#on some level he was probably like I am forever and do not understand these life and death concepts so he ignored them | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

orchidyoonkook · 6 days

Text

PG | KTH

Title: PG

Pairing: Older Brother's Best Friend!Kim Taehyung x (F)!Reader

Rating//Genre: (M) | One Shot, Friends to Lovers, Age Gap, Slice of Life, Angst, Smut and Touches of Fluff

Summary: You aren’t delusional enough to think anything would ever happen between the two of you, not for a damn second. Be it the age difference, the fact that he’s your brother's friend, or the extremely high likelihood that he sees you as nothing more than Fourteen’s annoying little sister that he can use to rile said best friend up.

But that’s about it. Nothing more. And reality is something you’re able to keep a solid grasp on when it comes to him. You don’t let it go for the sake of acting on a one sided and unrequited feeling you know will pass… eventually.

Warnings: nicknames! a disgusting amount, language, assholes being assholes but being put in their place, brotherly love, sibling antics, tae is a swimmer and knows judo, also a Dan is--for the lack of better phrasing--a high belt level in judo. think of it like a black belt, OC cant keep it in her pants and neither can tae, mutual pining, lots of great gatsby references because I'm tyring to be that bitch (I am joking), tae has tats, OC's brother is an overprotective idiot but we love him anyway, slight physical abuse not by tae or reader or fourteen--basically someone grips an arm too harshly, some panic but no panic attack,

Explicit warnings under the cut.

Word Count: 11,521

Release Date: September 15, 2024. 12:00PM

A/N 1: The biggest most huge thank you to @violetsiren90 for being my sounding board, tech support and beta. She's a real one and y'all are sleeping on her work if you haven't alread read it. Go check her out!

A/N 2: My access to the adobe suite was aha....revoked. So! this is my first time making a banner and divider without photoshop. Therfore, the banner and the divider are a bit different than what I'm used to having XD. Tumblr is also absolutely destroying the qualty which is sooooo great. It looks wonky and blurry to me on desktop but fine on mobile so it is what it is. If i ever get adobe access again I'll probably come back and update the graphics.

Explicit Warnings: *ahem* nicknames, teasing, kissing, biting, marking (several ways), hand and finger kink (duh), voice kinklet (duhhhh), hair 'pulling' (m rec), semi public if you squint, hella foreplay, tae has a big dick, penetrative sex, oral (m+f rec), fingering, handjob?, multiple orgasms, body worship, switch like activities but mostly dominant tae, posessiveness, confessions, reader takes what she wants but so does tae, exhibitionism if you squint, slight cum play/eating, implied squirting, choking, cream pie. Pretty sure thats all of them. i never reailse how many i need to put until the list is done and wow *chuckes while blushing*

“Oi, can you fucking not? My sister’s right fucking there,” your older brother, Fourteen—nicknamed for his forever mental age—ridiculously and unneededly overprotective as always, says.

It is especially unneeded and ridiculous as he’s saying it to Tae, when all he’s doing is taking off his shirt to go for a swim in your pool. Like he’s been doing since you were tweens.

Well.

Since you were a tween and they were nearing the legal drinking age. But that’s besides the point.

Best friend to your knuckle head of an older brother, you honest to god have no idea how they became friends.

Taehyung is poetry and jazz and button up cotton shirts. Old book smell and expensive cologne, ringed fingers and whiskey, neat. The kind of vibe someone would get from being raised by a very successful lawyer for a father and a top ranking university professor of literature for a mother, while Fourteen is… your older brother.

Maybe it’s a younger sister thing to not understand how her older brother has any friends. Considering you grew up with him, know all of his weird and gross habits, have a lovely dash of sibling bullying thrown in that you two share equally, and more. Yet, by some miracle, he and Tae manage to balance one another out.

Tae—fucking somehow—makes your brother into a more presentable human being. He showers more than twice a week and wears deodorant every day now—even puts the seat down after peeing, a habit you’ve been screaming at him to stop doing since you could use the toilet. While Fourteen gives Tae a rougher edge he previously never seemed to be able to grasp, despite trying his best too.

For example, the several delicate tattoos he now has all over his body, your favourite of which is an old timey record player on the inside of his forearm. They were something he’d been wanting to do for years, but only finally bit the bullet on and did once Fourteen took him when they were twenty two.

Since then the collection’s only grown, much to your inner glee and mental dismay.

And don’t even get you started on the delicate, thin rimmed glasses he occasionally wears—golden and the perfect shape for his face—or the ear piercings that just really fucking cement the tortured poet look that makes your heart clench every. single. time. you look at him.

Similarly to what it’s doing right now, though no one ever knows due to your truly oscar worthy talent for acting completely oblivious to the beautiful shirtless man about to dive in. Call it over a decades worth of practice, and the fact that it’s also nothing you hadn’t gloriously taken in all teenagehood long.

Every time you could get it.

Which was a lot because Tae was on the high school swim team.

For four years.

And then the university swim team.

For another four.

Teenage you was a lucky bitch. Now you’re only blessed with this sight when he comes over to swim laps or attempt to drown Fourteen. Which, admittedly, was still often. But not nearly as much as back then.

The sight in question however, is curled black hair that frames eyes so warm you swear the sun’s relocated to his irises, and a jawline that makes the Statue of David’s pathetic in comparison. It’s fingers that make your mouth water from the way they flip book pages and thighs that make you think thoughts and things you never thought you would.

It’s the scribbled text: ‘To err is human; to forgive, divine’ tattooed across his ribs, and a lean torso, muscled but not outrageously so. Just enough to have you forcing yourself not to stare at the delicate lines of his abdomen every time he comes over for a swim.

Thank god for sunglasses.

“Nah, I’m sure PG can handle it, Dumbass. I’ve only been using your pool every summer for the last 15 years give or take,” Tae says with a quirked brow and a half smile directed at you.

Behind your sunnies, you heat up a touch, and internally sigh. Have you mentioned his smile yet?

Because oh yeah, his fucking smile.

Tae’s a nickname kind of person, hence why even you call your brother ‘Fourteen’. Taehyung’s called him Fourteen for so long now that calling your brother by his birth name just feels wrong.

This being said, PG is Tae’s nickname for you.

It stands for the TV rating ‘Parental Guidance’ because you’re younger by enough that when you were still under the age of 18, they—see: your brother and Tae because they’ve been joined at the hip since they met—were usually assigned babysitting duty. Very much the ‘take your sister with you’ sibling, but they never complained. Not once.

As much as you and Fourteen bully one another, you’re actually quite close when you aren’t verbally sparring—which is where his annoying overprotectiveness comes in. Even when it comes to Taehyung.

“Yeah, Dumbass,” you copy, earning a smirk from Tae as he leans down to take his shoes off. “It’s just Tae.”

“It’s not about that YN, it’s about respect. You’re my little sister, and Fuckass over here,” you brother jabs a thumb in Tae’s direction, which earns you a second hidden smirk from the Fuckass in question, “Still doesn’t know how to respect that fact even after a decade and a half apparently.”

You shrug as Fourteen finishes his point and narrows his eyes at his best friend. Tae gives him a shit eating grin that screams ‘what are you going to do about it’ and your brother gives him a two fingered salute before shaking his head and taking off his own shirt.

You take that as your cue to put your head back down because you don’t need to see that.

Currently in very comfortable linen shorts and tank, you’re sitting on a padded pool lounger, rereading The Great Gatsby for the hundredth time. It’s one of the classics that never gets old for you, has the benefit of being a shorter read—therefore perfect for the poolside—and happens to be the copy Tae’d gotten you for Christmas a couple years ago. Pure coincidence, you tell yourself. Nothing more.

With the beautiful addition of your very darkly glassed sunnies, it also makes the perfect decoy as you watch Tae over the top of the open book without risk of being caught.

You firmly follow the rule of a little looking can’t hurt.

You aren’t delusional enough to think anything would ever happen between the two of you, not for a damn second. Be it the age difference, the fact that he’s your brother's friend, or the extremely high likelihood that he sees you as nothing more than Fourteen’s annoying little sister that he can use to rile said best friend up—see: current shirt stripping debacle. It’s not the first nor the last time he’ll do something like it, and you’re pretty sure you and Tae have an unspoken agreement at this point to push as many of Fourteen’s buttons as you can together, just to see how far he’ll let it go before freaking out.

Despite the flames that rage and roar on in your heart.

Despite the green light on the dock across the way tackling your brother under the water.

You hold on. And only in these little moments of in between do you allow yourself to look. Pockets of time where a peek won’t be seen or recorded, and a moment of self indulgence keeps your sanity from trying to escape its tightly locked box.

You look and look and look until the green light is covered in fog once more, and the lid of the box seals tight.

Another day, another glorious abuse of best friend privileges, Taehyung thinks to himself as he continues his butterfly down the imaginary lanes in Fourteen’s pool.

He tries to come over at least three times a week. Four or five if he’s able, the more he’s over the higher chance he has to see you, not just Fourteen. But he’s rarely able to these days.

Though the wind appears to have shifted in his favour today. You’re sitting on the lounge chairs again, reading away in the afternoon sun.

It’s his favourite view. And it’s sweetened by the fact that you’re in the shorts he loves and reading a book he gave you. Something he’s done since before he could remember, really.

Christmases and birthdays, he’s always given you a book. Usually a classic, sometimes something else. If it caught his eye or reminded him of you, he’d grab it and save it until the next Christmas or the next birthday, whichever came first. And you’ve always loved them, so he’s never stopped.

They’re gifts that seem harmless to Fourteen, and for the most part they are. But these last few have been…different. Had deeper thought put into them. The titles, the story lines, the prose. He swears you notice it, but maybe that’s just his own wishful thinking.

And he sure as fuck can’t be doing any of that.

This cold water isn’t doing its job well enough.

Finishing his set, Tae swims over to rest before starting on his front stroke. Forearms hold him up on the edge of the pool, his chin balancing on stacked knuckles while his breath catches.

He also uses this little break as an excuse to talk to you. He only ever freely can when Fourteen isn’t around, and right now his best friend is inside grabbing drinks, towels and probably relieving himself–which, knowing Fourteen—could take anywhere from thirty seconds to thirty minutes. So he has to take advantage of every moment he gets.

“Got any new recommendations for me PG?”

Books are an easy starting point when it comes to you. Fourteen may be a graphic novel at best kind of guy, but your brain can’t seem to inhale enough books to satiate it. And just the thought makes his temples rush with heat.

He should dunk his head again.

You lower your Fitzgerald by one inch and raise an eyebrow to counter it. Just like your brother, you’re always one to give him a hard time. Make him work for every millimeter of ground conquered. And he’s pretty sure you have a smirk hiding behind the pages, though he can’t be certain due to the sunglasses hiding your eyes.

“Maybe,” you say. “What do I get in return?”

Answering that question about fifty different ways in his head, Tae decides none can be said out loud. He seriously needs to fucking reel himself in. Fourteen could return at any moment and the last thing Tae needs to have is a problem between his legs because you never make it easy for him.

But rather than listening to his very rational thoughts and very logical brain, he instead decides to say fuck it, and croons in the voice that used to fluster you as a teenager.

“What do you want in return, PG?” Hoping to soften you up, even the playing field a bit.

And it works like a charm.

Your body releases its tension on an exhale, your page is marked, book set to the side, and your legs extend and stretch before crossing at the ankle. It makes him wonder if your little girlhood crush on him still exists somewhere in the back of your mind. Probably not.

Scratch that.

Definitely not.

“What if I wanted a new nickname?” you ask.

Both his eyebrows raise in surprise. “What’s wrong with PG?”

“It makes me feel like I’m eleven,” you explain. And then hit him with a dose of his own medicine as you croon, “I’m not eleven anymore, Tae.”

No you sure as hell are not. And it kills him in a way that has him wanting to die over and over again.

He could consider it. But he doesn’t think he’ll change it, not when PG can stand for so many wonderful things. Things you would never think he’d let it when addressing you. Things that would have Fourteen trying for drowning attempt number two thousand four hundred sixty three, and succeeding.

“I’ll think about it—Fair?”

You ponder before agreeing. “Fair.”

“Now about those recommendations…” He reminds you, and that’s all it takes to get you going.

Fourteen comes out about ten minutes later, but by then, Tae has a new list of books to grab from the store, two laps under him with eight more to go, and you’re reading again—one bare leg bent at the knee he’s trying very hard to ignore when he comes up for air.

By the time he’s due for another breather, you’re talking to your brother about plans for the weekend.

“I’m going out early on Friday for Rei’s birthday, remember? And I’ll probably crash at her place after,” you say.

Fourteen is sitting on the second lounge chair across from you, most likely playing a game on his phone if Tae had to guess. But at your reminder, your brother looks up.

“Fuck that’s right. Okay so no dinner then, I’ll just grab something on my way in.”

“Sounds good. What about tonight?”

Fourteen gives it about two seconds of thought. “How about Don’s?”

Your face lights up at the suggestion. “Fuck yes! I’ve been craving their milkshakes for like a week. Hey Tae!” you call to him. “Don’s for dinner? There’s a chocolate shake with your name on it if you’re down.”

Tae pushes himself out of the water onto the pavement and doesn’t miss the sly once over you give him while Fourteen chucks a towel at his chest, covering your eyes with his other hand.

He catches the projectile before it can knock him back into the pool, and uses it to dry his hair.

“Dude! Seriously? Go find a fucking shirt or something, no one wants to see that.”

You swat your sibling’s hand away and give him a look that screams ‘grow up’ while Tae drapes the towel over her shoulders, a hand gripping at each end.

“I’m only down if Dumbass is paying,” he says, smirking at your brother.

“—What—”

“That sounds like an excellent idea,” you agree, holding out your hand in his direction.

“—Hey wait a seco—”

Tae grabs and shakes just to watch the steam flee Fourteen’s ears at the contact. He meets your eyes conspiratorially, and you both nod before rushing Fourteen.

“—You fuckers!—” is all he gets out before Tae and you are grabbing an arm and a leg each and throwing Fourteen’s fully clothed ass in the pool.

He curses the both of you out several times as he treads, drenched and dripping, up the stairs and out of the water. Tae throws him the towel.

“You’ll pay for that, Asshole,” Fourteen tells Tae, and Tae grins.

“Oh, I’m counting on it. Worth it though.”

“And you!” Fourteen says, eyes on you. “What the fuck dude? The betrayal to your darling, one and only brother hurts. I’m wounded,” he lays it on thick, walking up directly beside you.

You're a hairsbreadth too late to realize when he shakes his hair out directly over top of you and you shriek, pulling your knees up, protecting the book under your shirt and behind your legs at all costs.

“Fourteen! The book! I will kill you if you damage it!”

Fourteen chuckles. “Payback’s a bitch Little Sister.”

You sneer at him, checking your prized possession for injury. Not a scratch.

“And sopping wet is your colour, Jackass.”

“Big words for someone who can just as easily be thrown in the pool.”

You pause. Eyeing him directly.

“You wouldn’t.”

“Wanna bet?”

Your brother looks at Tae with an evil plot in his eyes and you screech as they both nod once. You drop your book behind you as they yank you up by your arms and fling you into the pool, too much momentum from them and not enough resistance from you leaving you matching your darling, one and only brother.

As you come up for air, two colossal splashes ricochet from the left and right. Tae and Fourteen having both cannonballed in on either side of you. You choke on splattered water for a second before you’re attacking them with splashes, merciless in your pursuit for revenge.

“You both suck!” you half giggle half yell.

“Yet you love us anyway!” your brother falsely—correctly—claims.

You roll your eyes before trudging out, heavier and dripping with your soaked clothes.

And it's not until weekend plans are cast aside for current memories, Taehyung treating you all to dinner, and you treating everyone to milkshakes, that all is forgiven.

It turns out Rei’s dad knows the manager of the most exclusive club in the city—Youth—and managed to call in a favour. So now you, her, and your other bestie, Lea, are all on the dancefloor to celebrate her birthday.

Rei’s first request for the night besides not paying for a single drink, was to dress up in the hottest, sluttiest outfits the club's dress code would allow for.

This, for you, meant a black, square necked, low cut, and thin strapped satin slip dress that hugged you in all the right ways, matching heels adored with ankle strap bows and a sultry makeup look. Lea chose a dark blue shimmery number with a high leg split, vibrant graphic eyeliner, and wedges, while the birthday girl found the skimpiest forest green mini dress you’ve ever seen paired with heels that wrap ribbons up her legs, and a subtle dewy look on her lids.

She’s glowing, and needless to say, they both look hot and so do you.

Rei’s second request for the night was to dance until you either collapsed or threw up, whichever came first. A goal you were all making a steady descent towards as the night progressed.

That is, until your blood runs cold at the sight of your cheating ex boyfriend making his way through the crowd in a direct beeline towards you.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

You’re alone right now. Rei and Lea are taking a bathroom break.

You insisted you’d be fine for ten minutes. It was just ten minutes. What could possibly go wrong in ten minutes?

But apparently god just loves to play jokes because here you are, three shots in, not emotionally prepared enough to be near him, let alone speak to him, and by yourself in this huge crowd of strangers while he’s making very good time on his route to you.

Fuck! You do not want to deal with him right now or—fucking ever, actually.

He’d cheated on you four times that he admitted too throughout your two and a half year relationship, all while faking being blindingly happy directly to your face. He’d lied to you and hurt you and made you wonder what you did wrong for him to do that to you. It took all of your third year of university and more therapy sessions than you care to admit to realize you were never the problem, and that he was a piece of shit.

So, with quickly shrinking fifteen feet between you two, you try your best to hide from him in the crowd, only to run directly into him when you duck past a fellow club goer.

Son of a b—

“Heyyy Y/N, how’ve you been?” he says like he didn’t destroy your entire sense of self worth for a couple quick fucks.

You want to down three more shots just to be able to puke all over him. Intentionally, you haven’t seen him in years and just the reek of his stale ass cologne has you close.

“Fuck off Micah, don’t you have somewhere you need to be sticking your dick—like a garbage disposal?” You snark, doing your damndest to not let him get close. But the throng of bodies surrounding you have other ideas and you’re thrown against your least favourite person in existence.

Delusional as ever, Micah sleezes, “Doesn’t seem like you want me to leave just yet, Kitten,” and you shove him off you as hard as you can while bile rises at the horrible name you used to beg him not to call you.

You need to get off the dance floor.

Now.

Before you can, Micah grabs your arm and he pulls you back into him, hard.

Tae watches you out of the corner of his eye, wondering why in the hell you came to this club, of all the clubs out there.

The club he was at. Wearing that and truly testing the limits of his self control.

Music blasts through speakers that move the ocean on the dancefloor. Bodies sway like waves, some crashing into one another with teeth and tongues and passion, others pushing with the current, grinding and gripping and grabbing at anything they can get their hands on. The louder and faster the notes whirl over their swells, the harsher the storm rages on, people flowing in and out of the eye when needed.

He’s sitting at a booth on a dais high enough to watch you in the hurricane whilst being out of eyesight, notably with one or two faces he barely recognizes enough to most likely be your friends.

They appear to be currents. They drag you into deeper waters and you let them, helpless to their siren call. Leading you to your place amongst the sea life, and reveling in the way the melodies wash over you again and again with every song that plays.

His eyes follow you as you dance, curious if Fourteen knows you’re here before flinging the thought out of his head as quickly as it entered. You’re grown now, don’t need protection anymore. A lesson he learned the day you returned from university after graduating.

No longer his best friend's kid sister who they kept an eye on, but a woman who was and still is growing into herself beautifully. A woman who is steadfast, strong and more often than not, correct in her opinions. A woman who is well read and equally if not more so well spoken when she deigns to acknowledge his existence. A woman who knows how and when to turn all of that off in order to team up with him in a roast battle for the books against her brother.

He thinks of that day as the beginning of his downfall.

He can humbly admit that his intelligence, demeanor and education are things that have been nurtured into existence by his parents and carefully maintained by himself with practice and both mental and physical exercise. He takes care of himself, inside and out. Exercises regularly, eats well, has good hygiene. He’s level headed and patient. Respectful and responsible. Controlled and competent.

He prides himself on these things. Actively works towards keeping them maintained.

And yet.

Somehow when it comes to you, he is little more than a single brain celled idiot.

All of the things he uses to measure his self worth evaporate whenever you enter his field of vision and he becomes fucking ravenous. And all of his focus goes into controlling himself.

He’d never noticed before, never thought of you in the way he does now. How when your currents break from formation and head towards the bathrooms, their outgoing force creates a riptide that some fuckhead with a stupid haircut uses to sweep in and dance with you.

But you push him away.

He doesn’t get the memo, and the mophead tries his best to yank you out to sea again.

Magma flows through Taehyung's veins, thunder cracks in his ears and all he can think about is storming through the crowd to steal you from said fuckhead by claiming you for himself.

But he won’t.

Can’t.

All because of his darling best friend.

Fourteen doesn’t know about his feelings for you of course. And Tae rather likes being alive and in one piece, two things he most definitely would not remain should he act on any of these feelings.

You are wholly off limits, forbidden. A little too young, a little too immediately related to his best friend, a little too perfectly his fucking type. It kills him every time he can’t even look at you without Fourteen going into what he calls ‘asshole mode’.

So you remain in his very close periphery. Untouchable to the fingertips he aches to caress you with as you dangle your existence in front of him. Your wicked tongue, your delicious intelligence, your sexy fucking legs—fuck!

He has to stop thinking about you like this.

But that only makes him want you more.

It’s like the gods handcrafted you for him. Every piece, every detail of you immaculate, but he committed one to many sins in his past life, and now they’ve locked you away forever as punishment.

You float across the night sky, stuck in a golden cell. Its fourteen bars hold you hostage amongst the stars, all while he’s chained to the bottom of the ocean floor gasping for air.

But fuck the gods and fuck their gilded cages.

He’d break from his chains, swim to the surface of the sea and grow wings. Would break your prison apart with the sheer force of his wanting, then drag you down to the depths if it meant he got to keep you for himself.

He would. He really, really fucking would. If his world wouldn’t implode completely if he did.

So he keeps these thoughts to himself. Forces them down as they try their damndest to bubble over and burn him, because they will if he lets them. If any of them get outside these little moments, the ones where he allows himself to feel, he would burn and burn and burn until there was nothing left.

Therefore, Taehyung has never been more grateful that his best friend was stuck on the night shift while he watched you dance and enjoy yourself, because it granted him this sliver of time to pretend like your brother doesn’t exist.

That you are something he could let himself have, if you wanted him to.

And he’s solid in his decision to only observe, to stay inside his little moment, until fuckhead doesn’t get the message for the third time and Taehyung is out of his seat before he can think.

Because Fourteen isn't here.

And old habits die hard.

“What the hell? Let me go, Micah!” You see his eyes then, red rimmed and glazed. He definitely has more than one thing in his system as his grip on you hardens further. The more you struggle, the tighter he grasps and—ouch, ouch, ouch, yank, fuck! Ow!—it’s really starting to hurt.

“Just give me one more chance Kitten, I promise I’ll do better,” he whisper in your ear over the music, and you cringe back from how loud he is. But that doesn’t stop him from continuing, “I fucked up, I know I did. But that was years ago, and I learned my lesson. Just one more chance Kitten, just one more, and I—I promise. I promise it won’t happen again. It won’t. I really miss y–AH! What the fuck!?”

The hand on your arm releases the second Micah yelps in pain. You look down to see familiar ringed fingers around Micah’s wrist, clutching so hard they’re white knuckled and skin bruising.

A broad chest comes to rest at your back, and an arm snakes around you. Its large palm rests on your stomach and hip as it pulls you tightly against its owner.

Words covered in sharpest ice are spoken from behind you, their baritone so recognizable they have you melting back into him.

Safe.

You’re safe.

Exhale.

“Do. Not. Touch. Her.” Taehyung growls so deeply, so powerfully, you feel the rumble from behind his sternum reverberate into your body.

Micah’s focus shifts from his wrist to the man several inches taller and several years his senior still holding it. You watch as his face contorts from pained to confused and then to murderous.

“The fuck are you to tell me not to touch my girlfriend?” Micah seethes, and you stiffen because no the fuck you are not, and haven’t been for several years.

How blitzed out of his mind is he right now?

You don’t even get the chance to deny his words before Taehyung’s on Micah like fire to dried grass.

“Don’t make me laugh, Asshole. No way in hell an pig faced looking fucker like you could pull a woman like her. Now,” Tae roughly shoves Micah’s hand back to him, and it forces Micah to stumble into the people behind with the force. “Get the fuck away from My Girl before I make you My Problem. And trust me,” Tae says in a tone so dangerous, you’ve never heard him sound so terrifying in the fifteen plus years you’ve known him, “You don’t want me to make you my problem.”

And you realize, that this isn’t the Taehyung you’ve grown up with; seen through his awkward teen years and watched come into his adult life with. This isn’t jazz music and poetry Taehyung.

This Taehyung has only ever come out the handful of times you’ve ever been in trouble. The one who studied Judo with Fourteen growing up, the one who has his fourth Dan.

The one who does not play when it comes to you and your safety.

It’s enough to know that Taehyung is more than pissed off, and more than a little ready to beat the absolute shit out of Micah, if the whiskey on his breath says anything about his loosened inhibitions.

Micah seems to sense this too, and decides to back off. But not without a stupid macho expression and two middle fingers directed at both of you as he disappears into the crowd, and out of sight.

You can feel the tension radiating off Taehyung in waves, a coil so tightly wound that a gentle breeze could set him loose, so you turn around and attempt to safely unwind. His hand moves from your stomach to your lower back, and you ignore the trail of wildfire it leaves in its wake because Tae’s eyes haven’t wavered from the spot where Micah just stood.

“Don’t.” You say, loud enough for him to hear. And his flame filled irises snap to yours, burning. “He’s not worth it.”

Your words seem to bring him back somewhat because Tae sniggers. “Damn right he’s not,” then softens. “Are you okay?”

You look anywhere but at him, the reality of the last three minutes crashing down onto your head like broken glass while the both of you are still caught in the middle of the dancefloor.

The people around you seem to understand something’s happened, and you’re left mostly untouched aside from the gentle nudges of inebriated party goers whose balance isn’t the best at the moment.

Like the mellowed waves in the eye of a storm.

Taehyung seems to make sense of this at the same time you do, and lifts his free hand for you to take. Slipping your fingers into his, he leads you to an unused and out of the way emergency exit hallway somewhere in the back of the club. It’s completely empty and dark, undisturbed besides the occasional server passing by.

It’s private.

It’s safe.

You’re safe.

He lets go of your hand and looks at you again. “Now, are you okay?”

The adrenaline is wearing off, and you can feel yourself start to shake. You ignore it. Sort of.

“I’m okay,” you say. But he’s eyeing you suspiciously and rightly so, so you repeat yourself, trying to convince your own brain more than his right now.

“I’m okay, really! I’m good. I’m–” you exhale a shaky breath and he doesn’t ask before pulling you to his chest. Wrapping both his arms around you, one around your back while the other holds your head protectively to him. Your own go around his waist as you grip him back tighter.

“I’ve got you,” he says.

“I’m okay,” you say again, muffled into his black high necked shirt, taking deep breaths of his soothing, familiar scent. You do it and again, and again. Repeating the pretty lie to yourself again and again until it becomes the truth.

He doesn’t let go until you do, and you don’t let go until you’ve finally stopped shaking.

You look up into his eyes, and all signs of his previous wrath are gone. It seems the hug didn’t ground just you, it grounded him too. Got him out of the headspace that would’ve been required for action first, words later. But now the sun is back, it shines down on you, and you bask in its warmth.

“I’m good now. Thank you,” you say in an even and unwavering voice, because you are. The panic and immense relief having washed over you, and you’re once again simply, pleasantly buzzed.

Though you do have a new problem in the form of the warmth pooling low from the feeling of both his hands still on your lower back.

You’re trying to convince yourself it’s his way of keeping you safe.

But the lock on your box has the key inside it, and it’s just begging for you to turn it.

“Good,” he replies, still not letting go. And it’s chipping away at your sanity. “Who was that guy? I only caught the last bit of his pathetic ramblings.”

You wince. Due to a lovely combination of not being very active on social media, not being much of a picture taker, and the newly dyed hair Micah seemed to be sporting tonight, you’re not surprised Tae didn’t recognize him.

“Ah. Uhm…That was...Micah,” you admit, unable to meet his eyes again. That’s when you notice his outfit tonight is all black.

Oh you are so fucked.

“As in Micah, Micah?” Tae asks neutrally, familiar with what your ex had done, just not what he looked like.

“...Yeah...”

“I see.”

“Yeah...” You say again. Because what else could you say?

Tae cracks a smile. “Should’ve let me kick his ass. The balls on him not only to approach you, but to call you his—” he cuts himself off, biting the inside of his cheek before continuing in a hushed, caring tone. “After everything he’s done to you, you should’ve let me, PG. Consequences be damned.”

Your cheeks flame at the nickname so close to your ears. So tenderly said. And you honestly can’t tell if you still hate it in this moment, or if it’s only adding kindling to the fire his hands are fueling at the base of your spine.

The new name he’d called you earlier, its ignition point.

My Girl.

You swear, even in your panicked state, you’d momentarily forgotten how to breathe before inhaling far too much all at once.

Fuck, what you won’t give to hear him say it again. But you’re 98.9% sure that’s the three shots of vodka talking. Trying their best to turn the damn key. And maybe they succeed in turning it half way—hell, maybe all the way, because you look him back in the eyes and hear yourself say,

“Maybe I should’ve, but I was far too distracted by the new nickname you finally gave me to give a single fuck about anyone else.”

The moment the last word is out Taehyung stiffens beneath your touch, fingers locked on your back, and you’re very pretty sure you just fucked absolutely everything up.

Years of good behaviour, of keeping yourself in check. Of pockets of time and side long glances and knowing nothing would ever happen, stolen from you. By your own big, fat, adrenaline depleted, vodka loosened mouth.

You're a second away from damage control before his grip shifts from your lower back to your hips.

Higher. Tighter. Controlling. Oh fuck.

He leans down to murmur, “Liked the new name, did you?” in your ear.

Shivers shoot from your crown to your core and down to your toes. Having his deep, deliciously inviting voice so fucking close to your pulse point has you millimeters away from drowning in it. You know he can feel it course through you, just like you can hear the smile it makes him display away from your eyesight as he does.

“You did then,” he responds for you, a cat toying with its meal as he lifts his head once more to look into your eyes.

You don’t need a mirror to know the state of your pupils. Your gaze is glazed over in the sinful kind of way.

“I did,” you needlessly confirm, looking up into similarly blown out ones.

The fingers twined behind him release, and make their way around to his abdomen. They pause to splay for just a second at the defined ridges, before slowly crawling up his chest and meeting again at the nape of his neck.

They play with the soft hair there, gently scratching their nails at the skin beneath where it grows and you watch as your ministrations cause his eyes to roll back, flutter shut, and his head to meet the wall behind him. A barely audible moan escapes the confines of his lips before he swallows, the divine bob of his adams apple as he tries to regain his composure is the dawn of your undoing.

“Fuck, PG that isn’t fair,” he groans towards the ceiling, his hands on your waist clamping down harder, pulling you so close your bodies touch in more places they definitely shouldn’t be. The contact has you reeling and all you want is more, more, more of it.

More of him.

“PG isn’t the name you called me earlier,” you hum, yanking on a single loose strand and Tae sucks in a steep breath, biting the corner of his smirking lip with a canine.

You want to hear him say it again. Badly. So you release the sensual grip you have on his nape, and let his head lul slowly back down to where it was, his deepening amber wholly fixated on your now entirely onyx. Your heart is begging for release from your chest, and for a moment you wonder if he can see your pulse thrumming in your eyes, because you sure as hell can feel it.

“No, it’s not. But it also hasn’t meant to me what it means to you for quite some time now,” his voice like honey, thick and dripping its way over your body. It’s making you dizzy and weighty with want. It has your mouth opening slightly as he leans closer still, knocking his nose gently with your own. Inhaling in your exhales. Teasing you. Making you work for it.

“And what does it mean to you?” you ask, barely above a whisper, irises never straying from his as your bottom lip brushes against his in one solitary, intoxicating moment that has you more buzzed in one touch than three shots has had you all night.

“Pretty Girl,” he breathes onto your lips, pushing his thigh between your legs at the same time he pulls you impossibly closer. You hear yourself moan ‘fuck’ at the contact it gives your throbbing cunt. Too focused on the need coursing through you like a live wire—your body pure water—to think about what you’re saying.

It’s a sweet sound and a violent pleasure he devours as his lips finally, finally, finally crash into yours, pinning you in place and allowing him to take every piece of you he wants. One hand slithers up your naked spine to hold you, your backless dress doing you every favour imaginable as his other continues to help you grind over his thigh.

His tongue slips into your mouth and you suck on it, causing him to jerk into you once with the rapidly growing want pressing into your lower belly. But your hands hold firm at his neck as you pull him into you, a knee lifting to meet his hip. Needing more contact.

The electricity filled pathways his fingers leave down your back, over your ass and across the bottom of your thigh to support your search for pleasure do nothing but spur on the overwhelming need to touch him everywhere.

No holds barred. No clothes worn. Nothing stopping you.

He uses his new grip to spin you around and press his hips into yours as your shoulders meet the wall. You’re left to moan sickly sweet sounds of bliss into his ear as Taehyung frees your mouth in favour of your jaw and neck, sucking gentle purple hues down the column of your throat and onto your collarbone.

“Pretty Girl,” he whispers between love bites, “My Pretty Girl.” Over and over and it has you melting so far into him, the only thing keeping you apart is fabric and a potential audience. Though from the colour you’re going to have to cover with far too much concealer tomorrow, you don’t think he quite cares about that last part.

It drives you farther into insanity. Years of want and restraint and pretty white lies you told yourself are crashing down on one another and it shows in the fervor of your touch, your wants, your pleads.

“Fuck, Tae—please. Please, I need you— please,” you beg, and the bite he leaves at the junction where your neck meets your shoulder has you gasping for air that refuses to be consumed gently.

But Taehyung is a man on a mission. One who will not be deterred, and you can’t tell if he will be your pinnacle or your inevitable end.

With what is very clearly great effort, Tae pulls himself back from your decolletage, only to kiss your lips once more. Open mouthed and dirty, tongue clinging to you like the only thing he’s concerned about is swallowing down as much of you as he can while you’ll let him, and you’ve never felt more desired in your life.

He’s hoarse as he says, “Not here. Not for the first time. Not…not here.”

“Then where,” you ask, near impatient and far too eager as you let your hands roam wherever they want. And you find your thumbs tracing the waistline of his pants, dipping a nails width below where they should. They trail over the indented V of muscle you know is hiding under his shirt. He shudders.

It makes you smile wickedly.

“Then where, Taehyung,” you murmur into his neck with that wicked smile in your words as you trace your nose along his jaw.

“Fuck, you’re something,” he says, almost pained, bringing you immense delight. To know you affect him as much as he does you. That you have him as much as he has you.

Sly hands slowly pull his shirt from his trousers in an attempt to urge him on. It works, and his response is quick.

“My place. It’s a ten minu—fuck PG,” he almost scolds as your digits toy with the hair at his navel, dipping lower—enough to feel the beginnings of something—but not low enough to discern anything.

Yet.

“Can you behave for that long?”

You smirk.

Retracting your hands, you hold them up to show you can be good, do a quick once over to make sure you're decent and spin on your heel to walk towards your booth. Tae is behind you immediately, hand placed low on your back, thumb rubbing circles on the sliver of skin it touches. You ignore the goose bumps that arise.

Rei and Lea are at your table, thankfully. You explain to them you ran into Micah and that it really shook you, so Tae’s going to take you home. They know who Tae is, so they’re not worried when they give you goodbye hugs or when they tell you to text them when you're home safe.

You promise you will, and hope that the rest of Rei’s birthday goes well.

True to his word, it’s a ten minute rideshare before you’re pulling up to a tall, black windowed apartment building.

You’ve only been to Tae’s a handful of times with your brother, mostly for things like pick ups for concerts and such, but now that you’re here—alone with him—you’re trying hard not to jump him in the fucking lobby.

The pulsing between your legs has only worsened since you removed your hands from his waistline, and you’re close to crawling out of your skin with need.

His hand stays in its place at your lower back as the elevator climbs.

It’s not helping and completely helping at the same time.

Fuck.

Tae lives on the sixteenth floor and the view is incredible. It’s the first thing you see past the island when you walk in the front door. There’s the kitchen to the left past the entrance, which turns into the living space that’s furnished in a way you can only describe as pure Tae.

Books littering every surface, warm neutral toned furniture to counterbalance the colourful artwork he keeps on the walls. There’s an old record player with a collection of vinyls in the corner and what you assume is this morning's coffee mug on the art book filled coffee table.

To the right of the living space is the bedroom. It’s a studio apartment, but Tae’s managed to keep the flow of the place beautifully with some creatively put, gorgeously decorated room dividers. And the tall floor to ceiling windows wrap around it all, showcasing the lights of the city as they blend into the stars in the night sky.

Mesmerizing.

Just like the man locking his door behind you.

A kiss is placed on the back of your neck as you slide out of your shoes at the front door. You angle your head to allow more space, letting the arm that folds around you bring you closer to him. The feel of his arousal begins to grow behind you once more and you push back against him. A faint grunt meets the shell of your ear before his hand delicately slides up from your lower stomach and past your sternum. It teases your neck for just a moment before it meets your jaw to turn your lips towards his.

He captures them in a brutal kiss, drinking you in for all you’re worth and then some as his other hand replaces the one that now holds your jaw in place. He pulls you into him but you spin in his hold, throwing your arms around his neck once more and dragging him towards the living space. He sheds his jacket in the process, uncaring of where it lands on his floor so long as you are still kissing him.

You only stop when your ass meets the top of the couch and Taehyung palms the back of your thighs to lift you, your legs wrapping themselves around his hips as you sit on its edge.

He growls at the contact and it has you raking your nails down his neck and over his shirt as you open for him once more, tongues clashing and teeth scraping at the desperate nature you both share. You yank his shirt up and he breaks from your embrace for only the amount of time it takes for the fabric to hit the floor before he’s back on you, adding twin bruises to the other side of your throat.

You let the strings holding up your dress fall naturally to the side, revealing your chest to him, and a low, “Fucking hell,” is murmured somewhere below your ear before a nipple is in his mouth and you’re arching into his touch, slices of need shooting straight downwards. Giving no mercy to your attempts to draw out the pleasure.

One large hand cups a breast, molding it to his wanting before he switches and you’re groaning into the air above you, begging him for more, determined to have his tongue anywhere and everywhere you can get it. He lavs at your peaked bud, roaming over the sensitive flesh, making you squirm at the sensations he’s drawing from you.

You never want it to end as he makes his way back up to your mouth, dragging his bottom lip over all of the freshly deepend skin it trails in its wake, making you hazy with the feel of him and his marks.

His delicate touch wanders the insides of your thighs and your cunt aches for it the higher it climbs. But it slides up not down, reaching around to your ass and hoisting you onto his hips.

Turning, he walks the eight paces to his bed, places a knee on the mattress for support before setting you down. His lips never leave yours he crawls over you, settling his hips over yours for mere moments, allowing you to thrust only twice before he’s removing himself completely and sinking to his knees.

The fingers you’ve spent way too much time thinking about can’t get enough of your skin as they skate down your sides, taking the dress bunched at your hips with them. You raise your hips to help him get the scrap of fabric off, leaving a delicate, black lace thong the only thing keeping any of your remaining modesty intact.

You watch as his now fully blackened gaze takes you in, jaw dropped in slight at the sight of you with your legs opened on his bed. Like you were the prize he’s been waiting years to claim, and now that you're here and that you’re his his, he can’t quite believe it.

It’s then you realize that he wants you, and has been wanting you. That your attempts to stay in reality these last couple years weren’t just harder for you, but for him as well.

It hasn’t been one sided.

He wants you.

Taehyung.

Off limits, older brother’s best friend, swim club participating, jazz and poetry loving, judo knowing, book gifting, perfect smile having, protective, Taehyung.

Wants you.

You can physically feel the gush that rushes from your core at the thought and you know Tae can see it through the lace.

“Holy fuck…you’re fucking drenched and I haven’t even properly touched you yet,” he rasps, unbelieving.

“Then touch me and find out just how much I want this,” you whisper. Begging, pleading, praying your words have their intended effect. “How much I want you, Taehyung.”

The sound that leaves his throat is a mixture of a whimper, a groan, and a guttural noise indicative of pure desperate want as he takes hold of your legs and spreads them further. Those mother fucking fingers trace from your ankles to your knees accompanied by the occasional light kiss, back up your inner thighs, and finally to the spot where you’ve been weeping for him for the better part of thirty minutes with a heaping side of ten years yearned.

He places one open mouthed kiss on the top of your clothed clit and that simple touch has you arching, lightning crackling through your veins with the pleasure it brings. Tae slides one single finger down your covered slit before pushing it under and pulling it to the side.

At the mere sight of you he’s swearing so fiercely under his breath that you involuntarily clench and he can’t fucking take it anymore.

His mouth is on you and you buck at the sensation. Yielding you no mercy, his tongue swipes from opening to clit in one long lick that has you gasping, clutching bed sheets above and below your head to keep from screaming.

“Oh my—Fuck—Tae. Ohmygodohmy—” you’re rambling. Incoherent. A mess.

He’s consuming your very being, no nerve left untouched, no reaction too minimal for his learning as he snakes his hands around your legs to haul you closer, pull you deeper into his mouth and you can’t fucking take it. You’re screaming out at the intensity he circles you with, and you can feel your impending orgasm come rushing to the surface. You’ve barely even processed it’s begun before you’re spasming so hard Tae has to remove an arm from your leg to throw around your pelvis.

His devious fucking eyes meet yours for one earth shattering moment as he slips two fingers inside and begins a secondary merciless pursuit on your already overwhelmed senses. Using the pads to press upwards in time to the motions he never ceased with his tongue, a second wave is cresting before the first has ceased and you feel yourself clamping down, legs holding him in place as the intensity of your release climaxes.

You’ve never felt a pressure so intense before, it’s like your body is a volcano and you’re erupting for the first time while someone sets off fireworks from its peak. The lava flows in waves, your hand holding his hair as you ride his face, shuddering at the vibrations his moan into your cunt leaves on the most sensitive parts of your body.

Gentle strokes and licks calm as your pleasure begins to wane and you can breathe in more than just stuttered inhales again.

“Holy fu–” you try to get out, but your voice is hoarse, like you’ve been screaming the entire time.

And fuck, maybe you have been. You sure as hell can’t remember or think of anything more than the warm fuzzy feeling currently radiating from every single pour in your body. The damningly deliciously dizzying feeling in your head not allowing for coherent thoughts to pass. Your limbs are loose, your body wholly relaxed.

You’re…Well. You’re fucking perfect right now. If you could stay in this moment forever you would without second thought. Locked in this room with him for all time sounds like the best way to live out the rest of your days.

Until you wince as Tae blows warm breath on your core and he chuckles, then does it again.

“Hey,” you say, sounding much clearer now, “Stop that and come here.”

You slip your hand down his face and grab him by the jaw, pulling him up and over you. Tae tastes like fire and whiskey and ambrosia and you as you kiss him with abandon, near feral as you take what you want from him and he revels in it.

He’s on his elbows and a knee over you, and you use it to your full advantage to palm him over his pants and—Fuck he’s big. No wonder he was so thorough on you. This is going to hurt no matter how much prep either of you did.

He hisses at the contact and that only spurs you on, grasping firmly at his base and roving up and over the head with the heel of your palm, squeezing gently in time with his reactions.

“Christ PG, if you keep doing that I’m going to cum in my pants,” Tae laughs into your neck before rising to sit back on his heels. He gets as far as undoing his belt buckle and button before you take over, sitting up and pulling him out.

He is disastrously beautiful, just like the rest of him, and your mouth waters at just the idea of him in your mouth.

Licking your lips, you hear him curse quite colourfully as you take the tip into your mouth and swish your tongue over the head. Once. Twice. Thrice.

Tae raises one hand to his eyes and the other behind him to hold him up as you take him deeper, shaking from restraining himself so hard, murmuring to himself, “Oh fuck. Fuck me, can’t believe—so fucking good, pretty—perfect—ohmygod,” and you seal the motherfucking deal by taking him into the back of your throat and looking up into his eyes at the same time.

Taehyung barks and bucks once into your throat before removing himself and throwing you down onto the bed. He looks furious in the way that gets your heart racing, your cunt thrumming and your breathing so fast your chest feels like it might shatter from the crosscurrents.

He grabs each of your hands and raises them above your head, sliding his fingers up your wrists and between your own, holding them in place on his pillow.

Leaning down, he uses his lowest timber to speak darkly into your ear, teasing your swollen clit with the tip of his cock. Sliding back and forth, sending bolts of white hot need through you.

“You drive me fucking insane,” he starts, thrusting, teasing, torturing. And you moan at the contact.

“You make me want to throw away a decades old friendship just for the chance to touch you.”

Thrust, tease, jolt, whine.

“And what’s worst of all is you’re the best thing I’ve ever tasted, the most beautiful I’ve ever seen, and you turn me into a complete idiot the second you enter the room. It’s like your fucking presence takes away all the working functions in my brain and leaves me with only the incurable fucking desire to make you cum until you can’t remember you own fucking name. Only mine.”

Thrust, squeeze, glide, jolt. “Tae...” you whine, delirious with pleasure, drunk on his greed and delighted by his torture.

“I call you PG because it’s the only way I can get away with calling you anything more than your name around him.” He sounds almost angry with how low he growls. “And it means so much more than you could think.”

He leans further into you, so close now that his lips brush your ear as he speaks.

“My Pretty Girl,” thrust, “My Precious Girl,” moan, “My Perfect Fucking Girl.”

He releases one hand to line himself up with your entrance. “That’s who you are to me. That’s what I’m calling you when I call you PG. My Pretty, Precious, Perfect Girl. My Girl.” He slips past your walls, sinking deep and you both groan in euphoric unison. “Mine.”

Tae pulls out, slow and controlled.

Blissful.

Then pushes back in, methodically.

Torturous.

Feeling every inch you can take, which is every single fucking one.

Inevitable.

Bottoming out for the second time, you whisper, “Yours,” into his ear, and he turns fucking ravenous.

Setting an absolutely ruthless pace, he claims your body, taking what’s so clearly always been his. Your legs wrap around him again, digging a heel into his ass as you drive him closer, harder with every push. Then lay claim to the one thing you’re able to, taking his lips with yours and biting down hard enough to draw the most sinful groan from the back of his throat. Hoarse, deep, almost broken with how raw it is.

One hand bruises its fingerprints into your hip while the other holds him up over you, and you use this to your advantage, slipping one leg around his and flipping the both of you over.

You trail your tongue down his jaw to his clavicle, he tastes of sweat and lust and sex and it is the most intoxicating thing you’ve ever consumed. Creating your own gardens of little blooming flowers down one side of his neck and up the other, Taehyung moans greedily into your ear as your ride to match his thrusts, sending him deeper while you decorate your willing canvas.

Because as much as he wishes to lay claim to your body, you want to claim his as well.

“Mine,” you say, positioning yourself to take over completely, using the springs of the mattress to do most of the work for you.

“Yes,” he says. But that’s not good enough.

“Mine,” you demand, and let loose, pressing down on the mattress with your knees rapidly, creating the glorious effect you wanted. You watch as the up force from the mattress causes Taehyung to be driven into you so quickly he throws his head back, mouth dropped in pure ecstasy.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, YN, What the fuck—” he rambles, lost to the pleasure, biting his lip, going slackjawed, clenching and unclenching his fists into bedsheets that already have your handprints seared into them.

And you keep going, a little torture creation of your own.

“Mine,” you demand again, and this time, it clicks.

“Yours! Fuck, yours. All yours, only yours,” he surrenders and you slow back down to a regular pace, breathless.

It’s a great move but it’s exerting.

You all but collapse on his chest and he takes over, thrillingly pissed off due to your power play.

“So that’s how it’s going to be?” he asks, and you clench at his tone.

He removes himself and you whimper, but he’s maneuvering you like a ragdoll on the bed and you’re more than fucking willing to be thrown around.

He’s kneeling on the bed, lifting your hips and sliding into you in a doggy style, but then he’s doing the most insane thing you think you’ve ever seen. With an arm around your stomach he brings your back to his torso and twists you both to face the open floor to ceiling windows. One of your legs is thrown over his that’s up to splay you wide for the skyline to see, and you can see your reflection in the glass.

You look beyond fucked out, and so does he, and it’s the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen. But then his hand is sliding to your throat, and a whispered, “Is this okay?” finds your ears. You nod.

Gripping the sides of your throat, he slides his other hand to graze your clit before beginning his own version of the move you just pulled. Pumping into you at a pace that has your g-spot screaming from all of the attention it’s receiving, his fingers swiping deftly over the bundled nerves at the apex of your thigh whilst lightly cutting off the blood supply to your brain.

It has you twitching and hazy and dizzy in seconds. You can see yourself losing to the feeling so steadily building at the base of your spine in the glass. Mouth open, body willing, the man who’s been at the center of your wanting for longer than you can remember, its deliverance.

Dark, sex tousled hair, muscled forearms holding you up and driving you insane. Blackened eyes focused on you and only you through the mirror the darkness of the night’s sky has created for you.

It’s that visual that sets you over the edge when he releases your throat, and you feel a gush flowing from where you two meet.

“Fuuuck yes. My Perfect Girl, cum all over my sheets, drench my cock. That’s it,” he purrs in your ear and it’s doing nothing but sending shock after shock into your already over sensitive and pulsing cunt, letting your consciousness float somewhere above or below you, you don’t really care.

All you know is that you feel light as a feather and not of this earthly plane.

Taehyung removes himself and lies you down gently. He’s back inside soon after and it just feels right as he fills you, like it’s where he’s meant to be.

He hovers over you once more, and you lift a single knee to his hip, mimicking your position from the club as he thrusts into you with fervor, chasing his own high after delivering three mind shattering ones to you.

Reaching one hand to his cheek, you hold him as he kisses you, working himself to completion.

Using your other to deliver a few expert circles to your clit, so you can come together, you breathe in each other's release and drown in once another’s embrace.

You leave his name on your tongue this time. A gift. A cry so delicate that a tear falls from your cheek and he kisses it away.

Taehyung inhales sharply, before stuttering his exhale and an exquisite warmth fills you.

“F-f-uu-ckkk,” he shudders as he lets the aftershocks of his release claim you in the most basic and animalistic of ways. You drink in the vulnerable sound, taking his mouth with yours one final time as you bask in each other's pleasure. Silent but for catching breaths, exertion evident as you hold one another.

Taehyung rests on your chest. Lines are sketched gently with your nails up and down his spine and into his hair as he comes down, content in the afterglow, where nothing is wrong and everything is perfect.

Before consequences kick in and regrets form.

When he decides he’s ready, Tae lifts and removes himself from you and you can feel the remnants of your combined efforts slide down to the bedsheets.

Tae takes a single finger and gathers it up before pressing it back in. You hiss at the now tender flesh. Though the pain doesn’t stop the warmth newly pooling at the sight and feel and meaning.

He pumps it back in once, twice before removing his finger and placing it in his mouth to clean off. Your cunt flutters at the sight and Tae smirks, leaning forward to share his findings with you in the form of a filthy, open mouthed, tongue filled kiss. It’s slightly salty, slightly metallic but you pull him back for one last lick when he tries to pull away.

Watching him kneeling there, in the glow of moonlight, you realize just how truly beautiful he is. The shape of his illuminated profile, the expanse of his chest as he breathes in, the colour of his skin under silver rays. He’s stunning.

You smile up at him, spent, sated and so astronomically fucked if your brother ever finds out.

Tae must see the thought on your face, because he says, “Don’t worry about him. I’ll handle it.”

But you honestly don’t give a fuck about that right now. That’s a tomorrow issue. What you want to know is, “Did you mean it?”

“Mean what, exactly?” He specifies.

You sit up, eye to eye as he sits on the edge of the bed, one leg on the ground.

“All of it. Any of it.”

There.

Now it was out in the open. And the rest is up to him.

You could drag yourself back down to reality. Chalk this night up to booze and bad timing and perfect timing. Could convince yourself it was just one night and that it would have to be enou—

“All of it,” he interrupts, the most sincere expression you’ve ever seen on him on full display. “Definitely all of it. Every last fucking word.”

You slump on your exhale, so fucking relieved you didn’t have to keep trying to lie to yourself that you could forget this happened.

You’re laughing before you can fight it off, shoulders shaking. Smiling so wide it hurts.

“Uh..YN?” Tae asks, clearly not sure how to take your reaction and you compose yourself.

“That’s PG to you,” you say as you crawl onto his lap, and kiss him into oblivion.

It’s interesting to finally sit on the dock across the way in East Egg.

The fog is gone, the sky is a brilliant blue, and the little box you kept sits open next to you, the lock and its key lost somewhere to the depths below your feet. Funny how harmless it seems now that there’s nothing locked inside anymore, like it could never really have hurt you in the first place.

You take in your newly emptied creation, and quirk a brow when you see it move.

A wiggle at first, before it’s shaking and spinning and shrinking, turning from a box into a glass windowed locket. Golden and delicate and beautiful, with a matching chain. You ponder for a moment what it could be for, before turning to look down at the green light to your right.

An idea strikes.

Unclasping the little window, you lift the opened pendant to the green light. And to your delight, the emerald hue hops into its new home, closing its tiny windowed door.

You smile at the clever little light, lacing the chain around your neck, resting it on the middle of your sternum, right above your heart. Its brilliant hue shining brightly through the pane for all to see.

Funny how the green light you so longed for, longed for you back, and is now yours for keeps.

A/N 2.5: This is what has been rotting in my brain for the better half of two weeks so please enjoy, it was supposed to be short and trope filled to cure my writers block but apparently I am incapable of short. But trope filled it clearly is. Overall tho, I'm quite pleased with this one.

A/N 3: As always, thanks for reading, loves. Xoxo, - Yoon <3

Masterlist

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adventuringblind · 1 year

Text

Keep me Close

Past Jules Bianchi x reader, platonic Charles Leclerc x Reader

Genre: angst

Request: yepyep finally got me some angst things to write

Summary: Charles's new girlfriend can't understand why he's so attached to the reader

Warnings: talks of death, name calling, a table gets flipped

Notes: I definitely didn't cry writing this at one point. Also, no hate to Alex!! I know hardly anything about her, but I know her and Charles are currently together, and it fits the Timeline, so please bear with me.

Masterlist

Your love for Jules was something you find in fairy tales. It was beautiful, and both of you felt connected on a level deeper than anything imaginable.

It started when you were both merely kids. You were six, and he was eight. The two of you had met at the wedding of a mutual friend. Dressed in nice clothing, he'd marched right up to you and claimed to be a knight looking for a princess.

You were inseparable after that. It was like you'd found your soulmate.

When you turned eighteen, Jules had immediately proposed. And when you countered by asking if you were both too young, he said, 'Why waste time when I know I'll love you forever?'"

You'd gotten close with Leclerc family. Specifically with Charles since Jules was named godfather. He spent a great deal of time with you and Jules.

Then 2014. Everyone was sure Jules was going to get a seat with Ferrari. It would be a crime if he didn't.

You remember kissing him, good luck. The last feeling of his lips on your before getting in the car.

You remember telling him to be safe with the rain; that you love him dearly. He replied with his signature wink and an 'I love you more and I always am.'

Then everything stopped. The world seemed to no longer spin. Time refused to move forward as you willed it to go back.

It couldn't be real. There was no way it had happened. You still thought that as you sat at his bedside faithfully for months. There wasn't a world you wanted to live in if it didn't have Jules.

Charles was similarly devastated. He'd lost someone dear to him. The boy spent all his free time sitting with you in the hospital. Even bringing around food that Pascale had made to keep you alive. Something you didn't want to be at that moment.

The bond you'd formed with Charles during this time is hard to explain. There is nothing romantic. He's family despite the age gap not being that large.

He was, and is still, family. You'd promised to still take care of him despite the loss of Jules, and he promised to do the same in his stead.

The start of the 2024bseason brings on an interesting turn of events. Charles had split with his girlfriend before the new year and is now with his new girlfriend Alex.

You like her. She's very sweet as far as you've been told. But there is something there that makes you worry. You just blame the fact that you want the best for Charles.

The first time you met her was at a family dinner. Charles brought Alex with him to introduce her to everyone.

You were actually the first person he introduced her to. You felt honored, but there was something behind her eyes that you couldn't quite pinpoint. But you kept it to yourself and made friendly conversation.

The next time you saw her was when she dropped by the Leclerc family home unannounced. The position she caught you in wasn't a bad one, but it probably didn't look good to her.

Charles had a rough race in Monaco, as per usual, and was laying with his head in your lap while you ran fingers through his hair. It's the same thing Jules had done when Charles was a child after a bad Karting race.

Alex definitely didn't look pleased with you. But she managed to put kn a smile and say hello.

It was awkward. Especially after Charles and her went into another room because you could hear them talking in hushed whispers.

Your fingers find the chain with your wedding ring on it. Your lips press against the cold metal as you hold the ring to your mouth. "I hope I'm doing this right, Jules. It's hard without you here."

The last time you saw Alex was at a birthday party. Your birthday party. Something you don't like having after Jules because he was the one who always made the day special.

Charles is a stubborn man though and decided it was necessary. Partly because this is his way of remembering that you are alive and with them, but it also gives him and excuse to drink and dance.

It wasn't anything massive. Or at least - not a massive as it could have been. There were a good number of people crowded into your Monaco home. The food is good, and the music is better. It definitely felt like a party Jules would have dragged you to in your youth.

It's not long until Charles appears at the door with Alex in tow. He comes to you, and you embrace him as usual. The smile on his face makes everything worth it. despite having to deal with a party for a few hours.

Pierre also finds you and starts up conversation. The three of you fail to notice the fourth becoming increasingly agitated.

A loud crashing sound pulls all of their attention. Alex flipped over the table in her agitation and is now sending chills down your spine with the look on her face.

"Why are you so determined to be some kind of homewrecker! Why can't you just stop being a creep to Charles and let us live in peace!" She screams. It hits your mind like a shadow. The world fades away, and your thoughts are filled with the doubts you have daily.

Tears fill your eyes, and your body goes rigid. "I'm Charles' godmother. Y/N Bianchi. I am no homewrecker." You choke.

Charles and Pierre take a protective step in front of you. "Get out!" Charles' voice drips with venom. Alex looks stunned. She doesn't move even as Charles shouts at her. "Nobody gets to speak like that to my family! Get out!"

Then she runs. Avoiding the gazes of disapproval.

Charles spins around and places his hands on your shoulders. His eyes scanning your face to assess the damage.

"I'm so sorry that happened. You're amazing. Always have been. And anyone who says differently is a fucking asshole."

Even through the tears, she smiles. Jules couldn't have left her in better hands.

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youcouldmakealife · 1 month

Text

SOTM: Erin/Julius; cosmic vertigo

For the prompt: More Erin and Julius understanding each other on a deep level

“Have you ever thought about the universe?” Julius says.

“I get a headache whenever I do, so I mostly try to avoid it,” Erin says, then, feeling Julius’ eyes on her, “Yeah, I guess. You’ve got to narrow it down a little from ‘literally everything in existence’ for me to figure out what you're getting at, though.”

“How things — change, I guess,” Julius says. “How if something went just a little differently, your life could be completely different too.”

“So like alternate universes,” Erin says, relieved. That’s much less likely to give her a headache. Not unlikely, but thinking about what, exactly, exists past forever? What a constantly expanding universe is expanding into? The last time Erin let herself think about it too long she ended up with a migraine. Possibly a coincidence, but she’s not risking it. That thing lasted two days.

“Yes,” Julius says. “If I was drafted one pick higher, or lower, I would never have come to Edmonton.”

“And you wouldn’t have met Jared, and therefore me, and neither of us would be lying in this bed right now talking about the universe,” Erin says. “Something like that?”

“Something like that,” Julius echoes, then gazes at her for a long moment, not speaking.

“Stop measuring how good a consolation prize I am,” Erin says. Doesn’t matter how great he thinks she is: nobody’s great enough to make up for the pain and suffering of playing for the Edmonton Oilers.

Julius’ mouth quirks, like she’s said it out loud.

“You’re alright,” he says.

“Thanks,” Erin says. “I do my best.”

“Worth coming here,” Julius says.

“Let’s not get too crazy here,” Erin says.

Under the covers, Julius finds where she’s laced her hands on her stomach and prises the nearest away so he can lace his own fingers through it, that hand thief. She likes to sleep like she’s in a coffin and he knows that. Still, she supposes she can lend it to him for a little while.

“Feeling philosophical tonight, are we?” Erin asks.

She doesn’t have to ask why: he’s going back to Finland in two days. Only for a month, before he flies back to Alberta to train with Jared and his buds in Calgary. She doesn’t have to ask why for that either. Dude isn’t going to train in a city he’s never even lived in, a city that hates his guts, just because he misses her brother, though she’s sure Jared would argue otherwise. She won’t make him say it.

“I can come,” Erin says. “If you want me to. I can come.”

Julius blows out a breath. “Next time,” he says.

“Sure,” Erin says. “It’s not — it doesn’t expire or anything. Standing offer. I mean, unless I have something else going on. Then you’re shit out of luck.”

“I will make sure your schedule is clear,” Julius says.

“Thanks,” Erin says. “Thoughtful of you.”

“Would you like your hand back?” Julius says. Erin doesn’t think she’s imagining the reluctance. A month’s not really a long time if the universe is your scale, but if it isn’t, well. It’s long enough.

“That’s okay,” Erin says. “You can have it a bit longer.”

So the thing is, when Erin told Julius she’d go to Finland with him, well — it isn’t that she didn’t mean it, because she did, it’s just that she sort of figured that at some point between her saying that and him taking her up on it, she might just spontaneously get past her fear of flying.

Except, fear is such a strong word, isn’t it? She’s fine. She’s been on planes without dying. She even hopped on a plane to see the Canucks host the Oilers — would someone with a lifelong fear of planes do that?

And yeah, sure, it was only ninety minutes, and by the time she quit telling herself that they probably weren't all going to die — but if they did, they better not fuck up and identify her as Bryce’s girlfriend in all the death announcements — they’d pretty much already begun the descent.

Then, once she was done a new recital of how they probably weren't to die — at least they’d better not, because Bryce would feel so guilty about inviting her — they were taxiing to the gate.

And while, like, statistically, that was one of the most dangerous times, like how parking lots and the kilometre around your house are the places you’re most likely to get into an accident, it’s hard to work up the same panic when you’re like, twenty feet in the air instead of twenty thousand.

The flight back wasn’t too bad either, and by the end of the trip, she thought she might have even gotten over that whole fear of flying thing.

She was incorrect.

The thing is, she actually did okay on the flight to Toronto. It helped that it was first thing in the morning, and apparently sleepiness beats out panic, a fact she’s going to be taking advantage of in the future. She genuinely thought she'd reached the other side of it, but the flight to Amsterdam has quickly proven her wrong.

Planes aren’t supposed to shake. And dip! She swears they started to drop out of the sky at one point. Julius said that it was a normal amount of turbulence, but frankly, no turbulence is normal, is it? Sure, it can be a typical amount of turbulence, but normal? They’re in a metal tube in the sky, being thrown around by wind. Erin does not consider any of that to be normal.

“You didn’t tell me you don’t like flying,” Julius says, so quietly Erin can hardly hear him over the almost deafening plane sound nobody else seems to be bothered by. Erin thinks that’s pretty big of him, considering she’s had his hand in a death grip since the turbulence began, and she hasn’t relinquished it even now that it’s finally stopped. In his shoes, she’d probably be going with ‘you know these hands make millions, right?’.

Money that means she’s flying in comfort, if not…comfort. For some reason, Erin thought it’d be easier to deal with things in business class. She doesn’t know why — in a plane crash, the front of the plane is the least likely to survive. But hey, at least Erin got free champagne.

The champagne didn’t help. She hadn’t really thought it would, but she’d been hoping.

“Oh, I don’t know if I’d say I don’t like it,” Erin says. It comes out in a voice she's never heard in her entire life, so perky it’s almost shrill.

“Something stronger?” Julius asks, looking about as disturbed by Stepford Erin as she is. She doesn’t know if he’s talking about the word she’d use or the next drink she should have, but either way the answer's probably yes.

“Do you want your hand back?” Erin asks. It’s not so much an offer as a genuine question, because she’s not sure her hand will unclench for long enough to release it, and she’d probably grab it again the next time the plane started rocking, though maybe she can figure something else out. Grab his thigh or something. It also makes him millions, but it can probably hold up to the abuse a little better.

“You can have it the entire flight if you need,” Julius says. “And for the others.”

Erin’s really, really been trying not to think about the fact there are more flights after this one. Plural.

“Might make it hard to eat,” Erin says. He has the window seat — no fucking way she wants to see just how high up they are, even though she already intellectually knows it — and she’s had custody of his right hand since take off.

“I can figure it out,” Julius says, stroking his thumb over her knuckles. It isn’t quite relaxing — nothing is, right now, not with that damn plane noise — but it’s, you know, not not relaxing, which makes it better than pretty much everything in the world at the moment. It makes Erin’s eyes prickle.

“I know it’s irrational,” Erin says. “I’m well aware of all the statistics, and that it’s safer than basically every kind of transportation. I know. It’s ridiculous. I'm being ridiculous.”

“We can drive,” Julius says. “When we get to Helsinki. We can drive instead. Or take the train.”

Erin tips her head back, trying to keep the tears from spilling. That still leaves Amsterdam to Helsinki, but one flight is better than two. “How long a drive is it?” Erin says.

“Does it matter?” Julius asks.

Erin shakes her head, and when they fall, she swipes at them with her free hand.

“We can drive,” Julius says, thumb tracing back and forth, and Erin focuses on it, the slow sweep of his skin against hers, until the flight attendant comes, asking if they’d like something to drink.

“Champagne,” Erin says. “Please.”

“Two,” Julius says, even though he didn’t even finish his first. “Please.”

“What are we celebrating?” the flight attendant chirps, and Erin stares up at her, unable to muster even a weak smile. Beside her, Julius must be pulling out the ‘dumb fucking question’ face he gives reporters, because the flight attendant says, bright and fake as Stepford Erin, “Two glasses of champagne,” then hurries on to the next seats.

“People,” Julius murmurs, and Erin slides down, twisting in her seat until she can put her head on his shoulder. Probably makes it harder than she needs to, since she refuses to give up Julius’ hand the entire time, but he doesn’t complain, just keeps up the slow sweep of his thumb, and when she finally makes herself comfortable — or, as comfortable as she can, considering the circumstances — he kisses her hair.

“Sorry about stealing your hand,” Erin says. She really hopes he doesn’t think it’s an offer to give it back, because he’ll be disappointed.

“That’s okay,” Julius says. “I don’t need it for my job or anything.”

Erin decides to hold on a little tighter, just for that.

#fic snippet #erin matheson #julius halla #SOTM

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sidekick-hero · 7 months

Text

"He probably thinks I don't love him, Robin. Which is... ridiculous. I do! I really, really do. I just can't say it." Steve is pacing around the blissfully empty Family Video Store, his hands making a mess of his hair as they run through it in frustration.

"This is so stupid. I* am* so stupid, it's just four stupid letters, even a preschooler can say it," he rambles, his eyes wild as they look at Robin. "Why am I like this, Robbie?" His voice breaks, along with his heart, at the thought of Eddie doubting Steve's feelings for him for even a second.

Robin walks over to him and grips his shoulders tightly, her blue eyes boring into his as she says in her firmest you-listen-to-me-now voice. "You're not stupid. This is my best friend you're talking about, so watch it." That earns her at least a half-smile, which counts as a victory considering Steve was already pinching his nose to hold back tears.

"I know you love him, Steve. Everyone knows it. One look at you when he's in the room, or even when you're just talking about him, is enough to know you love him. And I'm sure Eddie knows it too. He has to."

Robin's words soothe some of the fear in Steve's heart, knowing that she would tell him if she really thought he had messed up. But even though it's okay now, Eddie won't wait forever for Steve to say those three little words. No one would. Steve knows that his heart couldn't take being with Eddie, loving Eddie and telling him that, only to never hear it back from him.

"I don't know. Even if you're right, I feel like I'm losing him. That something in me is broken, and one day he'll realize that too, and then he'll leave." With an even smaller voice Steve adds: "I can't lose him, Robbie".

They don't hug very often. Robin shows her affection in many ways, but most of them aren't overly physical. That's Eddie's job, clinging to Steve like a koala most days, always touching Steve in some way, even if it's just his shoulder nudging Steve's. Robin pulling him into a tight hug now means a lot to him, but it's also a testament to the gravity of the situation.

With their arms around each other between the horror and action movie sections, Steve takes a moment to just soak in the comfort she offers. What happened at Starcourt messed them both up, caused them both more trauma than any teenager should have to deal with, but on a very selfish level, Steve can't help but be grateful that it happened. A life without Robin Buckley sounds like the greater horror to him.

After a few minutes, Robin gently pulls away from Steve to look at him. He's reluctant to let her go, even though he knows this is an even longer hug than the one she gave him when Nancy told him they weren't getting back together after defeating Vecna. She wanted to go to Boston, make a career, see the world. And Steve? Steve wanted a home, a place to belong, and someone to share that home with. They wanted different things, he realizes now.

That doesn't mean it didn't open old wounds, memories of how it felt to be rejected by her, his love for her thrown in his face like it was worthless. Bullshit.

As attuned to him and his thoughts as ever, a true testament to the fact that they share a brain cell, Robin says, "I think it's understandable that you can't say it. The last time you told someone you loved them, you were hurt, badly. Your heart is probably just trying to protect itself. Like a kid who touched a hot stove and got burned wouldn't touch another stove, you know?"

Steve nods, because in a way it makes sense. It just doesn't help him to know.

"But what am I supposed to do, Robin? It's not Eddie's fault that I'm broken."

"You, Steve Harrington, are not broken. Just a little bruised. There is nothing wrong with you just because you got hurt and have the scars to show for it. Like Max, because of the injuries to her leg, she cannot walk like she used to before Vecna, so she uses her crutch. She's not broken. Is she?"

"No, of course not. If anything, she's even stronger now, I saw her hit Lucas with the crutch and tell him to hurry up on the way to the movies," Steve says, smiling at the memory.

"See!" Robin waves her hand at him in excitement, almost bouncing with it. "All you need is a crutch!"

They look at each other wide-eyed before matching smiles break out on their faces, Robin's giddy at having found a solution, Steve's reflecting the tentative hope blossoming in his chest.

His talk with Robin certainly helped, but as Valentine's Day approaches, the fears and insecurities start to creep back in. It's not even like Eddie is giving him any indication that he's not happy with Steve or their relationship. Quite the opposite, in fact.

Eddie tells him he loves him almost every time they see each other, at the most random moments. Some days he whispers it in Steve's ear to wake him up, other days it's his way of saying good night to him with his arm around Steve's waist and his hand over Steve's heart in a protective grip. He says it casually when Steve brings him breakfast in bed or lunch to the record store where he now works. Just yesterday he said it while Steve was buried deep inside him, their hands intertwined beside Eddie's head and brown eyes looking softly up at Steve.

It's not meant to make him feel bad about himself, he knows that.

He still does.

So when he opens his front door to the sight of Eddie standing on his doorstep in his nicest jeans and a forest green button-down Steve has never seen before, clearly having put some real effort into his appearance, Steve almost crumbles.

He's a shitty boyfriend, isn't he? There's this amazing guy who goes out of his way to look nice for Steve, even though he doesn't even like Valentine's Day, just because he knows it's important to Steve. And he can't even tell him he loves him.

Some of what he's feeling must be showing on his face, because Eddie's cheerful smile falls and he hurries into the house to pull Steve into his arms, slamming the door shut with his foot.

"Sweetheart, I'm sorry, I told Dustin green wasn't my color, but he insisted. I look hideous, don't I?"

That makes Steve snort wetly into Eddie's neck before muttering a fond "Idiot" into it.

Eddie just hums, obviously pleased with himself for making Steve laugh. "You can tell me. You know I don't mind getting naked for you."

"You're getting a little ahead of yourself, aren't you?"

Eddie grinned wolfishly at him. "I don't know, the tear in my Hellfire shirt from when you ripped it off me begs to differ."

Steve blushes at the memory, even as he laughs at Eddie's words. Instead of saying anything else, Steve pulls him back into his arms and Eddie goes willingly.

"Hi, baby," he says, his nose brushing behind Steve's ear.

"Hi." Steve breathes him in, the smell of cigarette smoke and his shampoo strong where his nose is buried in Eddie's hair.

They don't let go for a long time.

It's Eddie who pulls back first, and Steve does his best not to read into it. "You want to tell me what's going on?"

The Steve from before the Upside Down would have just shaken his head and told Eddie that everything was fine before pulling him into the bedroom to reassure them both that it was. Not talking about his feelings, fears, and needs might have worked for hookups, but he learned the hard way that it doesn't work when you want to be in a relationship.

So Steve takes Eddie's hand and leads him over to the couch where they both sit facing each other. They don't let go of each other's hands.

"I know you're probably wondering why I haven't told you... why I haven't said it yet."

Eddie's eyebrows disappear behind his fringe. "It?"

Sighing, Steve watches his fingers run over Eddie's knuckles. "You know. That I love you."

"Oh."

It's hard to place Eddie's tone, and even harder to place the silence that follows, but it makes his knee jiggle with nerves and his stomach churn. Usually it's Eddie who tends to fill the silence between them when it feels too big, too heavy, but today it's Steve.

"It's not because I don't want to, I swear. It's just," another frustrated sigh, the hand currently not held by Eddie's rubbing over his face, "I just can't say it. And I am so, so sorry, because you deserve to hear it. Every day. But I can't... I can't. So I understand if you don't want to do this anymore. You deserve better, Eddie. You really, really do."

Eddie lets Steve's words settle between them, aching and raw, but he never lets go of Steve's hand.

"You're right," he finally says, and the sound of Steve's heart breaking is deafening to his own ears. Pinching his nose, he tries to take his hand back from Eddie, but his boyfriend (if he can still call him that) won't budge. "You're right about me wondering, Steve. But that was before."

Looking up, a frown forming between his eyebrows, Steve asks, "Before?"

"Before I realized that you do tell me that you love me, every day. You say it when you tiptoe around the trailer in the morning to make breakfast without waking me. You tell me every time you pack an extra blanket or sweater when we go to the quarry because you know I always get cold. I hear it loud and clear every time you bring me lunch, even though it means you waste most of your own lunch break driving around town. It's in the way you try so hard to make Wayne like you because you know how much that means to me, and in the way you hold me after another nightmare, and in the way you kiss me sometimes like there's nothing in the world you'd rather be doing, without it having to lead anywhere, just because you like kissing me."

Eddie scooted forward and bridged the gap between them by taking Steve's face in his hands.

"Steve, you've been telling me you love me for months with everything except words. I don't really need them. It's just a four-letter word."

And, fuck, now Steve is crying. Eddie wipes away his tears with his thumbs, and when that's not enough, he kisses them away with his lips.

Steve is so in love with him that he has no idea how the feeling even fits in his body.

"Damn," he chuckles wetly, "that means I didn't even have to find a crutch?"

Now it's Eddie's turn to look at Steve in confusion, clearly worried that his boyfriend might have lost his mind. "What crutch? Is this a sex thing?"

Laughing and shaking his head fondly, Steve raises his free hand to his head, palm facing Eddie. Then he brings his thumb, index finger, and little finger up, keeping his ring and middle fingers down, before moving his hand back and forth slightly.

"Robin came up with this. She said if I couldn't say the words with my mouth, maybe I could say them in a different way. I thought of trying sign language," Steve adds sheepishly.

Before he knows what's happening, Eddie is on top of him, pressing him into the couch with his body weight and showering his face with kisses.

"You're so smart," kiss, "and beautiful," kiss, "and wonderful," kiss, "and I love you so much." The last part is accompanied by a lingering kiss on his lips and Steve melts under it.

Even though he obviously didn't have to tell Eddie this way, Steve is glad that he did.

He also thinks it won't be long before he can say those words, too. If anyone can help him walk without a crutch, it's Eddie.

#steddie #steddie fanfiction #steddie fluff #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddielovemonth #day 27 #love is just a 4 letter word #my writing

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sweetnsour1 · 6 months

Text

9:36:01

Angsty fluff, Bakugou x fem reader

Part 1 of Broken Collection

Go back to part 0

“An echo.”

“An echo?”

“Yeah, ya know-“ you interrupted yourself with a few waves of your hand…an attempt to summon some sense of understanding. “Like the same thing, but not…and it comes later.”

Your thoughts faltered when you looked up at the sound of a chuckle, but your timing was off. The evidence was already being erased from his lips with the pass of a scarred hand. A quick cough and eye roll reset his expression before he tried again.

“Yea, I get what an echo is. Don’t get how one brought ya here.”

You huffed, returning your gaze to your lap. This was all frustrating and so…so stupid. You were frustrating. You were-A slippered foot nudged your leg. He bent to your sprawled-on-the-floor level, hooking a finger beneath your chin, raising your probably bloodshot eyes to meet his naturally red ones. Your eyes watered as they widened at the close proximity. Fuck, he looked so good…and you were so tired.

“Hmm…fix your face.”

“Ugh, I know. I haven’t slep-“

“No, this.” Something ran across your lips, tracing the frown you didn’t know was on display. By the time you could process his touch, it was gone. He was standing in the doorway again. This time with his hand down, palm out. “Well, come on.” The rush of panic was instant, your head was throbbing, your ears were ringing, your thoughts frozen before they could start.

“Huh?”

“Did ya wanna sleep out here?”

“No.”

“Okay then.” He moved closer, and you let him help you up.

Ugh, standing felt like such a pain after a night of dancing with Mina and Kaminari. They were probably still out. You’d bailed after the third spot…once you realized you were in walking distance to-

“Ya good?”

You nodded, seeing he’d led you to the bathroom. “Soft,” you mumbled into the pile of folded somethings he pushed into your arms.

“Remember where everything is?” He paused for an extra moment while you blinked up at him. “Nothing’s changed.”

You must have nodded because he seemed satisfied before heading off to the kitchen. You wandered to the mirror, ignoring your reflection, and placed the clothes on the counter. Nothing’s changed. What a lie. So many things had changed.

However, he wasn’t wrong…quite a few things seemed to have remained: The extra loofahs beneath the sink, the clean towel hanging on the shower door because you’d always forget to grab one, lavender bodywash, color protecting shampoo, the drain cover to catch your hair before it wreaked havoc on the plumbing.

You let the water burn, and steam fill the room. Anything to hide these markers, these tiny headstones detailing who was here for a moment before having to move on. Eventually, you groaned and shut the water off. You couldn’t hide in here forever.

“What am I doinggg?”

“Using all the hot water in the building.”

“Shit!” You wiped at the shower door to reveal an empty bathroom. “The fuck?”

That same chuckle floated toward you. “Don’t worry, still out here.” A hand waved from the hall. “Ya didn’t shut the door.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“Stop saying sorry, idiot.”

“Sor-“

“There’s food when you’re done.”

It felt so fucking good to be clean. You were halfway through putting lotion on, freezing mid-thigh. You’d bought this…for him at first, but then a larger size when you ended up loving the scent. Now it was just something else on the long list of things you had avoided for months. You finished getting presentable enough to journey to the kitchen.

He really did look so fucking good. His shoulders were relaxed, no longer grinding up towards his ears. His breaths seemed calmer than before. His back and shoulders had gotten bigger in all the best ways, while his waist seemed smaller somehow. He finally had the undercut you’d pushed for years ago, but he’d never wanted to try. He really, truly seemed like he was doing so much fucking better. But you knew that…you knew…you had said…you-

You jumped as his hands grabbed your face. When the hell had he turned around?

“The hell? You okay?” His thumbs traced along your cheekbones. Oh, tears.

“Yea, yea…just tired.” You tugged free of his grip, backing away to sit in the living room, burrowing into the corner of the sofa you used to like best. He half followed, and you could feel the question coming. He opened his mouth as you rolled your eyes. “Promise.” He shut it again with a tch, disappearing into the kitchen again. It’s like you were running lines from a script you’d memorized.

The food he finally brought over was probably delicious. You could only register it was warm and filling. It was hard to focus on anything really. Too much alcohol, too little sleep, too many memories, just too much.

“So an echo?”

You paused, noticing you had slid a pillow between the two of you at some point.

“Mmm. It’s probably better if we don’t unpack that.”

The cushions shifted as he stretched his long arms up and back down to rest along the back of the sofa. You found your gaze ripped away from the shoulders you couldn’t stop staring at by that same soft laugh you’d missed so much.

“Probably. Still wanna hear it though.”

“It’s just a theory…”

“Ya love those.”

“Mhmm.”

“So what is it this time?”

“It’s just…we broke up.”

“That’s true.”

“Well we broke up because we thought-“

“We?”

“Well we broke up because I thought we weren’t bringing out the best in each other anymore. Everything was harder and stressful and exhausting. We both put work first, but that made us feel shitty at home. But if we took time off to be at home, we felt shitty about not being at work. We were too similar and enabled so many bad habits.”

“Yea yea, I remember all that from before. Now what’s this echo?”

“Yea, so…we broke up because I thought that might be true. Now it’s been a while. And we’re both doing much better. Great even. And it’s just like a shitty echo of the heartbreak. Ya know? Because it’s like proof that we’re better apart than together. And…”

“And?”

“And so I guess that’s why I’m here.”

“Hmm.”

“What?”

“Doin’ great, huh?” His fingers ran through his blonde hair. “Are you doing better?”

“What? I mean…I’ve never been ranking higher than I am now. And the agency-“

“Not what I asked.”

“You asked-“

“Not work. Are you doing better?”

“Oh…yes?” Finally you were looking when his eyes crinkled and his laugh was set loose. Pretty.

“Now ask me.”

“Ask you?” He was no longer laughing but his mouth looked ready to release another at any moment. “Um, are you doing better?”

His hand was just warm enough for you to not flinch as it made contact with your neck. His thumb stroked the side of your face. Your eyes closed and you leaned into the touch you’d stayed away from for most of the year. You opened them again, unsure of how long he’d let you rest in the literal palm of his hand. He was fully grinning now.

“Not at fuckin’ all.”

“Not at fuck-wait not at all?” Your thoughts were getting more sluggish by the minute.

“Nope.”

“But-“

“Yea work’s great, but I’m always great at work.”

“But…You seem so relaxed and happy and I dunno…different?”

“No shit. You showed up at my door like I ordered delivery.” He laughed at your pout before it was fully formed. “Guess you’re too exhausted to wonder why I was awake at two in the fuckin’ morning.”

“But…but you go to bed at eight.”

“Been a while since i could do that.”

“Why?”

“You’re not the only one getting chased by echoes, kid.”

“Oh.”

Mmmmmm still unsure where this one is going, but these two are tugging me along. So we’ll see

Next part

Masterlist

#bakugou #bakugou fluff #bakugou x reader #bnha fluff #bnha #bnha imagines #bakugou imagine #bakugou drabbles #fluff #bnha bakugou

284 notes · View notes

mariacrow · 1 year

Note

Hi love, Let me start off with saying that I adore your writing! I was wondering if you could do some cute fluffy relationship head cannons with TFP Optimus, Bulkhead, and Bumblebee with a human female S/O please?

Totally okay if you ignore this one, just wanted to throw something out there. Keep up the amazing work!

Thank you, love 🥰 I planned on doing TFP Autobots relationship headcanons so here are your boys amongst everyone else ;)

This one is EVEN LONGER 💀 (that’s what she said pt. 2)

For Decepticon headcanons click here! 💜

I AM SORRY FOR ANY GRAMMAR MISTAKES OR TYPOS, I DIED WRITING THIS 😭

TFP Autobots x reader

❀ relationship headcanons ❀

2nd person

female reader

how you’d get together, confession

how you’d function together, PDA

intimacy, preferences (NSFW)

how long would it last

excluding Arcee because I mainly do male characters

OPTIMUS PRIME

HE SAID 🤨

It would take a looooong time for you two to click. He would treat you equally like he does everyone else and not give you any signals, not even mixed, so you would think it’s impossible to take it to another level with him.

As time would pass though, you two would isolate yourselves more and more when you’d have a chance. He’d take you on long relaxing rides.

Most of the time he would let you blabber while he’d stay silent and listen. He can listen to your beautiful voice all day.

After a couple of romantic rides he’d finally confess to you, asking if it’s even possible for a creature like him to love a creature like you. He’d ask you to be his one and only, to conjux.

He’d totally understand if you’d reject him but of course you wouldn’t reject him, IT’S OPTIMUS PRIME, WHO WOULD REJECT OPTIMUS PRIME??? (lmao)

He’s okay with PDA but he’d still kinda avoid it, he prefers when you two have proper privacy. He’s often too busy throughout the day anyway.

But when you do get some alone time, he always makes sure it’s the best you’ll ever get.

His sex drive isn’t high but at times he would get intimate with you and make you feel special.

He’s quite romantic actually, vanilla yet very sensual. He would do anything to give you maximal pleasure.

He likes to take it slow and passionate, take his time with you but sometimes, just sometimes, when he has too much pent up stress, he’d take it a bit rougher than usual to relieve himself.

He’s not that vocal, definitely a groaning and grunting type. He’d praise you though, tell you how beautiful you are and how much he loves you.

Definitely calls you “little one”.

Prefers missionary or you riding while facing him so he can look at the complete soft beauty in front of him. Sometimes you push his size kink button which makes him tightly grab onto something, sometimes even damage it.

After he’d feel kinda bad, he’d make sure he didn’t hurt you or bring you any kind of displeasure. He’s the king of aftercare though, that’s for sure.

Da hell u mean how long would it last??? FOREVER OFC. IT’S OPTIMUS PRIME!!! 🤸‍♀️

🍓

RATCHET

Grumpy doc. (MY FAV!!!!!!!!!)

He’d pretend you annoy him the most just to deny his feelings.

As time would pass and as you’d grow on him more you’d catch him getting distracted by you. He’d just keep staring at you with a poker face, secretly admiring you. When you’d catch him he’d shake it off and continue his work.

Slowly he’d get overprotective, wanting to become your guardian probably. He’d also talk with you more often, perhaps even flirt a little with his old doc jokes, make you giggle and admire your blushy face.

He’d take advantage of some alone time with you in the base to confess. He’d let you sit on his shoulder for the first time while he works and talk quietly to you.

Finally he’d spill his spark for you, apologize for being too rough on you at times and asking for a chance to change that.

He’s actually a very good kisser, you could smooch him all day. But NEVER in front of the others. PDA is a nono, especially when you get him flustered which you tend to because he cannot absorb so much beauty at once.

Four walls and a locked door is the best for him. He can admire you properly and have his way with you. He might seem vanilla but he can get kinky.

He’s a control freak in bed too. Considering his age, his pace isn’t the best. He’d always complain about his hips and back but his strength is definitely something to cherish. He’s actually quite experienced so he doesn’t need a quick pace to give pleasure to both of you.

He’s girthy and it’s definitely something he’s proud of. He can get quite cocky and throw a couple of dirty talks. He can get very loud too, likes when you’re loud as well so he can shush you for fun.

He kinda has a breeding kink too (perhaps even doctor & nurse/assistant or patient kink), loves filling you up and seeing your tummy bulge, not letting it leak out.

He isn’t an exhibitionist but he’d love to do it on the control panel with you or in the med bay. As time would pass and as he’d remember how good IT feels, he’d want to do it anywhere and at any time, whenever you’d tickle his wild side with a provocative comment or a provocative look.

One thing that’s hilarious is that he can almost immediately fall asleep after nutting (excuse my language). He tries his best not to but he’s an old tired doc after all, you can’t be mad at him.

He’d pray it lasts because deep down he knows he got too attached. Even when you two would argue, when he’d yell at you for a stupid thing for example, later he’d do anything to make it up to you.

He loves you very dearly.

🍓

BULKHEAD

GENTLE GIANT!!!

He would confess to someone by secretly researching customs about Earth and he would be nervous at first.

You two would bond with some common interests he did research on previously. He’d buy you gifts and take you anywhere you want but at the same time he’d worry about your safety.

He gets flustered very easily so you’d get the memo that he likes you from the start.

It would take him a long time to confess which would result in him being a pure blushing mess. The moment you’d kiss him he’d probably almost faint.

He’s ok with PDA, he doesn’t care what anyone thinks. When he’s with you he’s in another dimension.

He’s a big snuggly wuggly teddy bear. Cuddling has become one of his fav things in the world because of you.

He would also need a lot of time to allow himself to get intimate with you hence he’s so huge. He’s scared he could hurt you.

Hence he needs a lot of words of affirmation, communication is key with him.

He’s a soft dom but can also be a switch if that’s what pleases you. He likes when you tug at his chin. He also loves when his digits are tangled in your hair, it’s his favorite part of your body.

He isn’t really a kinky type or at least his fear of bringing you any harm is suppressing anything that can come out onto the surface. That’s why he might be an experimentalist.

He would not stop until you’re fully pleased. You need to talk to him a lot during sex if you want him to be maximally confident with you.

He’s probably the best at aftercare. Would wrap you up in a blanket and bring you food or anything you ask for really.

He only prefers long term relationships and he’d hope you’re his precious little human forever.

I AM SO SORRY THIS IS SO SHORT!!! :’((

🍓

BUMBLEBEE

Precious Bee is so clingy that it’s SO obvious that he’s into you.

He wouldn’t leave your side almost. He’d be all happy and bubbly and win you with his optimism.

Don’t let that bubbliness full you though, he’s a hot head and would do anything to protect you. He’s protective in the right amount though.

He’d always snuggle into your hair and press his muzzle against your cheek, as if he’s kissing you. He’d ask you to kiss him back by tapping his cheek and muzzle.

When you’d kiss his muzzle it would be over for him. You’d officially become his partner. He’d probably find a tiny gear to put on your wedding finger.

Totally into PDA! Especially when it annoys Smokescreen and makes him jealous.

Cuddles and any kind physical touch are his absolute FAV. He’s so spoiled when it comes to nuzzling which he does all the time (is obsessed with your softness).

He’s actually very quick to get intimate. You could say his sex drive is high due to his youth.

He’d take it nicely and passionately, especially with his servos. He has a specific kink with digit play. Loves touching you absolutely everywhere and almost every time he overstimulates your private parts with them before he actually penetrates you with his spike.

His stamina is crazy and he always takes advantage of it. His pace is very quick all the time but if you ask him to be slow he will. Your pleasure is also very important to him.

He has a thing for beauty marks, he’d kiss every single one of them every time. You’re the only one he puts his muzzle down for. But not gonna lie he loves when you tug on it.

Perhaps he’d be into leashes and chokers and stuff if you really asked him.

He’s a very soft lover after all so expect epic wholesome aftercare.

Considering he’s a hot head there might be some minor arguments with him but that won’t stop you from having a long term relationship.

🍓

WHEELJACK

JACKIEEEE! (2ND FAV!!!!!!)

He’d flirt the hell out of you. He’d flirt and flirt and flirt, make you blush and get flustered all over again until he makes you fall for him. He’d tease you with calling you “sunshine” or “kid” or “doll” or “baby girl”.

He’s a player, likes it casual but when he knows you’re the one, he doesn’t give up. He’s extremely stubborn.

You’re probably the only reason he’d stay in the base.

He’d take you out and if he notices you’re a romantic soul, he’d be the most romantic man out there even though, in reality, he isn’t romantic at all.

Doesn’t mind PDA, loves showing off how he’s the best boyfriend in the world (or at least he thinks so lmao).

You know he’s a HUGE hot head. Would kill for you.

The moment of confession would probably be the night you get intimate. We could say the best way he can express his love for you is through sex so expect some extreme overstimulation.

He’s into lingerie, especially black and red. Loves making you stain your panties good too.

He INVENTED dirty talking. Also very into oral, eating you out like the tastiest snack. He also loves eye contact, he’d make you look at him or else he’d stop.

He can combine all sorts of paces and positions and roughness, he has his own magic tactics. He loves making you scream while he’s praising you. Doesn’t matter if the base is full or not, he’s a risk taker and it really turns him on.

Sometimes he’d even grab you with one servo and slide you up and down his spike like a pocket pussy. Backshots and reverse cowgirl must be his fav positions.

One his fav places to cum is onto your face, definitely. Or into your mouth. He likes it gushy and messy. His stamina is crazy too.

Would shower you with kisses and praising afterwards, make sure you’re alright.

As I said, he’s into casual stuff but you’re probably the only one who would make him take relationships seriously and enjoy the long term.

🍓

SMOKESCREEN

He’d be so cringe at first. He’s an act first then think after type of mech.

He would flirt SO MUCH with you to the point he’d start annoying you.

He’d notice though. He may seem confident but in truth he’s nervous underneath all that cockiness. He tends to overthink.

He’d ask others for advice, research, anything that could make you his.

At first he would view you as just another one of his dolls he plays with but when he’d realize he actually has serious feelings for you, he’d get serious.

The confession would be spontaneous as he’d probably make out with you like the horny teenager he is. He’d promise to be loyal though and he’d keep that promise.

He’s into PDA, loves showing off how you’re his.

He has a weird kink in making you jealous and vice versa. You’d play a flirting game with anyone you know just to get each other jealous which would result in “who’s gonna give up first and frag the other”.

Loves giving you pet names but also loves when you give him pet names too and refer to him as “baby boy” hence he’s a switch. Also into exhibitionism.

Has a thing for breasts and thighs. He can whimper at times too and when you’d bring it up later he’d deny it and be like “WHAT!? NU-UH!”

Loves when you ride him or his face but is also into backshots even though he prefers when you face him. Perhaps he has a tiny sex tape kink too.

Surprisingly he’d make you cum every time which he would brag about later. His cockiness is always present nonetheless.

As I said, even though he can be an immature horny teenage boy, he can get serious when you put him in his place.

🍓

ULTRA MAGNUS

UH OH 💀💀💀

If you choose to fall in love with this man expect to be heart broken twelve times until you get together (if that’s even possible).

Kidding, it’s possible. But still very difficult. Prepare for a long one, he’s a very complicated mech 💀.

He would not even notice you. At first he’d just call you a native or a soldier but once he starts calling you by your actual name that would be the signal that he views you as someone who he has a positive opinion on.

You’d have to be REALLY pushy on him, be as clingy as possible, annoy the hell out of him so he’d actually set his guard down.

You’d develop your relationship with him scolding you like a parent, telling you what to do and what not to do while you’d disobey him. Sometimes you’d even bring a TIIINY smirk on his face because you’re just too cute, he can’t be mad at you forever.

With that, he’d get overprotective and follow you around all the time, not letting you out of his sight.

Would always correct you that you should refer to him as “sir” or “lieutenant” or even “commander”. He loves it when you do it in bed especially, it REALLY gets him going. Also has a brat taming kink.

This would go on for a loooong time until you actually conjux. He’s definitely a type of mech to keep you in handcuffs in a relationship.

PDA? What’s that? Sometimes it would seem he’s keeping you a secret.

When it comes to intimacy you’d probably think this mech’s sex drive is ZERO. But oh. He’d grope you and touch you everywhere, ex vent into your ear, giving you a sign at the most unexpected time that he wants you then and there.

He has a LOT of pent up stress so you’d be his stress outlet. His foreplay is a bit dry to be honest but he’d learn his way with you.

Even though his roughness can result in not caring about your pleasure at all, he’d still make your eyes roll in the back of your head.

Soon he’d realize how good you actually make him feel as he’d lean and kiss you (your lips, torso or back/neck, depends on the position which don’t matter to him as long as he’s on top).

Would definitely mark you all over with his servos because he tends to grope HARD. He also loves seeing the outline of his spike on your stomach as he couldn’t help but press onto it and feel it move in and out of you.

His aftercare is very poor too. At first you’d get intimate as if it’s a one night stand. He’d leave almost immediately or the next morning without even saying anything.

He’d isolate himself as first, making you feel as if he’s using you as a toy but in the end everything would come together and he’d give himself to you.

He’d still keep his formality at times. Getting intimate with him would probably be the only time he’d express his emotions as much as possible even though it really isn’t much.

This could go on either forever or fall apart after some time… Depends on you.

Dividers belong to @baexywth and @animatedglittergraphics-n-more 🍓

@k----a27s helped me with Bulk, Bee and Smokey! ❤️

784 notes · View notes

wastemanjohn · 2 months

Text

fic masterlist

wincest and daddycest. follow the smell of dead doves under the cut :)

sam/dean:

when i'm down on your knees you're how i pray Rating: Explicit; Word Count: 13,703; Warnings: Incest

Summary: It’s not as if Sam doesn’t know what makes Dean tick, after all. He can’t have forgotten all the fantasies Dean has shared with him over the years, even the really nasty, violent ones that flushed Sam's cheeks a glaring scarlet, evoked awed responses like "Jesus, Dean, you’re really into stuff like that?" Dean didn't mind - quite liked watching Sam squirm, actually - and he'd long since accepted that he’d likely never get Sam on board with acting out the more grisly tales buried deep in his spank bank. But then again, Sam is different since he...

Dean still can’t use the words “Sam” and “died” together in the same sentence.

some unholy war

Rating: Explicit; 12,328 words; Warnings: Incest, Canon-Typical Violence

Summary: Somewhere between a bar fight and the end of the world, Sam and Dean learn to take care of each other again.

exit light

Rating: Mature; Word Count: 3,730; Warnings: Incest

Summary: Tonight doesn’t smooth over all the ways their lives are in ruins, hand back all that he and Dean have lost, atone for all the things it’s driven them to. It certainly doesn’t change the fact that one year from now, Dean is going to die.

heart of a dog

Rating: Explicit, Word Count: 2k, Warnings: Incest, Sam is 17

Summary: They were supposed to be going to the fucking laundromat. But that was almost four hours ago, and Sam can smell the musty sweat wafting through from where their clothes are still festering in the trunk. He should really have learned by now not to trust Dean, when he insists on his little bar detours on the way - just a quick one, Sammy, don’t be such a little bitch. The thing is, the chances of it being a quick one are always about as slim as Sam’s patience right now; and a quick one always evolves into half the damn bar when a pretty young thing catches Dean’s eye.

Her name is Daisy. Dean’s probably forgotten that by now. He’s definitely forgotten about Sam.

♡♡♡♡

john/dean and sam/dean:

what it is

Rating: Explicit; 48,258 words; Warnings: Non Con Elements, Incest, Canon Typical Violence

Summary: Everything that has ever gone wrong for Sam and Dean starts and ends with John.

i don't mean to suggest that i loved you the best

Rating: Explicit; Word Count: 1,930; Warnings: Incest

Summary: Dean’s need is a dark pit, a bleak, bottomless thing, and that’s the pull. That’s the lure, for John. People who need the way Dean does, people who want to crawl inside the ones they love and live there forever, they’re easy to control. They’ll do anything for you. John finds that fucking irresistible.

Sam hates his father. But he understands him perfectly.

with new bones in your closet

Rating: Explicit; Word Count: 4,890; Warnings: Incest, BDSM

Summary: It’s almost funny. It’s almost too predictable that Dean would do this for John, be this for John, take his submission to all too literal levels.

destructive love is all i am

Rating: Explicit; Word Count: 604; Warnings: Incest

Summary: Things like this don't just go away.

love is

Rating: Explicit; Word Count: 2323; Warnings: Incest, Non Con

Summary: Love is all you are.

shimmer and rot

Rating: Explicit; Word Count: 3012, Warnings: Non Con, implied CSA

Summary: That witching hour loneliness can eat you alive.

snuff

Rating: Explicit; Word Count: 4552; Warnings: Incest, Homicidal thoughts, Sam is 17

Summary: There's nothing good on TV, and Sam's contemplating killing his father again.

the world was so easily won

Rating: Explicit; Word Count: 3153; Warnings: Dub Con Elements, Incest, Violence

Summary: The bites are about five days old now. They’re not healing well, skin-split punctures and raised pinks and purples. Any forming scabs have chafed raw all over again under Dean’s clothes. And Sam’s running his fingers over the worst ones, almost gentle, like a doctor examining an open wound. There’s nothing at all gentle about Sam’s rage-tight mouth though. Nor his mutter of, “I’ll fucking kill him.”

♡♡♡♡

johndean

toss me a breath when you hold me down

Rating: Explicit; 1624 words; Warnings: Incest, consensual non consent

Summary: It's never been quite like this.

and if you crave it then you know that you are injured

Explicit; 3593 words; Warnings: Non Con Elements and a very nasty John

Summary: He doesn’t even flinch when John’s hand comes down on his thigh. Doesn’t pull away when John flutters his lips over the nape of his boy’s neck and whispers, “Why don’t you let me take care of you?”

when i hear your lips make a sound

Rating: Explicit; Word Count: 2682; Warnings: Incest

Summary: It's a damn risky thing to do, with Bobby asleep upstairs. But Dean never disobeys his father, and he’s horny as all hell. It’s not a prime combination for sensible decision making.

i heard love is blind

Rating: Explicit; Word Count: 12,764; Warnings: Incest; addition of John/OMC

Summary: There are a few shadowy figures on the sidewalk, the night’s offerings left on the shelf. They're all boys, their frames slight and their legality dubious. They look up at the sight of John’s headlights, but he keeps his head forward and carries on driving. He’s seen exactly what he’s looking for just up the street.

The boy is alone. He's a cookie cutter street whore, all mesh and tight pants. John can see the ghostly entrails of his breath, the skinny arms wrapped around his chest like chains. When John winds down his window, the kid steps forward in a tired, non-urgent sort of way. His lack of pretence is appealing.

John checks him over to make doubly sure that he's the right choice. He’s tall. His hipbones jut a little, distorting his tight pants, the waistband flapping over his barely there stomach. His hair is a few shades light of brown; it's short, but chunky and uneven, like he's cut it himself without a mirror. When John peers closer, he can see that the kid's lips are full and pink. That definitely helps. He's not to John's exact specifications, especially with his completely absent bulk, but he'll do. Beggars, choosers, all that noise.

and you learn how to settle for what you get

Rating: Explicit; Word Count: 3,163; Warnings: Dub Con, Incest

Summary: Yet John chooses this, over and over again. John loves Dean more than he loves anything.

sharp teeth, dry heat

Rating: Explicit; Words: 2504; Warnings: Incest, grief (addition of dean/ofc)

Summary: Your world was terrifying, and John knew how hard he was to love.

someone forever warm

Rating: Explicit; Words: 4290; Warnings: Incest

Summary: He takes a moment to enjoy the thought that John has slayed the monster, now he’s come to claim his prize.

trade

Rating: Explicit; Word Count: 771; Warnings: Non Con Elements

Summary: You'll hide from mirrors until the marks fade away.

nowhere boy

Rating: Explicit; Word Count: 2528; Archive Warnings: Incest

Summary: The true meaning of Christmas is family, and all that crap. Everyone always forgets about Jesus. Probably a good thing, Dean thinks, as he adjusts the red ribbon around his neck with its dumb little bow and checks himself out one last time in the smudged bathroom mirror. Jesus definitely wouldn’t approve of what he’s about to do.

quiet room

Rating: Explicit; Word Count: 1878; Archive Warnings: Non Con, Incest, BDSM

Summary: This is what love looks like.

the dark is light enough

Rating: Explicit; Word Count: 3219; Archive Warnings: Incest

Summary: It's hard, with the lights on. Lights on, with his boy so close John can hear his pulse; see the freckles dusting the tops of his thighs, the strip of fine hair from his belly button down to his groin; pert pink nipples on a chest that blushes from the middle out when he's excited, all these intimate details John shouldn't know; but he sits with it, he breathes it in and he lives with it. The closeness; the vulnerability; like an exposed nerve.

Yeah, it's hard, hard to face this. Who they are, what they've become. But John isn't doing it to punish himself. He's doing this for Dean.

yesterday's hymn

Rating: Explicit; Word Count: 1323; Warnings: Non Con; past CSA: addition of original male character

Summary: A bad man doesn't pawn his soul so his son can live.

so many moving parts

Rating: Explicit; Word Count: 7302; Archive Warnings: Incest

Summary: And sure, no one’s actually said the word anniversary, but they've never had a day like this before.

when the stiff wind blows

Rating: Explicit; Word Count: 8625; Warnings: Incest, BDSM

Summary: Dean is in tune with John's patterns and emotions, even some four states outside of their blast radius; and when John withdraws, Dean chases. Dean knows his absence, his distance, when John is not fucking handling it. And somewhere along the way - he learned how to help.

then leave me the bones

Rating: Explicit; Word Count: 6816; Warnings: Heavy Angst, Incest, Dub Con

Summary: John’s moods are like a slow growing tumor. Easy to miss at first. Causing all kinds of problems when it's too late.

stutter

Rating: Mature; Word Count: 1655; Warnings: Incest

Summary: You know there is so much harm Dad could do in these moments, if he were so inclined. He as good as says it himself sometimes, with his quiet promises of I'd never hurt you, Dean, like a pre-emptive hail Mary for his sin.

♡♡♡♡

johndeanna:

now bleed for me

Rating: Explicit; Words: 3689; Warnings: Incest, Gunplay

Summary: John comes back unsteady, whisky on his tongue, scents of tobacco and cheap perfume clinging to the jacket Deanna loves to wear, because it’s so heavy and big on her, it smothers her like a hug. My dad, Deanna thinks, broken in all the same spots she is, yet so remote. My dad.

i've loved all i've needed, love

Rating: Explicit; Word Count: 4602; Warnings: Incest

Summary: She never seemed to realize that her daddy's a piece of shit. John hates the way she found out.

this dream is for you (so pay the price)

Rating: Explicit; Words: 2,333; Warnings: Incest

Summary: So John comes to her, during that weird time that's not really morning or night, comes to her after they've finished half a bottle of Jack and a pack of Lucky Strike between them, comes to her with everything on his face that sits heavy and acidic in Deanna's heart.

all you wanna do

Rating: Explicit; Word Count: 10,178; Warnings: Incest, Misogyny

Summary: For the prompt: Deanna’s boyfriend gives her a red lingerie set for Christmas that she opens in front of John (optional: Sam). After OMC is sent home with a chastisement, John makes her show them off to him. Or, Deanna has started dating and John is a fucking creep about it.

a simple motion

Rating: Explicit; Word Count: 2353; Warnings: Incest

Summary: But watching her - watching her is different. Watching isn't touching, and there's no law against that.

i'll be your mirror

Rating: Explicit; Word Count: 2551; Warnings: Incest, Misogyny

Summary: The girl in his bed isn’t quite his wife, but in the glowy relative darkness she has room to morph.

one day like this

Rating: Mature; Word Count: 6182; Warnings: Incest, grief

Summary: Sam goes through his father's old photos.

♡♡♡♡

sam/john

coming up roses everywhere

Rating: Explicit; Word Count: 14618; Warnings: Incest, Sam is 17

Summary: Where John wasn't planning to snoop around Sam's laptop, but his boy seems to be hiding something.

♡♡♡♡

john/dean and sam/john

don't say you need me when you leave and you leave again (samjohn only quietly implied)

Rating: Explicit; Word Count: 8,224; Warnings: Non Con Elements; implied sexual abuse

Summary: Maybe Dad felt the kind of loneliness that ate away at your soul until you lost sight of the fact that you were even alive, maybe Dad needed to grab the nearest willing body and pull it close, close.

♡♡♡♡

dean/mary

this be the verse

Rating: Explicit; Word Count 6822; Warnings: Big Non Con warning for this one. Additional pairings: johndean

Summary: There are a lot of things that Dean doesn’t tell Mary about her husband. It’s best that John stays 27 in her head forever, like Hendrix or something, young and beautiful and fucked up in a pretty unremarkable way.

♡♡♡♡

dean/fem!Sam

when the earth moves again

Rating: Explicit; Word Count: 1947; Warnings: Incest, somnophilia

Summary: It was something. Something that felt good; something that some part of him was willing to give her, even if it wasn't conscious, even if it wasn't much. And hell, Sam didn't have much in life that made her feel good.

♡♡♡♡

sam/fem!dean

hunky dory

Rating: Mature; Word Count: 4917; Warnings: Incest, pregnancy resulting from incest

Summary: Deanna went out this afternoon. For hours. Didn't say where she was going; but it's got to be the first time she's left Bobby's place in weeks. She left her phone behind on the nightstand, in this way that Sam couldn't help but suspect was intentional, because there had to be something about that; had to be something in the way Deanna caught Sam's eye through the window as she was coming back, all slow down the path with Dad's jacket over her shoulders and this tight expression on her face. Something in the way Deanna had sharply changed direction at the sight of Sam, veering off until she faded into the salvage yard and Sam couldn't see her anymore. And it's not that Sam meant to be hovering near the front of the house at the exact moment of her return like a worried parent, but shit happens.

Let her be, son, Bobby had said, without looking up from his scotch and that leatherbound demonology book he'd been annotating all day. Harder you push, the more she's gonna clam up.

It bothers Sam when Bobby talks like that, like he knows Deanna better than Sam does or something. As for letting her be - well, if Bobby knows Sam at all, he's got a strange way of showing it

♡♡♡♡

john/original male character

safe in the dark (how can you see?)

Rating: Explicit; Word Count: 2492; Archive Warnings: Non Con Elements

Summary: Because maybe there was something about Dad's energy that fizzled with those weary neon lights; and Dad still didn't say much, and Sam still can't read the man's mind, but you don't live for eighteen years close enough to rub up against each others last nerve without learning how to spot when something might be wrong. And theres always something wrong with Dad - he's sour faced and miserable, the cause of that changes day by day - but he'd been so insistent. You don't leave this car, Sammy, okay? This guy's a loose cannon. I don't want him to see you.

Sam had snorted, and Dad had looked at him with resigned contempt; but it had faded quickly, and there'd been that something Sam couldn't put his finger on as Dad had got out of the car. Something about the way he didn't look to check Sam was obeying, something stilted in his footsteps. Something that made Sam log the path he took across the parking lot, register the room number he knocked on. The door had opened, and Dad had gone inside, but it had closed so quickly that Sam hadn't been able to see the guy. The loose cannon.

#spn fic #wincest #daddycest #johndean #samdean #samjohn #johndeanna #femchesters #my writing #minors dni

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earlgreytea68 · 7 months

Text

Many years ago now, when I was a very unhappy and depressed lawyer, I went to see a therapist. The therapist diagnosed that I was suffering from severe levels of stress and asked me to keep a "stress journal": for the week between appointments, I was to write down whenever I felt my stress spike.

When I returned to the next appointment with my stress journal, the therapist was shocked I'd actually done the assignment. He said nobody actually keeps a physical journal. I suspected that maybe he didn't fully understand my personality type and the fact that some of my stress was the result of PEOPLE ASKING ME TO DO THINGS THEY APPARENTLY DIDN'T ACTUALLY WANT ME TO DO BUT I WAS RESPONSIBLY DOING THEM BECAUSE THAT'S HOW I AM.

Anyway, I digress, that's not the point of the story. The point was that when we looked together at my stress journal, we diagnosed that a recurrent source of spiking stress was receiving an email. This was so many years ago that it was before the smartphone, in the age of the BlackBerry, and every time my stupid BlackBerry vibrated, my stress skyrocketed. Having figured that out, the therapist was like, "What happens if you miss an email for an hour?" And that was hard to articulate. Probably nothing, tbh. Like, realistically I could go without checking my email if I was too busy with work, so why couldn't I when I was home watching TV? So the therapist suggested I confine my email checking to a set schedule. Only at the appointed times would I check my email and deal with whatever had come in.

And you know what? The world never ended, and it WAS a huge relief not to feel like I had to immediately be available for every email. To this day, my work email does NOT come to my phone and I only check it at my appointed times of day. (Actually, I resisted getting a smartphone until very late because after I left the law firm I thought the most glorious thing in the world was PEOPLE COULDN'T REACH ME.)

Anyway, I was thinking about all that today because I had a bad day at work and I realized that I was dreading checking my email and it just made me think that I have lingering issues around email. But then, the more I thought about it, the more I was like, ...no, I probably have lingering issues around WORK because of that job experience I had. Like, was it really about what emails I might have, or was it because I spent the day feeling manipulated in an unpleasant way that made me wary and suspicious of certain things around me, and then THAT made me think, like, I was overreacting because of the way that previous job experience was and the fact that the way it manipulated and abused me will never actually fully leave me, but THEN I was like, OR is it that I honed excellent instincts for that kind of situation happening and I should listen to myself when I feel that way, or or or--

Which is all to say that I wonder sometimes how I would have developed as a professional had I not had that career experience so early on in my life. But then I am in a weird way grateful for it, not because it forever kind of messed up my head in some ways but because I learned SO MUCH about those messed-up situations. Like, it was awful, don't get me wrong, but I did learn a bunch of coping mechanisms I still use today. Like limiting my email exposure. And I think I am warier than a lot of other people I know who didn't go through a workplace that mentally abused you the way that mine did, but I'm not so sure that's a terrible thing. I think it makes me touchy about work-life boundaries and i think there are way worse things to be in our capitalist society.

And also, every once in a while I think about the fact that I didn't think I was going to make it through those years but I did and I am pretty proud of myself for that, so also that. I made it through the other side when I honestly for real didn't think that I would, and every once in a while I have a day that reminds me of how I felt all the time back then, and it makes me remember to be grateful how many days I've gotten to have without that feeling.

#personal #stress #therapy #work

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maxemilianverstappen · 3 months

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Okay, I can ask but naturally you don't have to answer so it's alright if you don't but I saw your comments on one of those posts about Max and Lando and that Lando feels like he doesn't know what to do. I think it was the swan symbol, really got me intrigued with the things you wrote.

I also feel like Lando is lost at this point. The mentality Max has (maybe with what happened in his childhood, sadly) Lando might seem lacking.

Its no hate to Lando, absolutely not. I don't want to hate on drivers but the way Lando has been the past few races, you can kind of see that he is seeking for help, anyone to ground him in a way while everyone seem to praise him and he seems to get confused.

I feel like Lando is a man that has many emotions that collide all the time which leaves him stranded in a way, not knowing what to do really and acting on the emotion he is feeling at the moment, unable to get them in check (which is okay but in this sport with this media this day, is a dangerous recipe)

I don't want to say that what Lando did was right, he definitely could have cooled off before facing the media. No one would blame him if he came later to talk but what hurt me the most in this one is that you can see the visibly confusion of Max when he heard what Lando has said about him, he genuinely sees Lando as his friend, as someone he can rely on, someone who understands what's like to be in that world.

Suddenly hearing that Lando is gonna lose a lot of respect for him if he doesn't apologize must struck a cord in him. People tell that Max probably doesn't care but they might forget he is a human being with feelings and I think we all can agree that Max has his heart in the right place.

In conclusion, what I wanted to ask is what's your take on all of this since what I've read what you wrote before really got me thinking. If you're okay with that.

Hello, my friend 🤗 This is anti stuff, so it is under a read more.

Lando is an emotional and reactive guy. He seems to be experiencing his negative emotions quite deeply and surging his positive emotions to the level of egoism.

He has this absolutely buffling mix of "I am incompetent and lacking and what's wrong with everything." and "I deserve the world because I am that fabulous." Which I find quite bizarre as he blames himself for the littlest things way too harshly and meanwhile rates himself so highly that you'd think he is Senna reincarnated.

This twisted expression of self esteem and self worth is certainly something to be observed closely in him. He gives me a "destructive/warring" type of feeling both at work and at his relationshipswith others. Meanwhile Max has possibly always been more of a constructive and peacemaking type.

Max thinks they are friends. His type wants to trust and if you stay true to him, he will be loyal forever. He is also the type who approaches everyone with good intentions and adjusts his stance in accordance with how he is received.

Lando doesn't count him as his friend. He said so many times. I don't know what his friendship criteria are, and some ppl say that he denies Carlos as his friend, too, but again, if he is saying that with his full chest and as not a strange joke/jibe, I wouldn't be surprised because I have always thought that he is extremely jealous of Max. Even when I used to like him, I got this strange vibe from him that Max's feelings were not fully reciprocated.

He clearly has similar feelings for Charles, but since we aren't currently seeing them racing each other as much as we are seeing him race Max, we also aren't seeing their tenseness and terseness. But it possibly started on Lando's side (again jealousy) and fed with Carlos' gossiping.

One of the posts I saw put it quite well: Carlos and Lando have similar upbringing, so they have this entitlement to them as if the world has to revolve around them and how come it isn't, meanwhile both Max and Charles are their team's Atlas and get the well deserved fanfare. It must hurt, right? Also, I think, Carlos is literally feeding Lando hate bit by bit both against Charles and also Max because the guy put down his foot and chose his current teammate over him, lol. It must hurt.

But the jealousy has been brewing for a long time. Lando has this problem: he is trying to measure his worth up against something which is already larger than life itself.

Do you see Charles measuring himself up against Lewis? Max? Senna? Or whoever your goat is? He might be doing mental gymnastics about how he can get better in the areas he is losing against these people, but he never says this in front of the media.

Have you seen Kimi, Sebastian, Nico, Nando, Lewis do it? Never.

Every person is their own limit that they have to find a way to go over.

Lando is focusing on Max's greatness as his measurement of greatness instead of trying to understand that the thing he has to win over/triumph over is he himself again..

Max is forever going to be phenomenal no matter how much some loud assholes try to undermine his greatness because his focus is on how he can surpass his own human body and mind so that he can win against this or that driver.

Lando already thinks he deserves the world, because I am sure he is also hard working and also thinks he has the best car and also he has waited for so long and also a big team has trusted him with all their money and hopes. But... He is also extremely insecure, because why can't he still beat Max? Why everyone rates Charles higher even though his pole/win conversion is not so stellar? Why can't Max just not race this hard once in a while like his buddy Carlos does with him and even gives him a tow in race as if he was giving it out of the goodness of his heart?

He has put all his energy on the wrong thing. The media is also fueling it, and I am pretty sure he is enjoying being their "righteous" guy who is a spotless angel. If this thing gets dirtier, we'll see how he just ditches Max and starts talking bad about him. I don't expect him to be tactile and resourceful if he burns the bridges, because he is the type of person who makes fun of others or makes jibes about them unprompted and unprovoked. So, I bet we'll have some fun interviews with him if shit hits the fan.

This is like watching a train wreck. Lando will try to be brutal, enjoy his small victories immensely and exaggeratedly as his brit predecessor did, his fans will be absolutely insufferable and obnoxious as we watch a smear campaign by the British media over Max. While Max silently endures and drives to hopefully his 4th championship.

And Lando will feel empty.

BTW, this is the guy who people think doesn't care about their coming together and the subsequent media lynching led by his friend and his team:

The full video is here

#anti lando norris #i am not trying to start something by this tag it is there for a friend

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chubs-deuce · 8 months

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I am... confused as to what age the other anon thinks Charlie is but if she was so young she wouldn't be able to canonly date Vaggie, who I'm pretty sure is in her 20s

So why wouldn't she be able to be shipped with Alastor? I think Rosie was just teasing him about bringing a girl to her, anyways. Introducing someone you're close to to someone else you're close to, I could see it as a big relationship deal and I too would probably tease my friend

Idk man :'D

Sounds to me like someone was just really jumping to the most surface level conclusions without much critical thinking, it happens.

I think the comment might've just made them think that Alastor is like. Canonically double her age or something, which is really funny considering the opposite is the case by a long shot. Rosie likely just said that bc he came in with a young looking, objecitvely very pretty girly, so it's an easy jab to make - it's just friendly banter between acquaintances. [some further thoughts I ended up having about aging in hell under the cut]

It's really hard to guess how old Alastor would actually be tbh since sinners' demon forms generally seem to hardly reflect their actual ages, so he could've honestly died in an age range that's anywhere from mid-20s to mid-50s.

(And at least based on how stubbornly driven to achieve his mysterious goals he is and how childishly petty, if not outright violent he gets when his authority, power and/or control are questioned; and the fact that he is finding himself with a bad deal at his hands now that he's struggling to escape - so I presume he accepted it recklessly, not something a wise old man would do - I'd say he likely died on the younger side of that range.)

And if he died in the 1930s and clearly managed to not get himself killed all the way into what I'm guessing is the 2020s, then that adds like 90 years of further existence in hell.

But that still only amounts to about 110-130 years total.

Charlie's 200+ years completely eclipse that lmfao.

That does make me curious though how old Vaggie actually is then, we don't know if she's a human soul that has been alive on earth before going to heaven and becoming an exorcist, or if she's a natively heaven-born kind of creation...

UItimately... these characters are all adults at the end of the day, and as such they could all do whatever they want, hypothetical age gap or not - it's honestly not like that sort of thing is even really something we can track in this "nobody ages once they're here and can only die at heaven's hands" sort of setting, so I don't see why it should matter that much ^^"

Like-

Say, hypothetically, you die at age 16 and go to hell, where you then continue to exist for an infinite amount of time. Are you now perpetually and forever a minor? Do you count the years you spend in hell on top of your human age despite not actually aging on a physical level in any capacity?

I'm gonna go on a limb here and say that bothering with age gaps in Hazbin Hotel makes little sense, since the inherent issue with those always boils down to unbalanced power dynamics and uninformed and/or coerced consent anyways - factors that are easy to define as bad and we all understand are objectively toxic.

#charlastor #not the focus but mentioned and tangentially considered in my ramblings but still #hazbin hotel spoilers #chubs answers

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strixcattus · 1 month

Text

Right I'm feeling about up to a proper STHeroine route I analysis post on this fine day (author's note: not enough to do it in one go it seems. I'm finishing up the second half the day after.)

I already mentioned how it seems that the Heroine may have a measure more agency than the Princess, putting her in a position where she can actually push back against us and act on her own accord instead of being passively molded by our decisions. The chapter was introduced as the "Sharp Damsel"—our choice to trust her unconditionally did not create a Heroine solely shaped to be someone we can trust unconditionally, but instead her distrust gave her the added wrinkle of "Sharp." Sharp seemingly as in "wary" or "clever." She knows more about the workings of the world than the Princess is supposed to. She can tell that the Narrator is exerting some control over us, even if it's unclear that she knows who He is.

(The Sly Spectre lead-in seems to reinforce the idea that the Heroine contains "agency," but we're not talking about the Sly Spectre right now.)

The rest of the chapter itself doesn't largely have much to discuss. What is interesting is this post and the art of this one. (That's the mirror sequence in reverse order, if you'd rather save the time of rereading.)

The Long Quiet appears the same as it's supposed to be in the one panel where it's actually drawn, and it's even referred to as such by Not!Shifty. From this we can assume that the Long Quiet continues to exist as normal, and that it's probably us. Probably, but not certainly, because of two points.

Most obviously, the arms that take away the Sharp Damsel are not human arms, but versions of ours. (She also seems visibly panicked at the appearance of the arms, clearly able to see them, while the Princesses all appeared more fatigued than scared, and commented on the cold rather than the arms. Another point towards the Heroine understanding more about the workings of the Construct than she's supposed to?) We can be sure that they're our arms because we see our own arms, both earlier in the route and in the art at the mirror. Which I, er, brightened to get a better look at it and confirm this:

As we can see from this image, our arms in the mirror and in the real world are the same as they are normally. The protagonist doesn't seem fully convinced, however, as the text accompanying this image reads a hesitant "It's you?" instead of a confident "It's you." There's very little clarity of the silhouette, but the other detail that seems to deserve mention is that the eyes of the reflection have two points of shine, instead of the one that the normal mirror image has. Of course, there's no way to know how much any small visual detail actually matters, but in light of the doubt cast on the reflection, it's worth pointing out.

Lastly, we have Not!Shifty's dialogue (Not!Shifty because there is very clearly something different between her and the normal Shifting Mound, even if it isn't yet obvious what). Most of what she says is the same as her counterpart, but there are a few distinctions:

Instead of saying we "bring her the gift of a fragile vessel," this one says we "grace her with a new, fragile vessel"

She refers to herself as "threads of something bright that had been torn and unwound." The thread metaphor continues throughout the conversation, replacing the Shifting Mound's water metaphor.

When we say we don't know what we are, she responds with empathy ("it is nice to know I am not alone"), rather than confidence ("I think you are like me").

She shows some level of recognition of the Narrator (!)

When asked if we know each other, she responds with a positive "maybe" (!!)

Instead of insisting that we will have to return to the Construct eventually due to boredom, she acknowledges the possibility of continuing as we are forever

Definitive analysis: Not!Shifty seems more passive than the Shifting Mound, which sits in contrast to the way the Heroine seems to have more agency than the Princess. She never tries to tell us anything about ourselves, and seems comfortable in the fact that she doesn't yet know anything about herself. She's got a different personality entirely, and it's not yet clear whence that comes.

Theory-space: Her recognition of the Narrator and acknowledgement of the possibility that we may know each other somehow seem to imply that this is not the first time we have gone through the Construct, and that there was once a time where she was the one being guided by the Narrator to kill us. Perhaps this is a world where we and her managed to become one again, and then were torn apart improperly? It would explain our identity issues and the matching arms, as well as... no, I'll save Route II analysis for the Route II analysis post.

Of course, it's too soon to tell exactly what has changed in the division between us and Not!Shifty. I'll stand by my "merging and being torn apart again" theory for now, but I'm not ready to hold fast to it. The next route will probably shed some proper light on things, as much as it can that is.

#slay the heroine

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polyamorousmood · 3 months

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My gf (mtf) is fairly monogamous but I'm not necessarily, especially with sex. I have an offer from our mutual male friend (cis) to try penetration since I (afab nb) am terrified but curious about it and he's one of the only cis guys I'd feel comfortable trying that with. I have hooked up with him once before, prior to meeting my gf, and it was really good. My gf is fairly supportive about it, one of the things that really works for us sex-wise is that neither of us want penetration in our relationship. I'm just absolutely terrified of making her insecure and ruining her friendship with our friend. I know I can function fine with blurring the lines between sex, friends, and partners, but she's got the trauma of an ultra-Christian childhood and has so much constant dysphoria that I'm scared something like this could ruin our relationship. We talked so much when he first offered and I know she's not opposed, but I just keep thinking about all the horror stories I've read about couples opening up their relationship or trying poly after being mono and it ruining them. Especially if I end up wanting it more than just once with our friend. I don't particularly need advice, I'm just laying in bed next to her in the dark scrolling horrifying stories on Reddit while talking with our friend over text getting all up in my head about our dynamics and I don't have anyone to vent to about this right now. I figure a polyam blog on tumblr will at least understand that nuances that come with figuring this stuff out. Thanks for listening

It's really fair that you'd be worried about this, and it's a really good sign for everything that you want to do this consciously and carefully - if at all. Sincerely the worst thing about polyamory (and related things) is how isolating it can be. 😣Oftentimes, the only person you can even discuss problems with is the partner who is also all up in the problem. Which I clearly don't need to explain to you how that sucks.

You said you didn't need anything but listening. But like, it's me. So.... 🤷‍♀️

Reddit and the forums are the mother of all selection biases: happy people generally don't feel the need to post about their lives online, and people who have found something sustainable but not completely perfect don't feel like their input is valuable because they "still have problems" even though how things can work really well or well enough is probably some of the most valuable information to you!

It's not your fault if your partner lies about or grossly mis-estimates her okayness level on this. And if she is the type of person to usually lies about or grossly mis-estimates her okayness level with things, its bound to be a problem at some point, even if you can successfully avoid it being a problem on this one issue by being really anxious.

🗣📢EXPLICITLY UNSOLICITED ADVICE WARNING🚨🚨 Everything up to this point could be construed as "just thoughts" but the following is unambiguously advice. Stop reading now if you want to continue in your unadvized state. She cannot assure you with 100% certainty she will not have a problem with it. If she tries, all she'll do is lock herself into not being able to tell you if she does. The only helpful thing in these situations I have found is to establish a procedure for what to do if there is a problem. Give her the tools to find something that's comfortable for her. Give her the certainty that you will listen to her, talk things through (which is sometimes a solution on its own!), and not hold it against her if you need to make changes. Then you can rest assured if there are problems, they won't last.

When you're doing "but I don't want to hurt herrrrrr😖" anxiety calculus, remember your non monogamous tendencies probably aren't going to stop! So also evaluate if you'd be okay with never ever doing anything with someone besides your gf. And if you're not. It will probably hurt her worse if you say you're fine with staying monogamous forever now, and then feel like you're about to snap two years later. So just like. Factor that into your calculations, too, haha!😅

And as a close

I'm with you. I feel you. This blog has DMs open if you want to talk more organically or about details you don't want to be public. No matter how this shakes out, you will get through to the other side.💙💖🖤

#ask box is always open #poly relationship advice #opening relationships

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gay-disabled-characters-showdown · 2 months

Text

LGBTQ+ Disabled Characters Showdown Round 3, Wave 2, Poll 11

A character being totally canon LGBTQ+ and disabled was not required to be in this competition. Please check qualifications and propaganda before asking why a character is included.

Check out the other polls in this wave and prior here.

Ashton Greymoor-Critical Role

Qualifications:

chronic pain due to literally shattering into pieces and being put back together with molten gold. canon nonbinary [he/they]. i don’t have the spoons for a ramble on their character arc but i am holding them gently in my little hands.

Has chronic pain and TBI and goes by he/they pronouns

They are canonically depicted with chronic pain. This a major part of their character development and how they interact with other characters in the campaign. The actor who portrays them is also bisexual and deals with chronic pain; Taliesin Jaffe.

Propaganda:

they’re a punk-rock punk rock!! he has cool quantum powers and a huge glass hammer!! they’re slowly learning to live with the mortifying ordeal of having people that care about them and that he cares about in turn!! what’s not to love

A literal jaded punk rock. They were soft once... and then they turnd into stone. His body was shattered and glued back together by his enby housemate with melted gold. They have a hole in their head covered with glass through which you can see the brain and the chaos magic that brought them back from the brink of death. They're Constantly in pain and sometimes they don't remember who they screwed over(they crime) and what their relationship is like with people. He's a barbarian and when he rages he warps time, space, gravity or probability around him. Strongest member of their group/family Bells Hells. There's strength, but there's pain. There's pain, but there's strength. I love him very much. I'm not enby, they still give me gender envy (just like every other of his creator's characters). His coping mechanisms are not healthy in any way and he means a lot to me.

See above. Also, Ashton uses he/they pronouns and is canonically aromantic.

The qualifications and propaganda paragraphs correspond, @hawkeyeloveshawkeye is the third submitter.

Frodo Baggins-The Lord Of The Rings

Qualifications:

Frodo & Sam are very homoerotic. As JRRT knew and loved several openly gay authors, one of his closest friends was suspected of being gay, and with other historical events of the time, you can’t convince me it wasn’t at least a little bit subconsciously on purpose. Frodo, of course, has ptsd and probably some form of chronic illness due to the lingering effects of his nazgul wound.

Propaganda:

Frodo carried the weight of the world on his shoulders and was forever changed by it. The literal devil’s soul was constantly around his neck, always tempting him, growing stronger by the minute, twisting him and torturing him mentally. He didn’t know how his journey would end when he offered to take on the burden of destroying the most evil object in the world, but he chose to do it anyway. And he was forever ruined by it - so much that he never truly came home, not really. And once he was home, life was so thoroughly ruined for him that he could not stay. There is one other known account of this happening - Arwen’s mother, who was captured and tortured for years by orcs, and while her body was healed, her mind could not be, and she, too, sailed away. Do you understand that? Frodo’s journey was on the same level as *being captured and tortured for years on end.* He is probably the gayest non-canon confirmed character I have ever come across, queer-coded through and through, and his ptsd was enough that he could not come home, and had to sail to paradise to find peace. He deserves everything.

#polls #poll #disability #disabled characters #lgbtq #lgbtq characters #id in alt text #lgbtq dcs round 3 #lgbtq dcs r3 wave 2 #ashton greymoore #critical role #frodo baggins #the lord of the rings #lord of the rings #lotr

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lets-try-some-writing · 11 months

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The Grim Dark Archives: Statement #005 Named Cybertronians

[Statement taken from [Redacted] on [Redacted: Sensitive data] regarding known Cybertronians. They were asked to elaborate on the Cybertronians that have been recorded as being present on Earth after the alien known as Cliffjumper was killed in action. We know very little about the event, but supposedly Cliffjumper was deployed to search for Decepticon activity.

According to the report given to us by Optimus Prime, Cliffjumper found where Decepticon agents were mining energon and promptly initiated combat. This resulted in his capture by the Decepticons, and although a corpse has yet to be recovered, the Autobots reported that his vitals flatlined.

High command saw fit to use [Redacted]'s knowledge to try and gain an understanding of just how many aliens we could possibly be dealing with in the near future. Thankfully [Redacted] was more than willing to speak on the matter and has already expressed an interest on elaborating more on certain individuals.

Statement begins.]

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Oh this is the kind of question I will gladly answer. Collecting data on people, organizations, a various beliefs is my specialty. Now, since you are already familiar with the Autobots, I shall begin with them.

Let's start with the two wheeler. Her designation is Arcee, as you know. She is of a small sub-class of Cybertronians known as 'femmes' and well known for her abilities. Let me warn you now, femmes are some of the most terrifying Cybertronians out there, and not for the reason you may think. They may be small and seem feminine to you organics, but our femmes are built with strange and unique abilities alongside their differing processing methods. I will go more in depth regarding Cybertronian femmes a bit later. For now, all you need to know is that they latch onto the mentally or physically weak amongst our kind. And at that point, they claim the mech in question and slowly prepare to use their ability and... improve them.

Don't question it right now. There will be time for explanations later. For now, we are doing an overview aren't we? Anyway, her records do not go back to before the war, but personal investigation leads me to believe that she likely worked for the High Council in some capacity. She has ties to the Primacy but largely sticks with the Prime because he likes having a femme around to throw at enemies. Femmes are vicious creatures. Honestly considering how much Arcee liked him, Cliffjumper was a dead mech walking anyway. He's lucky to have been killed by the enemy rather than face the fate of those chosen by femmes. I've been the subject of a femme's interest once. I barely made it out alive. Thank Primus the Archives took me before she did.

Cliffjumper is rather irrelevant now, but I will go over him anyway in case he somehow manages to walk off whatever the Decepticons did to him. He actually doesn't have a ton on his record. He was a regular recruit, one recorded signing on sometime around the height of the war when factions had to be picked. There was nothing out of the ordinary about him, and in fact, he fell below average strength levels for most soldiers. That is probably what got Arcee interested in him. Poor mech came from one of the outer cities and probably didn't know what in the pits a femme even was. Its unfortunate that he's dead, but I honestly do think it was likely in his best interest. He would have dealt with so much suffering otherwise.

May he rest at peace as one with the Allspark.

Next up is Bulkhead. You know? The one who beat me into scrap? Don't play stupid. I am no fool. I am well aware you saw that footage. We will be discussing that later. Now about him, he is a Wrecker. His augmentations are specifically made by Wreckers for Wreckers and he will die for the organization. All those who join the Wreckers are bound to them forever. There simply is no escape once the augmentations are finished. Most don't want to leave, and Bulkhead falls into that category. I can go into more depth about the Wreckers and their... beliefs, a bit later. At the moment, let it be known that he does not give a flying frag about you squishies. He follows the creed of his kind and thankfully for all of you, that creed does not permit unnecessary damage to native lifeforms of foreign worlds. Last I checked, he serves the Prime because that is part of his duty and Prime gave him the means to deal with a grudge of his. He has a personal investment here on Earth because he heard that there was a rouge Wrecker here somewhere.

No I will not elaborate right now. You lot need to be paying close attention to what comes next, so I will not linger on topics at the moment.

Ratchet is the resident medic. I believe I have expressed my fears before, but seriously, medics are DANGEROUS. I cannot emphasize that enough. The insane fraggers hyperfocus on one field and one faction and they stick to it like glue. They cling to their alliances and progeny like a parasite and will fight and even maim one another over patients. Ratchet is one of the best and worst medics I have ever encountered. His genius is legendary and he is one of the few who have ever been able to absorb all medical knowledge without focusing too hard on any particular field or falling to medical madness. Yes that is a real issue amongst my kind.

He also is not quite as insane as the others because of his upbringing out in the middle of nowhere during the age before the Quintessons came. But with that said, his motives are dubious at best. He is loyal to the Prime alone and would gladly frag over anyone who is not a medic or an Autobot. He also is not fond of you fleshies, but he does his job and should probably not be too bad so long as you don't catch his interest. Honestly getting the interest of any of my kind is a bad idea, so I suggest just not doing that. Medics in particular have one pit of a subculture that makes them a pain in the aft to understand, even for the average Cybertronian.

Now, moving on from the mad medic, Bumblebee is the team scout, and for good reason. He is totally unaugmented. He has no attachments whatsoever. No commlink, no programming, no battle codes, no inbuilt weapons, no specializations, nothing at all. He is practically a civilian and has to work himself half to death just to keep up with the rest of our kind who get augments nearly the moment they are old enough to handle them. If you are looking for the safest Autobot, you will find it in him. He is still one of my kind, but possess a great ability to empathize, or at least offer aid without expecting something in return. He never got any alteration programming, which may explain his more reasonable disposition. But of course, there is a reason for that.

I will not go into detail right now, but Bumblebee is kept from receiving augments on purpose. It is easier for mecha without augments to receive the Matrix of leadership and live reasonable lives under its control. Optimus is by no means loving, but he cares for what he sees as his. Bumblebee is being trained to be physically stronger than the others and mentally hardened so that he can bear the burden should Optimus fall. Either that, or he is being prepared to carry the weight of our people's history if another is found more suitable. The Prime is currently a walking databank for all of Cybertronian knowledge. One way or another, Bumblebee will carry the weight of one station, be it that of the Archive or the Matrix. He cannot escape, but it does not seem like he wishes to. He is loyal to his Sire and to the cause after all.

As for Optimus Prime himself? He is a whole series of statements on his own. To give you the thousand mile high overview, he was originally a dock worker. He was normal, much like Bumblebee. He had the attention of a femme, but he seemed to have a reasonable lifespan on him regardless of that fact. Then the Archive took him, and there he became one of theirs. He was one of the many sets of optics and frames which belonged to the Archive. And yet, he took interest in Megatronus, the leader of the Decepticons. Orion Pax, as was his name at the time, had his reasons for being involved. However through a series of accidents, he found himself being prepped for war. He was offered as a sacrifice, and the last resort relic that is the Matrix of Leadership was given to him. Since then he has led the war and done everything in his power to take what he sees as his.

He is a master at manipulation and adaptation. He can and will find information on every subject and devour it like a starving mech. If he finds you interesting, he will tear you apart to gain every last fact and iota of information. There is no escape from him, and until he gets what he wants, he will not allow anyone to stand in his way. His goals are complex, and even I do not fully understand. But he fights all the same and will kill you regardless. Be wary of him. He is by far the most dangerous simply because he has lived so long.

Primes do not last longer than a few millennia. And yet Optimus has lived for over four million years. That should be a sign that he's clever and has ways to bypass what we have always assumed was a death sentence.

For the Decepticons, there have only been three confirmed units and one unconfirmed thus far. I will explain any others as they become relevant. To begin, there is Starscream, the Lord of Vos. He is a seeker, a subsection of flight class Cybertronians that do not fall in line with normal standards. Seekers were complete isolationists before the war, even going so far as to have their own ever moving city, language, and culture. They do not use modern technology, they do not worship Primus, and their rituals are savage even by Cybertronian standards. I will go into more depth on them later, but for the time being, just know that Starscream being the Lord of Vos essentially puts him in the position of Shaman for his kind. He is a follower of nature and seeks to keep things in balance while remaining faithful to his culture. Due to how little is known about Vosian culture and Seekers as a whole, he is unpredictable. His motives are almost entirely impossible to figure out and he will fight in the way of the ancients. By all accounts the Seekers should have been wiped out eons ago, but their methods are... surprisingly effective.

Cunning and strange, Starscream's methods are unorthodox and his loyalty is all but void. He serves whatever it is he worships, his people, and himself. That is all. He has no mortals or ethics even amongst our rather loose ones. The only benefit you humans will find in his nature is that he is not fond of killing without reason and likely will leave you alone if you don't bother him. But of course he is a spontaneous mech and could just as easily turn up in the dead of night and slaughter you all will no explanation. Leave him be, that is my suggestion.

Soundwave is Megatron's second in command, at least behind the scenes. He joined up with the Decepticons long before they were official and knows more than I care to bother explaining. Not a spark actually knows what he is, but him and others like him, such. as the Autobot Blaster, have an ability that gives them an edge. He is able to house symbiotes, beings that I have no real clue where they come from. Soundwave and those like him are recorded appearing out of the blue randomly only to then latch onto mecha of interest in a manner like femmes. Those mecha proceed to live out their lives normally, but usually just before death, Soundwave and his kind will drag them off never to be seen again. Within a few vorns, a new symbiote can be noted running around. I hypothesize that whatever is done to the dying plays a role in the creation of symbiotes, but I do not have enough information. Soundwave serves Megatron, that is what matters.

He can get into just about anything and very little is known about him as a whole. No known motives, no known origin, no known anything really. He is a stranger who appeared in the pits alongside Megatron and simply never went away. Keep clear of him if you can. He is a mech that even the average Cybertronian tries to steer away from.

Vehicons are clone soldiers that might as well be civilians with toy blasters attached to them. They are normal mecha who are held together by some grand communication array that I am not familiar with. They are mass produced, hold very little value, and oftentimes do not have much personality aside from the one that they all share. They work without question and die in droves before being promptly replaced. Honestly your biggest concern is possibly being stepped on. The Vehicons are untrained newsparks at worst and competent but low level ground units at best. Until they develop more as individuals, they are not too great a threat save for when they are sent out in waves.

Lastly there is Megatron, currently MIA Lord of the Decepticons. He came from the mines of Kaon and somehow managed to work past the slave coding installed in him long enough to simply wander out of the pits. He was a scumbag in the redlight district for a while before spontaneously ending up in the pits as a Gladiator. There he gained a following and did his best to fight for his cause before ultimately turning to war to make things more faster. This backfired horribly if you can't tell. Now he is a mech who seems lost more often than not. He has been noted having patchy memory, more so after every interaction with Optimus Prime. He is only as cruel as was normal in the redlight district and his most concerning trait is his astounding lack of care for anything orderly or organic. He hates programing or augmentation and only tolerates it in his soldiers to win. Augments enrage him to such an extent that he has been noted acting out of normal parameters in response to heavily altered individuals. He wants chaos, that is what you need to know.

If he thinks it would further his ends, he would gladly wipe this planet off the map. However he does nothing without reason, and so unless you garner his attention, you should be fine. Stay away from him, don't mention anything related to the Archive or the Matrix, and all should be well... for the most part.

I can tell you more later, but for now, you best keep your organic optics on the happenings going on. If Cliffjumper is dead, it means there is a very real chance things are going to spiral and do so fast.

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[Statement end.

The timestamps have been removed from these reports in response to [Redacted]'s information on the Cybertronian known as Soundwave. What information we have is critical for our survival, and we simply cannot risk it being destroyed even if the alien able to do so with ease likely won't ever bother to damage our files.

We expect [Redacted] to be giving us much more data soon, especially since they have begun to warm up to me and my fellow agents since their repairs were completed. They have also requested to be referred to by masculine pronouns, perhaps as a sign of trust? Whatever the case, we are making progress. Hopefully we will have a reasonable way to fight back against the aliens soon, at least if their guns settle on us.

Agent Witwicky signing off.

Recording ends.]

#transformers #maccadam #transformers prime #team prime #megatron #optimus prime #ratchet #bumblebee #arcee #bulkhead #soundwave #starscream #the grim dark archives #[redacted]#agent witwicky #statement recording #oh boy I cannot wait to get into the lore I have cooking up #but for now #here are hints :)

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