#its almost a party trick at this point

[a-sour-nectarine]

One thing about me is that I can tell you ANYTHING about phineas and ferb. You wanna know what phineas' third favorite number is? Alright. How old is Candace? 15, easy answer. Some random quote stuck in your head? There is a 92% chance I can give you the exact episode. Give me access to Disney+ and I'll give you the timestamp, even.

[dilf-docs]

The Rock N' Roll Got Harder and Softer

eddie brock x younger fem!reader

summary: common sense isn't really your strongest suit. so here you are, riding a stranger's bike on halloween night. hey, he saved you! with one hell of a costume, no doubt. because it has to be one, right?

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap (do we see the blog name? get used to it), smut, flirty reader! she's got no shame just game ++ also overshares (sorry if this trait is mischaracterizing you, everything will be okay❤️) praise kink, oral f. receiving (have u seen that tongue? ik its abt eddie but venom's tongue plays a part there... he defo going in my hear me out cake), does this count as sub!eddie idk?? the man is touch starved, p. in v. (use protection okay!! don't be like these dumb horny bitches), reader gets harrassed but the lethal protector saves the day!!

word count: 5,008 words

side note: i was re watching venom 1 and watching venom 2 since my friends want to see the third, so i got the tom hardy and his plump princess lips have to be mine virus!! like i wish i was kidding but after watching the movies and the top 100 dilf poll on twitter i felt in the need to use my hands (iykyk) ++ after finding out i have a pattern for lonely fucked up dilfs (first with old man logan now eddie). also, irdgaf halloween just passed; let's pretend ur calendar got stuck on the 31st as u read. this can happen after venom (2018) but the time isn't really important!

This is stupid.

It's a cold october night, the wind blowing in your face, and you're navigating this part of the neighborhood you don't know in nothing but a skimpy red bathing suit, like it's a hot summer day.

Dressing up as Pamela Anderson in Baywatch sounded much better a couple months ago; not now, when all the people passing by ogle your body up and down, whether it be with lust or judgment.

Your night has gone to shit: you feel cold, hungry, tipsy and vulnerable. One thing is wanting to be objectified by the possible candidates you would take home from the party, and other is being eyed by strangers who look at your body like hungry wolves.

You finally spot a mini-market amid the packed street, blue hues of light providing some sense of relief.

After getting something to drink and eat, you'll probably feel better and have the energy to walk home; there's no way you and your very small costume are getting inside an uber at ten o'clock tonight.

The bell chimes in as you enter the store, but the lady behind the counter doesn't even glance your way, focused on the TV behind her.

"Hi" she waves her hand absentmindedly, "Do you have any water?"

She mutters something that sounds like an annoyed of course we do, and points to the freezer in the back, still without looking.

"Alright, thanks" you say, walking to the freezer section and grabbing a bottle you chug until it's almost empty. You're still hungry, but at least your throat doesn't feel like you've eaten sand anymore.

With the bottle in your hand, you take the time to scour around the store, looking for something to eat. You finally decide on some chocolates; heck, it's halloween. Going home and stuffing your face with a bunch of candy for what's left of the night does sound nice.

You finally spot the chocolates on a display, moving towards it. As you're about to grab a bunch and go, another hand interrupts you.

"Oh!" you exclaim out loud, stepping back.

Maybe you're haven't gone trick or treating in years, but you will treat yourself tonight. And not with the chocolates. There's a God out there, definitely, who has blessed you not only with great curves but also with the chance of showing them off in the precise moment.

"Sorry!" your voice chirps a bit too excited for your liking. Control yourself. You clear your throat, suspecting the burn in your cheeks gives you away.

You're supposed to be confident! Flirty and charming! You're young and pretty! But how can you not be nervous when the stranger looks like that?

The eye candy who sports tattoos and a bad boy aroma that makes you drool; the jacket and beat up look just adds the perfect layer to the whole vibe. You're known to have a preference for men who look like he does. Something about the dangerous makes your heart race and skin prickle. Then your eyes travel to the motorcycle helmet in his right hand. Yummy.

The heat in your cheeks returns.

You don't even know his name, yet you've oggled him up and down without shame. It's probably all the pent up energy you had saved for the party. You figure it has to be invested somewhere else. Maybe with him.

Him, who's way older than the other guys you've been with. But that just just makes it even better.

"It's okay" he speaks up, and his voice is not only what you imagined it to be. The rich grave undertone is making your panties wet just with the sound. "You go first"

He points to the stand full of said treats. You motion forward, not without putting some extra sway and effort in your walk. By the reflection of the mirror in the corner, you know you've at least got his attention.

"Done" you say, leaving some space for him to pass. "Would the gentleman give me the honor of knowing his name?"

"I'm Eddie" he extends his hand, "Eddie Brock".

You shouldn't be this excited to shake a hand but when his large palm engulfs yours, you find it hard to let go.

With the closeness, you take another look at his face, getting lost in his warm eyes and the eyebags that adorn them. It's unfair how good they suit him; unlike you after a wild night out.

"Nice to meet you. Very nice, indeed" you purr.

You also make sure to bat your eyelashes in a way your friends tease you but has proven to be effective every time.

It seems to have done its magic, because he also takes a look at you.

But it's different.

You can sense something else is happening when his eyebrows furrow first, then face contorting into a disgusted expression as Venom says: I want to eat her, Eddie. I bet she tastes as sweet as she sounds! It's too tempting!

"Shut up" he mumbles (but loud enough for you to hear), then mutters something like We're just supossed to eat the bad guys! but you're confused and hurt, so you don't really pay attention; your ego really taking a blow tonight.

"I beg your pardon?"

Eddie curses under his breath, "that wasn't for you".

"Right" you chuckle dryly, looking around at the empty store. "Don't see who else that could be for"

"I'm sorry, it's hard to explain" he rushes the apology, looking rather embarrassed. "Now, if you excuse me".

And walks past you like it's nothing. Maybe that weird spark you felt was just on you; the interest isn't mutual.

"Hi Mrs. Chen" you hear him salute the lady behind the counter. Sighing, you grab your chocolates and head to cash out, adding another deception to your already bad night.

The bell chimes again when you make your way to the line, behind Eddie, but this time, you don't bother to look.

"Well, hello" the voice behind you says. It takes you a few seconds to realize they're talking to you.

"Hi" you mutter a bit annoyed, looking at the front. The silence is dense, the beep of each of Eddie's (million) of chocolates being the only silence filling the store.

"Won't even spare a glance, doll?" they continue, despite your clear apathy. "C'mon, lemme see if that face is as pretty as your ass"

Blood rushes to your face, and you're so embarrassed your body stiffs, fully aware the other two people in the store have noticed. You hug your body, because there isn't really anything you can cover yourself with right now, not daring to look back.

Well, fuck me.

If you thought leaving the party was going to solve your problems, it's only proven to cause more.

Eddie finishes, leading to your turn. You give a strained smile to Mrs. Chen, and she just gives you a look of pity.

"Hey, I'm talking to you!" they start to get irritated, and you just pray they don't follow you outside once you're done. "Are you deaf, Pamela?" he mocks, making your blood boil and skin sweat.

Mrs. Chen is done, but the stranger isn't taking your silence as an answer. Before you can leave, they grab your hand.

"Already leaving? You haven't even given me your name yet"

It's such a silly thought to have right now, but you realize you hadn't given Eddie your name either.

"I don't know if you've noticed, but she's clearly not interested, buddy" a voice speaks out, and you know it. It's probably the panic but you hadn't realize Eddie's still here. You hold his gaze for a few seconds, and even thought you hate having to depend on a man to be left alone, you need his help; so you plead, boring into his warm chocolate eyes.

"In case you haven't noticed, this is a two people conversation" the stranger snarls.

"Looks more like a one sided conversation to me" he bites back, making the stranger mad. That's the last thing you need. You just want to go home and curl under your warm and soft blankets; you've even lost your appetite.

"It's none of your business. Are you not understanding?"

"Oh, but that's the problem. You're the one that isn't understanding" what appears to be black surrounds his before bare neck, and you feel like you haven't completely sobered up, your mind playing games with you. The black engulfs his whole body, making him taller and more intimidating.

"It is" he threats on a distorted voice. Now, where Eddie's face used to be, another one replaces him: with white instead of two eyes and a big mouth with teeth and a really long tongue.

You hadn't even drink that much. No way this is real.

The stranger gulps, petrified. Oh, so they see it too; it's not you.

"Sorry, idiot. The lifeguard shift is over" and before the stranger replies, his head dissapear inside the mouth, chopping it off.

"Fuck!" you curse out loud, the body falling limp at your side.

A shiver runs through your back. This is a nightmare.

"Well, now that makes us two who know your secret now" Mrs. Chen adds in a rather monotone voice, and you wonder if people have gone insane―you included.

You can't even speak. Less when the black starts dissappearing, and it's Eddie's face and body again.

"Hey, sorry about that" you don't know who Eddie is talking to when saying that. "You okay?"

Okay? Sure, that you are. Fine? Not really.

"It's alright if you're scared" he reaches out to you but you flinch. He looks used to it, apparently, "I know this is weird".

You chuckle, bemused. "Weird? Not even in my wildest acid trip, I could've imagine that"

"It's easy to explain, but hard to understand" he begins, but trails off. "Would you, uh, let me?"

Well, he had saved you. If he wanted to eat you and have you go the same fate your harasser did, he would've done it by now.

Besides, common sense isn't really your strongest suit. Never was. You've had so many problems stem from it, including tonight's events, that you could probably write a column or do a podcast of it.

"Sure" you agree, "as long as you don't eat me".

You regret the (attempt at a) joke as soon as it leaves your mouth, but that is gone when you hear him laugh. A little pride fills your chest, especially at the velvet-like sound.

"I won't" he raises his palms in a playful manner, "but he wants to".

Not anymore, you don't eat the people you save!

"He?" you quirk an eyebrow, "you better rush that explanation, yeah?"

"Sure" he chuckles, "uh?"

"Y/n" you answer, and the honeyed tone is back. God, you need to get a grip. This guy could snap you in, "but just for tonight, Casey Jean Parker. So you better put some good use to it before she leaves, cowboy"

"Will take it into account, blonde" he laughs at your hair.

You hate it because it reminds you of Anne, pussy.

"Hey, it's a good wig!" you playfully slap his shoulder. "You wish you had hair like this".

You flip it, to which he just laughs. Then he bids goodbye to Mrs. Chen and you both head outside, where the wind hits your body cruelly.

A curse leaves your mouth, "Shit"

Eddie notices. Before you can react, he's putting his jacket over your shoulders.

"You got the seasons messed up, baby" he jokes, the pet name rolling off his tongue a bit too easily, "don't even think about taking it off; don't want you to catch a cold".

There's a beat of silence before he asks:

"So, about the costume..."

"I know" you properly put his jacket on. It smells like him: pine, gasoline, sweat and a bit of chocolate. "It sounded better when I came up with it in August"

"No!" he corrects hastily, then coughs "I like it".

Light pink creeps up his cheeks.

"Good to know I still got the charm" you joke, winking.

"Was this" he points with his ringed fingers up and down, "for a contest?"

"No, a party. Jesus, how old do you think I am?" you chastise in a mocking tone. "It's what pretty college girls do, Eddie: party".

Venom likes parties! I like her, Eddie!

"And if that's what you do, pretty girl" two can play the game it seems, "what exactly are you doing out of the water, Ms. Parker?"

You scoff, shocked. "You're supposed to give me your answer first".

Fortunately for Brock, you have a bad habit to overshare; it gets worse, especially with men. God knows you don't know such thing as boundaries.

You lay against the concrete wall, exhaling. Your worries condense in front of you as Eddie waits attentively, examining the way your face falls.

"I was supposed to go to a party today, hence the costume" you motion to your body, "but things went wrong".

"So you went?"

"And left" you add, "which wasn't part of the plan".

He lays next to you, crossing his arms. You try not to get distracted with the closeness.

"Why did you?"

"Leave? Because... well, things happened".

Your skin prickles uncomfortably, like it did back at the house you ran away from―the whole reason you're here, next to Eddie.

"That thing being...?" Brock presses, then realizing you probably don't want to tell, so he shuts up.

"Don't worry" it's like you guess his thoughts, "It's just... sort of embarrassing".

You breathe in some air.

"He wasn't supossed to be there. My ex" you clarify, "yet he went. And guess what? With his new girlfriend! And alright, I'm not a girl who holds grudges, but it hasn't even been two months since we broke up and now he's matching costumes with her?"

Saying it out loud sounds a tad bit childish, but Eddie doesn't seem to be judging, and your pride continues to be bruised, so you carry on with your little rant.

"So I drank a little too much and went up to them. I don't know what took over me, but one second I was dancing and then Pamela Anderson in Baywatch was grabbing Pamela Anderson as Tommy Lee's wife by her hair. Real blonde hair, on top of that... that bitch. I decided to be Pamela Anderson first! Which, by the way, would never do that. She truly is a girl's girl" pause, "by that I mean parading around with the guy I ended things with because of you"

We should eat them.

Instead of what Venom said, Eddie asks:

"Your boyfriend cheated on you?"

"Yeah" embarrassment washes over you, "The owner of the house is friend's with her. So, I decided it was for the best to leave. My not so bright idea that followed was to walk to the nearest store for some junk and head home. And now I ended on this side of town I don't know. Lucky me"

Lucky us that found you.

"Wow" Eddie manages to muster after all your information dump and Venom's little comment, "they're idiots. I'm sorry".

"Thanks, but my night is still ruined" you take a look at your legs, "now I have to walk home, and I suspect, bare―without your jacket".

He doesn't know what takes over him when he says, or maybe it's Venom giving him the boost of courage he needs.

"Need'a ride?" your face morphs into surprise. He adds, "Keep my jacket. That way you can give it back when we're there"

Your eyes trail to the bike parked on the side, which you guess belongs to him. This is hard because the decision is so easy.

Hey, sometimes you gotta do it for the plot!

"We both win" is his way of insisting. "No more stares, and my jacket gets express delivered to me".

You don't need that much insisting, almost instantly caving in, walking over the bike and hoping behind him―like you know he'd never hurt you; full on trusting him.

"I don't have a spare one. Use mine" he apologizes, handing you the helmet he carried before.

"Thanks" you accept, "at this point I'll have to pay you. Do you accept my chocolates? It's all I got with me"

"We'll discuss those arrangements later" his deep voice comments, and well, you might just give him anything he wants!

Before you can regret your life choices, the engine roars, Eddie making his way through the street, all your surroundings reduced to a blur.

"Woah!" you shout, but it gets lost in the wind and speed. Luckily for you, the wig is secured inside the helmet. At this speed, there would be a blonde mop on the street somewhere.

"Liking it?" he asks over the noise. You only can happily humm in response.

Honestly, you've never felt this... free before. It's liberating: your hair dancing in the wind, the crisp trepidation in your fingers, the way you dare yourself to let loose and let the experience consume you. It's the first time you truly feel alive.

All you can think now is on the adrenaline coursing through your system. That and the way you're holding onto Eddie's thick back, your arms caging his form. You can feel his heartbeat too, as steady as yours. You can't help but wonder if it's because of the ride or the passenger he's carrying in the back.

You keep giving him directions whenever he looks back, keeping it like that until you both arrive at your apartment complex.

Once the bike is parked, he whistles. "Nice. Much better than mine"

You give his helmet back, taking the wig off in the process too.

"I'll have to see it to believe it" you tease, and if he heard, Eddie pretends not to.

There's some silence until you understand it's over: the original "stuffing and watching horror movies until I sleep" isn't sounding as good as extending your time with Eddie. For some reason, you can't seem to let go yet, and accept that tonight was a rare occasion that will only be once.

"Well, I guess this is it" you hate the way the obvious disappointment drips in your tone, "thank you, Eddie. Goodnight"

You hop off and take the jacket out of your body. If your skin gets goosebumps, you'll blame the cold.

Guess Pamela Anderson didn't work her magic tonight.

"Wait!"

Or maybe she did.

"Yes?" you turn around, smiling a bit too much.

Eddie doesn't look at you when he says, "we didn't discuss the payment"

Your red lips purse into a smile.

"We can discuss the details inside" and point out your apartment on the third floor, "for the cold, obviously. It's warm up there, you know; I've been told they like my heat"

You finally recognize the feeling from before, at the store. It's mutual. The tension; it still lingers.

"Sure" he says sounding all but that, "show me the way".

Your voice drops as you say, "Follow me, then"

And you lead the way: wet spot in between your legs, growing as your excitement. As you open the door, Eddie can't help but think the inside is so you: sweet and girly―like a strawberry bubblegum.

"Like what you see?" you joke, sitting in the couch. It has double meaning, obviously, but Eddie is so oblivious he just answers:

"It's so... you" mentally slapping himself when he says it, "I mean... you know, pink"

Idiot! She's talking about herself.

You giggle, "And?"

Patting the empty spot next to you, Brock walks over, like in a trance. You can see him gulp―nervous, the adam's apple on his throat bobbing.

Coward! Say something.

"Pretty..." he breathes out.

His hand finds its way to your bare thigh, and the touch is so electric, it takes you a lot not to jump at the contact.

Now kiss her!

"Don't be scared, Eddie" your voice is so low he swears he's dreaming. "I don't bite" there's a pause before you add, "unless you want me to".

Do it!

He would be lying if he said Venom is the reason why he leans forward, wrapping his lips around yours. Why he suddenly feels hungry, starving, eating your mouth out like he hasn't had a meal in days is beyond him.

"That's right" you moan between kisses, "cash your pay out, cowboy".

His hands tug on your hair as he deepens the kiss, a few groans echoing around the apartment.

"I like it" he twirls a strand in between your fingers, "suits you better".

There's a hearty laug emitting from your chest, "you do? Show me then"

It's like something snapped inside of him.

His hand moves to hug you from behind, right at the bare spot the swim suit had.

"You smell so sweet" Eddie's inhaling the vainilla scent off your soft skin, and Venom growls in pleasure, "like a pastry".

You have to laugh again, because this man is clearly touched starved.

Now he's rubbing his nose along the length of your neck, leaving some wet kisses that have you swearing his tongue isn't human. He mumbles incoherences like he's drunk, begging he wants to shove his mouth where it belongs: that being between your legs, to taste what he’s been craving for so long.

"Well, if you want it so bad" you make a play at his earlier words, "eat it".

So with trembling hands, he's pushing the little piece of bathing suit until your clit is exposed. His other hand grips your hip, and it doesn't take that long for him to fall onto his knees, the pink fluffly carpet on the floor providing some ground.

He beggins to toy with it, leaving you to collect a gasp. Alright! He has experience. Not that you ever doubted it, but now that he's here, his fingers inside of you, you can't help but feel the luckiest girl in the world.

"Thought the sweet you wanted was some chocolates" you manage to joke between moans, his thick fingers too busy lubing the needy area.

He gets another moan out of you, "this is better" grabbing a finger out, he licks a bit of your essence left on his fingers, "tastes much better. Look at you, so wet already; good girl"

Now he's doing tight little circles, his thick fingers speeding up the pace―quicker and quicker, until you're writhing in his grip. Your red nail dig into his forearm leaving little crescents. The haze may be too much that you don't know if the way they instantly heal is something you imagined or not.

"P-please, Eddie" you mewl.

Let me try, Eddie.

Without explaining, his tongue begins licking your inner thighs where your liquids dripped. It sends a shiver down your spine, and God, how thankful you are about leaving the party. The consequences of your petty fight and disastrous little adventure didn't end up being so bad.

"Sweet" he exclaims in that distorted voice back from the store. Your eyes go wide, so he rushes an "I'll explain later".

He doesn't give you much time to dwell on it before his tongue finds its way to your core again: the muscle licking the wet folds of your sensitive clit before diving fully. You swear his tongue has gotten longer with the way he explores your warm insides, quickly finding the spot no one but yourself has correctly pleased before.

Soft sobs fall from your lips. "Yes, More! P-please!"

His tongue continues its ministrations, almost lazily against it. Your body tenses up, reacting to him so well, and the familiar warmth pools in your abdomen.

He keeps licking until you’re twitching in over-sensitivity. A groan escapes his drooling lips, "I'm still a gentleman, you know?" the vibration his voice makes in between your legs sends a delicious wave that does nothing but ignite the fire pooling in the low of your stomach. "Ladies first"

You deliciously cum on his awaiting tongue. Even in your haze, you find his eyes, and the previous warm brown looks closer to hungry now, his pupils blown wide.

"Go ahead" you encourage, "be a good boy for me and taste it".

His fingers lick your remains off of them, his tongue making an obscene display.

"Will you let me pay you, now?"

He doesn't even need to wait, his hand eagerly taking his cock out of his pants―taking the sweat pants out in record time, sliding his girth between your legs, rubbing it against your folds that give him a warm welcome, coating it in your wetness.

Eddie slides inside you with ease, his hands resting on your waist as he slams his entire length inside you. The couch creaks, the only other sound in the apartment your hiss, because of the initial stretch. He gives you time to adjust and then he starts moving. 

"Y/n, God. You pretty sweet thing" his hot breathe mumbles against your ear.

Never in your life you would've thought you'd gone home with a complete stranger, but by the way Eddie Brock is deep inside you right now, you may do it more often. Or even better, bring him back. Maybe meet his apartment next time.

Eddie thinks he's gone insane. He's never had sex like this before. Not even on his wildest dreams. Hell, doesn't know if it's the lack of activity before you, your filthy mouth dripping with moans or the way you perfectly wrap around him, or maybe his newfound stamina he could finally put to use, thanks to Venom. Maybe it's all that, but who cares? God, he's loving every second of it.

Eddie uses his hands to grab your ass, holding onto the soft flesh so firm, you'll have bruises tomorrow for sure. He starts pumping you fast and deep like an animal. You muffle your screams against the crook of his neck, fully aware that doesn't stop the paper thin walls from telling your neighbours the good time you're having.

You feel your moves start to get unsteady, your orgasm closer and closer. "I'm c-close" you blurt out and he growls instead of talking. The way your body jolts with each of his poundings is insane. Your friend will never let this go if you tell them. But it just feels so fucking good.

"Fuck!"

Your whole body shakes when the wave of pleasure heats you. His hand is suprinsingly soft, caressing your cheek as you rest your forehead against his to catch your breathe.

"That's the best sex I've ever had" he confesses, his voice sounding drunk. Every drop of alcohol in your system has completely vanished by now, but you feel dizzy too, the overstimulation driving your senses to it's limits.

But it doesn't make you stop.

"How can you rate something that hasn't finished?" you move your body so Eddie stays against the coach. When he realizes what you're trying to do, he half-supresses a moan. "If you want to give your opinion, you better finish the whole plate".

So now you're on top of him, riding his cock like nothing; you must also have a symbiote inside of you, because Eddie can't explain your infinite stamina. So young, so pretty and so goddamn tight; he really won tonight, huh?

The change of position makes his cock slightly change the angle, hitting your g-spot. "Oh my god, right here!" you gasp. Your pussy clenches while you keep bouncing on his dick. If it weren't for the bathing suit, your tits would be bouncing. That doesn't mean he doesn't imagine them, your nipples perking through the fabric making it all too easy.

"You're so perfect" he whispers against your shoulder, "you sweet little thing".

If he keeps calling you like that, you might ask him to stay the night.

You feel like it, so, as a reward, you press your lips against his and he moans at your cunt clenching. He knows you are close again.

"Cum for me, y/n" he demands in his deep voice. Your name in his lips is such an addictive sound, you're sure you've reached heaven.

"Cum with me, Eddie" you manage to say.

So now he sits a little straighter on your poor couch (that's seen and taken only so much) so he can wrap his other arm around your waist. You take him deeper every time, even if now the position makes it a bit uncomfortable, but every shiver of pleasure you get is worth it.

"At least look at me when you do it" his brown orbs bore into yours. You can't hold back any longer, your hips rolling to increase the friction.

Your second orgasm washes over you: toes curling and body shaking. You've never felt more tired and energetic in your life. So you fall in Eddie's strong tattoed arms. He joins you, painting your tight walls with his thick and white shots of cum.

You are both out of breathe but Eddie takes his time and kisses you deeply.

"I think this life guard is out of duty for now" you mumble sleepily against his arms, tracing lazily his tattoos. He chuckles, moving one of his hands to brush strands of your damp hair from your forehead.

"What about the chocolates?" he jokes.

"Fuck them" you yawn, "stay here". He might've heard it wrong.

Stupid Eddie and stupid little human brain. She wants us here!

After some minutes of silence your sleepy voice mumbles, "You didn't explain me anything, cheater. If you want to stay, talk".

He feels you rest your head on his shoulder, sleep taking control of your form. You look so cute, he starts to forget how shitty his life actually is.

Hey! I can hear your thoughts, idiot. Your life isn't shitty anymore, I'm here!

"How about a bed time story? I promise I won't leave any detail out"

You cuddle closer to his warm body, "Promise?"

He intertwines his pinky finger with yours, promising himself this won't be the last time he sees you.

"Promise"

cr: divider @kodaswrld / gif @badassbaker

[boypied]

Rafe Cameron

Rafe is the epitome of a rich boy with severe anger issues, yet when you start dating, that part of him almost fully slips away. He is utterly obsessed with you, and it's obvious to everyone but him 'cause he thinks he's hiding it. Some guy called him a faggot because of how protective he was over you and that didn't end well for that guy, Rafe saw red and the guy was like a deer in headlights. It was quite entertaining seeing Rafe beat a homophobe up.

Rafe likes to spend at least half the day between your asscheeks, eating your hole up till it's all sloppy. He loves watching you wiggle and squirm just from his tongue, the way your body pushes your ass closer to his face to get more action from that tongue of his. He learnt this new trick that if he flicks his tongue at a certain point in your ass you just immediately cum, hands free, which he loves doing cause it makes you scream.

Rafe absolutely loves it when you send him pictures unannounced. You do it so frequently that he makes sure to never open anything you send him just in case someone is near, he loves it when you wear something sexy for him; a jockstrap picture, a kinky-dress up picture or just a plain simple ass picture. He never complains cause he knows a lot of guys aren't as lucky as he is, he makes sure to save them all and put them in his own personal spank bank.

One of the things he absolutely adores about you is that when he comes over you just immediately pounce on him, he knows its coming and he just loves when you wrap your legs around his waist and pull him closer when he's on top of you. His utmost favourite sex position is 'the shell' Rafe enjoys how close it makes him feel to you. It also helps him reach all the right spots as he pounds away at your hole.

Rafe has snapped at you once, you never saw him look at you with such rage before. You were both at a party and you were getting drunk and EXTREMELY horny, you were practically climbing him like a tree, you were all over him in front of everyone. Rafe grab you by the wrist tightly and dragged you all the way home until he got you into his bedroom and screamed at you for being so clingy. He stopped mid-scream though to realise he was treating you how he treats the pogues.

He then immediately smothered your body in kisses, trailing them across your exposed tummy all the way up to your jawline that cause you to let out sweet drunken moans. He knew he couldn't fuck you though considering how drunk you were but once you sobered up the next day he treated you like a real slut, which is what you wanted the night before.

[jungkoode]

𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐄 𝐔𝐏 | 14

˗ˏˋ laundry day ˎˊ˗

"Doing laundry should be a normal activity—not something that brings out a whole new set of revelations about Jungkook you were not even fathoming. And you don’t know if it’s helping old ladies, tying your shoes or collecting stupid vynils—but you don’t like how it’s throwing off your whole perception of your annoying roommate."

next | index

⋆｡°✩ chapter details ✩°｡⋆

word count: 8k

content: laundry rooms, old ladies that have a vendetta against you?, jungkook being a decent human being, batman socks, vynil revelations, humanizing jungkook and not liking it

✧ author's note ✧

Hello again little gremlins! It’s your girl, Kiki—back with another dose of Jungkook being emotionally compromised and having weird feelings about vulnerability.

SO. This chapter is… fairly slow-paced, which, duh—have you read my stuff? I went HAM on the introspection here, but I think it was so needed. Sometimes we need this type of chapter to balance the narrative out. I think it’s worked out beautifully, but do let me know your thoughts at the end.

About the goal thing! In case you’ve been living under a rock (or you don’t check my Tumblr regularly—which, fair), I have decided to switch my update schedule system.

Previously, I had been working with a weekly schedule as you all know. This has been quite easy for me to maintain because I work with hyperfixations, and basically ADHD.

The thing is… it’s a 2 month cycle.

I’m basically on week 7/8 already.

And that brings me to The Point. Goal-based update system. Which just means I’ll continue posting as long as we reach the established goals in every chapter. I’m going to be creating a whole post explaining how it works, but, long story short—as long as we reach either the goal in Tumblr OR Wattpad, we’ll be getting more chapters!

This is basically a self-regulation thing. I am self-aware (luckily) and I know how to work with my ADHD—but for those who don’t know; it’s heavily tied to dopamine. Which just means (I’m not gonna get nerdy I swear), I basically need engagement to trick my brain into staying motivated. Otherwise dopamine hits get slowly weaker and at some point I literally cannot bring myself to write.

WHICH SUCKS. Because I do love my stories, and I love sharing them. But burnout is real and brains work in funny ways and I can’t really fight my ADHD or brain chemistry (trust me I wish I could). So this is how you guys are going to help me tame this bitch. WE RIDE AT DOWN. 🤝

And before anyone asks—no, this is not up for debate. This is not something I’m “considering” or “open to feedback on.” This is me taking care of my mental health and working with my ADHD instead of against it. It’s not an “excuse,” it’s just how my brain operates. If that bothers you… I literally do not know what to tell you.

Anyways, as always, I love you all, I’m reading all your comments and reblogs and asks, and do check the note goal at the very end! 🩷

⋆｡°✩ read on✩°｡⋆

ao3

wattpad

It's fucking weird how some people's clothes have a gravitational pull, like they're magnets and your body is just helplessly metal. 

You're wearing his sweater. The same one that's been mocking you from your desk chair for the last twenty-four hours, just sitting there in all its navy blue glory, smelling like rain and testosterone and bad decisions. You don't know why you haven't tossed it back into his room yet. It's been staring you down all morning, a silent accusation of...something.

But now it's almost midday on Sunday, and your pile of dirty clothes has reached critical mass. Your laundry basket is basically a textile Mount Everest. You'd wear something clean, except there isn't anything clean left—not unless you count the questionable tank top you found at the back of your drawer that you're pretty sure you wore to a frat party sophomore year.

So. Jungkook's sweater it is.

You tell yourself it's just practical. Totally logical. It's uncharacteristically chilly outside, the first whisper of almost September creeping in, and you need something to cover your ridiculous pajama shorts for the trek to the basement laundry room. They're flowery and pale pink, paired with an equally ridiculous oversized t-shirt featuring a cartoonish sunflower with the words "HAVE A SUNFLOWER DAY!" emblazoned across your chest in neon yellow.

Not exactly the look you'd choose for running into anyone with functioning eyeballs, but it's Sunday, and your give-a-fuck meter is hovering at absolute zero.

It's not like you're going to run into anyone important anyway. Miguel the super probably won't be down there; he's usually sleeping off his Saturday night till at least 2PM. And the chances of meeting some hot neighbor—your future spouse who'll be so charmed by your sunflower ensemble that they'll propose on the spot—are basically nonexistent.

Actually, scratch that. 

Even if some dream person did materialize in the laundry room today, they wouldn't see the sunflower masterpiece because it's hidden under Jungkook's stupidly oversized hoodie. The one that somehow hangs past your shorts, making it look like you're not wearing pants at all, which is a whole different kind of disaster.

Whatever. It's warm. It doesn't smell like him anymore. (It does.) And you're just using it. Borrowing it. Temporarily occupying its fabric space.

You scoop up your overflowing laundry basket and wrestle it onto your hip. The elevator in this building moves with all the urgency of continental drift, so you opt for the stairs. Three flights down isn't horrible, especially since the laundry room is conveniently right next to the stairwell exit.

"Just put it in his room later," you mutter to yourself, adjusting the hoodie. 

You could've done that yesterday when he tossed it at you, but you didn't, and you're not thinking about why.

You check your pocket for quarters and detergent pods. 

The whole ritual is familiar now—Sunday laundry day, another week of adulting successfully completed without burning the building down or getting evicted. Not that the bar should be that low, but hey, after the month you've had, you'll take the wins where you can get them.

As you start down the stairs, the hoodie falls past your hand, and you absently tug it back up, trying not to think about how the collar brushes against your cheek or how the cuffs hang past your fingertips. 

And you definitely aren't thinking about the fact that you're surrounded by the scent of him with every breath you take.

Because that would be weird, right? Being conscious of wearing your roommate's clothes? The roommate you occasionally fuck? The one who took you to buy a vibrator yesterday before subjecting you to lunch with his overly-protective friend?

Right. Not weird at all.

You're just doing laundry, in ridiculous pajamas, wearing his hoodie because it's practical. That's the story, and you're sticking to it—even if the sleeves smell faintly of his soap when you lift your hand to push your hair out of your face.

The stairwell is quiet, just the echo of your worn-out sneakers slapping against the concrete steps. You shift the basket to your other hip, huffing slightly under its weight. 

Maybe you should've done laundry sooner. Maybe you shouldn't wait until you're literally out of underwear every single time. 

But then again, maybe you should focus on the stairs and not on the fact that your bare thighs occasionally brush against the soft inner lining of his hoodie.

Adulthood is just a series of mundane chores punctuated by questionable decisions. And today, apparently, that includes wearing Jungkook's hoodie to do your laundry.

No big deal. You'll wash your clothes, return his sweater, and the universe will continue spinning on its axis, completely unaffected by your poor wardrobe choices.

The door to the laundry room is propped open with a cinder block—probably Mrs. Patel from 4C forgetting to remove it again. You shift your basket one final time and head in, already mentally claiming the good dryer, the one that doesn't sound like it's harboring a demon when it hits the spin cycle.

It's just laundry day. Just another Sunday. 

And the laundry room is still a goddamn joke.

Because let’s be real—whoever thought six washing machines and four dryers could service an entire apartment building was either a sadist or never did laundry in their life. 

And on Sundays? 

It's like watching vultures circle a carcass—everybody desperate for their turn at the machines, glaring at anyone who takes too long to transfer their clothes.

Dona Ramirez is already there, of course. The seventy-something retiree who treats the laundry room like her personal kingdom and you like an invading barbarian. She's currently guarding the Good Dryer—the one you had mentally claimed seconds ago.

Just. Fucking. Great.

She looks up as you enter, lips pursing like she's just bitten into something sour. Her eyes travel from your face down to your bare legs and back up again, judgment radiating from her in palpable waves.

"Good morning," you mutter, aiming for polite but landing somewhere around constipated.

"Hmph." Dona sniffs, turning back to her women's magazine. "Young people these days. No shame."

You bite back the urge to point out that it's literally just your legs showing, not your entire ass. It wouldn't matter anyway. In Dona's world, anything above the ankle is basically pornographic.

Shifting your heavy basket to your other hip, you make your way to the only empty washing machine—wedged in the back corner, naturally. The one that sometimes stops mid-cycle like it's having an existential crisis. You slam your basket down with more force than necessary.

"Careful with the machines," Dona mutters without looking up from her magazine. "They're not getting any younger."

Neither are you, standing here taking shit from the laundry room gatekeeper.

"Sorry," you say, not sorry at all.

You start sorting your clothes, creating separate piles for darks and lights. Dona continues to flip pages, totally unbothered. Or maybe bothered. You can’t tell and frankly don’t care. 

As you're separating your darks, something catches your eye. Orange hair. Lots of it, actually, clinging to your black leggings and that navy shirt you wore when you were studying on the couch last week.

Griffin.

That little furry infiltrator has been shedding all over your clothes again. Despite the fact that your door is always closed. Despite the "no pets" clause in your lease that Jungkook blatantly ignores. Despite your best efforts to maintain some semblance of a cat-hair-free existence.

And yet...

You find yourself smiling slightly as you pluck a particularly long orange strand from your favorite black sweater. The traitorous little shit must have snuck into your room when you were in the shower yesterday. You'd caught him curled up on your bed when you came out, looking entirely too comfortable and completely unapologetic about the invasion.

He'd just blinked at you lazily, that slow "yes, I know I'm not supposed to be here, and no, I don't care" cat-blink that somehow manages to be both insulting and endearing at the same time.

You should be annoyed. You should definitely tell Jungkook to keep his feline menace away from your clean laundry basket. You should not find it even remotely charming that Griffin seems to have decided your clothes are his second-favorite napping spot (right after your pillow, the little asshole).

And yet here you are, pulling orange fur off your black clothes with something dangerously close to fondness. 

What the fuck is happening to you?

Maybe it's sleep deprivation. 

Or maybe it's the fact that Griffin is actually kind of cool, for a cat. 

He doesn't have that typical cat superiority complex—he just genuinely doesn't give a shit about anything except food, sunbeams, and antagonizing Jungkook. 

It's a lifestyle you can respect.

Plus, he has this way of curling up next to you when you're reading, just close enough to leech your body heat without actually admitting he wants your attention. It's like living with a tiny, furry version of his owner.

Not that you'd ever admit that particular observation out loud.

You dump your dark clothes into the washing machine, mentally calculating how much detergent to add. Dona shuffles to check her wash cycle, eyeing you suspiciously like you might try to sabotage her laundry when she's not looking.

"Cold day," she comments, which is probably the most conversational she's ever been with you.

"Yeah," you reply, not looking up from measuring detergent. "Came early this year."

She hums disapprovingly, like the weather is also your fault. "Wearing your boyfriend's clothes won't keep you warm forever."

For a split second, your brain halts. 

Boyfriend? What boyfriend? And then—

Ah. 

The hoodie.

Jungkook's hoodie that you're swimming in.

Something about her smug certainty, that look that says she's got you all figured out, makes you want to burn the whole goddamn building down. Or at least throw a very minor wrench in her worldview.

"It's my girlfriend's, actually," you say, the lie sliding off your tongue with practiced ease.

There. Take that, you judgmental old bat. Let's see how your 1950s sensibilities handle—

"Even worse," Dona sniffs, not missing a beat. "Girls these days, always stealing each other's clothes. You'll never build a proper wardrobe that way."

Wait, what?

You blink, momentarily thrown. That's... not the reaction you were expecting. No pearl-clutching. No horrified gasps. Just... practical fashion advice?

"I—"

"My granddaughter does the same thing," she continues, adjusting the scarf around her neck with arthritic fingers. "Comes home wearing her girlfriend's sweatshirts, twice her size. Looks like she's drowning in fabric. No shape whatsoever. You young people and your oversized clothes." She clicks her tongue. "In my day, we wore things that fit."

Well, shit.

So much for your brilliant plan to scandalize the old lady. 

Turns out Dona's not a homophobe—she's just a fashion critic. Equal opportunity judgment for all. How progressive of her.

"Right," you mutter, feeling weirdly chastised. "I'll, uh, keep that in mind."

"Hmph." She turns back to her laundry, seemingly satisfied that she's dispensed enough wisdom for one day.

You're still processing this unexpected twist when the laundry room door creaks open behind you, letting in a draft of cooler air. 

You don't need to turn around to know who it is. 

Something in the atmosphere shifts immediately—molecules rearranging themselves, air particles getting all excited, the very fabric of space-time bending to accommodate his presence.

Or maybe that's just your pulse doing that annoying thing where it decides to race for no good reason.

"Well, well, well."

His voice is sleep-rough and amused, and you can already picture the exact expression on his face without looking. 

That stupid half-smirk. That cocked eyebrow. That look that says he's caught you doing something you shouldn't.

You turn slowly, trying to appear nonchalant despite the fact that you're suddenly, acutely aware that you're wearing his fucking hoodie over your ridiculous pajamas.

Jungkook stands in the doorway, laundry basket propped against his hip, looking unfairly good for someone who's probably just rolled out of bed. His hair is a disaster, sticking up in tufts. He's wearing a plain white t-shirt and those stupid gray sweatpants that look way too good on him, and his feet are bare—the absolute psychopath. Who walks around a gross apartment building with no shoes?

His eyes drop immediately to the hoodie, and his eyebrow arches even higher.

"Interesting fashion choice, Phoenix," he says, lips twitching.

Your face heats. "Laundry day," you say, as if that explains everything.

As if borrowing—okay, stealing—his clothes is a perfectly normal response to having nothing clean to wear.

"Clearly." His gaze sweeps over you, taking in the edge of your floral shorts peeking out beneath the hem of his hoodie. "Sunflower PJs? Again?"

"It's laundry day," you repeat, like maybe he didn't hear you the first time. Like maybe that's a valid excuse for looking like you raided a middle schooler's closet. "Everything else is dirty."

"Hmm." 

He steps fully into the room, letting the door swing shut behind him, and moves to the washing machine next to yours. 

Puts his basket down. 

Stands too close. 

“But the hoodie isn't yours."

It's not a question. It's a statement, delivered with that infuriating confidence he always has, like he's so sure of himself, so certain of how this interaction is going to play out.

"I found it in my room," you say, turning back to your washing machine, pretending to be deeply interested in the cycle selection. "Must've gotten mixed up in my stuff."

"For a whole day?" He snorts, and you can hear him starting to sort his laundry beside you. "Interesting that you decided to wear it instead of, I don't know, returning it."

"It was convenient," you mutter, jabbing at the start button. "And it's cold."

"Right."

You can hear the smile in his voice without looking at him, and you don’t know why you notice without even having to gaze at him. 

Damn your body and its complete lack of dignity.

"You're late, boy."

Your head whips around at the sharp change in Dona's tone. Not softer—definitely not softer—but different somehow. Like… Less venomous, more... familiar? 

The old woman is glaring at Jungkook, but it's not the same glare she gives you. It's like the difference between a loaded gun and a water pistol.

"Sorry, Miss D," Jungkook says, and there's something in his voice—a hint of warmth?—that catches you completely off guard. "Overslept."

"Hmph. Young people." Dona shakes her head, but there's no real bite to it. "My sheets need folding. These old hands aren't what they used to be."

"Sure thing." Jungkook nods like this is a completely normal request, like random old ladies demanding his manual labor is just part of his Sunday routine.

What the actual fuck?

You stare between them, waiting for Jungkook to tell her to fold her own damn sheets, or at the very least look annoyed at being bossed around. 

But he just continues sorting his laundry like this is fine. 

Like this is normal.

"You know her?" you ask, keeping your voice low as Dona bustles over to check her washing machine.

Jungkook glances at you, one eyebrow raised. "Yeah?"

"Since when?"

He shrugs, separating a dark shirt from a pile of whites. "Since I moved in? She lives on the fourth floor."

"And you just... help her fold laundry? Voluntarily?"

"Sometimes." He's not looking at you now, focused on his sorting with more attention than dirty clothes really require. "It's not a big deal."

"Is that why she doesn't look at you like you're gum on her shoe?"

He huffs a laugh. "What?"

"She fucking hates me," you whisper, gesturing discreetly at Dona's back. "Every time I see her, she looks at me like I personally invented avocado toast and killed all the mom-and-pop stores."

"Maybe you just need to help her fold her sheets," he suggests, the corner of his mouth quirking up.

"Or maybe you've charmed her with your stupid dimples and your fake nice-guy routine."

"Fake nice-guy routine?" His eyebrows shoot up, and he looks genuinely amused. "Is that what you think this is?"

"Obviously," you mutter. "Nobody is actually that helpful without an agenda."

He studies you for a moment. Then, speaks. "Yeah? What's my agenda with Dona, then?"

“I don't know yet. But I'm sure it's something nefarious."

"Nefarious," he repeats, and now he's definitely laughing at you. "Sure, Phoenix. I'm playing the long con with a senior citizen. Really working that angle."

"Wouldn't put it past you.”

"Right." He tilts his head to the other side, still smiling slightly. "Well, while I'm busy being fake nice, you might want to turn your machine on. You've been standing there for five minutes and it's still not running."

You glance down at your washing machine, which is indeed just sitting there, silent and unhelpful. Fuck. Your finger must have missed the start button in your rush to look like you knew what you were doing.

You jab the button again, harder this time, and the machine finally lurches to life with a groan that sounds suspiciously like judgment.

"Boy," Dona calls from across the room, "come help with these detergent bottles. They're too heavy."

"Coming," Jungkook calls back, and he's moving before you can say anything else, crossing the room to where Dona is struggling with an industrial-sized bottle of Tide.

You watch, equal parts confused and suspicious, as he takes the bottle from her. They exchange a few words you can't quite hear over the rumble of the washing machines, and then—what the fuck—Dona actually pats his arm. Like he's her grandson or something.

Like she doesn't find him utterly repulsive.

Is this why she likes him? Because he lets her boss him around and carries her detergent? 

That's... kind of pathetic, actually. 

You thought Jungkook had more of a backbone than that.

But still. It's weird. The cold, calculating part of your brain catalogs this new information, filed under "Jungkook, Things That Don't Add Up About." 

It's growing into a pretty substantial folder these days.

You turn back to your washing machine, pretending to be deeply fascinated by the cycle display, but you're still watching them from the corner of your eye. Trying to figure out what his deal is.

"You need groceries this week?" Jungkook asks, voice low but not quite low enough that you can't hear it. "I can swing by after my studio session on Wednesday."

"Do I look like I need charity?" Dona snaps, but it’s not fueled by anger. If anything, she sounds... embarrassed?

"Not charity," Jungkook says, voice even. "Just a neighbor thing."

"Hmph." Dona busies herself with folding a dishcloth. "Well, if you insist on playing delivery boy, I do need milk. And those crackers from last time."

"Got it." Jungkook nods, like this is just normal. Like he's not going completely out of his way for someone who doesn't even seem particularly grateful.

You frown, trying to make it make sense. 

Maybe... maybe it's a hustle? Maybe old ladies tip really well? Or maybe he's building up good karma because he's secretly done something terrible and needs to balance the cosmic scales?

The two of them chat for a bit longer, and you can't quite hear all of it, but you catch fragments—something about Dona's doctor's appointment, something about Jungkook's classes, something about a recipe for chicken soup.

It's all so... domestic. So weirdly normal. So completely at odds with the Jungkook you know—the one who teases you mercilessly, the one who fucks you against walls, the one with the sharp edges and the arrogant smirk.

You're so busy trying to reconcile these two versions of him that you almost miss it when Dona's voice rises slightly.

"...since Hector passed, and these new delivery apps, they charge so much..." Her voice wavers, just slightly. "...shouldn't have to pay an arm and a leg just to get groceries when you can't..."

Jungkook says something too low for you to catch, and Dona makes that "hmph" sound again. But this time it sounds different. Almost... vulnerable?

"Well," she says, louder now, "you're the only one who bothers to check. The others in this building, they see an old woman and they look right through her. Like I'm already a ghost."

Oh.

Oh shit.

Something uncomfortable twists in your chest. An emotion you don't want to examine too closely. Something that feels a lot like…

Shame.

Because that's exactly what you did, isn't it? You saw a grumpy old lady and decided she was the enemy. You never once considered that maybe she was just lonely. 

That maybe she uses sharpness as a shield. 

The same way you use sarcasm as one. 

"Not a ghost yet," Jungkook says, and his voice is gentler than you've ever heard it. "Still kicking my ass at dominoes every Thursday."

"Language," Dona scolds, but you can hear the smile in her voice. "And don't you forget it. I expect a rematch this week."

"Wouldn't miss it."

Wait. He plays dominoes with her? Weekly? What the actual fuck?

And now you feel even worse, because apparently Jungkook—the guy you've been dismissing as an arrogant player with no depth—has been spending his Thursday nights playing board games with a lonely old woman.

While you've been doing what? Watching Netflix and judging everyone's life choices?

Great. Now he's making you feel like an asshole without even trying. That's just perfect.

You turn back to your washing machine, genuinely focused on it this time, trying to process this new information. Trying to fit it into your understanding of who Jungkook is. 

It's not working very well.

When you hear footsteps approaching, you pretend to be busy. You don’t know why you can’t look at him in the eyes right now.

"Sheets are folded," Jungkook says, sliding up next to you. "World is saved."

"What a hero," you deadpan, still not looking at him.

"Someday you'll appreciate my many talents," he says, and you can hear the smirk in his voice. "Speaking of which, nice hoodie."

You finally glance at him, and yep—there's that stupid, self-satisfied grin. Like he's caught you doing something embarrassing. Which, to be fair, he has.

"It's practical," you say, tugging the hem down where it's riding up. "That's all."

"Sure," he agrees easily. "Very practical to keep my clothes. Much more practical than, say, returning them."

"You want it back?" You make a show of starting to pull it off. "Fine, take—"

"Keep it," he says quickly, and the way he says it—not teasing, not mocking, just simple and straightforward—catches you off guard. "It looks better on you anyway."

You freeze, hands still at the hem of the hoodie, not quite sure how to respond to that. It feels like a trap somehow, like if you accept, you're admitting to something. To what, you're not exactly sure.

"Whatever," you mutter, dropping your hands. "I'll wash it and give it back."

"No rush." He turns back to his own laundry, a small smile playing at his lips.

For a moment, you just stand there, watching him sort his clothes. Then you look away, annoyed with yourself for gawking.

"So," you say, as casual as you can muster,  "you're like, what? The old lady whisperer?"

He glances at you, eyebrow raised. "What?"

"You and Dona." You gesture vaguely in her direction. "The whole..." You wave your hand, trying to encompass whatever the hell it is you just witnessed. "...thing."

"The thing," he repeats, clearly amused. "Very specific."

"You know what I mean," you huff. "The helping her fold sheets thing. The grocery delivery thing. The dominoes thing."

His movements pause for just a fraction of a second, so brief you almost miss it. "You were eavesdropping?"

"It's a small laundry room," you point out. "And you weren't exactly whispering."

"It's not a big deal."

"Playing dominoes with an old lady every Thursday isn't a big deal?"

"It's just dominoes," he says, like that explains everything. 

Like it's completely normal to spend your free time entertaining your elderly neighbor when you could be, I don't know, literally anything else that twenty-something guys usually do on a Thursday night.

"And the groceries?"

"She has trouble carrying them up the stairs," he says with a shrug. "The delivery apps charge too much. It's not a big deal."

"You keep saying that," you note, studying his profile as he focuses very intently on separating a blue shirt from a white one. "But it kind of is. I mean, how many people in this building even know their neighbors' names?"

"Maybe they should. Maybe it wouldn't kill people to look up from their phones once in a while and notice the actual humans around them."

You blink, taken aback by the sudden intensity. "Okay, damn. Sorry I asked."

"No, I'm—" He exhales sharply. "I just don't like talking about it, okay? It's not a thing."

"Why?" you press, genuinely curious now. "Why is it such a big secret that you're apparently a decent human being?"

“It's not a secret. I just don't..." He shakes his head. "I don't do it for attention or whatever. It's just the right thing to do."

"So you don't want me to know you do the right thing?"

"I don't need a fucking gold star for basic human decency," he snaps, and now there's definitely an edge to his voice. "I'm not looking for a pat on the back. I'm not trying to—" He breaks off, stuffing clothes into the machine with more force than necessary. "Just drop it, alright?"

You raise your eyebrows, watching as he jams quarters into the slot with unnecessary aggression. It's almost like he's... embarrassed? No, that's not quite right. More like he's uncomfortable with you knowing this side of him.

Like he doesn't want you to think he's actually nice.

Which is weird, because most guys would be falling all over themselves to prove they're nice guys. To get those good-person points. To make sure everyone knows what a saint they are for helping the little old lady with her groceries.

But Jungkook seems genuinely annoyed that you found out. Almost defensive about it.

It's... interesting.

Weird.

"Fine," you say, lifting your hands in surrender. "Consider it dropped. Your secret identity as a decent human being is safe with me."

He exhales sharply through his nose, still not looking at you. "Thanks."

You both lapse into silence, the hum of the washing machines like tiny droplets of silence between both of you. 

Across the room, Dona is bustling around the dryers, muttering to herself about settings and temperatures. You sneaks glances at her, seeing her in a different light now.

Not just a grumpy old woman. 

A widow. 

Someone who lives alone and has to rely on the kindness of neighbors—specifically, one neighbor—for simple tasks like carrying groceries. 

Someone who's lonely enough that a weekly dominoes game is something to look forward to.

It makes your chest feel tight in a way you don't particularly like.

"Boy," Dona calls, breaking the silence. "What cycle for delicates?"

"Gentle, cold water," Jungkook calls back without hesitation, like he's some kind of laundry expert. Like this is a normal conversation they have all the time.

"Hmph," is Dona's only response, but you notice she follows his advice, adjusting the settings on the dryer.

"She likes you," you observe quietly.

Jungkook glances at you, then back at his machine. 

"She tolerates me," he corrects. "There's a difference."

"She doesn't even tolerate me."

"You've never offered to help with her sheets."

"I didn't know that was an option," you say, crossing your arms. "There's no sign-up sheet for 'Old Lady Sheet Folding' in the lobby."

He snorts, and just like that, the tension from earlier seems to dissipate. 

“Maybe there should be. Building-wide rotation."

"I can see it now," you say, following in on the joke. "'4B gets Monday sheets, 6A takes Tuesday sheets...'"

"'If you find yourself assigned to Wednesday sheets, please be aware that those are the cat-hair sheets,'" he continues, adopting a serious tone. "'Lint rollers will be provided.'"

You can't help it—you laugh. 

It's brief, just a small burst of amusement, but it's genuine. 

And when you glance at Jungkook, he's looking at you with a strange expression, like he's seeing something he didn't expect.

"What?" you ask, immediately self-conscious.

"Nothing," he says, turning back to his machine. But there's a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Just wondering if I should sign you up for Thursday sheets."

"Don't you dare," you warn, but it’s too soft. "I have enough on my plate without adding geriatric sheet duty."

"Could be worse," he says with a shrug. "Could be Tuesday sheets."

"What's Tuesday?"

"Bingo night." He wiggles his eyebrows. "Dona goes hard on the snacks."

You stare at him, once again thrown by this glimpse into a life you didn't know existed. "You're kidding."

"Only partly," he admits with a grin. "But seriously, Tuesday is when she does her big laundry loads. Always complains about the folding."

"And you know this because...?"

"Because I pay attention," he says simply, like it's obvious. Like everyone should just naturally notice these things about their neighbors. "It's not that complicated, Phoenix."

There's no judgment in his voice, but you still feel oddly defensive. Like you've been caught failing some basic test of humanity.

"Well, we can't all be saints," you mutter.

"Not trying to be a saint," he says, a hint of irritation creeping back it. "It's just—" He exhales sharply. "Never mind."

You watch him from the corner of your eye, trying to figure out what button you just pushed. Why this, of all things, seems to get under his skin.

"Sorry," you say finally, surprising even yourself. "I didn't mean to make it weird."

“It's fine."

"It's cool that you help her," you add, feeling awkward but pressing on anyway. "Seriously. Not everyone would."

"Yeah, well." He shrugs, clearly uncomfortable with the praise. "Like I said, it's not a big deal."

"Right." You nod, getting it now.

He really doesn't want the recognition. 

Doesn't want the attention for doing something decent. 

You both fall silent again, with Dona’s muttering as your only company. It's not uncomfortable, though. It's just... quiet. Companionable, almost.

Which is weird, because you don't do companionable silences with Jungkook. You do heated arguments and sarcastic exchanges and intense fucking. 

Not... this. Whatever this is.

"You ever play dominoes?" he asks suddenly, breaking the silence.

You blink at the unexpected question. 

“Not since I was a kid."

He nods, considering this. 

"Dona's always complaining that two players is boring. Says it's meant to be played with more people."

You wait for him to continue, to make the obvious invitation, but he doesn't. Just stands there, pretending to be deeply interested in the cycle display on his washing machine.

"Are you..." You squint at him. "Are you trying to ask me to play dominoes with you and Dona?"

"What? No." He scoffs, finger pressing random buttons. "Just making conversation."

"Right."

"I'm just saying," he continues, eyes fixed on the machine, "that if you ever… I dunno, find yourself bored on a Thursday night… There’s always dominoes."

Is he… Is he actually inviting you to his weird geriatric game night?

And if so, why? 

It's not like you've shown any interest in spending time with the elderly. Or with him, outside of the very specific context of fucking each other senseless.

"I'll keep that in mind," you say finally, not committing to anything.

"Cool."

"Cool."

Another silence falls.

You don’t say anything.

He doesn’t say anything.

And you’re still wearing his hoodie. And he’s still standing too close. 

And for a moment—just a brief, fleeting moment—you wonder what it would be like. To sit around a table with Jungkook and Dona, playing dominoes on a Thursday night. To see that side of him—the side that helps old ladies with groceries and remembers how they like their sheets folded.

It's a weird thought. An unfamiliar one. And you push it away almost as soon as it forms.

Because that's not what this is.

That's not what you are. 

You're roommates who sometimes fuck. You're not friends who play board games together.

"Boy," Dona calls from across the room, breaking into your thoughts. "What cycle for cotton?"

"High heat, Miss D," Jungkook calls back, and just like that, the moment—whatever it was—is broken.

He turns back to his sorting, and you turn back to yours, and everything goes back to normal. Or whatever passes for normal these days.

But you're still wearing his hoodie. And you're pretty sure you're not giving it back anytime soon.

Sometime later, you're leaning against the wall just outside the laundry room, scrolling mindlessly through your phone. 

Your thumb drags across the screen without purpose, not really taking in whatever the hell you're looking at—Instagram? Twitter? Does it matter? The washing machines finished twenty minutes ago, but Jungkook insisted on carrying both your loads like some kind of laundry martyr.

"I got it," he'd said, waving you off when you tried to grab your basket. "Go ahead."

So here you are, waiting, because it feels weird to just leave him down here with your underwear. Even though he's definitely seen your underwear before. In significantly more compromising contexts.

From inside the laundry room, you can hear the murmur of voices—Jungkook and Dona in what sounds like a heated debate about fabric softener. You catch fragments: "ruins the absorbency" and "smells nice" and "didn't raise my Hector to use that chemical garbage."

You roll your eyes. How is this your Sunday? Standing in a dingy hallway while your fuck buddy debates laundry techniques with a geriatric neighbor?

The door finally swings open, and Jungkook emerges, arms loaded with both laundry baskets stacked precariously on top of each other. His biceps flex as he adjusts the weight, and you're definitely not noticing that. 

"Ready?" he asks, nudging the door closed with his foot.

"Been ready," you murmur, pocketing your phone. "Some of us don't need an hour-long consultation about dryer settings."

"She has strong opinions about lint," he says, absolutely straight-faced, like this is a normal follow-up to any conversation.

"Fascinating." You push off from the wall, heading for the stairs. "Let's go before she recruits you for a lint task force or whatever."

He just grins, following behind you. 

The stairwell is narrow and poorly lit, with concrete steps that have seen better decades. 

You're a few steps ahead when you hear it—a dull thud followed by a muttered "fuck."

You spin around to see Jungkook stumbling backward, nearly dropping both baskets as his free hand flies to his forehead. There's an exposed pipe running along the low ceiling that you always duck under without thinking—you're not particularly tall—but apparently nobody warned Jungkook about it.

"Shit." The word leaves your mouth before you can stop it, and suddenly you're moving toward him, hands reaching out automatically. "You okay?"

He looks momentarily stunned, both by the impact and by your reaction. 

"Yeah, just—"

You're already on your tiptoes, fingers brushing his hair away from his forehead to check the damage. There's a red mark forming, but the skin isn't broken. His hair is softer than you expected, still slightly damp from his morning shower, and he smells like—

Wait.

What the fuck are you doing?

You freeze, suddenly aware of how close you are, of your fingers in his hair, of his eyes fixed on yours with an expression you can't quite read. 

Neither of you moves. 

His eyes dart between both of your pupils. 

"Um," you say intelligently, dropping your hands like his forehead is suddenly made of lava. "Be more careful. We don't need you more idiot than you already are."

Smooth. Really smooth.

His lips twitch, but he doesn't call you out on whatever the hell that sentence was supposed to be. "Thanks for the concern."

"I'm not concerned," you say automatically, already turning back toward the stairs. "Just don't want to deal with your concussed ass if you knock yourself out."

"Right." His voice follows you up the stairs. "God forbid you have to care about something."

"Exactly," you agree, not looking back. "Caring is for suckers."

You're halfway up the flight when you hear him grunt as he shifts the laundry baskets. It's a lot to carry, and the stairwell is narrow, but you're definitely not offering to help. That would imply you care, which you just explicitly denied. So.

There's a moment of shuffling footsteps behind you, then: "Wait a sec, Nix."

You turn, ready with some smart-ass comment about his head injury affecting his ability to climb stairs, but the words die in your throat. He's set both baskets down on the landing and is now kneeling on the step below you, looking at your feet.

"What are you—"

"Your shoes," he says, nodding at your sneakers. "They're untied."

You glance down. Sure enough, both laces on your ancient Converse are dragging on the concrete steps, a tripping hazard waiting to happen.

"I know," you lie. You didn't know. "I was gonna fix them later."

"Later, like after you face-plant on the stairs?" He's already reaching for your shoe, his big hands deftly gathering the laces. "With my luck, I'd have to call an ambulance, and they'd blame me for pushing you."

"I wouldn't give you the satisfaction of falling," you mutter, but you don't pull away.

Instead, you just stand there, weirdly frozen, as Jungkook—the guy who regularly makes you come so hard you see stars—ties your shoelaces like you're a fucking kindergartner.

His head is bent in concentration, dark hair falling over his forehead, partially hiding the red mark from the pipe. His hands move with practiced ease, looping and pulling. 

It's such a small thing. So mundane. So ordinary.

So why does your chest feel tight?

"There," he says, finishing the second shoe with a final tug. "Crisis averted."

He glances up at you, still kneeling, and something in his expression makes your stomach do a weird little flip. It's probably just the angle. The way the shitty stairwell lighting catches on his features. The lingering effects of morning caffeine making your pulse do stupid things.

"I could have done that myself," you say, but your voice comes out softer than you intended.

"I know." He shrugs, pushing himself to his feet and picking up the laundry baskets again. "But you didn't."

You don't have a good response to that, so you just turn and continue up the stairs, acutely aware of him following behind you. The only sound is your newly tied shoes against the concrete and his slightly labored breathing as he carries the laundry.

It's weird. 

This whole morning has been weird. 

First the hoodie, then Dona and the dominoes revelation, now this—Jungkook tying your shoes like it's nothing.

Like these small, casually intimate gestures are just things people do for each other.

Maybe they are. Maybe this is all completely normal roommate behavior, and you're the weird one for overthinking it.

It's not like he meant anything by it. 

He's just like that, apparently—the kind of guy who helps old ladies with groceries and plays dominoes on Thursdays and doesn't let people trip on their shoelaces. 

It's not personal. It's not about you.

He's just nice sometimes. In between being an absolute asshole who drives you crazy.

It doesn't mean anything.

It doesn't mean anything at all.

You finally make it to the apartment door, fishing your keys out of the pocket of Jungkook's stupid hoodie and hold the door open for him because he's still stubbornly carrying both laundry loads, despite your begrudging offer to take yours back.

"I can carry my own shit," you'd said on the landing between the second and third floors, trying to grab your basket.

He'd just smirked and swung it out of your reach. "I got it."

"I'm not helpless."

"Never said you were."

"So give me my laundry, asshole."

"Nope."

And that was that. Because apparently this is the hill he wants to die on. Stupid, stubborn, impossible man.

Now he strides past you into the apartment, annoyingly unbothered by the weight of two full baskets. 

You absolutely do not track how lean his arm muscles are as he sets them both on the table near the main door.

You definitely don't track the line of his shoulders as he rolls them back, working out the tension from the climb. 

And you certainly don't follow a bead of sweat as it trails down the side of his neck, disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt.

Because that would be pathetic. And you're not pathetic.

He starts rummaging through his basket, brows furrowed in concentration. Then he looks up, confusion clear on his face. 

“Wait, I'm missing a sock."

"Huh?"

"A sock." He holds up a single black sock with little Batman logos on it. "I should have two."

You stare at him blankly. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Did you see a sock drop or something? On the stairs, maybe?"

"Why would I be looking for your socks?" You cross your arms. "I have better things to do with my life than track your Batmans."

"Fuck it," he sighs. "I'm going downstairs again."

"Seriously? For a sock?"

"It's my favorite pair." He's already heading for the door. "Be right back."

And then he's gone, the door closing behind him with a soft click, leaving you standing there next to two baskets of laundry and feeling weirdly... abandoned? 

Which is ridiculous. It's a sock. He'll be back in five minutes. 

Get a grip, bitch.

You stare at the laundry baskets on the table. His and yours, side by side. 

Why did he insist on carrying yours? It's so stupidly... nice. And Jungkook isn't nice. He's arrogant and annoying and makes you want to pull your hair out. He's not supposed to tie your shoes or carry your laundry or play dominoes with old ladies.

It's throwing off your entire understanding of him, and that's irritating as hell.

You hate him. You definitely hate him.

Except that's getting harder to believe by the day.

The sound of a door opening breaks into your thoughts, but it's not the main door—it's Yoongi's room. Huh. Like seeing a bear outside hibernation season.

He shuffles into the kitchen, looking about as close to death as you've ever seen him. His hair is a disaster, sticking up in weird tufts like he’s barely managed to lay down on a horizontal surface. The bags under his eyes have bags. His t-shirt is wrinkled in that "I've been wearing this for days" way, and he's moving with the careful deliberation of someone who hasn't slept in approximately three centuries.

"Working?" you ask, because it seems like the only explanation for this zombie-like state.

"Unfortunately." His voice is rough, like he hasn't used it in hours. Maybe days.

He doesn't elaborate, just heads straight for the coffee maker. 

You don't ask. Not your business. 

Besides, you've got your own shit to worry about—like why you can't stop thinking about Jungkook carrying your laundry, or tying your shoes, or the way his hands moved when he was folding Dona's sheets.

God, you need a lobotomy.

Your gaze drifts around the apartment, trying to focus on literally anything else. It lands on the record collection displayed on the wall next to the TV. There must be at least thirty vinyl albums. You remember when Yeji was over last week, she mentioned them—commented on how eclectic the selection was.

You'd just shrugged and said they were Yoongi's. Because they had to be, right? Music producer, always holed up with headphones... it makes sense.

"Nice collection," you say, nodding toward the wall. 

You're not sure why you say it. Maybe to make conversation. Maybe to confirm your assumption. Maybe because some part of you suspects they're not Yoongi's at all, and you want to know what else you might have missed about Jungkook.

Not that you care about his likes or interests or anything. That would be dangerously close to caring about him as a person, which—ha! Absolutely not.

"Huh?" 

Yoongi turns around lazily, coffeepot in hand. He follows your gaze to the wall of records, and then—he scoffs. Actually scoffs, shaking his head like you've just said something so stupid he can't believe it came out of your mouth.

"Have you even checked them?" he asks, tone dry as the Sahara. "They're mostly Mayer."

You blink.

Mayer? As in John Mayer? As in the songs Jungkook plays on his guitar sometimes?

As in "Slow Dancing in a Burning Room"—the song he played that night in his room when he taunted you through text messages and you were stupid enough to actually walk in?

"They're Jungkook's," Yoongi adds after a beat of silence. "Not mine."

"Oh." The word falls from your lips automatically, small and insignificant, completely inadequate to express the weird reorganization happening in your brain. "But he doesn't have a record player?"

Yoongi just shrugs, pouring coffee into his mug. "Doesn't mean he can't collect them."

You stare at the vinyl collection with new eyes. Each album carefully chosen, meticulously arranged. A physical manifestation of something Jungkook cares about, something he values enough to collect even though he can't listen to them. Yet.

Something unwinds in your chest. A tight, small knot of... what? 

Surprise? 

Interest? 

Whatever it is, you don't like it. Don't want to examine it too closely. Because it feels dangerously like the beginning of seeing Jungkook as a whole person, not just the asshole who happens to be good in bed.

And that's not what this is. That's not what you are.

The door swings open, and there he is—stupid grin on his stupid face, waving a Batman sock in the air like he's just found buried treasure.

"Found it," he announces, triumphant. "It was stuck in the dryer door."

You give him the blankest stare you can muster. "Congratulations. Your sock journey is complete."

His grin just widens, completely unfazed by your sarcasm. "Thanks for the moral support, Phoenix. Couldn't have done it without you."

"I literally did nothing."

"Your energy kept me going."

You roll your eyes so hard it's a miracle they don't get stuck in the back of your head. He just laughs, that warm, rich sound that does absolutely nothing to your insides, and starts gathering his laundry.

"Later," you mutter, turning away before he can see the corner of your mouth threatening to twitch upward.

You grab your laundry basket head straight for your room, shutting the door with perhaps more force than necessary.

Safe in your own space, you fish your phone from your pocket—and see three missed calls from the same number. 

Ah. Barnes & Noble. 

Seems like you got the job. Which is good. Great, even.

This is what responsible adults do—get jobs, pay bills, build sensible futures. Not collect vinyl records they can't play or help old ladies with their grocery shopping or carry their roommates' laundry just because.

Normal, practical, boring adult stuff. That's what you're about.

Except now you can't stop thinking about those records on the wall. About what else you might have missed. About who Jungkook actually is when he isn't being an infuriating, cocky asshole. About—

About nothing. Because you don’t care. 

He’s Jungkook. Rogue. The infuriating roommate of yours that leaves towels everywhere and can’t be bothered to clean his own mugs. 

You toss your phone onto your bed and start aggressively pulling laundry from your basket. 

You've got shit to do. Clothes to put away. A job to call back about. A life to live that absolutely does not revolve around wondering why your roommate collects vinyl records or helps old ladies or ties your shoes when they're untied.

It doesn't matter. None of it matters.

(Except that it might. Just a little. And that's the most terrifying thought of all.)

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© jungkoode 2025 no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[heliosunny]

Deception

Yandere!Gojo x Reader

Years ago, Gojo Satoru watched his closest friend—his everything—die in his arms. The grief shattered him, pushing him to become the strongest sorcerer, a lone god among men. But when he unexpectedly sees you—alive, breathing, and unchanged—his carefully controlled world spirals into chaos.

The first time Gojo saw you die, something inside him shattered.

He had always been fast—too fast, but not that day. That day, he was too slow.

One moment, you were standing beside him, teasing him like you always did. The next, blood was pooling beneath you, your body limp in his arms. His hands pressed against the wound, shaking, desperate.

“Stay with me” he whispered, his voice cracking. “Don’t do this to me.”

But no matter how much power he had, no matter how much he begged, you still slipped away.

And Gojo, the strongest, realized something terrifying that day.

Without you, strength meant nothing.

Years passed, but the nightmares never did.

He stopped visiting your grave. What was the point? You weren’t there. You weren’t anywhere. Just a memory, a cruel trick time played on him. No soul left to sense, no cursed energy to trace. Just a void where you used to be.

Then, one night, under the dim glow of a streetlamp, he saw you.

And the world tilted on its axis.

You were laughing softly, eyes bright, standing just a few feet away. The same face. The same voice. The same presence he had lost all those years ago.

His Six Eyes burned as he focused on you—on your soul.

It was you.

Not an illusion. Not a trick.

You.

His breath hitched, fingers twitching at his sides. A thousand emotions surged through him at once—rage, confusion, relief—but one thought drowned out the rest.

You lied.

And Gojo Satoru did not take betrayal lightly.

Hours later, you walked alone through the quiet streets, your bag slung over your shoulder.

The night was crisp, and after the farewell party with your friends, exhaustion weighed on you. You had finally left your old life behind. No more sorcerers. No more Jujutsu battles. No more him.

At least, that’s what you thought.

Then, the air changed.

Before you could react, a hand covered your mouth, an arm wrapped around your waist, and the world snapped into darkness.

When you woke up, the scent of concrete and old wood filled your nose. A dim light flickered above you, casting long, eerie shadows. Your wrists were bound to the arms of a chair—tight enough to keep you still but loose enough not to hurt.

A slow, familiar chuckle sent a shiver down your spine.

“Rise and shine, sweetheart.”

Your heart stopped.

Gojo stood in front of you, blindfold gone, Six Eyes glowing as he leaned down, his face mere inches from yours. His expression was unreadable, too calm, too controlled.

You swallowed hard. “Satoru—”

He clicked his tongue. “Toru” he corrected, voice almost playful. “You used to call me Toru, remember?”

You stayed silent.

His fingers ghosted over your cheek, his touch feather-light yet suffocating. “You died” he whispered, his tone soft but laced with something sharp. “I felt you die. And yet… here you are.”

Your pulse pounded against your skin.

He leaned closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he murmured: “Start talking, love. Why did you leave me?”

Your breath hitched. His voice was low, smooth, but it carried an edge so sharp it could cut through bone.

You turned your head away, refusing to meet his gaze. “Let me go, Satoru.”

A slow, dark chuckle escaped his lips.

“There it is. That defiance,” he mused, tilting your chin back toward him with two fingers. “I wondered if you’d changed after all these years. Guess not.”

His Six Eyes flickered, scanning every inch of you—your trembling fingers, the tension in your jaw, the way your pulse pounded in your throat. You weren’t afraid. No, this wasn’t fear.

It was guilt.

Gojo’s grip on your chin tightened just slightly. “You faked your death” he said, the words more statement than question. “Why?”

You clenched your teeth. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

You swallowed hard. The weight of the past, of everything you left behind, pressed against your ribs like a vice.

“You needed me to be dead.”

Silence.

Gojo didn’t move, but something in his expression darkened. “Excuse me?”

You took a shaky breath. “You needed something to break you, Satoru. Something to push you past your limits. You needed pain, real pain, so you’d become strong enough to protect everyone else. If I had stayed… you wouldn’t be who you are now.”

For a moment, the only sound in the room was your own breathing.

Then—

Laughter.

Cold, bitter laughter that sent chills down your spine.

Gojo straightened, running a hand through his hair. “That’s your reason?” His voice dripped with something almost hysterical. “You let me rot in grief? You chose to make me suffer?”

Tears stung your eyes. “It wasn’t supposed to be forever! I planned to come back—”

“Then why didn’t you?”

His voice cracked.

Your lips parted, but no words came.

Because you had seen it.

The way he had changed. The man who once stood beside you, carefree and untouchable, had become something else. A god among sorcerers. The strongest. A man who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.

You had done this to him. And by the time you realized it, it was too late.

“I was going to” you whispered. “But you didn’t need me anymore.”

Gojo went still.

Then, in a blink, he was in front of you again, both hands gripping the arms of your chair, caging you in. “You don’t get to decide that” he murmured, voice dangerously soft.

Your heart pounded.

“You think I needed to break?” His lips curled into something that wasn’t a smile. “You think I needed to lose you to become stronger?”

You flinched.

Gojo exhaled slowly, shaking his head. “Damn it…” His hands lifted, resting on either side of your face, thumbs brushing over your cheekbones. “If you had just told me—if you had just stayed—I still would’ve become the strongest.”

His fingers tightened slightly.

“But at least I wouldn’t have been alone.”

For the first time since waking up in this room, you saw it—the raw, unfiltered agony behind his glowing eyes. The pain you had left him with.

You opened your mouth, but he spoke first.

“It doesn’t matter now.” His voice was quieter, but no less intense. “You’re here. And I’m not letting you leave again.”

Your stomach dropped. “Satoru—”

His lips brushed against your forehead—gentle, fleeting. But when he pulled back, the look in his eyes sent a shiver down your spine.

“Welcome home.”

[mightyostanes]

Why Jews Aren't "Trying to Trick G-d"

(Note only secondary sources are cited in the bibliography)

For my second post I had originally planned on writing something more fun but unfortunately, I feel the need to write this. Lately I’ve seen quite a few people on twitter saying that the way Jews interpret Halakah is that Jews are trying to trick G-d. While this is obviously a bad faith argument designed to be shitty, I still think this subject should be explained in greater detail. Mostly because I think there’s a fundamental disconnect in the way people imagine religions should interact with their deity and how Judaism has historically interacted with G-d. Furthermore, due to the Haskalah and Counter Haskalah I feel that a lot of these ideas have been lost to a lot of Jews in the English-speaking world. Replaced by Platonism that has much more in common with Philo and Maimonides then it does with anything the sages actually wrote or believed. Or to put it in much franker terms the toilet demon Rabba Bar Rav Huna mentioned in Gittin70:A6 probably wasn’t a metaphor. Instead, it seems incredibly likely that both he and Rabbi Tanhum Bar Tanilai believed in a literal Sheyd that lived in literal toilets no matter how embarrassing that sounds. 

    The reason this bizarre tangent is important is because if you actually look at the biblical, rabbinic, medieval, kabbalistic, and hasidic literature it utterly destroys the idea that the relationship of the Jew to G-d is of one sided kowtowing submission. Granted, it’s quite easy to interpret it that way but that’s mostly due to conditioning in terms of what people think a theistic religion should be about rather than any wiggle room in the texts themselves. In fact, I’d wager most arguments against this have more to do with people’s idea of the Tanakh than the Tanakh itself. 

      The biggest reason for this misunderstanding in my opinion is that very few people actually know what a covenant is let alone its context. To illustrate my point, I’d like you to think back on the last time you made a covenant with someone or something. Assuming you aren’t a ceremonial magician the answer to the question just posed is probably never. In the modern world covenant has become almost solely associated with the Bible and has almost no context. Especially because the idea of the ‘New Covenant’ talked about in the works of Paul the Apostle has very little to do with what covenants historically were. Rather than statements of blind faith, covenants in the Ancient Near East were more analogous to contracts and treaties. There are even some scholars who think that the covenantal theology in Deuteronomy may be based on Ancient Near Eastern vassal treaties. (1)

    In these treaties a bigger state or kingdom would make a treaty for a smaller kingdom to accept fealty to them. (1) In these treaties, at least in paper, rather than being a slave the ruler of the smaller nation was supposed to be a junior partner. Said vassals would also continue to be junior partners to the larger power if they held up the obligations given to them by the treaty. (1) Similarly, just as the smaller party holds obligations to the larger party the larger party also holds obligations to the smaller party. Including ostensibly having to listen to complaints or suggestions the smaller party made. 

   In the Tanakh or Five Books of Moses, there are exactly three covenants mentioned that occurred between G-d and humans. These three aforementioned covenants are the covenant with Noah and his descendants once the Ark lands, (Gen 8:20-9:13), The covenant for Abraham’s descendants where an unknown light phenomenon signifying G-d passes through Abraham’s sacrifice (Gen: 15), and the famous covenant between G-d and the Israelites on Mount Sinai (Exodus 19-24). Shortly after the establishment of both the Abrahamic and Mosaic Covenants G-d or an emissary of G-d appears and holds a banquet with the covenant members (Gen 18:1-10, Exodus 24:9-18). In the Ancient Near Eastern context that these texts were written in, banquets and feasts thrown by a king or senior covenant partner were incredibly important tools for control or consolidation. In both the Neo-Assyrian Empire and in the kingdom of Mari not only eating with the king but being at the table with him showed that you were considered as part of the king’s metaphorical family (2). These constructed family hierarchies would be clearly delineated by how close one sat to the king and how one sat, with the people right next to the king being seen as close immediate family members analogous to sons or younger brothers. In the two previously mentioned covenants the Elders of Israel and Abraham’s family sans Lot were sitting with G-d or his emissary suggesting an incredibly close relationship instead of merely that of master and servant. Especially as the angels or heavenly host were not seated ahead of the human participants at the metaphorical dinner table. 

          This idea of man as junior partner and consultant is also seen in the way that humans can critique, give advice to, or argue with G-d and G-d takes their words into consideration. A famous example of this post covenant is Abraham giving G-d suggestions on what to do with Sodom and Gomorrah and G-d accepting his input (Gen 18). An even more extreme example is in Exodus 32 when Moses actually argues with G-d and seemingly wins the argument thus saving the lives of the Hebrews. Similarly, complaints were by no means unknown by the rulers of vassal states to their overlords. The famous Amarna letters addressed by Egyptian allies and vassals to Pharaoh Akhenaten are filled with complaints and requests, with a few even being acknowledged (3). Considering that Pharaoh’s considered themselves living gods this just adds more background to the precedent of complaining towards, making suggestions to, or arguing with the divine.

    Beyond the kinship of all the community of Israel, and not just a singular son, with G-d there are also many notions that have to be cleared up in regard to humankind’s place in creation. A famous Midrash Tanhuma Tarzia 5 has a Roman Consul asking Rabbi Akiba why Jews circumcise male children when G-d has them born uncircumcised. In response Rabbi Akiba shows the consul grain, created by G-d and bread which is that same grain altered by man. Rabbi Akiba then asks the consul which one is better, before giving the obvious answer that most people prefer bread. This little story besides giving a philosophical explanation for circumcision also gives a good summary of the main ethos of Rabbinic Judaism. That G-d made the world unfinished so that mankind in general and Jews in particular could finish it. To establish the kingdom of heaven on earth rather than merely waiting for it. The translation of ‘Tikkun Olam’ as repairing the world was meant to be understood literally and not just as a metaphor for social justice.

    Lastly and perhaps most shocking to an Abrahamic Gentile reader, the G-d of Judaism was not traditionally portrayed as unchanging or infallible. The idea only gained traction in rabbinic Judaism after Maimonides inserted it into his theology after borrowing it from Aristotelian, Islamic, and Christian ideas in the 12th century. Historically the G-d of Judaism has been shown to change their mind, and according to Moshe Idel is even affected by theurgy (4). As evidenced by many stories in the Torah where G-d explicitly changes their mind on what they want to do. The mutability of G-d’s mind in terms of human prayer and action carries over to the realm of Halakhic interpretation assuming the other party has a good point. The most famous example of this rabbinical overturning G-d’s decree is in Baba Metzia 59B where Three Rabbis tell G-d that G-d and Rabbi Eliezer’s interpretation of a ruling regarding an oven is invalid. They achieve this by citing Deuteronomy 30:12, and Exodus 30:2 stating that the Law is not in heaven and is for the majority to decide its correct meaning. Instead of smiting the group of Rabbis G-d simply laughs stating that ‘My children have beaten me’. Indeed, the Great Maggid even goes as far as to say that G-d, like a parent teaching their child Torah, actually prefers a novel interpretation instead of just parroting the interpretation given by the parent (5).

           In Pauline Christianity Deuteronomy 30:12 which states, “The Law is not in Heaven” has been taken to mean that Halakah isn’t binding in the kingdom of heaven. However, the mainstream rabbinic interpretation means that only living humans can truly follow the Torah and perform Mitzvot to their fullest extent. In the Talmud in Shabbat 88B there is one of many Moses vs angels battles found throughout Jewish literature regarding whether humans should receive the Torah. Just like all of the other stories with this mytheme, Moses obviously wins this battle and takes the Torah to Israel. What makes this story different is that rather than using theurgy to bind the angels or just beating the tar out of them, Moses defeats them with a well-reasoned argument. I’ll let the passage I copied from Sefaria speak for itself.

     Moses said before Him: Master of the Universe, the Torah that You are giving me, what is written in it? God said to him: “I am the Lord your God Who brought you out of Egypt from the house of bondage” (Exodus 20:2). Moses said to the angels: Did you descend to Egypt? Were you enslaved to Pharaoh? Why should the Torah be yours? Again Moses asked: What else is written in it? God said to him: “You shall have no other gods before Me” (Exodus 20:3). Moses said to the angels: Do you dwell among the nations who worship idols that you require this special warning? Again Moses asked: What else is written in it? The Holy One, Blessed be He, said to him: “Remember the Shabbat day to sanctify it” (Exodus 20:8). Moses asked the angels: Do you perform labor that you require rest from it? Again Moses asked: What else is written in it? “Do not take the name of the Lord your God in vain” (Exodus 20:7), meaning that it is prohibited to swear falsely. Moses asked the angels: Do you conduct business with one another that may lead you to swear falsely? Again Moses asked: What else is written in it? The Holy One, Blessed be He, said to him: “Honor your father and your mother” (Exodus 20:12). Moses asked the angels: Do you have a father or a mother that would render the commandment to honor them relevant to you? Again Moses asked: What else is written in it? God said to him: “You shall not murder, you shall not commit adultery, you shall not steal” (Exodus 20:13) Moses asked the angels: Is there jealousy among you, or is there an evil inclination within you that would render these commandments relevant?

-Shabbat 88B (Babylonian Talmud)

       The Mitzvot, something occasionally seen as higher and holier than the immanent aspect of G-d (6) were meant to be performed solely by humans. Because just like the angels, G-d lacks many of these physical imperfections that give many of the Mitzvot any real weight. Therefore, as the ones who do the most mitzvot, how we interpret and follow them is fundamentally up to us.

    Admittedly I could go on and on about the theoretical frameworks behind the ideas. Such as the status of the Torah vis a vis the status of G-d, or the tradition of prayer as legal battle with the divine realm but that’d be a whole other bag of cats. One that’d probably take 20 pages to accurately give my thoughts, thoughts that would be at best heretical to at least a fair number of Jews. So instead let us end this here, there is no way for Jews to cheat Halakhah because it fundamentally belongs to the Jews. It is our burden that we have to bear and our most cherished treasure. Even if it did indeed come from G-d, like any gift the receiver usually is the actual owner and the one who decides what to do with it.

Citation List for non primary sources

Koller, Aaron. “Deuteronomy and Hittite Treaties.” Bible Interpretations , September 2014. https://bibleinterp.arizona.edu/articles/2014/09/kol388003. 

Milano, Lucio. “Naptan Ḫudûtu Aškun". Practice and Ideology of Neo-Assyrian Banquets.” Thesis, Storia Antica e Arceologico Ciclo , 2013.Section 3. Eating With The King: The Earthly Banquet. PG 60-80

Nutter, Nick. “How the Great Kings Managed Their Vassal States during the Bronze Age.” nuttersworld.com, August 15, 2024. https://nuttersworld.com/civilisations-that-collapsed/managing-vassal-states/. 

 Idel, Moshe. Middot: On the emergence of Kabbalistic Theosophies. Brooklyn, NY: KTAV Publishing House, 2021. 

Idel, Moshe. “The Son of God as a Righteous in Hasidism .” Chapter. In Ben: Sonship and Jewish Mysticism, 531–85. New York, NY: Continuum , n.d. 

6. Idel, Moshe. “The World Absorbing Text.” Chapter. In Absorbing Perfections Kabbalah and Interpretation, 26–45. New Haven, Connecticut : Yale University Press, 2002

[angelicwrites]

devilishly yours | lucifer morningstar

summary. lucifer becomes captivated by your enigmatic nature and immunity to his powers, sparking a charged dynamic as he relentlessly seeks to uncover your deepest desires. when he finally succeeds, the revelation challenges both his confidence and your own understanding of your feelings pairings. lucifer mornigstar x fem!reader genre. smut (MDNI 18+), dom!lucifer x sub!reader, porn w plot warnings. unprotected sex, piv, finger & oral (f receiving), lots of petnames, teasing

a/n. this is my first smut here, please show some love and feedback !

lux was alive that night, its usual crowd a blur of bodies swaying to the rhythm of the music. lucifer morningstar stood at the bar, a drink in hand, his sharp eyes focused on a singular figure in the room, you. he had been observing you for weeks now, your mere presence an enigma that simultaneously irritated and fascinated him. unlike everyone else, you were immune to his charms. no coy glances, no lingering touches, and certainly no breathy confessions of desire. instead, you looked at him like he was just another man in the crowd, and it was driving him mad.

“she’s doing it again,” lucifer muttered to himself, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. his lips curved into a smirk as he tilted his head, studying you from across the room. “so confident. so utterly unbothered. who are you, darling?”

as if sensing his thoughts, you turned your head, your eyes meeting his with a pointed sharpness that caught him off guard. instead of looking away, you smirked, sauntering over to the bar with an air of defiance. sliding onto the stool beside him, you leaned in just slightly, enough to close the distance but not enough to give him the upper hand.

“enjoying the view, morningstar?” you asked, your voice light but laced with a teasing edge.

lucifer raised his glass in mock acknowledgment, his smirk never faltering. “caught red-handed,” he admitted smoothly. “but can you blame me? you’re quite the enigma.”

“an enigma,” you repeated, your tone almost playful as you tapped your fingers against the bar. “that’s one way to describe it. or maybe you’re just overthinking it.”

he chuckled, leaning closer as if letting you in on a secret. “oh, i never overthink. but you” his voice dropped slightly, sending a shiver down your spine. “you have this way of making me question things. it’s unsettling, and believe me darling, very few people unsettle me.”

you rolled your eyes, refusing to let his words rattle you. “maybe i’m just not impressed by your little party tricks.”

that response. that maddeningly calm dismissal made something flicker in his expression, a flash of irritation, quickly masked by intrigue. “not impressed,” he repeated, as though the words were foreign to him. “you wound me. truly. shall i try harder?”

“please don’t,” you said dryly, your lips curving into a small, amused smile. “i’d hate to see you actually put in effort.”

the back-and-forth was electric, a game neither of you had planned but were fully invested in. lucifer found himself grinning despite the frustration you sparked in him. “you’re playing a dangerous game,” he warned, his voice a low, velvety drawl.

“am i?” you shot back, tilting your head. “because from where i’m sitting, it looks like you’re the one who’s losing.”

for the first time in centuries, lucifer felt the sting of being outmatched, and he found that he didn’t mind. if anything, it only made him more determined to figure you out.

the next encounter came days later, quieter but no less charged. it was late, lux was nearly empty, and the two of you were working a case together. the gruesome details of the murder had done little to distract him from the ever-growing puzzle that was you.

“you’re unusually quiet tonight,” lucifer said, breaking the silence as he poured himself a drink. he didn’t offer you one, he knew you’d decline, just to prove a point.

“i’m thinking,” you replied simply, your tone nonchalant as you leaned against the bar, your eyes focused on the papers spread out in front of you.

“about me, i hope,” he quipped, his grin widening when you let out a small, exasperated laugh.

“always so full of yourself,” you muttered, shaking your head.

“guilty as charged,” he admitted, his gaze flickering to you. “but in my defense, i’m usually right. so tell me darling, what’s your secret?”

you arched an eyebrow, finally looking up at him. “what secret?”

he leaned in slightly, his expression turning serious. “everyone has desires. everyone. and yet, you seem immune. why is that?”

you didn’t answer immediately, your lips pressing into a thin line as if considering whether or not to indulge him. finally, you sighed, your tone clipped but calm. “maybe you’re not looking hard enough.”

his eyes narrowed at that, his curiosity only deepening. “oh, i’m looking darling, believe me. and i’ll figure it out, one way or another.”

the tension between you was almost suffocating, the weight of his words lingering in the air long after they were spoken. as much as you wanted to deny it, a part of you knew he was right. he would figure it out. the question was, what would happen when he did?

that was when it happened. in a flash of celestial energy, the room seemed to shift. lucifer straightened, his usual confidence faltering as he felt something unlock. for the first time since he’d met you, his power worked, and the truth of your desires crashed into him like a tidal wave.

“oh,” he whispered, his voice laced with equal parts surprise and amusement. a slow, devilish grin spread across his face as he stepped closer, his eyes dark with understanding. “well well, it seems the mystery is solved.”

you froze, the heat rising in your cheeks as you realized what had happened. “lucifer—”

“say it,” he interrupted, his voice low and insistent. “say it out loud.”

“i don’t know what you’re talking about,” you snapped, moving to put distance between you, but he followed, his movements predatory.

“oh, don’t play coy now,” he murmured, his fingers brushing against your arm, sending a shiver down your spine. “you want me. you’ve wanted me from the start.”

you turned on him then, your anger flaring. “don’t flatter yourself.”

he chuckled, his breath warm against your skin as he leaned in closer, his lips a mere inch from yours. “darling, i don’t need to flatter myself. i saw it. i felt it. and now” he paused, his voice dropping to a whisper. “now i can’t stop thinking about it.”

a rush of heat flooded your cheeks, and you realized that lucifer's powers, which had been rumored to enthrall and control others, seemed to have no effect on you. you were immune to his allure, or so you thought. "i-i don't know what you're talking about," you stammered, trying to sound brave.

lucifer's eyes narrowed, and for a moment, a flicker of surprise crossed his face. "really? you’re thoughts are telling me otherwise my dear," he took another step, closing the distance between you. "tell me, what is it that you desire?"

you stood your ground, determined not to show any fear. "i desire many things, but i won't be manipulated by your tricks." your voice grew stronger, and you felt a surge of confidence.

lucifer's eyes sparkled with amusement. "tricks? oh sweets i assure you, i have no need for tricks with you." he reached out and gently brushed a stray lock of hair behind your ear, his touch sending shivers of pleasure through your body. "you see, my powers don't work on you, and now that it does, it fascinates me."

confusion clouded your mind. You had heard tales of his powers enslaving countless souls, yet you felt no compulsion, no urge to submit to his will. ‘why is that?’ you asked, your curiosity getting the better of you.

lucifer's smile widened, and he leaned closer, his warm breath caressing your neck. "because my dear, your deepest desire is me." his words sent a jolt through your entire being. "and that, i find is a delightful challenge."

your heart pounded in your chest, and you felt a rush of emotions. was it possible that your desire for him had been hidden even from yourself? you tried to deny it, but the truth resonated within you. "i-i don't believe you," you lied, your voice trembling.

lucifer chuckled, a deep, sensual sound that sent a wave of desire coursing through your veins. "you don’t believe it, but your body betrays your words." his hand trailed down your arm, sending tingles of pleasure up your spine. "your heart races, your breath quickens, and your nipples..." he paused, his fingers brushing over the sensitive peaks through the fabric of your dress, making you gasp.

you couldn't deny the sensations coursing through your body. his touch ignited a fire within you, and you felt a desperate need to be closer to him. "w-what do you want from me?" you asked, your voice hoarse with desire.

"everything," Lucifer whispered, his lips brushing against your ear. "i want to explore every inch of you, to hear you beg for more. i want to be the one to finally unlock your true desires." his hands slid around your waist, pulling you closer, and you felt the hard length of his erection pressing against your stomach.

a moan escaped your lips as you surrendered to the overwhelming sensations. lucifer's hands moved to the back of your dress, and with a swift motion, he tore it open, exposing your bare skin to the cool air. "you see, my dear, i can't control you, but i can certainly enjoy the freedom to indulge in your desires."

you stood there, breathless, as he feasted his eyes on your naked body. his gaze was intense, devouring you, and you felt a powerful sense of vulnerability and arousal.

lucifer's hands roamed freely, cupping your breasts, thumbing your nipples until they were hard peaks, ready to burst with pleasure.

"please..." you whispered, not even sure what you were pleading for.

"please what, my dear?" lucifer's voice was a low purr as he bent down to take a nipple into his warm mouth, sucking and teasing it with his tongue. "tell me what you want."

the sensations were exquisite, and you felt your knees weaken. "i...i want..." you struggled to find the words, but lucifer seemed to understand.

he lifted his head, his eyes burning with a fiery passion. "you want me to fuck you, don't you?" his words were raw and unapologetic. "you want me to claim every inch of your body."

your cheeks flushed, and you nodded, unable to deny the truth any longer. "yes," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

lucifer's hands gripped your hips, and he spun you around, pressing your front against the cold stone wall. "then i shall give you what you desire." his hands slid down your thighs, pushing your dress up, exposing your wetness to the cool air.

you felt his fingers trail through your damp curls, and then he was pushing inside you, one finger at a time, stretching and preparing you for what was to come. his touch was both gentle and demanding, and you couldn't help but push back against his hand, seeking more.

"you're so wet my dear," he growled, his breath hot against your neck. "so ready for me." he added a third finger, scissoring them inside you, finding that sweet spot that had you crying out in pleasure.

"oh, lucifer..." you moaned, your head thrown back against the wall, your body on the brink of orgasm.

he withdrew his fingers, leaving you aching and desperate. "not yet, my dear," he whispered, his lips trailing kisses down your spine. "let me get a taste first."

lucifer dropped to his knees, his hands gripping your thighs as he spread your legs wide. you felt his hot breath on your sensitive flesh, and then his tongue, slick and wet, was laving your clit, sending you spiraling into a vortex of pleasure. he lapped and teased, sucking gently, driving you wild with need.

your hands gripped his hair, urging him closer, your hips thrusting against his mouth as you rode his tongue. "lucifer, please!" you cried out, your body trembling on the edge of release.

he obliged, sucking hard on your clit, his fingers plunging deep inside you, and you exploded in a mind-shattering orgasm, crying out his name as your juices flowed freely.

lucifer stood, his eyes dark with desire as he admired his handiwork. "that was just the beginning darling. i plan to make you beg for more."

you could barely catch your breath, your body still quivering from the intense climax.

"more..." you whispered, your eyes pleading.

with a devilish grin, lucifer lifted you into his arms, carrying you to a nearby couch. he laid you down gently, his eyes never leaving yours as he positioned himself between your thighs. "now, my dear, i'm going to fuck you until you can't remember your own name."

his words sent a thrill of anticipation through your body. you wanted him, needed him, and you were ready to surrender to the dark pleasures he promised.

lucifer positioned himself at your entrance, the head of his thick cock teasing your wetness. with one swift thrust, he filled you completely, claiming your body as his own. you cried out, your back arching off the couch as he began to move, his hips pumping in a steady rhythm.

"yes, that's it, my dear," he growled, his hands gripping your thighs, holding you open for his invasion. "feel me, deep inside you."

the sensation of being filled so completely was overwhelming, and you matched his rhythm, meeting his thrusts with your own, your nails digging into his shoulders.

"harder, lucifer!" you cried out, your body craving more.

he obliged, pounding into you with fierce intensity, his hips slamming against yours, driving you closer and closer to the edge.

"that's it, my dear. come for me again."

your body tightened around him, and you screamed his name as you shattered into a million pieces, your orgasm rippling through you. lucifer followed, his own release spilling deep within you, his body trembling as he filled you with his essence.

as you lay there, breathless and sated, lucifer's eyes held a new intensity. "you, my dear, are a challenge i relish. and this is just the beginning."

lucifer’s good girls like/reblog/comment!

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[libbytwq]

merry christmas!!! (2024)

So, it's Christmas. Normally I never make this type of Christmas special, normally because every year I usually have no one in specific online to be grateful for, aside from my followers. But these past 5 months, my life has truly changed, and i finally have people I want to wish a genuine Merry Christmas to. So here is a gift for those wonderful people.

And thats not all, I'm not just gonna make a cute lil gift and not explain why I love these people!

APPRECIATION GO! 💥

SMG8 // @strange0-0storm -- STORM!! I know we rarely interact, but everytime we do, it's an absolute treat. I love seeing your art, the stuff you make is so awesome and fun to look at, and talking about goofy shit is so much fun. I look up to you a lot and I want to interact with you a lot more. SMG8 was one of the first ever SMG4 OCs I've ever gotten myself familiar with, he's such a silly man and I want to punt him, I love your stuff sm, stay cool 💥

Mango // @its-a-me-mango -- MANGO!! I've always been a massive fan of your art since I was first getting myself familiar with the SMG4 Tumblr community, because of your artstyle and the goofy jokes and silly stuff, but since joining the TSB discord server and interacting with you, I think you are even cooler. Our interactions are so incredibly goofy and I love every single time you appear on VCs. Our sense of humor almost feels like it clicks and everytime we make jokes I be cackling, to the point I sometimes get distracted from what I'm working on... but hey its okay because we're all silly here :3 i love your stuff sm man and i think ur an absolute vibe keep doing that forever and ever

N4 // @bluesbox -- BLUE!! It is so much fun interacting with you about theories and stuff!! And hearing you yap abt N4 lore is so fun and cool.... im INVESTED....... Yappin with you about goofy lil theory stuff is an absolute treat and i love interacting with you sm guh h,, we are the SCHEMERS......

TSB // @tiredsmashbros -- TOMM!! you...... YOU..... I WOULDNT BE FRIENDS WITH ANY OF THESE PEOPLE IF YOU DIDNT EXIST.... i look up to you like crazy and the fact that i can call you a friend is still batshit insane to me....interacting with you and joining your server has in fact changed my life for the better and i am not the same person i was before your 1k birthday party.... you are a huge inspiration to me and your lore is impeccable bUT DUDE I WANT ANSWERS, the TSB lore has me invested and i wanna know whats goin on im gonna..... GSHDJFNF IM GONNA GETTT Y /silly /pos dude your are so crazy awesome i love vibin with you n being silly all the time. qwah puh 💥

Neo // @neo91502 -- NEO!! You were one of the first people i bonded with in the server, and for that i think you are incredibly awesome, i love your art and everything you draw they always look so super cool and awesome and wa h,, i love your stuff sm but man you gotta handle your addiction to tsmg4 and long haired smg4 its gonna be a problem if you cant get it under control /silly YOU ARE SO AWESOME AND FUN I LOVE YAPPING WITH YOU RAAAGH

Hexsy // @nxva-blogz -- NXVA!! sigh..... i GUESS i have to include you.... for the sake of the hexore...... /j /silly you are so crazy and interacting with you is sm fun ill be completely honest. The hexsy lore is so so neat and i love your art sm guh,, I love vibing with you and being silly you are such a goofy ahh individual and you bring a lot of joy hehehehe explodes y

And now, there were a few other people I really wanted to fit on the couch, but couldn't because I burnt tf out. So heres me showing appreciation to those people too!

@knightedmares -- MY TWIN!! KNIGHTMARE KNIGHTMARE KNIGHTMARE!! We have so much in common and we just be vibin everytime you show up. I love your oc Trick sm and i love vibing with you guh

@rmgkyle -- KYLE!!! you feed me everyday and i appreciate it very very much. You are so incredibly goofy and i love RMG from the bottom of my heart and you are so insane but i love that WEE

@mikchi8 -- mikchi you are a menace to the server and i am very scared of you,, but thats ok cuz you are very silly and i love vibin with you /pos

@kittykibbl -- Kitty i LOVE your various AUs a ton and you were one of the first people i interacted with online, from one of the first WOTWs, and i still love your stuff a ton and interacting with you is a lot of fun yippe

Merry Christmas everybody!!

- Lore, libbytwq

[m00ngirl777]

Okay idea - peter and the reader getting unready together after like a big party or a rough day. Like just them being super domestic and in love

Idk why but that concept is just so dear to me

Might as Well Be Drunk in Love

Peter Parker x reader

REQUEST

“Welcome to the Stark Industries Annual Firefighters of New York Gala…in this night we want to acknowledge and celebrate the hard work of the many…” You stood beside Peter, watching Pepper switch flashcards she read at the considerable crowd surrounding her. She was inaugurating the annual gala thrown for the firefighter departments in New York, where they dedicated the night not only to shower them in praise but to showcase the the renewal of all the departments equipment, curtsey of the company, “I invite you to raise your glasses for a toast, to these heroes and…” An

summary: babygirl asked babyboy to go to one of the stark industries parties, its some fundraiser for endangered birds or smth, and she knows peter cannot get drunk, and the only reason she even goes to these is to do that, so she convinces Thor to give her some of his very aged special booze and spikes peters drinks, WITH HIS CONCENT, so they both get absolutely wasted to the point of hazardous, they leave the party and STRUGGLE to get unready for bed, together.

A/N: I am so very sorry I took nearly three months to answer this request, I don't know why I am the way I am, I sorry. I love you sir this is a Wendy's, you're so nice to me and my writing anyways hope you love it, thxx for reading, love u, byeeee. xoxo. -N.

p.s. my requests are open my loves<333 but I might take three months to answer :(

TW: drinking, sexual stuff, no smut.

WC: 1419

- - -

“Welcome to the Stark Industries Annual Firefighters of New York Gala…in this night we want to acknowledge and celebrate the hard work of the many…” You stood beside Peter, watching Pepper switch flashcards she read at the considerable crowd surrounding her. She was inaugurating the annual gala thrown for the firefighter departments in New York, where they dedicated the night not only to shower them in praise but to showcase the the renewal of all the departments equipment, curtsey of the company, “I invite you to raise your glasses for a toast, to these heroes and…” And to getting drunk, you clinked your glass to Peter’s, before urging him to down it with you.

“Ugh…” You watched Peters face contort into a grimace and then stick out his tongue, “That’s… ugh…”

“It’s not that bad… bitter…” You downed the last bit of it before setting it on some waiters tray to go look for more. 

“At least you get something out of it…” You bit the inside of your cheek at the comment, knowing you had the perfect solution for that. 

You craned your neck searching for the bar, spotting it, grabbing Peter’s arm and dragging him with you, “Come on, lets got get you not champagne…” 

“Hi, good night… could you get me a cosmo double cranberry and a coke with ice…please…” You slid the bartender a generous tip and turned back to Peter. As you leaned back on the island, waiting for the drinks, Peter snaked a hand around your waist, perfectly fitting himself to your side.

“You look… gorgeous… by the way,” He said, with bit of an awestruck look in his eye.

“You could use haircut…” you snarked back, he nodded with a smirk, you leaned in to kiss his temple, then wiped any lipgloss residue. 

“Here you go miss…” You turned at the voice of the bartender, could I get an extra vodka shot…” He gave you an almost judgemental look if it wasn’t for the amused one on top. You took the shoot and chased it with the drink, Peter side eyed you while sipping the coke, and soon the bartender walked away. 

“Don’t look at me like that… we’ll die of boredom if we don’t get wasted…its my goal for tonight…” 

“Yeah… my coke’s gonna do the trick…”

“That will get you closer to a sugar rush than anything else… no…” You reached in your small purse for the vile, “but this will”, you twinkled the small bottle in front of him. Peter looked at you with raised eyebrows waiting for an answer.

“It’s Thor’s magic booze” You said like it was the most obvious thing.

“WhAt?!” He looked around when he noticed how loud he had been, “what? No way” He went to grab it before you closed your hand around it yanking it back, “I’m in charge,” You opened it and didn’t even had to pull it closer to smell something that stunk stronger than pure medical grade ethanol.

“Let’s hope you don’t go blind,” Peter guarded his drink with a concerned look, “You won’t go blind silly… I’m joking,” You grabbed his glass and poured something close to a shot, and mixed. 

“Y/n… is this safe?” He looked at you with those concerned puppy eyes, so you grabbed the drink and took a sip, “Whatever happens to you happens to me,” You pecked his lips, and grabbed your own drink, he smiled softly and that’s how it began. The single drink had him giggling and stumbling over the place, you got a glimpse into Peter, just Peter, no spider-man, no superhuman senses, or reflexes, just a giggling, clumsy, blushing mess, that you would’ve been able to appreciate if you hadn’t been overly near as intoxicated as him. 

You were on your own little world, the fastest night of urging the other for just one more drink, laughing at all the inappropriate times, crashing into strangers, and of course making out in the sidelines.

“Baby, where ar-hmp,” You crashed your lips into his after you dragged him to an empty hallway, you bit his lip and he whimpered as he let you stick your tongue in his mouth, whining anytime you’d pull away. 

“Let’s go…”

“Mhm…hm…”

You grabbed his hand and blundered to the elevator, as soon as the doors closed you pushed him against the doors and kissed him, the fifty floors you were lifted you had your tongue teasing him, finally got to your floor and the doors opened, Peter and yourself being so out of it, you fell back. Peter on his back, and you right on top of him, after the thirty seconds of trying to cath his breath, there was at least two minutes of hysterical shrieks of laughter. 

“We should get up…” Peter said, underneath you.

“Yeah,” You said, laying on top of him, with no effort to move.

“Okay…okay…1, 2, ugh!” He sat up, and you with him. He stood up and took your hand, helping you up, before knocking you on your feet, bridal style, he carried you to the bedroom, as you turned into a blushing giggling even more of a mess. 

 He got in the room with you, put you down just to push you against the door he had closed, your dressed bunched up as he grasped the leg he had lifted up to his hip, his other hand on your waist, setting you in place, as he took lead on kissing you, gently, slowly, messy, spit, tongue, lips, teeth, all over the place, but still made your tummy turn. 

“I love you…”, he trailed kisses from your mouth to your neck, biting, licking, and sucking, to gentle for any intention of leaving any marks, he just wanted to taste you. 

“Make love to me…”

He paused and snorted, then burst out laughing, making the heat in your core travel to your cheeks, the multiple drinks hanging over your head almost making your eyes sting with warm tears, when Peter saw that sight he pulled you in, kissing your temple. 

“‘msorry’msorry’msorry…baby,” he kissed your temple and cheek, still trying to contain his laughter, “’m sorry,” he cupped your face, still grinning like and idiot, “i didn’t mean it baby… you know im sorry, right?” You nodded, your flushed face still riddled with puppy eyes and a small pout, that he kissed until you were giggling with him again, “let’s go to bed…yeah?” he nuzzled his nose in your pulse point, breathing in your perfume. 

You walked to your closet, tying your hair up and got out of your heels, you tried getting the dress off, the zipper stuck.

“Peteeerrr!” You whined for him to help you, he placed warm hands on your back and pulled the zipper down in one swift motion, breaking it, but you didn’t have to know that, before you could notice, he let the dress fall, and help you out of it, before placing a soft kiss to your bare back that made you shiver, you grabbed a shirt of his and threw it on, then turned around to se him undoing the buttons of his shirt, you went to help him. 

“You’re so pretty Peter,” He blushed, letting you undress him, until he had nothing but his boxers on, you wrapped arms around him whining. 

“What is it, baby?” 

“I don’ wanna brush my teeth…take my make up off,” you jerked against him, stomping your foot, which he found adorable. 

“You gotta,” 

“No!” 

Yes. You took off your make up and roughly washed your face, then brushed your teeth, just as hard and fast wanting to be done with it, after that Peter walked you to your vanity, and scooped some of that expensive moisturizer you liked and coated your face in it, giving you a very weird massage he thought would help relax you, wich turned into him squeeing your face into making weird faces and laughing at you.

“qUIT thAt! Peeteeerrrr!” He chuckled, after he was done amusing himself, finally you made it to bed. Tangled in each other, you where on your back, Peter on your chest making himself very comfortable in your breasts. 

“You’re so soft,” He nuzzled in as he kneaded one of your breasts, making you flush.

“How would you feel if I was doin that to your balls?!”

“Fucking great,” Which made you even hotter. 

He wrapped both arms around you, squeezing you, still nuzzled in your chest.

“I love you…”

“I love you too, baby”

[heartdoomed]

heyyy I was wondering if you’d do a lil one shot with Mother Miranda where the reader is her maidservant and they’ve gotten pretty close and Miranda is working herself to death and the maid gently (and eventually a little more forcefully) encourages her to take a break. Lots of fluff ensues 😁 thank you for feeding the fandom you’re my hero 😂

First ask for our fav bird mom! Also thanks i’m a bit late for the party but I will try my best ✨

| Stubborn

Pairing: Mother Miranda x Maid! Reader

Genre: One-Shot, Fluff

Warnings: None

Masterlist

From a villager, to a follower, to a personal maid.

Your journey with Mother Miranda was something you never truly expected, something suddenly but that you held little resentment about nonetheless. Miranda was, and is, a figure you can’t fully grasp yourself into — like a seductive voice in the back of your mind that has no set tune, something that comes wickedly in a natural manner and you just can’t help but to accept as it is. When she first laid her eyes on you, something changed in your life and all of it’s aspects, that woman had cursed you, had you wrapped around her finger the moment she ordered you to serve under her. A high priestess — no, a goddess, and her little helpful subject.

It was a matter of mixed feelings between fear and respect. Sometimes you thought of her with fear, fear for your life and how you have been dragged into this snowscape of a village and into somehow managing to match the high hopes she held for someone so close to her. On the other hand, she emanated glory, a superiority everyone including yourself could see — you found yourself looking up to her, quite literally like she was your only savior, the effect she had on people, and on you, was unmatchable. Soon the duty to serve somehow turned into a feeling of honor, you’ve never felt this fulfilled to have this role.

//////

Your shoes quietly clicked as you made your way across yet another hallway, you always thought of Miranda’s manor as a labyrinth that you’ve grown fairly accustomed to. Dark walls that always seemed to close in with each curve and whispers that coincidentally also sounded like the blowing cold wind from the outer woods. It was cold, tainted by a heavy atmosphere, either your own mind playing tricks or something else rooted between those walls, at some point you felt embraced by the shadows somehow — sickly comforting.

Your hands held a square silver platter, carefully adorned with hand-made details and curls on its sides, so clean and shiny it almost seemed made of crystal glass. On top of it rested a a teapot with warm fresh tea you brewed yourself, herbs that were delivered weekly just as all the food you had access to cook — a tea cup and a plate with a generous piece of layered cake rested side by side. It was her usual snack for the afternoon, just another daily ritual you found somewhat soothing. You enjoyed cooking for her and unlike her past servants you gave her food a touch of familiarity she had missed — suddenly the food wasn’t just delicious but served with a touch of care that she managed to notice, it was rare the occasion she wouldn’t compliment your skills.

Your head became flooded with thoughts of past situations were she did took notice of your hard work; From carefully organizing mail into alphabetical order to amusingly adorning her freshly washed towels into the shape of flowers and bunnies, oh Miranda thought it was quite silly of you but nonetheless this only managed to make you two closer. You smiled to yourself, thinking of how you went from a scared new maid to someone you knew she started to trust, maybe to care? You weren’t sure but you surely knew you ended up caring.

But apparently not caring enough to pay attention to where you where going as you almost bumped straight up against her office doors. Your heart skipped a beat as you halted on your tracks, you held the silver platter closely to your chest and thanked your lucky stars to not have spilled anything out of place, how clumsy. Taking a big silent breath, you raised your hand towards her door to knock before stopping as the familiar voice of Miranda, muffled, but yet clear and sharp enough, came from inside.

“You should stop daydreaming while scattering around, you will end up hurting yourself. Come in.”

She pointed out. You cursed in your thoughts, rolling your eyes at being called out — she always managed to know of your shenanigans even when you tried to hide them, ridiculous. Shaking the embarrassing event away, you quietly opened the door to reveal a much less intimidating Miranda, one you had grown used to. Without her ceremonial robes and her imposing wings she felt much less like something to fear and more like something to respect — a woman with a commanding posture no matter the situation. You remember how strange it felt to see her this way for the first time, it was hard to change your half shocked expression though luckily she found it more amusing than anything else.

“I made cinnamon cake with whipped pumpkin cream and some honey tea… I thought it would be a good match for the entering of this fall season.” You announced before closing closing the door behind you, Miranda hummed at the description but her eyes were still set on the paperwork onto her desk �� gosh, how you hated when she fell into her working streaks. Nights awake in her laboratory, continuous days locked into there office. “I… think it’s a good time for a break, no?” You gently offered, resting the platter in a less busy spot of her desk. Still, her eyes kept themselves focused on the countless words in each of the papers she held. It made you irritated how much of a workaholic this woman was sometimes.

“Hmmm, yes, yes, thank you honey—“ She finally murmured.

“Honey?” You asked, your eyes widening in surprise.

“Honey… tea— Oh, you made honey tea?” She asked, finally taking her eyes off her work to look at you. Her eyes were striking and you certainly would be flustered if you didn’t spluttered out a chuckle to which she replied with a raised eyebrow.

“Well, look who is daydreaming into her work now!” You kept chuckling with a hand attempting to cease yourself. Miranda squinted her eyes at your audacity.

“It is not a simple day dream, it’s my work.” She retorted, her slender fingers precisely organized the papers into a growing pile. “I will eat after I’m done.”

“But!” You attempted to protest.

“I’m almost done.” She justified.

“You said it hours ago when I brought your lunch, to which you refused.” You pointed out, your tone growing more preoccupied, which she caught up to. “Please… You can’t keep working like this.”

Miranda stopped, her fingers resting against her temples as she shook her head with a sigh. That woman was incredibly stubborn, you knew that but so was you when it came to taking care of her well being. Your eyebrows furrowed as you gently took the pile of papers away, resting them into a nearby empty desk to which Miranda stared in disbelief. “I’m sorry, but respectfully — you need rest!” Seething the trail in front of her, your eyes pleaded for her to at least take some time to eat. She could see how worried you were and as much as she wished to keep on with her work, she gave in with a nod.

You almost chirped with happiness upon finally seeing her giving a go at not working herself to near starvation again, gosh this woman was a challenge to aid sometimes but you cared enough to try and you knew that she noticed the effort you put into it.

“Well, honey?” You asked, a teasing smile on your lips.

“Excuse me?” She almost choked on her words, uncharacteristically enough to your amusement.

“Honey tea.” You smugly announced, pouring her some of the delicious golden liquid as she shook her head in disbelief — taking a satisfying bite off the soft cake you baked.

“I don’t know why I still keep you around, you will drive me crazy eventually.” She replied with a grumpy tone, to which waved off a hearted laugh. It was hard for her to hide a smile while also maintaining a decent eating etiquette but at the end of the day she was content to have someone cheer her up like you did.

//////

AN: This was so funny to make! I feel like Miranda is a great softie when you push her buttons in the right way. Anyhow, hope ya enjoy it!

[eff4freddie]

After She Left | Eleven

Words: 5.5k

Ellie is struggling to get used to life with Shauna, and you hatch a plan to make things a little easier on her. You and Joel fumble towards a way forward, a way for you to both be in each other's lives about as much as either of you can bare.

Chapter warnings: We still in angst town, friends. These two are taking their sweet time but we are on a pathway to repair. Ellie is a delight but Shauna is a straight up arsehole. Crimes against baking.

Ten | Series Masterlist | Twelve

It felt like it took days for the hangover to pass, Jonah’s sweet offering of Tylenol only giving you respite for a few hours. You had no memory of Monday, although you were 98% sure it happened. Tuesday was a slight improvement. By Wednesday you were human again.

You sat on your couch, textbook open beside you, as Ellie sat, folded in half, in your armchair by the window. She held her knees to her chest, resting her chin on them. She’d been like this since she arrived.

‘So, Ecuador,’ you prompted, and she nodded.

‘Bordered by Colombia and Peru. Capital Quilto. Umm..big fight with the Spanish.’

‘Quito,’ you corrected, ‘and possibly bit more than a big fight.’ You wondered how you could explain colonisation to a child of the apocalypse.

You could see she was distracted, watching out the window as the street lay largely dormant.

‘Ellie?’ you prompted, and she finally looked at you, face almost totally blank. ‘Where are you today?’

She looked back down to her knees, a small smile. ‘I moved into the studio,’ she said, after a while, and you swallowed.

‘Is it nice having your own space?’ you asked, trying to rally, but your stomach was sinking for her. Something was wrong, it was plain as day on her face.

‘Don’t tell Joel,’ she said, and you held her gaze.

‘Ellie, if it’s bad I might have to,’ you said, and she shook her head.

‘It’s not bad, bad,’ she said, pausing for a second to consider things, ‘it’s just…sometimes I don’t sleep so good and…it’s like I hear things? I don’t know. I’m almost asleep and then I…’

‘Your mind plays tricks on you,’ you finished, because you knew all too well what she meant, all too clearly, all too sharply.

‘Yeah, except I don’t know if it’s my mind or if an infected has got over the wall…’

‘It’s pretty normal, Ellie. I don’t think anyone sleeps all that well anymore.’

‘But sometimes if I can hear Joel snoring in the other room…’ she trailed off, and you understood, then. The proximity. The security of it. You wondered about setting up some kind of tin can and string situation between the big house and hers. An apocalyptic baby monitor.

‘I remember when I first moved here, every time a tree branch scraped the window I was on the porch with my rifle.’

‘You have a rifle?’ Ellie asked, incredulous, and you couldn’t help but feel you suddenly gained a few cool points.

‘Had,’ you corrected. In your mind Rose sat on the other end of the couch beside you, nodding her head gently at you, reminding you when to stop, when to go on. ‘I got rid of it. It was better used for patrol.’

You knew lonely, quiet nights. You knew the clench of a stomach and what you could swear were footsteps outside your bedroom door in a house that was supposed to only have you in it. You knew the way the creak of an ancient windowpane could sound so close to the throaty whine of a clicker.

You knew wondering what the point of it all was. Wondering why anyone would bother struggling through just to maybe die a slightly less grizzly death than at the hands of a raider, or an infected.

You knew the temptation of it. The prospect of a gentle oblivion.

‘Dina thinks its cool,’ Ellie went on, and you snapped back to her.

‘It is cool, that’s true,’ you said. ‘Maybe she could stay over one night, have a slumber party.’

You saw the way Ellie’s cheeks went pink, and you had a little inkling as to why, and you said absolutely nothing about it.

‘You can’t go up to the big house?’ You prompted, changing the subject. ‘I can’t imagine Joel wouldn’t have a problem with it.’ You saw the way her face turned solemn again. ‘Just on the nights when the branches are scraping.’

‘I don’t know how to be around her,’ Ellie said. ‘They’ve known each other forever, it feels like. She’s just…they talk about stuff I don’t know anything about. The other day they were talking about…toll booths? I have no idea what that is.’

‘That must have been a fascinating conversation,’ you deadpanned, but it was lost on Ellie, who was still genuinely frustrated.

‘She doesn’t ask anything about me,’ Ellie said, and you could see the hurt painted all over her face. ‘It’s like she just…she’s not even trying.’

Your heart hurt for her, this sweet girl folding in on herself in your living room.

‘I reckon I have a plan,’ you said to Ellie, spurred on only by Rose at your side, giving you a grim, but determined, smile. 

--

You could bake, you just didn’t really enjoy it. By the time you’d mixed everything to the exact right proportions, licked the bowl clean and then smelt it cooking you’d lost interest by the time it was done. You were an improviser; you liked the freedom of chucking in whatever in however much quantities and hoping for the best. You’d rarely given yourself food poisoning.

But this was important, so you called in reinforcements. Jonah had taken it well, considering he was now standing in your kitchen covered in twenty-year-old cocoa and almond meal.

‘I guess I should at least be grateful you’re not using flour,’ he said, grinning slyly at you, and you snickered.

‘Not for about twenty years’ you said.

‘Coming up on twenty-one,’ he mentioned, and you sighed.

‘We can finally drink,’ you joked.

‘Oh, I think we did plenty of that the other night.’

‘Please don’t remind me,’ you muttered. ‘I think I can still feel my surviving brain cells mourning their friends and loved ones.’

You watched as he cracked an egg into the mix, almost all shell. You tried not to put your Teacher Voice on when you asked him to fish the fragments out.

‘Calcium,’ he defended, and you rolled your eyes at him.

‘I’m not serving a crunchy cake.’

For a moment the two of you worked in a comfortable silence. He handed you the bowl to check he had gotten it all, and you went through it with the fork to skim out the smaller pieces.

‘I had fun the other night,’ he said, just straight up telling you what he was thinking and feeling. You steadied yourself before the shock set in.

‘Same,’ you smiled back at him. ‘From what I can remember, anyway.’

‘I really don’t normally drink that much,’ he defended, and you giggled.

‘Yeah, is that why you had the hangover recovery kit ready first thing?’ you asked. He looked at you, puzzled.

‘What? I…’

You heard the front door swing open and you called out to Ellie as she stomped down the hall.

‘Nearly ready, but we can’t ice it when it’s warm.’

‘You lick the bowl already?’ she asked. You held it out for her. ‘Fuck yeah!’ she said, almost running to snatch it from your hands. It took her almost a full minute, bowl held up almost to her nose, to notice Jonah. ‘Oh shit,’ she said, when she finally saw him. ‘Who’s this?’

Jonah stepped forward and introduced himself, shaking the hand not covered in cake batter. She took it, eying you the whole time.

‘Jonah is a better baker than me,’ you lied, ignoring that the two of them saw through you in an instant.

‘You patrol,’ Ellie said, and Jonah nodded. ‘I wanna do that. You ever take on umm…trainees?’

‘Ellie…’ you warned, but she ignored you.

‘Ah…when we get new recruits, sure, I show them the ropes. They’re usually a little older, though,’ Jonah said, diplomatically and with one eye on you. You nodded at him, grateful.

‘I’ve seen shit you wouldn’t believe,’ Ellie said, and on anyone else this would seem precocious, or even boastful, but on her you just knew it was true.

‘Ellie, Joel would gut us both if we let you out there,’ you said, pouring the mix into an ancient cake tin and hoping it would survive 45 minutes in the oven before it fully corroded.

‘You ever go to the water caves?’ she asked Jonah, ignoring you, and he smiled at her.

‘The what caves?’

‘Dina says there’s a waterfall about a half hour ride from here, maybe an hour if it’s muddy, and when you get in behind the water there’s a network of caves that go down at least a mile.’

‘Can’t say I’ve seen anything like that,’ he said. ‘We follow the river up, but we turn back once we hit the perimeter.’

‘So, it’s maybe a bit longer than an hour?’ she asked, and you watched as Jonah thought on his feet.

‘I mean, we patrol in six-hour shifts…three hours there, three hours back…’ he said, trying to work out how not to step on a landmine while discovering he’d been blindfolded and spun around three times. Ellie had that effect on people.

‘Ellie, it doesn’t sound like it exists,’ you said, which she ignored.

‘It definitely does, Dina says she saw it when she travelled to Jackson. I mean, the river’s…gotta start somewhere, right? It’s travelling down. It must be coming down from a mountain. It’s falling. Like in a waterfall.’

The sarcasm was so strong she reminded you of yourself at that age, and you made a mental note to apologise to your parents when you were finally reunited in the stars.

‘OK, enough,’ you concluded, dusting your hands on your pants. ‘You tell them I’ll be there at sundown.’

Ellie looked between you and Jonah.

‘Are you two gonna bang?’ she asked, and you felt yourself immediately flush.

‘Out, out, out,’ you muttered, pushing her almost playfully to the door. ‘Sundown, Ellie. Tell them.’

‘I’m going, I’m going…’ she grinned. ‘Just don’t get your junk in the cake, ya filthy animals.’

‘Jesus H. Christ,’ you stuttered, turning to Jonah, who held a tea towel up to his face to try and stifle his laughter.

--

Jonah hadn’t asked you why you were baking for them, and you were grateful for that. It would have been too hard to explain, and you weren’t sure how you would have anyway. You wanted to show Ellie off, maybe. Maybe you wanted to model how to talk to a teenager, as if you were some kind of expert. Maybe you wanted to just…see for yourself.

You stepped onto the porch, your breath coming in short and sharp. The cake was still too warm to ice by the time you lost patience and slathered the mix over it, and now most of it was sliding off and pooling down along the sides. You held it out in front you anyway, an offering to the Gods for peace. For something resembling sanity.

Joel opened the door before you’d even had a chance to knock, like he was waiting for you. He’d brushed his hair back, was wearing one of the cleaner plaid shirts he owned over dark jeans. He looked at you under saddled brows.

‘Hey there,’ he said, and you felt your stomach flip. For a moment you just stared at each other, cake cooling in the air between you.

‘I brought…’ you started, and then you stopped because he looked like he was going to say something, like he was going to step forward towards you maybe, but then at the last second chickened out.

‘No, sorry…’ he apologised for interrupting, just as you spoke to do the same. The two of you cut the other off, then smiled awkwardly at each other.

‘Looks delicious,’ he said, and you pushed it towards him.

‘It might be crunchy in some places,’ you said, and he smiled.

‘So am I,’ he said.

‘You’re here!’ a voice called, and Joel finally stepped aside from the door enough that you could step in. Shauna stood in the entryway; apron tied around her hips. ‘Oh, you sweet thing, that looks…so homey.’

You braved a smile. ‘Ellie supervised,’ you said, and you heard Joel stifle a chuckle.

‘Well...isn’t that something,’ Shauna said. ‘Come on in, anyway. Sorry about the mess.’

The house looked largely the same, except that Ellie’s general clutter had been removed. Maybe there was an extra blanket on the couch, but you couldn’t remember if it had always been there.

‘Gettin’ cold out,’ Joel said from behind you, and you turned to him. He still held the cake in his two hands. It was like he was paralysed, you realised. You went to take it from him and watched as his shoulders slumped a little in relief.

‘Ellie around?’ you asked, because for a moment you were terrified that she had bailed on you, knowing innately this would be awkward to the point of unbearable, and probably entirely futile.

‘Out back, I’ll call her in,’ Joel said, and you moved in front of him before he went.

‘Wait…’ you said, and then stopped, because you had no idea what you wanted to say other then that things felt incomplete, somehow. That tonight was about Ellie and trying to get her comfortable in her own home again. That it was about trying to start something new with him, maybe a friendship. You gazed up at him, hands shaking just enough to jiggle the congealing icing at the bottom of the plate, and he stared down at you, lips pursed and scorching from the last time you had kissed him there, and he knew, he knew all of it, understood exactly why you were doing it, thanked you for it if he was honest, as much as he hated that you had to.

He nodded at you, just once. You stepped back.

‘Should I set this down on the table?’ you called out to Shauna.

‘Oh, is it done?’ she called back, and you looked down at it. It was as done as it was going to get.

--

You sat beside Ellie at old oak dining room table you didn’t remember seeing before.

‘Isn’t it beautiful?’ Shauna said, smoothing her hands over the surface. ‘I told Joel we can’t always eat in the kitchen. Not when we have company.’

‘Found it out back, just needed a bit of oiling,’ Joel said, and you hummed in appreciation.

‘It’s beautiful wood,’ you said, nodding, watching Ellie push her green beans around on her plate. Shauna had, apparently, never met a clove of garlic she didn’t like. The upshot being your tastebuds were so scorched you couldn’t taste anything else.

‘You still workin’ the wall?’ Joel asked you, and you chanced a glance up at him. ‘I ain’t seen you on the weekends.’

‘You were on the wall the night I arrived,’ Shauna said as though just realising it, pointing her fork at you. ‘I remember that scared little face poking out at me now.’

You swallowed a piece of garlic with a side of bean and nodded. ‘I remember you were hurt,’ you said. ‘How you healing up?’

‘Joel looks after me so well,’ she said, smiling warmly at him while she watched you out of the corner of her eye. You heard Ellie mutter something under her breath.

‘I umm…I’ve been working on a new curriculum,’ you said to Joel, ignoring your teenage companion. ‘It’s been taking up a bit of my time, so I said to Billy not to put me on the roster for a while.’

Joel nodded at this, chewing thoughtfully. ‘That must be why he asked me to pick up an extra shift.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ you said, your stomach dropping. ‘I didn’t mean to make it harder for you, I can talk to him…’

‘Maybe I could give it a go,’ Shauna piped up, smiling.

‘You gotta be a good shot,’ Joel said quickly, and you watched as she deflated slightly.

‘I can talk to Billy,’ you said to him, and he waved you away.

‘Like to feel useful,’ he said, and he smiled at you, warmth in his eyes.

‘Ellie’s doing really good in school,’ you said to the whole table but directed almost entirely at Shauna. ‘She���s amazing at geography.’

Shauna snickered, then blushed when Joel turned to her. ‘Well, you have to wonder what for,’ she defended.

‘Knowledge is power,’ you said, watching Ellie slumping further into her chair. ‘She’s also a gifted reader, and she has an incredible imagination. Well beyond her years.’

‘Knock it off,’ Ellie said, quietly, and you nudged her, playfully. ‘She’s a pretty amazing young woman,’ you went on, turning back to Shauna. ‘Don’t you think?’

Shauna stared at you blankly for a moment. You wondered if she was really so cruel, or if she just didn’t know, just hadn’t ever thought to ask.

‘You been doin’ wonders for her,’ Joel said to you.

‘Just like hanging out with her, if I’m honest,’ you said, grinning at Ellie. She mustered a smile back at you.

‘Where’d you learn to shoot?’ Shauna asked you, spooning more potatoes onto Joel’s plate. He made room for them, frowning slightly.

‘Chicago QZ’, you said. ‘I was conscripted, I guess.’

‘Must have been young,’ Shauna appraised. ‘I was in Atlanta.’

‘You weren’t in Houston?’ you asked, still not sure of the timeline, but surprised she had ended up so far from Joel and Sarah.

‘No, I…I hadn’t been there a while.’

You hazarded a glance at Joel, who was staring at the tabletop.

‘Oh,’ you said, simply.

‘But I liked Atlanta,’ Shauna went on. ‘Until it fell, I mean. FEDRA there was…well, it was organised. They had a good structure.’

You could feel Ellie bristling beside you, almost quivering with something you supposed was a kind of fury. Maybe Shauna didn’t know about Boston, about Chicago, about Kansas. Maybe Atlanta had been different.

‘I ended up running their social program, actually,’ Shauna said, all lit up from the inside. ‘It was total disarray when I got there, but I started in early with a schedule, went around door to door inviting people to participate, that sort of thing.’

‘You in your FEDRA uniform at the time?’ Ellie asked, and you looked down at your plate. You’d seen a few of those social programs in Chicago. It had usually meant taking women from their kids and making them work the land for food, making men not strong enough to fight hammer boards over broken windows until their palms bled. Gardening club. Working bees. That sort of thing.

But maybe Atlanta was different. Maybe there you got the right amount of ration cards at the end of the day.

‘Why’d it fall then, if it was so great?’ Ellie asked, and you cleared your throat.

‘This is delicious, Shauna, thank you,’ you said, and she grinned at you.

‘I was never really that homey,’ she said, and you chanced another glance at Joel who was still staring down at his plate. ‘It’s like I’ve got another chance, here, y’know? Jackson really is just so amazing like that.’

At this she rested her hand in the crook of Joel’s arm, and without looking he reached over and placed his hand on hers. You felt the weight of their history in it, the automatic nature of it.

This whole fucking thing was a mistake, you realised. You weren’t sure why you thought it would be a good idea, why you thought you could do it. You still felt the way your belly flipped when Joel looked at you, still felt the way your fingers stretched towards his all of their own accord when he stood beside you. Ellie was right to fuck off to the studio out the back. Maybe if you asked real nice she’d let you go with her right now.

Out of the corner of your eye you could see Ellie watching you. You swallowed sour garlic over the back of your throat, taking a sip of water to give yourself a second to gather a thought or two.

‘What’re you gonna teach ‘em, then?’ Joel asked you. You looked up into his warm, chocolate eyes. You weren’t sure he’d even noticed his hand on Shauna’s, even then. ‘Ya done with the ocean creatures?’

You felt a smile creep across your face. ‘I am, and it was much easier with the visual aids.’ He grinned at you, then.

‘If it’s barn animals, I can help ya out,’ he said, and you laughed a little.

‘Reckon they know more than enough about barn animals,’ you said. A little crackle of something passed in the air between you.  

‘What’s this?’ Shauna asked, and Joel finally realised she was hanging onto him, that he was holding onto her, when her grip tightened over his bicep. He moved quickly to extricate himself, his skin too hot where she had touched it. He looked over at you, wondering if you’d noticed. He took a quick sip of his water with slightly tremoring hands.

‘Joel helped me out a while back, made me some figures so I could teach the kids about the ocean.’

Shauna nodded at this, glancing between the two of you.

‘That’s cute,’ she said.

‘I was thinking, actually, that we might try a bit of Shakespeare.’

Joel sputtered, nearly coughing water onto the table.

‘Why on God’s green Earth would you do that to ‘em?’ he asked, smiling but incredulous all the same. ‘Ain’t they suffered enough?’

‘I’ll do one of the comedies,’ you defended, grinning at him, as he laughed out loud at this.

‘Ain’t nothin’ funny about any of that…stuff,’ Joel said, and you felt a little bubble of happiness expand in your chest. It had been a while since you’d heard his laugh, the tight little wheeze in it. It was higher than you had expected, and you’d been surprised the first time you’d heard it.

‘As You Like It is very funny,’ you defended.

‘As You Don’t Like It, more like,’ Joel grinned.

‘Clever,’ you ribbed back. ‘Never heard that one before.’

‘I never really got into Shakespeare,’ Shauna said, and you turned to her, nodding.

‘It’s not for everyone, I guess,’ you said. You had meant it honestly, you knew it wasn’t to everyone’s taste, but you watched as she narrowed her eyes at you.

‘I guess it depends on the quality of the teacher,’ she said. You felt the air shift into something sharper, something colder. You felt the heat on your cheeks drain away.

After a moment, Joel cleared his throat. ‘Well, I ain’t whittlin’ you a little man in tights, so forget that’ he said.

--

You didn’t feel like dessert, not as you felt Shauna’s cooking settling uneasily in your gut. Ellie was still quiet, but you were hoping that some sugar might pull her out of herself a little.

You stood from the table as Joel reached for your plate.

‘I’ll cut it,’ you said, heading off to the kitchen without thinking. You were surprised when Shauna grabbed your arm, pulling you, just a shade tighter than necessary, back into the room.

‘Let me,’ she said, and there was an edge to it, enough that you realised you’d overstepped. You knew that kitchen like the back of your hand, all the nights you’d spent at the table with Ellie and Joel discussing flower stamens and algebra and what chemistry you could remember but that no one would ever be able to correct if you were wrong.

‘Oh, of course,’ you said, stammering a little. You chanced a glance at Ellie who was watching you both, her mouth set grim in a line. You smiled brightly at her, mustering up warmth from somewhere you weren’t entirely sure existed anymore.

‘Forgot how to be a guest,’ you joked, sitting back down at the table. You felt the heat on your cheeks as Joel fussed around you, clearing the table by balancing all the plates on one arm and following Shauna out of the room. You wished it wasn’t so fucking attractive, the way things just balanced in his arms. A natural nurturer.

‘This is fucking torture,’ Ellie said quietly to you, and you snorted. For a second you considered trying to pretend everything was fine, that it was fun, but you didn’t have any inclination to lie to her anymore.

‘Nearly there,’ you said, after a while.

‘Do you see what I mean now?’ she asked, and you did, but you didn’t say it. Not the way Shauna looked through Ellie. Not the way she always watched Joel out of the corner of her eye.

‘We’ll wear her down,’ you assured her, feeling not even a little bit sure yourself.

‘Fuck that,’ Ellie said, and you nudged her with your shoulder.

‘Language,’ you said, feebly. She smiled weakly at you. ‘Maybe Dina can join us next time…’ you goaded, and you felt the tension lift a little as Ellie took the bait.

‘Shut urrrrrp,’ she said, and you giggled.

‘Maybe she can eat…some cake,’ you pushed, and Ellie laughed into her hand.

‘Oh my god you’re disgusting!’ she said, and you grinned at her.

‘Does she like garlic?’ you asked, and Ellie cackled, actually cackled, the happiness in it breaking out of her chest and splintering into shards of crystal above your heads. You heard them tinkle as they fell around you. If you lifted your hand you thought you could catch one, shimmering in the lamplight, in your palm.

In the doorway you watched as Joel emerged, cake in his hands, his face lit up at the sound. And before he could fully enter the room, before he could set the cake down in front of you and let Ellie cut the first slice, before he could warn her if she touched the bottom she’d have to kiss the nearest boy, Shauna appeared beside him, tripping over herself to push in front, tripping him as he stepped forward, knocking his hand with her arm, sending the cake in a perfect arc to the floor.

For a moment you all just stared at it, upturned on the ground and crumbling.

‘Oh shit,’ Ellie said, turning to you. You felt the pinpricks of heat at the back of your eyes, the downturn of your mouth.

‘Jesus, Shauna,’ Joel said, crouching down to try and salvage what was already gone. You watched him try to scrape the cake back together with his hands, just smearing it along the floorboards.

‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ she said, looking right at you, staring deep into your eyes.

--

You didn’t wait for them to give you your plate back, heading for the door the moment the icing had been wiped up. Ellie was suddenly keen to clear out and you shared her enthusiasm, the weight of the night suddenly resting heavy on the back of your neck, on your shoulders.

‘Lemme walk ya,’ Joel said, and you tried to protest but he was already at the door. You noticed a splatter of icing across his middle. You didn’t say anything.

‘I know the way,’ you said, trying to extricate yourself with the minimum amount of fuss.

‘It looked delicious,’ he said to you, and you swallowed.

‘It didn’t, but thank you,’ you said. ‘If it weren’t for Jonah, I’m not sure it would exist at all.’

You looked up at him, saw the hurt cross his face just for him to shuffle his features back again. He reached around behind you and pulled the door open.

‘C’mon, it’s cold out,’ he said. Over his shoulder you saw Shauna watching from the kitchen doorway. You gave her a quick little wave. It wasn’t returned.

Out on the street you willed your legs to push you hard towards your house.

‘M’sorry about the cake,’ Joel said, keeping up with you easily as you huffed your way to the corner. ‘M’sorry about the whole night,’ he said, and you nodded, tight and wanting him to leave you alone so you could lick your wounds in peace.

‘Just thought maybe if Shauna got to know Ellie a bit more, it wouldn’t be so awkward,’ you said, and he grunted his acknowledgement in return.

‘She adores ya, y’know?’ he asked, as you turned the corner. You could see your house, only meters away from where you stood. 20, maybe 30 steps before you could get inside.

‘Shauna’s missing out,’ you said, and Joel went quiet again, walking beside you as you arrived at your porch.

At your door, you turned to him.

‘Stop saying sorry,’ you said, plainly. Joel blinked at you.

‘I am sorry, though,’ he said, taking a step towards you as you held up a hand to stop him.

‘It doesn’t mean anything if you don’t do things different,’ you informed him, having spent several weeks now thinking about it.

You wondered if he’d tell you to fuck off, if he’d yell or gnash his teeth. He didn’t seem the sort, though, and definitely not now, not when he seemed so sad, so defeated.

‘Why’d you really come over tonight?’ he asked you, and you rolled your eyes at him.

‘Told you already, for Shauna to get to know El-’

‘-no, why, really?’ he asked, as your words caught in your throat. He stepped forward again, close enough to reach his hands to your jaw and pull you into him if he so desired.

You searched his eyes, found no cruelty there, found no malice.

‘I wanted to see you with her. To see for myself that it’s over,’ you said. You heard his sharp intake of breath, the little huff of hurt that he couldn’t name.

‘And did you?’ he asked, eyes boring into yours under saddled brows.

No, you wanted to say. No, all I saw was the warmth in your eyes and the light of you every time you laughed at my stupid jokes. I saw me and you sitting at the table with your daughter eating dinner in the middle of the week. I saw the way I want you, the way my skin sings for you.

‘I thought maybe we could be friends,’ you went on, ignoring his question. ‘For Ellie.’

You didn’t have it in you, knew that you were too far gone with him for it to be possible to be his friend, knew that this disastrous fucking night had proven that to you once and for all. Knew that once he was off your porch you wouldn’t step foot into his home again. Knew that you were cutting the tie that bound you to him, still, even after all these weeks. Knew that you should, knew that you would, if you could just get through the next minute with him.

You watched as his face fell, what colour the cold hadn’t taken from it draining from his cheeks. For a moment you thought he would just turn and go, tried to tell yourself you wanted him to.

‘S’that what you want, or what you think you should want, for Ellie?’ he asked.

‘Does it matter?’ you asked, shrugging. ‘That’s all I got for you, Joel. Take it or leave it.’

You started to turn away from him, reaching for your door. You felt his hand on your hip turning you back to him, pulling you into his arms. You gasped, inhaling his warmth and his scent.

‘I’ve taken so much from ya,’ he said, his voice thick. ‘You give it to me and I’ll have it, but I ain’t takin’ from ya no more.’

He rested his chin on the crown of your head for a moment and you closed your eyes, let it be for just a second that you were together, that he was dropping you off after a night tangled up in a booth at the Bison, let it be for a moment that he was really yours.

‘Let me go, Joel,’ you said, and you meant right then, and also, maybe, forever. He hesitated, but you felt his arms loosen.

‘So, friends…’ he said, and you nodded at him, acting braver than you felt. That had been what you wanted, wasn’t it? What tonight had been about, to try and find a new way forward with him, to try and make it better for Ellie. It would be better for her if you were on speaking terms. Would be easier for you both if you could see each other in the street without feeling your heart in your throat.

‘Friends,’ you said, lying to his beautiful face. You would get there, you decided. Just not tonight.

‘OK,’ he said, and you could see he didn’t believe you but that he had to, that there was no other option for either of you. He stepped forward again to hug you, to cement it somehow, but you moved faster.

You were on the other side of the door before you had enough time to second guess yourself, to pull him in with you and strip him down to the quick.

You listened for his footsteps heading down from your porch. Minutes passed before you heard his retreat.

Taglist:

@harriedandharassed

@vickie5446

@kaseyconnour

@orcasoul

@missladym1981

@spacesoutdaydreamer

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[spread4marvel]

Fantasy; Desperation

hi guysss again this is my first creation to get out of my writers block so if it sucks just know it will lead to better things in the future😓

When you and the infamous prince of Asgard, Loki, lock eyes. You’re suddenly aware of how much you’re willing to risk for just a bit of relief. Luckily, he seems to feel similarly. Only one obstacle, your husband.

tw: swearing, alcohol mentions, smut, loki lowkey being a desperate munch, kinda innocent reader, technically cheating, and pet names (sweet girl, pet, darling, sweet thing), and dirty talk

You watched as your ‘husband’ danced with some Asgardian woman. They were awfully close and intimate with each other, purely lustful, as they danced and paraded around. You noticed he wasn’t even wearing his wedding ring. You were disappointed, but certainly not surprised. The two of you had only married for your families, so you cared very little as you lingered around the ballroom with your drink in hand.

You had danced a bit with a few men but you never let it stray too far, you had been asked to dance by many men, however. Your gaze seemed to find its way time and time again back to the Prince of Asgard throughout all of these shared dances. Not Thor, but Loki. The two of you had played this little eye game for many months now, almost every party, it seemed. However, when you went to grab another drink, a regal presence seemed to follow.

“What type of man is letting you out of his sight, looking as beautiful as you do, in this very moment.” Loki purred rhetorically as he slithered beside you. He watched intently as you took the first sip of your new drink. “The type of man who is seducing yet another woman, at this very moment.” You responded, signalling to your husband, who was now passionately kissing the Asgardian woman from a few minutes ago. “I see.” Loki mumbled back. Tensing up a bit as he realized you were in fact, courted to another.

He leaned towards you slightly, proposing an idea. “Care to dance with me, Darling?” He rasped in your ear, your cunt seemed to clench around nothing at his voice and how his scent began to envelop you. “That sounds wonderful, dear Prince.” You responded back, liquid courage finally starting to pay off as you took your final sip before setting your drink down, ready to join him.

He gave you that signature smile as he led you to the dance floor, but his eyes, they held genuineness. When the two of you began to sway, it was almost as if you were alone with each other, the gentleness of it all consuming you. Then, the teasing began. When Loki twirled you out, and brought you back in to his chest, you found yourself accidentally brushing against his erection. Sooner than later, accidentally led to purposefully.

He growled in your ear and shot you a lustful glare after every time you managed to pull off this trick. Though he wasn’t entirely innocent either. He would find little sly opportunities here and there to grope or caress your body’s keen points. When he pulls you in once more, he mumbles lowly. “I can smell you, darling.” Your eyes shoot up at him again and he continues to dance casually. “You’re driving me mad, pet.” He continued, in which you hummed as you twirled out once more. Even if you wanted to deny it, you were helplessly wet and aroused by the tall god before you. “Is that so?” You inquire cheekily, in which, he grins.

Instead of replying, he pulls you in one last time and gives you a warm, chaste kiss. You welcome it with ease as you allowed him into your mouth. Finally, he pulled away. “I think your sopping wet cunt is far overdue for some pleasure.” He whispered darkly into your ear, his words fueling your arousal like the purest of sins. “Please.” You mumbled back as the two of you slowly swayed. Lokis grin widened at your plea as he leaned down to your neck, pressing gentle kisses along your jawline and sweet spots. “What do you want, pet?” He peered as he continued his worship on you. Eliciting little gasps and whimpers from your innocent lips. Although you were much too distracted by Loki, he was well aware of your husband, who had been glaring at the two of you since you first began to dance.

“I need you.” You whispered back breathlessly, accepting your fate into his ‘clutches’ without second thought. He hummed against your skin and with a final, subtle, inhale of your perfume he forced himself off of your neck. “Then you shall have me.” He retorted back. Within a blink of an eye, the two of you have stopped dancing and he is leading you elsewhere. His hand rested possessively on the small of your lower back as he guided you out of the ballroom without any hesitation.

You weren’t exactly sure where Loki was taking you, but you followed nevertheless. He turned the hallway and walked into this strange door to the left. Once inside it looked like a guest bedroom of some sort. Certainly not his chambers but still extravagant and beautifully decorated. Immediately, Loki had you pinned against the door. He’s kissing you passionately and it’s more than just simple lust as he dominates you entirely. You pant when he pulls off of your lips, his mouth quickly finding its way to your collarbone and much more intimate spots on your neck than in the ballroom as he showers you with kisses and bites. You’re so lost in the pleasure of his touch you hadn’t noticed that he was ripping off your dress desperately till you heard the rippppp.

“Loki!” You whined playfully, making him grin against you as he stepped back to adore your body. You weren’t even fully undressed and he was groaning as he breathed you in. “Perfection.” He mumbled. You subtly squeezed your thighs together, your arousal beginning to pool underneath your undergarments. He came closer, slowly raking his hands over your ass as he went to pick you up. You giggled, wrapping your legs around his hips, trying to hide the way your cunt clenched around nothing as he easily manhandled you. Unfortunately with Loki, you can hide nothing. He gently placed you onto the center of the bed while pressing little kisses to whatever exposed skin he could find before climbing on top of you.

You could only assume what was next to come. He would undress, fuck you, and the two of you would part ways. For a moment, you were almost sad to think this would be the end of your little game. Naturally Loki had different plans. You hadn’t noticed him beginning to shed you of your undergarments, you hadn’t noticed him pressing bites here and there that would certainly mark you, and you hadn’t noticed his dark eyes glaring up at you while you were lost in a train of thought.

“Get out of that pretty little head, sweet girl.” His deep voice rendered you back to reality as he pressed a wet kiss to your inner thigh. When did you spread for him? And why was he fully dressed when you were bare? And why is it turning you on? “What are you doing?” You asked breathlessly. He raised his eyebrows at you while he began to take his position between your thighs, preparing to eat you like a starved man. “What does it look like?” He responded with another question. You almost felt dumb for not entirely knowing the answer. It looked like he was about to taste your pussy. It looked like he was teasing you by pressing sweet kisses to your inner thighs. And it looked like something you’ve never seen before. While you were scattering for a reply you were ignorant too Loki finding his place between your thighs.

“Well I, uhm- you see, uhh, he hasn’t ever really done this before.” Your sentence was interrupted by a stripe being licked up your pussy. “I-In fact uhh- nobody, ever has!” You stammered out nervously. The newfound sensations eliciting a whine as Loki lifted his head ever slightly from your cunt in realization of what you were saying. “That simply cannot be darling. Are you lying to me?” He playfully accused, one of his thumbs swirling and collecting arousal in your cunt as a replacement for his mouth.

“N-no of course not. He explicitly said that he ‘doesn’t taste woman’ when we first got intimate so-“ You stopped yourself, his eyebrows raised at you with an unreadable expression. He believed you, but he simply could not believe your husband. “oh you poor, neglected sweet thing.” He mumbled, his voice much deeper this time. “You are far too magnificent not to be worshipped correctly, darling.” He continued, beginning to lower himself between your legs again. He almost sounded determined now. And much determined he was. You gasped as he began to suck and lick your pussy. Almost as if he could not obtain enough of your sweet juices as you gushed onto him. He hummed in approval, redoubling his efforts like he was starved for you. Your noises kept him motivated, the way your finger tips had tangled themselves into his hair and have been tugging was driving him mad. He almost wanted to slow down just too savour each little noise he pulled from you. “It’s almost like you want to be caught, sweet girl.” He mumbled against your clit, lifting his head up momentarily to tease you.

You moaned out in pleasure as he breathlessly continued his feast upon you. He could sense you were getting close and he almost had the nerve to deny you, but he needed to feel you come undone for him.

However when he tried to dive impossibly deeper into your pussy, his nose rubbed against your heat and with a loud cry you came. Although it was unexpected he quickly lapped up your cum. The groan and hums of approval he made were absurd and caused you to blush when he finally raised his head from your cunt. His hair was disheveled from your fingers, little strands clinging to his forehead due to sweat, his lips and chin were drenched with your arousal and he was panting with his signature grin. You could’ve came off the sight alone as he crawled up your body hungrily and kissed you once more. This kiss was much more lustful, desperate even.

“Darling, if you were my wife, i’d pleasure you like that as many times as your beautiful body could take it.” He rasped out breathlessly, making you clench around nothing as a little whimper escaped from you. Your little noise only making him grin wider. “I know you will sound as beautiful when you’re squeezing around my cock.”

_____________________________________

Sorry it’s short i just needed something to get out of my writers block! but i’ve been experimenting a little and have decided i can also write for peeta & sejanus from hunger games, and the weasley twins (specifically george)

ty for reading lovelies and drop a req!!💕

[tbzhub]

Just Go Fuck Him

Pairing: photographer!Lee Hyunjae x afab!reader

Summary: Hyunjae moves back into his childhood home and old feelings and memories come up.

Warnings: MDNI, reader has scars, brief mention of childhood trauma, brief mention of surgeries, flashbacks, a smidge negative self-talk, hyunjae is the rizzler, smut... creampie, pet names, yada yada

Rating / Genre: M, neighbor au, childhood crush au, fluff?, slight angst (it’s really not THAT bad), lots of pining

WC: 8K (2K+ words for the smut scenes)

Artist Note: @everynewiee Enjoy! Special thank you to @the-boy-meets-evil for reading this and giving me the best fucking commentary. You're a gem and I probably would not have posted this if you hadn't stroked my ego. Love youuuuuu. If there's a typo I'll get to it eventually

m.list tag list

The living room was quiet in its typical offputting fashion as you sat around with your parents; no one saying anything as there were no conversations to be had and nothing playing on the television since no one would pay attention anyway, a phone captivating its user as everyone sat in their respective places. Any interaction at this point would feel almost disrespectful and annoying, disrupting the usual routine of your and your parent’s day. 

Your favorite place to cocoon was on the right side of the sofa, wrapped in a plush blanket while you doom-scrolled until you eventually needed to walk the dogs. This is how your days were spent since your college graduation, making your parents the only ones on the block who weren’t empty nesters. Maybe that explained why you never went out—  there was no one to go out with. Everyone else seemed to blossom rapidly, moving away and starting lives too hectic to return to their childhood homes on a regular basis while you sat at home, wrapped in blankets, feeling left behind.

Feeling left behind wasn’t inherently a negative thing, though— and it wasn’t really a feeling either. Acknowledgment: that’s what you’d describe this part of your life as— the acknowledgment of being a late bloomer, the acceptance of being the last flower waiting to bloom. The last person to leave the nest, as some would say, and that fact was totally okay with you because, in truth, it was okay for you to spend your days the way you pleased. There was no reason to run out and chase after what everyone else was doing just to keep up, to avoid loneliness at the risk of getting hurt. 

Maybe it wasn’t just an acknowledgment; perhaps being a flower that’s yet to bloom guaranteed safety from a world so wide with new people who didn’t know you and old people who’d changed so much that you didn’t know them at all. You certainly weren’t close with anyone that you’d grown up with, and when you’d run into them at the odd holiday party that you were forced to attend, that fact was always highlighted awkwardly and sometimes painfully. There’s something to be said about standing silently in a circle full of adults that you used to run around outside with as a child, as wild stories are passed around, and accomplishments are one upped by additional accomplishments. You’ve watched enough cliques coalesce in real time, cliques that you were a part of as a child but somehow couldn’t squeeze into as an adult… and to say the least, it gets old. Thus, you cocooned, you doom-scrolled, and you became content with the silent life you’d curated with your parents.

So the living room is as quiet as it always was, and the day would drone on as it always did, and you’d be just fine not rocking the boat until it was time to go to bed and do it all over again tomorrow.

But sometimes the boat needs to be rocked, and the loud knock that’s heard does the trick in making your mom flinch in her seat, and your father crane his neck to the rather unexpected sound.

You, on the other hand, do not react because a knock at the door— regardless of how foreign, is never for you. The shifting of your parents getting out of their seats and the creaking of the floorboards underneath their feet does nothing to pull you away from your phone because, again, no one is knocking on the door for you, and you’d never entirely inherited your nan's natural curiosity.

It’s not until your mom comes back into the living room with her head peeking out from behind the foyer wall as she calls out your name that you finally get up from your favorite spot on the couch. The action is done begrudgingly, but your mom swears someone is here to visit you, and her smile is vast, so at the very least, you would appease your mom and be polite.

-

The thing about people-pleasing was that you never knew where you’d end up. You could set out to be polite to some unexpected guest to appease your mother and end up staring face-to-face with your childhood fucking crush. This wasn’t hypothetical; this was actually happening, and you were currently wearing drab black sweatpants.

He says hi first, hugging you at the front door as your parents invite him in for tea, and you stand there looking like a fucking idiot troll whose soul has just left their body. Specifically, you were internally screaming as you said hello and tried not to look like you were combing through your hair with your fingers.

“It’s been so long, Hyunjae. How’s your mom?” Your mom asks as she heads into the kitchen to start the kettle, and you look down at your hands as he responds to her. 

He’s still just as polite as he used to be when you were kids, and that pisses you off.

“It’s so lovely of you to visit,” you hear your dad chime in, and you want to scowl because you felt quite the opposite. Who visits someone they haven’t spoken to in well over half a decade out of the blue without even a single warning? How were you the only person put off by this rogue visitation?

“I thought you were a travel photographer. What are you doing back here?” You ask, and really, you wish you could tell him to leave because this was too much, and you could feel the memories starting to stew inside your brain. You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks as you looked up at his ever-charming smile, and all you wanted to do was flee to your room.

“I moved back. I missed home.” 

-

Hyunjae’s return meant your parents weren’t the only non-empty nesters anymore, which should make you feel better about yourself, but it doesn’t. It makes you feel like a child again and not in a way that should feel safe or warm and fuzzy. It makes you remember your childhood with him as your next-door neighbor. It makes you remember your childhood in general, and it makes you remember all the shenanigans that the two of you got up to together. All the silly poems and doodles you’d write about him in your journal growing up start to whisper around in your mind. All the conversations you’d have in your backyards pull to the forefront of your brain. Core memories flash like you’re watching a synopsis of your life thus far when you close your eyes after turning in for the night. 

You slowly began to remember just how easy it was for you to grow attached to the boy that lived next door…

Hyunjae was a few years older than you, but he was always sweet, unlike the boys his age who lived in the neighborhood. Even in your younger years, it was his kindness that really set him apart in your mind. He was one of the few older kids who played nicely with the younger kids instead of ditching or excluding them or stealing their toys. 

When you fell and scraped your knee trying to ride a bike for the very first time without any training wheels, he was quick to run inside his house to get a bandaid and a small bag of ice. He had kissed your bandaid-covered knee in hopes that it would get you to stop crying, and at the time, you thought the gesture was ludicrous; he wasn’t a mom, so there was no way that he could have the ability to wipe away someone’s pain with the simple press of his lips. 

That was the day that you learned it wasn’t just mothers who held such a magical power

-

So you were putting effort into your looks to walk the dogs now... Nothing crazy— just making sure your hair wasn’t frizzy and that your clothes weren’t wrinkled before you left the house. You hadn’t run into Hyunjae yet, but it was bound to happen, and you wouldn’t be caught off guard when it did.

The dogs were slower than usual to round the block this afternoon, but you didn’t mind, enjoying the album you were listening to as you admired the cotton candy-like clouds dashed across the beautiful pale blue sky. For someone who spent such a massive chunk of their time indoors, you really did appreciate being outside.

Apparently Hyunjae felt the same way. You saw him outside for the first time since he came back, sitting on his front porch with a camera in his hands as he presumably took shots of the sky above. This was perfect actually. You could skitter by unnoticed. With your headphones over your ears and a fancy digital camera concealing most of his face, there should be this shared agreement that deterred one from interrupting the other for the sake of exchanging pleasantries. 

As you move closer, your house getting more prominent in your field of view, you’re reminded that dogs don’t give a fuck about made-up social contracts. Yours pull on their leashes to get to Hyunjae, one barking, and that’s enough to steal the man’s attention away from snapping the shutter. 

Damn. Your streak of avoidance shattered.

He smiles when he sees it’s you and waves with the most earnest expression on his face, and for a brief moment, you forget how to walk like an able-bodied person, legs feeling like mush and mind going blank as his inviting eyes settle on you and your dogs. 

“One foot in front of the other. Smile like a sane person. Don’t let him sense his sheer power over you.”

You repeat the mantra in your mind as you let your dogs pull you closer to him, nearing his front porch with bated breath and a weak smile. It's those wooden steps at the entrance of his house that get you, the ones that harbored far too many sweet core memories. As you sit beside him on the landing, you can’t help but think of every single time that you’ve sat here in the past.

“Hey,” He says, wrapping his arm around you briefly in a friendly, one-armed hug before he sets his fancy digital camera far away from the dogs’ reach.

Your hello is soft and shy, but you didn’t stutter at the physical touch, so you’d consider that a small win.

“So you came home just to take pictures of the sky?”

He snorts at your question, “I already told you why…

“I got tired of the world at large. Plus, there’s more than enough beauty around here. The familiar things deserve to be photographed, too.” He admits simply– as if the sentiment is genuine common knowledge. He’s smiling down at you, and for a second, maybe it was a delusion, but you honestly felt like he was talking about you specifically.

“Watch. I’ll show you what I mean.”

He reaches out for his camera and begins to snap pictures of your dogs, petting them and scratching behind their ears. One of your dogs must secretly be a Hyunjae simp because he can capture her dopey smile perfectly.

You silently watch as he goes through the pictures, his smile widening, and he leans close to show you the one that must have tugged at his heartstrings. It’s a picture of your dog, face cradled in Hyunjae’s large hand, her eyes practically shining with glee, and she has the cutest doggy smile to match.

You giggle, face breaking into perhaps its first genuine smile in such a long time. “This is perfect. I have to show Mom. I’d love a copy if you don’t mind?” 

When you look up from the camera, you notice just how close you are, invading his personal space unwittingly, and a blush rises in your cheeks as you quickly lean away to create some tangible distance.

He only hums in agreement before shutting his camera off again and making eye contact with you. “I’ll send you a copy later tonight. Has your number changed?”

-

When you finally get home, your cheeks hurt from smiling so hard, and the spring in your step is undeniable. You let the dogs off their leashes and put away your headphones before practically skipping to your bedroom.

You flop on your bed, feeling weightless and energized from the crumb of interaction... This could become a problem, an addiction— could a person become addicted to another person? Regardless of the answer, you squealed in bed, covering your face in your hands as you let every single positive emotion flood through your body. Your legs kick in the air, and you feel giddy, high on the love and infatuation of a crush a decade in the making.

Oh, you were so fucking doomed. Hyunjae needed to either move away or express his intent to marry you as soon as possible because every feeling you’d shoved down had come back in full force, plus interest.

A knock on your bedroom door makes you freeze mid-tizzy, and as the door creaks open, it's your mom’s head that peeks into your room, and the smile that graces her lips looks nearly childlike. She wanted to gossip, you could tell.

“I saw you sitting over at the Lee’s. It’s been so long since I've seen you two sit outside on his porch steps like that.” She says, and immediately, your face goes blank. Any traces of giddiness is sucked right out of you in exchange for bashfulness. 

Vibe ruined. You felt so exposed.

“What? I’m happy. You two used to be so close growing up, and he was such a sweet kid. It’s just nice to see…” she trails off before finally taking the hint and leaving you alone to writhe in your newfound angst and embarrassment.

Your mom was right, though. You spent ample time on the Lee’s front porch growing up.

When everyone had gotten old enough to where the playing field was level, and the neighborhood kids could all get off the school bus together, it was common to hang out in a large group after school. Sometimes, this entailed sitting around and talking. Still, most of the time, this led to adventuring around the block and getting into what could only be labeled as dumb, child-appropriate shenanigans.

It didn’t take long for you to bow out of these afternoon activities in exchange for seclusion, sat at your front door doing your homework, reading a book, or maybe drawing. You didn’t want to partake in what everyone else was doing.

Hyunjae had been the one to start the unspoken tradition by randomly sitting on his porch one day instead of running out to play with everyone else. You noticed him outside, but your head is inside a book about horses, and frankly, what someone else did on their porch was none of your adolescent business.

But that day, he called you over, asking if you wanted to sit with him, and when you explained that you were reading a book, he was quick to respond, saying the same thing.

“We don’t have to talk. Just sit next to me.” That was his persuasive pitch, and it worked.

That day, you sat side by side on his front porch steps, one reading a picture book about horses and the other reading a Spiderman comic book. When he noticed you struggling to sound out an unfamiliar word, he broke the comfortable silence to help you.

That's how it started, the many sessions of keeping each other company on his wooden steps. That’s probably the true catalyst of your friendship, him calling you over and you obliging his request, sitting side by side on wooden steps instead of running around with the other neighborhood kids.

Gradually, this evolved from a mini reading club to you bringing art supplies over to paint together, him helping you with your math homework when it got tough, or even him simply reading a chapter of his library books to you with your head laid against his shoulder, eyes closed as you pictured the fictitious world that Hyunjae was describing to you.

The Lee’s front porch steps slowly became a second home to you, and as you both grew up, experiencing life in new and complicated ways, sometimes the only thing that helped you get by was sitting on those steps with Hyunjae by your side.

-

The coming days felt slow; your typical routine of couch cocooning left you unsatisfied, and you found yourself counting down the hours, minutes, and seconds until you could walk your dogs outside. Which was silly because you were a grown adult; you didn't need to find an excuse to go out… but you did want an excuse to run into Hyunjae again.

Which again— you were a grown adult, and you could take life by the balls and knock on his front door, say hi, and invite yourself in. You weren't going to do that, but at the very least, you acknowledged that plan as a viable option: baby steps and all that.

In your defense, though, you didn't want to make a fool of yourself, and you were scared. So much has changed over the years since you’d last appropriately spoken. You had so many unanswered questions, and you felt like the elephant in the room, the elephant that you’d birthed, still hadn't been addressed… You didn’t think that you’d earned the right to rogue, unannounced visitations in the same way that Hyunjae did.

As of right now, you are settling on the waiting game. Hyunjae sent you the picture of your dog, just as he’d promised, but you haven't seen him outside since. At this point, the ball was in the universe’s court, and you hoped to be favored kindly.

Today, you decided to bring your pinning to a different location, settling on cleaning your bedroom instead of wistfully thinking about Hyunjae as you stared out your living room windows. You would give your room a real deal deep clean; organize and clean out your closet, vacuum, feather dust, wipe down your bedroom windows, and toss out anything that hadn’t been used in three years— the works.

You were moving through these tasks with music on blast, shimmying and singing along while you harbored a spray bottle in one hand and a cloth in the other. No area was safe for dirt or dust in your room. You were intent on cleaning until your room was interior design magazine-level spotless, and the next inanimate victim was your window. You pushed back the curtains and drew the blinds to reveal the dusty glass pane.

Wow, this should get done more often.

You attacked the window pane with cleaning spray and started wiping, swaying to the beat of the bass-heavy song that played through your speakers, and soon you're doing more dancing than wiping. You get lost in the song, singing into the window as if you were in a music video as you run the cleaning cloth over the glass like it was a prop.

Then you notice Hyunjae standing in his bedroom window, and you halt. How long had he stood there? How much of your theatrics had he witnessed? You remove your hand from the glass, and your face twists up in humiliation. 

He crosses his arms, eyebrows arching upwards, but the rest of his expression seems impassive before he finally bursts into a fit of laughter, causing you to do the same. Your embarrassment dissipates as he claps his hands to applaud you for such a lovely showcase, and you playfully bow. 

This moment wasn’t the first time that one of you has gotten caught being weird in the recesses of your bedrooms by the other, but it’s been so long that you can’t help but giggle. Some things really don’t change, and you’re glad that, at this point, getting caught by Hyujnae feels the same way as it did when you were younger. No judgment, just a short shock of embarrassment followed by playfulness and laughter shared between good friends. 

-

Hyunjae’s been back home for over a month now, and you were still… dragging your feet when it came to acknowledging the obvious. You were being stubborn, and you were starting to annoy your mother. She, so badly, wanted to play matchmaker. Yet, you wouldn’t give her the satisfaction, insisting for the nth time that you did not like Hyunjae and that he did not like you. She’d roll her eyes and drop the matter, but she always muttered something under her breath. Then you’d act like you didn't hear, just like she’d act like you hadn’t spewed such a bald-faced lie.

You did like him, though. You more than liked him, and that’s what startled you most. To want someone in so many ways... The concept was so new to you, and Hyunjae made pining over him refreshing. 

There were parts of it that were innocent and parts that felt like carnal desire. You wanted to talk to Hyunjae every day like you used to— to spend time with him every day, just like when you were kids. There was this familiarity in his presence that was soothing, and yet most days, he left you feeling drunk off the feelings and needs that you’d developed for him. 

He was sweet, and he made you laugh, but at his baseline? Hyunjae was a flirt that left you flustered all the time. 

It’s the looks he gives you, the curve at the corner of his lips when he’d notice you short-circuit from one of his sly compliments, or the intense eye contact he’d give you while you spoke. It was the way he’d playfully nudge you as you sat beside him on his porch steps, and it was most definitely the cheeky smile he'd flash at you when he was jogging around the block with his shirt off. With all of that, you were starting to look at him differently, and you found yourself appreciating him in ways that you’d never paid attention to before.

When had he gotten so irresistibly attractive? Has he always been this undeniably sexy?

He’d gotten stronger, bulkier. It only took a few shameless glances in his direction while he was outside, gearing up for a run, to notice just how toned he was. His back muscles were lean. His arms looked so firm… like he could protect you with them or wrap them around you as he drilled nothing but raw pleasure into your body. The thought alone made you shiver, and it was becoming damn near impossible to look at him in a friendly way. Exceptionally not with his lips so perfectly crafted. He had lips that could easily hypnotize you— and they did often. You’d try your hardest to focus on his words just to fantasize about how sweet and kissable his lips were. 

Right now, you were stuck between reality and a daydream as you stood outside listening to Hyunjae speak. You’d crossed paths as he was coming in from a late evening jog, and you were heading out to walk the dogs. You watched the way his tongue ran along his bottom lip slowly, and then your eyes began to trail down past his bare chest. Before you could fall deeper into your thoughts, heat spread across your chin, and your face got tilted upward for you to meet Hyunjae’s gaze.

“Like what you see?” He guesses, calling you out playfully, and your reaction time is slow to it all. 

You barely register getting caught as you focus on the sudden physical contact, the way his hand cups your chin firmly, and the warmth that his fingers provide to your skin. His touch lingers as you stare up at him with a facial expression displaying nothing but need. How could such a simple gesture cause you to buckle so intensely? If you tried to speak right away, you might let out a moan. 

You have to take a step back to regain your composure, and your hand tightens around the leash that you're holding. 

Fuck. 

For a moment, you’d even forgotten all about your dogs. They needed a walk, and here you were eye fucking Hyunjae outside his childhood home. Your words are mumbled and short as you try to slink away, stepping to the side to get around him on the sidewalk.

“My bad.”

That’s all you could say. It was the lamest thing to come out of your mouth in a while, but your dogs could be your escape from such an awkward situation. 

His hand grabs your wrist, though, stopping you from completing one of your little vanishing acts. You can barely hear him over your rapidly beating heart. All you can make out is that he’ll text you when to come over, and there's something else about going for a drive.

-

Hyunjae kept taking casual side glances your way while you sat together in his car. No one was talking, and you could tell he was gearing up to say something ridiculous. The smirk that graced his mouth was your leading indicator, and the suspense killed you. The lull in your conversation only heightened your anticipation as you tried to relax into the passenger seat, sitting silently and with thick tension.

“You never answered my question, you know.” His words come out so nonchalant that you nearly misunderstand him.

But you could play coy, too, so you take a long sip from your drink to keep him waiting.

 “Hm?” 

The eye roll he gives you is comical and dramatic, and he feigns offense as his hand covers his heart.

“You forgot that fast? Wow, dude. Check me out, and then forget all about it. I feel used.” Even as the words pass his lips, he’s smiling, his eyes creasing, and the rise of his cheekbones are very telling. Hyunjae just loved to see you squirm in the hot seat.

“I don’t know what— did you just call me dude?” His phrasing finally registers, and you scoff. Was this a date, or did you just get painfully friendzoned?

His eyebrows quirk upward, and the smirk along his lips turns devilish momentarily as he hums, eyes intently on your own.

“I’m sorry. Would you prefer something more forward? I could call you baby… there's also babe, angel, sunshine. Buttercup if we’re feeling frisky. Darling is a favorite of mine, but anything’s on the table, really.” 

Your nose scrunches up at his blatant teasing. The man was straight up toying with your emotions. “Just f-forget about it.”

“Whatever you say, Sweetheart.” 

His words bounce around the car before striking straight through you. The cup in your hand clatters clumsily into its holder as you drop it.

So much for keeping it cool.

“Ooooh, so that’s the one. I’ll remember that.” He says through a chuckle and a smug grin as he reclines further in his seat.

“You know you didn’t have to bring me all the way out here to tease me. You were doing a pretty good job from the comfort of your own home.” 

You tried to sound dry and aloof, but you started to buzz with anticipation. The feelings that you’d kept hidden, albeit poorly, would be pushed and prodded to the surface, thanks to Hyunjae and his charming smile.

“That’s not why I brought you out here. I actually wanted to talk. I’ve missed you.” He admits, reaching out to touch your shoulder tenderly. 

“Hyunjae. We’re neighbors. You see me every day.” You assert, facial expression going deadpan as you stare back at his unwavering flirtatious gaze.

He sighs at that, mind seeming to go to a faraway place before he speaks up again.

“It’s more than that. I miss how close we used to be. We haven’t hung out alone like this since the summer before my senior year of high school. It feels like decades have passed and…

“It felt like it happened out of nowhere. It was like one day, we were close. I’d say we were best friends, and then the next day, you woke up and decided that wasn’t the case anymore. Why? What did I do?”

There was a gleam of hurt in his eyes that caused your bottom lip to jut out as guilt struck you. Hyunjae was right. You were close. He was your favorite person, and you were his. He was ever-present throughout much of your life, and then you ghosted him. You could pinpoint the exact moment when things changed, and you’d decided to stop being his friend. 

You were a teenager riddled with insecurities, and instead of talking to him about it— or talking to anyone for that matter, you’d made the conscious decision to become reclusive. You thought that you needed to detach from someone that you, for the longest time, considered was your one and only gift from the universe growing up.

You purse your lips together before opening your mouth to speak, but doubt settles and seeps into your bones. “I don’t know how to explain this without sounding dumb.” 

Hyunjae shrugs, “Just say it. Dumb or not. We’ll piece everything together as a team.”

His eyes were soft, and his hand went to rest on your knee, giving you all the comfort and safety that you needed to explain yourself.

“Um… obviously, I have a crush on you, right? Like, let’s move past that fact fast.” You pause to read Hyunjae’s reaction, but he only gives you a small smile while his hand reaches for yours, lacing his fingers through your own.

“A-and… I guess I knew that even back then. I mean, yeah. I had a huge fucking crush on you back then. Oh god, it was bad. It's just as bad as it is now, honestly. But when we were in high school, I started developing all these insecurities. I started noticing that other girls looked different from me. They didn’t grow up getting used to the hospital like I did. They didn’t have these long surgical scars on their legs like mine. You remember that part of my life, right? Your mom let you visit me after my first surgery when I was super young.”

Somewhere along the way, you shifted in your seat to stare out the window as you spoke, unable to hold eye contact and show vulnerability simultaneously.

“I didn’t realize it then because I was so young… I just wanted to feel better, but my body was branded with all this trauma. The scars on my thighs documented it all. It was hard going to gym class. The locker room was awful; I’d feel so insecure, and then I’d have to think about you constantly. All the girls knew you, and they’d talk about how hot you were. All. The. Time. And because I was your best friend, they’d ask me about you all the time. I was ‘popular’ but only because they wanted something from me. I couldn’t deal with it. All these beautiful girls with perfect, flawless skin constantly asked me about the guy that I’d liked for so long.

“I could not deal with another school year being seen only as the gateway to Hyunjae. I spent that summer in my room crying and wishing that things were different. That I was different, that I'd wake up and these scars would be gone. That I could finally get the guy that I’d wanted for so long… Obviously, that never happened. So I thought that if I put you and our friendship behind me, maybe I could, at the very least, move on because why would a guy like you want someone so far from perfect.”

You did it. Hyunjae is finally caught up and no longer left in the dark. All that was left to do now was listen to his response. You feel firm hands grab at your waist, and you're awkwardly pulled out of your seat until you're straddling Hyunjae’s lap.

“Thank you for sharing all of this with me, but… is that what you really think? That I wouldn’t want you because of something like that?” He’s looking up at you with tears threatening to spill from his eyes, and all you can do is nod meekly.

“I hate that, you know. I hate knowing that you spent an entire summer crying, and I was right next door, and I didn’t know.” His hands fall to your thighs, squishing them in his hold gently as he processes all of this information.

“I can’t even joke about how down bad we’ve been for each other because right now I’m shocked.” He goes on, sighing heavily before chewing on his bottom lip.

“My mom raised me right. I can reassure you that I would never care about something like that. I know, all too well, how to appreciate and treat a good woman. You’ve always been beautiful to me, and you’ll continue to be. Always. No matter what. Those parts of you are gorgeous, too, because they’re a part of the bigger, breathtaking picture.

“I don’t want to miss out on any more time, okay?”

Before you can grace him with a response, his lips are on yours, and his hand is pressed against your back as he pushes your body closer to his.

It was the kind of kiss that made you realize just how lonely you’d been. Urgency and desire ran straight through your veins to pool at your center, and you felt like you were melting into the man below you. You could stay like this forever, straddling Hyunjae’s hips while your tongue collided beautifully with his. He kissed you like a thirsty man dying for a drink. Faint gasps leave your chest whenever he pulls away to breathe to dive back in and fuse his mouth with yours again. 

So this is how Hyunjae’s lips feel. This is how it feels to be kissed by him.

You both become lost in the kiss, and his hands begin to roam. Warmth spreads across your lower back as one of Hyunjae’s hands snakes its way underneath your shirt to caress your skin, and a shiver flows up your spine. Your fingers tangle into his hair, anchoring yourself to this moment as your hips roll. That’s when you feel it.

“Oh.” You breathe out.

The tent in his pants nudges against you perfectly as you're coaxed into a steady grind by the firm hand pressed along your back.

“Feel good?” He asks, pulling away to look up at you with glossy lips and messy hair. Your nod is an eager one as you try to lean down, eyes closing as you search for his lips again while Hyunjae leans into you, pressing kisses to your neck instead. 

You feel his free hand creep up to your thighs as you continue to chase after the friction his crotch provides. Your skirt slowly becomes bunched up, cool air hitting your thighs, and you freeze, shyness and insecurity washing over you.

“J-jae…” You stutter out in a whisper, grabbing his face in your hand to stop him from looking down.

There’s a look of understanding on his face, but you also see a glint of something else in his eyes. “Wanna come back to my place, Sweetheart? I can think of some ways to help you get comfortable.”

-

As promised, Hyunjae made you feel safe and comfortable. He asked for permission before peeling a new article of clothing away from your body each time. He litters soothing touches and gentle kisses to any freshly exposed skin as he gets you undressed fully. When you’re completely bare, he’s keen to comfort you, making a point of looking you in the eyes before sneaking a glance down to your chest briefly.

“Just focus on me, okay?” He says, voice as soft as cotton while his hand comes up to stroke the side of your face sweetly.

He leans back to take off his shirt, and even though you’ve seen him shirtless more than a handful of times, you can’t help the whine that leaves you. Your eyes trail down his toned torso and settle expectantly on his hands that fiddle with his jeans. You were about to learn something new about Hyunjae, and you were paying very close attention.

He was big, and you sink your teeth into your lower lip to stop the moan that tries to punch out of you. Your heart pounds heavily in your chest as you stare blatantly at every part of him before your wide eyes finally lift to meet his gaze.

“It’ll fit.” He reassures smugly, and you roll your eyes at that.

“When did you get so cocky?” You sass through a tease as you're pushed backward onto his bedsheets.

“Don’t be jealous, Sweetheart. You’ll be full of cock soon.” He tosses back, causing you to shudder. 

He hovers above you for a moment, caging your body in between his strong arms as he looks down at you with fondness in his gaze while he admires your beauty. He leans down to kiss you on the lips before moving down your body.

His lips press against every part of your body on his trek down your chest and past your stomach. When he gets to your thighs, he takes his time, closing his eyes as he kisses every spot, running his tongue along the blemishes that make you doubt yourself. He alternates his love and affection as he slots himself between your legs, nipping at one thigh before pressing a wet kiss to the other.

You feel weightless already. There's not an ounce of nervousness in your body as Hyunjae worships the parts of you that you thought you disliked the most. You felt cared for, cherished, and like you were the most enticing person in the world. The tingling sensations travel closer and closer to the apex between your thighs until you let out a gasp that quickly morphs into a whimper.

“Jae— 

You're cut off by a moan as Hyunjae’s tongue swipes up your wetness in one languid motion, causing a jolt of pleasure to dash through your body. He hums into your pussy as he runs his tongue from side to side, parting your folds and tasting you hungrily before he slots your clit between his lips. You lurch forward, and he reaches one arm up to press you back into the bed, resting his hand on your stomach. He pushes your thighs farther apart with his free hand; his grip is tight around your thigh while he buries his face further into your pussy, tongue unrelenting as he sucks on your clit in tandem with the flicks of the wet muscle.

You didn’t know how to move through life after experiencing something life-altering like this. Hyunjae’s mouth made you feel unreal. His tongue could easily be labeled the 8th wonder of the world. All you could do was softly moan his name like you were reciting a prayer as he worked you over. 

The bed dips as he shifts his positioning, stopping his ministrations for a minute, and when you look down, you notice just how drenched his chin is because of you, and you shyly close your legs.

“Y-you don’t have to contin—

He cuts you off by forcing your legs apart and looking up at you purposely while he settles between your thighs again. 

“Why would you deny yourself something we both know you want?” He challenges, tongue sticking out to ghost over your glistening pussy, and the delicate warmth that the barely-there touch provides is enough to have you whining in need. You push his head back down, hoping he’ll just shut up and go back to town. He does, but not without having the last word. 

“Knew you couldn’t resist me,” he teases, words slurred as he tries to talk between sloppy licks. His tongue remains flat as he laps at your pussy to make you fall apart. 

When you seem close, with moans flowing out of you ceaselessly, he sinks into you, tongue massaging your spasming walls as he fucks you with his mouth, and that’s all you need. Your face grows hot, and you start to quiver; your thighs begin to falter, and Hyunjae has to hold them steady with his large hands as your orgasm swallows you whole.

“Oh FUCK.”

You will never be the same. Your body throbs with pleasure, and you shake through the most powerful feeling that you’ve ever encountered in your life. You’re speaking only in incoherent babbles as Hyunjae continues to tongue fuck you until the sensation is far too much for your pussy, and you have to push him away. You look up at him breathlessly, eyes unable to stay open for more than a few seconds at a time as you come down from such an intense finish.

“God bless you, Hyunjae.” You finally say, still twitching from your nerves getting lit on fire.

“I take it I did pretty good, hm?” He points out with the cockiest grin while he wipes his chin, coating the back of his hand in your essence. His eyes drift away from your face to check you out, and his face melts into a genuine smile.

“Your body is perfect to me, by the way. Every single part of it. Every minor detail.” He reassures, voice coated in sincerity as he trails his hand along your thigh, thumb running across a faded scar.

Goosebumps rise on your skin as you turn your face away from him, with a blush peppering your cheeks. “It’s your turn…” You add, letting your legs fall open for him.

“Our turn,” He corrects as he turns your face to look up at him. 

“You ready, Sweetheart?” He asks while he hovers above you, and you can feel how warm and heavy he is against you, prompting you to nod your head yes.

Hyunjae sheathes himself inside you slowly, causing you to groan blissfully as your eyes fall closed. He feels so good. The stretch is just right, and as he buries himself deep inside you, it’s like you’re being split open, but in the best way. Your hands rest on his shoulders as you adjust to his girth and length. When you finally open your eyes, you're met with the sight of the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen trying his hardest to hold himself together.

“You okay, Darling?” You ask in a teasing whisper while you take in Hyunjae’s state. He looks tense, his teeth are abusing his bottom lip, and for shits and giggles, you clench around him and he hisses.

“You’re incredibly tight.” He says through gritted teeth before he exhales. He rears back, his eyes flutter closed for a moment, and you hear him curse under his breath.

“I-it’s like your pussy is choking my cock…” He mumbles before he leans down to kiss your neck and tries to press forward again. You hear him whimper softly, and it’s the most alluring sound you’ve ever heard, and it's all because of you.

“I feel good?”

“You feel so. Fucking. Good.” He praises through a pant. 

His hips start to roll against yours as he finds a steady pace to fuck you with, and soon his bedroom is filled with a mixture of moans and skin slapping against skin. His body weight presses you further into the bedsheets, and you feel like you’re being surrounded by love and warmth as every fantasy that you’ve ever had comes true. 

Hyunjae’s strong body lays flush on top of yours, and his fingers lace through yours while he rocks into you harder with precise movements. His other arm goes under your body to tilt your pelvis upward as he begins hitting you at a new angle that pulls a cry out of you. Your legs tighten around his waist, needing him closer and deeper as you’re fucked into oblivion. Each powerful thrust has you sliding up the sheets, and your pussy clamps down on him whenever his cock drags out of you. You felt stuffed, filled to the brim, and you missed him when he reared back, leaving you nearly empty for half a second at a time.

Praises were mumbled against your skin while he plunged into you. You had the best pussy. You were doing a good job; you’re taking him so well. You felt incredible. Hyunjae’s words sent you to the edge, and all you could do was gasp and moan as you came undone. Your walls flutter and spasm as you arch your back, screaming his name out for the neighborhood to hear.

“J-Jae,” you whimper, lip trembling as Hyunjae molds your body to his fat cock.

“I know, Sweetheart… Relax and enjoy it.” He coos softly, coaching you through your second orgasm.

His hips don’t slacken; they do the opposite, speeding up as he hammers the sweet spot deep inside you repeatedly until something inside you snaps. You writhe underneath him, and your fingers tighten around his own as you fall into bliss. Hyunjae’s eyes are glued to your face as your mouth drops open, and a long, drawn-out groan leaves your body.

“That’s right, baby. Keep going.” He says through a grunt as he starts to chase his high.

He shifts, lifting you into his arms while his cock stays buried inside you. You're positioned upright, body going limp against his muscular thighs as he continues to drill into you, massaging your walls at a merciless pace. One large bicep stays wrapped around your waist, and his free hand snakes between you both to rub against your clit as if he could get you to cum a third time. You’re just a brainless lump of whimpers at this point as your head rests against his sweaty chest.

“I’m close, Sweetheart. I know you can do it again, come on, baby.” He pleaded, voice ragged as his thrusts turned desperate. 

His moans get more prominent, and when you look up to meet his gaze, Hyunjae looks fucked out beyond belief, lips parted, and hair a disaster on top of his head. You muster up enough energy to kiss him on the lips, swallowing all his pretty noises and whimpering against his plush lips. You feel his hips stutter. Then heat spreads inside you, and you shake as he fills you with cum while you experience another earth-shattering orgasm.

You're both tired and sticky. The bed sheets are hardly halfway on the bed, twisted onto one side, but neither of you seems to care. You collapse onto the bare mattress with Hyunjae’s cock still hidden inside you. When he finally pulls out, your dripping pussy adds to the mess on his bed. He lays down beside you, immediately pulling you in for a cuddle.

“You’re going to stay here, right?” He asks, looking down at you with a hopeful gleam.

“Of course. Even if I wanted to go home, I couldn’t deal with a walk of shame right now. My legs don’t work. I’ll leave tomorrow afternoon when I have to walk the dogs.” You answer through a giggle.

NOTE: There is a part two that can be found: here.

[jacenbren]

Deeply fucking unsettling things about the Honored One himself, Satoru Gojo

Thanks to his ability to fuck with gravity, you put him in a blank, empty room with identical walls, floor, and ceiling with no doors or windows, he'll quickly lose track of which way is up. Realistically this situation would probably never happen, but the concept freaks him out ever since Geto made a joke about it once.

Gojo's body maintains a perfect thermodynamic equilibrium, making his skin creepily cool to the touch. He can go out in a blizzard with shorts on, and between that and Infinity, he'd be perfectly fine. It makes for a cool party trick, because he can stick his hand in a candle flame or put cigarettes out on his arms with no ill effects.

He's unsettlingly clean at all times, because dirt can't touch him. Gojo hasn't needed to use stain remover on his uniform in years.

He quite literally has six eyes. He keeps four of them shut and all of them hidden most of the time, though, because a) looking into all six at once would liquefy the brain of your average human, and b) his Six Eyes are constantly feeding unfathomable amounts of information into his brain every second. Even with his tolerance to his powers and mastery of the reverse curse technique, there's only so much stimuli a human brain can process without completely shutting down, and Gojo doesn't want to find out what that'll do to him--in a nutshell, just because he can see things that mankind can't even hope to comprehend doesn't mean he wants to.

He can perceive the entire electromagnetic spectrum, meaning he can see shrimp colors. Everyone else desperately wants him to describe the shrimp colors. Gojo continues to smugly refuse.

Because of his reverse curse technique constantly refreshing and regenerating his body, he just. doesn't really need to eat anymore. or drink. or even breathe. His body is basically frozen at peak physical condition, and it's very likely that he is functionally immortal.

Sometimes, Gojo forgets what pain feels like, because nothing can touch him. Pain feels almost like pleasure to him, because nothing can hurt him. Nothing can even touch him, and Gojo has secretly developed a perverted interest in seeing how badly he can mutilate himself before he's forced to reengage his technique and heal.

Gojo can bend and contort himself in ways that aren't humanly possible, run faster and farther and lift heavier objects than anyone alive, because his body can repair itself almost as fast as it's damaged, depending on how severe the injury. Basically, he has permanent hysterical strength, letting him push his body past its limits to perform feats that would kill a normal human with no ill effects.

Gojo doesn't sleep. He literally can't unless he releases his technique, because his body is constantly being refreshed and doesn't need to shut down. Oh well, it's for the better. He's most vulnerable while he's sleeping anyway, and it opens up his schedule by a lot.

His teeth grow now, almost like a rodent's. He has to file them down to be able to open and close his mouth properly, along with much more frequent trimming of his hair and nails.

His skin is oddly smooth, and unnaturally pristine. Gojo hasn't recieved a single scar since Toji sliced him open, and all the ones he'd recieved before are healed flawlessly at this point. His hands are so soft they make it look like he hasn't fought a day in his life, because calluses aren't able to form anymore.

Gojo's been around the world countless times now. He can go wherever he wants with a thought; the only cost is his sanity. Warping himself across the Pacific for lunch in San Francisco is fun, but he can only do it a few times a week if he doesn't want to have another... ah, episode.

These episodes involve blackouts, gaps in his memory where his powers manage to slip their leashes from overuse and literally short-circuit his brain. He's only had a few so far, and every time, he wakes up in the infirmary completely unscathed, with blood all over his clothes and an awful fucking migraine. Nobody knows what happens or where he goes, and all Shoko's been able to tell him is that when it happens, he seems to go into a giddy fugue before blasting his way out of the compound and vanishing for anywhere from days to weeks. Gojo's absolutely terrified of these episodes, because he's wholly aware that if he lost it for real, nobody would be able to stop him.

He looks human enough, but if you look closer, he quickly starts to set off the uncanny valley effect. It's like a wolf in sheep's clothing--because you know how dangerous he is, even though he appears relatively harmless at first. Everyone who meets him has the same fear response clawing at the back of their mind as their hindbrain screams at them to fucking run, because Gojo is an apex predator in the body of a prey animal. His very presence awakens primal fear that's been entrenched in every human since the dawn of time--the fear of things that go bump in the night, of cosmic horrors beyond what mankind can even hope to comprehend.

His eyes glow all the time now, and the energy crackling in the air around him feels like the static that comes before a lightning strike. Satoru Gojo is insistent that he's still human even though he's the strongest, but... is he, really?

[amorphousbl0b]

Arcane does a fun thing with its narrative Darkest Hour.

Or: yet another post about how insanely smart this show is and how absolutely genius its writers are (and how jealous of them I am).

For the uninitiated, the Darkest Hour is the moment just before the climax in which the heroes are at their lowest point. When the Avengers are scattered and Loki opens the portal in NYC, when the Falcon has escaped the Death Star but lost Obi-Wan, when the Fire Nation is set to annihilate the Earth Kingdom, when Frodo fails to destroy the Ring at the Crack of Doom. The heroes must confront their flaws and change for the better for a happy ending.

Arcane’s darkest hour is, of course, in Act 3. One might place it at the very end of episode 9, and that’s certainly where the story is at its most hopeless. But I’d contend it starts as early as the end of episode 8 and carries on through the entirety of episode 9.

After all, that’s when Caitlyn and Vi have separated, lost all hope, and Cait is kidnapped by Jinx. Jinx’s mind is fully gone and throughout the episode everything falls apart around her. Silco is losing control of his chembarons and may well have lost his daughter, the thing most precious to him, and is only barely keeping his powerful façade in line. Zaun has realized how ridiculously outmatched they are in a war with Piltover and the revolutionary cause has become almost impossible. Viktor has manslaughtered his assistant and may never be cured. Jayce has manslaughtered a child and finally realizes how quickly he’s losing his morals. Mel and her mother are fully separating and she is struggling with her warlike destiny. Sevika gets the absolute snot beat out of her and limps to an empty office without a boss.

So yeah. Lot of personal Darkest Hours going on.

“But what’s the interesting thing?” I hear you ask in my ear. I don’t know why I hear you. Shut up. I’m writing. Are you even real?

Excuse me.

Arcane’s interesting twist on the Darkest Hour lies in part of the trope that I didn’t mention. That’s in the villain.

Most stories with a clear-cut villain have a plot structure something like this:

Whether things are going well for one side is inversely proportional to the other. During the Darkest Hour, when the hero is at their weakest, the villain is at their most dominant.

Wait… isn’t Silco the villain of Arcane? Not to be too blunt, but he’s having a shit time. Things are falling apart for him just as badly as for everyone else.

That's the trick. Caitlyn and Vi are suffering. Jinx is suffering. Silco is suffering. Jayce is suffering. Viktor is suffering. Zaun as a whole is suffering. There is only one party in the whole story that isn't suffering, that actually is benefitting from this horrid state of affairs...

EKKO AND HEIMERDINGER

Kidding. They're not really a part of this dance. A big part of Arcane's theming is that acting to help people without an agenda is simply more virtuous than fighting for any invariably-flawed nation that innately perpetuates the cycle of violence.

No, the side that is doing fine is the other that is conspicuously absent from my two prior lists. While the characters that make up its leadership are experiencing personal Darkest Hours, the organization itself is essentially on top of the world, having just scored a huge victory and getting set to bring the war to an end before it even begins. I mentioned how poor the situation for the Undercity looks, but not its counterpart.

Piltover.

Wasn't it so that Piltover started this whole mess? Didn't their oppression cause the revolt that orphaned Vi and Powder's parents? Isn't it their actions that drive Silco to ever greater extremes? Isn't it their normalized political backstabbing that causes Jayce to sacrifice his principles because that's the only way to get ahead? Isn't it their corrupt police force that lets Silco operate his drug empire with impunity?

Silco might look the part. He might be the most personally evil character, might be the one who causes the most misery for our main protagonists Vi and Powder.

But structurally, the shining city of Piltover, its political machine, and its Enforcers are the actual villains of Arcane.

[imaginebucktommy]

Imagine

Over time, Maddie and Chimney begin to rely on Tommy and Evan’s kindness and love for children.

From time to time, they ask them to babysit the little one, and the guys simply can't say no. Not that they want to.

Jee-Yun’s birthday is coming up. For some reason, Tommy is incredibly excited — he wants to give Jee the best gift she’ll remember for a long time. Buck is just as excited, and Tommy’s enthusiasm makes something warm bloom in his chest.

At some point, Tommy starts to worry that he might be going too far. After all, she’s not his child, and maybe the others think he's overstepping?

— I promise you, Tommy, everyone absolutely adores you and the way you care about Jee — Evan says gently, wrapping his arms around Tommy. — And I adore it — and you — more than anyone.

The big day arrives.

At the very last moment, the entertainer in the Teddy Bear costume they hired — the one Jee had so desperately wanted to see — calls to say he’s been in a minor but troublesome accident and won’t make it to the party. There's no time to find a replacement.

Everyone starts panicking — but Tommy steps in. He says he has a giant plush bear costume in his garage. Not exactly Teddy, of course, but under the circumstances, it should do.

Buck makes a mental note to *definitely* ask later why his boyfriend even owns a bear costume in the first place.

They manage to make it to Tommy’s place and back in a record-breaking ten minutes, without breaking a single traffic law.

But when Tommy pulls the costume out of the bag, Buck realizes they might be headed for disaster.

The bear looks like the most pathetic, worn-out, miserable creature on Earth. One ear is crumpled, there are patches and scuffs all over, and its mismatched button eyes — different colors and sizes — look in completely opposite directions. One eye seems ready to fall off at any moment.

Seeing Evan’s expression, Tommy feels a rising wave of panic.

— It's *that* bad, huh?

— It’s... how should I put this... — Buck glances nervously from Tommy to the costume and back. — Are the arms made from different sets of fabric?

— Long story, — Tommy sighs. — This is a nightmare. I can’t go out there in this thing.

— I’m afraid we have no choice. Come on, get in the suit!

Tommy slips into the bear costume just as Maddie walks into the room.

The bear gives her the most pitiful, guilty look.

Maddie freezes.

— Ooooooh. Ooooooooh! — For the first time, Evan can’t decipher his sister’s tone. — What. Is. THAT?

A loud sneeze echoes from inside the bear.

— Okay, time to get out there. A crowd of four-year-olds is waiting for Teddy! Evan, just a heads up — you’re going to have to treat Tommy’s allergies.

Mustering all his courage, Tommy heads out to the party.

Jee-Yun immediately bursts into tears at the sight of the mutant bear.

Realizing that it’s the costume frightening her, Tommy quickly rips off the plush head.

Jee, recognizing Uncle Tommy, calms down almost instantly.

The other kids, however, start wailing — because the bear just lost its head.

Chaos erupts.

That evening, Tommy and Buck return to the loft.

They collapse onto the couch, still in dusty clothes. Buck pulls Tommy into his arms, laying him on his chest.

- I almost ruined everyth... - Tommy starts, but Buck interrupts.

— Don’t even say it. You were... you were perfect, Tommy. Everyone appreciated your... selflessness.

— Evan, how did you even come up with the idea to distract the kids with magic tricks? If not for you, they would've never calmed down. You're a genius.

Evan smiles and shrugs.

— Always got your back.

— Do you think they’re mad at me? — Tommy asks.

— Maddie and Chim invited us over for dinner this Friday. So no, they’re not mad. But heads up — Chim’s going to tease you about this for a long time — Buck laughs, plants a kiss in Tommy’s hair, and then turns away with a loud sneeze.

— We desperately need a shower. Right now, — Tommy mumbles and sneezes again.