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girlygguk · 4 hours ago

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LIE WITH YOU ⋆ JJK

in which jungkook doesn't realize what he has until he just about loses it.

pairing grumpy!jk x sunshine!(f)reader

genre angst, fluff, roommates2l, college au

word count 8.4k

content jk 20 | yn 20, grumpy & troubled jk, soft & overthinking oc, quiet mutual pining, jk outbursts at oc, trouble in roommate paradise, oc turns to her ex to cope, jk turns to substances to cope, marijuana and alcohol consumption, oc is grabbed roughly by a male w/o consent, fight scene, jk beats the shit out of a guy, angsty moments, cute moments, sweet ending

author's note so this is my attempt at the grumpy x sunshine trope and my way of hopefully making up for flopping at drabble night 😭 this could def do w/ a part two, so that option is open for expressions of interest heh.. 🙂‍↕️ love you 💋

beta read by my girlfriend & god's sweetest angel, @lovieku

Jungkook groaned as sunlight crept through the blinds, slicing into the darkness of his room. The familiar clinking of dishes and your humming drifted from the kitchen, grating on his nerves like nails on a fucking chalkboard. He rolled over with a heavy sigh, pulling his pillow over his head, but it did nothing to block you out.

“Wake up, Jungkookie!” your chipper voice rang out. “We’re going to be late! I made your coffee!”

He clenched his jaw, muttering a curse into the mattress as he dragged himself upright. You were always like this—too cheerful, too energetic in the mornings. He never understood how anyone could function with so much fucking energy at this hour, let alone be so damn happy about it. His body moved on autopilot as he trudged into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

You handed him a steaming mug, that same bright smile plastered on your face—the one that seemed to melt everyone else’s hearts. And, yeah, maybe his too on some days. But not today.

"Here you go, Kookie," you said sweetly, placing the cup in his hands. "Figured you’d need an extra shot. I know you were up late last night."

Jungkook muttered a barely audible "thanks," taking the mug as he plopped down on the bar stool, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion. His mood was sour, patience wearing thin, and though you kept talking, going on about some assignment or weekend plans, his focus blurred. All he could feel was the irritation bubbling up inside of him.

And then you said it. The one phrase that tipped him right over the edge.

“You better get dressed, Kookie,” you hummed, sipping from your own drink. “It’s a beautiful day! Let's start walking so we can get some of the sunshine—"

“Can you just not for one second?” he snapped, slamming the mug down on the counter, the clank of ceramic echoing in your little flat. “Every morning, Y/N. Every fucking morning, you’re just so jolly and merry. Like, it’s annoying. I can’t take it.”

The silence that followed was instant and suffocating.

Your smile faltered, the usual brightness in your eyes dimming as his words settled over you. Jungkook watched your expression shift into shock and confusion, then into something smaller and quieter. Your shoulders slumped slightly, and without a word, you turned away, focusing on the dishes like you could disappear into them.

Jungkook cursed under his breath when he saw the hurt in your posture, his stomach twisting. He wanted to apologize, to take it back, but he didn't know how. So instead, he pushed off the stool and retreated to his room, the sound of his footsteps heavy as he left you all alone in the kitchen.

The atmosphere in your last class of the day was painfully different from the usual. You sat next to Jungkook, but the banter, the jokes, and the teasing nudges were nowhere to be found. Instead, you kept to yourself, eyes glued to your notebook, only speaking when the professor called on you. And even then, your voice was so much quieter than usual.

Jungkook kept glancing at you, each look tightening the knot of guilt in his chest. He never meant to hurt you. It wasn’t your fault—none of it was. The stress from his deadlines, the sleepless nights, the pressure from work, it was all too much, and he took it out on you. But that wasn’t fair. You had shorter deadlines, longer nights, and two fucking jobs. You never complained. You still smiled. Still hummed in the mornings. Still looked at him like he could do no wrong.

But now, you barely looked at him at all.

When class finally ended, Jungkook reached out to grab his things, intending to walk home with you, just like you always did on Fridays. But when he turned, you were already halfway out the door, your bag slung over your shoulder, disappearing before he could even catch up.

His heart sank right to his ass.

For the first time in months, you didn’t walk home together. No light footsteps beside him, no playful nudges, no laughter bubbling up between the two of you as you made your way through the streets. There were no silly word games that you always roped him into, the ones he pretended to hate but secretly looked forward to. Without you, everything felt… quiet.

Jungkook shoved his hands into his pockets, the weight of your absence gnawing at him much more than he expected. He trudged back to the apartment alone, grumbling under his breath the entire way.

Jungkook sat on the couch, phone in his hand, staring grumpily at the “seen” message on his last text. He had sent it over an hour ago.

Hey👋 Where r u? Did u still wanna get takeout for dinner?

He glanced over at the cold takeout sitting on the counter, your orange chicken untouched. His own meal was getting cold too, but he didn’t care. The apartment was far too quiet without you there, and the empty seat beside him felt heavier than usual.

He swallowed harshly, flicking through shows on the TV, finally landing on Fire Guardians. It was your thing—watching together every Friday night, a tradition of sorts. But he couldn’t bring himself to press play without you. It wouldn’t feel right.

It had been two years since you and Jungkook moved in together. You came into his life through Jimin, the first person Jungkook met at uni. And if Jimin was a ray of sunshine, you made him look like a grumpy, moody cloud. Well�� like him.

Living with you had turned out to be this strange, quiet sort of heaven, though you always acted like he’d done you this huge favor by letting you move in. As if he didn’t look forward to coming home every day just to see you.

When you first moved in, the two of you tried to rotate cooking duties. He remembered you sitting there, waiting for him to tell you your cooking was awful—which, yeah, it absolutely was—but he never said a thing. You called him sweet that day, and he could still remember how those words sounded coming out of your mouth. How they made him feel. No one had ever called him that before.

Now, he did most of the cooking, while you handled the cleaning. And on the nights he was too tired, you’d order takeout. It was domestic. Stupid. Amazing.

The apartment complex wasn’t anything special, just cheaper than dorms and close to campus. That was the whole deal—you guys were saving for something better, something bigger. You were studying to be an elementary school teacher, and he knew you were going to be the fucking best. Meanwhile, Jungkook was racking up his hours and experience as an apprentice at Modify, a tattoo parlor in the city.

The plan was simple. You’d both graduate, find a nice place close to the school you land a job at, and he’d find a parlor nearby. Easy.

Jungkook had never been good at making friends—he knew that. He could count the people in his circle on one hand and still have fingers left. It wasn’t a mystery to him why that was. People didn’t get close because he didn’t let them. He knew the way he came accross; closed off, intimidating. But somehow you managed to slip right past all of that.

You, however, were the complete fucking opposite. Everyone knew you. Everyone loved you. It didn’t matter where you were, whether it was in class or working at the cafe, people just naturally gravitated toward you. You had this way of making everyone feel welcome, included. You were bubbly, outgoing, could strike up a conversation with anybody.

Jungkook had seen it a million times—how you could light up a room just by walking in. How you could talk to anyone, about anything, and leave them feeling like they’d known you forever.

But despite all of that, despite the swarm of friends, classmates that circled around you like moths to a flame, you always found your way back to him.

Jungkook didn’t understand it, not at first. You had everyone, you could be anywhere. But somehow, no matter where you went or who was pulling for your attention, you always came back to him. Even if it was just the two of you sitting quietly on the couch, sharing space without needing to fill it with words, you chose him.

He noticed it most when he’d get home late from the parlor. Sometimes he’d come through the door, expecting you to be out with friends, but you’d be there. Always. Maybe sitting cross-legged in his hoodie, scrolling through your phone or reading some article for school. Or curled up in a fluffy blanket, waiting for him to come home so you could say goodnight to him properly before finally crashing out on your own bed.

Maybe it was just your thing. Maybe you made everyone feel like they mattered, like they were important. But there was something different about the way you looked at him. The way you lit up when he came home, no matter how late or tired he was. The way you’d call him at the most random times just to ask what he wanted for dinner, if he needed anything.

It wasn’t the same with anyone else.

Or… at least he hoped it wasn’t.

Just as Jungkook was about to send another text, the door creaked open. His head snapped up, maybe a little too eagerly.

“Hey,” he greeted, his voice soft, cautious.

You offered him a small smile, one that didn’t reach your eyes, before heading toward your room. That was not your smile. Nowhere near it.

God, he's such an asshole.

“Angel, um, wait, please,” he called out, pushing himself off the couch. His tone shifted, softer now. Vulnerable. “I’m sorry. About this morning. I was just—”

“It’s okay,” you cut him off, turning back to him with a polite, small smile. “You don’t have to explain anything to me, Jungkook. Um, I’m actually going out tonight, so…”

You trailed off, your eyes flickering past him toward the untouched takeout on the counter. His heart dropped at the sight of your lip gloss smudged slightly on your bottom lip, the way your eyes barely lingered on him, how you used his full name instead of your usual nickname.

“Oh,” he mumbled, his throat tightening. “Okay. To Tae’s party?”

You nodded quietly, turning back toward your room. Jungkook swallowed, trying to steady his voice.

“I thought we weren’t going to that tonight?” He couldn't stop the disappointment from bleeding through his words. “The new episode of Fire Guardians is out…”

“You can watch it without me,” you said softly, disappearing into your room before he could even think of a response.

Jungkook stood there, staring at the door as it clicked shut.

Watch it without you? As fucking if. He would never.

But then again… he was also “never going to snap at you,” right?

He swallowed hard, running a hand through his hair, jaw clenched so tight it almost hurt. He lingered by your door for a moment. Then, with a low groan, he turned on his heel and made his way back to his room to get ready for Taehyung's party.

The soft sound of IU playing from your phone on the other side of the wall made his fist clench around the shirt in his drawer. That was your sad music.

God, he could fucking spew.

“Kook!” Taehyung greeted with his big, toothy grin, pulling Jungkook into a bro hug. “Good to see you, man! Thought you weren’t coming tonight?”

Jungkook shrugged, forcing a smile for his friend before glancing around the packed floor of Taehyung’s penthouse. The Kims were loaded, and this wasn’t even the most extravagant party Tae had thrown, but it still must have cost a few grand. Jungkook barely registered the lavish surroundings, his mind very much elsewhere.

“Change of plans,” Jungkook muttered, eyes scanning the crowd. “Have you seen—”

“Y/N?” Taehyung finished for him, a knowing laugh escaping as he shoved an unopened beer into Jungkook’s hand. He pointed toward the living room. “Yeah, man, she’s over there, with, uh…”

Jungkook didn’t hear much after that. His gaze locked on you sitting on the couch, leaning against Jisung. Your ex-boyfriend.

Taehyung must’ve seen the way Jungkook’s expression shifted because he didn’t say anything else, just threw an arm around the younger boy's shoulders and steered him toward the lounge.

As they got closer, you glanced up, blinking in surprise when you saw Jungkook. Your body stiffened slightly, and you sat up a little from where you had been resting against Jisung. Your ex, who had been mid-conversation with his friend Minho, glanced down at you when he sensed the change in your demeanour.

“You good, babe?” he asked quietly.

Jungkook’s jaw clenched. He dropped onto the free couch next to Taehyung, twisting the cap off his beer with more force than necessary, eyes narrowing as he stared into nothing.

You nodded at Jisung as you ignored the pet name, but the discomfort in your chest was not as easy to push aside.

You knew how much Jungkook disliked Jisung. He had been there when you were a sobbing mess after Jisung broke up with you, picking up the pieces when you couldn’t even function. And now here you were, sitting under Jisung’s arm like nothing had happened. You couldn’t stop the guilt from swirling in your stomach, couldn’t stop imagining what Jungkook must be thinking.

But you tried not to dwell on it too long. After all, you were just an annoyance to him, right? He didn't explicitly say it, but you know you. Always hovering, always seeking him out, always needing something. Maybe you were doing him a favor by being here with Jisung. If you got back together with him like he had been begging you to, maybe you’d finally give Jungkook the space he seemed to need. Maybe you wouldn’t be so clingy anymore. Maybe, eventually, you’d move in with Jisung, and Jungkook wouldn’t have to deal with you at all.

Jungkook’s gaze, however, was already dragging over your outfit. That little black skirt—the one that always made your ass look so fucking good. Enough of your thighs were showing that he could easily imagine sinking his teeth into the soft, warm flesh. His head tilted a little as his eyes trailed up to the slightly cropped flowery top you wore, rising just enough to reveal a sliver of your stomach. Jungkook watched Jisung’s fingers trace mindlessly at the strip of bare skin, and his grip tightened around the beer bottle as he took a long drink, forcing his gaze to shift to the floor.

It was infuriating. He didn’t know who he was fucking angier at. You, for sitting there with Jisung like it was fucking nothing, or himself, for caring about something that shouldn’t even be his problem.

Your eyes met his for just a second, and for a brief moment, Jungkook saw the sadness there. He wanted to go over, to ask if you were really okay, but instead, he looked away, taking another swig from his beer. You pressed yourself further into Jisung’s side, retreating into your own hurt.

Jungkook’s jaw clenched tighter, his knuckles white as they gripped the neck of the bottle. And when Taehyung leaned over, blunt in hand, Jungkook didn’t hesitate. He pulled the beer away from his mouth and slipped the blunt between his lips, inhaling deeply. The familiar burn settled in his chest, a sensation he hadn’t let himself feel in a long time.

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught the movement, saw the smoke curling around him, and your heart dropped.

He had been doing so well. He was eighty four days clean. It wasn’t that you had a problem with him smoking—you didn’t, but you knew what it meant to him to stop. His family’s long, dark history with addiction weighed heavily on him, and he had promised himself he wouldn’t let the cycle continue.

“Jungkook,” you said, your voice barely audible over the music. You tried to sit up, but Jisung’s arm was draped heavily over you, pinning you in place. “Jisung, I need to sit up, please.”

You tapped his arm, but he barely reacted, too engrossed in his conversation with Minho.

Jungkook didn’t even look in your direction. He took another long drag before the first hit had even settled, his expression cold and distant. Then he grabbed another blunt and lighter from beside Taehyung, stood silently, and headed for the door.

You didn’t think. You just moved, shoving Jisung’s arm off and muttering a quick apology when he shot you a confused look. You adjusted your skirt when it had risen as you stood and hurried after Jungkook.

“Jungkook, wait, can you slow down, please?” you called, your voice straining over the music while you weaved through the crowd. For a moment, you thought he hadn’t heard you, but then he slowed, just enough for you to catch up. He didn’t turn, didn’t acknowledge you, but he held the door open as you slipped outside.

The cold night air hit you both as you walked down the stone steps in silence, the sound of the party fading behind you. When you reached the bottom and sat down, Jungkook followed suit, blunt still dangling between his fingers, the end of it flickering weakly. He puffed at it, reigniting the embers before taking another drag. He gave a low sniffle, his tinnitus acting up like it always did when he smoked.

After a long pause, you reached for the blunt, but Jungkook pulled it away, rolling his eyes as he did.

Your hand fell limply back into your lap, frowning as he took another slow hit, his eyes fixed on the empty street ahead.

“So, you can break your three-month sobriety, but I can’t have one smoke?” you asked with furrowed brows.

“Yep,” he replied, exhaling away from your face.

Your eyes narrowed at him before you mumbled, “that doesn’t seem fair."

“That sucks.” He shrugged, finishing off the blunt before stubbing it out under his shoe. Without hesitation, he started lighting the next one.

You bit down hard on your lip, trying to keep the tears at bay. “Why are you being such a jerk?” Your voice trembled slightly, and you turned away before he could see the tears welling in your eyes. “Are you really that sick of me?”

Jungkook froze, lighter still sparked in his hand. His grip tightened, the flame flickering out during the long pause. His body went rigid as your words sank in before he slowly turned to look at you.

You were sitting there, lips pressed to the side in that way you did when you were trying not to cry, and he wanted to punch himself in the fucking face.

God, he was such an asshole.

All he had done today was hurt you, push you away, and now here you were, thinking that you were a burden, that he was sick of you.

He wasn’t sick of you.

Far fucking from it.

But how was he supposed to say that? How was he supposed to admit that the thought of losing you terrified him more than anything? That seeing you with Jisung tonight had ripped him apart. That he couldn’t stand how easily you seemed to be slipping away, falling back into old patterns that didn’t include him. That all he wanted was to take you home, put you in one of his hoodies, curl up on the couch, and watch the new episode of Fire fucking Guardians together. Eat the rest of your orange chicken because you always insisted on getting a large even though you never finished it.

But he couldn’t say any of that.

So he didn’t.

Instead, he sparked the second blunt, raising it to his lips for a long, angry drag. The silence between you stretched heavily and painful. Then he saw it—the tears finally spilling over, running freely down your cheeks.

You pulled your phone from your skirt and started swiping through the Uber app. The glow of the screen lit your face as you sniffled quietly, your fingers trembling as you clicked to confirm the ride.

Jungkook frowned, pulling the stick from his mouth, the smoke lingering in the air between you. “Y/N, please don’t cry,” he said lowly. “And don’t get an Uber… I’ll walk you home.”

“That’s okay,” you replied shakily, wiping quickly over your eyes. “I don’t want to burden you more than I already have.”

You sniffled again, the sound breaking through the quiet as you stood up. “Um, I’m just going to grab some things and stay at Jimin’s tonight. Give you some space.” You paused, hand trembling as you ran it under your eyes, trying to pull yourself together. “If you’re… reconsidering us living together, just let me know. I’ll apply for a dorm next semester and—”

“What?” His eyes were wide, voice sharp as he stood up. “No. Don’t-don’t fucking do that. I don’t- I’m not—” He huffed, frustration and panic mingling as the weed fogged his thoughts, making it harder for him to convey what he wanted to say.

God, he was so fucking stupid!

He hastily threw the blunt to the side, the sparks fading as it hit the ground. He closed the distance between you in two steps, hand reaching out as if he could somehow stop you from slipping away.

“Y/N, please don’t leave. I don’t know what I’d do if you moved out. Just—please.”

You looked away, the embarrassment of crying making it harder to speak. “Well, something’s changed, Kookie,” you said shakily. “I thought I just caught you at the wrong time this morning, and I know I can be a lot sometimes, but… I don’t want to stay if you’re unhappy.” Your gaze dropped to the ground as you fought to keep steady. “I don’t want this turning into resentment. I can’t have you hating me. I-I can’t.”

Jungkook’s heart shattered at the sight of you—shoulders hunched, lip trembling as you tried so hard to hide your tears. He clenched his fists, hating himself for being the reason you were standing there thinking he was unhappy. That he could ever hate you.

You took a shaky breath, running a hand through your hair as you tried to calm yourself. “I’m going to go get Taehyung so he can stay with you. You haven’t smoked in a while and your tolerance is low,” you said quietly, turning to climb back up the steps into the house.

Jungkook didn’t move. He just stood there, heart cracking, feet rooted to the ground as he watched you walk away.

Five minutes later, you were almost back at the front door, a bottle of water for Jungkook in hand. You had spoken with Taehyung, asking him to keep an eye on Jungkook for you since you were heading home. He could tell something was wrong—he'd never seen you look this sad before, and it clearly worried him. But instead of pressing you for details, he simply nodded and promised to hang with Jungkook and make sure he got home safe.

Jisung’s voice cut through your thoughts as he walked up to you. “Hey, babe, is everything okay? I made you a drink and couldn’t find you… come back to the lounge?”

You glanced up at him, swallowing back a grimace. Going back to the couch with him was the last thing you wanted right now. At that realization, guilt twisted sudden and deep in your gut. You knew you were using him, even if it hadn’t been conscious at first. But after just finally letting yourself cry for the first time today, the reason for your actions had become crystal clear.

Jisung had been surprised when you texted him after your last class, finally agreeing to meet up after months of declining his advances. You’d gone to his dorm, made out a little, but when he tried to take it further, you’d pulled away and claimed you weren’t feeling well. You had agreed to come to the party tonight, thinking maybe it would help. That maybe it would ease the ache in your chest from feeling like such a burden to the one person who mattered most to you.

What Jungkook said this morning wasn’t horrible. If anything, it was true. You were too chipper in the mornings. But you had never gotten the sense it bothered him before. If you had, you would’ve toned it down. You thought he was okay with your personality. You thought he liked it. He said he did… He was probably just lying to spare your feelings.

God, you were such an idiot.

“I’m really sorry, Jisung, I just don’t feel well tonight. Could we try another night? I’ll text you later. I just—I need to lay down for a bit.”

You watched as Jisung’s grip tightened around the glass in his hand, his expression shifting from something concerned and hopeful to something much darker.

“Do you ever get tired, Y/N?”

The question threw you. You fidgeted with the water bottle in your hands, blinking. “I- uh- what do you mean?”

“Do you ever get tired of leading guys on?” he sneered, his eyes dragging over you in a way that made your skin crawl. “Pretending you’re gonna give it up, only to leave them hanging while you run back to your depressed-ass boy toy?”

For a second, you couldn’t believe what you’d just heard. That someone you had been in a relationship with, that you had cried over losing, could say something so horrible.

“E-excuse me?” Your voice trembled slightly, but the anger flared hotter than the hurt. “First of all, I don’t lead anyone on. And second of all, Jungkook isn’t—” You stepped closer, defensiveness spiking in your gut. “Don’t talk about him like that. You don’t know anything about him.”

Jisung let out a cruel, mocking laugh, shaking his head. “Please. It’s pathetic, Y/N. The way you follow him around, waiting for him to give a shit. You really think he’s gonna be there for you? That he wants you the way you want him? Wake the fuck up.”

“Fuck you,” you spat, stepping back, the bottle trembling in your grip. Your heart pounded as you turned to leave, but Jisung’s hand shot out, grabbing your arm and pulling you back into him.

“Don’t walk away from me.”

“Let go, Jisung.” You yanked your arm, panic crawling up your spine as his grip tightened, his fingers digging into your skin.

“I’m doing you a favor,” he snarled. “You think that fucking degenerate could offer you more than I can?” He scoffed, his breath hot against your face. “Oh, please.”

Anger surged through you so hot it was blinding. Your palms pressed against his chest, and with all the strength you could muster, you shoved him so hard it even shocked yourself. Jisung stumbled back, his shoulder hitting the front door with a loud thud, and for a second, he looked startled. But then his expression darkened even further as he stepped toward you again.

You were about to throw the water bottle at him and make a run for it when the door suddenly swung open. Jungkook appeared, his eyes scanning the commotion that he heard through the door, finally landing on the sight of Jisung towering over you.

He didn’t think. He just moved.

Before you could say anything, Jungkook was lunging at Jisung, but Taehyung rushed in behind him, grabbing the back of his shirt before he could make contact.

“Kook, don’t—”

In his attempt to dodge your best friend, Jisung stumbled, his shoulder slamming into yours. Your footing slipped, and you landed hard on the floor, ass-first. A few girls who had been dancing nearby rushed over when they saw you fall.

“Y/N! Are you okay?” one of them asked, her voice full of concern as she grabbed your arm to help you up. She gasped as you winced, pulling her hand away and seeing the red marks forming on your skin. "Oh my god—"

“I’m okay,” you said quickly, shaking your head even as your voice wavered slightly. “I’m fine, really, Eunji. Thank you.”

Jungkook was there in an instant, shaking off Taehyung’s grip as he dropped to his knees beside you. His hands hovered over your thighs before settling there as his eyes scanned your face.

“Are you o—” His voice faltered, cut off as his gaze dropped to your arm, the bruises standing out starkly against your skin. His entire expression shifted, his worry morphing into something darker, something furious.

He didn’t speak, didn’t even blink before he was on his feet, turning back to Jisung with murder written all over his face.

Your phone buzzed in your hand, the Uber notification flashing across the screen

Before he could storm off, you grabbed his hand. “Jungkook, my Uber’s here,” you pleaded. "Please, let's just go. Please."

You could feel the tension in his body, every muscle coiled and ready to explode. But when you tugged at his hand again, his eyes finally met yours. For a moment, he hesitated, his gaze flicking between you and Jisung, who stood there with that smug, unbothered look that only fueled Jungkook's rage further. But after what felt like forever, he nodded stiffly and helped you to your feet, intertwining his fingers with yours as he led you toward the door.

Just as you reached the threshold, Jisung’s laugh echoed behind you.

“Yeah, go run after your little bitch, Jeon,” he sneered, his voice dripping with malice. “I get it, bro. I’d be all over that too. Tightest pussy on campus, huh?”

Welp.

Jungkook broke from your grip instantly and swung around so fast you almost didn't catch it. His fist connected with Jisung’s jaw before anyone could stop him, sending him crashing straight to the floor.

But he didn’t stop. Jungkook dropped to his knees, landing punch after punch, his knuckles splitting as they collided with Jisung’s face, the sound of bone crunching under the force of his blows.

You stood frozen, your breath caught in your throat as you stared at Jungkook straddling your ex-boyfriend's waist, fists reeling back before surging forward again and again and again.

“Shit, Kook! That’s enough, man. You’re gonna fucking kill him.” Taehyung was back, rushing in with a few others, grabbing Jungkook by the arms and trying to pull him away. It took at least three of them to drag him off Jisung.

Jisung was still on the floor, groaning in pain, blood coating his mouth, face already beginning to swell. You just stared, unable to look away, the image of his bloodied, battered face searing itself into your mind. Your stomach twisted violently as bile rose in your throat. Damn it. You were going to be sick all over the Kims’ ten thousand dollar rug.

Jungkook was panting, his chest heaving with the adrenaline and rage still coursing through him. But when his eyes landed on you, all the fight drained from his body. His heart dropped as he saw the look on your face.

You looked so fucking terrified.

“Y/N, fuck,” he whispered, his voice raw as he broke away from Taehyung's grip. He took a slow, hesitant step toward you. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. Please don’t cry. Don’t—please.”

But, of course, you were already crying, hot tears slipping down your cheeks uncontrollably. You shook your head, your voice barely audible through the sobs that wracked your chest. “C-can we please go now?”

He nodded quickly. “Of course,” he said softly, surprised you still wanted to leave with him, as he reached out to take your hand. “C’mon.”

The two of you slipped out of the house, pausing to apologize to Taehyung on your way out. Tae just shook his head, the worry in his eyes masked by a small, comforting smile. “Don’t worry about it,” he said, his voice gentle as he wrapped you in a hug. “Just get home safe. I’ve got a couple of the boys cleaning up Jisung. I’ll get an Uber to send his ass home soon.”

Your heart sank as you thought about what this might cost Jungkook—charges, money, a mark on his record that could follow him for years. It made you feel sick just thinking about it.

Jungkook must have seen the panic starting to take root in your expression because he gently squeezed your hand, pulling you toward the waiting Uber before you could spiral further into your thoughts.

“I don’t care about any of it,” he muttered under his breath as you climbed into the back seat. “Jisung’s a dirty piece of shit. He had it coming.”

He helped you settle in before climbing in beside you. As soon as the car started moving, the weight of everything hit you all at once. You leaned into Jungkook’s shoulder, your body shaking with quiet sobs as you clutched his hand in your lap. The sight of his bloody knuckles made your chest ache even more.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice muffled against his shirt. “I’m so sorry for everything.”

Jungkook wrapped his free arm around you, pulling you closer. His mouth pressed gently against the top of your head, and you felt his warm breath against your hair as he whispered, “Don’t apologize.” His lips brushed softly against you. “None of this is your fault. I’m the one who should be sorry.”

“This-this is your tattooing hand,” you whimpered, your tears slipping down your cheeks as you gently cradled his hand. “God, Kookie… I’m so sor—”

“Stop,” he cut in softly but firmly, pulling his hand away from your view before you could spiral further. “It's not your fault, and I don’t care about my hand.” He made sure not to get any blood on you as he wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you snug against his chest. His face nuzzled into your hair, his hold on you tightening as you sniffled and leaned deeper into his warmth, your arms instinctively curling around his waist.

The rest of the ride passed in silence, the weight of the night pressing down on both of you, but Jungkook kept you close, his thumb rubbing gentle circles against your side as he held you.

When the car finally pulled up outside your apartment, you quietly pulled out your phone, making sure to tip the Uber driver 50% before you hopped out. You apologized profusely for being late, your voice soft and exhausted.

The driver barely acknowledged you, grumbling something under his breath that made Jungkook’s jaw clench in irritation. He opened his mouth, ready to snap back, but before he could, you reached back into the car and tugged him out by the hand.

“Give him one star,” Jungkook grumbled as the two of you made your way up the steps to your apartment complex.

For the first time all day, a small laugh escaped your lips. It was quiet, tired, and caught even you by surprise, but it was there. And it was enough to make Jungkook’s heart swell in his chest.

God, he missed that sound so much.

The apartment was quiet when you both finally stepped inside, closing the door on the loud night behind you. For a few moments, neither of you said anything. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, just tired.

“Do you need to talk, Kookie?” you asked softly.

Jungkook nodded, leaning against the counter, eyes on you as you toed off your boots and lined them up neatly by the door. You straightened his Adidas that had been knocked over, placing them neatly beside your shoes.

“Later,” he muttered, pushing himself off the counter and heading for the fridge. “Needa eat before I pass out.”

You let out a soft laugh, your shoulders relaxing as you watched him pull out the takeout containers. He hadn’t touched his food earlier, and a frown crept back upon your face. You wondered if he’d even eaten anything at all during the day. Your schedules were different most of the week, except Fridays, when you had the same last class. Normally, you'd text him about what you'd eaten and check in with each other, but today had been different. You hadn’t even responded to his text this afternoon.

Jungkook glanced at you from the corner of his eye, a small smile playing on his lips as he noticed you eyeing the food. He had the same thought—wondering if you had eaten today. Without saying anything, he warmed up both bowls in the microwave, letting the quiet fill the space between you.

As the microwave hummed, you stepped closer, gently taking his right hand in yours. The blood had dried, but his knuckles were bruising, and your chest tightened at the sight. Silent, you led him over to the sink, carefully washing the dried blood from his hand. Jungkook didn’t argue or pull away, just stood quietly as you ran the warm water over his skin.

Once the food was ready, he grabbed both containers while you grabbed some forks and napkins and followed him to the couch. You both sat down, pulling the throw blanket over your laps as you settled in.

“We’ll wait until tomorrow to watch Fire Guardians, yeah?” Jungkook mumbled between bites. “Didn’t wanna watch it without you.”

You paused, your hand hovering over the remote as his words sank in. Your eyes lit up a little, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Okay. Thank you,” you said softly, warmth spreading through your chest at the thought of him waiting for you.

You flicked through Disney Plus, finally settling on Grey’s Anatomy. You’d both seen it a hundred times, but it felt comforting in the moment, something familiar. As you sat there picking at your food and letting the soft murmur of the show fill the background, everything felt a little more normal. The chaos of the night faded, replaced with the quiet comfort of home.

Jungkook ate quietly beside you, and every time your eyes met, he offered a small, reassuring smile, as if to say, we’ll be fine. You believed him.

Once the food was gone, you snapped back into practical mode. “Okay, let’s go,” you said, grabbing his hand gently and pulling him up from the couch.

Jungkook huffed but didn’t resist as you led him to the bathroom. “I’m too tired for this,” he huffed, dragging his feet like a child. “Can we sleep, please? Do this tomorrow?”

“You’ll live, Kookie,” you mused, rolling your eyes. “Gotta patch you up before we sleep.”

He sighed, slumping down onto the toilet seat like a sulking kid, but he didn’t fight you. You stood between his legs, grabbing one of your hairties and pulling your hair into a pony before gently cradling his hand as you began to wash the cuts and bruises once more.

He could tell you were being extra careful not to hurt him, the warm water turning pink as it rinsed away the grime, but Jungkook barely noticed. He just watched you, his eyes following every movement as you worked. The scent of your soft perfume, the feel of your gentle, smaller hands on his, the way your brow furrowed cutely as you concentrated.

When you finished cleaning his hand, you pulled out the pack of bright pink band-aids from the drawer and started sticking them all over his knuckles. It was almost comical—his large hand covered in far too many tiny pink band-aids. You stepped back, chuckling at the sight.

“There. All patched up,” you said with a little snort. “Just until we go to the hospital tomorrow, Kookie... Ah, gosh, that’s so sad…”

Jungkook blinked down at his hand, then back up at you, his lips twitching. “S’ok,” he muttered, leaning forward to rest his head against your stomach. He exhaled softly, his warm breath tickling your skin as he murmured, “Tired.”

Your fingers automatically slipped into his hair, gently combing through the messy strands as you cradled his head against you. “I know,” you whispered, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head. “Skincare, then sleep. C'mon.”

Jungkook groaned but stood up, letting you guide him to the sink. You both brushed your teeth, standing side by side, barely fitting into the small frame of the mirror of your tiny bathroom. Jungkook was taller than the vanity entirely, so his face wasn't visible in the reflection when he stood up straight. You always found that oddly cute.

When it came time to wash your faces, you pumped some of your cleanser onto your hand and offered him some. He took it, following your lead as you both washed up in silence.

As you rinsed off the soap, Jungkook’s gaze lingered on your face—peaceful, serene. Despite everything that had happened tonight, this was the most normal he’d felt all day.

He was in a trance when the words slipped out. "You're pretty."

Your hand froze mid-motion, towel now pressed to your cheek as you blinked in surprise. The corners of his mouth lifted into a soft smile at the startled look in your big eyes, and before you could say anything, he took the towel from your hands. He dried his own face before standing there, waiting for you to continue with the next step of your routine.

Your brows furrowed slightly as you processed his words, that stupid flutter in your stomach returning. Why did he say things like that if he didn’t mean them? Did he mean them?

You recovered quickly, blinking away your thoughts as you offered him a little smile, poking his stomach gently. "You're pretty too, Kookie."

Jungkook let out a quiet laugh, leaning into the counter as you grabbed your moisturizer. You pumped a bit into your hand, holding it out toward him like you always did, waiting for him to extend his hand. But instead, he simply tilted his head as he closed his eyes.

"Can you do it, please? M'tired..."

Your mouth parted in shock before you shook your head with a soft laugh. “You’re such a baby,” you teased, but yet without hesitation… your hands reached up to smooth the moisturizer over his face.

Your fingers were gentle as they glided across his skin, and Jungkook hummed in contentment, leaning into your touch. His skin was cool under your warm fingertips as you worked the moisturizer into his cheeks, his forehead, and along the line of his jaw. When his face shifted slightly beneath your hands, you gave his cheeks a playful squeeze.

"Stop moving," you mumbled softly.

His face relaxed, and you found yourself lingering on the task longer than necessary. But when you noticed that you hadn’t covered his nose properly, you whispered, “wait,” before grabbing a bit more moisturizer. You gently rubbed it into his pretty nose, your touch tender and focused.

When you were finally done, you pulled back and admired your work, a satisfied smile playing on your lips. Without thinking, you leaned down and pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose. "All done."

Jungkook’s breath hitched slightly, his throat tightening at the feeling of your lips on his skin. He swallowed hard, the touch of your kiss lingering more than it should’ve. It wasn’t unusual for you two to cuddle or exchange small kisses, usually on the forehead or the cheek. He doesn't know why the kiss on his nose felt so… intimate.

Slowly, he blinked his eyes open, watching as you moved back toward the mirror, completely unaware of the effect you had on him.

He stayed still, his eyes following every movement as you massaged the last bit of moisturizer into your own skin, your face illuminated softly under the bathroom light. A comfortable silence settled between you before he broke it.

“Thank you, Y/N.”

You looked over at him with the prettiest smile—the real one, not the small, fake smiles you’d been giving him all day. His heart felt full. “Of course, Kookie. I like doing your skincare. You should let me do it more often.”

You don’t need my permission to touch my face whenever you want, he thought. But in reality, said nothing of the sort.

“For everything, I mean,” Jungkook clarified, watching the way your expression shifted slightly, a confused pout forming as you washed your hands. “For dealing with my moods, for always being there for me, for being my best friend, for—”

You spun toward him so quickly, water droplets splashing from your hands. You gawked at him in surprise, and for a moment, panic fluttered in his chest. Had he said something wrong? He hadn’t meant to upset you—

“You consider me your best friend?” you gasped, voice small as tears welled up in your eyes.

Jungkook froze. “Uh, I just—I mean, yeah, well—”

“Oh, Kookie,” you sniffled, closing the distance between you in two little steps, your arms wrapping around his waist. You pressed yourself against him, and it wasn't long before he leaned down, resting his mouth against your head, his hand rubbing soothingly at the nape of your neck. “You’ve never said that before. I’m so happy.”

“Oh,” he mumbled. “Sorry. I thought you knew.”

You tilted your head up to look at him, chin resting on his chest, your eyes still glossy but now with the brightest smile on your face. “Of course I knew, you treat me so well,” you said, your voice gentle. “I just didn’t want to say it out loud in case I scared you off or something...” You let out a small chuckle, your fingers gently squeezing his sides. “You’re my best friend too. I love you.”

Jungkook’s throat tightened. “I love you more,” he whispered as he glanced down at your face—your gorgeous, soft, perfect fucking face. His hand slid up to press your face back against his chest before he did something stupid.

His lips rested back on your hair, and he stayed there for a quiet moment, just taking in the warmth of you.

Oh, fuck it.

“You love me more than Jimin?”

You giggled into his shirt, your fingers squeezing around his waist teasingly. “I love you more than anyone in the world. Surely you know that.”

His heart soared at your words, bottom lip rolling between his teeth.

He couldn't help himself, okay... "And you're going to live with me forever?"

You glanced back up at him, confused at first, but then smiling at his almost shy question. He pulled back just enough to see your face properly, his thumb gently brushing away the lingering tear tracks from your puffy cheeks. He even swiped under your nose, ridding the moisture there too.

“If you still want me to,” you answered quietly, your voice soft and full of uncertainty.

Jungkook’s chest tightened at the doubt in your tone. How could you even question that? How could the most beautiful, sweet, intelligent girl he's ever met in his life ever feel unwanted?

Hmm… maybe because you made her feel like that, you fucking idiot—

Jungkook cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs rubbing gentle circles on your cheeks. “I was in such a bad mood this morning, Y/N. I’m so sorry I took it out on you—”

But you shook your head, your hand rubbing up and down one of his arms soothingly. “You’re stressed, I understand now—”

He huffed, his brows pulling together in frustration. “Don’t do that. Don’t make excuses for me being an asshole. You always do that.”

Your lips formed a little pout, and his heart ached at how easily you forgave him. “I did not fucking mean anything of that shit. You are not annoying. You are not too cheerful. You are fucking perfect,” he said, his voice full of raw honesty. “I’m the one who’s fucking impossible in the mornings, but you never say anything… I just—”

Jungkook sighed, brushing his thumb over your cheek again, as if reassuring himself that you were still there. “It will never happen again, Y/N, I promise. If I’m ever in a mood like that again, I’ll just stay in my room and lock the door so I don’t do anything to upset you.” He shrugged, eyes tracing over your face. “Simple.”

A small laugh bubbled from your lips as you reached up to hold his wrists gently. “You’re so ridiculous, Kookie.”

After finishing up in the bathroom, you and Jungkook made your way to your rooms to change into pajamas. You slipped into your usual sleep shorts and t-shirt, rubbing at your tired eyes as you padded back into the hallway to say goodnight to your best friend.

Jungkook appeared from his room at the same time, wearing loose sweats and a black tee, his hair still damp from washing up. He lingered in the doorway for a moment, his hand gripping the frame as he hesitated before speaking.

“Uh… can I… can I sleep in your room tonight?” His voice was soft, so shy and your heart clenched. What a cutie.

“Yes,” you beamed, grabbing his non-bandaged hand and tugging him with you into your room.

You crawled under your blanket as Jungkook slid in beside you, his larger frame making the bed dip as he settled in, pulling the covers up over you both. You curled up next to him, your head sinking into the pillow as your eyes adjusted to the dim light, tracing the faint lines of his pretty face.

“Goodnight, Kookie,” you mumbled, your voice heavy with sleep as your eyes fluttered closed.

There was a quiet shuffling beside you, the bed shifting slightly before his soft voice broke the silence. “Goodnight, angel.”

You barely registered the brush of his lips against the top of your head before you were fully drifting, his warmth lulling you into a peaceful sleep.

Jungkook lay there for a moment longer, his head sinking into your pillow as he exhaled deeply. The smell of you enveloped him, and for the first time all day, he felt his body relax completely, slipping into the easiest sleep he’s had in weeks.

perm taglist: @elinaki92 @parapiop7 @photogenius-530 @vantaebearr @crazy-eight17 @aalisiyahxstar @lovieku @apobangpogirlyyy @jungkookmyoneandonlybaby @whoa-jo @kooeuphoria @junecat18 @fr0ggieth1nk @joonwater @myjungkookthighs @nikidream24 @whothefuckisthishoe @4noirre @gaebestie @lllucere @kissyfacekoo @rpwprpwprpwprw @granataepfelchen @yoonstaar @dutifullybeautifulperson @leire-mia @nemelkawar @scorpiochiq @jaebae420 @epsilonx1 @babigriin @nen-nyy @cuntessaiii @wobblewobble822 @alessioayla @angeljmnie @cherryontop33 @nikkinikj @jenniebyrubies @morosisxx @dna-black-and-blue @kimjennie @sabrina6272827 @mila-williamsblog @thexmns-blog @canarystwin @rjsmochii @futuristicenemychaos @lizzikoo

#📁lwy.docx #jungkook x reader #jungkook oneshot #jungkook drabble #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook x oc #jungkook x you #jungkook imagine #jungkook #jeon jungkook #bts jungkook

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gyaruhana · 23 hours ago

Note

HELLO MY DEAREST!!

May I PLEASE request headcanons for Kang Dae-Ho with preg!reader? Could be an au or not, up to you, whatever you'd prefer

My guy is UNDERRATED and I love him very much he is my husband <3

(Also could there maybe be a small portion abt the birth? If your comfortable with that only though!!)

Kang Dae-ho/Player 388 - Pregnant!reader headcannons

Synopsis: Daeho headcannons for when you're pregnant..

A/N: tried my best with this one !! hopefully it's good

Warnings: none

NOT IN THE GAMES:

➠ it's no secret that daeho is a total sweetheart

➠ got super excited the moment you found out you were pregnant

➠ secretly wants a girl (it's not a secret)

➠ absolutely talks to your stomach all the time

➠ Like he'll just randomly kneel in front of you and start talking to your stomach even if you're barely pregnant

➠ also kisses your stomach so much

➠ because he's such a sweetheart, he's there for ALL your pregnancy cravings no matter how weird

➠ he will literally run to the supermarket to get whatever you're craving for

➠ Highkey gets emotional with you

➠ like if you start crying out of nowhere he starts crying too

➠ and then you're both just there crying your hearts out on the couch

➠ do expect him to refuse to let you do anything that might be bad for the baby

➠ Not like he wasn't doing this before but he always cooks for you

➠ cooks twice as much because he's convinced you need to eat twice as much for the baby too

➠ he wants to know the gender the moment he's able to but if you don't want to know then he won't ever mention the gender

➠ just to really hide it, he buys both girl and boy baby clothes so you'll never know

➠ he may have brought too many toys for the baby honestly..

➠ He says it's because he "doesn't know what the baby wants" so he should "get everything" so your child can have "a range of options and never be sad"

➠ (He's overthinking about what toys to get)

➠ got an idea to buy one of those pregnancy simulator things so he could get an idea of the pain when you'll give birth and regretted it so bad

➠ Became a million times more doting afterwards because he is so stressed for you

➠ The closer you get to your due date, the more panicked and stressed he gets

➠ He's always watching you because he's scared that the baby will come any second now

➠ When the day finally comes and you're just in the hospital, he's by your side and holding your hand

➠ he's lowkey sweating

➠ he may have watched a few videos on birth and he's not looking forward to seeing it in real life..

➠ he still stays by your side though because he wants to be there for you

➠ he is highkey freaking out when you're giving birth because you're practically crushing his hand in yours and you're obviously in pain and that scares him so bad ..

➠ he just hates seeing you in pain so much

➠ do expect him to cry after you finally give birth

➠ he is just so eager to hold the baby in his arms but he waits for you to do it first

➠ totally fell in love with you all over again even if you look like an absolute mess right now

➠ Overall, best dad ever and i don't think anybody expected anything less

IN THE GAMES:

➠ Moment he sees you he just knows your pregnant

➠ He must have some sixth sense when it comes to you or something

➠ so panicked and nervous because what if something happens to you??

➠ can not stomach the idea of something happening so he's immediately keeping you close to him

➠ very cautious of other people who he hasn't already bonded with

➠ Always taking care of you

➠ shares his food and drink with you because he's convinced you need it more than he does

➠ every single game he's by your side

➠ always making you lean onto him for support if you have to run

➠ Honestly might even pick you up and carry you himself just so you don't hurt yourself

➠ asks you how you feel after every game

➠ when it's lights out, he whispers the cutest things while in front of your stomach

➠ he just finds it to be so comforting to talk to the baby

➠ always promises you that you'll all make it out alive and he'll give you and the baby the best life he can

➠ Overall, still a sweetheart but also very afraid for you and the baby..

"Are you okay? Nothing's wrong, right?" Daeho asks as he sits by you. He had been incredibly worried for you the moment his eyes landed on you during the first game. He could just tell you were pregnant and that scared him so much considering you were trapped here - a place where you could lose your life at any moment. The idea put him on a constant edge and he spent every waking second by your side to keep you safe. He knows he'd never be able to forgive himself if something happened to you so he promised both himself and you that he'll get the two of you out of here and find a nice place to live where you can raise the baby. "If anything feels wrong, tell me, okay?"

#xaeinfinity #squid game #squid game 2 #squid game season 2 #squid game x reader #squid game s2 #kang dae ho

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arcanarix · 2 days ago

Text

made suguru a dull boy…

synopsis. with more and more responsibilities stacked like a tower of pancakes on geto’s plate, you and the twins feel like suguru’s forgotten how to have real fun! so you take him on a trip back down memory lane… (hopefully in a more positive light)

tw. implied kidnapping, yandere geto, the twins are the only thing keeping you sane, established dynamic captor/captive, reader is a non sorcerer, cult leader!geto, piv sex, oral (f! and m! receiving), reader has kind of mellowed out since you’ve been captive for more than a year or two by now. geto is actually kind of nicer to you.

WC: 3.1K

“Do you really think this is going to work?” you ask Nanako in a hushed tone, glancing at the stacks of metal bins containing a lot of Geto’s collectibles that he’d forgotten since he took on this new role. They’re all just sitting here collecting dust rather than being displayed and admired by a once bright eyed, unassuming, impressionistic fanboy. It’s hard to think about the fact that at one point, Geto was just a normal teenager who grew into whatever he was now.

Does he remember anything about having a bright childhood or has it been all doom and gloom from the start for someone like him? You can’t help but spiral into the possibilities. Does he remember playing ball and wondering how high up he can throw it and catch it? Does he remember his first balloon animal at someone’s birthday party? Does he remember the first video game he’s ever fallen in love with, or his first board or card game?

Does he even have fond memories to look back on? Why does he work so hard to erase what he was before?

You still don’t have an appropriate label for someone like him, someone so otherworldly. ‘Monster’ is too on the nose and doesn’t capture all of those nuances about the guy.

But does he even deserve to be deemed complex? Or should you just call him some guy? Some guy who has plucked you off the streets because you had some curse he was after. Some guy who has decided to keep you around because he has some kind of lust or obsession with you.

That’s definitely a discussion for another time…

“It might help him remember he’s a person too,” Nanako suggests with a shrug. “You know, smoke and mirrors aside, he’s just a person. Even if that ego of his doesn’t like to admit it…”

“So what’s in all of these?” you prod as you pluck one of the tins from the top of one stack, waving off the dust that gathers around your face and blowing more of it off of the cool surface. You squint your eyes. So much of the paint has chipped off but you recognize the font of a popular franchise.

“You’ve gotta be kidding,” you nearly scoff but try to refrain unless you want your head chopped clean off. “Are these fucking Yugioh cards?”

The shock in your tone even catches Mimiko and Nanako off guard for a few moments, but they bounce back quickly. Nanako glances at Mimiko, and the older twin doesn’t know how to approach the topic at first but seems to come up with an explanation out of thin air like she always does.

“That Satoru Gojo guy Mr. Geto keeps talking about liked Digimon,” Mimiko explains, as her eyes scan the rows upon rows of countless trinkets and gizmos Geto claims he’d much rather leave behind, forgotten. “And Geto always rambled on about how much cooler Yugioh was from all those stories he’d tell us. They were best friends or something, but they got into a huge fight and that’s why they still aren’t talking now.”

“You know they can still be friends if they just talked things out,” Nanako remarks, curiosity in her tone. “I mean, clearly Gojo still cares enough about Mr. Geto if he hasn’t killed him yet, right?”

Mimiko nods. “Yeah.”

You ignore their conversation because you don’t really care to know much about that stuff, since it’s out of your realm of understanding anyway. Sorcerer politics that shouldn’t concern a non sorcerer monkey like you.

“Wow, I can’t relate,” you admit, finding yourself chuckling in spite of yourself. It’s not from amusement, still just disbelief that Geto was a person before all of this. Before what he is now. You almost are curious to know a little more, just to see if it’s worth peeling back all of those layers. “I was always a Pokemon girl.”

“So is Mr. Geto!” Nanako chirps, beaming to where you can see her eyes twinkle in spite of the low ambient lightning of the attic. “Maybe you can like him more if you bond with him like this.”

“It’s a thoughtful idea, but he’d probably say anything made by monkeys are only for monkeys.” With you being his sole exception or something of the kind, just a pretty appendage for a ruthless cult leader and scam artist. Something to tell his new world order that beneath all of that male bravado is a blatant hypocrite. “Isn’t that why he’s forgone his old personality?”

“We just want Mr. Geto to have room to be a person, not just a dad or a leader, so can you please do this for us?” Nanako asks with a little pout. You fret as you assess the situation, glancing at the box in your hands, and then at the numerous stacks before you.

How can you even say no to that face? Even if she’s completely complacent in all of this, you can’t completely fault these two girls for clinging onto the man who saved them from certain death for dear life.

You have learned more about Geto than you have ever cared to in these few moments alone.

“Fine,” you decide, with a sigh in defeat as you toss some of your hair away from your face. You have taken countless losses here, so what’s another? “I’ll try to get your dad to lighten up, if it’ll make you both happy.”

“Thank you!” Nanako and Mimiko reply in unison with wide grins, before exchanging a look with each other.

The stroll back to the second floor of the temple is a silent one as your mind is still muddled with thoughts about Geto’s not terribly distant past. From what you remember the twins telling you, Geto found them when he was no older than 16 or 17 and then he takes over this organization without so much as breaking a sweat. Given his status as some big shot sorcerer who doesn’t agree with the conservative ways of their society, you suppose that’s not entirely farfetched but you also aren’t aware of just what any of this means for someone like him or them.

It’s just very hard to believe that beyond all of this, is a boy whose youth had been stripped from him. And misery loves company, so that’s why he decides to take you in maybe. You still don’t know his reason behind why he chose you or why he kept you—all you can do is infer. And perhaps every single possibility you have ever come up with is entirely off the mark but you don’t really care either way.

It doesn’t matter anymore. This is your life and you have to accept it. No one is going to save you, and no one can save you from forces they cannot see or fight.

You slip into the bedroom, eyes flitting to Geto who is seated like an emperor on your shared bed, one leg extended and one tucked in to support a book he’s reading in his lap. He’s let his hair fall down his back and frame the sharp features of his face. He doesn’t seem too reactive as he glances up from the page he’s about to flip through and actually smiles these days upon seeing your face. He has become soft with you, as far as softness goes for someone like him. He sets his book aside and strides toward you, looming over you like the giant he is compared to you and really compared to most people.

“Where have you been off to for so long?” Geto greets you with a light kiss on the crown of your head. He gestures to the box in your hand, and as a chain reaction you grip tighter onto it. “And what’s this?”

Time to play up that act. Like you’re completely complacent, completely submissive to him and that you’re totally alright with anything that happens from here.

Because you have no power anymore, right? You may as well wear your mask well. And you seem to, these days. You seem to please Geto more and more with each passing month you’ve been here. At some point, you don’t even bother keeping track of how long it’s been since you’ve been in his care. Has it been a decade at this point or just a few months? It’s all a blur now.

None of it matters, anyway.

“Forgive me, the twins dragged me through one of their little adventures,” you reply with a small smile as you hand him the metal tin box. “This belonged to you. We—I thought you might want it.”

Furrowing his brows at that, he slides off the lid, violet eyes widening upon the stacks of collectible cards. You catch something amiss in his stare. Something flashing in his eyes.

Nostalgia?

“I thought I burned these,” he mutters, more to himself, picking up one of the cards. You do recognize that one from your childhood. The Dark Magician. And is that another smile on his face? Another real, genuine smile? Are you dreaming? You must be! “Did they take you to the attic?”

You feel your heart drop. Like old times. You nod. “They wanted to play hide and seek, but we found these instead.”

He inspects the card with a quizzical expression.

“Is there a purpose for this?” he prods with a hum.

“W-we just thought it’d be nice if you relaxed every once in a while,” you squeak, averting your gaze from his eyes to your feet. His expression contorts into something close to shock or impressed.

But he just laughs.

“How do you mean?” he replies. He seems amused rather than angry or defensive and you aren’t sure if you’re terrified or not. “I’m plenty relaxed.”

“We mean you just don’t have room to be you. You’re not just a leader,” you tell him. Rather bold words out of you that under past circumstances, you might have been punished for challenging him at all. But that’s not what you’re doing here. “You are your own person beyond those titles. We just—well I—!”

“—shush, my dear. It’s endearing, truly,” he replies, placing the card back into the box and setting it onto the foot of the bed. “But I haven’t forgotten anything about who I once was. It’s my primary driving force in doing what I do.”

“Then why throw yourself into all of these things? It just seems like… you’re fighting for your life all the time, and it doesn’t always have to be like that,” Who are we really talking about here? Him or you? “You need time to be with family too. You need to be, well, yourself too and—!”

—you’re interrupted with his lips plunging onto yours. But it isn’t hungry or demanding. Rather longing, gentle, coaxing. He pulls away for a moment so you can catch your breath as his intense violet gaze meets yours.

In moments like these he’s like a majestic dragon. Mighty. Domineering. Ethereal.

Hypnotic. Entrancing.

Beautiful. Breathtakingly so. Even in spite of everything, in spite of all of these horrors he’s put you through that feel so small and trivial in these fleeting moments where you can almost believe he feels something for you as beyond a pretty pet.

A slender finger traces the edge of your cheek and you find yourself leaning into his touch.

“Since when has this concerned you so much?” he purrs, his hands snaking down to the dip of your waist, securing you in place. Your eyes glimmer, with an edge of fear but more wonder of what’s spiraling in a mind like his. Dark, ruthless. Calculating.

“Because…” you swallow thickly, the palms of your hands resting on his pecs, drawing your lips closer to his as your eyes begin to flutter shut. “Because you deserve to breathe, Geto. To have fun. To live a life, an actual life. Like anyone else.”

Even if you are excluded from this equation. He has taken you from your life. But you can make the most of what you have here, perhaps.

“Let me assure you, my dear, I can still have plenty of fun,” he growls seductively into your ear as he grabs you by your bottom and rests you on your back on the mattress, planting heated, open mouthed kisses on your neck. You don’t have a reason to argue or protest, as he slips your silk robe off of your body, revealing your bare body as you’ve forgone wearing undergarments in this temple. At any point he may want access to you and you have accepted that part of your life just as you have everything else about this arrangement.

But that doesn’t mean you’re completely content with it. No, it just means you know when it is best to surrender.

A breathy gasp escapes your lips when his mouth lands on your folds, tongue rolling between them and circling your clit until it stiffens.

You can distract yourself in these moments because now you have new thoughts that haunt your mind—does he remember the first time he’s ever had a candy he loved? What about going to carnivals and trying a funnel cake? What has made his eyes light up in childlike wonder in his youth before his role in the world stripped that away from him until there was nothing left behind than the evil possessing him?

He calls your name and commands you to watch.

And you do, no more hesitations like before, when you would cower at the idea of even so much as glancing in his general direction. You boldly find his face, half of it lightly coated in your juices, some of it sliding off of his sharp chin as his dragon-like gaze bores into yours.

“You taste divine as always,” he purrs as he closes his mouth over your hole, sucking hard. Not much longer until he coaxes the first orgasm of the night out of you, but he never stops at just one. Whether he admits it to himself or not, he does enjoy thoroughly spoiling you but not without something in return. “There’s nothing else I’d rather feast on, except, perhaps…”

His tongue laves your perineum before rimming your back hole, making your hands fly up to clamp your mouth shut in a poor effort to muffle your pitiful moan.

“Such a dirty girl,” he teases with an audible kiss to your anus. “You like this hole being teased more, don’t you?”

He snakes the tip of his tongue around the rim of your back hole again, before dipping it inside. You gasp again, arching your back off of the feathery bed.

“This is the most exciting part of my day,” he continues to ramble on as he feasts on your asshole while two fingers rub your folds and clit to work another orgasm out of you. “Watching you come undone beneath me. This is what I find fun. Learning what can make you scream for me.”

He slurps against your back hole, fucking his tongue into the tight ring of muscle and he chuckles as you try to find some grounding.

“This relaxes me,” he goes on, “Making you feel like this.”

Once he coaxes another orgasm out of you, he pulls back, allowing you to catch your breath as you come down from that mind numbing high. But then you glance at him and he’s inching toward you, guiding your head toward the tip of his cock, hard, veiny and leaking.

He pats your cheek, beckoning you.

“Open up,” he demands in a singsong tone and you obey, wordlessly, jaw hanging open as he pushes his tip past your lips and teeth. He growls at the sensation, the flat of your tongue gliding along his shaft as he inches just enough of his size. He tosses his head back, eyes rolling back into his skull as he bucks himself into your mouth, fucking your throat and thankfully you have trained yourself and don’t gag anymore when taking his size like you once did. His size doesn’t intimidate you like it once did.

Many things about Geto don’t intimidate you like they once did, the more you think about it. In a way, it is actually reassuring to know that he’s still just some person and you can still find power over that somewhere.

Maybe you can’t figure out what to do with this information now…

But it does remind you that you can still be a person beyond whatever Geto’s made you into for him too.

You want to remember the girl you were. The girl whose eyes lit up at the sight of cute animals in videos or on the street. The girl who’s had her own hopes and dreams that still can be reached if she just fought hard enough. The girl who had likes and dislikes and an identity.

All outside whatever this is.

He can’t take that away. He may have taken many things, but you have realized you have something to hold onto that he chose to throw away about himself.

You nearly choke a bit as Geto forces you to take his entire length as stringy shots of cum flood the back of your throat. He slips his cock out, still hard and needing to be inside you and your position shifts. He has you seated on his lap as he guides the tip of his cock to your entrance and pushes inside while a hand wraps around your neck.

“Swallow,” he demands in a harsh whisper, more from arousal and you listen, you obey, because you haven’t a choice in this case. You still grimace from the zingy salty taste of him and it’s something you likely aren’t ever going to get used to, but you have come to be able to accommodate his size when he fucks you like this now. Long, deep, harsh. Each jerk of his hips shakes the bed. Now your body is in a coat of sweat and sometimes he likes to observe himself disappear into you while he murmurs into your ear about how well you take him.

“You’re so perfect,” he praises, nipping your ear. “So good for me. Fuck, you feel like the perfect sleeve for my cock. You’re made for it.”

His other hand moves to fondle your breasts as he fucks into you, biting down on your shoulder as he comes inside, pumping you so full of his seed that some of it trickles out of your hole while he’s still inside of you, warming himself up.

“This is plenty fun for me,” he assures you with a kiss to the shoulder he just bit. “Trust me, love, I haven’t grown dull.”

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glitzreblogs · 11 hours ago

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HEYA HEYA HIYA THANKS FOR THE TAG!!!!

Last Song: Honey I'm Home - Ghost and Pals

Fav colour: Any shade of blue! Purple and green!

Last Book: I haven't read in a while and can't remember so it was either Wundersmith or my Gothic Epic Fantasy Tales

Last Movie: Akira! (trying to watch a bunch of Japanese animation)

Last Show: I don't remember exactly, I don't watch a lot of shows, but I'm pretty sure it was Arcane. Love the animation and art, Ekko my beloved <3

Last Online search: 'Korean boy names' was trying to find a name for a character I'm creating

Sweet/Savoury/Spicy: Sweet things are nice but I don't find myself craving them as much as savoury things. Whenever I go into a bakery or something I always find myself drawn to the more savoury options. ALSO I LOVE SPICY FOOD

Current Obsession: Genshin Impact (Shenhe is going to be on the chronicle banner and I have 230 pulls saved for her), Alien Stage, any type of horror, specifically biblical and analog at the moment (also bakugan but mostly because of my au and Shunlia because it's attached in my brain like a parasite.)

Looking forward too: THE CRUISE I'M GOING IN ON FEBRUARY!! I'm so excited to go swimming and get some photographs. Finishing school and hopefully being able to finally kick off learning to animate and possibly getting myself to draw a bunch more

I don't talk to anyone on tumblr bro, the only exception being my moots, but I always want to learn more about my mooties no matter how much I talk to them so therefore

@gouthepro @smolyx @catcucumber-salad @flowersnfireworks

I hope you guys don't mind the tag ummm, THEY'RE SO COOL EVERYONE SAY HI !!!!!!!!

10 People I'd Like to Know Better

Thanks for the tags @gaiaseyes451 and @beerok23!💜!💜

last song: Gloria by the Lumineers

favourite colour: Red, like a deep luscious red that you know would taste good if you licked it. Don't act innocent, you know exactly what I mean by that. Red is a color that you just know tastes good.

last book: I am currently trying to read the Witcher series (per @lickthecowhappy's suggestion) so I am at the start of the Last Wish

last movie: Moana 2 (I have young kidsssss)

last TV show: My oldest is almost 10 which means she stays up late. Which also means I have so little time to watch adult things. So we've been watching the Office with her. I think I want to watch the Good Place with her next tho (I've never watched it!)

sweet/spicy/savoury: Sweet followed very, very closely by spicy. Habanero maple syrup is one of my favorite things on the planet.

last thing i searched online: How to explain a 10 year career hiatus in a cover letter (looking to return to work since having kids. It's been an interesting experience so far).

current obsession: Have not moved on from Good Omens, but recently realized that my obsession may be more in my own little connected universe of fics that I wrote rather than the actual canon at this point😳. I'm sure once we get that first glimpse of red and white hair that will change very quickly.

looking forward to: Going back to work and having a more established adult life again, honestly. I've been so lucky to be home with my kids while they are young, but I am ready. And figuring out how my newfound passion for writing is going to fit into that new life of mine. Another big year of change over here for me, and I am eagerly looking forward to how the growing pains are going to make way for something beautiful beyond.

ten people i’d like to know better:

@addledmongoose, @di-42, @afrenchwriter, @haemey, @eybefioro, @alwaystuesday, @katspause, @alphacentaurinebula, @shadesofecclescakes, @ochre-sunflower and whoever wants to do it (but also feel free to ignore!)

#glitzreblogs #also yes it's glitz

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dollyoons · 2 days ago

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𝐊𝐋𝐔𝐓𝐙.

━━ 𝓌𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘪𝘯 𓈒𓈒𓈒 𝗆𝖾𝗀𝖺𝗇 𝖻𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗄𝗅𝗎𝗍𝗓 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗂𝗌, 𝗌𝗉𝗂𝗅𝗅𝗌 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗍𝖾 𝗈𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝖽𝖺𝗒, 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝖾𝗑𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝖺𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋 𖥔 𝖿! 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗑 𝗆𝖾𝗀𝖺𝗇 𝗌𝗄𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗂𝖾𝗅 ౨ৎ 𝗆𝗎𝗍𝗎𝖺𝗅 𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌2𝗅 ┊ 𝓌𝘢𝘳𝘯. 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗅𝗒 𝗌𝖾𝖼𝗈𝗇�� 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖾𝗆𝖻𝖺𝗋𝗋𝖺𝗌𝗌𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗆𝖾𝗀𝖺𝗇, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗆𝗎𝖼𝗁

𝒏𝐨𝐭𝐞. lol sorry for lowkey disappearing on this account...but hey!! enjoy this hehe ^^

MEGAN WAS EXTREMELY CLUMSY, and she knew that. Among her group of friends, she was always voted as the biggest klutz of the group. Not only that, but she was also painfully awkward around other people, even if she didn't mean to make the atmosphere so awkward.

Though, she supposes that her clumsiness and awkward nature is what got her your number. Was it an ideal situation? No, because accidentally bumping into you—who was the epitome of an angel—and spilling her extremely hot latte on you isn't exactly…the perfect way to meet the love of your life.

Megan had replayed the situation more times than she'd like to admit. It had been a chaotic blur of apologies, napkins, and shock. She expected you to yell, storm off, or at the very least shoot an intimidating glare at her for ruining your shirt (and your day). But instead, you were oddly polite about the whole thing.

“I'm sorry! I didn't mean to, I swear!” She stammered, quickly grabbing napkins from the nearest table and handing them to you.

“Are you okay?” You asked, even as you dabbed at your damp top with a resigned sigh.

Megan looked at you eye to eye, stunned at your simple question. She felt her face growing hotter by the second, feeling like the very same drink that she had spilled on you. “Me? I just dumped an entire drink on you, and you're asking me if I’m okay?!” she blurted, not realizing how stupid she sounded.

But, you only laughed—a soft, warm sound that only made the situation more unbearable. Or maybe it had made it better. Megan wasn't sure.

“Accidents happen,” you said with a shrug. “At least it was a pretty girl who spilled her latte on me, and not some asshole of a guy who would probably blame me!” You giggled, also making Megan let out a small chuckle.

“But, if it'll make you feel less guilty, maybe you could give me your number? You know, in case I need to send you a dry cleaning bill or something.”

Megan had agreed far too quickly, rapidly nodding her head as she fumbled for her phone, nearly dropping it twice before successfully typing in her digits. And since then, she's alternated from cringing and crashing out at her own actions and nervously checking her phone for any notification from you.

Until, it came.

UNKNOWN NUMBER: hey latte girl! it’s y/n :) or, i mean, the one you spilled your latte on the other week lol. hopefully i didn't catch you at a bad time or anything…are you by any chance free this friday though?

Her heart skipped a beat as she stared at the message, her thumbs hovering hesitantly over her screen. So many thoughts running through her head at once—though she knows she shouldn't be overthinking it.

The typing bubble popped up on her screen again, indicating that you were typing out another message.

Ding!

UNKNOWN NUMBER: sorry if this is a little…weird lmao. it's totally fine if you don't want to meet up on friday or if you have something better to do!

UNKNOWN NUMBER: i don't wanna sound like a creep at all haha…

She giggled at her screen, feeling a little less nervous to shoot you a reply. Mindlessly, she started typing.

hey! you aren't weird or a creep at all i promise lmao. friday works for me :) and i swear i wont bring any hot beverages to spill on you this time.

Your reply came almost immediately.

UNKNOWN NUMBER: LMFAO yeah…i don't think my wardrobe could handle another stain considering how clumsy i am at home. see you at 7?

Friday at 7 Megan replied, smiling a little too hard at her phone.

But although she scored a meetup with you, Megan had spent the rest of her week in a haze of nervous anticipation. She couldn't count the amount of times she had called Lara and Daniela to come over and help her plan an outfit.

She kept telling herself that it wasn't at all a date—but rather a simple hangout over the whole latte incident and that you were just being kind—but deep down, she hoped it was something more.

Friday came faster than she expected, and Megan found herself standing outside the café you’d suggested, nervously smoothing her top. She was determined to make a better impression this time—no spilled drinks, no awkward stammering, and no clumsy mishaps.

At least, that was the plan.

“Hey, Latte Girl,” you said with a smile as you approached, and Megan’s heart skipped a beat.

“Hi,” she managed, feeling a blush creep up her cheeks. “And, uh, just for the record, I promise to keep all drinks at a safe distance tonight.”

You laughed, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Megan didn’t feel awkward or out of place. But rather she felt comfortable and herself being around you.

And maybe, her clumsiness wasn't a curse at all.

#𝐤𝐚𝐭𝐬 ✦ 𝐞𝐲𝐞 #megan skiendiel #katseye x female reader #megan skiendiel x female reader #megan skiendiel x reader #katseye #katseye x reader #megan x reader #katseye imagines #katseye megan

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royalarchivist · 17 hours ago

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Quackity: I'm continuing this whole process of making sure that creators can essentially collab- collaborate with each other–

Quackity: Guys, this is just the very- the very first thing we have planned. At the end of this month, I have updates for the Real Time Translator. What we're doing is we are changing the fcking creator space, we are changing the world with stuff like this. I'm so fcking excited, I'm really really happy over everything that we're gonna be doing.

Quackity: By the end of this month, I should have a new update, a new announcement with something incredible. Further going into the year, we're gonna have so many more things, dude, so many more fcking things. So if you guys please wanna- support these projects, just go to quackity.shop–

Quackity: I have a huge announcement coming hopefully the end of this month or the beginning of- of next month, so I'm really excited. I just wanna thank you guys for the opportunity to do this, there's so many things coming, and I just wanna thank you guys for that. Thank you so much.

#Quackity #January 12 2025 #I liked these comments so I edited them together #That's really cool #Real Time Translator #I'm also glad he wants to help people continue collaborating with each other #Lightly edited #Edited

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anxiousapplepie · 1 day ago

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please...... what are the rose colour stereotypes in rose knights...... how many colours are there....... please reveal the lore......

I was both looking forward to and dreading this question in equal measures. So! *cracks knuckles* Let's do a very quick, very messy introduction to the Rose Color stereotypes and Color lore! Lets start with the basics:

There are 7 primary colors Roses usually fall into - purple, pink, red, orange, yellow, white and black. How a rose becomes any color isn't an exact science, but the common character traits these colors have means anybody can look at a Purple Rose and think "Hm! You're probably confident in your skills" or glance at a Yellow Rose and assume "Bright and happy guy" with some accuracy. These are stereotypes, after all. They don't apply to everybody, but a good portion of them do.

But if we're counting the shades and flavors in-between all the normal 7 colors? You have A LOT of niche vibes and ways a Rose can express themself. And a Rose's color isn't static! It can change hues slowly over years, or radically change from 2 different colors in a matter of days or hours. What triggers a color-change depends on the individual and the circumstances they were in.

Extra types of Roses that fall outside of the usual 7 categories include Green Roses! Roses who are born Green (instead of White) don't have the magic ability to change color. The official stereotype tied with Green isn't so much a character trait, and more like an assumption that someone in your family tree must've been something "not a Rose".* (*Green Roses are guaranteed to have a Dragon in their family history) If a Rose is brown, the assumption is that they are dying for real or their mental/emotional health is a trashcan on fire. Roses who are trying to force themselves to be a different color might also turn brown- but it's more like their colors got blended and muddied together too much, confusing the Rose who's trying too hard to be something they clearly aren't comfortable being.

And of course there's Blue! The color associated with the Impossible, heroes, and prophets. Amongst other things that are high and mighty and have a of weight attached to them! No pressure whatsoever, Lapis. You've got this whole "Prophetic Hero" stereotype thing in the bag! SO YEAH. UH. How's that for an introduction into Rose color lore? Is this a good start? Grief there's so many ideas and lore floating in my head it's hard to pick what sounded important or relevant to your question. But hopefully you got something out of it! Thank you for asking!

#Rose Knights #did I spend the whole afternoon drawing and writing and scrambling to find all my scattered notes for this question?#Yes. Yes I did.#I could've included some base 'bad' stereotypes for each of the 7 main colors #but I can probably make some comics and character interaction for that instead #it would be more fun anyway. especially if it's Morgan explaining why White Roses aren't. uh. yeah. *plot and lore noises intensifies*

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bloggerspam · 16 hours ago

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"So, like." Steph oh so nonchalantly starts, stirring her melting froyo to the toppings mix in. "Since we're all official now…"

"Yeah..?" Val draws out the vowels, unsure of where her (new!) girlfriend (girlfriend!!!) is going with this conversation.

Steph opens her mouth, closes it. Starts to say something, stops. Opens her mouth again, only to slump as she stuffed another bite of her froyo into her mouth.

"I know the whole girlfriend-girlfriend thing is new and all," Val furrows her brow, "But we were friends first, y'know. Whatever it is," Val sets down her froyo to lay a hand gently on Steph's wrist on the table. "You can talk to me."

Steph looks up into Val's eyes, hopefully seeing her sincerity, and they lose time like that for a moment. Val could drown in those diamond blues, and thank whatever higher beings exist for it.

Steph blinks, coughing with a lovely blush on her face before she dons on a determined expression. "Jason said that you knew—about, well…"

Val relaxes, finally understanding what the issue is. "Your night shift?"

"Yes!" Steph slumps in relief. "Yeah. Well—he said you knew about his night job, but I'm—I'm glad you know about mine too."

"It wasn't that hard of a stretch. From what he says you guys know about Amity Park too, right?" Val rubs her thumb up and down Steph's warm skin.

"Yeah, 'course." Steph grins, taking another bite of her froyo and humming happily. She even does a happy little wiggle, she's so cute Val might die.

Maybe Danny can find her in the Realms and bring her back?

"It was a little hard, considering Phantom doesn't really capture well on digital, but we had our suspicions, especially when the accident was well documented at the hospital.

Val nods, leaning back and taking her own bite of her froyo before it completely becomes slop. "Bet it didn't help that Huntress avoided cameras like an expert," Val smirks, before it turns wry. "And fought like cats and dogs at first."

"I was surprised Sam hated Phantom, actually." Steph tilts her head, making a face and completely missing Val's expression. "Jason was convinced they were there during Danny's accident."

Val isn't sure what to say to that, because it sounds like…it sounds like Steph thinks…?

"Speaking of—" Steph beams at Val, blinding her in her already poor state of confusion, "Will you tell Sam if she wants to get back in the game over in Metropolis, we can put her in contact with the Supers to talk about it?"

"You want me to tell Sam this…" Val says slowly, "…because you think Sam is Huntress?"

"Uh…yeah?" Steph hesitates, before ticking off her points with her fingers. "Their fighting styles match, she's got Tucker for the hoverboard, body type is closer—"

"Body type???" Val confusedly asks to herself, Steph still listing a baffling amount of things that support her theory.

Val cuts in louder. "Out of curiousity, how did I factor in?"

Steph pauses at the interruption, blinking. "I mean—you went out with Danny right?"

"That's it??" Val incredulously asks. Steph hunches her shoulders.

"That's how I got in the game??" Steph puts down her empty froyo cup with a hollow thunk. "I was dating Red Robin before even knowing his identity, and then eventually, made my own Robin costume and made Batman hire me."

"That's actually very hot of you," Val says, though she's still confused as fuck. "I would never be able to date a vigi in their mask. Too much stress circling around secret identities."

"I threw a brick at him once for like, stalking me." Steph bares her teeth, looking Val up and down salaciously, "And masks don't bother me all that much.

Val feels her face heat before she manages to get a hold of herself. She wonders if that opinion will hold when it comes to full face helmets.

"Sam's not Huntress." Val decides to nip this in the bud, froyo abandoned into a wet glop. "And I'm going to take you to bed so I can really show you about body types."

Steph gapes at her, satisfyingly red in both mortification and, if frantic glances along Val'd body mean anything, arousal.

"Yes." Steph rasps. "Yes please."

Val wastes no time, grabbing Steph's wrist and tossing their trash on their way out the froyo place.

"I know it's technically our first date," Val says over her shoulder, handing Steph her helmet once they arrive at Val's bike. "And usually I'm supposed to wait for the third date—"

"Fuck that." Steph practically jumps on the bike behind her, wrapping her arms deliciously around Val. "We've been dating for months now, take me to bed."

"You got it babe." Val grins in her own helmet, revving the engine. "Hang tight."

The shoot off with laughter and glee in a mess of bike fumes and dust.

Mechanic! Val AU Extras!

I decided to create a whole new post for the extras, apart from the main story. Sorry If the reblog confused anyone!

But hey, i finally got the inspiration to write this scene out!

It's really bad and rushed because I JUST finished it, but its done and i am not changing it. <3

Also on AO3 :)

===

Jason has a plan.

He fidgets with the box of chocolates in his hands, waiting for the door to open. Danny had said he understood, in his texts, had reacted positively to Jason asking to see him, to celebrate Danny's move.

But text can only go so far, and the subtext is actively trying to murder Jason via anxiety and guilt.

Jason's not 100% sure, basically, that Danny knows Jason likes him. The misunderstanding was cleared, but the uncertainty has not.

Jason had a plan, a big one. He was going to take Danny, just the two of them, to the Gotham Observatory to celebrate the move. He was going to lead Danny through the exhibits that he had researched thoroughly before hand, and then take him to dinner at this little hole in the wall Italian place, with the perfect mood lighting and atmosphere for a cozy little dish of spaghetti. Maybe joke about Lady and the Tramp, tell Danny he's pretty.

He was going to ask Danny to be his boyfriend, cuddled up together in the ambient candle lights in his best leather jacket and a little moon rock pendant, to the moon and back and all that. It was going to be perfect, it was going to be good.

And then, maybe, in the far off future Jason could…could let Danny in. Let him know he knows about Phantom, despite Steph's doubts. Slowly start teasing Danny about Red Hood and Jason Todd being on his Hall Pass list.

But then Talia had snitched on Timbers, taunted Jason about how his little replacement was so very hard to catch before throwing a knife at his head.

And then the misunderstanding happened, and Val with the Red Hood reveal, and—

And Jason had a plan, but the plan went to shit.

But Jason is a Bat, against all fucking odds, and so he pivoted, adjusted, re-calibrated the entire time he was working on that stupid Mazda.

The new plan is sound. The new plan is a little slapshot, but it works, and Jason has been practicing his heartfelt apology and subsequent love confession for the last two hours.

The door opens, Danny looking worse for wear. He looks sad, downtrodden, and hurt. Eye red-rimmed and skin a pallor that insomniacs love to don, lips chapped and bitten to all hell. His hair is all over the place, and his voice creaks and cracks when it asks who is it? before the door is even fully open, and Jason thinks he'll have to tell Danny not to do that in Gotham, to check before opening the door because it's not safe and—

And Danny is the most beautiful thing he's ever seen, eyes widening upon seeing him, looking flustered and embarrassed to be seen in "such a state."

Jason practiced, he reminds himself, for two hours.

The door opens, and Jason opens his mouth before Danny can even greet him.

"I'm Red Hood!" His voice squeaks at a pitch it's never squeaked before, "I'm Red Hood, you're Phantom, and I'm desperately hoping you understand that I'm an idiot and I was being chased by three ninja assassins and had bloody gloves and couldn't text properly."

Danny is speechless, Jason can see this by the way his mouth flaps open and shut but no sound comes out. Jason is about to crawl out of his own fucking skin. He doesn't remember what his speech was before. He pivots.

"I know I should have waited," He continues, and despite all the training he's so panicked he possibly can't even see anymore, "But I don't like making you wait if I can help it because I'm kind of desperately in love with you?"

There's a long silence.

"Was that a question?" A different voice calls out from behind Danny. Tucker, he thinks.

"No!" Fuck, his face is burning. He looks Danny in the eyes, tries to convey confidence. "I am desperately in love with you."

He stands there, just for a moment, before remembering the chocolates and shoving them gentle into Danny's chest, who takes it with a startled blink. "I got you chocolates. To say sorry, and that I like you."

Danny looks down on at the box, a novelty thing. They're fancy, high quality, shaped into the different moons of Jupiter. Jason had them custom made for the Observatory date.

"I—" Danny pauses, still seeming to process things as he stares at the chocolates in his hand, using his other hand to try and pat down his hair. He's beautiful, and Jason hates that he made him feel any type of negative feelings at all.

"It's okay," Danny finally settles on, smiling softly at him. Jason's insides feel like molten lava. "It was just a misunderstanding."

"Yeah," Jason smiles helplessly back, "But it still hurt you."

Before Danny can say anything to that, he's yanked back into the apartment. Jason reaches out, instinctively, before catching himself.

Sam stands in the doorway with her arms crossed and a scowl that could curdle milk.

Jason swallows dry spit.

"You did hurt him." Sam's voice is so low Jason could scoop it off the floor, "And Danny might forgive you, and Val might have let you off easy, but I don't like it when people hurt my friends."

Behind her, Jason can see Danny being dragged away by Tucker, who gives him a two fingered salute and a wink.

Well. Fuck.

Jason's got a long time to grovel before he can see Danny again, he can tell.

Jason takes a deep breath. It'll be worth it.

Because when all is said and done, he's gonna ask Danny to be his boyfriend.

By the way Danny blows him an apologetic kiss, he's fairly confident they'll be fine.

He catches the kiss and puts it in his pocket, ignoring Sam's rolling eyes, and prepares himself.

Jason, after all, has a plan.

#i suddenly remembered i never actually concluded Steph's musings in the riddler chapter #so here i am #concluding it #youre welcome #mechanic Val AU #dpxdc #dcxdp #dp x dc #dc x dp #my writing #danny phantom #dcu #extras #val/steph #valerie gray #stephanie brown

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miwiheroes · 3 days ago

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Dropping Byler Evidence Every Day Until Season 5

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ Day 7: The soundtrack . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Here is a little one for you today since I'm a little tired and busy today, but I'm still keeping my promise for you guys DGAHSGDJ hopefully I can keep this up yknow <33

One of the things that I think that writers just can't explain to me if byler isn't endgame is the fact that some of these soundtrack choices cannot be coincidences. If byler isn't endgame then I will have to really really question why the two soundtracks in season 4 titled 'Being Different' and 'You're the Heart' are perfectly lined up!!!!!

Here is a youtube video with the lining up of the audios after putting the two tracks together: X

Being Different is the track that plays during the van scene. It has the motif and the chord progression of the famous ones in 'The First I love You' and 'The First Lie'. However, it is very much incomplete. In my opinion, this soundtrack piece correlates to the one titled 'The First Lie' because it is the very first lie that Will has told to Mike before, making it a very impactful moment.

You're the Heart is the track that plays when Will encourages Mike to say I love you to El, which he then does, and it plays while he's monologuing. This one is also incomplete. This soundtrack piece may correlation to the one titled 'The First I love you', obviously because it is the first time he's really said I love you to her, but this is not genuine love because the L in the the 'love' in the title of that song is not capitalised.

So when you put them together and they are linked, make a complete song rather than utter rubbish, this tells me all I need to know.

'You're the Heart' cannot be complete without 'Being Different.'

Mike's monologue speech cannot be complete without Will's speech to him in the van.

Going through this much effort to make these two songs match up so perfectly with each other is not coincidental. If it symbolises something like this, why would this then end in having Mike and El end up together without anything changing due to the Painting and its impact?

It maybe shows what we already know even more: that Mike could never have made his speech without Will's words. He could never have felt like he loved El without those words. But they weren't El's words, so Mike only loves the idea of her. The idea that in reality is Will.

#also why name the soundtrack piece 'you're the heart' if the scene is all about mike and el hm??#byler #byler nation #byler endgame #mike wheeler #will byers #stranger things #miwiheroes daily byler

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just-here-for-the-moment · 2 days ago

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She Comes First (Part I)

This was started as part of @wannab-urs DMAMC fic challenge, but I just did not finish the fic on time (sad trombone)... so here's Part I (the buildup) and I'll post Part II (the payoff) as soon as it's finished.

Please go check out the rest of the DMAMC tags for more delicious fics!! This has been a really fun fic challenge, and I'm still happy with everything I've written so far.

Word count: 10,299 (nobody look at me!) Rating: Explicit, for 18+ only legally (but really ages 35+ only for the vibes, this is adult shit) Outline: alternating dual POV; Frankie “Catfish” Morales x domme!fem!Reader insert (Reader insert is 40+, able-bodied, has boobs and a pussy, wears corporate/business clothes to work, and wears pumps/heels) but otherwise is a total blank slate (no physical description, not white-coded, no blushing, no descriptions of hair or skin) Warnings: Femdom; Frankie is brand new to SSC (safe/sane/consensual) BDSM; characters drink alcohol; curse words and vulgar language (all the good stuff you expect from one of my smutfics); eventual smut; lots and lots and lots of talking about BDSM limits (but I tried to make it hot).

You settle yourself at the bar, resting your feet on the brass crossbar of the leatherette stool, sinking against the low backrest with a sigh as you wave down the bartender.

What a week… Fuck the clients and their demands, and your boss’s caving every time they snap their fingers. A drink to start, and then some well-deserved Friday night play.

Hopefully there will be at least one interesting man tonight, someone you can invite to a hotel room and use as the finest form of stress release. Someone who can be a good boy, who can obey your orders and give you pleasure that you’ll return tenfold when he earns it.

You look up, using the large mirror above the bar to scan the room behind you, taking advantage of the fact that it’s tilted at an angle, giving you a view not only of people walking behind you, but also the booths and their occupants. You can stare for as long as you like—no one really ever notices anyway, engrossed in their own good time.

Of course, there’s always one guy who wants to catch your eye, come over and sit next to you and seduce you (ick) but you can see that type coming from a mile away, and they’re not who you’re interested in. Finance or tech bros, ties loose and eyes too shiny with whatever top-shelf shit they’ve imbibed too much of before you even walked in.

As the bartender places your drink in front of you, you catch the reflection of a booth full of men behind you and a few feet to your left. A young one, very blond and muscled and wearing a white sleeveless T-shirt seated next to another, darker blonde man in a sedate navy blue polo, a short, trimmed beard giving him a corporate look. The two seats opposite them are occupied by a shorter man in a black shirt, his dark curls shot through with gray, and the fourth man is different, a little taller and a lot broader than the others, wearing a mesh baseball cap.

He’s wide through the shoulders, arms straining beneath a soft chambray denim shirt, even softer-looking curls escaping from beneath the brim of his hat. He’s smiling and even laughing at moments, but he’s much quieter than the other three, especially the rowdy one you’ve nicknamed Muscles and the smirking dark-haired man seated next to the wall. You see all four of them raise their beer glasses to toast to something, but their laughter is gone, replaced by somber expressions. The shortest one, the smirky one, mouths an “Amen” but you can’t hear it over the din of the bar.

You consider the group, carefully scanning each of them for tells, little hints that any of them might be of interest, might be a good time for the evening.

The youngest one—he’s too ebullient, too boisterous for what you want to give. He wouldn’t pay attention, wouldn’t follow instructions and be a good boy. And definitely not the smirker in the black shirt; he’s handsome and he knows it. He’d be a brat, try to wrest control from you, make it a challenge that he’s leading. The other blond, the quieter one; he’s handsome enough, but something about the set of his jaw and the way he carries himself when he strides up to the bar to order another round—that power, that inner peace—this is not his thing, you can tell. And that leaves…

Baseball cap. Soft, kind eyes and a strong nose, plush lips just beneath a patchy little mustache. A little sad, much quieter than the others and much larger. He’s a big boy, all broad shoulders and work-strong arms under that soft blue shirt, his sleeves rolled up his forearms for comfort, but giving a show of how strong he must be. A physique crafted by hard work and daily routines, entirely different from the sweat-slick muscles of the younger blond. That one must be a gym rat or a boxer or something, self-focused when he flexes his bicep at the short, dark one in the black shirt and gets a smirk and a “Fuck you” in return, a playful slap that glances off his elbow as he cackles and lowers his arm.

Baseball cap laughs and shakes his head, eyes flicking to his heavy glass stein, two-thirds full of golden, bubbling liquid, still working on his first drink when Polo Shirt returns with a tray of three beers for himself and the others. He’s savoring, sipping where the others quaff, holding a palm out and shaking his head with an emphatic “No,” that you can read on his lips in the mirror after the younger blonde raises his arms and shouts, “Shots!” loud enough for you to hear it over the crowd.

Baseball cap is enjoying himself, taking it slow, licking his lips after each sip of beer. It must be his reward for a Friday night, a work week well-done, a rare treat on a night out with the guys. You can tell he’s comfortable with them. It’s not the quiet nervousness of someone awkward, someone new who’s trying to fit in with a louder crowd. These are his friends, and they take him as he is, even when he’s got his eyes down, trailing a blunt fingernail over the graffiti marks on the solid wood table instead of joining in the jovial conversation.

He lifts his eyes and suddenly they’re locked on yours in the mirror, dark and rich, eyes you could drown in if that was your thing. He flicks his gaze away for a moment and you blink—and there he is again, a little shy after another nanosecond of eye contact, flicking his eyes away and then looking down, taking a sip of his beer with the same focus he probably used for final exams in school. His eyes find yours in the mirror once more and this time you smile, gentle and soft, just a curve up at the corners of your mouth. Baseball cap’s dark eyes go wide for a moment before he swallows hard and looks back down at his beer.

Bingo.

He’s the one. The shy ones, the gentle giants, the big guys with kind eyes—they’re your favorite. Much more relaxed in middle age than the college boys you sometimes play with, the eager ones who are so distracted by their nerves that they can hardly follow direction. You know that you fulfill some kind of mommy kink or older woman fantasy for them—and you don’t mind, because you know the rules on both sides of the game. But the eager young things get tiresome after a while, and it starts to feel like you’ve signed up to teach, rather than to enjoy yourself.

You let them down gently but firmly, with a kiss and a reassuring pat—letting them know that they did good, but it’s just not going to turn into a long-term relationship, and maybe they should share those fantasies with a woman their own age. You tell them to look for someone serious, a girl who scares them a little, who they would never normally approach for a date. You know that there are plenty of young women at their university who would jump at the chance to boss them around in bed, and that there’s a girl for each one of those young, eager boys—a stressed-out hard sciences major who just wants to exercise a little control in her own life, and she’ll eagerly wield all manner of paddles and punishments if they ask her sweetly to dominate them.

You’re tired, too, of the single men who have been in the scene long enough to know what they want—and what they want always seems to be a collar, a lifelong promise of devotion on both sides, and you just aren’t in the market for that. The usual circles of people in this town who are looking for some casual weekend play have gotten stale. They’re mostly couples in long-term relationships—and god, you know it’s selfish, but you don’t want to share. You want someone entirely focused on you, who won’t be thinking about what their own domme might do to them later, who will eagerly come when you call instead of having to ask permission from someone else to go on a playdate.

And that leaves… fresh meat, new men. Men who you screen very carefully before you start a casual hookup. Men who look like they’ll be a good little pet in bed, if they can follow instructions, if they can shed any of the hang ups they have and go all-in with you for a night or a weekend. Men who have a deeply-buried desire to cede control, who have maybe never voiced it to a woman in their entire life, but who need it just as desperately as they need air.

They’re just looking for someone to call it out of them, to give them the words they don’t have yet to describe what they’re longing for, what they ache for deep down when they’re fisting their cocks in the shower and replaying scenes from their favorite porn videos in their head. The whips, the restraints, the high heels and the stern voice of their favorite porn star dominatrix. The way she pulls the male actor’s hair when she tilts his head back and spits in his mouth, towering over him as he kneels before her, his hands behind his back and his cock as hard as iron and she hasn’t even looked at it yet, let alone touched it. Those are the men you need, the ones who have desired this for years, but have always been too shy or embarrassed or scared to ask for it.

And if Baseball Cap fits that mold, you’ll gladly take him home for the night. You could do so much for him, let those desires out of the little box that he’s buried them in, tell him it’s okay to ask for what he wants, put his desires first for once, instead of always trailing behind his more extroverted friends. And, hey, if you shoot your shot and he’s not into that, there are plenty of other subby little fish in the sea. But he looks delicious, and you want to hook him with a lure he doesn’t even know exists right now.

You decide to play a game, to see if you can get his attention and keep it.

He’s so sweet, glancing up at you in the mirror when he thinks you’ve turned your gaze away, only to find that your eyes are still scanning him, gently assessing him, an appreciative little smile on your lips. Then he ducks his head and goes back to his beer.

His cheeks go pink after the second round of this game, his ears after the fourth or fifth, starting flushed and then blazing red. He’s a cutie, shy and growing more bashful by the second as his friends catch wind of what he’s looking at and start to rib him for it.

Muscles cranes his neck over to look, his playful eyes wide as he sees you in the mirror. He turns back to Baseball Cap with a shit-eating grin and says something that makes Baseball Cap hide his face behind his hand. Polo shirt goes for casual, turning his gaze to the bartender as if he’s gauging how busy the line for drinks might be before he slides his eyes over you without a change in expression.

Smirky gives you a big grin and a very flirty wink in the mirror and you drop your smile, raising one eyebrow with a shake of your head. Not you, Smirky.

You shift your gaze to look at the reflection of his friend, making sure that Smirky can see your eyes trailing from his work-worn boots to his hips, all the way up his arms to the top of his well-loved baseball cap. Smirky gets the message and elbows Baseball Cap, leaning down to murmur something in his ear that makes Baseball Cap sit up with a start, shaking his head and pulling on his earlobe in nervousness.

Smirky elbows him again, hard, and you’re delighted when Baseball Cap turns back to look at you and catches your eyes in the mirror, bashful hope written all over his face, the shyness dropping away bit by bit as his interest grows. You smile again, tilting your head at the empty stool next to you at the bar and he turns back to his friends, eyebrows raised for help, seeking guidance.

Good boy, you think… What a good boy, asking for help when you need it, opening up to the idea of coming over here, seeing what the pretty lady wants with you.

He looks back at the mirror, sees you still looking, then takes a larger gulp of beer before rubbing his hands nervously on his denim-clad thighs. He braces his legs and then slides out of the booth, turning his back to you for a moment to look at his friends for a final bit of guidance.

All three shout, “Go!” to him in unison, you can hear it over the din, and just as he turns to approach you… a slimeball slides into the seat next to you, wrapping one arm over the back of your barstool as if he has any right to your personal space or attention.

Your heart falls when Baseball Cap takes in the scene, his hope fading to disappointment as he looks away and then strides off to the restroom, as if that was his plan all along.

“Wha’s a pretty little thing like you doing here all alone, sweetheart?”

You take a sip of your drink and swivel toward him, knocking his arm off the back of your chair with a scowl.

“Not interested. Please leave.”

Slimeball’s confused expression slides over his face slower than it should, a clue to how inebriated he already is. This was going to be irritating, the drunk ones always making more trouble than you want. Not that any man took rejection well… you could count on one hand the number of men who had taken your “No, thank you,” gracefully and apologized for bothering you before disappearing back to mind their own beeswax.

“What d��ya mean? I’m just trying to make a little conversation, s’all.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Baseball Cap’s three friends start to slide out of the booth. Trouble-stoppers, good guys, you can tell. You’re grateful for their presence, even if you can handle this sort of thing entirely yourself… just in case it gets ugly. They stay standing near their table, watching carefully and taking their cues from you instead of rushing in to white knight the situation—and that’s even better than just being willing to step in. They seem like men who care about and respect women, green flags all around.

“But you shouldn’t have to drink alone, pretty girl. M’just tryna save you from a boring night.”

You narrow your eyes at Slimeball and lower your chin, scowling at him like you’re an angry bull facing off a threat, and then… oh no, here comes Baseball Cap back from the restroom, stopping abruptly when he sees his friends focused on you, watching intently as Slimeball tries to put his hand on your thigh. If looks could kill, Slimeball would have a hole in the back of his head right now.

In the corner of your vision Baseball Cap looks pissed off, but you sense it’s not uncontrolled anger. He’s quiet in the way he settles his body, one hand waving his friends back into their seats while the other hangs at his side, making a loose fist and releasing it, over and over. Not immediately springing into action, not itching to start something ugly in the crowded bar, but prepared just in case—the rest of his body still, taut, alert… ready.

You slap Slimeball’s hand off your knee, then you raise your volume and lower your pitch, making your voice deep and loud, hoping the sound will carry to Baseball Cap and his friends, letting them know you’re okay and can handle it.

“I said ‘no’ and I meant it. Leave. Now.”

Fortunately Slimeball takes the hint, his face dropping into a disgruntled pout: he’s just a little boy who thinks the world owes him something, that women are vending machines that he can put kindness or attention or flirting tokens into and get guaranteed sex in return. A little boy whose Mommy didn’t say “no” enough, a boy who never learned that women are human beings, and that every man who is lucky enough to walk the Earth was born of a woman and he better damn well respect his origins.

“Fuck you, you fucking bitch.” The waft of his pathetic liquor breath hits you and you turn back to your own drink, making a show of being entirely unbothered.

“Slut,” spits Slimeball as he moves to dismount the stool and almost slides to the floor.

Ah, a classic, the final paradoxical rebuke from many a damaged man—you won’t put out for him, so you must be a slut, secretly fucking every other man in the bar and withholding your public favors only from him.

Slimeball turns and lurches toward the back hall, heading for the men’s room, or maybe the exit to the alley where he can vomit and regret his life choices—you don’t care which. You shake your head to yourself and look up in the mirror.

Baseball Cap is sliding back into the booth, and when he looks at you again, there’s a small smile and a nod, acknowledgement that you’re capable of handling jerks and idiots by yourself. He tunes into the conversation his friends are having, and he looks like he’s lost interest in answering your call from before, no longer riding the wave of brimming courage he had built up just a few minutes ago.

You sip the last of your drink and ponder your next move. Maybe it was time to be more bold, more direct, except… now Smirky is needling his friend, talking intently to Baseball Cap, but only succeeding in making him more and more defiant, his head shaking so hard it seems like his hat might come right off. Muscles joins the pile-on, while Polo Shirt puts one hand out across the table, entreating Baseball Cap in a gentler way.

He shakes his head again, and Smirky shoves him, launching Baseball Cap halfway out of the booth, making him stumble a bit until he rights himself and stands up. He moves to sit down again, but Smirky slides across the seat and blocks him, staring up at him stubbornly with a stern, “Go,” that you can lip read in the mirror.

Baseball Cap sighs and wipes his broad hand down his face, then reaches up and lifts the cap a few inches to sweep his hair back before he squares it on his head and takes a first, hesitant, step toward you.

You watch in the mirror as he approaches, long legs clad in faded denim, moving slowly but smoothly toward you. Good boy.

Baseball Cap sidles up to you at the bar and you turn to him, smiling so that it reaches your eyes, so that he knows that he’s welcome to approach you, that you’re eager to talk with him. He’s much broader up close, and his eyes are so soft. A sudden image pops into your mind: your legs thrown over those shoulders, his face buried between your legs while you grip his hair, and you feel electricity begin to tingle in your core.

He clears his throat and swallows, eyebrows knitted slightly, his plush lips parting with a quick flick of his tongue as he takes a deep breath.

Oh, he’s precious, so nervous and hopeful. Eager boy. This is going to be so much fun.

“Hi, I’m—” his voice goes scratchy and he clears his throat to try again. “I’m Frankie.”

He puts his hand out and you grip it firmly.

“Nice to meet you, Frankie. I was hoping you would come over and talk to me.”

He smiles, some of the tension leaving his shoulders, but not much. Still unsure of himself, uncertain of what this might be after getting a front-row seat to your swift handling of the other man’s unwelcome advances. His brown eyes go crinkly at the corners when he smiles, and you guess he’s probably forty, give or take a few years.

Excellent. A man who has some years under his belt, who won’t be afraid to have an adult conversation with you, someone on your level for once. Fully grown, experienced, handsome. A man.

“So, do you live around here, or-”

You put a hand up and cut him off. You don’t want Frankie to try to charm you, to make small talk because he thinks he has to. You smile as warmly as you can so that he doesn’t think you’re upset.

“Actually, Frankie, I’d like to skip the small talk and tell you that I want to have sex with you. Is it alright with you if we just talk about what I’m interested in doing? See if you’re open to it?”

Frankie’s jaw drops, his beautiful mouth opening an inch or so, and it makes you want to bite his dimpled lower lip, make him speechless again and again, reduce him to a quivering, happy puddle.

You hold his eyes, watching the gears turn quickly as he snaps his mouth shut and blushes furiously, trying to recover from the shock.

“I—um, yeah… I mean yes. Yes, please.” He smiles and ducks his head, then meets your eyes again as he relaxes totally, all nerves gone now. “I’d like that. Thank you for being so direct.”

Your heart sings. What a polite guy, respectful and eager and appreciative.

“You’re welcome. So you’re up for talking a little more?”

He nods, perfect white teeth showing in his soft smile.

You hope he’ll be receptive to your next command, another little screening tool of yours. Small commands, reasonable things, before you pull the curtain back all the way and tell Frankie exactly what he can expect if he decides he wants to go further.

“In that case, go tell your friends they can take off without you.”

You tilt your head in their direction, and Frankie grins, all happiness and dimples, now that he knows he doesn’t have to wade through the usual chit-chat and awkward “getting to know you” questions. He doesn’t have to try, he doesn’t have to calculate the odds of striking out, or figure out a way to rebuild his confidence if this falls apart.

You know that simple, direct commands can bring relief, remove the stress of having to make decisions and weigh consequences. It’s a gift to the right man when you flip the gender-norm tables and show your strength and your assertiveness, let him know that happiness and gratification are just on the other side of following directions.

And Frankie seems to be receptive to it.

“Yes, ma’am.”

You smile, watching in the mirror as Frankie lopes back to the booth, stands with his back to the bar and hooks a thumb over his shoulder to indicate to his friends that he’s ditching them. The butterflies between your legs flutter harder.

Muscles exclaims “Whoo!” like his favorite team just scored a touchdown, and you chuckle to yourself as you see Smirky pass a folded twenty-dollar bill across the table to Polo Shirt.

Frankie returns to sit in the empty stool next to you. You raise your hand, signaling to the bartender for a refill while Frankie peruses the menu to see what else they have on tap. Within thirty seconds his friends are standing up to leave, and since Frankie has his back to them he can’t see Smirky approaching with a mischievous look on his face.

You look over Frankie’s shoulder at Smirky and shake your head once, firm, mouthing a stern, “No” at him. And thank god he’s not stupid, he just makes a little moue, a pout of disapointment but pairs it with a nod, understanding that his intrusion would not be welcome.

Smirky follows Muscles and Polo Shirt to the front door, and then they’re gone and you’re finally, blessedly alone with Frankie.

And now the real fun can begin.

Frankie can’t believe his good luck. His head is still spinning from your bold and direct manner, not to mention your sparkling eyes and winning smile. He can’t remember the last time a woman knocked him off-center this fast, and he welcomes it.

Frankie trails his eyes over the bar menu, wondering why more women don’t just… say what they want. He could have saved so much time, skipped so many bad dates and hookups if he’d met a woman like you decades ago. He settles on a lager, and after he places his order with the bartender, you touch the back of his hand softly, just a graze, and he turns his eyes back to you.

You’re so… intense is what Frankie wants to think, but that word has negative connotations. And you’re definitely not a negative experience, you’re just so specific and present in the moment—direct—and the more Frankie thinks about it, the more he likes it.

“There’s a booth that just opened up in the corner,” you nod your head toward it. “I’m going to go sit down. Please bring the drinks over when they’re ready?”

Frankie nods, eager to please. “You got it.”

You smile, and Frankie feels like he’s just done something good, something that makes you happy. He’s surprised to find that he wants to do it again and again, and as you slide off the bar stool, he reaches his hand out to help you down, get you steady on your feet so that you don’t wobble in your office heels.

“What a gentleman,” you say. You shoot him another warm, soft smile, and Frankie swears his heart is going to explode with pride.

Fuck, you’re gorgeous. Frankie is so fucking thankful that he came over to talk to you. (He’ll never tell Santi it was his shove that finally did it—his ego is already big enough, the asshole.) But Frankie is already counting his lucky stars as he watches you walk away, hips swaying gently, mesmerizing him until he’s startled by the bartender plunking two glasses down in front of him.

Frankie opens a tab (hoping he’ll have much more time with you this evening), and carries the drinks over to you as carefully as he can. He sets them on the table and then pauses, a thought occurring to him.

“Is there anything else I can get you?” Frankie tries to keep his voice even, steady, but it seems to want to crack and go higher, his heart fluttering in his chest with the hope that he can do more for you.

He doesn’t know why. You’ve already told him what you want—to talk more about having sex with him—so it’s not like he needs to court you or gain favor. But something about you, about your assertiveness, makes Frankie want to please you. You’re clearly a very strong woman, you know what you want (and heaven knows Frankie is still wondering why you want him), and that strong personality of yours is calling to him like a siren song.

You shake your head. “No, but thank you. Sit down.”

That smile again, your sparkling and curious eyes… you’re intoxicating. Frankie tries to hide his disappointment, but he’s hoping that later there will be something else he can do for you, get for you, hell—make for you that will please you again.

“So…” you take a sip of your drink and meet Frankie’s gaze as your eyes sharpen. Not mean, just intelligent and direct. No bullshit.

It’s a breath of fresh fucking air as far as Frankie is concerned, and he feels just as floaty as he did back on that frozen mountain in Colombia, where the air was thin and ice cold. He smiles and waits, his instincts telling him that you’re about to blow his mind, and he won’t interrupt you while you’re in the middle of it.

“I wanted to talk with you more, Frankie, because what I’m looking for is very specific.”

Frankie swallows a sudden lump, worrying that he’s not what you’re looking for. It’s the result of damaged confidence born of too many conversations with girls whose wide eyes suddenly turn to Benny when he walks by. And far too many bored and disinterested women who get Frankie as their consolation prize when Santi hooks up with their best friend, and the happy couple (for the night) shoves their two wingmen together out of pity. Are you about to dismiss him?

But no, that couldn’t be right, because you had asked him to stay, invited him specifically to talk about sex. You’d already chosen him. And that thought cheers Frankie immensely. He thought he had read your signals correctly, he just wasn’t absolutely sure, so he talked himself out of coming over to you about nine different times. But now… now there is nothing to misread. You chose him, invited him, selected him. He’s wanted.

Frankie takes a deep breath, raising his eyebrows and nodding to you, holding your eyes with his own even though yours are almost too pretty to look directly into. But he wants you to know that he’s listening, taking you seriously.

You smile again, mysterious and secretive, and Frankie’s gaze flicks to your mouth as you open it to speak again. Whatever it is that you’re looking for, whatever specific thing you need, he’s determined to give it to you.

He wonders for a moment whether that’s crazy, whether he’s too far gone already for you when you’re still basically a stranger. And then he suddenly realizes he doesn’t even know your name! But Frankie knows, feels it with a conviction that he hasn’t felt in many years that he’ll be what you want, do what you need, twist himself into any shape that you’re seeking.

As long as you keep looking at him with those sharp eyes, that discerning smile. As long as you let Frankie stay in your orbit, he’ll be whatever kind of “specific” you demand.

You cock an eyebrow, “What do you know about dominant and submissive relationships?”

Frankie blushes, ducks his head and takes a sip of his beer, collecting himself. Your direct and plain language is doing things to him, and he wants to answer you just as frankly and matter-of-fact as you deserve.

“Ah, um… I know about them, a little bit about them, but I’ve never been in one. Does that answer your question?” Frankie hopes it does, and he feels a sweep of relief when you nod.

“It does.”

You smile again and Frankie can’t tear himself away from your eyes. He wants to make them sparkle like that every day. He smiles back at you and feels… happy, proud. He did it right, answered you correctly, and he wants to do it again.

You sip your drink, and Frankie watches you flick your tongue across your lower lip to catch an errant drop. He’s mesmerized, could watch you do that over and over again.

You continue, “And from what you know, would you be interested in that dynamic? In taking part in a sexual relationship with one partner being dominant and the other partner taking a submissive role?”

Frankie feels his ears turn red. He’s never been one to be “mean” in bed, to do anything that might hurt his partner, and now he’s not sure if this is the right answer or not, but what the hell—

“I’ve never really thought about it. Everyone kinda knows about it from that book that came out, but I just— I honestly don’t think it would turn me on to tie a woman up…” Frankie trails off. Was that the right answer? Are you going to be upset?

He’s reassured by your chuckle and the way that you lean closer, grasping the back of his hand with your soft one, giving him a quick squeeze and a pat before you let go to take another sip of your drink.

“Good. Okay, that’s good for me to know.”

Frankie wonders where this is going, because if it turns out that he’s not what you’re looking for… he might just swear off dating altogether, become a monk and go live out the rest of his life somewhere remote, somewhere that would wipe the stain of utter disappointment from his psyche.

“I’m actually not looking for someone to tie me up,” you smile.

And Frankie is relieved again, happy to continue the conversation as long as you’ll keep smiling at him like that. He relaxes his shoulders, trying to drain the tension built up from the rollercoaster of unease and happiness that he’s been riding for the past thirty minutes. He wishes he was cooler, more like Pope, more outgoing like Benny, as self-assured as Will—then maybe he would stop psyching himself out and just be able to go with the flow.

“And I’m not necessarily looking for someone that I can tie up, but I do like being in charge.” You wink at him, and Frankie feels something warm behind his sternum. Interesting.

“Would you be open to that, Frankie? Would you like me to be in charge of you?”

His cock immediately stirs at that, and Frankie swallows hard. Images of you standing over him in a vinyl bustier and stiletto-heeled boots suddenly flash through his brain.

A blindfold. Handcuffs. Spankings.

Frankie feels lightheaded, all of his blood rushing south as he opens his suddenly-dry mouth and closes it again, blinking rapidly to try to come up with something that isn’t just heavy breathing and awkward noises.

He nods, having no clue about where this idea has been all his life. Of course you would be in charge, you’re so perfect for it.

A parade of ex-girlfriends marches through his mind, and now it’s like a spotlight is shining on his memories, showing everything in crystal clear detail. Frankie recognizes that his favorite women, the ones he had fallen madly in love with throughout his life—they were the strong ones, the bossy ones—all the way back to his first crush in elementary school.

A girl named Maria with long, straight black hair in a ponytail had chased him around the playground, taunting him with threats of a kiss. Frankie had been embarrassed when he tripped and fell, the other kids laughing at him, one boy shouting that he had brought the dreaded curse of ‘girl cooties’ upon himself. But when the girl kneeled over him, blocking out the sun, she was backlit perfectly and looked just like Frankie had imagined an angel would. She kissed his cheek with a loud smack, Frankie’s heart did a flip, and he wondered why her strawberry lip gloss suddenly smelled so good.

When she ran off to find another victim, disappointment flooded his chest. Frankie had felt the phantom kiss lingering on his skin for days, wondering if and when he could get her to chase him again. Whether he could earn another kiss, another brush with sweetness.

“Yeah—” Frankie’s voice cracks again, and he swallows hard. “I—fuck, yes. Sorry for my language, I just… how did you know?”

Your mouth turns up and your eyes flash amusement, but he can tell you’re not laughing at him, you’re just pleased with his answer. And there goes that warm sensation flooding his guts again, his heart beating just a tad more rapidly at the images that are now somersaulting through his brain.

You, fully in charge, dressed for a day at the office. Frankie on his knees in front of you, naked and vulnerable. Your soft hand cradling his jaw. Your firm voice calling him a ‘good boy,’ telling him he’s done well, telling him you’re proud of him.

Frankie bites his lip, huffing out a breath to calm his racing thoughts.

“Well, I’ve been doing this for a while, and I’m not shy about asking for what I want,” you smile.

You shrug. “It’s not like I’m psychic. If you’d said ‘no’ there would be no hard feelings on my part. I’d simply pay for your beer and send you on your way.”

Frankie chuckles and shakes his head, full of wonderment at how perfect you are. How you seemed to read him so well and pull him in, make him want to do things for you, serve you, be whatever you need him to be. It doesn’t feel manipulative—it feels like it’s meant to be. Fated. Predestined. And Frankie wants to follow you wherever you’re about to lead him.

“So,” Frankie grins. “Where do we start?”

You chuckle at Frankie’s eagerness and squeeze his hand before walking him through the basics. Testing. Contraception. The ins and outs of the arrangement you’re looking for. You introduce him to a confidential online sexual preferences quiz, guiding him through how the website will take his answers, compare them to yours, and the list of results will only show things that you both agree on. You’ll build out your domme/sub agreement from that list, and you also make it very clear to Frankie that he’s in charge.

He quirks an eyebrow at that. “Me? I thought… I guess I don’t understand. Can you explain that?”

You smile at him, so proud of this man for speaking up already and telling you what he needs. He’s so good already, and while you came here tonight with the intention of picking up a casual fuck who might be interested in a scolding and a spanking, you’ve pivoted to introducing Frankie to the bigger picture, walking him deeper into the forest, showing him the possibilities of long-term involvement.

You don’t want to move to the bedroom too quickly, Frankie’s going to need a deeper understanding before you start linking his sexual desire to the dynamics of this kind of relationship. Ground rules first, build that anticipation, then you can start connecting wires in his brain and making sparks.

“I get it, it can be confusing if you’re just learning.” You take a sip of your drink, catching how Frankie’s eyes drop to your mouth, and the throbbing between your legs gets a little louder. “But I’m proud of you for asking. It’s a good sign that you want to learn more before jumping in with both feet.” You wink at him, and his reaction is note-perfect.

He sits up straighter in the booth, smiling like he just won a prize. You couldn’t have planned this better, and you thank your lucky stars that the Universe saw fit to send this man into your life tonight.

You lean forward and rest both elbows on the table, crossing your forearms in front of you. “While the dominant partner is ‘in charge’ during a scene, the sub actually holds all of the power in the relationship. You decide when you’re ready, you decide when you’re done, and you ask for what you want. I get your consent for every single thing that we do, and you get to turn your brain off and enjoy it.”

Frankie flushes pink again, and you reach out and take both of his big, work-worn hands in yours. “You’re doing so well for me already, Frankie. I like how you ask for what you need, and that’s a really good quality in a submissive. It’s not just about taking orders; you have to speak up for what you want at every turn.”

He gulps hard, his eyes brightening as he opens his plush mouth. “I don’t—I don’t mean to sound rude, but what do you get out of it?”

“Me? I like taking care of my subs. I like making sure that you feel good, that you get exactly what you need, and I like seeing the effects that a good domme/sub relationship has on the rest of your life.”

“What do you mean?” Frankie knits his brows and tilts his head a fraction, and his great big brown eyes put you in mind of an eager little puppy. The electricity buzzing through your core increases, and you have to stuff it down before you break all your rules and drag him to the nearest hotel.

Control, you remind yourself. Dommes like you stay in control, both of the scene and of themselves. Breaking rules only confuses a sub, and more than anything, submissives need consistency. You’ll (hopefully) get a chance to make him make those big puppy eyes again soon, as long as you stay in control.

“Well, a good, healthy dynamic between a dominant and their sub builds trust, and when you have trust—something you can rely on—it carries over into the rest of your life. For me, it provides a sense of control that I may not have in other areas of my life, and it makes me feel good to make you feel good. Those good feelings lift me up for days afterwards. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah,” Frankie nods, encouraging you to go on.

“And for a sub, a rock-solid relationship with a dom can increase your confidence, build good discipline, and give you an outlet for all the other stress in your life. And I think you would agree that self-esteem, good habits and routines, and stress relief are all really important in life. Subs just get theirs from a different place than most people.”

Frankie nods thoughtfully, then licks his lips and ventures a question, his eyes flicking down to the table, nervous. “And what—what if I, um… how do I know if I’m any good at it? What if I do it wrong?”

You squeeze his hands, make sure he’s looking at you while you smile reassuringly. “You can’t screw it up, Frankie. You’re in charge, remember? There’s no secret test, there’s no hidden ‘gotcha’ moment. It’s all about what you want and how much you want to try. There won’t be a pop quiz or a grade on this, trust me.”

Frankie swallows hard and looks skeptical for a moment, then nods again. “I trust you.”

He smiles and squeezes your hand before leaning back.

After making sure that Frankie has digested all of the important information and that you’ve gotten his number, you tell him firmly to go home, sleep on it, and only fill out the online quiz tomorrow, if and when he’s ready. You shoot him a text so he has your number, and as he’s opening it, his mouth twitches and his eyes dance with amusement. A dimple appears in Frankie’s cheek, and you chuckle.

“What’s going on in that head of yours, handsome?”

Frankie flicks his gaze to yours and you nearly crumple at the sight of his crow’s feet, the adorable crinkles highlighting just how much his smile reaches his eyes. “Just—I mean, I realized I said yes to all of this without even knowing your name. So what do I call you? What name should I put in my contacts?”

“Missy.”

Frankie nods. “I like that. Is that short for anything?”

You grin, “It’s short for ‘Mistress’.”

Frankie blushes, hot and fast, and you see the shiver that runs through him, his broad shoulders quivering as he sits up a little straighter. He smiles softly and types rapidly, then slips his phone into his pocket.

“And Frankie?” you add. “If you change your mind that’s entirely okay. You haven’t committed to anything tonight, and I really won’t have any hard feelings if you decide that this isn’t for you after all.”

“I’ll text you either way,” he says with a serious nod, and you know he means it. Then he stands up out of the booth, gives you a quick handshake, and heads for the door. You clock the new spring in his step, the way his shoulders are squared and steady, no more nerves or self-doubt weighing him down.

He’s gorgeous, and you know that even if he does decline, that you’ve at least infused Frankie with some confidence that he can take with him the next time he goes out to a bar.

But, god, you hope he says yes.

Frankie gulps, then looks around behind him as if he isn’t alone, as if there were anyone standing behind him who could see and judge what he’s doing.

He shakes his head and huffs a laugh at himself. He’s a grown man on the far side of forty, and he’s hunched over his laptop in his own home trying to hide the half-chub he’s got going in his boxers like a teenager. He presses the flat of his palm down against his cotton-clad arousal, trying to stave off the throbbing long enough to finish this damn quiz.

But it’s not his fault, everything he reads sends images of you pinballing around in his brain. Every. Single. Question makes him want to stop and rub one out, just to have the mental clarity to continue. But you had said ‘no touching,’ and damn if Frankie was going to fuck up and disobey the very first order that you gave him.

“Okay,” Frankie murmurs, “Question five: Give partner an erotic massage? Yes, fuck yes…” The mere thought of getting his slick, oily hands on you, feeling the warmth of your skin under his palms, being asked—no, being allowed to touch you and bring you pleasure makes him weak. Shit…

He takes a deep breath and swears he can still smell your perfume from the bar invading his senses. The urge to reach his hand down into his boxers and give himself a firm grip is overwhelming now, and he’s still got dozens of questions to go. His lower belly churns with desire, and he’s so horny it almost hurts.

He loves this. Then he hates how much he loves it. It’s sweet, exquisite torture, and Frankie is giddy, nearly nauseated at how excited it makes him.

His eyes had popped open at 5:30 in the morning, the way they always did after so many years of active duty. No alarm except the morning wood that was raging in his underwear, barely able to get it to go down enough to pee. He had woken to thoughts of you, memories of the bar last night, of the way you had taken control of the conversation and opened his eyes to something that he hadn’t even known was possible.

Frankie had done his best to distract himself, doing laundry and dishes, taking a quick jog and doing 200 push-ups and then showering, filling the hours until closer to 8:00, a decent time when he could text you. His thumb hovered over the ‘send’ arrow, still unsure of the text he was about to blast into the ether, two words he’d finally crafted after a dozen drafts, each sounding more pathetic than the last.

His heart palpitated as the words flew to your phone, and he breathed a huge sigh of relief when his sparse, direct, “I’m in,” was met with a simple, “Good boy,” and a few short instructions.

Take the quiz. Answer honestly. Don’t touch yourself.

Frankie’s eyes had nearly bugged out of his head at the last one, and he briefly thought about pushing back, but he realized this was his first real opportunity to show you how good he could be, how well he could listen. There was no way he was going to disappoint you if he could help it.

He shot off his reply breathlessly, “Yes ma’am,” and bit his lip as he waited for a response. All he got was a “thumbs up” appended to his text, but he reasoned that any response was good, although he did feel a little foolish. What had he expected? A novel? Gushing praise?

Frankie shook his head, reminding himself to temper his expectations.

He races through questions eight, nine… twelve… fifteen. All “no.” No, he does not want to tie you up, spank you, or use degrading language with you. He doesn’t want to do any of the dominant actions himself, he knows this.

But question sixteen arrests him in place, and suddenly he can barely breathe. Have partner use restraints on you? makes his tongue swell in his mouth, and his cock twitches violently as it steals more blood from his brain. He can’t click the “yes” button fast enough. Questions seventeen through twenty-four are all “yes,” because they are the opposite of the previous questions.

Yes, he wants you to spank him with your hand, yes he wants you to tell him what to do in the bedroom, and YES, he wants you to call him pet names.

Have partner use a belt/flogger/paddle on you? and, Have partner call you degrading names? both get a “maybe” but they make him salivate all the same.

Frankie grips himself through the black cotton of his boxer-briefs, and he wonders if this is going against the “no touching yourself” rule… but he also can’t proceed with the rest of this questionnaire without doing something to try to tamp down his raging erection. Just a quick squeeze, strangle the fuck out of his goddamn traitorous cock for a few seconds, and maybe he won’t pass out.

Frankie tries to remember the last time he was this turned on, but nothing since puberty has even come close to this. The anticipation, the mental imagery, the sheer desire that you’ve ignited in him is practically cruel, and he thinks about asking if he can see you tonight. And if that’s pathetic… well, then he’ll embrace being pathetic, because he needs to see you again more than he needs his pride.

He steels himself against the throbbing in his groin and finishes the questions.

Your phone chimes with an incoming text, and you nearly throw your knife down on the cutting board in your haste to grab your phone from the dining room table. You expel a few curse words at your foolishness. No need to cause a kitchen accident just because you’re eager to see if it’s Frankie.

“Down, girl,” you scold yourself, and you grimace at how unlike you this is.

What the hell is wrong with you? You’re the domme, you’re in control of yourself, and you’re not ever this wound-up over a guy. Frankie is a very handsome, very broad guy, but a guy nonetheless. Guys are playthings, scene partners, subs. Guys are people, too, but at most you get sexual satisfaction from them and give them some, along with spectacular aftercare. There’s no feelings involved. Not since… not since you realized that you prefer being the dominant one, not since Nick—

You refuse to go there. Ancient history, old enough to buy itself a drink at a bar by now. Feelings aren’t part of the deal, not since forever ago, and you refuse to examine why there’s a little flutter in your tummy when you pick up your phone to see that Frankie has checked in, a quick, “Done!” accompanied by his unique code for the online sexual compatibility quiz.

You bite your lip and wonder if you should text back… but you wouldn’t even know what to say, so you give his text a thumbs-up, then watch as three little bubbles appear, then disappear, then appear again. What’s Frankie up to? Is he changing his mind? Your stomach sours at the mere thought of it.

The bubbles disappear again and don’t re-appear, so you sigh and force yourself to finish chopping the vegetables you were working on and shove them in the fridge to cook for dinner later. During cleanup, you realize you’ve had one ear out for the phone this whole time, and you shake your head at yourself.

This isn’t a high school crush. He texted what he needed to and that’s it. Stop being silly.

You dry your hands on a kitchen towel and grab your phone, settling into the couch with your back against the arm rest and your feet propped up on a pillow. You catch an anticipatory grin spreading across your face at the thought that you’re about to see inside of Frankie’s head.

You enter his unique user code, and you know that you’ve used this online quiz enough times that you’ll fly through the questions. At the end of your answers, the app will generate a list consisting of everything that you and Frankie matched on and email you both. A single “no” is a veto, and that item won’t appear, but everything that’s a “yes” for both of you, or a “yes” for one and a “maybe” for the other will land in your email inbox in just a few moments.

Your heart thuds as you refresh your email for the third time. Is the website taking longer, or does it just feel like it because you’re giddy with anticipation? Where is that stupid email?

Just as you clench your teeth and growl, the email appears, and your heart suddenly clogs your throat. You wriggle to sit up straighter on the couch, and you’re almost afraid to open the message. Will he be into what you’re into? Will you only match on three things? What if this is a mistake, and Frankie’s just not ready for this kind of arrangement?

You breathe, sucking in air as slowly as you can, and then out twice as slow. Your eyes water as you stare at the subject line, and you tap your phone screen before you can talk yourself out of it.

And there it is…

He’s perfect. You knew it, had felt it in your bones last night at the bar. You didn’t want to believe it, to place so much trust in something that might fall through, but here it is in front of you. Frankie is your perfect match. You couldn’t have designed a better sub if you tried. He’s into everything that you could want, and now you’re drooling at the possibilities.

You arch an eyebrow at a few of his answers. Frankie’s apparently an adventurous boy, and he’s checked off a few questions that surprise you, things that you wouldn’t have thought he’d be ready to try. But those can come later.

Right now, you’ve got an aching throb building in your core, and you sigh and plop your phone down on your stomach, wondering if it’s too soon to text Frankie and ask him to meet you somewhere. And just as you’re trying to figure out how to phrase it without sounding too desperate, your phone pings.

You pick it up to see the notification, and a wide grin spreads across your face. It’s from Frankie, and you swipe hurriedly to open the text, your heart fluttering as you read it once, then again, and again.

I don’t want to sound too eager, trying to stay cool here. But I would really love to see you again. Soon.

You sigh, bite your lip, and try to stop the butterflies that are exploding in your gut. You know this isn’t normal, and you can already tell that these feelings—this crush you have on the tall, broad, eager man—are nothing but a recipe for disaster. But you can’t bring yourself to deny it…

You’ve got it bad for Frankie, and you’re typing out an equally eager response before you can stop yourself.

Frankie paces, trying to ignore both his erection and the nerves that are shredding his stomach. He refuses to stare at his phone and wait to see if you’ll respond to his desperate, pathetic message… so he just treads a path from the kitchen, to the living room, to his bedroom, and back. Frankie keeps his eyes pinned to the ceiling or the walls. Anywhere but down, to avoid the sight of his fucking ridiculous hard-on.

Don’t be a dumbass, Morales. She’ll text you when she texts you. You just gotta—

His head buzzes when he suddenly remembers the second half of the quiz process—the email showing what you matched him on—and he practically runs back to his laptop, stubbing his toe on the coffee table, landing awkwardly in his rolling chair and nearly tumbling out of it. His fingers shake, fumbling to open his email program, looking to see if the results are there, and oh, shit… there it is, top of the inbox. A detonator that could blow his whole world wide open.

Frankie’s heart races in his throat, and he’s suddenly scared of what he’ll see if he clicks to open the email.

Does she…? Will she want…? What if…?

He gulps, and his pupils blow wide when he sees that you’ve matched him on nearly everything that he’s been fantasizing about for the past twelve hours since he left you at the bar. Fuck.

He leans back in his computer chair to give his cock some breathing room, and his eyes scan the list as his hand drifts across his stomach to his—no!

“Fuuuck,” he hisses through clenched teeth. “Off-limits, Morales. Don’t fuck this up.”

Frankie shakes his head as if that will clear the tumbling swoops of desire that are still torturing him. He breathes deeply, counting to four on each inhale and exhale, until he feels clear enough to proceed with reading the list. But he knows it’s futile, knows he won’t feel anything close to calm until he sees you again, and he hopes against hope that you’ll agree to meet up with him soon.

And, shit, was that message too much? What if that turns you off? But what if you say yes?

And just as he’s trying to talk himself out of his worries, Frankie’s phone pings in the other room. *** The hotel bar is dark, buzzing with chatter as Frankie navigates his way between tables and guests. He dodges a few servers and busboys who are tidying up after a jubilant group of what he assumes are work conference attendees, based on their lanyards with plastic badges dangling from the ends.

It’s a few minutes before 5:00, and Frankie is still nervous, but at least his hard-on has gone away. He’d spent the entire day distracting himself with the tiniest of errands, the flimsiest excuses to get out of the house, whatever it took so that he wouldn’t spend his afternoon drooling at the list of quiz results or grinning like an idiot at your response to his pathetic, overeager text.

How about tonight? 5:00? And a map to the hotel bar linked just below it.

He’d responded with a cool, collected, “See you then” and then ran to his room to fret over what to wear. Frankie’s wardrobe wasn’t extensive, so at least the torture had been brief, and he’d settled on a new-ish pair of black jeans and the tropical-print shirt that Santi had ragged him about for years.

“You look like you’re modeling for a men’s cologne sold at a gas station, pendejo.”

Frankie rolled his eyes at the memories of Pope’s playful insults, then spent the intervening hours cleaning his Jeep inside and out, returning library books, and shopping for groceries before heading home to start getting ready.

But the nerves had stuck around, and somehow Frankie’s hand slipped while attempting to trim his scruff, resulting in a patch so uneven that he’d had to shave the whole thing off. He’d cursed at himself, but then reasoned that if a clean-shaven face and a too-wild shirt were enough to turn you off after everything so far, maybe he wasn’t the guy for you after all. He’d polished his least beat-up pair of work boots and then hit the road, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel the whole way, his stomach half eager butterflies and half churning knots.

But when he catches your eye across the room, everything settles. You wave at Frankie from your perch on a high stool, tucked into a table in the corner, and when you smile his whole world stills. There’s nothing else in Frankie’s mind but you. No more clattering of glassware, no more tipsy strangers talking too loudly, no more bodies blocking his path to you. Frankie feels like he’s floating as he crosses the last few steps to your table, and his heart leaps as you slide off your chair to greet him with a hug.

He folds you into his embrace, and when he catches a whiff of your perfume, something in Frankie melts. He wants to propose marriage right then and there… or at least pledge himself to you like some kind of knight in a fairy tale. You’ve been the focus of nearly all his waking thoughts for almost 24 hours, and even a few of his sleeping ones.

He’s not sure what’s coming next, but he’s all in, and he can’t even find it in himself to care if this goes bad or he ends up brokenhearted. Whatever you want to give him, Frankie will take with open arms, and he only hopes that he can give you back everything that you deserve.

#DMAMC 2025 #DMAMC2025 #dom that middle aged man #she comes first #frankie catfish morales #sub!Frankie Morales #sub!Frankie Morales x domme!fem!Reader #frankie morales x f!reader #JHFTM bangs on her keyboard #man... it's been a long time since I've written any smutfics

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strnilolover · 21 hours ago

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okay so i don’t know how good my word will be on this, but i feel like i should say something. that exposing account that’s going around and starting drama with everyone (i’ve blocked them), just ignore them.

they want the attention, they want everyone to start drama with them, they love it. they get satisfaction and pleasure from you guys interacting with them and giving your opinions on their account, that’s just how it is sadly.

i don’t like what they’re doing either, and i know you want to express your opinions on it which is good to do! but with these people, they think they won’t get any backlash from posting because no one knows who they are, which is just fueling them on even more. it makes them feel powerful that they can spew all these words to other people and act like they don’t care, because again, no one knows who they are.

but please just block the account! report them and then block them. don’t give them your time of day because they don’t deserve it. once people stop interacting with them, they’ll move on hopefully and eventually. and you don’t deserve to have to argue with someone because they want to be incompetent and hate with your opinion, because what they’re doing is wrong.

[please reblog to try and get this around]

#ᯓ★ strnilolover #sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #spread the word #block them #report them #reblog this #reblog #gabs yaps!#sturniolos #sturniolo tumblr #sturniolo fandom #the sturniolos

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darkwitchoferie · 17 hours ago

Text

Train Ride - Chapter 2, Jeongin

A/N: Apologies, this is later than originally intended. During my proofreading, I realized I kept flipping tenses, which – annoying. But that meant I had to do a little more heavy editing than I intended. Do you ever just look at a word while proofreading and think ‘that’s not a real word’, but it totally is and is in fact the correct word you meant to use? Yeah, happened a few times. Please lmk if you want to be added to the taglist.

To my new followers – hello, welcome. My fic ideas are few and, sometimes, far between. But I hope you continue to enjoy this one. Oh, that said, don’t think I won’t finish this one. This one is already more than half finished and the half that isn’t written is outlined.

Cw/tw for this chapter: vaginal fingering, nipple play unprotected vaginal sex, oral sex (m & f receiving), “accidental” exhibitionism, threesome

Chapter one here

Over the next week, the pair of you discussed your boundaries. Mostly they vary based on what the other individual guys might like or want, but there were hard lines for both of you. Mostly for you, and mostly centered on things you just didn’t like to do sexually. Though you did include things like allowing them all to have you with no additional protection since you had an IUD. As long as they were comfortable with it, you already knew they were all clean. The one hard rule was that if, at any time, you or Chan realized this type of sexually-opened, hopefully fully polyamorous, relationship was no longer working for you as a couple or as individuals, you’d say something. You two would keep talking about it, and include the others when and if they decided to fully be in a relationship with either of you, to keep making sure it was still a healthy relationship for all involved.

Then the conversation turned to how to invite the other seven members. You suggested posting a pic or short video of yourself masturbating into the group chat and inviting anyone who wanted to to come over and play.

Chan groaned, then laughed. “I think you’d give more than one of them a heart attack if you tried that. But definitely hold onto that idea for later.”

You then agree that they should be approached one-on-one, with each method to be different, depending on who you’re approaching. You suggested Jeongin first, seeing as he’s Chan’s roommate. You figure, and Chan agrees, that’ll make him the easiest target.

You specifically chose a day he has a schedule without the others, a photo shoot that was just him. Chan invited you over after he’d already left, letting you know that, as long as nothing went wrong, I.N would be back to their apartment by 3:30. You tried to keep yourselves distracted, not wanting to get started too soon. After all, it wouldn’t look like you’d accidentally forgotten what time he’d be back if he walked in after you were finished. Still, the anticipation and desire was making you both squirmy.

Finally, Chan’s reminder alarm goes off. You couldn’t help it, the second he looked at you after silencing it, you started giggling.

“Baby?”

“Sorry. Just, ya know, us – scheduling sex.” You laughed harder and he joined in this time. Your giggles continued, even as he gripped your hips and pulled you against him, dipping his head down to press open mouthed kisses to your neck. Chan makes quick work of your clothes, leaving you completely naked in no time.

“Already so wet, baby girl,” he muttered against the skin over your sternum as he runs a finger up and down your slit.

“Like you haven’t been hard for the last hour,” you countered. He only hummed, not denying it. That caused another gush of arousal from you – knowing he wanted this as much as you.

He laid you back on the couch, steadily kissing, licking, and sucking his way down your body until he got where he wanted to be. The flat of his tongue pressing against your clit had you arching your hips toward him and reaching down to grip his hair.

Despite inviting Jeongin to join you being the whole point, neither of you noticed right away when he walked in. It was when you heard his bag drop to the floor that you looked up and caught sight of him, flushed and staring at you. You were facing the front door and Chan had his back to it so, if not for your boyfriend blocking his view, he’d have a perfect view of your wet cunt.

“Innie,” you whimpered, reaching out toward him and digging a heel into Chan’s side. Chan pulled away, the bottom of his face coated in your arousal.

“Shit, sorry, Iyen-ah. Didn’t realize you’d be back already.” When he didn’t respond, but his eyes drifted down and locked on your pussy, the pair of you grinned at each other. “Iyen-ah?” Chan worked to hide his amusement as he waved a hand in front of the other’s man’s face.

That seemed enough to jolt him back to what was going on. He dropped his face, cheeks flushing deeper with the embarrassment of being caught. “Shit. Sorry, hyung. Sorry, noona. I’ll just, uh…. Go, yeah, I….”

“Innie, do you want a taste?”

His head snapped up and gaze locked on Chan’s face so fast, it almost gave you whiplash just from seeing it. “What?”

“I know how good she looks, spread out like this. And I can see you like what you see,” Chan nodded at the noticeable bulge in his pants. “Do you. Want. A taste?” He repeated his question, just a little slower.

“I… uh…. I mean –”

“Innie, please,” you pleaded, holding out your hand to him again. Slowly, nervously, Jeongin made his way over to you, eyes fixed on your face with a look that said he was waiting for someone to say you were just teasing him or you’d changed your mind. When he got close, you popped up just enough to grab his shirt and pull him in toward you. He stumbled a bit, but caught himself by bracing one hand on the back of the couch and the other landed just barely under you. “Do you wanna kiss me?” You asked softly, lips already close to his where he hovered over you.

“Yes,” he whispered, nodding. You grinned and pulled him fully into you. The small moan that escaped him as your lips connected had you clenching around nothing in anticipation. Chan, from his new vantage point sitting on the floor beside the couch, had a perfect view of it and reached out to squeeze your calf.

You weren’t sure if he realized then that you weren’t joking with him, or if he’d just decided to take advantage for as long as he could, but Jeongin quickly took control of the kiss. He tugged his hand out from under you, cupping your cheek and tilting your head for a better angle to deepen the kiss. One knee came down between your spread thighs to better hold himself up. His hand came off the back of the couch, fingertips grazing down your side, from shoulder to hip.

“Tease,” you muttered, pulling away just enough to speak, but your lips still touched his as you spoke. This time, as that same hand travelled down your side, his thumb brushed over your nipple causing you to gasp against his lips. This seemed to be all the encouragement he needed as his touches became a lot firmer and more deliberate after that. He shifted so that the hand that had been cupping your cheek was now holding your hip, thumb gently rubbing against the skin there. Starting at your jaw line, he began pressing open mouthed kisses across your jaw, under your ear, down your neck, and over your collar bone. You tangled the fingers of one hand in his hair, not letting him move too far away from your skin.

The hand on your hip slid over and two of his fingers gently pressed into you at the same time he wrapped his lips around one of your nipples. You moaned, arching into him and feeling him smirk against your nipple at your reaction. You whimpered, moaned, and writhed on the couch under Jeongin as he played your body as if he’d been taking lessons for years. He alternated sucking and licking your nipple, while his free hand pinched and rolled the other, then he switched sides. Meanwhile his fingers in your cunt were moving at the perfect speed to get you to and keep you on the edge of an orgasm without tipping over. Occasionally, his thumb would press on and gently rub circles against your clit. Again, just enough to not let you cum. It was maddening, but you loved it.

On the floor, Chan unzipped his pants with one hand to relieve the pressure while his other hand smoothed up and down the back of your calf, grounding himself and making sure you knew he was still there. He pressed a kiss to the top of your knee, causing you to jolt a little at the unexpected feeling.

“Forget I was here, baby girl?” Chan chuckled. You felt Jeongin twitch at Chan’s voice. “Clearly not the only one who forgot. Oh no, Iyen-ah,” Chan said as he started to back away. “Don’t stop now. She hasn’t cum yet, and you haven’t even had a real taste of her.”

Jeongin groaned, dropping his forehead to your chest. But his fingers didn’t stop. Instead, after a moment, his mouth started traveling down again, pressing open mouthed kisses to your tummy, licking or nibbling on the soft, smooth skin. He looked up at you, lips hovering over your cunt.

“Please, Innie.” Gently, you tugged at the hair you still had your fingers tangled in. He dropped a chaste kiss against your clit then wrapped his lips around it, flicking his tongue against the bundle of nerves, pulling matching moans from the pair of you. Chan’s grip on your calf tightened as he watched his friend finger you and suck on your clit. There was something about hearing the oh-so-familiar sounds you made when he wasn’t the one causing them that was driving him crazy in the best way.

You felt Jeongin’s tongue slip down to join his fingers, pushing into your cunt and thrusting a few times, before flicking up again to press against your clit. Your legs, that had been just spread on either side of him, came up to rest over his shoulders and hold his body against you as you grew closer to your orgasm. Finally, with a crook of his fingers and a particularly harsh suck of your clit, the coil in your belly snapped.

You arched up with a moan closer to a scream as you finally came. Jeongin kept working his fingers in you, letting you ride out your high on his digits. His fingers slowed to a stop as you came down from your high.

“Innie?” You asked, still trying to catch you breath.

“Hm?”

“Can I tell you a secret?”

“Of course, noona.”

“We didn’t forget when you were coming back home.”

“What?” He looked from you face to Chan’s, sitting up and pulling his fingers out of you as he did, causing you to whimper at the loss.

“When I said we didn’t realize you’d be back already, I lied,” Chan elaborated. “We planned for you to be home.”

“I don…. I don’t understand.”

You sat up beside him, tossing one of your legs over his, but let Chan explain. “Baby girl here has a fantasy.” He explained the whole situation.

“Hang on, is this why you were distracted last week?” Chan nodded.

“Listen,” you started off, starting to feel a little guilty about lying, or at the least misleading, your friend. “If you don’t want –”

“Oh no, I want. You’re not backing out, are you Y/nnie?” he asked with a sly smile.

“Not a chance,” you grinned, tugging up his shirt then pulling him to you by the back of his neck after he’d pulled the shirt all they way off. He kept moving forward until you were lying back on the couch again and he could slot his body back between your legs. You let your hands wander his torso, tracing the ridges of muscle as he reclaimed your lips in a hungry kiss.

His lips trailed down your neck again, this time biting and sucking a mark into the skin of your neck and another just below your collar bone. You scratched your nails over his abs, delighted when they twitched under your fingers. Then you reached down, gripping the waist band of his jeans with one hand and popping the button on them with the other. You felt him smirk against your skin, even as he helped you get him out of his pants and briefs.

You reached down, wrapping your hand his cock and stroking a couple times before shifting so you could press his tip to your entrance.

“Impatient, are you?” he teased.

“She usually is,” Chan agreed. “Even though she’s already cum twice.”

“Twice?”

“Mm. Once just before you walked in.”

“Enough talk, fuck me now,” you demanded, rolling your hips up. Jeongin laughed but didn’t deny you. Instead, he gripped under your knee, bending your leg up and slightly out to open you up to him better. As he slid into your warmth, his free hand groped for yours in an effort to keep himself grounded. When he bottomed out inside you, he held still, both of you breathing heavy.

You vaguely recognized the look on his face as similar to the look Chan got when he was doing his best to hold back and not come too soon. Instead of saying anything, you brought your hand that was holding his up to your mouth and wrapped first your tongue then your mouth around one of his fingers. With a groan, he flexed his hand, allowing you to trap two of his fingers between your lips. As he finally started rolling his hips, he copied the movement with his fingers in your mouth. You moaned around his fingers, sucking them as he went.

There was something soft in his eyes, just for a moment, as he looked down at you sucking on his fingers. Then it was gone and he’s pulling his hand out of yours and away from your face as he sat up on his knees. Using both hands on your hips to hold you in place, he pulled nearly all the way out then thrust back in, setting a fast, but not too rough, pace and pulling little ahs and moans from you every time he thrusts back in.

Over his shoulder, you catch sight of Chan, standing up and having rid himself of his pants and boxers. Reaching out to your boyfriend, you shift a bit so your head is hanging just slightly off the side of the couch. At Chan’s raised eyebrow, you just open your mouth while holding eye contact.

You lose yourself in the absolute pleasure of being fucked in your mouth and pussy at the same time. There’s something indescribably wonderful for you about the familiar sensation of Chan in your mouth and the new sensation of Jeongin in your cunt that makes it so, even if you tried, you’re not sure you could keep track of anything. You’re pretty sure it’s Chan whose mouth is wrapped around your nipple now, but you couldn’t say for sure, lost in the haze of your building orgasm. Someone’s fingers find your clit and apply just the perfect pressure to have you arching off the couch, scream muffled by Chan’s cock. Seconds later, you feel warmth flood your cunt as Jeongin comes, followed by a grunted warning from Chan before he’s coming down your throat.

Chan collapses to the floor, head on the couch beside you. Jeongin tries to stay sitting up for a second, but gives that up and lays down with his head on your chest, his own chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. You reach out to both of them, toying with their hair as your breathing slowly returns to normal.

“Okay baby girl?” Chan asks.

“So okay,” you reply in a raspy voice.

“Shower or tea first?” It was one thing he always insisted on when he used your throat like that – soothing tea after.

“Sleep.”

“Nu-uh, that’s not one of the choices.”

“Ugh,” you groaned.

“Why don’t you take her up to the shower and I’ll bring tea?” Jeongin suggested.

You both agree, but it still takes a few minutes before anyone moves. A while later, you’re curled up with your head on Chan’s chest and Jeongin’s arm around your waist as you drift off to sleep.

Taglist: @skzficpriv @strayk1ds143 @vegetablesarefuntables

#skz smut #stray kids smut #skz x reader #skz ot8 x reader #bang chan x reader #yang jeongin x reader #felix x reader #hyunjin x reader #changbin x reader #seungmin x reader #han jisung x reader #lee minho x reader

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eclipseberrycake · 1 day ago

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Poly! MoonBerryCake x Reader Pt. 3

Who didn't tell me the actual ship name was blueberrycake. What the flip guys.

Anyway, I saw this post and was like omg I need it. So I wrote it.

Part 3 if you will.

-> Part one

-> Part Two

☁ There was something be said about your resolve. Or your spite. Or your absolute lack of self-preservation.

☁ Cosmo wasn't sure which one it was yet. He wasn't sure he wanted to know. Not yet anyway. For the sake of your newly budding relationship.

☁ It had been a slow process admittedly, between the four of you, talking and discussing the boundaries you all had and laying them out in the open, along with the expectations you all had for the relationship.

☁ You all were still getting used to each other, and honestly Cosmo wasn't sure if you all were 'official' or just...seeing each other? Glisten had told him there was a difference. He didn't think there was but apparently there was a huge difference between seeing each other, going out, dating and being official.

☁ It was startling to suddenly have to have the difference of all of these explained to him in what was supposed to be a five floor run for pops to restock. It turned into a five floor lecture with Poppy, Glisten and Scraps all explaining the differences to him from across the rooms they were in.

☁ A strange day indeed. He was mostly just glad the others weren't there. You were still recovering and Astro had taken to ensuring you were actually bed resting and not doing...whatever it is you do when you're not listening to common sense. Sprout is with Pebble, making sure the little rock dog is back on track with his healing so he can hopefully be part of a future run.

☁ Leaving Cosmo the unfortunate sole victim of the chat. Even Teagan got in on it, prodding his cheek with a finger and knowing grin, going on about he was quite the 'heartbreaker'. He didn't want to be that! He quite liked you all!

☁ Looking onwards, he wondered how that happened. At one point did he look at what was before him and go yeah thats the one. Because he had questions for his past self. Lots of questions.

☁ "How many is that?" He has to ask, leaning over to where Astro is watching silently, amusement written on the celestial's face. He lost count after #15.

☁ "This is thirty two." Astro hummed, using a star shard to catch a tower of empty pudding cups that had begun to fall. They were disposed of properly as you cracked open what was your thirty-third pudding cup, sticking your spoon into it eagerly. How this happened? Cosmo didn't know. He walked in at the seventh, and even then questioned what the hell you were thinking.

☁ Beside you, Gigi and Goob were cheering you on, bringing more pudding cups out of...Well, Cosmo wasn't even sure where. Just that now there were more. You didn't need more.

☁ "Does Sprout know?" Cosmo continued to ask, leaning to lay on Astro. He was warm and the fur of his blanket was soft. Cosmo probably could've fallen asleep there really if he wasn't too busy watching the crazy shitstorm in front of him.

☁ "Nope." Came the very answer Cosmo was expecting. Probably for the best if he thought about it. If Sprout knew he'd stop it. Himself and Astro both were more curious to see the outcome then they were to stop it. Was there a limit?

☁ You would find out.

☁ Hopefully before Sprout showed up, but that was neither here nor there.

☁ The pudding cup was stacked on top of your most recent pile and number thirty-four was opened.

☁ "We're going to have to deal with this later." Astro tacked on, laying his head on Cosmo's. Cosmo hummed in acknowledgement having accepted that at cup seventeen.

☁ He could only imagine what thirty four pudding cups (And counting) could do to your poor tummy. That was part of science though.

☁ "Whatever happens, we will use this against them for the rest of their life." The roll huffed, glancing to the doorway out of instinct. He could faintly hear Sprout talking with Vee, the most recent recovery, most likely about the latest gossip around Gardenview.

☁ Oh little did they know.

☁ Thirty-five was opened and primed as you slapped down number thirty four.

☁ "This has gotta be some kind of world record." Astro pipes up again, eye darting to where Cosmo had looked off too. "Ooh, Wardens here." He teased, making Cosmo grin.

☁ The thirty fifth pudding cup, no empty, was slammed down as your eyes darted to where they sat, wide and scared. "He's not-"

☁ Goob and Gigi seemed to take this as a challenge, pushing more cups into your hands. Gigi claimed she had a bet going she needed to win while Goob was probably just there for the thrill.

☁ The added challenge of speed seemed to turn up the pace, cutting through four more in the blink of an eye.

☁ Number fourty was in hand and on its way to being devoured when the shrill gasp they all had been waiting for cut in.

☁ "What in Dandy's name do you think you're doing?!"

☁ Cosmo had to laugh. He had to. This was too good. It was too much watching Sprout try to charge you as you just as quickly try to eat your fortieth pudding cup. Incredible. Truly.

☁ And better yet, you were never living it down.

☁ Even after the night of constant tummy aches and your whines as they took turns caring for you, it followed you in teasing reminders whenever you so much as looked at another thing of pudding.

☁ It wasn't until you all were focusing on the trying to get the newer toons back that the it dropped the first time.

☁ You were on standby as Pebble took over distracting for a round, sticking close enough that you could use your spare air horn should Pebble stumble at all. But since you also couldn't help yourself, you were leaning on Cosmo's back as he was doing a machine, poking and prodding at his face when he didn't immediately give you what you wanted.

☁ Which was attention. Which his was taken as he tried to not mess up his skill checks and get you both caught and make Pebble's life that much harder.

☁ Still you persisted until the light of his machine blinked green and he was finally able to turn to face you. You stumbled, landing on his chest as he caught you, raising a non-existent eyebrow at your antics. "Listen, pudding cup, you can have all the attention you want, but you gotta be patient."

☁ You opened you're mouth for a rebuttal before pausing, finger raised in the air as the words registered. He snickered at the face you were making, turning and moving on to the next machine.

☁ "What did you call me?" You asked, quickly running to match step with him while also keeping an eye on Pebble.

☁ "C'mon, you don't think eating 40 pudding cups is gonna earn you some kind of nickname?" He threw back, hiding behind a stack of boxes with you as you heard Pebble bark, alerting anyone in the area he was on his way.

☁ "Could've been 41 but, someone hates fun." You grunted, looking in the direction you last saw Sprout headed.

☁ Rolling his eyes, Cosmo shot you a look. "I hope you remember the stomach ache you had to endure."

☁ "Yeah. but I would've had it no matter what. I could've at least found out what the limit was." You pouted.

☁ "Uh huh and even if you had, that wouldn't change anything about the nickname. Would it, pudding?" He teased.

☁ The nickname didn't leave no matter how much you wanted it to.

☁ Every time he had the opportunity, Cosmo was using it. Dropping it as he passed behind you in the kitchen ("Watch behind, pudding cup!"), during runs ("Twisted to the right of ele, Puddin'."), even during your down time! ("Pudding, Astro's looking for you!")

☁ Which was fine, really, you didn't mind the nickname. Sprout still called you Bud more than your actual name. But that was where the affections from him stopped.

☁ He let you all hang all over him and accepted kisses to the cheek with stammered words, flustered in a way that was too adorable to be any actual deterrent.

☁ You were half convinced he didn't think he was allowed that privilege. Which was cute, in an odd sort of way.

☁ You were watching Cosmo as he iced some new cookies, leaning on the counter with the same look in your eye that he's sure started the pudding debacle.

☁ He paused, mid dollop on an icing petal before looking up at you. "Can I help you, pudding?"

☁ "You're hiding something."

☁"Am I?" Cosmo hummed, switching colors to a bright blue that was sure to stain your teeth. The way nature intended.

☁ "You are. I can sense it. It's like I have the force." You nod resolutely. "Or like boyfriend intuition." You paused, holding your hand to your chin. "How long does that take to develop? We haven't been together all that long but what if I developed it like the second we were together? Wouldn't that be cool? I wonder if it works on Astro. Sprout talks to much so I don't even need it for him-"

☁ "Are we...Together, I mean?" Cosmo suddenly cuts in, halting your rambling. Normally he loves listening to your little spiels, but the topic being brought up is enough to have him spilling. "Or are we just like dating- or maybe just seeing each other? I-"

☁ "Have you been talking with Glisten?" You suddenly ask, a soft smile on your features as you slide off your perch to walk around the counter. "Because he's given me the whole 'are you actually exclusive' talk before too."

☁ Cosmo pauses before huffing. "Yeah. Him, Poppy and Scraps. I just...I don't know if we put a label on it."

☁ "Oh you silly cream puff. You know you can just ask us this stuff, right?" You grin, wrapping your arms around his waist with a bright grin. "They think that just because their love lives are messy all of ours have to be messy too. I promise we're together, exclusive, partners. Whatever wording they used. I know the other two would agree too."

☁ Cosmo heaves a sigh of relief, leaning his forehead onto yours. "I was honestly scared of what you'd say."

☁ "Well, don't be." You snorted. "You're lucky it was me who started this conversation. Could you imagine Sprout's reaction?"

☁ "I try not too. "

☁ "You might've spent Astro tumbling with you." You laugh.

☁ "I wouldn't have let him, you know that, pudding." Cosmo chuckled before stilling, swallowing. "Can I-...Can I kiss you?"

☁ "I'd be mad if you didn't."

☁ With a laugh, Cosmo angles his head down, his lips meeting your own in a sweet kiss.

☁ When the other two find you, both of your mouths are stained purple as you share a plate of cookies between you.

☁ "I thought the cookie cutter didn't allow for you guys to put in the purple petal." Astro hums, taking a cookie for himself and scanning it. No purple petals to be seen, but he bites into it anyway, humming happily at the taste.

☁ "It doesn't." Sprout answers, looking at the cookies that were sans said petal. Their flower cutter only had five petals as opposed to Dandy's six, so they just omitted the purple petal when making Dandy cookies. Or they normally did.

☁ "There was some extra red icing." You answer, leaning onto Cosmo's shoulder. "I helped dispose of it."

☁ "You're lips are purple." Sprout deadpans.

☁ "There was also some extra blue." Cosmo flushes as he avoids looking at the other two.

☁ There's a moment of silence before Astro is laughing so hard at Sprout's face he chokes.

#dandy's world x reader #dandy's world cosmo #dandys world x reader #astro dandys world #dandys world sprout #dandy's world sprout seedly x reader #sprout seedly x reader #sprout seedly #sprout x reader #dandy's world astro novalite x reader #astro novalite #astro x reader #cosmo doesn't have a last name #cosmo x reader #dandy's world cosmo x reader #moonberrycake x reader #moonberrycake

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writingtraumaforever · 3 days ago

Text

Uncontrolled Chaos: Chapter 38

Notes: I want to apologize for the long wait. I have struggled lately to sit down and write since I've been so busy-- my brain is a bit of everywhere. I will be taking a trip starting this upcoming week, and will be gone for a week and a half! So I likely won't update until about two weeks from today. Hopefully this will hold everyone off until then! Thank you all for your patience!<3

Summary: The gangs finally connect.

UC Masterpost!

Link to My AO3!

Start:

“Okay! Here goes nothing, everyone!”

Tails’ flips on the radio’s switch, immediately being met with static.

“Well, it’s working, at least,” the kit chuckles awkwardly.

“Are we able to connect to them properly??” Shadow asks, his ears perked up high over his head in an optimistic point at the sound of the static. Listening carefully for any sort of voice or pause in the constant fuzz of sound.

“Let me see,” the kid genius leans forward again, taking a nozzle in hand and beginning to slowly turn it.

Everyone is quiet. Amy has her hands clamped together in front of her hopefully as she stands beside the worktable, Sonic standing with both hands pressed against the same workbench to lean against it. And Shadow with his arms crossed and a determined little furrow to his brow..

The only sound being the static and the light tapping of Sonic’s impatient foot on the concrete floor of the garage.

This goes on for a few minutes.

Sonic’s eyes flicker up to look at Shadow, seeing the building tension and nervousness on his face as each moment passes with no signal. His hope beginning to be replaced by frustration. He feels helpless. Sure, he’s managed to help retrieve some chaos emeralds, but other than that, he’s done nothing. That feeling of failing as a hero, being useless, that he’s become all too familiar with begins to creep its way back into his mind.

This is why he can never slow down. The second he does, he starts having existential crises and questioning his existence and validity– nope. He’d just rather not. Rather stay busy and stay running and not deal with any of it. If this adventure required more badnik smashing, he’d be doing way better.

Amy sighs after a few minutes of waiting, moving around the table to stand next to Shadow and gently place an arm on his back. She rubs up and down it slowly as though she’s trying to comfort him, Sonic’s eyes following the movement. His gaze then shifts back up to Shadow who just knits his brows a bit, frustration turning into something sadder now that he’s being given comfort.

Sonic’s heart twists..

“Maybe they just aren’t home right now–” “Hello?? Hello, this is Miles ‘Ta-”

Everyone’s eyes grow huge, Tails immediately freezing in his current position he had been turning the nozzle.

“..Was that-” Amy starts but she’s quickly interrupted by Shadow who is practically jumping forward against the table.

“Turn it back! Get them back!”

“I’m trying!”

“Calm down, you’re gonna make him break it!” Sonic immediately chimes in, just managing to steady the workbench the radio is sitting on before it toppled over. Amy grabbing Shadow’s arm a bit tighter and pulling him back to chill him the heck out.

Sonic hadn’t been here earlier when Shadow had gotten the message from his world. He hadn’t got to see firsthand the absolute relief and joy he had felt when he heard the alternate world’s Team Sonic speaking to him, assuring him they’re alright. That they’d get him back. He didn’t doubt the guy was thrilled to hear this, but he hadn’t expected this sort of nervous energy from him. It was still so odd.. seeing anything being expressed from Shadow other than grumpiness or annoyance.

“Sorry,” Shadow huffs, closing his eyes as he seemingly tries to gather himself, “Sorry. I just–..” He sighs again, rubbing a gloved hand back through his quills. Sonic watches him with a small knit in his brow, Tails continuing to try and regain the connection. “It’s fine, dude,” the blue hero assures with a small smile, “Just relax. Tails has got this.”

“I know,” the dark hedgehog nods in return, offering his own nervous little smile gratefully to Sonic, “I know..”

And sure as chaos, the voices on the radio start back up.

“Ayo, MC Sonic up in the hizouse!”

“It’s not a toy, Sonic..”

“I know that. Just got tired of you repeating your name over and over, bro.”

Shadow’s ears immediately perk up again, eyes widening and smile stretching wide having heard his version of Sonic speaking.

Sonic doesn’t think he’s ever seen Shadow smile so big..

Didn’t think it was even physically possible, honestly.

Instead of jumping at the radio this time, he waits patiently for Tails to lock in a bit better onto their signal, the static remaining but dimming until it was only a low buzz.

“..I think I’ve got ‘em,” the red blinking light on the radio turning a consistent green now, his accomplished blue eyes raising to look at Sonic’s own proud ones.

“Way to go, buddy!” Sonic grins, ruffling the kit’s bangs and causing the fox to giggle with a little blush at the praise.

“You’re amazing, Tails!” Amy adds with a grin, Shadow too focused on the radio to chime in on the appreciation currently.

“Aw, it was nothing. The instructions sent from the other world made it pretty easy–” “Can I talk to them??” Shadow interrupts without meaning to, scarlet eyes hopeful as they look at the fox for permission.

“Uh.. yes, hopefully. Let’s give it a try, huh??”

“Please,” Shadow breathes with a nod, moving to sit where Tails had been in the chair once the fox has moved for him.

Tails remains leaned over the table, showing Shadow all the controls.

“This here switch is the power. This knob is for the signal if it starts to get fuzzy. This one is volume. And to speak into the mic, you need to hold down this button..” “Got it,” Shadow nods, finger hovering over the mic button. He pauses. Sonic sees the moment of hesitation. The nervous energy feeding into his expression as he shuts his eyes and swallows thick in his throat. He’s scared.. Scared it won’t work, scared it will and what he may find when it does..

“Hey,” Sonic says quietly, Shadow’s eyes opening and looking up to his with a knit to his brow. Sonic winks and gives a thumbs up, “You got this.” Shadow’s expression softens at this, a tiny smile forming on his mouth before he nods and looks back to the radio.

Here goes nothing.

Pressing his finger down on the mic button, he leans in to speak, “Tails?? Tails, do you copy?? It’s Shadow..”

Releases the button. Waiting..

“Krrch We read you loud and clear, Shadow–”

The team erupts into cheering, Amy hugging Tails and jumping up and down with him while Sonic claps Shadow on the back with a wide grin.

“Told you!” Shadow just laughs, his eyes looking almost misty as his smile is so stretched it almost hurts his cheeks. He leans back in to speak again, “Thank chaos–” “Shadow!?? Shadow, can you hear me!?”

It’s the other Sonic’s voice now, having lost its unserious playfulness they had heard moments ago and now instead being far more excited and hopeful.

Sonic.. Doesn’t know what to think of that.

“Yes! Yes, it’s me, I’m here!” “Oh Gaia, Shadow!” is he crying??? “Oh my chaos– you have no idea how good it is to hear your voice! Are you okay????”

“I’m perfectly fine, Sonic,” Shadow chuckles breathily, his own voice sounding a bit choked up now, “They’ve been taking care of me over here.” “Good! I’d have to whoop some alternate ass if not!”Shadow chuckles at hearing this, rolling his eyes and shaking his head affectionately.

“How are you? Are you okay??” “How’s our Shadow??” Sonic finds himself adding without hesitation, his mind racing on where the other might be.. He’s done a really good job at not showing his worry throughout all of this, but now that they’re so close??.. It would just be really nice to be assured he’s okay or hasn’t tried to take on all this mess on his own.

His answer comes in the form of a gruff voice speaking on the other end of the signal.

“Sonic??”

“Shadow!” Sonic beams, leaning in closer to the alternate Shadow now to be next to the mic, “Dude, you’re alive!” “Of course I’m alive, you idiot, why wouldn’t I be??”

Sonic snorts, rolling his eyes and chuckling at that all to familiar grouchiness, “Aw man, it’s so nice to hear an insult from you again.”

“Hmph,” is all he gets in response, but Sonic knows that’s an amused huff. It makes him smile more. “We’re all good over here,” the alternate Sonic’s voice comes again, “Shadow is being taken care of, and we’re slow and steadily gathering the chaos emeralds.”

“Same here,” Shadow responds, leaning his elbow against the table as he speaks, “We currently have four. Still working on the other three.” “We’ve gotten our hands on five,” Alt. Sonic replies all smug as if it’s a competition and yeah.. Yeah, sounds like the alternate Sonic is just as juvenile as Sonic himself.

Shocker.

“Ask where they found theirs. Maybe it’ll give us some ideas for our own??” Tails offers with a cock of his brow.

“Where’d you–” “I heard him,” Alt. Sonic chimes in, Shadow smirking at his lover’s impatience, “Heya Alternate Tails, by the way!”“Hello!” Tails laughs, finding all of this honestly incredible.

“Thanks for hooking me and my ‘lovuh’ up,” the alternate Sonic jokes, and the entire room suddenly goes quiet.

Shadow tenses up a bit, eyes widening slightly as he stares at the mic and very much not at Sonic who he can feel staring holes into the side of his head.

Sonic’s eyes were indeed boring into Shadow’s face. Waiting on him to correct the alternate version of him. Scold him for being so stupid. For calling them ‘lovers’. It never comes..

Maybe he misheard it! Maybe that’s not what his alternate version said at all! Maybe he said something completely different. Something innocent and more teasing. Or perhaps he was only playfully flirting like Sonic does with everyone, and it didn’t actually mean anything at all!

One good look at Shadow’s own deer in headlights expression told him that wasn’t true.

“...hello? Tails, I think we lost them-”“No! Nope, we’re uh.. We’re still here,” Shadow speaks into the mic, actively avoiding looking at anyone else in the room in that moment.

“Oh! It just got real quiet, so I thought-”“Nope! We’re here! All good..” Amy’s eyes shift from the back of Shadow’s head to Sonic, her hands then shooting up to cover her mouth, snorting into her palms.

Sonic blinks at this, eyes looking at her and–

She knew!?

“Okay good! So let’s talk emeralds, huh?? We got one from GUN, one in the forest outside Green Hills with the Tornado, Amy just arrived with a green one she got from Seaside. Uh.. Shadow and I got one from Eggman, and Rouge pawned one off someone in Casino Zone.”

“Perfect,” Shadow replies, though his brain barely processed any of that information. Frankly he’s a bit too tied up in the very sudden and unignorable tension in the garage, “We haven’t tried Casino Zone or Seaside Island yet, so maybe we could–” “What do you mean ‘lovuh’!?” Sonic interrupts quite suddenly, causing Shadow to flinch before sighing and rubbing a palm down his face.

Oh great.. This conversation is going to go swimmingly.

“I meant ‘lover’, but I was saying it all cool,” Alternate Sonic says after a little pause, an awkward chuckle coming through the radio, “You… you.. Did tell them we were together, didn’t you, Shads??”

Shadow groans a bit, rubbing his hand down his face and then back up into his quills, “I hadn’t exactly gotten around to it yet..” “We’re together!?” Sonic croaks, eyes wide as saucers and cheeks glowing a bright red along with the tips of his ears. Amy just giggles more, trying to keep quiet because this wasn’t funny but Sonic’s reaction was kinda hilarious?

Tails just looks extremely uncomfortable and tired. He’s worked his ass off to get this thing working and for what?? So these idiots can straighten out their relationship statuses???

“We’re not together,” Shadow corrects, gesturing his finger at himself and Sonic, before then gesturing to himself and the radio, “We’re together.” “Like– you and alternate me!?” “Yes,” Shadow sighs again, clearly not wanting for Sonic to find out like this. “You didn’t tell them??” Alt. Sonic questions through the speaker of the radio, sounding a bit confused and maybe even a little hostile, “Why didn’t you tell them!?”“I didn’t think it was exactly essential information–” “O-ho! So I’m not essential information!??”“What!? No- that’s not–” “Were you keeping me a secret so you could seduce the other me!?”

“What!?”

“You know what??? Whatever. None of this is essential anyway, so I’m just gonna go do essential things. Here’s Tails.”

“No! Sonic, wait–!”

There’s a long pause, some muffled movements through the radio and then a loud BOOM followed by silence.

More muffled movement, the mic being picked up on the other end,

“Well, that went well..,” it’s the alternate Tails’ voice again, sounding tired and annoyed. “Very,” Tails agrees with his alternate version, sounding equally as exasperated. “Why didn’t you tell me??” Sonic’s voice comes quietly, ears flattening slightly as he looks at Shadow. Shadow who looks very overwhelmed and in shock at how terribly that just went. Sonic seems angry. Confused. “You should’ve told me! I deserve to know that sort of thing!”

Amy is concerned now, no longer finding any of this amusing..

“..Sonic, maybe we should–” “No, he-.. He has the right to be upset,” Shadow interrupts her, moving from the chair to allow Tails to take his place sitting in it again, “See if you and my Tails can work something out on how to get me back.” “On it,” Tails says simply, nodding as he plops himself down in the chair to begin plotting with his alternate version.

“You,” Shadow turns to Sonic, nodding his head towards the garage’s exit, “...You and me are gonna go have a chat.”

#sonic the hedgehog #shadow the hedgehog #sonadow #my writing #my fanfiction #sonadow fanfiction #uc series #tails prower #miles tails prower #tails the fox #amy rose #rouge the bat #knuckles the echidna #eggman #ivo robotnik #dr eggman #ao3

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