#also a wonderful accomplice

[capslocked]

KINKVEMBER DAY: 5

[prompt: face sitting]

male reader x ahn yujin

3.5k words

Yujin is giving you shit when it happens.

It’s been a little over an hour since she turned to you, bored and pouty about it, and asked if you wanted to fuck again.

She gives you shit in the way only the prettiest girls can get away with. Perfect smile, like she's innocent. And all low and breathy in her throat. Hitched around the vowels of your name. Threatening enough that you thought about just immediately capitulating. It was tempting. 

"Or you could stay on the floor like a lame loser bummin’ around in your pajamas." She leans up on the arm of the sofa. "Either way."

Yujin stretches and her sweater is huge. One of those cozy campus crewnecks that everybody seems to have, oversized and inviting and right. Her shorts are ridiculously small, just enough of her stomach peeking out over her waistband for you to want to feel it, touch it, have the pleasure of sinking your tongue into the shallow groove.

She's teasing you because she never quite knows what to do with her energy. Lacks an outlet big enough, really, but is also selfishly delighted in getting any response at all, no matter how halfhearted it might be. You stare at her. You watch and don't speak when she runs her fingers up her stomach to pull her sweater up with it. You groan. She grins. She is pretty, her lips full and eyes soft. The laugh that follows her is because it's always obvious when she's won and you wish your body wasn't so prone to giving away your weaknesses.

"Hey." She blinks slowly, lifting one leg up. Her bare foot, warm, toes flexed, against your thigh, nudges against you once, and again.

"How many orgasms until I feel a little more forgiving towards my good friend who, I know, is super super sorry that he can't afford the pizza money because he chose to use his own allowance to do something as silly as pay rent, I wonder?"

"I paid half last time."

"Doesn't make sense because you ate it all.

"You said you weren't hungry." You start to object because you do have an objection. A list, actually, prepared, of instances you think you're owed. But Yujin arches, and when a separate but related complaint rises swiftly to the foreground, your throat goes dry -

"Orgasm tax."

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?” she asks, and you’re struggling to answer truthfully, honestly.

She rolls over, lets you see everything she has, the tiniest shorts in the world tugged even higher, the generous curve of her ass and thighs in silhouette. You didn't ask for this but you weren’t about to die without it, you think, looking up from the floor and staring, wetting your lips, absolutely sure. She does it all on her own and it takes an absurd amount of effort to peel your hands off the ground.

"Stay where you are," she snaps, seeing it too - and in a second of deliberate slowness, hooks two fingers into her shorts, tugging them aside before looming over you. "Or you're not fucking me today. At all."

You let your head thud down against the rug beneath you. "That's not fair."

"You've gotta come up with something better than that. You could suck up, beg, maybe I'd forgive you if you just told me how much better I was than the cash I could use on literally whatever."

Your eyes cut down.

Part of you wonders if you've always been such an easy mark - whether being here has changed you, if all these months of dangling carrots in front of you are paying off or if you're just a willing accomplice to your own exploitation.

Part of you isn't stupid. Yujin's taken an almost disturbing amount of pleasure in flaunting herself since the first night you drank too much, said too much, resisted too little - you can tell the way it starts, a smile toying in the corner of her mouth, before she taps the band of her bra, waits to hear you swallow - to hear how hot you get - before she casually asks what it would take, "to convince you", to change the conversation from whether she wants something from the vending machine, or she just forgot it was laundry day, or where the hell that note from Wonyoung had gone, to what she'd like the answer to be. What would you let her do if it got you another chance to get under her shirt, see her all bared, eyes dark and hair like a veil across her collarbones, pretty nipples and swells of her breasts pushed up, until you put your mouth on her.

Yujin tilts her hips so it's easier for you to follow, her hand snaking beneath her body as she speaks. A gentle grunt gets muffled in her sweater, her toes curling into the space between your knees and it hurts, stings a little, the desire you're holding back, and then it goes right through you like fire, sharp.

(Part of you is incredibly stupid - but you think the truth is it doesn't matter.)

Yujin's kneeling over your chest, and her bottom lip, plump and lush, catches between her teeth. "Can you think of anyway to be useful?"

"A lot," you choke. It's true.

Yujin makes a noise. "Proof. Evidence. Put up."

The movement she makes - twisting of legs and stomach flexing and the fabric of her shorts down off her ankles - is one single, fluid motion and for a second you're distracted by how quickly she's gotten you there. Thighs resting over your shoulders, the only thing your lungs seem to remember how to do is want.

"Come on." She bounces her knees a bit. "Dick or mouth, get going."

You should really say something smart, show her how clever and charming you can be, how you've actually got a lot to show the hottest girl in the world - and sometimes Yujin giggles like she's shocked  about it all herself, but right now her eyebrows are raising, expectant and challenging and it makes it difficult to think when there's an open invitation inches away for you to bury yourself in. Your lips feel like sandpaper when you kiss the inside of her thigh. Her hips stutter and drop an inch as your tongue works its way out, thick and obscene and it shouldn't be so thrilling to hear her so low, so urgent when you have no say, really, in how this is going to go -

"Take care of me, yeah?" she practically whispers the words - all while your fingertips drag along her outer thighs until her spine straightens, gets her shoulders pushed back, her breathing louder, somehow, as if you couldn't feel her need without knowing already exactly what you can do for her.

And the most honest thing you could say in the moment, because Yujin has her panties stretched to the side, revealing the inviting creases where her long legs meet her hips - for god’s sake, her pussy is right fucking there, inches in front of you; glistening slightly in her own slick and looking so, so pretty - the words get kissed right into the curve of her thigh: "It's not fair."

The look she gives you makes it worth it. "Excuse me?"

"You asked, didn't you. It's not fair that your pussy's so good that I can't think about anything else."

She huffs, her thighs shaking just a little with the effort of staying put. "So, what," and your mouth closes in, kiss deep, your nose pressed in right at the peak of her folds, her entrance, and you try not to drool as you inhale and drag the flat of your tongue in, hard, where she's desperate for you, "you think this should all go in reverse or something, like I should worship your dick until you stop being a useless perv - "

But the insult dies in her throat. A moan comes out instead, harsh, deep, loud and enough that Yujin slaps her palm over her own mouth before throwing an impatient scowl down at you.

Here's what you'd tell her, if you weren't busy licking circles into the ache leaking from her core, eating her cunt like a starving man, if you had the audacity. Yujin can't control herself. Doesn't help that she's sloppy. When her orgasm hits she will get louder and she doesn't even like the things that come out. That's the thing about Yujin, really. She says all this shit, and really, in the end, she wants a good fuck so bad she can't keep her mouth shut, but the noises she makes are exactly the same as the sounds that you choke on -

Because as pretty and easy and fun to kiss as she can be, the absolute best thing about your relationship is that the more orgasms she gets the less she can breathe, much less control what the fuck she's saying to you. It's cute and hilarious and beautiful, when she forgets, when she gives everything up because in the end it's never any competition, the way she fucks, is so desperate. Her hips work themselves into your grip, over and over and over again, like they are meant for this. 

For getting off on your mouth alone.

All you know right now is that with the way you have your hands on her - one still holding her panties open and the other squeezed tight around the muscle of her outer thigh - it's like her clit's directly in line with the back of your throat. If you press your lips around her pussy and hold them firm, just like the way her knees are starting to tighten around your face, she's going to come. It will hurt her and it will leave her completely boneless, and you've fucked this much to the point where you have learned, well, she can never complain.

Not that she would. The slick dripping down your cheeks and throat and down to the front of your shirt - it's fucking everywhere - makes it obvious: any ability to talk is replaced with her just grinding her pussy against you, bucking and shouting, riding and writhing until you decide her pretty little pink slit can have another taste. 

Her only other option, really, is clenching and throbbing and cumming as hard as she can all over your waiting tongue.

"Hey. Get your fucking mouth back down," she breathes, taking her fingers out of her cunt and then promptly pushing your head back in, "and - uhnn, I - yeah, exactly. Mmmnghh - "

You smile, muffled and hot against the fabric of her thighs, her fingers twisting in the hair behind your ears and tugging firmly. "Oh."

"What did you want again?" she asks - except her body tells a different story, all flushed and keening and, fuck, absolutely soaked from your touch - she rocks against the base of your chin, slumping and dropping down and letting gravity do its work. You work your tongue over her throbbing clit, again, again, and Yujin moans loudly. So pleased.

Just this mess she's made of you. The smell that coats your nose, and chin, the way it feels when she ruts her whole body against the place where she's worked the hardest. Her breath stalls where you start to breathe in, and looking up at the cinched look in her face you press further.

It’s every little circle lick and lave and gentle nudge of the tip of your nose, where the feeling makes her cry out, where the sensation, overstimulated, is close to that perfect balance between too much and not quite enough, all while working your fingers into the swell of her ass, and finally her hips make small, greedy, selfish thrusts into your mouth.

She sobs for you. You sigh, contented, because you don't even need to ask.

"You're so fucking good," she murmurs, heel of her palm pushed into her eyes like she's struggling with a headache. "God, fuck, do that again."

It's so wet on your chin already, but you do it again, just for the way she bucks into it.

You give her the closest thing you have, your thumb riding the rim of her ass, tongue rubbing, stroking her pussy faster. Yujin's teeth work against the insides of her mouth as her hips shift forward, and she is clenching and begging for the cock you know would make her scream if you just stood her on her hands and fucked her from behind - it's such a cruel way of making her work to feel so fucking amazing - but you're here to indulge, and really, when she shivers and pleads the exact way she does, your mouth still full, how are you supposed to do anything besides fucking obey.

Yujin reaches up to grab onto the edge of the couch, anything to brace herself as her cunt sloppily gets wetter. The thickest part of your tongue is good enough for this. Everything about her clit is just this dull, swollen throb. Begging to be worked over the way you're licking at the entrance to her pussy, inside and all, kissing, sucking, kneading, pulling, - fucking her just right - until she starts fucking cursing up a storm.

"Oh god, god, oh fuck fuck, fuck," her hips shift until she's the only one riding, the only one fucking. Until you just get to lay there with your lips slack, drooling open, hands a frame for her entire body while she works your face, and nothing could be better - "yeah, oh, fuck, fuck yes - yeah - fuck, hahhh. You're going to make me fucking cum-"

And you almost say it: that's your line - it's not enough, you'll never have enough of her cunt - her clit or the slit, where she leaks, thick and sticky. Her slick tastes heavy on your tongue, and you can't swallow fast enough. Your fingers are so deep into the pliable skin of her ass - digging and needy and reaching for where she's tightest. Her hands pull sharply at your hair. You feel her, tightening her ass around your finger, cumming wet across your cheekbones and -

It goes on, her body pressing into you, until with a sudden snap of a cry, she cums.

“God, fuck-”

If Yujin doesn't have to see the look on your face after getting her off this hard, it's only because the pressure in her body has her knees across your eyes forced shut. A spasm clenches, almost rhythmic, through her thighs, and god, Yujin just cums her brains out. It's pretty hot. You make it count: pushing your fingers just as deep into her pussy, working, exploring - right as her whole body is tensing and coming apart and your other hand circles, two fingers, dipping down and through the cleft of her ass and into her tightest, hottest hole -

You know better than to rub at her entrance once the ripples and waves start - instead, it's more pressure.

Pushing up as deep as you can and your lips mouthing at her folds while her hips squirm for something harder, something stronger and with intent - like, maybe, if she thinks she is trying to push away, she will start to believe that the mess running from her hole isn't hers. It's yours. All that liquid heat pooling below her and what could ever make sense other than she needs more? She needs the way she trembles and shakes, the way her pussy weeps as you wring it for the pleasure that's well on its way -

You always feel like an idiot after, stupid with how much you enjoy this, what she gives you, but how could it be anything but fantastic, your vision dizzying when it swims from lightheadedness and the lack of oxygen to your brain. Yujin's holding you right where she needs, right between her thighs and next to perfection, just tight enough for you to groan, to make a low whine build in the back of your throat and that gets her, too.

There is the rush and a wave, the heat, of something that crests and breaks in her that has to match the absolute loss of control she seems to have all along - the only part you feel you are sure about is that Yujin always rides her cunt - all dripping lips and aching holes, swollen and flaring and practically begging to be fucked harder and more thoroughly - into every orgasm she's taken from you, until there's no where to run.

Even through your nose, and you're suffocating, her legs trembling with the rush of it all. You're gasping and shaking but she's shaking apart and you need that: to feel her melt from where her body collapses all its weight onto you and the way the aftershocks have to make it seem, at least for a moment, that she’ll never, ever recover.

"Fuck," Yujin sighs, "I fucking hate you."

(Translation: she can't fucking live without you.)

"Any time," you murmur and her entire body falls into you, straddled across your chest and slumped there, sweaty and spent. Your heart beats the moment, trying to remember when it was you could stop feeling this way about your roommate.

A part of you believes that, once upon a time, before all of this started, that your desire, your lust was rooted in seeing a friend who was beyond hot and simply unavailable.

A bigger part of you knows that asking for clarity isn't the point - because maybe, right now, in the way your hand has started massaging the soft skin under the curve of her spine, you should realize you can't live with it never happening again.

"What's my balance," you ask, rubbing your thumb into the crook behind her knee.

"Mm?"

You exhale.

"Two. I think you're good for two."

You laugh. "For real?"

She stretches.

"Or I suppose we can go for four or five, but that means you're paying for dinner, too." Yujin does this thing with her hair when she's excited. Swings it back, smiling wide.

Which is fair, you think, given the pulse between your legs throbbing and twitching as you picture it: the curve of Yujin's waist and the drop of her lower back, her bare ass. Her soaked little slit that can't help but beg to fucked and fucked and fucked, until she's trembling and quivering and leaking-

"Then I'm gonna eat," you promise her, "every last inch. Going to taste you and swallow."

Yujin shifts, sitting astride you.

You hum. "Still interested."

She simply kisses you - breathes you in - tasting herself on your lips and tongue, before leaning back with her palms flat against your chest and taking it slow as she starts to ease you into the kind of sex that doesn't leave either one of you with a throat quite so raw and dry.

So it's quiet in your apartment, just for a little while, when the afternoon starts to settle in and she rolls back onto her heels, not able to support the rest of her. You fuck her deep and it's amazing how quickly you both fall into rhythm. Yujin's clutching hard on either side of your hips. Folding herself back. Trying, by the end, to bury you where her fingers have been.

By the time she gets herself up on the couch, belly flat against the cushions and her hips arched back as she fucks herself with the length of your dick, you're just desperate. Aching in a way you know will happen any moment and even so, you can't even bring yourself to consider stopping because this is perfect - it's everything, really. To push her down, hold her still, and fuck her so thoroughly that she cries and shudders as you spill into her.

To have her.

Yujin holds a part of yourself so tender, something you have kept close for far too long, and watching her with her arm reached behind herself, clutching blindly with her fingers, as her moans go quiet with just these whimpery, little things, a thought occurs to you, of exactly how dangerous your roommate is -

Because with you fucking into her like this, this is more than sex ought to be. More than it’s ever been.

(More dangerous yet is thinking: maybe - perhaps - it is exactly what Yujin wanted, from the start.)

[lady-ashfade]

I won’t be my family

Book!Percy Jackson x castellan!reader

-£ after the final I needed to make something like this and I don’t apologize. Based on the events in the first book.

-£ also you wanna picture luke as your own? go ahead! I don’t mention what the reader looks like specifically, just that they look like luke.

-£ words: 800

-£ warnings: sight angst, angst to comfort? crying, everything that happens after the betrayal, also me imagining a male reader but it’s up to you!

percy knew the guilt you felt without ever speaking to you after that night, after he woke up still alive. you failed to meet his eyes when he came close and you’d leave the area he entered. he couldn’t blame you after all it was your older brother who tried to kill him. who set him up to fail from the beginning and not just the same father, mother too.

he needed to speak with you before he left camp and he wouldn’t leave without it. something inside made him sick wondering how you would be feeling at the moment. I mean sure, percy was betrayed by someone he looked up to and almost died so he had a right to be angry. but you were betrayed by family and blood, your own brother had left you at camp to face his conscience alone. it was cruel.

he couldn’t imagine what was running through your head.

you were sitting by the lake as the sun shimmered on your skin that reflected off the water, you looked relaxed. your chest feel slowly and your eyes closed that it almost looked like you were sleeping, if it wasn’t for your foot moving from side to side. in this moment he realized just how much you looked like him. for second he felt threatened at the thought of Luke but he remembered you weren’t him. you weren’t like him even before.

“come to get your revenge?” Your head fell back but never opened your eyes to look at the boy. he was the only one you’d know of to come and find you now.

why couldn’t he just leave you alone? you hated having to face him knowing in someway you hurt him. yes, you didn’t help luke, you didn’t agree with him but it still felt like you were a accomplice somehow in his plan. every person you called friend now looked at you like a monster waiting to backstab them. you’d always be in his shadow.

“on who? I mean, there’s a squirrel in the tree but he’s not the one i’m looking for.” his humor made you force a low huff and lean yourself back up. sighing in defeat you start to play with the rocks around you, clothes stained with water and dirt.

“no offense percy, but I’m already aware of my brothers actions. if you’ve come to tell me about how I’m supporting to acted now then you’re too late, everyone has already beat you to it.”

percy didn’t know how you visited him in the infirmary the first night. you cried about everything as you feed him ambrosia, or placed at cold towel on his burning skin and tried to smooth the nightmares he had. you had lost your brother, but you were with percy to keep him safe.

“honestly you’re taking it better then i would,” his footsteps made sounds as he walked across the stones. “I can’t imagine what it feels like.”

bringing your legs up you take one of them in your arms and hunch over, your lip pursing with sorrow. you could see his warm smile, how he laughed and ruffled your hair, how he told you he’d stay by your side forever. was everything a lie to him?

“and I hope you never will.” you confessed with tears starting to fill the corner of your eyes once more.

he sighed from beside you, his sneakers right beside you. he leaned down and sat on the ground next to you. he truly didn’t know what he was supposed to say to make you feel better and that he didn’t blame you. so he just looked ahead and stared at the water in silence while you sniffled next to him, still never looking his way. from the moment percy met you he could tell you were different from anyone else in Hermes cabin. though, you still had that smirk when you would do something against the rules.

breaking the silence you begin to speak, “I’m not like him.” your voice cracks and for the first time you turn your head towards him. he could see the puffed skin around your eyes and how your lip quivered, “i would never hurt anyone.”

his ears picked up on your tone and body language, you were trying to convince him? of course he knew you’d never think of it. he titled his head as his eyes softened.

“i know that. and I don’t blame you for your brother’s actions, if there is one thing I’ve learned. it is that family is messy.” looking at the gods relationship with each other with all the backstabbing and plots against each other, let alone to their children as well.

“i won’t be my family, not my brother, not my dad or my mother.” your face scrunched up. you looked pained, your voice growing colder and forced.

he offered a kind smile, “you’ll be better.”

-£ Taglist: @itzmeme @ravenmedows @maria699669

[sgiandubh]

No lies last forever, part 2: the (over)due confirmation

With the Happy Sad Confused Tenth Anniversary Live Special being made available online, I think all doubts have now been lifted about the entire Intergalactic Bullshit this fandom has been deliberately fed for years and years in a row, by a cheap, sad troll and his accomplice. Both imbeciles' determination being only matched by the cast's complete indifference to fandom drama and, as I already wrote (https://www.tumblr.com/sgiandubh/764711074507390976/no-lies-last-forever?source=share), ***'s incompetent, tone-deaf PR.

You can watch the entire recording here, by the way:

The part where S specifically addresses his (non-existent) 'friendship' with William Shatner has been explicitly planted by the end of Jack Quaid's dedicated segment. That it has been discussed and planned prior to the show is obvious. And this time, Josh Horowitz wasn't even subtle - he announced the topic way before it 'spontaneously' popped into the conversation (39:42):

Transcription follows:

Josh Horowitz (JH): 'So, what's the dream for further voiceover roles, do you want a Pixar movie, do you want Outlander -the cartoon, what do you want?'

[laughter throughout the panelists]

S: 'Oh, I'm a Star Trek fan, actually' [women in the audience boo and shout - I wonder why, seriously], 'I am a Star Trek fan, I grew up watching Next Gen, so maybe Below Decks is... come on, guys.. '

[Note: yeah, he's such a fan, he has no idea the correct name of the cartoon spin-off, in which Jack Quaid has a voiceover role, is Star Trek: Lower Decks]

JH: 'We'll get him out in a second' [note: Jack Quaid], we'll talk some Star Trek, amazing...'

See? Not even subtle, if you ask me. I think this is something S wanted out for a good while now. It doesn't erase or even ease the pain and the trauma brought to so many people in this fandom by a pair of idiotic bullies, but I think it was very brave of him and, at any rate, it's better later than never.

And so, I waited. And waited. And waited. And then, here it went (01: 02: 54):

JH (consulting notes):' Um, we also should mention Star Trek: Lower Decks, we talked Star Trek a little bit earlier...'

Jack Quaid (JQ):'And, by, the way, this is the last season of Lower Decks, but we would have loved to have you! What the fuck, I didn't know you watched the show! [inaudible, if someone caught it properly, something like 'that was so close', I'd love to know more and especially who said it - thank you] Unbelievable!'

S: ' That is so cool, man!'

JQ: 'Oh, thank you, dude! Oh, yeah, hey, let's get rendered (?), let's do this, we keep going, let's get him on, let's do it!'

JH: 'Isn't...isn't William Shatner a big Outlander fan? I feel like he is...'

S (very uneasy): 'Ah... erm... yeah... (scratches back of his head)...I hung out with him once, we went to his stables and I watched him like riding a horse and stuff.... And, I don't know, it was really weird, cause sometimes I wonder if I am speaking to him via messages and stuff, or if it's actually his assistant [JQ: 'oooh!'], I don't know...'

JQ: 'Does his assistant look a lot like him?'

S (chuckles): 'Kind of...Yeah, you can't tell them apart. Yeah, no, but I believe he was a fan, until he saw me ride'.

Despite the jocular tone, I think everything is pretty much clear, here. Definitely a prepared conversation, despite Horowitz's efforts to make it sound playful and spontaneous. Something he even took prior notes about and made sure to include in the panel - nothing more serious than that, in fact. As for the sad cretin mentioned there, what would be left to say... S sent the guy to Coventry in barely two phrases and actually poked fun at his appearance and demeanor ('you can't tell them apart'). So long for the fictional 'friendship' and 'communication' between S and The Assistant, so long for the braggadocio that horrible little man exhibited all the way, pretending he actually had a personal relationship with S (well, as we all see, he actually doesn't: he doesn't even have a name, in S's book, as acquaintances, let alone friends, do). His only claim to fame was what, in reality? Answering some X DMs sent by S to his employer? Hello? How about his threats, then? How about his repeated calumny of people he didn't even know, calling them 'crazies', 'in need of medical attention', etc?

And please, don't come after me with that sorry excuse that 'it's S's humor'. There was nothing humorous about it and I have proven it already.

I will leave you draw your own conclusions about the non existent friendship with Shatner, something that has probably been 'encouraged' ex nihilo by *** and taken to dramatic cheapness and conflict with and within this fandom by The Assistant himself, mainly, and his friend, the OG Troll. I do not remember hearing/seeing Shatner himself saying all those horrible things (please correct me if I am wrong), so until I am proven the contrary, it's only logical to have many thoughts and questions about these people's strange, very strange obsession with OL and its two main co-stars.

Not to mention the most idiotic threat I have ever read in this fandom. Something I fell upon by absolute chance this morning. I mean, I couldn't even believe people actually bought such primitive, kindergarten bullshit:

[July 29th, 2017]

' Do you still want OL to continue or not, people?'

Empty, illogical threats: why would *** cancel its actual cash cow show, just because two co-stars had something SO obvious, that people realized there was more than the official narrative to it? And what about the crazy story about Albrecht & co. investigating and allegedly menacing fans with going to court? Has this cretin ever realized the potential media scandal would have far outweighed the inanity of such a claim? That it could very well have a serious impact on ***'s company profile and future projects, even?

I really, really think both of these Unsavory Clowns should find another playground and another obsession to cling on (wasn't the first, would not be the last). Elsewhere. In a galaxy far, far away.

PS: Thank you, regular attendee who bravely spilled the tea and thank you, old shipper who came forward and confirmed. And many heartfelt thanks to all of you shippers, old and new, who also bravely stepped forward with their personal take on everything these two have done to this place.

Dare we hope this is the beginning of the end? What is sure, is that no lies last forever. Or as we say in Romanian: minciuna are picioare scurte și adevărul o ajunge/'a lie's got short legs and truth will always catch up with it'.

[Later edit]: edited to add a new, improved clip that actually does include the entire conversation.

[alphabetboyluvr]

landslides - 001 | goldrush - jjk

part title credit: goldrush - taylor swift

everybody wonders what it would be like to love you... i can't dare to dream about you anymore... it never will be...

pairing: officeworker!jungkook x female reader (coworkers)

premise: jungkook asks you to dog sit over chuseok. he doesn't ask you to steal the empty spaces in his head, the dreams he's yet to have, nor the idea of you always just being 'you' to him - and yet, like a thief in the night (with his own damn dog as your accomplice), you do.

warnings: fluff more than angst, but it's not clean cut - there's also a touch of smut. office worker jk, fuck boy (but kind!) jk, mentions of his workplace escapades, oc is dating mingyu (yay), oc sorta fancies jk (boo), solo masturbation (m), vivid thoughts of shagging (jk is a perv! wow! unlike me to write him as randy bastard!), lots of facetime calls, oc and jk are fundamentally flawed as a pairing, genuine friendship, daddy kink? ig? but like kinda sweet?, jungkook has a complex brain house and you've been banished to his annexe!! he also has a thing for claw clipped hair lol

wordcount: 6.8K

note from holly: so... i dogsat (? idk if thats a word) for my friend last chuseok and this was the result hahahaha. my friends dog (boba <3) is so tiny and small!! but i've always been a big dog girlie so bam was fun to write. i really love this one and have recently found all of my old notes from around that time detailing the rest of the couples lives, so pt. 2 is in progress.

minors dni // cross posted to wattpad

Bam notices the storm roll in before you do. His ears twitch, head lifting from its rested perch on his paws.

“What’s up, baby? Hey?” You coo, his sudden shift obviously prompted by something. His snout begins to twitch, too, and his bottom lip shakes as a small growl vibrates from his throat. His eyes are on the window, stalking the clouds as they roll past. “Hey.”

You sit up a little straighter to lean forward and scratch behind his ear. He leans into it, but doesn’t take his eyes away from the sky.

“You see the rain, huh?” You hum, looking between the pup and the window ahead. You can’t place it yet - it’s too far in the distance - but you find yourself coming to sit beside him. He doesn’t lean up against you like he usually does. Just continues to lightly growl.

There’s no threat behind his noises, no malice - he’s just shouting back at the thunder you can’t hear. When you see a bolt of lightning flash in the distance just beyond the city skyline, you know that it won’t be long until Jungkook’s apartment block is drenched in the weather.

It’s just gone midnight when he calls. His face is a little puffy, smile a little lopsided.

“Hey Bammie,” he coos into the camera. You’ve got it angled down to where the pup is resting his head on your knee, peacefully unwinding after his long walk. Bam doesn’t stir at Jungkook’s voice, so he tries again. “Bammie?”

The way he elongates his puppy’s name is sweet - a tone of voice reserved only for his most trusted companion. He sure as hell has never spoken to you like that.

“Sorry, bud,” you say as you lift the camera up to your face. He’s pouting. “I don’t think the vibrations sound the same through the phone.”

“I miss him,” he says not even caring to acknowledge your thought process. “Is he okay? Was he good on his walk?”

“He’s all good,” you smile. “Best boy in the world. None of the other dogs you mentioned were down at the park, so it was just us two.”

He nods into the camera and purses his lips. “They might all be away. Visiting family.” He rolls over in his bed and lets out a yawn. “How’s the apartment? Got everything you need?”

You nod back. “All good. Might have eaten my way through your cheese stash already. I’m gonna shower then head to bed in a minute.”

“Make sure you leave the bathroom door open a little,��� he says. “He’ll whine if not.”

“Will do.”

“Thank you,” he says. “I really appreciate you doing this. He hasn’t been too much work, has he?”

“He’s good as gold,” you say as you switch to the back camera. The view is serene, and Jungkook’s lips instantly settle into a smile. Bam is up on the sofa with you, snuggled against your lap. The skyline twinkles through his window, the reflection of his mood lamp obscuring some of it - but he’s quietly pleased that you’re using it. It’s how he normally winds down, too. Main lights off, galaxy on his ceiling. Must make Bam feel a little more at ease. You go to scratch behind his ear, and he huffs a little, all content and cosy. “Thanks for asking. He’s never too much work. You trained him well.”

“Hmm,” Jungkook hums. “Could have trained you a little better, though.”

He laughs when you switch the camera back to your face, mouth open, brows knitted together. “Me?!”

“Yes, you,” he grins now but tries to hide it; to restore the stoicism to his face. It doesn’t work. “What did I tell you about the sofas?”

You purse your lips together as if you’re not smiling. He’s got you there, admittedly.

“Look, he’s just so cute!” Despite the fact you’ve turned the camera back onto Bam, Jungkook can tell you’re pouting. “How could I say no?!”

“Easily!” Jungkook laughs. “That’s how he became so well trained! I leave for one night and-”

“Shuuuush,” you laugh, and when the camera switches back to you, Jungkook can’t help but let his smile persist. You look tired, and so does he, but there’s something about the call that has made you forget all about the fact you were planning on going to bed soon. “My swamp now. My rules.”

“My swamp,” he protests, but the look on his face is so saccharine that you can’t take him seriously. He thinks the same could be said for you. “Anyways, it’s late. Go get your shower. If you need more towels, there are some in the cupboard by the boiler. Don’t forget to turn the vent on - it’s the switch next to the light.”

“Alright, will do,” you nod and then yawn. Bam pricks his head up. “Hey baby,” you speak to him. “Did I wake you?”

“Show me him.”

You switch the camera around to where you’re scratching at Bam’s ear. He leans his head into the scratch, thoroughly enjoying it, your long nails far scratchier than Jungkook’s. It’s not the same - Jungkook is far stronger, so is a little rougher which suits Bam just fine. Still, he likes your scratches better than no scratches at all.

Jungkook whines. “I miss him.”

“He misses you, too. Want me to call in the morning?”

Jungkook shakes his head. “We’re up early tomorrow, heading over to Haedong Yonggungsa in the morning. Probably be up before you. Send me pictures though.”

“Will do. Night, buddy.”

“Night gremlin,” he smiles, and then begins to coo. “Night Bammie. Daddy misses you.”

He wishes you wouldn’t look at him in the way that you do when he says that; lips turned upwards at the very corners, dimples pressing into your cheeks, eyes bright.

“Shut up,” he says, but you’re already laughing.

“Daddy.”

“I am his dad!”

“Daddy.”

“Oh my god, fuck off,” he laughs. “Have nightmares, gremlin.”

“Sweet dreams, Daddy.”

“Fuck off!”

You hang up before he can protest your taunts any more, though he does text you one final ‘fuck off,’ and a reminder that you can bolt his front door if it will make you feel safer.

His apartment is in a high-rise, and his neighbourhood is far nicer than yours. You do the bolt up regardless, and think that it’s sweet that he considered your comfort enough to remind you about it.

Bam sits by the sliding door of the bathroom, the tips of his paws just teetering over the line of the door frame. He rests his head on his legs, snout angled towards the hallway. It still makes you feel a little weird. You don’t really want a dog watching you shower, even if he is a dog and has no real understanding of what’s happening - so you turn your back to him and just reassure yourself that Jungkook showers with the door open wide.

It’s a funny thing, to think about your co-worker’s showering habits. Not one that you’ve ever thought to indulge in before - but Jungkook would go ballistic if he heard you refer to him as your ‘co-worker.’ You’re friends. Pretty good ones, at that.

You’re level players at your company; earn the same wage, hold the same rank. There’s not really any competition between the pair of you - you work in different departments - but are often paired together when the two sections merge for joint projects. You make for a good team.

Over the years, you and Jungkook have also learned that you’re a highly capable team when it comes to playing beer pong against your colleagues on Friday nights, and at the mixed-doubles tennis tournament that your company insists on you participating in every year. It’s either that or be on the Christmas Party Planning committee, and you know which you’d rather do.

Thinking about tinsel in August? No, thank you.

There is however one crucial flaw to your partnerships: how you live your lives. How you manage your money.

See, Jungkook is frugal. He makes big investments - his apartment, his cars, games consoles, Bam. Doesn’t spunk his cash away on the small shit. His apartment is in the heart of the city, only a few floors from the very top. He gets a birds-eye view of the world around him. You don’t even want to imagine how much his deposit cost.

Probably more than you have in your savings. You do spunk your cash away - on the small shit, no less. Clothes, cafes, that sort of stuff. Nothing that holds permanence. It frustrates Jungkook to no end. He thinks you could have a better life if you just used your money wisely - but you’re happy in your slightly cramped apartment, happy when the serotonin of a shopping spree boosts your mood, happy when you’re laughing with your friends over coffee and cake.

You wouldn’t be happy if you felt restricted. You think that Jungkook is.

He disagrees. He has enough in the bank to buy whatever he wants. He has financial freedom.

But there’s a difference. You’re both free in your own ways.

It’s for that reason you’d never work as a couple. Would infuriate one another far too much. Everyone who is close to you both knows this; how badly suited you would be. They’ll joke about all of the women in the office trying to get their mitts on Jungkook - even the married ones - but not you.

It’s funny because they’re right. Everybody wants him.

He collects stars from their eyes and accumulates them in his own. The girls blush and giggle about how he looks at them with galaxies, but they don’t realise what a thief he is. Don’t realise he’s stolen their shine, and incorporated it into his own. A spotlight follows him, and you enjoy watching the show unfold with an amused grin whenever a new secretary catches his gaze for the first time.

It’s not intentional. You don’t think Jungkook realises he does it. In fact, he hadn’t realised that it was such a pattern of behaviour until the midnight squalor of a dive bar had you talking about office conquests, and how the photocopier room had seen his bare ass more than it had seen toner changes.

“Shouldn’t shit where you eat, Jeon,” you’d grinned.

“Firstly, that’s a horrible phrase - and secondly, it takes two to tango. They’re just as much to blame as I am.”

But they’re not. He’s the only repeat offender.

“And anyways,” he had deflected, sinking down the final dregs of his beer. “Don’t act like you’re some kind of saint. Everyone’s fucked a colleague at least once.”

You’d just raised an eyebrow.

“You’re telling me you haven’t?”

“Like I said - shouldn’t shit where you eat, Jeon.”

Now, if he’d have said housemate, you would have folded. Downed your drink. Ordered a repeat round.

Something about a shared space - domestication - really gets you. It’s joint laundry loads, shared dinners, movie nights; grocery shopping, D.I.Y. furniture, arguments about who gets the bigger room. More often than not, it never matters, ‘cause you just end up staying in theirs.

You live alone now. After the third time, you knew better than to let yourself fall into the trap once more.

He learns about your affliction a few months later, and goes on tease you relentlessly.

In fact, he mentions it when he propositions you a few weeks before Chuseok. You had both spent the last couple of holiday periods overworked, slogging through the festivities. For the first time since either of you can remember, your workload has eased up.

You’ve already told him you’re planning on doing sweet, sweet fuck all. You’ve told your family you will be working, because you just want to finally breathe for a while; stay in with a tub of ice cream and your favourite films. Speak to no one. Do nothing.

“I’ve got a favour to ask you,” he had said as he approached your desk before the end of the day. It was a Friday, but you weren’t heading for after-work drinks with the usual suspects like you typically did. You had a date, instead. A third one with the same guy - Mingyu - which felt like a miracle. Even Jungkook was a little shocked that the poor guy wasn’t sick of you.

“Go on,” you had mused as you checked over your to-do list for the following week.

“You gotta promise me something first.”

“Promise you what?”

“That you won’t fall in love with me.”

You’d swatted him away the ruler on your desk, and told him to get his head out of his ass. “Been able to resist your charms this long, Jeon. Give me some credit.”

“It’s only ‘cause you know I’d reject you, you little gremlin.”

“I thought you wanted a favour? Funny way of going about it.”

“Sorry, sorry. You’re right,” he had conceded with an apologetic smile. “Forgive me.”

“What do you want?”

“How would you feel about potentially staying at mine over Chuseok to look after Bam? My parents want us to head down to Busan for the weekend and see relatives seeing as I’m finally free and know it’s a big ask but I-”

“Oh my God, yes?!” You had smiled so wide Jungkook thought you might fracture your jaw.

You love Bam.

In fact, he might just be your favourite thing about Jungkook.

Occasionally you walk him with Jungkook on the weekends, when you’re both hungover and need to get out of a slump. You’ve grown up with pets, but moving to the city in your early twenties to pursue your career meant apartment living.

You’re a rural girl deep down, and would never want to keep a pet in a high rise.

Jungkook manages it, but he goes home at lunchtime to walk Bam during the winter. In the summer, when it’s too hot, he goes home at lunch regardless, to lounge around with Bam under the air con.

Sometimes, you go with him. Bam is always pleased to see you.

Jungkook lied and said he asked around because he didn’t want to inconvenience you.

Truth is, he wouldn’t have trusted anyone else with his baby. He’d never spent a night away from Bam. Hated the idea. Despised it, in fact. He would have just taken Bam with him to Busan, but didn’t think it would be fair to force him on the journey from Seoul.

Over in Busan, when Jungkook hangs up, the conversation isn’t over. It continues in his head.

“Hey, wait…”

“Mhhm?”

“You just… look nice tonight, that’s all.”

He thinks you’d blush. Would tell him to lay off the soju. Accuse him of getting too drunk for a family get-together. He’d let you. Would take the beating of your false accusations, because it would be far easier than admitting he’s not had a single drop.

He thinks of the hug he’ll give Bam when he gets home; how wild his tail will waggle, how he’ll jump all over the place, and how you’ll be giggling. In his mind, you’ll be smiling just as wide as he is.

You’d stay for dinner. Jungkook would order from your favourite place to say thank you. Bam would snuggle up to Jungkook - on the sofa - and you’d be on the other side, stroking his back. He’d be happy. Bam, not Jungkook. But also Jungkook. Hopefully you, too.

When the time would approach for you to go home, you’d offer to help. Rinse out the containers. Hair up in a claw clip, t-shirt off your shoulder like it so often is.

Jungkook doesn’t notice, but his hands begin to trail down his body as he thinks of you. His phone is still on his chest, rising and falling with every beat of his heart. The tips of his fingers stroke against his skin.

He thinks of you laughing with him about something inconsequential. You’d flick water in his direction when he’d make some joke at your expense. It’d all be in good humour.

But then he’d flick some back at you, and water war would break out. Bam would run excitedly between the pair of you, Jungkook chasing you around the kitchen island with wet hands - and you’d do the exact same back. You’d flick water over the counter, tap still running and he’d call you a gremlin.

There’s a smile on his lips as he thinks of his. His hands roam further south. He’s ticking at his abdomen. It’s nice. Feels calm. He likes to engage his senses when he thinks of scenarios like these. Makes it feel more real.

But then he’s thinking of your shirt and the fact it’s white.

And then he’s imagining catching up with you, holding you captive as he angles the tap towards your face. You’ll be shrieking and scrambling to get away, Bam by your feet, Jungkook laughing.

He’d relent, but only enough for you to twist to face him.

Jungkook’s fingers are by his thighs. Stroking. Caressing. He’s avoiding his cock. Knows it’s firm. His index finger spreads to his balls. Teases.

And then he thinks of your body pressed against his torso, your ass to the counter.

You’d both be soaked.

He’d look at your lips. Look in your eyes. Feel your chest against his. He’d swallow hard.

It’s at this point he forgets about Bam in the scenario. It’s just you and him.

His palm rests over the length of his cock. Presses down. His hips roll.

He’d tell you that you’ve made a mess. You’d tell him to clean it up. His heart would be racing. So would yours.

And it’s funny, because his heart actually is. It’s beating so fucking hard in his childhood bedroom, that he thinks his parents must be able to hear it through the walls.

He’s in a far-too-firm single bed, but in his head, he’s with you in his kitchen.

He begins to grip his cock, long fingers wrapping around his shaft. He pulls up. Pushes back down. Says your name. Whines.

He doesn’t even really realise he’s doing it.

Just thinks about you.

Thinks about the way it would feel to sink his lips into yours; the first bite of a forbidden fruit. Thinks about that quick tongue of yours, and if it would be just as quick to find its way into his mouth. Thinks about your manicured nails that Bam loves so much, and how they’d scratch against his scalp instead. Thinks about the way his hips would rock against you, kind of like they are now; pulsing beneath his duvet.

His mind jumps. Skips the foreplay. Doesn’t mean to - but the thoughts are intrusive. Insidious. Insatiable. He can’t help it.

He pushes up into his hand. Pauses. Waits out the feeling. Retracts. Repeats.

In his head, it’s you that he’s pushing into.

The sensation is entirely different, granted, but - fuck - he hasn’t gotten himself off all week and hasn’t had sex in far longer, so it all feels the same to him.

He hasn’t worked out the mental logistics.

His imagination is jumping from the kitchen to his bedroom and then back to the kitchen again. Can’t decide where all of this is happening - and then suddenly, he finds himself railing you in the utility room.

You’re perched above the washer, held in place by him. He can smell the laundry detergent. He’s got spotlights in the room, but they’re turned off. Only lights from the hallway and the city skyline illuminate you.

It’s obscure. The shadows in his head conceal you a little. He’s gripping your waist beneath your shirt. The baby gate which keeps Bam out of the laundry room is closed.

You’re not talking, just fucking, fucking, fucking and -

“Fuck,” he whines, hand is jerking at his cock, heart rate stuttering.

He shouldn’t be thinking about you like this.

Shouldn’t let his mind jump again to a point where you’re fucking naked, and your sodden shirt is on a pile of yet-to-be-done laundry.

But then it jumps again, and one of his towels is on the floor. He’s laying down, back against it. The same position that he’s in now in his childhood bedroom - but he’s thinking about you. The silhouette of your body. The warm curves of your body. The way you bounce on his cock and then-

Oh god, it’s torture the way his cock throbs. Pre-cum leaks from his tip as his speed builds. It’s just a fantasy. Nothing more nothing less. But it’s you. And then he’s thinking about pulling you down for a kiss, and the scent of your perfume and the way you’d moan into his mouth and then his legs are shaking, torso tensing.

He’s taking it too far. Too fucking far. You. Fuck. He can’t. But he doesn’t stop. Just keeps going. Fucks his hand like it’s your pussy.

He’s pulling himself closer, closer, closer, and then he thinks about your voice, and the way you called him Daddy, and he can’t help himself. The pressure that releases in his stomach is catastrophic. Jungkook mewls your name. Calls you baby. Unloads all over himself. White hot cum paints his belly. Seeps into his belly button. Makes a mess of his hand as he coaxes the last few ropes out. It’s been a while since his last nut, but the amount he produces is not fucking normal.

It rolls down the side of his toned torso, Jungkook swallowing harshly as he tries to regulate his breathing. He doesn’t think he can. Doesn’t know what to do with himself. Just kind of lays there. Curses. Knots his brows together. Is frustrated with himself.

You’ve been friends for years. He’s never done anything like this before. He chalks it up to nothing more than him just being a little too horny for his own good. Cleans himself off. Puts his phone on charge. Berates himself for being a piece of shit. Spends a good ten or so minutes staring at the ceiling with an empty head before he falls asleep.

And it’s funny, because when you wake up in the morning, panties damp, the dream you had about Jungkook railing you in his own damn bed, you find yourself looking across the space where he usually sleeps. You reach ouch. Stroke the emptiness. Curse. Spend the rest of the day unbearably horny. It frustrates you. Makes you snappy with Jungkook when he calls.

He asks if you’ve seen Mingyu. You tell him no. He says maybe you should - but makes sure to add, “He’s still not allowed in my apartment.”

“I’m not gonna bring anyone into your space, Jungkook.”

It’s something he knows, and something he trusts you not to do, but he’s still reinforcing boundaries. Making sure that there are still some left. He thinks that if he pushes you closer to someone else, it will sort his brain out. Alleviate him of the guilt that he’s feeling.

But you don’t see Mingyu.

When Jungkook calls again that evening to find you walking Bam alone, he’s pleased. Doesn’t want some guy you’re fucking anywhere near his most prized possession. Bam, that is. Not you. But now that he thinks of it, he finds he doesn’t want Mingyu anywhere near you, either.

“Good day?” You ask, voice a lot lighter than it had been earlier.

Jungkook nods, but he doesn’t really smile. “I miss Bammie.”

You pout. “He misses you too. He’s gonna be so excited when you get home.”

The camera switches to the back camera so he can watch Bam bound along the path. He’s on his lead, snout sniffing in all the flowerbeds. It’s dark out, but there are enough lights on the trail for him to be able to see clearly.

“How is he? Eating okay? Going to the bathroom okay?”

“Eating like a champ, and producing shits to confirm that,” you say flatly. It’s definitely your least favourite part of animal ownership - but the reward is so much greater than having to pick up shit off a sidewalk.

“That’s my boy,” Jungkook grins, before turning his focus to you. “You all good? Seemed a little stressed earlier.”

Jungkook’s expression doesn’t change when the front camera flips back to you, but he finds his heart racing again. When you turn your head to check the car that’s driving past, he notices your hair is up with a claw clip. Just like it was in his… thoughts about you the night before. He likes how attentive you are - how you checked the source of the noise. You’re protective. Follow your instincts. Thinks you’re the best person he could have asked to look after Bam.

“I’m all good,” you say, and you really are.

“I know it’s not exactly the relaxing Chuseok you were planning-”

“Jungkook, it’s fine,” you smile. “It’s been nice. I like Bammie far more than I like you.”

“Understandable.”

You both smile, and Jungkook begins to babble about his day, telling you stories about his parents, and his weird cousin who never knows when to not say inappropriate things, and the aunt who keeps trying to set him up with all of her friends’ daughters.

“Don’t shit where you eat,” you remind him. “Sounds too close to home. Your auntie would never be out of your business.”

“I know, I know,” he rolls his eyes. “And hey - it’s been, like, a year since I last did that! Cut me some slack, gremlin. Anyways, Mingyu works in our building. You’re basically shitting where you eat.”

“I’m actually… I think I’m gonna cool things off with him.”

“Oh?”

“It’s like not a big deal. I’m just not really feeling it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

“No, you’re right. I’m not,” Jungkook admits, but is sombre as he does so. He remembers how happy you’d seemed after the first few dates. “But I am sorry that you haven’t found the right guy yet, gremlin.”

“Who knows, maybe I’ll find the love of my life at the dog park tonight.”

“You are not allowed to use my baby as a flirting tactic.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Too late - I’m already here and there is an absolute DILF. Byeeeee.”

“Wait, no-”

You hang up before he can finish, with a grin on your face to rival a Cheshire cat.

The park is empty. Not a single DILF in sight. You ignore his call when he rings back. Will let him sweat it for a bit.

Jungkook lies awake that night.

Doesn’t do much.

His family are still chatting in the sitting room, but he can’t draw himself away from the sanctuary of his own private space, where your voice is still echoing around the room. He’s starting to understand why you’d been craving your space so much for the holiday period.

He doesn’t wanna have to return to the room with a false smile, and a feeling in the pit of his stomach that could rival the ache of getting the ferry across Busan harbour during monsoon season.

Doesn’t want to form cognitive thoughts that distract him from his mindless reflections of you.

Jungkook’s mind works like a house, and right now he’s in the annexe.

He rarely ever goes in there.

Finds he gets too comfortable and neglects the rest of the house. He’s got a garden to tend to, a kitchen to clean, and beds to make - but why would he leave the annexe when it has everything he needs? He’s comfortable there.

It’s normally reserved for the hyper-fixations he’s trying not to fixate on. He locks them away. Hasn’t really visited since he got hooked on GTA5 when he should have been studying for the University Entrance Exam. It’s still there, and he knows better than to pop it in his games console - but there’s someone else on the couch, now. It’s not just him in his mind-annexe. Someone’s in his space. He daren’t let himself go further into the room.

In fact, he’s desperately trying to jump across to the main house. Get himself out of the thoughts that are gonna consume him. He needs to close that God damn door.

But he watches the figure like a car crash. He’s scared. Unable to look away.

Not for fear of it being a monster hidden in the depths of his mind.

Quite the opposite, actually.

Monsters don’t wear their hair up with butterfly-shaped claw clips, or let the clasp of their necklace trail down their spine like that. Monsters don’t twist their back out of habit just to make it click. Monsters don’t spend their days doodling in a journal like the figure on his couch is doing.

But you do.

An iteration of Bam rests up against Jungkook’s leg in his mind, nose wet, tail lightly wagging, so he puts his hand on his pup’s shoulder for comfort. To support him. To guide him away from the annexe and back into the damn main house.

“C’mon,” he says to Bam, expecting him to leave. Expecting him to follow his commands.

It’s his head, after all - but Bam doesn’t heed his commands. Instead, his claws click against the hardwood floor and towards the figure on Jungkook’s couch. A palm outstretches, and Bam leans into it. Hums in content as a set of dark nails scratch at his ear.

“Hey, baby Bammie,” the figure sings and Jungkook knows that voice. Knows it so well that it’s hardly a surprise it’s embedded into his brain so perfectly.

And he knows.

He knows if he lets the person turn around exactly who it’s gonna be. He knows that he can’t let it happen. He won’t.

Because he and you are friends; nothing more, nothing less. Incompatible at best. A match made in hell; so wrong it could never be right.

Jungkook sits up. Shakes his head. The world in his mind tears away into darkness. He stands and tells himself to get a grip before joining his family. He needs the distraction. Needs to have cognitive thoughts. Can’t let himself get trapped. Can’t let him kid himself into thinking that you’re anything more than his friend.

It’s just cause he’s missing Bam, he reasons. Emotions are getting all mixed up. It’s the affection he feels for his beloved best friend that is getting misplaced onto you - although, if he thinks about it (which he won’t (knows better by this point (knows his mind can’t be trusted to behave))), he’d realise that you are his best friend.

It’s unfair to compare you to Bam because you’re an entirely different species, but there’s no other human he likes better than you.

One more day, and he’ll be home. One more day, and he won’t have to call you when he’s all sleepy and confused over his feelings. One more day, and things will be back to normal. One more measly day.

And then he’ll be reunited with Bam, and he won’t have the stress of family or thinking about the week of work ahead to contend with.

One more day. He can do this.

He will do it. Will barrel home at the speed of lightning; will stop only for red lights and maybe the occasional gas station snack, potato spirals on a pointed wooden skewer and deep-fried chicken slathered in a sauce he can never quite figure out the recipe for.

He’ll think about picking you up some bungeoppang - the ones filled with choux, not red bean paste - because he knows that you adore it so. There have been occasions when you’ve begged him to drive you out of the city to the large gas station out West just so you could have bungeoppang from one specific stall.

The signage is faded, and the prices haven’t changed since 2009, but that’s how you know it’s the good shit. A family recipe batter passed down for generations. The woman who makes it is always the same, and though she never remembers you, you always remember her. Beam so brightly Jungkook thinks he’s going blind whenever you spot her.

It’s only because of that one time you’d showed up with the sole mission to retrieve some of the delicious delicacies, only to be confronted with a handwritten ‘closed today, back tomorrow’ note taped to the menu. You never know when the next family emergency or trip out of town might be for your beloved bungeoppang-making Ajumma.

It’s a little after midday when Jungkook’s car rolls into the gas station. He’ll be home soon.

He tells himself that he’s just doing as he always does. Will get his tornado potato. Wolf it down. Go back for some chicken, maybe some tteok.

He’s stayed out of the annexe today. Doesn’t even think about the doorway because he knows the magnetic pull is far too strong for his cobalt heart.

Had ignored your call this morning - sorry, just saying goodbye to everyone. will see you later. - and had pushed all thoughts of you to the side. He’s even tried to stop thinking about Bam because thoughts of him will inevitably lead to thoughts of you and Jungkook is getting dizzy, quite frankly. It’s like he’s chasing his tail, never knowing when to admit defeat.

At least Bam gets enjoyment out of it when he does it. All Jungkook gets is lingering feelings of remorse.

But as he hits the home straight, a small paper bag full of choux bungeoppang cooling down on his passenger seat, his head starts to clear. He’s fixed the lock on the gate that leads to the annexe. Won’t go down that path.

Jungkook arrives ahead of schedule. Parks his car, and doesn’t tell you he’s arrived. Leaves his bag in the boot of the car, but picks up the pastries from his passenger seat.

Opens the door of his apartment quietly. You don’t hear it. Are too busy dancing around the living room with Bam to some mid-noughties classic.

“Hey,” you laugh a little breathlessly as finally notice him. He’s leaning against the wall. Is wearing his glasses, to make up for the long drive. You think it’s a crying shame he doesn’t wear them at work, too.

“Was I interrupting something?”

“No, not all,” you say. There are deep creases below your eyes, testament to the size of your smile. “Me and baby Bammie-” you reach over and stroke at his sides, a little rough and tumble, but perfectly joyous “- were just burning off a little energy before you got home.”

Jungkook crouches, arms outstretched for Bam. The puppy knocks into Jungkook’s chest, legs all moving slightly out of coordination, excitable whines sounding in his throat. His tail wags so fast you think he’d be able to produce electricity if he really tried.

They match each other’s energy; delirious happiness, content only when in one another’s presence.

“Hey buddy,” he coos. “Daddy’s home. I missed you. Missed me too, hey? C’mere.”

His strong hands stroke Bam’s sides, and you watch how playful they both are with unadulterated awe. It seems absurd how similar the two of them are; man and his best friend.

“He was lost without you,” you confirm.

“It’s that right?” Jungkook pouts as he scratches behind Bam’s ears, cradling his face in his hands. “Did Bammie miss Daddy?”

Bam barks. Yes.

“Hey, I’m sorry, boy. I’m home now, though. Daddy’s home.”

Yes, you think. Yes, he is.

The night dissolves much like Jungkook thought it would. You stay for dinner. Watch crappy entertainment shows, and laugh at how absurd people can be. There’s warmth in his apartment, even though he hasn’t turned the heating on.

“You’ll never know how much I appreciate this,” Jungkook says softly as midnight approaches. Bam sighs. There’s rain on the windows, but the storm doesn’t bother him tonight. Not in the slightest. “Thank you.”

Your head shakes. Smile perseveres. “Happy to do it. You know how much I love Bam.”

Silence wraps around your words like a velvet bow, pulled taut. There’s no double knot, but there needn’t be. It isn’t unravelling any time soon.

“So,” you change topic. “How long do you reckon it will take the new secretary to fall in love with you? I’m thinking maybe four days.”

Jungkook wants to make a joke; tease you about how your mind jumped from how much you love his dog, to the idea of loving him. Not you loving him, granted, but it only took a few electrical signals between neurons for you to get there. Must associate him with love pretty closely.

“Four days? Far too quick.” Jungkook pauses. “You’ve been staying here for four days. Reckon that’s an appropriate amount of time to fall in love with someone?”

He’s being facetious. It’s all in jest and yet you feel your heart beat a little faster. Only for a moment. There’s a mild concern in your features, fearful that he can somehow sense the thoughts you’ve been having; the fantasies, the daydreams, the moments of weakness.

You look at him with eyes he doesn’t recognise. Your lashes are low. Sultry, even. Suggestive. Teasing.

And then, they roll.

“Jeon, you have those poor girls on their knees within a single ‘hello’. Don’t act like you don’t know it, you big old flirt.”

“If Bam wasn’t so peaceful, I’d kick you,” he mumbles, stroking at the dark fur behind his pup’s ear. Bam sighs, content to have him back. There’s a smile on Jungkook’s lips. Both are perfectly content. Both are happy to be with the people they like the most in the world.

“He’d just defend me,” you taunt. There’s a serenity to your jokes, and light-hearted banter that means nothing more, nothing less than just enjoyment of one another’s company. “I’m his favourite now.”

Jungkook laughs. Scratches a little firmer behind Bam’s ear. “You hear that, boy? Gremlin really thinks you’d choose her over me.”

You pull your torso back. Turn your body to face his. Let disbelief wash over your features, as if Jungkook saying shit like that’s a surprise. The movement alerts Bam, his head lifting, the chain links of his collar rattling. He looks over to you, then back to Jungkook.

“He LOVES me.”

“I thought dogs are supposed to take after their owners, though?” Jungkook teases. “And I can’t fuckin’ stand you.”

Your playful shock dissolves into narrowed eyes and a suppressed grin. Bam’s looking at you again, so you cup his dainty face and scratch the underside of his jaw. “You hear that, baby Bammie? How are you so lovely when your Daddy is such an asshole?”

Jungkook’s steady gaze lifts to you from Bam. You’re still cooing at the puppy, scratching beneath his snout, but Jungkook’s back in that damn annexe again. He isn’t smiling - but his eyes are unbelievably soft.

So, so velvety. Like satin, maybe; ribbons tied around ponytails. Brushed cotton, perhaps; his still-warm bedsheets fresh out of the tumble dryer.

Soft, like he imagines your hair would be; released from its claw clip, falling around his face. Soft, like he imagines your lips would be; pressed against his, in the privacy of his bedroom. Soft, like he imagines your laugh would be; soundtracking the living alarm clock that is Jeon Bam, as he bundles onto Jungkook’s bed at just gone six-thirty the following morning.

But then you look up at him, and his stare is hard. Still sparkling, yes - but diamonds, not stars. Concrete speckled. Pennies tossed in an empty well; the steel bolt of his door which keeps the outside world at bay.

Hard, like he imagines your teeth would be; tugging on his bottom lip in the shadows of his bedroom. Hard, like he imagines your nails would be; leaving a trail of ruby red sin down his back. Hard, like he imagines your laboured breaths would be; lips resting ajar against his, your very essence pouring into him as he pushes into you.

Hard. Soft. Confusing and conflicting, and just so unbelievably him.

“What?” you question, bemused by the way his demeanour changed. “‘Daddy’ really gets you, huh?”

“Does fuck all for me,” he says with a little temperance, but there’s a smirk on his lips. His tongue runs along the inside of his cheek.

A few have tried the moniker on him, but it never fit well. Would fall from their lips and crash to his bedroom floor. He’d just kiss them to shut them up.

But you… You have him reconsidering. Have him a little hot beneath his sweats.

It’s not really the idea of being your Daddy, but the concept of being one full-stop that has him adjusting his legs slightly. He’s a man of big investments, after all. No greater investment than starting a life with another person. He likes the idea of it.

Makes him think of you talking with a toddler - I’m not sure, baby, go ask Daddy -and the pitter-patter of feet across the hardwood floors of his apartment. Makes him think how gentle you are with Bam, and how wonderful he knows you’d be with a kid. Makes him think all kinds of shit he’s never let himself indulge in before.

When he goes to bed that evening, and his sheets are seeped in the scent of your perfume, he thinks of it all over again.

Thinks of you.

And realises he can’t think about you without his heart racing, any more.

The door of the annexe in his mind is broken, now. Off its hinges.

And apparently, so is he.

Shit.

part two (x)

[octopus-punching-union]

I'm writing this up for the second time since Tumblr ate my post :( so this probably won't be as much detail this time around.

The darker side of Darkwick

There's been a lot of allusions to shady stuff and harsh punishments at Darkwick since the very beginning, and it was so satisfying to see it come together this chapter. Quick recap of what's happened so far—

Haku gives some omimous warnings about harsh punishments when MC is trying to run away. He mentions Articles 77 and 78 (which are more fully explained in the Hotarubi chapter) and that ghouls can be punished for taking any actions outside of their missions.

This is constantly backed up since the very beginning. MC not being allowed to go home even briefly. Permits are required to leave campus and it's not unusual for recreational permits to be denied. Even with a permit, you can't be out at night unless it's for a mission. Stopping to get a snack while on a mission is potentially grounds for punishment. Entire Houses get punished for the misbehavior of a few people, and a House can be blanket banned from leaving campus.

When MC returns after that escape attempt, Kaito is upset as he's just now realized that he could be punished as an accomplice. Up until this point, he's been sympathetic to MC wanting to go home.

Haku also reminds Rui of the dangers of deviating from the mission and it seems that Rui is subject to particular restriction and surveillance. He says that a punishment would be particularly bad if Rui was involved.

Haku makes an odd comment like "since there's a chance we'll go home after graduation." Combined with Ritsu's comment about the Laurel Crown being the best way to get independence from Darkwick... I have a lot of thoughts about this and will write up a separate post later.

Budgets are fucked up, with Haru personally responsible for funding repairs to Jabberwock. (I'm also gonna write a separate post about this later.)

On to the new stuff from Hotarubi chapter—

We learn that Darkwick has a secret prison which was run by Ultio, one of the defunct houses. Lyca is being held there due to prejudice about him being part werewolf. He was imprisoned while being investigated for murder, but despite the discovery that he is innocent, he is still locked up because he could potentially be dangerous.

Articles 77 and 78 are explained. They allow for the imprisonment of ghouls who deviate from their missions and anomalies that are deemed too dangerous to society. Lyca is being held as a dangerous anomaly because he is part werewolf.

Subaru's first mission at Darkwick was to kill Lyca. He apparently decided to investigate instead and attempt to prove Lyca's innocence. He has been petitioning for Lyca's release, to no effect.

(This makes me wonder if Subaru was always in Hotarubi? The facility was being run by Ultio at the time, and why would they bring in someone from another house to kill a prisoner? If the initial mission was investigation using Subaru's unique stigma, it would make sense to bring him in from outside. But Lyca says that he knew Subaru had been sent to kill him from their first meeting. Related, Subaru also says that he and Zenji have been in the same house since first year, but he does not say that they were always in Hotarubi.)

We also get confirmation that there were multiple fatalities during the Clash. Zenji, who was killed by a rogue anomaly and is now back as a ghost, wasn't the only one who went "past the point of no return."

Finally, when MC and Haku go to the Chancellor and Moby to ask for Lyca's release, they are both very against it. The Chancellor starts to say, "What if we have another case of a ghoul—" but is silenced by Moby. Moby also seems like he's kinda threatening Haku in this scene.

[monimccoythings]

Alastor x daughter!Reader II (Platonic)

Heaven in this series seems to be very unfair and strict, so I guess this wouldn't be too out of character of them. I still don't know how long this is going to be, maybe I'll do a couple more and then that'll be it.

Reminder: Alastor is in hell for a reason; Trigger warnings: gory elements, mentions of blood, threats towards a child, mentions of rape, death.

This is not proof read, so please excuse any grammar and/or vocabulary mistakes.

tags: @anonymousewrites

Part I ｜Part II (You're here!)｜Part III

It was hot. That was the first feeling you got. Like those summers in the bayou, but a hundred times worse. You wondered if you were running a fever. If everything was just a wild fever dream, and you were currently on a hospital bed fighting off the Spanish flu while your dad worriedly sat by your side.

But as you opened your eyes. You found that there was no fever dream. Only nightmares.

You had been sent to hell for keeping quiet. Heaven considered that the officers death could have been prevented if you had just talked to someone about what you saw. But you chose not to, and also chose to pretend it didn't happen just to try and keep some semblance of normalcy. Your silence had only made you an unwilling accomplice in two murders.

You were not made for hell, never were. And suddenly finding yourself in a place were anyone could easily kill, rape or torture you didn't do wonders for your psyche.

You spent the next ninety years hiding in the corners, eating what little crumbs you could feed yourself, barely sleeping just in case some of your 'friendly neighbors' decided to take you by surprise and avoiding all kind of human (or demonic) contact.

You would be lying to yourself if you said those were the only reasons for such a paranoid way of living. The other, and principal reason why you kept moving and hid yourself was the very same reason why you ended up here.

Him.

Not even a week had passed before he had suddenly spawned there as well. Host of his very own diabolical radio show, he had quickly seized control of the former overlords and killed them one by one, broadcasting their cries of fear and pain to all the city. Positioning himself as a prominent member of the new batch of overlords.

He was a monster. 'Alastor The Radio Demon' he was called in fearful whispers. And he kept getting worse and worse. You couldn't help but wonder if the man who had raised you had really been there at all or it had been just another facade, for his own entertainment and amusement.

Everywhere you go you would faintly hear the static of his radio program, it almost seemed that he was following you. There was no escaping his influence. Had he found you? Did he know you were there as well? Did he even care at all?

Sometimes you resented him for breaking your happy mortal life, sometimes you wished you could show yourself to him and maybe everything would be magically reverted to the way it was back then. Sometimes you cried yourself to sleep, fearing that the first thing he would do if he found you would be slaughter you and broadcast your screams.

Fear always got the best of you, so you kept running, hiding, avoiding the exterminations as best as you could and doing some things for the sake of survival that would haunt you forever.

You will live to see another day. You had to. You may not be able to kill anyone, but you will survive.

Until one day you got caught.

You should have listened to your instincts that were screaming at you that that dump was not safe to rest. But you were too tired to care.

As soon as you close your eyes for a quick nap, a huge hand grabbed you by the hair and forcefully pulled you out. You screamed and struggled, throwing wild kicks. But a strong set of arms held you and made it impossible to move.

"Looks like we got ourselves a fighter guys!" an enormous hyena demon cackled manically.

"Boss surley will give us a fucking raise for this one. Can't wait to see how he beats the fuck out of your spunkiness."

You were terrified. What? What were they going to do to you?? You were just a kid!! How was this allowed?? You had to escape, you had to run and hide before it was too late and you found yourself enslaved to some of the most depraved souls.

You screamed, cried and begged them to let you go. But they didn't listen, they shoved you into the back of some van with other terrified demons and drove off to the worst parts of an already hellish city.

They threw you roughly on a cold hard floor, you swore that after so many years in a living hell you would have run out of tears to cry. Well, there you were bawling your eyes out.

"P-please"

The mob boss just laughed, a disgusting pig like demon. "Look at her, ain't even started and she's already crying. Oh, little one, you're going to make some owner the fucking happiest guy ever. And I know the right guy."

So that was it. It was over for you. After everything you had gone through, it seemed like your fate was to be forever enslaved, tortured and finally killed at the hands of a demon. Nobody would come to rescue you. You doubted there was even someone out there who would really miss you.

Maybe you deserved it.

Maybe it was time to really pay for your cowardice.

The tears didn't stop flowing, but you had already resigned to your fate.

The demons were coming closer, some of them with chains, another with a collar, and one with a branding rod.

You could almost feel the burning of metal in your skin. The painful beginning of a new chapter in your afterlife.

And even then, despite everything you had gone through and your fears, whatever remained of that innocent little girl you once were, was quietly praying Daddy would barge in and save you from the bad guys.

The lights suddenly went out, which only terrified you even more. Knowing what they were going to do was bad enough, but not being able to see it? They may as well shoot you dead.

For a couple of seconds everything was in complete silence. "The fuck are you waiting for? Turn the fucking-" The boss was interrupted by a loud radio frequency screech. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up, you felt the cold hands of terror grab a hold of you .

No.

Nononononono.

You weren't- You didn't- You prayed he wasn't actually going to show up. Despite being trapped between a rock and a hard place, you cursed yourself for your childish wishes.

The static kept getting louder, to the point you had to cover your ears to avoid having your eardrums split. In the corner, right on the left where your assaulters stood, some of them doubled over in pain with blood coming out of their ears, a mass of shadows started moving on their own.

A sob got caught in your throat when you realized where this was going to go. Now it was really over.

The shadows kept getting bigger and bigger, shaping themselves until all that remained was a giant and grinning entity of darkness.

You were completely frozen in your spot, not daring to make a sudden move, just in case you attracted that monster's attention. His Glasgow smile kept getting wider, some drool falling from his lips. He was like a hungry predator watching a tasty piece of meat.

You thought that the worst part would be when more tentacles shot from his back, launching themselves against the assaulters and tearing them apart easily while some chunks of blooded meat fell on his open mouth and others got stuck on his massive antlers. The sound of radio static mixed with his hysterical laughter generated a deep feeling of anxoiusness and fear inside you.

As you dared to look into his pupils, now red radio dials, hoping to find something that would anchor you to whatever remained of your sanity, you knew that had you been alive, you would have died again from fright.

Because there was nothing that could remind you of your father in those eyes.

And with that last thought, you happily welcomed unconsciousness.

[gingerteawrites]

Autumn in love - Nanami Kento

A/N: Another comforting and self-indulgent fic but what is new? I wish it could be cold already. Can't believe that its still 80 degrees F in November😭.

Content: tooth-rotting fluff, husband! Nanami, female reader, barely proofread.

Fall was Kento's favorite season. Call it basic or boring, but to him, there was nothing better than the crunch of the reddened leaves when stepped on. The crisp aroma of fragrant air. The beauty of the world as it burst into shades of deep auburns and ambers. The mellowness of it all felt so enticing, much akin your husband's nature.

Taking the time to breath in the world on his way to and from work and sketching delicate figures during the evenings were among his favorite ways of enjoying this wonderful season. However, he was also much receptive to the ways you preferred to experience the autumnal weather. Your world was by extension, his own.

And with time, a beautiful fresco of collected memories painted your shared home. Trinkets that bore testament to your little adventures.

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

The beautiful branch mounted on your wall

"Oooooo, look at this one!" You crouched to pick up yet another branch from the orchard's soft soil. Nanami turns away from the apple tree, a pristine pink lady in hand.

He chuckles when you run to him with a small branch whose tendrils curled in the shape of outstretched fingers.

"That sure is something, love." a smile pulled at his soft lips. "Though I am not sure if branches are included in the apple-picking fee."

You clung to his arm, nuzzling close with a simper that matched his own. "Well, good thing I'm not asking them."

Ever your accomplice, Kento helps you 'sneak' the branch out of the farm and insists on coating it to preserve it for you.

"You don't have to indulge my stupid fixations, Kento. Really." You watch him carefully handle the piece of wood in your garage, feeling bad about how much effort he's putting into this.

"Stupid?" He asks, deep voice tinged with a hint of surprise. The thought had never even occurred to him. He walks to you, and rests a tender hand against your cheek. Eyes holding your entire world as they looked at you with so much tenderness. "There is absolutely nothing that you, my dear wife, could enjoy that I would think is stupid."

You melt against his touch, and even more at his words. "Plus, that is an outstanding stick. Think we can record a video and send it to that one stick nation page?" He asks, pulling a honest laughter out of you.

"Great minds think alike, I see."

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

The hand-made mug sat atop your night stand.

While on the way back from a quiet afternoon walk, you and Kento had stumbled upon a yard sale. The owner of the house, a little old lady beckoned you over the second she noticed how you had not so discreetly eyed her book collection.

Having spent what felt like a wonderful eternity browsing through the collection you believed to be way too big for one person to own in a lifetime, you realized you had lost sight of your husband. You hoisted your picks close to your chest and turned in search for Kento.

But as if sensing your quest for him, he practically materialized beside you.

"Let me help with that, darling." He coaxed most of the books from you before you could even think to refuse, holding them gently under one arm.

"Thank you, Ken" You smile, linking fingers with his other outstretched hand. "Did you find anything you liked?" You were hoping he was not bored.

"Uh-huh." He nods. "The owner's husband had an interesting tie collection. I left everything I liked at the entrance with her. Just wanted to come see how you were doing." His thumb rubbed gentle circles against your skin.

You reach the lady, with multiple items laid out on the big table that served as check-out station on top of which sat an old-fashioned cash register. She helps pack your purchases in a paper bag, while you absently look around the yard and admire the beautiful house behind you.

Unloading the purchases from the brown bag in your home, your eyes go round with curiosity when your fingers touch a delicate porcelain frame. You pull out a mug from the bag, its wide cream base decorated with small mushrooms and flowers. The handle curled like a vine, and you spent more than a few minutes admiring the glaze.

That means you did not notice Kento, who came leaning against the door frame, looking at you with a fond smile.

"Do you like it, love?" He asked, pulling your attention towards him.

"Do I like it??" You took a deep breath. "God, it's gorgeous. How did I not notice it?" You ask to yourself.

He pushes himself off the wall and walks to you, wrapping strong arms around your waist, your back pressed to his chest.

"It was in a pile of miscellaneous items. I knew you would enjoy it the second I saw it." He explained, his warmth seeping into you.

"You know me too well." You set the mug down and spin around in his arms so you're facing him. Eyes meet and before you know it, your lips follow in a tender embrace. "I need to get you something too." You whisper against his cheek.

"Having you here is more than enough." Kento replied earnestly.

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

Just the sight of these small things warmed you through and through, reminders of Kento's love. Of his tender care, that made you want to open your heart even more than you already did. Hold him close for the colder months, and never let go even when the heat comes.

Hope you enjoyed it! Comments and reblogs are much appreciated (❁´◡`❁)

[munariplans]

36 hours | natasha romanoff

synopsis: set between civil war and black widow, your love for natasha, and her patience for your return, is tested beyond what the both of you had ever gone through before.

natasha romanoff x spider!reader

word count: 3.9k words

a/n: this is a bit messy but i felt the need to draw a general timeline for the characters of is there someone else? and your sweater. i admit i have grown a sort of attachment for the two from there, but i also wanted to know if you guys want more stories / blurbs / headcannons for these two, or whether i should try new things. let me know?

masterlist

36 hours. 36 hours to bring in a known fugitive, a possible terrorist, and his dear accomplice steve rogers. it was barely enough time. 

and here tony was, making you wait outside of a window of an apartment in queens, waiting for the perfect time to, in his words, swing in and show the kid what he’s made of. you remembered telling him that you would show him what you were made of if he didn’t make it quick. 

you dared to sneak a look into the bedroom the moment tony managed to sneak the kid away. he was barely fifteen. but the impressive speed that he caught his jumbled, homemade suit with when tony opened the attic door showed skill no normal fifteen year old possessed. 

“you’re spider-boy?” 

“...spider-man.” the boy replied, and at tony’s snap of his fingers, you slipped in, standing behind him for support as the boy gawked at your entrance. 

“mm,” tony remarked, “this is our spider. you see her in a onesie like yours?”

the boy took time to rake his eyes through your advanced technical suit, crafted through years of precision and “user”-testing in the fights and missions you had managed to get injured from. every flaw was covered, every inch of space for injury accounted for. 

you looked past tony to the video of the boy saving a car from crashing onto a bus, before swinging away at lightning speed. “how’d you figure out the perfect formula for the tensile strength?”

“i…”

“i like the goggles too,” you snatched the suit away from tony’s amused smirk, “good attempt at keeping the focus. sensory overload, right?”

the boy nodded. “you’re just like me. you get me.”

“i get you.” you replied, “but you’re in dire need of an upgrade.”

you stepped back this time, and watched as tony began his over-explanation, oversimplification, of the situation at hand. the kid watched with wide eyes, clinging on to every word he said, while you rubbed the material of his homemade suit between your fingers, wondering how you were going to teach him every single upgrade and function of the new suit you had designed just for him in 36 hours. 

36 hours to capturing steve and bucky, and 36 hours to fixing things with natasha. 

you couldn’t wait. 

-

“i still think tony’s going a little overboard,” natasha muttered to you, arms crossed at the back of the quinjet. 

you approached, the low hum of the jet preventing you from hearing her clearly earlier. she continued, “he’s ridden with guilt. he’s not thinking clearly.”

“but he’s still right.” you sat next to her, the atmosphere tense. you had been having this argument even since the idea had popped into tony’s head. “and you’re still here.”

“because i think the other side is more mistaken, not because he’s right.”

“steve is the one going overboard. he’s blinded by the love he has for his friend.” 

“...weren’t you blinded by love before?” natasha accused, “for me, all those years ago?”

you were stunned for a moment. natasha knew she made a valid point. but then, you reaffirmed, “it’s different. steve made a mistake, we shouldn’t be the ones deciding who lives and who dies. i should’ve forced him to sign the accords when i had the chance.” 

the sight of the airport drew nearer and nearer. in front of you, you saw peter fidget nervously in his new upgraded suit. 

–

you were wrapping webs round and round the suddenly enlarged ant-man, one of his hands gripping rhodey. with an agreement for peter to strike ant-man’s legs, the giant soon fell to his knees with his entire lower half webbed, groaning when the war machine broke free from his hold. 

in your peripheral vision, you saw natasha running after steve and bucky, her words ringing in your mind as you instructed peter to finish off ant-man from getting back up again. a thumbs-up was sent his way when he did, the smile on his face reaching his ears. 

weren't you blinded by love before? 

you hoped she would do the right thing, as you returned your attention to helping tony take down wanda and clint.

but even as you fought, her words kept coming back to your head, and by the time steve and bucky were mere seconds away from the quinjet, you made up your mind to zip to natasha to check in on her. 

weren’t you blinded by love before?

you watched in horror as she stunned the black panther, him spasming and dropping to his knees. you watched with even more horror as she let the fugitives go, steve helping bucky climb into the quinjet and starting the engine. when steve shut the latch of the jet, he made eye contact with you hanging off the hangar, and nodded in thanks. he knew you were letting him go, too. 

mostly, you were even more horrified at your automatic reaction to catch t’challa from lunging at her, forcing him to the ground as his claws barely missed her face. in consequence, his own claws tore through your suit instead, the vibranium stronger than the nano-technology defences you had designed the suit with. 

you seethed in pain as the claws came back doused with blood, the burning on your back sure to leave a definite scar as it hit the cold air. 

you struck a web to his face, before throwing him off of you and quickly webbing him to the wall of the hangar. 

natasha felt your hands shaking her just moments later, still in shock that you had jumped in to help, and save her. 

“the webs are not going to hold him for long, nat,” you said when her eyes managed to refocus on you, “and you just obstructed justice. you need to go, now.” 

“i…i couldn’t let them…” she stuttered. 

“i know, i know,” you assured her. behind you, t’challa was breaking loose. “i’ll stay here and explain everything to them. but you need to run, and hide, for a while. tony told me he was planning to send anyone helping them to the raft. i can’t let you go there.” 

“what about you?” her hands tried to stop the blood seeping through her fingers from your back, but you were firm. 

“i’ll be okay. i’ll come find you after i’ve settled everything here and it’s safe for you to come back.”

“promise…?” natasha knew you were right, but her heart was saying otherwise. how could she possibly bear to leave you behind and deal with her consequences? how could she go anywhere without you by her side? how would she know you’ll come find her again?

“i promise. i love you.” you left room for no argument. 

she was gone by the time the black panther broke free, the ghost of the feeling of her lips against yours still replaying in your mind. 

–

ross’ face was possibly on the verge of exploding, listening to tony’s recounting of events and your, arguably non-convincing reasoning, of why chasing natasha would be a fool’s errand. 

“her hand slipped. she was supposed to stun bucky, hit t’challa.”

“that’s not what t’challa said. and that’s why you’re handcuffed to the table now.” ross called through your bluff, “you’re lucky you’re not sitting in a cell in the raft at all.” 

the chains against your handcuff clinked the table as you sighed, waiting for your own course of beration and punishment from the team.

somewhere out there, you hoped natasha was safe, and that she had successfully escaped ross’ team sent out to arrest her. 

– 

years ago, a few nights after you and natasha had made your relationship official, she had asked you where you would live, if you could live anywhere in the world. 

“norway,” you replied. 

“why?”

“i don’t know. seems like a nice place to be. it’s calm, quiet, relatively crime-free.”

“then you would be out of a job, you know?” natasha teased, her heart skipping a beat as you let out a laugh. 

“i’ll find something else,” you assured her, “i’ll survive.” 

you turned to her then, prompting the same question she had asked you. she had replied, “anywhere with you.” 

– 

now, you were currently hinging on the sole fact that all roads and clues pointed you to her being in norway. 

it had been six months since the events of the team’s civil war, a week since you had begun using a fake passport to get on flights, and three hours since you have been driving along the gravel road where her trailer was supposed to be. 

truth be told, you were nervous. you were afraid of natasha’s safety, and you worried whether she was blaming herself for losing the family she had grown to love in the past few years. and selfishly, you were mostly nervous if she had forgotten you and started a new life altogether. 

but natasha no longer lived in the trailer by the time you got there; you found out upon hiding and attacking the first person that entered the trailer that wasn’t her. when he choked out bitterly that she had left just an hour before you arrived with another woman, your heart sank. 

they had boarded a jet and flew off to find someone. he had been helping her throughout her being in hiding. he bothered to mention that she talked about you all the time. he told you that she was losing more hope of you coming back day by day

doesn’t matter. she has someone else now. 

“is she…is the girl she’s with…” you stuttered for the first time in your life. the man across from you removed the ice pack he was using to nurse the bruise you gave him. 

“i don’t know. didn’t seem like it, though.”

you nodded, at a loss of what to do. now what? you came to find her, she’s gone, you don’t know where or how else to look for. and she likely has someone else now, too. 

what if natasha didn’t want you back?

mason looked at you then, almost in pity. you felt very bad for punching him to get information out of him. 

“for what it’s worth, with the technology you have in your suit, i’m sure i can help link it to the approximate whereabouts of the aircraft.” 

you looked up to him with hope, nervousness bubbling in your stomach again. “a-are you…?”

“fuck it, i’m sick of natasha bemoaning about missing you everyday. i’m going to help you find her.”

-

natasha sat by the oak-coloured bench as she stared across the table to yelena, equally donning a new getup as she. downing yet another bottle of beer, she wondered if yelena deserved to know about you, or whether she was only putting you in more danger. but then, she wondered selfishly, if you were even bothered to come find her at all.

it’s been six months after all. six months without her must have been pretty peaceful for you, with all the storms and misfortune she felt she had brought into your life. maybe it was for the better that you had chased her away. maybe you had wanted her to go, so you could move on with the life you had always wanted for yourself. 

fuck. the alcohol was making her want to cry. everything about you made her want to cry. natasha missed you so much. the coldness of the spot in bed beside her each night, one less coffee mug she shared each morning, the empty space beside her when she needed someone to hold her. 

she never knew how dependent she had gotten on you, until you had to be separated. you have truly changed her, inside and out, and while natasha could complain about it otherwise, deep down in her heart she knew she would not have it any other way. 

how long more did she have to wait?

yelena gave her a weird look, and natasha excused herself to the bathroom. she couldn’t let her sister see her like this. 

-

but in the five minutes that she was gone, natasha came back to an empty bench, with the shop she had bought the beers from deserted and the shutters shut. it was as if the owner had suddenly upped and ran.

upped and ran. fuck. they found her. 

grabbing the gun holstered to her side, natasha called out slowly, “yelena…?”

silence. “yelena?”

nothing again. her aircraft was still there, and when she approached slowly, wary of her surroundings and any widows, the crunch her boot made with a branch underneath triggered the loudest scream she had ever heard. 

in the next second, a blur of two figures landed before her, wrestling to get the upper hand. yelena was screaming with all her might, and above her…above her, natasha could recognise that suit anywhere. 

it had her initials carved in the inner lining of the heart area, after all. 

“where is she?!” your voice sounded raspier, deeper than she remembered. you sounded tired and wary, too. 

but the hands pinning yelena down said otherwise, your strength overpowering hers as yelena tried desperately to free herself from under you. “where is what–asshole–!”

“where is natasha!” you pressed down on her neck, and at the choke yelena let out, the switch finally flipped in natasha. 

she screamed your name, from metres away, and at the immediate recognition, you faltered, and shot your gaze to her direction. she knew you couldn’t see her clearly under the low light of the broken street lamps, but it was her. 

the next thing you knew, though, the woman under you had wrenched a hand free and shot you in the neck with a widow bite. you cursed at the sting from the shock, but then all at once, darkness ensued. it definitely wasn’t the same widow bites natasha had designed over the years. 

-

“you nearly killed my wife, yelena!”

“how was i supposed to know that was your wife? i didn't even know you had a wife!”

-

when you woke to, it was yelena, the woman who nearly tried killing you, that was by your side. when the world stopped spinning for a while, you recognised that you were in the very aircraft mason had told you about. 

“hi,” you groaned lowly, fingers reaching for the spot that the blonde had shot the widow bite at. it was wrapped in a bandage.

“welcome back, my sister-in-law.” 

this time, she offered you a hand, and you took it gratefully to shake it. “sorry i shot you earlier. to be fair, you did try to kill me too.”

“fair game.”

the door slid open then, and at the sight of natasha entering, holding onto a pile of makeshift medication and bandages, your heart managed to stop beating for a while, if possible. 

her hair was longer, face a little more tired, worry lines etched into skin that was not so taut anymore. but still, she was your natasha, and she never looked more ethereal than in that moment. 

yelena had to step out of the room at the ferocity and aggressiveness that natasha engulfed you with, the squeals that left her sister’s mouth one that she would never have imagined hearing. 

“you came back, you came back!” natasha said in between tears of joy, as you hugged her even tighter. the nights with her pillows never replaced her body pressed against yours. 

“of course, i promised you,” you reassured, “i’ll come find you.”

“i thought–i thought–you’d given up, or i should give up,” she said between hiccups, sobs leaving her now at the incredulity of it all, “i thought you finally realised you were better off without me and–”

“nat,” you pulled her away to press a kiss firmly to her lips, “i would never do that.”

“i know. but you were gone so long and i waited. i waited and waited and…it was a long six months.”

you laughed, letting her lips chase yours once again. “it really was.”

when the two of you finally settled down and came back to earth, you snuck a glance at yelena, who you currently wished you had met in better circumstances, rather than nearly killing her to get to natasha. 

“guess i didn’t get on the best footing for meeting your sister, huh?” you whispered to natasha.

she nudged your side, prompting you to smile at yelena. she gave you a weird look, but awkwardly smiled back. “yeah, and you know what’s even crazier?”

“what?”

“you’re about to meet my parents, too.”

-

you sat awkwardly beside natasha at the dinner table in melina’s house, shifting uncomfortably as yelena just burst out screaming that the “family” natasha had always told you was made up of red room agents, was always real to her. 

you thought she looked like a child throwing a tantrum. then, you bit the inside of your cheek and berated yourself for thinking so, because yelena of all people, was a woman who never did get a childhood at all. she deserved at least this. 

under the table, you felt natasha hold your hand for support. you squeezed it gently. she’s got you. 

you soothingly wrapped around her trembling fingers, still. because as strong as natasha was, biting back and spitting at her “parents” then, she was still hurt, and a teardrop had fallen to the side of her face that she had quickly wiped away. the teardrop no one would have noticed, except you, who had been wiping almost all of her tears away in the years that you had been together.

later on, when your spider-senses overloaded with the impending arrival of dreykov’s men, while natasha and melina argued over their plan to finally take him down, you found it hard to ignore the crying coming from yelena’s room. and you felt even worse for what you were going to subject her to later. 

–

natasha entrusted you to deal with taskmaster, while she handled the big man himself. you were about to argue, fearing for her safety and protection, but with a warning glance from her mother on your possibility of doubt over natasha’s own skills, you kept quiet. you had to trust your wife. 

but what natasha failed to tell you, however, was that taskmaster was more competent, and dangerous, than all the other widows involved. she had told you that they would be difficult, sure, but you hadn’t expected difficult to include you struggling to catch your breath, making up new moves on the fly to prevent the human weapon on copying your combat style almost perfectly. they had used your agility and swiftness against you, and you were convinced that had they had your webs, you would almost certainly be done for, too. 

“i don’t want to kill you,” you wheezed as you managed to sneak a move to tumble them to the ground, but the way in which they glared back at you and aimed a launcher right at your face, told you all that you needed to know. the feeling wasn’t mutual. 

with the help of natasha’s father in finally locking the taskmaster in a cell momentarily, you took the opportunity to find her, even as explosions rang through your ears and the shaking of the base showing the impending signs of doom. 

– 

you held her as the both of you free fell through the skies, natasha’s fingers holding on to you as if you would disappear from her once again. 

“i’ve got you,” you murmured into her skin. she nodded slowly, telling you she understood. 

you deployed the parachute when you reached closer to the ground. natasha had gotten very good at getting over her fear of heights, as she latched on. years ago, she was still screaming in fear each time you brought her swinging through the city after your dates and missions together. now, only a small exhale left her lips as you landed her softly, safely, on the ground. you smiled to yourself at the change you only noticed now. 

“i still have…i have to…” she gestured towards dreykov’s daughter, the taskmaster, behind you. you wish you had known. 

you nodded understandingly. natasha was kind, kinder than anyone you knew. she was just like that. “go. do what you have to do to set her free. i’ll stay behind, in case you need help.”

“after she almost knocked you out?” a hint of a playful smirk, you jabbed her side lovingly. 

“i was pulling my punches! you told me not to kill her.”

natasha snuck a kiss on your cheek. “i know. my hero.”

– 

you and natasha exchanged quiet smiles throughout the ride back to ross’ prison, or custody, wherever it was. it didn’t matter. she had taken down the demons of her past, and she had gotten you back. you had found her, and you were never letting her out of your sight ever again. 

weren’t you blinded by love before? nobody else mattered. not what ross had to say, not what tony had screamed at you for, not what steve or anyone else tried to convince you to do. being blinded by love for natasha was never a bad thing for you. 

“i never told you, but i like your new suit,” you whispered, holding her hands through your handcuffs. 

she hid the blush appearing on her cheeks. “i know. your hands said enough.”

“and your family too. your dad’s a character, and your mom’s really strong. stronger than me, that’s for sure.” 

“and yelena? my sister?” she found a way to interlace her fingers with yours, to the disgust of ross’ agents. you didn’t care.

“i like her the most. she reminds me of the best parts of myself. she’s humble, kind, funny, and sensitive, not in a bad way. and she’s like you, headstrong and stubborn.” natasha suddenly felt you slipping something into her fingers. a piece of paper. she kept it skilfully from the prying eyes of the agents in the car.

“just the way you like it.”

“you bet,” you leaned back, feet “accidentally” kicking ross and causing a momentary distraction for his guards to aim their guns at you all at once. natasha took it as her signal to open the note. 

there, scrawled in yelena’s handwriting, was an address that she had picked from the many safehouses you had so many years before. it was in new york, not far from where you and natasha lived. you had slipped her a burner phone before she left, too, as you informed natasha in your cells later on. 

“i know it’s all real for you, too,” you reassured the redhead, “and i never got to apologise for leaving you, and your avengers family, for so long. i wanted to make it up to you. we’ll make sure yelena is never far, and you will always have her by your side from now on.”

natasha felt her cheeks hurting from the smile she was sporting. “you know, i have spent my whole life trying to go home. to go back to how things were, to undo all that i have done in the past. and i managed to do just that, just a few days ago. take down dreykov, come back to my family, go back to my childhood home. but somehow, all of that was not home anymore. at least not the home i envisioned myself to go back to.”

“and what is the home you envision now?”

“you. i come back to your arms, and it is home now. nothing else compares.”

your fingers ghosted the wedding band on your ring finger subconsciously, scrunching your eyes and trying hard to fight back the tears from falling as you listened to her declaration.

36 hours or six months. the timing never mattered. you and natasha would find each other, and come home to each other's love, regardless.

[balteredsworld]

negotiations. gregory house

🥼🩺 | house would rather fight you, but negotiates a date to a gala for a truce.

masterlist : greg house n all

tags/warnings! house being house, lawyer!reader, drugs, not enemies per say but there's def something there, reader is stacy's apprentice of sorts | gifs by @propertyofjameswilson

author's note: this was one of the first requests i got in my inbox! i accidentally deleted it omg but i hope this finds you <3 lemme know what you guys think!

"if this is an ethical boards issue, file the report over there," you spoke, eyes never leaving the monitor screen.

you already knew it was house from the way a constant thud crept its way to your office. that, and you could see his figure from your peripheral, so really you didn't need to look up.

"it's adorable that you automatically know it's me," he noted, obviously humoured. "if i didn't know better, i would've pegged you down as a secret admirer."

still, that didn't inspire much of a reaction from you other than a short glance. the two of you have been veering on this lane since you replaced stacy seven months ago. you were much colder than she was, and so much less accommodating to his devious needs.

house often wondered how stacy even took a liking to you, but then again she was also ruthless when he first met her. by that logic, you didn't fall from the tree. you were your mentor's very picture, but oh were you much icier. it was annoying, but he liked drilling you.

unfortunately for him, you were several inches thick. so he considered you worse than cuddy in that regard. at least she entertained his whims, but you... you didn't care nor bat an eye.

you said all the appropriate, correct and right things.

"well?"

"i need you," he admitted ominously.

your brows knitted, "right...?"

a silence broke between the two of you, causing you to finally look up and meet his eyes.

"house, if this is an ethics question, you have cuddy to advise you," you sighed. "i only deal with court and legal processes."

he shook his head. "i need you."

you sent him another worrisome look, before finally giving in. "what for?"

"tonight's the gala. i need a date."

:..don't you have hookers for that? i'm sure they would like the pay," you told him, voice and tone slow, still unsure what the gimmick was with this request.

if you had learned one thing in your seven months here at princeton was that everything involving house was some sort of mind game. you'd dealt with him enough times to know that, and seen him through three excruciating court appearances because the man couldn't and wouldn't shut up.

house was stupid in the way he was careless.

he plopped himself on your client chairs, hands wrapping the knob of his cane like he was considering some great philosophy or debate in his mind, surely one about the manmade idea of a god.

"hmm, good point. hookers do have their perks-less backtalk, more enthusiasm," he hummed, pretending to think, brows raising as he offered the explanation to his request. "but, hey, i figured slumming it with you might be an interesting change of pace."

despite his nonchalant closing of the question, he was still there. the proposition hung heavy in the your silence, piercing through the airy creak of the floorboards from the wobble of his cane.

you cocked your brow, asking, "so you want me to be your entertainment?"

at that house scrunched his face.

"entertainment? that's putting it generous," he remarked, looking at you with incredulous eyes as he leaned on the chair's backrest to take a vicodin. "i was thinking more like a reluctant accomplice in a dull evening. but who knows, you might surprise me."

he wanted you to bite. if you were cameron, then maybe you would've then and there, and entertain house's wild fantasy of taking you to the gala to stir up hospital gossip. but you still didn't know the caveat to your compliance, not to mention the sea of paperwork you'd been made to deal with due to his merry malpractice.

it was like this every other week, somehow piling larger because you had to justify house's forgeries on paper.

"well, i'm flattered at your proposal, but alas i'm swamped from your court hearing last week," you straightened up, gesturing to the piles and piles of folders and legal binders littering your desk. "i have you to thank for that i believe."

your dry remark elicited an impatient huff from house, all but crass and lax about administrative affairs of his hospital job.

"the perks of my charming personality. you're welcome for the excitement," he told you, leaning back toward you to flick through the papers on your desk.

"what's the gimmick?"

"no gimmicks. just you and me surviving the god awful gala, and you can have tickets to whatever show you want. what do you say?"

he looked at you innocently.

"there's always a gimmick with you, house. it makes your puzzle for your team to figure out. so what's the puzzle here?" you query, locking your hands together.

more than anything, this was negotiation. anything was negotiable with house: rules, conduct... the law.

anything was remotely subjective was up for his objective debate, all to prop himself up with more advantage to do whatever he wants in the hospital. even though he makes up for it with his rightness, it's made up more work for you

"you on my arm; i need to quiet down cuddy," he finally reveals, pursing his lips. "she's antsy about our squashbuckling. personally think it's great pr, but mommy says otherwise."

you let out a breath, considering the argument. he was right, of course. the times the two of you went to court, you looked like you could barely control your client even with your stern voice and threats. your threats were empty in house's books. so long as he proved himself on principle, consequences were an afterthought to him.

his integrity made him a man easy to admire, but he would rather ruffle your feathers to see how far you'd go. it infuriated and vexed you. but, if this was really a chance to call an armistice, then his proposition was more than an attractive offer.

"okay," you agreed.

house bobbed his head, appeased with your agreement, "great."

"but i don't want tickets."

he edged his head, encouraging you to go on. eyes wary, nonetheless.

"i want the next case without a pile of files for me to review."

a beat.

he blinked.

then he uncontrollably laughed. the fucker laughed.

"that's cute, y/l/n," he chortled, sinking into the backrest completely. he was smug, face dancing with amusement and disbelief like you believed he could really do that.

"let's see, you want me to diagnose a complex medical case discarding my process and adhere to standard protocol. wow that's really cute."

"well, fine then. appease cuddy another way," you waved him off, letting your eyes fall to your monitor to go back to work.

sensing this, house groaned a sigh, exchanging his previous amusement for your veering annoyance. he took his fingers and massaged the bridge of his nose.

"alright, you want a break from my malpractice masterpieces? fine. i'll keep it clean the next time. but if i manage to save a life without a single piece of paper, you owe me more than the gala."

you stared back at him, mildly bewildered, "are you asking me out on a date, house?"

"my diagnostic powers deserve more than a gala."

so it was a yes, then. part of you wanted to beam, but that would betray your icy façade. so instead you settled for cool nod, won by the whole proposal. you knew he wouldn't resist a challenge if you posed one, and if it meant less work for you, then you'd let house take you out.

house also owed you more than a date after the last seven months of putting up with his shit.

"wear a nice suit," you accepted, weathering a ghost of a smile. "pick me up at my apartment at 8."

[iamgonnagetyouback]

I need some Barry crouch x reader hcs!!!

headcanons for barty crouch jr x reader

✧ Barty's tough exterior melts a bit when he's with you.

✧ Although he’s far from “cuddly,” he has his unique ways of showing affection, like brushing your hair back when you’re distracted or tracing your features as you sleep.

✧ Barty’s not one for sweet words, but his actions speak volumes.

✧ He’ll get you your favorite snacks or bring you small trinkets he found while out (which may or may not look slightly ominous) because he thought of you.

✧ Barty might act like he doesn’t care about anyone, but he’s fiercely protective of you.

✧ Even in mundane settings, he’ll shoot anyone who looks at you wrong a glare that practically screams, “try me.”

✧ Barty has a dark sense of humor that only you truly understand.

✧ He’ll make some snide comment about a “light curse” on that annoying person who cut you off, and you’re caught between laughing and wondering if he’s serious.

✧ Expect a list of names only he can call you that would sound terrifying coming from anyone else.

✧ "My little accomplice" or "favorite sinner" are all meant with an oddly fond glint in his eye.

✧ Barty has a twisted sense of what qualifies as a "prank."

✧ He’ll hide your wand and act innocent, or cast a temporary charm to give you a slight shiver whenever you say a particular word.

✧ The fact that he finds these things hilarious somehow makes them even more endearing.

✧ Barty has zero interest in keeping things “normal.”

✧ He’ll whisk you away to strange places or suddenly decide that he wants to dance with you in a forbidden part of Hogwarts, laughing wildly as you try to shush him.

✧ Arguments are intense with Barty but often end up with some kind of wicked banter. "I would gladly hex you right now," he’ll say, and you’ll counter, “As if you’d survive a day without me.” He grins in response, all too delighted by your bite.

✧ He’ll make a big deal about not being “soft,” but then you’ll catch him resting his hand on your back protectively in a crowd or casting discreet protective charms on you.

✧ Barty opens up during the witching hours, sharing bits of his past and fears.

✧ His walls come down, and he’ll even reveal the vulnerabilities he rarely lets surface, confessing his struggles while holding you close as if you’re his lifeline.

✧ As restless as Barty is, he finds peace lying next to you, though he’ll grumble about it if you ever bring it up.

✧ He likes to keep a hand on you while you sleep, subtly ensuring you're there without having to admit he needs the reassurance.

✧ Dating Barty means being the only person he truly lets into his life, creating a bond that’s almost unbreakable.

✧ He’d go to terrifying lengths for you, making you feel like the center of his world, albeit in his own darkly intense way.

some convos that might arise while dating barty

BARTY: *glares at someone looking at you wrong* “Do you want me to handle that, or should I just wait until they’re not looking?” YOU: “Barty, no.” REGULUS: *muttering* “Honestly, let him. It’ll be quick.” YOU: “You’re not helping, Reg.”

YOU: “So, are you a morning person?” BARTY: “Only if by morning person you mean a creature of darkness slowly acclimating to daylight.” PANDORA: *snickering* “At least he’s honest.” YOU: “That… is more fitting than I expected.”

YOU: *quietly* “Barty, sometimes it feels like you’re just… not here.” BARTY: *pauses* “I know. I’m trying. I promise.” BARTY: *sighs, taking your hand* “You’re the only thing keeping me from going too far.”

BARTY: “If anything happens to you, I’ll bring the whole world down.” REGULUS: *chuckling* “That’s rich, coming from the guy who can barely commit to a daily schedule.” YOU: *rolling your eyes* “Thanks for the reassurance, Barty. Not ominous at all.” BARTY: “I’m serious!” EVAN: *snorts* “Yes, and you’re also a menace, so there’s that.”

YOU: “You have to admit you like being with me.” BARTY: *grins* “Like? Oh, I’m far past ‘like.’” PANDORA: *smirking* “I think what he’s trying to say is that he’d hex anyone who dares come between you.” YOU: “Great. Love in true Barty fashion.” BARTY: “I’d curse them with a smile.”

YOU: “Why do you always smirk when things get serious?” BARTY: “It’s either that or throw something.” PANDORA: “He really does throw things. Mostly at me.” BARTY: “Only when you’re too calm. I need someone on my level.” EVAN: *dryly* “Misery loves company, I suppose.” YOU: “You’re all impossible.”

BARTY: “Don’t go. I can handle whatever it is.” YOU: *raising an eyebrow* “Barty, it’s literally an event for flower arranging.” BARTY: “It could still be dangerous!” PANDORA: *snorts* “From the roses, or the daisies?” BARTY: “You know I don’t trust people. Especially around you.” YOU: “Don't worry, Barty.I’ll keep my eye out for sinister roses.”

YOU: “I think I bring out your softer side.” BARTY: “Let’s not spread rumors, love. I have a reputation to uphold.” EVAN: “What, of being intolerably prickly?” BARTY: *smiling* “Prickly enough to keep them away from her.” YOU: “You’re so charming.”

[senblades]

Hi :)

I love your art and your writing, and you have such a great grasp of these characters that I was wondering if you have any fic recs? Rating doesn't matter ;)

boy do I! (and ty for the compliment <3 <3 <3)

[cracks knuckles] alrighty:

The Dissapearence of Goro Akechi by Kupowonders - Probably my favourite fic ever, honestly- it's like. derailing the plot of persona 5 post-medjed thanks to the persona 4 accomplice ending years prior. (So, spoilers for p4 in that, too) it's. very good.

Marigolds by Colbub - Akechi gets ng+'ed to right when he started working for Shido, and has to take a good look at the future to come and be like "Aight how the fuck do I fix this". Fun times!

Daredevil, You've hit the wall by ez_cookie. Essentially, p5 Strikers but Sumire and Goro get to be in on the fun, too. And, there's a direct sequel currently being updated that's a similar premise for p5 Tactica. very very good stuff

A Tale of Two Tricksters by Zoe2k8 - Murder boyfriends! ...sort of? Angst! Angst and murder boyfriends! An oversimplification, obviously, but I'm not kidding when I say this fic is amazing and is also over a million words holy shit-

Throw away your mask by MollyPollyKinz - Another ng+ situation for Akechi, but this time the poor guy gets thrown all the way to 2009. You can imagine how well that goes (For the audience, less so for Akechi himself.)

The Crow Cries at Midnight by Dorked. hehe this one is very fun. Basically, a series of coincedencs causes Akechi to get thrown into the plot of persona 4. No time travel here! Just a grumpy 12/13 year-old Akechi trying to solve a murder mystery

The entire Tales of Chaos series by Eternalmomentss (The first one is called Like sand between your fingers) Very very good stuff! Something of a character study, I would say, of Ren and Goro. Plus, all the funky plot stuff that comes from trickster-typical bad luck and poor descision making. I really love this series hehe

uhh this post is getting very long I need to make this less wordy- lightning round?

Hunger for a life by Leonawriter - do you like vampires? I sure do! Mix that and the p5 plot and you get shenanigins. [evil laughter] a lot of shenanigins

Fishbowl by KivaEmber - Akechi has a terrible time in Maruki's reality. And I mean a terrible time

You have a beautiful smile underneath that mask by Saposaki - Akechi has a crush on Akira and Joker has a crush on Crow. No one is aware of the other's secret identity. Dramatic irony and hilarity ensues.

MASTERMiND by StumblingBlock - No Metaverse au where Akira really doesn't want to follow in the footsteps of his crime family, and fails miserably

Rose and Rot by SixteenJuniper - Read this!! I'm serious!! "A fun fantasy adventure" don't listen to Juniper. You'll be in tears by chapter two. (/pos, of course) (Seriously this fic is incredible)

Redressing the Balance by Convocated - ...almost a ng+? Ng+, in the sense that shuake are getting funky visions that are very quickly derailing the standard plot of p5r. This causes problems of the "Someone get the popcorn and maybe the tissues" variety

She's got a heartbeat full of lead (And she's aiming straight for the head) by Dots - This fic haunts me, often. In the best way possible, of course; but seriously, read it

Cracked into by SydneyHorses - Ren makes bad descisions and it becomes Akechi's problem. 2/2 timeloop, perhaps most notably featuring HaruGoro friendship! Love love love this fic

Okay that wasn't as "less wordy" as I intended but it'll do

Aaaand that's a wrap! Sorry for the long post.. and this is by no means all of the fics that I've ever loved (nor are the ones here in any particular order) but I swear we'll be here all week if I keep going HAHA

ty for the ask (and again for the kind words), anon! Hope this was helpful and to your tastes! (I... hope you like Shuake HAHA it's present in most of these- I assume you do, since you came to me (points at literally everything shuake I've made) of all people, but uh. Some of these fics are gen if it's not to your liking?)

[runningplanes]

more whiteboard doodles.

please head over to @/davepersona on twt for his half of the sketches and doodles and also the public whiteboard used! many very skilled and wonderful artists on there

shuake doodle, plus content of akira accomplice au, which i’m now going to call the Owl Au (say thank you to dave) 🎉

OWL AU:

Dark blue is Davepersona, Red is me ⬇️

[angellettes]

𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐀𝐑 ➔ JACK CHAMPION

─ synopsis. reader is an actress and jack champion. She is playing the part of Ethan landry's girlfriend in scream VI and accomplice

─ notes. I'm not a big fan of how I wrote this it kinda sucks but I hope you guys like it ♡ genre/warnings.. none for this chapter just pure fluff!♡ my page is minors dni. this chapter is suitable for any age but minors are not welcome on my page for their own safety

You and Jack had been dating for 3 years, and unknowingly were both casted for Scream VI. You hadn't found out about both getting casted until you had to meet the cast members before shooting was set to start. Certainly the experience of being a couple and playing a couple in a literal horror movie was Certainly interesting.

you both were getting ready on set to start filming, as you had a conversation about how funny it was that you were unknowingly casted in the same movie and playing as a couple in the movie, and how funny it was. your character's name was Amira lynn. You quite liked your character. It was simple but not boring. Your character was supposed to be a fashion major, and you were also the accomplice of Ethan Landry. Your role was interesting, had a good smart, but kinda ditzy personality.

The first few days of shooting got a little boring because you were there in a lot of the movie. Your character was sort of like ethan's alibi. When Ethan wasn't around during an attack you had to vouch for him. As the characters got more suspicious of Ethan you guys had to make a little plan to get them off track, so you staged an attack by ghostface. The filming for your attack was thrilling and kind of fun, as it involved getting chased around, thrown into walls, and getting tackled several times. Next thing you knew your character was dead during the attack scene after Mindy accused Ethan. You getting killed got them off track.

You stuck around on set for the rest of the time until your last scene which would be the reveal. Your character was Ethan's accomplice, who would make calls, do occasional killing, and vouched for him if they got suspicious.

"now die a fucking virgin" Jenna seethes out as Jack's characters dies by getting stabbed in the throat. You scream out and run towards his "dead boddy and hold him "please don't leave" you sobbed out. Then your character dies by being shot in the back. You flop down on the ground next to jack, holding his hand, talking about how in another happier life you would've gotten away with the gruesome crimes you did, and would've graduated college and got married. Melissa walks up to you, shooting you in the head, and then your part is done.

At the premiere of the movie interviewers went wild and swarmed around you asking questions about you it felt to play the roles, and how was your reaction to the fans seeing you both in the same movie. You had know about the shipping mostly from fan edits of you both. And the reason why the public was shipping you is because they didn't know you and Jack were dating for 3 years. Tonight you guys were revealing it.

"How do you both feel about being shipped together by the fans?" the interviewer asks. You and Jack look at eachother with a grin. "Well funny thing is that me and Y/N have been dating for 3 years so I mean it kinda makes us feel giddy" Jack says with a confident look on his face as his arm is wrapped around your waist. All the interviewers had the most priceless reactions after the statement. Made you wonder how people on social media were gonna take it.

When you were on your way home, you checked Twitter and Instagram. You both were shocked to see people were calling you the hottest couple, and some made comments about the fact that you hid it for 3 years, but some weren't shocked because they kind of already had hints and figured it out.

Once you got home you and Jack felt so giddy about the things they said, as you got comfortable, making little comments about it, and laughing, as you held eachother. You both got in bed and immediately Javk pulled you right flush to him, as he buried his face into the crook of your neck. It was nights like this after a busy day that felt the most euphoric. Holding eachother thinking about how you would go about the next day, and just having some cute pillow talk. You both decided to have a scream movie marathon as you fell asleep, feeling eachother's closeness and warmth against eachother. You were so happy to be with this amazing boy.

You both decided to go out the next morning, and get some things to eat, and go shopping, and just have a little day together in celebration of your reveal, and finishing the movie. As you got home there were a ton of notifications on your phone. You opened your phone to see, and saw a post of Twitter, saying " Jack Champion and Y/N L/N spotted today at ///", the post had several pictures of you and Jack walking. You called him over to see. and once he saw he laughed. You closed your phone and looked up at the tall, curly haired, giddy boy you lived with all your heart. He wrapped him arms around you and laid kisses on the crown of you head, and going down to your neck.

"On camera and off, we're always sweet as sugar, and I love that about us. I'm happy we don't have to hide anymore, baby. I love you with all my heart" Jack coos at you, his arms still wrapped around you leaning his head on yours. You sigh in contentment and entangle your fingers with his. "I'm so glad we don't have to hide anymore either. I love you with all my heart, jack". You both looked up at eachother smiling, as you leaned into eachother, and your lips finally met his you knew that no matter what, Jack wold always be by your side, and he knew you would always be by his.

do not plagiarize, translate,or repost my work.

finished- April 8, 2023 , 9:16 AM

[buzzcutlip]

Prompt: Blindfolds Carmen x Fem!Reader Explicit! Words: 2091 A/N: warning for slight pain!kink, a pinch of dom!Reader undertones (but not really, depends on how you read it) Written for Olive @carmenberzattosgf and her Bearblr Promptober (I'm late for this prompt but I say f*ck it, also there are no naked enough photos of Carmy so Jeremy's CK photo must do it) 

“I promise I do understand what you mean,” you tell Carmen defensively, nodding vigorously in the hope that he’ll see you’re on his side.

“How fucking hard is it to understand that there’s a difference?!” he fumes. “Cicero must think I’m a joke!”

The drama with the Orwellian butter from the afternoon carries on into the late evening.

It’s just you and Carmy left in the kitchen—him pacing behind the stainless steel counters on the freshly scrubbed white-tiled floor. You’re not even sure how you ended up staying. Normally, you’d leave as soon as the restaurant closed and the front-of-house staff was no longer needed.

“Fucking stupid,” Carmen mutters next to you, staring down at four plates of butter, some more yellowish, some paler. His chef's jacket is unbuttoned, revealing a tight white T-shirt underneath. The casualness makes him seem less like your boss and more like the guy you've fancied since day one.

“Because of Jimmy, I have to start again and find a good enough substitute,” Carmen explains, pointing at the plates in frustration. “But are we here for second-best?” His blue eyes find yours, piercing you with their intensity.

“No,” you answer as quickly and resolutely as you can. By now, you’ve realized that, for some reason, you’ve become Carmen’s accomplice in this butter war.

He nods, agreeing, then returns his attention to the butter slices, hands on his hips. His hair is curling wildly in all directions. “I could tell which one is from Orwell without even looking.”

And you believe him. The way you look at him is filled with assurance and maybe a little bit of admiration.

---

That’s how a late evening turns into an unexpected night adventure. Carmen prompts you to fetch your dark blue silk scarf from your locker, and you use it to blindfold him, tying it securely at the back of his head. The challenge is set, and both of you know that it’s only so Carmen can prove to Carmen that he, in fact, is right.

“Okay,” you say, pushing the first plate in front of him along with a spoon. The bright kitchen light reflects off the metal as Carmen, standing close by, reaches for the plate blindly, pulls it closer, and picks up the spoon.

He’s methodical. He smells the butter first, carefully avoiding getting any on his nose—which you find amusing and barely manage to stifle a laugh. He then scoops up a bit with the spoon. For the first time, you let yourself openly watch his hands, study the tattoos on them. At The Bear, Carmen is practically a god. You always feigned indifference, not wanting to disrupt your colleagues’ admiration for him. But here, experiencing "Carmen in the wild," you like what you see more than you should.

His hands hover expectantly, searching for the next plate. You move closer to switch them out, placing the next sample within his reach. This time, he brings the spoon to his lips almost immediately after smelling it, his brows furrowing in concentration. As the tasting goes on, you find yourself less focused on the results and more on Carmen himself—his movements, the way his jaw flexes as he savors each flavor, the quiet but fierce dedication in his expression. You catch a glimpse of his gold chain, partially hidden by the collar of his T-shirt, and wonder about what’s beneath the fabric. You’ve often seen him in just a T-shirt, revealing his strong arms with tattoos and unexpectedly defined muscles.

“It’s the third one,” Carmy says at last, after he’s tasted all the samples. “We’re going with the second one. That’ll be the substitute. If Cicero wants it, he can fucking have it,” he sighs deeply.

The silence between you stretches, almost becoming a presence in itself, filled with the soft hum of the kitchen's appliances. Carmen’s breath is steady, his focus elsewhere as he reaches up to untie the blindfold.

“No, don’t,” you stop him hastily. “There’s one more thing.” He tilts his head in your direction, and before he can protest, you lean in and press your lips to his in a slow, chaste kiss. His skin feels warm beneath your touch, and the fact that he can’t see you, that he’s relying solely on sensation, gives you a thrill.

When you kiss him again, you dare to touch his chest, gripping his bicep for support. Relief floods you when he returns the kiss, heat radiating from your stomach to your lower belly and chest. Your cheeks are burning with pride and satisfaction.

Carmen tastes rich and velvety, with a hint of sweetness—like the butter.

“Can you taste me?” you whisper, your upper body pressing against his firm torso, your chest against his.

“Yeah,” Carmen nods, his mouth already seeking yours. For the next few moments, you let him kiss you deeply, only to pull away teasingly, making him blindly chase your lips again and again.

You can tell Carmen is getting just as worked up as you are from the way his hands, strong and steady from years in the kitchen, rest on your sides, his fingertips lightly grazing your waist as if testing whether you’re really there. Neither of you speaks; words don’t seem to belong in this space, where everything feels on the verge of spilling over.

“No touching,” you chide playfully. “I mean it.” You take a step back, and after a moment, Carmen lets his arms fall limply by his sides.

“Hmm,” you murmur, taking in his appearance. His lips are swollen and dark from kissing, his chest rising and falling with each breath. You’ve made a mess of him, and you like it. There’s a dampness between your thighs, which doesn’t surprise you.

“When we’re deprived of one sense, the others heighten,” you muse aloud, moving closer to him again. You can see the gentle rise and fall of his chest. You place your palm against Carmen’s heart, feeling the steady, rapid thudding. He stills, and in the next moment, you pinch his nipple between your fingers, hard.

Carmen gasps, his whole body jolting. His lips part in a sharp intake of breath, and his muscles tense beneath your touch. Surprisingly, or maybe not, he doesn’t say a word. Your hand lingers on his chest, fingers grazing the cotton fabric as you release the pinch, then trail downward slowly. You reach the hem of his T-shirt, quickly pulling it up and over his head, careful not to disturb the blindfold.

His upper body is bared to your gaze. The rucked-up T-shirt reveals his chest dusted with fine hair, with a red mark blooming where you pinched him.

“It hurt,” Carmen says shakily, his jaw clenching, but he doesn’t move.

“Maybe,” you reply softly. “But I think you liked it.” You lean close, your lips brushing against the silk covering his eyes and the edge of his ear. He shudders at your nearness. His hands twitch at his sides, resisting the urge to touch you and break the rules.

You pull back slightly to see his expression—lips parted, brow furrowed as if struggling for composure. A faint flush creeps up his neck, which you find especially endearing.

You can’t help but push him further. There's something thrilling about seeing Carmen Berzatto, the chef who’s always in control, like this—unraveled. Your fingertips trace the lines of his muscles, moving down from his pectorals, savoring the warmth of his skin. His breath hitches when your nails lightly scratch his abdomen.

You press closer, heart pounding in your ears, and when you kiss him this time, it’s not gentle or teasing. It’s desperate and deep, a clash of tongues and teeth as your hand slips inside his pants and underwear.

“Fuck,” Carmen groans, breaking the kiss, his head falling back. You know you have him at your mercy, and it turns you on more than you’d like to admit. At the same time, you wish you could see his face without the scarf.

A sudden clatter from the restaurant breaks through the haze, snapping both of you back to reality. You pull away abruptly, breathless. The absence of his warmth leaves you aching.

“I…” you start, but whatever you were going to say hangs unfinished. The intensity between you crackles, and you wonder if you’ve pushed too far, or not far enough. Without a word, you reach up to untie the blindfold, your fingers trembling as you loosen the knot.

Carmen blinks against the light, taking a moment before he looks at you. He glances down at his chest, then pulls the T-shirt over his head, adjusting it over the bulge in his pants.

“You don’t have to—” he begins, voice rough, but he trails off, running a hand through his curls. He looks like he’s struggling to regain control, to find the right words.

“Carmen, I’m—” you start, but he cuts you off.

“Don’t,” he says quickly, shaking his head, a slight frown on his face. "Don't apologize. It’s… fine."

You’re surprised by the sting of tears in your eyes.

“I should probably… get going,” you say, the words sounding like a retreat, which you hate.

Carmy glances at your feet before meeting your gaze. “I don’t know what… this is,” he says, his voice low and rough. “I can’t afford to be distracted.”

His words hit harder than you expect, even though a part of you anticipated them. “Distracted?" you echo, a tinge of bitterness creeping into your tone.

He’s very obviously fighting his own embarrassment, and you watch him intently, hanging on his every word, waiting for him to say you can’t work here anymore after what just happened, never wanting to see you again. 

“Fuck,” Carmen squeezes his eyes closed, palm running over his face. “You should just go. It’s late anyway.”

The words sting, even though you understand why he’s saying them. There’s a tightness in your chest as you take a step back, creating distance that feels both necessary and painful. "Right," you murmur, forcing a small, tense smile. "Of course."

You turn to leave, but before you reach the door, you hear his voice again, softer this time, almost hesitant. "I’m not… I’m not saying I don’t want this," he says, and you freeze, your hand lingering on the doorframe. "I just… I don’t know if I can handle everything right now. The restaurant, Cicero, and… this." He gestures between the two of you, his expression conflicted.

You bite your lip, feeling a lump form in your throat. "I get it," you reply, trying to keep your voice steady through the burn of disappointment and regret.  

[billthedrake]

ACCOUNTABILITY (PART TWO)

Jim felt deeply ashamed. There was the shame that he'd caved to his baser sexual urges. Even when he having conjugal relations with his wife, the married father imagined he was fucking some nubile 19 year old porn chick from the Hot Guys Fuck video. Then, as Jim got closer and closer to cumming, Jim imagined a hot, jacked college dude in bed with them, hot masculine hands touching his body while he fucked. The very forbidden notion made him cum like gangbusters. And kept him hard after.

But the real shame came from the fact that his son had more willpower than than him. After the two escalated their infractions on the Covenant Watch app, Ryan stopped looking at porn. Cold turkey, stopping as quickly as he started. There were some exchanges of eye contact between them, almost like Ryan was apologizing silently for stopping the little game the two were playing.

Jim never felt prouder of his boy. He'd imagined his role as a father was to lead his family by Christian example, and here his eldest was taking that role for him. It was humbling as hell, but Jim McCready also realized that humility was part of the church's teachings. His Ryan had led him astray almost to teach him that lesson.

And it was reassuring to have his world returned. Family life. Church twice a week, dinners together, soccer practice for the younger kids, football games on Friday.

Thanksgiving Eve was the big end of regular season for Ryan's team. Practically a high holiday in their small town. It was a close game, which only made the victory that much more thrilling. On a Ryan McCready TD catch no less.

It was a storybook end to his son's high school football career, which is what made the notifications on his phone bright and early Thanksgiving morning that much more of a surprise.

Covenant Watch showed 92 infractions.

"Fuck!" Jim thought to himself, almost saying it out loud. He was mad at Ryan, genuinely mad. This wasn't dipping his toes into sin, it was wallowing in it. And Jim was mad that Ryan was doing this only because the teen expected his father wouldn't do shit to stop him. Jim was angry he'd been made accomplice to this, because of his own weakness.

Jim slipped on some casual clothes and made his way to his study. He wasn't sure he could use the excuse of checking work emails on Thanksgiving morning, but he needed privacy.

Every video was a gay porn video. Jim began clicking on each link. There were ones of jocks with coaches, and ones with two college-looking guys fooling around. There were amateur hookup ones, and some gloryhole cocksucking vids. Jim was lightheaded as he watched each one.

He wasn't going to get through 92 of them, or close. He didn't have time. And he was too turned on. He quietly lowered his sweats and spit into his palm. He went back to one of the coach and jock ones and pressed play. Four tugs was all it took for the man to send his cum flying all over his desk.

"Fuck!" he grunted as he came down. He grabbed some Kleenex to wipe off and clean up. He felt out of control, like a teenager, like Ryan, but strangely the intense emotions of guilt were gone. A good orgasm will do that for you.

Even when his son came down for breakfast, sleepy from what was clearly a late night stroking off, Jim didn't feel self conscious. Ryan and he had more in common than he ever expected. Jim wondered if he'd have to have a talk to check in with his son.

Ryan took a private moment later that morning to lean in and whisper to his father. "I needed to treat myself after winning the game last night," he said. "Hope that's OK, Dad."

Jim McCready was in full accomplice mode now. Ryan knew he wasn't going to say anything or do anything. And the comment was as much to save face for Jim as anything.

Still, the father didn't want to let on that anything bothered him. If Ryan was gonna make Jim his accountability accomplice, he was gonna lean into it all. "With that catch buddy, you probably earned more than 92 dings."

Ryan was surprised, at first. But then broke into a smile. "That was pretty awesome, right?"

Jim clipped his son's strong back with his hand, a paternal pat of affection. "Insane, Killer..." Jim winked. "Doesn't mean you don't get out of helping out your mother today, though."

Ryan laughed. One of his duties was to help with the prep and cleanup for his mom for Thanksgiving dinner. He was kind of her go-fer for the morning. "I'll get dressed."

***

Jim felt like he'd handled it well. This was just Ryan's hormones spiking. The kid would get over his kink soon. Find his willpower again. Hopefully settle down with a steady girfriend, though Jim's doubts there were starting to nag him.

Besides, he had his own hormones out of control. He found himself with an alone moment and idly pulled out his phone. "Two can play at this, kiddo," he said quietly and pulled up Pornhub. Selected Gay setting and searched for "coach." Some of the thumbnails looked fake. 28-year old "jocks" with 30-year old "coaches." Fake sets, fake clothes. But one was real enough. Hidden camera, dim lighting, real bodies. The jock was of age, Jim reflected thankfully, but maybe a college freshman or sophomore. Bent over a standard-issue metal desk and getting railed by a beefy coach, zip up top and whistle around his neck and naked from the waist down.

Jim McCready was hard as a rock. Even after jerking off that morning, his dick pressed a thick ridge in his jeans. He didn't have time to watch more than this and over the next four minutes he forgot he was doing this to taunt Ryan. He was caught up in the fantasy and his own bodily response to watching two men fuck.

"Fuck," he hissed as he closed the vid and slid the phone back in his pocket. He was hyperventilating. He reached down to grip his boner, trying to pinch it into submission. Thinking about his work stresses or the friendly wager he had with his buddies on the Cowboys and Lions games that day.

When he was presentable, he made his way back to the family room. The younger kids were watching some movie on TV, and the domestic scene made Jim feel another pang of guilt. He had a wonderful family, a devout family, and here he and Ryan were sinning. Not just sinning, but enjoying their mutual sin.

But the father let his attention drift into the movie.

"Hey Dad," Ryan's voice said from behind him. Jim turned to see his strapping son standing there, car keys in hand. "Mom wanted me to go pick up some milk at the convenience store... need anything?"

Jim used to chastise Ryan for going out underdressed for winter weather, but the kid seemed not to have a normal relationship to cold. It might be Alabama, but it was still November. Only now the father was glad to see Ryan in just shorts and his FCA t-shirt, the gold cross necklace matching his father's. Maybe it was the way Ryan's clean-cut image hid a truly naughty side.

"I'm good, buddy," he said, trying to take his eyes off his son's lean, tall, muscular body.

Jim was still processing his thoughts after Ryan left when he felt his phone vibrate. There was a text from Ryan.

"Good taste."

It was cheeky and impertinent and just the right thing to write to turn Jim on. Somehow Ryan's text arrived right before the Covenant Watch notification. "Video watched: Pornub, Coach fucks player after the game"

Jim McCready's heart pounded. He slyly looked to make sure the family was engrossed in the TV before he typed a reply. "I would have thought 92 would have been enough for you, kiddo." Gently chastising but mostly playful.

Ryan's reply was immediate. "I'm 18, Dad. What do you think?"

Jim's throat felt tight. He was getting horny. Again. The idea of Ryan getting off multiple times a day fueled his imagination. "I think I should be stricter with you," he wrote back. Jim couldn't tell if he meant it tongue-in-cheek or earnestly.

Ryan didn't reply. Hell, for all the times he'd told his son not to text and drive, he should have been happy. But Jim worried he'd put an end to his game. And he hated that he wanted it to continue.

Ryan picked it back up when the father least expected it. There was always a flurry of activity in the McCready household as the kids helped their mother bring all the food to the table and as Jim poured the water glasses at each place setting. They were just sitting down when Ryan appeared, face flushed. His son was up to something, Jim knew, and from the buzz in his pocket, Jim had a good idea what.

"Let's say grace," he said. Then he led the family in prayer.

The meal was sweet torture for Jim. Keeping his good-father poker face on while they ate and talked. He didn't feel boner-horny but that kind of nervous energy horny. And Ryan's flitting eye contact had something else going on. The kiddo was nervous.

And when they'd finished up, Ryan offered to do Jim's normal task of cleaning up. "You go watch the game, Dad," he said. "I got this."

Jim's wife gave a look of pleasant surprise. Jim returned it the best he could but he had a feeling Ryan had an ulterior motive.

The women in the McCready household would watch Auburn football but had no use for the NFL. So Jim's wife and their two daughters got ready to go out to the park for a post-meal walk. They were always making talk about eating too much and needing to walk off their meal.

They'd barely left when Jim checked his phone. The Covenant Watch notification read: " Video watched: XVideos, Gaycest, Sauna Time." The father looked over at his two boys. Mitchell was engrossed in the game. Ryan was pretending to be, while sneaking glances over at his dad.

Jim gulped. His heart raced. This was so wrong.

Slyly he picked up his phone again and typed out a text to Ryan. "Can't wait to watch it buddy." Blushing as he did.

Ryan smiled as he read it. And quickly typed back a reply. "It's really good, Dad."

Jim was throwing hard. He didn't really want Ryan to see his boner, and he definitely didn't want Mitchell seeing it. With a lewd thought the father realized his younger son would probably grow into the studly jock looks Ryan had. But that was a ways off.

The dad slid the phone into his pocket and waited for a commercial break. His hardon had almost gone down. Almost. He stood up from the couch and made his way to the restroom. He probably didn't have a lot of time, but he needed to watch this, at least part of it.

His heart was in his throat he was so excited. The title promised the taboo material, but surely this wasn't gonna be what Jim thought it was? As he clicked and watched, it was. There wasn't any explicit dad-and-son dialogue, but the two guys were clearly cast that way, in a sauna, getting hard with each other, before sucking each other.

Jim wanted to stroke. But he was already taking longer in there than he should. If Mitchell hadn't been around, he thought with a shudder. With a pinch at the base of his prick, he willed himself into a softer state then stuffed his meat back into his briefs.

His face was flushed when he returned. Ryan noticed and had a grin. Mitchell was oblivious.

"Good?" came Ry's text.

Unconsciously, Jim nodded. But he typed anyway. "The best I've seen."

Ryan gave a darting glance over to his little brother. The jock was enjoying the sneaking around, Jim knew. Jim couldn't tell if he enjoyed that part too or if it was just uncomfortable torture.

A message came in on Jim's phone. "I've thought about that for a while."

Jim hadn't. But he knew he would now, and the idea Ryan had perved on him only made the idea hotter. "Yeah buddy?" he typed, now getting into the flirtation.

"You have no idea Dad." Ryan's cocky expression was giving way to a shy one.

Jim grinned now. "Maybe you can tell me sometime."

"I'd like that sir."

Jim McCready was boned now. Full on hard. He angled his body so Mitch couldn't see. But he spread his legs so Ryan could.

The high school senior smirked and did his own manspreading. There was a hard ridge riding up his son's loose shorts.

Just then the front door opened, the sound coming in from the other room. The women were back.

***

Ryan woke up late. He'd stayed up edging before finally shooting a huge load. It wasn't quite 92 videos this time, but it was a couple dozen. And some incest porn stories. He was a little mad at himself for even denying himself porn before.

He had to laugh at his morning wood now. His father had actually eyed up his cock. And shown his own. Ryan leaned up in bed. Plenty of time to take care of his needs later. Maybe he and Dad could tease each other some more. Ryan was VERY surprised at how this had escalated. Maybe the acorn doesn't fall far from the tree.

And, as he checked his phone, there were 117 Covenant Watch infractions. Most incest themed, at least the top listings. Ryan didn't bother to scroll through them all.

"Fuck!" he gasped.

He got dressed and made his way down to the kitchen. It was empty and he could see why. It was 10 AM. His mom and sisters liked to hit the Black Friday sales. Ryan wandered through the house. He had a good idea where his father was. Indeed as he approached his father's study, he saw the door cracked. He gave a quick knock.

"Come in, buddy," came his father's voice.

His dad was seated as his desk, in his preppy polo shirt that molded to his fit muscular upper body. From where Ryan stood he wasn't sure what his father was wearing below the waist, but the man's hand was down at his crotch, clearly jerking off while he held the phone in his other hand.

Jim looked up at him with a horny look. "Mitchell's over at his friend's, the girls are gone... it's just us, Killer." The tone was jocular but with a raspy edge to it.

"Yeah?" Ryan asked. The implications setting in.

Jim nodded and with a fateful motion he set down his phone and stood up. The man was indeed naked beyond the polo, and a thick hard ridge of dad meat stood up, a slight curve to the otherwise ramrod straight boner.

"Fuck!" his son gasped. Any retreat of his morning wood was giving way to a renewed hardon.

Jim's heart raced. This was so wrong, and he couldn't even believe he was doing this. Showing off his cock to Ry. But the young stud had worked him up, enraged him as surely as waving a red flag at an angry bull. The father's libido was now out of control. "You wanted to see me, right?"

Ryan nodded. He'd been the one to push the envelope so it was wild to see his father take the initiative like this. Silently he pushed his own shorts down, over his matching teen boner.

"Nice..." Jim grinned. "You're hotter than those porn dudes," he added.

Ryan could barely speak he was so horny. "You, too. I mean... fuck!"

Jim walked around, slowly, his thick hard paternal dick waving some with his steps. "We got a few hours alone, buddy."

Ryan was moving toward his dad, too. Was this really gonna happen? The touch of his father's hand on his hip was the first indication it would. Then a second later, their dicks touched, two McCready cocks making contact.

"God help me, son," Jim hissed as leaned in and turned his head just slightly before his lips pressed against Ryan's.

The jock was light headed as he felt his father's tongue trace his lips, then press into Ryan's opening mouth. It was his first french kiss was a dude, and it was his own dad. The videos of incest had been hot as fuck, but this was on another level. Pure mindblowing thrill. He hissed back and started feeling up any bit of his dad's body he could.

Jim was doing the same, humping Ryan's hard crotch and feeling up the kid's bare ass. "My room or yours buddy?" the man finally asked with a bedroom voice Ryan had never heard from his father. It was one that could have barely imagined. Sultry, deep, and playful.

"God, yours, Dad," he hissed. It was SO wrong to fool around in his parent's bed, and yet that's what Ryan wanted.

Jim grinned at that and gave Ryan's rump a light slap. For 18, the kid had an amazing rump, muscular and thick. "Naughty boy," he hissed. "My room it is."

Ryan's heart was pounding double time as his Dad led the way. Jim had an incredible ass, too, meatier and thicker with age. But his father was in shape and still a total stud. The two stripped down completely before the man sat on the bed's edge and pulled Ryan's cock body toward him. They kissed in that position a second, before Jim grunted and used his strength to leverage his football jock son up and on to the mattress.

Ryan was seeing a new Jim McCready, and feeling his father in all the man's nakedness too, as Jim climbed on top of his son, kissing and mauling every inch of the younger flesh.

"Dad," Ryan grunted. So turned on, but his mind racing a million miles an hour. "We could get caught."

"Fuck yeah we could," Jim growled before covering his son's mouth with his own. Again, that deep tongue kiss, more urgent than before. Jim McCready was full-on enraged with lust and it was rubbing off on Ryan. The older man had a grin when he finally pulled back. "But we're probably not gonna."

Already his was using his legs to push his son's legs apart. "You cherry, Ry?" he asked in a throaty rasp.

Ryan nodded. He was nervous but harder than he'd ever been in his life. Feeling his dad's body, seeing his dad's cock, and witnessing his dad's sexual hunger. That gold cross necklace a reminder of his father's outstanding public persona, a contrast to the sin they were committing now. "Yes, sir."

That answer made Jim's nostrils flare in excitement. Already he was reaching over for lube in the nightstand. It didn't get a lot of use. His and Kelly's sex life was normal, vanilla, and while Jim resorted to masturbation some he kept his habit in check. At least until lately.

"You can say no anytime, Ryan," he said, the father role returning, even as he applied the liquid to his son's jock hole.

"I want it, Dad," Ryan answered, his body breaking into goosebumps to feel his Dad's finger circle then penetrate his tight sphincter. He looked down at where Jim's arm was wedged between his spread legs and back up into this dad's hungry eyes. "I'm scared," the teen added. "But I want it."

Jim nodded. His finger pressed in and out slowly. "I got ya buddy. I just want this SO bad." He leaned in and kissed his boy while he fingered Ryan with a second digit. Then a third.

They didn't extend the foreplay. They were too worked up, and they'd been building up to this for the last 24 hours.

Ryan wish it didn't hurt, but the penetration stung.

"There, buddy," Jim said, the softer side of his bedroom voice coming out. "I'm inside in ya, Killer. Inside my son."

"Fuck, Dad," Ryan gasped. The psychological side of the incest fuck was winning out over the physical sensation.

More dad dick was sliding in him. "This is what you wanted right? What you wanted when you first sent me those videos?"

Ryan pulled his legs wider. Trying to accept his father inside him. He needed every inch of his dad now. "I don't know. Is this what you wanted when you set up the accountability buddies thing?"

Jim bottomed out and wildly kissed his son again. Not a protracted kiss, but deep. He pulled back with a leer on his face. Already his was pumping Ryan, fucking him. "I had no fucking idea, Killer. No idea how depraved I was."

"I like you depraved, Dad." Ryan said, maybe louder than he should. But they had the house to themselves. Hopefully.

His dad's hips pumped faster. The physicality of the cock thrusting in and out felt good to Ryan, the harshness turning into a pleasant intensity that made his ass and cock and hole buddy buzz.

"You got it, Ry. Gonna be hard to keep my hands off you." The man was losing focus, the pleasure and tightness of Ryan's ass getting him close so soon. He paused and reached over for the lube again. He'd watched this in the videos, the bottom jerking off while getting fucked. He wanted his son to get off, too, like one of those porn dudes.

The second Ryan's hand wrapped around his lubed prick, the sensations in his ass felt night and day different. No longer challenging, every movement of his father's cock, whether small or deeper, made his cock feel more pleasurable.

"Go for it, buddy," Jim urged. Fucking faster, leaning in more to gaze down into Ryan's youthful handsome face. The father was gonna cum any minure, any second, but he hoped his son would get there too.

"Fuck me Dad!" the jock cried, his toes curling and his body entering a deep O.

"God yeah, Ry! Shoot it!" Jim watched in excitement as heavy ropes of white cum shot out and landed on Ryans' mostly smooth ripped torso.

Three more hard shoves was all it took for Jim to unload. Ass fucking was so different than sex with Kelly. Jim was addicted.

The father and son made out, clinging to one another while the dad's prick slowly softened and retreated it.

Jim was in tender lover mode as he stroked Ryan's hair and held the boy close. "So.. I got your cherry...."

"Yes, sir," Ryan said. It was wild the number hormones did on you, the teen thought. Making you hard charging one minute, clingy the next. He'd experienced this with girls, but with his dad it was a hundred times deeper. "I'm glad you got it."

"I'm going to hell," Jim said, half a joking comment but the religious misgivings were real and coming on strong.

"It'll be worth it," Ryan said softly. "Please... don't freak out on me, Dad."

Jim gave a smile and patted Ryan's warm chest. "OK, no freaking out, buddy. Promise." He looked up at the clock. "We have maybe two hours. Wanna get showered off?"

Ryan nodded. He was glad his father helped him up off the bed. The jock felt surprisingly drained from the sex.

The energy came back as they shared a shower, though. Sudsing and rinsing each other. Kissing each other beneath the spray. Getting hard again. Jim held his son and pulled the wet warm athletic body toward his. The kid was right. Hell would be worth it. His hands snaked down to cup Ryan's bubble ass, a finger digging in naughtily.

"How you doing down there, Killer?" Jim asked, concern but also flirtation in his voice. The father felt very honored to have taken his stud son's anal virginity.

Ryan gave a soft grin. "Empty, sir."

Jim let out a soft grunt. He kissed Ryan, harder, then pulled off and turned the football jock around.

Ryan knew what was happening and he wanted it. Who knows how often he and Dad would have the chance for this. He braced one arm against the tile wall and reached back to pull one cheek apart, letting his father in.

Jim was fuck hard now, and quickly sudsed up for lubrication. The entry was easy now, Ryan now learning how to relax.

Ryan grunted a grunt of pleasure. His dad hit some amazing spot deep inside him. "Yes," he hissed just as he felt his dad's lips kiss the back of his neck.

"It's like fucking honeymoon sex," Jim growled. Thrusting into his boy once more.

It was a thrill to hear his dad curse and get that bedroom voice. But Ryan's head also went to the idea of his dad fucking his mother on their honeymoon. Maybe that's when Ryan was conceived...

Their pairing was less verbal as the men communicated with their bodies. Jim's slow but urgent pump in and out of Ryan's ass, the father's hands caressing and holding the jock's wet muscle. Ryan arching his back in just the right position to be taken.

Jim came alone this time. His muscular middle aged body thrusting more spasmodically into his son's smoother one, the grip around Ryan's torso getting tighter and more possessive as he nutted inside his son's bare ass for a second time. Then the soft kisses and relaxation returning.

"God, Dad," Ryan whined. He so turned on. He never wanted this feeling to end yet he also needed to get off.

There was that light smack again as Jim withdrew. "Turn around," came the back of an order.

Ryan complied automatically, showing off a hardon that was matched in size and shape to his father's. Not a twin, but clearly related.

Already Jim was crouching down in the shower, the spray soaking his hair as he leaned in and swallowed his boy's prick.

"Yeah!" Ryan gasped. He was so primed it wasn't going to take long. Just six or so bobs of his father's mouth on his cock did it. Ryan was spurting hard and heavy into Jim's craw.

The jock didn't know what to expect but he watched as his dad clearly swallow it all. The man had a proud look on his face when he finally stood up too. "All right, let's get dressed. I better air out the bedroom too."

Ryan was concerned that the post-nut business-like vibe was his Dad's way of feeling guilty. Or dealing with the guilty. As he went back to his room and got properly dressed, Ry felt like he should be feeling guilty himself. But he wasn't. He went to his father's study and gathered his and his dad's shorts and brought them and his father's phone to him.

"No one can fucking know," Jim said. Not harshly but clearly needing to say it.

"Of course, Dad. Jesus."

Jim smiled and patted Ryan's arm. "You've certainly grown into a fine looking man."

Ryan grinned back. He could see a glint in his dad's eyes. "You wanting round three, sir?"

Jim laughed. "Can't fucking risk it, buddy. But yeah..."

An idea occurred to him. "Why don't you keep a watch?"

That got the dad excited. "You mean?"

Ryan nodded. So Jim stepped to the bedroom window, where he could peer out onto the driveway.

Meanwhile his son knelt down and started unzipping his father's jeans. The dick was plump and firmed out completely in Ryan's fingers.

"Oh yeah, buddy," Jim hissed. Ryan had about as much technique as he did - not a lot - but it didn't matter. His kid was eager and the idea of getting a Ryan McCready blowjob had Jim getting close in due order.

"I'm gonna blow," that bedroom voice hissed. A warning.

Ryan kept at it, though, sucking a little faster and trying to take another inch of his dad's cock into his throat. The whole experience was incredible. He didn't even know if he'd enjoy sucking another guy remotely like he did his father.

The cum shot wasn't heavy. Just a spurt and some dribbles. But Ryan was tasting his dad's cum for the first time. Sweet and briny. He knew he'd want more in the future.

He finally backed off to see his dad grinning down on him, even as the man was already tucking himself back into his jeans. "That, young man, was amazing." He looked out the window. "Fuck!" he grunted.

Ryan didn't need to be told. He got up and made his way down to the family room. He turned on the TV and found some ESPN channel, right before he heard his mom and sisters walk in.

"You're dressed," his mother said when she saw Ryan. "I thought you might sleep in the whole day." Then, "Where's your dad?"

Ryan shrugged, playing dumb. "I don't know. In his study, maybe."

Already his sisters were rushing past with shopping bags, acknowledging their older brother, but barely.

Ryan's phone buzzed. He saw he had a message from his friend Kyle. But the latest one was from his father. "Thank you, buddy. I owe ya."

Ryan smiled. Then another message came in. "James McCready, Covenant Watch app removed."

"You dog," Ryan quietly said to himself. Then proceeded to remove the app on his own phone.

[freedelusionshere]

I don't want to set any unreasonable expectations, but the sleight of hand and legerdemain mention in S3 could also be referring to the status of Syd and Carmy's relationship.

While I think it definitely refers to the fine dining smoke and mirrors going on (while The Bear is broke, changing the menu everyday Jeffery Ballet, trying to recreate Empire), and Carmy being trapped in his own illusions of grandeur (and trapping others with him, primarily Syd, who shields the others), it could also be about their relationship.

There is plenty of subtle evidence of stuff happening, and maybe more off screen. First and foremost, their comfort at showing resentment of each other while sticking it out regardless. They behave like a married couple bickering in several scenes. There is a subtle progression here:

Syd calling herself his accomplice is a big one for me. Seems a bit resigned, doesn't she?

Carmy' wanting to lock down Syd by promising her the star and a partnership agreement to make it legal. Which she is hesitant to do for a number of reasons.

Syd making the margins wider for him after the funeral of Marcus's mother, where the message we know they hear is that they have to look at each other close up. It indicates Syd reaching for him emotionally.

Carmy telling Syd she's dressed nice and obviously wondering where she's been outside the restaurant. The way their voices both get soft in this scene. I know people think stuff will happen with Luca, but really, it set up Syd as "cheating" on their restaurant this season just like he did last season with the C-person.

How did Syd get her apartment lease when she has bad credit and would likely need someone to co-sign? It's not her dad's doing, the show made sure we knew that. It's likely Carmy. And she's on deferred pay.

Carmy saying he's sick of this shit. He is sick of the restaurant. He is very clearly not sick of Syd, though!

Syd treating Nat, Pete, and the baby like family and looking out for them. His whole family pressuring her to sign the agreement.

Carmy telling her to go home and get some rest and he'll finish up in Apologies, and also asking her to be his plus one in public outside the restaurant.

Him cleaning his side of the street up, spraying off shit in the back of The Bear and seeming somehow mostly unbothered and feeling hopeful about the future even after Cicero tells him about pulling the funding and pressuring him to talk to his mom. Why? Because he knows he's going to see Syd later.

Carmy getting ready to go to the Ever dinner. We see he has a scrunchie and there are hairpins on his dresser. Syd pins her hair up for the Ever dinner. She wears scrunchies. It's on the prayer card and Syd is associated with Mikey constantly. Carmy makes sure to get there before her so he can introduce her and have her be seen with him.

Despite what happens with Chef David, he comes out on the other side seeming more clear-headed about what he wants. Then, the other shoe(s) drop in true cliffhanger finale style.

In S4, my expectation is that we're going to get a lot of Syd POV about all of this.