#its been rough man. like. i need to stop projecting seriously

[shakingparadigm]

okay but seriously all jokes aside I really do understand ivan. like having a schedule so packed and busy is so insanely draining no matter how long you've conditioned yourself to endure it. sacrificing certain things like lunch or sleep just to gain the slightest bit more time for yourself is something that feels almost essential to keeping yourself together and not feeling like you're losing yourself in the cycle completely. it's like its own little act of rebellion in a way, something along the lines of you can drown me in work and monotony but I'll keep carving these little spaces of time for what little I have for myself, even if I have to carve them out of my own chest. I will sacrifice parts of myself to ensure that I don't fully succumb to whatever you're trying to make me into. I am human, this is the proof, I will make time even if it ruins me. you know?? yeah. you get it

[justanotherkpopstanlol]

Not a one time thing

Pairing: Ghostface! Aemond Targaryen x reader x Ghostface! Jacaerys Velaryon

Word count: 3,179

C.W: cussing, mentions of murder/serial killings, Ghostface, Aemond, Ghostface! Aemond, Ghostface! Jace, Jace (These are deadass all warnings on their own), fem reader (could be read as otherwise but is fem focused), dom Aemond, dom Jace, sub reader, praise kink, oral (reader receiving), very slight fear kink, p in v, threesome, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it folks), double penetration, soft sex, slightly rough sex at times, fingering (reader receiving), slight dumbification, sub space, overstimulation, tummy bulge, slight breeding kink, slight edging, reader doesn’t know that Ghostfaces are Jace and Aemond at first, nicknames (pretty girl, angel, sweetheart, good girl, baby, many more omg), poc friendly, reader is meant to be shorter than Jace and Aemond, reader has hair that’s at the very least shoulder length, don’t mind me just projecting

Part 2

Author's notes: I tried lol, this is the first smut I've written and first fic and smut in second person I've written so hopefully it's good. Enjoy :)

The phone rang loudly, the sound echoing throughout the house. The shrill ringtone of the landline, something that nearly no one had anymore, was a deafening noise in the silence that currently occupied the home. The sound made you shudder, nearly covering your ears from the high pitch of it.

Recently, there had been quite a few people who had gotten phone calls on their landlines. All of them ended up dead. Maybe the killer has something against landlines, perhaps they had something against what others called “vintage” (but let’s face it, landlines aren’t that old). Now in hindsight, it was a bad idea to pick up but hey you only live once right and also you may or may not be kind of stupid? It wasn’t easy to ignore the ringing anyway, so you did what any insane person would do and picked up the phone.

“Hello?” Silence. For a moment, you could hear shuffling and then a greeting followed by your name being said by a rather attractive voice. It seemed heavily modulated but there was no denying that it sent a tingling throughout your body.

“Yeah? Who is this?” You asked, having not recognized who this could be. Why would someone be calling you on a Friday night? Looking over to the clock on the stove, its bright green digits read ‘11:51’. It was getting late and you couldn’t sleep, so you opted to watch a horror film because that’ll put you to sleep.

Popcorn bag in one hand and landline in the other, you moved towards the microwave and put the bag in once removing the plastic from it. Setting the timer, you hear a response.

“No one in particular. I just wanted to talk, pretty girl.” The name made you blush although with everything going on, this phone call left an unsettling feeling in the pit of your stomach.

“Jace, is this you? You know how I feel about prank calls, douche. Do I need to tell Aunt Nyra what you keep in that box under your bed-”

“This isn’t Jace, sweetheart.” The voice said. “Although, I am intrigued by what it is he keeps under his bed.” This was getting weird. Who could this be? Sounded like they knew Jace.

“Okay seriously man, who the fuck are you? I’ll have you know my boyfriend is a highly trained martial artist and athlete.” Maybe this wasn’t the brightest idea but hopefully it’d get the creep to stop. With any luck, this wasn’t that landline murder dude.

“Ahh yes, how could I forget?” He asked rhetorically. “What was his name again? Aemond Targaryen?” Goosebumps. How did he know? Maybe you did know who this was, maybe this was a stalker.

“You look so pretty right now, angel. Those pajamas really compliment your skin and body.” What the fuck. How could he see you inside your own house?

You were wearing a pretty cami and shorts, both trimmed with lace although they both seemed just barely long enough to cover anything. He saw you in this. The thought made the color drain from your face. Collecting your thoughts, you jumped into action. Running over to the large glass of the door that led to the porch, pulling the curtains to cover it. Then making your way to the front door and ensuring it was locked, you went to the side door. There it was, open all the way. The light outside by the door was flickering making the sight even more unsettling.

“Oh, do you want to see me? Come and find me, baby.” He nearly purred out. You could hear the amusement in his voice as you let out a sharp gasp. Bolting to the door, you move to close it. Luckily, no one was by it but that meant one of two things. He was either still outside or worse, he was in the house.

“Look I’m sorry if I did or said something wrong, okay? Just please leave me alone, please.” You were genuinely afraid. For all you know, by the end of the night you could be another kill to add to the count. At your plea, there was a chuckle.

“Oh just when I thought I couldn’t fall more in love with you. I love it when you beg.” And then, you heard a thud. It sounded close, down the hall maybe. You slowly made your way down the hall, keeping each step quiet.

All of a sudden, the line went dead. The end tone was so loud you dropped the phone. As it dropped, a tall black figure popped up and pushed you against the wall in the hallway. You let out a scream and held your breath, as though that might make you disappear. Slowly, you looked up and came face to face with the lunatic landline killer himself.

His right hand was on the wall by your face and his left rested leisurely on your hip. The hand on your hip pulled it forward, your lower halves flush against one another. You feel his hard on poking you and for some reason, it sends a hot flash to your core. The hand that was on the wall moved to caress your face gently, slowly moving towards your chin and tilting it, forcing you to make eye contact. Your eyes widen, heart beating inhumanely fast.

“So beautiful,” The same voice from the phone says. “And all mine.” He finishes, leaving you to furrow your eyebrows in confusion.

His hand goes from your face to the hood of the long black gown he wore, pulling it down and taking off the mask to reveal Aemond. Your Aemond. He stood there in all his glory, looking almost too attractive to be mad at. Almost.

“You ass! I thought I was gonna die.” At this, he pulls you into a tight embrace. A comforting hand stroking your hair and the other holding you tight while his pretty pink lips left a light kiss on your temple.

“I’m sorry, love. You know I would never hurt you.” He says, pushing you lightly away from him and cradling your face in his hands. You look back into his beautiful blue eye, the other nearly white with a jagged scar running down it. You both lean in and meet in the middle for what starts as a tender kiss. To say the kiss melted away any worries and fear you had was an understatement. It was as though everything dissolved into nothingness as Aemond held you so tenderly, with so much love as though you would shatter if he held you too tight or if he kissed you too hard. He gently nipped at you bottom lip, his tongue poking out very briefly to lick it and resume kissing you softly and moving away from the wall, towards the middle of the hall.

If you focused hard enough, you could ever so faintly hear the sound of the side door opening and closing. Just as soon as your attention went back to Aemond after hearing the sound, you were once again drawn out of your cloud by another pair of hands joining Aemond’s own. A body pressed to your backside, one hand resting on your hip as the other moved your hair to one side, the tickling sensation making you part from Aemond and jump slightly. You look over your shoulder and see Jace. Yet another gasp escapes you, now feeling both him and Aemond poking you, one from behind and the other from the front.

“Jace?” You ask, voice just barely above a whisper. Jacaerys Velaryon was your dearest friend, having known each other since diapers and the crush you had on him all these years didn’t help. He looks down at you, wearing a similar black gown to Aemond. His warm brown eyes full of nothing but adoration. He smiles at you. He says your name in such a way that it makes you weak, legs shaking ever so slightly.

“I called him here, my love. I’ve always known of your affections to him, I thought maybe I could share you for one night. Anything to make you happy.” Aemond’s tone is so soft, his words carefully crafted to not overwhelm you. Not yet, at least.

“Wha-” You’re interrupted by Jace turning you to face him, his lips barely touching yours. He pauses.

“Say the word and I’ll stop right away. Okay, pretty?” His tone was just as gentle as Aemond’s had been moments before. Looking at Aemond who gave you an encouraging nod and looking back to Jace, you nod as well. You want this, you really truly do. Without any further hesitation, Jace moves his lips back to where they were before, leaving the smallest gap. He waits for you to make the first move and you do.

The kiss is everything you thought it would be like. It was slow, sweet and soft and just so Jace. While you were kissing Jace, Aemond moved away for a moment. He backs up just enough to let his hands wander. They move towards your top first, tugging the thin straps of it down your shoulder. His hands went to grip your waist as his lips made their way to your neck. He left a gentle peck, momentarily pulling your attention only to be pulled back to Jace when he kisses you with more fervor.

“My love?” Aemond calls, fingertips brushing your bare shoulder. You and Jace pull apart, both panting and catching your own breaths. You look towards him, still panting slightly, and hum.

“Perhaps we should move to somewhere more comfortable, to our room?” He asks. You nod and are immediately taken by Jace, into his arms bridal style. The pair lead you up the stairs, to your room at the end of the hall on the right of the second story. Aemond opens the door, taking off his black gown to reveal a white shirt that clung to his torso oh so deliciously and a pair of jeans that did little to hide his hard on. Jace does the same once he places you on the bed, Aemond making his way to your side.

Aemond moves his hands to your top, looking at you briefly before taking it off completely. He makes sure not to rip it as your breasts are exposed to the cool air of the room, nipples hardening even more at the temperature. Jace moves towards your other side on the bed, hands lingering on your sides just beneath the breasts before making their way to the waistband of your shorts. Tugging the shorts and your panties down in one swift motion, also very careful not to rip the delicate fabric. This was his and Aemond’s favorite set you wore, they couldn’t risk ripping it especially since it made you look so innocent. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about this very situation. It was so painfully obvious he wanted you, that’s why Aemond offered this to him. They were killing together, if his baby wanted then they could fuck together too.

Aemond, becoming uncomfortable in his jeans, quickly yanked them off alongside his shirt. Jace decides to follow suit and they both return to your side before you even realize they are gone. This whole ordeal left your mind in a haze, now clouded by nothing but sheer lust and desire. All you wanted was them, all you needed was them.

Jace’s hands immediately go to your breasts, pinching the nipples and rolling them between his fingers. You let out a small moan at this, causing Jace to smile. Aemond moves his own hands lower, down to your core. His fingers tease your clit, after hearing a prolonged whine of protest from you he concedes and pushes a finger into you. He pumps his finger slowly at first and gradually picks up pace. You let out a louder moan this time and then a squeal when Jace takes a nipple into his mouth, sucking and tonguing at it. His other hand fondles the other breast, giving them both the attention they deserve.

“Don’t hold back, darling. Let us hear those pretty sounds.” Aemond says, adding a second and third finger and moving his face down. He begins to suckle on your clit harshly, fingers now pumping at an unrelenting speed. Jace finally stops his own attack on your breasts, having moved to the other one a moment ago. He now prompts to kiss your lips, planting short pecks on them and moving to your neck. He sucks and bites until he reaches a spot that causes you to gasp. He smiles against your skin, moans increasing at the dual stimulation. Aemond smiles too, taking his fingers out and replacing this with his tongue as a finger goes to rub your clit. You let out moan after moan, the stimulation too much but not enough at the same time.

Aemond takes one of your legs, moving it to rest on his shoulder and not even a second later you nearly scream. You were oh so close now, he knew this and Jace knew it too. Jace moved to leave love bites on your breasts as Aemond detached from your pussy long enough to say “Come.” and resumes his task. Your body spasms and you scream out, Aemond riding out your high and Jace kissing you once more, one of his hands holding your own close to his heart.

Aemond comes up from between your legs, his face glistening with your juices and he leans in to kiss you, pushing Jace’s face away. You can taste yourself on him, both of you moaning into the kiss and Jace drawing little circles on your thighs. Aemond breaks the kiss, looking at you with adoration once more. He takes his cock in his hands, pumping it a few times and lining it up with your pussy.

“Been such a good girl for us, love. Our good girl, yeah?” Jace asks rhetorically, you nod to what he says.

“Ready for me, sweetness? I’ll need you to use your words, okay?” Aemond asks, looking for any signs of hesitation.

“Am ready,” You say quietly. “Want this. So much. Aem, Jace please.” You look between the two of them. They look at each other before returning their attention towards you, both smiling widely. They knew that this was the only thing you could think about now and knowing they had this effect on you just made them even harder. Aemond slowly inserts himself inside, inch by inch going deeper as your pussy swallows him.

“So wet, my love. So tight.” Aemond groans, hips stuttering and stopping when he’s fully inside. He waits a few moments to let you adjust, beginning to thrust when he sees you nod at him. His pace is slow at first, much like how most of this whole ordeal has been, and increases as time passes. He thrusts faster, harder, with more and more fervor. He couldn’t get enough of you; how tight you are, how wet you are. No matter how many times you have sex, or make love, he can never get enough of you. Your pussy clenches so beautifully, his cock twitching and pulsing as he gets closer to his release.

All of a sudden, he stops. Aemond flips the two of you over so you are now on top of him, he begins to thrust again. Even faster, harder and at such a delicious angle that it has you seeing stars. But once again, just as you are near your orgasm, he stops.

Another pair of hands come to rest on your waist, just above Aemond’s. You whine and try to move up and down on Aemond’s cock but two pairs of hands hold you in place.

“S’okay pretty baby, it’s just me. Can’t leave me out of the fun now can you?” Jace asks teasingly, you shaking your head just wanting a release. Jace chuckles at your desperation, Aemond joining too. You whine, wanting nothing more than to orgasm again. You were so close and it was taken from you after all. Jace takes his own cock in one hand, the other still on your waist. The head rubs on your folds, right by Aemond’s cock, him letting out a quiet moan.

“Well get on with it,” He urges. “Can’t you see our good girl is needy.” And with that, Jace slowly inserts his own cock beside Aemond. The stretch was a bit painful, both not being small in size, but at the same time the sting felt good. Once Jace was fully inside, all three of you let out a moan. Jace and Aemond could feel you squeezing them both, trying to accommodate their sizes. A minute passes, then two and you begin to relax.

“Please.” You let out a quiet plea, and who were they not to oblige their sweet baby? Both men begin their thrusts, slow and steady. Jace thrusting in as Aemond thrust out and vice versa, never leaving a moment where you weren’t full. A bump appeared on your stomach, Aemond letting out a quiet ‘fuck’ when he sees it. He places his hand on it and pushes down, all three of you letting out a moan. You all were so close to finishing now, Aemond and Jace picking up the pace now. Not soon after, you came. The orgasm was long and hit you with such a force that you slumped onto Aemond, body completely giving out on you. The pair continued their thrusts, chasing their own orgasms now.

Their thrusts become faster and faster, close to their own releases. Aemond comes first, his cum shoots into you and painting your walls. You moan out of overstimulation, Jace coming soon after Aemond and both of them fucking it all right back into you. Finally, Aemond lifts you slightly and removes his cock, Jace following suit and leaving you empty.

Jace moves you to lay on your back on the bed, both admiring you before Aemond moves to get a washcloth. He cleans you up as Jace calms you when you whimper and move away, so sensitive to the touch now. Tears begin to roll down your face, Jace kisses them away. Aemond picks your limp body up, taking you to the bathroom now to pee. He wasn’t going to risk any infections, not now and not ever. Once you two return, the three of you lie in bed. Your head rests on Jace’s chest and Aemond’s arms curl around you.

They both take a moment to look at you, your eyes nearly shut. You were so exhausted that you could sleep for days. Right before losing consciousness, you mumble out a ‘I love you both’ and drift off. Jace and Aemond look at each other briefly, their attention returning to you once more. They both knew that they loved you too. Now it was clear. This would definitely not be a one time thing.

[sxdmoonchxld]

Operation: Pop The Cherry | JJK

Jungkook x Virgin!Reader

Genre: Smut

Warnings: rough bathroom sex, college au, unprotected sex, teasing, fingering, Jungkook has a virgin kink if you couldn’t tell by he title, lowkey sadistic JK, Gay BFF Jimin, mentions of alcohol and weed, brief mention of homophobia. bIG diCK Jungkook, more belly bulging, and I forgot what else

Word Count: 6.1k

Summary: Against you better judgement and thank to your best friend Jimin. You somehow agreed to let a stranger on campus known as the Cherry Popper, too well..pop your cherry.

Alternatively: You're a virgin. Jungkook has a fetish/kink for fucking virgins.

A/N: I guess i’ll keep putting this note until i stop reposting my old stories. I use to be lizardsocial, and this fic was previously called Game. You may still be able to find it somewhere on tumblr. I edited this fic heavily and it’s honestly a new story, but there are still some elements from the fic it used to be still in there. Unedited so please let me know of any mistakes or typos. Like, comment, reblog, let me know what you think. Enjoy!

_________________________________________

Bass boosted pop music seeped through the dense walls of the energetic room. Strobing bright colored beams danced to the rhythm of the music in mesmerizing synchrony. The musty odor of marijuana, booze, and sex-saturated air shrouded the room in a turbid veil, covering the sea of drunken undulating bodies packed in the cramped living room.  Empty beer cans and other various booze bottles mixed with burnt-out blunts accompanied the young adults. You groaned with irritation and disgust. You didn't want to be here, but to your chagrin, you had a promise to keep.

It wasn't a secret that the college nightlife was unquestionably not your type of 'scene.' You quite frequently elected to willingly engage most of your time in your freshman dorm, wrapped in your weighted burrito blanket. A nightstand stockpiled with all your favorite snacks, lights dimmed low, and lavender incense burning, filling your room with the aroma of relaxation. The perfect setting to binge-watch your favorite show for the umpteenth time, the shifting distorted brightness of your computer screen, projecting the scenes against your face. 

It's kind of funny how you got yourself into this mess in the first place. The one time you decide to take the chance and branch away from the alternate antisocial hermit, your personality had adopted as its own had come back to bite you in the ass. You admit, lately, you've been neglecting your best friend. Your reasonings generally varying from the classic 'oh I was sleep' to deliberately silencing your phone, not wanting to hear the constant shrill ringing of the default ringtone. You loved Jimin, you truly did, but you could only take so much of his eccentric mashup of bubblegum and rainbow sparkles that was his personality. Eventually, guilt began eating away at you piece by piece until you ultimately caved in and invited your friend over for an impromptu movie night in your dorm room. 

Not even 30 minutes into the movie, one that you had been dying to see, might you add, Jimin commenced his drunk and high chattering. He had already started 'pre-gaming' before he came over; Six shots of straight Vodka and 2 blunts. Every day you prayed for this man's liver and brain function; with how much he drank and smoke, you would think he needed it to function. 

"Oh! Oh! Bitttch. Did I tell you about that football player, I fucckked last week!" Jimin started slurring on certain words. You noticed his eyes were glossy and glazed over. 

"No, you didn't, Chim." You sighed, completely giving up trying to watch the movie. You would have to watch it on your alone time. 

"Reeaally?" Jimin slurred, a goofy grin uplifting his lips.

"Yes, really. You haven't told me." Amusement lightly coated your voice. 

"Welll, his name is T-tae, Tae-tae something. Hold on, it's coming to me." Jimin said, rubbing the sides of his temples, trying to remember the guys' name. 

"Taehyung! That's it!" Jimin shrieked, snapping his fingers in victory.

You looked at him startled. You remember Taehyung from high school. You didn't recall him being at this college, though. Well, it wasn't like you paid attention to many things outside your bubble anyway.

"Wasn't he homophobic as fuck in high school?" You asked, genuinely interested.

"Yeah, he was. Buttt I guess he was trying to cover up, that he was actually on the DL." Jimin smiled, whispering the last part.

"DL? What's that mean?" You inquired

Jimin looked at you with a look of betrayal. "It means he's on the down-low, meaning he didn't want anyone to know he's gay. Girrl, I'm too crossfaded to be explaining this to you."

You chuckled, " My bad, Chim. So was it good?"

"Fuck, no! Dick was straight trash. The only thing that saved him a little was that his dick was huge." Jimin said, wiping away a pretend tear from the corner of his eye. 

You laughed boisterously at that. If Jimin wasn't so adamant about becoming a professional dancer. He could seriously take up a career in comedy.

"Speaking of dick. When are you gonna get some?" Jimin asked, turning his body to face you completely. As you looked at him, you noticed his eyes seemed a bit clearer, and his face wasn't as red as earlier. Not only did Jimin drink like a fish and smoke like a chimney. He was somehow able to sober just as fast.

"Oh my god, Jimin. Please don't sta-"

"Mmm, no missy," Jimin said, wagging his finger in your face.

"Don't you hear it?" He said, cupping his hand around his ear as if he was straining to hear something.

"Hear what?" You replied, rolling your eyes and crossing your arms against your chest.

"The cobwebs and tumbleweed living in your cunt."

"Jimin!" You shrieked, slapping the arm closest to you.

"Don't Jimin me! You know it's true, I swear you're gonna be a 40-year-old virgin, and by the time you finally make the decision to have sex, it'll be too late!" Jimin yelled, stumbling to stand up from the couch.

"First off, ouch. I won't be a 40-year-old virgin. That's very insulting. Second, I do plan to lose it soon. I just haven't found the time or the right guy." You said, looking down at your feet shyly. You did want to lose your virginity, but with being an introvert with a mix of social anxiety and just a dash of seasonal depression for added flavor. It was hard even to get out of bed sometimes. Much less going out and trying to find someone to do the��do with.

"Oh! Well, if that's all, then I got you covered, babe. Time? Next week Friday at Jihyo's dorm. As for the right guy, I know a dude. He has like a kink for that kind of thing." Jimin answered nonchalantly, now scrolling through his phone, probably on his social media page.

You looked at Jimin, head tilted to the side, confused. "What kind of thing?"

"Oh, you know fucking virgins and shit. Popping their cherries." He said, popping his "P's."

You sputtered, exasperated. What the fuck. You didn't kink shame, that was for losers, but he can't seriously expect you to do something like that.

"What the actual fuck. Jimin, are you serious?"  

"Deadly." He said, looking you square in your eyes. His tone of voice haven dropped an octave lower.

"Jimin no. I-i can't."

"Jimin, yes! Err, I mean _____ yes, you can! Come on, it's a once in a lifetime experience. Plus, it's not like he's a total stranger. I've known him since he was 8 years old. I use to babysit the little shit head." Jimin said, waving his hand in the air, trying to swat away a rogue fly.

"Wow, Chim. You know, now that you put it like it makes me feel a lot better about the situation." You said tone dripped in sarcasm

"Really?" Jimin squealed, a delighted twinkling in his eye.

"Of course not! Don't be stupid!" Offended, you gawked at Jimin. You swear sometimes he could be so dimwitted.

"Come on, please? At least meet him, and if the vibe is not right, then you can leave no harm done." Jimin pleaded, his attention back on you. Was it crazy that you were actually thinking about agreeing to this? Jimin did have a point. It was sort of a once in a lifetime opportunity. He did know the guy, and if you didn't like the vibe, then you could just bounce, right? Right?

Sighing in defeat, your hands dragged down your face and turned towards a pouting Jimin. Grabbing at his deflated shoulders, you shook her lightly, and with urgency in your voice, you spoke, "Alright goddammit! I'll do it, but you have to stay by my side the whole time, no running off, you understand!" 

You watched Jimin's face quirk into a sly smirk. You swore you could see the cogs in his brain churning. Damn, you were going to regret this. You had the tendency to make deals when pressured. Most of the time, those agreements ended up backfiring on you, confining you in the proverbial rock and a hard place. 

"Yay! Operation: Pop _____ Cherry has commenced. Okay, so will meet at the auditorium on the art campus. From there we will walk to Jihyo's dorm, it's only five minutes. Promise me you'll actually show up and won't flake on me." A complacent expression rested arrogantly on Jimin's features, a single pinky finger extended towards you. 

"Don't give this situation a not-so-secret code name. And I can't believe I'm saying this but, I promise." You agreed, interlocking pinky fingers, yours thumbs coming up to press against one another.

"So I'll meet you at the location Friday, don't be late, and wear something sexy. No granny clothes." he chirped, making his way to your front door.

"Wait! You're leaving already?" you frowned, looking at the clock on your wall. He's only been here for an hour, and 30 mins of it were spent persuading you to hurry up and lose your virginity. You didn't even get to finish the movie together.

"Sorry babe, but I have a dick appointment." he shrugged, putting his arms through the sleeves of his jacket.

"Can you at least tell me the name of the guy who's supposed to fuck me?" you huffed, honestly you were done for tonight. As soon as Jimin left, you were heading straight for bed.

"Oh yeah, how could I forget." Jimin slaps the center of his forehead. "He's a real cutie. I would fuck him if he wasn't as straight as an arrow." Jimin looks off to a far wall, eyeing it with jealousy.

"Just tell me his name, please." You pleaded. Oh yeah, that's definitely a headache forming. You could feel it already. Jimin snaps out of his daydreaming and spins his body towards you.

"Jungkook."

Time skip to a week later, and precisely as you suspected, what a mistake that whole conversation was. Now here you were at this fucking dorm party with people you didn't know or care to get to know. Jimin had left you as soon as he saw his next piece of ass. Restlessly you hauled down the short black dress that insisted on riding up your ass, the soles of your feet protesting in the slim heeled shoes. Floundering your way into the packed building, you couldn't help but query where Jungkook was. Jimin was supposed to get around to send you a picture of the mystery man, but that never happened. Funny how now was the best time you decided to question why exactly Jimin was your best friend.

"Well damn, the pictures Jimin sent me doesn't do you justice at all. You're fucking hot." You recoiled from the closeness of the voice, the heated breath sending chills skittering down your spine, and the hairs on the back of your neck ramrod straight. Heat spurred to your face when you whisked around to meet an absolutely gorgeous guy. Like unfairly gorgeous guy. You stared wide-eyed, taking in his chiseled facial features, paired with wide doe eyes and bunny smile decorating his face. Somehow, someway he's mastered looked soft and sexy at the same damn time. And fuck was that a dangerous combination for your pussy. Your heart too, but more so your cunt.

"U-uh, thanks? Who are you exactly?" You watch as he recoils back from your with a look of apprehension on his face.

"A-are you not ____?" he stutters cutely. You think you can see the beginnings of a blush burning his cheeks. You nod your head once to confirm his question. He stared at you a minute longer before you see the recognition spark in his chocolate orbs.

"Jimin didn't send you my picture did he?" Shaking his head with his eyes close, you get the courage the scan his face a bit more. Yeah. He's definitely blushing.

"Sorry. I guess seeing you here, I thought Jimin would have...prepared you better." Shaking your head from side to side because your words refused to come out. You watched as he backed up a bit further from your personal space and thrust his right hand out to you. 

"The name's Jungkook, or J.K. Whatever suits your taste."

With clammy hands, you taking his outstretched hand marveled at how it almost covers your hand. Now that he's moved back from you, you now had to chance to see how tall he really was. Maybe about 6 to 7 inches taller. You look down at his feet and eye his combat boot, perhaps a little shorter but still taller. And big, yeah, definitely bigger. His oversized black jacket did little to hide the broadness of his shoulders and chest. You let your eyes travel down the length of his body. You bet he's hiding some killer abs under his shirt. And holy fuck, his thighs.

"You like what you see, baby girl?" Teasing, he's teasing but God, if his voice didn't make you pussy throbbing pathetically. Whimpering slightly, you let out a meek "Yes." God, you hope he didn't hear that.

Much to your dismay, he did, hear you. How he heard you with the music as loud as it was, was a mystery to you. But you watched his pupils dilate, and his nostrils flare slightly. Jungkook tucks his bottom lip between his teeth as his eyes rake up and down your scantily clad body. His heated stare scrutinized across your body, intrigue exerting over him, as he analyzed the way the snug-fitting dress molded to the curves of your shape. He could tell you didn't do this often. His dick twitched in his jeans with enthusiasm. 

It's the increase in pressure of your hand that makes you realize you're still holding his hand. You go to retract your hand from his. However, yelp shrilly as he tugs you closer to his body. Both hands now resting on his chest, and his wrapped around your waist. Fuck, you could feel the warmth and coarseness of his hands through your thin dress. A spontaneous tremor racked your body. The heat-transmitting from his frame mixed with the floral yet musky undertone of his cologne made you somewhat featherbrained.

"Fuck, you're so soft." You squeak as he squeezes your waistline, pulling you even closer against his body. You were now putty in his hands.

"Jimin told you my....preferences, right?" his voice caressed your ear. Just a slight movement or subtle twitch, and his lips would be on your skin.

"Y-yeah, he did." It should be an embarrassment how frail and breathless you sounded, but that didn't matter.

Jungkook hid his smile behind your ear. This was just too easy. Just how he liked it. He almost felt bad- almost. He was gonna ruin you utterly and completely, mold the shape of cock in the walls of your pussy. His name spilling from your lips, voice going hoarse by how loud he would make you scream. Fuck he couldn't wait. He's had virgin's before, a lot of them. That's his whole M.O. The cherry popper, virgin fucker, whatever. Jungkook's heard all the names in the book. But there's just something about you, you just had an air of genuine innocence, and he couldn't wait to defile it. 

Jungkook pulls his head back, enough to where his eyes can trail over the bared skin of your neck, and the sprinkling of perspiration sparkling off the bright strobing lights, no doubt from nervousness. His tongue traced over his thin upper lip, watching the droplets of sweat spiral down the curve of your neck. He wanted to taste you. 

"Alright, then." He jerks his body away from you. You're no longer touching his chest, but his hands are still on your waist. 

"Let's enjoy the party before the fun really begins. Every done body shots before?" Jungkook spoke casually, undeterred by the way you recoiled back or the look of stupor on your face.

"W-what? B-body shots, why?" you squeaked, failing to keep from stuttering over your words. Is this how it's supposed to go? Is this normal? You're bewildered, and just a bit perturbed. Were you just imagining that sexual tension that was going on just moments ago? For sure, you thought Jungkook was gonna throw you over his shoulders and haul you off to the nearest unoccupied bedroom or bathroom. At that instant, you didn't care. 

Jungkook regarded the war of emotions wage across your features, merriment and strobing lights twinkling in his eyes. Fuck, you were cute, so desperate staring up at him with a pout on your face a puppy dog eyes. He could honestly just take you back to the closest room and fuck the shit out of you. But he wanted to play with his prey, a bit more. The wait made it that much more satisfying.

"Don't pout too much, baby girl or I may not be able to contain myself. Follow me. The table is this way."

Jungkook didn't indulge in answering any of your questions you rambled off at him, delighted to see you trailing on his heels like a lost pup. Jungkook directed you further into the dorm, and like a dog on a leash, you followed. In the center of a sparse room sat a scraped up black table. You observed the area. It was devoid of many people. The several that were present made no recognition of your proximity in their intoxicated state.

"So who's first?" Jungkook asked, setting the bottle of tequila, rim salt, and limes down on the table.

"U-uh, I don't know. I guess it doesn't matter." You shrugged hesitantly. You were way out of your element here.

"Perfect then, you first." Jungkook should be ashamed by how excited he was at getting to sample your skin. It looked smooth, felt soft when he had you in his arms, and would no doubt probably taste as sweet as it seemed. You nodded in docility, wandering over to crawl on top of the table, being attentive to your dress. You lay flattened against the table, shiverings racking your body as he began pouring a trail of salt between your cleavage. 

He poured himself a shot in the depression of your throat and tore the lime in half with his bare hands. Smirking at how you flinched when he thumped the liquor bottle down beside your head. Jungkook pushed the other half of the unevenly split lime towards your lips, a silent gesture to take the lime in your mouth. Jungkook watched as your lips curled gently around the hull of the green citrus. A flare of lust stirred in his loins at the action. He couldn't wait to see your lips stretched around the head of his cock. He observed your eyes clamped closed as he began dropping his head forward to your chest. It was adorable and innocent. He noted the way your lips slackened around the citrus in your mouth, your chest heaving in speed, the closer his tongue trailed to your neck.

You tasted splendid, just as sweet as he thought. The salt on your skin did nothing to deter your natural flavor. If anything, it enhanced your sweetness, rendering your skin damn near mouth-watering. Jungkook's ears perked at the breathless moans slipping past the fruit perched against your lips, drawn out by the repeated pass of the wet, pink appendage lapping at the salt line between the valley of your breast. Committing your muffled moans to memory, he lapped persistently at the collection of salt and tequila in the hollow at the base of your neck.

You face flammed in embarrassment as panting moans effortlessly tumbled from your mouth. Who knew your chest and neck was such an erogenous spot. Despite your shame, you couldn't stop wriggling, shifting your thighs together for some form of friction to sate the rising arousal dampening your panties. You yelped at the sensation of blunt teeth nibbling at your skin before soft lips came to suck at the shallow indentations. Fluffy hair with an undercut came into your line of vision as Jungkook lifted his head up to your lips. Your heart stammered tortuously against your ribs, flirtatious eyes stared lidded with searing lust, his head advanced closer to your lips. Your eyes fluttered closed, lips puckering against the bitter hull of the lime.

Jungkook closed the distance, slanting his mouth over the lime, blocking his contact with yours. He sucked against the sour fruit, acidity puckering his lips, residual tartness flowing to your cracked lips. Jungkook withdrew from your mouth, taking the drained lime hull with it. Your saccharine moans were heaven to his ears. It had awoken something inside him, fueled his fire in knowing that possibly no one had ever heard such a sweet sound. He wanted more, craved more. 

"Have you ever been kissed before, sweetheart?" Your eyes followed the movement of his tongue, poking out to moistening his lips. 

"Yeah, once in like 3rd grade." Who hasn't snuck behind a tree or hid underneath the dark coverings of playground equipment to lock lips with a childhood crush?

He grinned salaciously, body moving to rest between your spread legs. Oh, now he was really excited. Your lips were practically untouched. Just another part of your body to claim first. You jumped when palms pressed flat against the revealed skin of your thigh. Gently, Jungkook rubbed lazy circles on your skin, never lowering or furthering than the hem of your dress. He felt you wiggle beneath his hands, observed your eyes, glimpsing―darting about, should you concentrate on his face, or his hand, uncertainty was etched on your face.

"Amazing." He groaned, eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks, before grinning again. His face inched closer to yours, his lips but a breath apart, warmth flickered against your lips as he talked, level and smooth. " Well, how about I become your second?

And then his lips were on you, the soft muscle mangled itself to your lips, tentative and sluggish to give you a chance to register his mouth slanted upon yours. Jungkook chuckled against your lips at your unresponsiveness. He guesses you were a little shell shocked. It only takes a few more stagnant seconds before you're shyly reciprocating his kiss. Delicate, shaky movements highlighted your inexperience. Increasingly, Jungkook increased the pressure behind lips, his hands spreading to enclose around your waist, dragging you closer against him. One of Jungkook's hands removed from your waist to bury itself in your hair, gently his fingernails scratched against your scalp, an airy moan was his reward. 

Hands completely abandoning your midsection, one gripped the meat of your thigh, pulling you to the edge of the table, flush against the tent of his denim jean encased manhood, the other embedded in your strands pulled sharply on your roots, a loud gasp tearing from you. Jungkook took that opportunity to advance his tongue into your gaped mouth. His tongue wrapped itself around yours, briefly wrestling for dominance before easily pinning your tongue in submission. His hips ground against yours, the heat of your covered core teased him through his jeans. 

He thoroughly explored your mouth, swallowing the now copious cries leaving your mouth. Reluctantly, Jungkook tore himself from your kiss-swollen lips. The ravished looked suited you perfectly. You looked beautiful, thighs brazenly spread, eyes glazed over in lust, your sticky chest heaving from the length of the shared kiss. Even in the dim lights, he could make out the taunt pebbling of your nipples. 

Your mouth gaped wide, flapping about like a fish out of water, trying despairingly to draw air into your lungs. Your first kiss definitely didn't compare to this much. Your wide eyes flicked between Jungkook and the floor, your bottom lip tucked firmly between your teeth, feeling shy as he just stares at you. Releasing your teeth from your lips, you timidly touched your mouth, admiring how plump they've gotten from the intense liplock.

Wordlessly Jungkook hitched you over his shoulder, winded with a grunt as his defined shoulder blades dug into your stomach and what sounded like a growled vibrate up into you. You squirmed lightly in his hold, scared he was going to drop you, and secondly, your panty-clad ass on display for the party-goers, not that anyone was looking. 

You watched the continuous panels of hardwood floor move beneath you as Jungkook carried you to an unknown destination. You couldn't believe you were really doing this. Were you actually going to have sex with a complete stranger? Someone who was known for explicitly fucking virgins. Realistically, you should be ashamed, yet, you conceded full control to him without a second thought. What did that say about you? About your character? Would you now be labeled as 'easy' or a 'hoe' after all this was done? What was going to happen between you and Jungkook? 

The flick of a switch stirred from your thoughts. You shield your eyes with your hand at the bright lights pouring into the room, or rather a bathroom. Jungkook loved the confusion marring your features. He wouldn't fuck you in his bedroom just yet. That was a privilege you would have to earn, no matter how intrigued he had become with you. There's always humiliation to be had in the corruption of innocence, and fucking you in the bathroom was a good start. He planned on making you watch him as he destroyed your body, popping your cherry, stretching your tight virginal hole to accommodate his length, and claimed it as his own. Jungkook shuddered at the thought, his possessive nature taking a turn for the worst. 

Impatiently Jungkook sat you on top of the bathroom sink counter, his lips smashed against yours, the previous tenderness was gone, vanished into a puff of smoke. Teeth banged, and tongues flailed recklessly against each other in the heat of passion, with you struggling to keep up with the demands of his dominating kiss. Thick fingers trailed beneath the hem of your dress, tickling the expanse of your thighs. Jungkook wasted no time in shifting your slick soaked panties to the side, a warm digit gliding effortlessly through your damn folds.

"Fuck, you're already so wet. You're enjoying this a little too much, baby girl." Jungkook growled, panting against your lips. His finger breached your sex, you tensed deftly around the foreigner intrusion, stretching your weeping walls. 

"Ah, Jungkook." You cried listlessly, rocking your hips against his stilled finger. He felt so good inside you, and it was just his finger. Maybe this experience wouldn't be as bad as you heard. Now you couldn't wait to see what his cock felt like embedded deep within your pussy. Jungkook pumped slowly, eventually introducing a second finger to help loosen you up more. You were gonna be a tight fit, very tight, but that just made it even better. You hissed at the slight burn as he began scissoring his fingers apart with each withdrawal. Your hands wrapped around his neck as you buried your head against his broad chest, your mellifluous moans suppressed by the fabric of his shirt. 

"G-go faster, please." You begged, your body adjusting and quickly becoming frustrated by the snail's pace his fingers were pumping. You bucked your hips against his hands, hoping he would ease the growing discomfort boiling in your stomach. 

"Have you ever had an orgasm before, babe?" You nodded eagerly at his question, whining as you bucked against his hand again.

"Oh, really? Who gave it to you." Slow, he was going too slow you wanted, no you needed more friction, more stimulation from him.

"M-me. I-i did." Jungkook loved how you stuttered, it stroked his ego and filled him with arrogance to know it was him, and only that was capable of making you stumble over your words.

"Mmm, and how did you do it? Did you rub this little clit of yours raw?" You cried louder when his thumb flicked at your clit, the stimulation further drawing the appendage from its hood.

"Or did you fuck this tight hole, with these tiny fingers of yours?" At those words, a loud, choked moan, even muffled by your face in his chest, echoed throughout the white bathroom. Jungkook had gone deeper inside, almost to the third knuckle. Another moan left your lips as he twisted his fingers inside you, his palm now facing upwards.

"Though you and I bought know they couldn't possibly reach deep enough to touch the spot you really want." It's euphoric, no better yet orgasmic, the sheer shock of electric pleasure that zaps through your body when he finds the spongy bundle of nerves. Your body jerked heavily, legs go to snap close, only to be stopped by his broad body between your thighs.

He chuckles softly, stroking your thigh with his other hand. Jungkook shifts his head down, bringing his mouth closer to your ear. He exhales quietly, warm air tinged with tequila and lime caresses the light hairs on you around your ear. " I found it, huh?"

You whimper, rubbing your head up and down against his chest.

"You want me to speed up the pace, sweetheart?" Jungkook's voice is delicate now, so gentle. But you're confused, overwhelmed, and scared. It's never felt like this when you did it yourself. Your not sure if you could handle the feeling, so you don't provide an answer to Jungkook's question.

"Don't ignore me ____, that's not nice manners. I'll ask again." You clench around his fingers as Jungkook inches just a bit deeper. 

"Do you. Want me. To go faster?" With each pause, he arches his fingers in a 'come here' motion, pressing deeply against your bundle of nerves, the sensation of having to pee accompanied with each thrust.

 "Y-yes, faster, more. Pl-lease." Fuck, you sounded so pretty begging for him if he wasn't addicted before. You had him sprung now. Jungkook buried his face in the crook of your neck, the sharp smell of tequila and salt still lingering on your skin. He sucked at the junction where your shoulder and neck met. You bucked harder against his fingers, your juices now dripping to coat his palm is sticky cream.

"If you wanted more. Why didn't you just ask?" Jungkook said deviously. Confused, you felt withdraw his sticky digits, walls gripping to stop their departure. Without warning, Jungkook flipped you over onto the counter, your knees buckled at the sudden change in position. Your faced burning at your displayed state, droplets of your essence dribbled from your pussy, slicking up your inner thighs. You yelped as Jungkook grasped at the length of your hair, pulling back pointedly, your neck craned back to observe him addressing you in the mirror.

"You've been wondrous for me ____. Such a sweet girl." He expressed, his empty hand disappearing behind your perked ass to fiddle with the groin of his pants. 

"Truly, you have. Your response and reactions to my touch have really gotten me riled up. It's been a while since I've tittered on the edge of losing control." You wheezed, starting to panic as you felt the thick head of his cock slap teasingly against your slicked throbbing hole. Oh, God, he's huge. Jungkook's cock might just tear you apart. You shifted your hips forward, pressing against the cold marble of the bathroom counters door.

"I-i don't think, I can t-take it Jungkook, you're too b-big. It's my first-time, r-remember?” Your stuttering worse now, but you're scared.

Jungkook pulls your hips back with the hand the was grasping his length, the side of your hip now coated in his pre-cum. His hand lays flat in the crease of your back, forcing you into a perfect arch. 

"You can take it, all of it. And don't worry, of course, I remembered your fragility. I'll go slow, I promise." You plead silently with your eye contact through the mirror. 

"You ready?" You nod once an advert your eyes down to the sink.

Your mouth shakily falls agape as he slowly began pushing the head of his cock into you. It burns, but not as bad as you had anticipated. You take the chance to look back up into the mirror, adamant about giving Jungkook a thankful smile for his gentleness. That vision that greets looks like it jumped right off the page of your favorite erotic story. 

Jungkook's got his head thrown back, the edge of his t-shirt clenched tightly between his teeth, your eyes trail the drip of sweat that follows the curve of his jawline. You have a clear view of his abs all the way down to the v-cut of his hip, to the happy trail that leads to a neatly trimmed bush of pubic hair. You clench tightly around him, efficiently aroused by the view. You feel his cock throbbed heavily inside you, even getting bigger if possible.

"You like that, sweet girl? You like seeing me struggling to contain myself because you're so tightly around me. This little pussy trying to milk me for all I can give you." You love it. You feel powerful in a way. Do you really feel that good around him?

"Yes." Jungkook draws out the 'S.' 

"You feel amazing, so warm and wet. I wished you could see how coated in white you've got me, and I'm not even all the way in yet."

You scream soundless as he bucks into you, shoving in half of his length. It doesn't hurt anymore. You just feel stuffed full. Lifting a trembling hand, you take the chance a feel the lower part. You noticed swelling that wasn't there before, intrigued; you push down against it, moaning in shock you realize it's Jungkook's cock. 

"Yeah, baby girl, that's all me, well, most of me. You ready to take the rest?"

"Yes! Please!" That's the clearest you've been all night. You don't get an answer as Jungkook immediately picks up his pacing, thrusting into you faster. He wastes no time pumping deeply into your tight pussy, his tip smashing against the entrance to your cervix as you pant and grit your teeth in slight discomfort, overshadowed by pleasure. The burning sensation is back as he fucks in deeper with each brutal and swift stroke. But you don't care cause it still feels amazing. You can hear yourself, sloppy and soaking wet, echoing throughout the bathroom. You're drooling down his pistoning cock. You can feel it dripping down your inner thighs. Your head jerks violently against your shoulders, to weak support your head from his menacing thrust. 

Tightened vocal cords released strained shrieks of praise; from your mouth, drool dripping from your lips, into the sticky cleavage of your breast, and sweat coated your skin. The coil in your stomach was quickly tightening, never had you felt anything so deep inside you. If you ever had sex with anyone else, they would never compare to Jungkook.  You were fucked both figuratively and literally.

Jungkook pulled you further from off the sink, the new position allowing him even deeper. You clawed at the marble tops underneath your fingers, your eyes rolling in the back of your head. That sensation of having to pee is back again.

"J-K, I-m. I have to-," You don't get to finish as the band in your stomach snapped. Silently you announced your release; if it wasn't for the new wave of cum coating his cock, or the fluttering tightness of your walls, Jungkook might have missed your orgasm. He wasn't far behind you. The constant clenching of your ridged walls around his cock, had him reaching his limit sooner than he would like. Jungkook had half a mind to pull out but decided to gamble his odds. You're the first person he's fucked raw in a while, and with three deep thrusts later, he was shooting his hot seed right against your cervix. 

Breathing heavily, Jungkook lets you fall against the sink, observing as you crumpled against the sink countertop. Pride swelled his chest as he watched his seed bubble out of your well-used hole. He's never contemplated going farther with the virgins he fucked. He wouldn't make any hasty decisions now though there were still a lot of things he wanted to do with you. He would sleep on it and revisit the idea in the morning.

"So would you say, Operation: Pop Your Cherry was a success?"

You giggled, winded, still having difficulty catching your breath. You straighten up against the bathroom counter, the majority of your weight still resting on the object as you had yet to regain the feeling in your legs.

"Jimin and his stupid code names. I swear when I get a hold ass, he's dead." You warned already preparing your revenge on your best friend. You stare at Jungkook in the eyes through the mirror, smile a bit goofy, you say.

"Operation: Pop My Cherry. Mission complete."

[tenskittens]

Not Enough - part 1.

Smut <3 Fluff <3 Angst (lots of angst) <3 sex, foreplay, ass, outdoor reader x Johnny pairing. Mentions of johnten pairing.

Not Enough - part 1 - the first part of the JohnTenReader saga.

Wordcount - 2.5k.

You chose to study at NCIT because you had heard that there were great opportunities in technology, and you knew coding was your strongest skill when you were younger. A few years into your time there, you realised that, whilst you were alright at computers and tech - especially for a girl, as some of the younger guys would frequently point out - you were nothing on the natural talent that seemed to have been bestowed upon most of the guys here. In fact, you’re pretty sure you only got a place on your course for some sort of diversity purpose, and the fraternity lifestyle you had ended up being dragged into certainly wasn’t helping your case. Going into your final year, it’s your last summer - you’ve been contemplating leaving the frat house - and the chaos that came with it - once the new semester started.

“Hyung, we’re leaving!” yelled Ten down to the rest of the house, dragging Yangyang out of the door with him. You knew he was yelling goodbye to his closest “friend” in the house, John Suh, and didn’t actually care about the rest of the frat boys hearing him. Ten just wanted to make John jealous because he was taking Yangyang out to one of the more inclusive bars in Itaewon. He initially planned on going out with Johnny tonight, just the two of them. But Johnny wasn’t really down for it today - he had thought he was supposed to be going out to a restaurant with just him and Ten, and when Ten suggested Itaewon John just presumed that it meant everybody else was invited out, too. These two were always getting into these complicated misunderstandings in their entangled feelings, and you’re pretty used to dealing with it by now. But actually, Ten was just as annoyed that Johnny wasn’t out with him tonight. He loves Yangyang, his closest Dongsaeng, but he wanted to spend tonight with Johnny. This whole situation was just a misunderstanding, but neither Johnny nor Ten realised this. “Bye guys!!” yelled Yangyang, excited for this rare occasion that he got to spend with Ten, now that Ten and Johnny were both all-but-dropped out of NCIT.

Once Yangyang and Ten had left, the house was quiet. The others were mostly working on assignments and projects, as they tend to do in the late evenings. Doyoung and Taeyong were probably upstairs bickering about the most efficient way of writing a code, Yuta almost certainly glued to his screen typing out a written assignment - the only one of the group also studying a language alongside computer science. Haechan, Jaemin and Mark were probably out at the student union Dream bar. That left just the two of you - you and John Suh - alone in the frat house.

“What’s up, Johnny?” you ask, putting on a slightly dramatic pout to try to invoke some sort of response from your most-likely-stoned-over best friend and boyfriend. “Nothing, y/n, just don’t ask” replied Johnny, sort of bluntly which took you by surprise. You wait in silence for a moment. “Except, look, I did my hair and makeup to go out with Ten and he just goes and turns our date into a party night and then I don’t even end up going and -” Johnny is interrupted.

“Date??”.

You both shoot your heads around, and sat in the corner of the living room, slumped against a beanbag in a hoodie that disguised any level of his presence, was Jae.

“Yeah bro, you know, was supposed to just be us guys tonight nothing out of the ordinary I jus-”. Jae interrupted again.

“John, you know how often i’m lurking in here and nobody notices me? You don’t need to cover this shit up with me”.

You and Johnny look at each other, and back at Jae. You wonder how much he knows. To the others, you and Johnny were basically a married couple, and Ten was your best friend. What they didn’t know was that, of everybody in the house, the most involved pair was certainly Johnny and Ten, and you didn’t mind that. You were best friends with both of them, and romantically involved with Johnny, but nothing made you happier than knowing how happy Ten and John - the two polar-opposite NCIT dropouts - were when they were together.

“Y/n, come outside with me a second?” asked Johnny, seeming genuinely stressed and upset.

Stood on the roof of the frat house, lined with bottles and scattered with cigarette ashes and joint ends, Johnny opens up to you.

“Y/n, Ten was so mad that I’m staying with you tonight, but I was so mad that he went out with Yangyang. There’s some shit going on here and I don’t feel comfortable and, you know, I really like you y/n but it seems - agh, whatever, that’s not true” - Johnny rests his hand against your cheek and looks down at you. “Y/n, I like you both, but its so hard keeping this shit with Ten a secret and shit like this always happens and y/n I’m so sick of coming to you being stressed and -”.

You raise your hand to Johnny’s cheek too, and brush his hair behind his ear.

“John, you’re so beautiful, you’re so fun. You’re the best friend - and boyfriend - that I could ask for”. He places a kiss on your forehead, and you look at him with wondering eyes, gazing into his dark irises and losing yourself for just a second, stood there under the night sky feeling safe in the arms of Johnny Suh.

What Johnny wanted to tell you, you know, is that he can’t really handle dating both of you anymore. But the thing is - you know that, and you understand that. Right now, though, you don’t want to accept that. You just want your best friends. Johnny seems anxious, and he mutters something you don’t quite hear, although you know for sure you heard an “I love you” slip from his soft, gentle lips. But Johnny isn’t one for romance - not for more than a few minutes. His vulnerable side is only ever present for you and Ten, and it’s always suddenly replaced with his intense energy and both caring, yet intimidating, control.

You didn’t realise John’s hand had moved to the band of your panties, and he had been playing with the lace for a while now. You tune in as you feel his passionate and dominating lips crash down on yours, pulling you in tightly and resting his palm across the small of your back. He drags his sharp, manicured nails across the line of your underwear, shocking you compared to the softness of the hands that were holding you close and tight. You’re feeling vulnerable and lost, knowing that you’re so close to having to let go of the man you love the most, and all you want to do is feel close to him. To submit yourself to him, and to be under his control and to feel his passion and his love, is all that can comfort you right now. Johnny feels the same - you both need eachother.

“Y/n, are you okay with this here?” Johnny asks you. The rooftop is pretty secluded - nobody was around and it was very unlikely anybody would appear up here at this time. It’s not necessarily the most comfortable of places, but the slight risk of being outside, practically in public, sort of turns you on even more, and you can tell Johnny is desperate. “Mhm, please Johnny, just have me” you whisper breathlessly, looking at the ground and avoiding eye contact with Johnny out of shame for how desperate you are for his touch. “Look at me, y/n,” Johnny commands. You look up at him, and he crashes back onto you, moving his hand back under your pants and roughly taking hold of your thigh as he holds the back of your neck with his other hand. You can feel how much he needs you, and you need him.

“So wet, y/n. So needy and yet so patient for me. Such a good kitten”. You shift under him as he finds your clit, gently feeling for where he knows he will get the strongest reaction from you. He’s right - you’re dripping for him. You’re just imagining him taking you against this wall, pressed up against the cold, rough bricks as you support yourself with the pipes running alongside the building. You already need him inside you, but he’s just playing with you - teasing your folds carefully and attentively, occasionally pausing to place kisses on your neck, breathing deeply onto your neck, his breath against your ear making you shudder. Each delicate kiss is followed by the movement of his fingers as he edges closer towards being inside of you, teasing you strongly enough to encourage you to play games with him in return.

You shift your stance to allow Johnny to grind himself against you, and you ensure your thighs place a decent pressure against the bulge in Johnny’s joggers. Johnny moans in pleasure and annoyance as you move against him, and - possibly to stop you from edging him closer to his own orgasm - he pushes his fingers deep inside you, causing you to draw in a sharp breath. He stays there, and looks at you with deep and wanting eyes. You return the action by grinding up against his bulge, which also moves his fingers deeper into you. Johnny takes this opportunity to curl them up, hitting your spot and letting out a mischievous “mhmm” as he does.

“Y/n, are you playing with me? You can’t win, you know that” Johnny announces playfully, with a tone of seriousness that reminds you who is in charge. Johnny rhythmically curls his fingers towards your spot, his thumb playing carefully with your clit, driving the little moans to slip out from between your lips, the sound landing in between the two of you and filling the atmosphere with a sense of vulnerable pleasure.

“Johnny, please, just fuck me here” you beg, the words tumbling from your mouth. Johnny’s eyes darken and he takes on his dominant tone once again. “Y/n, you’re so pathetic, look at you falling apart under my fingers”. He continues to edge you closer, grabbing your ass hard with his other hand, pressing your face into his chest and leaving you in blackness, lost in the pleasure and your quickening breaths as he curls his fingers over and over. You can feel how his other hand keeps you steady but, at the same time, he is ensuring that your leg continues to slightly ride against his bulge. Johnny needs you - his y/n, who wants him more than anybody else has ever wanted him. But he still feels hurt, and Ten crosses his mind again for a split second, frustrating him enough to pull out of you and flip you around, pushing you against the walls so he has full access to your ass. You take a moment to orientate yourself, looking over your shoulder to see Johnny stood there, his hair now sweaty and the veins in his arms pulsing. He looks so naturally beautiful, looking down at you with lustful eyes. You can tell from his expression that he’s feeling distracted and frustrated, and you don’t care. You just want him to take out his feelings on you. You want to feel vulnerable for him. Johnny feels your ass, pressing his thumb against your entrance. He bends over you and wraps his arms around your stomach, stroking your nipple for just a second before stopping, and simply holding you. With his head resting on your shoulder, he tells you “I do love you, y/n. I do”. You both stop there for a moment, heartbeats pounding in unison. Johnny is still holding himself, preparing to take you. “Do I get to come then, Mr Suh?” you ask playfully. And with that question, Johnny snaps back into his dominant position, guiding himself carefully into your pussy whilst still gently teasing your ass. He’s always gentle with you to ease you in, but you’re quite used to his size now so you push yourself back onto him. This catches him by surprise, clearly, as he lets out a tense moan and mutters “fuck you, y/n”. That was all he needed to know that he could take you harder, so he grabs your hips and fucks you, and you both moan together each time he pushes all the way into you.

You gasp for air, feeling johnny is now also moving his hand hard against your clit and driving you further and deeper into a blissful, well-deserved orgasm. You can feel the warmth of his precum, the extra lubrication heightening your senses as he doesn’t stop fucking you. “Fuck, y/n, I’m going to c- fuck, y/n, fuck” Johnny loses control of his words as he comes inside you, the feeling driving you to do the same, as your knees shake and you grasp onto the metal pipe that is stabilising your position. Johnny pulls out of you, and for a second stops to once again hold himself against you, feeling your hearts once again. But Johnny knows he doesn’t want to let you down, and he knows you haven’t finished yet. Within moments of his own orgasm, Johnny’s own lips hit your throbbing and sensitive clit, lapping up the sweet honey that you’re creating, and passionately licking and kissing around your clit. Your breath once again quickens as you feel yourself about to come - and John teases your ass again, just enough to send you over the edge. “Fuck, Johnny, there - yes, please Johnny”. “Sweet kitten, come for me” Johnny commands, and you come undone over his face, knees collapsing as your eyes roll back in bliss. He places steady kisses on your clit, your thighs, and up towards your nipples. He kisses your neck, past your ears, and finally places a kiss on your forehead. Right back where you started, you stand in the comfort of Johnny’s arms, under the stars.

You both stand there for a minute, breathless and warm, Johnny keeping you steady as your orgasm continues to pulsate gently through you. A tear rolls down your cheek as you think about how this can’t last for much longer - you know things are going to end one day. But you don’t want to lose a single part of Johnny, not as your boyfriend and especially not as your friend. You love him, and he loves you too.

“Y/n, shall we head back inside?” Johnny asks you, feeling you shivering from the cold nighttime air. His breath is warm, and his voice gentle and steady. “We should probably get some sleep”, he tells you. You shrug and hold him closer, but Johnny turns you around to head back inside. And when he does, standing there, right behind you and looking at the floor with a tear trailing down his cheek, is Ten.

Ah, fuck.

Read Part II here.

[anabsolutetrainwreck]

oh, honey || h. styles

warnings: mentions of sex, kissing

word count: 2.3k

summary: when harry is struck with writer’s block, you come to the rescue and inspire him to write a song, which later becomes known as ‘adore you’...

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t harbouring a crush on a man you’d known for about five years. And for four and half years of that, you found he was the only thing that seemed to occupy your mind. With any crush, it was fun at first. The thrill of being around him brought a new spark to your life. But then, gradually, it became tiresome; the constant butterflies and the overthinking every tiny action began to aggravate you.

You’d had a boyfriend since you met Harry. He loved you and you tried to love him. You knew it wasn’t fair on him, and you felt an ounce of extra guilt every day that relationship went on. You knew it was selfish to paint yourself a mirage of a perfect life with a man you knew you couldn’t love.

The relationship lasted eight months. It had never meant to last that long. At first, it was all fun and games - neither of you took things too seriously. A bit of harmless sex and late nights with red wine and David Attenborough documentaries. But then things took a turn, and he began talking of moving in together and meeting each other’s parents. Your parents would have loved him, you knew that. But what good was that when you didn’t love him?

Eventually, the two of you sat down and decided that maybe it was best if you went your separate ways. It was a mutual decision. And you both agreed that it was fun whilst it lasted. So, this relationship you’d gotten yourself into to get your mind off Harry had ended because you could never love this man the way he wanted you to.

It had been a rough eight months for you. Harry had been in somewhat of a mood with, well, everybody. Mitch concluded that he was probably just stressed with writing for the album and making sure everything was perfect for his debut solo album. But, though nobody necessarily picked up on it at the time, when you announced that you’d broken up with your boyfriend, Harry seemed to be in a much better mood ever since.

So, now, as you walked into the studio, you ran your hands along your jean-clad thighs. It was a desperate attempt to rid your palms of the sweat your nervousness had caused. Sarah had called you and asked if you were free to swing by the studio. She said something about needing a new mind to help Harry. Instantly, you agreed. You would always be there for Harry.

Sat on one of the couches was Harry Styles himself, his hand over his eyes. He was alone, his guitar beside him. A notebook of his lyrics was tossed aside, clearly neglected in tiredness or frustration. “Harry?” you called out, closing the door behind you.

He looked up quickly, startled by the sudden disturbance. “Y/N,” he smiled slightly, sitting up properly. “What are you doing here?”

“Thought you could use some help,” you shrugged, slipping out of your black puffer jacket. “And clearly you need it. Where is everyone?”

“Oh, they went to get some lunch at some place down the road,” he replied.

“And what about you? Aren’t you hungry? You need to eat, Harry.”

“I know. I will, I will. I’m just trying to finish this song, is all.”

You nodded slightly, sitting down in front of him on the coffee table. His hair was disheveled and his eyes were resting on top of dark bags. “Let me see,” you said, extending your hand.

Slowly, he placed the notebook into your hands. You stared down at the scribbled lyrics. Things were crossed out; things were circled; things were accompanied by little doodles. On the very top of the page, though, was the rushed title (above a few others, which had been crossed out): ADORE YOU. “I’m just gonna put it aside and come back to it,” he sighed. “Wanna get high? It always helps me write music.”

“No, Harry. I don’t want to get high with you. If you leave it, then you’ll never come back to it and nobody will ever get to hear it,” you replied.

“Except you. I want you to hear it,” he said quietly, so quiet, in fact, that you barely heard it.

He wasn’t looking at you, thankfully. At least he wouldn’t see the mix of nerves and excitement at what he’d just muttered. You shifted slightly, placing the notebook down beside you, “Well, then you’ll have to finish it, won’t you?”

Finally, he looked up at you. You felt tiny as his eyes explored your face, drinking in every last inch of your features. A small smile worked its way up onto his face, “I suppose I will.”

So, Harry began projecting his ideas onto you. He explained what the song was about and the kind of things he wanted to write. He sang the chorus to you, and you swore you melted right there and then. Hearing his voice fill the otherwise silent room you were in, with no other intent than to please you, filled your head with all sorts of fantasies. “It’s good, Harry. It’s really good,” you nodded, smiling sweetly at him.

“Obviously not good enough if I can’t think of anything other than the first verse and the chorus,” he groaned, raking his long fingers through his unruly hair.

In a moment of fleeting confidence, you reached out and squeezed Harry���s hand. He looked up at you, his green lagoons of eyes staring directly into your own. “Harry, stop. You’re doing yourself no good thinking like that. No songs start out as the greatest thing ever written; you have to put time and care and effort into them,” you said gently. “Let me help, Harry. I don’t want you to go through this alone.”

He nodded, squeezing your hand in return. He pulled out a pen and stared expectantly at you. You smiled - you were happy he was willing to let you help. “What did you have in mind?” he asked, eager to hear a new outlook on these lyrics he had grown sick of reading over and over again.

“Well,” you began, “it obviously has a sort of ethereal vibe to it. So, summer skies? Like, maybe something about ‘you under summer skies’?”

He nodded slowly, absorbing your suggestion. Until, suddenly, his eyes lit up. You knew the look. You’d seen it many a time before. It was the look he adopted whenever he’d been struck by the perfect slice of inspiration he needed to write an incredible piece of music. “You, Y/N, are a bloody genius! ‘Your wonder under summer skies’,” he grinned.

He scribbled the lyric down desperately. You couldn’t help but admire him as ideas escaped his brain and fell onto the paper before him. He finally looked back up at you, the page now littered with prompts and snippets of lyrics. “Thanks, Y/N. You’re a lifesaver,” he said.

You chuckled, “I didn’t do anything.”

“Well, you didn’t do anything for my other songs but they exist because of you,” he rushed out, clearly not comprehending his words. “Shit. Sorry, that- that didn’t mean to come out.”

You smirked. You had the power now, after four and a half years of falling in love with Harry Styles and making a massive fool of yourself in front of him. He’d slipped up and now you were in control. “Yeah? What songs did I unknowingly contribute to?” your confidence was rare, especially when it came to things like this, and yet here it was.

Unfortunately for you, Harry’s natural confidence matched your own. A playful grin swept up his features as he said, “Wouldn’t it be more fun for you to listen to the album and figure it out for yourself?”

“Or you could just tell me the titles?” you asked, your tone hopeful.

He hesitated for a moment, his confident smirk faltering for a split second. But, before you had time to say anything else, he said, “There’s this song called Sunflower, Vol. 6. I wrote that because your favourite flowers are sunflowers. And I wrote Cherry because I know you love cherries. And then there’s Golden, because that’s what you are, Y/N. And then there’s Watermelon Sugar because I know that In Watermelon Sugar is your favourite book. And now Adore You, because, I swear to God, Y/N, that’s all I want to do.”

He was rambling and you couldn’t help but smile. Whilst you’d spent your days rambling to your friends about how you were convinced you’d remain single forever if he didn’t happen to fall hopelessly in love with you, it appeared that he’d been writing down all the tiny details about you in his songs. Because it was true: sunflowers were your favourite flowers and cherries were your favourite fruit and In Watermelon Sugar was your favourite book.

He was staring at you now, his eyes searching your face for some sort of a hint on how you were feeling. When you said nothing, your lips parted slightly, he went on, “Hell, I wrote Cherry years ago. I wrote it when you were dating that guy... what was his name?”

“Ollie,” you replied quietly.

He knew what his name was. He never forgot. It had been two years but he’d never forgotten the eight months of hell where he had to watch you cuddle up to him and take him home after your group of friends had gone out for drinks. He didn’t know why he wanted to hear you say his name again. Some sadistic form of self-torture maybe, hearing another boy’s name on your lips. “Yeah, Ollie,” he played it off as if he really had forgotten your ex boyfriend’s name. “I wrote it when you were dating him. And I’ve been sitting on it for two years because I thought if I released it then you would know I’ve been in love with you for four years. But then I just thought ‘you know what, fuck it’, so I’m putting it on the album. And Anna, that was about you. But I’ll never officially release that one. Because I wrote it one night when I was alone and I couldn’t get you out of my head and I needed to tell somebody how I felt about you. Even if that was just a bit of paper. But then I played it to you, do you remember? And you loved it, so I swore to never release it because it felt like I’d confessed to you how I felt.”

As you listened to him ramble away about all of these songs he’d written about you and how much you clearly meant to him, you couldn’t help but smile. You’d dreamed of Harry confessing how much he, well, adored you. And you’d only ever thought it would be an occurrence in your fantastical dreams, and yet here he was, staring back at you, rambling on about how much he loved you. “Wait, Harry,” you spoke up, “isn’t ‘watermelon sugar’ something to do with oral sex?”

You chuckled as he flushed, “That’s besides the point.”

“And what is the point?”

“That I’m in love with you and, I pray to God, you’re in love with me back.”

Overwhelmed with joy, you couldn’t help but throw yourself at Harry. The feeling of his hands around your waist in a way that wasn’t just a slightly prolonged hug goodbye after a night out or a slightly overly flirtatious gesture of Harry’s felt electric. Harry’s hands on you in a way that was meant to be a moment of appreciation shared between two lovers was how it was always supposed to be.

After so long of knowing one another, falling for each other and sharing life changing moments, everything was finally slipping into place. You’d been there when One Direction first began their hiatus. You’d been there when he cut his hair off. You’d been there when he went to Jamaica to write his first solo album. You’d been there, albeit your eyes were shut most of the time, when he was dangling a thousand feet in the air for the Sign of the Times music video shoot. He’d been there when you finished university. He’d been there when you lost your mum. He’d been there when your sister had her first child. He’d been your date to your brother’s wedding. All of these things, and you couldn’t help but feel they mounted to this very moment.

You pulled your head back, admiring his face for a moment. Your arms were around his neck and everything just felt... right. His smile was bright and his eyes were full of nothing but loving joy. Without another moment’s hesitation, your lips were on his. You weren’t sure who leaned forward, but all you knew was that this was what you’d been waiting for for almost five years. And, now you were here, showing Harry how much you loved him, the wait seemed worth it. “We’ve got so much time to make up for,” he whispered.

“Good thing we’ve got all the time in the world then, isn’t it?”

He grinned, embracing your body. All he’d wanted to do for four years was to praise it. And now he finally had the chance to. That was until the two of you heard a voice behind you, “We only left for lunch!”

[cloud9in]

Promises (Poppy x MC) Part (2/?)

Read Part ONE (summary for fic is there)

ITS BEEN A MINUTE. @iamsimpforpoppy I hope you’re still around to read :P I love this story lol. Hope you guys do too!!!

Word Count (2.8k)

Bea and Poppy’s relationship became official a month after their initial meeting. One would say they moved quickly, too quickly. But every love story is different. This one in particular seemed to have little to none flaws, if you ignored the fact that Bea was promoted to Carter’s right hand woman in the Southside Spades.

 They did end up having that conversation after all.

 “…Are you sure Carter? I mean this is a huge deal and a special role-“

 “If I didn’t think you were capable you wouldn’t be here right now Goldilocks.”

 Carter winked and clinked his half empty beer bottle against Bea’s, who surprisingly had a nearly full bottle. He took note of the abnormality. 

 The blonde instinctively rolled her eyes at the nickname, “Okay but that name has to go. We need codenames……ooooh how about bimbo and himbo.” 

 “I’m guessing…..no, hoping I’m the himbo?!” Carter comments as he promptly tries to stop the laugh escaping from his lips.

 “Mmmmmmm, I’ll get back to you on that.”

 They share a laugh and Bea feels Carter’s gaze latch onto her in her peripherals. She could sense the shift of energy in the space between them, it almost felt uncomfortable, and that was something she never felt with Carter. “I never asked you if you were okay with such a role. If you aren't, I understand completely, I just want the best for you.”

 The blonde eyes soften at his comment and she looks at him, “never doubted that, where is this going though because you never express your feelings like a normal human being.”

 He pulls on the strings of her hoodie until it completely caves around her face, burying her whole.

 “Hey asshole!” 

 “That’s for talking too much.”

 Bea yanks her hoodie open and sticks her tongue out in a mock expression. “Oh boohoo. Poppy literally says the same thing, I don’t get it. I talk, it’s a problem. I don’t talk, it’s an even BIGGER problem. Damn a girl can’t ever exist in peace.”

 Carter places his bottle flat on the table and studies the blonde’s face. 

 She kept rambling on about her new girlfriend and the gang leader didn’t know it was possible to feel happy yet anxious at the same time. He was aware of when they entered the talking stage, went on their first date, and finally became official, because Bea told him everything. As much as the experience of being in a real relationship was new to her, Bea looked up to him and somehow she knew Carter would give her the best guidance possible. 

 It didn’t stop him from worrying. Like an older brother would. He feared the two would mix, and everyone knows that love and crime will eventually combust. He is no stranger to it.  

 “Bea.”

 “Did you know she stole one of my hoodies and actually won’t give it back?? What am I supposed to do, just take it? No she’d murder me.”

 “Jackson.”

 Her voice slowly dies down after sensing the seriousness in his tone. She takes a sip of her beer to ease the silence that sat in the air, and Carter responds shortly after.

 “You know I trust you with my life right? You’re very important to me, kid.” 

 “I know.”

 Guilt was a feeling he chose to lock away in an unbreakable box and bury six feet deep. There couldn’t be guilt in a lifestyle like this. But Bea was his only exception. And she was slowly bringing that box back up to the surface. 

 “I need you to promise me that you won’t let these two worlds collide.”

 “Carter….”

 “One of you will get hurt. And I won’t forgive myself if it’s you.”

 He leaves Bea at the table, the remnants of his comment still replaying in her head. She pulls out her phone and sees a text from Poppy on her lockscreen. 

 Other Half 💗❤️‍🔥- Can’t wait to see you tomorrow 😘 

 The blonde smiles unconsciously and opens the message to respond.

 I’m missing you like crazy. I have a special surprise for you.

 Other Half 💗❤️‍🔥- You know I highly dislike surprises, just tell me. 

 And ruin the surprise? You must be crazier than I thought. 

 Other Half 💗❤️‍🔥- Jackson.

 Patience babe…tomorrow it is. 

 Bea clicks her phone shut and slips it back into her pocket before downing the rest of the beer. 

***

“You know your hand on my ass only makes them stare even more Jackson?”

 Bea bites her lips and gropes the blonde’s plump backside shamelessly while slowly whispering into her ear.

 “That’s the point, princess.”

 Poppy shivers almost instantly at the boldness. “Is this the surprise you were talking about?” Bea doesn’t answer, instead trailing her hand up Poppy’s skirt. This was definitely not the time and place for such behavior but she was clearly still learning everything about her girlfriend. 

 And it definitely felt good to call her that.

 “Since when did you get so brazen? You know you’re exactly the type of person my daddy told me to stay away from.”

 Bea laughs at that statement and wraps her arm around the blonde’s waist, “yeah? And why’s that?”

 “Well I can’t ask him now, he might rough you up and that’s my job.” 

 Poppy could feel the stares of everyone burning into them, but she could only focus on the blonde cuddled up against her. The shorter girl wouldn’t call herself an attention whore, but she sure loved the PDA that Bea projected without a care. It felt nice to be genuinely admired in public rather than putting on a mask everyday. 

 But it’s safe to say that Poppy preferred all the handsy stuff to happen in private. 

 “Do you want to grab dinner with me tonight Pops?”

 “Am I picking the place?”

 “…Yes.”

 “Then yes.”

 Bea rolls her eyes at the blonde’s downright shady self but smiles nevertheless. 

 “Now don’t cancel on me out of the blue. I will not be thrilled about it.”

 “Shouldn’t I be telling you this? Your dad always has something going on in his business that somehow has to involve you too.”

 Poppy sighs and glances over at Bea, “well you know I’ll have to take over eventually. Especially since I’m legally allowed to handle deals now.”

 “I hate that word. Legal. Ugh.” 

 The shorter girl scoffs and plants her hands on her hips, “yeah I bet you do.”

***

Bea dragged open her closet in search of clothes for dinner tonight but the dinging noise of a text distracts her. 

 C-Dog🖤- Need you tonight. Something came up, meet us at the garage.

Bea wanted to thank the gods up above that she didn’t promise Poppy that she’d show up for dinner. But that wasn’t going to save her from the fury of the blonde. Good thing it can’t get worse than that, right….?

Only it was. And Poppy will probably beat her up herself, if she wasn’t dead by the next day. 

Bea’s mind and heart races as she digs her brain for a proper excuse to tell her girlfriend, but is very unsuccessful. She’s good at drug dealing though. 

 Going with the good ole truth never really hurt right?

 Baby I’m so sorry I won’t be able to make it tonight. Got held up with the gang. I know I’m an asshole, I’ll keep in touch I swear. 

 Other Half 💗❤️‍🔥- What else could I expect from my gang banger girlfriend 🙄 please stay safe..

 You know I always do.

 Other Half 💗❤️‍🔥- Do I? We need to talk about this tomorrow.

 Of course Pops.

 Other Half 💗❤️‍🔥- Call me every chance you get or I swear I’ll track you and trust me you do not want me to do that.

 Yeah she definitely doesn’t. Especially since Carter sounded frantic over the phone. The last thing Bea needed was a paranoid girlfriend, so she played it cool like always. 

 Just simple stuff baby girl, talk soon.

 ***

“…What do you mean it’s gone?! So where is it? Do you know what this means Carter??”

 The gang leader sighs frustratingly, rubbing his eyes in efforts to gain some stability. “The product was here, and now it is not. Which can only mean it was stolen. And when I find out which son of a bitch did it, they’re dead.”

 “In the meantime, we are dead”, Bea emphasizes wildly. “This is the Red Raven gang we’re talking about. If they get any inclination that we lost their drugs, they’ll kill and replace us. No mercy. None.”

The blonde paces back and forth trying not to think about buying a plane ticket to Timbuktu. 

Carter approaches Bea and plants his hands on her shoulder, “breathe Jackson. You are my partner. The leader of this gang. So get it out of your system and start being rational.”

 The blonde lets her shoulders sag as she inhales and exhales in place for a while. The minute she’s grounded she catches Carter’s gaze and her eyes light up. “List. I need a list of whoever went in the room with all of the product. We need to narrow it down.”

***

“Jackson you’re a fucking genius.”

 “It’s called having common sense but I’ll take the praise. It’s the only one I’m getting from you anyways.”

 Carter resisted the urge to pick a fight with the younger girl, because finding stolen drugs and not getting killed seemed like a much better idea. 

 Bea figured out that Henry, one of the newly recruited members of SS was a thief, or maybe just a crackhead. Same thing. He was the last to be in that room so all eyes were on him, and guns.

 “Heyyy buddy. Henry right?”

 The shorter man trembled at the sight of a gun lodged right into his mouth. “Mmmm!”

 “Oh I’m sorry, did you want to say something? Here let me just”, Bea clicks the gun which only causes the thief to panic even more. It was almost pitiful. 

 “Alright lay off the poor sucker.” 

 Bea pulls the gun out of his mouth and sits down on a stool in front of Henry with a grin. “So…where is the stash darling?” 

 He points almost immediately to a built in storage locker with a shaky finger. 

 “Ohhh well that was so easy Henry! Glad you could comply. You should tell your friends to be more like you. But…between me and you, they might already be dead”, Bea whispers that last part slowly, smirking when Henry’s lip quivers violently. 

 “Please just do it already! Why are you guys waiting?”

 Bea raised an eyebrow in surprise and glanced over at Carter who scanned the man’s face intensely. “I guess he wants to die? Talk about kinks I mean come on”

 “No.”

 Carter reaches his arm out towards Bea but never takes his eyes off Henry. The blonde watches in confusion until she realizes the thief is looking behind her, and so is Carter.

 “It’s a setup Bea, duck!”

 She dived for the ground quicker than lightning as a bullet flies through the air, leaving a trail of dust behind. Carter ducks for cover as well and starts firing rounds towards the men who snuck up on them. He managed to hit three of them but one grabs Bea by the leg and drags her against the rough concrete. 

 “Son of a- get your dirty hands off of my Dr. Martens. My girlfriend bought me these!”

 A swift kick to the face shut the blonde up real quick but she manages to recoil and send the man sprawling backwards into a row of barrels. 

 Carter guns him down and Bea finds her footing, pistol in hand and a thirst for revenge. But they never stopped coming. 

 Her and Carter were left battered and bruised, but alive. Their product was gone again though. But atleast they were alive. Carter told her that it was a theft mission primarily and neither of them were meant to die. But it only made Bea wonder who those people were.

 And why were they kept alive?

***

“Beatriz Naomi Jackson what the actual fuck?!”

 “Oh not the middle name…”

 Bea tries to avoid Poppy’s killer gaze as she surveys the damage that had been done to her girlfriend’s torso, legs, and face. 

 The strawberry blonde could barely mutter a word. Her mouth opened and closed in brief shock before collapsing next to the injured girl. 

 Bea could see the tears flowing down her rosy cheeks, which contrasted her porcelain skin. “Poppy…are you crying? I..please don’t..”

 “What do you expect me to do Bea? It kills me to see you hurt like this. Who did it? Tell me!” The blonde chokes on her own words as her hands hovers cautiously over Bea’s wounds, afraid to make her feel pain.

 “No I can’t tell you. I mean…I didn’t expect this to happen. It was a setup and we were outnumbered-“

 “We need to get you to a hospital Bea oh my god.”

 The blonde knew that she couldn’t go there. Not with the cops on the scene of the shootout, and actively looking for the people involved. Aka her and Carter. He told her to lay low and heal up, but she didn’t expect Poppy to be sitting on her bed waiting for her when she got home. The initial look on her face made Bea regret ever choosing this life. 

 She regrets it ever since being with Poppy. But it’s like a drug, once you start it’s hard to stop. 

 “I’ll call my father, he has the best doctors available and we’re gonna get your the right treatment and-“ 

 Poppy immediately cuts off, her eyebrows scrunching up until she realizes something. “Wait…what do you mean you were outnumbered Bea?” 

 Bea swallows heavily, praying that this conversation couldn’t escalate further, but that isn’t the case. 

 “Bea, answer me”

 “It..it was just me and Carter. We didn’t think there would be an ambush. We had just gone there to get goods we lost.”

 “And where is Carter? Does he know you’re like this right now? Did he leave you, I swear to god Bea if he left you…” Poppy’s voice cracks as her whole body shivers in violent waves. 

 Bea pulls her girlfriend in for a hug even though it causes every inch of her body to sting harshly. It was the comfort that she needed though. Watching Poppy breakdown over the sight of her was too much, and she began to contemplate everything. 

 “Pops listen to me, I cannot go to the hospital right now. There are cops looking for us.” The strawberry blonde stares at her until she understands the velocity of Bea’s words. 

 “Fine. But there will be a doctor that will come to treat you at my house. And you’re coming, I don’t want to hear it.” 

 Bea knew not to protest that. It was quite obvious this whole incident has left both parties distraught and she didn’t want to try and tell Poppy how to feel. 

 “Just tell me something. Are you in immediate danger? Is someone trying to harm you right now.”

 The blonde chose her words carefully. Because even after coming home beaten to a pulp, she still couldn’t tell the love of her life the full truth. 

 “No Poppy, they just wanted the drugs. They got what they wanted. I’m not in danger.”

 For now.

 “I will be okay.”

 I hope.

 “Don’t lie to me Jackson. I can’t do this if you lie. You promised me you wouldn’t get to the point where you’d have to choose between me and the gang.”

 “I know Poppy…I-“

 “You promised.”

 “And I’m going to keep that promise-“

 “Yeah the hell you are. And you’re going to promise me that you won’t ever come home like this again. You’re going to get yourself killed before we even start our life together. Our future.”

 Bea sucks in a breath which punctures her chest. She couldn’t tell if the injuries or Poppy’s words had caused that terrible ache. “Our…Wait I..”

 “I love you Jackson. I…don’t care if you think it’s too early to say that. I don’t care if I sound too cheesy for a mean girl. I love kissing you and feeling the laughter run through your body when we hug. I love being the reason you smile. I love you. And you don’t have to say it back. I just..I needed you to know-“

 “I love you too. Probably maybe from the moment I met you.”

 Poppy’s eyes seemed to glisten once again and this time there was no sadness etched into the shape. She smiled a pure smile and wrapped her arms around Bea in a tight hug. 

 She captures her lips in a searing kiss that leads to a trail of kisses down the strawberry blonde’s neck, dip of her collarbone, and chest. Bea kisses her until her chest gives out from exhaustion and pain.

 “Then you have to promise that this won’t happen again.” 

 “I promise.”

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

NOTES: They’re gonna be fineeeee, right guys??? Graduation next chapter woooo.

Tags: @samanthadalton @somewillwin @clowneryme  @baexpoppy @poppysmc @doey-eyes8 @veenast @straightlikewetspaghetti @phoennixxsblog

[iam93percentstardust]

Fireflies

I wrote a little ironfalcon & sarahbucky fic! Thank you to @warmachinesocks for sensitivity reading it for me, I really appreciate the help!

This fic is also on ao3 but tumblr hates links so no links for you

~

The first thing Bucky sees when he walks through the door of Sarah’s house—Sarah’s house! He gets to stay with Sarah!—is Tony Stark washing the dishes. He stops in the doorway, not sure why he’s so surprised to see Stark there—he’d known that Stark had retired somewhere quiet after the battle with Thanos—but he definitely is. He hesitates, not sure if he can—or should—say something. Sure, he and Tony had talked things out after the battle, cleared the air between them, but he’d assumed that was based on them never having to see each other again.

“It’s rude to lurk in doorways,” Tony says, before he can think of anything to say.

“Uh,” Bucky says intelligently. Then, “What are you doing here?” He winces. His ma would absolutely have something to say about how rude he’s being if she could hear him.

Fortunately, Tony just chuckles and says, “I live here. What are you doing here, Freezer Pop?”

“You live here?” Bucky asks.

“Yes,” Sam says from behind him, startling him enough that he jumps. “Now get out of the way, Barnes. You’re blocking the door.”

Bucky steps inside, clutching his overnight bag in front of him like the shield he hadn’t thought he would need. Sarah and the boys are right behind Sam, and Bucky gives her a shy smile. She smiles back at him before ducking her head, and now that she’s turned away, Bucky looks back at Sam, who has made a beeline straight for Tony.

“Hey sweetheart,” Sam says in the softest voice Bucky has ever heard from him.

Tony leans over to kiss Sam’s cheek. “Hey, honey. How’s the boat?”

“Looking good,” Sarah says. “No thanks to you.” Bucky starts to get a little worried, but Sarah is grinning as she says it and Tony’s expression is one of mock outrage so he relaxes again.

“Excuse you,” Tony says in a faux-offended voice, “I was busy for five years.”

“Yeah, taking care of my boys and being an Avenger, so you’ve said many times. But what, you forgot about my poor boat?”

“Hey, I did offer to help pay for the repairs.”

Sarah’s face softens and she walks over to rub Tony’s metal shoulder, uncovered by the sleeveless shirt he’s wearing. “And that was sweet of you,” she says. “But I could told you I could—”

“—take care of it,” Tony finishes. “Yeah, you said.”

Sam rejoins Bucky by the door and tugs his bag from Bucky’s limp hand. “Come on,” he says, jerking his head toward the living room. “They’re gonna be at it for a while. I’ll show you where you can put your stuff.”

As they’re heading into the living room, Bucky quietly asks, “So how long have you and Stark—”

“Don’t let him hear you call him that,” Sam interrupts. “Just call him Tony, he hates Stark or Mr. Stark or anything else like that. And since 2005. We met working on the EXO-7 project. He was my technician. Got married right after he came back from Afghanistan.”

He remembers Steve telling him about Sam taking the plea deal after the Avengers split. Steve hadn’t been able to understand it, but he thinks about how they’d all understood Clint and Scott taking the same deal for their families and wonders if it was something like that.

“And how did you handle the—uh—”

Sam gives him a flat look. “With a lot of communication and a little bit of make-up sex,” he says. “When you’ve been together as long as we have, that’s something you learn.”

“What, that make-up sex helps?”

“That communication is important. And trust me, it can feel like pulling teeth, trying to get Tony to talk, but it’s worth it.” He plops down on the couch and motions for Bucky to sit down next to him, waiting until Bucky does before he continues, “Speaking of communication, a couple things about Sarah since you’re clearly going to ignore the Bro Code.”

“The Bro Code?”

“Yeah, don’t date sisters of friends, that kind of thing.”

“I don’t think that was a thing in the forties.”

“I’m pretty sure it was.”

“No, I think I’d remember that.”

“Steve didn’t have a sister, why would you remember that? Besides, your memory is as good as swiss cheese, and don’t think I missed you not arguing with me about that friend thing. Anyway, the Bro Code, since you’re ignoring it—”

From where they’re sitting, Bucky can see Sarah in the kitchen, putting away leftovers that someone had brought them while they’d been working. She looks real pretty with the evening sunlight lighting her from behind, making her glow like an angel. Bucky smiles a little, thinking about the way she’d laughed at his horrible jokes.

“Seriously man,” Sam interrupts. “Smitten-with-a-capital-s. Now look, Sarah’s had it rough these last few months. Blipped just like you and me, only she had to come back to a rundown boat and her boys all grown up. Tony did what he could around here, but he was grieving too and he had the duties of being an Avenger on top of taking care of AJ and Cass. He forgot about taking care of the boat and Sarah’s paying for it now. She’s been hurt a lot, so if your intention is something quick and then leaving her just like her husband, it’s not just me you’ll have to answer to. It’s Tony too, and the whole town on top of us. We look out for each other around this area.”

“Yeah, I got that today when the whole town showed up to help out.”

Sam grins and shakes his head, seemingly awed that he and Sarah would inspire enough loyalty for people to come help them. Bucky doesn’t get it. Both Wilson siblings are absolutely incredible. Hell, only a few weeks ago, he himself thought he’d be happy if he never had to deal with Sam ever again and now he’s staying at the man’s family home.

“My point is—” Sam begins.

“Samuel Thomas Wilson, I know you’re not giving that man a shovel talk,” Sarah interjects, coming into the living room, drying her hands on a dish towel. “You’re gonna scare him off, same as you did to all my boyfriends back in high school.”

Sam holds his hands up. “I’m just making sure he knows to treat you right.”

“Believe me, the poor man knows. Besides, I don’t need you to do that. I’m more than capable of making sure he treats me right all by myself.”

Bucky thinks about what that might mean and shivers pleasurably.

“Look at him, you broke the poor guy’s brain,” Tony complains. “AJ and Cass Wilson, can the two of you set the table?”

“Aww Uncle Tony, do we have to?” AJ complains.

“Hmm, how about you set the table or I’ll sell all your toys.”

“You wouldn’t do that,” AJ says, but gets up anyway and joins his brother in the kitchen.

“I might if you keep challenging me,” Tony shoots back, but there’s no heat to his voice and AJ is still grinning as he grabs plates out of the cupboard so Bucky turns back to Sam and Sarah, who have gotten quieter now that they’ve got an audience beyond just him.

“—want to see you taken care of the way you should be,” Sam is saying.

Sarah’s face softens. “Thanks. I don’t need it—”

“—but you should be anyway. After all you’ve done for our family, you deserve it.”

They both glance at Bucky, who smiles quickly to try to assure them that he’s a great option for Sarah. He’d heard some of the things the townspeople were saying about her while they were working on the boat today: she’s an impressive woman and all he wants to do right now is to prove that he’s worthy of her.

“Well,” Sam says eventually. “I guess there are worse people you could go for.”

“Gee, thanks, Sam,” Bucky says flatly.

“No problem, man.” He looks back at Sarah. “Fine, I’ll lay off of him. But the first time he hurts you—”

“—you’ll let me handle it like the grown-up I am?” Sarah finishes firmly, hands on her hips. She seems to decide that the conversation is clearly over because she heads back into the kitchen, swatting Tony away from the sauce on the stovetop with a wooden spoon.

Sam deflates. “Yeah, okay,” he calls after her. “I’ll let you handle it.”

“Hey, I get it,” Bucky offers quietly. “I had sisters too and they hated it when I got involved with their relationships.”

“She deserves the best. And I really hope that you can be the one to give it to her. I saw how she looked at you. I haven’t seen her look like that since high school.” There’s a pensive look in his eyes, his hands clasped together in front of him. “I didn’t realize how much I missed seeing that look.”

“I like her too,” Bucky tries to assure him. “I don’t want to hurt her.” He hesitates, then adds, “I don’t want to hurt anyone. Except maybe Walker.”

Sam laughs. “You and me both.”

“I’ll toast to that,” Tony says cheerfully, coming back into the living room. “Sarah says it’s dinner time.”

Dinner is a loud affair, full of the boys talking about what they’ve been up to with their friends, Sam and Sarah bickering about repairs that need to happen on the boat, Tony and Bucky comparing their prosthetics (Tony’s arm is Stark Tech and he’s curious about how it compares to Bucky’s Wakandan one), and Sam, Tony, and Bucky discussing what’s going to happen with Walker now that the shield’s been taken away from him.

“I don’t think this is over,” Tony says, and Bucky agrees with him, remembering how much more determined Steve had gotten every time an opportunity had been taken away from him, but Sam is less sure.

“He’s grieving. I don’t think he’s in any state to be trying to take the shield back,” Sam argues.

“Grieving men can be unpredictable. You said he didn’t catch Karli, that’s got to be weighing on him,” Tony replies. He eyes the shield in its leather case, leaning up against the wall. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt because he decides the shield is still his. Him with that serum, it concerns me. You don’t have that kind of advantage.”

“I don’t want that kind of advantage,” Sam says, surprising Bucky. He’d known Sam is leery of the serum, not nearly as bad as Zemo but still uncomfortable with it. Tony doesn’t seem surprised though, just nods understandably.

“I know,” he agrees. “But I still worry.”

Bucky interjects, “Hopefully the suit the Wakandans made will help even the playing field some.”

Tony blinks.

“You got a new suit?” Sarah asks.

“And I didn’t make it?” Tony asks.

“I haven’t seen it yet,” Sam says, “but yes. Bucky asked for a favor after Walker destroyed the old one.”

“Hmph,” Tony says grumpily, softening only when Sam leans over to kiss his cheek. “Well, I guess I can’t blame you. Shuri’s tech is incredible. The things that girl can do with vibranium… blows that shield out of the water.”

“Is she still refusing to let you take a look at T’Challa’s suit?”

“Yes.”

“They’re very protective of it,” Bucky says.

“And I don’t blame them,” Tony says quickly. “It would just be nice.” He glances at Sam pleadingly, who laughs.

“I’m not gonna let you take a look at it either.”

Tony grumbles wordlessly, but doesn’t complain any further, instead turning to Sarah to ask her about something with the boat. Bucky eagerly joins in, interested in hearing more about Sarah’s life. It’s so different from his, even before the war. He wants to learn everything he can, both about the boat and about her.

By the time dinner is over, he’s stuffed, something that rarely happens. The serum means he has a higher metabolism than the average person, which also means that he’s typically hungrier, and when he’d been with HYDRA, they hadn’t worried about making sure their Asset was well-fed. He offers to help the boys clear the dishes, hoping that will impress Sarah. She smiles at him, but heads out to the porch. The sun is setting over the bayou, and Bucky can just barely make her out through the glare from the sun.

He watches her a little wistfully until Tony comes up beside him and passes him two glasses of sweet tea. “What’s this for?” he asks.

Tony jerks his head toward the door. “She likes to watch the fireflies.”

Sam passes him with an armful of plates on his way to the dishwasher. “Better make sure you grab some bug spray. The mosquitoes are vicious at this time of day.”

“I heal fast,” he says confusedly.

“But it’ll show you’re thinking of her,” Sam says as Tony grabs a can from under the sink and slaps it into Bucky’s empty hand. “Go on, we’ve got this.”

“You’re sure?”

Sam and Tony share a wordless glance. Bucky can’t quite tell what they’re thinking. “Yeah,” Sam says after a moment. “Really, man, get out there.”

So Bucky gets.

Sarah glances up at him when he steps out onto the porch, smiles, and then moves aside on the swing for him to join her. “Let me guess, Tony told you to come out,” she says dryly.

“How’d you know?”

“He likes to think of himself as a matchmaker.”

Bucky hesitates in passing her one of the glasses. “Is that a problem?”

She takes the glass out of his hand, deliberately brushing her fingers against his. “Only if you think it is.”

In answer, Bucky hands her the bug spray too. Her smile broadens.

“Thanks,” she says. “You ever watched fireflies before?”

He shakes his head. “We didn’t have them in New York.”

“That’s a shame. They’re one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.”

They’re silent for a moment, both sipping from their glasses. Then Sarah says, “You can put your arm around me, you know.”

Bucky glances at her quickly and then slowly puts his arm around her shoulders. She leans into him, warm and perfect and slotting just right beside him. It’s nice, he thinks, and he leans his head on top of hers. She makes a pleased sound and snuggles just a little bit closer. He lets out a long sigh, feeling the tension drain out of him as the first few fireflies twinkle in the gathering dusk.

[luxekook]

chapter two.

⇥ pairing: namjoon x reader; eventual bts/ot7 x reader

⇥ genre: college au with fluff, smut & angst

⇥ summary: a series in which the reader meets (and falls for) seven members of the Beta Tau Sigma (BTS) fraternity

⇥ word count: 2.3k

⇥ warnings: 18+, cursing, chaotic namjoon, power tools, hints of poly relationships, overall pretty smut free (who AM i???)

© luxekook. please do not repost, modify, edit or translate.

characters | prologue | one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine

Chapter Two

Habitat for Humanity Worksite – 9:26am

When I signed up to volunteer Saturday morning of syllabus week, I should have known I would end up regretting it. I almost punted my alarm clock out of the apartment window this morning, but instead settled a slightly more civil action – punching the shit out of the ‘off’ button.

Don’t get me wrong: I love volunteering. It’s been part of my routine since sophomore year when I was recruited for the all-women’s service society on campus – the Alphites. As a society, us Alphites volunteer around campus and in our local community each week. There’s something about doing service together that really creates bonds, and the girls in the society have quickly become some of my closest friends.

We sign up to volunteer for a variety of different service projects each week, and Habitat is my current favorite project to sign up for. As a nonprofit organization, Habitat for Humanity helps families build and improve places to call home. Currently, our regional Habitat is working on building a house from the ground up for a local family in need.

Disclaimer: I am in no way, shape, or form a very ‘handy’ person. Luckily for me, there are always a couple volunteers with construction or engineering backgrounds who are willing to teach other volunteers with less experience – or none, like me.

Since beginning to volunteer at the site last year, I have learned how to use a power saw, how to fasten siding, and how to mix, pour and level cement. It’s definitely empowering to learn new skills and also to see how my handiwork contributes to someone’s future home. I also feel lowkey badass when I get to use the power drill for anything.

Pulling up to the worksite, I clutch my cherished 24oz. Wawa coffee. I finally feel somewhat human as I park my beat-up Jeep Wrangler and hop out to meet the other volunteers for our task assignments.

The site leader Eddie – a burly retiree with a background in construction management – greets me with a huge grin, “(y/n)-doll, we missed you this summer! I can’t believe you abandoned us during the hottest months of the year.”

I roll my eyes, smiling at his teasing. Eddie’s like a teddy bear disguised as a grizzly – all rough edges and a heart of gold. “Missed you, too, Eddie.”

“Look at our progress now,” he continues, “Pretty impressive, yeah?” Nodding, I greet some regular volunteers I recognize as Eddie leads me around the house. He proceeds to show me what they had done over the summer in my absence – and they had done a lot. The house now had its full foundation and wooden framing with most of the doors and windows installed.

As we walk back to the front of the house to the main area, I sip my coffee and turn to Eddie, “So, what can I work on today, fearless leader?”

Letting out a patented ‘Eddie belly-laugh’, he replies, “I know you worked on the siding at our last site so I'm gonna have you work on where we started the siding on the right side of the house.”

Sweet, I could work with that. “Aye, aye, captain,” I respond with a lazy salute of my coffee cup. Before I can turn to start towards the scaffolding to begin, Eddie stops me.

“Oh, one more thing. I’m gonna need you to orient our new volunteer and let him shadow you today. Kid’s from the same school as you, I think… Mandatory service. Anyway, he should be here any minute.”

Shit, I know what ‘mandatory service’ means. It’s the first form of disciplinary action that the college issues and is usually the only form of disciplinary action for our athletes or for Greek life – a fact I actively resent. During my time in the Alphites, I have had to deal with some of these ‘mandatory service’ characters and they’ve never been much fun to be around.

“Ah, that’s probably him now,” Eddie startles me out of my thoughts of dread and doom as a black gleaming Tesla practically purrs down the block, swinging into the spot next to my Wrangler. Scowling, I cross my arms as I survey the stark contrast between this person’s shiny-ass luxury car and my dirty-ass well-loved Jeep.

The Tesla door opens. A Timberland booted foot emerges followed by a thick leg encased in light jeans, a tanned well-muscled arm…

No. Nope, it couldn’t be— Please, not today, Satan.

He stands with his back to us now, stretching out his large body. In only a cutoff t-shirt, his rippling back muscles might be enough to send me into an early grave.

I sigh in bitter defeat of the inevitable. Seriously, the fucking universe must have it out for me because I can’t seem to shake this stupid fucking fraternity.

As if the boy feels my eyes on him, he turns. His eyes immediately clash with mine as he slams his car door, clicking the lock over his shoulder. Those eyes – golden brown beneath dark brows and a wave of bleached blonde hair. Their focus is absolute – hard – as he strolls towards us. It’s almost as if he knows the maddening effect that he has on me.

I think Eddie is speaking, but my senses are on lockdown, his words muted. My thighs tighten as my pulse picks up. Get a fucking grip, (y/n). I can’t let him know that just one look from him has me thirsty and oxygen-deprived. I can’t look away – that would be succumbing to weakness.

Instead, I hold his heated gaze as best I can as his confident gait brings him closer. God, he’s got to be at least 6 foot...

The goddamn president of BTS Kim Namjoon is getting closer and I can’t help running my eyes over him.

His thighs flex and shift beneath his jeans with every calculated step. His abs are apparent under his tight cutoff shirt emblazoned with his fraternity letters.

Namjoon stops in front of us, hands stuffed into his back pockets, biceps flexing. “Nice to finally meet you, Eddie,” Namjoon takes his eyes off me long enough to greet Eddie and shake his hand, but then they’re right back on me, “Hi, (y/n).”

He drags out my name in a such a sinful way that even old Eddie does a slight doubletake. Clearing his throat unnecessarily loudly, Eddie booms, “You two know each other?”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Our differing replies sound at the same time.

“Yes,” Namjoon repeats, lips turning up in an infuriating smile, “We have several mutual friends that she’s met a couple times now. Want me to jog your memory? I’d be more than happy to do so.”

Eddie takes one look at my face and hustles off, mumbling something about support beams. I guess my inner thoughts of ‘kill, maim, slaughter’ could easily be read from my facial expression.

Namjoon opens his mouth to speak again, but I’m faster, “Listen, Kim, I don’t know who you think you are, and, quite frankly, I don’t care. What I do care about is this house and these people working on it. Don’t fuck this up for me, okay? Let’s just get through today and then you can go back to ordering around your brothers and causing general mayhem.”

I’m feeling pretty proud of my little soliloquy until I realize he’s still smiling with those blasted dimples out in full display. No, his smile has grown even wider now as he simply answers, “The semester.”

My nose crinkles in confusion, “What?”

“The semester,” he repeats, “I’m assigned here every Saturday for the rest of the semester.”

I stare at him.

He smirks back.

I stare.

His smirk begins to fade, “Uh, did you hear me?”

I stare.

“Okay, you’re creeping me out now, (y/n),” Namjoon waves his giant paw of a hand in front of my face, “How many fingers?”

I break out of my trance of denial and hiss, “What did you do? Double homicide? Serial arson? Oh my god, you were the one who blew up the science lab!”

His hand covers my mouth – it’s rough and warm and entirely disarming.

“You have quite the imagination, jagi. I’ll keep that in mind,” Namjoon chuckles, “To answer your question, I did none of the above. Now, answer a couple questions of mine: what did you do to get here and – more importantly – why did you distract Jungkook from doing his fucking job on Monday?”

I glare in response, waiting for him to remove his hand from my mouth. He takes too long, and I lick his palm. It works. He removes his hand, but from the look on his face it seems like he liked my tongue on his skin entirely too much.

Thankfully, Eddie chooses the perfect moment to yell across the site, “What are you doing just standing there, (y/n)-doll? I don’t pay you to just loiter around all day!”

“You don’t pay me at all!” I yell back, already moving towards the trailer with all the supplies to get started. Namjoon follows.

“(y/n)-doll?” his eyebrows are raised as I hand him a pair of the biggest gloves I could find, “What’s up with that?”

Taking a pair of smaller gloves for myself, I turn to look for some hammers and nails as I respond, “I’ve been here a while. He’s like my honorary grandfather at this point.”

I spot the hammers and nails tucked away on the highest corner shelf and I huff. Namjoon follows my gaze, “Need a strong, intelligent, tall young man to grab those for you?”

He’s impossible, but for some reason it draws a small smile to my face, “Yes, that’d be great.”

The smile I receive in response is so bright I wonder if it could make flowers grow, “Okay, but only if answer my questions, (y/n).”

I shrug, trying not to notice how his cutoff shirt rises as he stretches to reach the upper shelf. I catch a sudden glimpse of his abs, and I praise every god out there that hot weather can be blamed for my sudden onset of sweat. 

Clearing my throat, I laugh lightly, “Fine, first of all, I didn’t ‘distract’ Jeon. I just had a temporary lapse in judgement. Besides, he came to me all on his own.” His back muscles tense up at my words, but I continue, “And second of all, there’s no juicy story of how I got here. I just volunteer here every Saturday for the Alphites.”

The sound of a hammer hitting the floor startles me as he whirls around, “You’re an Alphite?”

Namjoon’s tone is one of disbelief and it’s a tone I do not appreciate, “Yes, why is that so hard to believe?” My arms cross defensively, “I’ve been a sister since my sophomore year...”

I trail off. He’s still gawking at me ridiculously. Narrowing my eyes, I stride across the trailer and grab his chin, closing his mouth for him, “Watch out, Kim, you’re gonna catch flies.”

Spinning on my heels, I sashay out of the trailer, nose held high in the air and satisfaction held even higher. He’ll catch up. After all, he’s basically supposed to be my bitch today.

I climb up the scaffolding next to the house’s right side and assess the siding work that has already been started. It looks pretty solid and level. I should have no issue with continuing without having to make any initial corrections.

The sound of a bucket of nails hitting the top platform I’m sitting on alerts me of Namjoon’s impending presence. Saving the bucket from teetering over the edge – a safety hazard for sure – I watch amusedly as Namjoon struggles stay upright and climb up to where I am on the scaffolding. Finally, he plops down next to me – entirely too close. I can feel his stare on my skin as I steadfastly ignore him.

“Hey, jagi,” he pokes my arm, “(y/n), listen, you just caught me off guard. I mean, you don’t seem like the type to be an Alphite – that’s all.”

Fury curls up inside me for the umpteenth time that morning, as I turn to face Namjoon with a sickly-sweet smile that has him flinching back, “Then do tell, Namjoon, what type I seem to be?”

I pick up the hammer closest to me and dip a hand into the nail bucket. The sooner this siding got done, the sooner I could haul ass out of here.

“I feel like that’s a trick question,” Namjoon sighs, rubbing a hand over his chin, “I didn’t mean anything bad by it, okay? I guess I just have always thought that your society was a bunch of mom-types—”

I cut him off with a swing of my hammer in the air, “What’s wrong with mom-types, you uncultured swine? And is serving your community really such a ‘mom’ thing to do? I’m sorry. I must have missed that memo. Here I was thinking that it was public service but go off I guess.”

He blinks, “Did you just call me an ‘uncultured swine’?”

I sniff in indignation, “Get with the times, Kim. I just roasted your ass. Now hand me that piece of siding and make yourself useful.”

“You’re so weird,” Namjoon mutters, sliding my request over to me.

“So what?” I shrug, “All the best people are weird. Now, do me a solid and explain to me why you and your ‘brothers’ keep suspiciously popping up everywhere I go.”

“Haven’t you figured it out yet?” he grins, “We’re interested.”

“What does that even mean? That you’re interested?” I wrack my brain, “As in all seven of you fuckers?”

“It means, jagi,” Namjoon pauses, leaning closer, “It means that we’re going to date the shit out of you.”

a/n: i love namjoon. that is all. 

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[neeterloveschenford]

Thoughts on RNM 3x11

Hello my RNM fam! So we finally had an episode that didn’t bring me massive amounts of joy. There were definitely things that I liked. And I think it would have been a fairly decent episode if it were in season 2. But all in all it just didn’t make me giddy like most episodes this season did. I think this one would have worked with a longer season. You need filler episodes when you have 22 episodes a season. But, alas, we got this last night. Like I said, there were things that I liked. So it wasn’t all bad. But I think it was a shining example of the things that they still need to fix. So let’s dive in and discuss the good and the bad.

First off, I still love Jones! He is such a good villain and Nathan has been so amazing this year. Max still drives me crazy, but I think that has more to do with the writing than the acting. I am really going to miss Jones when they take him down. But he’s the kind of villain that you just can’t let walk around. I love that he was seemingly trying to seduce Liz into his way of thinking. Knowing how much she loves Max, he was trying to use his charm and her obvious appreciation of Max’s body to his advantage. And I think he’s attracted to her spunk. I imagine she might just remind him of Nora. I’d really like to know how he actually felt about her. I get the feeling that he loved her as much as someone like him could love someone. I think he felt betrayed when she stole his DNA and killed all of his clones.

It was fascinating to hear him talk about how he killed so many of his people to save the planet. I wonder if they will get into maybe eugenics or something as his reasoning. Now that would be the way to tell a racist storyline. That’s the beauty of sci-fi. You can tell a story that is heavy and hard to do, but set it somewhere that is removed from our everyday life. I mean, we can just turn on the news to see horrible white supremescist terrorizing innocent people anytime anywhere. But through sci-fi we can see issues like this without the heavy-handedness that we’ve seen so far this season. This should have come up a lot sooner and then they could have explored a racism storyline that might have actually worked. I also like how Jones turned the savior trope on its head.

I really love that Dallas isn’t so thrown by being an alien that he walks away from his faith. I think it’s a lot more realistic than always assuming that religion would fall by the wayside if we were to find out we weren’t alone in the universe. I always think about an episode of Babylon 5 I saw years ago when I think about aliens and religion. In it, all of the alien races were having ceremonies that show the religious practices of their planet and the human leader spent the episode trying to decide how to showcase Earth’s spirituality. He ended up bringing everyone to a very long hallway where there was a huge line of people from all different religions lined up to be introduced to the aliens. It was a way to show how diverse the beliefs of human beings are. I thought it was brilliant. People would not just throw away their beliefs simply because we found out we weren’t alone. So it was nice to see how a man of faith could still rely on his faith in God to help him through this. (So now can we tell Arturo that Rosa was resurrected by an alien and not just by a “miracle.”)

Also, I really love Dallas. He can stay. And welcome to the land of bossy Isobel dude. She is ALWAYS this direct!

I know some people wanted Isobel to have the ability to control people, but I’m glad it’s Michael that has that power. I think he can bear the burden of it better than Isobel. Remember how we all thought it was great last episode that she had that moment where she said that’s what I get for invading people’s minds? I think she would not use it the way Michael will. He showed how careful he wants to be with this power when he asked the sheriff for permission to enter her mind and kick Jones out. He will be so careful to use his powers wisely and sparingly. I’m not saying Isobel would go all dictator on folks, but she can be very impulsive.

The Sanders/Michael scene was everything good and right in the world. I love how much Sanders loves Michael. And he is the best one-eyed Miagi that ever Miagied. I am so glad that Michael has him in his life. He is one of the only people (the other being Alex of course) that can get through to Michael. He knows that boy so well and always seems to know just what to say to get Michael to see the truth of who he is.

I am loving Rosa and Isobel’s friendship this season. It was pretty rough last season. But they are so supportive of each other. I love that we get to see women supporting women this season. I hope we have many more moments with them.

So now I’m going to get into the things I truly did not like. First of all, I still think Heath is a major bore. A pretty, pretty, pretty bore. I think he needs to go back to California. I don’t want him to die. That would hurt Dallas and I adore him. But Heath needs to go. Go back to Genoryx. I’m sure they’d take him back.

Wyatt. For the love of all things holy and righteous, can we be done with him now? Sad thing is, he and Rosa actually have chemistry. If this was the plan all along, then why make him so incredibly irredeemable in the first place? What a waste of time and story line.

I do not understand why they cannot plan out how to use the 10 episode characters. This would have been the perfect episode to have Alex and even Greg. An Air Force and a Navy veteran might have been a little useful in infiltrating the secret lair of a diabolical dictator. We now know that Alex saw combat in his three tours. And I can’t remember if Greg is a Navy SEAL in canon or fanon, but I’m pretty sure if it isn’t canon, he didn’t just swab the decks while he was in the Navy. He is a Manes after all. So why would we have an episode like this where they aren’t even utilized? I know Tanner’s schedule is tricky with Bold and the Beautiful, but they filmed so many other things out of order, why couldn’t they swing this one? Really poor planning.

And you’re going to tell me that Alex, Kyle, and Maria aren’t going to be in the mix to save Liz? I would totally understand Kyle and Maria being sidelined with Rosa when it comes to rescuing Liz, but this is just another example of how the writers seem to forget that these people are very important to each other. It’s absolute nonsense. I get that you wouldn’t see each other every day, but Rosa would be a little upset that her brother is in a coma. Alex would be a little ticked off that someone has, once again, kidnapped one of his best friends. It’s really annoying how they expect us to fill in the blanks.

Who likes Harry Potter so much and how can we make them stop with the references?

Why did we just drop the whole funeral vision story line? I mean, no one talks about it anymore. At all. What was the point?

I keep telling myself that some of the things that are wrong with the show are left over from Carina. I know that she at least had an outline for this season in play. We know she wrote the first episode. I know she made a big deal about all the changes that were made after she got booted, but how much could they change without causing problems. I am probably just projecting my hatred of her leadership on this season, but I am hopeful that this is the case and we can be even more streamlined next season. A girl can dream.

Lastly, where the hell was my morning after. I mean seriously people!

Ok, that’s all I’ve got this week. Here’s hoping we can have two hours of wonderfulness next week and end with an amazing experience. Also, can we finally get some Malex appreciation from the rest of the characters? I know I’m not asking for too much. Till next time my lovelies! Hope everyone has a great week!!

[thereluctantinquisitor]

WIP Whenever!

Thank you for the tag @frenchy-and-the-sea, and for sharing your own wonderful WIP (which curious folks can find HERE - seriously, GO FORTH AND ENJOY).

I’m currently trundling away at a new project, so I figured I’d just go ahead and post the (current) chapter 1!

I will tag: @leothelionsaysgrrrr, @dafan7711, @captainsaku, @rufinagertrude, @bladeverbena, @thefluffynug and anyone else who has something they want to share (just tag me so I can see it!)

Chapter 1 (1800 words)

For many centuries, the blessed temple of Callifae, the Broken Bride, stood proudly atop its noble grassy plateau. The goddess, whose likeness emerged, brilliant, from the forward face of the temple, cast her watchful gaze over the quiet city of Vezarine with eyes of smooth, pale stone. When the sun set on a clear day, there was said to be a moment when those all-seeing eyes shone with a honey light; a perfect imitation of the goddess’ golden stare.

On this day, the second of Torrens, night had already arrived. The sun - gentler, now, against the summer-scorched earth - had vanished long ago. But still, the Bride’s eyes glowed.

Vezarine was burning.

In the warren of streets below, a cloaked figure peeled out of an alleyway. His chest rose and fell in a rough, staccato rhythm - the breaths of someone who had been running, climbing, hiding, fighting, for far too long. 

The wide, two-storey building behind Xaraan was already blazing. Its wood groaned and cracked in the heat, slowly buckling beneath the weight of itself like a body held up by broken legs. Backing further into the street’s exposed centre, his footsteps crunched against a thick coating of ash and blood. When the upper storey gave way with a shudder that shook the ground beneath him, he simply watched, silent. Cold. It had been a workshop, once. A tannery, if the smell was any indication. A smell like cooked fat and burning hair.

Sivaan, the third of the sister-moons, hung low in the sky. She joined the fire to bathe the city red. The raid was almost done. 

He had to move quickly.

---

Elsewhere in the ashen streets, a lone figure stood among the licking flames, the crimson mantle of her station whipping out behind her, tossed by the wind and smoke. Beneath her heels, the cobbles were stained black. Narrow rivulets trickled along the grooves in the stonework, drawn towards its gutters by the street’s gentle curve. Calayne, the Scythe of Erentis, watched the pattern as it slowly spread from the soles of her feet. 

She was where she belonged. The poison at the centre of the web.

A sharp signal - her raised fist - led to a pattern of blasted horns, their low, reverberating sound rolling through the broken city like thunder. Irethani soldiers began to flood back onto the main streets, peeling out of buildings and alleyways, some wiping blades on their dark cloaks, others pleased by the gore trailing in their wake. A patrol group joked lightly beneath the red moon’s gaze; playful remarks about how considerate she was, to mask the worst of the stains. We have become too used to this, Calayne thought as her soldiers swept past, saluting, smiling at their conquest. It was not the first time such treacherous words had crossed her mind. They were as dangerous as any blade. She would do well to keep them sheathed. 

“Scythe?”

Calayne released a slow, calm breath. Soon. Soon she would be rid of it all. The blood. The guilt. 

That wretched name. 

For now, she turned towards the familiar voice. Her dark hair, long and grey as night, swept past her face. “Report, Xaraan.”

Xaraan, the last of her officers, hesitated at her tone before snapping quickly to attention, right fist upturned against his stomach. “The city has fallen, Scy---ah, Overseer. Those who did not raise weapons against us have been gathered in the square by the catchers. Vezarine’s leader and high priest have barricaded themselves in the temple, along with their servants and a large number of cityfolk.” He hesitated, his luminous eyes flicking towards the statue of the goddess. “Should we send the burners?”

His question was first met with silence. How many this time? She had been informed before embarking that Vezarine was home to thousands. Then, after a sharp demand, Xaraan confirmed the estimated body count. It placed the dead, alone, at about the same number. The pleasure in his voice would have encouraged her, once. She would have basked in it. 

Instead, she frowned into the smouldering dark. The numbers the Rhaiz had given her had been wrong.

She clenched her jaw until her teeth ached. Never again.

“Forget the temple. Give the signal to retreat.” She was careful to keep her voice flat. Expressionless. Fire, its smoke thick and dark, licked from rooftops in the distance. “We are done here.”

Xaraan, perhaps misreading her soberness, suddenly remembered proper protocol. Hurriedly, he placed himself directly in front of her, his feet in line with hers. As one might expect after a raid, the man was dishevelled, his light hair tangled at his shoulders, blood streaked across the front of his leathers. The dark markings that streaked down past his eyes in a mimicry of spilled ink only made the wideness of his gaze - its faint luminosity - more pronounced. He is still young, she thought absently. Then, that very same realisation struck her like a blow to the chest. 

Had she not noticed that before?

“Overseer… the prisoners?” There was an edge to his voice, now. Uncertain. Fearful. That was the trouble of a man in his position. Even if he felt he knew the answer to his question, he was forced to risk her ire by asking it anyway. 

This time, however, he could breathe freely. “Take the ones already gathered in the square. Leave the rest to sweep the ashes.” It was, truly, the least she could do. For Vezarine, yes, but also for her own soldiers. Unfortunately, she doubted it would be enough of an offering to spare them from the Rhaiz’s anger, once the dust had settled. She had been carving away at their leader’s patience for over five seasons. What might have once been a victory in his eyes was now a failure. Another bleeding gash to be stemmed.

Of course, Calayne was far too valuable to use as salve for his wounded pride.

No. She would dig her fingers in and tear. 

In front of her, Xaraan - a far more likely sacrifice - hesitated, his amber eyes widening, betraying his surprise. Fool that he was, he had always worn his heart on his sleeve. It was a dangerous place, to keep such a vital thing. “But... Rhaiz Sathan’s orders were to take as many---”

Her patience was nearing its end. She cut him off with a glare. 

“The Rhaiz’s orders have changed.” 

A gust of hot wind blew past them both, forcing Xaraan to flinch and blink away the ash and dust. Distracted, his hand raised in front of his face, he made his first mistake. “I -- they have? I didn’t hear any...”

He stopped himself before she even had to speak. Of course, it was already far too late. A year or two ago, he would have been dead where he stood. The Scythe of Erentis had not earned her name for leniency.

“You are not in a position to be informed of anything.” Calayne’s gaze sliced across, ending his next sentence before it began. It carried with it a terrible, icy anger. The one that had borne her through decades of conquest. The one that had lifted her all the way to commander, then higher again to overseer. It gave weight to the words she spoke next, each laden with implication. “Do I need to remind you of your place?”

It was difficult to tell when one of the Irethani felt true fear. The other denizens of Erentis had developed noticeable tells for such things; vast swathes of their skin drained of colour, their voices shattered like glass, their bodies reshaped in ways that were impossible to ignore. But for her people, it was a subtle thing, best told by the lips. Xaraan’s, for example, had just turned a sickly pale shade of grey, his dark blood fleeing towards his stammering heart. “No, Overseer.” His gaze quickly fell to her feet, hands pressed hard to the tops of his thighs. A child’s trick to conceal a tremor. “I will sound the victory. Give your orders to the patrols.”

She made Xaraan spend a few more moments writhing beneath her stare. He had begun to question her more and more of late. Perhaps she had been a fool to allow such insubordination to fester and embolden him to the point of recklessness. It would see him killed under another’s command. Anger tightened her fists at her sides, but this time it was not a weapon to be aimed. No - it seemed her distractions had been as dangerous as her actions. For too long, her mind had been... elsewhere.

It remained a poor excuse for such carelessness.

Eventually, she released him from her glare with a sharp nod. “Go. Deliver my order.”

Xaraan’s relief was palpable. He exhaled it in a shaky rush. “Yes. Of course.” He gave a final salute, then turned to flee. But just when she believed their conversation over, the young man hesitated. Turned halfway back, his pale hair whipping in the fire-lit air. “The Rhaiz will be pleased with your victory today, Overseer.”

Calayne did not even have time to sharply repeat her order before he turned on heel and vanished into the thickening smoke. Sycophant, she thought at his retreating back, but swallowed the word like bitter tonic. It was self-preservation, obvious and infuriating, and nothing more. She should not scorn him for that.

The Rhaiz will be pleased with your victory today. 

Calayne’s gaze lowered, drifting to a body discarded by the roadside. Human, she believed. Male, broad of stature, perhaps in the middle of his lifespan. He was sprawled, half out of his doorway, head resting in a dark pool where his home met the city street. A few feet away was an old scythe, flecked with blood on its curved edge. A common farming tool, raised as a weapon against an army. He had managed a single swing – one futile strike – before it had been kicked from his grasp and his throat opened to the night.

The sting of the cut burned on the underside of Calayne’s arm. Her dagger still dripped a slow, pensive red. She had not planned to kill that night.

“You are more deserving of the name,” she murmured to the corpse. Yes. The Scythe of Vezarine. Had he lived, had his aim been true, perhaps it might have been so. Perhaps it might have been better for them both, if a new legend had been born from these ashes.

Something like an invisible chain tightened around her neck, heavy and cold. She turned away from the corpse to face the smouldering city. 

He should have stayed inside.

[emachinescat]

Explosion + Hands + Jack

A MacGyver Fan-Fiction

by @emachinescat ​

@febuwhump ​ day 22 - burned

Summary: A bomb Mac is disposing of goes off prematurely – and Mac’s hands pay the price. Or, the time when Jack has to be Mac's hands. 

Characters: Mac, Jack

Words: 2,945

TW: Relatively graphic description of burns

Note: This story is based loosely off a scene from classic MacGyver. Also, please take the vague MacGyverism with a grain of salt. I did some research (and also wrote this before Mac made the same thing a different way on the newest episode), but I also took some creative liberties.

Keep reading here, or on AO3!

If you enjoy, please consider liking, commenting, or re-blogging, and you can follow me for more content like this!

"These have to be the stupidest bad guys I've ever met," Jack griped. He sat in an old dining chair, ankles lashed together with rope and hands tied behind his back. MacGyver was his mirror image, tied similarly, in another chair, back to back with his partner. Their bound hands had been connected to each other, so every time Mac moved, working the ropes, Jack's arms jerked with him.

Even though he couldn't see Mac's face, he could clearly picture the raised eyebrow in his mind's eye as Mac responded dryly, "And you're… complaining about it?"

A cramp ran through Jack's upper back, and he instinctively rolled his shoulders. Mac squawked indignantly as Jack's movement impeded his progress. "Hey, watch it! You almost made me stab myself!"

"Sorry." Jack paused for a brief moment, trying not to think about why Mac was working so feverishly to cut through the thick ropes with his knife – seriously, they hadn't taken his knife before they'd tied them up! – without cutting himself or Jack. "You about got it, hoss?"

Mac's voice was strained with concentration when he responded. "Just … about," he grunted. "Keep talking."

Jack smirked. "Can't get enough of hearing ol' Jack's wisdom, huh?"

"It's more like white noise, but if it makes you feel better…"

"It does." Jack continued on his earlier line of conversation. "I'm just sayin', man, these lunatics didn't leave nobody here to keep an eye on us, and they left Angus MacGyver tied with regular ol' rope with his SAK in his pocket and a room stock fulla toys he can use to escape." When he spoke, Jack's Texas drawl was thicker than usual. He'd noticed that his accent got more pronounced when he was nervous or in a rough situation. He'd mentioned it to Mac once, and his partner had quickly informed him that it was more than likely a coping mechanism, Jack's way of unconsciously trying to keep himself calm. Jack disagreed. He was convinced that his cowboy twang got heavier in nerve wracking situations because he was actively channeling the spirit of Clint Eastwood and his mind and body were preparing him to do some insanely awesome hero stuff to fix the situation.

"Yeah, well… they also left a bomb in the room," Mac reasoned. Jack could feel the sawing motion as Mac carefully made his way through the rope. Any other time, Jack knew that he would have cut through it in half the time, but with all four of their collective hands gathered together in one bundle of scratchy rope, Mac had to move slowly, methodically, so he didn't cut either one of them. Normally, it wouldn't be a problem for him to take his time, but as Mac had so helpfully pointed out, there was the matter of a ticking bomb just out of arm's reach. And they had no idea how much time was left.

Jack tried to paint their situation in a better light. "It's just a little one. The explosion won't even be all that big."

"No," Mac agreed, "but with all the gasoline they scattered around us, I think it's a safe bet that the size of the explosion won't matter, since we'll burn with the warehouse."

A snap, a sigh of relief, and then Jack felt Mac move in the chair, and knew he was bending forward to untie his feet. As soon as he was free, Mac pelted forward so quickly that he pushed the chairs back a couple of inches, Jack and all. He didn't stop to untie Jack – no time – but he did leave the SAK in his palm. Jack immediately started sawing at his own ropes.

He was still working when he heard Mac swear loudly from somewhere behind him. A queasy dread settled in Jack's gut.

"Talk to me, Mac!"

"No time!" Mac spat, and Jack knew, heart stuttering, that his partner wasn't just saying that he had no time to talk – there was no time on the bomb.

"I can't disarm it!" Mac yelled, his voice growing farther away as he ran, presumably with the bomb in tow, away from Jack. "I'm going to try to contain it!"

Jack continued to cut at the ropes – almost there! He heard the sound of something metal being pried open, and he remembered that there was a large dumpster near the door of the warehouse, one of those industrial ones. Hope rose cautiously within him. Mac had done similar things before; there was no reason why it shouldn't work this time!

The one thing that he didn't factor in, however, was the bomb's timer running out before Mac could close the dumpster.

He heard the explosion, a terrible, anguished scream, and then, the worst sound of all – low, uncontrollable, rocking sobs of pain.

Jack cut himself three times in his haste to get free, but he made it to Mac's side in less than a minute. What he saw made his stomach curdle and his hands shake as he pulled Mac back, further from the smoking dumpster.

Mac had curled into himself on the floor, his hands gnarled before him in pain. Once they'd moved a safe distance from the mostly contained bomb, Jack took a closer look at them and nearly vomited – not from the blood or the burns themselves, but from the knowledge that these were Mac's hands that had been caught in the explosion, burned, blistered, and bloody almost beyond recognition. Jack knew he should be grateful that all of Mac's fingers were intact, but it was hard to feel thankful for anything when Mac's hands could serve as a suitable stand-in for ground beef.

Mac's head was low, chin flush against his chest, his shoulders trembling in pain. Jack remembered when Mac had sustained first and second degree burns pulling his dumb ass out of a crematorium. Jack too had been burned on the bottoms of his feet, and the healing process for both Mac and himself had been one of the most painful experiences either of them could recall in recent memory. There had been debriding, cleaning, bandages, antibiotics, and, in Mac's case, a few sessions of physical therapy.

This was so much worse.

"Mac, buddy," Jack entreated, trying to keep his voice steady for his partner's sake. His accent was slathered liberally on every syllable, his voice gentle and quiet, like he was approaching a startled horse. "I need you to look at me. Are you hurt anywhere else?"

Mac didn't respond, just heaved in a great gulp of air, and the breath rattled in his lungs like the last throes of a dying man. The sound clenched its icy fist around Jack's heart. He reached out, placing his index and middle fingers carefully beneath Mac's chin and lifting his kid's head to look him in the eyes. What he saw there nearly killed him.

Jack had been Mac's overwatch for a long time, and he'd seen the kid in a lot of less than ideal situations – roughed up, sick, shot, you name it. But never had Jack seen the level of fear and pain blazing in Mac's eyes as he did now. Tear streaks ran down his face, which was sooty and a bit red, especially around his forehead, but the burns on his face were superficial. Definitely first-degree. He'd managed to shield his face and eyes from the blast.

But his hands… Mac had to have just let go of the bomb to drop it in the dumpster for his hands to look like that but still be basically intact. Jack moved his hand from Mac's chin and cupped his partner's face in his hand, gently brushing a tear away, trying to get Mac's attention on him, to calm him down. "Mac, talk to me." He had no idea how he was keeping himself from crying right alongside his friend. "I need to know you're with me."

Mac hiccuped, took a deep breath through his nose and made a visible effort to calm himself down. When he spoke, every bit of the agony Jack saw in his face translated to his voice. "I–I'm okay."

Jack chuckled, but there was no humor to it. "I don't believe that for a second. But you will be, ya hear me?"

Mac nodded shakily, a low, keening whine building at the base of his throat like a wounded hound dog. He choked out, "It h-hurts."

"I know, bud. Can I see your hands?"

Mac shook his head, pulling his hands closer to his body. "Not yet. We n-need to find a way out of here f-f-first." Mac's teeth had started chattering, which sent a whole new wave of fear tearing through Jack's body. If Mac was going into shock, they were really out of time. And as much as Jack wanted to get a better idea of the damage, figure out what they were working with, he knew Mac was right. In all the chaos and worry, he'd almost forgotten that they were still locked in the warehouse with a smoking dumpster slowly turning the air against them. From where they sat on the floor, the air wasn't bad yet, but they needed to kick it into third gear – it wouldn't stay that way for long.

"Okay," Jack agreed. "How do we get out? As I recall, they've padlocked all the doors from the outside, and this whole place is made of steel. Can you figure out how to make something to bust those doors down?"

Mac's eyes, glazed with pain, darted around the warehouse, which had until very recently been one of the stashes of the cartel that had captured them. "Uhhh…" His voice broke, and Jack saw Mac's hands twitch in a painful spasm out of the corner of his eye. Fresh tears welled up, and Mac blew out a shaky breath. "Okay. Yeah. We should b-be able to make a blowtorch to c-cut us out of here."

Jack shot Mac a dubious look. "You're not makin' anything hoss, and I sure as hell don't know how to make a blowtorch. Think you got it in you to walk me through it?"

Mac didn't look so sure, and Jack's stomach flipped as he saw how much the trembling had increased. Still, MacGyver was never one to admit defeat, and he nodded. His voice was thick with pain, dry and raspy, but he managed to walk Jack through a collection of basic supplies, all of which were readily available in their current space – an empty syringe, a thumbtack, pliers, lighter fluid, and Jack's own lighter, which the bad guys had left on him. Seems the only things they'd actually taken were their prisoner's phones.

By the time Mac had coached Jack through the process of actually building the DIY blowtorch, an incredibly precise and delicate venture that Jack barely managed with his sausage-like fingers, smoke was beginning to gather in earnest, and Mac was shaking so badly that he sounded like he was working a jackhammer when he talked. But Jack had finished it, and to his shock and utter relief, it worked – he'd not doubted Mac, of course, but his own ability to bring Mac's idea to fruition – and Mac had offered a pained, crooked smile at him, and said, "S-s-see, we m-make a p-p-pretty good t-team." Then, whether from pain or shock or hyperventilation, he passed out, and Jack only spared enough time to check his vitals before he used his lighter-turned-blowtorch to cut his way through the steel wall of the warehouse.

It was a slow process, and Jack burned himself no less four times, but at last he'd carved their escape route. The men who'd left them here to burn had gone. Jack hoisted Mac onto his shoulder, taking extra care not to jostle his mangled hands, and set out in search of a phone – he knew there was a gas station a few miles away.

Mac just had to hold on until then.

***

24 Hours Later

Jack was there when Mac woke up from his first surgery.

Jack was always there when Mac woke up in medical.

Mac peered at him through groggy, drug-hazy eyes and gave his partner a weak smile. "Hey, Jack."

Jack fought the urge to pull the kid into the tightest bear hug he'd ever experienced. Only a glance down at Mac's heavily bandaged hands lying delicately on his chest kept him where he was, in the cushioned hospital chair that played at being comfortable but really wasn't after ten minutes. Jack had been sitting in it for nearly sixteen hours, give or take, not counting bathroom breaks and coffee runs. Others had stopped by at various times, too – Matty, Bozer, and Riley chief among them – but right now it was just Jack and Mac. The way it had always been.

The way it would always be.

"Hey, kiddo. How're ya feelin'?"

Mac thought about this for a long moment, his brow furrowed in concentration like he was trying to figure out some complicated equation. Finally, he answered, "Weird."

Jack threw his head back and laughed, though what Mac had said in no way warranted the kind of reaction he was getting. It was like all of the stress and fear and uncertainty and trauma of the last day were riding the shockwave of that almost manic laugh.

Mac's eyebrows creased further in concern. "What's so funny?"

Jack scrubbed at his eyes with his sleeve, not sure if his eyes were watering from laughing, or if he had started crying somewhere along the way. "Nothing, hoss. What feels weird?"

"Floaty?" Mac answered uncertainty. From where Jack was sitting, Mac looked all of seven years old, tucked into the hospital bed in the Phoenix recovery ward, hair messy, eyes tired and confused.

Jack patted Mac on the shoulder, and Mac stared at the hand like it was the most surprising thing he'd ever encountered. Damn, they had him on the good stuff. He told Mac as much.

Mac's eyes were already drifting shut, the pull of the drugs too strong. "You go to sleep," Jack said softly, unable to keep himself from brushing a stray lock of hair from Mac's reddened forehead. "We can talk more when you wake up."

Mac, for once, did as he was told.

***

Jack spent the night at Mac's side, of course, despite Matty's urging that he go home and get some sleep. He wouldn't have been able to sleep, anyway, even if he had been in his own bed. He couldn't stop thinking, stop remembering. When he looked at Mac now, he saw pristine white bandages and the kind of tentative peace that could only come from whatever drugs they had him on – probably morphine and a cocktail of antibiotics, if he had his guess.

The problem was, Jack knew what lay beneath the bandages. He had seen, once he had finally found a phone and called for help, the extent of damage that had been done to Mac's hands up close. And it terrified him.

Even now every time he closed his eyes, even to blink, he could see his kid's hands, covered in burns, some so deep that Jack swore he could see tendons. They were bloody and blistered and the angriest shade of red Jack had ever seen.

He also saw, whenever his body betrayed him and he started to doze off, the way that MacGyver had writhed and twitched and moaned even while unconscious as Jack tried to examine them. His mind dragged him back to the Phoenix chopper, where a medical team immediately gave Mac painkillers and started debriding the burns. Mac had woken up then, thrashing and screaming the most terrible, guttural, animal screams, and Jack had been forced to hold him down while the medics worked, and he'd cried alongside Mac, and after they'd landed and Mac had been rushed in, Jack had found the nearest trash can and puked his guts out.

Even now, one surgery down, it was far from over. The doctor's prognosis had been hopeful, but cautious. Mac should be able to gain control of his hands again, should be able to build things and destroy Jack's phones and return fist bumps and high fives, and open doors and climb and pick things up and shoot hoops and anything else he wanted to do… but it would take time.

Six surgeries, minimum, to repair damage to tendons, do skin grafts. Mac's hands would always bear some scars, even though Phoenix had flown in the best surgeons in the country to rebuild the hands that usually did the rebuilding. And the few sessions of physical therapy he'd been through the last time he'd burned his hands were child's play to the PT he had in store in the coming months.

Jack sure as hell hoped the world would hold it together until MacGyver healed. He knew that it might as well have ended if Mac hadn't made it out of that explosion alive. Jack's world would have, at any rate.

But, Jack reminded himself as he watched the steady rise and fall of Mac's chest, despite all of the pain and physical therapy and surgeries in his future, Mac was by far the strongest person he knew. He had no doubt that the cautionary "should" the doctor placed on Mac's recovery was more of a "will definitely," because Mac didn't let anything slow him down for long.

So Jack had to be strong, too.

"I'll do it for you, Mac," he said aloud. He carded his fingers gently through mussed blonde hair.

It was a promise he intended to keep.

[1magine-engine]

1404 (Prologue)

Fandom: Haikyuu!! Pairing: Kuroo Tetsuro x Youtuber Reader Words: 1500+ Posted: 26/11/20

Song(s) Featured: Moon on the Water by The Dying Breed (from Beck MCS)

“It’s actually really exciting.”

Tetsuro nods, knowing Kenma means it, whatever he’s talking about. Probably something about Bouncing Ball corp. and the new game they have in development. Really, Kenma hasn’t stopped talking about it since the project started almost half a year ago and while Tetsuro is interested enough to usually listen to him rave and gush, today’s just not that kind of day.

“-and the new voice actor I have in mind is really good. We save a lot of time and money cause they speak in both languages.”

Yup, they’re probably phenomenal if Kenma is so easy to compliment them. Tetsuro racks his brain trying to remember who he’s talking about.

“I’m actually thinking about having her as a guest on stream soon.”

Uh huh.

“Oh and I’m also going to shave my head and give my hair to that middle school girl who won’t stop messaging.”

Good for them.

“Okay, how many of those have you had today?”

Tetsuro looks down at the cup of coffee he’s forgotten he’s holding. “Uh…” his brows furrow and it’s enough for Kenma to pry the cup out of his hand and set it on the far end of the table.

“And you’re always telling me to get proper sleep.” Kenma gives him a look, sipping on his own drink. He exits Discord, Tetsuro’s sagging back, drooping shoulders and lifeless eyes, more concerning than his followers’ Rule 34 fanart. “Seriously are you okay man? Have you been sleeping? At all?”

Tetsuro shakes his head, the mere mention of sleep enough to slump him over the table completely. As far as he knows, a waiter hadn’t wiped it after the last couple of people who sat down, or before he and Kenma took their place. He finds he doesn’t care. “Stupid neighbors, always either fighting or fucking all night. It’s been going on for a month now.”

“Oh that’s rough.” Kenma winces, handing him back his coffee, knowing lunch break doesn’t last forever and Tetsuro has to return to his office as a zombie. “Tried filing a noise complaint?”

He was about to, one week into the couple’s constant spats, but hearing them scream at the top of their lungs at each other about money troubles and barely keeping themselves afloat stayed his hand. Tetsuro knows how difficult it is to get an apartment in his building, a prime position near the business district at a reasonable price. He also knows his neighbors to an extent, at least what they do for a living as a preschool teacher and a struggling musician. As much as he needs his sleep, he’s not so heartless as to put them out on the streets. “It’s fine,” he promises as he downs the rest of his coffee. “I’ve been living next door to these guys for almost two years now and they’ve always seemed happy before this. They’ll work through it and I then I can get some sleep.”

“If you say so,” Kenma says but he still stares down and shakes his head at the next waitress who tries to approach them with a pot of coffee.

It’s a month and two weeks in that Tetsuro reconsiders that noise complaint or at least considers gathering his neighbors from the same floor and staging an intervention. Mrs. Mamizuka across the hall has expressed her concerns to Kuroo in the elevator one morning, telling him they’ll surely notice how loud and disturbing they’ve become when they realize she hasn’t been giving them as many of her baked goods as she normally does. And Tanaka who’s taking up residence at the end of their hall has advised him to just go out at night, go to the convenience store next to the building and wait till they tire each other out or go partying with friends.

Oh, to be a college student again.

He’s not even in his mid-twenties and he wishes for the energy he used to have, the kind that could drive him through all his classes on just 3 hours of sleep. Maybe then, he could finish his damned paperwork. Maybe then he wouldn’t fall asleep on the bus and miss his stop.

“Been up working late nights Kuroo-san?” the night guard, Sato asks him when he drags his feet into the lobby after midnight.

Kuroo nods, also wishing he had half the middle aged man’s energy, because even at the latest hours of the night, Sato-san greets every tenant and guest with a smile. Kuroo could only force himself to return it. “Something like that.”

“Well you look pretty tuckered out. You should probably put off whatever you’re working on for the night Kuroo-san.” He wags an index finger like a weather man telling a fact about nature on the news. “Sleep is important you know.”

Doesn’t he know it.

When he crosses the threshold of his apartment, he doesn’t bother turning on the lights. He heads straight for his bedroom and musters up the energy to take off his jacket, tie, socks and shoes. The night is silent, save for a light chorus of crickets outside his window. He’s gotten home later than he would have any other time, a crescent moon sitting just past its peak outside his window. And he hopes, oh does he hope, that it means his neighbors have already fought all they can fight for the night. Or maybe the husband hasn’t come home yet and that’s why it hasn’t started. 

He regrets even thinking of it when he settles into bed and hears the distant sound of a door being unlocked and slammed open.

Tetsuro sighs, already rolling over to each for his messenger bag, his earphones sitting somewhere at the bottom. He stops his rummaging when no bedlam disturbs the night. Footsteps prick his ears but they don’t stomp and aren’t followed by booming voices trying to talk over each other. He rolls back over, leaning towards the wall and hearing nothing. Odd. More shuffling and trudging draw his eye up to the crag ceiling, to the apartment above his.

The kind elderly couple who used to live up there had mentioned wanting to move to the country for months. “The air is fresher there, better for old people like us,” the wife chuckled at him once when he’d helped carry her groceries across the lobby to the elevator. Not a week later, Tetsuro was helping the husband and their son move furniture out, just in time to miss the beginning of a hard spot in their neighbor’s relationship. But whoever has taken their place isn’t so fortunate but then again, maybe it’s him that’s out of luck. In the darkness of his apartment he stares up at the ceiling, brows furrowed.

He prays, prays to whatever kami watches over the luck and serenity of apartment buildings that it isn’t another couple that should’ve broken up yesterday. Hell, he’ll even take a new family with a rowdy kid. At least kids are usually out by 10 with their parents careful not to wake them, not banging on the walls or banging each other. No movie he’s watched or game he’s been in has ever left him in such suspense. After some more shuffling and gentle creak of chair legs against a wood floor, there’s silence. 

Tetsuro sits up, holding his breath.

“Full moon sways, 

gently in the night of one fine day.”

A car drives by, the doppler effect of it rushing down the street drowning out the first few notes of an acoustic guitar. Deft fingers play with practiced ease but do so with languid movement, catching on the strings more than plucking them. The voice, high and crooning, is the same, beautiful but almost lazy. Tired, he realizes, is a better word; she sounds as tired as he remembers he feels, once all the irritation at his neighbors and frustration with missing his stop ebbs away. Laying back down, he listens.

"On my way,  looking for a moment with my dear. 

Full moon waves, slowly on the surface of the lake. 

You are there, smiling in my arms 

for all those years."

Even as the song switches to strumming with the slightest bit of force, Tetsuro finds himself sinking deeper into his pillow, eyes growing heavy.

"What a fool, I don’t know ‘bout tomorrow, 

or what it’s like to be, Ah,"

He’s never heard the song in his life, neither does he remember enough of his English classes from high school to understand everything, but he doesn’t need to.

"I was sure, I couldn’t let myself go, 

even though I feel, the end."

Her voice and her guitar are muffled by the layers of wood and concrete between them. His window is open to let the cool night air and silver light of the moon in and he can tell hers is as well but she drowns out the chirping of crickets, the cars that drive by and even Tetsuro’s own thoughts as little by little, then all at once, he falls asleep.

"Full moon sways, gently in the night one fine day 

You were there, smiling in my arms,

 for all these years."

When he opens his eyes, it’s slow. Sleep inertia from a deep sleep is always worse but he finds his eyes widening as it goes away in minutes and he feel more rested than he has in years.

He blinks, staring up at the ceiling.

“Huh.”

[self-proclaimed-chaotic-good]

Sparks Flew | Quentin Beck x Reader (Oneshot)

Prompt: Magic

Fandom: MCU

Words: 1778

A/N: Thinking of so many fics for this movie, but I didn’t know where to start. An AU if there had been someone there who knew what they were doing and the rest of the movie could have been Peter helping people with petty crime while hiding the Spiderman costume from MJ. Not much of a Quentin Beck x Reader, but I might continue this for another prompt.

-

A man who looked vaguely familiar stood between Fury and Hill in the strangest outfit you’ve ever seen. Green scale-like, skin tight uniform, topped with a red flowy cape. His brown hair was gelled back and his facial hair trimmed, blue eyes scanning the holographic map before flickering over to you and Peter.

You looked over to the young hero, merely a high school student that had already been through a lot. He was frowning, his forehead creasing from levels of anxiety. You squeezed his shoulder and offered a comforting smile.

“Why hasn’t there been any sightings of portals appearing or sudden resurgence of foreign or abnormal levels of energy?” you asked Maria.

Maria exchanged a look with Fury before pressing a button on the console. “The footage that we were able to retrieve only shows the creatures appearing in different parts of the world. We were not able to get any clear readings of any energy surges in those locations, but we’re still looking into it,” she said, showing the shaky civilian videos, “Mr. Beck here is familiar with these creatures and was able to stop them before they did any more damage.”

“How fortuitous,” you commented, eyeing said man, “And what are these creatures, exactly? Where are they coming from?”

“To put it simply, I come from another universe, another earth very similar to yours. It was destroyed by these monstrous elementals. I was one of the fighters deployed to combat them…,” he paused, his head lowering for dramatic effect before looking back up at you, “I was the only survivor. I’m not going to let another earth get destroyed like mines. Not if I can help it.”

“Right,” you said, shrugging off his heroic speech, “So how did you get to our universe, then?”

He shrugged. “Just a quick gadget I had to whip up. One time use only, sadly. I had to use what was available to me.”

“And how were you able to track these creatures to this particular universe?” you continued on with your not so subtle interrogation.

You noticed Maria and Fury glancing at each other every now and again. You would need to question them as well. Fury was one of if not the most paranoid person in this universe. There are too many holes in this Beck’s story to not be suspicious about him.

Mr. Beck smiled, but there was a twitch at his brow as if annoyed by your questions. Good. He stood up straighter. “They have a signature energy that I was able to trace back to your world. WIth that, we can predict where their next location will be,” he said, raising an eyebrow, challenging you to ask any more questions.

You simply hummed, turning to Peter. “Peter?” you asked softly.

He blinked, tearing his eyes away from the hologram. “Yeah?”

“You don’t have to worry too much about this,” you assured him, “We’ll call you if we need back up. You go and enjoy your trip.”

“What would I do without you, Sparky?” Peter said, his shoulder visibly relaxing.

You groaned at the nickname that still haunted you beyond Tony’s grave. “I’m letting you get away with that just this once, okay, kid?”

Peter nodded enthusiastically. “Okay, so, um, nice to meet you, Mr. Beck, sir, and nice seeing you again, Fury and Hill and- “ You gave him a warning look “- (Y/n). I’m just gonna… go back.”

“I’ll keep you updated,” you said, waving him off.

He hurriedly left the hideout and you smiled fondly at him. After you met him through Tony, he became like a younger brother to you and you knew how much he has gone through. You even heard from Aunt May that his ‘Peter Tingle’ hadn’t been working lately, which may be why he hadn’t been suspicious of the newcomer yet. You’d hate to see his first vacation in years to be ruined by the pressure to save the world on his own. Or, the supposed threat to your world.

You turned and saw Mr. Beck watching you. He offered you a friendly smile, and you forced one in return before making your way towards Fury and Maria, gesturing to talk to them privately.

“Keep an eye on him, Nick,” you told Fury.

He nodded, then froze. He had made that same mistake years ago during his first encounter with Nick Fury. You were testing him. “Excuse me?” he said.

“Where are they?” you whispered, referring to the real Fury and Maria.

“Busy,” he said in the same hushed tone.

“But my warning still stands,” you said, “I don’t fully trust this Beck.”

They both nodded, promising to keep you in the loop and to avoid contacting Peter as much.

On your way to your own accommodations, you heard footsteps behind you. You glanced at the nearest window and saw Mr. Beck’s reflection. He was wearing casual clothes this time, finally out of that ridiculous costume, in a light blue button shirt and khaki pants.

“Mister Beck,” you greeted with a nod.

“Please, call me Quentin,” he said with that same friendly smile. “Getting some shut eye before the mission starts?”

“That’s the plan. Out at a late night stroll?”

“Something like that. So how do you know Peter? You two seem close.” Quentin fell into step with you, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Met through Tony,” you said.

“Tony, as in Tony Stark?” he asked, his eyebrows raised in feigned surprise.

You nodded, raking through your brain to try and recall where you had seen Quentin Beck. From his reaction to Tony’s name, you knew it had something to do with him.

“Must be rough on the kid to lose someone like Tony Stark,” he continued. You gave him a side glance, sensing that he wanted to keep you talking. You used that to your advantage, helping you jog your memory.

“Yeah, which is why I want him to be a normal high school student and not spend his energy on something that could be dealt with without him.”

“And what do you do, exactly? I don’t mean it offensively,” he said, raising his hands up, “I’m genuinely curious. It’s not like I was able to go through profiles of all of SHIELD’s associates.”

“I’m… good with technology,” you said, and it was true, “You seem to be good at it, too.”

He shrugged. “Just enough to get by,” he said.

“But making a teleporter to another universe with limited resources is pretty impressive.” Lets inflate his ego a bit, see how much he needs until he pops.

He chuckled bashfully. “Well, I was an engineer of a sorts before… everything happened.”

“Yeah? So were you the Tony Stark of your universe?”

Quentin’s face twitched at the mention of Tony again. He looked ahead, eyes distant. “I was bigger,” he said, “A visionary. Giving credit where credit is due and took my fellow scientists seriously.”

There it is. He took a deep breath and exhaled loudly before turning back to you with another friendly smile. You remembered now. He was part of one of Tony’s research teams. He had many good ideas, but there were qualities that he lacked that only Tony could pull off. Now, to catch him red handed.

“So, better than Tony,” you said, making his smile widened.

Talk about a complex. A shame, too. He had the brains and the looks. If he had been close with Tony, he would have been one of the guys that Tony tried to introduce you to. And you would have said yes.

As he opened his mouth, you began to feel rumbling below your feet. You stepped back, looking at Quentin. He snapped his head around, scanning for the source.

“Haven’t caught this on your scans?” you asked.

“They weren’t supposed to be here yet,” he said, holding an arm out, as if to protect you from the unseen threat, but still a good three feet away.

He waved his hand as his costume appeared in time for a fire elemental to appear from the ground in the middle of the wide clearing on your left. It growled, sending debris with its radius. You narrowed your eyes as you sensed the buzzing in the air. It wasn’t the regular frequency of the surrounding electrical sources, it was moving.

“Stand back,” Quentin said as he stepped forward. He raised his hands out, green beams of energy shooting from his palms and hitting the creature.

You quickly observed the situation before running to get a good angle. Once Quentin and the creature were in perfect range, you thrust your hands out and sent a surge of electricity, hitting them both. Quentin collapsed to the ground as the image of the fire elemental creature faded, followed by drones raining down around them.

Your shadow casted over Quentin as he glared up at you, or at least, as much as he could while he rode out the electricity through his system. You smirked, crouching down beside him.

“What… did… you… do,” he managed to get out between spasms.

You shrugged. “Magic? Certainly not a projection from flying drones.” You pressed a palm onto his legs, the remaining electrical energy from the fallen drones gathering around you and forming ropes around them.

“What are you going to do to me?” he grunted.

“Once I speak to Fury and Maria, we’ll sort something out. It’s a shame to waste a mind like yours. For now, we’re going to keep a close eye on you.”

Two men in black suits walked over and picked Quentin up with ease. You followed them towards the heavily tinted car parked at the curb where the fake Fury and Maria were waiting. Quentin struggled as they shoved him into the backseat before turning to the others to clear up the area. You stooped down as the driver’s seat window rolled down.

“You work fast. No wonder Fury told us to call you,” Talos said.

“Call me if anything else comes up,” you said, tapping the car roof.

“Not gonna visit me?” Quentin asked with a smirk.

You rolled your eyes. “Maybe, depending on your behavior. Might even treat you with something if you’ve been a good boy. Night, guys.”

They nodded, Talos rolling the window up again. As you walked back to your hotel, Talos and Soren shifted back to their natural form. They both exhaled before turning back to Quentin. His eyes widened as he stared at them.

“What the fu-”

“Great, now what are we going to tell Fury?” Soren asked.

“Nothing. For now,” Talos said, starting the engine and driving back to the hideout.

[astrochiron]

the signs :: ANTi // rihanna

Aries- Woo

“I bet she could never make you cry
‘Cause the scars on your heart are still mine

Tell me that she couldn't get this deep

She can almost be the worst of me”

These lyrics display Rihanna taking pride in the wounds she inflicted during the battle that she considers love. Aries would be proud of their own war wounds but prouder of the ones they gave their opponent. They're very confident and present themselves aggressively, much like the delivery of this line.

“These days you've been feeling lonely

Yeah I've been feeling lonely too

I'ma fuck it up, won't you show me some'

Run it back like you owe me some'”

Aries are independent and often repel people. This line displays the affects of that, shwoing the lonliness the sign often feels but doesn't often express. The end of this exerpt point towards Aries' overt sexuality, sans the emotional connection, like Scorpio and sans the romance, like Leo; just raw sexuality.

Overall

This is first and foremost, this song is a break-up song, which is interesting considering that Rih and Travis Scott (the unfeatured feature) had broken up by the time this song came out. This shows the conflict present in a break up, associated with Mars ruled Aries. The sound of the song is also quite raw and aggressive, almost like alarms with blaring rock tones.

Taurus- Yeah, I Said It

“And I think I kinda like ya


Up against the wall, we don't need a title

Yeah, I said it


Yeah, I said it, bae


Yeah, I said it, man, fuck a title”

Taureans are known for their direct approach and this line addresses that: “Hey, I like you, let’s fuck around; no title needed”. This and lack of interest in formality are very Taurus to me. This excerpt displays sensuality and comfort all in one.

“You can be rough, boy, but you won't

Give me some love, boy, give it to me 'til the morn'”

Stubborn and gruff are traits usually associated with Taurus. Rihanna knows, and likes, that her lover can be rough with her, but she knows he won’t, instead focusing on the pleasure of them being together. She’s craving long-lasting sex which can be associated with Taurus’ slow-moving nature and its focus on physical pleasure.

Overall

The song is overtly sexual and has literal moans at the end of it. Aries, Taurus, Leo and Scorpio are all associated with the various sides of sex and this song’s focus on the pleasurable, sensual, and long-lasting aspects of sex connect it to Taurus. This is opposed to the rougher and more primal sound of “Woo”

Gemini- Consideration

“I came fluttering in from Neverland

Time can never stop me, no, no, no, no

I know you've tried to

I came riding in on a pale white horse”

The first two lies focus on Gemini’s Mercurial nature. Neverland evokes thoughts of Peter Pan and Tinker Bell, the fairy-like boy and his very fairy companion. Geminis can be associated with fairies. Mischievous, fluttering, intelligent, and ever-busy. The excerpt goes on to illustrate Gemini’s duality as Rihanna then goes on from fluttering fairies to becoming Death on its pale white horse.

“When I look outside my window

I can't get no piece of mind

When I look outside my window

I can't get no peace of mind”

“Piece” versus “Peace” wordplay is a link to Gemini’s aforementioned versatility as well as using wordplay; which fits, given Gemini’s association with communication. Furthermore, peace of mind is uncommon for Gemini who has a busy brain. On this same note, searching for a “piece” of mind is much more common, trying to recall a memory or repelling an insistent one.

Overall

This song is an homage to Rihanna writing a lot of this album. She wanted the music industry to take her seriously as an artist and decided to prove herself by having a writing credit on all but one of the songs on the album (the cover was obviously written by someone else). Gemini is associated with writing and communication, making this very fitting. SZA and Rihanna’s back and forth also mirrors the twin mascots of Gemini.

Cancer- Close to You

“Nothing but a tear, that's all for breakfast

Watching you pretend you're unaffected

You're pulling our connections, expecting me to let you go

But I won't”

While I also cringe at Cancer’s constant connection to crying, I think it lies in place of maturity. Cancers are cardinal and, as such, are the masters of their domain. Cancers are able to adequately wade through their emotions and know the benefit of a good cry, as opposed to her Water sign sisters. Rihanna needs a good cry and has one. This excerpt also displays empathy as well as an inability to give up old memories. Cancers are tied to memories and the subjectivity of them.

“I know you don't need my protection

But I'm in love, can't blame me for checking

I love in your direction, hoping that the message goes”

Cancer’s protectiveness is exhibited in these lines. The subject of her care has obviously rebuffed her attempts at being protective; or perhaps she truly is being a bit suffocating with her care. Cancer is associated with the mother and these traits are often associated with mothers and Cancer placement alike. But at the end of the day, Cancer focuses on their emotions first and foremost. She’s forced to cut off a toxic situation and love this person from a distance, loving in their direction instead of loving them in person.

Overall

This is the most balladic song on the album, which always give me the emotionally heavy vibes of Cancer. The heavy piano accompaniment also evokes a traditional and old fashioned style; very Cancer. The song’s  overall focus is on the refusal to move on from a past love which can be linked to Cancer’s tendency to hold on to the past.

Leo- Love on the Brain

“And you got me like, "Oh, what you want from me?"

(What you want from me?)

And I tried to buy your pretty heart, but the price too high”

Leo is, by far, the most giving sign when it comes to affection and gifts. This line shows that Rihanna attempted to put a price on love and give her lover gifts to secure their love for her. When that price don't to work, Leos will give their whole heart for their love. The line “what you want from me” exhibit's Leo’s willingness to do whatever it takes for their partner.

“Must be love on the brain

That’s got me feeling this way

It beats me black and blue but it fucks me so good

And I can’t get enough”

If you couldn’t guess from the previous excerpt, this one solidifies the fact that Leo rules the heart in medical astrology. More symbolic associations with the heart are also associated with the sign too, like love and romance. Leos tend to focus on the fun side of the relationship, though, ignoring the work (like Libras) and the struggles (like Scorpio). Even through those things, the love and romance is still foremost in her brain.

Overall

The Doo Wop style of the song reminds me of the 50s; very glam and Leo. It also evokes the idea of sweethearts and school dances and all the other things privileged people of the 50s got to enjoy; romanticization of romance, regardless of the pain that may have been inflicted. The song’s overall focus is on the power of love and the ability of it to conquer all negative things for better or worse.

Virgo- Kiss It Better

“What are you willing to do?

Oh, tell me what you’re willing to do

(Kiss it, kiss it better, baby)”

This line discusses giving a sacrifice in order to get something you want, a process not unfamiliar to Virgos. Even sexually (as this song is) Virgo is servile and wants to please their partner. Their aim is to heal and assist. Rihanna’s partner is taking the role of the Virgo here, as Virgos are the physical healers and nurses. This is interesting considering that Rihanna is a Pisces, the sister sign and partner of Virgo. 

“Man, fuck yo pride

Just take it on back, boy, take it on back, boy [..]

Hurtin' vibe, man, it hurts inside when I look you in yo’ eye”

Pride is definitely a Virgo trait, again, painting her partner in a Virgoan light. Rihanna wants him to let go of his pride and admit that he’s hurt too and that he needs healing as mush as she does. Virgos have a tendency to get past their own pain in order to help others and to get things accomplished. They need to heal each other and, at that moment, the sex is doing it.

Overall

This song focuses on an already broken relationship that is in need of serious mending. There are several methods that are needed to repair a broken relationship and sex is definitely one of them as physical healing may be required before the emotional healing.

Libra- Same Ol’ Mistakes

“I can just hear them now

"How could you let us down?"

But they don't know what I found

Or see it from this way around”

Libras are always looking at how others view them as they're associated with he seventh house of our charts, which controls how we see the world and the projection we actively use when in relation with others. That’s why Libras are often indecisive, as they’re concerned with not only their wants and needs, but the perception of others too. They see multiple points of view and others don’t tend to bother to try.

“I know that you think it's fake

Maybe fake's what I like

Point is I have the right

Not thinking in black and white

I'm thinking it's worth the fight”

Libras are often considered fake, a they’re great at conforming to the situation they’re in and with the people surrounding them. This line pokes a hole in the negative view of this though; maybe, I want to be fake. Libra’s focus on justice and reserving energy for the right cause is also displayed in the latter lines of the excerpt, displaying Libra’s often overlooked ruthless attention to fairness and dispensing justice.

Overall

The whole song focuses on how a romance or connection completely changed the person in the song, a love is known to completely change Libras for better or worse. They tend to immerse themselves in their relationships. The song is full of backing vocals that can represent the self-doubt Libra often faces. They represent how they’re always checking themselves.

Scorpio- Work

“He see me do mi

Dirt, dirt, dirt, dirt, dirt, dirt!

So me put in

Work, work, work, work, work, work […]

Meh nuh cyar if ‘im

Hurt, hurt, hurt, hurt, hurting”

“He see me do mi dirt” references some secretive actions that Rihanna has done, likely cheating or something similar. She’s know required to put in work to make things right or to simply ge this mind off of the transgression by “putting in work” or having sex. Both secrets and sex are centered around the sign of Scorpio, especially using both to manipulate and control a situation. Scorpios may go to the extreme in reaction and sometimes just to get a response, pointing toward Rihanna not caring if she’d hurt her partner with her actions, only wishing to make them right, now.

“Nuh body touch me you nuh righteous

Nuh badda, text me in a crisis

I believed all of your dreams, adoration

You took my heart and my keys and my patience

You took my heart on my sleeve for decoration

You mistaken my love I brought for you for foundation”

At their core, Scorpios crave someone to turn to when things get dark. When a crisis happens, Rihanas wants someone to turn to for support. The later part of the excerpt points toward Scorpio’s tendency to put their all into others. This often leaves them feeling unappreciated if the other person isn’t all in or isn't as intense as they are.

Overall

This song is as overtly sexual as Aries’ “Woo” and Taurus’ “Yeah, I Said It”, but it focuses on the connection and power gained from sex. Rihanna uses sex to get her partner over their troubles, including her working too much and ever her possibly stepping out on him. Drake’s inclusion in the song also didn't go unnoticed, as he is a Scorpio Sun and adds even more sex appeal and Plutonian energy to this hit.

Sagittarius- Desperado

“Gotta get up out of here

And yuh ain't leavin' me behind

I know you won't cause we share common interests

You need me, there ain't no leaving me behind

Never, no, no, I just want outta here, yeah

Once I'm gone, ain’t no going back”

Sagittarius’ need for freedom and to roam is keenly exhibited by this excerpt. Rihanna’s parter is, again, the focus of the sign’s energy as he wants to leave. It isn't know whether he wants to leave their situation, their location, or Rihanna, but she wants to throw caution to the wind and go with him regardless. Sag’s need constant and renewed interest and good conversation to maintain their interest for someone. He and Rihanna have a lot in common and she hopes that can keep them bonded.

“If you want, we can be runaways

Running from any sight of love

Yeah, yeah, there ain’t nothin'

There ain't nothin' here for me

There ain't nothin' here for me anymore

But I don't wanna be alone”

Sag’s are very much known as the nomads of the sign, needing to travel and experience things in order to feel like they’re experiencing life. Rihanna is taking on the traits of this nomad, wanting to run away from the stagnancy and boredom that often comes with settling into love. These are two things that Sag is known to have not much interest in and is known to run away from emotional connection when unready to settle down and share their experience with someone.

Overall

A “desperado” is defined as “a desperate or reckless person, especially a criminal” by Oxford. Sagittarius is a fire sign, often down for reckless tact and a desperate need for freedom, making them desperados in life. The criminal activity isn't too much associated with Sag, but who knows once they get a drink or six in them.

Capricorn- Needed Me

“I was good on my own, that's the way it was

That's the way it was

You was good on the low for a faded fuck

On some faded love”

Capricorns are known for independence. Not like Aries wanting to do things on their own or Sagittarius wanting to experience things with through their own unbiased eyes, but Capricorn can be something of a hermit, being okay with reaching their goals by themselves and for themselves. They’re not particularly known for emotional connections, leaving that to their sister sign, Cancer.

“You needed me

Ooh, you needed me

To feel a little more, and give a little less

Know you hate to confess

But baby ooh, you needed me”

When Capricorns do decide to share their lives with others, they may assume people are operating under ulterior motives. Rihanna feels that she was used as a status symbol due to her success by her partner; hell, maybe several partners. Capricorn’s are foremost interested in their status and may often not be sure if people are attracted to what Cap can do for them or in Cap themselves. This proves to be true in this case, as she is said to have given more to the relationship than him and he felt even less for her because of it.

Overall

This song has a definite theme of female empowerment that can be appreciated by the feminine Cardinal sign of Capricorn. Capricorn women do typically embody the role of a woman in charge and demand respect, even from heir partner. The tempo of the song is laid back while conveying very bold lyrics, very much the Capricornian vibe.

Aquairus- James Joint

“I'd rather be smoking weed whenever we breathe

Every time you kiss me

Don't say that you miss me

Just come get me”

Besides Pisces, Aquarius has the strongest connection to drugs in the zodiac. Whereas Pisces is seeking escape (see “Higher” up next), but more of a normal activity that unlocks the mind and allows one to look at multiple points of view. The excerpt goes on to exhibit Aquarius’ hate for words of affection. “Just come get me” shows their tendency to relying on acts of love instead of words, as Aquarius is an air sign and they know that words are simply wind.

“Just making scenes, here come the police

They know about your history

How you live and love like "fuck rules"?

Don't care why, just know I love you”

“[F]uck rules” is possibly all I need to explain this line. Aquarians are very anti-rules unless they've been proven effective and this instance shows her partner, James Joint, is very much interested in making his own rules. Their fight and arrival of the police represent unexpected circumstances, instances ruled by Aquarius’ ruler, Uranus.

Overall

This song is an interlude. They’re used as a break from the flow of the album and to introduce some for the quirkier sides of the artist, a perfect Aquarian venue for expression. The song was also released early on 4/20 as a teaser for the album, further connecting it with drugs and weed culture.

Pisces- Higher

“This whiskey got me feelin' pretty

So pardon if I'm impolite

I just really need your ass with me

I'm sorry 'bout the other night”

Pisces is connected to being under the influence, seeking escape and rest from the tiresome world. Rihanna is in her hotel room and obviously cross-faded, wanting nothing more than to spill her feelings to her lover. This excerpts focus on apologies and the general clinginess are also often associated with Pisces.

“You take me higher, higher than I've ever been, babe

Just come over, let's pour a drink, babe

I hope I ain't calling you too late, too late

You light my fire

Let's stay up late and smoke a J

[…]

But I'm drunk instead, with a full ashtray

With a little bit too much to say”

The whole second part of the song is the content of her emotions spilling over like I mentioned earlier. It’s a bit chaotic and train--of-thought, fitting the mutable nature of the Water sign Pisces. Pisces also gets inspiration from its connection to those around them. For them, the solitude that Rihanna is experiencing can be a win/lose situation, allowing them to feel their on feelings without being filtered by the vibe of everyone around them, but it also leaves them alone in their spiraling thoughts and occasionally self-destructive tendencies.

Overall

Overall, the song is full of raw emotion and honesty. It only took Rihanna less than half an hour to write and that, again, denotes its purity. This hits home even more when you consider that Rihanna herself is a Pisces. The title of the song shows a connection to Pisces’ association to escapism and getting high to not feel so low.

check your moon sign (for the song that makes you comfortable and puts you in your emotions), sun sign (the song that makes you happy and the one you ride around to) and venus sign (the one that speaks to your inner artist).

[backandimbamon]

part III

a/n: ive been sitting on this chapter for weeks. being a perfectionist...will do things to you. enjoy and please leave a reply!

Perhaps something happened on the other side between Damon and Bonnie.

Perhaps something happened between them that shattered the defenses, the bickering, the banter, the tension... maybe it was all too much to handle and one day they decided to resolve it in a new way that was less stressful and more natural.

What if they finally focused their vision on the situation and realized it was demented, downright unfair, to trap a handsome sex pot of a vampire and a stunning little witch with magically delicious blood together forever, the last two on earth, and swear them to a platonic relationship?

A kiss? Or sex? Caroline is full Sherlock Holmes, investigator style because there is no possible way that the dynamic between Bonnie and Damon remained the same after such a...dynamic...event occurred to both of them simultaneously. She has a hunch.

But a kiss? Sex? She knows she’s jumping the gun. As much as she can project, the denial between them both would prevent such forward actions. But-

It makes sense, she thinks, perfect sense. If they decided to break that forbidden rule, are they truly to blame? She’s sure she isn’t the only one who could physically see the sexual tension brewing between the vampire and the witch since their first formal introduction. Throughout the years, it’s only increased in intensity and anyone with decent deductive reasoning skills could predict that maybe, just maybe, there was a hiccup in those roles they played so dutifully. They “hated” each other. Sure.

Being the last two on a repeating day, desperation settling, solitude dancing, they’re under the radar... anything could happen. As if on queue, her mind begins to sift through the possibilities again. She always had a knack for probability.

A bite... now that is highly likely.

Caroline can imagine Bonnie being her normal selfless, sacrificial self, asking Damon if he’s okay- it seems like he’s tired or beat since he’s been slack on their banter, his comebacks lackluster and falling flat. He lies because lying is as effortless as breathing to Damon and he politely but solidly asks Bonnie not to worry about him, that he just misses home so his mood is sour.

He tries to maintain his normal devil-may-care, overly nonchalant, effortlessly sexy character with the huge ego but it’s not quite the same. He’s not as clever and though he’s close, he’s not close enough.

She observes this.

Bonnie picks at him, rapid question-asking all while being inquisitive and selfless and caring and healing, she tells him she knows him better than he knows himself. She says she can feel when he lies.

Damon probably experiences a foreign emotion at this point, wondering why his undead heart seems as though it’s hammering, beatboxing against his bones, threatening to reveal what he wants to hide so bad.

He’s hungry.

And he’s never felt a hunger quite like this. He’s emptied every single blood bag in the freezer, still there’s this nagging sensation that no matter how much blood he consumes, even if he decides to bathe in it, if it’s not what he really wants to devour, he will never be satisfied. It’s like eating fast food when craving gourmet, that craving never ceases, it’s just mitigated for a moment with a bottom-of-the-barrel substitute. The next time the hunger returns, it leaves its victim in gut-splitting agony so much so that it’s exhausting. The hunger is kicking his ass to force him to get what he’s denying himself. Damon is the victim. For once, he is the victim here.

Bonnie being intelligent and knowing Damon, she can guess what his struggles consist of. It takes her a week to consider it. He never says it explicitly, that he wants to bite her, but the shadow of veins under his eyes says enough. Damon Salvatore is a predator. It is unnatural for him not to hunt prey for an indefinite amount of time. She is all he has.

She thinks hard on this, questioning if her empathy has reached a new level of desperation. She asks herself what is her infatuation with being needed. She asks herself why she would rip herself apart to heal others. Why she feels this undying, naked, indelible need to do for others without doing for herself. She asks herself if the roles were reversed would Damon do the same?

For a week, she watches him get weaker with want, endures his shitty moods and back talk. Not once does he ask or even hint that he’s starving.

It makes Bonnie want to offer herself up on a platter even more, there’s something wrong with her.

So she does it, in the kitchen, cuts a sliver of red at the wrist “by accident” and Damon- he looks bad. He looks blue.

She turns to grab a napkin to dab at the blood but when she turns back around he’s gone. Upstairs, his door slams hard enough that she can hear the wood split.

“Damon!” She calls after him but he doesn’t reply and she doesn’t see him again until the next night because he refuses to step out of his room.

“Stop. We need to talk,” he’s fixing Italian trying to pretend like nothing ever happened twenty-six hours before; apron on, back turned, humming. He’s not okay.

“Then talk, Bon Bon.” he adds some herbs to the white wine sauce, grated cheese beside him, back still turned.

There’s something that’s frightening her about this and it could be herself. He hasn’t even asked yet she wants this for him so bad.

“Damon. I know you’re hungry.”

“Ding, ding. I’m making dinner right now, Bon.” His voice is rough like it’s warning her not to push this any further. The pots and pans clatter a little louder in his palms. Red tomatoes a stark contrast against the pale noodles.

“I cut myself on purpose last night.”

This grabs his attention. Swiftly, he drops everything, turns around and walks into Bonnie, forcing her to walk backwards until the cabinets halt her with a soft thud. His hands are at her shoulders with a dizzying shake as he says “Are you out of your fucking mind?”

Damon Salvatore, always so invasive, too animated, with a face that’s intimidatingly perfect.

It’s unsettling and downright unfair for him to possess such appeal; even angry and a threat to her life span, any woman would want him. Hell, Any man would want him. She wishes she could steal whatever that quality is. She wants that for herself.

It’s almost comical that after all these years of his presence, he can still startle her with his beauty. With his mouth shut, he’s so unassuming and pretty. In all seriousness, he looks like an angel. The slanted smirk and jaded attitude is the only hint that maybe this book doesn’t match the cover.

He gives her another shake as if the answer will tumble out of her, it makes her think of the time they hated each other. Way back when.

But now, this is too close for comfort. His eyes are an angry blue and she’s swimming laps, her words get caught in her throat before she can reply.

Weakly she says, “Just stop fighting it, okay? I’ve made up my mind and I trust you.”

“You trust me? You trust me, Bon? I don’t even trust me! What’s the matter with you?”

Honesty is not suitable. She can’t say that it’s lips anywhere on her body that she needs even if it’s at her wrist. That her withdrawal has her fingers exhausted and her body aching because she needs some sort of physical connection outside of herself. Bonnie wants Damon to drink her like wine so she can remember what it feels like to be desired and she can see it, the desire she needs, veiled and trapped behind the denial she knows too well. She wants to open that door to see if he needs her just as bad as she thinks he does. She wants to set it on fire.

“Damon, please.”

When she tilts her head and locks her green eyes with his, he sees the deprivation. Like she’s starving too. Like it pains her to not have his teeth in her neck. The look on her face reveals everything she cannot say. Damon shudders.

He doesn’t mean to trail his nose up the slope of her neck but he does and his stomach growls so violently that he’s surprised he doesn’t shake. There’s a new scent in the air and it’s Bonnie’s arousal.

He clenches his jaw with a painful force, half expecting it to shatter.

The words are no louder than a whisper when she says, “I’m your friend. Let me do this for you.”

People who are actually friends seldom use the word “friend.” But Damon and Bonnie ware the word out trying to convince one another that it’s all they are, nothing more. They haven’t said the word more than they have in this hell because it’s a reminder when sanity starts to slip. It’s a reminder when they start to wonder what would happen if they weren’t just “friends.”

Best friends.

Bonnie makes it hard for him. She makes everything hard for him and this hell where she’s the only one to exist makes the things he could easily ignore blatantly obvious. The feminine curve of her breast, the spread of her hips, the lovely enigmatic green of her eyes, he’s always thinking of Bonnie. Even asleep, she haunts his dreams with golden brown skin and a crooked smile. The ghost of her fragrance creates a tornado around him in this tiny cramped space called hell, it’s comforting and devastating.

Everytime he looks in the mirror he’s reminded of the fact that everything he wants he takes. Even if he doesn’t want it, he takes it. But with Bonnie, it doesn’t quite work out that way. There’s rules with Bonnie. His charisma is useless to her because that’s his best friend. She’s immune to him and maybe he’s not okay with that.

Poor Damon, he could weep now because Bonnie was never supposed to be the one to snap first. He was supposed to be the unhinged vampire with bountiful problems, the rebel and she was supposed to be the very stable, very perfect witch but she’s breaking. He’s her lesser and she’s the one who’s breaking. This has to be a cruel dream where if he hits himself hard enough, he’ll wake up.

His fangs slip out by accident, they feel the presence of Bonnie’s blood just humming with delicacy and complexity under her skin. She’s waiting to be tasted, she takes her hand and guides his mouth to her neck so his tooth pricks her skin. A bead of red shoots up but his tongue is quick to swipe that first drop almost sampling to make sure Bonnie is serious. She says something under her breath but the bloodlust has the rest of his senses useless. He doesn’t hear her.

Damon gnashes his teeth into her delicate skin, his expertise never allowing one ribbon of blood to trail away because he laps it up so greedily, so manically that he almost chokes. It feels like heaven busted and started showering its essence into his open mouth. He can’t take the time to breath or else he’ll rob himself of perfection for a few seconds too long. The life surges back into his body.

A montage of honey, patchouli, iron, lilac, roses, metal, bergamot, smoke, magic, fire, fear all on his tastebuds at once. In the distance, desire begins to bloom.

Then there’s a click and he starts to feel it.

Bonnie’s arousal is creeping up on him slowly like a distant claw of nails down his spine, the ghost of a sopping mouth around the head of his cock. He emits a wet groan then takes another tactless slurp and can practically feel Bonnie’s walls gripping against his shaft- it frightens him how bad he wants it. It scares him how he can feel the phantom of her nipples through his apron and t-shirt. He’s sweating when his pants start to bunch at the center. She’s breathing erratically, wraps her legs around his waist so she feels that lovely poke between her legs and it terrifies him.

Never has he untangled the web of feelings he associated with the complicatedly simple Bonnie Shealia Bennett. However, that web has been slowly unraveling since their first day here. Those feelings he never was honest with himself to admit are dousing him right now, of his own volition. He’s frightened out of his mind with the realization that he’s always wanted to take his best friend, little Judgey, Bon Bon, Elena’s BFF, and sex her into a stupor until the only word in her vocabulary is his name.

Damon Salvatore wants to fuck Bonnie Bennett so deeply that they must excavate his dick from her slot to retrieve it.

Oh God.

He can see himself, inside of her, inside of his best friend as she begs him to go faster and harder but he won’t listen. He never listens and it’s driving her up the fucking wall as her pleas to let her cum all over him fumbles his rhythm. Damon has never been more afraid of himself. Damon has never been more oblivious of a desire that waited for a moment like this since their first encounter. He feels baited.

Fear of this discovery, this dormant longing, brings him back to earth and violently disconnects him from the bloodlust, he removes his fangs too quickly, his head spinning with filthy thoughts of his best friend. The moan that tumbles past his lips is dire, it rips through his throat and says she has to fuck him or he will simply die.

Somewhere an invisible candle burns in the air labeled “Bonnie’s Lust.” It’s so strong Damon can taste it.

They look at each other differently. They are strangers. She’s painted in red, his mouth is a mess, the erection in his pants is hard enough to unearth his grave and bury himself alive. He offers his bleeding wrist up to her and tries not to cum when her mouth latches on.

When she’s done, he decides he won’t distract himself with the gorgeous sight of a panting Bonnie, looking as if she’s been thoroughly fornicated with her eyes all glossy like that.

Damon is dizzy, tipsy from blood, pleasure and a bombardment of epiphanies.

He turns around too sharply on his heel and passes out, just like that. A lifeless heap of beauty on the kitchen floor.

Bonnie’s definitely scared of whatever took over them as she crouches next to him and fans his face. Her mind is still far from her after such a disastrous high. Her heartbeat sounds like the pounding of an incessant guest.

Knock, knock.

In that moment, Deja-vu gives her a kiss. Bonnie’s mind floats back to Elena’s lapis prom dress with the silver clasps in the back and how she always thought Damon was perfect for Elena like that tailored dress. The way it hugged her and snapped in place. The way it clicked.

Bonnie remembers trying that dress on first and falling in love. She loved that feeling, how it felt like it was made for her and only her but Elena insisted. Not even Caroline knew. She gave the dress up for her, anything for her best friend. It was just a pretentious mélange of fabric and thread. A lifeless heap of beauty on the fitting room floor.

When he awakens, they pretend as if nothing happened and Damon wonders if he dreamt that but the little wounds on her neck mock his question. Desire still sleeps between them, dependent on that next slip up to pounce. But it never gets the chance.

Damon relives that moment when he meets himself in the mirror and the hint of teeth marks is on his neck from Bonnie’s “tipsy” courage.

“Once bitten, twice shy,” he says to himself and ironically being a century-old vampire he never understood the saying. He lets the little phrase stagnate the air because he doesn’t want to concern himself with figuring out why Bonnie’s teeth marks aren’t disappearing with his rapid healing ability.

Anyways, it’s kind of cute.

He sends her a picture message with a text to follow:

Twice bitten, once dead.

[redhoodieone]

Star-Crossed Universe

A/N: Yes!!! I’M BACK!!! This project has been on the back burner for so long and its finally time to upload it on here. I’m not sure what you all will think but hey...it’s fan fiction and everything and anything goes.

Warnings: Language, Humor (bad and good jokes), Sexual Conversations, and an ultimate Team-Up.

Plot: When Y/N is thrown into a mission way out of her league, she, and magician best friend Zatanna must stop strong demonic forces from entering earth through an unknown portal that John Constantine may have opened. With the assistance from the Dark Knight himself, a mysterious 1967 black Impala arrives in Gotham just when things start to go to hell. But who called the Winchesters? Why is there a clairvoyant bond between Y/N and Dean Winchester? And why does Castiel, an angel of the Lord, believe John Constantine isn’t who he says he is? And will Dean wear the Batsuit?

Move over Scooby-Natural because it’s Batman’s turn! The Winchesters join Batman and Y/N (You!) in taking down a villain who isn’t an everyday monster for Supernatural!

Please enjoy and comment! If you want a Part 2, please let me know.

  Part 1

 I don’t remember a time where tears felt like my own. Of course, it doesn’t help that I’m standing on the ledge when Gotham is down pouring like it always does at night. It shouldn’t be a surprise, really. Gotham is the only city in the US of A that is dark, depressing, manic, and suicidal.

 Even Superman refuses to stay here for more than a day.

 I’m not any better. The only reason why I’m literally dangling my feet over the edge is because I’m numb.

 Numb to feelings.

Numb to pain.

Numb to life.

 Bottom line is breakups fucking suck period. Especially if your ex-boyfriend is Bruce Wayne.

 And Batman.

 I don’t know why I put myself through this. The bitter pain of having to work with someone you love but to know they’ll never love you as much. Maybe this is why I should have never worked with Bruce.

 Dick left first and has successfully made a name for himself, Nightwing, in Bludhaven.

 Jason comes and goes throughout the months and has his own team of misfits who do good but cause chaos as well.

 Even Tim and Damian are working together. They’re training and leading the Titans. The last I heard from them is that they’re doing just fine.

 Except me.

 Who am I kidding? I can’t compare myself to Bruce’s kids even though I’m closer to Dick’s age than Bruce’s.

 Maybe that’s why it didn’t work out between us. Bruce is almost my father’s age, late forties early fifties. And he’s still sexy as fuck; stronger than ever.

 And here I am in my early thirties, expecting more than just a wordless promise of something more than casual sex and the uncertainty of the future.

 After three months ago, I’m trying desperately hard to not care anymore. The only constant thing in my life is being Night Bat, and I’ll die with only that part of me.

 Death.

 The one place where everything and nothing hurts anymore.

 “Y/N.”

 My head jerks to the right side where Zatanna is standing. With her hands on her hips, I can see her blue eyes blinking sadness and guilt. For a beautiful woman like Z, her broken expression is almost tragic enough to make me cry like her.

 If my own tears were my own. Maybe my tears are Gotham’s.

 “It’s Etrigan. He’s...” Zatanna chokes on her words. She literally holds her neck and tries to stop sobbing. “He’s dead.”

 I can feel my eyebrows raise as confusion and disbelief crash over me.

 “Dead?” I repeat. I can’t even believe that word is coming from my mouth. Etrigan is tough. Etrigan is a shithead. Etrigan cannot be dead. “How?”

 Zatanna shrugs her shoulders as her lips quiver. Seeing her broken up makes me feel like an asshole for not comforting her. So, I stand up and go over to her. Taking her by surprise, I hug her tightly.

 She’s my best friend. My sister. My partner in crime whenever we get into bad shit. (Sometimes...maybe).

 After Zatanna hugs me, she takes a step back and wipes her tears with her gloved hand.

 “He-he was stabbed. I... I don’t know by what but he bled and he was never one to really bleed, you know? I checked everything out and he’s dead. He’s really gone. But it was...a very fucking strange thing. Really,” Zatanna rambles on anxiously. Whenever she cusses, I know she’s angry and stressed out. “Whatever killed him, it’s not from around here. What I sensed near him, it’s not human. It’s not magical. It’s not even Kryptonian or extraterrestrial.”

 I swallow hard. “What do you think it is then?”

 “Demonic.”

_________________________________________________

 “Have you contacted John?” I ask. My voice is rough and breathless. I’m busy shoving as much weapons as I can in my backpack, along with a few clothes and a book from Alfred about demonology. He said it was a gift from Constantine himself.

 I stare down at my long, silver triple-edged dagger that I found on one of my solo missions in Kansas when Bruce was fighting

 “Not in... six months.”

 The guilt in her voice makes me turn to glance at her. “Seriously?”

 I glance down at my black pants and boots to make sure I’m appropriately and comfortably dressed for tonight. I slip on a red and black checkered flannel over my form fitting black tank top.  After rolling up the sleeves to my elbows, I put on my black leather jacket and turn to face Zatanna.

 “What, am I supposed to keep in touch with my ex-boyfriend? I thought ex-boyfriends were meant to stay ex-boyfriends, not friends. And besides, you keep in touch with Bruce,” Zatanna responds smugly.

 “He’s...a co-worker...that’s-thats different.”

 “Bullshit,” Z laughs.

 I roll my eyes. “Whatever. I need a drink before we start...” I say, waving my hand up dramatically. “Whatever this is. I think a stop at Lucky’s is what we need.”

 “A trip to the bar is what YOU need,” Zatanna replies.

 She follows me out of my apartment until we stop in the parking lot where my motorcycle is parked. I don’t see her standing behind me with her arms crossed and eyebrow raised, as I take a seat on my bike and set myself up to ride.

 “What?” I ask, genuinely confused.

 “I could just you know...poof is there.”

 “Yeah, you could like you always do, but I need to ride my baby right now. It’s like, therapy for the low self-esteem, loner, rebels,” I say.

 To my surprise, Zatanna nods her head and gives me a small smile. I’m grateful she understands how much riding my motorcycle makes me happy. Makes me breathe. Makes me feel alive.

 “I’ll see you there, Y/N/N.”

 “See ya, Z.”

 And with that, Zatanna poofs for real. Her magic still surprises me. Whenever I see her perform her spells and tricks, I feel like I’m reliving magic shows I saw as a kid that I used to believe were real and powerful.

 But to know what Zatanna does is real is still unbelievable sometimes.

 And to think we have been best friends for five years now...amazing how time flies by I’m between laughs and heartbreaks.

 Revving my bike, I waste no time speeding out of the parking garage and into the streets of Gotham. The rain and wind in my hair sends me chills, as the lights and buildings pass me by so fast that I feel like everything I see is a blur; almost like in a dream-like state.

 Lucky’s is just a small country rustic bar outside of Gotham. City people usually don’t go there as the place is purely meant for drifters and stranded loners. I happen to love the bar. If I’m ever feeling down or angry, I always drop by to get drunk or frisky if I’m ever in the mood. Bruce was always disappointed in me for that. He always used to say I’m better than that and I shouldn’t put myself down.

 I sometimes think he’d want to say I’m easy, but Bruce is just so complicated sometimes. He can either be a total asshole or be the gentle sweetheart he is. You never know which side you’d see sometimes.

 Almost like Two-Face.

 Swerving into the mud to park alongside trucks and other bikes, I climb off my motorcycle and glance around the dirt lot. I recognize a few vehicles parked already. A new black Escalade parked closer to the bar is different and catches my attention rather quickly.  

 I pull my hair back into a ponytail and start my way over to the expensive ass vehicle when suddenly a black car speeds right pass me and parks right next to my bike, sending mud flying to my pants and on my bike! Rage suddenly takes over me. I can feel my blood boil and my jaw clench as several curse words come to mind. I twist around and instead make my way to that motherfucker’s car.

 A black 1967 Impala? What a fucking joke.

 As if this motherfucker owns this American classic. This self-righteous, prick probably stole it from some old fool or maybe his own old man.

 I’m ready to break this douchebag’s face. Knock all his teeth out and break his cock into two…maybe three pieces.

 I finally reach the driver’s door and quickly open it; door swinging back. This must piss off the man a lot, but I don’t care right now.

“Look, you motherfucker! You think you can just drive like a bat out of hell and get fucking mud on MY baby?!  Get out of this fucking car so I can break you apart with my bare hands!” I yell angrily and loudly.

The man climbs out of his car, but my anger suddenly vanishes. What the hell?

Holy fucking shit…this man is…hot.

Standing at 6’1, this man is almost intimidating. With short brown hair, tan skin, hypnotizing green eyes, and freckles splattered over his nose and cheeks, he’s fucking adorable…and sexy. I can’t help but stare up at him.

He smirks down at me. Underneath his dark jacket, he’s wearing a flannel shirt and black Henley, where I can already see his strong chest, muscled arms, and soft tummy.

“Looks like sweetheart likes what she sees, Sammy. I’d say we made the right choice for coming out to Gotham,” the man speaks smugly. His voice is deep and husky, more addicting than any liquor inside the bar.

Another man comes over to us from around from the car. This man, I’m assuming his Sammy, is FUCKING TALLER than the hot one in front of me!

Sammy chuckles lightly at me. Pushing his longer brown hair from his face, he quickly reaches out to shake my hand.

“Hi, I’m Sam Winchester and this is my brother, Dean.”

The second those words leave his mouth; we hear someone quickly approaching us. Zatanna. And from the looks of theirs, they’re shocked and surprised to see my friend in her usual, sexy magician number.

Zatanna smiles, nonetheless. “Well, if it isn’t the Winchesters. We’ve been expecting you.”