#god i'm Never gonna get this thing done at this rate

[wispurring-moss]

alright i lied, have another out-of-control doodle because the tail-wrapped-around-the-leg thing is killing me inside actually T//w//T

[kittlyns]

Samsung guy also had the audacity to tell me to "just make a new account" and I got so mad cuz like. my only hope of seeing any of my memories from the past 5 years of my life are connected to that one account, and it's not even a guarantee. But it's still a small hope and I'm not giving it up.

[lowkeyrobin]

Hey pookie😽I’d like to request headcanons for the mcyts with an actor/actress s/o.<3 Especially how they’d react to any emotional scenes or if the character that their s/o played dies, im craving some angst right now lol

Ly😻

oooo okay okay ; I'm still very much burned out but unable to give myself a damn break so I apologize for these being so short ; I also named movies to get some inspo so sorry if you don't know any/some of them lol

ALSO!! I'm gonna rework my oneshot links on my masterlist so beware any changes lol

MCYT ; actor reader with death scenes

includes ; tommyinnit, ranboo, badlinu, nihachu & quackity

warnings ; language, talk about death, gore & violence

masterlist

TOMMYINNIT

you played a character in evil dead rise, which tommy got really attached too even though you got like 10 minutes of screen time

genuinley started sobbing and laughing at the same time bc your death was so sad to him for some reason yet so cool and bloody

he looks over at you, jaw dropped like "wtf?"

there's actually tears streaming down his cheeks 💀💀💀

you post a pic of him crying on ur ig story and caption it "he's sad I died"

he logs back into his old letterboxd account to rate it 5 stars

his explanation is "my partner died but good movie. I almost cried again seeing the monster thing at the end though"

RANBOO

you had a little cameo in a quiet place pt2

basically your character was alive for a while and helping out the abbotts until you died saving reagan from one of the death angels

she obviously couldn't hear one behind her and your character had to lunge and save her and sacrifice themselves on the island that she ran off too iykwim

like your character went off with her to keep her safe + you died during that chase/fight scene at the end

ran nearly broke down into tears because you got a solid two hours of time in that movie for all that buildup and shit

TO DIE TOO

they started crying a bit cause like ???

literally gave you an award (a massive hug) for your incredible acting skills bc damn

FREDDIE BADLINU

insidious the red door goes crazy

you bond with dalton at college and help him float around and shit

the demon doesn't like that you're helping him whatsoever so it drags your character into the further

the whole kill is done with you exploring the further for a moment, being hunted down by prey and then jumpscared by the demon

it's not a very emotional death but it scares the fuck out of Freddie

"wait, oh my God, they'll never be able to talk to Dalton about supernatural stuff again! what the hell?"

the death was pointless and for a jumpscare but he couldn't care, he enjoyed watching you on the screen

NIKI NIHACHU

you were in the forever purge

you play a very obviously queer & pro-human rights character who's shit on by all the rich, conservative, ranch owning Texans in the movie

you basically had to sacrifice yourself trying to get to the border in time

in the city scene, you get killed as a protection sacrifice

no way you were letting adela die

niki literally started crying bc there was no reason for your character to give up their life but they did anyways

you were such a w the whole movie and she can't help but rant about that as well

she gives you a round of applause at the end cause like that was a damn good performance cmon now

ALEX QUACKITY

alex is never watching any terrifier movie ever again holy fuck

you skipped over the first one bc you couldn't even watch it again and went to the second because you were in it

he was actually on edge the whole movie

what the hell do you mean you were cut in half??? wtf is this?? saw???

he actually almost puked LMAO

you were laughing the whole time your death was playing

"WHAT THE HELL WHY ARE YOU LAUGHING?? THIS UGLY CLOWN IS KILLING MY PARTNER"

"that mf doesn't know you Alex, I do"

"Okay whatever"

[buggybambi]

exes with benefits | lip gallagher

inspired by: olivia rodrigo's "bad idea, right?" (2023)

wc: 1.83k | nav post mae note: okay i hate the ending of this so if anyone else hates it please lmk and i will adjust it because ugh i changed it like three times and it still feels... meh? idk i feel like i need to make a part two (if people even like this??)

rating: 18+ post, minors dni. :-) content warnings: fem!reader / afab!reader, unwrapped p in v (wrap it before you tap it!), kinda public sex??, exes hooking up, plot with little plot, unsettled ending lmfao, fem!fingering, oral (f recieving) bc lets be honest lip is a munch, brief mention of reader wearing panties/a bra

House parties were never really your "scene".

The chaos and uncertaintiy of whose house you're even in, the smell of colognes and perfumes and sweat, the alcohol being mixed together in plastic cups that are discarded on the floor later that smell like Disneyland if it wasn't cleaned in a month-. Every part of a house party sounds awful. So, why are you standing in one now?

Well, your friend Lauren would be the reason why. Work had been a bitch for her recently - her words not yours - and you had gone through a breakup recently, prompting her to suggest a girl's night out. How you ended up at a house party from the crappy bar she dragged you to in downtown Chicago was beyond you.

"C'mon! This is totally gonna distract you from Lippy and all the drama he brought. To being single!" Lauren drunkingly cheers as she holds up her plastic cup of (you're sure) three different kinds of alcohol. You hold up your glass of water barely, running a hand over your face. "Yeah, can we not announce that?" You ask.

Two seconds later, she's giggling with a guy leading her up the stairs. You sigh, turning to go get some fresh air when there he stands. Lip Gallagher. Your freshly appointed ex-boyfriend. Or Lippy, as Lauren refers to him.

You and Lip had dated for two years, but you'd known him since you were kids. Your relationship was perfect, until one night. When he called you clingy, a bitch - this was of course after not talking to you for almost a whole week. You told him that night you were done with him. That he could call when he figured himself out.

He didn't call. It'd been a month.

It doesn't feel real that time has passed that quickly, because part of you is still stuck in his bedroom. Right where he left you. A lesson well learned.

"Hi." He says, as he stares at you. You stare right back.

"Hi." You manage to get out, clearing your throat. "I have to go-"

"Wait. Can we talk, please?" He asks, walking over to you, a hand on your arm as he whispers to you. The world stops for a pause before you nod. "Fine." You agree.

You let him lead you upstairs into an empty room, taking it in. It looks to be a guest bedroom, few decorations other then picture frames with the "welcome to our home" and flower vases on the nightstands.

"Welcome to my hell" would be a better fit.

"Why are we avoiding each other like this? You've been my best friend since I was fucking ten years old, I don't want us to lose each other like this." He says as you sit on the edge of the bed, taking note of the floral bedspread. "We already lost each other, Lip. A long time ago." You point out.

"Don't do this shit, don't be all cryptic." He rolls his eyes as you stand right back up, almost giving yourself whiplash. But that's disregarded when every memory floods back to you.

"Oh my God! What the hell do you want from me, Lip, huh? You want me to just forget every single thing you said to me? Or maybe you want me to just forget how you avoided me like the damn plague for a week before you finally did call me just to blow up at me and tell me you didn't want to be with me anymore. You can't go from telling me I was your favorite person to telling me you think I'm a bitch. And I can’t even look at my favorite person anymore, so what the fuck do you expect me to do?" You burst out, turning away from him, staring out the window.

It's silent for what feels like an eternity before you feel his arms wrap around your waist from behind. "I don't want to lose you. I- I haven't been me since you left. Please." He isn't sure what he's even begging for from you, but his voice is soft enough where you feel yourself wanting to give in.

This was a bad idea, right? After all, he was your ex. But you're both mature adults, can't two people reconnect? You'd only see him as a friend this time, it wasn't like he had to be something more.

You sigh as you push his arms off, walking for the door, waiting for a moment before locking it. You turn back around to face him, walking over to him and barely grazing his lips with your own to tease him before he kisses you. His hands find themselves on your waist like how he used to put them there when he kissed you like this.

Used. It still doesn't feel real to use parts of your relationship in the past tense. How you used to kiss him, how he used to hold you, how he used to be yours.

You kick your shoes off, and he does the same.

He pushes you back onto the bed, deepening the kiss. His tongue slides into your mouth easily, one hand on your back, the other sliding up your thigh. He knows your body so well, it's almost a science to him. He knows how your body reacts to certain touches. Certain places to kiss to make you giggle. Parts of your body that if he touches them, your back arches or you naturally move closer to them.

Like right now. His hand teasing around your sex, not quite touching where you so desperately want him.

His mouth only parts from yours to begin kissing down your jaw, then onto your neck. Finding solace there, he makes a mark on your pulse point, low moans erupting from you. Hands running through disheveled curls.

His hand finally reaches your cunt, and you hear him groan at the wetness growing on your panties. He looks at you for confirmation, and you nod desperately in return, not sure what he’s planning in that genius brain of his.

He removes your shirt so he can kiss your chest. Then your bottoms, leaving you in only your bra and panties. A finger slides those panties to the side, and he lets out another groan as he slides the digit past your slick folds, and you let out a gasp in return. You give a little tug to his hair and he almost moans at it, which you make a mental note of.

He thrusts his finger out, at a torturously slow pace, all while kissing down your body. You quickly realize when he grins up at you what he wants to do. What he feels he needs to do. You give him a nod of your approval, moans still flooding out.

He stops thrusting and removes his finger, only to replace it with his tongue. Sucking and kissing your clit, sliding his tongue in you while his hands run over skin on your thighs. You bite on your hand just to muffle your moans from the still active party outside, just as his nose bumps your clit.

“Shit, Lip. I'm close- fuck..” You whine as he laps desperately at your sex, and you can feel his smirk. "Language. Let go for me, baby, please." He requests softly, rubbing tiny circles on your clit.

You don't last long after that.

He lets your climax drip down your thighs, grinning to himself as he watches, feeling some of it on his jaw. "Need to feel you, please, Lip." You beg, and he frees himself from his boxers. Giving himself a few strokes before he lines himself up with his enterance. "You ready, sweet angel?" He asks, pressing his forehead against yours and lightly trailing slobbery kisses down your cheek before connecting to your lips. You pull away only after a second, whispering a soft "yes, please" before you're kissing his jaw in anticipation.

He groans, inserting himself past your now damp folds, thrusting gently in and out. He watches as his dick is swallowed by your cunt, your walls fluttering around him like it’s a familiar friend coming back.

Truth be told, he wasn’t sure why he pushed you away. Maybe he let the negative thoughts that you were too good for him take over. Maybe it was just the Gallagher thing to do.

But he’d regret it for the rest of his life.

Your moan brings him back to reality, hands on his shoulders as he finds a new position to fuck deeper into you, and he finds himself groaning as your nails dig into his skin. You quickly learn by the way his dick twitches he enjoys that.

And he learns by the way your walls squeeze around him you like it when he hits that spot in you. The spot that makes your head feel blurry, the spot that replaces every thought with his name. The spot that makes moans come out of you, the spot that makes the familiar heat in your belly grow.

“Fuck, Lip, I’m gonna-” Your words are cut off when he hits that spot again, even with a new angle. His forehead pressed against yours, sweat connecting with sweat. “Shit angel, you were just made for me. Pretty pussy just missed me, huh?” His words slur from the pleasure clouding his senses.

Your moans and mixtures of his name are more of an answer for him. The room smelled like sex, sound of skin slapping against skin filled it. He pressed his lips against yours, swallowing your moans as he rubbed small circles on your aching clit, and he feels the familiar white heat pouring out of your cunt.

He doesn’t last long, burying his seed deep in you. Swallowing your whines and moans as he pulls out, only breaking the kiss to stare at you, both of your chests heaving as you catch your breath. Watch your eyes having a silent conversation with his.

He lays down beside you. He watches as you run a hand over your face, and he decides to wash you both up. Returning with a damp washcloth, he helps get you cleaned up and setting your clothes on the end of the bed.

“So, uhm..” He tries to think of a conversation starter, and you shake your head, holding a hand up. “We shouldn’t have done this.” You whisper, frowning as you grab your clothes, slowly redressing yourself.

“You don’t have to go. We can go back to your place or mine and we can just talk.” You don’t realize he’s begging rather than requesting. This can’t be how you and him say goodbye after seeing each other again for the first time.

"I can't do this, Lip." You point out as you fight to get your shoes on.

You’d only see him as a friend.. biggest lie you ever said.

"I love you." He says. "I was an idiot for not saying it before so I'm saying it now. I'm in love with you and I always will be."

Definetly a lie now.

˙ ✩°˖🌸 ⋆｡˚꩜

thank you for reading! please feel free to engage with this post by reblogging, commenting or sliding into my inbox to leave feedback! i appreciate all of you! if you enjoyed reading this you can definetly check out my lip gallagher masterlist here -> click me!

- mae:)

[apathetic-revenant]

uh...hi?

[head pokes around corner]

so...

I've been back to scrolling around on tumblr for a bit now, and have been really wanting to get back to actually, y'know. being here. posting. not just sort of hanging here invisibly like a mournful ghost, observing but never interacting. that sort of thing. (revenants, after all, are supposed to be corporeal undead.)

but I really wanted to explain why I just kind of abruptly vanished in the first place. no one demanded this of me, but it felt like something I had to do. and then, in the typical way of self-imposed obstacles, it became a massive stumbling block. partly because of the nerves and emotions attached to it, sure, but mostly, tbh, because it was a Task. I recently (about 3 weeks ago now?) started seeing a new psychiatrist and got an adjustment to my ADHD meds which basically made my brain boot up again for the first time in way too long. this is great! but it means I am having to kind of slowly rehab my brain into getting used to doing Literally Anything again, one small step at a time. I am not being hyperbolic when I say I had to gradually build up my executive functioning for a while just to be able to write a tumblr post.

but fuck it! I really wanted to just do this already. so, while I'm sure I'll talk about all this in more detail later, for right now I'm gonna strip this down to the bare essentials just so I can get it done at all.

here's what happened:

in 2020 I had a sudden onset of extremely severe OCD.

no, not about the pandemic, actually. yeah I was anxious about the pandemic but it was a pretty normal level of anxiety for a global pandemic, honestly. my OCD took the form of scrupulosity--essentially, an obsessive worry about being a bad person.

tumblr is....not a GREAT place to be if you have a sudden obsessive fear of being a bad person.

now, to be clear: tumblr did not CAUSE my OCD, and leaving tumblr did not cure it. that's just not how OCD works. later on, I learned that atypical antipsychotics--one of which I had been prescribed around that time, for depression--have been known to cause OCD. is there any way to prove that that's what happened? probably not, at this point! so I've just been kind of sitting with that terrible knowledge for a while.

anyway. I would've had OCD anyway, but reading a regular stream of posts going "hey, here's a really terrible thing you might be doing! you might even be doing it without knowing it! you need to think really hard and be constantly vigilant all the time for any sign that you might be doing this thing!" was basically pouring gasoline on the fire.

I never made an active decision to leave tumblr--if I had I would've said something first. I just kind of thought "god, I can't do this right now" one day and didn't open the app, which turned into days and then weeks and then months, and still things weren't getting better.

it's hard to express exactly how harrowing that whole experience was. actually I just started thinking about it and realized I would never finish this post tonight if I tried to get into it just now. so I won't. let's just say: It Was Bad.

but, by an astronomical stroke of luck, I ended up getting referred to not just an OCD therapist, not just the only OCD therapist in the state who took Medicaid, but the only OCD therapist in the state who took Medicaid and also she was really good at her job. I genuinely think that woman saved my life.

OCD therapy is one of those "the only way out is through" kind of things. it's brutal and also quite surreal, but it has a high success rate and is very effective. OCD is not a thing that you can cure, per se, but it went from completely dominating every waking moment of my life to being something that I occasionally have to yell at in much the same way as when the cat starts knocking things off my desk at 3 in the morning.

but, the thing was, it took a year-and-a-bit before my therapist and I agreed that I had probably "graduated" as she put it. so, by the time I felt able to go back on tumblr without my brain catching on fire again, it had been so long that I didn't know how to do it. I felt like I'd pulled a major dick move by just dropping off without saying anything. I still thought about it (usually late at night, at Time To Think About Every Regret I've Ever Had O'Clock) but my brain very easily goes to a place of "well, no one would really notice or care that I was gone, and if they did they'd be mad at me for having left."

well. earlier this year I started on the road to getting past that idea. shoutout to @fordtato for helping with that, btw.

but it took me a while to work up the courage and then, as previously mentioned, even longer to work up the neurotransmitters.

I think I gotta wrap this up for now cause I don't have much concentration juice left. but, for what it's worth: I had a lot of emotions, coming back and seeing the names of people I used to talk to all the time. I don't know how you feel about me anymore, but I really missed yall. I would like to talk to you again.

[gimmethatagustd]

what the fire gave us (1) | jjk

You were born with a Gift that the world wanted to turn into a weapon. All Jungkook wanted to do was show you that you could find love, even in the dark.

🔥 pairing: shadow elemental!jungkook x water elemental!(f)reader

🔥 rating/genre: BTS | 18+ | dystopian | supernatural | friends to lovers | angst | smut | fluff

🔥 part of a spring offering collab

🔥 wc/date: 9.7k | june 2023

🔥 warnings: major character death (doesn't occur until part 2 but i'm being nice by warning you now; not jk or reader), minor character death, referenced past murder, smut (doesn't occur until part 2), unrequited love (not between reader & jk), reference to human experimentation (nothing is described in detail), persecution of supernatural people, mentions past war, blood, injuries/violence, they all definitely have ptsd, jungkook is a precious baby boy but he'll also kick your ass, JESSI !!!!!! JESSI STANS RISE UP !! JESSI IS THE COMEDIC RELIEF !!! (at least, i find her funny)

🔥 notes: PLEASE, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD READ THE WARNINGS. there is heavy angst, particularly in part 2. i hope that you enjoy this story, even with its cuts and bruises. think of it as stranger things meets avatar the last airbender 😂

🔥 more notes: i was supposed to finish this fic in may lmfao but y'all should know by now that there's no point in trusting me to do what i'm supposed to do. i'm sorry but i will probably never change 😭 ANYWAY. this fic is gonna be over 20k, so i decided to upload it in two parts in an attempt to maintain my sanity cuz this website is trash about handling long posts. i'm almost done with part 2, so it should be uploaded within a week (i swear to GOD i mean it). also, if you follow me on AO3 you'll see that i'm posting this fic in multiple chapters. that's cuz i like the formatting of AO3 chapters better than tumblr. the formatting fits the story better, too.

🔥 main masterlist / part two

🔥 what was jai listening to? cyberpunk - ateez

moodboard credit: @btscontentenjoyer

3 MONTHS

Lookout duty is hard on you. When it’s your turn to camp out on the roof and watch for potential threats, you complain that staying awake all night is hard. Most of the other runaways are night owls, but you aren’t. You need your beauty sleep, you joke. You can’t get comfortable on the roof, even if there’s a flat landing with pillows and blankets to keep you warm. 

These are a few of your excuses, but you can’t bring yourself to tell the others the truth: you are scared. 

It’s close to midnight when you hear the creak of the trapdoor opening. The likelihood of it being anyone other than the group of Gifted runaways you live with is low, but you can’t trust that the impossible wouldn’t happen. You’ve seen the impossible happen far too often.  

Hopping down from the old milk crate you’d been sitting on, you crouch behind a giant bean bag with your bow and arrow ready. The harness you wear strapped around your torso holds your spare arrows. It digs hard enough into your shoulder that you form blisters if you don’t wear a thick enough shirt. 

The fluffy pink hair poking out of the trapdoor makes you sigh in relief. 

“Hey, kid,” the pink-haired man whispers. 

He gently closes the trapdoor and walks with a hunched back toward you, careful not to expose too much of his body beyond the roof’s railing. The abandoned warehouse you live in is on the city's outskirts, with nothing for miles but empty concrete parking lots and overgrown plots of land. 

Still, you never know who might be out there. Although the Red Pins have only inflicted pain from within their research facilities, all the runaway Gifteds know that the government employs more than one type of evil to hunt them down. 

You try not to think about them, those scientists in long white coats that fall to their thighs and blood-red nametags pinned to their labels with names you often see painted on the walls of your nightmares. Lately, the frequency of the nightmares has lessened. It doesn’t feel like it, though, when you often wake in the middle of the night to your friends screaming in their sleep while they suffer through their own trauma. You wish the knowledge that the pain of being government lab rats is something you all share could be comforting. But, instead, it only makes you hurt more.  

“Yoongi,” you huff, returning to your perch on the milk crate. Now your hands are all sweaty. “You should be sleeping.” 

“Hi, Yoongi; nice to see you too! Thanks for coming to hang out with me!” Yoongi mocks your voice, clearly stating what he thinks you should have said. “Oh, no problem, Y/N. I just wanted to see how you were doing and hang out with my favorite kiddo.” 

You scrunch your nose at kiddo. 

“I’m not a kid.” 

Yoongi leans over to rub his knuckles into your head. “Nah, you definitely are.” 

Despite the lack of lighting outside, Yoongi practically glows. That’s always how it is with fire elementals. It’s like they absorb all the light and let it buzz inside them. Like fireflies, you’d once told Yoongi. He hadn’t found it cute to be compared to a bug. 

“If I’m a firefly, then you’re a fucking fish,” he’d teased. You’d promptly summoned water from a nearby puddle to throw in his face. 

For as long as you can remember, that’s how it has been between the two of you: fire and water. A push and pull. So different that you need each other to be whole. 

You watch Yoongi get comfortable in the bean bag, his skinny limbs spreading like a starfish and his eyes lifting to the sky. In quiet moments like this, you would give anything to hold him. And not out of fear like you had when the scary men came to take you away from your parents. And not out of anger like you had to when you stopped him from blowing up the research facility they’d held you in. 

No, you want to hold him and for it to be gentle, soft, and peaceful. 

Like now, when the world is silent except for the crickets calling to each other in the weeds and the rustle of wind in the trees. 

But he thinks you’re just a kid. 

You’re not that much younger than him. But, if you put in the effort to look at your relationship objectively, you’d see that Yoongi’s paternal nature comes out with you and the other runaway Gifteds. He cares for you as an older brother would. 

It’s not enough for you, though. It will never be enough.  

“Is everyone else asleep?” You rest your elbows on your knees and hold your chin in your hand. When you speak, you look out at the empty field. 

“Hobi sneezed and blasted a hole through the bathroom wall,” Yoongi says with a low chuckle. “So me and Joon found some supplies to patch it up the best we could. I think they’re all asleep now, though.” 

“How is it Hobi’s the one breaking shit and Namjoon’s fixing it?” You press your hand against your mouth to muffle the ugly snort bursting from you. There’s very little to find funny in this life, so you cherish how your chest burns with fond warmth. 

“The world’s all backwards.” Yoongi’s gummy smile lights up the night and tears into your heart. 

The two of you fall silent once again. Moving slowly, you reach out to hook your pinky finger with Yoongi’s, a small smile forming when you feel his pinky wrap tightly around yours. 

“Where are we gonna go, Yoong?” 

He watches you with eyes heavy with sleep, determined to stay up with you even though he doesn’t need to. Initially, you thought it was because he wanted to keep you company. Now, you often wonder if it’s because Yoongi is afraid to sleep, too. He never speaks about his experience at the Labs; the other runaways have learned the hard way not to ask. Singed eyebrows don’t look good on anyone. 

“I don’t know.” 

You already knew this would be the answer, but it scares you anyway. Yoongi always knows everything. 

Yoongi lets go of your hand to sit up in the bean bag. 

“Hey, kid,” he whispers. He gently presses his palm to your jaw, cupping your face. You hope he doesn’t hear your breath hitch in your throat. “As long as we’re together, you don’t gotta worry about anything, okay?” 

You stare at him for a long time, searching the bags under his eyes and the worry lines on his forehead. 

“You promise?” 

“I promise.” 

3 MONTHS, 1 WEEK

There’s a stream that cuts through the overgrown fields behind the warehouse. It’s man-made, flowing from a sewer tunnel beneath the cracked parking lot - and likely from somewhere else, perhaps connected to a lake beyond the woods at the property's edge. The separation between industrialization and the natural world of the unknown hurts your heart. You’d never felt longing until you found yourself inside a cage of cinderblock walls and concrete floors. 

A rope of water whips across your face, drawing you from your thoughts of the woods. It’s muddy and makes your skin and clothes smell sour. 

Though the air is still crisp and bites at the tip of your nose, spring came early this year. It takes minimal effort for Namjoon to draw more water from the soiled stream as it’s not frozen over like it should be. With a flick of his wrist, another rope of water hits you, this time across your chest. 

“Aghh!” 

“Pay attention.” 

You lift your arm in enough time to block his next assault. The liquid rope freezes in the air before shattering into a thousand glimmering pieces, scattering jagged ice across the pale yellow grass. 

“I’m tired of this, Grandpa.” 

Namjoon rolls his eyes at the pop culture reference; you’re pleased he understood. Posed to speak, mouth already opening, he barely gets a sound out before another voice bellows across the field. 

“WELL, THAT’S TOO DAMN BAD!” 

Hoseok isn’t afraid to be loud. He smiles, all teeth and pink tongue, and throws his head back as he cackles. Everywhere he goes, he carries the smell of spring with him - cherry blossoms and morning dew that makes newly-grown pieces of grass stick wet against ankles. 

You close your eyes and let spring overpower the sour smell of sewer water Namjoon has thrown at you for the past hour. It lets you forget how your skin aches with welts and bruises. 

As Hoseok bounds toward you and Namjoon, a dark tornado spins beside him. When he gets closer, you can see Hoseok occasionally blowing a small gust of air toward the tornado. It appears to be made of smoke, a gradient of grays and blacks. 

“Look at this,” your friend announces with a mischievous grin. “Me and JK learned a new trick.” 

With a quick snap of Hoseok’s fingers, you and Namjoon watch in patient silence as the tornado begins to slow its speed. Almost gently, the smoke curls tighter and tighter until the darkness turns into a solid mass. 

Jungkook stumbles a few times as he attempts to get his footing. His limbs continue to propel his body into a small spin. 

Hoseok quickly reaches out to grab the younger man. Secure hands squeeze his shoulders, and then it’s only Jungkook’s head lolling about. 

“Cool, right?” Jungkook’s voice is gruff, but his lips curl into a weak smile. 

Namjoon lets out a long sigh. “You look like you’re going to be sick.” 

Although Namjoon is right, Jungkook does look like the effort of his little party trick took a toll on his body; you can’t help but match his smile. Especially when his eyes flick toward yours. You told his gaze for half a second before Jungkook quickly looks away. His cheeks flush pink, but you’re sure it’s from the exertion of all that spinning. 

“I think it’s really cool,” you praise the two while elbowing Namjoon in the ribs. With a grumble, your sparring partner returns to his previous stance a few feet away. 

“We should go again. Just for a little while longer.” 

Every muscle in your body feels stiff when you turn away from Hoseok and Jungkook. 

“I hurt all over, Joonie.” 

“Let her rest!” Hoseok adds to your whining. “All we ever do is practice fighting.” 

“Sparring.” 

Hoseok waves a dismissive hand at the younger man. “Whatever you want to call it. I find it to be fri-” 

You stifle a laugh by pressing the back of your hand to your mouth as Hoseok is tackled to the ground by Jungkook. The two men roll around, all arms and legs, kicking up dead grass and dirt. A lot of howling and teasing laughter rings through the open air. 

It isn’t until Jungkook is launched into the sky by a gust of wind you know comes from Hoseok, and lands roughly on his back, that the playful fight ceases. How Jungkook lands knocks all the air out of his chest, but he laughs once his lungs start working again. 

“Ridiculous, all of you.” Hoseok brushes grass from his clothes. It’s futile; they’re dirty and ragged anyway. Try as you and Namjoon might to use your Gifts to clean the clothes; water does little when there’s no soap. 

“I let you win,” Jungkook teases.

Still, he stands a bit further from Hoseok than he had previously. Not far enough for anyone to notice, aside from you. You notice although you don’t mean to. It’s hard not to when Jungkook keeps stealing glances, only to look away when you try to return his gaze. 

“You did not.” 

“Did, too.” His insistence makes you giggle. 

“And how did that work out for you? Hmm? How does your back feel? I know you landed on that rock.” 

“I-It, it doesn’t hurt.” Jungkook glances your way. His cheeks are still pink. “Would take more than that to hurt me.” 

“Jungkook is impossible to beat.” 

You startle at the gentle voice, spinning on your heels to see Yoongi approaching the group. He’s got a leather satchel strapped across his chest and resting at his hip. It bulges with what you assume are plants and fruits scavenged from the woods. 

“Boy Scouts” is what Yoongi offered when you asked how he knew so much about surviving in nature. It was peculiar; nothing about Yoongi seemed like the type. He’s tougher, more steel than wood or earth. A bulletproof shield, you think. Broad and strong. 

“Impossible?” 

Your question is meant to be a tease, but Yoongi’s face remains stoic. Such a severe look only reveals itself when he assumes his position as your misfit group’s leader. It would be extremely attractive if it didn’t scare you.   

“How can you fight shadows?” Yoongi deadpans. He stares into your eyes long enough to make your face feel hot, but you don’t look away. 

“I…” 

Yoongi hums at your lack of an answer. Suddenly, you feel unbelievably small. 

“It’s not impossible,” Jungkook whispers. His head hangs low, long bangs hiding his face. The rest of his hair is tied into a bun at the nape of his neck. “I’m just as beatable as you, hyung.” 

Something about Yoongi’s expression softens at the honorific. Formalities died long ago, along with many other traditions that once made Korea what it was. So many things died during the war - tangible and cultural - lives and ways of being. Now, the Republic is something you know your friends no longer recognize. Although it is not your home country, your heart aches for what it once was - something you will never have the privilege to experience because you arrived during the Restoration of the Republic - a fallacy of an era since the country was never restored to how it was. 

That may be best. It is easier to mourn the loss of something you never knew.

In moments like this, you feel terribly inadequate - when you speak with broken Korean or struggle to understand the foreign politics behind why Gifteds are hunted, no matter how many times Namjoon patiently attempts to teach you. All you know is that, at least here, to be Gifted is not a death sentence, per se. Other countries’ governments have been far less lenient with their mutant population. 

You’re simply seen as a science experiment to be tested on, poked and prodded, pushed until you’re driven mad, and then warped into whatever shape the government has the need for. 

“You have no match,” Yoongi smiles softly at Jungkook with a shake of his head. “I do.” 

Holding out his hand, a small flame appears in the center of Yoongi’s palm. It floats just above the skin, though he isn’t burned. You’ve seen Yoongi summon fire a million times from the heat of the air around him, and he never ceases to amaze you.

With a nod in Namjoon’s direction, Yoongi waits for a small rope of dirty water to splash against his hand. Namjoon is much kinder in his attack against Yoongi, only summoning enough water to extinguish the flame. 

“Water will always win against me,” Yoongi admits. This time, he holds your gaze when he speaks. “It is my match.” 

You feel something stir in your belly that migrates up your chest until it eventually threatens to suffocate you, nearly getting lodged in your throat. 

“You would do well to continue sparring with Namjoon,” he says after a moment before turning to Hoseok and Jungkook, who have otherwise been silent. 

It’s an order, even if Yoongi is gentle with his words. 

With a sigh, you turn back to Namjoon. It’s difficult to stamp down the heat Yoongi always manages to trigger inside of you. You would compare him to fire even if it didn’t already run in his veins. 

Drawing from the murky stream, you weave a ball of water between your palms.

“Let’s go again.” 

While you spar with Namjoon, Yoongi leads Hoseok and Jungkook to the other end of the field.

You and Namjoon spar as though you are dancing. It’s a push and pull, your rhythms falling into harmony, even when one of you performs a surprise attack or a new move that hasn’t been practiced before. Perhaps it is because you both fight with water. There is a fluidity to it that the others don’t possess. 

Occasionally, your eyes stray to where Yoongi, Hoseok, and Jungkook have begun to spar. The three men do not dance. Instead, they are a fury of elements intertwining in chaos. The wind snuffs fire, Yoongi and Hoseok blasting each other incessantly. Shadows allow Jungkook to disappear before being hit by an attack, only to reappear right behind his opponent to go in for the kill. 

And it would be a kill if this was real. You know Jungkook keeps a rather terrifying knife strapped to his thigh. You all carry weapons, though you don’t really need them. Even Jungkook, with a Gift that’s misunderstood and exceptionally rare, is never found without his weapon. 

Out of all the Gifteds you’ve met on your way to safety, you have never encountered another who can manipulate shadows. So, there is truth to Yoongi’s statement. 

Jungkook is terrifying, even with the wide, starry eyes he always seems to stare at you with. He’s quiet and shy, typically sticking to Hoseok. You assume it’s likely because you found the two of them together. Both were kept in the same room at the research facility in Busan. As unassuming as Jungkook may be, you’ve seen him manipulate shadows to wrap around a Red Pin’s neck. Those shadows twisted and tightened until the man crumpled. 

You didn’t need to have the Gift of blood manipulation to know when his heart stopped. 

It was one of the scariest moments of your life, even beyond the suffering you’d endured having lived in the research facilities since you were a teen. Before then, you’d never seen someone die. Even when Yoongi and Namjoon helped you escape, they shielded you from the worst of it. It wasn’t until the three of you came upon the newest facility that such horrors were unleashed. 

Jungkook hates himself for it. You know he does; you typically make your bed beside his, and he cries in his sleep. Self-defense protects the body in the moment, but harms the mind and heart long-term. 

You probably would have done the same. 

For as tragic as his story is - or what little you know of it - Jungkook has an undeniably beautiful soul. Those horrors have yet to turn him cruel or his heart black. Even when he spars, you can tell that he’s being gentle. He holds back and doesn’t reach his full potential out of fear of hurting others, you’re sure. You can see it in how he bounces on the balls of his feet to keep his movements light and how his back muscles ripple beneath his shirt as it clings to his skin. A bead of sweat runs along his neck, over the vein that bulges from his exerting effort. 

Something prickles under your skin. When you look up, it’s into those wide eyes full of galaxies you’ll never understand, are somehow okay with not understanding if it means you can continue to gaze upon them. 

A small smile pulls the corners of Jungkook’s mouth up. His expression is short-lived, though, quickly falling as a bright orange flame licks at his ankles. 

“Don’t let my words get to your head, Jeon,” Yoongi teases. “Impossible to beat, but easy to hurt.” 

This time, you catch Yoongi’s eye. You duck your head when he winks at you, just in time to block another blast of water from Namjoon. 

“Why is everyone so off today?” Namjoon grumbles to himself. You haven’t managed to successfully hit him even once. 

“I’m tired,” you whine again, dropping a ball of water to the ground. Dead grass quickly soaks it up once it splashes. “We should check on Jessi.” 

Your group's sixth and final member is tucked away in the corner of the warehouse on the top floor. It’s dark up there, though Yoongi’s everlasting fire, paired with the windows Jessi managed to open, gives enough light for her to work. 

She has black grease smudged on her left cheek and across her forehead. Her long, thick hair is tied back into a ponytail, though strands have fallen out to frame her face. When you step closer, you hear her muttering, but you can’t make out what she’s saying. It’s not for you. She speaks, facing the black box placed in front of where she kneels on the floor. The floor can’t feel good on her knees with its bits of broken concrete and dirt. Everything hurts in this life; it hardly matters as long as you’re here and not there. 

“This piece of shit,” Jessi hisses, running her hands across her face. It smears more grease onto her skin, but she doesn’t care. 

“Not working?” 

“Beep beep boop beeping all over the fucking place, then static. White noise and shit. Like it’s telling me to fuck off even though I’m the one fixing it.” 

You hum, crouching down to stare at the box. It’s an old radio meant to transport messages back and forth. Perhaps left behind by the military after it had occupied this land while it bulldozed the vigilantes seeking to save Gifteds from the fate you all ended up sharing anyway. 

Jessi tweaks a few exposed wires. Every time they spark, you flinch. Mini white lightning, it’s deadly for anyone but Jessi. She grumbles and continues her work with deft fingers calloused from toiling away at the stupid thing for months. 

“I’m normally so fucking good at this, I swear to God.” 

Frustration colors her tone, even if her expression and cursing didn’t already give her feelings away. 

You don’t doubt her, though, and you tell her as much. Still, you know firsthand that it sucks when your powers don’t work how you want them to. As a technopath, fixing the radio should be easy work for her.

“There must be something wrong with it… Maybe the Red Pins did something to it?” 

You don’t know anything about technology. Even with the phone you’d stolen off one of the Red Pins, all you’d gotten to do was look at TikTok and try to find out where your parents were before Yoongi made you destroy the device. The government had ways to track you. Technology was as much your friend as a stranger on the street. 

With a sigh, Jessi leans back until she’s sitting flat on the grimy floor. 

“Maybe? Fuck if I know. I think I’m getting close, though. I’m getting some frequency when I concentrate really hard, but I wanna fix it so it’ll work even without me.” 

Your friend whispers the end of her statement. It goes without saying; each one of you knows the fragility of life on the run. 

“Thank you for working so hard.” Even in the dim lighting, you can see her watery eyes shine. It hurts your heart, but all you can offer is a light squeeze of her shoulder. 

Jessi shrugs. “It’s as much for me as it is for you.” 

You watch her stand and brush the dirt from her butt, her joints cracking from sitting down too long. When you first joined this mutant crew, you would have followed behind Jessi to comfort her. But, after months of running and fighting, you’ve learned that sometimes solitude is the best healing method. 

4 MONTHS, 2 DAYS

“What makes you think you’re ready? That any of us are ready?” 

Yoongi watches you with catlike eyes from where he sits at the kitchen table. The chairs circled around the battered wooden table are mismatched and in varying stages of deterioration from being abandoned for so long. The one Yoongi sits in is metal, and he leans on its two back legs, his right foot pressed to the floor to keep himself steady and his arms crossed against his chest. 

Although Yoongi isn’t raising his voice - he never does - you still feel like you’re being scolded. 

“I know we are,” you challenge him. Your voice is steady even as your fingers tremble. To stop them from shaking, you squeeze your hands into a fist, nails biting at the skin of your palms. 

You should sit down, but holding your energy in is hard. Instead, you pace the kitchen while Yoongi’s cat eyes and Jessi’s wide ones follow you. You feel like a lion looping its cage, the desire to run restricted and confined. 

“How?” 

“We can’t stay here, Yoong! We can’t. I can’t.” 

The front legs of Yoongi’s chair slam into the concrete floor. He allows the momentum to pull him forward, landing his elbows on the table’s surface. 

Looking at Yoongi hurts. You can tell from his face that the next thing he says won’t be pleasant. His lips are pressed into a fine line that curves downward slightly. It’s cute how he can pull off a straight-lipped frown, but not when it’s directed at you. 

It’s been at least an hour of back and forth between the three of you. Jessi tapped out a long time ago, resolved to watch the tennis match of an argument between you and Yoongi rather than exert energy on a fight she isn’t committed to. Yoongi and Jessi have the final say in all group decisions as the group's elders. It’s another reminder of how you think Yoongi sees you as someone to take care of rather than an equal. 

“Have you ever killed someone before, Y/N?” 

You pause your pacing to stand in front of the table. Yoongi is an exceptional cook, managing to create delicious meals out of what little you all have to work with from the forest. But now, at this moment, you feel like you’re going to be sick from the food churning in your stomach. 

“No.”  

“No,” Yoongi repeats. He speaks slowly, like he’s mulling your answer over, letting it twist around his tongue until he’s satisfied enough with its taste to swallow it down. 

Leaning forward, Yoongi presses his palms against the table’s surface. He spreads his fingers and stares at them. The two of you seem to trace over the scars that line his skin, little nicks, and slices that healed light pink or blazing white. You’ve never seen Yoongi naked, but you have seen a good expanse of his body when you’ve used your Gift to help the others get clean. From what you’ve seen, you know Yoongi’s entire body is littered with battle scars. 

“I have,” he admits what you already knew, and the gravelly sound of his voice makes you shudder. “Jungkook has.” 

You wince at the mention of the younger man, but Yoongi doesn’t give you a chance to speak. 

“Do you want to ask him what it’s like to squeeze the life out of another man? He may have done it with shadows, but I guarantee he still felt it in his hands.” 

Yoongi lifts his eyes to yours when the first tear rolls down your cheek. Concern wrinkles his forehead. 

“Yoongi,” you start, but the pink-haired man shakes his head. 

“I don’t mean to upset you, kiddo.” The pet name twists your gut tighter with frustration - even though Yoongi’s voice is filled with gentle adoration when he calls out to you. “But I’ll be damned if I let us walk into that forest without knowing where we’re going or whose claws we’re running into. The Gifted Commune is, at best, a rumor. At worst - a trap.”

You want to tell him that falling for a rumor or getting caught by the government is better than sitting in a concrete cage. The prospect of finding a community of other Gifted runaways who have managed to create a society safe from the evils you’ve grown up with means more to you than the fear of the unknown. 

There’s no use, though. Jessi is nodding along to Yoongi’s words; the blank expression she wears when she’s upset already masks her face.

“I will not put you in a situation where you must kill or be killed, Y/N. I won’t fucking do it.” Yoongi clears his throat suddenly, and he looks away from you. You’re unsure, but think he might be blinking back unshed tears.

You’re still pissed, but now your anger is mixed quite prettily with debilitating guilt. You’ve never seen Yoongi cry, and you realize with a sinking feeling that you really don’t want to. 

“It’s too fucking risky,” Jessi finally speaks. She presses her fingers against her forehead, massaging it slowly as she, too, looks for words. “The radio is almost fixed; I can feel that it’s close. Then we will have a clearer line of communication with the Commune. It doesn’t guarantee anything, obviously, but it’s better than going in without fucking knowing anything.” 

There’s nothing else to say. Yoongi doesn’t look at you or Jessi, instead staring at something in the opposite corner of the room.

Jessi gives you what you think is a smile laced with pity - or at least an apology. 

How can everyone be so content to stay in the warehouse? You’re a bunch of sitting ducks, hiding out in the same location for months, practically waiting for the government to send their agents to either corral you into laboratories again or exterminate you. You don’t understand how becoming a moving target is a bad thing. 

But, ultimately, you don’t understand why Yoongi can’t just trust you. 

With a frustrated huff, you twist around to hurry out of the kitchen. As you cross the threshold, Namjoon appears in the doorway. 

“Oh, I need to ask you-” 

You don’t mean to shove Namjoon with your shoulder as hard as you do, but you don’t have the patience to comply with whatever he expects you to do for him. Probably more sparring and training. 

On the one hand, sharing your identity as a water elemental with someone else in the group is an affirming experience. On the other, it’s infuriating because Namjoon sees your potential and pushes you toward it - even when you fight against him. 

Namjoon sputters something, and you hear Jessi convince him to drop it. Whatever else they have to say is lost on you; you’re no longer interested in entertaining the conversations of the “leaders” of the group. Part of you wants to find Hoseok or Jungkook to force them to commiserate with you, but something about dumping your sludge of emotions onto them feels wrong. 

So you do what you’ve always done best: you repress. 

It isn’t until a few hours later when you’re lounging on your makeshift bed with the only tattered book you kept from your facility (Fahrenheit 451, how fitting), that you give yourself over to the gnawing need to interact with other humans. 

Jungkook bounces on the balls of his feet, items that you can’t make out pressed against his chest. 

“Will you cut my hair for me, noona?” 

The out-of-use honorific flusters you, making your face burn under Jungkook’s attentive gaze. 

“You don’t have to be so formal with me,” you insist, embarrassment ravaging your twisted stomach and fluttering chest. Something about the attention Jungkook gives you makes you feel nervous and giddy. 

“It’s not very formal, really. It’s… respectful? I just… You are, it means,” Jungkook lets out a huff. He blows his bangs out of his face as his cheeks turn pink. “You are special to me.” 

You duck your head, shocked by Jungkook’s honesty. It warms you in a way you’re not sure you understand, letting the feeling sit inside your chest rather than exploring it any further. 

“Where I come from, we don’t have words like that.” 

Jungkook gives you a shrug. Neither of you mentions that in Korea, those words don’t really exist anymore, either. 

“But, okay,” you relent softly. 

Jungkook stands beside the mess of blankets that make up your bed, holding a pair of scissors and electric clippers Jessi enhanced to operate on their own. Jungkook nicked them from a Red Pin on their way out of the research facility he’d grown up in. Hairstyling tools didn’t seem high on your list of items to steal, but they’d come in handy. Like now, with Jungkook’s bangs falling entirely into his eyes and his hair sweeping across his shoulders. 

The pout Jungkook wears lessens slightly. He holds out the tools with an expectant look on his face. It’s cute how his bottom lip juts out, pink and chapped from nervously chewing on it. You’d overheard Namjoon scolding him for something earlier that morning before you went outside to patrol the grounds with Hoseok and Jessi.

Taking the items from Jungkook, you lead him out of the bedroom and into the bathroom. The lights sputter briefly before they fully brighten the small room. Jessi was excited to learn that her Gift extended to electricity as a whole, not just that within technology like computers and radios. With all your Gifts combined, the warehouse is liveable, almost comfortable. 

Jungkook sits on the closed lid of the toilet, making you tower over him. He parts his legs slightly so you can stand between them as you run your fingers through his hair. 

You spread your fingers and sweep his bangs up, exposing his forehead. It opens up his face more and makes him look older. Jungkook is handsome; there’s no denying that. You’re sure in another life, he could have been a regular college kid with a sweet girlfriend and a bright future. 

“What would you like me to do?” 

“Hmm?” Jungkook hums with his eyes closed, and his head tilted back slightly. 

You don’t miss how he leans into your touch, completely pliable in your hands, as you massage his scalp and continue to play with his hair. It’s thick and soft, even without the proper haircare products to maintain the health of the follicles. 

“How do you want me to cut it, silly?” 

You reach for the hairbrush you keep tucked away in the bathroom cabinet. It takes a few more moments of silence while you brush out Jungkook’s waves before he finally speaks. 

“Short. Cut it all off, please? It’s too hard to take care of now, and it gets in my face.” 

“Don’t get mad at me if it comes out bad.” 

Jungkook lets out a frustrated sound. “You always do a great job. You gave Yoongi hyung an undercut. It looks so good!” 

At the mention of Yoongi, you feel your heart drop. Somehow you know Jungkook is here to make you feel better even if he hasn’t said anything about the argument, and he’s the one seeking your help, not the other way around. He’s a distraction - one you wonder if Yoongi sent himself. 

It isn’t that Yoongi won’t apologize; you just never give him a chance to before you run off to lick your wounds on your own. 

It’s the healing quality of solitude, you think as you prepare to cut Jungkook’s hair. However, this time, you’re not alone. 

You can’t help but smile when Jungkook starts singing a song of his own creation as chunks of his hair fall to the floor. His song drowns out the static that buzzes in your brain like the fuzziness Jessi’s broken radio emits when anyone but her fiddles with it. 

“This way,” you speak softly, not wanting to disrupt his singing as you press your fingertips against his jaw and under his chin to lift his face toward you. Your finger presses against the little mole just below Jungkook’s bottom lip. The angle gives you a better view of your work so far. 

A small smile flickers on Jungkook’s face as though he’s trying to keep it down, but the corners of his mouth won’t listen to him. 

“It feels nice. We don’t touch.”

You hum and nod your head, but Jungkook’s eyes are still closed. It’s true; kind touches are rare. Hoseok is really the only one who gives out hugs. Everything is tough all the time. There’s little room for gentleness, even amongst friends. 

So you understand when Jungkook’s smile wins out, and he finally surrenders to the happiness your light touches along his jaw bring him. 

4 MONTHS, 5 DAYS

It takes Yoongi three days to apologize. 

Perhaps you should have apologized first, but you struggle to see how you could have done anything that warrants an apology. Yes, you feel bad for upsetting Yoongi, but his attitude toward you lately has rubbed you the wrong way. 

During the three days it takes him to apologize to you, he seems to do his best to avoid you. 

On the days you’re assigned to go on patrol with Yoongi, Jungkook accompanies you instead. You don’t mind having Jungkook by your side, you discover, even though you’re upset that Yoongi is behaving so childishly. 

Neither Jungkook nor Yoongi talks much, but you learn that their silence feels different. Whereas Yoongi’s silence stems from feeling confident and content with not needing to fill the air with incessant babbling, Jungkook’s silence is awkward and heavy. He fiddles with the loose strings of his shirt, his reddened cuticles, and everything else. You don’t mind the awkwardness, though. It’s nice to comb through the woods with someone as powerful as Jungkook; you know there’s nothing to fear with him around. 

The only weapon Jungkook carries is the knife strapped to his thigh. You, on the other hand, stay heavily armed. Your fingers tighten around your bow. When you twist your torso, the harness that holds your arrows digs into your shoulder. You also have a knife, though you are honestly afraid of close combat. A gun would be even better, but ammo is difficult to come by. It’s easier to collect your arrows after you’ve shot them, although you haven’t needed to yet. Since finding refuge at the warehouse, no one has discovered your group. 

Apparently, all your friends are willing to keep testing fate. You aren’t interested in pushing your luck. Jungkook doesn’t comment on the group’s plans for moving forward - or lack thereof. Something tells you that he’ll do whatever Yoongi and Jessi tell him to do. 

Still, going on patrol with Jungkook does a decent job of preventing your thoughts from straying toward your argument with Yoongi. Your hands brushed together a few times as you walked side by side, and you could practically feel Jungkook’s brain shortcircuit from the contact. 

Part of you thinks he has a crush on you, but the more logical part of you knows he’s probably shy. The kid has gone through a lot in life. Not everything is always about you; you try to remind yourself. Yoongi doesn’t even want you. Why would Jungkook?

On the third day, bright doe eyes don’t greet you at the edge of the woods, just as the sun is kissing the sky for the first time. Instead, sharp cat eyes hold your gaze when you lightly jog over. 

“Good morning, kiddo.” 

Yoongi wears dark shorts with tattered edges cut from a pair of old jeans and a plain t-shirt the color of the forest in spring. It’s not warm enough to wear what he’s wearing, but fire elementals run hot like you run cold. 

“Hi,” you say, voice a bit stunted as you hold your jacket tighter to your body. 

You’ve foregone your bow and arrows today; you may or may not have snapped your bow in a fit of frustration that may or may not have anything to do with Yoongi ignoring you at dinner the night before. A knife and your Gift will have to do, but you feel it is enough. Namjoon insists on learning how to use your Gifts and weapons in tandem. For double the defense, or so he says. 

Carrying a knife seems ridiculous when you know how to choke someone with their own spit without touching them. 

Once you’re within arm’s reach, Yoongi offers his hand to you. He holds it as though he’s going in for a handshake. Yellow-orange fire licks at his palm and swirls in tendrils around his fingers and wrist. 

After a few seconds of silence, he makes a slight grunting sound and wiggles his fingers, beckoning you. 

It’s impossible not to cave. A prickly feeling tingles down your arm, beginning somewhere in your chest and eventually settling in your fingertips. A tiny hurricane of water stolen from the moisture in the air circles around your hand just as the fire does Yoongi’s. 

He lets out a pleased sound when your palms glide across each other. You hook your thumbs together, using the momentum to spin your hands around until your fingers are interlaced and pressed into your palms. You both squeeze your hands once, twice, three times in a heartbeat before pulling away. By the end, the fire and water have disappeared. 

When you meet Yoongi’s eyes, the warmth of the fire in his palm has transferred to his gaze. There is an apology in how you release each other’s hands. The handshake holds secret words of friendship and reassurance between you. 

The two of you stand in silence for a bit until Yoongi tilts his head in the direction of the woods. You nod in response and follow Yoongi along one of the many patrol paths your group has established. 

There’s never anything in the woods besides small animals like squirrels and rabbits, but everyone feels better knowing there is a consistent patrol of the area, just in case. 

“So,” When you look at Yoongi, his lips twist into a light smirk you absolutely do not like. “You and Jungkook.” 

“Me and Jungkook what?” 

Yoongi shrugs. “Just seems like you two been hanging out a lot.” 

“Yeah, because you were fucking ignoring me all week.” 

His smirk drops into a stern frown, but Yoongi continues following the path. He walks slightly ahead of you with his hands clasped behind his back. It feels like he’s taking a leisurely stroll through a garden rather than going on patrol in the woods for government assassins. 

“It was immature and irresponsible of me, and I’m sorry for that.” 

Forgiving Yoongi is too easy. It’s the way the morning sun shines through the canopy of trees above you, casting streaks of light against his fading pink hair. The way he carries himself with confidence is gentle and comforting rather than arrogant or misplaced. It’s how he looks at you; you know he would do anything for you.

“It’s okay,” you finally concede. You scramble a bit to fall in line with Yoongi again. “I was being dramatic.” 

“Life is one big drama, isn’t it?” Yoongi muses with a chuckle. It’s a question he doesn’t expect an answer to, which is good, considering you’ve got something else buzzing around in your head. 

Well, fuck it. You’re just gonna say it.  

Heart pounding, you eventually find it in you to say, “I still think you’re wrong.” 

After a moment, Yoongi hums in acknowledgment of your admission but doesn’t offer anything else. It’s better than nothing, so you tell yourself to be content with all that he offers. 

“Anyway…” You don’t want to drop the subject, but Yoongi’s question is nagging in the back of your brain now - a nagging question you now have a gnawing desire to know the meaning behind. “Me and Jungkook can hang out without it meaning-” 

Before you can finish your statement, Yoongi slaps his hand against your mouth. The calluses on his palms are rough against your chapped lips, and his skin is sweaty. His free arm comes around to the front of your chest near your collarbones. He draws you against his chest so tightly you can’t move. 

“Don’t talk.” His breath is hot against your face, and his voice is almost indiscernible. 

You give a tiny nod before locking your body completely still. You hold your breath, straining to hear what Yoongi might hear or see what he might see. There’s nothing, just the usual sound of life in the woods - birds chirping, small animals scurrying in the brush. You don’t see anything either. 

You can only focus on the frantic pounding of your heart and the calm beat of Yoongi’s against your back. How he can be so relaxed when he thinks there might be danger in the woods that you can’t even see is unreal.

Slowly, Yoongi takes a step back away from you. He holds a finger to his lips and silently mouths for you to stay where you are. Everything inside you screams to disobey as you watch Yoongi disappear further into the woods, the thick trees swallowing him whole. 

But you don’t. You stay put, fear rooting you to the ground even though your body desperately wants to follow. 

What lies beyond the thicket of trees? What is dangerous enough that Yoongi wants you to stay put but not so dangerous that he believes he can take it on alone? 

Just when your resolve is about to crumble, something catches your attention out of the corner of your eye. Barely breathing, you turn your head to watch a dark spot glide across the forest floor. It’s two-dimensional, not an object but a presence creeping along the ground.

Suddenly, the spot grows. It spreads, turning its shape from a flat, uneven circle to a thing with tendrils sticking out of it, each new tendril moving independently. You gasp when one of the tendrils creeps up your leg. Despite being two-dimensional, you can feel the darkness. It’s firm and cold, like a snake slithering up your body. 

Every inch of you trembles as the strange darkness slowly spreads across your body. You squeeze your eyes and hold your breath. Perhaps this is the thing that Yoongi saw, a phantom stalking the trees. But now you’re left behind to be absorbed into its darkness, eaten alive. 

You’re startled when the cold disappears; instead, strong arms pull you against a firm chest. Warmth envelopes you, and when you open your eyes, you see familiar ones looking back at you.

“I got you,” Jungkook murmurs. He has you tucked under his chin, and he tilts his head down when he speaks to you. You shiver as his lips lightly brush against your forehead. 

“Where did you-”  

“Shhh.” 

Jungkook’s heart isn’t steady like Yoongi’s had been. On the contrary, it’s beating rather furiously. You can hear him attempting to regulate his emotions, taking in mindful breaths and exhaling in a way that tickles your skin.

You don’t know how long you stand there pulled against Jungkook’s chest. After a while, your breathing matches his until you fall into a gentle rhythm that makes you sleepy. The adrenaline is making you crash, your body hardly strong enough to hold yourself up after panicking so severely - still panicking. Luckily, when you lean into Jungkook, his hold on you tightens. 

In another situation, pressing your fronts together would have flooded your body with heat. You can feel all of Jungkook like this, from the bulging muscles of his chest to his thigh pressed slightly between your legs from how he holds you up. But fear of the unknown and Jungkook’s clearly distressed state prevent those other thoughts from materializing. 

Jungkook’s body doesn’t relax until Yoongi appears around the corner of a large tree. He keeps his arms wrapped around you, and for a second, Yoongi looks around at the clearing you're in as though he can’t see you. 

It isn’t until Jungkook lets go of you that recognition flashes in Yoongi’s eyes. 

“There you are,” Yoongi murmurs to the two of you. He looks like he rolled around on the ground, little pieces of leaves and sticks caught in his hair and stuck to his clothes. His left knee is bleeding from a few superficial scrapes. 

“What the fuck happened to you?” 

Yoongi looks at Jungkook before he answers your question, which irritates you. “I tripped when I rushed in, but it was nothing. Just a large fox I heard making noise back there.” 

A fox is likely the largest animal in the woods, with no bears or wolves in the area. Still, you don’t trust Yoongi. You can pick up on the charred smell coming off of him. He smells like a barbecue, which means only one thing… 

“Have you been practicing turning yourself invisible?” 

Jungkook ducks his head down but no longer has long bangs to hide his face. It takes a second for your brain to process Yoongi’s question - and the change in the topic - but Jungkook is already answering him by the time you figure it out. 

“It’s not really invisibility,” he says softly. “It’s more like… an illusion.”

Yoongi hums and motions for the two of you to start walking. You’re returning to the warehouse, you realize, even though you only just started the patrol route. 

“Yeah, I can… adjust the lighting, I guess? To make it seem like you can’t see me. Or, us, this time.” 

Jungkook gives you a small smile when you whip around to look at him.

“I didn’t know you could do that.” 

“Yeah,” Jungkook repeats. He draws his bottom lip between his teeth and wiggles it like he has more to say but doesn’t want to let it out just yet. 

The three of you walk in silence until you reach the warehouse. When Yoongi walks ahead of you, you can tell he’s limping, even as he does his best to walk normally. 

“He’s okay.” 

Jungkook stands beside you in the field behind the warehouse, watching Yoongi reach the backdoor. 

“He’s bleeding.” 

Jungkook’s ears are pink when he responds, “He’ll be okay.”

“He’s lying to us.” 

Jungkook absentmindedly runs his fingers along his bottom lip. It droops as he speaks through a pout. “Maybe. But I trust him, even if he is.” 

It’s a strange thing to trust someone who is lying. 

All you can do is nod. All you can do is accept that the people around you are doing what’s right because, aside from them, there is no one and nothing you can trust in the world. 

As you approach the warehouse, Jungkook curls his fingers around your wrist to stop you. He watches you with the same wide-eyed look he gives everyone, though something about this time feels different. His expression is more open and vulnerable. He looks at you like he’s waiting for you to hurt him. 

“I’m sorry I scared you,” he apologizes softly. 

“But you didn’t?” 

Your eyebrows crease your forehead, trying to recall what you may have done to make Jungkook feel like you feared him. Sure, his sudden appearance in the woods was startling, but he’d brought you a feeling of comfort and safety - not fear. 

Jungkook doesn’t correct you. Instead, he lets go of your wrist as shame warms his cheeks, but he doesn’t look away from you. The timidness is still there. You can see it in how he chews on his bottom lip. Still, his eyes take on a more guarded, hardened expression for a split second, and then… 

He’s gone. 

“What the fuck?” You mutter to yourself. 

Now that you’ve seen the darkness before, your eyes quickly notice the spot on the ground that creeps and grows into odd shapes, slinking along the grass before taking form up your legs, curling around your arms. 

It’s Jungkook. You knew it in the woods, somewhere deep down. Your fear for Yoongi’s safety - and your own - prevented you from processing the situation. But now, as the darkness envelopes you again, you know what to expect when you close your eyes and open them to see Jungkook’s broad chest as he crushes you against him. 

“You never showed me before.” 

Maybe it’s weird that you’re still clinging to each other, but Jungkook is warm and solid, and his heartbeat guides yours into a slower rhythm. 

“That’s because it’s creepy.” 

“Well, I think it’s cool. Even though, yeah, you kinda scared the shit outta me.” 

Jungkook lets out an embarrassed whine and squeezes you tighter. You knew he could command shadows but hadn’t realized he could become one or move within them. Sure, the tornado trick he’d done a few times with Hoseok had been cool, but you’d always thought he was merely swirling the darkness around himself. You hadn’t realized he was the darkness. 

Honestly, it made him all the more terrifying and equally as endearing. 

“I just had this… feeling something bad was happening…” Jungkook whispers into your hair. “I needed to check.”

“Good thing it was only a fox.”

Jungkook nods in agreement; you know he believes it more than you do. 

“I’m just happy you’re safe.” You can feel his cheek press against the top of your head for a moment before he finally releases you. 

There’s a feeling there as Jungkook leads you to the warehouse. He laces his fingers with yours, and you can’t help but hear Yoongi’s question on a loop in your head. 

You and Jungkook? 

4 MONTHS, 3 WEEKS

“What if they think we’re the feds and feed us false information?” 

“We’re too stupid to be the feds. It would be obvious.”

“I don’t know… we all escaped the government, so they must be pretty stupid.” 

“What if they’re the feds?” 

“Shit, I never thought about that.”

“They’re not the fucking feds.” 

“How do you know that?!” 

“Can all of you please just shut the fuck up?” 

The six of you crowd around the radio on the kitchen table. Jessi shows you how to operate it, which flip to switch to activate the microphone, and how to adjust the volume. You’re all muted for now. When Hoseok goes to flip the switch, Jessi smacks his hand out of the way. 

“Listen to me,” she says sternly, turning in her seat to get a good look at all of you. “No one talks.” 

“But-” 

“No one talks.” 

Five heads nod at her command, including Yoongi, which feels very satisfying to you for some reason. 

Details of the Gifted Commune somewhere beyond the woods traveled by word of mouth. Coordinates and radio frequencies were exchanged in hushed tones between the Gifteds who dared dream of a life beyond the Labs. You’re sad to admit that you were never one of those Gifteds. It wasn’t until Yoongi helped you escape that you even realized escaping was an option, so brainwashed into thinking the Labs were all you had. You were in a new country, stumbling through an unfamiliar language, taken from your family. Sure, you’d learned enough to get by over time - but missing your adolescent years made you feel hopeless. 

Jessi is the only one who had communicated with the Commune leaders in the past when she and another Gifted managed to break into a control room in the Labs she came from. 

That’s why she’s the one to speak into the radio that you find operates much like a long-distance walkie-talkie. You’re glad it’s not you. She introduces herself, her whereabouts, and her credentials with an even voice you know you could never replicate. 

Despite the distrust you’re all afraid of, Jessi’s previous connection to the Commune makes it easy for her to request to speak to the Commune leader, a healer named Kim Taehyung. 

Sitting with your fingers gripping the edge of the table so tightly your knuckles are beginning to ache, you lean forward as though you can get closer to the gentle voice that floats from the radio’s speakers. 

Taehyung doesn’t sound anything like you’d imagined, though you aren’t sure what you were expecting, to be honest. Maybe someone with a rougher voice made harsh by the trials of life as a fugitive of the Republic. Instead, he’s soft as he asks Jessi how many there are of you and what your coordinates are. This man, already larger than life even though none of you knows what he looks like, is patient as he gives Jessi instructions on how to reach the Commune. 

“I can assure you,” Taehyung speaks, and you don’t know what he’s about to say, but you find yourself already believing him, “You will be safe here. It won’t be a short trip.” That makes your gut twist, but you focus on his following words. “But there are abandoned shelters along the route to find refuge in. The nights get terribly cold.” 

Namjoon scribbles some notes down on a worn piece of paper. It’s been written on and erased to add more notes over the months you’ve been at the warehouse since there are only a few pieces of paper between the six of you. There’s a small hole in the middle of the page where someone erased too hard - or too many times, you suppose. 

“Thank you, Taehyung-ssi.” 

The line is quiet for a moment. Jessi’s gaze shoots up to glare at Jungkook’s interruption, but Taehyung speaks before she can chastise the younger man. 

“Anything for my dongsaeng,” the man on the other side of the radio states. 

You don’t know him, so there is no way to tell if the subtle lilt to his voice indicates affection, but it seems like it as the two men use polite terms no one ever uses anymore. It’s old-fashioned and reminiscent of a time lost to all of you. 

Jessi steers the conversation back to planning the group’s journey to the Commune. Excitement makes you jittery as you skip out of the kitchen, the men - aside from Yoongi - following after you. The boring stuff is what follows, and you’re all content to let the leaders discuss that stuff. 

“Do you think we’ll be able to do it?” Hoseok clasps his hands together, occasionally squeezing them. When he speaks, he keeps his eyes on the closed kitchen door. 

Namjoon shrugs at the same time you respond, “We have to.” 

PART ONE - PART TWO

all rights reserved © gimmethatagustd on tumblr & AO3

do not copy, repost, modify, or translate any of my work

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest.

Tonight Isn't The Night

Day #7 - Prompt: Celebrate Good Times, C'mon | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: Language | POV: Eddie | Pairing: Steddie | Tags: Older Steddie, Man Plans and God Laughs, Grand Romantic Gesture

Eddie wants it all to be perfect. This has been a long fucking time coming, and if he fucks it up at the last second, he'll never forgive himself. Jeff and Goodie are playing chauffeur, picking Steve up at the airport under an elaborate ruse.

They're supposed to keep him busy, and then drop him off at the arena to meet up with Eddie, pre-show. Eddie rented an event space, and Gareth is helping him try to get it ready.

Eddie planned all of this. 

But Eddie's nervous. 

Gareth is crawling around the room, stringing lights so it'll be romantic, and Eddie's gonna owe that kid. That kid is forty, and a dad to two, but still. Crawling on the floor sounded like hell on Eddie's worn-out body, so Gareth had gotten down and was doing it without complaint.

They don't have time to complain. Not when Steve will be at the arena in t-minus two hours. And Eddie will need to be there, if he doesn't want Steve to realize something is up. 

Eddie watches Gareth crawl out from under a table, and Eddie wishes he was still that goddamn spry. He used to be. He used to be made of elastic, Uncle Wayne always said so. But those days, and those muscles, are long gone, eaten away by bats over two decades ago.

Eddie's hip is killing him today. As if the Upside Down has decided to rear its ugly head again, just because he's so fucking happy. It's bullshit. 

He doesn't want to take anything that might dim his memory, not today, so he takes three ibuprofen and calls it good. That will have to do. 

The ring is burning a hole in his pocket. He keeps palming it, checking, double-checking, just to make sure it's still there.

It is. 

The small box, hard against his thigh.

He's gonna ask tonight. After the show, when they're alone. He's gonna take him back to this venue, take him up on the roof and while meteors fall from the sky, he's gonna ask Steve to marry him. 

When Jeff opens the door, he's making a face that Eddie doesn't understand, not until he sees Steve.

Steve's in a bad mood, a terrible one, actually, and Eddie cups his hand over the ring box. Tonight isn't the night. Goddammit. When Steve stomps off to the bathroom, Eddie fishes the box out of his jeans pocket, and tucks it into his jacket.

"What are you gonna do now?" Gareth asks, in an alarmed whisper. 

Nothing. He'll do nothing. 

He'll listen to Steve rant and rave. He'll be here, and present, not at all thinking about the thousands of twinkling lights or meteors up above.

It's not the night. 

After the show, Steve's still pissy. The ride back to the hotel is filled with Steve bitching and moaning, and Eddie knows better than to try and offer any suggestions, not while Steve's like this. This is just venting, and if anyone knows about venting, it's Eddie. He's made it an art form over the years.

But right now, it's Steve's turn. 

And Eddie listens.

Steve's mid-rant, when he looks out the window, "Hey. Shooting star."

Then, "Oh. Another."

"There's a meteor shower tonight," Eddie explains. 

"And you didn't make plans to view it?" Steve asks, because he knows Eddie, and this is a thing they've done dozens, maybe hundreds, of times over the past two and half decades. 

"Well, a little, but you're not in the mood for that tonight," Eddie says, trying not to sound disappointed. 

He isn't.

No, he is. He really is. But he understands. Life doesn't always go your way. Some days, you're nearly eaten by bats. Others, your marriage proposal gets scrapped. Eddie's used to be fucked by life, well and good and raw, by now. 

Steve looks over at him, "I'm not in that bad of a mood. We can still look at the sky," Steve offers, and Eddie would like that. He really, really would. But he can't take Steve there. It's too much, too over the top, and he'll immediately suss out what was really on the agenda for the night. Then he'll beat himself up for ruining it. 

So, no. They can't go there.

They end up out in the parking lot of the hotel, sitting in a patch of grass that Eddie's pretty sure other people probably let their dogs piss in. But Steve's leaning against him, and that's always gonna make for a nice night.

It's quiet, and peaceful, neither of them saying a word, until Steve suddenly says, "We should get married."

And Eddie nearly chokes. 

"What, you don't want to?" Steve questions.

"Steve Harrington, I'm gonna kill you, and then I'm gonna marry you. No, I'm gonna marry you, and then I'm gonna kill you. I had a whole night planned. And then, well," Eddie says, waving his arms around Steve's head. "Pissy. So. Postponed."

Steve is just looking at him.

Eddie keeps ranting, mocking, "We should get married."

Steve smiles, and Eddie digs in his jacket pocket, handing over the velvet box, "Here. We're engaged."

Steve throws back his head and laughs, absolutely delighted and it's contagious. Eddie has to laugh, too. He's not mad. He's frustrated. 

He's in love, and not even a little surprised. Nothing ever goes his way. He has the opposite of the Midas touch. 

Except. He gets to love Steve Harrington. 

And that's a pretty big win.

After a beat, Eddie says, "Please don't tell Gareth that this happened in the hotel parking lot. He crawled all over, stringing lights, and I'll never hear the end of it."

Steve laughs, and then kisses him, "I'll never tell."

And he doesn't. There's an elaborate romantic story that's fed to Gareth and the public, but it's not the truth. Not a word.

But that's okay. That just means the real deal is only theirs. 

A secret between them, the stars, and the dog piss-soaked grass. 

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @corrodedcoffinfest and follow along with the fun! 🦇

[robobarbie]

ROMANCE/ANGST. being the light of nightowl’s life, the most important person to this man, but being just as insecure as him, so when he starts interacting with a pretty person in the server you’re left there wondering if you’re really worthy of him. (i’m projecting again, i’m the anon who sent the nightowl deep dive 5 times, i really hope it doesn’t happen again😭)

side note (this is the most e-dating, discord, online relationship-ass prompt ever)

# general

--- mystic_pizza has joined the server ---

Quest Oh?

nightowl whoa! a new member???

lovelylola hello!!

two2 nice 2 meet u!!

mystic_pizza hehe, hi everyone <3

BIGLADY how'd you find the server? O_O

June Yeah, didn't @BloomBot disable invites?

BloomBot It was getting stale around here.

xyx LMAO

NakedToaster LMAO

salociN Hello ! Mystic Pizza !

onionthief "Stale". That's an opinion for sure.

nightowl ??

onionthief Would just like to know how BloomBot has decided our presence is "stale".

onionthief We've done nothing different, kept chatting at the same rate (I've checked), and always focused on the webnovel to a degree.

onionthief I don't understand how that's "stale".

NakedToaster bro just answered the question by speaking

xyx bro doesn't see what we see

onionthief What?

BIGLADY @mystic_pizza who's your favorite character?

mystic_pizza Damien. So easy.

nightowl oooooooo, mine too!!

nightowl why do u like him?

mystic_pizza i just think he's misunderstood... breakups aren't super straightforward a lot of the time, you know

nightowl I AGREEEEEEEEEE

mystic_pizza like, it's not even up for debate!!! people are just being rude to damien for no reason!!!

nightowl my god

nightowl where have you been...

June hahaha

mystic_pizza are selfies ok btw?

BIGLADY yeah!!

two2 hey bloombot wh y did u always allow selfies?

two2 isn't that like a personal ident thing or someth

--- BloomBot is now offline ---

two2 what..

xyx @mystic_pizza post face so we can read your aura

xyx i got them aura glasses on

NakedToaster that's just not a real thing

xyx wow

xyx post a selfie of yours then and let me read you

NakedToaster fine

NakedToaster

(pic from xiaeom)

NakedToaster read me bitch

xyx holy shit

xyx holy fucking shit

BIGLADY what do you see?? O-O

salociN A very handsome man !

June Salo!! Remember, toasty is NB!!

salociN Oh , my sincerest apologies . I'm still learning.

salociN A very handsome person .

NakedToaster fuck yeah salo, you are so right

xyx no no no. no. all of you, shut the fuck up.

xyx i see

xyx i see a person with

xyx with

xyx with no balls

NakedToaster motherfucker

BIGLADY that's not an aura reading...

xyx absolutely no balls in sight

BIGLADY @mystic_pizza!!!! WHERE'S THE SELFIE!!!!!

NakedToaster yeah xyx's time on earth is a little limited

xyx you'll never find me

mystic_pizza hehe, okay! <3

mystic_pizza

mystic_pizza that's me on th e right

nightowl omg i love ur smile!! so cute!!

BIGLADY agreed!!! U R RADIANT!!! <3

mystic_pizza awww, thank u!!! u are all so nice around here!!!

nightowl we just wanna make sure everyone has a good time u know?

nightowl and damien enjoyers must be protected!!!

mystic_pizza i agree!!

mystic_pizza ah, fixed my flair

nightowl OMG

nightowl U AND ME!!!

mystic_pizza U AND ME!!!! XD

nightowl do u wanna call rq?

two2 can i join?

nightowl YA!

mystic_pizza yea sure hehe

nightowl @lovelylola you wanna call too cutie?

June The "cutie" in chat again..

onionthief Please keep that to DMs.

nightowl blah blah blah

lovelylola i'm kinda tired, i think i'm gonna sleep

nightowl awww okay

nightowl i'll call u later!!

BIGLADY gnight lola!!!

Quest Rest well!

salociN Have sweet dreams !

lovelylola good night!

xyx holy fuck

xyx @mystic_pizza

mystic_pizza yes?

xyx your aura

xyx your aura is just

xyx it's like the color of a

xyx of a war crime

mystic_pizza huh?

NakedToaster i have ur new IP bitch

xyx FUCK

---------

you close the laptop and sigh. it's okay for nightowl to have fun and meet other people, it's just...

gah. mystic pizza's selfie wouldn't leave your head. they're so cute... and seem to pair up pretty well with nightowl. you're sure the call is just going too well... at least you're assured it won't go too far since two2 is there.

but that's barely a reassurance. nightowl doesn't hesitate to flirt when he wants to, regardless of who's around.

you thrum your fingers on the desk and gnaw on your bottom lip. should you actually join the call? no, then you'd look insecure. do you already look insecure? is everyone wondering if nightowl likes mystic pizza more than you?

you look down at your frumpy clothes with a tired expression. ugh. maybe it's okay for him to flirt, if he wants to. this is what he's stuck with after all. who wouldn't want to flirt with someone who looks like that?

you try to ignore the pang in your chest as you stand up and get ready for bed.

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

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

LOOOOOLLLLLLLLLLLLLL

[upsidedownwithsteve]

thinking about camp!steve fighting with hawkins over something petty and they're both horny and pent up bc they haven't had any time alone

"you're gonna regret that, princess"

"oh no, i'm shaking in my boots"

"yeah, you will be shaking by the time I'm done with you"

😳🥵

It wasn’t like either of you had wanted to go in the first place, but Steve’s parents had cornered you both on one of the rare occasions they’d been home. 

Mrs Harrington had gasped and air kissed you on both cheeks as you stumbled down their stairs that morning, wide eyed and only dressed in her son's T-shirt. 

“I’m so sorry,” you croaked out, mortified. “Steve and I didn’t hear you guys get in last night.”

And so you had to stand, barefoot and clutching at the hem of Steve’s shirt as his mother cooed over their tip to Paris, how the meeting had gone so well, how their flight got in earlier than planned and did you know that the Duncan’s down the road were getting a divorce?

You had just wanted a coffee. 

But Steve had eventually stirred enough to hear his mom, launching himself out of bed in a bid to save you. It all went downhill from there, ‘cause his dad appeared, back from his morning run to jab a little meanly at his son's (flat) stomach, telling him he needed to work out more now he wasn’t on the basketball team. 

You held Steve’s hand under the table. And then came the real kicker. 

“Oh! Before I forget,” Mrs Harrington cried out over her cappuccino. “It’s the family party this weekend. You’ll both be attending, right? Cousin Michael is bringing his fiancé, Steven, so won’t it be nice that you'll be taking a girlfriend this time?”

You stared. “Family party?”

“A whole house full of Harrington’s!” Steve’s dad declared, whisking two eggs into his smoothie. You tried not to grimace. “We rent the old Manor House out by Bloomington for the weekend. You know it, it’s near that silly, little camp you guys waste your time at.” 

Your jaw clenched at the same time Steve’s did. 

—————

Two days in and you were at your wits end. The rest of Steve’s family was just like his parents. Obnoxious, brash and arrogant, all with a habit of talking about money and business, even over a seven o’clock breakfast. His younger cousins didn’t know how to knock on doors, Aunt Deniese’s toddler liked to throw things at Steve’s hair, his uncle was constantly winking at you and his grandmother kept grabbing you by the arm and asking when you’d be giving her a grandchild. 

‘Never, at this rate,’ you’d wanted to yell at her. ‘Seeing as nobody gives us a fucking second alone.’

Steve was almost unbearable. Almost. He’d turned surly and quiet, barely speaking the morning of the trip ‘cause he’d already had an argument about taking his car rather than sitting in the back of his dads.  He’d apologised to you over and over the night before, warning you about his family, how they were, how they acted. He’d even told you you could still back out, but you’d kissed away his apologies and told him you weren’t leaving him to the wolves alone. 

But the boy turned into a shell of himself at the hands of his relatives. He was prickly and constantly frowning, brow furrowed and he flinched when you tried to soothe it away. You’d have been offended if you hadn’t felt as on edge as you knew he did, constantly awaiting the next backhanded compliment from one of his aunts, a sympathetic expression written on his cousin's faces when you told them your shoes were from Target. 

You saw the way Steve looked at you though. Heated in a different way, the best way. Like he was aching to touch you and have you and kiss you without an audience, ‘cause everytime you reached for him, it gave someone in his family an excuse to berate you both. 

‘God, Steve. She’s clingy isn’t she?’

‘Can't you two be apart for more than half an hour?’

‘You know, if you want this relationship to survive, you gotta realise that money keeps it together. Where are you working, Steve?’

‘You know he’ll cheat on you right? He’ll be just like his dad.’

It only stopped when dinner was over and the table was cleared by the hired staff, Steve’s dads incoming speech about the family business interrupted by his son grabbing your hand and dragging you upstairs to your room. 

The bedroom door closed and Steve could breathe again. Just. 

You stared at him, chest heaving with half jogging through the too big house, with holding in the anger you wanted to let out over the mahogany tabletop. You were pent up, pulled tight. So was Steve. 

Maybe you could fix it. If he’d let you. 

“Fuck this weekend,” he was seething, kicking at his suitcase that had remained unpacked on the floor. “Honest to god, this fucking family. Shouldn’t have bothered even coming, knew this shit would happen, always fucking does.”

You kicked off your shoes, enjoying the way they clattered angrily against the hardwood. The noise caught your boyfriend’s attention and he turned, wide eyed. You didn’t say anything as you unzipped your dress, angrily shoving down the straps until it pooled at your feet. 

You let out another harsh breath, “yeah?” You agreed with Steve, with everything he said. “Wanna fight about it?”

Steve’s eyes flashed, lips parting, nostrils flaring and you knew that look, you loved that look. He sucked in a breath, knocking over the stupid ceramic horse statue on top of the dresser when he backed into it. He nodded, a determined look in his eyes. 

“Yeah,” his voice cracked. “Fuck, yeah, let’s fight about it.”

You grinned, wicked, sliding down the straps of your bra, hands behind your back to snap at the hooks. It joined your dress on the floor. Steve’s head hit the wall with a thud, tipped back, pupils blown wide, panting. 

He needed this. 

“C’mon, pretty boy,” you murmured, “let’s make it better.”

Steve crossed the room in seconds, shirt shed before he reached you, some buttons popping and scattering across the room. He was rough when he kissed you, hands grabbing at your waist, almost bending you backwards when his mouth met yours, tongue sweeping past your lips immediately. 

You keened high, uncaring about the other guests, knowing that the dining room was far enough away that they’d probably not hear anyway. So you kissed back just as desperate, hands clutching Steve’s jaw, squeaking when he lifted you without warning, grasping at your thighs that he coaxed around his hips. 

Your back hit a wall, photo frames rattling and you felt the click of his teeth against yours when you grinned against each other, chests heaving. 

“Fuck,” Steve groaned, hands grabbing at the dough of your ass, pushing your thighs apart so he could grind into you, already painfully hard. “Princess.”

He said it like he used to, less softer, a little more mean, teasing and sticky with condescension. It made your toes curl. Made you think about your first kiss in a cabin in the forest, thick, summer heat clawing at your throat along with an undeniable need for the boy. It felt animalistic. Like this did now. 

“Wanna fuck me?” You cooed, voice breathy, hands raking through the boy’s hair, nails leaving marks on his shoulders, his back. “Yeah, baby? Wanna fuck me hard? Wanna mark me up and forget about everything else?”

Steve groaned, a messy, dirty noise and he sounded wild. He nodded, nose bumping yours, one hand skating up your bare side until he could catch at your jaw. 

“Fuck, yeah I do. Gonna be good for me?” He asked nicely and god, he looked so good. Tanned skin, freckles across his shoulders, lips swollen and slick from your kisses. “Gonna do as you’re told?”

You grinned, kissing sweet at his jaw. “Not in the slightest,” you whispered against his skin. 

Satisfied, you let your head fall back against the wall, watching Steve from under your lashes, hands skating across his throat. Steve wanted a fight, after all. He liked the way you pushed back, babe as good as you got, when pressed him into the pillows so you could ride him until he wanted to cry at how good it felt. 

He wanted his hair pulled, scratches down his back, your moans in his ear, lavender coloured bruises on his throat, ones that matched yours. He wanted to fuck out the anger like you were the one who caused it. 

You never caused it. Ever. 

But it was fun to play. 

Steve grinned, ecstatic with your answer. His fingers gripped your ass tighter, fingers slipping under the lace there and he spun you both, letting you drop into the bed so you bounced. He reached for his belt buckle, watching you as he stood at the edge of the bed. 

“You’re so fucking pretty.” A moment of softness, a gentle hand on your stomach before he pushed you down onto the sheets. 

[shewasverynice]

Satoru Gojo/Fem!Reader (Bratting)

Fandom: Jujutsu Kaisen

Rating: Explicit

Content: Bratting, Fingering, Nipple play, Piercings, Orgasm Denial, fuckin' Satoru Gojo himself.

This one is just *chef's kiss*

Well, this was awkward. You stared at him and he stared right back at you behind that stupid blindfold. Didn't even have the decency to pull it down yet and get a good look at you, fuckin asshole. You'd put on such nice lingerie for this too and--

"What?" He said again, finally pulling the blindfold down. His beautiful blue eyes lingered as he took the sight of you in, his pretty pink lips slightly parted in surprise. He blinked, a double take before he inhaled and finally asked.

"You... Are my birthday present? Is that what you said?" He asked slowly.

You nodded, "Yeah."

"... Really?" He asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Yeah." You repeated.

"... That's kinda cheap isn't it?" He said with a cocky grin, "When I got you so much for yours? Some friend you are."

"Oh, well fine," you huffed, turning to leave, "If you don't want me I'll--"

"Relax!" He chuckled his voice then dropped into a low husky tone, "I'm kidding. I'm just kidding, babe. C'mere."

Your arousal feels slick and hot with each step closer to him. He was your friend, yes, but the reality was that if he'd asked you'd have already done this years ago. But, with his Birthday and all and his latest break up, you decided to just fuckin' go for it. You'd shown up in a loose hoodie and a skirt, your best lingerie beneath and just sprung it on him with a "Happy Birthday!". You weren't exactly sure what to expect, but now...

Your throat tightens from the way his eyes are looking at you. You'd never seen him look at anyone quite like this before.

You’ve never been this wet in your life, and he hasn’t even touched you yet. 

God damn, he looks good while he sits there. Lounging with his hands on the armrests, ankle resting on his opposing thigh. Fuck, he’s beautiful. Beautiful and strong and so, so amazing. The strongest sorcerer. A loyal and dedicated friend. You think of how lucky Suguru had been to have been with him before that shit show fell apart. How you wish you could have just skipped the whole... complicated friendship thing and just dated him yourself.

“Well? Aren't you going to come closer?" He asked with a soft chuckle. 

With a smirk, he dropped his leg and got to his feet. He stands before you, grinning annoyingly handsomely with his hands on his hips and sparks of arousal dancing in his eyes. He’s beautiful. His white hair is down and falling lightly on his forehead, eyes gleaming with a mix of adoration and desire as he leans in closer.

“Y-yeah,” you whisper, feeling intimidated. You weren't going to back down now, but being confronted with exactly what you wanted was making your brain go "AHHH!!"

“You're not shy now, are you?” The low chuckle that follows has you squirming. Shit, you’re so wet that you are sliding around under that sexy underwear. "You gonna say something, or uhh... Am I just gonna yap at ya'?”

“Yes,” you squeaked out.

“Yes…?” he cocked his head to one side, urging you to continue.

“I- uhh... I guess I'm just kinda nervous," you admitted, "Didn't think about what would happen after I got here."

“It’s okay, doll. Happens to the best of us," he said with a little shrug.

“So you - you’re feeling it now, then?” you asked, looking up to meet his gaze.

Fuck, why did you ask that. Why did you actually just put your foot in it and ask him that? The relaxed look in his eyes dissipates as he studies your expression. The heat of it has you wanting to squirm, but you’re already too embarrassed to fucking move--

“Yeah,” he wets his lips, and your eyes drop down to admire the way his tongue darts across that pout. God, you’re turned on. So turned on. It’s clouding your brain and making you feel like an idiot.

“Are you... Into the idea?" your tone drops slightly as you lock eyes with him once more. The brilliant blue hue in them is being taken over by darkness; his pupils widen as his hand rests on your thigh. You can feel the heat from his fingers spreading through your skin, almost like a spark, as he gauges your reaction to his deliberate touch.

“Yeah, I am,” he nods a little, but that hand is slowly gliding up your thigh accepting your invitation. Your chest rises and falls as you feel yourself literally dripping. His fingers have paused at the groove of your thigh where they now stroke up and down in a teasing motion. “Are you gonna back out? Now's the time... Because if you don't stop me..."

Without waiting for you to answer, he just nudges at the line of your fancy lace panties with his finger tips. They glided right over the lace before pressing right against you. Both of you choke on your breath, especially when his fingers touch a surprising little piece of metal that makes his lips twitch into a smirk.

“Shit,” he rasps, "Are you really this wet just for me?”

“Fuck,” you hiss, “Satoru, just--.”

Pulling back just enough he pushes your panties to the side. Instantly his fingers closed on your clit piercing with an inquisitive hum, his eyes dropping to take a look. Your breath catches again and his fingers release it before slipping between to spread your slick. Your eyes fall closed as a soft little moan pours right out of your mouth.

"Oooh~!" He cooed, hovering close enough that you can feel the rising heat in his body. Leaning down, his lips peck gently on your neck causing your body to tense and your back to arch. "Can't say I saw this coming," his breath is hot on your skin, "Probably should have noticed sooner. Can't believe you were this desperate for me. This was right here the whole time, wasn't it baby?"

"S-shut up," you whisper, hips rolling softly as he experiments with his rhythm. This feels completely unbelievable, if you're being honest. You can't hardly believe that the pads of Satoru FUCKING Gojo's fingers are softly stroking your clit. He's making your body jolt softly, your whines encouraging him more and more as he learns exactly what he needs to do.

"Nah, I don't think I will," his lips brush against your ear, "Never thought about this before, but shit! If you're just gonna show up looking like a goddamn meal what else am I supposed to do? You're dripping all over my fingers-- it's so fucking hot!"

Stroking a little faster, your legs tense. The pleasure is killing you, making your hips rock and toes curl. It's almost blinding when he flicks and tugs at your piercing, his body shifting close to wrap his arm around your waist to catch you. 

He chuckles, that fucking voice in your ear making you shiver, "Hold still, babe. You'll never cum if you keep wigglin' around like that."

Oh, shit. He's so good. The tempo is building fast and you can hear the wet sounds of his fingers on your swollen nub. He's absolutely relentless and your body is aching, the coil in your abdomen about to snap. He's so--

"S-satoru... G-gonna cum-- fuuuuuck..."

"Ooh~ good girl!"

His lips are so warm, parting yours so he can delve into your mouth with his tongue. You mewled now - all your sounds swallowed by him. The groan in his throat makes you tense, his hand on your hip tightening in response.

"Must've been waitin' for this," his words are muffled by your lips, "You're close aren't you."

Nothing else mattered anymore. All you could think about was the electricity surging through your body. You fought back the rocking of your hips, but those fingers were far stronger than anything you'd ever experienced. You pressed into his arm around your waist, and his tongue chases into your mouth. Satoru moans into your kiss, and that was the last nail in your coffin.

You feel like you're floating, his fingers still driving on through the fiery crescendo of your orgasm. Did you cry his name? You're not sure. Your head is left ringing after the blinding pleasure and lights finally passed.

“Mmm, good girl,” He’s pulled back a little, and when you open your eyes his gaze is clouded with lust. “Beautiful.” Those darkened eyes drop down to where he’s still stroking you, and he stops to part your lips with his index and middle finger. “Look at the mess you’ve made,” he tsks, but he’s wearing a shit-eating grin of course.

"What the fuck," you mumbled, your body still buzzing. You know you've got a goofy ass smile on your face that you don't have the energy to contain, "Damn you're good."

“Always aim to please,” he murmurs, at which laughter bubbles up from your chest. He pulls away-- and you want to fuss at the loss of him. That is, until you get to watch as goddamn Satoru Gojo lifts his hand - covered in your slick - up to his mouth. He slides two fingers past his lips, and those blown-out blue eyes roll back into his head as he hums in approval.

"Fuckin' delicious."

Insert: Windows blue screen.

You just fucking came like less than thirty seconds ago and this bastard does that?! Goddamn! Your pussy twitches around nothing as he snaked his tongue around his fingers with his eyes right on yours. His little chuckles and soft sighs are just adding to the show.

Fuck it.

"Oh? We movin' on then--nmmh!" Your hand jamming down his pants is enough to make his words trail off. He shimmies his pants and boxer briefs down enough to let his cock spring free - and boy were the rumors true. They were, of course, rumors that he'd started about himself, because this smug bastard would, so naturally you didn't think he was serious. But damn....

"Satoru, is this all for me?" you teased, gazing up at him through your lashes. It's long and thick and with each stroke it dribbles from the tip. Your fingers wrap around and his shoulders slump just a little. A long low groan slips out of his parted lips and his eyes flutter shut.

"Even on my own Birthday I can be generous," he breathed with a laugh, his hips beginning to rock into your touch. He's an absolute dream, his thighs flexing with each thrust, the little peek you were getting of his abs making you feel some kinda way. You know how toned he is, that stupid black uniform hides it incredibly well. He's absolutely gorgeous, but everyone knows that. 

"Shit, we should have done this a long time ago," you mumbled, and he responded with a sharp bark of a laugh.

"No kidding," he rasped, "Friends with benefits works for me, so-- fuck! I'll let you be my little fuck toy if that's what you want."

When you glanced up, his eyes were on yours again. Half-lidded and sparkling, they searched your face with a smirk that made you want to slap the shit out of him. This man was equally infuriating and amazing, but utterly irresistible to you.

"Let's get started, yeah?" He breathed, "I'm so fucking ready."

You blink at his statement as his cock twitches in your hand. With your own lips curling into a smirk, you looked up at him and stroked his cock faster with just a little more pressure. He gasped, his teeth catching his bottom lip.

“Want to slide your big dick inside me right now? Wanna know how wet I get for you, like, all the time? Want to know what it feels like to have my pussy around you?” 

“Oh-hoh!” he purrs, yanking your wrist away from his cock and pinning it behind your back. You laugh gleefully and go to reach for him with your other hand, but he’s already caught you before you can even get close. He’s got you pinned in his powerful grip, and when you meet his eyes his gaze is feral.

“I’m not gonna let myself cum in your hand when you’re talking to me like that,” he practically growls his words as he leans down so his lips are hovering above yours, “So answer this for me. Are you really going to let me to fuck you? Think you can handle it?"

"Uh, yeah," you scoffed, "I'm not afraid."

You laughed as his grip held strong with one hand while he pushed his pants all the way down and kicks them away. That same hand moves to your lacy panties and winds around them.

"Don'--" RIIIP!! "You mother fucker..."

Lifting you in his arms - as though you weigh absolutely nothing- he moves you back to the chair behind him. You steady yourself on his shoulders and when you're close enough his teeth catch your lower lip before his tongue glides over it. Your legs wrap around his waist and he chuckles in his throat. His breath is heavy as he grips his cock.

When his cock head presses against you, you couldn't help but whine. With a swear under his breath, he kisses you again while coating himself in your slick. Impatient as ever, it's not long before he's at your entrance and pushing past the ring of resistance and into you.

The stretch is incredible.

“Fuuuuuck,” you can’t help but moan, breaking the kiss to let your head roll back. Your head is swirling in the heat and fullness and the way he’s so easily able to lift you so that you’re gliding up and down in the exact motion he wants.

"Ah! I'm not a fuck toy,” you hiss, but he only chuckles.

“Mmm, but baby don't you wanna be my little fuck toy? Just let me use you until I’ve filled you with my cum-- shit, you just gripped me pretty hard there. I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Too slow!” you whined. 

“I’ll fuck you how I want to,” he breathes before dropping his mouth to your tits. With his teeth and nose he pushes your breast out of the cup of your bra. 

He pauses admiring the second time he's been surprised today with some exciting piece of metal. His teeth click gently on your nipple piercing and he purrs before swirling his tongue on it. His tongue is hot and wet as it rolls over your peaked nipple, and you tighten around him once more as the sensation heads straight to your clit.

“Ooh! Well, you definitely liked that,” He groans; his grip rough as he slows the way he lifts you and lets you drop deeper. 

It's not enough and you know he knows it. The fullness was absolutely insane, but he's not hitting that spot you need him to. He's doing it on purpose, you're convinced. It's that grin that's fucking giving it away. He's teasing you-- tantalizing you with what you could have but keeping it just out of reach. Your palms glide up to his hair and grip into the white strands.

That has him moaning, and you tense around him again.

“Fuck me like you mean it," you demand.

“I don’t--ngh, take orders from you," he chuckled, opening one eye to look at you. 

“Satoru, do it," you whined.

“Oh, you wanna be a brat, huh?” he grits out through a groan, “Hot, but that's not how you ask me to get you what you want.”

Oh, right. He wants you to beg. Well, fuck that. Your skin is already flushed, but you're burning for more. Your lips found his again, searing hot and desperate. You pulled away, a shiny arc of saliva dripping between you and him before your lips parted.

You said nothing though and he smirked up at you, "What's up? Too scared?" 

"Fuck you."

But Satoru only laughs, and drops you until he’s bottomed out. You gasp as you’re knocked into dizziness by it - but before you can start moving he grasps your waist and keeps you still. Punishment for your attitude.

"F-fuck! Dammit!" All the bravado drains from your voice and your head tips back as you plead, "I need you to fuck me. Hard. Please. Please! I need it, Satoru. I need it!"

He flips you over once more, pressing you down onto the seat of the chair with a deep moan in his chest. Placing his hands on either side of your head, he moves his hips against yours from behind - this time, without holding back. Each thrust is forceful, filling the room with the sounds of passion. The slap of skin against skin. The raw, intense way he continues to penetrate you. You push yourself up on your forearms to match his movements, and he swears before grabbing your hair, twisting your head around and pulling you into a passionate kiss. It's a mess of teeth and tongues, only adding to the intensity of the moment.

“This what you wanted, slut?” He snaps, “What that slutty fucking hole of yours wanted?”

“Fuck yes,” you pant, “More, please! Ooh fuh-uuuck!”

“Shit-- so good. Wanna feel you to cum," he gritted.

You slide your hand between your legs until you can touch your clit. Damn, it's so swollen - super sensitive to every touch you give it. You're so lost in your own thoughts that you don't notice his eyes tracking your movements, but when he sees you touching yourself, his pace quickens and he chuckles darkly.

“No, don't you fucking dare,” he panted, grabbing your hands and pinning them on seat in front of you, "I'm gonna make you... Make you cum just l-like this. Don't you fucking-- haaa! Don't you dare."

You nod, feeling completely overwhelmed by the drastic change in rhythm. Your pleasure intensifies rapidly as Satoru continues to target your G-spot with precision. The way he caresses your inner walls is beyond words. You wish this moment could last forever, but you're also eager for release. You're on the brink, your entire body throbbing with need.

“Cum," he commanded, ”Right now you stupid slut. Come on this cock like a good girl."

Those words were enough to send enough heat spreading south that you finally hit that glorious peak.

Your second climax ripples through you like a wildfire; searing and unyielding as it bursts stars in your eyes. Satoru groans; his hips faltering as the way you tighten and release around him causes him to thrust deeper. He gasps your name, his forehead rests on your shoulder before his teeth sink into your soft skin.

Your heart pounds loudly in your chest as you go limp; legs trembling while his large heavy body presses against your back. Both of you are sweating, causing his skin to glide over yours as he eases into a position that allows him to relax on top of you. The extra weight doesn't bother you - in fact, you embrace it.

“Mmm,” he rumbles, "That was pretty good.”

“Yeah?” You sighed, twisting your head a little to catch a glimpse of his white hair, “We'll have to do this more often."

"Pfft," you felt his lips pull into that snarky grin as he sat himself up, "More often? We're not even done here yet."

"Huh?" You lifted your head, tensing your pussy to find him still hard as a fucking steel pipe and balls deep, "You didn't cum?!"

"Not yet," he chuckled darkly, "Did you think that'd be enough for me? Nah, baby. I need a little more than that." 

“What the fuck does that mean?” You snarl, voice quaking with barely contained rage.

“It's my Birthday," he said with a playful lilt, "So I'll decide when I'm done playing with my new toy. Buckle up, buttercup!"

“You’re an ass!” You huff as he pulls out, leaving your pussy gaping and dreadfully empty.

“Mmhmm, yeah I get that one a lot,” he hums as his eyes - near black with how blown out his pupils are - drift down to where you’re squeezing your thighs together as he rolls you over on the chair. 

You glare at him as he rests his chin on your knees, his hands circling around your ankles. You glare at him and he holds your gaze until you have to look away. Yet another of his smug chuckles bubbles out of his throat.

“Well, well, well,” those blue eyes are almost menacing as he looks up at you. “You offered yourself to me. And yet here you are giving me shit about doing it how I want. Seems like maybe you need more of an attitude adjustment.”

Satoru's hands slip between your thighs, spreading your legs wide enough for him to fit between them. You sit still- clit already throbbing in anticipation as he lifts up his body to kneel in front of you in the chair. He reaches up, finally unzipping his dark jacket and removing it along with his dress shirt. 

He gently places the clothes down next to him, then his hands glide up your thighs then stomach. Your heart races in your chest. You struggle to catch your breath. Nothing else seems important - only the sensation of his big, warm fingers moving higher and higher. As he finally brushes his thumb over your nipple piercing, you let out a gasp. 

“Didn't expect all this metal. It's a pleasant surprise,” he purrs, then nibbles softly at your earlobe. “Do you like it if I do this--” he pinches a peaked bud with his thumb and forefinger, then gently flicks at the ring. 

You heave out the breath you had been holding and toss your head back into the backrest of the chair. 

“What about this?” He does the same with the other, pinching and rolling them both at exactly the same time. Wave after wave of intense heat shot straight to your clit. A long, needy whine escapes you as your eyes roll back in delight. 

“Mmn!” you whimper, “Shit, Satoru. Please don't stop.” You roll your hips as he continues, which draws a low chuckle out of him.

“Beggin' won't save you now,” he rumbles in regard to your needy bucking, his voice rough and low as his hot breath scorches your cheek. “I’m gonna enjoy my Birthday cock sleeve, and you have years of a shitty attitude to make up for. If you are so desperate to be a good girl, then I want you to let me do my thing- until you're crying for me to bury my fat cock deep inside you again anyway.”

You shudder on a high-pitched moan; the filth of his words causes you to contract around nothing. The promise, combined with his assault on your nipples, make you become impossibly wetter. It drips from you and presumably coats the leather of his chair’s padding, but he makes no move to give your weeping cunt an ounce of attention.

“Bet I could make you cum for me like this,” He whispers, "I'll get as many more as I want out of you before I'll fill you up real nice, okay?"

Your mouth gapes open, wanting to give him some kind of attitude since he seemed so fucking fond of it. But shit, his fingers and filthy mouth are way too much to contend with.

It’s like you're an open book with how he reads you. Each twist, flick and roll of his fingers draws all sorts of whimpers and whines from you. You can hear your racing heartbeat in your ears. Your mouth's as dry as the goddamn Sahara, and yet so much wetness continues to drip from you. Oh, it burns. You’re cramping with desperation for something. Anything . You’re pulsing - aching and contracting, but even as your body screams for more you can feel yourself ascending to orgasm. It’s far weaker than the one you need, but undeniably looming. 

“I can feel it,” he mumbles excitedly, “You're so fuckin' desperate for this dick again, aren't you? I'm gonna fuck the life outta you, doll.”

“I can take it,” you gasp, nodding desperately, “ Please Satoru, I want to cum while you fuck me again! Don't be such an ass! Let me have it!”

“Watch your mouth, slut,” he snaps condescendingly, “Better behave yourself or I'll leave you hangin'.”

“S-sorry.”

Speaking hurts. Your throat feels so tight and dry from all the heavy breaths and pathetic mewls you’re throwing out. His tweaking motions become harsher and he tugs on your rings. You arch your back, arms and legs trembling as your lower body cramps up painfully at the lack of attention.

“Satoru please, please, please. I’ll be good. I’ll be-- nngh, so good. So good," you sob, your eyes actually starting to well up with tears.

“Damn right you will,” he sounds breathless; captivated by his own show. 

“G-gonna cum,” You cry, the words scraping shrilly from your throat. “G-gonna ffff--ah, pleasedon’tstopIneed--”

When a warm, large hand takes your cheek in its palm and forces you to face him once more - your breathing stops. All motion has stopped, his fingers completely removed from your tits. You swallow thickly, adrenaline flooding your system. He stopped!! He stopped he stopped he stopped--

And then, Satoru Gojo presses two fingers over your clit.

A near-scream rips out of you at the sheer relief. His fingers twirl on your piercing and skin, but you’re so wet that the pressure has him gliding over you so deliciously that you shudder underneath the wild circles he traces. 

“I need more.” Fuck, it’s not enough. You battle with your sanity when you look at him -- his pupils blown wide as his chest heaves with each breath.

“Do you want to cum?” he asks.

“Yes!” You whine feverishly, “Please!”

“Well, then you know what I want to hear.” He finally sounds a little frazzled as his voice takes on a breathless edge, and it’s this loss of composure that has you grasping at his shoulders and pulling him towards you.

“Use your words if you want something from me,” that mother fucker taunts.

Your head spins with possibilities. You didn’t… He's... He's so calm. In complete control. Quietly dominating and an absolute tease. The husky purr of his voice stokes the fire of your desire as his hot breaths hit your neck-- you're so goddamn close, but he's keeping it just out of reach.

“How do you want me?” His lips brush the shell of your ear, “Use your words.”

“Fuck me,” your voice is a pathetic rasp, “need to cum.”

“But how?” He purrs before nipping your earlobe.

“Shh--nngh. Anyhow!”

“Now, now,” he sighs, allowing his right hand to glide up your hip and stomach until it can sit at your collar, “I want you to remember this one just like I'm gonna. I want it to be something you can think about whenever you find yourself alone on the road or whatever. So, tell me exactly what you want - or you're gonna get nothin'.”

A flush rises up your chest and into your face as you try to steady yourself. Alright. He wants you to talk but his fingers are on your tits and your clit, damnit, so you need to pull yourself together and actually think.

You need him to shatter you. Your body is literally screaming for it.

"Fuck me," you jumble out, "P-put my legs up 'n fu-fuck me hard. Please... I--I can't take it anymore!"

His eyes are on you the entire time; that smug smile still in place as his hands cup your knees and push them further apart. He lifts your right leg and hooks it over his bare shoulder, and the skin-to-skin contact has you boiling up inside. Large fingers trace patterns of fire on your inner thighs. He keeps his eyes firmly locked on yours as he places a chaste kiss on your ankle.

Your head is spinning with how hot this is. There are no thoughts left to be had - everything is just Satoru Gojo. His blue eyes. His flawless skin. The sound of his breathing. The feeling of his short fingernails drawing teasing patterns on your hyper-sensitive skin. The heat of his open-mouthed kisses on your calf. You’re throbbing. Aching desperately.

“Please,” you sob, because hearing him chuckle suddenly has you cramping up with another wave of need--

“Some other time, I’m gonna fuck that bratty mouth of yours - use it to make me feel good instead of letting you bullshit me. But for now, I want to know what you feel like when I cum inside this filthy hole.”

Tears stream down your cheeks. He plants his left hand above your head as he takes both of your hands in them. Your eyes are level and locked onto his as he strokes himself through your lips. Slides your arousal all over his cock so that he can take you with ease again.

“Please...” You whimper breathlessly, "I need it..."

“I know,” his voice is an affectionate caress that swims in your hazy head and then he snaps his hips forward to make that sweet fucking breach into you finally.

The pleasant burn of being stretched and filled has you shuddering and grasping onto his shoulders. He lets out a hot, heavy breath and you feel his arms flex as he fights the urge to completely sink himself into you on the first thrust. You bring both hands to the back of his head and pull him down into a kiss that threatens to make you both completely breathless, but this gives him the distraction he needs to slip between you to pinch at your nipple ring. You sigh wantonly and run your nails up the nape of his neck and scalp, and he groans headily before he lifts you up.

You wail at the sudden shift, but then your back is on the seat of the chair and his hands hold your hips in place as he rocks into you with a pace that has you crying out. He’s found that spot. The one that has the star dancing behind your eyes and pussy clenching around him. He probably always knew where it was.

“Fuck,” He growls, “Taking me so well.”

Oh fuck he absolutely did not just say that but yes he did and you want more--

“Y-yes,” You stammer, “taking you well. So well. Always w-will.”

He doesn't pause in his pace, but you do feel a shift in his demeanor as the realization dawns on him. You love praise just as much as you love being a little shit.

“You're taking my cock so well. Such a good girl.”

“Fuck yes!” You nod feverishly, pussy clenching so hard that he lets out a strangled moan as his pace falters, “Please, Satoru! Don’t stop.”

“Is th-this all you needed,” He grits out roughly as he rocks his hips into yours. You can hear how wet you are as he slaps against you with each thrust. “All my sweet little girlie needed?”

He tags on the last part so quietly that you almost miss it. You think he might mean for you to miss it - you two had never shared anything like that kind of affection… But you burn up that much hotter at hearing him call you that. You’re so close. Each stroke is stoking such a fierce fire in you that you know your third orgasm is going to be stronger than the second.

“I’ll be good,” you pull yourself together enough to make sure your voice drips with honey, “such a good girl if you cum inside me.”

Satoru lets out an unflattering moan as he presses you tight against the chair and pulses inside of you. He’s cumming. A surprised cry claws its way out of his throat as he buries himself to the hilt and reaches down to rub your clit with his thumb. You tense and sob as you’ve no choice but to follow - completely blown apart by how hot his surprise orgasm was combined with the feeling of him coating your insides with it. He moans unashamedly as you finally contract around him.

"G-good girl."

Your body feels that blissful release finally. It hurts, but it feels so good. Your pussy barely has any room to squeeze with his stupid big cock still inside, but god damn does she try her best. Your eyes nearly rolled right outta your damn head.

Fuck. You strain under the way he keeps working you with his fingers. Fuck that was-- that was so hot. How are you ever going to get past this? How are you ever going to step foot into the faculty building again and not get wet thinking about how he pinned you against a chair and roughly fucked you like that-- calling you a good girl? What the fuck happened here?! You didn't expect it to get like this...

Slowly he draws back, lifting you up into his arms before he carries you back over to the couch. Laying you down, he cards a hand through your hair before he kisses your forehead gently. 

"Thanks," he whispers with the gentlest smile you've ever seen since he'd been with Suguru, "I really needed that."

"H-happy Birthday."

Interested in your own custom fic? Check it out here!

[dreamofbecoming]

yeah alright this got away from me. posting in pieces, part one is just stobin, no shippy stuff. steddie and rockie to follow. i'll drop it on ao3 once all 3 parts are done

now on ao3!

platonic stobin

rating: t

wc: 3.5k

---

Robin stopped being surprised by Steve Harrington showing up at her bedroom window months ago. Jesus, there's a sentence her 16 year old self wouldn't fucking believe for a second. The Hair, climbing up the trellis her dad built for the roses her mom planted and then forgot about three months later? Yeah right, as if. But it turns out alternate dimensions and sci-fi movie monsters and Russian conspiracies in Bumfuck, Nowhere, USA are all real, so how surprising really is The King himself, collapsing through her window with all the grace of a baby giraffe, out of breath like he- holy shit, did he fucking run here?

"Dingus, did you run here? What the hell?"

"Had to- hang on, Jesus. Holy shit." He bends over, hands on his knees, panting like he just ran a marathon. Which, she guesses, he almost did.

"You have a car, you lunatic, what could possibly be so important?"

"Didn't think about it. Had to get here."

"Is someone dead?!" Oh fuck, Is the Upside Down back? Oh shit, oh no, it can't be back, right? Superhero girl closed the gates! Right?! Oh god, oh no, oh fuck, it's back, the Russians are back, they realized they couldn't let her live after what she's seen, her parents will never even know what happened to her, and they'll kill Dingus too, and dorky little Henderson, and that menace Erica, oh god, they're gonna die, and Hopper's gone and superhero girl is far away and she doesn't have superpowers anymore anyway, which is frankly bogus because what the hell, Robin never even got to hang out with a real live magic person before, which, ok, that's a selfish thought, but that's ok, we can think selfish thoughts and then set them aside and not act on them, thoughts are not actions, thoughts happen all the time without our consent, they don't determine our character-

"Bobs, you're spiraling. Nothing bad happened, I just realized something and I freaked out and I had to talk to you right away. Forgot to call. Sorry, I should have called. Ran straight out of the house. I don't even think my shoes match, what the fuck?"

She's gonna kill him, she really is.

She loves him so much.

"Jesus, you're insane. Sit, you absolute dweeb. I'm getting you some water, when I get back you can tell me what the hell is going on."

He's sitting on her bed when she gets back upstairs, staring at something in his hands. Christ, his hands are shaking. What the fuck, Dingus?

He takes the water and downs it in one go- ugh, sports guys- then flops onto his back and covers his eyes with a miserable groan.

"I know we've got the whole twin telepathy thing going on, bubba, but I'm gonna need at least a little bit to work with here. Give me something. Is it your parents? The kids? Uh, what was her name? From Thursday? Janice?"

"Janine, and no. Ugh. Here." The arm not covering his eyes flops out towards her, holding- ah. A zine. He had promised to drive up to Indy last weekend to the secret bookshop she told him about and get her some new ones, even though she couldn't go with him because her cousin Randy got caught cheating on his fiancée and her parents made her come with the rest of the family to help him move. Fucking Randy. Maybe he should make better choices, so the rest of them wouldn't have to clean up his messes. Jerk.

Anyway.

"Marked the page." Which, yep, there's a purple paper clip stuck to a page near the middle, because Steve knows how much she hates people who dogear books, even books that aren't really books at all, so he's been training himself out of it, because he's sort of the best. Again, 16 year old Robin would have her committed for thinking that, but here we are.

The pamphlet isn't one of the periodicals she sent him for, so he must have picked it up on his own. It looks handmade, just some folded sheets that look like they came out of a typewriter, bound with the kind of twine you can buy at the hardware store. It's called Awakenings. The page he's marked looks like a personal essay, no title, no real signature, just a pair of initials at the end of the page and a half of writing. She starts reading, trying to figure out what the hell spooked Steve so bad.

"I've always been normal. I've always had crushes on men, just like the other girls. There was never a feeling of "I'm different," or "Oh, this is wrong." There was never anything to think very hard about. I'd giggle and blush when the boys looked over at us on the playground, same as everyone else. Later on when I was older I looked at my poster of Harrison Ford, shirtless and hairy and sweating, and I touched myself, and it felt good, just like it was supposed to. I didn't mind thinking of my future husband, and our future kids, and the pretty house with the pretty garden we'd have, just like my parents have, just like they wanted for me. I was normal. Everything was fine.

I thought everything about me was normal. So I didn't understand why the other girls at sleepover parties would giggle and stop and say "Ew, gross!" when we practiced kissing. It felt nice! I wanted to keep going! But it seemed like no one else did. I didn't understand why none of them talked about getting butterflies in their stomach when Laura, who was the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen, transferred in our senior year, why they seemed so angry at her. Those butterflies were what jealousy felt like, right? So why did the other girls seem to feel so different?

I made my first lesbian friend in college, on the very first day, right across the hall in my dorm. We sat next to each other at Orientation and I thought I'd never have another best friend that wonderful in my whole life, so I'd hold on to her with everything I had. She came out to me the night before Christmas break, hiding under the blankets in my dorm room with the twinkling lights glowing. She was so scared. I held her and told her I loved her no matter what, and she seemed so glad, to have someone to talk to.

When she talked about falling in love with girls, I was so confused. The way she described it sounded like what it felt like to have girlfriends, I was sure. I felt that all the time. I asked her if she was sure she was gay, and she looked so shocked and angry and hurt, and I didn't know how to fix it, so I tried to explain. That what she felt couldn't be liking girls, because I felt that too, and I was normal. I liked boys, so I couldn't be gay. I couldn't be.

I'm glad it was her I said all that to. If someone else had told me about being bisexual, I think I would have hated them. I would have cried, and screamed, and said horrible things. Because I wasn't gay, I was normal, and it was so scary to think that might be a lie. Thank God it was her, my best friend in the world, who I never want to lose. Thank God I listened.

Because I'm not normal. I'm queer. I like men, and I like women. I can love them both the same, but it doesn't matter anymore, because I love her. I love her, and she loves me, and I don't need to be normal anymore."

Robin's face feels wet, which probably means she's crying. She cries a lot, reading these sorts of stories, in the zines she has to keep hidden under her bed, or, these days, at Steve's house. It's never going to be her, she knows. Not here in Hawkins, but it still makes something ache deep inside her, like pressing on a bruise, but in a good way, seeing love happen to other people. People like her. Seeing that it can.

"So?"

Oh shit. Right, Dingus. They're about him right now. Something about this essay in particular freaked him out.

"Uh. It's. A nice essay? I'm glad things worked out for them?"

Stevie lets out a pathetic whine, sort of like back at Scoops when he earned a particularly bad tally on the You Suck board. "Robbiiiiiiieeeee!"

"I'm sorry! I think I'm missing something, what's wrong with this essay? I don't get it, bubba, I'm sorry. I need some context." She does feel bad. Usually she can pluck whatever's bothering him right out of his brain and into the light, where it almost never looks as bad, but she's at a loss right now.

He's got both hands over his face again, and his response is so muffled she can't make out a word.

"Try again in human sounds, please."

"Ugh! I thought everyone felt like that!"

Huh? "Felt like...what, exactly?"

"Like that!" He flails wildly at the pamphlet in her hands. He's sitting up now, hair all askew from tugging at it, and there's a vaguely worrying crazed look in his eye, like right before he tackled that guard. "Like kissing boys and girls both feel nice, and like seeing a handsome guy and feeling jealous of him makes my stomach flutter, and like having friends feels the same as having crushes! I thought that was just how everyone felt all the time!"

Oh.

Oh.

Oh no.

Poor Dingus! No wonder he panicked and ran here like a crazy person!

"Stevie, can I hug you? Please?" She's not much for physical touch most of the time, but Steve is, and also she's found in the last few months that she doesn't mind so much when it's him. She sort of understands why other people like hugs so much, if they always feel like hugging Steve feels for her. And she really thinks he needs to be hugged, right now.

He nods miserably. She drapes her arms around his shoulders and holds on as tight as she can, hauling him sideways until he's practically laying down on her. He clutches her back and buries his face in her shoulder. She can feel her neck getting wet with tears, a sensation that would normally make her want to claw off her own skin, but this isn't about her. Dingus needs her.

"It's ok, bubba. I'm so sorry. I know how scary this is. When I first figured out I had a crush on Linda Sanderson I cried so hard I threw up, you know? I get it. It's gonna be ok, I promise. We'll make it ok. We faced down evil Russians and giant meat monsters, what's a little sexuality crisis, huh? We got this! We're the goddamn Wonder Twins!"

He snorts at that, which she's pretty sure leaves snot on her neck, which. Ew. Still. Problems for Later Robin.

"We are not, Will and El are the Wonder Twins."

"Uh, nope, no chance, I barely even met them so therefore I am vetoing their application. Sorry kiddos, better luck next time! Find your own nickname, losers!"

Steve sits back, laughing, and she preens a little at being able to bring him back from the brink so easily. She loves him so much she feels like she's glowing with it, sometimes. It almost makes her wish she was straight, because what girl is she ever going to find who loves her this much? But only almost, because. Well. Girls, amiright? Phew.

"So what now, Stevie? You wanna say it out loud? That helps, sometimes. You wanna not say it out loud? You wanna go to a gay bar and find you a boy? You wanna never think about it again? It's totally your call."

"Say it out loud, huh?"

"Hm. It took me like a month, and then the first time I could only say it sitting in the back of my closet with the bedroom door locked and the closet door closed, and I could only whisper it. Just "I'm a lesbian," to myself, like the world's most ironic little goblin. And I had to throw up again after. But it did feel good, once I rinsed my mouth out, anyway. Cleansing, you know? And it gets easier every time." Steve's eyebrows are raised and he's chuckling again, so that's a win. She's not lying, but it is sort of funny, she supposes. In hindsight, anyway.

"Ok. Ok, I can do that. I think. Yeah, I can do that."

She's so proud of him. He's the bravest person she's ever met, she thinks. "You wanna get in the closet?"

"Isn't the whole point to come out of the closet, Robs?" He's smirking at her. Bastard. She whacks him in the shoulder on principle. He may be having a crisis, but he's still a jackass. Her favorite jackass in the whole world, but still.

"Har har, you're a regular Bob Hope. Alright then, bigshot, let's hear it."

A little of that fear creeps back onto his face, and she wishes she could wipe it off, but that's not how this works. They can't make the scary things less scary. He couldn't make the Russians less terrifying, but he could hold her hand and make her laugh and carry some of that fear with her. She can do that for him now, too.

She grabs his hand, and he clutches back tightly. He takes a deep breath.

"I'm...fuck. Ok. Ok, I can do this. I'm...bisexual." The air leaves him in a big whoosh, and he laughs a little. "Yeah, ok, fuck. I'm bisexual. Holy shit, Robbie, I'm bisexual!"

"Hell yeah you are!" She's grinning so hard her cheeks hurt. She's so fucking proud of him.

He's laughing again, a little hysterically, and he hugs her tight again, and she holds him back just as close and thinks oh, he's like me. I'm not alone. I have Steve, and he's like me, and he's mine forever and ever.

When they separate, she looks at him seriously.

"So do you, like, want this to be a thing? Because we can totally make it a thing, and like, get me a fake ID and go to a gay bar and do all kinds of wild shit if you want, but we don't have to, you know? If you need to just, like. Digest this, for a while. It's totally up to you, I just know it took me a while to feel ok with it, and I have no idea if it's different for you but I just want to be what you need, you know? You've been so good with me, and I've never had a queer friend before, so I don't know how, but I want to be just as good to you. You're my Dingus and I love you and I don't know how much of a gay guru I can be on account of, you know, I've never met any gay people besides me and the pretty lady at the bookstore but I couldn't even get real human words to come out of my mouth when I tried to talk to her so I don't think that counts, you know? But I still wanna help! Let me help!"

"Bobbie! Bobbie breathe, you're gonna pass out. I don't think I need a gay guru, I just need a gay best friend, and I have that, so I promise I'm good, ok? Promise. Also I love you too.”

She takes a deep breath, following his lead the way they worked out in the horrible days after Starcourt, when she couldn't sleep without him next to her, warm and alive and breathing, and even then she would wake up in the night with her breath coming short and her vision tunneling and Steve would hold her hand against his chest and breathe slowly, in and out, until she could follow him, and the world wasn't so terrible and scary and loud anymore.

She still thinks about that awful hour underground, thinking she was strapped to the corpse of a boy she never let become her friend, but Steve is always there now when she needs him, and he never complains when she grabs his wrist or puts her head on his chest to make absolutely sure that big, stupid heart is still beating.

When she's breathing normally again, he drops their joined hands down between them, toying idly with the chain linking her ring to her bracelet. "I think...I think I'm glad I said it, and I'm glad we talked about it, but can we maybe just...put it away, for a while? Like it's not...ugh. I guess this is kind of shitty to say, so like, hit me if you want, I guess, but I kind of don't think it matters right now?"

"No no, that makes perfect sense! Like, you still like girls, right?" He nods. "And you don't like. Have a crush on any boys right now. Or do you? Oh man if you do you have to tell me though, it's platonic soulmate law. It's in the bylaws, Steve, don't make me soulmate fine you!"

He laughs and shoves her face away. "Jesus, Rob, no! I don't have a crush on any guys, who would I even crush on in this town? We're not exactly swimming in eligible bachelors. I don't have a crush on anybody at all, I'd tell you, I swear. I know the rules!"

"Oh phew, good. You have to tell me when you do, though, I'm way excited to get you back for making fun of Tammy."

"It was the God's honest truth, Bobbie! She sings like a muppet!"

"Oh my god, shut up, Dingus! Ugh! As I was saying, you super duper have to tell me when you do, but for now, I think maybe you don't have to think about it really at all if you don't want. I mean, practically speaking, it's not really relevant to your everyday life, so we can totally revisit when that changes, but you don't have to like. Join a pride parade tomorrow, you know? You are you who are no matter what. You don't have to prove anything to anyone, especially not to me, not ever."

He leans his head on her shoulder, and she scritches her nails through his hair. It really has no right being as soft as it is, with the amount of hairspray he uses. It's frankly rude, is what it is.

"Thanks, Bobs. I think I'm just gonna put it away for now. It just...another thing to know about me, you know? Like, I'm bad at fighting people but good at fighting monsters, all my best friends are kids except you, I'm bi but it doesn't matter because there aren't any boys to date in Hawkins anyway. Plus my dad would kill me if he found out. Like actually kill me, not "oh geez I missed curfew, my dad's gonna kill me" type kill me, like I think he'd actually try and beat me to death. So there's really no reason to talk about it right now, you know?"

There's a pit of ice in her stomach, and she tightens her arm around him like she can keep him safe just by holding on tight enough. She hates how casually he said that, just like she hates how casually he always talks about how his parents treat him, like he honestly believes it's normal. "Jesus, Dingus. You know you can come here if you need, right? My parents love you, they already think we're getting married. They'd make you sleep in the guest room, but I could sneak you in here easy."

He snorts again. "We're totally gonna end up married for tax reasons anyway, we're never beating the rumors." That makes her snort, too. He's not wrong, though. She isn't going to be allowed to have a wife anytime soon, and if she has to choose someone to be her next of kin, it's always gonna be him. They're planning to move in together when she goes to school next year anyway. No one is ever gonna believe them that they aren't dating, but that's...fine. Honestly, there are worse things. Better to have Steve by her side than not, and if no one else understands them, well, they understand each other, don't they? That's more than enough.

"Yeah, I know I can come here if I need, Robs. It's fine mostly, I swear. They're not home until Christmas anyway."

He takes another deep breath, like he's settling himself. "I'm just glad we talked about it. I feel better now."

She cards her fingers through his hair again, basking in the feeling of her favorite person so close, and so content. "I'm glad, Dingus."

They're alive, and they're together, and they're queer, and neither of them is ever going to have to be alone again.

"Hang on, did you say you've kissed girls and boys?!"

part 2 part 3

[jo-harrington]

Corroded Coffin Fest - Day 5 - On the Road Again

Summary: Gareth enrolls in the Eddie Munson Driving School.

Word Count: 993–CUTTING IT CLOSE GOD DAMN

Rating: T

Warnings/Themes: Angst, some swearing, coming of age friendship fluffiness.

Check Out the Main Post for @corrodedcoffinfest here! Even if you didn’t start on Day 1, you can still join!

Tagging: @the-unforgivenn at her request

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

Gareth Emerson was shitting bricks.

Or, rather, he would if he wasn’t so constipated from stress.

“Ew,” Dave pushed his lunch tray away. “Do you have to say that while we’re eating?

“Yes, Dave, I do,” Gareth snarked right back, arms curling around his midsection. “God. My stomach hurts.”

It was Gareth's first day of Driver's Ed and, unfortunately, he had done horrendously.

And it wasn't just bad, it was almost-crashed-the-driving-instructors-car bad. If anything could go wrong, it did, and nothing would make Gareth feel better than to go home and forget it all happened.

Better yet, if he could drop dead...

“Hey,” Eddie clapped a hand on the drummer’s shoulder. “Everything’s gonna be fine. The DMV let you have a permit, which means you're smart enough to drive...you just need practice."

"I hit the gas instead of the brake," Gareth deadpanned.

"An easy mistake," Eddie offered.

"I didn't check my blind spots, and almost hit Higgins while I was backing up."

"He deserves it."

"And then I pulled the steering wheel clean off."

Jeff and Dave both clapped hands over their mouths to stifle their laughter as Eddie used every piece of willpower on earth not to react in an extreme way.

"That..." He took a deep breath, searching for the kindest way to continue. "Yeah, damn...I don't know how the fuck you did that."

Gareth threw his hands into the air and was about to leave, over his friends judgment and just ready for the day to end, when Eddie pushed him back into his seat.

"Hey, I get it," he began. "Driving's a big deal. And it's hard when you get behind the wheel for the first time. But, hey, you weren't born knowing how to play the drums; you had to practice to get good. Same thing for driving."

"But what if I'm never good enough?"

"Impossible."

"Coach Simmons is never gonna let me drive again," Gareth moaned.

"Then we just find another car," Eddie shrugged. "Your mom's station wagon or...what if I let you drive the van? Show you a few things? I'm a great driver!"

Gareth didn't exactly have any other choices though, especially once he started getting the stress sweats on the days he had Driver's Ed.

So every Tuesday for an hour before their gig at the Hideout, he was officially enrolled in the Munson Driving Academy.

"Driver's Ed with Ed," he joked, earning groans from the others. "What, come on, it's funny."

Eddie had even made a sign to tape to the side and back of the van.

"So no one honks at us," he revealed with a flourish. "And if they do? Lesson Number One? You honk right back. The horn is your friend."

"Got it," Gareth nodded, and then climbed into the driver's seat.

"Or you just flip them off. You're already a pro at that Gare," Jeff snickered from the back of the van, where he and Dave were sitting, cramped, amongst their equipment.

Truly, Gareth was grateful for the lessons and the time and effort that Eddie put into them. Shit, he was even grateful for Jeff and Dave not saying a damn thing in the back while he was driving, even though they'd worn their bicycle helmets during that first lesson.

The thing was...

Eddie wasn't that great of a teacher.

At least when it came to driving.

There were certain things that he was a pro at.

He got Gareth to feel comfortable backing in to parking spots and making three-point turns. He'd even shared all of his tips about avoiding the cops and getting out of a ticket, knowing Mrs. Emerson would drop dead if Gareth ever got pulled over.

But despite half of Eddie's "tricks" being useful, for the other half of the time spend with Gareth, he had his nose in the exam booklet learning some of the things himself.

"Alright, we're coming up to this hill," he flipped through the pages. "Let's try parking."

"Where's your emergency brake?" Gareth asked as he pulled to the side.

"Uhhhh, it's next to that other switch right there, why do you need it?"

"I need to the emergency brake to park uphill Eddie!"

"Oh yeah," he flipped through the booklet again. "Good job!"

Gareth swore that he could hear prayers being muttered behind him during those lessons. And damn if he didn't say a prayer or two himself.

Needless to say, when the day of Gareth's driving exam finally arrived, all of the boys showed up to the Roane County DMV along with Gareth and his parents.

It was a momentous occasion, and Jeff and Eddie made a whole show of fussing over him.

"Our little buddy's all grown up," Jeff sniffed.

"Hey isn't that supposed to be my line?" Mr. Emerson joked.

Dave had even gotten a little package of cupcakes for them to celebrate once Gareth was out.

An hour passed, then two. All of the boys got restless as they waited in the van for the Emersons all to emerge.

But when they did, all of their hearts sank.

Gareth had his head in his hands, his mom's arm around his shoulders, as his dad simply shook his head in disappointment.

"Ah shit," Eddie cursed as Gareth shook his parents away to break the news to his friends. "How bad was it?"

"Did you miss a stop sign?" Jeff asked.

"Did you tank whole written test?" Dave questioned.

"It was one of the worst experiences of my life," Gareth moaned, eyes wrenched shut in pain.

And then, like the little shit he was, he pulled a laminated card out of his back pocket and proudly held it out to show his friends.

"It's a good thing I never have to do it again!" The other boys hollered and whooped and jumped around in celebration. "You guys wanna go to the arcade to celebrate? I'm driving."

[loveroftoomanyfandoms]

Cooking Up Love, Chapter 12

Pairing: Chef!Matt Murdock x F!Journalist!Reader

Rating: T

Story Summary: Here 

Warnings/Tags: Hallmark levels of fluffy, cheesy goodness (and speed that their relationship develops, lol), no use of Y/N, Matt is not a vigilante, idiots in love, angst

Word Count: ~1800

A/N: It's time for Mega Angst, which means we have 2 more chapters to go until our resolution!

Tag List: @yarrystyleeza @hailey-murdock @mattkinsella @bellaxgiornata @danzer8705 @chezagnes @shouldbestudying41 @thepunisherfrankcastle @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment @roseslovedreams

"Hey, Ellison is looking for you," Skyler said on Friday morning. "He said he wanted to talk to you about something."

"Oh, okay, thanks," you replied. 

Skyler eyed you. "Still haven't heard from Chef Hottie?"

You shook your head. "Nope. I tried texting Matt yesterday just to let him know that I'd be emailing a copy of my article to him after Ellison approved it and never got a response."

Skyler frowned. "Well that's shitty."

"Told you he'd ditch you as soon as it was all over," Kelsie said as she walked up. "Although I'm surprised he didn't at least wait until your article came out."

She let out a snide laugh. "He must've really not been into you."

Your heart twisted. After rehashing the events of your blind tasting with Skyler on Tuesday you had allowed yourself a small glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe , Matt had been genuine with you, but once again Kelsie had come along to squash it.

You swallowed and shook your head. "It really doesn't matter what Chef Murdock thinks of me personally. I'm still going to write the truth about him."

"And that's why you'll be stuck writing puff pieces your entire career." Kelsie shrugged. "Well, I better get busy. James is picking me up early for our weekend away and I don't want to be rushing to get things done last-minute."

Skyler scowled as Kelsie sauntered away. "One day… One day I'm going to go off on her, and I promise you, it won't be pretty."

She turned to you. "You okay?"

You nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine. I'm gonna go ahead and go see Ellison. I'll catch up with you later."

You headed towards Ellison's office, knocking on the doorframe when you reached the threshold. "Hey, you wanted to see me?"

Ellison nodded and gestured towards the couch opposite him. "Yeah, take a seat."

Oh, shit. Sitting was never good news. Sitting indicated Serious Conversation that usually resulted in someone getting reprimanded -- or worse.

You swallowed nervously as you sat. "What's up?"

Ellison reached for a stapled set of papers -- papers you recognized as the copy of your article that you had set on his desk Wednesday afternoon and had been waiting for feedback on. "I want to talk to you about your article."

You didn't notice any red markings on it, but you weren't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

A dozen thoughts flew through your mind, none of them good. Did he hate my article and I need to rewrite the entire thing? Am I being reassigned? Did Matt call to complain about me having been unprofessional somehow and that's why I haven't heard from him?

Ellison peered up at you above his glasses. "Remember when I told you not to make me regret agreeing to give you a raise?"

You nodded, your heartbeat quickening. "Uh huh."

"Well…" Ellison grinned at you. "There's a reason I told you that you're my best reporter, and it's because of articles like this."

A wave of relief washed over you. Oh, thank God. "You liked it?"

"Liked it? I loved it." Ellison shook his head. "In fact, I think this is the best article I've read in a very long time."

A slow smile spread across your face. "Really?"

Ellison nodded. "I knew if anyone on staff would be able to get Chef Murdock to open up, it would be you. I feel like I've gotten to know him through your writing -- that bit about him volunteering to cook for the soup kitchen at Clinton Church every Sunday after the restaurant closes? It's almost like I was there with the two of you. The descriptions of the dishes you tried at his restaurant? I could almost taste them myself."

He flipped to the second page. "And that final line? 'Chef Murdock's professionalism, masterful culinary skills, and obvious love and care that he puts into his cooking all combine to create a delicious recipe for success' ? Probably the best closing sentence I've ever read. In fact, I was so blown away by your article that I'm submitting it for consideration in the NYPC's Journalism awards next year. I have a feeling it'll win the Best Feature Reporting category by a landslide."

You were speechless. "I honestly don't know what to say, Mitch. Thank you."

Ellison leaned back in his chair with a grin. "Say you'll remember to thank me in your acceptance speech when you inevitably win."

You nodded. "Absolutely. If I win, you'll be the first person I thank."

"Good. Now, I have an editorial column to write for Restaurant Week so let me get back to it, but I want to tell you again… great job."

You stood. "Thank you, Mitch, truly."

You left Ellison's office, a huge smile on your face.

"You look happy," Skyler said as you passed her in the hallway. "Good meeting?"

You nodded. "The best. Ellison loved my article and said that he was going to nominate it for the Press Club's Journalism awards next year."

Skyler gasped. "You're kidding!"

She wrapped her arms around you in a hug. "Oh my gosh, I'm so happy for you. My best friend, an award-winning journalist!"

You huffed out a laugh as you gave her a quick hug back. "That's the dream, but let's not get ahead of ourselves. I probably won't win." 

Skyler shook her head. "Oh, I'm pretty sure you will. You're an incredible writer."

"Thanks, Sky." You smiled. "I'm gonna go send my article over to Matt. Hopefully he likes it as much as Ellison did."

"Okay. I'm about to head out to go pick up my press pass for that music festival I'm covering this weekend. Did you want me to grab something for you while I'm out?"

You shook your head. "I'm good. Thanks though."

"Okay, I'll see you later then."

You headed back to your desk and pulled up your email, clicking the button to draft a new email and attaching the document with your article from your desktop.

To: mmurdock@daredevilnyc.com

Subject: Bulletin Article 

Attachment: Restaurant Week Feature V1.doc

You considered adding a message, but still wasn't sure what you'd say to him besides "I'm sorry", so you left it blank.

You were getting ready to click send when Kelsie walked up to you. "There's a delivery for you downstairs," she said. "You have to go sign for it."

Your brow furrowed. Normally Phil, the Bulletin 's security guard, signed for deliveries and put them in your mailbox. "Oh. Okay."

"And by the way, I'm not your secretary, so next time there's a message for you, someone else can deliver it."

You sighed. "Whatever, Kelsie."

You stood and headed to the elevator, then went down to the first floor.

You frowned as the doors opened and you stepped out to an empty lobby.

You walked over to the security desk. "Phil, did I have a delivery in the past couple of minutes?"

The security guard shook his head. "We had several packages come in, but nothing for you that I know of."

You shrugged. Kelsie must've been mistaken. "Okay, thanks."

You headed back upstairs to your desk and clicked send on your email to Matt.

You sighed. At least that's done.

…So why did you feel uneasy?

Matt was sitting at his computer in his office working on the next week's purchase orders when his computer chimed with a new email alert.

He navigated to his inbox and opened the email, waiting as his voice accessibility feature read out the information.

From: features@nybulletin.com

Subject: Bulletin Article

Attachments: (1) Restaurant Week Feature V1.doc

He took a deep breath and opened the attachment, an uneasy feeling forming in the pit of his stomach.

He plugged in his headphones, then hit the keyboard command to start his text-to-speech service.

His heart sank as his computer began to read the article aloud to him. It was full of false information, including completely made-up quotes and scathing reviews of both Daredevil and Matt personally. At least she left what I told her at Fogwell's out of it.

He listened to it twice more, his stomach sinking lower and lower each time.

He was contemplating listening to it yet another time when Foggy walked in. "Hey, Matt, we need to add extra oranges to next week's --"

He paused. "What's wrong?"

Matt sighed. "The Bulletin article."

Foggy stepped fully inside the office. "Oh, you got it?"

Matt nodded. "Yeah, and it's just like I thought -- she was using me the whole time."

Foggy placed a hand on the back of Matt's chair as he peered at Matt's computer screen.

He sucked in a breath. " Shit, man, I'm sorry."

Matt shook his head. "I knew it. I knew that she would turn out to be just like Elektra."

His phone began to ring, the repetition of your name twisting the knife into his heart.

He answered, saying your name flatly.

"Matt, hi," you replied. "I was just calling to let you know that I sent you a copy of my article."

"Yeah, I got it." 

"Oh. Okay." You sounded unsure. "Have you read it yet?"

"Oh, yeah, I read it." Matt scoffed. "What, are you expecting me to be happy about it, to say 'thank you?' I knew I shouldn't have trusted you -- all you journalists are exactly alike."

"What?" You sounded confused. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about the fact that you used me to make a name for yourself. Always looking for the next big scoop, no matter who you screw over in the process."

"Screw over? Matt, I don't under--"

"I actually thought you cared about me, that maybe you felt--" Matt cut himself off and shook his head. "You know what, don't bother coming by my restaurant ever again -- you're not welcome here."

Before you could say anything else, Matt hung up then threw his phone across the room. "Fuck. "

Foggy placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "I'm so sorry, Matty."

Matt shook his head. "You know, the worst part about all this is that I could feel myself falling for her, Fog. I thought she was different, I thought -- I thought that maybe someday she could be the one."

He sighed. "By the way, I know you meant well and all, but don't ever offer for me to do anything involving a journalist ever again."

Foggy chuckled. "Oh, no danger of that, don't worry."

He patted Matt's shoulder. "Come on, let's finish getting ready. If this article is going to tank us then we're going to make these last few services the best we possibly can."

[the-fiction-witch]

Coming!

Media IRL

Character Thomas Brodie Sangster

Couple Thomas X Reader

Rating Flirty

I stood in the bedroom, looking at every inch of me in my mirror. I couldn't stop picking at myself all my little tiny details all the things I would change if I could.

"My cheeks are too chubby, I don't have like smooth cheekbones,"

"Your cheeks are fine Y/n," Thomas answers from the bed, where he sits against the headboard with some sort of... I don't actually know what is is some puzzler thing his friends set him he'd been battling with it for four days and had yet to get anywhere with it. 

"But they're chubby,"

"Exactly, I can pinch them." he smiled, "Pinchy pinchy," He smiled trying to pinch my cheek but I batted his hand away, "No! Let me crab pinch you." he said trying to pinch my cheeks,

"No! thomas! go back to your damn puzzle cube," I told him

He did so I went back to the mirror, 

"My nose is ugly,"

"I like it, very boopable."

"My eyelids are weird."

"... You're eyelids?"

"Yeah, they should be less winkly and more curved."

"... I never thought eyelids could be unattractive, or even that anyone would look that closely at eyelids." He said, "Well I like them," he shrugged "I think your eyelids are lovely" he said sitting up on his knees making me shut my eyes and kissing my eyelids "Boop" He smiled booping my nose with his own,

"Stop complimenting me thomas."

"Why? You're adorable and I like telling you" he smiled, before sitting back on the bed and grabbing the puzzle box, "Now... reveal your secrets to me cube!" 

"Hmmm... My arms are flabby."

"Your arms are lovely, they give me hugs"

"My neck is too long,"

"... I... too long? its neck is as long as it needs to be. I like your neck, it's long so I have lots of real estate for hickeys and kisses." 

"My waist should be more defined."

"I can wrap my arms around it fine."

"My thighs are too big."

"You're thighs are amazing! they squeeze my head and it's like the best feeling in the world, plus I rest my hand when I'm driving, and you are a very nice handrest, and headrest, and anything rest really," 

"My legs are too short."

"You're legs are your legs love, you can't change them and why would you even if you could, your just the right size to snuggle when we stand up, I get to rest my head on you it makes me very cosy."

"My stomach is too flabby." 

"You're stomach is fine!" He complained, "What is this about?"

"Humm?"

"You. picking at your damn self" he said, "Come here."

"I don't wan-"

"Here. bring that but here before I spank it." he warned so I sat on the bed, "What is the matter y/n? you're perfect, you know I think your perfect, your the most beautiful thing in the world, what's going you like this."

"Lisa..."

"Lisa? what's lisa done now." he sighed already annoyed, 

"She got a nose job today."

"Ahh that... makes a lot of sense now." He nodded, "You're feeling insecure because Lisa is getting plastic surgery."

"Yeah,"

"Why?"

"Becuase she's gonna look perfect after this and it makes me feel... ugly."

"It's gonna make her look like plastic I've seen her plastic surgery plan. she wants a waist of twenty-five inches and E-cup boobs. and she's not going somewhere good, that place she's going to for these advertisements on Facebook...she's gonna end up looking like most people who get cheap plastic surgery, like a weird rubbery sex doll. and that's all she'll be a weird rubbery sex doll with no personality." he explained, "I love you, my beautiful real girl, I love your eyes, your eyelids, your chubby little cheeks, your cute nose, I love everything because there yours love. I see you're body and see the scars and little things people would call imperfections and I see all the little things that make you the way you are, all your little scars and imperfections that show the life we've lived. You're not some airbrushed waxy doll and I wouldn't ever want you to be." 

"You wouldn't? you wouldn't want me to look like a magazine model?"

"God no! they airbrush the crap out of magazines." he laughed, "Would you want me to look like that? all smooth and air brushed, and surgery enhanced?"

"No! I like you just the way you are,"

"see, that's the way I feel about you. Even I'm not a weird waxy doll, I am, weird too everyone is. I have a lot of veins coming through on my hands and arms, I have that weird scar on my leg from that motorbike crash, I don't even get chest hair which I admit does kinda make me sad... but you don't see me going out and sticking astroterf to my chest do you?"

"No," I giggled, 

"See, imperfections are what make us human love, and I love you very very much,"

"Awww I love you too thomas." I smiled, "but you don't think I'd look better if I had bigger boobs."

"... You're boobs are fine love. I like your boobs. They're great." He smiled, "Perfectly hand-sized."

"Is that your attempt at asking to touch my boobs?"

"...Yes." He smiled, 

"Alright" I chuckled and immediately his hands went to my boobs 

"Ummmmm I love these so much. why would anyone wanna shove plastic and filler and junk into this perfect marshmallowy deliciousness." 

"I don't know I kinda feel like my nipples look weird."

"your nipples look weird?" he asked, "I have never ever in my life paid attention to what your nipples look like, I see them... I get excited, I wanna kiss them, play with them and sometimes suck on them. I do not pay the slightest bit of attention to what they look like, I purely care I'm getting to see them the only thought going through my mind is one simple word."

"Which is?"

"yay." He said, "Do. not. change. your boobs. they. are perfect." he said kissing my chest a little as he plaid with my boobs,

"Alright you have fun Tommy," I laughed petting his hair i took his puzzle box and gave it a go myself giving it a tinker and opening it up to reveal a single chocolate truffle

"W-What did you do!" He yelped taking it from me, "How did you- oww... now I'll never figure it out." He sighed 

I rolled my eyes and put the chocolate back inside and shut it up again "There."

"Yes! Thank you, love," he smiled taking it back, "Now show me what you did."

"No, you have to figure it out that's the point of the puzzle box thomas." 

"Fine," he pouts working with it again, 

"Well, I need a shower..." I sighed, getting up and grabbing a towel, 

"Alright, have fun love." he smiled as he worked on the puzzle box,

"You wanna join me?"

"Hu..."

"do you want to join me?"

"In ... in the shower?"

"Yeah,"

"Yes!" 

"Alright let's go," I smiled heading to the bathroom

"Coming!" He excitedly yelled jumping out the bed throwing his shirt and racing after me. 

[imagines--galore]

hi, saw ur post saying that ur feeling down and i’m really sorry to hear that and just try to stay optimistic. you asked for hurt/comfort prompts to help you cheer up, so i was wondering if you could do tasm or mcu peter parker x reader where she’s kind of been hiding the fact that she’s down and so one day she snaps and it all comes out and he helps calm her down and is just there for her and really sweet?? hope u have an amazing day/night & feel better🫶

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader Rating || Genres || Warnings: T. Romance. Hurt/Comfort. A/N: Cuddles make everything better. Though I wouldn't know it myself. I'm a sad person : P

Final Projects. Work. Exams. Assignments. Extracurricular. Internship. Bills.

There was just so much to do and not enough hours in the day to do all of them. It should be humanely impossible to complete every single task in a day, yet you were trying your best.

You didn't have any other choice.

If you didn't hand in the final projects, your final grade would drop. If you didn't get to work, you would be fired. If you didn't study for your exams, you would fail. If you didn't complete your assignments your professors would fail you. If you didn't meet the extracurricular requirement you wouldn't have anything to put on your resume once you graduated college. If you didn't do your internship, you would be one step behind every other candidate for any potential job. And if you didn't pay the bills, you would be kicked out of your small apartment.

Oh and if you didn't spend time with Peter, your boyfriend, he would leave you.

Add that to the list as well.

Consumed by your negative thoughts as you tried to power through as assignment that was due the next day, you weren't aware of Peter entering your apartment and opening up the fridge.

"You're out of orange juice, Y/n." He stated, grinning impishly as he finished off the final few dregs in the juice carton.

It was a simple thing, such a simple thing that was the norm between you. You would always tell him while finishing off the last of it in his fridge or cabinet and he would do that same.

But at that time?

You snapped.

"Yes! I know I'm out Peter. I know the I'm out of orange juice because I didn't have the time to go to the store and buy some more. Why?! Because I didn't have the time!." You threw down your pen in frustration before pushing away your books and laptop as you buried your hands in your hair.

"I bit off more then I could fucking chew and now I know I'm gonna fail in all my classes, loose any chance I have of having a good future and wind homeless, which will force me to ask my parents for money, which I hate doing, and you'll leave me because you wouldn't want to be with me anymore, and I just- just-"

Your words became incoherent after that as a pair of familiar arms came around you and pulled you into a warm embrace. All your frustration, anger and fear of failing finally culminated and the dam broke.

Tears fell from your cheeks as you sobbed into your boyfriend's shirt. God! You were so pathetic! You had never done well when it came to pressure, but you had always managed to keep it all inside. But there was just something about Peter hugging you so tightly that it prompted you to loose whatever control you had over your emotions. Maybe because you trusted him. Trusted him to see this side of you and not be berated for it, or simply told to get over it. That was the response you had normally received from almost everyone in your life. That is until you met Peter.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! You deal with so much more than I do, and I'm the one who breaks." You whimpered, suddenly feeling ashamed at having such an over-emotional response. You felt him shake his head.

"How many times have you hugged me and told me I could do everything when it all became too much for me?" He kissed the top of your head. "I think it was time you had a breakdown of your own, you can't stay strong all the time Y/n." He said, stroking your back as he did. Normally you would've argued, but you just wanted a little sympathy. You sniffled, giving a meek nod. "I guess so."

Peter continued to hold you, pressing kisses to your forehead and temple, in an attempt to calm you down further. You sighed as you snuggled further into him. Already you could feel yourself beginning to calm down. But you didn't pull away. Not just yet. You were simply enjoying in the simple pleasure of being in Peter's arms and just being so close to him. That and you loved his kisses. You couldn't get enough of them, if you were honest with yourself.

It was after a good few minutes that you were ready to pull back. Wiping away the tears that were left, Peter kissed both your cheeks, prompting you to giggle softly at the silly smile he wore in an effort to cheer you up further. "How about I get the orange juice and grab some dinner as well. And then after that I'll see if I can help you with your homework." He suggested, prompting you to smile at just how sweet he was being.

With a nod, you agreed. As he stood to do what he had just said, you couldn't help but feel lighter, your head clearer. Turning back to your waiting homework, you tackled it with more vigor then before, eager to be done with it.

[frownyalfred]

Gonna pile on here as another fic author: I don't think most people realize that authors can and do read public bookmarks, but oh god I wish they would, it's somehow worse then getting outright hate in the inbox

I write popular stuff like you, which I think makes it worse? (which is also why this is on anon lol) People assume I'll never see them say my fic is overhyped or too long, I guess

I have a lot of grace for the accidental public bookmarks. I know it happens sometimes. I've seen this argument wrung six different ways on the ao3 subreddit, and the conclusion I always come to is this: even if it's not done with malicious intent, it does affect authors. And you can't just expect authors to ignore a bookmark that 1) they cannot remove and 2) is slapped right onto their fic for everyone else to see.

It's like walking up to a busker playing piano on the subway and leaving a permanent sticky note on their keyboard that says "6/10 meh could've been better" that they can't ever take off. And they just have to look at it, and make their peace with it, which are important things for creators to be able to do, of course, but puts the onus of being the "better person" solely on the author?

"Well don't look at the bookmarks" "it's not a bad rating" "bookmarks are for readers, not authors" I GET these points. I am also a reader. I read and use bookmarks as recs. But giving out unsolicited criticism, regardless of venue, has always been seen as distasteful. Especially when the things being criticized are done 1) for free 2) in the author's spare time and 3) are so easy to suppress/crush with one poorly-placed comment or bookmark.

I don't say this to rant about how my own writing has been impacted by bookmarks, because while I'll bitch about it here, I'm not really thinking about myself. I'm thinking about the baby author or the new fandom arrival whose success and presence in this fandom is so tenuous, that one bookmark can knock them out of the game entirely. I'm talking about when we forget that there are real people, with real lives, on the other side of that ao3 username. The people who have quit writing because of stuff like this.

I'm not saying you have to like every fic. I'm not saying you can't rec fics to others with valid criticisms attached -- we all do it! Hey, I loved this fic but it's a little rough at the start! I've said that so many times. Would I ever put that in my public bookmark of that work? Absolutely not.

If you've erred with public bookmarks, it's not the end of the world. Make them private or maybe add some thoughts to the bookmark other than a rating. I've seen too many rating "codes" to believe it's all innocuous mistakes. And trust me, slapping a 2/5 on a poor little oneshot is one of the worst things you can do to a new or aspiring author.

/endrant