#nearly forgot to self reblog

[onlyswan]

summary: in which jungkook can’t sleep, and he can’t stop kissing you either.

> fluff, suggestive / word count: 2.6k

> content/warnings: alexa play seven by jungkook! mentions of s^x, lots and lots of cutie kisses :( they’re in that afterglow <3 oc’s chest is his pillow :(

> in which masterlist!

note: hi hi. here’s ur slice of pure self indulgent fluff 🍰 i just had to write abt this jk :P there’s a reference to in which you always get what you want and jungkook is dying to kiss you 🥹 reblogs & feedback are vv appreciated. i’d love to hear ur thoughts so feel free to scream or laugh or cry <3

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a fleeting white light passes through your closed eyelids, nearly blinding, as you hear the familiar shutter of your boyfriend’s polaroid camera.

“jungkook,” you whimper weakly due to the sudden disturbance, burying your face on the soft pillows while pushing the camera away.

“shit, shit- sorry, baby-” he winces, guilty of disrupting your journey to slumber, as he scrambles to fix his mistake. “forgot to turn off the flash.”

he places the polaroid face down on the space behind him to give it the time to develop the photo he had taken. much to your relief, the bedroom falls silent once more except for the quiet humming and breathing of the airconditioner. you return to properly laying your head on the pillow, taking a small gasp of oxygen, and jungkook smiles because of how adorable you are for still refusing to open your eyes.

“can i take more pictures?”

“did you turn it off?” you whisper as you stretch your legs to find a more comfortable position, unwittingly pulling down the comforter and exposing your nakedness to the cool air. this gives rise to goosebumps on your skin, causing you to shiver, but your boyfriend is quick to your rescue. he catches the hem before it could slide past your skimpy shorts.

“i did.”

a chaste kiss is planted on your shoulder before it is returned underneath the warmth of soft layers of cotton and fabric.

you sigh, melting back into relaxation. “okay.”

he re-anchors his elbow into the mattress, resting his head on his palm to admire the majestic view of you. jungkook likes this a lot, he lives for it— lying on the bed face-to-face with his sated lover, spending the rest of the night feeling like his heart is not a big enough vessel to hold all the love he has for you. the lights he is yet to turn off have splashed the dark room with a red glow that engulfs your figure as well, escalating his heartbeat, so hypnotic and tantalizing, he finds himself breathing heavier and heavier behind the viewfinder, or maybe he has stopped breathing at all. the shutter briefly fills the silence.

this is… the arch of your back is burned in his mind and he swears he still tastes you on his tongue, but seeing you like this feels so different.

he was consumed by his pleasure and yours just half an hour ago, admittedly almost blinded by his own sweat dripping from his forehead because he simply couldn’t stop wanting more of you, giving himself to you. you weren’t exactly innocent either, with your provocative touches and coquettish smiles, whispering lewd words that was gasoline to the lust flaring up inside of him. he revels in seeing that you’re just as desperate for it as he is, if not more, purely from the way you beseech him with your eyes mirroring stained glass windows. he knows you love it when he fucks you so good it brings you to tears, welcoming the delightful intensity of his nature, and that you were also trying to tire him out so he’d finally feel sleepy, but holy shit, looking at you right now, he wants nothing more but to hold you with utmost gentleness.

wildly concentrated with his bottom lip tucked in between his teeth, he brushes away the hair that fell on your face before capturing another exquisite memory to be burned into film.

jungkook is greedy when it comes to you.

a disgruntled whine slips from your mouth when the pillow underneath your head is replaced by his thick arm, which is then rudely cut off by his lips crashing on yours.

clearly, you’ve grown too comfortable in this relationship.

“i love you.” he drunkenly mutters, instantly going for another kiss and barely finishing his another- “i love you.” before he’s kissing you again.

“babe-” you chuckle then gasp, holding on to his wrist as his tattooed hand loosely wraps around your neck.

“i love you. i love you, i love y- i love you, i love you, i love you, i love you, i love you.” he repeats himself over and over, the volume of his voice gradually getting quieter as he runs out of breath, until his tongue becomes tied. grounded by the feeling of your steady pulse beneath his thumb, he silences himself by tenderly kissing you, soft lips molding with yours for a wordless declaration of devotion this time around.

pure static— there are no thoughts running in your head. your limbs feel numb but tingly. you feel like you’re floating- no, you’re falling. the bed has turned into an abyss and you’re falling endlessly and jungkook holding you close is the only thing that makes sense. you might have to consider this true heaven, nothingness with your everything, when the whole world is lights-out and quiet that it feels like time has been suspended, and the only way to keep track of it is through each pump of your heart.

at last, your eyelids slowly flutter open as he pulls away, and he greets you with that boyish grin. “pretty.”

his hand on your neck moves to stroke your face lovingly, eyes glimmering with various emotions as they wander your features.

“____ is so, so pretty.”

“hm, really?” you hum sleepily, leaning closer to his touch. “thanks to you.”

“me?” his doe eyes widen in confusion.

“you know, for the afterglow. i feel nice.” you giggle brightly at your own half-joke, positively out of your goddamn mind as you hide your warm face on his shoulder.

“ahhh- ah!”

enlightenment then dawns on your boyfriend.

his giggles blend in with yours for a harmony that strikes the same joy as the sound of wind chimes on a windy day.

jungkook tries not to appear too cocky about the compliment, but consequences be damned, he would die satisfying his lover.

“oh yeah, baby? do you now?” there’s a self-satisfied smirk plastered on his face when you take a peek at him, which then morphs into a grin when your eyes meet. “i feel nice, too.”

“nice?” your voice comes out delicate, droopy eyes asking him for confirmation.

“nice.”

he feels a tug at his heartstrings.

“you know what? fucking great… i could never have enough of you.”

it becomes silent for a while. his tattooed hand slides under the comforter, letting his fingers skim across the side of your waist, feather-light touches on your bare skin before he’s pulling you closer to his body.

“i… i don’t doubt that feelings like this can only grow as time goes on but… it’s still amazing that when i think about it, even until now, all the time, i want to be with you.”

he involuntarily breathes out a shaky sigh, ears going red as they do when he’s expressing sincerity from the deepest parts of his soul.

“really, how do you do this…? what is this magic? why- why do i like you so much? i mean, i know why! of course! but, wow!” he squeezes his eyes shut to express his disbelief, clicking his head to the side. “it’s possible for it to be this much? do you get what i’m saying? i just have thoughts like that— love is so fascinating.”

you barely process his words with your brain still in a haze of bliss, but it’s funny, hearing these questions from the same man who has the entire world madly obsessed with him.

oh, this actually sounds familiar. he’s getting all sentimental and philosophical. again. and he’s not drunk. were you that good tonight?

“i won’t give away my secrets just like that. what if you use them on someone else?” you tease him, rubbing your tired eyes and shaking your head as you giggle.

you receive a dirty look from him, clearly offended and uninterested in the thought of putting in the hard effort to impress someone that isn’t you.

“aish, stop talking! i don’t like hearing you talk in that way.”

“then what else am i supposed to do? you’re the one who woke me up.” you retort in annoyance.

but you honestly don’t think there’s any secret to tell. jungkook is in love with you. plain and simple.

“you’re right, i’m sorry. go back to sleep if you want to.”

he dips down to plant gentle pecks on your shoulder, going down on a trail to your neck, and you unconsciously tilt your head to his convenience because he’s bringing the butterflies in your stomach back to life. it feels good, everything he does always feels good.

“you’re seriously not done?” you mumble against his lips, unfaltering with the kisses as if he would run out of them any minute now.

he stubbornly answers with a “no!” as his lips ghost over your cheek.

if only bam was here, jungkook would eventually leave you alone to rest. he would pester him with his late-night burst of affection instead while talking shit about you to your child because you dodged his kiss in your sleep.

“babe, you’re supposed to sleep. you have work later.”

“no, i don’t want to sleep. i… i want to kiss you- baby.” he protests as he continues to pepper your face with kisses, giving your body a particularly tight squeeze when he searches for your lips again.

you blink at him in confusion when he suddenly sends you a look of irritation, eyebrows furrowed and eyes glaring.

“you haven’t even said ‘i love you’ back yet.”

“oh, i haven’t?” you wince innocently. “sorry. i love you.”

but he should be the one apologizing to you, since it’s his fault that you still can’t think straight, or walk for that matter.

you pat around the mattress behind his back until you stumble upon the camera, and it’s jungkook’s turn to be your beloved muse. you scoot away until the lens manage to capture him down to his shirtless abdomen. you watch him in complete awe behind the viewfinder. he squints at you, raising his eyebrows flirtatiously, and he smirks when you chuckle in amusement.

“ah wait- take this! take this! you have to take a good one, got it? i worked so hard on them yesterday!” he eagerly voices out a special demand.

he shuffles to flex his arm infront of the camera, showing off his well-defined triceps and biceps while releasing rich, throaty grunts. totally unnecessary, but so achingly jungkook.

your boyfriend is outrageously, ridiculously sexy— he’s still wearing that stupid black headband he hastily put on in the middle of sex because he got pissed off at his hair and he needed it out of the way so he could ‘properly see his love’s beautiful body.’

you roll your eyes inside your head.

what a fucking tease.

nonetheless, you acquiesce.

the flash goes off.

and another polaroid is crafted into existence that you selfishly want to keep for your eyes only.

“baby, let me see.”

“it’s mine!” you scrunch your nose with a childlike charm, hiding the polaroid behind your back.

he chuckles, hopelessly endeared by you.

“yes, i’m yours.” he coos in response.

and your unguarded heart is once again swept away by the taste of his tongue. the camera becomes an abandoned item. your fingers daintily pushes off his headband in favor of freely tangling them with his silky hair, and it also ends up getting lost somewhere in the sheets as his sweet kisses lull you in a false sense of security… because out of nowhere, that same blazing light burns through your closed eyes for the second time tonight.

jungkook playfully waves the polaroid infront of your face, and his toothy grin is met by your unimpressed expression.

“this is mine!”

he has been waiting to jump into this type of opportunity, to orchestrate a romantic moment to be stolen in film— you can tell by the sparkles in his eyes. reminiscent of that one late night in a tiny photobooth where your younger and clueless selves were cramped in, this is what you and his hyungs often talk about, how much you share the same fondness for the fact that jungkook hasn’t changed at all.

“just how many pictures of you kissing me do you need?” you ask him lightheartedly.

he juts out his bottom lip sullenly, and a few beats pass before he forms an answer. “i always need more for when i miss you.”

you copy his frown. “then what about me when i’m missing you too?”

“hmmm… i want you to always remember me like this, baby.” he melodramatically declares as he picks up the one and only polaroid you’ve taken of him tonight. “can you see my abs too…? oh- it’s not showing yet.”

he looks back at you shyly with a laugh, and he places it back down to let it continue developing.

“i’ll look later. i can’t even keep my eyes open anymore. ‘m so tired.” you sadly sniffle to gain his pity, fluttering your damp eyelashes at him. “let’s go to sleep, please?”

jungkook doesn’t find it in himself to articulate a consolation or protest, not when you’re tugging him down to coax him into laying his head on your chest.

“heaven.” he moans, overcome by contentment.

he adjusts himself a bit to be more comfortable before dragging the comforter further upwards to provide warmth for the two of you, all the while refusing to remove his face nuzzled up against you.

“why are you always like this? can you even breathe?” you chuckle with your eyes closed.

“i love your boobs.” his honest reply comes out muffled, cute for some reason, along with his satisfied hums prompted by your nails lightly scratching his scalp.

“i know.”

he turns his head to the side to look up at you, and he carries on to speak with his cheek squished against you. “i really, really mean it.”

“yes, baby. i believe you.”

a minute of silence passes. the ecstasy still flooding your veins becomes a stepping stone in the pond towards your dreamland, where all is either fantastically perfect or horrifically fucked up.

but then you feel sloppy kisses being deliberately scattered in the middle of your chest, leading down to your stomach, and you get rudely knocked over into the cold, clear waters.

yes, plea- oh no, no, no, no.

“jungkook, baby, stop. i can’t go another round.” you whine pathetically, being driven closer to the urge to burst into tears.

“AH! o-ow- ouch- baby, wha- i swear, i wasn’t even planning on it!” he loudly exclaims in surprise when you harshly pull him away by his hair.

“still…” your voice cracks. “you know i’ll get turned on!”

his chuckles are infuriatingly raspy and of no help at all, ego inflating upon hearing your response and the frustration obviously laced with it.

“okay, okay! i’m sorry! i’ll behave now!”

thank god.

he assumes his previous position, the place that he deems to be the warmest and the coziest. as he wraps his arms around your waist, your fist relaxes into an open palm that cradles the back of his head.

“____?” he mumbles, finally feeling the tiredness seep into his sore muscles now that he’s lying motionless.

“hmm?”

“let’s eat dinner outside after work.”

“…meat?”

“and beer!” he adds, brimming with excitement, and he salivates as he can almost taste them in his mouth already. they are his favorite, after all.

“i’ll come pick you up then.” you drop a kiss on his forehead, and he sighs happily. “but go to sleep or else i’ll kick you out of the bedroom again.”

his sweet embrace becomes an iron grip.

cold and alone, he swears those were some of the worst three hours of his life.

he squeaks in defeat. “goodnight, baby.”

—

taglist in the reblogs! send an ask/dm if you want to be added (or removed) :D

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[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

All In 13

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power imbalance, low self esteem, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: you meet a mysterious man on a night out with your sister. (petite!reader)

based on the winning option for this poll

Characters: casino owner!Bucky Barnes

Note: I had this pistachio cake and it was so good. I didn't know what else to put here but yum.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You’re shaking, barely able to keep your legs from collapsing beneath you. Even with Bucky’s arm around you, you’re weak. His confidence makes you feel even smaller; reminds you of who and what you really are. You’re not this. You’re not arm candy. You’re not some gorgeous supermodel. You’re just you. 

As you get to the end of the hall, you face the elevator and wait. His large hand squeezes your hip and he draws you even closer. He surprises you with a peck on your head. A thrill flows through you. 

“I’m the luckiest guy in this casino, baby,” he purrs and urges you through the doors as they open. 

You gulp and lean back into his arm as you step on, the transparent walls peering down on the drop. You try not to look and put your hand over his. You cling to his fingers and close your eyes, dizzy from the descent. 

“Ah, I forgot, doll,” he holds you even snugger, “Don’t worry, I got you. You stay close to me, alright?” 

“Okay,” you wisp out as the motion of the elevator adds to your displacement. 

When at last you reach the bottom, you nearly wriggle right out of his hold. He keeps you firmly against him and struts off with you at his side. He releases you only to hook his arm through yours. You cling to him if only to keep from tripping in the heels. 

You look down at yourself, recalling your attire as you pass a mirrored wall. You barely recognise the woman and yet it’s you. The make-up isn’t too heavy, your hair is perfectly done, and despite your frightened expression, you look good. Better than ever. Well, anything is an improvement over your typical aesthetic. 

You pass through the hotel lobby into the main room of the casino. The ringing of machines and flashing lights stun you. He stops with you and raises his chin proudly. To him, it’s just another night. For you, it’s a night you won’t ever forget; one you’ll never know again. 

“All of this is ours, doll,” he says. You wince at that word; ‘ours’. It’s a fantasy, he knows it. It must be what he tells all his women. 

You can only let a jitter shake you. He continues on and you follow. The chaos of the casino has you senseless. You drift through like his shadow as he pulls you along.  

Yet, you notice that you are not unseen. You feel the eyes all around you, you see them. Necks crane, bodies twists, and lips whisper. You’re overly aware that they’re watching you. No, they’re watching him. 

You feel ice form a shell over you. You numb yourself to it all as best you can. If you let yourself feel the storm brewing inside you, it will surely blow you over.  

Bucky stops you and winks at you. He reaches to rub your hand on his forearm and gives a squeeze, “relax. I got you. You trust me, don’t you?” 

You exhale and nod, “yes.” 

“Alright, then, doll,” he pulls his arm back and puts his hand on the small of your back, “let’s go.” 

He walks you along, a casual pace. The looks continue. People acknowledge him as he passes, the bartender calls him sir and several other staff. He approaches a table and you steel yourself nervously. Men in suits chuckle loudly as dice are thrown against the trim. 

“Stark,” Barnes stops beside a man with grey patches at his temple, “you didn’t bring your own dice again, did you?” 

“They searched me on the way in. What’s that about?” The man snickers, “but I see you get to bring your own toys.” 

The man makes a show of looking around Bucky, leering at you. Bucky pushes him straight by the chest, “never had any problem finding something to play with.” 

“Ah, don’t be so sensitive. Your girls are always so much fun,” the man, Stark, taunts. 

“Keep your hands to yourself, that goes for the staff too,” Bucky warns. 

“Wow, have you demoted yourself to bouncer now?” 

“These are my people, Tony,” he claps the man’s shoulder, “consider it a friendly reminder. I know you tend to forget.” 

The man scoffs and rolls his eyes. He takes the dice as they’re held out to him and tosses them onto the felt. Bucky tickles your lower back with his finger and you squirm, elbowing an unexpected figure behind you. You let out a squeak and turn as Bucky does the same. 

“Hey,” a skinny man, not much taller than yourself greets, “been looking for you.” 

“Steve,” Bucky says, “what’re you doing here?” 

“Ah, you know,” he scratches his floppy golden hair, “you haven’t picked up your phone so--” 

“Shoot, what’s the date?” 

“Buck, it’s tomorrow,” the blond, Steve, grins, “I’m just making sure you show up. Ma would be real disappointed.” 

“I wouldn’t miss Sarah Rogers’ birthday for anything,” Bucky avows, the genuine tone in his voice wrenching at your chest. “You gonna stay and enjoy the tables? You still got your complimentary chips waiting on you.” 

“Told ya, I don’t like to gamble,” Steve chuckles, “but thanks.” 

“I’m sorry, buddy. I should’ve picked up. I’ve been so busy...” Bucky pauses as Steve smiles at you sheepishly as if he’s only just noticed you.  

“I get it,” Steve’s lashes flick, “she’s... miss, you’re real pretty.” 

He sounds as nervous as you feel. His cheeks tinge pink and he tucks his thumbs into his pockets. His brown slacks definitely don’t fit into the sparkling casino. Bucky laughs too. 

“Chill, have a drink at the bar before you go.” 

“Thanks, pal,” Steve smooths back his hair, “but I should probably head out--” 

“She don’t bite, Rogers,” Bucky chides, “well, I’ll tell her to keep her teeth to herself,” he rubs your back and slips his fingers around your side, pulling you close once more. “Have a drink for me, alright?” 

“Alright,” the smaller man exhales, “don’t forget.” 

“I won’t,” Bucky promises. 

As the blond strides away, slightly off kilter as he looks around, seeming lost as he tries to see around the people around, Bucky draws you away from the dice table. The small man reminds you a lot of yourself in some ways. He’s braver than you, he came all alone. 

“That... who?” You wonder. 

“My best friend. Since we were kids,” he answers, “good guy, just a bit... uppity. His ma’s got her birthday tomorrow. You should come.” 

“Oh, uh, that’s... I don’t know--” 

“She’ll be happy to meet ya. She’s been telling me to settle down for years,” he scoffs. “Her son too and he does try...” 

“Well, this isn’t.... it’s early--” you stammer. 

“You still don’t believe me,” he challenges you as he angles you to face him. He brings his hands to your arms, stroking the bare skin with his roughened fingertips, “you don’t think I’m gonna keep ya, doll?” 

“No, I didn’t-- I don’t know. It’s all so new and—I'm sorry, Bucky, I want to—I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know--” 

“Shhh, doll, I’m not mad. I got work to do. That’s fine,” he trails his fingers up the strap of your dress and tickles your throat, “I’ll keep it up, don’t you worry. Let’s get ya a drink.” 

He walks you to the bar, laying his hand on the top as the bartender crosses to him attentively. Bucky pauses before he orders and looks at you, “ladies first. What do you want, doll?” 

You look between Bucky and the bartender. You have no idea. You weren’t planning on drinking, you’re already a mess as it is but you don’t want to be rude. 

“You like cranberry, doll? How about a cosmopolitan?” Bucky suggests. 

You nod and face the bar again, “sure, uh, please, a cos...” 

“Cosmopolitan, coming up,” the bar tender agrees, “usual, sir?” 

“Single,” Bucky holds up a finger, “I wanna keep my wits about me.” 

The bartender sets to work and you fidget. You crane around to see the rest of the casino, a furor rising from the blackjack table. Bucky rubs your arm and draws your attention back to him. You give a nervous smile as you try not to think about those watching you in turn. 

“Hey, don’t even worry about it,” his voice is low and gravelly as he brings a finger up under your chin, “the only thing that matters is us, doll.” 

Before you can react, he leans in to kiss you. You’re caught entirely off guard, trapped in his snare as his tongue glides along your lips. He hums and pulls back, dropping his hand with a sigh. 

“I gotta get a hold on myself,” he laughs as he shows his palm, “you make it hard, doll. You really do.” 

You rock and smile bigger. Your cheeks are fiery and your temples are pounding. The bartender announces your cocktail and puts it up. Bucky takes it and hands it to you. You thank him as he turns to retrieve the short tumbler of flat whiskey. 

“Go on, have a taste, doll,” he encourages as he gives a gentle tap to the base of the stemmed glass. 

You look down at the coned glass of vibrant red liquor and juice, a twist of lemon against the brim. You raise it cautiously and give a sniff before you press your lips around the glass. Your eyes flick up as Bucky lets out a rumble. He fixates on your mouth as you sip, his teeth graze over his lower lip. 

Your cheeks pinch as you taste the mixed drink and you pull it away from your mouth. You dab your lips with your knuckles, terrified of smearing the gloss. You flutter your lashes at him and force another tight smile, “mm, it’s... sweet.” 

“Dangerous,” he smirks, “I don’t do cocktails. They go down to easy.” 

“Oh,” you give a guilty pout. “I don’t...” 

“It’s fine, it’s not that much,” he waves off your excuse, “really, doll, you could use it. It’ll help you relax.” 

“Right, er, thanks,” you slowly turn the stem between your fingers and look down at the glass. “I’m sorry I don’t...” 

“Hm,” he shifts closer as your voice drifts off, “sorry for what, doll?” 

He nudges you smoothly away from the bar, putting you back into step as he casually traverses the floor, his hand right on your back. He guides you subtly with the constant warmth between your hips. It is both comforting and disjointing. He’s there with you, propping you up, and yet you do not belong. 

“I don’t really fit, er, or... know what to do,” you murmur. 

He leans in to hear your small voice. He scoffs. 

“Let me tell you something, doll. You fit just nice on my arm. You don’t need to worry about anyone else but me, you got it? All these people in this room, they’re nothing. All these lights, all this noise, and I can only see you,” he purrs. 

You giggle nervously. He’s so flattering. He always knows just what to say.  

“Thanks, I...” you look away, embarrassed at your little confession. You’re supposed to be trying to blend in and yet you can’t help but put yourself on the sideline. He’s not the type. He is the main attraction. 

“You feel better, doll?” He asks as he rubs the dip of your back. “If it’s too much, we can go somewhere else.” 

“I’m... I’m good. I don’t wanna ruin the night,” you say, “really.” You raise the glass and sip again, “it’s really good, thank you, Bucky.” 

“Mph, I love it when you say my name,” he snarls, “come on.” 

He continues along, guiding you between tables and behind distracted bodies. The tables are packed with gamblers and figures pass from one to one, a line forming around the counter dolling out chips for cash. You take it all in, as if it’s a scene in a movie, observing all the background characters... still, you don’t feel like the star. 

A sharp pain strikes your arm suddenly and you stumble into Bucky. He keeps you from teetering onto your ass as he hugs his arm around you. Your cocktail slips out of your grasp and the glass cracks on the floor, splashing the remnants across the carpet.  

You’re pressed into Bucky as the unstable man latches onto the tall stool he just slid off of. The impact of his elbow thrums in your arm and you rub the tender spot and wince. Bucky shifts you behind him and moves as fast as a shadow. The back of his dark jacket strains across his shoulder blades as he grabs the man by his collar. 

“Hey, what the hell are ya doing? Watch yourself! You nearly knocked my woman over,” he sneers as he as good as shakes the man, “you made a mess of my carpet, you scumbag.” 

“Bucky,” you squeak in horror, the hot eruption of rage surprises you. He is a different man; he looks more like a wolf as he snarls at the offender. “It was an accident--” 

“Nah, it was a mistake,” Bucky brings the man even closer, “get the hell outta my casino before I break you like that glass.” Bucky shoves him away and kicks the broken glass on the floor, “now.” 

He puffs his chest out as the other man rambles drunkenly, apologising and staggering, skittering off in an uneven gait. He glances back several times as if fearing he’ll be followed. Bucky signals across the room and you see a man in a suit nod; he must be security. 

“Bucky,” you touch his elbow and gently graze his sleeve down to his hand, “are you okay?” 

He opens his fist and lets you tuck your hand into his. You’re quaking again. You cling to him out of need. You’re adrenaline rings in your ears. You don’t like anger. 

“I’m sorry--” 

“Don’t be sorry, doll,” he squeezes your hand as he exhales the tension from his shoulders. He looks down at your hand and lifts it, turning to you as he kisses the back of it. He leaves a tingle on your skin, “I like that.” He tightens his grip as he keeps a hold of you, “you need a fresh drink, doll.” 

[wishing-stones]

………. I wouldn’t be opposed to seeing your dreamtale headcanons 👀����👀👀👀 I could literally ramble abt my own headcanons all day every day if it weren’t for the sheer amt of anxiety in my silly little head 😅

(i recommend clicking on the images to get a better read)

anyway a lot of thoughts about dream and dreamtale.

feat. one small dream thoughts

[bamboozledbird]

IGNITE: A Teen Wolf S1 AU (Reader's Version) // Prev. / Chapter 2 / next.

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, fem!reader (You), Lydia Martin, Scott McCall, Allison Argent Pairing: Eventual Stiles x Reader, but man are we talking slow burn Word Count: 6.7k Warnings: Canon typical gore/violence, emetophobia, parental death (rip to your fake mom), descriptions of burning, depictions of depression (apathy, dissociation, 'numb little bug' vibes) Tags: Canon has been lovingly scrapped for parts, author is a chaotic bi and it shows, prolific overuse of the em dash, the slowest of burns i fear

Summary: You can always smell ash long after the fire is gone. Perhaps, that’s why you still can’t breathe without choking on the past. It’s been four years since your mom died. Four years since she burned alive. Four years since you didn’t. You survived, but they must have buried your heart with her because most days you feel like a shadow, some horrifically sad creature caught halfway between a ghost and a lamb for slaughter. 

You can’t scrub the bitter smell of hospital from your memories, not even with denial. Maybe, that’s why death and disease follows Stiles wherever he goes now. It’s been eight years since his mom died. Eight years since he didn’t. Eight years since he decided that he wouldn’t let anyone he loved die ever again. He survived, but Scott’s new-found abilities and the murky world they’ve been dragged into is making it pretty damn hard to keep his promise. 

Time never stops turning. The grief never dissipates. Children soldier on—but in a town where all the monsters under the bed are real and old family skeletons rattle in every closet, how long can two fragile, breakable humans survive? 

Maybe, the real question is how long will they want to? Chapter Summary: After an awkward encounter with Lydia Martin, Stiles realizes that his new acquaintance might be the perfect person to jumpstart his 15-year plan. You, on the other hand, aren't interested in discussing your ex-best friend; you're much more focused on the man who was attacked by the mysterious beast ravaging the town.

A/N: Thank you all so much for the support so far. So many of y'all have been so sweet :') Comments and reblogs are love.

Monday came, and you’d forgotten about Stiles Stilinski and his sweatshirt. In all fairness, you almost forgot your essay too. Lack of sleep, maybe, or perhaps lack of Wellbutrin—you’d also forgotten if you’d taken your pills before you left for school.

You crinkled your nearly empty can of Red Bull a few times and twisted the tab in circles until it snapped off. Nervous habit. You flicked the tab into a trashcan and squeezed the can until it crumpled in on itself. Okay, you’d definitely forgotten to take your pills. However, on your list of things to forget, homework outranked antidepressants by several places, so your day wasn’t off to the worst possible start in the world. Dr. Lin always said that you should spend at least five minutes every morning changing your ‘self-talk’ to ‘gratitude, not negatude’—she also said that consistently taking your meds was imperative to your mental health, but one out of two wasn’t so bad. See. Positive thinking; you were killing it. 

It was, however, pretty damn difficult to put a positive spin on a bloodied school bus cordoned off with yellow crime scene tape. 

You lingered on the outskirts of the swarm of teenagers gawking behind the barricade that a few deputies were fruitlessly attempting to enforce. The back door of the bus was crumpled in the middle, wrenched open, and barely clinging to life with a lone intact hinge. More concerning, was the blood smeared across the yellow paint and the bloody handprints pressed against the windows. You peered through the mass of shoulders in front of you and cupped your hand over your eyes. There were four large gouges in the door and tears in the vinyl seats—claws: you realized. They were claw marks. 

Baffling. The entire scene was, in all sincerity, baffling. 

Awful, you quickly corrected yourself. The carnage was awful, first and foremost. It was awful, horrific, and totally tragic…but it was also bizarre. Animals, wild or not, generally didn’t hunt on school grounds; that honor was reserved for creepy super-seniors and perverse volleyball coaches. You chewed on your bottom lip and stewed. A bear seemed most likely, given the battering the bus took, but Beacon Hills was a long way from Los Padres. Mountain lions and coyotes, on the other hand, often strolled into small-town suburbia to snack on the occasional unaccompanied support animal. Still, you doubted they had the strength or dexterity to rip a steel door off of its hinges. 

The first warning bell rang, and it was especially shrill while you were lost in your own head. You managed to not flinch with a herculean effort and pushed through the remaining voyeurs towards the front doors. Stuffing your airpods into your ears, you turned up the volume on your phone until the bass vibrated all thoughts of coyotes, cougars, and bears out of your mind. Oh my. 

Positive: Ellie Rowsell’s ethereal vocals demanded your full and undivided attention. 

Negative: Ellie Rowsell’s ethereal vocals demanded your full and undivided attention. 

You grabbed your chemistry notecards, a few highlighters, and a fat stack of books from your locker just as an overly-cologned jackass shoved his equally pungent friend straight into your crowded arms.

Positive: You hadn’t gotten the chance to organize your notes by unit number before they scattered all over the floor. 

Negative: They were still scattered all over the floor.

Biting back a few choice expletives, you crouched down and gathered your notecards into a messy heap. You stretched across the scuffed tile for your highlighters; one brushed past your fingertips and rolled into the pointed toe of a sleek brown leather boot. You glanced up, apology ready, but your tongue went cottony when you locked eyes with Lydia Martin.

Lydia Martin was many things to many people, but you supposed the general consensus would be that she was the apex predator—regardless of what the bloodbath outside might lead a person to believe. Most students were consenting prey. Enthusiastically consenting, in fact. You understood the impulse. Knowing she could destroy you, that was the thing that made Lydia so undeniably captivating.

Lydia was…sublime. That was the only word for it. She was the duality of fear and attraction. She defined indefinable beauty—because she wasn’t just beautiful (anybody could be beautiful), Lydia was fiercely beautiful and, in the same breath, the grace of girlhood. She was…she suckerpunched Jordan Aadams in the third grade for making fun of your eyes without lifting a single manicured finger; that was the closest you could come to explaining the phenomenon Lydia Martin left in her wake.

Lydia’s thick red curls spilled over her shoulders as she looked down at the obstacle in her path. The angry pinch in her brows softened briefly once she made eye-contact with you, but she quickly corrected her slip and schooled her face into a blank expression. Returning her attention to her friend, Lydia’s heels clicked against the floor as she stepped over your copy of Metamorphosis and continued on with her conversation like it hadn’t ever stopped. Like you were just a mirage or a distorted oil-slick reflection—like you were a ghost who just wouldn’t fucking die already. You watched her go, forgetting to blink, until they reached Lydia’s locker on the other side of the hall.

Before she got extensions, Lydia liked to wear her hair in a French braid. Before she discovered full-coverage concealer, her freckles were golden against the fairness of her cheeks. Before everything fell apart, she was your best friend. 

In the end, it wasn’t a terribly dramatic thing. There wasn’t a melodramatic scene or an explosive fight; sometimes, you wondered if that would've been better. There was a certain kind of brutality to a slow, quiet death; one that lasted long after the hot water turned cold and shampoo stung your eyes. After the funeral, you could taste decay in your conversations, in your silences. The rot crawled listlessly—everything did back then—tauntingly sluggish. You saw the end coming weeks before you stopped speaking, and you didn’t even try to stop it. To be fair, Lydia didn’t either.

On the first day of seventh grade, Lydia had new friends; they all smelled like vanilla and owned matching couture purses. She’d always been magnetic, but evidently losing her only constant was her final quest before she transcended to godhood. You made her human; that must have been the problem. You were babies together. You were more than family. Now, you sat across from each other in a class you couldn’t bring yourself to care about, and you did not look at each other unless it was straight through.

You snatched the runaway highlighter and quickly sunk back against the wall, pressing into it like you could force your body through the cracks in the bricks or at the very least shed the sentimentality clinging to your skin. You darted your gaze across the hall and almost snorted when you saw the amount of people who’d flocked to Lydia’s side in the span of no more than thirty seconds. Lydia was unobtainable, unknowable—and yet ever so desirable. No one really knew her, so of course they all wanted to be her. 

Lydia only liked one of them, the new girl with shiny black hair and dark eyes; you could tell. Her top lip pursed ever so slightly when she was holding back a barbed comment and a violent eye roll. Usually, Lydia didn’t bother with niceties, but for whatever reason she’d decided her new persona should only intimidate peons with looks and confidence, never brains. It was a shame, really; her cave-dweller boyfriend desperately needed educating. 

You resisted the urge to look across the hall again and smoothed out the bent corner of a notecard until ‘alpha’ became ‘alpha particle’. A shadow fell over the pink-highlighted text, and you frowned. Glancing up, your frown cemented when you saw Stiles’s elven nose and remembered that you still had his sweatshirt wadded on your desk chair.

“Hey,” Stiles adjusted his grip on his backpack, “did your car make it home okay?”

You nodded and shut your locker with your elbow, bending with the wobbling tower of school supplies in your arms until it stabilized again.

“Cool.” He nodded a few times, mouth puckered like a duck, and scratched at the back of his neck, “So. You and Lydia, huh.”

You stared intently at your notes, “Is that a question?”

“No, it’s a statement.” He hooked his thumbs around his backpack straps and leaned back slightly, “And that episode of telepathic taekwondo was definitely a statement.” 

You glowered until ‘alpha decay’ and ‘helium-4 nucleus’ mushed together into an illegible pink blob, “I’ve got a statement for you—only two words actually.” 

“So it is a thing.” You could hear the smirk in his voice as he grabbed the books from under your arms.

You refused to feel grateful, even as you readjusted your grip on your cards and freed one of your hands, “Get lost, Stilinski.”

“That’s three words.” The smirk was deafening now.

The one-minute warning bell rang and a mass of students swarmed the hallway, effectively drowning out Stiles’s smugness with a sea of jock whooping and band geek trumpeting. You met his gaze and smiled, quick and sickly-sweet, before stepping around him, “Kindly. Choke.”

You ignored the sound of Stiles’s large footsteps following far too closely behind you. You wanted to be annoyed with him, but English was his first-period and he did have your books in his stupidly big hands. Instead of flipping him off, you focused your itching fingers on stacking cards and pencils on top of your desk until Stiles sat down in the seat next to you—without permission. You changed your mind; he was annoying. 

Stiles scooted the desk closer to yours with his feet, and the metal legs screeched against the linoleum flooring for you. “Was it like a ‘grew apart over the summer’ thing, or did some serious shit go down?”

You sighed heavily and lined your pencils and pens next to each other, first in order of length and then color, “Why do you care?”

His mouth remained open for a second, and then he shrugged a little too casually, “I’m a naturally inquisitive person.”

“You’re unnaturally irritating,” you grumbled, low in your throat, and scowled at your picked-apart cuticles like they had done you a particular disservice. 

Stiles huffed through his nose and threw his hands in the air, “Come on, I totally saved your ass Friday—very chivalrously too, might I add. I won’t even press charges for the theft.”

“Theft?” you finally turned around in your seat to face him at the accusation. 

Stiles nodded solemnly, “My sweatshirt. My most favorite sweatshirt of all the sweatshirts.”

Oh. You deflated a little; you’d forgotten about that pesky little detail again. You snatched your books off of his desk before your lives could become further entangled and replied flatly,  “I’ll overnight it.”

“No, I insist you keep it.” His smile was a little too crooked to be truly cocky,  “I’m a good guy like that.”

You tapped your pencil against your chin, eraser side up, and cocked your head to the side, “Isn’t it incredible how every self-proclaimed ‘good guy’ is exclusively terrible.”

Stiles’s face twisted into a petulant scowl as he collapsed against the back of his chair, and you were a little surprised that the desk managed to contain all of his gangly appendages without collapsing as well. “I like her, okay!” His exasperated confession carried to the next row of students, and Stiles melted into his seat when a jacked sophomore with no neck whistled lewdly behind you. Squeezing his eyes shut, Stiles lowered his voice, “Actually, I’m kind of in love with her if you want to be technical about it.”

“Oh.” You blinked and then laughed.

“Don’t laugh, asshole.” 

“Sorry,” you grinned, not sorry in the slightest, “it’s just…isn’t everyone?”

Stiles shook his head and sighed wistfully, “Not like I am.”

You turned to get a better look at him and didn’t mask the doubt in your eyes. He was wearing a brown flannel that was practically mewling for a good ironing and a red t-shirt with the silhouette of a spider embossed over his chest. Spider-Man’s emblem, obviously. If you had to hazard a guess, you’d say it was the Andrew Garfield version. Regardless, it was blatantly clear that Stiles’s homeplanet was lightyears away from Lydia’s.  

You folded your arms over your chest and leaned back against your seat, “Have you even talked to her?” 

“Technically…no,” Stiles dipped his head from side to side like a bobble head and then pressed his palms together, gesturing with them every so often to emphasize the most ridiculous words in his sentence, “but we have a deep, unspoken connection, mostly via sporadic eye-contact.”

You just looked at him, unamused and unimpressed.

Stiles held up his hands like a director and kicked his feet onto his desk, “It’s about the long-game.”

“Gross,” you pulled a face. You weren't sure if you were referring to the gray wad of gum stuck to the bottom of his shoe or the pride in his long-con. It was probably a bit of both.

“Are you gonna help a guy out or not?” Stiles nudged the leg of your desk with his sneaker—the gumless one, thankfully—and sent one of your pens careening towards the edge.

You caught it before it could hit the ground and glared at him. “Hate to break it to you, but I’m not an ‘in.’” You returned the pen to its rightful place between your pencil and purple highlighter: a perfect rainbow of neuroticism. You straightened your row of writing utensils again and swallowed shallowly, “I don’t even know her anymore.”

For the first time since Stiles had popped up in front of your locker like a chronic zit, understanding clicked in his eyes. Actually, he almost looked apologetic. Stiles sucked his bottom lip between his teeth and leaned forward onto his forearms, “So…what happened? Did you not make queen bee first-string?”

“No,” you bristled. After a long exhale, you crumpled in on yourself a little and mumbled, “Yes…kind of. I don’t know. I have my version; I’m sure she has hers.”

Stiles clasped his hands together and nodded sagely, “There are as many truths as there are people.”

Your brows scrunched, and your eyes went lidded as you flipped through your mental philosophy rolodex, “Camus?”

He shook his head and clicked his tongue against the back of his teeth, “Evangelion.” 

You were startled into a snorty chortle, “Obviously you’re a weeb.”

Stiles hid his amusement behind a slow roll of his eyes, “You’re at least 1/16 weeb if you know Evangelion is an anime.”

Before you could deny such blasphemy, you were distracted by the boy who usually sat next to you—Greg something, you were pretty sure—coming to a stop directly between you and Stiles. He lingered next to the side of his desk, breathing heavily through his mouth like some kind of sick prowler. 

Stiles glanced at him with a flat expression and then looked up again, brows shooting towards his hairline, when he didn’t leave, “Can I help you?” He jerked his head forward and shook it slightly, “Need a mint?”

Greg Something stared at him, red-rimmed eyes thoroughly glazed over, and you wondered if being faded at 7:45 in the morning was worth the tortuous five-hour wait until lunch. 

“No?” Stiles waved his hand in the air; Greg didn’t even blink. “Okay seeya.”

It took him roughly 30 seconds to comprehend what Stiles was saying, but eventually Greg shuffled towards one of the remaining empty seats in the middle of the classroom. 

“Thank you,” Stiles muttered before returning his attention to the side of your face.

You smirked slightly at your notebook, doodling a little bird with sharp talons along the margins of your notes on Kafka’s thoughts on absurdism—spoiler alert: the guy who wrote a book about a dude randomly transforming into a bug was a big fan of it. You added a long feathered tail to your bird and said, “It is his seat.”

Stiles scoffed and looked over his shoulder. You both watched Greg shove a handful of Cheeto Puffs into his mouth in slow-motion for a moment, and Stiles replied, “I think he’ll live.”

“Oh,” you shook your head a little, freshly bitten lips curling around the extended vowel, “I’m not worried about him.”

Stiles clicked his pen aggressively with his thumb and pressed his mouth together until his lips disappeared into a flat line. “If you would just answer my questions the first time, I wouldn’t have to keep asking them, so, for the love of god—” fortuitously for him, he was cut off by a loud scratchy buzz before you could succumb to your base instincts and throw an eraser into his flapping mouth. 

Principal Montoya’s voice crackled through the loudspeaker, “Attention students: I know that many of you are concerned about the…incident in the parking lot, but rest assured that the police have it well in hand. Classes will proceed as scheduled as they continue their investigation. Have a productive day, Cyclones.”

A resounding groan echoed throughout the classroom and into the hallway, followed by the hum of students breaking into various complaints. Mr. Lyman thwacked his pointer against the whiteboard, and the force of his swing sent the cartoonish hand on the end of the stick into rapid vibration—effectively shutting everyone up. The quiet was only disturbed by the rustle of zippers being unzipped and papers being smoothed when he instructed everyone to turn their essays in. 

You hastily wrote your name across the top of your paper and pointedly kept your eyes on the board when Stiles leaned across his desk. “Life’s short, y’know. One day you’re a traveling salesman, and the next you’re a grotesque, monstrous insect, wishing that you’d seized life when you had the opposable thumbs for it, so—”

“A man just died; have some class,” you interrupted him, voice dry as it was soft. Stiles might not care about getting in trouble, but you’d worked very hard to remain on a no-name basis with all your teachers. 

“We don’t know that he’s dead—or that he’s a he.”

“Oh yeah,” you jotted down the daily prompt in your notebook and muttered, “I’m sure the guy just decided to go home and sleep off the mauled limbs.”

“It could’ve been an animal,” Stiles huffed, bowing his head in submission when Mr. Lyman shot him a stern look from behind his desk. He continued with his hand over his mouth, muffling his words, “And they do run off to die alone.” 

You stared at him for a long moment. “That’s cats. Are you saying a bear ripped a bus apart for a cat.” 

“Well, if you say anything in that tone, it’s going to sound ridiculous,” Stiles muttered sullenly against his palm, and you were pretty sure that he was pouting behind it too.

You opened your mouth to reply and then squinted slightly when a boy with floppy hair skidded to a halt in front of you. His mouth was slightly agape as he looked back and forth between Stiles and Greg, who was now licking the nearly toxic orange dust off of his fingers. 

 “Sit, Scotty,” Stiles jerked his thumb towards the empty desk behind him. “Good boy.”

The boy, Scott you gathered, did not look amused, but he sat down behind Stiles anyway and leaned forward to whisper something in his ear. Stiles whipped around and responded in a hushed screech.

You were distracted from her eavesdropping when Lydia’s friend sat down next to Scott—directly behind you. Her jaw could cut glass. You dropped your chin onto your folded arms and refused to let yourself frown; the end result was a slightly constipated pout. It was just…Allison had just started going to Beacon Hills a few weeks ago, and she was already completely intertwined in Lydia’s life. 

Lydia was…prickly, so you were just surprised, that’s all, how easily Allison fit into her life. More palatable, you thought as you risked a peek over your shoulder; she must be more palatable than most. A terrible, ugly thing creeped over you, and you found yourself imagining Allison choking on her beautiful, silky black hair until her beautiful dark eyes popped out of her head. Just for a moment. A brief, awful, horrible moment—until you remembered it wasn’t Allison’s fault. 

“Hey.” You flinched when you felt a gentle tap on your shoulder.

You reluctantly shifted in your chair so that you could see Allison. You just looked at her for an uncomfortable moment, and Allison smiled awkwardly, “The tests.” You blinked and licked your dry lips, at a loss for words. Allison smiled again, a little nervous but still kind, “They're on your desk.”

“Oh,” you said dumbly and reached for the pile of papers on your desk that you’d missed during your lengthy period of dissociation. You kept one and then held out the rest to Allison, mumbling, “Sorry,” under your breath.

Allison looked at you for a moment, and you didn’t like the discerning look in her doe eyes. “It’s okay. I zone-out all the time.” 

You could see why Lydia liked her; she was nice, overly so. You felt that ugly feeling slip into your mouth again, bitterness coating your tongue, and you wished that Allison was catty or at very least a vapid twit who was either too stupid or too self-involved to notice other people—like the rest of Lydia’s circle. 

“I like your necklace.” Allison nodded a little towards the black chain around your neck. 

A heavy pendant rested just over your sternum; the maze etched into the stone had eroded in places, like it had been left out in acid rain for decades. You weren’t sure exactly what it was made of; your mother never said when she gave it to you, and you never asked. It didn’t matter much now. 

“Thanks,” you finally said, because that was what normal people did when they were complimented, and you were a normal person. Mostly. You swallowed thickly and bit down on the scab in the center of your bottom lip before adding, “I like your jacket.” You did. It was simple, unadorned by gaudy zippers and lapels like so many of the other leather jackets on campus. You would wear it yourself if you didn’t break into a sweat in any temperature warmer than tepid. 

Allison’s cheeks dimpled when she smiled, and you quashed the sigh rising in your throat. Her smile was magnificent. “Thanks. I wasn’t sure if I could pull it off, but my friend convinced me to—” Allison let out a little breathy laugh, “Sorry, you definitely don’t want to hear my jacket’s tragic backstory.”

You didn’t, not if it included hearing about Lydia’s fashion tips second-hand. Still, you scraped up a little smile, “As long as it doesn’t begin with a cow, you’re golden.”

Allison laughed and held up her hands, “It’s faux; I promise.”

“Ladies,” Mr. Lyman called from across the classroom, “I wasn’t aware that existentialism was so amusing.” You felt a dizzying heat crawl up your neck to your ears once you realized that the only noise in the room, other than Allison’s tinkly laughter, was the scratch of pencils on paper as students worked on their tests. 

“Sorry,” you mumbled at the same time, and Allison mouthed another ‘Sorry’ just for you before you turned around. Damn. You liked her. How incredibly inconvenient. You almost wished that Stiles was still pestering you so that you had a real reason to be upset—until you finally got a good look at the mid-term, more specifically at the thickness of it. You flipped through the lengthy test and looked at the ceiling briefly: Six essay questions? 

Positive: At least, you found a legitimate excuse to sulk. 

Negative: You felt a migraine coming on. 

Blessedly, whatever Scott had said to Stiles at the beginning of class was distracting enough to keep his, frankly obsessive, focus on him for the rest of first-period. You were even able to finish the final essay question without interruption—which was plenty difficult without being interrogated about your ex-best friend. You almost scoffed when you read the prompt: Whom do you sympathize with more, Gregor or his family? Who in their right mind would side with a pathetic parasite who couldn’t love anyone more than he hated himself? An uncomfortable, undeniable pang of melancholy sliced through your throat, and you were actually grateful for the distraction when the bell rang for second period and you had to pack up for chemistry. 

The impending chemistry midterm, however, was evidently a touch too distracting because you didn’t notice that you’d regained your lanky shadow until you were in Mr. Harris’s classroom and he stole the flashcard in your hand. Narrowing your eyes, you leaned across the lab table and rocked onto your tiptoes. Your outstretched arm shook as you struggled to even brush your fingers against the cardstock, “I haven’t talked to her in years. Lurk elsewhere.”

Stiles opened his mouth and then shut it again, head bobbing helplessly for a moment, “I was just going to ask you about…Gregor. That last question was a real piece of work, huh.”

You plucked the card out of his grasp while he was distracted by his social ineptitude, “Uh huh.” 

“Scout’s honor,” Stiles placed his hand over his chest and somehow made his big eyes rounder. His pink bottom lip jutted out ever-so slightly, but the quivering at the edges of his mouth gave him away. Sighing, he leaned his weight onto his palm: flat against the tabletop, fingers spread, and far too close to your own. He gestured erratically with his other hand, and you jerked back to avoid being smacked in the face. “Personally, I’m on Grete’s side. I mean, you can only take care of your werebug brother for so long without some kind of recognition before you snap.” Stiles shot a pointed look over his shoulder at his friend from first-period, and you thought the glare Scott returned was well-deserved. You could be biased, but probably not. 

“He was a little preoccupied by being, y’know, a bug.” You shuffled your notecards and frowned pensively at the question that ended up on top of the stack: What is the formula for Calcium acetate?  

“He could’ve said thank you in Morse code.” Stiles looked over your shoulder and added, “C4H6CaO4.”

You flipped the card over and pursed your lips. He was right. “I actually said the same thing,” you admitted begrudgingly as you grabbed the next flashcard from the pile. “Not the Morse code bit, that’s objectively insane. I did say that the best thing he did for her was die.”

“Damn.” Stiles’s forehead wrinkled as he let out a puff of air, “A little harsh.”

You picked at your raw cuticles and wished you could pull your bottom lip over your head. “It’s like you said,” you muttered as you folded your arms firmly over your chest, ducking your chin towards the divot in your breastbone, “she could only deal with his depressed bullshit for so long before she got on with her life and made new, sane, non-insect friends who actually go outside, and have fun at parties, and respond to texts.” You paused and remembered that you needed air to function when your lungs started to burn. Exhaling shallowly, you pressed your calves against the stool’s frigid legs until it hurt. Maybe, if you crushed your limbs together tightly enough, curled in on yourself closely enough, you could disappear. “And don’t, y’know, crawl on the ceiling and projectile vomit Exorcist style,” you finished weakly.

Stiles studied you for a moment, and it was like he could see every painfully tender spot inside you. You felt ants crawling underneath your skin and him seeing you, and you wanted to bolt before you came completely unstitched at the seams. “Well,” he trailed off for a moment, rubbing the back of his head, “in all fairness, being there…that’s kind of the deal when you’re friends—even if they turn into a disgusting bug.” You didn’t know that someone so caustic could sound so gentle, like ink running across paper.

“Siblings.” You swallowed and looked away from his unyielding gaze, but you still saw amber and understanding every time you blinked. “You mean siblings.”

“Sure.” Stiles smiled a little and slid his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, “Siblings.”

You swallowed again, couldn’t even manage a ‘see'ya’ or an eyeroll when he saluted you goodbye, and watched him saunter towards his seat next to Scott through your lashes with your bottom lip tucked between your teeth. You felt a little sick once you realized that you weren’t relieved by his absence. It was all you’d wanted at the beginning of his inquisition, and yet…you wanted him to sit next to you. The epiphany struck you right in the stomach, and you felt a bit like one of your dad’s rare butterflies—tissue paper wings pinned to paper, fervently yearning to fly away, even if it meant ripping yourself apart. 

Normally, you thoroughly enjoyed not having a lab partner. The class had an odd number of students, and Mr. Harris either hadn’t noticed or didn’t care that you never joined another pair during labs. It was a toss-up, considering he seemed to loathe his job as much as he loved devoting his undivided attention to mocking Stiles. Speak of the bifocal-ed Devil. 

“Mr. Stilinski,” the contempt in Mr. Harris’s voice was sickeningly viscous. You imagined mucus dripping from his thin lips; it helped quell some of the righteous anger in your gut. He continued, and now he was spitting up slugs and snot, “If that’s your idea of a hushed whisper, you might want to pull the headphones out every once in a while. I think you and Mr. McCall would benefit from a little distance, yes?”

“No–” Stiles’s jaw hung open as he shook his head violently. 

Mr. Harris silenced him with a glare, and your fingers curled into your palms as you watched the condescension gloss over his smirk when Stiles complied. Your jagged, bitten-down nails pinched your skin; you quickly flattened your hands on top of the table before you did something stupid like draw attention to yourself. It was none of your business, after all, and you had a test to prepare for. 

You stared at your notes, reread the same sentence over and over again without comprehending a single word, until you felt the uneasy sensation of someone sneaking up behind you.

“Hey,” Stiles sat down on the empty stool next to you and kicked at your shoe lightly under the table. You hummed in recognition and slid your textbook over to make room for his things. 

Stiles’s face scrunched as he flipped through his own notes. You couldn’t read most of it—not that you were looking; his hand-writing was just glaringly atrocious. Everything was smooshed together and most of the letters were partially incomplete, like his pencil couldn’t keep up with his brain. You looked back at your own notebook, at the meticulously symmetrical loops and compulsively straight lines, and the corner of your mouth curled into a brief smile. 

The quiet was nice, but you couldn’t shake the irritation sticking to your fingers. You tapped your pencil against your notebook a few times, bit down on the inside of your cheek, and then said, “He’s a dick.” You spoke quietly, but Stiles still flinched. The highlighter in his hand left a long yellow streak across his textbook, and you winced. Truthfully, you were equally startled that you’d voluntarily broken a perfect moment of silence. 

Stiles didn’t seem bothered by the new mark permanently defacing his book, most likely because a good portion of the glossy pages were already more yellow than they were white. He angled his chin towards you and smirked, “Are you legally allowed to call a teacher a dick? Y’know, as the resident teacher’s pet.” 

You grinned at your notes, “I have the utmost authority, actually.”

Stiles leaned forward onto his forearms and struggled to keep his mouth impassive, “Oh, yeah?”

A loud, grating squeal of metal on tile and an even louder yelp interrupted your reply. A girl near the front of the classroom shot up out of her seat, almost sending her stool toppling to the ground, and then bolted towards the window overlooking the parking lot, “I think they found something!” 

Mr. Harris quickly lost control of the classroom as the rest of the class surrounded her, practically pressing their stupefied faces against the glass to get a better look at what, or rather whom, the EMTs were wheeling out of the thicket of trees just beyond the school’s perimeter. You hesitated for a moment before joining the stragglers. Morbid fascination dwindled after you were confronted with the reality of it—you weren't in any rush to see another dead body. 

You weren't ever supposed to actually see the photos; they were strictly evidence for the potential arson investigation. The coroner didn’t even want your dad to see the body. There hadn’t been any point, after all; it was completely unidentifiable. At the time, you thought it would help. You thought peeking at the case file while the Sheriff was on the phone might remind you of some crucial detail, hidden in the depths of your blackout—and, well, you thought it might finally make it real. Maybe, if you saw the proof, you’d finally believe that your mom wasn’t coming back. 

You’d been wrong, of course. Seeing what was left of your mom, seeing her like…that, it’d just made you puke. Your whole body had trembled from the retching, and then you were paralyzed, held hostage by a glacial streak of terror. Sheriff Stilinski had been so terribly understanding about the whole thing, like it was nothing: vomit on his office floor, trembling hands invading his private files. He’d just wiped the corners of your mouth with a tissue and rubbed your upper back in slow circles, just like her your mom did when you were sick—which ultimately sent you into another round of dry-heaving. You never felt the temptation to look again. 

You let out a deep breath when you looked out the window and saw the man on the gurney twitch. His jacket and pants were black, and his shirt was charcoal gray, dark enough to hide any blood stains. The only injury you could make out was a large gash on his face; it was still bleeding sluggishly, leaving a sticky red trail from his jaw to his neck. Your grip on your forearms tightened as your stomach lurched. 

The paramedics began to load the gurney into the ambulance, and the man surged forward without a single warning. His screams were raw, like they’d been ripped from his throat along with the flesh on his cheek, and every single one of the students crowded against the windows recoiled from the wailing. You swallowed the bile burning your throat. It was like they were watching their own, personal horror movie and couldn’t decide if they were more exhilarated or horrified—just itching for the jump scare. 

You stumbled back towards the door and bumped into Stiles and Scott. Stiles gripped your arm gently until you regained your footing.

“That’s not a rabbit,” Scott said under his breath. He looked as queasy as you felt.

“Or a cat,” you added quietly.

“But he’s alive,” Stiles nudged Scott a little, “that’s good, right? Dead guys can’t do that.”

Scott still looked like he was going to hurl all over Stiles’s white Vans, and you felt a flutter of sympathy. The only thing worse than puking was doing it in front of other people. “You might want to take him somewhere,” you spoke softly to Stiles. “He looks like he’s going to pass out.”

“Yeah,” Stiles nodded a little and wrapped an arm around Scott’s rigid shoulders, “good call.” 

His eyes darted around the classroom: big, and brown, and frantic—like a lost fawn. You nodded towards the dark corner Mr. Harris was dissociating in, “I’ll cover for you.”

“Yeah?” Stiles smiled a little, but he looked weary down to his bones as he started shuffling Scott towards the door. 

“Yeah,” your smile was a bit wobbly at the edges, “but only ‘cause I get a sick thrill out of fucking with dicks.” 

Your weak attempt to ease some of the tension in the air was semi-successful; Scott was still staring into another dimension, but Stiles looked positively giddy at the prospect of such a perfect setup. “I have, just, so many thoughts on that, but I’ll save them for after Scott—” he gave Scott a long look and scratched the back of his buzzed head, “gets his blood sugar up.”

It was sweet, you thought as you watched Stiles guide Scott into the hallway, lying to spare Scott’s pride. You thought Stiles would be a better liar, but maybe that was the downfall of being raised by a police officer. It was either that or the general social impotence. Not that you had much room to talk; silence was your preferred method of social interaction. 

The classroom was far from silent now. Students were spread out across the room in little clumps. Some spoke in furious whispers. Others weren’t as discreet, and you could hear every single preposterous word that left their mouths. The amount of sophomores who didn’t know that the California grizzly bear went extinct almost a century ago was a very depressing glimpse into the public education system, but at least there were only two boys howling obnoxiously at a few giggling volleyball girls. Rolling your eyes, you pulled out your phone and typed ‘Beacon Hills bus attack’ into the search bar. 

You refreshed the webpage obsessively, all throughout chemistry and art class, until an article finally popped up on your screen at lunch. You bit into your slightly bruised apple and squinted at your phone, immensely grateful for the empty courtyard as you came across the grittier details. 

You always ate lunch outside; it was quieter without the echoes of gossip and laughter, and the heady scent of cut grass was far preferable to whatever monstrosity the cafeteria was serving that day. Today, the afternoon heat made the earthy warmth especially thick in the air. Normally, you loved that smell, the smell of summer. It reminded you of frenzied August afternoons, running through Lydia’s sprawling backyard and swinging into brisk lake water, but the smell was quickly becoming suffocating the more you read. 

The man who was attacked was a bus driver. He was smiling in the photo they’d chosen to include before pictures of the crime scene, like a warped ‘before and after’ ad. You dropped your half-eaten apple into your lunch sack and shoved it to the side when you got to the background bits. Garrison Myers had a family, a wife and two daughters; they were praying for his unlikely survival. Your throat hurt, and you wondered if there was an apple chunk lodged in your esophagus. Swallowing hard, you scrolled down to the police interview. The deputy they managed to get a quote from clearly knew next to nothing, though he did posit the possibility of a mountain lion attack. You rolled your eyes. Maybe on PCP. 

The only thing you were sure of was that whatever kind of beast ripped a woman in half and slashed a man to ribbons in the span of a week wasn’t going to stop. At least, not until it was killed.

[ringsofsaturnnnn]

— [🪐] ·˚ ༘ ✎ pancakes

a.arlert x fem!reader

𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺 :: sweet boy makes you pancakes <3

𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨(𝘴) :: female reader, pet names, it’s implied that armin & the reader slept together but there’s no actual smut

𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘦 :: saturn writes fluff?! this was a quick little drabble before i went to bed because i’m really craving pancakes for some reason 😭. this is completely self indulgent and not proofread (which may explain why it makes no sense ☠️) maybe i’ll rewrite this when i’m in a more awake state of mind.

© 2023 ringsofsaturn | please don't copy or repost my works! i have not given permission to anyone to repost my works. reblogs/comments/likes are okay!

𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘤𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘢𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘥

tag list :: n/a

armin chuckled as he pressed a loving kiss to your forehead. his pretty girl was fast asleep on their shared bed, a result of the fun they had previously had together. running his fingers up your arm, he couldn’t help but press another gentle kiss to your forehead.

it wasn’t long before he carefully rolled out of your bed. leaning down, he grabbed the boxers he was previously wearing, along with his grey sweatpants. sauntering towards the door, he cast one look at your sleeping figure before heading out the door.

a goofy smile was plastered on his face as he walked into the kitchen. he immediately started getting out measuring cups, bowls, and ingredients. he also turned on the griddle that was built into your stove.

it wasn’t long before the smell of pancakes was filling the house. armin always made the best pancakes. it was something you had complimented him on many times, even when you first started dating.

since you were always hungry after you woke up from sleeping together, armin thought he’d surprise you with your favorite thing. his pancakes.

he hummed softly as he scooped some of his homemade batter onto the griddle. he repeated this action a few more times before putting the measuring cup down. he continued to hum as he watched the delicious pancakes cook.

after a bit, he had a plate full of his homemade pancakes. making sure to turn the griddle off, he smiled down at the full plate of nearly perfect circular pancakes. “my angel is going to be so happy..” he murmured under his breath. quickly fixing you up a plate, he poured you something to drink before quietly carrying it to your room,

tiptoeing in, he set your little meal down on the nightstand next to your side of the bed. right as he went to wake you up, he realized that he forgot to bring you a fork. “i’ll be right back.” he murmured to your sleeping form before scurrying back out to the kitchen.

he quickly grabbed a fork and a napkin before heading over to your fridge. opening it, he grabbed out the syrup and whipped cream. satisfied, he headed back into your room and placed the rest of the things on the bedside table.

leaning over you, he immediately started peppering your face in kisses. “c’mon angel, wake up.” he giggled as he continued to kiss you. it wasn’t long before you let out a groggy groan, your eyes slowly starting to open. “m-min?” you murmured drowsily.

he chuckled as you slowly came to. “there’s my sleepy girl..” he cooed. sitting down next to you, he gently took your hand. “how’re you feeling?” you closed your eyes again and smiled. “tired. and hungry..” the smell of pancakes filled your nose almost immediately after you spoke.

peeking an eye open, you looked at him. “is that-?” he nodded and smiled. “yes, my love, i made you pancakes.” that seemed to catch your attention quite quickly. slowly starting to sit up, he chuckled.

“you always wake up for pancakes..”

[soongyeopsal]

Judgement Call

Summary: You only have 1 job: Don’t let the werewolf out of the basement.

▸ Pairing: werewolf!DK/Seokmin x F!reader

▸ Rating / Genre / AU: 18+ / pwp (smut) / established relationship, supernatural If you are a minor AND/OR if your account has no age in the bio, you will be blocked upon interacting (liking/reblogging) with this post.

▸ Warnings: breeding, a bucket of drool, biting

▸ Word Count: 1.2k

▸ A/N: This is my entry for KBCS’s Blood and Bane event! 🐺 The prompt ofc being: breeding kink. Thank you @shuadotcom for your beta services (no pun intended lol) as always!

Read more at the top because grown up words are in the first paragraph.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Dokyeom is a gentle giant with too much self control. Everything about him is oversized. Yet, the way he keeps his palm to the small of your back in public is reassuring. He holds you in your shared bed delicately, as if you’re a baby bird. He fucks you as if every thrust could break you. 

Holy shit, you wish he would break you. Just once.

You both know that he could. It’s not that Dokyeom has to set out to either; quite the opposite. Dokyeom is always holding back for fear of hurting you. 

As the days bleed together and the nights inch closer and closer to a full moon, he gets a little careless. His canines linger on the fleshy part of your thighs and the pressure teeters on painful. Long digits grip small, purple bruises into your hips. Enormous palms force your legs up to dangle your feet near your head for so long that your hips feel it in the morning.

Then, when the moon has reached its full magnificence for all to witness, Dokyeom is gone. He’s not far; just in the basement actually. You huff and roll your eyes every time your scheduled Rules meeting rolls around, but your boyfriend still insists on reviewing everything thoroughly and consistently.

The Rules:

Double-check the restraints.

Double-check the basement door lock.

Do not investigate any sounds.

Do not come to the basement for any reason before 8am.

Tonight, you exaggerate your pout as you salute him playfully on the landing of the basement stairs. You pout even harder when you step back after locking him in heavy metal wristlets chained to the floor. Dokyeom flashes his signature LED smile and sunny “love you”. It doesn’t make you any less upset about having to lock him away, but you’re forgiving enough to just go along with it.

What Dokyeom isn’t aware of is that you’re also forgiving enough to take whatever he dishes out when you head downstairs in nothing but a nightgown and a key around your neck at half past midnight.

You only make it halfway down the stairs when the chains rattle, then clang as they’re pulled taut. A cautious, deep rumble from Dokyeom’s chest cuts through the darkness. When you reach the bottom and flick the lightswitch on, he’s only a few feet from the steps – it’s as close as he can get with the cuffs on. Crimson eyes stare you down, unblinking and predatory as Dokyeom’s gaze roots you to the spot. You should be worried and you should be fearful and you should go upstairs, but when you look past his fangs and claws, there’s an unmistakable tent in his basketball shorts that makes the sensible part of your brain shut down immediately.

“Out.” Your boyfriend's voice is deeper and so much more gravelly than you would have expected. It’s as if he hasn’t spoken in eons and nearly forgot which language he speaks. 

One thing’s for sure: his tone is speaking directly to your pussy.

“Out!”

Dokyeom growls again, straining against the chains as you disrobe where you stand, skin instantly pebbling with goosebumps from the draft. His expression keeps changing in a kaleidoscope of contradicting emotions, but it’s clear which one wins out the second you dare to enter his personal bubble.

The hook of Dokyeom’s nails threatens to puncture as his fingers curl around your wrist and yank you toward him. It’s not exactly tender, but he’s reasonably careful as he lowers your down onto the blanket – the only “amenity” here, at his request – so you’re laid bare beneath him. The two of you stay frozen, Dokyeom panting above you as he scrutinizes every inch of your body. 

It’s not until your hand reaches to cup the side of his face that he lets go. He leans into the touch before mouthing your hand, leaving a trail of drool in your palm. There’s no time to complain – he’s got to be only half-listening at best, anyway – with how he’s yanked your legs apart so he can slot himself in to rut against your cunt sloppily.

Dokyeom was not small to begin with, but his bulge is noticeably bigger now. Is it harder, too? Is that possible? Yes and yes, you confirm as you (barely) manage to slide your hand between your bodies and catch the waistband of his shorts, pulling them down to expose his hips. 

A shaky, high-pitched sigh/whine lets you know how much he appreciates the gesture as he lines his tip up with your weeping entrance. Dokyeom is physically shaking as he does so, eyes screwed shut as he begins to enter as slowly as he can bear. The bliss of your heat keeps his mouth hanging open in a silent groan, letting more saliva fall from the gape like a faucet that douses the link between your bodies. 

If you’d had a chance to study his cock as it is now, there’s a good chance you would have chickened out. With your hubris and his reduced impulse control, though, you make it work. Once he’s fully inside of you, you’re only given a few seconds before he’s thrusting. Dokyeom’s cock fills you deep, deep, deeper than you’ve ever felt before. In your daydreams, you’d pictured yourself full, yet still dainty, arms above your head as you sigh with pleasure. In reality, you barely sound human yourself as you hiss and yelp beneath him while the shape of his cock projects itself in the pouch of your lower belly, clawing at his sides because he’s too wide to even get your arms around him in this form.

Dokyeom has never been shy about letting you know how good you feel, but he’s so vocal like this. You know he’s close, even without words. Grunts smooth themselves into whimpers and growls slip into the beginnings of a howl. 

You’re close too and you tell him so, but he doesn’t seem to acknowledge it at first. The way you ragdoll in Dokyeom’s grasp as he suddenly hoists you up by the waist to fuck into you harder would be comical if you could see yourself, but your eyes are too busy rolling into the back of your skull. He pins you down with his full weight, nearly taking the wind out of you as his thrusts become short and sharp. 

He rests his lips on your shoulder, breath almost searing as he murmurs, “Love you, breed you.” It’s not clear if he’s asking or telling you, honestly, but you wouldn’t be here in this moment if that mattered to you. 

Dokyeom is yours and you are his. It’s sealed when you cum on his cock and he drives into you one last time, howl muffled into your shoulder as fangs compress and then perforate your delicate skin. It should hurt and you’ll certainly need to patch yourself up later, but the pain only pushes you deeper into euphoria as he floods your pussy with hot cum. 

Just like when you started, the two of you suspend your movements, catching your breath. This is the part where you both come down together and Dokyeom pulls you into his chest lovingly. 

There’s just one little detail you didn’t consider in your excitement leading up to tonight: Werewolf Dokyeom doesn’t just want to breed you; he has to. And one session is simply not enough to get the job done.

[ask-sister-solaris]

sjsndbd you can keep sending me asks i literally do not mind them i love your ideas sm. you're actually helping with muse it's insane.

But since you insist, i had an idea in mind, and then i forgot, and then i saw your reblog and remembered again so !!

could i possibly get another egon x reader (i literally love egon i am not sorry about this) where the reader is a little bit religiously traumatized and they have a call there, but they physically cannot step into the church bc 1) their family went to this church, and 2) everything is coming back after almost forgetting about everything so egon has to comfort them.

Sorry if that's a little dark but that's me being angsty 💀

*rubs hands together* I also have religious trauma so les goooo

“I promise you’re okay Dove”

Egon Spengler x Reader

Warnings: angst, religious trauma, implied 🍇

Panic set in even before you’d gotten into the Ecto 1. The call you’d received was from a church, the Catholic Church to be precise. The one your parents attended when you were young. Egon knew you didn’t like churches somewhat but he thought it was just because you were a scientist and you didn’t believe the stupid bible stories.

You took your meds and got into the Ecto 1 all kitted up and ready. As Ray pulled up to the church your stomach did flips and suddenly you were back to your 7 year old self.

You were only young, seven years old nearly 8. Your parents were taking you to Easter service at the church near your apartment. You were dressed up in a pretty blue dress with a little bow at the back and your hair curled. You never understood why exactly this was so important but you enjoyed the free chocolate.

Of course you’d never worn a dress of this style to church. It came to your knees and was very poofy and femme. The dresses you usually wore were ankle length, and a peachy colour. You didn’t argue though because good girls never argued. As you approached the church the pastor was welcoming everyone, and though you nor your parents saw, he was eyeing you up.

You sat beside your parents and swung your little legs as the ceremony began. You were old enough to volunteer with the little show they put on and let kids get involved with. Of course you begged your parents and it didn’t take much for them to allow you to. The service itself went smoothly, afterward while children were allowed to play outside on the clear patch of grass and adults were sat around picnic tables talking, the pastor called you over into the church. He told you that you looked very pretty in your dress and that he knew God intended you to find a man soon.

This confused you because you were only 7 and boys were so blehhhhh. But you just nodded and smiled and turned to leave. The pastor asked you if you could show him your stockings because they looked so pretty and you foolishly agreed. You thought nothing of it and never mentioned it to your parents. And that’s how it continued every Easter service up until you were 15 and finishing up school.

He tried to get you to strip, going as far as to drag you into the confessional booth and rip your dress. Without going into to much depth he had his way with you and only after you were able to escape and run out screaming and crying. Your dress was in shreds, you were a mess makeup running down your cheeks, and all your parents said was, “you shouldn’t have been tempting him with how short your dress was”

You hadn’t moved from your seat in the Ecto one for a good five minutes, tears were streaming down your cheeks your breathing heavy. Egon told the others to go ahead and he would catch up. They agreed and he waited for you to calm down and come back to the real world. They had things in the car for if Egon ever had a panic attack. He grabbed a sugary drink and something sour for you and that helped you come back to the present.

He held your hand gently and you looked at him. His heart broke seeing how upset you looked. “It’s okay now my dove, I promise you it’s okay Dove”

When the ghost was contained and you were safely in Egons baggy clothes in his bed swaddled up with your favorite drink and snacks Egon put his favorite music on and worked on some paperwork at the desk inside the bedroom. Not even Venkman had cracked a joke about the church, and that was rare.

[exorcqism]

﹆₊ 画家‧₊˚ THE BLOOD PAINTER, KAMO CHOSO

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ﹆₊ 概要 ‧₊˚ art; it comes in many forms. even clothing. wc, 4.39K. dark mode recommended.

␥ note. i’m backkk. i got so caught up in writing one-shots that i almost forgot to do the series. so i’m here. hope ya enjoyyy. reblog to support meeee.

␥ tags. artist!choso, college AU, possible nsfw, female anatomy, smoking, reader has a motorcycle, etc. lmk if i missed anything

␥ misc. masterlist AO3 PART FIVE

finally, the much-anticipated friday had arrived, as the clock struck 12:15, choso let out a heavy sigh and pushed away from his cluttered desk. the familiar sound of the bell signaling the end of class echoed through the room, soon followed by the lively chatter of students as they filed out into the hallway. as he stepped out, the distinct smell of freshly cleaned carpets mixed with the mouth-watering aroma of takoyaki and ramen wafted towards him. his stomach grumbled in response, and he rolled his eyes at his hunger pangs.

as the male strolled gracefully down the hall, his footsteps echoing against the tiled floor, kashimo slung his arm over choso's broad shoulders. his face was lit up with a beaming grin that seemed to radiate energy. choso couldn't help but suppress a groan at the touch.

"what's with the frown?" kashimo asked, his voice laced with playful curiosity. "aren't you excited for tonight?" he continued; excitement evident in his tone as they made their way towards the bustling cafeteria.

"what day is it again?" choso rubbed his bleary eyes, his tiredness evident in the way he slumped in his chair. he had spent all night tending to his digital artwork and finishing up homework. kashimo nearly choked on his drink when he heard choso's question. the bags under his friend's eyes were deep and dark, a clear sign of exhaustion.

kashimo leaned in close, speaking in hushed tones. "you know it's friday, right?" he reminded choso with a mischievous glimmer in his eyes. "your date with you-know-who is tonight." he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, causing choso's eyes to widen with shock and surprise. suddenly, all traces of exhaustion seemed to vanish from choso's expression.

choso let out a frustrated sigh, his hand pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. "damn it, i almost forgot," he muttered to himself. "i need to find something nice to wear and freshen myself up. i probably look like death right now." his thoughts drifted to his upcoming date and he suddenly felt self-conscious about his appearance. kashimo waved a dismissive hand, trying to calm choso’s nerves.

"relax, you have plenty of time. your date isn't until seven and its only noon now. take a nap, get dressed, and do whatever else you gotta to do. maybe even pick up some flowers for the lovely lady." choso only rolled his eyes at kashimo's teasing words but was grateful for his reassurance.

after a satisfying lunch, the two boys retreated to choso's dorm room, where they spent their time sifting through an impressive collection of clothing. like pages in a newspaper, choso pulled each hanger from the rack and tossed the garments onto his bed.

"wow, you must come from money," remarked kashimo, studying the designer labels and high-end fabrics of the clothing strewn across the bed. the beige sweater with a brown collar and sleeves underneath that caught his eye looked like it belonged on the cover of a fashion magazine. it was clear that choso had an eye for style and a wallet to match.

"i wouldn't say i'm wealthy in the traditional sense," choso replied with a hint of modesty, as he effortlessly pulled out a few pairs of designer boots. kashimo's expression shifted to one of disbelief as his eyes took in the luxurious footwear. he couldn't tell if choso was being humble or simply showcasing his affluent lifestyle.

"what’re you talking about? you have the largest room on campus, your wardrobe is filled with high-end fashion that could pay for my textbooks ten times over, you're top of the class, and you have an incredible talent for painting," kashimo exclaimed.

"you have everything. you don’t have to want for anything." the words tumbled out with a mix of admiration and envy, as kashimo couldn't help but feel a tinge of jealousy towards the male beside him.

choso chuckled humbly as he moved the pairs of boots closer to the bed, each one a work of art in its own right. they were made by the most prestigious fashion house in the world, a symbol of his wealth and status.

"the biggest room in the school? that's just because i got lucky with housing arrangements," choso replied nonchalantly, brushing off kashimo's words. "and these clothes and shoes? it's all just material possessions. it’s not like they define who i am." but even as he said this, a part of him couldn't help but feel proud of what he had achieved and acquired through hard work and determination.

a thoughtful look crossed kashimo's face as he sized up his friend. "you've got it all, man, i’m telling you. looks, brains, talent…what don't you have?" he couldn't help but feel envious of choso's seemingly perfect life. little did he know, beneath the surface, there were struggles and insecurities that even wealth and success couldn't erase.

choso simply shrugged, a slight smile playing on his lips. "my wealth is of no concern to me, and it shouldn't be to you either. you are just as worthy as i am, if not more so. i refuse to be lumped in with those spoiled assholes who strut around this place as if they own it." he gestured towards the crowd of students milling about the school grounds outside his window.

“i’d rather not be labeled as an entitled individual that kicks another down because of their casual way of life." choso's eyes glinted with determination and a hint of defiance. he refused to let his family's fortune define him or dictate how he treated others.

kashimo let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping in defeat. but then, as if on cue, a smile lit up his face. "let's forget all that," he chirped. "we have more important things to focus on, like finding the perfect outfit for you." his gaze fell upon a rack of clothes. he strode towards it with purpose.

"i think i already have an idea," he added, gesturing towards a sleek and stylish collared shirt on display. it caught the light just right, highlighting its delicate details and flattering cut. kashimo's keen sense of fashion was always reliable, and he knew this would be the ideal choice for his new friend.

choso inhaled deeply, his chest rising and falling with each breath. "you have an idea?" he repeated dryly, his dark eyes following kashimo's outstretched finger as it pointed towards the shirt.

with a flick of his wrist and a wide, toothy grin that always made choso roll his eyes and groan, kashimo declared confidently, "yeah, yeah, we'll have you looking like a vogue model by the time we're done." his hands moved deftly, as if conducting an orchestra, as he waved them around in front of choso's face.

the sunlight glinted off the sharp planes of his cheekbones and highlighted the smattering of his blood mark across his nose. choso couldn't help but feel a twinge of annoyance mixed with fondness for his friend's over-the-top antics. but he knew deep down that kashimo was just trying to help him look his best for his upcoming date.

after a few moments, choso found himself meticulously adjusting the crisp collar and sleeves of his tailored top, the fabric hugging his figure perfectly. he paired it with formal pants in a deep coffee shade, complementing the beige sweater he wore underneath. the overall effect created a polished and put-together appearance.

kashimo's lips curled into a mischievous smirk as he lightly nudged choso. "well, you could pass for a model," he teased, his eyes flickering over choso's outfit. the male blushed, not expecting to be dressed in such a fashion so soon. "you're quite the handsome devil, choso." his words were laced with admiration and playfulness. choso's cheeks flushed deeply at the compliment.

"please don't say things like that," he murmured, trying to hide his bashful smile. "but thank you…i think." the soft breeze flowing through the window tousled his hair, adding an extra touch of dishevelment to his already dashing appearance.

placing his hands behind his head, kashimo's snicker broke through the quiet of the bedroom. choso shifted his weight, crossing his arms over his chest as he felt the tips of his ears grow warm with embarrassment. fidgeting with his fingers, he tried to push away the teasing.

"aw come on, choso. your lady friend would definitely approve," kashimo taunted, his laughter now booming in the open space around them.

choso's cheeks grew even redder as he found himself growing more uncomfortable. "can we please stop talking about this?" he pleaded, desperately wishing he could escape this conversation and the teasing that came with it. "and shouldn’t you be saving these comments for hakari, not me?"

kashimo's smirk faltered slightly at choso's words, hints of embarrassment creeping into his expression. "hey, it’s not like he's not my boyfriend or anything," he muttered, trying to brush off the earlier comment.

choso couldn't help but roll his eyes at kashimo's attempt to downplay their relationship. as much as kashimo denied it, everyone knew there was something more between them than just friends. but for now, choso was content with keeping their dynamic as it was - friends who teased each other mercilessly.

"right," choso muttered, his dark eyes flickering with curiosity. "so, what happened the other night with you and hakari, if i may ask? did you two have fun?"

kashimo exhaled slowly, his cheeks flushing as he thought back to that unforgettable evening. "i mean…yes, we did have fun, but a couple things happened that i didn't expect."

choso could see the telltale sign of embarrassment in kashimo's blush. He could only imagine what had transpired between the two of them, causing such a reaction in kashimo. a small smile curled at the corners of his lips, wondering just how wild their night together must have been.

kashimo shifted uncomfortably, trying to find the words to explain his feelings about that night. but they eluded him, leaving him with a tangle of emotions that he couldn't quite put into words. nevertheless, one thing was for sure - it was a night he would never forget.

choso raised a skeptical brow at kashimo's wistful expression. "well, aren't you gonna tell me what happened?" he prodded with curiosity. "you seem like you're reminiscing about it."

kashimo was abruptly pulled from his reverie, caught off guard by choso's inquisitive tone. his lips pursed as he carefully considered how to explain the night's events. "i guess i could tell you," he began slowly. "it was a pretty nice night all around. we ate and drank a little, but then out of the blue, he asked me to give him my hand." a faint smile tugged at the corners of kashimo's mouth at the memory.

"i was confused as to why he wanted my hand, but i gave in anyway. we held hands for a while, just enjoying each other's company. and he had this silly grin on his face…" kashimo trailed off with a fond chuckle.

choso couldn't help but tease, "you didn't kiss, did you?" though his words were nonchalant, there was a hint of playful curiosity in his tone.

"stop," kashimo protested, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "it's not like that. we just held hands and…okay, we almost did but i got nervous." his words tumbled out in a rush, his eyes darting away from his teasing gaze. "but we're going to hang out again tonight," he continued, determined to prove that there was nothing more than friendship between them. "and i was thinking of having a double date soon since our situations are pretty similar."

choso chuckled, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. "damn, you're really soiling my plans," he joked, a mischievous glint in his eye.

"well excuse me, mr. kamo," kashimo chuckled jovially, his eyes glinting mischievously. "i should've considered that you might've wanted some alone time with the pretty lady… hey, let's head out and get some flowers. that'd be a nice touch, right?"

"i suppose," choso exhaled, rubbing his temples wearily. "would you mind passing me my wallet? it's on the desk." he pointed over to the umber wood desk that held his notebooks and other school supplies. kashimo retrieved the wallet and couldn't resist taking a quick peek inside. among choso's id, dorm room keycard, and a small polaroid of him and his brothers, was a thick wad of cash.

"holy shit, man," kashimo exclaimed before choso could snatch the wallet from his hands. "you could literally buy the whole planet with this amount of money."

"i said give me the wallet, not snoop around," choso narrowed his eyes, an edge of annoyance in his tone. the stack of bills represented years of hard work and sacrifice for him and his siblings. he didn't want anyone else getting their hands on it, let alone stare at it.

as the clock struck seven, you carefully chose your outfit - a sleek black leather jacket and fitted jeans paired with a simple yet elegant blouse. your trusted harley davidson roared as you rode into the parking lot of the upscale restaurant that choso had chosen for your meeting. you removed your helmet and placed it on the bike seat before walking confidently into the building.

inside, the restaurant was bathed in a warm, dim light that enhanced the romantic atmosphere. the scent of scented candles and sizzling food filled the air as you made your way to the table that had been reserved for you and choso. when you spotted him, your heart skipped a beat at his appearance.

instead of his usual intimidating demeanor, choso looked more like a regular academia student with metal adorning his face. he wore a cozy-looking sweater and a purple scarf wrapped around his neck, giving off a sense of vulnerability. a bandage on the corner of his lip suggested that he may have been injured recently. an expensive-looking watch around his wrist. and instead of his signature ponytails, his hair fell freely around his face, some strands neatly tied into a ponytail.

you sat down on the opposite side of the table, unable to contain the soft smile that spread across your face. "hey, choso," you greeted him warmly. the sound of your voice made him look up at you, seemingly surprised that you had actually shown up regardless of whether it was planned or not.

choso's voice was gentle and hesitant as he spoke, a slight blush rising to his cheeks. "um…hi," he said, returning your smile with one of his own. he held something behind his back, and as he brought it forward, you saw that it was a bouquet of flowers. your heart skipped a beat at the sight of them.

"i brought you something," choso said, presenting the bouquet to you. each stem was carefully chosen and arranged, bursting with vibrant colors and delicate petals. you were not typically one to accept flowers as a gift, but these were too beautiful to resist.

you took the bouquet into your arms, feeling the softness of the petals against your skin. "wow," you chuckled in disbelief, admiring the intricate details of each flower. "these are really pretty…thank you." your eyes met choso's and you could see the sincerity and thoughtfulness in his expression. it made your heart swell with appreciation for this unexpected gesture of kindness.

choso nodded, a delicate pink hue blooming across his cheeks. "i'm…glad you like them," he stammered, his hand unconsciously smoothing out the creases in his scarf. "i was seriously struggling to decide which flowers would be best for you. i wasn't sure if i made the right choice."

you smiled warmly at him, taking the bouquet from his hands and inhaling the sweet scent of the blossoms. "no, it's okay," you reassured softly. "i love these flowers. no one has ever given me a bouquet before - let alone such beautiful ones like these. i can tell you put a lot of thought into this."

as always, your kind words had choso's heart fluttering and his chest feeling light as air. "well, i'm happy to be the first to give you such a gift," he replied, unable to contain the shy smile that spread across his face. "though now I'm starting to wonder if i should have just given you one of my paintings instead."

you shook your head gently. "whatever gift you came up with, i would’ve loved it," you assured him. "as long as it came from your heart and had some thought put into it, that's all that matters to me."

choso smiled softly, feeling a sense of confidence wash over him. after your simple conversation, the two of you finally sat down to order some delicious food and refreshing drinks. your conversations ranged from how your days had been to school-related topics like class projects and even delved into personal matters.

as the waiter placed your plates in front of you, choso couldn't resist taking a quick photo with his camera, capturing not only the mouth-watering food but also the charming interior of the restaurant.

"smile," choso said with a slight twitch at the corners of his lips. your eyebrows raised in surprise, but you quickly posed for the photo, revealing a flawless smile that made choso's heart skip a beat as he gazed at you through his camera lens.

the vibrant colors and warm atmosphere of the restaurant seemed to enhance your beauty, and choso couldn't help but feel grateful for this moment shared between the two of you.

with a contented smile on your face, you playfully plunged your fork into the steaming bowl of ramen, eagerly slurping up the tender noodles. across from you, choso calmly ate from his plate of shrimp tempura, occasionally watching you with an amused glint in his eyes.

"hey, let's do that thing they always do in the movies with the noodles," you suggested, holding up your fork and wiggling it playfully. a faint blush colored choso's cheeks as he caught on to what you were referring to, and he couldn't help but internally sigh at the thought. it wasn't that he didn't want to do anything romantic with you, but he was wary of how things might change between the two of you afterward.

"i suppose there's no harm in trying," choso said with a small smile, taking the other end of the noodle between his lips. you mirrored his actions, using the thin noodle as a playful tool to bring each other closer. as your lips were only a breath away from touching, you both paused for a moment, your hearts racing in anticipation.

finally, unable to resist any longer, you closed the distance between your lips and shared a brief but sweet kiss. the remaining noodle was quickly swallowed as your lips met, causing choso's eyes to widen in shock and surprise. his cheeks flushed a deep red, almost matching the crimson liquid slowly seeping out from his blood mark and onto the table.

feeling slightly embarrassed by his unusual reaction, choso hastily pulled away and chuckled nervously. "that's part of why i always keep it covered up," he admitted, trying to make light of the situation. but before he could apologize or explain further, he felt your gentle touch as you began wiping away the traces of blood on his cheeks with a napkin.

"it's okay," you reassured him softly, carefully folding the napkin to a cleaner side and continuing to clean his face. "does this happen often?" you asked, genuinely curious about choso's sudden bleeding.

choso nodded, his expression slightly sheepish. "usually when i'm….overstimulated," he admitted with a small smile. it wasn't a common occurrence, but it did happen from time to time, especially in moments like this when he was caught off guard by unexpected yet welcomed intimacy with someone he cared for deeply. "but i can also make it bleed at will."

the sound of your laughter filled the room as choso's cheeks flushed with embarrassment at your observation. "that explains why there isn't any red paint in your room. you use your own blood for art…i think that's so cool. but doesn't it hurt?" you asked, genuinely curious about his unique artistic process.

choso shook his head, a small smile on his lips. "no, not in the slightest." his mind seemed to go momentarily blank before he quickly changed the subject. "um…we should finish eating before the food gets cold."

you nodded, returning to your meal but unable to shake off your curiosity about choso's blood mark and how it worked. after dinner, the two of you left the restaurant and made your way back to your motorcycle. you eagerly held onto the bouquet of flowers as you mounted the vehicle and placed your helmet in your lap.

"well, i guess this is where we part ways for the night," choso said, his hand nervously fiddling with his scarf. you looked up at him and checked the time on his watch. despite the sun having set and the moon beginning to rise, the night was still young.

"come on, it's too early to call it a night. let's take a bike ride around shibuya for a bit," you pleaded, hoping to spend more time with choso. just as he was about to politely decline and suggest rescheduling for another day, he felt something stopping him from saying no.

"alright, but please don't drive too fast…i've never been on a motorcycle before," choso reluctantly agreed, surprising himself with his sudden change of heart.

you squealed in excitement and patted the padded seat before putting on your helmet. "you'll have to hold onto me unless you want to fly off," you advised quickly as choso settled himself onto the seat behind you.

"fly off?" choso repeated before you unexpectedly accelerated out of the parking lot, your harley roaring into the night. he inhaled sharply, feeling slightly scared as he instinctively wrapped his strong arms around your body and buried his face into your back. you couldn't help but smirk at your daring actions.

"please…slow down," choso's muffled and shaken voice pleaded from behind you, making you giggle mischievously.

·.⌇ bonus..

under the moonlit sky, you and choso sat on a wooden bench in front of a serene lake. the gentle breeze caused both of you to shiver, but the beauty of the setting made it worth it. as you watched the ripples of the water sway back and forth, you turned to look at choso beside you.

"i wanted to ask you something," you said softly. choso's head snapped over to face you, his eyebrows raised in anticipation.

"about?" he asked.

"you mentioned that you always keep your mark covered up. you said it was because of people's fear and judgment towards what you really are…but why does it worry you so much?" your question forced choso into a moment of silence as he pondered his response.

"i'm…" he let out a heavy sigh before continuing. "i'm not sure if you've noticed, but i'm not like other sorcerers or curses. i’m half curse, half human. my brother yuji is a sorcerer, while the other two are also curses. normally, humans can’t see curses, but because i am in this body, you can see me."

he glanced at you to confirm that you were still listening before revealing more. "i…um…i keep my blood mark covered because when i get overwhelmed or stressed, my face starts bleeding like i told you before. i'm just embarrassed about it. if people knew what i really was, they would probably be too scared to even look in my direction. people think curses are disgusting and unworthy of life; they are afraid of them. it's better that part of myself hidden and live as a human."

you placed a comforting hand on choso's thigh, gently rubbing it with your thumb. "but choso, i'm not scared of you at all. curse or not, i think you're one of the kindest and most genuine people i've ever met. i honestly thought your unique display of techniques was just your sorcery, but now i know the truth. my opinion of you will never change, i promise."

choso's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "really?" he asked incredulously. "i'm not disgusting or horrible to you?" you shook your head, a small smile quirking at the corners of your lips.

"not even close," you reassured him. "the most people will say about you is how annoyingly smart you are." you playfully teased him, making him chuckle.

"but in all seriousness, you're a genuinely good person, choso." with a tender gesture, you reached up and cupped his cheek, causing his cheeks to flush a light shade of red. as you leaned in to place a gentle kiss on his cheek, choso couldn't help but place his hand where your lips had just been.

"my face is going to start bleeding again," he muttered with a shy smile, clearly trying to hide his embarrassment.

with excitement bubbling in your chest, you quickly pulled choso's camera out of his bag and slung an arm over his shoulder, positioning the lens perfectly in front of you both. "smile, choso," you chimed with a grin, capturing the moment forever.

choso's eyebrows shot up in surprise at your quick movements, but he obliged and gave the camera his best smile as a bright flash illuminated the area and the sound of the photo printing echoed through the air.

as soon as the picture was fully developed, you eagerly removed it from the slot and examined it with satisfaction. "we look pretty damn good, don't we?" you commented, admiring how the lighting fell perfectly on both of you and the beautiful scenery around you.

"yeah, not bad at all," choso agreed as he gently took the photo from your hands and stowed it away with his camera in his bag. "that was actually the final picture i needed for my project."

"right, your scrapbook thing," you remembered with a smile as you rose from the bench. "shall we head back? i can help you put it together if you'd like."

choso's smile widened at your offer and he nodded eagerly. "i would love that."

⠀© vmpiires | like, reblog & follow.

[l0v3tast3]

i felt the physical need to write smth for gaz bc i luv him :(( and also i wanted to write sumthin sweet so here's grocery shopping with gaz (っ˘ω˘ς )

grocery shopping with kyle is nearly comparable to being accompanied by your own personal bodyguard. of course he always insists on driving with the excuse that he needs you to navigate (you know he's better at directions than anyone else you know). he sticks close to you as you walk through the parking lot, looking over your shoulder at the shopping list in your notes app between glances around for any sign of trouble. it's his natural state when in public, especially when he's with you, so you've given up on trying to tell him to "relax", figuring this is the best you'll ever get. once you're both inside kyle is darting over to the carts. he finds it fun. there's always a protective hand kept around the handle of it until he puts it away in the parking lot, always an eye kept on your purse when you set it in there.

before you lived together, kyle was the type to rush in, grab an armful of frozen meals and get out as fast as he could, but if you like to meander through the aisles, he's happy to walk laps around the store with you. he has a talent for finding whatever you're looking for as soon as you say it. you're "main" grocery store's layout is memorized by him by the end of your first trip there, so as soon as you check off an item he's pointing out where to go next. kyle likes when you lead him along, keeping a hand behind you on the cart to loosely pull it (he thinks it's cute when you march on ahead because then he can tease you about trying to ditch him).

kyle knows well by now that when "healthy" you is doing the grocery shopping with him, he still needs to throw in your usual snacks underneath the fruits and vegetables you claim you'll eat before they go bad. you always end up grumbling a little "thanks" after you fake being upset, so he figures it's the best course of action. he's also the type to just throw whatever he thinks he'll like into the cart- he has more than enough money for it. usually it's all snacks that don't expire for a few years, so you just laugh and make a bet with him of which ones will end up sitting in the back of the cabinets. once you're finally winding back towards the front, kyle always stands firm on using the self-checkout, and also doing all the bagging. a part-time job in high school as a grocer taught him how to go on autopilot for this part of the trip (you can see the empathetic looks he always gives to the kids struggling to bag the hundreds of pounds of family's products).

on your way out, you don't even dare attempt to carry any of the bags yourself anymore. if you even look like you're reaching to move one out of the cart or grab it out of the trunk once you're home, he'll start (jokingly) acting all defensive, saying you've offended him, wounded his pride. once it's all inside and sitting on the counters, then he needs your help with putting it all away, of course. kyle, for as organized as he is usually, is somehow pretty bad at finding things in his own home. the little sighs when he realizes he forgot where he put something is a common sound in your household. it's no surprise to you that he mostly just hands things to you to sort into the fridge and cupboards.

tl;dr, kyle is a super good shopping partner <3

(ﾉ´ヮ`)ﾉ*: ･ﾟ likes, comments n reblogs are always appreciated!!

[starglasszodiac]

Hey everybody, I am thrilled to tell you that Starglass Zodiac is now launched! And on the project’s 9th anniversary too :D

I'll put more of my ramblings under the cut below, but here's the gist of what you need to know:

The first two pages are now live HERE

The next page is scheduled for July 22nd, 2024

The dates for future page uploads will be announced on this blog and on the site's homepage as each new page is released

The upload schedule itself will be determined at a later date, as I’m going at my own pace for the time being

The comic site is self-made with only my basic knowledge of website coding, so I will be improving it gradually over time

A cover for Chapter 1 is in the works, so stay tuned for that!

As for this blog specifically, I have the following planned in the coming days:

Updating the pinned post with this new info

General cleanup and updates to old posts, the tag system/list, links, pages, etc.

Checking for posts I forgot to reblog here and tagging them

I will be tagging the majority of prior posts/art with the tag #SGZ spoilers so you can blacklist it if you want to go into the comic completely blind. Note that some posts with this tag may not actually be spoilers anymore depending on how the project/story lore has changed since making them, but better to cover all the bases anyway

I'll decide soon how I will reblog the update posts, as I can do so on either my art blog @akysi or my personal blog @sweet-star-cookie, but I doubt I'll do all three to avoid it getting excessive for those who follow all three (thank you for that! <3)

As I said above, I’m going at my own pace with this comic to ensure that I’m satisfied with every page at my current skill level. That will likely mean a slow pace for uploads, and I am sorry for that ^^’ But, I’ve had this as a passion project for a long time and I want to give it the time and attention it deserves.

I’ve also realized recently that I’ve been subconsciously holding myself to arbitrary rules about how and when I distribute my work when it comes to comics, especially with prior attempts to launch this one. Knowing I don’t actually have to do that has been quite freeing, and I’m excited to go at my own pace like I do with my other work. I do hope to increase the frequency of uploads later on of course, with the ultimate goal being multiple times a week, but trying to do that right away just isn’t feasible right now. Regardless, I am SUPER excited to finally be doing this again, no matter how long it takes!

With having this project for nearly a decade, working on it has gotten me through many, many tough times. The amount of support and enthusiasm that I’ve received from all you lovely people over the years has been nothing short of heartwarming, so thank you all so much <3 I hope you like what you see, and look forward to more. :D Thanks for reading, friends!

[lavendertales]

Sweet lies: Chapter 8**

pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader

summary: when Frankie’s suspicions get confirmed over drinks with the group, his feelings get the best out of him yet again in what culminates into another shameful night.

word count: 5.3k

WARNINGS: jealous & feral Frankie, mentions of alcohol, cunnilingus from behind, orgasm denial, doggy (safe).

AGELESS/EMPTY BLOGS & MINORS WILL BE BLOCKED!

Comments & reblogs are always appreciated 💕

gif: @pascalplease 

series masterlist | AO3

When you wake up the next morning, nothing seems different. And yet, you know that as of last night, everything was now different.

While you and Frankie were certainly not friends anymore, now… things were even more complicated than before. Less than friends, yet also more than that. Not quite lovers, but not less than that. All it took was one taste and you were sold to the passion you felt.

The more you think about it, the more your head is pounding persistently, soaked in questions you have no answer for.

You gathered all of your strength for the following week to do your goddamn job and get back in touch with your friends you so abruptly abandoned at their Valentine’s Day bash. You came up with whatever reasonable excuse you could think of, carefully avoiding the mentioning of what had actually transpired.

You called everyone individually and apologized, using the same excuse: stomach bug. It was serious enough to leave a party abruptly, but not life-threatening. Everyone bought it. You were safe.

Except that each time you looked in the mirror, you saw betrayal and shame.

You remain the same person, and yet everything is changed. You feel different. Because now you know what he feels like, and it is the most haunting knowledge you could’ve possibly possessed. You know what his touch feels like, and you know how sinfully good it feels to have him pressed atop of you, as well as hot and wet inside of you. You now know what Andrea must’ve felt on a regular basis, and thus the self-loathing process began in no time.

Frankie and Andrea being on a break didn’t change things much. Sure, they might not be together right now, but your conversation with Frankie gone south definitely altered his decision-making. You do wonder, at the back of your mind, if being with you felt different for him, too. You wonder if his body feels as heavy as yours does, as empty without your presence as yours does.

You wonder if he has trouble making a choice now.

What a cruel thing to think about, you harshly scold yourself. You shouldn’t be thinking this way. Instead, you should acknowledge that what happened was terrible, and hope that if Frankie and Andrea do get back together, they will both be blissfully happy with each other.

Like the affair with you hadn’t meant a single damn thing.

It can’t mean anything, you tell yourself. You happen to like Andrea, and whatever she and Frankie are going through right now, you can’t be in the middle of it. So you decide that if Frankie does not come clean to her about what happened between the two of you, you will. It’s the right thing to do.

After all, you cannot go on with the victim mentality. So what if you felt left behind and abandoned, lonely and broken? No one really cared. People hurt all the time, and they move on, with or without the pain.

Right now, all you have to do is get through this Friday.

You nearly forgot that you’re supposed to meet the gang for drinks at eight p.m., so you throw on a last minute outfit that won’t make you stand out, do your makeup in the most casual way possible, and you’re on your way. You do wonder if Andrea will be present. That would make things even more uncomfortable for you, and possibly for Frankie, too. But if they’re on a break from each other, they wouldn’t be hanging out with each other, right?

Instead of wondering till your head hurts again, you just get to the bar and take it one step at a time. Whatever might go down tonight, you know you can handle it. This is just between you and Frankie—and Andrea.

“Well hello stranger,” Benny greets you first with a big hug, followed by Emily.

“Hey, guys.”

“You won’t bail on us again, will you?” Emily chuckles.

“I don’t think so, no.”

You then go on to hug Will and Mia, taking the time to enjoy the sight of your friends so happy to see you. It’s been a long time since you actually felt so content, and all things aside, you’ve missed these outings with them.

“You feeling okay?” Will checks in with you.

“Yeah. It’s uh… it’s just been a weird couple of weeks.”

“You seem a bit… off.”

You breathe in, smiling instead. “I’m okay. Thank you.”

Ah, Will, the ever intuitive and caring man. You try to sneak in a smooth look around in search for the rest of the party, but you don’t see Frankie, Andrea, Santiago or Rose, for that matter. And just like that, you’re back to the questions.

“Where’s everyone?”

“Pope texted, saying him and Rose will be here in a few minutes. They seem to have lost track of time,” Will clarifies.

“I’ve used that excuse before, we know exactly what that means,” Benny chuckles.

“It’s not the same for everyone,” Emily says sweetly.

“Oh, please! They’ve had the hots for each other since forever and now that they started spending time alone? Chances are they’re going at it like rabbits.”

Emily makes a half amused, half grossed out face and playfully slaps his arm. You look at them fondly, admiring the openness and care they visibly have for each other, and you can’t help but swoon.

“Have you guys decided on a date for the wedding?” you ask Mia.

“We’re thinking April of next year,” she says with a flustered smile on her face. “So that it’s not too hot, not too cold.”

“Don’t worry, you’re all gonna get the invitations soon enough,” Will smiles.

“Which reminds me. I already asked Emily, but I’d like to ask you too. Would you like to be my maid of honor?”

Stunned, you stare at both Mia and Will, the corners of your mouth descend into a bright, warm smile.

“I’d love to, oh my God!” you exclaim and go to hug Mia.

For a moment, it all seems right in the world. No awkwardness, no aching, nothing negative.

And then, Frankie makes his appearance. And you’re back to the shame and guilt.

Although, much to your ease, you remark that he’s without Andrea. At the very least, playing pretend tonight will be easier. You don’t think you could handle being in Andrea’s vicinity without confessing everything to her, and that would pretty much ruin the night.

“Hi,” he greets you firstly.

“Hi.”

You’re well aware of the fact that all your friends are watching the two of you, so you try to act as natural as possible.

“Can I talk to you for a minute? Please?” he asks.

You can’t really hide your surprise, but you nod in agreement, going to a more secluded part of the bar. Although being so close to him, inhaling his cologne and feeling his warmth so close again, it’s probably not the best idea.

“What is it?” you ask sharply.

“This probably goes without saying, but what happened last week—“

“Nothing happened, Frankie,” you immediately cut him off.

He nods, slowly. “Right. Of course.”

“This also goes without saying, but nothing even remotely close to what didn’t happen will ever happen again,” you say.

“Agreed.”

“Have you talked to Andrea?”

Frankie gulps, momentarily avoiding your eyes, and you instantly recognize the answer.

“No,” he confesses. “We’re on a no talking, no seeing each other basis.”

“Sooner or later, you’re gonna have to tell her.”

“I’m gonna have to tell her something which didn’t happen?”

“Yes. Because if you don’t, I will.”

Bewildered, he curls his hand around your wrist, barely applying any pressure. “You want to tell her?” he can’t help but ask.

“Yes. It’s the right thing to do. And it you want to have a shot at your marriage, you’ll need to be honest with her.”

“Wait, so… I go back to her like nothing happened, like this didn’t mean anything?”

“Yes, Frankie! Because nothing happened, and it doesn’t mean anything!”

“I was in love with you then, and I’m just as in l—“

“No.”

Your tone is firm, decisive, and it shocks and chills Frankie at the same time.

“I am not a homewrecker,” you say. “And you are not a cheater. So this can’t be happening. This isn’t how we were supposed to happen, and I definitely won’t let it be a thing now. It was… good and fun, but—“

“Good?”

His voice sounds like he’s pleading for something, needing to hear something else, and it makes your knees weaker than you’d like to admit.

“That’s all?” he goes on, and you have to use whatever ounce of strength you have to resist the temptation.

“What do you wanna hear?”

The way Frankie looks at you, with eyes more lustful than you’ve ever seen them, you’re starting to doubt your own sanity and question your beliefs.

“You know what, you’re right,” he concedes, as if realizing he’s been talking a whole lot of nonsense until now. “It doesn’t matter. It was… nothing.”

You nod, all too eager. “It was nothing.”

You both return to the table, noticing drinks on the table already. Apparently Will paid for the first round, celebrating his upcoming nuptials. Then you notice Santiago and Rose rushing in, looking through the crowd for you all.

“Done already?” Benny teases them, much to their confusion.

“Would you knock it off?” you shush him.

“Sorry we’re late, it was traffic,” Santiago apologizes, cramming himself and Rose at the table.

Now you’re face to face with Frankie, which in retrospect, it might be more favorable than being right next to him.

“Sure there was,” Benny teases, right in Emily’s ear.

“Benny, come on.”

“So how have you guys been?” Will asks just as Santiago puts his arm around Rose. “I see things are picking up for the two of you.”

“Things are… good,” Rose concedes, barely containing the bright smile on her face. “Really good.”

“All I’m saying is, when you first start dating someone, you can’t really keep your hands to yourself,” Benny chuckles in your vicinity, but loud enough for you to hear. “It’s all about talking and having sex cause it’s just so incredible to be with that person. We didn’t even leave the bedroom for the whole weekend when you and I first got together, Em. And it was a weekly occurrence.”

Emily rolls her eyes, but to her ease, you chuckle. “TMI, guys,” you tell them, albeit your amusement.

“You gotta have this feeling at least once in your life,” Benny then tells you. “When you just can’t stop thinking about this person, when all you wanna do is be with them, get to know them inside out, on all levels, and all you can think about is kissing them, their hands in your body…”

You gulp, struggling to swallow around the massive stone in your throat as you lock eyes with Frankie. You do know that feeling all too well, especially now, and it makes your head spin. It is now, as you listen to Benny’s speech that you reminisce of how it felt to kiss him, at long last, after all those excruciating years, how it felt to have him grind in between your legs, so eager to please, how it felt to have his face buried in your soaked folds, licking to the depths of you till you saw stars.

“Where’s Andrea, by the way?” Mia asks, her question bringing you back with your feet on the ground. “Thought she was joining us tonight.”

Frankie clears his throat, desperately trying to avoid the curious glares from all of his friends. So he chooses to stare at you, knocking the air out of your lungs.

“Right. Andrea. Actually… we’re not on speaking terms right now,” he manages to get out. “Or seeing terms.”

“Is everything okay?”

“I don’t really know. She said she wants to take a little break from all the wedding stress, so… we’re on a break.”

“Does that mean the wedding’s off?” Emily asks.

“I don’t know. All she said is that she wants us to press pause on us, so we’re not talking or seeing each other for a while. She didn’t want to cancel the wedding, so until she figures out whatever it is that she wants, we’re not together right now.”

“I’m sorry, buddy,” Santiago says. “How are you holding up?”

“I don’t really feel like talking about it. So how about we talk more happy things, hm?”

You watch Frankie down the whiskey in his glass, thinking that the whole situation isn’t easy for him. But it isn’t easy for you, either. This whole situation could’ve been so much easier if maybe you wouldn’t have returned in your hometown.

Maybe Frankie had it right all along. Maybe cutting him out of your life for good would’ve been the easier road.

“Okay, okay, a toast!” Benny announces, raising his glass. “To… Pope, finally getting his freak on.”

“Dude,” Santiago scolds him.

“It’s okay, let him finish,” Rose intervenes, clearly bemused.

“Thank you! So. To Pope and Rose, finding their way to each other at last. It’s been a bumpy road for this dude, ‘specially when we were hoping those two would make it work instead.”

He points with his glass at Santiago and you, and Frankie is quick to notice that. He instantly frowns, a bitter taste in his mouth.

“What?” he asks.

“Yeah, those two and their little fling a few years back had us on the edge of our seat,” Benny laughs, unaware of the looks being exchanged at the table. “We figured when she came back in town, they rekindled things, but hey, all for the best!”

You remain quiet, staring apologetically at Rose, who reassures you through a single look and shake of her head that there are no hard feelings whatsoever.

“You—you dated Pope?” Frankie asks you straightforwardly.

“It wasn’t like that,” you exhale.

“We didn’t technically date,” Santiago adds.

“When was this?”

You and Santiago exchange looks, all while Frankie feels his blood boiling in his veins. He shouldn’t be affected by this, not even in the slightest, but he can’t help it. The control you have over him is far greater than self-control. All he cares about right now is that he was right to fear something was going on between you two.

Or there was, at some point.

“She was in town a couple of years back, summer break,” Santiago explains. “We hung out a few times. No big deal. We didn’t actually date.”

Benny leans in towards Emily, an embarrassed look on his face. “I’m really not good at keeping things secret, am I?”

“You either gotta stop drinking or I’ll have to sew your mouth shut, baby,” Emily tells him.

“See, I told you something was up with them,” Mia tells her friend.

“Not now! Why didn’t things work out?”

Santiago shrugs, while you remain completely quiet. “I don’t know, we just thought we’re better off as friends.”

“I always thought that’s just what people tell each other to make themselves feel better about their stupid, cowardly choices.”

Frankie nearly groans as he finishes the sentence, staring you down all the while. But it’s not working on you.

“Always, really?” you ask in retaliation.

“Anyway, fingers crossed for my third date with Rose, guys,” Santiago tries to lighten up the mood. “I really want this to work.”

“So do I,” Rose smiles.

“So do I,” you tell them both.

You can feel Frankie’s gaze on you, burning you alive, and it’s causing you difficulties with breathing. You have to be strong and make the right choice, otherwise…

Otherwise what does this say about you? That you’re willing to bend over all your morals and beliefs for one man, who still has a tight grip around you? That you’re actually not strong at all? That you are weak, craving and chasing all the wrong things?

That is not who you are. That is not who you’ll become. Not even for Frankie.

Which is quite the irony, considering the fact that you once said you’d do anything to be with him. Reality, however, is a little scarier than your original selfish thoughts.

You cast all of that aside, for the time being, at least. You toast to the happiness of your friends, calling it at night at eleven p.m. after one cocktail and a shot of tequila. You’re not trying to get drunk so your morals can bend over backwards just to feel—him.

“You sure you don’t wanna stay?” Rose tries to persuade you as you’re practically with one leg out the door.

“Sweetie, between sitting here with all you happily in love couples talking about pet names and sex and being at home in my PJ’s, I choose the latter. No offense. You know I love you.”

“I love you too. Get home safe, okay?”

“Okay.”

You kiss her cheek, eager to get out of the bar and feel the end of winter cold air hit your face. You need it more than you thought you did. You’ve made it through the night, and that’s something to be proud of.

You kick off your heels the moment you enter your apartment. A loud exhale escapes your mouth, then you freeze, just before you enter the bedroom.

You’ve slept in your room for the whole week, and yet now, as Frankie’s presence still looms over you, you feel that ache in your body again and all of the memories of how you’ve tainted that bed engulf you.

A loud knock on your door interrupts you reminiscing. You wonder who could it possibly be at this hour, but you don’t want to overthink this. Your head already pounds just thinking of Frankie’s eyes on you throughout the evening, and the look on his face when he heard about you and Santiago.

The second you open the door, you instantly regret it.

“What are you—“

“So you get to be hypocritical about my choice but yours is fine?”

Frankie storms inside, without even waiting for some sort of confirmation from you. He’s shaken and angry, and you do have a hint as to why that is, but you cannot dwell on that, you just can’t.

“I didn’t hide the truth from you, as opposed to you,” you remind him harshly. “You could’ve told me. You could’ve talked to me, but you chose to leave.”

There’s something slightly manic about Frankie’s laughter when he turns towards you, looking at you like you’re the one who’s gone mad.

“What person in their right mind would tell someone they’re in love with, ‘hey, I’m gonna cut you out of my life because I met someone new that I’m supposed to be happy with’?”

You frown, inching closer to him, just as Frankie’s face drops, realizing what he just said.

“’Supposed to’?” you ask.

“I’m happy,” he says grimly. “I am, I—“

“Why do you care about this, anyway? Why are you this angry over something that might’ve happened with me and Pope?”

“Because none of my friends bothered to tell me, and it fucking stings!”

“Maybe no one told you because you and I are not friends, Francisco! We haven’t been since you walked out on us, and we sure as hell aren’t friends now.”

You feel Frankie’s whiskey infused breath on your face, warm and threatening at the same time, and it gets you weak all over again.

“Is it that hard to believe or understand how this might hurt me?” he coos, looking you up and down. “That the girl I fell in love with in high school might’ve been secretly involved with my best friend?”

“You still have a wedding date set,” you remind him, your voice shaky in the slightest. “You may not be together right now, but that date still means something. It’s an open door. Andrea will want to return to you, and that means something.”

“Yeah, well, as it turns out, you also mean something to me.”

You’re nearly crying at this point, your limbs cold as you stare into his eyes. You see the misery, the confliction, the apology, everything, and it makes your situation even more complicated.

“I like Andrea,” you tell him. “I really do. Which makes it sound horrible based on what we did last week, but I do like her. She’s very nice. So I gotta ask.”

“No,” he cuts you off immediately. “Don’t.”

“Do you love her?”

Frankie’s eyes widen, much to your surprise. Before, it sounded like he had anticipated that question before you even posed it, and yet somehow, he still seems to be taken aback by it.

“We’re getting married,” he replies mechanically. “Still. I think. I don’t… ugh, fuck.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“That should be good enough.”

“Is it? Because if it was, last week wouldn’t have happened, no matter who I was.”

Frankie grits his teeth, racked with even more guilt and shame.

“If you love her as much as I hope you do, if you really do…” you start, “…we bury what happened with us, put on our happy smiles and move on like it never happened. When this break is over for you guys, if she decides she wants you, wholeheartedly, you won’t have to tell her a damn thing. I won’t, either.”

“We planned a wedding.”

His voice sounds defeated, broken, and for a simple moment lost in time, you feel dreadful being witness to such a sight.

“Frankie,” you coo, almost tempted to cup his cheek, to graze it gently.

“I love her because she’s not you. There’s your answer. I love her… in spite of her not being you. It’s both her best and worst feature. But I don’t blame you for that. I’d be an idiot and a half if I’d do that, it’s just… what about your little speech? ‘Choose me, love me, your friend’?”

The look on your face is even guiltier than his. “You’ve spent all this time with Andrea, being her partner in everything… it should be her.”

“I know it should be her. Don’t you think I know that?”

“I don’t love you! I don’t, okay?”

Lie, the little voice in your head screams at you. Lie like you’ve never lied before.

That’s when you finally pull away from him, your own shouting startling you, but you know that if you won’t get this out now, you might never be able to sleep again.

“I don’t love you anymore,” you say the words slowly, as angrily as you are capable of. “I’ve been holding onto this—this fantasy, this ghost of you, but it’s not real. It’s wrong and it’s tainted with betrayal and I just can’t be part of what this is doing to you and Andrea. Say what you want, but this break, this pause… this will be over, and she’ll still want to marry you because who in their right mind wouldn’t, so… I don’t love you. It’s gotten me nowhere and nothing. I can’t keep doing this.”

Frankie moves back to you, eyeing you up and down in the same way, only with more famish and desire, and it sparks the same thing out of you. You’re on very thin ice already, and this might be the last move to finally send you down under.

“You’re a miserable liar,” he murmurs.

“I’m actually a very good one.”

“Not to me, you aren’t.”

“But I don’t—“

“You do.”

You close your eyes, trying to regulate your breath, but failing spectacularly.

“Why do you sound so sure?” you whisper.

“Because I feel it. I feel it in the way you look at me, the way you kissed me, the way you moaned when I touched you—“

“Stop.”

“I don’t want this anymore than you do, not like this. But I can’t fight it.”

“You know what? I convinced myself for… so long that everything I thought there was between us was just my wishful thinking. That it was all in my head. That you could never see me as more than a simple friend. Pero tú y yo sabemos que no soy sólo alguien para ti. Sabes bien que yo no soy cualquiera.”

(But you and I both know that I am not just somebody to you. You know very well that I am not just anyone.)

Frankie’s jaw quite literally drops as he soaks in all of your words that fall so sweetly from your tongue. He’s absolutely stunned, in the impossibility to move or even breathe properly.

“Did you just—since when do you speak Spanish?” he has the strength to murmur.

“Took a class in college. Three years.”

He shakes his head, anxiously licking his lips and feeling himself falling apart with each passing second on the clock.

“Fucking hell, don’t—don’t do this to me,” he seemingly warns.

“You should go. Please, just go—just go already, like you did before.”

You sound so weak and pathetic, you’re not even believing yourself. You dropped that Spanish bombshell on him and you can tell it had a mind-blowing effect on him. He couldn’t possibly walk away from you after this.

“I can’t,” he coos almost desperately. “Tell me something worse than seeing you again, after all this time, being so close to you… and not being able to feel you?”

“Damn it, Francisco. Why couldn’t you have said all those things years ago, not now?”

“Because I’m a coward when it comes to this. And now that you’re here… I can’t handle this. I am… weak… as fuck. In a whole other way.”

The way he curses out loud, enunciating each breathy word, it’s making your head spin and soon, abandon all that makes you such a rational human being.

His lips are suddenly hungry, yet tender against yours. You angle your head just the right amount for Frankie to fully press his mouth on yours, his mustache a slight tickle against your face. His tongue catches yours, no need to even battle for dominance. You both cave in at the same time, an insatiable need overcoming both of you. The throbbing in your body is persistent and it hurts, causing you to squirm against his body.

Just as last week, Frankie handles you speedily and quite expertly; once you’re back into the tainted sanctuary you still call your bedroom, you find yourself on all fours on the mattress, the pants dragged down furiously from your ass. You suck in a deep breath, shook at the whole scenario, but your whole skin feels like it’s on fire, your veins plump with adrenaline.

Silence seems to be a mutual understanding between the two of you once again, and you’re both thankful for it; right now, you’re following each other’s motions and it’s more than enough by now. You’re waiting, unsure what for, but your patience runs thin. This already feels filthy enough without having it dragged on.

And suddenly, a broken gasp escapes your lips when you feel Frankie’s wet fingers playing with your clit for a little bit, and then, at long last, you feel his tongue dutifully lapping at your folds. It’s just as maddening as it was the first time, setting in motion a craving that can no longer be suppressed by mere motions.

Frankie’s actions are fueled by something more tonight. Jealousy. He was undeniably jealous tonight, and he can feel it still. His body burns, not just with the desire to feel you again. Your broken moans are more than enough to have his cock throb in his pants, feeling the slick building in your pussy. His large hands hold onto your ass as your mouth completely devours your heat. He needs this as depraved as the moment itself is, filled with shame and greed: fast and hard.

You’re so close; god fucking damn it, you’re so close. Just a little bit more, just a bit more of his skilled tongue to get you there and then—

Then what? Then you’ll magically be okay? You know this isn’t like craving some chocolate. This goes beyond that, in lieu of what you have repeatedly told yourself. This, right here—him driving his cock into your pussy till you’re both spent and guilty enough to walk away from each other—it’s not meaningless.

Not yet, Frankie thinks, steadying himself. Don’t let her come yet.

His mouth is no longer on you, and you actually feel your eyes get teary. Probably from a combination of overstimulation and neediness, but who’s to say for sure? Now, you’re just standing there, on all fours, ass and pussy exposed before him, anticipating whatever it is that’s coming.

There are so many things you’d like to say, from sweet nothings, to downright filthy, adoring things, and then some regretful things as well. But you don’t say anything. Neither of you does. The only sounds are, once again, your unsteady breaths, and then the sound of something being ripped apart.

Frankie grunts as he places the condom on his erection. It hurts to even wrap his hand around his cock at how swollen and needy he is. He guides himself to your entrance, not wasting a single more second. He doesn’t ease his way into you, nothing of the sort: it’s rough from the start, just in the way he’s practically shoving his cock between your tight, heated walls. You choke, grasping the sheets beneath you in a lousy attempt to steady yourself, but nothing can keep you grounded when Frankie’s slamming into you full force. His hands hold your body in place by the hips, the pace unforgiving. He doesn’t give you any time to adjust, nor does he allow himself a moment of peace. He just wants to fuck you rough and fast, and that’s all.

He drives into you without any kind of reserve whatsoever, relishing into your warm, slick cunt. He’s gonna fuck you till he forgets that his plans for the future are hindered. He’s gonna fuck you till he can’t breathe and till he forgets that his engagement fell apart for a reason he does his best to keep out of his mind.

He’s gonna fuck you till your lips are going to bleed because of how hard you’re trying not to scream his name.

With each breath you take, the harder he fucks you. Your face is buried in the sheets as Frankie rams his cock deeper into you, with a power you wouldn’t have deemed as possible. He hears you muttering some things, probably cuss words. He’s cussing under his breath, too, grunting and panting, needing to come so badly that he might just black out soon.

You swear you hear him mutter something along the lines of “Go on, fuckin’ cum”, but you refuse to dwell on it, not when your orgasm hits you full force. And, by the way Frankie’s thrusts slow and stutter, he’s in the same predicament.

With a final thrust, Frankie buries himself inside you to the hit, spent, whereas you break on a sob. You squeeze his cock, and then release him once he’s drenched in your orgasm. He pulls out as abruptly as he entered you, quickly cleaning you both and disposing of the condom. He accidentally locks eyes with you and you quiver. He falters, for one quick second, and you know he’s contemplating the same thing as you are.

“I should go,” he mutters, looking around disoriented.

He’s expecting arguments, shouts… yet still dares to stare at you, waiting for you to contradict him. A part of him wishes you’d actually want him to stay.

He certainly does not expect what comes out of your mouth next. “I really think that you should.”

previous | next

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

To be alone with you 7

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, power imbalance, cheating, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your babysitting gig becomes complicated. (f!plus sized!reader)

Character: dilf!Clark Kent

Note: Long time, no see.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

Spaghetti and meatballs. Simple and delicious. You assume it’s one of Clark’s specialties, the way Jonny talks about it. A plateful steams before you, the garlicky scent tugging at the appetite you hadn’t noticed before.

After the unsettling night alone, you’re starting to feel normal again. It’s comforting to have someone else there, even if it is Clark. He’s not a bad guy, he’s nice enough, it’s just that underlying imbalance that makes it awkward. Technically, he’s your boss. Even if he wasn’t, he’s much older, you’re not sure you have much in common.

“Uh, what do you want to drink?” Clark calls from the kitchen, “I see Sprite and… not much else.”

“Oh, I’ll have one, please,” you answer. You don’t drink soda often, your mom’s the one who keeps the Sprite in the fridge but it’s so hot out you could go for a crisp drink.

You wait patiently, not wanting to be rude and start before he’s sitting down. It only seems right after he went to all the trouble of cooking for you. Clark appears with two glasses. You’re surprised he didn’t just bring the cans but don’t think much of it.

He puts a glass beside your plate, then his own, a few cubes of ice in his. You notice how his hair curls with the heat, a little askew from his efforts in the kitchen. You smile and thank him for the drink.

“This looks good. You really didn’t have to go to all this trouble. Dad left me pizza money.”

“It’s fine. I’m a bit restless without anyone around. I’m used to this,” he shrugs as he sits down, his shoulders wider than the chair. Sometimes you forget how big he is. It’s almost absurd when he’s just an overworked suburban dad in your head.

“Dig in, please. You didn’t have to wait,” he stirs the sauce into his noodles.

“Oh, it’s okay,” you twirl your fork in the pile of pasta. You blow over the steaming sauce and lean forward, tasting it as you try not to flick sauce all over. You hum and do your best to slurp up the ends of the noodles without making a mess. “That’s pretty good.”

“Yep, got more than my good looks,” he chuckles, “I can cook too.”

You smile, taking another bite and chewing through the tension. There’s a bit of zest to the sauce. You can’t disagree with his self-appraisal. He can cook.

You take the folded paper towel next to your plate and wipe your lips before you reach for your soda. You gulp it greedily and nearly choke. You sputter as the carbonation bubbles up to your nostrils.

“You okay?” Clark asks, his cheek ticking.

“Oh, yeah, yeah,” you sniffle and push the paper towel to your nose. You laugh at yourself and clear your throat, “I… haven’t had sprite in a while, guess I forgot how it tastes.”

“Ah, well, did you want water?” He asks.

“No, it’s fine. Not bad,” you turn the glass and look at the soda, “bit of an aftertaste.”

“I don’t really have soda,” he sits back, poking at his plate, “most water. A juice box here and there.”

“Makes sense.”

Your forks clink as you eat in silence. The air is thick as both of you search for something to talk about. Where you’re struggling to find some commonality, there’s a twitchiness to him that suggests he’s trying not to say everything.

“If you’re up for it, maybe we could watch a movie?” He suggests.

“A movie?” You weigh the prospect. You suppose it’s a better idea than staring at the wall. Movies are a great way to fill awkward silences. “Sure, why not. Been a while since I saw anything good. Do you have anything in mind?”

“Nah, not really. I mostly end up watching Pixar so it’s on you. I trust your judgment.”

“You shouldn’t,” you scoff, “I love Pixar.”

He smiles and gives a small chuckle, “well, just don’t be mad when I mouth along with the dialogue.”

“Kidding,” you take another sip of Sprite, trying to wash away the tomatoey tang, “promise, adult movies only.” You cringe as you realise what you said, “I mean, grown-up– er–”

Clark laughs louder, “I got it,” his cheeks bulb as the cleft in his chin deepens, “I know what you’re saying, don’t worry about it.”

“Right,” you shift in your chair, thoroughly embarrassed. You really are so smooth. It’s a good thing it’s just him, you’re sure he’s not very worried about your dumb remarks.

🏡

Despite your efforts to help, Clark insists on cleaning up. You let him as you go upstairs to take a quick shower. Sweating in the sun reading all day has left you feeling a bit musty.

You pull on a pair of striped pajama shorts and a loose tee shirt. You do a face scrub and some moisturising serum before finally emerging, feeling fresh and a bit sleepy. You can hear Clark below scuttling around.

You go downstairs and peer towards the darkened doorway of the kitchen. You pass it and stop just at the threshold of the front room. You find Clark laying out the cushions on the floor along with the throw blankets and pillows. The coffee table is moved aside to allow for some space as the TV glares behind him.

You give him a curious look and he flinches as he notices you. You come forward slowly as the loose hem of your shorts ripples against your thigh. You’re suddenly very aware of how much of your legs are bare. Oh well, it’s only Clark.

“What are you doing?” You ask as you cross the room.

“Oh, me and Jonny do this. I figured you weren’t into making forts but I just thought–” he stops and looks down at his handiwork, “it’s lame, isn’t it? I’m sorry. I’m just trying to make things feel normal… for both of us.”

You give an empathetic smile, “it’s nice. Really,” you look him in the eye, the bold blues gleaming back at you, “it’s sweet. And it looks cozy.”

“Great,” he lightens up as he drops the last pillow, “well,” he turns and grabs the remote, “choose something.”

You nod and take the remote. You sit on a cushion and lean back against the couch. You flick through the new additions on the main screen and choose a movie you’ve heard a lot of buzz about. You blink as the light suddenly goes out and you look over to see Clark’s shadow moving towards you. It gives you an eerie wave of deja vu as you recall the silhouette of the intruder.

You shudder and reach to put the remote up on the couch behind you. You turn back around and a large yawn erupts without warning. You rub your itchy eyes and shake your head, the edges of the television almost blurry as you try to focus on it.

“Tired?” Clark nudges you as he sits beside you.

“Didn’t sleep after… after last night,” you say.

“Ah, of course not. That was a stupid question.”

“It’s f-i-ine,” you yawn again, “really. I’m sure I will tonight. Especially with you here.”

“Really?” He breathes.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t be able to turn the lights off if I was alone,” you lean into the couch as you slouch down, “anyway, I’ll be quiet. Movie’s starting.”

He doesn’t answer as he mirrors you, plumping a pillow behind himself as he wiggles down and gazes up at the screen. Your eyelids feel heavy as you fight to keep them open. The opening scene barely ends as you feel your body slackening with fatigue. You’re barely going to make it through the credits.

You turn onto your side, leaning on your elbow as you hug a pillow under your head. You feel Clark shift too. You blink, a long blink, and when you open your eyes again, you’re lost. You have no idea what the characters are talking about.

You flutter your lashes and try to sit up. You give up as an achy weakness bites at your muscles. Oh well, if you fall asleep, you fall asleep. You can’t fight it anymore.

You close your eyes and wade in the shallow pool of exhaustion. Your head goes wobbly as you’re vaguely aware of the hues flickering and flashing from the television. A sudden warmth rests on your hip, a light sensation you can’t place.

“Are you awake?”

The question blows through you. You don’t have the strength to answer. Your eyes feel strange, dry and almost painful. 

You wiggle, shaken by a strength not your own. You slip further from consciousness. You flip onto your back, dragged down until you're entirely flat on the floor. Your eyes are glued shut as you’re trapped in the dregs of sleep. You can’t break through, but you can feel the world around you.

You feel a tickle over your stomach and along your chest. A soft squeeze and a dampness blows over your throat. Heat surrounds you as something prods below your jaw, something soft brushing on your neck. A low drone swirls in your ears.

“Mmm, sweetie, you smell good,” Clark’s voice distorts as you languish in the void, “I bet you feel even better.”

Another tickle. Just along your thighs. A coolness that breezes over you as fabric ripples against you. The loose leg rumples against the crease of your leg as a stroking sensation flicks around your clit.

The electrifying currents radiate from your core. Your chest rises and falls with your rushing breaths. Your heart beats loudly, further deafening the muffled voices coming from the television and the low moan drifting into your ear. Your name plucks at you but cannot rouse you.

Wetness across your cheek then on your lips, delving inside, pressing to your tongue. A sloppy lapping, slickness around your mouth, a new weight over you. Tugging at your shirt and roughness against your tender skin. Squeezing and kneading your chest as a fire razes over your.

Your legs are pushed wide. You feel the world shift and tilt as you come near the surface. Your eyes slit and you can see shadows pulsing all around. A heavy blackness hangs over you as you feel heat against your thighs. Firm muscle holding you open.

You gasp as the wetness along your cunt eases the intrusion. Your eyelids flick up and your eyes roll as your head lolls dizzily. You fight to lift your head but can’t. It’s too much just to look around. 

The single digits moves in and out of you, inching deeper each time, the ridge of knuckles grazing your walls. You moan as the hand pulls back and a second finger stretches you. In, out, the wet noise of your tight cunt nips at your shame. 

It’s not a dream. It can’t be. It feels too real. Too deep. He’s touching you, he’s inside you. Mr. Kent rocks his hand against your cunt as he hangs his head next to yours and pants, his large body draped across you.

“Baby,” he purrs as your arms remain paralysed at your sides, “shhh, it’s okay. It won’t hurt…” he whispers, “the pills will help.”

You don’t understand what he’s saying or what he’s doing. No, no, you’re wrong. It has to be a dream. He wouldn’t do this. He doesn’t want you. He has a wife. He’s heartbroken over her.

The glare of the TV limns his shoulders, broad and rounded with muscles. He’s naked. The colours skew over his skin as he curls his back, dragging his fingers free of your cunt. He leaves a wet trail down your thigh.

He pushes his knees up, keeping you splayed around him. He feels along your shorts, once more delving past the loose cotton. He prods against your folds. A bulbous, thick shape that has you clenching. He lines his tip up with your entrance and leans in, just enough for you to whimper.

He slides back along your lips, slickening himself with your stolen pleasure. He rubs against you, over and over, stopping again at your entrance. He huffs and jostles you, urging his thick forearm under your neck. Your head hangs back over his arm as you groan and curl your fingers against the blankets.

“Baby, it hurts me too,” he dips his hips, forcing his tip past the tight resistance. Your voice rises, tiny, short squeaks as you feel the daze splitting with your inside. “Just a little…” he rocks back and in again, an inch at first, over and over, shaking each time. “Little more…” he sinks in further and your voice grows more steady. 

Your eyes are wide and terrified as the pain assures you of reality. You tense but your body won’t obey. You can’t stop him. You can’t move!

“Little…” he repeats and thrusts deeper again, “...more,” he rolls back and in. His arm bends around your neck as he buries his face in your hair. His other hand braces your thigh, nails digging in as he keeps his motion. With each tilt, he slides in more. More and more until you’re agonizingly full.

You let out a whine, long and desperate as he reaches his limit. He keeps himself there as he whimpers and shakes. He wiggles his hips as he feels you around him.

“Oh god, I… you’re so good. Why are you so good?” He puffs and thrusts, jolting your entire body, “you… you’re so good I had to. I know…” he ruts again, “I shouldn’t… I shouldn’t…I shouldn’t…” he chants as he keeps his motion, easing back slowly only to snap back into you.

Your eyes wet and tears trickle out. It’s more than the pain, it’s the horror swelling in you, boiling but unable to flow over as you remain helpless. You close your eyes and choke on a sob as he rams into you faster, flesh clapping louder each time he dips into you.

You ache as he fucks you. On and on. It feels like forever as you strain against the futility, only able to bend and unbend your fingers. Please stop. Please get off. All you can utter are senseless garbles.

“Baby,” he growls, “I’m gonna– I can’t–” He pushes off of you in a panic, sliding halfway before he spasms and bucks, whimpering as you feel him spill into you, “shit, shit, shit,” he pants as he stills himself, “I didn’t mean to… not inside…”

Your head falls to the side, your eyes rolling back into your skull. You let the darkness win. You’re going to wake up and it’s all going to be a nightmare. Right?

[dominimoonbeam]

Bite to Bruise - Epilogue + Extra Scene

This work is mine and I do not give consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted without my permission. I am sharing chapters as I work on this story but it is copyrighted material that I plan to rework and publish when completed.

story tags: modern-fantasy mashup, werewolves, witches, monsters, romance, learning to trust, hurt/comfort, blood, violence, explicit sex, explicit language

The earlier parts can be found under the tag or over on patreon. <3

A huge thank you to everyone who read this and commented or reblogged or just sent good vibes. I'll be editing and adding a bit more to this one and then self publishing it soon. Thank you!

BITE TO BRUISE - CHAPTER EPILOGUE + EXTRA SCENE.

EPILOGUE

There were a lot of questions about what happened in his territory that day.

The other fenrir wanted to know if the shades had attacked, if it was a call to war.

The shades had their own questions but locked them behind their teeth.

Ever brought Wren back to the house and the pack watched Grendel and Hymn carry Baron’s body from the woods, the curse still wrapped around him.

Blackwell’s shades ripped the old god apart and dug her out of its guts. The pack allowed them to leave, carrying their undead back to their vehicles in a trail of blood that was everything but fenrir.

Later that night, they discovered the hole where Soren had been buried. Ever suspected Primrose had recovered his missing shade, just as he had set out to do from the start.

From what he heard months later, Baron’s court managed to get the curse off of him and the shade recovered—only he forgot the name Baron and went back to being Kish. The bounty on the witch was canceled.

Eventually winter gave way completely and the last of the snow and ice melted, taking the bloodspill with it into the earth. After they had cleared the fallen trees and the grass grew in the valley, it looked like none of it had ever happened. No human would guess at it, even if every fenrir could smell that hint of shade and monster in the soil for years to follow.

It smelled like violence and victory, and when he stepped through the back door of his home to see his witch sitting in that field, picking at long grass and watching the trees with a smile, he knew she smelled it too.

EXTRA SCENE

Before Ruby realized it, the streets had changed. Ceres had gone quiet and nearly abandoned within just a block. She kept walking, expecting to run into another stretch of brightly lit shop fronts and restaurants overflowing with guests.

A few more steps and she felt the skin on the back of her neck prickle, her hands twisting in the sleeves of her hoodie.

“Are you lost?”

Ruby turned toward the voice. Yellow eyes stared back at her. The man was fenrir big. She exhaled a little relief, smiling. “I didn’t think I was…”

“Where’s your mate?” another voice came from the side.

Her heartbeat sped up, pounding against her throat. There was something pointedly unfriendly about this interaction. Had she done something? “What?” the word came out thin and unsteady. What was their problem? Did they know Liang? He’d said Ceres belonged to his cousin and they were safe here.

She took a step back and the one to her right, still deep in shadow between buildings, growled.

The sound made her jump and jerk away from it, stumbling off the sidewalk and into the street. A wolf stepped out of those shadows, darkness rolling off of its massive body like it was made of it. Lips curled back to bare long teeth as it continued to snarl at her.

“Well?” the other asked, as if he hadn’t noticed. “Where is he?”

“Who?” Ruby played dumb. It felt easy when she had no idea what was happening.

The wolf at her side snapped and Ruby screamed, legs tangling and dropping her on her ass right there in the street.

“Why would a rogue send their mate in here alone?” the other wondered aloud, stepping closer. Somehow, he was more menacing than the one on all four.

But then he froze, his expression dropping and his head turning to the side like he’d heard something she couldn’t.

The fenrir on all four had stopped growling too, ears flicking before it backed away.

“Knock it off,” a third commanded, walking onto the scene and right past the one asking questions. He was just as tall but leaner, and yet the other man backed up, dropping his head. The third flashed Ruby a smile that actually looked genuine and offered her his hand. “Hi. I’m Sunny.”

Ruby took the hand and was hoisted to her feet. “Ruby,” she muttered, confused.

He smiled the way she’d become used to fenrir smiling when she gave her name, but he released her hand a took a step back, giving her just enough space to have the illusion of being out of his reach. “Are you lost?”

She exhaled hard. “Why does everyone keep asking that?”

The fenrir on four legs snorted and turned to walk back into the shadows.

Sunny stepped to the side, gesturing for her to join him back the way she’d come.

Ruby frowned but started walking. This was at least better than possibly getting mauled… “Did I do something wrong?” she asked when she could see the brighter lights of the familiar streets ahead.

Sunny had maintained a distance from her, a step ahead and to her side. “No. You just smell like a wolf that doesn’t belong to our pack. So, they got a little… defensive.”

“I thought Ceres belonged to Royal?”

Growls rumbled from the streets behind her but when she looked, she couldn’t spot any of the wolves in those shadows. The man beside her just smiled. “Half of it does. The half you were on. You couldn’t have known, and it wouldn’t have mattered if—”

“If I didn’t smell like a wolf.”

He nodded. “Speaking of…”

The growls in the dark got louder when she spotted Liang marching out of those bright streets and straight toward them. If he knew where the border was, he didn’t show any signs of caring.

Ruby felt a mix of relief and worry. She almost reached for him, but she was scared she’d led him into a conflict. “I managed to get lost,” she announced, hoping to break some of that tension she could see in the line of his shoulders and the curl of his lip flashing long pointed teeth. His eyes stayed fixed on her, moving over her from head to toe like he was looking for injury.

“I left you alone for twenty minutes,” he pointed out, his usual easy humor there but with a tension underneath she’d never heard. She really must have stepped in it this time… He pulled her gently behind him, away from Sunny.

Ruby blinked, surprised. Sunny was far from menacing, and she had seen Liang fight worse. But Liang took a step back, nudging her farther away. “She didn’t know,” he explained.

Sunny wasn’t smiling anymore, she realized. His eyes were on Liang now. “But you did.”

Liang took another step back, keeping her behind him, and she realized he might not be backing up at all if it weren’t for a need to get her away from the situation. “I wasn’t part of the pack that lived here before yours and I don’t belong to Royal.”

“But you are his blood.”

“And you are Ever’s blood but that doesn’t mean you belong to his pack anymore, does it?”

A series of snarls and growls echoed through the dark streets behind Sunny, and Ruby wondered how many there were out there.

Sunny kept his eyes on Liang, like he was trying to read something that wasn’t said or seeing something no one else could. “Welcome back to Dog Lands, Liang. Stick around long enough this time and you might even get rid of that Blood Country stink.”

Liang tensed. She felt it in his back where her hand was curled in his t-shirt against his spine.

Sunny smiled, more friendly than threatening. Why was everyone so scared of him? “What? You thought you would know about me, and I wouldn’t know about you? Tell your cousin hello from us.”

Liang nodded tightly and took a few more steps back before turning, his arm slung around her shoulders and walking them toward that invisible territory line in the city.

“And Ruby,” Sunny called. She looked back to see him sliding his hands into his pockets. “I’m sorry if they scared you. You’re welcome over whenever you want.” His smile became a grin, brilliant and true. “Even if you want to bring your mate with you.”

Liang didn’t stop walking or even look back, but she managed to watch just long enough to see half a dozen shadows move around Sunny.

When they were back on the busier streets, still walking deeper into the lights and crowds, Ruby looked up at Liang beside her. “Why do they keep calling you my mate?”

Liang snorted, his own smile back. “That’s your first question?”

“It seems like a good one…”

“Because you smell like me.”

“So?” she argued. She smelled like him? She tried to discreetly tuck her chin and sniff at her hoodie. It’s not like it could be a bad smell. Liang smelled amazing.

He tugged her tighter into his side and dropped his head to bury a kiss against her hair. “Because you smell a lot like me, Red. Even a tracker would be hard-pressed to tell us apart at this point.”

[dragonstardraws]

I'm terrified to post any Iterator OCs because I dared look at other people's and now I feel like my stuff isn't good enough or original enough so I got sad and made 3. This one is my Iteratorsona, Whispering Will-o-Whisps (Whisp/Whisper, he/she/they) 1 of 3 of my new ones. They're not meant to be close to canon at all, they're just a comfort character and expression of my current self. This whiteboard fox doodle is all I have of them and their scug right now, but I love them already 🥹

Oh and I nearly forgot about the scuggie ♡ Starflower is their emotional support slugcat, they're a genetically modified glider from my custom biome Verdant Wilds (basically a rainforest), so they have feathers that help them glide. I have a drawing of them I'll reblog with once I get a picture of it

Edit: fixed spelling cause my dumbass forgot to proof read 🥰

[throwaway-yandere]

With Valentine’s approaching, I figured I’d shoot my shot before the blog revamp :’3

Good afternoon, Archbishop Theophilus!! Since you took the time to inquire about my personal style, it’s only polite that I ask you a similar question \(//∇//)\

Aside from fur cloaks, do you have any other fashion preferences?? I assume you have an affinity for accessories, given your earring and hair ornaments. Ohh and I can only imagine how elegant your horns would look with jewelry—not that they aren’t already striking on their own. (Do correct me if dragons such as yourself are against decorating their horns.)

I’ll leave it at that. I’m afraid that if I go into more detail about your beauty, I’d take up too many of your precious hours. Have a nice day, Archbishop ^o^

P.S. Hiiii Ansy, I hope you’re doing well!! I’ve said this before but Theophilus is srsly so pretty. And a dragon + archbishop combo……it feels rather oxymoronic(??), which makes his concept all the more interesting. I can’t wait for his fic >:3

P.P.S. GOODBYE I JUST LEARNED THAT DUKE DILUC IS IN THE LEAD?? And I’d just typed a paragraph joking about how Theophilus and Sunday (the previous lead) both have Biblical references *sobs* I’ll miss our archbishop……

"There... I must say, dear, it looks wonderful on you— though perhaps a size too large— but it adds to the charm!" The archbishop spoke. Although his voice is as soft as ever, no one can miss the way his voice chirps like an excited fledgeling. "You are a beautiful human, Jessamine. My ornaments look far more dashing when you are the one to wear them."

He chuckled softly as he patted your head.

"You can keep what you're wearing, I have spares." Theophilus said before you caught a glimpse of a teasing smirk in his face that disappeared quickly. "I'm aware the flower may not be as valuable for the merchants, but the cloak should fetch a large sum of gold."

"After all, most of what I wear are prepared by the Royal Family. All except the flower and earring. I enjoy any reminders that the small things in life— in nature— are worth thousand years of living for. Before I was hailed as the archbishop, I donned enormous flower crowns often. A shame it's not appropriate for my station."

The Archbishop closed his eyes and pondered about your next inquiry.

"My kind... Hmm..." He mumbled softly. "I wouldn't know. I am the last living Earth dragon left, but if my predecessors and I are similar, I think we wouldn't mind extra decor. That is, of course, if it is a gift bestowed by our beloveds...."

"Oh, leaving so soon?" Theophilus frowned. "Oh, that's alright. Do not fret, I understand. May the God Eusebius walk alongside you."

Okay it's ansy now, I hope you're doing well too and omg I'm rereading your HVOY reblog for a while now fuskkfkakskw. Theo is such a good boy I feel bad for the pain I'm putting him that I nearly forgot how much worse it is that he's a "dragon" archbishop ngl hAHAHAH—

ALSO SIKDKAKA I HAVE NO CLUE WHO'S WINNING THE THEME, I JUST HEARD THE RANKINH WAS SUNDAY FIRST, THEN RATIO THEN NEUVILLETTE??? AND NOW ITS DILUC???? LAST TIME I HEARD DILUC WAS LAST PLACE WITH NO VOTES TF HAPPENED HAHAJAHAJAHAH WHO STARTED A PROPAGANDA HUH?????? WHICH ONE OF YALL WAS IT LMAO—

Naur cuz me too 😭😭😭 i was gonna make a Theo passing his job to Sunday joke drawing too about how they're besties cuz I thought Sunday was on the lead. I am definitely not expecting Diluc. Duke Diluc I know you are self-aware and know the world is a lie but please don't hurt Theo he never did anything wrong ever

[jerzwriter]

What's happening...

So, the fandom is very small, and demand for content is extremely low, but I still wanted to put this together... perhaps it's more to wrap my own head around future projects. But in case anyone is interested, I figured I'd share.

Open Heart: Ethan World

I'm wrapping up A Different Fate and What Happened in Vegas. The former will be done very soon (I hope this week), and I intend for Vegas to be completed no later than August.

I'll be focusing on getting Ethan & Kaycee hitched this summer. They'll be having a "surprise wedding" and some other exploits along the way.

Dr. Eva Mendez (F!OC) will finally be introduced as an LI for Ethan in my Tobias x Casey world. I plan on concentrating more on that universe, so we'll be seeing more of her and Ethan there.

Open Heart: Tobias x Casey World

I've long wanted to close the gaps in their story and haven't been able to do it. So I plotted a way. This will be a series of stories that will fill in the gaps, starting with the end of the chemical attack, bringing us to how they finally ended up together (after all this time, I can't believe y'all still don't know how that happened! lol). This will be in sequential order, but since it's filling "gaps" it will be a little... unique.

Once this is completed, I'm wrapping up their long-abandoned wedding (and Ethan and Eva fit into that). Then we'll see a little more of their future.

My secondary focus for T/C will be the angsty alternate universe What's Forever For? There, they are recently divorced, even though neither truly wants to be. What obstacles will they face as they try to co-parent their son? Can they transition from husband and wife to friends? Will others step in to complicate things between them? Will they ever find their way back to each other, or will they determine love doesn't always mean you end up together?

Oh, nearly forgot! @choicesprompts is running a rewrite challenge to place our characters into scenes from other movies/books, etc. Well, I have a little something planned for Tobias & Casey, and it will be based on this...

Wake the Dead:

The conclusion of Eli's past story will be up within the week. It should have been done, but warning, it's sad... and I have had too much sad things going on IRL to concentrate on this, but now I want to wrap it up.

Once that's completed, I will focus more on Eli x Zoe, as opposed to Eli alone. There will also be more appearances from the other friends at Olympus. I know it's not a terribly popular pairing, but I adore them and these days, that's good enough!

Crimes of Passion:

I don't know exactly what lies ahead for Trystan & Carolina, but I assure you... there are things ahead for Trystan & Carolina. I adore these two and am having so much fun learning more about them. As CoP2 continues, I'll see where my HC for this dynamic duo goes.

One thing you may notice is missing is Reset. I've been back and forth on that, and honestly, I don't know where that stands right now. It would be a huge effort, and motivation is lacking. The most I can say is I'll keep you posted.

In lieu of what used to be Six Sentence Sunday - if you'd like to see snippets for any of the above, let me know via comment, reblog or ask, and I'll hook you up!

I know we're much smaller, and this is all fun and self-indulgent at his point - but for those of you who are still here and still support my work - I want to let you know just how much it means. Thank you... from the bottom of my heart.

Tagging all my lists separately. If you wish to be added/removed/or put on a different list - reach out to me via DM or comment here. Thank you!