader who cares and doesn't take any shit! <3

4. Prime

I do love his story of WFC overall - he made one mistake that he admits to, goes through a lot to fix it and he did fix it and came out with a better future for it. Loved his last moment with Elita, loved the moments with the Allspark, and I loved his dynamic with Primal! 8/10

5. Megatron

He went unhinged as fuck, was still regal and sweet, loved a lot about him! As always, the angst he has about doing what he does was great! I especially loved the scene in the forest when the disk told him that he got lost, tried to go back to look a the road he took from another angle, but he refused to do it.

He went his way until he got defeated, and Starscream being the one who finally got him out of his one-way route was so sweet! 15/10

6. Goddamn disappointments

So, coming back to Megatron...I think I explained my problem well on discord:

7. Mainly comes to my problem with MAGNUS...yall know I am a MagsMegs shipper, but they could have fixed the problem with Megatron's angst coming to a closure with having him have a last moment with Magnus, just like Prime had with Elita.

It is clear that he feels guilty and horrible for the Death of Magnus, similar to how Prime felt responsible for everything else.

And Prime got closure at the end, while Megatron did not.

He should have had a moment of choosing to fight Galvs and Nemesis because he realised that his past deeds were wrong, and doing that with Magnus would have been a good representation of it all.

Like, I get that he might have gotten over his pride and selfishness which is representated by him choosing to save Cybertron over saving his own future, but still...!

They gave him such amazing angst, but just didn't end it in a satisfying way! Let him have peace with it in some way!

Oof.

7. Six episodes are not enough

I've been saying this since Siege - plot is good, characters are good, but in neither season have six episodes been enough to really flesh it out real good.

WFC is plot upon plot with no filler, and filler is usually needed to show give the characters more personality and show-case them in some way. Show us what makes them the character they are, what makes them unique.

WFC didn't have that, and you are left with having to draw the characterisations out of their plot relevance. And if you aint plot-relevant, you almost got no personality at all.

As far as I know, this isn't a WFC-specific problem though, as many shows have decided that 5-8 episodes are enough and we don't need more.

And I guess some stories manage with that limited time - WFC did not.

I still loved it, but they could have made it much better if they had more time.

Anyway, expect some art and stupid comics in the future - I will defend this show's and my own honour by contributing to it with content! <3

#transformers #transformer posting #wfc #kingdom #transformers kingdom #war for cybertron #netflix #megatron #beast wars #dinobot #optimus prime #ultra magnus #my very own bingo chart

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orionares · 4 years ago

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BTHB: Brain Damage

A/N: Takes place after "To Live and Die in Mexico."

A/N2: Bingo again! I'm calling that a backwards 7. =]

@badthingshappenbingo

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

His memory is in pieces- fragments of the trauma of his childhood, his possible broken engagement and flames bursting from twisted metal toss and turn around his mind. Marty Deeks curls on his right side under the thin, hospital blanket into a fetal position. Everything is so damn bright, his battered body throbs and nothing in his mind makes sense.

He and Kensi are no longer engaged.

No-he reproposed to her earlier and they’re back together. Right?

This is a hospital in Los Angeles. Or Mexico. Or Cabos?

The concussion also brings a level of hypersensitivity that can’t hold a candle to even his worse of hangovers. Every sound- every passing footstep, every pen clicks, passing of charts, laughter, innocent chatter- seems to rattle against his skull.

A pair of footsteps enters the room, stopping where he assumes to be inches from the left side of the bed. Deeks winces as the room visitor takes one step back and exactly three towards the foot of the bed. He’s about to scream when the steps start again, moving exactly four steps back and then six to a spot directly in front of where he lays.

“Hey…how are you feeling?” the faintly familiar voice asks softly. The female voice, even though exasperated by his concussion, brings warmth and love that honestly terrifies him.

He knows her- hell, he has to. He knows of his Kensi, his absolute everything- the dark-haired woman smiling down at him with a growing belly but he can’t remember her voice.

“Deeks, I need you to open your eyes.”

Deeks- that’s his name. That he knows. He squints in the direction of the voice to see a dark-haired woman standing in dark blue scrubs. She’s battered with a few cuts but looks down at him with the same love and warmth from his fragmented memory.

Is this his Kensi?

"Do you remember me?"

He inhales slowly to gather his thoughts- everything is so goddamn loud, and he loves the woman in front of her that he’s not 100% sure to be his wife.

Or was it fiancé?

Deeks’ words come out in an incomprehensible jumble. “Th-pa-ca...no...no...hep."

The brunette shushes him softly and reaches out to run the back of her hand against his cheek. "It's ok,” she whispers, “It's ok...do remember anything from the last time we talked?"

His mind flashes images-Heat beating against his skin, sand against his back, remnants of a church. What happened to the baby?

“It’s Kensi, Baby,” she leans down and kisses his forehead. The gesture sends a chill down his spine. How can something so nice be so terrifying?

“You’ve had two concussions from our last case,” Kensi explains. The dark circles around her eyes hint heavily at her lack of sleep. “We’re waiting for the results of an MRI to explain your memory loss and trouble speaking. Is any of that familiar?”

Deeks furrows his brow in deep concentration on producing a coherent sentence. Instead, "How...shpwn..no, no,...ti-ti-m," spills out from his lips. The mismatched brown eyes blink blankly before realization dawns over her, “ Time? Are you talking- are you asking how long you’ve been here?”

Deeks shakes his head and weakly raises a finger and motions a circle. Kensi cocks her head slightly and guesses, "A circle? I don’t- Doctor Colton!”

Kensi darts out of his eyeline and begins speaking in hushed voices with another individual somewhere near the door. His mind has shifted from painful hypersensitivity to noise back to erratic, fragmented thoughts.

What had he been trying to ask her?

Wait, her- who’s she again?

He’s suddenly incredibly warm even in the cool room. Kensi and the doctor’s conversation becomes muted in the background as the lights in the room begins to dim. The detective tries to move his head towards the voices but freezes, paralyzed by what his mind shows him.

Standing in the corner of the room directly in his eyeline is him. Except this can't be him- the mirror image is ghostly pale with blood dripping freely from his forehead. Soulless and empty like an apparition.

It can't be real.

He looks dead.

He tries to scream, plead for his injured mind to stop playing the visual nightmare but instead he hears erratic beeping, screams and then darkness.

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

"Callen gets discharged today."

No answer.

"Kensi?"

No answer.

Sam Hanna glances over to Kensi, who’s resting against the wall and watching her sleeping fiancée through the room window. He’s watched her for the last hour keeping vigil while occasionally wavering on her feet from fatigue. "The doctors are optimistic. Look, it’ll take time for Deeks to wake," Sam reminds her as he had numerous times earlier in the ten hours since Deeks had crashed and collapsed.

"The doctors being optimistic mean nothing to me while he’s unconscious. His blood pressure dropped off the face of the Earth, Sam," Kensi croaks. She shudders at the memory of machines flashing and blaring as her fiancée eyes had fluttered closed. “He had aphasia before and then-“

“Stop.” Sam holds up a hand to prevent her from spiraling. With Nell confirming Hidoko’s death and Callen still in the hospital, he has to be the strong one for the group. "Walk me through the doctor's notes again."

"The expressive aphasia and the memory loss are something that the doctors want to observe over the next few days. They called it transient meaning hopefully everything subsides once his brain settles," Kensi repeats dully. "Wait and see."

"Deeks is a stubborn, chatty fighter, “Sam says with hope in his voice. "Whatever happens, you’ll both work through it.”

“But what I’m not enough? “Her question comes out in choked sob. In the split second between the erratic beeps from the heart monitor and Deeks’ eyes fluttering closed, she had seen pure terror clear in his eyes.

Was he afraid of her?

“What if-“ the dam breaks and her words stumble out in sobs,” We got into a fight before the case and that nearly broke us! What if I can’t help Deeks through his speech ? What if he never remembers me? I tried to help Jack and-“

Sam closes the space between them to pull her close into a tight as manageable in his healing state as possible. Kendo melts into his arms and begins to openly cry, letting go of over a week of built fear, anger and heartbreak. “You love him, right?”

“O-of course.”

“Then you don’t focus on the what if’s,” Sam continues, “You focus on the love you share and that your strength in each other will help you get through whatever happens when he wakes up.”

Sam feels her trembling begin to settle in the hug. Kensi forces out to breaths and stares down at Deeks’ sleeping form.

He’s breathing and right in front of her. He jumped on a plan, even without a job, on a suicide mission to back her up. Even in the depths of hell, Marty Deeks hasn’t ever left her.

As she continues to calm, Kensi takes the elder agent’s words to heart. I’m not going anywhere, baby. All in.

#densi #ncis la #marty deeks #eric christian olsen #bad things happen bingo #bad things bingo

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holylulusworld · 4 years ago

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End of a dream

Title: End of a dream

Square Filled: Free space (mechanic!Dean)

Ship: Mechanic!Dean x Reader

Characters: Sam Winchester, Ruby

Rating: Teen

Warnings: angst, unrequited love, mentions of divorce, mentions of cancer/aneurysm, loss of will to live, comforting, fluff, sadness, remorse, language

Summary: What happens when a dream ends?

Word Count: 2,4 k+

Written/Created for @spnaubingo

2020 SPN AU BINGO Masterlist

What happens when a dream ends? What happens when the love of your life, the man you love since you were a six-year-old girl tells you he does not want to be a part of your life any longer?

“Y/N! Y/N, where are you! Sammy told you to sign the divorce papers over two weeks ago,” exasperated Dean runs upstairs to look for you. “Y/N.”

“I will sign the papers after the room stopped spinning,” you croak out, holding tight onto the pillow which used to be Dean’s. “I told Sam this morning I’ll sign the papers. I will not bother you any longer.”

“Why are you in bed at 2 pm on a Wednesday?” Dean steps closer, looking around the messy bedroom. “Did you clean lately? Sammy said you are sick, but the flu is no reason…”

You do not react, do not fight back and Dean’s stomach tightens seeing you are barely able to lift your head. “What’s wrong with you Y/N?”

“I’ll sign the papers. Do not worry, I am out of your hair soon. One way or another,” you close your eyes, hoping the headache will go away.

“Sam told me you are sick for two weeks. Did you see a doctor?” Stepping closer Dean glances at you, wondering why you do not react or give him a snarky comment like you used to do.

“Stop acting as if you would care, okay. Place the papers onto the bed and I sign anything when I feel a bit better.” Dean does not like you sound defeat nor is he used to you not giving him a piece of mind.

“Y/N, you need to see a doctor, today.” He is carefully touching your forehead, but you slap his hand away. “I am worried, sweetheart.”

“Sure, you are worried. Let’s face the truth, you give a shit on me Dean. You didn’t have a problem with telling me you want to divorce me a week after my best friend died,” you press the pillow close to your chest, holding back a sob. “Leave. If I die you have fewer problems to get rid of me.”

“Die? Y/N – What are you hiding from me?” Dean sounds genuinely worried, but you do not care if he’s worried or not. You lost all hope.

“I will die, that’s a matter of fact,” you clamp your mouth shut, not meeting Dean’s gaze. “There I said it, Dean. Go and party with the girls you want to meet up with. Maybe you can marry one of them sooner than expected.”

“Y/N, that’s not funny, okay. Let’s talk like adults and not make a terrible joke about dying and crap,” Dean hopes you will tell him you are joking but the way you lie on the bed, a shadow of your former self tells him it’s the hurtful truth.

“Doctor gave me two months, maybe three. If you are lucky you stressed me enough and it is only two,” voice bitter you look at Dean, giving him a sad smile. “I will not fight for anything. Not the house or whatever you want. I don’t need it anyway.”

“Y/N,” Dean chokes out, kneeling on the bed, desperately grasping for your hand. “Please tell me it’s a lie. Tell me it’s a trick to get me back.”

“I am not cruel, Dean. I would never use tricks or lie to you to get your back. I know you don’t love me anymore, maybe you never did,” you sniffle silently.

“I want to talk to your doctor, Y/N. Please tell me the name and I’ll call to get to know more. There must be a way to save you…”

“She refused to have the surgery. Why? I need to know if it can save her life or not. 75 percent, that’s good – right?”

Dean paces around the doctor's office, swallowing thickly when he gets to know you don’t want to live longer than needed, that there is nothing left in your life worth living and the surgery is no guarantee you will survive.

“I am sorry, Mr. Winchester,” your doctor sighs, rubbing her sore eyes. “I told your wife the surgery will save her life to at least 75 percent but she refused to even try. I am afraid she lost her will to live. In her condition, there is no guarantee she will recover. A patient needs the will to live, to fight.”

“Will to fight,” nodding silently Dean looks at the white stripe at his ring finger. “We are in the middle of a divorce.”

“I know, Mr. Winchester. Y/N told me she has no reason to fight. That all she dreamed of slipped through her fingers. I think she was ready to have a baby when you told her about divorce. She asked me about fertility and,” your doctor's voice cracks when she closes your file. “Doesn’t matter, Mr. Winchester.”

“The tumor, will kill her if you do not remove it – right?” Huffing Dean falls onto a chair in your doctor’s office.

“It adds pressure to an aneurysm in her head. The aneurysm itself is easy to remove, but the tumor will make things more difficult. We have to do it fast, within the next weeks, even better days before the tumor grows again,” silence fills the room when Dean gets back up to pace around the office again.

“I’ll talk to her, doc. She will have this goddamn surgery…”

“I signed the papers,” weakly pointing toward the papers on the nightstand you ignore Dean’s worried look. “You can go now. I called Ruby, she’ll help me prepare my funeral and all.”

“Son of a bitch, Y/N!” Dean yells, and you flinch at his harsh tone. “You will not die, okay. We will go to your doctor’s office and talk about options. She told me about the tumor, the aneurysm, and the surgery.”

“She had no right to do so,” you choke out, glaring at Dean with tired eyes. “It’s my life, I don’t want surgery and end up as a drooling invalid,” slowly you sit up, wrapping the blanket around your body. “Did she tell you there is a high chance I will end like that? Did she? No one would care about me and I’d end up at a care home, Dean. I don’t want this, so I’ll not have surgery.”

“Y/N, the doctor also said there is a 75 percent chance you’ll survive, and nothing will happen. Do not throw your life away only as I wanted to divorce you. I…I still love you. Life got between us, but this doesn’t mean I want you to die.”

“How merciful of you, Dean. It’s wonderful you do not want to see me dead,” sarcasm dripping from your lips you stare at the wedding band on your finger.

“You removed it the day you said you want to leave. I did not even have the chance to process you will leave before you placed the ring onto the table. What you feel is not love, it’s pity. Go and leave me alone for the rest of my life as it’s what you wanted to do in the first place.”

“Y/N, come on,” Ruby tries to cheer you up while Sam looks at the file Dean gave him. If not on free terms, Dean wants to force you to have the surgery. “Just say yes.”

“I said no,” you glare at your friends, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’ve got enough, okay. My life never was easy but with Dean, I had hope. But…”

“Listen, you need to get over the break-up with my brother and fight for your life. Stop acting like a stubborn child. You have friends who are worried about you,” you slowly get up to stalk toward Sam, poking your finger into his chest.

“If you tell me how you get over the loss of the love of your life, of the man you love since you were a six-year-old kid, I’ll have the surgery. So, tell me, Samuel Winchester,” you look up at your friend, tears in your eyes, “how will I get over him?”

“Y/N,” Ruby wraps her arms around you, stroking your back, “please don’t give up, don’t leave us. I know you are scared, but we will be there for you.”

“That’s the problem, Ruby. I am not afraid to die, I am afraid to live…”

“I’ll not let you die,” Dean purses his lips, pointing toward a bunch of papers. “I’ll let Sammy call a judge to place you under a disability if I have to! You will have this surgery!”

“Why, Dean? As you feel something for me – doubtable,” you scoff, crossing your arms over your chest. “That feeling is you selfishly trying to assuage your guilt.”

“I will not let you die, period. You can willingly agree, or I swear I’ll drag your cute ass to the doctor and do it myself!” Dean clenches his jaw, looking down at you with watery eyes. “Please, sweetheart.”

“If I end up as a drooling invalid, you will have to pay for a nursing home,” you turn on your heels, stomping toward your bedroom, slamming the door shut.

“What if she dies? What if she ends up as a drooling invalid? What if this was the wrong decision and she’ll hate me? What if the doctor kills her?” Dean panics, pacing around the hallways whilst his brother and Ruby try to remain calm.

“Dean stop making me nervous! My best friend is in there, fighting for her life. Don’t make this even harder for me!” Ruby grits out.

“That’s my wife, the woman I love in there,” Dean yells now, “I got all the right in the world to be nervous, scared, and to fucking panic!”

“Oddly, you are the one wanting to get rid of her! Why are you acting as if Y/N means shit to you now that she is close to dying? Weeks ago, you wanted to be free again, Winchester,” Ruby pushes against Dean’s chest, clearing at her boyfriend’s brother. “Y/N is the best thing ever happening to you, you douche!”

“I know,” Dean chokes out. “You don’t have to tell me so, Ruby. Y/N was always too good for me and a few months ago, I proofed I am not worth her love,” he downcasts his eyes, fiddling with his wedding band. “I lost a lot of money at the garage, had barely customers. The bank will take my garage, but I thought if I divorce Y/N and she gets the house before I am bankrupt, she can keep it.”

“What the actual fuck, Dean!” Sam yells now, glaring at his brother. “Why didn’t you tell us so? Why didn’t you ask for help instead of breaking Y/N’s heart? She thought you never loved her Dean, was ready to die!”

“I was ashamed, Sammy. I’ll lose Bobby’s garage, the one he gave to me, believing I’ll take good care of his business. I couldn’t tell Y/N that I will lose everything, including Baby. She would’ve tried to give me the money her granny gave her,” Dean grumbles, pressing one hand to his heart. “I didn’t want to drag her down with me, Sam. I had to hurt her to not ruin her life too.”

“You fucking idiot!” Sam punches his brother's nose, panting heavily. “We are family, Dean. If we need help, we stick together and help each other. I got money saved, so does Y/N and our parents. One word and we would’ve helped you.”

“I know…”

“How much do you need, Dean?” Ruby asks pressing a tissue to Dean’s nose. “Come on, jerk. Tell me.”

“Ten-thousand, maybe fifteen-thousand bucks,” Sam sighs, rubbing his forehead nervously.

“Dean, dad has around 150,000 bucks, okay. He would gladly help you, just like me and Ruby. Hell, it’s a great investment. We help you out, get like 5 percent of your business and you’ll repair our cars for free,” Sam offers, knowing his brother is too proud to accept help.

“You want to be my partner?” Dean’s eyes lit up when Sam places one hand onto his shoulder.

“A silent one, only coming around to get his car fixed or to annoy his elder brother. Now cut the crap, send me the numbers and we will check everything over the weekend. You’ll not lose your business or your wife,” nodding Dean looks at the doctor who walks toward the small group.

“Mr. Winchester,” the doctor pants, “we made it. The tumor is gone, the aneurism fixed and as far as we know there is no damage. We will have to wait for her to wake up, but the surgery was a success.”

“Sweetheart,” sniffing Dean presses his lips to your hand, gently brushing the skin with his soft pillows. “I love you.”

“Dean?” coughing you look at Dean who squeezes your hand tightly. “Where am I? Did something happen?”

“You had surgery – remember? I mean, do you remember me?” you hum, knitting your brows together to remember the last days. “I am sorry, for everything. I never wanted to divorce you, Y/N. I messed up business and…”

“Is it out?” you look at Sam and Ruby who stand awkwardly in the room. “I mean, am I going to live?”

“Yes, and you will have to hear about the stunt your brilliant husband pulled, Y/N but this can wait. You’ll have to recover and meanwhile, I’ll kick Dean’s ass on your behalf,” Sam smirks, squeezing your shoulder.

“Unbelievable!” You toss a plate at Dean, almost hitting his head. “You could’ve talked to me, but no, Dean fucking Winchester prefers to leave me!”

“Sorry,” Dean ducks to not get hit by the next flying object, grinning as you grasp for a vase to throw it at his back. “I thought it’s for the best, sweetheart.”

“Sweetheart my ass, Winchester! I’ll kick your ass when I feel better,” you threaten, throwing your phone at Dean who shrieks as you hit his ass. “Bingo!”

“Fuck, baby girl, stop throwing things at me. I said I am sorry, Y/N.” Dean dodges your next attack, crawling toward the coach to poke his head around the corner of the sofa.

“I am not done, not at all!” While you try to find anything to throw at Dean he sneaks toward you, to pick you up in bridal style. “Gotcha sweetheart,” he snickers, running upstairs to bring you away from any potential weapon.

“I swear, you will be the death of me, Winchester…”

Tags in reblog

Credit for Impala divider: @writeyourmindaway

#spnaubingo #free space #end of a dream #tw:cancer #angst #mechanic!dean x Reader #mechanic!dean winchester #mechanic au #mechanic dean #mechanic dean winchester #dean winchester #dean winchester fanfic #Supernatural fanfic #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester SPN #au dean winchester #tw: cancer

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3pirouette · 4 years ago

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Fic: An Experimental Design (1/ 3-ish)

Title: An Experimental Design By: TriplePirouette/3Pirouette Disclaimer: They're not mine. Word Count: 2739 Distribution: AO3 Anyone else please ask first :)

Story Summary: Sequel to “What Number?”, also prompted from Steggy Bingo Bash Prompts. Takes place about a week after that fic.

Chapter 1: Far

Chapter Summary: Peggy’s at a nine, and Steve’s nowhere to be found.

Chapter A/N: You absolutely have to read “What Number?” to understand anything going on in this. Steggy Bingo Bash Prompt “Chester Phillips.” There will probably be about 3-4 chapters in this story. Not entirely sure yet.

~*~

Peggy marched through the halls of the SSR, gritting her teeth tight. She was at a nine, a high strung, desperate nine, but there was nothing to be done for it.

She’d tried, on her own, last night, but her own hands didn’t temper the pain and she couldn’t get herself off while the agony seared through her.

He’d asked her, before he went, if she wanted him to stay. She regretted her decision, now. She’d never gone more than eight hours since that fateful day when he took her from the Hydra base and his touch soothed every inch of her.

The mission had been simple: in and out with a high value target that was looking to defect in six hours or less.

They’d lost contact with the Commandos around hour eight.

It had been twenty-two hours since she’d touched him, and every cell in her body was screaming.

She stopped, gripping the doorway of the communications room as she leaned in. “Any word yet, Private?”

The young man at the console turned, his face stoic. “Not yet, Ma’am.”

She nodded moving along, missing the cold metal of the doorframe in her hand. The bunker was all cinderblock and metal and cool dirt floors and she was about ready to roll herself along one just to get some relief.

Steve hadn’t let her get to a nine in weeks and she had forgotten just quite how painful it could get. He could see the way her eye jumped, the way she hid it from everyone else, long before she got to her nine, and never hesitated to act.

~*~

“You’re sure?” He asked softly, his chest pressed against hers.

She leaned back, sitting on his knees. Straddling him had its advantages, especially when they had nearly no clothes left on. She ran her hands down his chest. “Six hours. Eight if it gets bad? Longest we’ve had to wait is twelve and I only made it to an eight then. I can make it.”

He shook his head, concerned at the ‘stiff upper lip’ she was giving him. “Peggy?”

She let the façade fall, sighing. “We have to try. If I can’t survive you going on missions then we have to talk to Howard.” She shook her head. “As much as I like all this, if I literally can’t exist on my own without touching you…”

He brushed her hair back from her face, forcing her to look up at him. “You know how I feel about getting help with this.”

“And I appreciate very much that you’re letting me do it in my own time.” She leaned forward, kissing him gently. “I’m sure I’ll find a way to survive the day without you.”

~*~

‘I’m sure I’ll find a way to survive the day without you.’

It echoed in her head as she felt the lighting pulse through her again, mocking her. Every minute that passed by seemed to take hours, and she could only hide for so long. She was due at a briefing with Phillips. The Colonel overlooked many things, but she didn’t know how well she could hide this.

She pulled the files from her desk, moving to the conference room and taking a seat towards the back of the table. The farther away from Phillips, the better. She kept her head down, looking through reports she already knew by heart, scribbling at making notes as the conference room filled in.

Phillips joined them not two minutes later; his face gruff as he sat at the head of the table. “Let’s keep this quick, today. I have a call with the General this afternoon.”

Peggy almost sighed in relief when he said he wanted to keep it brief. She could do this, she could make it through the afternoon briefing without crying out, without making a scene.

The nine was creeping up to a ten. There was no way to stop it.

She focused on her breathing, slow and steady as Smith filled Phillips in on a hostage situation. Martin talked for what felt like hours about an ammunition logging discrepancy.

It was during Martin’s droll recounting of how forty bullets got misplaced that she noticed Phillips glance at her.

Normally, she’d smile, share the moment with the man and joke about it later. No one cared where forty bullets went in this damned war, least of all Phillips, especially if, as Martin ended up explaining, he’d later found them.

Peggy knew that no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t share the joke today. She attempted to smile, but it came out a wince. She was sweating. Her thighs were shaking and she tried to hide it by tapping her foot. She was spiraling down, fast, and she didn’t know how to stop it.

“Carter,” Phillips nearly barked, stopping Martin’s final accounting of weapons. “You all right?”

“Fine, Sir.” Her voice was clipped. “A bit under the weather.”

He eyed her suspiciously, but it was a Sargent she wasn’t familiar with that opened his mouth. “Missing her boyfriend, no doubt.”

Phillips pounded the table with his fist, the first signs of laughter among the men dying out at his serious expression. He looked at all of them, his eyes sweeping over each man before he spoke. “Good men are missing, you don’t joke about it.” He looked down at his papers, rearranging them, his eyes kept firmly down as he spoke to avoid accusing anyone specific. “And don’t think for a second I don’t know every single thing that happens on and around this base. I can only turn a blind eye for so long, and every one of you should be very, very aware of that fact.”

The silence after his veiled threat only served to accentuate Peggy’s shuddered breathing.

Phillips eyed her for a long moment, folding his hands in front of him. He didn’t look away, and she held his gaze. “Carter, you puke on my table, you’re cleaning it up, understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

He moved on to Hobbs, letting the man talk him through the planned extraction of an undercover agent, his eyes drifting to her every few seconds.

She couldn’t see her notes, didn’t even pretend to be paying attention anymore. Her hands gripped the table, her eyes pressed closed. Her hair was matting to her head and she couldn’t help the way her legs shook.

Phillips put his hand up, stopping Hobbs. “Carter, get out of here. Go find a medic.”

She couldn’t answer him, couldn’t even hear him as the migraine she had began pounding in her ears. She pushed back from the table, her head in her hands.

It made the men around her jump in surprise as her chair slid back across the floor. Phillips was on his feet, pushing the man next to him out the door. “Medic, now.” His order wasn’t loud, but insistent and worried. “Carter?”

Instead of answering him, something she physically couldn’t do, she rolled from the chair. She didn’t feel the impact on the cement floor, but instead felt the coolness of the cement on her body. She pressed her face into the ground as Phillips rounded the table, some of the other men already moving it to the side to give her room.

“Carter?” He bent down, his hand on her shoulder, shaking her.

She cried out, the scream full of anguish and pain at his touch. She hadn’t felt this level of pain since she’d been in that godforsaken Hydra lab.

He pulled his hand away like he’d been burnt, watched as she curled back into herself, convulsing and whimpering on the ground.

Phillips looked up at the Sargent, eyes full of fear. “You think she’s missing her boyfriend now?”

~*~

Steve pressed on, though Dum Dum tried to hold him back. “We need to stop, Cap. We can’t go any further tonight.”

“I can’t,” he argued, pulling out of Dum Dum’s grip. “I can’t explain why, but I need to get back as soon as possible.”

Dugan let him get a few paces away before he called out. “You’re no good to her if you’re dead.” Steve froze. “What happens then, huh? When a sniper you didn’t even know was there puts two in your forehead before you can get your shield up?”

Steve turned, looking at the man, broken and frustrated.

“We know that there’s something going on with her, Cap. We know it has something to do with whatever they did to her in that goddamned lab and we’re all trying to get you back to her as fast as we can because we know you can fix it somehow.”

Some of the tension in Steve melted away. “You know?”

Dugan smiled, stepping closer to him. “You two go into a tent, her sounding like she’s dying, a minute later it sounds like a brothel, and in the morning she’s as good as new?” Dugan shrugged. “It’d be easy to just say she’s just like all the rest of us, gets the shakes, gets a little unnerved now and again and needs a buddy to talk to or a bottle to drink, but I’ve seen her go from ready to jump off a cliff to damn right calm just because you held her hand since that day we rescued her. That’s not nothing.”

Steve hung his head. “We don’t know what’s wrong with her. Can’t explain it.” He sighed, “She needs to touch me, skin to skin, and it goes away.”

Dum Dum reached out, then let his lips crook up in a silly half smile. “Well, if that ain’t romantic.” His attempt to lighten the mood did little, but Steve nodded in appreciation. “We’re gonna get you back to her, we just—”

“She’s never gone this long.” He said, his voice cracking with worry. “It was supposed to be six hours.”

“And we were supposed to be pulling out a scientist trying to defect from a nunnery, not fighting off half of the Nazi party at a Hydra stronghold.” Dugan set his arm around Steve’s shoulders, turning him back towards the little camp they were setting up. “Us non-super soldiers just need a few hours. Some sleep, try to fix the comms, we’ll be up and marching soon.”

Steve nodded, knowing his friend was right, he was far too distracted to go traipsing through enemy territory by himself. “A few hours.”

Dugan nodded. “Peggy will be fine, she’s got the finest minds in the Allied Powers on that base.”

~*~

“Jesus Christ, Stark, are you an imbecile?” Phillips barked, watching through the glass of the observation window. Peggy was writhing in the bed on the other side, pulling the IVs from her arms. “Help the damn woman!”

“PhDs, not MDs!” Stark cried, pacing behind the man. Howard stopped at his side, throwing up his hands. “Go yell at one of the actual doctors, because none of this makes any sense. She’s fine. She’s literally absolutely one hundred percent, healthy based on everything they’ve showed me and all the tests they’ve run with the exception of her elevated blood pressure.”

Phillips swept a hand out, gesturing to the room beyond them where Peggy was curled on her side, sobbing. His eyes wide, he threw his arm out again, gesturing wildly. “That is not, by any means, healthy.” When Howard didn’t back down Phillips rubbed his hand over his mouth, turning away from the window. “I watched that woman take two bullets in the shoulder and barely wince,” he began turning back to Howard, “She trekked through enemy territory with a sprained ankle and a six-year-old on her back evacuating a town before Hydra could get to it. I have never seen that woman do more than purse her lips and move on and now she looks like this?”

Howard shook his head. “She was in that Hydra base for 16 hours. I should have insisted she let someone look at her.”

“You insist with Peggy Carter you’re risking your life,” Phillips supplied, nearly laughing. “I thought she and Rogers were hiding something from me when they got back, but I just figured it was more hand holding behind the mess. God, that kid still makes me cry.”

Howard stopped, looking up at Phillips. “You know they’re…?”

Phillips scowled. “The things I don’t know about what goes on at this base could fill a thimble.” He sighed, sitting at the small table in the room, his voice growing more sarcastic by the second. “Yes, I know they’re making moon eyes at each other like two teenagers and take long romantic walks in the woods and sometimes he even comes back with, dare it I say it, lipstick on his collar.” He sighed. “As long as the wrong people don’t catch them and I don’t get an official complaint, I can ignore it just like I ignore a lot of other men and women sneaking off when they think people aren’t looking.” This time, Phillips did laugh at Howard’s amazed expression. “It’s war, Stark, you think I’m going to deny these soldiers a little comfort and pleasure while they’re laying down their lives?”

Howard opened his mouth to reply, but was swiftly cut off by a guttural scream from the room beyond them. Peggy had rolled to her side and was kicking off the blankets.

“Burns,” she yelled out, left with only the raspiest of voices after crying out for hours on end.

Phillips put his head in his hands. “How much more pain medication can we give her?”

Stark sighed, walking up to the glass. “We’ve already maxed her out on morphine. She should barely be alive, never mind awake and in pain with the amount she’s had.”

Without warning Peggy went silent, sitting up in her hospital bed, eyes glued to the door.

The silence made both men stand tall, eyes glued to her to see what she would do. The commotion from beyond the doors made the turn, Phillips pulling open the door and stepping out into the hallway to see a crowd. MPs were unsuccessfully holding back a nearly feral Captain Rogers, the rest of the commandos standing behind him, guarding his back and removing personnel from the area by force.

“Rogers! What the hell is going on?”

“Where is she?” He demanded, eyes wild, pushing past the MPs, using their surprise at Phillips’ voice to overpower them without hurting them. “Where?”

Howard swallowed hard, setting his jaw and pointing to the door beyond him.

Phillips, however, was not satisfied. “Oh no, you have a lot of explaining to do, and a debrief,” he pushed in front of Steve, half angry as hell that the mission hadn’t gone anywhere near planned, and half hoping to keep him from seeing the painful sight that was Peggy Carter.

Steve, without preamble, pushed past Phillips and disappeared into the door beyond. “Sorry, Colonel, you can charge me with insubordination later.”

Howard reached out, putting a hand to Phillips chest as he tried to follow him, the Commandos starting to flank and guard the rooms. Phillips looked at Howard’s hand, then up at his face, his disbelief that Stark would stop him evident.

“He didn’t ask how she was, or what happened,” Howard pointed out quietly. “he just wanted to know where she was.”

“Skinny bastard knows something.” Phillips murmured as the realization downed on him.

Howard huffed, “You’re going to have to stop calling him that one day.”

“No, I don’t.” Phillips started to move forward, but was intercepted by Dugan, Jones, and Sawyer, who turned him back towards the hall.

“We’ll debrief you, sir,” Jones supplied, pulling Howard by the collar after him.

Phillips set his feet, turning back towards the room. “I don’t think so, I think I’d rather be here for this.”

Dugan stepped in his path, shaking his head. “Colonel, sir, I can tell you with all due respect that from experience, you absolutely do not want to be here right now.”

Phillips pondered yelling, even flat out decking the man for a moment, but was stopped by the loud, breathy moan that came from Peggy’s room.

He looked up: that had not been pain. That had, most certainly, been pleasure.

“You’re right, I don’t.” He led them out, Howard still being dragged by Jones, “But don’t think for one second I am letting any of this go.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sir.”

#Steggy Fic #Steggy Bingo Bash #3P's Fic

19 notes · View notes