#i have a very very slim chance of winning but if I somehow do. i will do my best to do keepblr justice 🫡🫡

[bookwyrminspiration]

You're the one person who I most want to win a meeting with Shannon Messenger. I know you'd do a fantastic job at giving us a full summary of the meeting, and getting us cool new info.

i arrive at the personal shannon meeting

fintan: assless?

elysian: big naturals?

elf piss: gatorade?

i am forcibly escorted out of the personal shannon meeting

[lazycats-stuff]

Hello, hope you'er having a good time. Whatever time it is right now. I wondered if I can request 141 team x male reader who is a mercenary like in the game hitman for example. So they meet up or there are searching for him. Maybe just escapes everytime or outsmarts them. Working together with reader and they are scared of him. Because he can throw Ghost around and is very stealthy. Has perfected his craft and kill them with anything he can get his hands on. I hope good and have a nice day.

Okay, so never played hitman, but I have seen it so I know what you are talking about. I think I might have to play it. Who knows.

Summary: (Y/N) is the nightmare of 141 task force

Warning: author didn't play hitman but watched it, guns, violence, everything that goes with Modern Warfare, (C/N) = code name

Price sighed as he walked towards the meeting room. Laswell had some information on their enemy. He was a mercenary, one of the best in the world.

" Hello everyone. Lets get started. " Laswell said as Price sat down. She pulled up (Y/N)'s photo.

" We might have known whereabouts about (C/D). I have to warn you, the chances of finding him are slim. Somehow he always gets out. I don't think I need to tell you to watch out. " Laswell said, taking a cigarette out.

" Just how much we know about him? " Ghost asked, looking at the only confirmed photo of (C/D) on the screen. Those eyes seem empty and calculating.

Ghost had no doubts that (C/D) wouldn't hesitate to kill them all.

" We don't know anything about him, but one thing is certain. " Price said, looking at his team. " He won't hesitate to kill us. He has perfected his craft. " Price said, a solemn silence falling around the room.

" Where do we think he is? " Soap asked, tapping his fingers against the table. The energy has fallen very low, almost to gloomy levels.

" Mexico. Nowhere near Las Almas, thankfully. Alejandro and Rudy are busy so they won't be able to help you. " Laswell said, taking a long drag and coincidently the last drag of her cigarette.

" We are going in a couple of hours. " Price said, rubbing his beard with his hand.

" Any special advice to prepare for this mercenary? " Gaz asked, worry evident his voice. Soap nodded, agreeing with Gaz's question.

" You have to be there mentally. " Price said. Everyone nodded, knowing that there was no way to prepare themselves. It was going to be very dangerous and there was no way to tell how this mission was going to end.

The silence was heavy in the plane. Nobody dared to say anything, everyone was nervous. Soap was bouncing his leg, Gaz was sweating like never before. Ghost was, maybe for the first time ever, was scared in the field. And Price?

There was a bad feeling brewing from within him. Everyone witnessed in some way how brutal and efficient he could be. How ruthless... Merciless...

John shook his head. It wasn't good to think about. Despite the fact that he could use everything as a weapon... That was kind of concerning.

But they could persevere. They could win. All they need is some faith and a miracle to do so. The chopper dropped them off near a house. Well, it was more houses, but they were apart, around 10 meters from each other.

They would have to split.

" Gaz, you are with me. We will have to take the first house. You two take the other. " Price said, getting out of the chopper.

There was a chorus of yes sir and they split up. Everyone was on high alert. They watched their backs, knowing how (Y/N) could be a stealthy bastard. It was quiet over the comms, everyone knowing that they needed to be quiet.

A single mistake could cost them their life.

Gaz and Price moved quietly through the house, stopping at the basement door where they saw blood. Gaz and Price looked at one another. They gripped their rifles tighter and Price slowly opened the doors. The stairs were covered in blood and the smell was just horrid.

They both wanted to gag. Gaz called it in and they moved down. One of their targets from another mission was here. Their target was supposed to be dead. What was he doing here?

" Be careful Gaz. " Price whispered, moving deeper into the basement.

" Rog sir. " Gaz confirmed quietly.

Eventually Price managed to reach the light switch. He turned it on and it was a ghastly sight. Bodies just laying down dead. The worst of all, there were no signs of struggle.

Gaz felt a shudder go through his body and both of them freeze when they hear somebody walk above them. Ghost and Soap would have called it in. Gaz and Price shared a look before moving upstairs, back on the ground floor.

(C/D), standing there, nursing a cup of something.

" Captain. Sergeant. " (C/D) said, raising his cup.

" All right, drop down on your knees and show us your hands! " Price said, making (Y/N) look at him blankly.

" You two realize that I can kill you with this cup, right? " (C/D) said, clearly not impressed.

" What do you want? " Gaz asked, making (Y/N) put the cup down.

" I have a proposition. But I need the other two here too. " (Y/N) said, leaning back on the kitchen counter. Price could see a knife strapped to his thigh, not to mention a gun, tucked in the lower back of (Y/N).

Gaz called Soap and Ghost and those two came in record time. Ghost and (Y/N) stared at one another. Ghost wanted to jump him, but he knew better. (Y/N) was better than him, better than the four of them combined.

" What is happening? " Soap asked, confused to see (Y/N) so relaxed. It was eerie.

" I wanted to give you guys a proposition. " (Y/N) said calmly, looking at the task force.

(Y/N) waited for a moment before continuing, " I will work together with you guys. I will live on the base under your supervision, but there is one condition. " (Y/N) said, watching various reactions. Shock, suspicion, wonder...

" And what would that be? " Price asked.

" I get to have my privacy. I will be on base, but I want my privacy. "

" And what do we get in return? " Price asked.

" You won't be afraid of me anymore. You don't think I didn't see the fear in your eyes when you saw me? Not to mention that you will have a great asset on your team. " (Y/N) said.

Everyone looked at one another, clearly thinking. (Y/N) wasn't wrong in any way shape or form. They feared him and the fact that they might have him on the team...

" Okay, you are coming with us, now. " Price said, nodding his head towards the chopper outside.

" Just don't cuff me and we will be fine. "

Everyone entered the chopper and started flying. It was definitely tense and Gaz broke the silence.

" Is true that you could kill us with the mug? " Gaz asked, gathering attention from everybody.

" Yes. Everything is weapon. I could kill you with a bobby pin. " (Y/N) said, shrugging his shoulders.

The chopper fell into silence once more. This was going to be interesting... Partnership.

" Price, remind me again, why do we have to spar with (Y/N)? " Soap asked, watching as (Y/N) got ready to spar with Ghost. It was going to be the showdown of the decade. And the biggest showdown in the history of this base.

" Because you need to know what you need to work on. Believe it or not, he knows a lot. " Price explained.

" Oh my God. " Gaz said. (Y/N) turned his head to look at Ghost, looking at the weak spots that the big man might have.

" Wait, why did you kill our previous target? " Gaz asked, remembering the bodies.

" I went rouge. He was... A problem to me. So I got rid of him. He died slowly, just like he deserved. " (Y/N) explained, looking at Gaz.

Gaz nodded, moving away from the ropes. Ghost and (Y/N) walked into the ring. Ghost would rather die than admit this, but he was very nervous.

Price whistled and the two started sparring. Well, (Y/N) sparred. Ghost was thrown across the ring with absolute ease. Soap's jaw fell down onto the floor.

Oh my God.

Price didn't know what to say. He tried to, but no words came out. Gaz had to sit down on the floor. And poor Ghost? He just laid there... In pain... Not physical, no. His pride was hurting. And so was his reputation.

(Y/N) just wiped his hands.

" Okay, I think that this cooperation is going to go well. " Price said, clapping his hands together.

Ghost just grunted from the mat. Soap sighed and Gaz stayed silent. (Y/N) snickered quietly. Yeah, it's going to go well.

[foxstens]

can't stop thinking about the au where riko kills kevin instead of breaking his hand

would riko have done it intentionally? would it make him finally start seeing the consequences of his actions? or would it do the opposite?

would he take his guilt anger and grief out on jean and the other ravens? or would he shut down? or would he keep going somehow because after all kevin was never his equal?

would he even survive tetsuji's wrath in the first place?

what about jean? would he somehow make it until graduation as he does in every other universe? or would grief consume his already bleak existence? maybe he'd allow himself one moment to be truly furious with his parents, with riko, with the situation before he ends things

what about thea? at that point i don't know how long it would've been since she graduated. but even if they didn't have a lot of time together, even if she already started building a life outside the nest, she would not be unaffected

what about neil? without kevin the chances of wymack wanting to recruit him would be very slim, and the chances of him accepting would be almost non-existent

but he's already barely holding on by a thread in millport so maybe kevin's death would be his breaking point. maybe he'd give up playing before wymack even saw his tape because he no longer feels alive on the court

what about andrew? he probably wouldn't really care but i think he would always remember kevin's words in that dingy locker room. he'd also probably never repair his relationship with aaron and without neil and kevin around to inspire him to keep going every day, he'd have a very boring life after graduation

what about wymack? he loved kayleigh and losing kevin too would be devastating precisely because he never got to truly know kevin. i can't decide what's worse, if he never finds out that kevin is his son or if he finds out too late (never mind how he would feel if he found out the truth about evermore)

what about the foxes? presumably janie would live and seth would get to graduate, but the current generation of foxes would never grow as close and they probably wouldn't win championships either

what about jeremy? we see he considers kevin a dear friend and if fan theories that he lost a sibling are correct, he would not get over it easily

[gabessquishytum]

Omegaverse Pornstars

Both Hob and Dream are pornstars for their different sceondary genders - they've never worked together for reasons, but lately their companies have been discussing getting their highest earners/biggest stars together for a video or two, depending on if the have chemistry.

It's generally pretty "easy" to be an alpha or omega pornstar - outside of heats+ruts, there is a very low chance of getting pregnant; heats & ruts are super regular after your first and the work is unlikely to throw a performer into either state,,,unless they somehow are meeting/with their "true mate". And honestly, true mates, made the hell up! The perfect person for you,,*scoff* both Dream and Hob having been having sex as a job for long enough that getting slick or throwing a knot is just work -- there is no magic to it.

Well,, the first day of the first shoot, Hob and Dream get a whiff of each other and ALL BETS ARE OFF. The cameras start rolling and it's maybe 5 minutes after they kiss for the first time that heat and rut hit them hard -- is it a win for the Porn companies to have a recording of true mates 1st time? Because it's not like they could be separated without someone losing a limb.

Ooo this is great, i actually haven't even considered porn in an omegaverse universe before! And I always love talking about porn au stuff!!

Dream is an alpha, and there's absolutely no mistaking him for anything else. He's slim, but there's hard muscle framing his entire body, and his stamina is legendary. He's incredibly popular not just for his appearance but for his voice. He has an alpha voice like no other, one that gets through the screen to his viewers. He says cum? Every omega watching cums on the spot. It's a talent that's got Dream to the heights of his industry and he pretty much calls the shots on his career now.

No one really expected Hob to be popular in the omega porn industry, but they were all wrong. The videos where Hob is tamed and forced to submit for an alpha always go viral. He's not particularly pretty, but hes got a very nice cunt, a very nice mouth, and there's just something about him that reels alphas in. Some say it's the way he makes eye contact with the camera. Some say it's because he looks like he's enjoying himself. Maybe it's because deep down, everyone knows that he's truly untamable.

Or so it seems, until that fateful day when he and Dream catch each other's scent. Even when the footage is edited together it's possible to see the shock in Hob’s eyes. Because he's on his hands and knees before he can even blink, presenting for his alpha and displaying his throat to be marked. It isn't acting or playing pretend anymore. Dream is right there, pressing against him and nuzzling his scent glands and Hob is purring in response! He has never, ever purred for an alpha before. But he wants this one. This gorgeous alpha with the sharp blue eyes is Hob’s, and if he doesn't get his knot in a few minutes he's going to stop presenting and start demanding.

Dream is mostly fogged up in his rut but he is also so charmed by this warm, gorgeous omega who has obviously never really submitted to anyone in his entire life. Dream thinks he's wonderful. He knows Hob’s work, just like Hob knows his, and he has high hopes for their compatability! But he should probably get his knot inside his omega before Hob stops purring and starts biting, right?

Dream and Hob do allow the company to release (part of) the recording, but only because they want to use it as a way to announce to their partnership: in both life, and work. Neither of them wants to give up their job and the solution is simple. They'll just film with each other!

Dream using his alpha voice to force bratty, unruly omega Hob to cum is going to be very popular indeed.

[pinkpogiclub]

hi!! how about ❔ and ✒️

-marcsolersscaryeyes

✒️ A moment that deserved a poetic web weave?

definetely jonas' tdf stage win. a literal phoenix rising from the ashes moment....him coming so close to literal death and somehow managing to still come up brilliantly despite the obvious obstacles (im using the term "obstacles" very loosely here for lack of a better word). him beating tadej in a sprint finish where he should have been the ""weaker"" one, him crying at the end, the palpable relief he was feeling....oh boy im getting emotional just thinking about it.

ALSO. 100% victor campenaerts' tdf stage win. just the fact that he was ALWAYS the one to initiate every breakaway and also the one who never backed down from a challenge, even if the chances of winning were very slim. hes always been the personification of perseverance and strubborness (positive) and to see him finally get his win was just perfect (+ the moment where he called his wife and told his newborn son that he'd made it......not a single dry eye in sight, i was crying like a baby) (completely unrelated BUT im praying for the same thing to happen to ben healy in 2025…I know sports are not about “deserving” but god he DOES deserve it)

❔ Do you have a favorite obscure/lesser-known cyclist?

deffo would not call him obscure or lesser known BUT i love love love tao geoghegan hart. i think he's an insanely taleneted guy who has also been unreasonably unlucky throughout these last few years. i loved his giro victory in 2020 and i think he still could do very well in a GC fight.....plus he just seems like one of the very few educated guys in the peloton (jacopo guarnieri come back i miss you) whos actually not afraid to speak up about real issues and doesnt keep silent. bonus is that i also love his style but thats just me being biased :)

thank you for the asks, mwah!

[formulatrash]

Do you think a trans driver should be allowed to race in F1 Academy?

This feels like a trick question or like, I don't know, some sort of weirdness but I'm going to take it as face value because this is an important issue.

Should a trans driver be allowed to race in F1 Academy? Absolutely yes, zero question, 100%.

The first reason trans women should be allowed to compete in F1 Academy is that trans women are women, the people the category is for. Any women eligible in the age and experience criteria (it's meant to be for younger drivers without significant single seater careers) should be allowed.

F1 Academy, as far as we know about its purpose, exists to provide stepping stone opportunities for women, at the F4 level because that is where most women drivers start losing out, losing funding or being unable to complete seasons, not having enough testing time, etc compared to the ones among their male peers who are likely to succeed.

The opportunities for women drivers are very slim because there is a lack of belief they are worth backing. Remember that court case with Nyck de Vries just before this season started? An old sponsor was suing him because they'd backed his Formula 2 career on the agreement that he'd pay them a percentage of his F1 earnings if he made it there. It's how a lot of junior series sponsorship contracts work, that the driver will repay the sponsor when they hit the big time - remember when Sergio Perez managed to force the Force India sale because of non-payments to his sponsor? That'll have been something like that. (obviously traditionally sponsors would pay the team, except in these weird cases where their name may or may not actually appear on the car by the end)

If you're a woman there's no confidence that you'll get to F1. It's been 30 years since a woman was entered properly into a grand prix weekend. It's been nine years since Susie Wolff did FP1 in Silverstone. It's more than five years before we'll see a woman there, according to Stefano Domenicali. (thanks Stefano, super helpful)

If no one believes you'll get to F1, no one will fund you on those contract terms. Which makes it very hard to raise the astronomical amounts needed to compete in junior series. If no one believes you can win races then it's hard to convince them to give you a seat, even if you do somehow find three million Euro down the back of the sofa.

Now, the fact trans women are women aside, if no one believes cis women are going to make it to F1 and they have funding problems why would a more marginalised group not need at least the same opportunities to have anything approaching a chance? Motorsport is so conservative it can barely contemplate anyone wearing a bra talking out loud, the sad truth is that although there are queer people around (I mean, hello, it's me) it's a lonely and mostly closeted place for it.

So yes, of course trans women - who are, in any case, women, the people the category was designed for - should be in F1 Academy.

Where does that leave nonbinary people? Well, I think - and I like to think Susie would think this too, from conversations with her - the main group missing, gender-wise, from motorsport is not men. So I would hope that nonbinary people would also be welcomed.

[sntechsupport]

Through a very complex series of paradoxes, our time and space players somehow managed to absolutely cock everything up and I'm at least 70% sure it wasn't on purpose. The Light is desperately attempting to guide me through this (and succeeding, thankfully) but currently, the majority of our session is... broken? Most of it is sorta petrified, some of it is way weirder, and all of it is dangerous to touch I think. I think they were trying to forcibly collapse all possible branches of timespace into one, which I guess they thought would guarantee that we survive, somehow (I told them this was stupid. The Light was practically screaming at me, but what was I supposed to do? They could bend TIME and SPACE, I wasn't doing shit!!). Either way, It's only me, a few patches of my Land, and Skaia left un-whatevered. Is there any way to undo this? Or do I just have to desperately hope The Light is capable of allowing me to win alone (and leave the assholes responsible for this whole mess behind)

Besides a hard rollback, which I would have to do manually, there isn't really anything to un-do the damage done.

However, as this outcome is not a result of a failure of SkaiaNet, the company policy forbids me from performing the rollback.

Then again, the game wants to be played and won. As long as there is a Player left standing, there is a chance, if only slim.

Sincerely

SN Tech Support (Gear)

[crater-lake]

190

12/15/24

I come to writing when I am bleeding, which is why is grows anemic. There is less incentive to come to writing when I'm joyful because I'd rather live. Yes, flurries trickle down rhapsodically from blurry heaven. And other things, like being alone when you want to be feel exquisite

I decided to leave trivia early because I was tired of the lights, the sounds, the conversation, and not knowing anything. Everyone was talking and I stopped understanding. The picture round was all Santa Claus actors and I did not know any. I was looking off into the distance, not making eye contract with Nate, who I don't know how to read well, and scribing Rilke with the back of a pen into the greasy wood of the table. I had drunk a little bit randomly before going and felt far away. I explained a little bit of alcohol can provoke hyper fixation. I left early thinking, there is a slim chance they win and I'm not adding anything to this social experience or game. I'm far away and being excused.

This was a special trivia and they ended up winning €600 because it's the last trivia before New Years. Molly saved me €50 but I absolutely do not want it, and sorely. Molly sent photos of their jubilation of having won to the big group chat, and I think even if I were there, I couldn't perform excitement. It's easy to think that lying in my bed, to be fair. I have some questions soaring in my head about this. I loathe their enjoyment. I want quiet more often these days and possibly know what it means.

-What am I willing to sacrifice for my comfort? Should some experiences be had to be had?

-Is the regret worth having left early?

-What other parts of life do I miss because of my lacking, my weirdness, my exhaustion, and strangeness? Why can't I live?

-Why do people excuse my weirdness? And why do people choose me when I am unpleasant and then do not choose to perform pleasantness? Why should people choose me when we are already so tired and limited?

-Why are other people happy and I am not? How do my choices contribute to this disparity?

-Why is feeling bad extremely totalizing for me? Why must it be totalizing for it to be felt, or to be valid?

-Why do I feel the need to punish myself when I feel bad? Why is feeling bad always a moral failure on my behalf? Why is failure such a big deal to me?

-Why do I loathe every happy moment when I feel bad?

I won't accept that fifty and my brain is thinking of ways to isolate myself. When my brain wants to isolate me, it is trying to get people to ask about me. But no one really asks about you (and I am certainly not asking about anyone else, either). Because everyone is very busy and I am a little strange and mentally ill. I don't want to be excused for farawayness or aberration. I should frankly just be like others. Uniqueness is absolute bullshit, obviously. I should perform happiness more to make people love me more in general. I would definitely change fundamental parts of who I am. Okay, but which?

-I would choose to be less emotionally turbulent in general, to have smaller reactions to things

-I would choose to have less executive dysfunction, to keep spaces clean and to be more organized

-I would choose to have an identity less based on specialness so that I can be happier

-I would choose to have a keener sense of critical thinking and opinion formation

-I would choose to be more functionally despite feeling bad

-I would choose to be someone that chooses to perform myself more

-I would take better care of my skin and hair

-I would choose to be less anxious, less of a thinker in general, and more of a doer

I don't forgive myself because somehow I think I can change. Once I feel that it is not true, then I can forgive myself. I'll see you in 7 months. Put your hatred into something more deserving.

[irishhills]

dinner with the queen

Eliza isn’t sure how to feel right now. She’s sitting next to Chris at the dinner table, without Blair, just her parents. They’re having the chicken piccata her mother just learned how to make, and it’s good. The conversation is going well. The right kind of jokes, not too many questions about how Chris wound up in honors classes or where he wants to go to college in a few years, nothing odd. Nothing off. And Chris is sitting next to her. Without Blair.

Brenda, Eliza’s mom, is giving Chris a lot of tips about how to win a homecoming race. Eliza can see in her eyes that she wishes they were both on the court, but she’ll settle for vicariousness. She takes a long sip of her water before continuing a speech that feels like it’s been going on for hours.

“Now, what you never want to do is be sarcastic,” Brenda says. “High schoolers love sarcasm in the classroom, but when it comes to voting for their kings and queens, sincerity is key. You have to make them believe you love them.”

“I don’t know if that’s even possible,” Chris says. “How can I love people who think it’s super cool to make a joke out of me?”

“You ask yourself what’s more important,” Eliza says. “Winning the bet against Amy, or losing it.”

Chris shrugs, and Eliza panics. Maybe he’s regretting this already. Maybe he’ll back out of their date to the dance. Maybe he wishes Blair was still here. That’s it. He probably wishes Blair hadn’t left. Why did she leave, anyway? Eliza wouldn’t have minded if she stuck around, so long as she didn’t get in the way of her date with Chris. So, why did she leave?

“You can offer your best compliments to people, before and during the dance,” Brenda explains. “Tell girls you like their dresses. Tell other boys you’ve heard good things about the sports they play.”

“What if they don’t play sports?” Chris asks.

“Then you’ll have stuff to talk about with them,” Eliza says. “Organically.”

“Very good, Eliza!” Brenda says. “Why weren’t you nominated for the court, honey?”

Eliza panics again. She looks toward her father for guidance, and he gives a sympathetic smile to both sides of the dinner table.

“She has years and years, Bren,” Eliza’s father, Jeff, says. “Don’t worry about it now.”

Eliza breathes a long, quiet sigh of relief. Thank goodness Dad is there for her. The truth is that everyone here knows why Eliza wasn’t nominated for the homecoming court, and it’s because she’s too dorky. Her hair is too oily, she wore big, thick glasses until this past July, and because she’s somehow still growing, none of her clothes fit right. She’s not exactly Amy Egan, the prettiest blonde in the tenth grade, and that’s not only because Eliza has red hair. She’s not even the prettiest redhead. It doesn’t matter how great she’d be at running her own campaign. Eliza will always be dorky, and there’s nothing she can do about it but accept it.

But if she has a date … then maybe she stands a chance at being just a little bit more. She has this secret dream of being the prom queen. It probably won’t happen, but if it did … God, for once in Eliza’s life, she’d like to feel beautiful. She isn’t a slim blonde like Amy Egan, nor is she an effortless beauty, like Blair. She needs the little things. The glitter, the pageantry, the one perfect date with the boy she likes best.

Eliza looks at Chris and studies his profile for a little too long. When did she even start to like him like that? She thinks it just happened one day. Like, she spent enough time around him and enough time thinking about him that it just … clicked. That’s how liking someone works. She and Blair have talked about it before, though they each describe it a little differently. According to Blair, liking someone is trying to outrun it until it catches up to you. For Eliza, it’s about recognizing what was always around you, like a warm shawl. Chris is a warm shawl.

“Do you know how to dance?” Brenda asks.

“Like what kind of dancing?” Chris asks. “Because I am very, very good at the Waltz Clog. Blair taught it to me like five years ago.”

Eliza sinks a little bit. Chris can’t help himself. It’s like he has to talk about Blair, or he’ll die. And that makes Eliza feel terrible. Not just because she worries Chris has a thing for someone who isn’t her, but because she doesn’t want to be jealous of Blair. For as beautiful and smart and lovely as Blair is, those are all the reasons Eliza feels lucky to be her friend. She doesn’t want to be angry that Blair is a good person, an impressive person. She likes her too much. Why does it have to be like that? Why are other girls automatically threatening?

She looks at her mother, who frequently mentions what other women are wearing, even when those women are just strangers at stores and restaurants. Especially restaurants.

“Not tap dancing, Chris,” Brenda says. “Just … holding onto your date and swaying.”

“It’s easy,” Jeff says. “If I could do it, you can do it.”

“We could practice!” Eliza says, definitely too eager. “Like … not right now, of course, but maybe after dinner.”

“No, honey,” Brenda says. “After dinner, I want Chris to take a look at some of your father’s ties. Chris, you would not believe the collection of ties my husband has, just upstairs in our room. You’d think you were in a specialty men’s store.”

Chris laughs politely, and Eliza stabs her plate with her fork. It makes a horrible and noticeable scratching sound, which makes her cringe.

“Eliza, honey, careful with the fork,” Brenda says. “I don’t want you to ruin the plate.”

Eliza tries not to roll her eyes. She doesn’t want to ruin the plate, either, but her mother is missing the point, perhaps on purpose.

“I could take pictures of the ties,” Eliza suggests. “If you think that would help.”

“Yes!” Brenda says. “Especially if you use your Polaroid. Oh, honey, I knew that camera would come in handy one of these days. You were so right to ask for it last Christmas.”

Eliza nods. She goes back to her plate and cuts a slice of chicken she doesn’t even want to eat. She tries to make eye contact with Chris about the ridiculousness, but Chris is honestly paying more attention to the queen.

At least Eliza has the Polaroid.

[kjmsupremacist]

take it. (yuta/jaehyun)

REQUEST (closed, sorry!) for @smallpoem​: yujae angst with a happy ending!   |   Jaehyun's had his eye on Yuta for a while, but fucks everything up when he finally gets the chance to introduce himself. Somehow, though, Yuta doesn't seem to mind.

Characters: Jaehyun, Yuta, some of the rest of 127

Genre: oneshot, smut, college au

Warnings: mild angst, very light internalized homophobia, vomit, alcohol, bottom jaehyun

Rating: Explicit

Length: 7k

“Dude, stop being creepy.”

Jaehyun nearly drops the bottle in his hand, half forgotten somewhere on its journey to his mouth. “I’m not being creepy,” he defends, taking a sip of his beer so he doesn’t have to look Johnny in the eye.

“You’re staring, that’s like the definition of being creepy,” Johnny replies, rolling his eyes.

“Stop saying things that are both hurtful and right,” Jaehyun says.

“Stop making me,” Johnny retorts. “Look, man, either go ask him out, or focus your energy somewhere else.”

“I can’t just go ask him out,” Jaehyun argues. “I don’t know how!”

“You’ve asked girls out before,” Johnny says. “I think you know how.”

“That’s different,” Jaehyun mutters, taking another cowardly swig of his beer. “You know it’s different. It’s easier. I don’t even…” He doesn’t finish the sentence.

Thing is, Jaehyun is pretty popular among the girls. He’s a starter on the basketball team; he’s tall, handsome, and funny, so it’s usually a pretty good bet if he approaches a girl that she’ll say yes to pretty much whatever he proposes. Not that he takes advantage of it. It’s just—that’s how it is.

But recently, Jaehyun’s realized he’s maybe not just interested in girls. It’s not that he’s ashamed of it—plenty of his friends are part of the alphabet mafia, and their school is pretty liberal-minded—but he just doesn’t really look the part. And while he’s not closeted, he’s also only had this awakening fairly recently, so word hasn’t really gotten out.

The main issue now is that this awakening has come in the form of another student named Nakamoto Yuta. He’s a year older than Jaehyun, and maybe the most beautiful person that Jaehyun has ever seen. He’s a notorious heartbreaker—not because he tries to be a dick, but just because everyone falls for him, and he doesn’t really date. Jaehyun doesn’t need to date him, though. He just wants to sleep with him.

The problem is Yuta’s almost always surrounded by a small crowd of admirers, so Jaehyun doesn’t think he’s ever gonna get a chance to approach him and shoot his shot. Besides, Yuta probably spends half of every night turning people down. Jaehyun definitely doesn’t want to bother him, because that’ll knock his already slim chances straight to zero. So he’s settled for brooding and watching him across the room at parties—or staring and being creepy, as Johnny had so kindly put it.

“Hey,” Johnny says, patting Jaehyun on the shoulder. “How about you come join me and some of the guys for some pong, and if you win, I bet you can get Mark to introduce you.”

“Mark knows him?” Jaehyun asks, tearing himself out of the maze of his own mind.

“Yeah, they have a couple classes together. Yuta’s sort of taken him under his wing,” Johnny says. “So c’mon.”

“Shit, okay,” Jaehyun agrees, downing the rest of his beer and chucking the empty bottle in a nearby trash can. “This is the kind of support I need.”

“I break you down so I can build you back up,” Johnny says with a grin, nudging him.

Jaehyun does, in fact, win the pong tournament (no thanks to Johnny, whose volleyball skills do not help him whatsoever). It does mean that while he won, he’s also drunker than he’d like to be this early in the night, but he decides it’s a small price to pay.

Mark throws up his hands with an easy grin. “Alright, Johnny said you had a favor to ask me.”

“Can you introduce me to Yuta?” Jaehyun asks quickly, before he can chicken out.

Mark laughs. “Sure, man,” he says. “Let’s wait for his little fan club to go home, though.”

Jaehyun nods, accepting the new drink Johnny is pushing into his hands.

The next couple hours pass in a blur. The party thins out; Jaehyun spends most of it chatting with some of his friends and teammates, squished between the arm of a couch and Taeyong’s bony little ass. Though he tries to keep himself distracted, Yuta’s presence looms just on the edge of his peripheral, a constant reminder. He drinks to keep his hands busy, hardly paying attention to what Johnny gives him next.

Around midnight, Mark pulls him up off the couch. Jaehyun’s head spins as soon as he’s on his feet. Oh, shit, he thinks. I’m fucked up. He knows he’s going to be made of regrets in the morning, but for now it’s almost funny, and he can’t stop a giggle from escaping his chest.

“You good, dude?” Mark asks, glancing back at him as he leads him across the room.

“‘M good,” Jaehyun says in what he hopes is a reassuring tone of voice. Mark doesn’t look very reassured, but he just turns back around and keeps walking.

“Mark!” Yuta notices them before Mark has a chance to say hi, directing his blinding smile on Mark. “And a friend,” he adds, noticing Jaehyun.

Mark casts a sidelong glance at Jaehyun, half fond, half exasperated. “Yeah, he wanted me to introduce you.”

“Hi,” Jaehyun says quickly, hoping he’s not slurring too bad. “I know we haven’t met before, but you seem really cool, and Mark mentioned he knew you so—yeah.”

Yuta’s grin turns almost lazy. It makes Jaehyun feel caught somehow, frozen. “What’s your name?” Yuta asks.

“Jaehyun,” Jaehyun says. “Jung Jaehyun, um, hi.” He hears Mark scoff as he walks away, but he hardly notices it.

Yuta offers his hand to shake; Jaehyun accepts it clumsily. “Yuta, but I’m sure you already knew that. What can I do for you, Jaehyun?”

“Um,” Jaehyun says, trying to get his brain to function, “spare me a bit of your time?”

Yuta’s smile grows. “Sure,” he says. He leans into the wall beside him, leans into Jaehyun’s space. “If our basketball star asks, who am I to say no?”

Jaehyun’s heart leaps into his throat. “You know who I am?” He feels awkward with nothing to lean against, so settles for shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Your face is everywhere on social media,” Yuta says, rolling his eyes good-naturedly. “Yes, I know about you. The girls go crazy for you and your arms.”

Jaehyun flushes. “What,” he stutters around a wave of anxious nausea, “what about—you? What do you think about me and my arms?”

Yuta’s smile turns into a smirk. “I think the girls are onto something,” he says conspiratorially, like he’s letting Jaehyun in on some big secret.

“Y-yeah?” Jaehyun tries really, really hard to play it cool. But it’s like all his years of flirting and all his charm flew out the window the instant Mark told him he’d introduce him. He wishes he drank less—or way, way more, so he wouldn’t be self-conscious at all. “You think? You wanna find out for sure?”

Yuta’s about to respond, but it’s in this moment that Jaehyun realizes what he thought was anxious nausea is actually just real nausea, alcohol-induced and unstoppable. He whips around and, luckily, finds a trash can only a few feet away. He barely manages to croak out an apology before he’s hurling into the bin, heart and head pounding.

Mark and Johnny are at his side in an instant; Mark has water, somehow; Johnny runs a big, soothing hand down his back as he coughs up more vomit, shivering. “You’re okay,” he says quietly. “I think it’s time for bed.”

“Fuck,” Jaehyun mutters, too scared to open his eyes. The last thing he remembers thinking is that he’s fucking ruined everything.

* * *

When he wakes up the next morning, it’s to a dry mouth and a pounding head. With a groan, he half-rolls, half-falls out of bed, and nearly steps on Johnny’s hand. Guilt piles on top of the nausea swelling in his stomach; Johnny must have slept on his floor to keep an eye on him.

He stirs when he hears Jaehyun moving around, throwing the random blanket off and scrambling to his feet. “You gonna throw up again?” he asks.

Jaehyun can only nod. Johnny opens his door and ushers him down the hall to the bathroom. Jaehyun barely makes it to the toilet before he’s retching. Not much comes up, just some liquid and stomach acid, which burns like hell.

Johnny closes the door, then crouches down beside Jaehyun. “Scale of one to ten, how does this hangover feel?”

They have a good system for it—one means I feel like I didn’t drink and ten means take me to the fucking hospital. Jaehyun groans softly and holds up seven fingers.

“Okay, not great, but not bad. I’m gonna get you some water.” Johnny stands, and is gone.

Jaehyun rests his forehead against the outside of the toilet bowl, trying his best to breathe. Memories of last night come into him blurry snapshots, like photographs that weren’t developed right. He remembers playing pong to beat Mark so he could make him introduce him to Yuta. He remembers drinking a lot. And then…

“Oh, shit,” Jaehyun mutters.

“You okay?” It’s Johnny, back from the kitchen with some water. “Here.”

“Did I throw up on Yuta last night?” Jaehyun asks without raising his head.

“Um, almost,” Johnny says timidly. “But no, you found a trash can in time.”

“Shit.” Jaehyun accepts the water, taking a tentative sip. When his stomach doesn’t immediately revolt, he takes another one.

“Sit back, I’m gonna flush it,” Johnny says, reaching for the toilet handle. “It’s not that bad, man. He looked like he was expecting it. You were… pretty fucking hammered.”

“That doesn’t make it better,” Jaehyun laments. “And now he’ll never want to speak to me again, because I looked like a total jackass, which I kind of am—”

“Alright, relax, dude,” Johnny says quickly. “One problem at a time. Gonna throw up more, or do you want to try a shower?”

Jaehyun considers it. “Let me sit here for a little while,” he decides.

“Okay. I’m gonna go try to make some breakfast, then. Or at least some coffee,” Johnny says. “You definitely need it.”

Jaehyun nods his thanks and then goes back to contemplating the inside of the toilet bowl.

Another, less violent bout of vomit later, Jaehyun drags himself up off the floor, brushes his teeth, and then gets into the shower. He shivers under the hot water, playing back everything he can remember. He’s not even sure what he said to Yuta; whatever it was, it was probably something stupid. And he remembers staring at Yuta’s pretty face and realizing with sheer horror that he was about to puke. Not good.

He dries himself off and finds that Johnny left a fresh outfit on the counter for him. He puts it on somewhat shamefully, then shuffles out, chasing the smell of coffee.

Johnny slides him a cup when he sits down at the table. “How do you feel?” he asks.

“Bad,” Jaehyun replies blearily. “But better.”

“Good. This should help.” Johnny places a plate in front of him: scrambled eggs and a couple of slices of bacon, along with some buttered toast.

“Thanks,” Jaehyun says quietly.

“Hey.” Johnny sits down across from him. “You okay?”

Jaehyun looks up at him miserably. “No,” he says. “I can’t believe I did that! I’m such a dumbass.”

“It really wasn’t that bad,” Johnny insists. “You guys were, like, definitely flirting before everything went to shit. He was interested!”

“Yeah, maybe he was. Definitely not anymore.” Jaehyun takes a surly bite of his eggs. They’re very good, which only makes him grumpier. “I’m never going outside again,” he mutters.

Johnny snorts. “You’re gonna be fine,” he says.

Jaehyun doesn’t believe him.

The next week passes in a sort of grey haze. It’s not that Jaehyun hasn’t done his fair share of embarrassing shit. And as Johnny and Mark keep reminding him, it definitely could have been worse. But this is Yuta they’re talking about, Nakamoto Yuta; older Yuta; cooler Yuta; sexy, handsome Yuta. Jaehyun can’t stop thinking about it.

He hates that he was so nervous in the first place. He finds himself wishing he was different—that he looked like Taeyong, pretty and delicate and definitively gay, instead like himself. Pretty enough that he wouldn’t even have to try; he could have any boy he wanted. So what if the girls wouldn’t like him then? He doesn’t want the girls. He wants Yuta. And now he’s gone and ruined his only shot at having him. Why does everything have to be so hard?

“Is nine a good time this weekend, or do you want us to push it back a little?” Johnny asks at dinner on Thursday. It’s directed at everyone but he’s looking at Jaehyun when he says it.

“Do whatever,” Jaehyun says. “I’m just gonna stay in my room or something.”

“What, why?” Jungwoo asks.

“He’s heartbroken,” Donghyuck says, earning himself a smack from Mark.

“I’m fucking embarrassed, that’s why,” Jaehyun says.

“Oh, c’mon, man,” Johnny wheedles. “It’s not like you’re gonna, what, get any work done? Or sleep, the music’s gonna be loud. What’s the harm?”

“I might see Yuta again,” Jaehyun mumbles.

“So, what, you’re gonna stay in your room?” Donghyuck asks. “And then what if Yuta comes, and asks where you are? What will we say, that you’re just down the hall, hiding from him?”

He makes a good point. Jaehyun glares at him. “Shut the fuck up.”

“It’s just gonna make you feel worse, if you lock yourself in your room,” Mark says. “You gotta at least make an appearance.”

“Parties are more fun with you there, anyway,” Jungwoo adds softly.

Jaehyun sighs. “Fine. Yeah, nine is fine. But I’ll probably head to bed early.”

“Hell yeah, that’s what I like to hear,” Johnny says, grinning. “But hey—don’t make it a shitfaced appearance. Don’t want a repeat of last weekend.”

Jaehyun groans, waving his hands in front of his face like he can physically push Johnny’s words away. “Don’t even worry about it,” he says. “I’m still recovering from that, there’s no way.”

* * *

Saturday night rolls around, and a pit of dread begins to grow in Jaehyun’s stomach as it gets closer and closer to nine p.m. He’s starting to regret his decision, even though he knows the others are right. He considers drinking, but seeing as that did nothing to help him last time, he resigns himself to a painful and sober night.

Johnny forces him to clean up his room “just in case”, though Jaehyun highly doubts there’s any case where that would come into play. Still, it’s good to have an excuse to clear the depression layer that’s settled over his space during the last week. He throws dirty clothes into his hamper, takes out his trash, reorganizes his desk and changes his sheets. It also gives him something to do while they wait for the night to get started, so at least he’s not sitting and staring at a wall. By the time nine rolls around, Jaehyun’s room is clean and tidy and smells of his cedar candles, and Jaehyun supposes that he’s as ready as he’ll ever be.

He hangs off to the side, saying hi to a few of his friends. He doesn’t stray too deep into the party, relying on a fast exit in case he sees Yuta, so he hovers at the foot of the stairs, cup of water in hand to make it look like he’s drinking something.

He gets distracted, though, watching Johnny and some of his teammates bat a beach ball around, and doesn’t realize until far too late that Yuta’s sidled up beside him.

“Jesus Christ,” Jaehyun says. “You scared the shit outta me.”

Yuta laughs. “Sorry,” he says.

“Um,” Jaehyun says, trying to think of a way to get out of this situation as fast as possible. “Listen, I’m really sorry about last weekend. I definitely drank too much. I heard I didn’t throw up on you, which is good, but I’m super sorry anyway. I really am. I’m, um, gonna go, I hope you—”

Yuta grabs his wrist, gentle but firm. “Hey, wait. Before you start pounding those disgusting beers you seem to enjoy, do you want to have a little chat, maybe?”

Absolutely not, Jaehyun thinks. But Yuta’s being nice, and he knows if he walks away now, he’ll feel really bad. “I—okay, sure. I’m not—this is water, by the way.”

Yuta laughs again. “Glad to hear it,” he says. Jaehyun can’t tell if he’s making fun of him or not. “I’m not mad, in case you were worried,” he adds. “I kind of had a feeling it was going to go that way last time. You were pretty drunk.” Before Jaehyun can try to apologize again, he continues. “It happens. Don’t worry about it.”

“God, but it’s so embarrassing,” Jaehyun grumbles, looking away. “I mean, I really wanted to make a good impression, and now here I am.”

“You certainly made an impression.” Yuta’s voice is rich with amusement. “But believe it or not, it didn’t destroy my image of you. So stop being so hard on yourself.”

Jaehyun chances a look at him. “You still mean it, then, about me and my arms?” he asks weakly, hoping Yuta finds it funny.

And he does; he laughs brightly. “You’re cute, Jaehyun,” he says, which is not the response Jaehyun was expecting. “Too cute to be moping in the corner with nothing but a solo cup of water to keep you company.”

Jaehyun wants to argue about the moping, but realizes Yuta’s right. “Well, I’ve got you to keep me company now,” he points out instead.

Yuta leans in. “Indeed you do.” He tilts his head. “So?” he says. “What was your goal, initially, last weekend? I’m sure you came in with a game plan.”

Jaehyun flushes. “I didn’t, actually,” he admits. “I just—I was hoping my instincts would take over or something. Clearly…” He gestures vaguely. “It didn’t work.”

“Instincts?” Yuta asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Like, being charming and stuff. Impressing you, or whatever,” Jaehyun mutters.

Yuta laughs again. Jaehyun decides he’s not making fun; instead, he seems to simply find Jaehyun amusing. “You don’t need to impress me, Jaehyun,” he says, tone oddly gentle. “You don’t need to impress me for me to be interested in you.”

“You’re interested in me?” Jaehyun asks, feeling a little stupid.

“Why do you think I’m still standing here?” Yuta shoots back, and Jaehyun feels really stupid. “So we can keep standing here and going around in circles, or you can take me up to your room so we can make up for last weekend together.” Jaehyun’s stomach does a flip; he hopes his nerves don’t show on his face. “What’ll it be, baby?”

And, oh, Jaehyun likes that a lot. He knows it’s not just for him, that Yuta is definitely the type of person to call everyone baby, but it doesn’t matter. “Uh, yeah, follow me,” Jaehyun says, trying not to trip as he turns and starts heading up the stairs.

Jaehyun’s really not sure how this is happening, but he can’t complain. Even if Yuta kind of thinks he’s a loser, he still gonna fuck him, so Jaehyun doesn’t care. Which he thinks definitely makes him a loser, but whatever.

He holds the door open for Yuta, following him inside and pulling it shut. He presses his lips together so he doesn’t say something stupid like welcome in or whatever the hell his pea brain will try to provide. Yuta looks around the room, and Jaehyun is suddenly very grateful for Johnny’s advice. He makes a mental note to thank him somehow later.

Yuta turns back to Jaehyun. “Yeah, this is much better,” he says with a sly sort of grin, and then steps up into Jaehyun’s space and kisses him.

Jaehyun fumbles, not sure what to do with his hands. With girls, it’s so easy. He leads, they follow. But here, there are no rules. It’s terrifying. It’s also exhilarating. Yuta cups his jaw with one delicate hand, and Jaehyun leans into his touch, chasing it, scared somehow that it’ll be taken away.

Yuta pulls back, breaking the kiss, though he keeps his hand there, thumb stroking Jaehyun’s cheek. “Have you ever been with another boy before?” Yuta asks.

Jaehyun shakes his head. “No,” he says. His voice comes out hoarse; he clears his throat and tries again. “Um, no, I haven’t.”

Yuta only smiles. “Okay,” he says easily. “How do you feel about bottoming?”

Jaehyun thinks, I feel very horny about it. Jaehyun thinks his knees might collapse underneath him. “I’m, um, open to it,” he replies faintly. “I’ve definitely fingered myself before, so—” He cuts himself off.

“Think you can take it?” Yuta wiggles his eyebrows; it’s phrased as a joke, but Jaehyun knows he’s being serious.

He nods. “I can take it,” he says.

“Great,” Yuta says. He gives him another kiss, much more chaste. “Go get clean, then.” Jaehyun makes a noise of protest, too focused on Yuta’s lips to consider anything else. Yuta hums in amusement. “The faster you go shower, the faster I can fuck you, baby,” he says, and suddenly Jaehyun is stumbling over his own feet to grab his towel.

He tries to find a balance between rushing and being thorough. Luckily, no one is in the bathrooms since everyone is downstairs, so he doesn’t have to wait for a shower. Maybe more importantly, no one is there to bear witness or ask questions. When he returns to his room, Yuta is sitting on the edge of his bed. He looks up when Jaehyun enters, openly and unabashedly eyeing Jaehyun’s body.

“Hi,” Jaehyun says, before he can stop himself.

But Yuta only smiles. “Hi,” he replies, much slower and more purposeful. Jaehyun can feel his gaze on him as he turns to hang up his towel and fish his lube out of his closet. He realizes he’s in nothing but his underwear, but there’s no helping it now. It wasn’t like he was going to get clean clothes to change into, just to take them off again. Besides, Yuta’s going to see it all eventually.

He turns, and Yuta’s still watching him. “Now what?” he whispers.

“Now you come here and kiss me,” Yuta says.

And Jaehyun does exactly that.

He bends over Yuta, dropping the lube on the mattress so he can take Yuta’s face between his hands and kiss him in the faint purple light of his LEDs, letting his eyes fall shut, letting the noise of the party fall away. Jaehyun might be in a little too deep, but he can do this, he can kiss Yuta, could kiss him all day long. His lips are soft, his tongue warm, his teeth sharp and ready.

And then Jaehyun’s world turns on its head—literally, because Yuta’s got him by the shoulders and he’s pushing him to the side and down, down against his sheets. His head hits one of his pillows and sinks right into it, and Yuta is above him, still kissing, and Jaehyun’s body is on fire. His fingers find their grip again, and he holds Yuta close. Even if the rest of the night goes downhill, even if he screws all of this up, he’ll still have this, here—Yuta straddling his waist, body curled over Jaehyun’s body, kissing him like he wants him.

Yuta’s hands travel lower, skimming over his arms, his chest, his abs, settling at his hips, right on the waistband of his Calvins. “God, Jaehyun,” he murmurs between kisses. “You really do have such a nice body. Such a pretty face. You’ve got a nice mouth, too; you’re a good kisser. It’s no wonder everybody likes you.”

Jaehyun has to bite back a whimper—it’s too early for that, that’s too much. “A-and what about you?” he asks in a really small voice. “Are you part of everybody?”

Yuta laughs, dipping his head so he can mouth along Jaehyun’s neck. “Yes,” he says, punctuating it with a nip over Jaehyun’s pulse point, making him gasp in surprise. “Yes, I think I like you a lot, baby.”

Jaehyun does whimper then; it’s hard not to, with Yuta’s teeth on his neck, tongue soothing over his skin as he works on a hickey, pinpricks of pain numbing Jaehyun’s mind. “Yuta,” he whispers, almost reverent.

“You like that?” Yuta asks, popping his head up and sitting back a little. He catches Jaehyun’s gaze and holds it. “You like it when I call you baby?”

“Yes,” Jaehyun admits, trying not to fidget. There’s something about it, about the way Yuta’s still fully clothed, about how he watches him, keen and almost dangerous. It’s new, all new; he’s not used to letting someone else be in charge, he’s not used to giving himself over. He thinks he likes it.

Yuta shucks his own shirt off, quick and efficient, so fast Jaehyun almost misses it. Or maybe it’s just that he immediately gets distracted by Yuta’s fucking body—the gentle lines of his abs, not as defined as Jaehyun’s, almost delicate. It makes him look lithe and ethereal. What’s really got Jaehyun’s attention, though, is the sparkling navel piercing—a pale purple gem set in silver—and the butterfly tattoo on Yuta’s hip.

Yuta notices him looking. “You can touch,” he says. “I got it years ago, it’s all healed.”

Jaehyun reaches up with shaking fingers. “Did it hurt?” he asks.

Yuta lets out a low laugh. “Yes, silly,” he says. “It was worth it, though. Don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” Jaehyun manages, breathless.

Yuta taps Jaehyun’s hip. “Lift, I’m gonna take these off.” Jaehyun obeys, trying not to be self-conscious as Yuta pulls the last layer away and leaves him bare. But Yuta just gives an appreciative hum, says, “So pretty, baby,” and smoothes a hand down Jaehyun’s inner thigh, other hand reaching up for the discarded bottle of lube. “Hands and knees, please.”

Jaehyun’s breathing speeds up as he rolls over clumsily, craning his neck around to watch Yuta slick up a couple fingers. Oh my god, he thinks, this is really happening. Yuta is about to fuck him; all of Jaehyun’s dumb little dreams are about to come true.

“You okay?” Yuta asks. It’s not concerned, more just a check-in. His hands are poised over Jaehyun’s body. “Can I touch you?”

“Please,” Jaehyun begs, and Yuta—beautiful, wonderful Yuta—complies.

He wraps one hand around Jaehyun’s cock, and with the other hand presses a finger to his entrance. He spent enough time spreading the lube across his skin that it’s not even cold, so there is no shock as he sinks his finger in, just the vaguely uncomfortable stretching sensation that quickly gives way to pleasure. Jaehyun sighs, breath hitching in the middle of the exhale when Yuta moves his other hand, stroking him slowly.

Yuta sure knows what he’s doing. To be fair, it’s easier for him than it is for Jaehyun because he can see where his fingers are going, but there’s only a little bit of pain. He moves slow at first, letting Jaehyun’s body get accustomed to the intrusion before speeding up. He keeps the hand on Jaehyun’s cock moving, too, an ever-present distraction. Jaehyun’s already hard and leaking precome by the time Yuta decides he’s ready for a second finger, and all he can do is let out soft little moans as Yuta presses it in alongside the first.

Yuta must hear something shift in his voice, though; he pauses and looks up. “Hurts?”

Jaehyun shakes his head. “Just—feel bad, you know, you’re doing all this work—and I’m just lying here.”

Yuta laughs. “I like this,” he says softly. “Hearing you, feeling you open up around me, it’s nice. You don’t have to do anything. Just let me take care of you. You’ll be doing plenty later.”

Jaehyun drops his head back down, forehead resting against the crook of his elbow, satisfied. “Hurry up, then,” he huffs. “I want you.”

Yuta kisses his back. “I know,” he murmurs, moving his fingers again. “Just don’t want to hurt you.”

Jaehyun arches an eyebrow, trying to cling to the last vestiges of his dignity before Yuta really starts fingering him and it all goes out the window. “No offense, but I think my dildo is bigger than you.”

Yuta laughs. “Probably, but I won’t be able to tell right away if I’m hurting you. I just wanna make sure nothing goes wrong, because I won’t want to stop once I get started.”

He says it so casually. It makes Jaehyun dizzy. “Yeah,” he agrees. “Okay, yeah.”

“Good,” Yuta says, and goes back to the task at hand.

It’s not until he’s on three fingers that Yuta starts curling his fingers. Jaehyun thinks about directing him, but he knows he’ll find it eventually, so he just waits. Sure enough, it only takes him a few seconds before he brushes past Jaehyun’s prostate and has him gasping, fat drops of precome leaking over Yuta’s pretty fingers.

Yuta does it again, admiring his handiwork when Jaehyun shudders, clenching around him almost subconsciously. Jaehyun squeezes his eyes shut. It’s embarrassing, but he’s already really close, and he’s kind of terrified that if he comes, it’ll be over, that Yuta won’t want him anymore. He doesn’t want it to be over yet. It doesn’t help that Yuta’s murmuring praise as he goes, telling him he’s taking his fingers well, that he looks so good; he pauses from time to time to kiss Jaehyun’s low back, to give him a break, always checking in. He’s so attentive; Jaehyun keeps forgetting anything exists outside of this room because Yuta’s completely focused on him.

Eventually, Yuta deems him ready, pulling his fingers out and pulling himself away from Jaehyun’s body so he can take off his pants. He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a condom—Jaehyun decides he won’t ask about that— and sticks it between his teeth so he has both hands free to undo the button of his jeans. Jaehyun watches, rapt, as he pulls his pants and underwear down together, revealing his cock, is hard and red, tip glistening. Jaehyun’s mouth waters.

Yuta throws his clothes somewhere on the floor, then tears the condom open, rearing his head back so the packaging rips clean through. He rolls it onto his cock and then reaches for the lube, crawling back up the bed and situating himself behind Jaehyun, one hand finding its place on his hip.

“Yuta,” Jaehyun mumbles. It comes out garbled. He arches his back; the head of Yuta’s cock bumps up against his entrance, and Jaehyun shakes with how much he wants it.

“Hold still,” Yuta says, and Jaehyun stills, waiting for him to line himself up. And then, with a smooth and measured thrust forward, he pushes into Jaehyun, curling over him and planting his other hand on the mattress to stabilize them as he bottoms out.

“Oh, fuck,” Jaehyun moans, balling his fists and burying his face in them, brows knitted as his body adjusts. It’s not painful, just overwhelmingly good. His thighs feel weak; he’s almost worried he’s going to collapse into the bed.

“Good?” Yuta asks softly, lips against Jaehyun’s spine.

“Fuck, Yuta, yes,” Jaehyun babbles. “Please, please move.”

Somehow, he knows Yuta is smiling, even though he can’t see him, even though he doesn’t speak. He draws his hips back, and the drag on his walls alone sends a wave of pleasure crashing over Jaehyun’s whole body. Yuta pushes back in, all the way down, and when the head of his cock hits Jaehyun’s prostate, Jaehyun can’t help it, can’t stop it anymore.

“Shit, oh fuck, I’m—I’m c—” Jaehyun can’t even get the words out of his clumsy mouth before he can’t think of words at all, too busy moaning as his stupid body betrays him and he comes untouched across his sheets. Embarrassment swirls with the haze of orgasm; Jaehyun feels like the room is spinning.

“Aw, baby, did you come?” Yuta asks. Another kiss to his spine. He doesn’t pull out. He doesn’t sound annoyed—he actually sounds pleased.

“Y-yes,” Jaehyun says shakily, embarrassment hot on his skin as his cock gives another twitch, releasing a few more drops of come. “Fuck, ‘m sorry, it just felt so good, and you were prepping me for so long, I—”

“No, it’s cute,” Yuta says, almost coos. “Don’t worry, baby,” he continues. “I’m pretty sure I can make you come again.”

Jaehyun thinks, Actually, if I died today I’d be pretty okay with that. “Okay,” he says instead, just above a whisper.

“Stop worrying about impressing me,” Yuta says, rocking his hips a little faster now, a little harder. Jaehyun trembles, his body still going through the aftershocks of his orgasm, feeling a bit overstimulated. “It’s too late for that, anyway. So stop worrying about it.” The hand Yuta had on his hip travels around his body to his stomach; Yuta runs his hands over his abs, collecting the come that landed there with his fingers. “I don’t like you because you’re a cool, popular jock, I like you because you’re kind of a ditz, and your dimples are cute when you smile, and even though you’re coordinated on the court, you trip over your own feet walking from the pong table to the trash can.” Realization dawns over Jaehyun slowly, but he’s too slow for Yuta, who keeps talking. “Did you think I didn’t notice you watching me? Did you think I wasn’t watching you back?”

“You were watching me?” Jaehyun asks.

“Of course,” Yuta says, like it’s simple, like it’s obvious. “You’re always the prettiest one in the room, who else should I watch? Especially when I could always feel your eyes on me.”

Jaehyun flushes. “J-Johnny always yelled at me for staring,” he admits. “I couldn’t help it, though.”

Yuta laughs softly. “I could tell,” he teases.

“I’m glad you didn’t think I was creepy,” Jaehyun says.

“Creepy?” Yuta laughs again. “Of course not.”

“Then why didn’t you ever come over to say hello?” Jaehyun asks, pouting a little.

“Who d’you think gave Johnny the idea about Mark?” Yuta asks.

“Oh. You?”

“No, Taeil,” Yuta corrects, “who got the idea from me.”

“But that’s so complicated,” Jaehyun protests.

“I liked to watch you squirm,” Yuta says matter-of-factly. “You’re cute when you’re nervous.”

Jaehyun can’t even be mad about it—it got him here, didn’t it? It ended with Yuta in his bed, so does it really matter how? “I’m guessing you weren’t planning on the vomit,” he says.

“No,” Yuta says, laughing. “I didn’t think you’d get that nervous.”

“It’s nice to know that—that you wanted me from the start,” Jaehyun says, almost shyly.

Yuta presses his tongue flat to Jaehyun’s skin, leaving a wet kiss there. “How could I not want you?” His voice is low; sweet, joyful shock runs through Jaehyun’s body like electricity. “I want you, Jaehyun. I want to do so many things with you.”

“I think I’d be okay with that,” Jaehyun says faintly.

“Yeah? You’d let me?” Yuta asks. Jaehyun can hear his smile, the big wide one that makes him feel like a cornered piece of prey. “Good.” He says it with a certain finality, picking up the pace—like that’s that, like it’s decided, like Jaehyun is his now, and there’s nothing Jaehyun can do about it.

As if he would. As if he’d ever been anyone else’s.

Yuta fucks him in doggy, rough and purposeful, until Jaehyun can feel himself getting hard again, until his whimpers turn back into moans. And then—he pulls out.

“Yuta?” Jaehyun slurs.

“Turn over, baby, so I can kiss you,” Yuta says.

Jaehyun fumbles with his limbs, pushing himself up and flipping onto his back, and—oh. Yuta’s skin is shining with a thin layer of sweat. His bangs have fallen into his face. His eyes are dark and his lips are red and wet from all the open-mouthed kisses he’s been placing along Jaehyun’s spine. His piercings flash in the low light as he walks forward on his knees, as he pushes Jaehyun’s legs apart and sinks back into him, as he leans forward and nips at Jaehyun’s jaw.

The angle is different, or maybe it’s the added pressure from the mattress—or maybe it’s just that Jaehyun can see him now, can see the muscles rippling in Yuta’s back as he fucks him. Everything feels more, and Jaehyun moans weakly, cupping Yuta’s cheek in one of his palms and guiding him up to his lips.

Yuta is merciless; not once does he slow, even when he’s tugging at Jaehyun’s lips with his teeth or licking into his mouth. Jaehyun can smell the sharp, earthy spice of his deodorant, can feel his breath, fanning across his skin. He clings to Yuta, whining into his mouth as Yuta hits his prostate dead-on with every thrust.

“That’s it, baby,” Yuta murmurs. “Let me hear you, lemme hear your voice, pretty boy. Does it feel good?”

“Yes,” Jaehyun rasps, eyes rolling back in his head. “God, yes.”

“Take me so nicely,” Yuta says. “I can’t believe this is the first time you’ve been fucked. It’s a crime, baby, you’re perfect for it.”

Jaehyun pants out low moans, watching Yuta, tracing the familiar lines that he memorized across the room at parties so long ago. He watches Yuta watch him back, like he’d been doing this whole time only Jaehyun never noticed. He notices now, he notices the way Yuta takes him in, studies him. Even now, when the fog of lust is thick and commanding.

Yuta reaches between their bodies, wrapping his hand around Jaehyun’s cock again, and Jaehyun chokes on nothing. It’s so fucking good—he thinks vaguely that nothing else will feel like this, that no one will be able to make him feel like this again, even if it’s not actually true, even if this night only seems that perfect because of the novelty and nostalgia.

“Gonna come again?” Yuta asks. His voice is strained now, just barely, like it’s been spread thin. Teeth scrape against Jaehyun’s neck. “Gonna come for me?”

“Yes,” Jaehyun says. “Kiss me.”

And Yuta kisses him. Jaehyun closes his eyes and kisses back, raising his head up to meet Yuta’s. Yuta keeps fucking him, even as he kisses Jaehyun breathless, even as he jerks him off, fist flying over his cock. Jaehyun crosses his ankles behind Yuta’s back and kisses Yuta and lets the rising tide of arousal take over.

He comes with a gasp, spattering white across his stomach. He can feel himself clenching and unclenching around Yuta without even meaning to, and it must be enough, because Yuta stops moving with a low groan, and Jaehyun feels heat inside him. Yuta’s head has fallen to his shoulder; Jaehyun finds himself cradling it there, hand on the base of his skull, fingers tangled in his hair.

“Fuck,” Yuta says quietly after the silence stretches on for a few minutes. He raises his head, waits for Jaehyun to look at him. He’s smiling, big and crazy and so handsome, and Jaehyun finds himself smiling too, and then they’re laughing, giggling like kids. Jaehyun shoves Yuta a little and Yuta uses the momentum to stumble to his feet and grab a tissue to clean himself up. He tosses one to Jaehyun, who fails to catch it. It lands on his stomach instead.

“Thanks,” Jaehyun mutters, still grinning.

“Your sheets need changing,” Yuta points out.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure I’m sitting on my own come right now,” Jaehyun replies.

“I’ll help you,” Yuta offers. “It’s my fault, anyway.”

They strip Jaehyun’s bed, throw fresh sheets on. Jaehyun offers Yuta a towel and they head to the bathroom together. It’s still early, and they can hear the noise of the party clear as day when they step out into the hall.

They take separate stalls to rinse off, then head back to Jaehyun’s room. Yuta casts a glance at his clothes, which are heaped on the floor. “So…” he says. “Do you wanna go rejoin the party?”

Jaehyun shakes his head. “Honestly, no, I’m fucking tired.”

“Oh, thank god,” Yuta says. “I’m about to pass out. Is it cool if I stay over?”

Jaehyun’s breath catches in the throat. “Yeah, totally cool,” he says. “Here, let me get you some shorts or something.”

“That would be nice.” When Jaehyun turns back around to toss Yuta some clean clothes, he’s still smiling.

* * *

Jaehyun wakes up to warmth. It takes him a second to register why, then—right, there’s another human in his bed. Of course it’s warm.

Yuta’s still asleep. His soft hair falls perfectly over the pillow. His features are gentle—none of the sharp smiles and sharp looks Jaehyun has gotten so used to. He looks him over fondly. Yuta. No longer so mythological, so legendary, so scary. Just Yuta.

Yuta cracks an eye open. “Staring again?” he whispers, feigning accusation. “You never learn.”

Jaehyun just grins. “You caught me.”

Yuta yawns, stretching as he rolls onto his back. “Dude,” he says. “You have a comfy fucking bed.”

Jaehyun laughs. “That’s good to know,” he replies. “I was a little worried I’d wake up and you’d be gone. But I guess if the bed’s comfy enough…”

Yuta rolls his eyes. “Oh, please. I’m hardly done with you.” He sits up, rolling his head from side to side. “But first, breakfast. I worked hard last night. Feed me.”

Jaehyun finds himself laughing again. “I dunno if you want to eat my food,” he says, sitting up too and pushing his blankets aside. “But I bet one of the guys is cooking something. We can totally mooch. C’mon.”

Yuta follows him to the door. “Hey,” he says as Jaehyun’s reaching for the handle. “You’re good? I mean, I know it can be a lot, the first time. Especially me.”

Jaehyun gives him an oh, please sort of look over his shoulder. “Yeah, I’m good,” he says, nearly scoffing. “I can take it.”

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Season 16 (Part 1)

Summary: After being captured by Michael while Dean was under his control, the reader has spent a very long time locked away waiting for someone to come and find her. When the day finally comes that the door opens, it’s not a familiar face she’s greeted with. Somehow the impossible is standing right in front of her but there’s no time to think about that. Something is terribly wrong and the reader needs the help of this strange young man if she wants to stop what Michael’s put in motion and have a chance at seeing Dean alive again...

Masterlist

Pairing: Dean x reader

Square: Free Space

Word Count: 3,600ish

Warnings: language, SPN season 15 and series spoilers, injury, mention of main character deaths, mention of torture, angst, fluff

A/N: This series takes place post season 15 and follows canon (i.e. if it happened in the show, it happened in this story’s universe). This series is told between the reader and Dean’s POV. This was also written for @supernatural-jackles​ Tell Me A Story bingo!

________

Reader’s POV

You just about had a heart attack when the door opened. It’d been such a long time since it’d been opened. Years and years and years. You’d lost track of the days quickly but it was long enough for you to accept that it’d been a very long time. Long enough to accept that when Michael took over Dean and threw you down in the windowless little room, Dean didn’t win that fight.

The only thing keeping you going aside from the spell Michael had put up to keep you permanently trapped, body stuck in time, was the desire to save Dean. Or what was left of him. You’d been alone for years, body having taken a beating by Michael when he first captured you. You were still covered in bruises, broken ribs that wouldn’t heal, pain in every breath. You didn’t sleep, didn’t eat. Solitude, cut off from the world, that was your main form of torture. Dean though...who knew what hell he was going through trapped with a psychopath like that for all these years.

You readied yourself, a dark figure walking inside the room. The room was pitch black to a certain point before you were trapped under a bright light you’d yet to figure out how to turn off. The figure stopped as their feet hit the brightness, a pair of brown boots and slim dark jeans all you could make out. They mumbled something and you felt the air shift slightly. You dared to reach at hand out to where the invisible wall keeping you trapped had been.

Your hand waved right on through it and you suddenly felt cool, clean air hit you. The person jolted when you sprang up, running away as you bolted for the door. You followed them up a flight of stairs and straight out into the foyer of a very nice house. You could see it was a man now and tackled him, straddling his hips and grabbing your knife from your waistband of your loose shorts, holding it to his throat. He breathed hard as you stared at him, cocking your head.

He was the spitting image of Dean. Mostly. His eyes weren’t green and there was something about his nose that reminded you of your own. The biggest tell of all though was the genuine fear in his face, the confusion. 

“What’s your name,” you said. You held up the knife for a moment and tucked it away when you saw he was only focused on it. The young man, no more than twenty years old, took a deep breath. You yelped when he threw his legs up and wrapped them around your waist, yanking you off of him. He scrambled to his feet but you were on his tail, grabbing at his jacket. He spun around and popped you in the face, sending you to the floor.

You whined and cupped your cheek, the young man frozen in the doorway with a horrified look on his face.

“Who punches their own mom!” you shouted. He ran out the door and you went after, growling at your bare feet as he took off down the gravel driveway. “I’m gonna find you!”

You stomped your foot on the cool concrete front path, glancing to your right and spotting a sports car. You jogged back inside and found a pair of women’s sneakers, a little too big but you tied them tight and found some keys on a front table. 

About two minutes later you were pulling up beside the guy on the road and hopped out of the car, the man running into the nearby treeline. You pulled out your knife and threw it, catching his jacket and pinning the sleeve to the tree trunk. He stumbled and fell down as you walked over, staring up with wide eyes. You sighed and ran a hand over your face. 

“Can you at least tell me your first name?” you asked. He shook his head and you crossed your arms. “I bet your name is Lyle, isn’t it.”

“How’d you know that?” he asked, voice a bit higher than Dean’s but it made you smile, something warm and familiar to it.

“I’ve had a lot of time to think recently. Lyle is my top name for a boy if I ever had one,” you said. “So. Lyle Winchester.”

“That’s not my name,” he said. He stood up and pulled out the knife, carefully holding it out to you.

“You look just like Dean and me. You’re my son...somehow,” you said.

“Fine. My name is Lyle and that’s all I can say about myself,” he said. “I’m serious.”

You recognized the tone, that edge to it, the roughness but laced with an undercurrent of worry. Part of you wanted him to tell you everything about him but you knew he couldn’t, instead letting yourself give him a simple nod.

“I’ll make you a deal Lyle. I won’t ask questions about you that you can’t answer if you tell me how and why you got me out of there and answer anything else I want to know about this little situation.”

“Or else what?” he scoffed.

“Or else someday when you’re a teenager I won’t let you do anything. Lyle.” You took the knife from him and put it away, taking a deep breath. You stepped back out to the road, leaning against the car. You shut your eyes, something heavy draped over you. You peeled one eye open, Lyle leaning back against the car next to you in a blue flannel and dark gray t-shirt. His black hooded jacket was over your shoulders and you slipped your arms through the sleeves, wrapping them around yourself. You squeezed your eyes tight, shuddering before warm arms embraced you, Lyle almost as tall as Dean holding you close to him. “How did you know I was down there?”

“I can’t answer that,” he said.

“What year is it?” you asked.

“2089.” You froze, staring up at him. “Well, 2089 where we are right now is.”

“Lyle. It was 2018 when Michael took me. That’s not possible.”

“I can’t answer that either.” Tears welled up in your eyes and he hugged you again. “Sorry.”

“Dean was thirty nine the last time I saw him and it’s seventy one years later? He is dead. Sam is dead. They’re all dead so explain to me how the fucking hell I have a son with Dean!” you shouted. You pushed him away and ran your hands over your face. “Years. Fucking years I’ve sat down there waiting for him to come and get me. Him or Sam or someone. Fucking seventy one years!”

“Y/N,” he said, sounding a bit awkward but he cleared his throat. “I can’t answer everything because I don’t know everything. But I exist and that should tell you something.”

You wiped off your face with his sleeve and looked around, turning back and staring at him.

“I’m at the start of whatever this is and you’re way down the line,” you said. He nodded with a slight smile.

“I don’t understand it but this, where I’m from, this has already happened to you.”

“You’re from the future then,” you said.

“Not exactly,” he said. 

“A different universe?” He looked at you like you were nuts and the air shifted, Lyle freezing. You turned and saw Jack, a smile on his face. “Jack?”

“Hi Y/N,” he said. He stepped over and gave you a big hug, a little bit of ache inside you easing finally. “Don’t worry about him. He’s just on pause.”

“Jack I don’t understand fucking anything. What’s going on?” you asked. He pursed his lips and sighed.

“Well you already figured out Lyle is your and Dean’s son. I didn’t think I could slip that one past you. But it had to be him that came and saved you.”

“Why?”

“Dean’s in heaven. Has been for 69 years.” You broke away from him feeling like you’d had a punch to gut and making you breathless. “I probably shouldn’t have told you that with the whole decades worth of trauma thing happening right now.”

“Did Michael…” you trailed off.

“No. A piece of rebar on a vamp hunt,” he said.

“He what?” you said.

“Yeah got pushed back on it. Sam was okay though. Oh and Dean had a dog for a few months.”

“Dean fucking died from that? That’s what kept him down?” you said. Jack nodded and you looked down, blinking your eyes. “Disregarding what is going on in my head right now about that, why didn’t you heal him? Or Castiel?”

“Well Cas was in heaven helping me rebuild after he sort of died and I brought him back. I kinda am the new God,” he said with a smile.

“I’m proud of that but again, why didn’t you come down here and heal Dean?”

“I’m sort of hands off in that regard,” he said. You were about to go off on him for that when it hit you.

“Jack how long have you known I was alive,” you said. 

“2020 when I took over, I got these extra-”

“You knew I was alive and  left me in a hole in the ground for over seventy years?” you said. 

“Like I said, I’m hands off,” he said. 

“I was your fucking mom! I took care of you! I protected you! I almost died for you more than once and when you find out I’m still alive you say fuck that bitch, she can deal with it on her own? What the fuck is wrong with you!” you shouted. You slapped him in the face, Jack pouting as you sank down to your knees. “I want Dean.”

“Y/N.”

“I want Dean and Sam.”

“Y/N-”

“I want Dean!”

“I can’t-”

“Fuck you! You’re as every bit as evil as that devil father of yours after all,” you said. You forced yourself to your feet, tears prickling in his eyes. “Oh did I hurt your feelings? Tough fucking shit! Do you realize that I have not only been stuck waiting for years but my body got stuck too. I’ve been sitting with broken ribs for seventy years. Every single breath excruciating.”

You yanked up your shirt, deep purple and black skin radiating across most of your abdomen. Jack reached out a hand and you moved back, dropping your shirt.

“I thought you were hands off. I don’t want your-” you said before warmth trickled through you, the pain gone, body feeling so strange at being without it. 

“I don’t have to touch to heal you,” he said quietly. He swallowed and bowed his head. “I tried to let people live their lives without my interference and sometimes they’re messy but I’ve come to realize recently that’s wrong. A bit of help here and there is good. It gives people hope and maybe I should have done things different.”

“My family’s dead and I don’t want to wait around decades more to see them again in heaven. You’re going to-”

“No I won’t. Lyle’s life counts on you doing exactly what you’re supposed to as do your two other children’s. I can’t just put you in heaven. You can’t die right and you have to wait to see Dean until things work themselves out. Lyle’s going to be with you for a while and help get some things settled. It’s already set in motion so go with it,” he said.

“Jack I want Dean. Please,” you said. “Please Jack. Just five minutes.”

“Would you rather have your family back in the near future, alive, or would you rather have your and Dean’s souls torn apart and you never see him again, dead or alive? Rather he over there doesn’t exist? Rather no one exists?”

“I didn’t say that. Of course I would rather have them back alive-“

“Then be patient.”

“Jack. You gotta give me something. Something please.”

“I’ll talk to Lyle, tell him he can loosen up some. But I can’t tell you what to do. You have to follow your gut. Listen to Lyle and it’ll work out,” said Jack. You squeezed your eyes shut, Jack carefully resting a hand on your shoulder. “Do you hate me?”

“I hate that our family was ripped apart. I hate that you didn’t tell the boys I was alive once you knew. I hate that the last time I saw Dean alive we argued. I think what I hate most of all is that you treated us like everyone else. We’re not, Jack. We’re your family. All of us deserved a chance at normal and we didn’t get it.”

“Sam did.”

“How many years did Sam live without us? Without his brother?” you asked. Jack glanced down and you nodded. “You said you became God? Why didn’t you get rid of the monsters altogether Jack. Don’t tell me you don’t have that power.”

“I thought...I thought it was the natural order.”

“Yet you know there are other universes with no monsters at all. You could have taken the monsters away. Shit turn them human for all I care. The boys didn’t have to keep hunting after you took over. You could have been hands off and changed that one fact and saved so many lives, improved so many lives.”

“No. I couldn’t have changed it. Not back then.”

“Why the hell not?” you asked. He pulled his hand away and you found yourself in some clean clothes, Lyle’s jacket folded on top of the car.

“Because when I became God, I learned a lot. It sucks knowing that certain things have to happen and that I had to ignore when Sam prayed to me in that barn because things had to happen this way.”

“But why?”

“Because if I didn’t, if I’d intervened then and there, this universe, all of the ones I’ve been busy rebuilding, the way I’ve been rebuilding heaven...it’d be gone. Destroyed and I wouldn’t be able to put it back. It’s a temporary pain even if it doesn’t seem like it. So please, Y/N, please, listen to Lyle. Work with him. It’ll work out and things can be okay. You can have everything you ever wanted and more. You can have the freaking apple pie life and the no monsters and all of it but please understand you have more shit to go through first and whatever happens, do not let Lyle die.”

“He’s my son. I wouldn’t let that happen to him,” you said. Jack nodded and you grabbed his arm when he turned to leave. “You’ve grown up Jackie.”

“I’m still a baby by God standards,” he said.

“The guys take care of you after I was gone?” you asked. 

“Yeah. I missed you though,” he said. “I accidentally killed Mary and sort of lost my soul for a bit. Things got bad for a while.”

“Do you see Kelly in heaven sometimes? Mary?” you asked. He nodded and you smiled. “Kids can fuck up and your parents will forgive you.”

“I’m sorry it has to be this way, Y/N. If I could snap my fingers to fix it all, stop it from ever happening, I would.”

“I’m going to trust that it had to be this way,” you said. “But give me a ballpark figure here. When do I get the guys back?”

“That’s relative. You’re going to end up breaking the space time continuum so it’s hard to answer that correctly.” You stared at him and he shrugged. “Not too long. A few days at most. I promise.”

“Wait is that how we have a twenty year old son?” you asked.

“Yes. The next time you see Dean he’ll be younger than the last you saw him. Just trust your gut and Lyle. Next time I see you I hope things are much better,” he said. You opened your mouth but he disappeared. You shook your head and turned around, Lyle now wearing his jacket, standing closer to the passenger seat door. For a long while you both simply stared, Lyle looking as if he’d just had his own long conversation with Jack. 

“You can call me Y/N if that makes it easier,” you said. He nodded and you took a deep breath, going to the driver’s side. “So. What’s the next move?”

“Jack just said after I got you out we had to go to Lebanon. He didn’t tell me anything more than that,” he said.

“Any idea where we are?” you asked.

“San Antonio,” he said. “So we go North?”

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “Mind taking the first shift driving? I sort of haven’t slept in like seventy years.”

“No that’s fine,” he said. He walked around the front and you made your way to the passenger side, climbing in and sighing. He got behind the wheel and took a deep breath. “You and dad run a construction business.”

“That’s nice,” you said, smiling to yourself. “Dean’d be real good at that kind of thing. He’s really smart.”

“I know. Most guys can’t call up their dad for help on their architecture homework,” he said. 

“You go to college?” you asked, Lyle nodding. “Do you know about...this stuff?”

“I’m still not convinced I’m not insane. I just got home on a friday night. We had dinner and everyone went outside to have a bonfire in the backyard. I went in to use the bathroom and Uncle Jack stopped me before I could get back outside. He said a lot of crazy stuff I didn’t believe but the fact you were in that basement...you and dad are only like forty but you’re obviously too old right now to have had me when that would have made sense and Uncle Jack said space and time is gonna break and-”

“Lyle,” you said, holding up a hand. “Relax. I just want to know, do you know what hunting is?”

“Dad doesn’t go hunting,” he said, narrowing his eyes. You smiled and nodded to yourself. “We don’t even own a gun.”

“I doubt that. But that must mean that something happens to the monsters along the way too.”

“What do you mean monsters? And why were you kidnapped in a basement? And what the fuck is going on? You’re supposed to be my mom that runs the family business and you kick ass in your soccer league in the summer and you can’t cook to save your life and that’s okay cause you’re really good at baking and pies and shit and I just don’t understand who you really are.” His face was flush, eyes fighting back tears. You smiled, reaching over and cupping his cheek.

“You’re a good guy Lyle. We obviously did something right,” you said, wiping away a stray tear that fell. “It’s scary. It’s really scary. I’m not your mom yet but I will be someday. I promise I will tell you everything you don’t know when I catch up to your time. Dean and I will. But we need to go to Lebanon and the faster we can go there and figure out what we have to do, the faster we can get you back home where you belong.”

“But can’t you-”

“This world isn’t safe, Lyle. It is very unsafe for a Winchester especially. Please drive now,” you said. You put on your seatbelt and he closed his eyes. “Please.”

“I was supposed to be having a smore right now,” he said.

“I know. But saving the world is kinda cool,” you said. 

“I don’t want to save the world. I want to go home and not see my mom be beat to shit. I want my dad to go back to teasing me at dinner and not being dead,” he said. 

“If we do this right, you can go back to that really soon. It hasn’t happened for me yet. We can talk all about this when you come back. The night you come back we can talk through it all. But we have to get going. The sooner we go, the sooner it goes back to normal.”

“It’ll never be normal again.”

“Yes it will. I promise.”

“How do you-“

“Because I just had this really bad thing happen to me but someday I’m going to have you and everything I ever wanted with Dean. So it sucks right now but it’ll be better eventually. I know it will. You’re here so I know it’ll be normal.” He nodded and wiped off his face, starting the car up again.

“Y/N. Are you okay after...you know...being down there beat up all that time?”

“Not really,” you said. He took off his jacket and handed it to you. You stared before he rolled his eyes, laying it over your front.

“Sleep. I can drive.”

“Lyle.”

“Y/N. Rest. It’s safe. I got this.”

“You take after your dad.”

“Take after someone else too,” he said. You smiled and nodded, resting your head on your shoulder, closing your eyes. “I’ll wake you up for breakfast.”

“Egg and-”

“Cheese on a biscuit, two breakfast burritos, extra hot sauce and a small hot latte.”

“At least my road trip order didn’t change,” you said, quickly relaxing and falling asleep for the first time in ages.

_______

A/N: Read part 2 here!

[bonny-kookoo]

👹Bad Habits (JJK x Reader) 💜☁️🔞

👹Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Reader

👹Genre: (Twisted)Romance, Angst, Smut, Psycho!JK

👹Warnings: Size kink, Body worship, biting, rough manhandling, JK accidentally hurts her a bit (but apologizes dw), mildly disturbing themes (blood, guts, bones cracking...), criminal activities such as theft (mentioned) and murder (not actively stated, but heavily implied), panic attack, psychotic episodes, psycho!JK because holy shit I actually got scared what did I create, degrading names (he calls her a whore in his mind like once..), possessive JK, strength kink, reader is unable to conceive (chances are very slim), unprotected sex (please wrap it before you tap it folks), impreg kink, dead dove do not eat 🕊 manipulative Koo, Dom!Kook, therapy talk, relapses, horrible anger management, emotional koo, emotional reader, look mom I actually wrote a happy ending

👹Summary: Oh monster monster under my bed, you’re the only one I have left, come out and play ‘cause I need a friend.

Jeon Jungkook is sick.

You know this, you are very aware of it if the very much still gaping holes in the walls of your apartment, left from his most recent violent episode is anything to go by. He's got anger issues, that much is very apparent to anyone who genuinely knows Jungkook. Somehow he just can't keep himself in check, it's like he just needs the perfect trigger to simply go off like a bomb dropped from ten feet. It doesn't take much to rile him up. It takes a lot however to get him back down again.

Now, this would be the perfect moment to explain that you are the sweet and kind ray of sunlight calming his temper and cooling his ever violently burning mind- but that's not the case. There's nothing that can tame the young man at your side, nothing that can snap that collar around his neck and chain him up to a wall until he's safe to be around again. You can't do anything more than watch and pray that he will keep his promise to never ever hurt you. At first, you were worried. Anyone would be.

But then the first outbreak came.

Then the second.

And you were fine.

He would wreck the apartment, throw furniture, or beat someone to a bloody mess in an alleyway next to a nightclub simply because the guy had looked at your admittedly short skirt the wrong way. While for the longest time he didn't care about anyone, you've become his possession, in every way that the word stands. He owns you, every single cell of your being is his, and he's ready to push anyone's eyes back into their skull just for looking at you weirdly. No one is allowed to lust after you but him. No one's allowed to even think about you but him.

It's quite bittersweet, the reasoning behind his obsession with you. You're not scared, you're never running away, you're always so gentle, so delicate, such an angel around him- and in one way he fears that one day he's gonna be the wolf eating the sheep in a frenzy. In the other however, he's weirdly amused by it; the way you still look at him so innocently as if you didn't know that his hands could snap your neck like a twig between his combat boots he's typically sporting. It's a very twisted story with you two, and in a sense, he's certain that you have to be just as sick in your head as he is for genuinely loving him and his bad habits.

Just like now.

You're not saying anything. Even when you can hear the young mans ribs cracking underneath the steel toed black boots of your boyfriend, you're quiet, watching, unable to tear your eyes away from him- and you don't even know who exactly you're watching. You have already forgotten what the young man looked like- your eyes unable to reconstruct his facial features back to what they were before Jungkook had thrown his fists into them until the stranger couldn't even open his eyes anymore, face bloody and bruised to the point where you're hoping he won't survive it. You're also simply watching as Jungkooks pretty long hair, drenched in a mixture of sweat and rain from above whips around violently as if to mimic the way his muscled leg stomps into the man's chest over an over again, face holding a determination that should scare you. It's all over after a moment however, as your boyfriend seems to grow a bit tired now, slowly calming down as his anger ebbs down, waves finally evening as he breathes heavily. He runs a hand through his hair as he looks at what's in front of his feet; unable to quite realize that this was actually him. He turns, looking for you, and his entire facial expression suddenly changes.

While he looked absolutely terrifying just moments before, he's suddenly holding such a sweet and calm glint in his eyes as he takes off his jacket, putting it over your head as he smiles down at you, inner demon now fed again as it seems to crawl back behind his actual soul it consumes daily. You smile back, and he leads you out of the alley, giggling like a teenager when you playfully start to run towards the car, calling him a sore looser when he doesn't let you win like he usually does.

Jeon Jungkook is sick. But he's just a young man as well, deep down.

He's got you sat on his lap as he greedily licks at your neck, teeth suddenly clamping down on the skin as you mewl underneath his touch and actions. He's grinning like the devil in person, his large-in-comparison palms holding your behind as they suddenly sneak underneath your shirt; his shirt, actually, and the main reason he suddenly got hungry to devour you. Your hair is still slightly damp, but he doesn't care as he lifts you up, placing you underneath him on your shared bed, hair falling into his eyes as he pulls the dark grey carharrt shirt over your head, immediately kissing your collarbone, hands kneading your breasts needily as he seems too eager to slow down anytime soon. He grabs your ribs and its as if he doesn't know where to touch- he wants it all, wants to feel it all, all at once, because it drowns out all the bad things he usually does. You're an outlet for his pent up aggression, only that he lets loose differently with you. He's got no hunger to make you suffer, to give you pain or to have you look at him in fear. No, he simply craves the way you writhe underneath him, ready for him, wanting, needing him. Such an angel, such a whore, so needy for his love and affection.

Something he wasn't sure he was capable of.

But he is, and it shows; while he usually moves with his jaw clenched, his brows furrowed, ever so agitated by the simplest of things, his face is calm now, relaxed, eyes however still feral- his gaze enough to make your core ache and your skin tingle. He's chuckling as he moves you around, suddenly impatient as he noticed your panties won't leave your legs as fast as he wants them to. It irritates him to the point where he just rips them as the seams, the fabric now ruined, but neither of you care as his hand instantly finds its way down to cup your heat, ring- and middle finger collecting your slick to bring it upwards to your clit, thumb running in circles over it as you squirm and whine, making him smile.

You're so sweet like this, and he can't help but move your legs, pulling you closer to him in his usual rough manner- he's not capable of being all gentle and sweet, after all. He tries, he really does, but Jungkook is like an overgrown puppy; he doesn't know how much strength he actually has. And it shows, as you squeak, painfully so, as he had gripped your legs a bit too tightly; fingerprints already an angry red on your skin, and he cooes at you, apologizing. "I'm sorry, so sorry.." He hushes against your skin, placing sweet kisses on the pulsing marks on your leg. "can't help it baby.." He muses, and you simply nod your head, hands reaching out for him as he smiles again, kissing your lips, finally.

He's never been fond of the gesture before, not understanding why something as unsanitary as this could be meant to signify any romance at all. But eventually he's gotten to know the intimacy of it, and had decided for himself that he'll never kiss anyone but you in his life. He doesn't want anyone but you anyways. You're his, for now, and forever.

"You're so sweet angel, you know that?"

He humms it against your neck as he finally rids himself of his own clothes, erection hard and proudly waiting to bury itself into your sweet cunt. "Hmm.." He humms again, amusement in his voice as he continues to draw patterns over your sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs. "I still can't believe how I fit inside that pretty body of yours." He says, as you suddenly feel the hot skin of his length against your middle. "Can't believe you can take it so well princess." His hand leaves your core finally, as he slowly enters you, making you mewl as he groans.

He doesn't have much self-restraint, but every time you're together like this, you're both amazed by how much he can control himself. The way he plays you like an expensive instrument makes you hang from his hands like a puppet on its strings. And you love it- the simple fact that he's able to do anything he wants with you, yet he'd never use you just to throw you away. He'd never hurt you. You know this.

He grins as he places his hand over the slight bulge forming underneath your skin where his cock is moving inside you, all warm and swollen, impatient as he can't help but move more vigorously, harder than before, as your body moves along with the beat he's giving you. He's in control, its impossible to lie about that and you don't see any problem with that. Your mind is empty, only pleasure remains as he bites down onto your skin again, hands roaming as if they can't decide where they want to stay; because it's the truth after all. He can't decide what he loves most about you, if your body is whats the most desirable or if its your soul locked inside of it and chained to his own like a prisoner. He gets a kick out of this feeling, out of the way you're speared on his cock like the doll you are, and if he desired to, he could simply snap your bones like those pepero snacks you always eat, and it would be just as sweet as they taste. Yet he doesn't- he's being oh so generous with you, letting you live beside him, keeping you as safe as he could at his side, never to let anything come close to you. You're his.

Jeon Jungkook is sick. But he's also head over heels in love with you.

You don't know what it was this time.

You only know that he's currently in your shared apartment, having returned from Job hunting, and by the sounds of crashing glass, he's probably having another one of those days. You know you should just leave him, but ever so often your own curiosity gets the best of you, and you sit up on the bed, dressed in nothing but a shirt, your panties, and socks to keep your feet warm, since the heating in your apartment broke months ago. You carefully open the bedroom door, peaking around the wood to spot him as he currently kicks his shoes off in an ever so violent manner. He spots you, eyes dark and feral, but this time it's not lust in them. "Get back inside." He barks out, and you know why he does it.

He wants to keep you safe.

Against all odds he knows what he is. He knows he's sick, knows he's a danger to himself and others, and that's why he's always telling you to stay away from him whenever his anger is boiling over like this. It's his way of keeping you safe, keeping you protected and you know better than to go against his own judgement. He knows himself best, after all.

Only as you can hear him hiss in pain do you go against him.

As the apartment grows quiet, you slowly step outside the room again, eyes searching for the form of your boyfriend, before finally spotting him near the kitchen table, one hand on it, while the other is held close to his chest. You can see blood on the white cracked tiled floor close to him, and you immediately grow worried for him. You slowly creep inside the bathroom, retrieving some stuff from the first aid kit, as you walk back outside, spotting him on the couch now. "..kookie?" You carefully ask, wary of any signs of his body that he's not yet down to earth yet. But he doesn't move at all. You slowly walk around the couch, squatting down in front of him as your hands carefully reach out for his inked arm, and he lets you, his eyes eerily not looking at anything at all. You hiss a bit and sit down on his lap as he doesn't argue with you, almost delicately treating his wounded skin. He's probably somehow cut himself on the broken glass from the photo frame he broke. He seems awfully exhausted, which isn't a new sight to you. He usually is after a day like that.

"We're gonna loose the apartment." He says darkly, yet you don't stop what you're doing, simply humming an acknowledgement at him, while you don't look up at him. "Are you even listening?!" He suddenly barks out, grabbing your wrists as you look at him; not in fear however. You simply wait for him, like you always do, until he suddenly looks down onto his hands, letting go of your now red wrists with a look on his face like his favorite puppy has just been killed. "They simply said because of my criminal record they can't employ me-" He began, already getting riled up again as you kissed his cheek to distract him before he could slip again. With you situated on his lap like that, it could prove fatal.

"I'm gonna get a job, from home maybe. We'll figure things out." You softly say, and he doesn't seem like he quite believes you. He doesn't need to, at least not yet. It takes time, but you'll take yourself the time you need, even if its someone else's. Its not like he ever really cared about whats who's after all. "I still love you, you know?" You say, and that's when he breaks.

For the first time in those years you know him, he falls to the ground, crashes onto concrete with full force, and it wrecks through his entire body as he pulls you close, sobbing into your neck as he hiccups and chokes on his emotions, his hug painfully tight, but you don't complain. You're too shocked by his state to react much, other than running a hand over his back in a hopefully soothing manner. He doesn't stop for a moment, and you don't have a good feeling for time, so you cant tell how long you both sit like this, until he's finally exhausted to the point of simple slumping down, asleep as his body finally gives up. You carefully stand up, letting him somehow softly fall to his side as you struggle to pull his legs up to properly lay o the couch. Walking into the bedroom you retrieve blankets for him and yourself, as you crawl underneath his arm to lay against his chest, underneath the blankets, as you try and think of a way to help him.

You can't get a job. Not only because he won't let you, but because you get sick too easily. You're not allowed by doctors advice to work in any field that requires direct customer contact- and sadly that's all your educational level would allow you to work in. It never bothered Jungkook however, if anything he welcomed it as a good reason for you to stay at home, and at his side at all times. For him however, there were different reasons he didn't have a job. He couldn't keep one, with his short temper making him unfit for any job that required him to handle other people. He was a bomb ready to explode any moment at all times, and it was hard for him to land a job at any interview he somehow got. And nowadays, as word got around, no one simply wanted to employ him; stories of him going off at complaints and always being ready to throw hands made him the talk of the town in terms of who to look out for. He also had a criminal record- which didn't make the situation any easier.

Jeon Jungkook is sick. And it's a serious issue.

You somehow made it another month concerning rent.

With you selling some clothing you made yourself for a reasonable price, you somehow had at least a bit of an income, yet Jungkook didn't really seem like himself these days. He didn't leave the apartment much, and seemed much more grim to everything around him. You somehow thought that maybe he was just in a bad mood- but it seemed like this time things were a bit more serious than that.

"Princess?" He calls, as you rub your hand over the side of your neck, having laid on the couch weirdly as you had been taking a nap recently. You perked up at his call, walking out of the open kitchen to meet his gaze in the living room, his eyes serious as he pats his thighs; an invitation for you to sit down. He likes having you seated on his lap like this; it makes him feel all comfortable, knowing that you're so close to him. "I.." He starts, and visibly struggles with finding the right words for what he wants to say. "I want to get therapy." He states, and its quiet for a moment. You need to process his words for a second, as he never spoke about his issues like this. You never really thought about this option at all, and it makes you feel bad, deep inside, as you now realize that this was something you should've thought about as well, from the start on maybe. But you never wanted him to change for you; making you kick yourself in your thoughts. It never occurred to you that he wasn't changing for you, he didn't need to change for you, he needed to change for himself as well. You simply started to smile, and your arms snaked around his neck as he breathed in your scent, happy that you take this so well. He had struggled with the acceptance of it for a long time, and with you at his side, he knows he can somehow maybe change.

Even if its just a bit.

"I want to be a better man. For me, and mostly for you." He starts, and you attempt to speak, but he smiles, and kisses you instead, successfully shutting you up. "Don't say I don't need to. We know I do." He explains, and you nod. You're curious on why he suddenly realized it, but you decide not to dig too deep, as he currently seems vulnerable enough to you. So you simply let him hold you like this, quietly, calmly, while outside the thunderstorm continues, rain hitting the windows with as much force as the wind sees fit. Its ironic, really. Typically the situation is the opposite.

But somehow it feels like everything is changing, right in that moment. Just a few words have been spoken, but the ones that did make it out were a promise, a vow, a sentence of hope to finally get a hold on the future you both had dreamed about before, tangled in sheets and each others limbs. He's always said he wanted a family, as cheesy as it sounded to him back then, and then he'd laughed about it as if it was a joke. It somehow was, at least during that time it was; how could he be a better father than his if he was just the same? He didn't want his story to take a turn like that, to end up hurting you in the process of his own selfishness just to get what he wanted. No, he wanted something different in his life; he wanted his children to look up to him as a person they could be in awe of not because they were scared, but because they were proud to have them.

Jeon Jungkook is sick. But he's also finally realizing it.

Therapy never goes smoothly from A to point B. It's never a smooth ride, never a straight line connecting the start to the goal. And Jungkook is feeling that as he walks through the door, fuming after an in his eyes pointless session with his therapist. Why the fuck would they want to know about his childhood? That's his business and his own only, it doesn't concern anyone other than himself. Hell, he never even talked to you about it- and he sure as hell won't start chatting away with a stranger like this. He can't control himself as his fist connects with the wall next to the door, drywall cracking underneath the force as you stand in the middle of the living room, looking at him like a deer caught in the headlights. He's disappointed in himself in that moment; he was supposed to get better. He was supposed to have himself in check by now, it was supposed to end; yet here he is, just the same as a month before he started. You try and walk towards him, and he's ready to tell you to turn around and leave him alone, but he doesn't. For some reason, this is not pure anger he's feeling.

It's frustration.

And it leads to his eyes watering, as he lets you hold him close, your warm palms running over his back as best as you can with the height difference, and he simply lets his forehead rest on your shoulder, breathing while you softly count next to his ear. He concentrates and lets go of his emotions all at once, taking his time to feel them before he opens his mind up to letting them go. It sounded stupid to him when he was told that this could help him, but now that he's doing it, he gets why its being taught. It helps. Its like a bandaid being taken off after your cut has heeled. It hurts a bit as its being taken off, but the fresh air on the newly connected skin feels so good that the short sting before is more than worth it.

He sniffles, and you giggle, making him chuckle as well, as he runs a hand over your head, a silent sign that he's okay now. "Try again next week. You're doing so great now, Kookie." You say, and its this small encouragmenent that makes him grin brightly.

Because as you both stand in the kitchen, making homemade pizza for the first time in ages, he feels at ease with his surroundings. He calms down rather quickly even though some things don't go as planned, and laughs more freely at his own mistakes as you smile brightly at him. Sometimes you feel like crying, seeing him change like this, but you're strong enough to hold it in until he leaves during the day. You're still unsure how the future will be changing, still a lot unknown to the both of you, but for now, you'll continue to keep each others heads above the waves with your sewing, while he does his best at getting better. You know he can make it, you're certain he can, and will.

Because Jungkook is sick. But he's finally getting help.

You don't know what has happened when he bursts through the door, uncaring to either take off his shoes nor to close it behind him, as he picks you up, spins you around, grinning so much his eyes crinkle at their sides, and you laugh, even though you don't know why he's so happy. "I got a job! Baby, I finally got a job!" He yells, screams almost, and it makes your eyes water; not because he's taking a huge weight off your shoulder, but because this has been one of his biggest goals ever since he started this journey of getting help. He's so happy about it that this time you can't keep it in, you can't stop the tears as they flow out, making you hiccup and wheep into his shoulder as you struggle to get your words out. "Baby- Princess, hey hey-" He says, setting you down as his hands wipe away at your eyes, the letter confirming his acceptance still in his left hand as he worriedly looks at you. "Why are you crying angel? hm?" He cooes, admittedly a bit amused, because he can imagine what's happening.

"I'm so happy!" You squeeze out, before another wave hits you, and he kneels down, holding you tightly again, as he doesn't let go of you, his love for you overflowing inside his veins as it fills his entire body. He's so thankful for your existence in his life, and he will never be truly able to properly tell you that. It's impossible to put it into his words how much he appreciates you staying at his side through this entire endeavor. Every time he's asked why he does this, his answer is always your name on his lips, always spoken with a slight smile, nowadays a bright grin he's not ashamed showing.

You don't let him go until he chuckles. "Will you let me close the door at least?" He asks amused, as he feels the slightly cool breeze coming inside from the complex' hallway. You disconnect yourself from him for a moment, wiping your eyes with your sleeve as he closes the door, finally taking off his shoes at last, as he walks back, running towards you with a playful growl that makes you laugh as you try and run away from him. But he catches you easily, carrying you over his shoulder into the bedroom, where he bites and licks at your neck, hands pinching your sides making you squirm around and laugh, desperately trying to get away from him. He'll never let you, and you know this, so its unsurprising that he's suddenly pulling your sweater over your head, needing to be close to you. It's cold inside the apartment, and you shiver as the almost icy air around you nips at your skin. "Can't wait until we can use the heating again.." He murmurs against your skin as he shifts around a bit, carefully undressing himself before he crawls underneath the heavy covers with you. "then you can flaunt around in your pretty underwear all day without getting cold." He chuckles, as you hit his chest playfully at the remark. "What? Its always so cold I never get to see you in it." He whines, as he reaches between your legs, inked hand easily working you up as you squirm around. "I never get to see your pretty body properly because we have to hide away like this." He complains, and you simply whine at him, as he suddenly enters you. "For now I'll just warm you up like this, hm?" He humms out, and you nod, not really understanding what you're agreeing to, but you do it anyways.

He's awfully slow and soft, you notice, as he' way more collected as usual. "I love this." He suddenly presses out, eyes closed in bliss as he kisses the side if your neck, trailing down to nip at your collarbone, while his hands find yours, intertwining your fingers in a gesture you can only describe as awfully romantic. "I love being able to make love to you." He explains, as you open your eyes a bit, meeting his as he watches you underneath him. "Though I think you don't mind me being a bit rough with you, no?" He playfully suggests, and your cheeks grow a bit red at that, before he laughs, head dipping down to properly kiss your lips, tongue instantly searching for entrance as he doesn't pick up the pace. "Can't wait until you're all round with my baby." He suddenly suggests, and your eyes open wide as you open your mouth to correct him, but you shut up as his eyes meet yours, determination in them as he suddenly grabs the behind of your thighs, positioning them a bit differently to hit even deeper. "I know, I know-" He chants, as he picks up his pace. "I don't care." He presses out between his own heavy breaths. "I'll just-" He begins, loving the way you mewl under his touch, "I'll just fuck you over and over again until it works." He promises, and you simply nod, unable to deny him. The chances you'll ever conceive are slim- but as he states, never zero. "I'll just- I'll just fill you up until your body can't help but give me a child." He muses, as you start to clench. And he knows, notices, how much this idea is just as enticing to you as it is to him. "You gonna cum? Hm?" He asks, and you nod vigorously before you arch your back off the mattress, making him groan as he shoots his load as well, the visual image of your pleasure underneath him combined with the way you clench his aching length inside granting him his release as well.

As you lay on your sides, all snuggled up underneath the covers after cleaning up, he kisses your bare shoulder, eyes closed. "I mean it, you know." He says, and you humm a reply, before he explains further. "I want a family with you. Someday. When I'm ready." He says, and you nod. You'll somehow make it work, you know this. If he can overcome his demons, you can overcome your own cursed body as well. You deeply hope, at least.

Because Jeon Jungkook is sick, but he's starting to see a future.

"Jeon!" His coworker yells in the big hall he's working in. "Why, pray tell, did you never tell us your girl is that fucking pretty, aye?" He barks in a playful manner, as you walk inside beside the old man, carrying a small plastic bag with what he assumes is a lunchbox. The view of you next to that man stirs something inside him, as he slowly gets up, wrench still in his hand, brows furrowed.

"Because your filthy hands should stay six feet away from her." He responds, with his brows still furrowed, before he finally sneezes.

"Bless you, hah! I'll let you have your break earlier-" The old man winks at you, then gives Jungkook a firm hit against the chest, taking the wrench away from him. "But only because she's cute!" He laughs, as he walks into the hall, Jungkook now walking towards you.

You're proud of him.

Months ago, this would've never been possible; neither the simple fact that he had a job, nor the small incident with his coworker just now. He still got easily irritated, but he worked through these emotions way more easy nowadays. His coworkers and boss know of his past, know what he was like and know that he's still deep in therapy, but they don't judge. They simply accept him, tame him back into his cage whenever he's close to boiling over again. You love the fact that you can walk inside the breakroom with him, eyes sparkling with newfound childish playfulness as he peaks inside the bag you brought him. He's still very careful with you leaving the house, but its not anymore just for his own gain- he's more open to his surroundings, he's starting to think about how he and his actions can affect others. He doesn't care much still; but he's realized that pretending is enough for now. Small steps.

"The handyman was there today." You say, as you watch him dig into the fried rice you brought him, his interest now gained. "They turned on the heating again. Can you imagine? I didn't even know we had floorboard heating!" You exclaimed excitedly, and Jungkooks eyes widen as well.

"Really? I didn't know either. Fuck, can't wait to come home now." He says, swallowing his bite before taking a sip of his canned soda. "Did that label contact you yet?" He asks, and you shake your head. Recently, you had gained the interest of a bigger clothing label, who wanted to collaborate with you for this season's designs. "Ah, that takes time I guess. We'll wait, its fine." You know he's not only saying that for you, but himself as well. He still gets agitated over small things, but he deals with them a bit more easily. "I'll be home in a couple hours. Do you wanna wait here, or go home?" He asks, and you stand up, packing his now empty food container as you smile.

"I'll take the bus, don't worry." You say, and he furrows his brows playfully.

"Mask?" He asks, and you hold it up proudly, well aware of the precautions you need to take to make public transport safe for you.

"Good girl. Text me when you're home yeah? I'll get us takeout for dinner." He says, as he kisses the top of your head. You nod, and wave him goodbye as you two go separate ways, at least for now, until he's finally free of work.

Jeon Jungkook is sick.

But he's slowly healing.

[la-fille-en-aiguilles]

The Only Living Thing

Billy Russo x Female Reader

Warnings: Language.

Synopsis: You’ve been friends with BIlly Russo for as long as you can remember. Then, on that one night in New York, feelings get mixed up with the liquor that burns and everything spins out of control. So much for being the only living thing that Billy Russo has ever cared about... Or is it?  A/N: This just sort of happened. I may be writing more if you guys want, I think I can definitely take this further? I have a pretty hectic schedule but I might make it happen x

Song : Adam French - The Only Living Thing

New York, November 2019. 
 

Breathtaking. 


You are breathtaking, like the most beautiful view from atop the mountain or his biggest fear coming alive under his stare. 
 You’re a mix of excitement and terror, and you are enchanting enough to keep him on the tips of his toes, second-guessing everything, his every decision and every word... 

You are meant to leave him wanting more.

The night New York has never looked so good on a woman before.

Billy’s vision goes blurry for a second, his stomach hot and heavy.

You are glowing.

You radiate a kind of a warm sepia glow, so beautiful and genuine and so fucking effortlessy...

Smooth and unapologetic.
 


Messy strands of hair framing your face, your blushing cheeks, as you laugh your heart out, throwing your head back. Your pearl teeth flash in the dimness of the bar. Your thin black tights are torn at the thighs, your lips are red and irritated as you sink your teeth in, again and again.

Your laugh is flamboyant, intoxicating. Raw.

You are something else...

When suddenly, you see him, your black eyelashes fluttering as you wink at him. Billy’s chest feels too wide, too fragile and too hot. Do you see those unspoken words shining out of his drunken eyes?

When you make your way to him through the crowd, he’s paralyzed, afraid to move forward, afraid to scare you off, but mostly, afraid to let everyone see how desperate he is for your touch.

This is wrong, so fucking wrong, but why in hell when you come over, throwing your elegant arms around his neck, your cute perky nose touching his chest - it feels so. fucking. right?! Like you were custom-made for each other?...

Before he can stop himself, he slides an arm around your waist. You say something to him, something funny, for everyone around him snorts and chuckles, but his mind, his entire world - suddenly comes down to that spot just below his cheekbone where you plant a soft peck of your velvet pouty lips.

“Those twenty bucks we bet on? I win,” you half laugh, half exhale in his ear, your lips brushing against the lobe. “Madani is fucking obsessed with you”.

“Ah,” Billy smiles, both of his hands snaking around your waist now as he looks down at you.

...And I am fucking obsessed with us.

“And you just enjoy rubbing us - this! in her face right now, aren’t you?” he mutters instead, his temples buzzing with the gin and tonic he has been downing all night. 

God, he hopes you’re too buzzed to have noticed his slip of fucking epic proportions.

He promised himself he wouldn’t drink, not with you still around - because whatever it was that he felt for you mixed with liquid that burned equaled a very bad outcome. 

He might be well into the tipsy territory by now but Billy isn’t delusional. The chances that you would go back to his place or even kiss him back are entirely too slim.

Because friends don’t do friends.

Friends might as well become a new f-word for all Billy cares at this point.

When you throw your head back in an explosive laugh, Billy’s distracted. He gets an extensive view of your elegant neck, your delicate collarbones, but mostly - of the swell of your mouthwatering breasts, as your black silk top tightens over them. 

Fuuuuck him.

“Fuck you, Russo”, you echo his thoughts somehow as you wink at him once you’ve restored your breath, not stepping away from his embrace, however, letting him keep his hands on you. 

It’s always like this between the two of you. You’ve known each other for a while now - four, five years? After Billy bumped into you at a brunch at Liebermans’ and spilled his frappuccino all over your gorgeous rack. He wasn’t even going to come - but boy, was he glad he did - even though you wasted no time opening that sassy mouth of yours and verbally eviscerating him.

This wasn’t a love at first sight. 
 For you, at least.

“At least buy me a dinner first,” Billy barely manages, his vision a tad blurry.

He notices you giving him an unimpressed stare. Feeling stupid all at once, Billy blinks quickly and lets go of your waist...

Only to tremble on his feet and almost fall on his face.

“Heyyy,” he registers your breath on his cheek before he hears what you’re saying, your small hands holding him in place. Your touch burns through the fabric of his button down shirt as your palms slide up his sides to his shoulders. “You okay there, Russo?”

Billy squirms, chomping on his bottom lip as he grabs you by your elbows.

‘’M fine”, he says quietly, but doesn’t let go. When he lowers his stare to meet your eyes, he almost wants to cry. There’s concern in their bottomless depths, worry for him and desire to make it all better. He just wishes there was more heat there, and less of that f-word that ends with -riends.

“You don’t look fine, lover,” you retort, wiggling and pushing and pulling onto him until you’re snug under his arms and carrying his dead weight to the exit. “Let’s go get some fresh air, come on.”

Billy utters something half-heartedly, his head feeling like it’s filled with cotton. He didn’t even drink that much, as least he doesn’t think so. Must be your fucking intoxicating perfume, sweet but voluptuous and so fucking tempting...

Pure sin. 


Even drunk out of his fucking mind, he’s still the envy of every guy at that bar because he’s with a stunning, breathtaking, prettiest woman in the whole damn world that is you.

“If you were able to stand right now, that line might have gotten you laid,” you inform him with a laugh, basically carrying him to the exit on your shoulders.

Through the drunken haze, Billy realises he might have spoken those words out loud, but the terror is quickly replaced by...

“Are you shitting me?” He slurs, trying to stay vertical. “Are you saying you want me?”

By the time the words escape his mouth, you have pushed the exit door wide open and nudged him to step out. Losing his balance, Billy crashes into Frank, Stein and Madani, smoking outside.
 Dina’s eyes flash mischievously as you step out of the bar, immediately throwing your arms around Billy protectively, helping him to steady himself.

“Oh, so it’s common knowledge now, then?” Dina ventures, licking her lips bloodthirstily, her eyes never quitting yours. “You’ve finally admitted you want to drag that fine Caspian ass in your bed?”

The running joke aimed at Billy looking like a Disney prince feels out of place; all conversation is silenced out as you narrow your eyes at Madani, your grip around Billy’s waist instantly becoming tighter. Frank clears his throat in an attempt to defuse the awkwardness, but doesn’t intervene.

And Billy is... well, happy. Over the moon, actually, and still drunk off his ass.

Apparently, you have been wanting to drag his ass into your bed for a while now!

That does mean you see him more than a friend, right? 

What if... What if all this time you were just as hung up on him as he was on you, but neither of you had the balls to say anything?

In his picture perfect drunken world, Madani makes sense and his heart sings.

You want him.

If it were a Disney cartoon, animals would be singing and dancing around praising your couple. 

Frankie would have probably made a sick unicorn.

“Oh Dina”, suddenly your voice cuts right through Billy’s happy fantasy, and there’s way too much sass in that voice for it to belong to a Disney princess. “Just because your friend Sam here and your own desperate fan-girling ass carry a boner for some fucked up teenage fantasy that involves boinking Prince Caspian, doesn’t mean all women have that same one-track mind. Some of us can actually look past a dick and see a friend. So why don’t you lay off that Cosmopolitan and fuck off, vodka-cranberry sure ain’t making you brighter”.

Billy frowns, deep lines creasing his forehead.

Frank snorts with laughter, not even bothering to conceal his reaction. 
 
 You hold Dina’s hateful stare.

“Whatever, bitch” the latter one finally utters, throwing her cigarette away. “I never fucking liked you. Maybe after this your little fanboy here will see you for what you really are - a fucking coward and a tosser”, Billy’s stares at her in disbelief, his mind still foggy. Madani’s dark eyes flash dangerously in his direction. “Of all women, Russo... Karma is a bitch, isn’t she? Your little princess here only loves herself, lover. Get out while you fucking can”.

Smashing her shoulder into yours, Madani goes back into the bar, leaving equally dreary and awkward silence behind.

“What the fuck was that all about?” Frank isn’t laughing anymore as he folds his hands on his chest, giving you a questioning eye. 

You roll your eyes dismissively. 

“Well, she’s obviously shit-faced,” you shrug, sliding your hands off of Billy. “What, you’re surprised she hates me?”

It’s a whole another world there, in Billy’s head. Have you just distanced yourself from him after what Madani said? What, you thought he’s so drunk he wouldn’t fucking notice?

“...so just because I have basic restraint and actually appreciate a man as a friend, I’m a damaged bitch with a twisted sense of humour? Look, I don’t know, Frank”, you rub your eyes tiredly with the back of your hand.

“I do,” Billy suddenly chimes in hoarsely, his eyes bloodshot and dark, darker than usual, as they narrow at you. “Know. I know.” Billy stutters, then takes a deep breath. “That’s all I am to you then, sweetheart? A friend?”

Billy wavers a bit as he speaks, but his words are deadly. Your eyes pop wide open at his words, like Russo has just grown a penis on his forehead. Frank’s mouth forms a silent O.

And just like that, the tension is back.

“Well, of course you are my friend,” you say slowly, stretching out your hand in an attempt to grasp Billy’s wrist. Your eyes are searching his face, but he’s locked, like a goddamn prison cell. “You’re my friend and I love you”.

Wrong answer, if Billy’s expression is anything to judge by as he recoils  from your touch. His face is a mix of disappointment and anger, his lips a thin line as he turns away.

“Fucking idiot,” he mutters under his breath as he turns on his heels and makes a tentative step towards the bar. Only his body is ruled by gin and whatever shit he chased it with, so his feet get mixed up together. Billy trips over his own shoes. 

“Hey, easy there, tiger”, Frank, who’s been standing closer, grips Billy by his arm to help him keep his balance. “What’s gotten into you, man?”

Billy chuckles, throwing his head back, and that has got to be the most bitter sound you have ever heard. You shudder involuntary, watching Russo like a hawk.

“I would have given you the fucking world, you know that?” Billy stares you dead in the eye, grabbing the door handle in front of him. “You just keep fucking with my head like a fucking sadist, and I live by the shit you give me!” you blanch as Billy goes on with the program, hurt dripping from his mouth. “Must have always thought that should be some spectacular pussy you’ve been packing, totally worth all your shit”.

“Bill!” Frank calls him out sharply, his expression terrified. 

But the damage is done. 


Your eyes are brimming with tears, but you stay silent, unblinking. Your chest seems a little caved-in, but you hold your chin high as your trembling lips start to move.

“Fuck you, Russo”, you spit, “Fuck you, friend”.

The next thing he knows, Billy explodes in a fit of bitter laughter - even though all he wants to do is fucking cry.

This just goes to fucking show there’s no such thing as Disney fairytale in real life, is there?

“Oh don’t worry, friend, somebody will,” he promises you, swinging the door to the bar wide open. “Gonna go help Madani fulfil her teenage fantasy. While you can stay here, think about us fucking like rabbits and feel better about yourself”.

With those words thrown over his shoulder, he steps into the crowded bar, the sound of the door shutting behind him sounding final. 

Plot twist. Curtain falls.

Frank can’t even venture a look at you - he doesn’t even hear you breathing.

“He’s just piss off drunk, that’s it. He doesn’t mean it,” Castle attempts to do some damage control, even though he knows that that ship has most definitely sailed.

“Thanks, Frank,” he hears you say quietly, and as he raises his eyes, he catches the sight of you wiping your cheeks quickly.

You inhale slowly, closing your eyes and fisting your hands.

“Tell Karen and the guys I wasn’t feeling so hot, okay?” you ask, and there’s definitely pleading in your voice.

You never plead.

Before Frank can ever mutter anything about Karen having his head if he lets you walk away at night all alone, you wave at him dismissively. 

“I’ll see you”, you say as you collect your hair in a ponytail and walk off, your silhouette soon lost in the bustling New York night.

[smolvexx]

🌼Flowery embrace🌼

Jimmy didn't think much of the cakes.

He just wanted to stay out of trouble and have as many alliances as possible.

When he got to the alps however, the area there compelled him.

The flowers, they were poppies, he was quite fond of them. He wasn't sure why, but then again, why would anyone need an explanation about liking something as harmless and fragile as a flower?

There was another feeling that overflowed him at the sight of these lovely builds.

He decided to ignore it however, it didn't feel like a positive one and therefore it was unwanted.

Scott didn't want the cake.

He didn't want the pufferfish.

He didn't want anything to do with the man covered with the green slimy substance.

He didn't know why but he absolutely despised the male with the odd cod head.

Everything about him just set Scott off, he didn't like it one bit.

The elven man scoffed at the first attempt at befriending. The odd swamp man had baked him a cake. A cake. Something so simple wouldn't be able to win over any good empire, did this absolute idiot of a man think rifts can be resolved by a baked treat? Imbecile.

And yet, Scott couldn't bring himself to throw it away. He had tried, really tried. But his body just wouldn't let him. Something in his head was giving him a weird reaction and he hated it. He hated it because he couldn't put a finger on it.

He hated it because he kept it.

He hated the odd swamp man.

_-=-__-=-__-=-__-=-__-=-__-=-__-=-__-=-__-=-_

Jimmy didn't think much of the cake, the one he got no response for.

He just wanted to stay out of trouble and have as many alliances as possible, although for this one, he'd go the extra mile.

Second time Jimmy visited the snowy lands was when he brought the cyanette a pufferfish.

The elf man seemed to be the only one who didn't give the Cod father a reply, so he couldn't help but wonder if the wealthy emperor had somehow disliked him.

He didn't mean any harm with the cake so he thought that by going out of his way to find a pufferfish, get poisened and somehow manage to misspell it, maybe the pointy-eared creature would give him a chance.

At least a response at the minimum.

This time Jimmy noticed a different thing about the high in the sky empire.

It was cold.

So cold.

Jimmy didn't know how he didn't notice it last time, but knowing himself he was probably too distracted by something.

Something like flowers.

The slimy man was used to warmer, more humid climate, so the cold breeze here and there almost left him unable to breathe.

That didn't matter to Jimmy though, he was bringing a present, although a misspelled one, it was at least something.

After leaving the poisonous fish in an item frame, he was debating sticking around a little longer.

Thinking back, he's never actually met the elf emperor, and to be blunt, he was quite curious.

In the end he didn't have the guts to face him.

He didn't know why but his body tensed at the thought of seeing the cyanette again-

Again? He's never met him before, what is he thinking?

Silly Jim.

Scott didn't want the cake that was made with lots of love probably.

He didn't want the pufferfish that was stupidly misspelled as 'Pufferish of Peace'.

He didn't want anything to do with the blond who lived down by the dirty waters.

Scott didn't like him one bit and it wasn't because of the familiar feeling he felt towards the man without even meeting him once.

The fish that the cod head left above his doorway almost ripped a laugh out of him, something about it made fondness visible on the usually composed cyanette.

He hated it.

Who was this man and who does he think he is?

Scott's never met him before, he was sure, so why was he feeling this way?

The pointy-eared man sat down in frustration, rubbing his template with his right hand.

His right hand.. The one with the ring?

Scott didn't think about the ring much before, he thought it was just another family heirloom.

It was made out of gold, flowers embedded in it.

Looking at it this moment though... That left a different feeling.

A feeling of confusion and guilt.

He would never admit it though.

_-=-__-=-__-=-__-=-__-=-__-=-__-=-__-=-__-=-_

Five minutes ago Jimmy had tried to do some parkour in a cave, above lava.

He fell and lost all his stuff in said lava.

He was lucky he didn't have his most valuable items on him, but still he lost quite a lot.

Now he was running in the night trying to find at least some of his stuff.

As unlucky as he was, it was no surprise to him that a creeper had spawned near some of his survived stuff.

He tried to make a run for it but ultimately got blown up in the process.

As an instinct upon death, he grabbed his necklace, or more specifically, the ring attached to it.

Gold, with flowers.

He didn't know why he did it, but that was always his reaction at death or near death experiences.

When he woke up in his bed, he was more panicked than usual.

Oh no, i didn't mean it, i didn't mean to kill them too- Kill who?

The blonde was starting to have a panic attack, for no good reasons really.

His body just reacted.

I'm sorry Sco- Sorry for what? Jim c'mon what're you doing?

Why are you so upset?

What happened?

Why can't i remember???

His body ached for the embrace of his husband-

Husband? He didn't have a husband. That ring was just a treasure he found, right? Yeah, yeah that's right.

Jimmy's eyes started swelling up with tears.

He was scared.

He didn't know what was going on or why his body was reacting the way it was, he just wanted it to stop.

He wanted the embrace of flowers.

Scott had been working on a few pathways when he saw the first message pop up.

Solidarity tried to swim in lava

The elven emperor got shivers down his spine at that.

He didn't know why, and frankly he didn't want to look too into it.

It took all his willpower to not go over to the odd swamp man right now and check up on him.

Scott hated that.

Why was he so weak for the odd swamp man?

He's never met him before, so why should he care?

Though at the second message, only a few moments later, Scott didn't get to choose his reaction.

His body responded for him.

Solidarity got blown up by a Creeper

The cyanette cought his breath.

His body froze and all the used to be beautiful poppies across his land, were now bitting at his feet.

Those beautiful, beautiful flowers Jimmy lived so much-

Jimmy...

Oh god no.

No.

No no.

NO.

Please, please don't be red, i can't loose you again I-

Scott's mind was racing with thousands of thoughts and he couldn't hear a single one anymore.

His slim body started moving on its own, the elf unsure of where he was headed.

Eyes burning from the tears that want to form.

No.

He won't let himself cry.

He is a future leader after all.

He will not go down to that level.

He doesn't have the luxury of showing weaknesses.

_-=-__-=-__-=-__-=-__-=-__-=-__-=-__-=-__-=-_

Jimmy was curled up in a ball on his bed.

Hugging himself to attempt and replicate the soft embrace of color he once knew.

He was crying.

Scott was-

At a door?

In a swamp?

Wha- I-

He couldn't control his body as he force opened the door to the small cabin floating above the water.

The image in front of him broke him.

Every inch, every cell of his body was screaming.

He didn't know why but he suddenly felt very protective over the broken man in from of him.

Scott didn't understand it.

Scott could only let himself be overcome with all the emotions he's been holding in.

The guilt - for letting his husband die.

The sadness - at the first loss of his beloved.

The sheer anger - that the man in front of him had to be going through such a thing again, heck had to go through it even once.

And relief - that his used-to-be-husband-and-maybe-still-is is not red.

He's still here.

Not decaying.

_-=-__-=-__-=-__-=-__-=__-=-__-=-__-=-__-=-_

Jimmy soon felt the embrace of flowers once more.

And a soft "I'm here" before his breath started calming down.

[wingsofanillyrian]

Lights Over Monaco: Chapter 1

ITS HERE! I plan on updating this weekly/biweekly, based on how busy I am. Let me know if you wanna be added to the tag list! 

Special thank you to my new F1 friend for inspiring this fic as well as being my beta reader, @acourtofcouture​ ! F1 fans out there, her fics are AMAZING

Chapter Masterlist

F1 Glossary

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

Nesta Archeron discovered Formula 1 when she was 9 years old. She woke before the sun one Sunday morning, quietly excited to have the television all to herself and watch whatever cartoons she wanted. But she couldn’t remember what channel they were on, instead flipping through the programs. She had almost given up when she stumbled across a race.

The moment she had seen the brightly colored open-wheeled cars flash across the screen, she paused. For whatever reason, the high pitched wasp-like scream of the twelve cylinder engines and the astonishing speed that the drivers were travelling enthralled young Nesta. She didn’t look away once for the rest of the race, or even for the post-race interviews and wrap up that most adults skipped. Something about it had her adrenaline pumping.

Nesta traded her dolls for matchbox cars, and when she grew older, picked up racing magazines instead of teen ones. Ever since that day, Formula 1 consumed her. No matter how the other kids or her two younger sisters teased her for it, her love for the sport never tarnished. 

She spent years getting up at 2 am to watch live races that were being held halfway around the world. Instead of going to her senior prom, Nesta stayed home and layed out her predictions for the season’s drivers and constructors championships. She didn’t know how to do anything half-ass. She poured her whole heart into the sport and devoted her life to it.

**********

Nesta spent her 24th birthday working. It wasn’t like she could request the day off, not that it mattered. The racetrack at Monaco was exactly where she would have been anyway, working or not.

A press pass got her through the first security checkpoint. The team tents loomed ahead as she waited for personnel to cross the unstriped asphalt, inching her car carefully through the throngs of people. She rolled her window down, soaking in the sound of air tools and snippets of conversations. 

Street tracks like Monaco were her favorite. They required drivers to push themselves with plenty of technical corners and dramatic incidents. There was less room for error, as the tracks themselves were not as wide. Drivers had to know their limits and follow the racing line closely.

Race tracks were Nesta’s comfort zone. She knew each track on the calendar like the back of her hand. Every turn was permanently etched in her mind like words on a tombstone. Race weekends followed a set schedule, something that she could appreciate. Friday: practice laps. Saturday: more practice, followed by qualifying, where each driver got the chance to set the fastest lap and secure a spot in the starting line up for the main event on Sunday.

Before she had graduated college, Nesta had managed to fully entrench herself in the world of Formula 1. Securing an internship at ESPN her sophomore year, she had made herself indispensable to the crusty old man that had been the senior track side reporter for decades. She studied everything he did and the questions he asked each driver, noting what changes she would have made. Somehow, he came to admire her spirit and taught her the tricks of the trade.

When he retired the year after Nesta graduated, he went to the board of directors and personally recommended her to fill his spot. She waited two agonizing days for their decision. 

Using whatever means necessary, Nesta had clawed her way to the top and cemented her reputation as the most cutthroat reporter in the industry. Her goal had been for everyone in motorsport to know her name, and in only two years, she had done so. Better yet, she had caught the eye of one of the fastest drivers on the grid.

Her phone rang just as she pulled into the press parking area. She answered, not bothering to check the caller ID. “Hello?”

Tomas’ velvety voice thundered through the speakers of her Civic. “Hey baby. You here yet?”

“Just pulled in,” She replied, touching up her makeup in the rearview. 

“Right on time for a quickie. Meet me at my trailer in five.”

Tomas had already hung up before she had the chance to protest. Both their reputations hinged on their relationship staying secret. If the press caught wind that she was fucking a driver, her credibility would go out the window, and Tomas would be the laughing stock of the grid. So sneaking into his trailer wasn’t exactly the type of discreet she was aiming for.

Tomas Mandray had been racing for Red Bull for two years when she had scored her first exclusive interview with him. He had just been awarded pole position at the Spanish Grand Prix in Barcelona, and Nesta had sweet talked her way into the paddock. It had taken minutes for his charming blue eyes to enchant her. He had won that race, and taken her to bed straight after. 

The sex was great, but that’s all it ever was. Their relationship was purely based on the physical; nothing emotional on either end. They had agreed on that from the start. Just sex.

Unfortunately for Nesta, somewhere along the way it had become something more.

Sighing, she put on her oversized sunglasses and hid her tawny hair under a gauzy scarf. The fashion wouldn’t stand out at all amongst the celebrities that frequented the Monaco Grand Prix. Going over the top here was expected; Monaco was known for its money. Due to the lack of income tax, Monaco was a haven for white collar delinquents and royalty alike. Lamborghini’s and Ferrari’s were commonplace, and women wore rings that could set a jewel thief up for life. 

No one bothered her as she strode towards the pit checkpoint, flashing her press badge to get by. She fell into her usual cadence, exuding an air of importance and invincibility. Seemingly without realizing, people moved out of her way when they saw her coming. The navy, red, and yellow of the Redbull tent came into view, and Nesta inserted herself into the crowd of mechanics and VIPs to get past security. Press wasn’t allowed in the area until after the race.

Nesta broke away once inside, heading down a back corridor. She knew the layout by heart, having walked the path many times. The door at the end of the hall led outside to Tomas’ private trailer. She didn’t bother to knock before entering. Tomas would already be waiting for her.

He set down his phone as she entered. “Finally,” He said with a savage grin. “We only have a few minutes.”

****************

Tomas left as soon as he finished, donning his jumpsuit without so much as a kiss goodbye. Utterly used to the behavior, Nesta straightened her clothes and again touched up her makeup before heading back out.

She was scheduled to conduct a pre-race interview with Cassian Valle in the Mercedes tent in twenty minutes. Redbull and Mercedes were at opposite ends of the pit, giving her plenty of time to think.

Truthfully, Nesta was dreading the interaction. Cassian was an arrogant ass. She couldn’t stand interviewing him; all he did was skirt around questions and try to flirt, which made it incredibly difficult to get any headline-worthy tidbits from him.

Azriel Sainz, Cassian’s teammate at Mercedes, was much more amiable. He was mostly forgettable and quiet, but always gave her something to work with and was sometimes downright pleasant to talk to. She could understand why the public loved him, but not why they were so enamored with Cassian. Sure, he was a three time world champion, and that earned him plenty of fans, but he was just so… dreadful.

She made it to the Mercedes pit just minutes before the scheduled time, immediately spotting her tense cameraman, Jacob. Slim built, he was average looking, nothing special. He was sweet though, if not a bit of a pushover.

“Where the hell have you been?” He hissed, chocolate brown eyes wide. “Valle is waiting.”

Nesta rolled her eyes, handing Jacob her sunglasses and the scarf. “I’m here now, aren’t I? Not my fault if he was early.” Nesta accepted her microphone and rolled her shoulders. “Let’s get this over with then.”

“Happy birthday by the way,” Jacob added. Yes, there was the pushover side shining through. 

Nesta threw a grin at him over her shoulder. “Thanks.”

Cassian’s back was to her as she approached, his white Mercedes jumpsuit half on, the arms of it cinched around his waist. The crisp gray shirt he wore left little to the imagination, hugging his sculpted form. Good; at least that would capture the attention of any women that might be watching. As would the deep brown curl that fell in his face when he turned to her.

“If it isn’t my very favorite reporter,” He crooned, a grin plastered on his face. “Took you long enough to get here. I also hear it’s your birthday.” Nesta glared at Jacob. He shrank under her steely look, an apology stumbling from his lips.

“I would give you a birthday kiss, but I think you’d knock me out if I offered.”

Nesta pointedly ignored him, “Let’s just get on with it,” She said, motioning to Jacob to start recording. Once he signaled he was ready, Nesta breathed deep, the sweet scent of high octane fuel assaulting her senses. It steadied her, and she slipped into her professional mask before turning to the camera.

“As we all know, the Monaco Grand Prix offers drivers a unique set of challenges. The two-mile street course has 19 technical corners with little room for error. It is in Monaco that we get to see who has what it takes to be a Formula 1 champion.” She turned to Cassian, gave him a professional smile and continued.

“Last year, you had a puncture at turn seven when you ran over some debris. Coupled with the fumble the pit crew had with not having your tires ready when you came into the pit, you finished a disappointing 12th place, winning you no points in the driver’s championship. Do you expect that this year will be better, or will you stick to your usual aggressive driving style?”

Cassian laughed, running a hand through his unbound curls. “Yeah, I don’t think I’ll be changing anything. You can expect to see me on the podium, sweetheart. Most likely in first.”

Nesta grit her teeth. She couldn’t air that, and he knew it. “How about you answer the question without trying to piss me off?”

“It’s too easy,” Cassian said, that devilish grin returning. Nesta cut him a glare that simmered with violence. “Alright fine,” He relented, putting his hands up. “Go again.”

She repeated her question, and this time he answered, “I don’t really see any need to change my driving style, what happened last year was a fluke. I went wide on the turn and didn’t notice Vanserra's front wing until the last second and wasn’t able to change course.” Nesta nodded, encouraging him to go on. “I don't see myself making any mistakes like that this year. You can expect to see me on the podium, most likely in first.”

“Thank you for that Cassian. Good luck on the track today.”

“Thank you,” He said, waving at the camera. He paused before adding, “Though I won’t need luck.”

Nesta rolled her eyes and signaled for Jacob to cut the recording. At least that last bit could be edited out. “You are absolutely insufferable, you know that?”

Cassian shrugged, undoing the arms of his fire suit and slipping into them. “I do my best.” He winked at her before zipping up his suit, opening his mouth to say something else when the Mercedes team principal, Rhysand, barked at him to get his ass in gear. He gave Nesta a wordless salute before jogging off.

“I don’t know how you do it,” Jacob said, packing up his camera. “That guy has balls.”

“He’s a Formula 1 driver,” Nesta said simply, putting her sunglasses back on. “Of course he does.”

**********

Nesta watched the 78 lap race from the press box, silently cheering Tomas on. Each time the pack of cars passed, the windows rattled, doing little to muffle the engine noise. She chatted with the others as necessary, keeping one eye on the tarmac below. Tomas had started from pole position, and held onto first place until the final 10 laps. He had attempted to lap an AlphaTauri driver when the driver had failed to yield, violating FIA regulations. The two had bumped tires in what was ruled a racing incident, but Nesta knew better. Tomas had lost his cool and nudged the other driver on purpose, nearly sending him into the wall. 

It was a bad call on Tomas’ part, as the comfortable four second lead he had held over second place shattered. Nesta swore under her breath as Cassian overtook Tomas, her heart dropping when the other Mercedes driver, Azriel, did the same. Tomas would not be happy about that. 

When the checkered flag waved, Cassian was first, Azriel second, and Tomas third.  The winners parked before the podium, anger radiating from Tomas as he tore his helmet off. Tamlin, the Redbull team principal, said something to Tomas that had his cheeks burning red. 

Nesta grabbed Jacob and headed for the press room. They had a half hour tops before the post-race interviews started, and Nesta had to make sure she was front row. Though it didn’t matter where she sat; she always made sure her questions were answered.

It was more so for Tomas. She wanted him to see her, to see the understanding on her face and know she supported him even when he didn't win.

They were first to the press room, and Nesta had ample time to prepare questions. She couldn’t question Tomas, or she risked uncapping his rage. Instead, she jotted down a question she knew would shift the focus from Tomas to the Mercedes drivers.

Reporters began filing in, vying for the perfect spot and debating the race results with one another. Nesta remained in her seat, determined to maintain her composure as her stomach churned. Tomas finally entered, jaw set as he took his place on the stage. Nesta tried to subtly catch his eye, but he pointedly avoided looking at her. 

Cassian and Azriel entered, laughing and congratulating each other. Nesta noted the slight change in Tomas’ posture, the only hint of the blood boiling beneath his skin. Cameras flashed, reporters shouted, but still Nesta remained seated. Cassian, at least, sought her out in the crowd, and flashed her an ‘I-told-you-so’ grin when he found her. Once the clamor had died down, Nesta stood. The room quieted further, the others having learned not to talk over her if they valued their jobs. Nesta had a knack for digging up dirt on anyone she pleased.

Her eyes were still locked on Cassian as the moderator indicated she could ask her question. 

“Azriel,” She started, turning to the dark haired man, “You were lucky you were able to take second in this race, after the incident in turn twelve on lap 27 when you sustained heavy damage to your front wing, thanks to the actions of your teammate. Does it ever get under your skin that Valle’s overly-aggressive driving threatens your own position in the championship?”

The room was silent. Tomas hid his grin behind a well-manicured hand. Cassian’s eyes narrowed, a muscle in his jaw fluttering. Good; she had hit a nerve. Azriel shrugged, crossing his arms. 

“It was a racing incident. Could have happened to anyone. I don’t think the blame lays entirely with Cassian; I could have given him more room on the corner.”

And that was that. Nesta didn’t ask any more questions, but she could feel Cassian glaring at her throughout. At the end of the interview, all three drivers thanked everyone before leaving.

As Nesta made her way back to her car, she texted Tomas.

You okay?

Her heart pounded as she waited for the reply. Her phone buzzed minutes later.

I’ll be home late. Party at the Redbull house.

Oh. Okay. See you later then.

“Happy birthday to me,” She muttered, stuffing the phone in her pocket.

Nesta wasn’t sure why his reply stung, but it cut deep. She had hoped that he would want to see her instead of going to another party and spend time with her on her birthday. Instead, he would probably stick his tongue down another woman’s throat like usual. She couldn’t really blame him. Their relationship had to remain secret and to do so, Tomas had to maintain his playboy aura. It wasn’t really cheating if she had agreed to it.

But if that were true, why did it hurt so fucking bad when he did?

Some of her tension eased when she finally spied her car in the lot. The Blue Bullet, she had nicknamed it, due to the strikingly bright paint. It was the first purchase she had made upon being promoted, and it had since become her pride and joy. She had chosen it because it set lap records left and right when it had hit the market a few years back, and she had craved speed her whole life. On city streets, this car was the closest she could get to experiencing Formula 1 without completely breaking the bank.

“How about you don’t ask stupid fucking questions next time your prettyboy loses?”

Nesta’s breath hitched. Your prettyboy. The accusation was clear. Her hand slipped from the door handle, turning towards the voice. If he knew… If he knew about her and Tomas, they were done for. She willed her voice into solid steel.

“Cassian. I would advise you to choose your next words wisely.”

He placed a hand on her Civic, getting in her face. “Racing means you have racing incidents. I don’t expect you to understand, seeing as you’ve never been behind the wheel of a real race car.” He sneered at her car, the insult striking home.

Fear faded, replaced by a rising wave of scarlett rage. Nesta’s gaze stuck to where his hand lay on the bright blue paint, utterly vexed by the infringement. She bared her teeth at him, rising to the challenge in Cassian’s flaming hazel eyes. 

“Get. Off.”

Cassian started at the command in her tone and obeyed. He opened his mouth, but she cut him off. “Understanding the nuances of Formula 1 is my job description. I asked about that incident because I knew it would piss you off. Looks like I was right huh?” Her temper was getting the better of her. “And by the way, would it kill you to give me a decent quote once in a while, instead of always trying to get in my pants?”

“I do not-”

“Oh go fuck yourself,” Nesta scoffed, yanking the door open. 

The corners of his mouth twitched upward as she slammed the car door. “I was already planning on it.”

Those parting words haunted her drive home, even as she took the long way in hopes of blowing off steam. She shifted through the gears, throwing the Civic around corners much faster than was probably safe. Nesta didn’t care; her head was a mess. At least he hadn’t mentioned anything more about Tomas. Maybe Cassian had just thought she had a crush, based on the way she had been looking at him during the conference. Gods, she couldn’t get Cassian out of her head. 

His grin followed her up the stairs to her apartment, where she snapped the curtains shut. She couldn’t bear to look out over the track any longer today. 

Those words echoed in her head as she brushed her teeth and crawled into bed alone. Swam through her thoughts of Tomas, as she struggled to keep her eyes open when the clock showed 1 am. As she finally gave in, they were her last thought. 

I was already planning on it. 

@aphoeni @planet-faerie  @nina-zcnik @linsimin @that-little-red-head @teagoddess99 @enpointe10 @electronicstrawberrystrawberry @awesomelena555 @iptneus @weesablackbeak @wonderland--memories @nessian-trash-heap @magicalwaterfall @perfectlyimpxrfect @cassians-wings @valkyrie-archeron @acourtofcouture @nesemryn @chloepereyra @illyrianshadowhunter​ 

[yeojaa]

home sweet home.

[ read devil in a new suit ]

i just really, really wanted to explore a bit about kook’s family because i think it shines a big light on who this adorable baby is.  i hope you enjoy!  xo

pairing.  jjk x f!reader.  rating.  explicit.  tags.  you’ll get cavities from reading this, honestly.  but also, very light smut in the form of:  inappropriate bullet egg use and tit groping (again, kook is a boob guy).  wc.  1.7k.

You meet his parents on a Sunday afternoon, invited to their palatial home for family brunch. It’s the first one you’ve been invited to, despite the fact you and Jungkook have been dating for what feels like forever (but in reality is only six months).  

Mama Jeon is an intimidating woman with a deceptively sweet face, aging gracefully around her eyes, the barely there lines upon her hands doing little to detract from her beauty.  She holds herself with immeasurable grace, practically dances into her son’s embrace when the two of you step into the modernist’s dream, chicly decorated and swathed in neutral tones.  It reminds you vaguely of Jungkook’s apartment - but decidedly more refined.  Same colour palette, though. 

“Jungkook-ah,”  she hums, patting adoringly at his cheek when he passes a kiss against hers, looking every inch the mama’s boy he is. 

“Eomma,”  he returns, so giddy it makes your heart soar in your chest.  He’s so easy to love - and so easily loving, offering the world to the woman who’d raised and loved him.  Two hands - the picture of respect - pass over the box of pastries you’d picked up on your way, the bag of too-expensive fruit topping the container.  (Apparently, his mother loves grapes, but only green ones.)  “These are for you— from us.”

Now is when he gestures to you - standing just to the side, beyond his shoulder - with a flourish comparable to that of a game show host.  It’s adorable how eager he is, beaming proudly at his eomma as he reaches for your hand, squeezes it tight between his own tattooed one.

When she turns to you, her expression is inscrutable. 

This woman isn’t someone who wears her heart on her sleeve, offers pleasantries for the sake of it.  She’s confident and critical (but soft, somehow, for the people she loves most), forged from steel and refined by experience.  You’re simultaneously awed and afraid, a mixture of emotion you’re not quite used to.

She levels you with a look.  A moment passes, then another.  You wonder if your smile falters, eclipsed by the grey of her stare.  (You feel like that one girl from that one movie about those crazy rich… what was it?)  

Finally, she speaks, drags her eyes from your shoes - red Ferragamo pumps, with the signature bow detailing on the toe - up to your face.  It feels more like a stringent assessment than a casual perusal, stirring heat beneath the colour of your blouse.  You’re not nervous, per se, but you want her to like you.  Right now, you can’t tell if she does - probably have a higher chance of winning the lottery than getting an answer.  “Lovely to meet you, ____.”  Her tone is warm enough, polite and paired with a tiny nod of her sophisticat head.

The patriarch of the family is the opposite of his mother, endlessly genial and full of booming laughter.  It reminds you a little of Jungkook’s own giggle, but somehow more - rounded by years and years of full-belly laughing and further ingrained by the wrinkles around his eyes.  

Just like his mother, Mr. Jeon is slim, good-looking in a way that comes from proper self-care and living an easy life.  (Not that it’d always been this way, you remind yourself.  Jungkook had told you how hard his parents had worked - all the long hours his father had put into getting where he was, able to support his wife and two children.)  He encourages his son’s stories and looks fondly at his daughter - the spitting image of her mother, with the same round stare as Jungkook.  

When your bowl runs empty, he makes sure it’s refilled, nodding in approval when his son is the one to make it happen.  When his wife makes an off-hand comment in response to a story, he’s the one to chide her, however gently.  He’s not nearly as sharp as she is, softly rounded edges like the toe of his slippers, the natural sag of his jaw with time.  

(You get it now. Meeting his parents for the first time, juxtaposed so hilariously against each other, it all makes sense.  Who Jungkook is, how he is equal parts soft and yielding and hesitant and distant.  Why he smiles so freely - with wrinkles you see aged nearly three decades in his father’s face - but loves so tenderly, offering it with whispers of affection that you might miss, should you look away.)

His father asks you questions like he really cares, nodding thoughtfully each time he learns a little bit more about you.

“How did you two meet?”  He’s bright-eyed, curious over the coffee mug he sandwiches in his grip.  You imagine he’s heard the story - must have heard some form of it in passing from Jungkook - but you appreciate his interest nonetheless.  He just wants to see the perspective from someone other than his lovestruck son.

You can’t help but laugh, sucking in your cheeks like you always do when you’re contemplative.  Jungkook shifts at your side, drops his inked palm over your covered knee and squeezes.  You’re not sure whether he’s reassuring you or himself with the gesture.

“He actually kept coming into my store.”  It’s not a lie.  Certainly not as scandalous as the full truth, but a truth nonetheless.  That is how you’d met.  

“Your store?”  It’s Jisoo, curious and pretty from her seat where she’s still picking at the desserts you’d brought over.  (She’s a fan of tart and tangy flavours, unlike her brother.)  “Do you own a shop or something?”

You wonder how much she knows.  You know she’s younger than either you or your partner, a student at Korea National University.  Part of their dance program, if you’re not mistaken.  You’d heard all about it a few weeks ago, when she’d sent a video to Jungkook and he’d raved about it nonstop, so proud of his little sister you couldn’t even make fun of him.

“I work at CELINE.”  

That earns a noise of delight from Jisoo (together with an “oh my god, that’s so cool”) and a polite albeit disinterested nod from Mr. Jeon (if his nondescript but stylish clothes are any indication, luxury fashion isn’t his top priority).  

What you don’t expect - what you just barely not from the corner of your eye - is the surprise written across Mrs. Jeon’s expression.  As if she’s just learned something groundbreaking.  

“You have a job?”  Maybe she doesn’t mean it how it comes out, disbelieving and abrupt.  You don’t let it rub you the wrong way, nodding.  (You know where she’s coming from - you feel the same way about his exes as she does, it seems.)  She’s hardly looking at you now, though, gaze trained on her beloved son.  There’s a silent conversation happening between them - something you’re not privy to, an exchange held only with those matching eyes of theirs.  

He’s upon you the moment he climbs into his car, clumsily knocking against the centre console as he drags your body closer, forces your knees apart with his hand unceremoniously shoved all the way into your silk crepe trousers. 

“She likes you.”  The words are muffled against your lips - already spit slick and swollen by how savagely he attacks them, tugs your bottom between his teeth and nibbles.  

You know he means his mother.  She’d hugged you on your way out, patted gently at your upper arm when she’d sent you both off with some leftovers in pretty ceramic containers.  It’d been a surprising farewell from the woman who had otherwise kept you at arm’s length through most of brunch, offering small smiles and exchanging only the basest of pleasantries.  

You have to admit - it feels a bit like taming a lion.  You’re high on the feeling and it seems Jungkook is too, utterly delighted as he drags his finger through the arousal that’s all but ruined your thong, thin material shoved aside by his deft movements.

“Your sister?”  You laugh - sound bitten off by the edge of your teeth when he teases at your folds, presses the tip of his fingers over your clit and circles back enough times to make you shudder.

He’s sucking into the sensitive spot beneath your ear, catching your earlobe with the wet point of his canines.  “My mom,”  he mumbles, burying himself into your skin as if he’d happily live there, make a home between your bones if you’d let him.  (You would.)  “She hugged you.”  Hilariously enough, he sounds just as surprised as you.

“She did,”  you hum - sigh when the pressure in your abdomen increases, mirroring the same one between your legs.  He’s pulling gently at the cord peeking past your lips, tugging at the smooth pink egg snug within your pussy.  It’s not on now - not like it had been all through brunch - but it still feels absurdly good, perfectly shaped just the right amount of stimulation against your fluttering walls.

Jungkook makes the softest noise, one that sounds like his heart falling into place, his soul settling where it feels most comfortable.  It’s at odds with the way he gropes your chest over the smocked bodice of your blouse, seeking out the hardened bud of your nipple beneath layers of chiffon and macrame.

The tiny vibrator continues fucking into you, muscle walls clenching around it each time he yanks on the cord and then lets it fall back into place.  You wish it were his fingers (wish it were his cock, more than that) but your pants fit too-well, tailored slim around your waist and flaring over your ankles. 

Your 70’s pants, as your silly boyfriend liked to call them.

“I can’t wait to get you home.”  It’s so dreamy, hazy with affection that overwhelms you.  He’s looking at you so sweetly now, forehead resting against yours, entire palm pressed to your cunt.  “K-knew you were always perfect but—”  You lose sight of his lovely doe eyes, your own sliding closed when he stamps a kiss to your mouth, so terribly sweet it’s reminiscent of the cheesecake you’d just had.  

You understand what he means without him having to finish the thought, smile of your own acting as the ending punctuation to your conversation. 

Family means everything to him.  Now, you were one step closer to being part of it.

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