#or even just fucking ACCESS things is ‘annoying’

[medliwinks]

I don’t entirely disagree (and will spell out my caveats in a moment) but would like to point out that astrology is a spiritual practice which a lot of young cultural christians are embracing, not only as a replacement for gendered expectations / boxes, but as a new way of interpreting ourselves, our experiences, and the world around us. Some people elevate it to doctrine, trying to define their predetermined place in the world, which maybe even causes harm (but so do a lot of the things people replace christianity with, many of them to a much greater extent. like MLMs, which, admittedly there’s a pipeline there) but plenty of folks are just out here trying to make sense of their lives. And spiritual practices that essentially rely on elevated confirmation bias CAN DO THAT, in ways that HELP, because that. is what they were developed to do.

Like. Yes, absolutely, it is annoying when people base how they treat another human person on anything superficial but especially something like moment of birth (measured by planets edition). I am a scorpio. I get fucking slut shamed…. because of my birthday. It is frustrating. At least slut shame me for my slutty actions, yknow? And as a fem, curvy, afab flavor of nonbinary, slut shaming really is not separable from the genders of the wider world we live in. It sucks, and people shouldn’t do that.

Housing and hiring discrimination based on astrology is also wrong. People shouldn’t do that. But making personal decisions, like choosing a partner or thesis advisor (I have heard stories), based on astrology, is like. Maybe not totally prudent but also not my circus not my monkeys not my decision making process and most importantly not my fucking business.

For me, astrology doesn’t impact my decisions. I use tarot spreads if I want to consider my knee jerk reactions as they come up, it’s just a far better and less fixed system for that. For me, astrology can help me interact with my reactions but because (unlike with tarot, where I am skilled enough to go without looking up written definitions) I must rely on pre conceived ideas often written by someone with a very different understanding of life events from me, it’s not very efficient. For me astrology is mostly just fun and is the broken clock which is right twice a day.

However that occasional coincidence definitely has led me to major shifts in understanding about myself or my relationships. Which are nice and good to have. I don’t communicate my understandings in astrological terms because, well, it’s not particularly accessible & few amateurs will come to the same assessment anyway, unless it’s super generalized, which just usually doesn’t need to happen.

But if it does!!????? Okay, fine, as long as nobody is being insulted or discriminated against, there’s just a little more magic in the conversation. And i find that fun

it does still make me insane specifically how many queer people lovingly embrace astrology. I went to a poetry workshop yesterday that was genuinely quite good but also included an option to disclose astrology designations during introductions and so many people broke out some variation of "I'm a [x] sum but I have a [y] placement and it SHOWS" girl no it doesn't. that's meaningless correlation you completely invented the causation

[shiny-meowstics]

pokemon: yeah, we've added more and more shiny locks to starters, legendaries, and mythicals bc we don't want players wasting hours and hours of their time in front of the screen not playing the game the way we want them to play it

also pokemon: let's start distributing shiny mythicals, but only after players have wasted hours and hours of their time catching/trading for every single pokemon for specific dexes, which means they'll also need to literally invest hundreds of dollars into a bunch of half finished games and their dlc's. that or they waste literal weeks of their time if its one of the shiny mythicals that are/have been distributed through Go through paid researches

[look-at-the-stars-tonight]

the amount of effort that goes into figuring out what to cook and eat every day is RIDICULOUS. i used to think people were so weird and boring for eating the same thing every single day but it truly does make life so much easier

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: The Flight Response.

Pairing: Yandere!BatFam x Reader (DC).

Word Count: 5.7k.

TW: Non/Con, Dub/Con, Fem!Reader, Kidnapping, Prolonged Imprisonment/Isolation, Mentions of Stalking, Age Gap (Reader is Mid-Twenties, Bruce is Late Forties), Obsessive Behavior, Suicidal Ideation, Non-Graphic Suicide Attempt, And Gratuitous Pseudo-Incest. DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT.

[Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three]

You could hear them through the walls.

Jason’s voice was clear – crystal, even. You doubted you’d ever be able to forget the sound of it, the way it dipped at the edges as he moved between his family’s authoritarian barking and the last remaining traces of his downtown Gotham drawl, how it reverberated against your throat as he muttered some fractured version of your name. Dick took a little longer. You tried not to think of him when it wasn’t absolutely necessary, but it would’ve been hard not to recognize that confidence, that carelessness, that charm layered on so thickly, it was hard to believe he wasn’t choking on it. If you hadn’t already felt so sick, you might’ve gagged.

“It’s bad. Barbara’s keeping him occupied with surveillance footage, but that’ll only buy us another hour or so.” They were talking about the manor. Bruce must’ve gotten home, by now. “Where is she?”

“Things aren’t going so fucking great here either, man.” They were getting closer. “She’s in the bedroom. It felt the safest – fewest ways out.”

You balled a sheet in your fist, aware for the first time that you were, in fact, in a bedroom. It must’ve been Jason’s apartment, but you couldn’t remember how you’d gotten here. There’d been the fairgrounds, the backseat, but nothing else. You guessed it didn’t really matter what came that. Your life had already ended. The landscape of your purgatory was inconsequential.

Fighting against the soreness, you pulled yourself up. The space was sparsely decorated save for a few cardboard boxes and a corkboard dotted with grainy pictures, but there was a door near the foot of your bed and, more importantly, a window on the other side of the room, made accessible by a plastic, fold-out card table. It took a few steps to remember how to use your legs, but finding the latch was easier, the glass pane sliding upward with only a slight amount of resistance. The opening wasn’t huge, but you could fit your shoulders through, and it opened up into an utterly deserted, utterly desolate alleyway. Judging from the fire escape on the opposite wall, you were a few stories up – four, at least.

The frame bit into your stomach as you leaned out, palms planted on the exposed brick of the exterior wall. Your feet were on the card table, and then, they weren’t – your body hanging unsupported in the air, levitation before free fall. You shut your eyes, but you never quite reached the plummet. An arm was already around your waist, a chest already against your back. You were jerked out of the window and onto the floor unceremoniously, the fall broken only by Dick. Jason was still in the doorway, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. Dick, if nothing else, had the decency not to look so surprised.

“Was she trying to…?”

“She was trying to run,” Dick finished, and just like that, Jason’s expression lightened, relief taking the place of abject horror. They really were family, no matter what either of them might’ve said. A few words from his older brother, and what the younger knew to be true was rendered false, replaced with a more palatable reality.

“Can’t let you out of our sight for a second, can we?” He was talking to you now. Great. With an airy grunt, you were lifted off of the floor and deposited back onto Jason’s cot of a bed, your shoulder resting against the metal headboard. Dick knelt in front of you, smiling. That seemed to be his resting expression, as annoying as it was. “Your apartment’s not far from here, right? Don’t tell him I said anything, but B still pays the rent. I think he wants you to have somewhere safe to run off to if you ever decide to leave home.” He paused, laughed. “Not that you’d have a reason to. He’s just worried, like that. Fuck, he’s worried about you right now, even though you’re safe with us.”

Dread coiled in the pit of your stomach. You should’ve begged them to take you back to the mansion, back to Bruce, back to someone who could protect you. You should’ve made a run for the door – fight, kick, scream until you got out and caught a cab to somewhere far, far away. You had to go back, but you couldn’t go back. He could keep you safe, but he was going to kill you.

They were going to kill you.

Your gaze moved to Jason, silent and pleading. He didn’t notice, his own eyes locked on the floor. “Don’t expect much. I’ve been getting the silent treatment since—”

“Since you fucked her.”

Not the word you would’ve used, but you weren’t really in the mood to correct him. Jason set his jaw. “Yeah,” he said, after a beat. “Since that.”

Dick hummed. “Could you step out for a minute? I’m just going to do a quick check-over, make sure nothing’s damaged.”

Immediately, Jason bristled. “I’m not going fucking anywhere. Not if it means leaving you alone with her.”

For the first time that could remember, Dick’s smile faltered. He glanced over his shoulder, resting a hand on your knee in the same motion. “You called me, little wing. Do you want my help or not?”

You watched Jason intently, never once looking away. He played the role of a cornered creature well – shifting his weight from one foot to the other, crossing his arms only to let them fall to his sides a second later. When he did answer, though, it came a little too easily, a little too painlessly for the act to be believable. You couldn’t believe you’d ever fallen for it, before. “Do what you have to, but I’m staying.”

For a split second, something like hatred flashed across Dick’s expression. It cleared up quickly enough, though.

“Whatever you say.” He shrugged, pushing himself to his feet. “Just don’t move. You’ve already scared the poor thing half to death.”

You were wearing Jason’s jacket. Your shirt had been torn beyond use, and your bra was probably still on the floor of his car – in the same tangled heap as your panties, most likely. Dick eased the zipper down with care, letting the fabric slide off of your shoulders. Skin exposed to cool air, you moved to curl into yourself, but Dick caught you by the arms, holding you in place as his eyes raked over your collarbones, your chest, the string of dark, bruising marks trailing from the base of your throat to your navel. A few were from Bruce, a few from Jason. It was hard to remember which. Apparently, they liked the same spots.

Dick let out a low whistle. Your shorts were next, pulled low on your thighs, allowed to drop to your ankles only after Dick spared a glance in Jason’s direction. He fell onto the mattress next to you, arm wrapped loosely around your waist. His thumb dragged over the bruising, following the path down until he reached your—

“Don’t,” you muttered, hoarsely. “Please.”

“So she can speak,” he laughed, pressing a kiss into your temple. If he’d heard what you said, it was deemed too unimportant to acknowledge – his hand slipping between your thighs. You thought about screaming, but didn’t. You considered trying for the window again, but decided that if they were just going to stop you from toppling over the edge, it wasn’t worth the effort.

What Jason did to you hurt because you hadn’t expected it. It’d been dumb of you not to, sure, but you hadn’t. It hurt because you expected him to be better than that, expected him to care about you more, expected him to be different from the family he took such surface-level pains to distance himself from. When two of Dick’s fingers dragged over your slit, gathering the remnants of slick and cum Jason had left behind, it hurt differently – more of a cold ache than stabbing burn. You’d never liked Dick. Of all the things he could violate, your trust wasn’t on the list. This hurt because you’d known it was going to happen and tried to stop it. This hurt because it meant that you failed.

You didn’t realize you were still staring at Jason until Dick caught your chin, turning your head towards him. “It’s just you and me,” he murmured, circling your clit once, twice before forcing his digits inside of you. “Don’t pay any attention to him. He’s already gotten his time with you.”

You opened your mouth, but the only thing that escaped was some strangled, alien noise as Dick spread you open. There was another kiss, this one to the corner of your jaw. “You don’t have to say anything – you know I’ll always be here to look out for you, right? It doesn’t matter what kind of—” Calloused pads grinding against the walls of your pussy, his voice low and easy in your ear. “—messes the others make, you’ve got me. Since the first day B asked me to walk you to work. Tim just wants something to point his camera at, and Jason would love anything that smiled at him, but me – I’m here for you. I’m always gonna be here for you.”

Jason grunted. “You’re a dirty fucking liar.”

Dick didn’t seem to notice him, grinding the heel of his palm into your clit. You jerked away from him on reflex, but his free hand shot to the side of your head, drawing you into his side and forcing you to rest your head on his shoulder. Proximity seemed to be his main goal, your body pressed into his at every odd angle, his face buried in your neck and his hand tucked between your all-but shut legs. He reminded you of Bruce, like that – so convinced that everything would be alright if he could just pry open his ribcage and stuff you inside. Or, maybe, Dick was the opposite, desperate to burrow a hole in your flesh and live there. Either way, the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.

He pulled out of you abruptly, leaving your abused cunt empty, throbbing and confused. Absentmindedly, you glanced towards him, and your mistake was swiftly punished by the feeling of teeth against lips, his mouth against yours as he took you by the waist and dragged you onto his lap. You shook your head with as much strength as you could manage, but again, Dick played oblivious, only groaning into your mouth as he rutted against your hips, grinding into your cunt through the denim of his jeans. Jason raised his voice, barking something unintelligible, but Dick was already fumbling with his fly, already—

The lights cut. There was the sound of shattering glass, a rush of cool air before they clicked on again, flooding the room with brightness.

The first thing you noticed was that Dick was standing – leaving you alone on the cot while he scrambled to his feet, a child dropping the toy he wasn’t supposed to play with. The next thing was Jason, suddenly rigid at the foot of the bed, the remaining color drained from his pale face.

Finally, you twisted towards the window, following both of their eyes. There was a spray of glass and wood on the floor where the pane had been broken away, the frame itself now filled by an amorphous, black shape – identifiable only by the aura of pure, unadulterated rage radiating off of it.

Ah.

You’d been wondering when Bruce would come for you.

~

The drive back to the manor was short, endless, and quiet. Dick and Jason promised to find their own way back, meaning you were alone with Bruce. That was fine. At least, this way, you’d have the mercy of a private death.

For the first leg, he didn’t talk to you at all. He kept spare clothes in one of a thousand bottomless compartments – sweatshirts, drawstring pants, loose-fitting articles that could be handed out to those who’d been forced out of their homes by fire and flood without the chance to dress themselves for Gotham’s bone-deep chill – and you shuffled into something thick and shapeless while he drove. It was only after he’d slipped out of the city and into one of the many darkened, lifeless tunnels that connected his estate to the city that he sighed, let autopilot take over, and turned to you.

“Are you hurt?”

“I think I’m dying.” And then, with a shallow exhale, “I should be fine.”

He pursed his lips, resting a hand on your thigh. Involuntarily, for the first time that you could remember, you flinched away from him, throwing your body against the passenger-side door. Suddenly, it seemed like too much to be trapped in a car, too much to be so close to another person, too much to be searching for a handle and not able to find one and—

“Breathe.” It wasn’t a suggestion; it was an order. You sucked in a few staggering breaths until the pulsing in your lungs was manageable and you could think about something other than throwing yourself out of a vehicle going well over ninety miles per hour. Bruce didn’t recoil, but his grip tightened around your thigh – any pretense of affection lost in the wake of his control. “How do you feel?”

“Jason, he—I didn’t want to, but—”

“I know what happened. How do you feel?”

“Bad.” You buried your face in your hands, shaking your head. “And stupid. And so— I knew this was going to happen. I just thought, because the others were so much worse, he wouldn’t be the first to crack. And, god, he practically called me his mom right before it happened. I don’t even think they have a word for that.” You weren’t crying, but you wiped at your eyes before resurfacing. “Are you going to do anything?”

Bruce didn’t respond, not immediately. He’d already taken off his cowl, but he was still wearing the rest of his pitch-black suit – still recognizable as the hero you loved, rather than the man you hated. The scales tilted a little further towards Bruce, though, as he leaned towards you – wrapping an arm around your shoulders and locking you against his chest. You felt him bury his face in your hair, inhaling your scent. As if there was any way you didn’t reek of someone else’s, by now.

“Jason was missing, and you were gone. For half the night, I had no way of knowing if you were alive or dead.” Warm air fanned over your scalp. “This can’t happen again.”

“Does that mean you’re going to…?”

“We’ll see.”

He held you for the rest of the drive, and you let him. It was only when you pulled into the open, underground chamber he shared with his vigilante hell-spawn that he reluctantly let you go and stepped out. Bracing yourself, you followed shortly after.

You’d only seen their hideout (hideout, because you weren’t going to call it the ‘Batcave’, no matter how many times you were asked to) once, the night Bruce first brought you to the manor. That day, it’d been empty, his kids still keeping a measured distance and Bruce still too wary to let anyone get that close to you. Tonight, though, Stephanie and Tim haunted the outskirts of the sparing ring while Barbara and Harper held court in front of the largest computer you’d ever seen – scrubbing through security camera footage from outside Jason’s apartment. Duke lingered nearby, and spared you an apologetic smile as you came into sight. You weren’t sure how much he knew, but it couldn’t be a lot. The poor kid probably thought you’d been kidnapped, or better yet – actually managed to get away.

Dick and Jason were already here. They kept their distance, tactfully positioned just behind Stephanie and Tim, but you still made sure to keep Bruce between you and them. As if that’d ever done you any good.

Bruce wasn’t so thankful for the space. Raising a hand, he gestured to Dick, already moving towards the elevator. “Nightwing. Upstairs. With me.”

You flinched into yourself. “Bruce, I really—”

“This will only take a few minutes.”

It might’ve been more reassuring if he’d stopped to smile, to squeeze your shoulder, to glance at you at all. Instead, you watched as he and Dick disappeared behind titanium elevator doors, neither of them ever looking back.

The cave suddenly felt a little smaller than it had, a few seconds ago. A little more crowded.

Unsure where to go or what to do, you stayed where you were – arms crossed anxiously over your chest. Your mind drifted back to the car you’d arrived in, to the tunnels that connected you so intimately with Gotham proper, but you weren’t left to your own devices for very long. Behind you, Steph mumbled something to Tim, nudging his side. He cleared his throat before saying something to Jason, nearly too muted to be heard. “So, do you know if we’re good to…?”

“To do what, Drake?”

“You know.” And then, after a beat of silence, “What you did.”

You weren’t facing them, but you didn’t have to be. You could feel the drop in the temperature, the tension in the air. You ducked your head half a second before Jason’s fist barreled into Tim’s check, knocking him to the floor. Jason was on him before he’d even hit the ground.

The others rushed past you – Stephanie’s shocked laugh, Barbara’s raised voice, Harper’s barked threats. You were rooted to the spot, unable to move, unable to hear beyond the beating of your own heart and the violent collision of skin against skin. You might’ve stayed there forever, until they killed each other, until someone was kind enough to kill you if it hadn’t been for a feather-light hand wrapping around your wrist, a gentle tug forward. You raised your head and found, surprisingly, Cassandra. Of course. You couldn’t blame yourself for not noticing her before – she tended to keep to the shadows, like that.

“Come on.” Again, she tugged at your wrist, as if it was only natural that you’d follow after her. When you failed to react, she grinned and without making a sound, pulled you into an effortless bridal carry. If you had any faith at all in the idea of safety in numbers, you might’ve screamed, thrashed, done anything to stop her. Right now, though, you just wanted to be alone, and being alone with Cas was about as close as you were going to get.

The elevator was empty by the time she reached it, Dick and Bruce having disappeared into some other part of the manor. You let her carry you to the bedroom you shared with Bruce and, rather unceremoniously, drop you onto the foot of your bed. Whatever she was looking for, it required a lot of touching to find – a palm pressed against your forehead, two fingers underneath your chin, checking your pulse. When she reached for your wrist, you waved her off, not bothering to hide your agitation, your discomfort. There wasn’t a point in playing nice, anymore.

Cassandra wasn’t so downcast. Light on her feet, she fell into a crouch, staring up at you from a little over a few feet away. “Bruce was scared you were hurt. Terrified.” Her smile never wavered. “Should be calming down, now. Jason’s safe – part of the family.”

You dragged your knees into your chest. “That’s what I thought, too.”

She started to shake her head, but didn’t get a chance to spit anything out. The bedroom door swung open and Stephanie barged inside, shutting it again after taking a discreet look down the hall. Her attention shifted to you, next – her smile nearly as bright as Cas’.

“Tim’s getting his ass handed to him.”

“Good. I hope he and Jason tear each other’s throats out.”

“Someone’s grumpy.” She fell onto the mattress next to you, arms crossed behind her head. “Is it just ’cause Jason lost his cool?”

Shrinking into yourself wasn’t enough. You were on your feet in a second, riffling through the contents of a writing desk in another. Cas turned her head, owl-like, and Stephanie rolled onto her side to watch you. “You can be honest with us. Who were you hoping for? Dick? Tim? Me?”

“A mouthful of broken glass.”

“That wasn’t one of your options, sweetheart.” You pulled open a drawer, finding little more than scraps of paper and a few abused pens. You left it open and moved onto a bedside table. “I would’ve gone with Tim. He’s the voyeur type – very hands off.”

Nothing in the bedside table, either. You grabbed the closest corner and pushed as hard as you could, but the damn solid oak only swayed once before falling back into place. Fucking rich people. You couldn’t even take your anger out on their furniture.

“Do you hate us?”

It was Cas, this time, her tone purely curious. You crossed the room to Bruce’s walk-in closet, populated dominantly by the designer suits he’d wear once or twice a month when his socialite reputation forced him to actually show his face in public. He would mention taking you to one of his events, every now and then, kiss your neck and have you try different colognes as he mused how much more bearable the night would be if he had you by his side. It would never actually happen, obviously. Bruce still had reservations about letting you walk through the garden on your own. A crowd of drunk socialites with wandering hands and ulterior motives was never really an option.

“She doesn’t.” Stephanie answered on your behalf. You shoved a hand into one of Bruce’s less frequently worn jackets, then patted down the one hanging behind it. “She’s just a little tense, that’s all. It took us all a little while to come around to family life.”

Jackpot. You felt something hollow and cylindrical through an interior pocket – a pill bottle, the contents untouched and the dosage strong. You could remember Bruce mentioning it months ago, something about staging a scandal to push a story about Batman out of the news cycle. You scanned over the label just thoroughly enough to catch the words ‘anti-anxiety’ and ‘sedative’ before pulling the container into your sleeve, letting it settle against your wrist. Whatever it was, you’d make it work.

You spun on your heels and immediately went still. There hadn’t been any footsteps, any voices, any shift in the lighting, and yet, when you turned around, Cassandra was looming above you, caging you against the wall. If she’d noticed the bottle, she didn’t seem to think anything of it. Her attention was on you – just you,dark eyes prying into the very core of your being. You spared a glance towards the doorway, now occupied by Stephanie. “Go on,” she encouraged, her gaze just as cutting. “Tell (Y/n) what you told me.”

“I’ve never had a mom, before.” She edged closer, and you moved away – your back pressing into the bar. “It’s fun.”

It was annoying. They were annoying –so fast, and so strong, and so willing to ignore your attempts to dart around her as she cupped your face and smashed her mouth into yours. Neither Bruce nor his sons had ever been the embodiment of gentleness, but Cassandra was uniquely rough around the edges, uniquely oblivious to how easily her lips bruised yours. You remembered someone mentioning that her first kiss was with one of the Supers, which made sense. She never seemed to consider that her partner may not be invincible.

Her attention span gave out before your panic-induced paralysis. You felt her teeth against the corner of your jaw, then your neck, her face eventually finding a home in the crook of your neck. Scarred hands drifted under the back of your jacket, pressing into the column of your spine, and then there were more – another pair on your shoulders, Stephanie’s voice in your ear. “I think I’ll have to wait a while longer. In-law rules – we laid them out while you were gone.” Cassandra bit into the base of your throat hard. You could feel her tongue moving over your skin as Stephanie went on. “You don’t mind if I hang around for this, though, right?”

Stephanie giggled, Cassandra’s teeth broke fresh skin, and then, you were on the floor, back slumped against the wall, staring up at Bruce as he held Cassandra by the shirt collar, having forcefully pulled her away from you. She could get away if she wanted to, lash out if she wanted to, but she didn’t seem angry, or surprised, just alert to the abrupt change in dynamic. Stephanie was crouched next to you, still smiling. After making sure you hadn’t blacked out, she pushed herself to her feet, patting Bruce’s shoulder. “Just keeping things warm for you, B.”

She made her exit hastily, despite her bravado. Bruce watched her leave before letting go of Cas. “Find the others.”

Blunt. Neat. Direct. Even that was more than she needed, really. Cassandra nodded once, then she was gone, leaving you and Bruce alone.

You wanted to yell at him. You wanted to scream. You wanted to run. You might’ve, too – raised your voice, scrambled to your feet, seen how far you could make it through the labyrinthine halls of his manor before you were caught by another set of groping hands and gnashing teeth, but all fantasies of such explicit5 resistance abandoned you the second you actually looked at him. He didn’t look cold, or irritated, or any of the awful, selfish things that would’ve made him an appropriate pincushion for the jagged needles of your anger. He looked tired.

And you were tired, too.

He held out a hand, trying to help you up. You stared at it for a second, then another, before finding your voice.

“Please don’t touch me.”

The weariness knit into his expression darkened. Sighing, he leaned forward and took you by the wrist, dragging you upright. As you stumbled onto your feet, your chest ached and the pill bottle burnt into your arm.

You walked ahead of him, back into the bedroom proper. He was still in-uniform, but the armor was slowly falling away – the gloves, the belt, then enough little, disparate parts to leave him more Bruce than Batman in front of you. Eventually, he closed what little distance there was between you. A hand on your hip, another cupping your cheek. He kissed you delicately, as if he suddenly felt the need to pretend you were made of glass. As if you couldn’t still feel the blood and saliva dripping down your chest.

Your borrowed clothes were discarded quickly enough, thrown into some shadowed corner where he wouldn’t have to think about them until morning. Your body was posed on the edge of the mattress, where he could kneel in front of you as he fucked his tongue into your cunt and sucked on your clit – a believer worshiping their idol to absolve themselves of sin. You considered telling him to stop, trying to relish that new freedom. Maybe you did. Like everything else you did, it didn’t seem to make much of a difference.

“I think they’re…” He trailed off, pushing a lingering kiss into the inside of your thigh. “I think they’re confused. Disoriented. Dick says he’s in love with you – has been since before I brought you home. Jason thinks you’ve shown some kind of preference for him.”

He usually liked to be on top, favored positions that let him fold your knees against your chest or force you to look into his eyes. Somehow, tonight, you found yourself in his lap, head resting against his chest and thighs straddling his as he guided your hips slowly, carefully. “They’re all so young. It’s not an excuse, but it can’t help.”

“Dick and I are only a year apart,” you muttered, absentmindedly. “We could’ve been in the same class.”

Bruce didn’t respond. There was another kiss, this one pressed into your forehead, and a soft groan as he rolled his hips against yours.

He came inside of you. He usually did, but still. Salt in the wound and all.

When it was over, you let him hold you, counting out the seconds. When you reached a number that felt appropriately innocuous, you squirmed and asked if you could use the bathroom.

Bruce sat up immediately. “I’ll run a bath. There’s a new bottle of vintage downstairs if you—”

“Later.” You smiled, going slack against him before picking yourself up. “Honestly, I think I just need to be alone for a minute. To put things together.”

He hesitated, but not for very long. You could feel his eyes following you as you flitted through the room, picking up a few odds and ends – a hairbrush, one of Bruce’s shirts, your discarded clothes – before slipping into the en-suite, locking the door, and dropping everything save for the little, orange pill bottle.

You got the shower running and stood in front of the sink, fiddling with the child-proof cap. In place of doubt, you felt resignation – pure, neutral awareness of what needed to be done and how to go about doing it. Any hesitation was only reflex, born of some base animal desire not to do harm to oneself. You didn’t like pain, but you’d had a win condition, a clear line between what you would tolerate and what you wouldn’t. You didn’t want to do this, but you didn’t want to find out what was on the other side of that line, either.

The pills tasted bitter. They left a layer of chalk on your tongue, a knot the size of your fist in your throat, but you did your best to wash it down. Tossing the now-empty bottle in the sink, you laid on the tiled floor, pulled your knees into your chest, and waited.

~

You woke up crying.

Not out loud, and not for any reason you could remember, but still – crying. Dried tears formed stiff tracks down your cheeks, saliva wetting the corners of your lips. The inside of your mouth tasted sour, acidic, like you’d thrown up recently. You weren’t sure whether or not you should’ve been surprised by that.

You weren’t in the manor. The ceiling was too low, too white, your surroundings distinctly unrecognizable despite the haze over your vision. You glanced down and found your own body in a similarly alien state. You were wearing a hospital gown, with a small collection of monitors and needles attached to your left arm. You bit down on the inside of your cheek, groaning internally. Somehow, you’d managed to screw up this, too.

You tried to sit up, but only succeeded in sinking further into the paper-thin mattress. Nothing hurt, but your body was beyond your control, still rebelling after your brain’s mutiny. With some effort, you managed to turn your head far enough to see a window, half-expecting to find the Wayne Manor courtyard outside. Instead, Gotham’s skyline stretched on as far as the eye could see – a collection of misshapen skyscrapers and sparkling city lights fighting against the early morning fog. That, if nothing else, caught you off-guard. You’d assumed that Bruce would rather watch you die than trust anyone else to take care of you.

Not that he’d ever let you out of his sight. You felt a weight settle onto the edge of your cot, heard someone let out a deep breath. You didn’t have to guess who it was.

“You took me to a hospital.”

“You didn’t leave us much of a choice.” Us. You wondered who got the privilege of carrying your body out to the ambulance, if there’d even been one. You wouldn’t put it past Bruce to rush into the emergency center, your limp form slung over his shoulder, playing the good Samaritan as he rattled off some story about finding you unconscious in an alleyway or unattended in the back of a club. Anything to keep his family’s public image under control. “You put yourself in danger.”

“You didn’t leave me much of a choice.”

 His thin-lipped scowl deepened. “That’s not funny.”

“I wasn’t trying to be.” This time, when you tried to sit up, Bruce was there to help you – one hand on your back and the other on your shoulder as he guided you into a more respectable position. You might’ve flashed him a smile by way of gratitude, if you’d been feeling more thankful. “You knew what I was afraid of, Bruce. You must’ve been able to guess what I’d do in a worst-case scenario.”

“You never came to me about this. You never told me the kids were—”

“I did.” Your voice was muted, strained, but he went quiet as soon as you opened your mouth. He wanted a martyr, not a fight. “Please, don’t pretend this is my fault.”

For once, he seemed to listen to you. Nodding, he drew in a long breath, his expression callousing over into something rational, something beyond emotion. “It would be short-sighted to leave you unattended. During your recovery, especially.” Recovery, like you’d broken a limb. You stifled a laugh as he went on. “As the manor would present too many unknown variables, I’ve found a safe house in the city. It should be ready by the time you’re released.

A penthouse in the city. Just like you’d always wanted. “What’s the catch?”

“There is no catch. This isn’t a game.” He drummed his fingers against the over-starched sheets, wrinkling them. “The others have been generous enough to divide their patrols. They’ll be able to monitor when I can’t be there.”

Your heart dropped. “Bruce.”

“They’re as concerned for your safety as I am.”

“Bruce.”

“That’s enough.”

“It’ll kill me. They’ll kill me.”

“They’re trying to make sure you don’t get yourself killed.” At least he had the decency to sound like he believed it. “They care about you.”

You felt something rise into the back of your throat – sick and acidic and gnashing. You opened your mouth to scream, to cry, to argue, but nothing came out, your desolation silent in its totality. Bruce only sighed, resting his hand on your thigh. A small smile came to rest across his lips – exhausted, but still terrible in its sincerity.

“You’re part of the family, love.”

[nereidprinc3ss]

in the dead of night

in which spencer wakes up in the middle of the night with an overwhelming desire to feel you

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: fem!reader, soft dom!spence (certified nereidprinc3ss classic), sub reader, fingering, piv sex, praise, overstimulation, cr**mp*e (god pls we need a new term) a/n: this is probably THEE most self-indulgent thing i've ever written. but.... lowkey favorite smut i've posted thus far..... i'm such a sucker for disgustingly sleepy needy sex. just.... read it and u will see.... and as usual i love you!!! PLEASE tell me what you think!! MWAH

When Spencer got home around one in the morning, he’d been too dead on his feet to do anything more than get undressed, fall into bed, pull you close, and pass out. Now he’s slightly disoriented as he stirs, pinned between sleep and wakefulness as he realizes how you’ve curled into his side—your face is buried in his shoulder to the point where he’s concerned about your access to air—but each warm puff against his neck assures him you’re breathing alright. One arm is slung haphazardly over his shoulder and your top leg is wound around his. Without thinking, his hand cups the back of your thigh, stroking the bare skin where it presses against his hip. You’re never so soft as you are in sleep; plush, easy, gentle. Spencer realizes with some degree of frustration that he has to fuck you. That’s why he’s awake, and he condemned himself to the fate of it as soon as he touched you. 

Sometimes the impracticality of sex becomes so apparent he resents his own mammalian, biological drive to reproduce. It was never like this before he met you. You reduce him to nothing more than a primate doomed to follow its basest instincts. You make him feel stupid. 

God, he loves you. 

It’s with this in mind he drops his head to kiss your shoulder—a gentle sort of wake up call, as his hand snakes further around to your inner thigh and he presses his lips to your ear. 

“Baby?” he murmurs, kneading the smooth warmth of your leg. It doesn’t take much to wake you up. He thought after you’d been staying at his apartment on a semi-regular basis you’d begin to sleep through him getting up and coming home at odd hours, but if anything, you became more sensitive to the floor creaking or the mattress dipping. 

“Hm?” 

His fingers brush the fabric of your underwear. Your hips twitch. 

“Is this okay?”

You inhale deeply, readjusting your arms around him and nodding into his chest. 

“I need yes or no, angel.”

“Yes, please.”

The words aren’t desperate. They’re sleepy, mumbled, maybe even a little annoyed that he’s making you jump through hoops. The corner of his mouth twists in amusement at your perfunctory politeness and the way it poorly disguises your habitual impatience. 

“Thank you,” he says, rewarding you with his fingers pushing between your folds through the fabric. You say nothing more as he unhurriedly rubs your clothed clit, but he feels the way your breath catches for a moment—before pouring out in one deep tide. He presses slightly harder, transitioning from passes to slow, tight circles that elicit the tiniest, sleepiest moans. This goes on for a while until your hips begin grinding in isolated circles, chasing his hand. 

“Touch it,” you beg quietly. He can feel how damp you are through the fabric and realizes he was probably torturing you for several minutes, but sometimes he just gets so lost in touching you it becomes almost meditative. He pulls his hand away and snakes it between your bodies, sliding beneath your underwear and dragging his fingers over your puffy clit. You whimper but he quickly gets distracted when he realizes just how wet you actually are. Spencer sinks his fingers into you and moans lowly at the sound, rubbing at a spot deep inside you and rutting his palm against your clit rather than pumping his fingers. 

“Breathe,” he reminds you when he realizes how still and silent you’ve gone. A small amount of air escapes in a tremulous little cry as your hips roll gently against his hand—whether to escape the sensation or get closer is unclear. “You’re all wet, baby. Were you touching yourself before I got home?”

“Mhm,” you hum weakly against him. “Couldn’t come.”

Spencer feels like he could finish at the thought alone—the nightly phone calls while he’s away occasionally devolve into desperate phone sex and he’s gotten off to the image of you playing with yourself in his bed on more than one occasion. 

“We’ll make you come,” he promises, dragging his fingers from your soaked heat with bated breath. 

He pushes your underwear down first, until you can kick it off your feet (you’ll have to search for it between tangled sheets tomorrow) and then his own, inhaling sharply through clenched teeth as his cock brushes your tummy. Spencer hoists your bent leg further up his body, exposing your cunt a little more and reaching underneath your thigh until he can guide himself between them. 

The head of his cock pushes between your folds momentarily before he’s teasing your swollen clit, slipping the underside of his tip over it in lazy, noisy circles until you whine. 

“Stop it,” you beg, voice still strained with sleep, “need it inside.”

“You’re right, baby, I’m sorry,” he croons, pressing his lips to your hair as he notches his cock at your dripping entrance and slowly begins to push in. “You’re being very patient—”

He cuts himself off as the two of you moan in filthy harmony. You’re so worked up for him, so defenseless in your half-unconscious state that he slips in with far less resistance than usual. 

“Fuck, me,” he groans under his breath, hissing and bucking his hips when you tighten around him and cry out. He shuts his eyes and thinks of the Goncharov conjecture in an attempt to control himself; the i-th cohomology of the complex is isomorphic to the motivic cohomology group—and then he’s fine. He’s at least learned to stop rattling off mathematical paradoxes out loud during sex. “You okay?”

The only answer you have for him is an indecipherable whine that makes his chest ache. He rubs your thigh in sweet, soothing passes. 

“I know, I’m sorry.” A thought occurs—he chuckles breathily, seeing stars as you throb around him. “You never let me in that easily.”

“Mm,” you squeak, gripping his shoulder hard enough that it aches and he truly couldn’t care less, “you feel good.”

He exhales shakily, pulling out slightly before grinding his hips even deeper into yours. 

“Yeah? So do you, sweet girl.”

“Fuck,” you whimper, and he takes it as a sign that you’re ready to be fucked. Spencer’s not thinking about a whole lot as he withdraws all the way and you clench around him desperately—but somewhere in the back of his mind he’s realizing how much he loves your dirty mouth. When he was younger and dumber, he thought he’d prefer a girl who was soft-spoken and rarely (if ever) cursed. Now that he’s had you, he realizes how compelling and endearing the contrast of your soft voice is when you’re swearing like a marine. 

“God, I missed you,” he breathes into your hair as he leisurely finds the right pace and you melt against him. “I missed how soft and wet you get for me,” Spencer admits gently, eyes screwed shut as he rambles from a place of profound affection and not at all thinking clearly, “and I missed how you cry when you need it so bad it hurts, and I missed how sweet you are when you let me fuck you right after I get home and you’re so tired, just like this. You’re always so good, honey, I don’t know what I did to deserve you—” You whine and clench so hard around him it becomes an effort to push back in, and he groans as he realizes you’re already coming. “Good girl, baby. Holy fuck.”

That last part is more so whispered to himself, but he can’t help it as he feels you painting his cock with your release. You’ve never come this quickly before, and he slips his arm beneath the crook of your knee, pulling up and granting himself more access to fuck you harder and faster. You moan brokenly, sinking your nails into his back. 

“‘m sorry. That was—I didn’t mean to.”

“No,” he quickly assures you, breathing hard, “that was so good, baby. It was perfect. Don’t apologize.”

It seems the brief window between climax and over-stimulation has passed, and a gasp falls from your dropped jaw, arching into him as your body unconsciously tries to find relief from the sensation. 

“Oh, god, Spencer, I—”

“You can take it, we’re getting close,” he promises. Not a demand, but meant as encouragement. “Do you think you can come for me one more time?”

“I don’t know,” you slur, the words rising to squeak. 

“I think you can. Come on, show me how you were touching yourself earlier.”

You whimper, but slide your hand from his shoulder and push it between your bodies. A gasp accompanies the jolt of your muscles as you make contact with your clit, probably demanding too much of it. Soon, however, the conflicted mewls melt into a rhythmic string of delicate, short moans, so pretty it’s like a practiced song. Spencer’s brain, usually overflowing with words, is nothing but a void of swirling fog—each of your perfect sounds, a little burst of light. Soon he’s making noises of his own, which you obviously adore if the way you tense around him is any clue. Usually he sublimates them into words, but he’s too tired, and you feel too good. Your combined moans, along with the sound of him fucking you and the sheets moving over skin make for a truly dirty soundscape. 

“Will you come inside me?” you beg breathlessly, and he can feel the movement of your hand speeding up as you get desperate. He sucks in a breath through his teeth at your plaintive request—the words bring him that much closer to finishing. 

“Yeah, baby. I’m—fuck, I’m not going to last.”

“Spencer—” and somehow, when you say his name like that, he knows exactly what you want. He bows his head and finds your lips, mostly blind in the dark, kissing you messily until that split second where his grip on reality becomes tenuous before the building pressure finally bursts. Multicolored fireworks explode behind his eyes as he moans against your lips and continues fucking you through his orgasm in strong thrusts for as long as he can. Thankfully you finish again just as he’s running out of steam. He rubs the spasming muscles of your thigh deeply as you writhe against him in your typical push-pull style—you don’t know what you want and it’s his job to hold you still and make you take it. After a moment you quiet down, stilling in his arms except for the continued expansion and contraction of your lungs. “Oh my god,” you breathe. “I can’t believe I did that. That’s so embarrassing.” Spencer chuckles breathily—kisses your forehead with his eyes still shut and slips a hand under your shirt to rub your back. 

“Why is it embarrassing? I liked it.”

“I have never—it’s never been so fast! It’s not supposed to be!”

“Why not?”

You huff.

“You’re the man. Men come too quickly. Not me.”

“I’m sorry you had to have two orgasms instead of one. Next time we’ll make sure you don’t come so we can even it out.”

You bury your face in his shoulder once more, immediately softening. 

“No! I take it back.”

“I thought you might.” His hand slides down your back, squeezing your ass affectionately. “Let's rally. We need to clean you up, angel.”

The pillow muffles your voice as you say, “I can’t. I’m asleep.”

“Can I record you saying that for playback in the morning when you ask me why I let you go to sleep with my come inside of you?”

“Spencer, I am seriously not moving. You woke me up. This is not a me problem.”

That makes him laugh, and he presses his lips to yours softly. After a long moment of his mouth moving slowly against yours, a needy little whine rushes from your nose, and it becomes evident he’s successfully kissed the attitude from you.

“You were so good, honey,” he murmurs against your lips. Another (shorter) kiss. “Did so well. I’m proud of you, baby.”

A second soft whimper from you as you chase his lips and he gives in once, briefly—knowing he can’t make you get up after this. How could he do that to such a sweet girl when she’s obviously completely exhausted? Jesus, you have him whipped. He recognizes that. And he made peace with it a long time ago. 

“Go back to sleep. I’ll clean you up.”

“Thank you,” you mumble, already slipping back into unconsciousness like you knew you’d get your way. Knowing your boyfriend, you probably did. “I love you.”

“I love you. Even though you’re a princess.”

You laugh. 

Ten-ish minutes later, once he’s done the best he can cleaning you up and is throwing the covers back over both of you, you startle him slightly by speaking. He thought you’d been asleep. 

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” you sigh dreamily, snaking your arms around him once more. Spencer’s cheeks heat up at the memory of the praise he’d shamelessly lavished upon you not long ago. He’s glad you’re barely awake, because he’s too flustered to think of a response. 

He loves it when you do that. 

[mia-fey-needs-a-drink]

It's so annoying that to so much of the fandom Mia is just "boobs" or "girlboss", she's got so much more going on:

-She really struggles to remember people's names which often causes people to doubt her engagement despite genuinely caring and engaging with their situation and the case (she's just like me fr I really struggle with names (for probably autism reasons) and people really don't like that).

-She has a tendency to just not talk to people about things, especially about herself or her life. depending on when you think Mia actually started mentoring Phoenix he was a significant part of her life for at least a year and probably since 3-1, yet he only meets Maya and learns about spirit channeling after Mia dies, she never mentioned Lana either, or Diego, or DL-6, and this isn't just to Phoenix, she never told Maya about Diego either and it's vague how much Lana actually knows about her, hell it's vague how much Diego actually knew about her, maybe Grossberg only told him about DL6 and the Fey clan after he wakes up from his coma. Ultimately she isolated herself from everyone in her life to some extent and it's kinda part of how she died, no-one knew the danger she was in and she didn't want people to know.

-Her ineptitude with technology. Phoenix and Maya also have this, but I feel like Mia's and Maya's are so linked to their background in the fey clan, they were raised in a society and culture where they didn't have access to these things and integrating into broader society comes with difficulties.

-Her entire life and career is just things repeatedly going wrong and her being fucked over: DL-6, her disaster of a first trial, Diego being poisoned and just as she's about to try and finally put Redd White behind bars he finds out and kills her. She had shit hand after shit hand and was basically doomed from the start, but yet she persisted and she fought for what she believed and for the people she cared about and to make the world a better place, and everything good that Phoenix manages to do throughout PWT is thanks to Mia and everything she worked for, she laid the foundations for a better world for the ones she loved that she wouldn't get to live in and yet I think if she knew that it would all end this way from the start she'd do it all over again. I think a little part of me thinks that some part of her hoped White would kill her so there was something definitive to pin him with (which comes with some darker implications for how well she was dealing with life).

-Mia has such an interesting relationship to the legal system and her own sense of justice. So much of her experience with the law is with it failing her, repeatedly. DL-6 is a disaster that stripped her mother from her, her first trial ends in the clearly guilty party that murdered her client getting away with it, her boyfriend's murder goes unsolved from the same murderer who she dedicates the next 8 months to taking down, and then there's 1-2, her own murder trial. Mia has again worked for years to try and get this man convicted, the deeply corrupt legal system making it a near insurmountable task, then in the last stretch he murders her. The police immediately just try to brush it under the rug, blame her sister and get the trial over with. Grossberg is too afraid of White to defend Maya and Edgeworth is a slimy piece of shit the entire trial. When Phoenix finally finds the clearly guilty White, he simply makes a few calls and her understudy is the prime suspect. White goes up on the stand and just repeatedly comes up with any old blatant nonsense and excuses and no matter how many times and how much work goes into Wright picking apart every mistruth and detail and how many pieces of evidence he shows nothing will convict White, the court is completely corrupt, you'll never be able to defeat him within the system. So, what happens? Mia and Phoenix have to work outside the established rules, even working outside the rules of death itself. White is only defeated after Mia straight up blackmails him into confessing, and yet this is more justice than working within the law ever would allow them. Mia also only gets Dahlia through pushing the law to it's breaking point, she was a step away from being disbarred. I feel like it's easy to see her as a strong believer in the law but if you really look at it, to her, the law is not sacred or worthy of much reverence, if something is unjust, to hell if it's legal, she will try and reach justice no matter what.

-Look I may be projecting my woke onto the game a little bit but I can't help but feel the routine misogyny Mia faces in both the cases we play as her in T&T is more than just "a product of it's time" and more showing misogyny as an extension of the system being rigged against her.

Loooong post but there's so much going on with Mia.

[lovesickchoi]

📁 FILE 04: KANG TAEHYUN

⋆·˚ ༘ * He fixes, he folds, and he fucks like he’s determined to show you just how much he cares. You want nothing more than to return the favor, be the one who takes care of him for once. But Taehyun can't imagine not being of service to you.

✦ Love Language: Acts of Service

pairing: taehyun x reader ✮⋆˙✐ 3.3k

warnings: f!reader, smut, domestic tension, switch but mostly dom!taehyun, kitchen sex, service kink, oral f!receiving, no protection

🗂️ click here to access all txt member’s files

˚₊ · »-♡→ main masterlist

Taehyun never said I love you like a normal person.

He said it through tasks, timing, and attention. Always quietly folding the world around you so you never had to ask for anything. And you’d let him.

Truthfully, you couldn’t remember the last time you’d lifted a finger in his presence. You were independent when you met him—fiercely so. The kind of person who didn’t trust anyone to do things as well as you could, let alone take care of you. But Taehyun had a way of gently dismantling those walls, brick by quiet brick, until your hands were empty and your burdens shared.

There were meals cooked after long days where you both came home tired and frayed, only he wouldn’t let you touch the stove. Instead, he’d kiss your forehead and force you to sit pretty on the counter so he had a nice view while he worked. And when you were done eating? You wouldn’t dare attempt to help clean up. Not unless you wanted your hands swatted away and Taehyun sprinting upstairs to run you a bath, insisting you “go soak and relax, baby, I’ll join you soon.”

You’d never forget coming home from that terrible day, still raw from an argument with your best friend, and finding the apartment spotless, your clothes folded neatly on the bed, and a bottle of wine breathing on the counter beside your favorite takeout. No questions asked.

You couldn’t even recall the last time you carried your own purse. Traveling? He always found a way to juggle both suitcases without complaint, leaving your hands completely free.

And it wasn’t just the grand gestures. It was in the subtleties. The way his eyes always flicked toward you, searching for anything you might need. How he’d bring you water without being asked. Fix a squeaky cabinet at one in the morning because it annoyed you once. Rearranged his already busy schedule for yours, because stress on your shoulders was unbearable to him.

Not to mention in bed. God, the pillow princess he’d turned you into. Taehyun was as eager to please as he was allergic to being on the receiving end. The concept of letting you take care of him was laughable, sacrilegious, even. He never let you, not once. As if your love was something he didn’t need to feel. Only something he was born to give.

He never asked or expected. He only gave, and gave, and gave. But tonight, you decided to try anyway.

There he was now, creeping into the kitchen to make you a snack because he’d heard your stomach rumble while the two of you curled up in bed mid-movie. When you reached for him, questioning why he paused the TV, he only smiled softly, kissed your temple, and slipped out from under the covers.

For a moment, you lay in the dark listening: the clinking of metal, the click of the stove, the crinkle of packaging. Soon, the savory scent of your favorite instant ramen drifted down the hallway. It pulled you from bed like a thread tied to your chest. And the moment you step into the kitchen, your heart nearly stops.

He’s shirtless, facing away from you as he stirs the pot. The warm overhead light carves golden lines down his back. His shoulder blades shifting with every movement. Sweatpants hang low on his narrow hips, the waistband tugging slightly down on one side. He’s completely unaware of how devastating he looks, and that only makes it worse.

You swallow, mouth watering—and not just because of the ramen.

A few more steps forward and you're wrapping your arms around his torso from behind. Taehyun jumps, slightly startled, then relaxes into your touch with a smile. He sets the chopsticks aside and folds his arms over yours in a welcoming gesture.

"Hi baby," he hums with contentment.

"Hi," you smile into his skin, cheek pressed to the expanse of his back. "Smells good." A soft sigh leaves your lips, warm breath brushing his bare shoulder.

Goosebumps rise across his skin. He can feel the shape of you—your nipples faintly brushing through the thin fabric of your t-shirt, your hips pressing gently to his. He knows without looking that you’re wearing nothing underneath but panties.

Still, he doesn’t move. He lets you hold him. But you? You’re already planning to do more than hold.

Your arms tighten, lips beginning to brush his back. You feel the tremor that runs through him, the tension pooling just beneath his skin. And still, he doesn’t pull away.

You trail your fingers along the firm plane of his stomach carefully, until your palms rest flat over the waistband of his sweats. You don’t dip beneath just yet, instead holding him there like he’s yours to touch.

He draws a controlled breath through his nose. “Baby…” he warns gently, voice catching in his throat.

“I know,” you whisper. “Just... let me.”

You turn him around by the hips, and Taehyun allows it, chest rising now with more visible effort. He leans back slightly against the counter perpendicular to the stove, arms going loose at his sides like he’s trying to prove something to himself and to you. But his eyes are already dark, focused on your mouth intently.

You press a kiss to his sternum. He gulps hard. Another kiss to the edge of his collarbone. And then, finally, you tilt your face up and catch his mouth with yours.

It starts sweet, nothing but melted sugar and warmth. His lips move slowly, savoring the feeling as he holds himself back.

But then your hands slip to the sides of his neck, pulling him deeper, angling his head how you want him. Your tongue drags against his with hot need. You kiss like you’ve forgotten what patience even means.

Taehyun moans softly against your lips, involuntarily. You feel his knees bend slightly, as if his whole body wants to follow yours.

You pull back, just enough to murmur, “Sit for me.”

Before he can question it, you gently push him toward the chair at the kitchen table.

He stumbles back a step and halts. His brows twitch with uncertainty. You watch the flicker in his expression: a flash of confusion and resistance. He’s never been the one sitting like this. He doesn’t really know how.

But you step forward, crowding him slowly, guiding him with your hands on his waist like you’re offering him something for once instead of taking. The backs of his legs hit the chair.

You don’t force him down, you just press lightly. He lets out a breath and finally sits.

For a second, Taehyun looks bewitched by you in the most gorgeous way. Hair tousled, chest rising and falling too fast, mouth pink and kiss-bitten. His hands clutch the edge of the seat like it’s anchoring him to the earth. Because he really might float away if he doesn’t hold on.

You climb into his lap with reverence, legs folding around him, your hands smoothing over his shoulders. His skin is flushed. His cock presses hard against you through the thin fabric of his sweats, and the friction alone has him sighing like he’s seconds from losing composure.

You kiss him again, filthier this time. Your hips roll forward, just enough to force a strangled noise from him.

“Let me take care of you for once,” you whisper into his mouth.

Your hand snakes its way down Taehyun’s abdomen. He’s so tense it’s almost laughable. He’s fighting within himself, wanting so bad to give in. But it felt unnatural.

“Baby… you don’t have to.”

His eyes are wired shut when he speaks. You don’t even grace him with a response. He sits there, feeling useless, feeling you place your lips in all the right places across his neck and jaw, fingers finding their way to cutely snake into his sweatpants.

But all he can think about is how you’re probably soaked under those panties. How you must be clenching around nothing, begging to be touched. You must want to be cared for, and oh how he wanted it to be him doing it. Suddenly, he can’t get the idea of you whining and cumming at his manipulation out of his mind.

That’s when the panic sets it.

Taehyun huffs, a sharp and frustrated sound that floods your ears, before gripping your waist so suddenly it makes you yelp. His eyes snap open, blown wide with want. So much want it nearly breaks you.

“I can’t,” he says hoarsely. “You don’t get it—I can’t.”

He lifts you with too much ease, standing abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. Your legs tighten around him out of instinct. He presses your back to the kitchen table, firm but not rough, breathing hard. His forehead falls against yours.

“I’ll lose my mind if I don’t touch you the way I need to.” His voice is a growl now, trembling with restraint. “You don’t get to make me feel good and expect me to just sit here. That’s not how this works. That’s never been how this works.”

You see it all over him—how badly he wants the pleasure you’re offering, and how violently it clashes with the way he’s wired to love. It’s sexy, yes, but it’s also so deeply revealing you feel it split something open inside you. It's not that he doesn't want it. It's that he simply can't compute it.

His hands roam. One cups your jaw, the other sliding beneath your thighs. He’s already rolling his hips into you, chasing friction like it’s air.

“You’re not supposed to take care of me,” he hisses against your neck. “That’s not—what I’m made for.”

You gasp as his mouth finds the edge of your collarbone, biting gently. His grip on your waist tightens, and just like that, the control is back in his hands.

He rises slightly, pushing your shirt up over your chest to see all of you. Nipples flushed pink and hard with need, black underwear that he picked out already soaked and hugging the outline of your folds. He stares unashamedly like he always does. His hands are rough, tracing you from your ribs to your thighs as if reacquainting himself with your body.

"If I stop giving... and I let you give, it’s like I’ve failed you," he mutters, eyes glazed over with lustful thoughts of you.

While he's too busy eye-fucking you, you take your chance. You sit up slightly, just enough to reach for his cheek, grazing it softly.

“You haven’t failed anything. You love me so well. Let me love you back.” You attempt to bargain.

You rise further, closing the gap between you with a slow kiss, your legs looping around his waist to tug him closer, ankles locked. But he catches your wrist mid-motion, grinning softly, already seeing through your plan. Of course you’d try to flip the script.

But he can't take it anymore, not with your bodies this close. The food sizzles on the stove, but he doesn't care. His desire to serve takes over.

He scoops your thighs into his arms and drags you to the edge of the table, then drops to his knees. Your legs fall open over his shoulders. A breathy moan slips from his lips as he drinks in the new view—now eye level with your dripping cunt.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I need to. Please—just let me.”

Your soaked panties cling to you obscenely, a clear outline of want pressed against black lace. He hums low in his chest, the sound nearly guttural.

Taehyun presses a kiss to your inner thigh, then another, this one open-mouthed and wet, teeth grazing just enough to make you mewl. His fingers dig into the meat of your thighs to anchor himself.

He moans just from the scent of you. “Fuck." His voice is muffled, lost in the heat between your legs. “So wet.”

“Oh my god-“ You gasp as his tongue presses flat against the soaked crotch of your panties. Taehyun doesn't bother pulling them aside. No, that would be too simple. He’s decided you’re getting ruined like this: his mouth taking you through the fabric, letting every flick of his tongue sink through cotton and lace to where you need him most, and it works.

Your hips are arching up into him. But he’s relentless, hands sliding up to hold you still, palms splayed across your chest.

“Stay still,” his voice vibrated against you. “Let me do this right.”

He licks you long and slow, savoring the way your arousal has soaked through and made the panties cling to you like a second skin. Every pass of his tongue has your thighs trembling, your hands reaching blindly for something to hold.

You fist his hair. Taehyun groans—really groans—like your fingers pulling at his scalp could make him cum untouched. He presses his face deeper between your legs, nuzzling the soaked fabric as if inhaling you could give him life.

His tongue finds your clit. Even through the damp cotton, it sends a bolt of pleasure tearing through your spine. Your back arches and a cry escapes you. He hums again, pleased, adjusting the angle so he can suck gently, just enough pressure to make your vision blur.

“That’s it, baby,” he inhales deeply. “Give it to me. Let me have all of it.” He exhales just as deeply.

You don’t know if he’s talking about your moans, your pussy, your entire fucking soul, but you let him have it. Maybe this was your way of giving to him.

Taehyun keeps eating, savoring, and drinking you in through the delicate fabric until it's useless and he’s so hard in his sweatpants he could cry. One of his hands leaves your hip to slip between his legs, palming himself through the fabric just for a second, just enough to breathe again.

Then his mouth drags lower, tongue teasing the spot just beneath your entrance through the sheer fabric before returning to your clit. You're writhing now, moaning like a confession, your thighs trying to close in around his head but he won’t let them.

“You're almost there, aren't you?” His voice is noticeably ruined. “Cum for me. I want to feel you shake on my tongue.”

He licks harder, and you shatter.

Your orgasm hits like a wave. Crashing and sweeping through your entire body until your hands fall from his hair and you’re barely able to breathe, whimpering his name over and over.

Still, he doesn’t stop, not until your hips twitch from overstimulation and your whines turn into helpless little pleas for him to end it. Only then does he pull back, panting, chin glistening, and your panties practically glued to you.

He looks up at you like he’s blessed. This is the only thing he’s ever prayed to.

“Better?” he asks, voice hoarse, lips curled into the faintest, self-satisfied smirk.

You're so busy coming down from your orgasm, about to respond, that you don’t even realize he’s stripped you. Your soaked panties gone along with his boxers and sweatpants, discarded somewhere on the kitchen table.

When you glance down, he’s already between your thighs again, his cock hard against your leg. You’re still catching your breath, body trembling from your orgasm, but his hands are already moving.

He lifts one leg, then the other, hooking the backs of your knees over the crooks of his elbows like he's done plenty of times before. His chest brushes yours, folding you in half on the table, breath warm against your skin as he lines himself up.

“Let me give you more,” he murmurs, every syllable soaking with need. “Let me stay inside you until you forget your own name.”

Then he’s pushing in devastatingly deep. Your breath stutters, your head tilting back as he sinks you down onto him inch by inch. His grip tightens around your thighs, holding you to him while your body opens for him completely.

You can feel every inch of Taehyun. But it’s not just the fullness that makes you a whimpering mess, it’s the way he’s holding you there, pinned to the surface.

“Fuck,” Taehyun exhales, eyes fluttering shut. “You feel—Jesus.”

Your hands reach to grip his neck as he starts to move. Each thrust is so expertly precise. The slow drag out, the firmer press in. His rhythm is just right, but his breath is ragged. You cling to the edge of the table and to him, legs still lifted, knees trembling slightly where they’re slung over his arms.

Taehyun's hands grip your body in a way they've never held you before. And he groans every time he bottoms out inside you.

The kitchen is filled with the slick, inappropriate sound of him moving inside you. The quiet hiss of the stove behind you both now forgotten, noodles cooking past perfect. The smell of ramen and sex drifts through the air.

“Taehyun!” you gasp, head tipping back. This is his favorite view of you.

“Yeah?” he pants, not stopping once. “Say it again.”

You do. Over and over. Not just his name, but everything. What he feels like, how he fucks you, how he makes you feel like no one else ever has. You don’t know what you’re saying anymore. Only that it pours out of you in moans and broken whines.

You feel it building again, this time too fast and way too strong. Your body tenses around him.

He must feel it too, because he drops your legs from his elbows and folds you close, hips never faltering as he hooks his arms around your waist and lifts you clean off the table. You gasp in surprise, clutching his shoulders.

Now it’s chest to chest, his forehead against yours, your legs wrapped tight around his hips. Your nails score his back as he fucks you suspended in the air.

“Come on, baby,” he pleads, voice cracked as he slams you down onto his cock. “Give it to me one more time.”

You shatter for the second time in your little kitchen. This one rips through you harder than before. You cry out, whole body shaking and convulsing around him, just the way he likes.

“Fuckfuckfuck—fuck,” he hisses, every muscle in his body going rigid as he drives into you one last time and cums harder than ever. His hips falter, then still as he pushes in as deep as possible, moaning into your mouth as he buries himself to the hilt.

Silence slowly follows. Beautiful, comfortable silence.

Taehyun doesn’t pull out of you right away. He lowers both of you down slowly, your back landing softly against the now-cleared table. His cheek rests against your thigh, damp with sweat, lips parted as he catches his breath. His arms are still around your waist. You brush a hand through his hair, looking down at him.

“One day, I’ll make you let me take care of you.” You can't help but smile.

He half-laughs and murmurs back, “I'll die trying to stop you.”

You feel the slight ache in his words. Because behind them, you worry Taehyun thinks he’s unworthy of being taken care of by you. That’s the part that guts you.

You sit up just slightly, shifting your weight until you're able to reach the stove. The ramen is still there, now slightly burnt at the edges, thick with overcooked noodles. Laughing quietly, you dish some into a bowl, scooping a bite with your chopsticks and blowing to cool it down. When you turn back and offer it to him, he almost hesitates.

But eventually Taehyun lets you. He opens his mouth, and you feed him. He chews, swallows, then drops his forehead into your neck with a sigh so deep as he relaxes into your warmth.

This is the kind of peace he’s never allowed himself. But tonight, just for a moment, he does for you.

tags: @bunnysoonie @zznblr @another-lemon-tree @gyudollies @beomgyusluver @dawngyu @boba-beom @taebatu @simpforseoho @beestvng @yyeonbinn @chubichubs @jooyeonsvape @txt-thelmi @zorange13 @jellyyjn @frenziedpiratetrap @gardnhee @txtsdoll @annovaz @morguebounddoll @melmochii @yunhorights @saccharinezennie @gyutaepie @313hwa @tyuncloudreamy @ijustwannareadstuff20 @bamtor1sss @iyoonjh

likes/reblogs/comments always appreciated <3

[xotoru]

Guys im ovulating rn and this idea popped up into my head….. MHA boys x ovulating reader at a party or smth, and they notice? :3

I hope you like the way I did this nonie! also sorry this took so long....

Needy

𝖲𝗒𝗇𝗈𝗉𝗌𝗂𝗌:𝗋𝖾𝗊!

𝖶𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌: kissing, afab reader, swearing, p in v, fingering, making out, mostly suggestive, quick lazy smut mostly, badly proofread

𝖥𝖾𝖺𝗍: Katsuki.B, Shoto.T, Eijiro.K, Denki.K, Hanta.S, Izuku.M.

Bakugo.K

he would notice the second you don’t snap back at his attitude

The flashing lights and blaring music were nothing short of headache inducing.not a single part of you could care though. Even in the sea of people moving and jumping around all you could seem to think about was him.it had easily become too much, and soon you found yourself excusing your tired self to the kitchen where last you heard he was.

once you pushed past a few sweaty drunk people your eyes immediately landed on him. he was leaned against the sink drinking something from a red solo cup.his same rbf evident as he nodded along to the music by himself.even though he was probably annoyed you dragged him here and had a migraine, he look so beautiful. faint brushes of purple and blue lights flashed across his face from the living room. shining off his blonde hair perfectly.

Maybe it was the copious amounts of alcohol you had ingested, or maybe it was simply how desperate you were for him, but you immediately strode up to him. wasting no time to reach his bored frame. “What’s up?” He asked in his signature gruff voice.setting his drink down on the counter as he turned to face you fully.

you didn't even waste a second of your air before you were grabbing the collar of his shirt and smashing your lips onto his. every part of your movements were  unplanned and messy, and you were fairly sure he could tell.

quickly he pulled apart, not out of disgust but it seemed like more confusion. “fucks up with you?” he spoke in slight shock.you simply couldn’t stand being apart from him for a second so naturally you found yourself grabbing his face and pulling him back to your lips. quickly he pulled away again.

“thought you were on your period or something?” he asked in that same harsh tone of his.voice laced with genuine confusion and concern considering just a week ago you were saying no to sex cause it was ‘that time of the month’. his eyes studied your face carefully.like he was trying to figure out the answer to his own question before you could. you knew it would be futile though. through the flashing purple lights and the

large amounts of alcohol I had consumed there was only one thing etched onto my face, desire.

your eyes flit down to his lips but you hold back for another second. deciding to explain the situation you were currently in and how you were basically gushing all over your tiny pink thong at just the thought of being remotely near him. as you went to speak, not an ounce of annoyance on your face(something which would have been very clear if it were any normal day and he spoke to you like that.) you watched his mouth form a small “o” shape. He had beat you to it.

“oh I get it now...” he said as he leisurely pulled you closer to him by your hips. grabbing a handful of your ass as he leaned in real close. “No wonder you weren’t being a brat back...” he spoke against your neck before attacking it with dark, hungry kisses. you leaned your head back slightly to give him more access. you didn’t know what you had gotten yourself into with this, but just by the way he was touching you right now, you could tell it was about to be fucking awesome.

Izuku.M

Wouldn’t notice till maybe someone who saw says it as a joke

Now Izuku is a very smart guy. He's far from some air head boyfriend or any sort of overall idiot. Yet nonetheless he could be a bit, oblivious, at times. no matter how hard you stared or how your rubbed your legs together whenever he would innocently hold your thigh, he didn’t seem to notice.

such small touches. ones that would be typically overlooked. small ghostings of his hand against yours as you guys pass through the crowd of dancing people. or his firm grip on his drink as he nodded along to some sort of music in the kitchen.his arms looking oh so ravishing in the black long sleeve under his old shirt. or maybe it was how he was slightly out of breath and sweaty from dancing. coming over to you panting under his breath ever so slightly and asking you if you were alright, he was always so considerate. he was going to drive you insane.

you guys had been in a small group of people in the kitchen. talking amongst each other about how college and hero work had been going so far.everyone laughing heartily at stupid jokes and jabs, except for you. you only seemed to have one thing on your mind. eyes not being able to rip themselves from his pretty long fingers as he used his hands to explain some new piece of his quirk he was working on. or how Adam's apple bobbed as he swung the last of his drink down, face wrinkling at the bitterness of the alcohol the same way it does when he's about to cum.

“Jesus y/n, are you ovulating or something, you look like you’re about to eat izuku whole!” jokes mina from across the two of you. everyone's faces turned to wide smiles as they typically did when mina cracked a joke.laughs leaving their mouths along with your own. it had taken the both of you by surprise she noticed. you didn’t even think you were being that obvious.but as the lighter died down and the rest of the group chatted amongst themselves izuku turned to you.

“Are you?”he asked quietly.you nodded slowly.facer red with sheer embarrassment.you could tell something in his expression shifted as you confirmed your friends suspicions.

That shift was exactly how you ended up in some random bedroom.lacy underwear being thrown across the room along with the rest of your clothes.

“should’ve told me baby...” he huffed out into your ear as his rough fingers grazed over your soaking pussy.rubbing the smallest tight circles over your aching clit.you ha really been waiting for this all night and now that it was finally being given to you, you were mess.drool pooled at the corners of your lips as your boyfriend kissed them.eventually sliding his long thin fingers into your desperate cunt.

you moaned into his mouth.the strong taste of water drink he had earlier falling onto your tongue as it covered his.his fingers moved in and out of you senselessly.he was always such a sweet and caring boyfriend, but the second he would to you needed him in any way he was like a completely different person.his eyes were dark as he went to kiss your neck.leaving a trail of bites and marks as he did so.

as you held onto his shoulder desperately for support, you could feel yourself building up to your climax faster.the knot in your stomach beginning to tighten as your needy pussy did the same around his fingers. your breathing became erratic and your moans got louder as you approached your high.you hadn’t even noticed how he had pulled down your tube top and was now sucking on your perky tits.he looked up at you as you came undone on his fingers.eyes glossed over with love and lust.he really was fucking beautiful, it wasn’t just the ovulation speaking.

Denki.K

is basically ovulating with you

as soon as he saw the skimpy dress you chose to wear for the party he was hooked on you.eyes never leaving you and your figure the whole night. he was trained on your tits when you faced him and trained on your ass when you walked away or were dancing.once you walked into the kitchen he was standing in he pulled you close to him. “You look awful pretty tonight baby,” he said smugly into your ear.a smirk painted on his lips as he did so.

“thanks” you said sweetly with a smile.trying your best to ignore the growing wetness between your legs at simply the feeling of being pressed up against him.he kissed your collar bone. a few times teasingly as you guys sat in the somewhat crowded kitchen.everyone around you being too drunk or too caught up in something else to notice or care.

as you pressed yourself further into him you could feel the bulge growing in his jeans.the feeling of his excitement so close to yours made you squeeze your legs together subtly. “wanna fuck?” he asked childishly in your ear.you weren’t even looking at him but you didn’t have to be to see the smug grin he had plastered on his face.subtly you nodded yes and grabbed his hand.pulling him off to the first bathroom you saw.you made sure to lock the door before quickly pulling him towards your and your lips.

you gripped his shirts as he kissed you back.both of your tongues moving together messily as he backed you up and sat yo on the counter.once yo guys pull apart he hastily began to take his jeans off, along with your panties which were practically drenched by now. he made no fault to line his achingly needy cock up with your entrance before pushing his hips into yours.

your mouth hung open as he pushed into you.looking up at him as he moved slowly.he knew it could be hard for you to take all of him sometimes so he always went slow to start out.your legs shook around him as he continued to thrust into your walls.large hands holding you up by your pretty soft thighs.

he quickened his pace.pushing himself further into you causing your stomach to curl and for your eyes to flutter.he was reaching every part of you that your fingers or any other guy for that matter, never could.his hips moved faster into yours.chasing his own high desperately seeing as he had been basically creaming his pants all night sincere first saw you all dolled up. “you feel so fucking good...” he whispered.chucking slightly under his breath.

“why’re you...mph-laughing?” you barely got out through his harsh thrusts and your moans.looking at him and his stupidly wide smile as he stared down at where you two were connected with confusion.

“not laughing at you...just huff I dunno...” he mumbled as you picked up his pace.biting his lip as he used the counter t stabilize himself while he pushed further intyour soaking cunt.you didn’t even career about his strange comment.lust taking over your mind as your head leaned back against the mirror behind you while he fucked into you.he made no sense a lot of the time, but boy could he fuck your brains out

Shoto.T

Wouldn’t realize at all I fear

He looked so good tonight, too good almost. He never normally dressed down so seeing him in those dark blue jeans and random tee shirt was making your eyes practically fall out of their sockets. as he talked to some people casually you couldn’t rip your eyes from his sender frame from the island  in the kitchen where you were meant to be getting the two of you more drinks.

you swore you could feel knees go slightly weak as his lips curled into a small smile while he nodded along to whatever the person was saying.before you knew it you were strutting over to him desperately.

“Hey baby, where’re our drinks?” he asked as he looked down at your empty hands. you had honestly forgotten about the drinks as soon as he caught your eye from across the kitchen

you glanced over at the people he had been talking to quickly before turning back to look into his lidded eyes. “can we uhm...go” you asked timidly.nervous for what he would say. your palms already feeling clammy just from being near him.the wetness between your legs began to pool slowly as you stood there.

he nodded quickly without question. “yeah yeah of course” he said, voice laced with concern. He took his hand into your sweaty one and began to lead the two of you out of the crowded booming house. flashing lights and drunk sweaty swaying bodies would normally make you  uncomfortable but with just the touch of his rough large hand gripping yours, your mind was plagued with utterly lewd thoughts of him.

it felt as if you had blinked and you were getting into the car. before he could speak to ask you what was wrong you were rushing my body over the center console and pulling hip lips to mine. surprisingly  he kissed you back immediately. your lips were moving in an embarrassingly desperate way that made your face go flush and body lean further into his.

his eyes closed as his tongue meticulously fought yours for further touch.it was basically routine at this point for the two of you guys considering how many times you’ve had to sneak out of the dorms to his car so you could just be alone for some time, but nonetheless the riskiness of it all made you beyond excited. the fact that anyone could see us through the clear windows of his car made your thighs squeeze tighter tightly.

as we pulled away to catch our breath you could feel the way your eyes stared at his parted wet lips. the small ragged breaths coming in and out of it making you even more enamored with the boy in front of me. “back seat?” he asked nonchalantly. even in the toughest of training your body had never moved faster to do what a person had instructed of you. you were beyond desperate.

Hanta.S

would notice, y’all would not make it to that party

He knew as soon as he saw you wear that tiny dark red thong he had bought you for your birthday just a month ago that you were looking for trouble tonight.Your short dress riding up just ever so slightly below where the root of your last pregnancy scare covered your pretty cunt. you were hoping for something tonight, and although he was going to give it to you (like he did with everything you’ve ever wanted), he didn’t know how long he could wait.

Before you two even stepped into the crowded house he had his hand placed firmly on your plush thigh the whole ride there. “You're gonna crash driving like that...” you teased.honey voice breaking through the peaceful silence of the night time drive.

“I only need one hand to drive when you’re with me” he responded smugly.smirking ever so slightly as he spoke in a way he knew would get you riled up.you had always liked when he spoke so lowly.like he was saying something he only wanted you to hear. something so seductive or dirty it would only make sense for the words to only fall on your ears.

he squeezed your thigh without thinking much of it before turning back to the road.the dark knight flashed by city lights filling the atmosphere around the two of you. he always looked so beautiful with the bright lights of the city illuminating his every feature, but tonight especially he looked utterly gorgeous.the small smirk tugging on his lips as he kneaded the plush flesh of your thigh, and the small moles that nobody else had ever gotten close enough to see, and the way his dark messy hair sat on his head so perfect. you were struggling to stay in your passenger seat to say the least.

which is exactly why you didn’t, you simply couldn’t. your bodies moved for you causing you to end up sprawled across his lap.core dripping onto his leaky tip as you hovered over him. the fear that someone might catch you lost in the haze and fog of your mind

as you stared down into his lazy eyes which twitched ever so slightly as you lowered yourself onto him.

It was truly amazing how quickly you found yourself bouncing on him.hips and knees moving quicker than normal. you were hungry, you had been waiting for this practically all night. That's not to say he wasn’t enjoying himself either, his eyes which rested in the back of his skull and his lip which had found a home between his teeth were just a few tell-tale signs he was enjoying this plenty.

eventually, as his large hand found a way to your ever moving hips, he found the control to say something “Jesus I knew you were horny but...Huff...this is like a-fuck...whole new person” he sputtered out, his head bobbing slightly to the pace you moved up and down on him. His words or what they meant hadn’t even registered in your head as you stared into his deep dark eyes, falling into them slowly, as if you were drowning in your own ecstasy you gained from just looking at him.so depraved and needy although he had been given just what he wanted.

Once you both eventually reached your highs, shaking legs and tumbling hands and all, he spoke up again. “You're ovulating aren’t ya?” he asked slyly.a smirk tugging at his weak lips once again.your face flushed at his words. not expecting him to have known or noticed, you didn’t even realize how insane you had been acting ever since you both stepped foot into the car.

“how’d you know” you asked as you backed up from where you had been leaning over on his chest.still a bit out of breath but wanting to hear his answer nonetheless.

“you just rode me  into another dimension without my help at all” he chuckled as he looked down to where you two were still connected. eyes flitting back up to your now flushed face as his lips light pecked your jaw before he effortlessly lifted you off of him and back into the passenger. looking at your fucked out blissful face once more before he reached into the backseat to grab the towel you guys used whenever you couldn’t wait till you got out of the car, which was more often then not surprisingly.

Eijiro.K

Would only know cause he tracks your cycle

As you guys got ready to go to your friends “small get together” you couldn’t pry your eyes off of him. no matter what you were doing or how much attention the task at hand required you couldn’t stop looking at  him in your shared bathroom mirror. You ended up leaning over the counter further than you needed to to do your makeup or put some earrings on.hoping that he would catch a glimpse of your red thong from your dress as I rode up slightly.

just to secure his suspicions he check his phone quickly.opening his period tracker app and seeing [you], you were in fact ovulating.without even thinking he found himself pressed against the back of you.muscular arms wrapping around your waist.you hadn’t even noticed how his fingers slowly reached under your skirt.

before you even knew it your arms were shaking as you held yourself up of the could marble counter.your boyfriends thick cock thrusting in and out of you quickly.you were honestly shocked seeing how quickly he caught on to the fact you were honey, having no knowledge of the app on his phone.his large hands gripped your hips as they aloo held your dress up, keeping the fabric bunched up just enough for him to be able to see the fat of your ass moving against him as he thrusted into you.

his leaking mushroom tip was hitting your insides so perfectly, it made you feel stupid how your eyes were rolling back as your mouth hung open slightly.fluid moans and slurred words spilling from your lips with no end in sight.your tits swaying inside of the loose fabric as his hips moved against yours.eventually they smiled out from the falling top.you swore you could see his eyes light up ever so slightly n the reflection of the mirror as that happened.

as you were too far gone tontine he leaned down to be right at your ear level. “so fuckin’ pretty, gushing all over my cock just for me...” he whispered filthily.his hard pistoning of his hips making your legs shake as they held you up.the heels you had opted to wear were making your feet oh so uncomfortable as you  stood in the same spot for far too long, but you were honestly too cockdrunk to even care in the slightest.

slowly you snaked your arm behind you to pull his neck closer to you.fingertips grazing over the edge of his hair gently.your touch ghosting over the back of his neck so delicately.he whimpered ever so slightly in your ear as you continued your movement on your fingertips.

his lips came down to suck on your neck sweetly.leaving big messy kisses to the sensitive skin as he didn't stop his movements for a split second.your poor pussy squelching around him as you sucked is cock in even further.desperate for your own release as he rubbed against your wet gummy walls.

once you could feel yourself getting close you involuntarily squeezed around him more.his hips choked at the acton but nonetheless, he quirked his pace.leaving a few harsh smacks to your ass as he pushed further and faster into you.before you knew it you were coating his cock in your stringy cum.panting as you tired your best to reel yourself in.thank God for that app.

I hope someone gets the ptv reference on sero’s :(

[prettealolilol]

i like to think about the duality of the kids about people shipping Bruce with anyone, because the guy has been elected as the most handsome man in the country for years, has this whole playboy Brucie persona and is often seen with someone at his arms (men and women)

on one side, they'll be like "ew god no, i do not want to imagine dad like-" and "oh my god some people actually ship Bantman and Joker wtf ??" and they'll do their best to filter every social media to avoid any thirsty or shipping content about Bruce

when the press ask them about it, they be like:

Tim : "Would you like it if I asked about your thoughts on your dad cheating on your mom with his secretary ? No ? Then mind your own business." when the dad was in fact cheating with his secretary and now everybody knew because Tim was live when he answered

Jason, pulling out a gun : "i swear to god i'll shoot the next person who asks me this and then i'll shoot myself. Ugh, do i look like i fucking care about the old man's sex life ?"

Dick, smiling uncomfortably : "i don't really live at the manor anymore and i barely see him with my job so you know..." when it has been in fact a week he's been sleeping at the manor after patrolling with Batman

Damian, frowning as usual, looking at the guy who asked him as if he did not have a brain : "Father is careful in not mixing his carnal activities with the family life so i do not have any hindsight on his sex life. i do not wish to know regardless." the journalist is taken aback by the explicit answer of this ten year old, while his brothers are trying not to laugh behind him (Jason was not hiding his snickering)

on the other side, you cannot tell me those guys are not the biggest shippers in the world

like Jason would want Batman to date Wonder Woman just so she could be his step mom. i strongly believe the guy has a ao3 and tumblr account and is very much active on both. he definitely reads batman x green lantern fics just to annoy Bruce (even though his dad has no idea, but still gets shivers when Jason is reading one)

Dick and Duke both ship SuperBat although for different reasons. for Dick, that's his uncle there, he was there when they met and saw them as they slowly became best friends. he strongly believes they are made for each other. Duke just think it would be super cool (no pun intended) if the Superman and the Batman were dating.

Stephanie just likes to roll with it, some days she feels like shipping superbat, others she'll be more into batcat, or batlantern. she's pretty volatile and doesn't really have a favourite, but when she gets into one she's all in. she'll be arguing and insulting people online who disagrees, sharing crazy theories...

Cass doesn't really care, she'll listen to any of her siblings ranting about their thoughts (especially Steph) and juts find it adorable (and funny how much they care)

Tim probably ships superbat because they are completely opposed, and he finds the parallels really interesting. he definitely writes fics (Jay reads his fics and they exchange about it without knowing it's each other)

Damian doesn't really see the point. but he has drawn of few fanart (Jason tried to bribe him with money once and Damian had to remind him of his inheritance) when Bruce benched Tim and him and he ended up drawing some batlantern that Tim printed and plastered all over the manor. Bruce had to restrain the access to the printer (Tim hacked into it the next day)

Barbara, although she doesn't really ship, is the one you go to if you search some content, she'll find you the most heart wrenching, 200 thousand words, slow brun, angst/comfort fics you'll ever read (the type of fic that changes you deep into your soul). she still likes debating with the batkid

Regardless, if there's one things they all agree on, it is Bruceman (love those fics were the batkids just go along with it). like it's hilarious but the fans make some pretty good points and they are in fact impressed. it's also the safest ship as it would not happen in any situations so they don't have to worry about their dad being stolen

[jungkoode]

死 KKANGPAE | #13 死

† the wound that always bleeds †

"Like a mathematical equation, turns out sleeping next to a warm body has always been the solution, which to Jungkook is ironic. Just how ironic it is to Taehyung, that Jeon keeps pretending he's above everything and everyone."

next | index

⚔ chapter details ⚔

word count: 6,5k

rating: mature

content: walk of shame (not), sharing secrets, best friend gossip, 8 hours of sleep for jeon (yay), v's sadistic streak shining through, v being a psychotic lil' shit, takama stepping in to save the day, v ruining lives for the fun of it and jimin being too soft for his own good (why do i always do this shit to jimin bro)

☠ author's note ☠

First of all, Kiki Nation on Tumblr is FUCKING UNHINGED. The goal was 200 notes and it took y'all less than 24 hours. I'm flabbergasted. But also it was smut so... understandable. I see you, horny little gremlins. I respect your dedication.

So here's chapter 13! (I had to proofread this while revising tax law so if something doesn't make sense, it's your fault somehow. Don't question my logic.)

AHHHHH I finally got to show off V's more psychotic nature! His little sadistic side coming out to play! He's such a little shit I love him. Writing characters with mental instability is my emotional support activity.

Well well well, things are slowly unveiling, huh? So what the fuck happened?! Who is Sylvia?! WHAT IS GOING ON?!

That's for me to know and you to lose sleep over for now (◕‿◕✿)

You know, sometimes I genuinely forget you don't have access to the absolute chaos that is my brain. Like it's genuinely hard for me to understand this from an outside perspective because I have the whole plot mapped out in excruciating detail, but you're still in the dark and it's like—is it too obvious? Is it too vague? AM I BEING COHERENT?

The eternal struggle of writing mysteries when you already know the answer. It's like trying to play poker while everyone can see your cards except you think they can't but maybe they can a little bit?? This is why I don't sleep.

Anyway, that's it for now! Love you all, you enablers of my questionable coping mechanisms! (ง •̀_•́)ง

EDIT: If you haven’t read the prologue… you must. Otherwise this is going to be hard to understand bahahaha.

⚔ socials ⚔

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tumblr/twitter: @jungkoode

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎

The alarm rips through your dreams like a knife, and god—you've never hated a sound more in your life.

Your eyelids feel like they're made of lead, your body heavy with the kind of bone-deep exhaustion that comes from... well. Last night's activities.

The blankets are so warm, and you smell like pine and sex and masculine. Just five more minutes...

Then reality bitch-slaps you awake. You're in Jeon's tent. At dawn. Which is exactly where you're not supposed to be.

His leg is thrown over yours, arm draped across your waist like he's trying to keep you there. It's almost... cute?

No, not cute. Definitely not cute. Just annoying. And inconvenient.

You nudge him with your elbow, trying to wiggle free without fully waking him. The grunt he makes is surprisingly soft.

"Stay still..." His voice is rough with sleep, half-muffled against your shoulder. "Just five more minutes. Let me doze off again before you go."

You huff but stop moving. It's just five minutes, right? Not like anyone's awake yet anyway. And he's so warm, his breath steady against your skin.

It's... nice. In a way that's probably dangerous.

His breathing evens out quickly, dropping back into sleep. The mighty Chief Jeon, passed out and cuddling. If you weren't so tired, you'd probably laugh.

When you finally ease out from under him, his body twitches slightly—this tiny, unconscious movement that's so unexpectedly human.

It's so weird seeing him like this, soft and sleep-warm skin. Almost makes you forget he's the gang's deadliest assassin.

Or one of them, if you consider V.

Better not tell Jeon you thought that, anyway.

You wiggle back into your clothes as quietly as possible, trying not to wake him—leggings, panties, bra, that stupid crewneck that started all this. No need to give the rest of the camp a morning show.

You crawl out of his tent like the trained seductress you are—silent and graceful. Well, as graceful as anyone can be at ass o'clock in the morning.

The camp is dead quiet except for the occasional snore from distant tents.

Your heart doesn't stop hammering until you're safely away from his tent. The morning air hits your skin, fresh and sharp, washing away the lingering scent of pine and sex.

With each step, you build up that sense of normalcy that someone who didn't fuck a chief last night should wear. No walk of shame here—just a perfectly normal morning stroll. Nothing to see.

The portable table catches your eye as you pass—someone's left out water bottles and snacks like offerings to the gods of late-night hookups. You grab a bottle, the plastic cool against your palm. The water helps, but it doesn't quite wash away the taste of him.

Not that you're thinking about that. Nope. Not at all.

You take another sip of water, trying to convince yourself you're totally fine with how things went down.

(You're not.)

Because seriously—what kind of assassin doesn't carry protection? The absolute audacity of Jeon, walking around looking like that, with those hands and that mouth and those fucking bedroom eyes, and not being prepared?

Criminal. Actually criminal.

Not that you're thinking about his hands. Or his mouth. Or the way he'd worked you up so perfectly, taking you apart piece by piece until you were shaking.

You drain half the water bottle in one go, but it doesn't help. Your body's still humming with leftover want, still craving more than just grinding and kisses.

Because fuck—it was good, but you know it could've been better. Could've had him filling you up, stretching you open, making you see stars...

If only he had brought condoms with him.

"Fucking hell," you mutter, slightly crushing bottle. The plastic crackles satisfyingly in your grip.

You can't even properly be mad at him. Not when he'd made sure you came first, not when he'd been so attentive to every little sound and movement.

But still.

The fact that you'd been this close to getting properly railed by Chief Jeon, only to be cockblocked by his own lack of preparation?

Infuriating.

Your core throbs at the memory of his cock pressed against you, at how big he'd felt even through layers of fabric. God, the things he could've done to you if he'd just—

Fucking stupid sniper. The audacity of leaving you wanting more.

And oh, there will be a next time. You're getting that dick properly, even if you have to staple condoms to his fucking forehead.

Because someone who looks like that and kisses like that and uses his hands like that? Yeah. You're not done with him yet.

"Good morning."

JM's soft voice yanks you out of your definitely-not-horny thoughts. He looks adorably rumpled, all oversized sweater and messy salmon hair. His cheeks are pink from the cold morning air, making him look even softer than usual.

"Morning," you manage, grateful that your voice sounds normal.

He takes a sip from his own water bottle and you mirror him, mostly to have something to do with your hands.

"Sleep well?" You ask because it's polite, and also because talking about sleep is way better than thinking about what you were doing instead of sleeping last night.

His smile is warm and genuine. "Yeah, I did. And you?"

"Yeah." You nod, aiming for casual.

Like you didn't spend half the night grinding against Chief fucking Jeon. Like you're not still feeling the ghost of his hands on your skin.

Just a normal morning chat. Nothing to see here.

You give JM a quick wave and head back to your tent, trying not to look suspicious. Like you didn't just spend the night getting railed—well, almost railed by his coworker.

God, that's weird to think about.

When you peek inside, Yunjin's already stirring, one eye cracked open in the dim light.

"Y/N?" Her voice is thick with sleep.

"Yeah, it's me." You whisper back, watching her untangle herself from Eunchae, who's apparently decided Yunjin makes an excellent teddy bear.

It's kind of adorable, actually.

She sits up slowly, rubbing her eyes. When she looks at you again, her brow furrows.

"You didn't sleep here?"

You open your mouth, ready to spill everything—about Jeon's hands and his mouth and how fucking good he'd been—but snap it shut. Not exactly tent-appropriate conversation.

"No."

Her eyes go wide, and she leans in close. "Did you sleep outside? In the freezing cold?"

"No, no, I didn't sleep—" You cut yourself off, suddenly very aware of all the sleeping bodies around you.

The tent walls might as well be tissue paper when it comes to privacy. A quick check outside confirms you're clear.

You duck back in, keeping your voice low. "We can't talk about this here."

You can see the exact moment sleep leaves Yunjin's eye, replaced by that familiar spark of gossip-hungry curiosity. Her lips curl into a grin that says she knows something juicy is coming.

"Okay, I'll be ready in 5." She's already reaching for her clothes, suddenly very awake.

You duck out of the tent to give her privacy, leaning against a nearby pine tree. The bark digs into your back through your clothes, but you welcome the discomfort. Keeps you from getting lost in memories of other things that were digging into you last night...

Nope. Not thinking about Jeon's hands. Or his mouth. Or the way he'd—

Fuck.

When Yunjin finally emerges, her pink hair is a mess and she's practically vibrating with curiosity. You tilt your head toward the edge of camp, where the trees grow thicker. Perfect for spilling secrets that definitely shouldn't reach certain ears.

You find a fallen log away from the other tents, tucked between snow-dusted pines. The wood is freezing through your pants, but whatever. Some things are worth a cold ass.

Yunjin plops down next to you, already leaning in close. She smells like campfire smoke and cotton candy.

"So, what's going on? You look like you've been through hell and back."

More like heaven and back, but you're not about to say that out loud.

You take a deep breath, trying to organize your thoughts. The memory of his hands, his mouth, his everything makes your pulse skip.

"Jeon happened."

"Jeon?" Yunjin's eyebrows shoot up so fast they nearly disappear into her forehead. "As in, Mr. I'll-Kill-You-With-My-Thumb Jeon? That Jeon? What the hell did he do now?"

There's teasing in her voice but you catch the flash of concern in her eye.

Sweet, but unnecessary.

"He didn't do anything... wrong." God, your face is burning. "We were alone and things got... intense."

"Intense how?" She draws out the words, scoffing. "Did you two fight each other to death—?"

"It's not like that." You cut her off before she can get carried away. "I mean, we did fight at first but then—well—"

You gesture vaguely, like that explains everything.

"We didn't plan it. It just... happened."

"What happened?"

She crosses her arms, looking supremely unconvinced. Then, presses her lips together, biting back a smile.

"So what, you got stuck and stepbro came to your rescue—"

"Yunjin!" You slap a hand over her mouth, mortified.

Your skin's still tingling with phantom touches and she's out here making porn references? You drop your hand with a scowl that's only half-serious.

Looking anywhere but at her knowing grin, you mutter, "it was mutual."

The words come out barely above a whisper, like saying it too loud might summon him. Or worse—his ego.

Yunjin's smirk turns absolutely feral. "Oh my god, I knew there was something brewing between you two since the croissant thing. Come on, spill the dirty details."

You laugh, but your neck's getting hot just thinking about it. Leaning closer, you drop your voice even lower.

"Well, one minute we were fighting, and the next..."

You tell her about his hands, his mouth, the way he'd taken you apart piece by piece. How every touch had felt like lightning under your skin.

"He's like a fucking storm," you try to explain, but words feel inadequate.

How do you describe the tempest that is Jeon?

"And?" She's practically bouncing now, pink hair falling in her face as she leans in.

"And it was... intense. Like our bodies just clicked, you know? The way he touched me, the way he moved..."

"Holy shit." Yunjin lets out a low whistle. "Sounds like Chief Murder-Eyes knows how to fuck. I'm almost jealous."

You can't help but laugh, relief flooding through you at finally being able to talk about it. "I mean, we didn't actually—you know. No condoms. But still, with everything going on... with the gang and the rules..."

"Well, it's just fucking, right?" She cuts in, voice matter-of-fact. "You didn't break any rules."

Her words hit different, reassuring—exactly what you'd said to Jeon last night.

Right. No strings attached. Just two people scratching an itch.

"Yeah." You shrug, aiming for casual. "Just some good ol' fucking."

Yunjin's laugh is warm, understanding. "Well then, there's nothing to worry about. Just be careful. Jeon's not just any guy. From what I've heard, he's got layers, and not all of them are pretty."

You snort, rolling your eyes.

"Pffft, I know." You lean back. "I only have eyes for the pretty. And his dick."

That sets you both off cackling like teenagers sharing secrets behind the bleachers. It feels good to laugh about it, to make light of something that could've been way more complicated.

Yunjin stands, brushing pine needles off her pants. "Well, I gotta head back before they start sending out search parties for us. But we'll talk more about this later, yeah?"

"Yeah, later."

You're grateful she's not making a bigger deal out of this than it is. Just two adults having some mind-blowing- well, almost mind-blowing sex. No feelings, no drama.

She punches your shoulder playfully before heading back to camp, leaving you alone with memories of callouses on your skin and that fucking lip ring against your mouth.

Not that you're thinking about round two.

The early morning light bleeds through the tent, and for the first time—his eyes are not open to perceive it.

Jungkook stirs slowly, consciousness creeping in like the dawn. His hand reaches out, seeking the familiar cold touch of his phone screen.

Eight hours of uninterrupted sleep.

Eight fucking hours without a single nightmare clawing at his mind. No cold sweats, no jolting awake with a scream lodged in his throat.

Just... peace.

His eyes drift to the empty space beside him, still holding a ghost of warmth where you had been. The indent in his pillow, the lingering scent of chai tea mixed with his pine—evidence that last night wasn't just a fevered dream.

Interesting.

The tactician in him can't help but analyze this development.

Eight hours of proper sleep, achieved simply by having another body next to his. The data suggests a correlation worth exploring. It's purely scientific interest, of course —nothing to do with how your quiet breathing had somehow matched his own, creating a rhythm that had lulled him into the deepest sleep he'd had in months.

His lips twitch, almost forming a smile.

Who would have thought that the solution to his insomnia would be so... straightforward?

Just add another warm body to the equation.

Simple.

Efficient.

The gang's best sniper, finally getting proper rest because of a quick hookup.

There's probably irony in there somewhere.

Jungkook stretches, feeling unusually light. His muscles are loose, relaxed in a way that has nothing to do with the previous night's activities.

Well, not entirely due to them.

Eight hours.

He could get used to this.

Jungkook sits up, letting the cool morning air hit his skin. Eight hours of actual sleep has him feeling... different. Not better, exactly. Just less like death warmed over.

He takes his time straightening his tent—a habit drilled into him and not voluntarily.

When he makes it outside, the camp is quiet except for the occasional bird call. His hands find his pockets as he heads toward the mess area, following the siren call of caffeine. The neat row of coffee cans almost makes up for sleeping on the ground.

Almost.

But then he sees V.

And just like that, his rare good mood evaporates.

Evaporates fast.

Jungkook's tongue clicks—automatic. His body already tightens before his mind even catches up. For a second, he considers turning back, caffeine be damned. But no. That'd hand the bastard a win, and Jeon doesn't hand out victories before breakfast.

V's lounging like he owns the clearing. Hair a tousled mess, skin flushed from either a fight or a fuck—Jeon doesn't care which. He just notes the details, stores them. It's habit. Just another target to assess.

The bastard tracks his approach with lazy, half-lidded eyes and that signature smirk—like he already knows he's about to ruin something.

Jungkook grabs a can off the table. Doesn't even look at V yet.

"Had fun last night?" The words come out dry, flat. No bite. Just noise.

V lifts his chin, amused. "Some of us don't need to buy intimacy with imported espresso machines."

Jungkook opens the can with a sharp hiss. Keeps his eyes on the label. "Didn't realize desperation was charming now."

"I call it efficiency." V stretches his arms overhead, exposing fresh marks on his throat. "In and out. Simple. No cleanup. You should try it—might loosen that iron rod you've got jammed up your spine."

Jungkook takes a slow sip of bitter coffee and finally looks at him. "You're bleeding self-worth all over the ground. Try wiping it up before someone slips."

V laughs, delighted. "There he is. I was starting to worry you'd gone full ghost. Thought maybe you finally snapped and joined the meditation club upstairs."

Jungkook doesn't answer. He's already turning away, walking slowly toward the edge of camp—toward the trees. Not far. Just enough distance to mute V's noise.

Of course, V follows. He always does.

"You know what your real problem is?" V's voice floats lazily behind him. "You think control's the same thing as peace."

Jungkook says nothing. Another sip. The coffee's still shit. V's steps crunch through the grass behind him. Closer now.

"But it's not. You're not calm, Jeon. You're just buried."

Jungkook stops. Just briefly. Looks up at the sky like it might offer patience.

V grins, eyes glittering. "Bet it gets lonely. All that quiet. All that nobility. Ever wonder why no one's lining up to warm your bed these days?"

Jungkook doesn't flinch. Just watches a bird take off from the trees. "Didn't realize we were counting bodies now. Thought you preferred keeping score in blood."

"Oh, I do," V murmurs, stepping beside him, too close. "But you—God, you used to have heat, you know that? Used to burn. Now it's all smoke and mirrors. All that rage shoved behind protocol and detachment."

Jungkook doesn't look at him, but his hand tightens around the can.

V keeps pushing, voice sweet as poison. "You used to laugh. Fuck, remember that? You'd stay up past curfew, cheat on drills, get into knife fights for fun. Now look at you—clockwork killer with a loyalty complex."

"You done?" Jungkook's voice is sharp now. Controlled, but edged.

"Not even close." V steps in front of him, cuts off the path. "See, I get it now. You stopped fucking because you can't do casual anymore. Too dangerous, right? Someone breathes near you and you start imagining futures."

Jungkook's jaw tightens.

V leans forward. "What was it RM said? 'Attachment makes you weak'? Or did you have to learn that one the hard way?"

"Careful," Jungkook says, low.

V just smiles. "I'm not touching your secrets, Jeon. Just pointing out the obvious. You're terrified of getting close again. You think if you fuck anyone, they'll catch feelings. Or worse—you will."

Jungkook doesn't blink. Doesn't speak. But the can in his hand dents slightly under his grip.

V notices. Of course he does.

"I mean, maybe that's why no one touches you anymore." He tilts his head, mock-thoughtful. "Not because you're intimidating. Not because you're better. But because they all see it—the grief in your bones. The guilt. Like it might rub off."

"You talk a lot for someone with nothing to say."

V grins, stepping aside, letting him pass. "And you say nothing hoping it makes you mysterious. But guess what, Jeon? I see right through that bullshit."

Jungkook exhales slowly through his nose. The air is cool, the trees just ahead. He keeps walking. He doesn't rise. Not yet.

But V's still behind him.

And he's not done.

Jungkook moves, calm steps through dew-soaked grass. The can in his hand hisses with pressure, dented from his grip, but he doesn't look back.

"You know what your problem is, Jeon?" V's voice cuts through the morning air, sing-song soft. "You're so far up your own ass you can't see what a joke you've become."

Jungkook doesn't bother with a glance. Just takes another sip of his shitty coffee. Tries to drown out the taste of chai from his tongue.

"The perfect soldier," V continues, pacing a few feet behind, voice louder now. "Marching in lockstep behind Commander like a good little ghost. You think if you bleed enough for RM, he'll forgive you for what you let slip through your fingers?"

Still no answer. Just another sip of that bitter, mass-produced garbage. Jungkook focuses on the taste—the chemical bitterness coating his tongue, sharp and synthetic. Easier to focus on that than the ache V's voice digs up.

"Nothing to say?" V's tone lifts, faux-curious. "Come on, where's that famous discipline now? Or did you leave it behind in your tent last night?"

The can pauses mid-sip. Barely a hitch. Just one second too long.

Jungkook lowers it slowly. "Your obsession with where I sleep is weird. Maybe try journaling."

V grins wide behind him, practically skipping to keep up now. "You're right. I should write this all down—'Jeon, once fierce and unfiltered, now drinks piss-coffee and pretends not to feel anything.' Bestseller."

"You done with the poetry?"

"Almost," V chirps. "Just wanted to make sure you knew everyone sees it. The way you're chasing scraps of forgiveness like a dog with its tail between its legs. You used to lead the escapades. Now you just brood and play pretend."

Jungkook stops walking.

V nearly collides with him, amused.

"Touch a nerve?" he murmurs.

Jungkook's head tilts slightly, eyes still forward. "You should work on new material. The old lines are starting to bore me."

V steps around him, circling like a vulture. "That's the thing about ghosts, Jeon. They're repetitive. They just haunt the same places. Same faces."

Jungkook's eyes shift. Cold. Level.

"You sound jealous."

V barks a laugh. It's short, sharp, too loud for the quiet trees.

"Of what? Your sad, monk-ass existence? Nah. I just miss the guy who could take a punch and throw three back."

"He grew up," Jungkook replies coolly. "Maybe you should try it."

"Nah," V says, too quickly. "That guy didn't grow up. He crawled into a cage and slammed the door shut."

Jungkook takes a step forward, chest brushing V's shoulder as he passes. "Or maybe he realized some things aren't worth fighting for anymore."

"Oh?" V pivots, stalking behind again. "Like loyalty? Brotherhood? Control?"

Jungkook doesn't turn. "Like noise."

V's smirk sharpens. "Funny you mention that. Because the silence after you let her die? That was deafening."

That stops him.

One step shy of the treeline.

Jungkook doesn't move, but something in the air shifts. Not loud. Not visible.

Just cold.

Real cold.

He sets the coffee can down on a mossy rock, slow and steady. Wipes his hand once on his thigh.

"You sure you want to go there?" he says, soft as snowfall.

V's smile flickers. Not with fear—he doesn't do fear—but with pleasure.

This is what he came for.

"I'm just saying," V hums, circling again, low and lazy. "You've been pretending for so long. Pretending she didn't matter. Pretending you're fine. Pretending you're not still clawing your way out of that night like it didn't gut you."

Jungkook says nothing.

But his silence means something now.

"I was there, Jeon," V says, inching closer. "You looked at me like I'd ripped out your heart and eaten it."

"You did," Jungkook murmurs. Still not looking at him.

"And yet," V's voice softens to a whisper, "you still didn't pull the trigger."

"Because you weren't worth it."

V snickers. "That's not what your eyes said."

Jungkook turns his head slowly. "No. That's what restraint looks like. Something you wouldn't recognize if it slit your throat."

V's lips curve, crooked and violent. "But you wanted to. You still want to."

Another long pause. Jungkook's jaw flexes once.

"Not as much as I want to forget you ever mattered."

And that—that hits.

V's grin falters. Just for a split second. The moment is small, but Jungkook catches it. He always catches everything.

Then, it changes again. V watches him like a cat watches a cornered bird. Head tilted. Smiling like he knows what's coming, and he's going to savor every second of it.

"You know what's funny," V says, voice maddeningly casual, "I always wondered if that was the problem."

Jungkook doesn't bite. Doesn't blink.

V goes on. "Not the rule-breaking. Not the secrecy. But who you broke the rule for."

Jungkook's gaze sharpens. Just a sliver. Just enough.

V catches it, of course. "Maybe if it had been someone else. Someone... less delicate. Maybe then, I'd have understood."

Jungkook's jaw shifts—tightens, releases.

"You picked soft," V continues. "You always hated soft. But that's what you chose. That's who you let in."

"Don't," Jungkook says quietly.

But V's already grinning, teeth and cruelty.

"God, what was her name again? It's been so long." He taps his chin mockingly. "Right there. Tip of my tongue."

Jungkook turns away. Starts walking.

He needs to get away from that sicko before he does something stupid.

"Don't go yet," V calls behind him, voice lilting like this is a game. "Help me out, will you? Dark hair? Big eyes? Always looked like she was about to break?"

Each step Jungkook takes feels heavier now. Like the gravity around him's been recalibrated.

"Jeon," V sings. "C'mon. Starts with an 'S,' right? S... Ssssss—shit, it's gonna bug me all day if you don't help."

Jungkook stops walking. Doesn't turn.

"V."

One word. Dead calm. A warning that sounds like the moment before a trigger snaps.

But V doesn't stop. He never does.

"Wait—don't tell me—Sarah? No. Sophie?" He's grinning now, wide and unhinged. "No no no, it was something sweeter than that, wasn't it? Something fragile."

Jungkook's whole body goes still. His shoulders square. Not aggressive. Not defensive.

Bracing.

"I won't tell you again."

"Oh, don't be like that." V's voice drops to a near-whisper. "We're just reminiscing."

"You say it," Jungkook murmurs, quiet enough that the wind almost eats it. "And this conversation takes a very different turn."

"Isn't that the fun part?" He replies.

Jungkook turns back to walk away. But before he can do just that, V opens his mouth again.

"No, wait, wait, wait! I remember it now."

V tilts his head, feigning thought, acting like he just got enlightened by the powers above.

Then—

"Sylvia."

The name detonates behind Jungkook's eyes.

He moves before he even registers it—before thought can catch up to instinct. One hand fisting V's collar, the other slamming him into the nearest tree with bone-rattling force.

His voice is low. Controlled. Deadly.

"I told you," he breathes, "to shut the fuck up."

V chokes out a laugh, even as Jeon's forearm presses against his throat. His smile is bloody, triumphant.

This is exactly what he wanted.

"There he is," V wheezes. "Knew you still remembered."

Jungkook tightens his grip.

"You don't get to tarnish her name with your mouth."

"Oh come on," V gasps, grin never faltering. "You're the one who made her matter."

Another inch and V's feet almost leave the ground. Jungkook's pulse is thunder in his ears. Vision tunneled, voice low.

"You don't touch her memory."

V's eyes shine with something unholy. "Why not? You left it out in the open."

Jungkook doesn't say anything. He just breathes—through his nose, slow, controlled—because if he doesn't, he'll crush the bastard's windpipe right here and now.

"You never even cried for her," V says, voice straining now. "Not once. I watched you. All that grief, and nothing came out but silence."

"Shut up."

"She begged for you, Jeon." V's voice slips into a mocking lilt. "Right before I pulled the trigger."

His hands go up, mimicking the movement of guns. Two fingers, cocked and pointed.

"Bang. Bang." V grins. "Guess some lessons need to be learned twice."

Jungkook's fist curls tight, shakes from the effort of not slamming it into V's face.

"She looked at you," V whispers, "and said thank you."

That's it.

Jungkook lets go of his throat—and punches him hard enough to split skin across V's jaw.

Bone cracks under knuckles. Blood spatters across bark. V staggers, but he's laughing—fucking laughing—as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Fucking finally" he slurs through red teeth. "Welcome back, Kooks."

Jungkook doesn't hesitate.

The second punch lands even harder than the first—knuckles slamming into cheekbone with enough force to whip V's head sideways.

Blood sprays from his mouth this time, a thick crimson arc that spatters across tree bark, across Jeon's hand, across the ground between them.

Still, V laughs.

It's breathless, giddy, delighted.

"Fuck, I missed this," he rasps, tongue darting out to taste the blood slicking his bottom lip. "So you're still human, huh?"

He licks it slow, like he's savoring it.

Like it's dessert.

Jungkook steps back just enough not to kill him.

"You don't get to call me that," he says, voice low and splintered. "Not anymore."

V blinks once, mock-innocent. Then that crooked smile curls back up, jagged and satisfied.

"Oh, right." He taps two fingers against his temple. "Because I'm not Taehyung to you anymore, huh? I'm V." His voice twists around the name like it's something sacred. "Your words, not mine. Or was it mine first? I forget."

Jungkook doesn't answer.

He can't.

Not when his pulse is pounding in his ears, his vision swimming at the edges with a red haze he hasn't let himself feel in months.

V steps closer, shoulders relaxed, body loose with that particular high only someone like him can ride. His lip's still bleeding, and he doesn't wipe it off this time—just lets it drip, red on his teeth, staining the corner of his mouth.

"God, you hit harder than I remember," he says, eyes gleaming. "Must be all that repressed emotion. You're like a soda can in the sun—shaking, sealed tight. One little crack and boom."

Jungkook doesn't say anything back. He's not looking at him anymore. He's looking through him. Past the trees. Somewhere far and unreachable.

But V keeps talking. Of course he does. Because once he has momentum, he's unstoppable.

"I always knew it was still in there," V's finger digs in his chest. "That spark. That fire. You've been playing dead so long I almost believed you were gone. Almost."

Jungkook's hands are fists again.

"You've been sleepwalking, Jeon," V continues, grinning like he's high on the taste of violence. "Dead-eyed. Robotic. Miserable. Just waiting for someone to fucking jolt you back awake."

He leans in close again. Too close.

"I'm just giving you a favor."

"You don't do favors."

V cackles, loud and wild. "Sure I do. You just don't like the way they taste."

Another pause. Jungkook's breathing is steady now, but it's forced. Every inhale pulled through clenched teeth.

"You think this brings me peace?"

"No," V says, licking blood off his thumb now. "I think it brings you clarity."

There's something predatory in the way he steps back, finally, giving Jungkook space—but not out of mercy, no.

It's rather just to admire the way he's held together by muscle memory and sheer willpower.

"You pretend you buried it," V says softly, quirking an eyebrow. "But it's still there. Under the skin. Under the guilt. Under all that self-hatred."

"You're wasting your breath," Jungkook replies.

But V just keeps smiling, lips slick, eyes blown wide with delight.

"You can't kill the part of you that liked it. The rage. The power. The need. You just locked it away in a box and lost the key."

V's voice drops now, low and rich and terrifyingly gentle.

"And I'm the only one who still knows where it's buried."

That's when Takama steps in.

No warning. No sound. Just a hand locking around Jeon's bicep before the next blow can fly.

"Enough," Takama says, firm and calm.

Not a command.

A lifeline.

Jungkook doesn't resist. Not yet. But his chest heaves, and the knuckles on his right hand are starting to swell. V leans lazily against the tree now, licking the blood of his lower lip that won't stop gushing out.

"Aw, don't stop now," he drawls, voice hoarse from the chokehold and the punches. "We were finally getting somewhere."

Takama doesn't even look at him.

His grip stays tight. Not painful. Just steady. Anchoring.

"Let it go," his second in command says under his breath.

Jungkook's eyes stay locked on V's face. Not with hatred. With control.

The kind that takes every ounce of strength to maintain.

"You should've stayed buried," he murmurs.

But V just laughs. Loud, unhinged, manic.

"And miss this reunion?" He wipes blood from his jaw with the back of his hand. "Never."

He steps back, licking the burgundy remnants from his fingers as he turns to walk away.

His voice floats over his shoulder like a final cut.

"Same time tomorrow?"

Jungkook doesn't answer.

He just watches him disappear into the trees, that thorned scent of roses lingering behind like a stain you can't scrub off.

Some poisons don't kill you right away.

They stay in your blood.

Rot you from the inside out.

Blood tastes like copper and victory.

It slicks across his tongue, drips warm from the split in his lip. He doesn't wipe it off. Why would he? It's a mark of success—Jeon's control fractured, broken open just enough for the truth to spill out.

The scream he didn't let out. The grief he still pretends doesn't exist.

Taehyung practically skips through the camp, boots crunching over frost-stiff grass. His knuckles sting from where Jeon deflected that second hit, but the ache feels earned. Like something sacred.

He exhales, slow and sweet, watching the vapor curl into the cold morning air.

That was better than sex.

No, scratch that.

That was sex.

Pushing Jeon to that edge—watching the cold, calculated sniper fucking explode in real time? That's the closest Taehyung ever gets to euphoria.

The high is still rushing through him as his tent comes into view. The buzz behind his teeth. The heat in his skull. He's not even pretending to slow down.

He lifts the flap with a flourish, practically singing, "Honey, I'm home," as he sweeps inside.

Jimin's already there. Cross-legged on the floor like some kind of aesthetic devotional painting. His salmon hair falls messily across his forehead, catching light like spun sugar. He doesn't startle—he never does—but his head tilts just slightly in that way Taehyung always notices.

"You're late," Jimin says, not looking up from whatever he's scribbling into that little black journal. "Let me guess. You pissed off Jeon again."

"Mmhmm," Taehyung hums, swaying into the room. "It was glorious."

He doesn't wait for an invitation. He never does. Two steps and he's folding himself into Jimin's lap like a lithe, bloody jungle cat.

Jimin grunts at the impact, but he doesn't move. Doesn't push him off.

He never does that either.

"You're bleeding," Jimin says quietly, brushing hair back from Taehyung's temple before his eyes drift down. "Lip's split."

"Little love tap," Taehyung breathes against the curve of Jimin's neck.

He nuzzles there a moment, deep inhale. Jimin smells like warmth. Like brown sugar and caramel and fabric softener.

Soft things. Domestic things.

He doesn't know why it makes his teeth itch, want to take a bite.

Jimin finally meets his gaze—and there it is.

That flash of worry in his eyes. That's the part Taehyung likes. Not the sympathy. The fact that it costs Jimin something every time he pretends this isn't poison.

"What did you say to him this time?"

Taehyung grins slow, letting his tongue drag over the blood at the corner of his mouth. "Just reminded him of something he didn't want to remember."

"Don't play stupid. This is getting out of hand." Jimin's hand brushes lightly against his jaw, tilting his face to examine the cut.

The pads of his fingers are warm. Careful. It makes something behind Taehyung's ribs twitch.

"Jeon's going to snap one of these days," Jimin adds, voice low.

"He already did," Taehyung whispers.

And he can't help it—he giggles. It bubbles out of him like champagne and gunfire, bright and wrong. He presses closer to Jimin, legs tangling, arms looping around his waist. The tension bleeds out of him slowly, replaced by that delicious hum of control reclaimed. He can still feel Jeon's rage in the fibers of his hoodie. It clings like perfume.

Jimin doesn't move. But his breathing changes. Shallow now.

"You're high on it again," Jimin murmurs.

Taehyung pretends to consider it. "Maybe."

"It's not healthy."

He shrugs, lashes fluttering as he leans in. "Neither are we."

Jimin sighs through his nose. Doesn't argue.

For a moment, they sit like that. Quiet.

Taehyung lets himself rest his head on Jimin's shoulder, lets the silence expand between them. This kind of stillness is rare. He doesn't know how to hold it without squeezing too tight.

Jimin's voice finally cuts through. "Let J-Hope look at it. That lip's going to get infected."

"For you?" Taehyung draws his thumb along the line of Jimin's jaw, soft and mocking. "Anything, love."

The way Jimin flinches is small. Almost imperceptible. But Taehyung feels it.

That's the thing about Jimin. He's not like the others. He doesn't play back. Doesn't bite or snarl or shoot. He just absorbs it all, like a sponge in a slow leak.

And Taehyung knows it's cruel—knows he's twisting something tender into something sharp—but he does it anyway.

Because this is what's left. This is what he has.

"You don't have to keep doing this," Jimin says, eyes on the floor now. "With him."

"Sure I do," Taehyung murmurs, already curling into his lap again, like a cat that doesn't want to answer. "The show must go on."

Jimin shakes his head once, slow. "You're always like this."

"Good things don't change."

There's no bite in it. No anger.

Just truth.

And then, before Jimin can speak again, Taehyung presses a finger to his lips. It's light. Thoughtless. Charged.

"No more lectures," he says. "Tell me something sweeter."

"Like what?"

Taehyung smiles, eyes gleaming. He leans in, close enough for Jimin to taste the blood on his breath.

"Tell me a secret."

Jimin's lips are warm beneath his finger. Too warm.

Taehyung holds it there a beat longer than necessary, just to feel the resistance—such a pretty little line of defiance, always broken down the same way.

Gently.

Repeatedly.

"Tell me a secret," he whispers again.

Jimin doesn't answer.

He doesn't have to.

Because his eyes do. The way they drop. The way his breath skips. The way his hands twitch against the floor like they're unsure whether to push away or pull Taehyung closer.

It's always like this. Hesitation that tastes like anticipation.

Taehyung leans in. Presses his mouth to Jimin's cheek, just shy of his lips, and breathes him in—caramel warmth, a little bit of sweat, and something almost shy beneath it.

He imagines for a second biting down. Hard. Leaving a mark. Branding softness with something it doesn't deserve.

Instead, he draws back and tugs Jimin forward.

Slow.

Deliberate.

Right into his lap.

Jimin doesn't resist. He never does. Just settles into the space Taehyung makes for him like he's made of silk and apology.

God, it's addicting.

"So obedient," Taehyung murmurs, mouth ghosting along the curve of Jimin's jaw. "You always melt so easily, Jiminie."

He feels Jimin's pulse jump under his hands.

Feels it in the way his thighs tighten just slightly, in the way his spine curves—not in retreat, no.

In submission.

Taehyung smiles. The kind that never touches his eyes.

This is the part that matters.

Not the tenderness. Not the connection. This.

The aftershock. The reward.

The thing that lets him bleed out the rest of Jeon's name from his teeth.

His hands roam lazily—up the curve of Jimin's back, slipping under the hem of his shirt just to feel the skin heat beneath his palms. He doesn't rush. He doesn't need to.

Jimin's already folding.

Taehyung tilts his head and brushes their lips together—barely. Just enough to taste breath.

Then he whispers, soft and cruel against Jimin's mouth, "Let me ruin you for a bit."

Jimin exhales shakily. Doesn't nod. Doesn't speak. Just presses closer.

Perfect.

And Taehyung?

Taehyung finally feels calm.

Not better.

But calm.

The high burns slower this way.

Controlled.

Directed.

And by the time Jimin's head tips back and Taehyung's fingers slide lower, he's already thinking of the next morning—when he'll do it all over again.

Because Jeon's fists can bruise skin.

But Jimin's silence?

It lets him feel powerful.

goal: 400 notes lmao I'm not doing this shit again in 24 HOURS.

next | index

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@cannotalwaysbenight @livingformintyoongi @itstoastsworld @redcherrykook @somehowukook @stutixmaru @chloepiccoliniii @kimnamjoonmiddletoe @rpwprpwprpwprw @jimineepaboya @annyeongbitch7 @mar-lo-pap @whothefuckisthishoe @mikrokookiex

© jungkoode 2025

no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[nomie-11]

Cock Block

masterlist!

synopsis: from what she could tell, Joel didn’t mean to be as annoying as he was. But after all, he was a father through and through, and what is a father if not a massive cock block? (18+ themes ahead!)

pairings: ellie williams x reader

Ellie was a decent romantic when she wanted to be—she knew you liked star gazing, knew you liked a bonfire, knew that one time when she and Joel were out on patrol and found a bag of marshmallows and something called ‘pre-made s’mores,’ and knew that the face you had made when she had offered a ‘s’more’ and then tried it was a face so beautiful she never wanted to forget it. 

So naturally she planned a whole night. Just you and her, a bonfire in Joel’s backyard, a blanket, some slightly stale s’mores, and the comfortable knowledge that Joel would be out with Tommy and Maria until well past midnight. 

She had been so excited, her hands up your shirt, un clipping your bra as your own hands tangled in her short hair, her lips moving hungrily against yours. Your breath hitched as she trailed her kisses lower down your jaw and neck, her fingers dancing along your waist, the warmth of the fire flickering across her flushed skin. 

And then—

CLANG. 

The sound of metal dropping against concrete shattered the moment. Ellie froze. You froze. Both of you turned your heads just in time to see Joel, standing awkwardly by the back door, a set of tools spilled out at his feet. 

“The hell are y’all doin’?” He asked, raising an eyebrow, and Ellie swore under her breath. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” She shot back, scrambling to sit up and subtly smoothing down your shirt. 

Joel scratched the back of his neck, entirely oblivious (or just choosing to ignore) the murder in Ellie’s eyes. “Tommy’s got a busted sink. Though I left my wrench set back here.” He bent down, picking up the tools one by one. “Didn’t mean to—uh—interrupt,” 

“You always interrupt,” Ellie muttered. 

Joel paused, looking up with that signature dad squint. “What was that, young lady?” 

“Nothing,” Ellie mumbled, running a hand down her face. 

Joel finally gathered his tools, gave you both a nod, and disappeared back inside. The second the door clicked shut, Ellie groaned, collapsing onto your lap. 

“I swear to god, he’s got some sixth sense for this shit,” she whined. “He wasn’t even supposed to be here!”

You giggled, running your fingers through her hair. “Maybe he just wanted to make sure we weren’t burning the house down.” 

Ellie peeked up at you, deadpan. “Yeah? Well, the only thing on fire here is my frustration.”

——————————

You and Ellie had been curled up on the couch, a rare moment of peace between the two of you with patrols and chores. A movie—one of the few that Ellie liked—played in the background, but neither of you were paying attention. Ellie’s hands were resting dangerously low on your hips, your lips against her neck, trailing soft, open-mouthed kisses that sent shivers down her spine. 

She exhaled sharply, tilting her head back to give you more access. “Ellie,” you murmured, gripping her tank top and tugging her closer. 

“Yeah?” Her voice was low, breathy. Her fingers started sliding beneath the waistband of your jeans—

The front door creaked open. 

“Ellie?” 

You practically leapt off the couch, the two of you scrambling to look as normal as possible. Joel stood in the doorway, taking off his jacket, completely unaware of the moment he had just ruined. 

Ellie gritted her teeth. “Joel.” 

Joel furrowed his brows. “What?”

Ellie forced a tight smile that he definitely could tell was painfully not real. “Didn’t you say you were going to the bar?” 

“Yeah, but I forgot my hat.” He walked right past you both, grabbing his old, worn out stupid cowboy hat from the kitchen table. “Y’all are actin’ weird.” 

You cleared your throat, cheeks burning. “Nope. Just—watching a movie.” 

Joel squinted at the TV, where a paused scene of some Star Wars movie was frozen on the screen. He hummed, clearly not convinced. “Your aunt know you’re out here messin’ around?” 

“Yes sir,” You said with a mock salute, and he nodded, not saying anything as he adjusted his hat and headed back out. 

The second the door closed, Ellie buried her face in her hands. 

“This is a curse,” she muttered. 

————————————

It had been an exhausting day—long patrol back weather, and a particularly nasty clicker encounter. By the time you and Ellie got back to Jackson, all either of you wanted was a hot shower. 

Ellie, being the ever-so-generous girlfriend, had offered to let you go first. But the second you stepped into the steaming water, she apparently decided that waiting was overrated. 

“Mind if I join?” Ellie’s voice called through the bathroom door, a teasing lilt to it.

You barely had time to register what was happening before the door creaked open and Ellie stepped inside, a wicked grin on her face. “Saves water, y’know. Gotta do our part for the environment.” 

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the way your heart pounded as she started pulling off her shirt, eyes roaming her toned torso. “Uh-huh. Despite the climate change problem being solved by the world ending, that’s very responsible of you.” 

She winked, stepping toward the shower. “Just doing my civic duty.” 

Her hands were on the clasp of her bra when—

Knock, knock, knock. 

“Ellie, you in there?”

Joel. 

Ellie let out a strangled groan. “Are you serious right now?” 

The door handle jiggled, and Ellie yanked her shirt back on in frustration. “What, Joel?” 

“You left your damn jacket on the porch. It’s rainin,’ and I ain’t about to have you gettin’ sick.” 

Ellie pinched the bridge of her nose. “Joel, I do not care about my jacket right now.” 

There was a long silence. 

“You, uh… you decent?” 

Ellie turned to you, her expression pure suffering. You just bit your lip, suppressing a laugh. 

“Yes, Joel. I’m decent.”

The door cracked open just enough for him to toss the damp jacket inside before it shut again. 

“You’re welcome,” Joel called before his footsteps faded down the hall. 

Ellie just stood there for a moment, hands clenched into fists at her sides. “I swear to god—”

You patted her arm sympathetically. “We have the worst luck.” 

She let out a dramatic sigh, climbing into the shower behind you. “This is beyond luck. This is divine intervention.” 

——————————

It had officially become ridiculous. 

Ellie was done playing it cool. Done brushing it off as bad timing. Done with the constant interruptions. 

So when she finally managed to get you alone in her room, with the door locked, no patrol duties, no chores, and no Joel anywhere in sight—she took full advantage. 

She had you pressed against the bed, her lips moving feverishly against yours, fingers slipped up the hem of your shirt.  You moaned into her touch, hands gripping her hoodie as she pressed you impossibly further into the mattress. 

Fucking finally. 

And then—

Knock, knock, kncck!

Ellie froze. 

Your eyes widened in horror. “No. No way.” 

“Ellie?” 

Ellie let out a guttural, borderline inhuman noise. 

“I swear to god, Joel, if you—”

“You left the lights on in the kitchen,” Joel called through the door. “Electricity ain’t free, kiddo.” 

Ellie pulled away from you, running both hands down her face. “We live off hydroelectric power—it is free.” 

There was a brief pause. 

“You better not be doin’ anything stupid in there.” 

“Joel,” Ellie growled. 

You bit your lip, trying not to laugh as Joel continued. 

“You got protection, at least?” 

“OH MY GOD.” Ellie practically launched herself off the bed. “Joel, we can’t even get pregnant!”

Silence. Then, Joel muttered, almost to himself—

“Knowin’ you, I think a miracle could happen.” 

Ellie gaped at the door, hands raised in pure, unfiltered exasperation. “You are literally, clinically insane.” 

“Just sayin’.” 

Ellie banged her forehead against the door. “Do you have some plan to make sure I get no action until I’m forty!?”

“Alright, alright. Y’all be safe.”

His footsteps retreated down the hall. 

Ellie turned back to you, looking completely, utterly done. You just stared at her, then burst into laughter. 

“This isn’t funny,” she whined. 

“It’s very funny.” 

Ellie flopped onto the bed beside you, staring at the ceiling. “I’m moving out. I’m gonna build a cabin in the woods. No dads allowed.”

You grinned, leaning over to kiss her. “I’ll visit.” 

She turned her head to look at you, eyes softening just a little. “…you better.”

—————————————

Ellie got some action next Thursday at 3:43 p.m. while Tommy and Joel had gone out on a fishing trip. When you found Ellie’s journal opened to a page with a sketch of your face, you saw it read; ‘mmmm, sweet victory! Pussy never tasted so good!’

im a wreck. The house was empty when she got back.

If you liked this one shot, please check out my other series!

[rebelssvy]

i hate you, tenya. ✧.*

tenya iida x reader

✧ ⋆·˚ ༘ *ੈ✩‧₊˚

summary: suggestive, kissing, making out, dry humping. him being your rival/enymy in highschool, you start liking him. ending up in a bathroom at a party….

you never really liked the guy. tenya iida was annoying. especially to people like you. people who just did their own thing. walking into the class on the first day of school, you found yourself aggravated by him.

as the school days went on you still didn’t like him, but you two shared a mutual respect for each other. he was hard working, in every way.

sooner rather than later, you grew an attraction to him. still not very fond of him. but you couldn’t stop looking at him. confused as to why you felt like this.

the moments you were around him, you started adoring. you liked being in his presence. but that never stopped the bickering.

your arguments would get out of hand sometimes. correcting all of his wrongs. your classmates would often joke about your relationship.

so as shocking as it was here you were. sitting on his lap at a house party.

your peers weren’t shocked at all. not with the way you two bickered during class. especially not with the way you would often fight backs facing eachother when faced with conflict.

your hatred act didn’t fool anyone.

flush against him, your ass sat in his lap. his hands found your waist. he looked especially good tonight. it made you frustrated.

sporting grey sweats and a black hoodie, he didn’t look himself.

“i hate you.” you whispered in his ear. he set his beer down on the table next to him.

you were definitely slurring your words. you were definitely nearing ‘drunk’. but you didn’t care.

“whys that?” he responded, calmly. titling his head with a smirk.

“because your so fucking annoying. but your so fuck-ing h-hot.” you slurred, stuttering over your words. your breath was hot against his ear.

with his hands around you, he brought you closer to his chest. your head now finding its place on his shoulder.

you felt comfortable. at ease even.

“y/n.” he said after a moment of silence between you two.

your senses were flooded with the scent of him, his cologne and aftershave filling your mind.

“what.” you muttered. leaning back to look him in the face.

he stabilized you, doing so unconsciously. he looked you dead in the eyes before bringing his mouth to your ear.

hushed words flying into your conscious. hot and breathy he choked out,

“i hate that i think your the prettiest girl in any room. i also hate how much i notice your ass against.. me.. like this….fuck..” he finished.

you gasped at his words becoming very aware of his hardened package underneath you. you did this to him.

when you stood up he frowned. expression very obvious.

it wasn’t until you grabbed his hand and dragged him to the nearest bathroom that he was happy again.

closing the door behind him, he turned you around to face him. pushing you up against the door, he took your mouth in a heated kiss. you gasped at his act.

you reached your arms up around him, taking head, tugging on his hair. he groaned at your actions.

he licked your bottom lip, pulling you closer to him. you opened your mouth to give him access before tangling your tongue with his.

you were slow and controlled, he was sharp and fast. his teeth nipping at your lips.

moaning into his mouth when his hand found your ass. grabbing at it.

he broke the kiss momentarily, “i’ve needed you for so long..id do anything you ask me to.” before diving into your neck. biting at your jaw. leaving open mouthed kisses on your skin.

focusing on one area when your breath hitched. he took notes of your body. and exactly where you liked to be touched.

“tenya..” you moaned, just enough for him to hear.

he broke his contact and stood tall above you. his hands never leaving your frame.

“yes?” he asked.

“ive liked you for so long. your so stupid for not realizing.” stating before you push yourself up against him. lips meeting his.

he groaned at your actions. your body’s creating friction.

you dry humped him.

mouths never leaving each others, his hips moved into your body.

you couldn’t get enough of him.

“oh my god..” he purred. his lips still on yours.

you felt his length on you. your body felt hot. kissing so much your lips plumped up, swollen. it felt so right.

“y/n! iida!! i have to pee get out!!” you jumped back hearing someone on the other side of the door. letting out a sigh when you realized you stopped kissing him.

“one sec!!” tenya responded before pulling your face to meet his. he brought you in for a soft kiss. it spoke volumes. you groaned when he parted away from you.

you took a second to fix his hair. he looked utterly beautiful looking down at you. his expression flushed, face painted rose tint.

maybe it was the alcohol in him, but he couldn’t imagine his life without you correcting his every move.

“i hate you so much.” he chuckled, staring down at you. you giggled with him.

leaning up you kissed his cheek before opening the door to find mina. “thank god!” she said before pushing you two out of the way and shutting the door.

you wanted more of him.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:··:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:··:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

should i make a SMUTTTYYY part two??? i dont know. lollll

[labelneo]

breakup sex with haechan😼

haechan x reader. smut drabble.

“don’t close your fucking legs,” haechan lets out in a stern voice, a tone that makes you let out a whimper. pressing his fingers to both sides of your mouth, he squeezes your face harshly before sticking his fingers deep into your mouth. “and put that fucking pretty mouth of yours to use.”

he doesn’t wait for you to comply, finding his own pleasure in watching the way you gaze glosses over, at the way you don’t fight him.

“there, pretty girl. you’ll always be mine even when you have that fucking mouth that pisses me off.”

you hum against his digits while focusing on the feeling of him filling you up. he’s not your boyfriend anymore, you know that. still, you find yourself sucking at his fingers, watching how even after everything he looks at you in awe as you let your mouth work around his fingers. you want to please him just to feel him close to you again.

you feel content at the feeling of haechan ramming himself inside of you, the sound of skin hitting and your juices making filthy sounds have you clench around his dick, a feeling you know he loves. you feel every twitch his cock makes as it hits your walls over and over again. the sound of haechan’s groans and your whines have you reaching for your own chest, playing with your boobs, knowing how haechan loves the sight of you playing with yourself as he has his way with you. his eyes scan you as you continue to wet his fingers and massages your own boobs. the sounds you’re making he swears he could never find anywhere else or with anyone else.

he decides to push your legs further into you, letting him have deeper access into you. you let a whimper, gripping the sheets around you. he makes you feel so full, so good, so his.

haechan doesn’t stop his relentless thrusts into you. you feel so much deeper now, so wet.

“yeah,” he says as he moves his fingers away from your mouth, gripping your thighs and pushing them farther into you, “now you don’t know what to say, huh?”

he continues to look at your fucked expression, how you can’t even seem to form a thought as your eyes close. he’s not slowing down. he’s not letting you catch your breath. on instinct, your body naturally begins to pull away, only for haechan to dig his fingers deeper into your skin and pull you closer to him.

“no, baby,” he starts, leaning down farther to press your lower body and his chest completely against you, “you know better than that.” his right hand reaches for yours, fingers intertwining as he ruts himself into you. the gesture feels so intimate from the man he’s being right now.

you let out a cry as he presses every part of himself farther into you. he digs his face into your neck, licking you all the way from your collarbone to your jaw before he digs his teeth in. you whimper in his ear and feel as his pace increases and his breathing becomes shorter. you couldn’t think of what to say, couldn’t think of another smart comment to make about how much he annoyed you or how you couldn’t stand his smart mouth either. all you had wanted was to come back to grab the rest of your things. now you’re under him, chasing a high you know only he can give you.

lifting his head up to face you, he starts again.“hey,” haechan says, grabbing your face harshly once more and pressing your fingers hard on both cheeks, “you’re mine, right? my dirty girl?” yet, he’s not asking, he knows the answer.

haechan sees the glint in your eyes, the one he had grown to know after the time the two of you had dated. he can see the joke forming in your thoughts. he can see how funny you think you’d be if you said no.

he pulls himself out of you and before you can react, he flipped you over. “wrong answer, baby.”

he pulls your ass up into the air, and without warning, he going back to slamming his length into you. you let out a loud groan before he reaches for your hair, pull you closer towards him. “i fucking miss you, and this is how you’re gonna treat me?”

you still don’t say anything, which only causes him to pull you back further as he presses his chest into your back. he wraps his hand against your neck, determined to get an response out of you, “answer me.”

the overwhelming sensation of him filling you up was only amplified as he starts to cut off your breathing. you can’t think straight. not when he’s fucking you at the pace he knows you like. but, you know you have to answer. you know what he’ll do if you don’t.

“y-yes, hyuck.”

“yes what?” he slows his pace down, grabbing your ass as he watches you chase him by jutting yourself towards him again.

“please.”

“if you don’t use your words, i’ll keep your here all night. you’ll be crying, begging for me to let you cum.” he brings his hand down to your ass, slapping it. “yes what?”

your ass perks out at the gesture. letting out a shaking breathe, your arms start to shake as they hoist you into your position. your breathing is starting to shallow. because no matter how good he fucks you, he knows how to undo you with just words too.

“i’m yours. just yours. use me, baby. please.”

not wasting another second, haechan slips himself easily back into you. you can feel your arousal dripping down your thighs as he continues to fuck you, claim you. he leans down further to kiss at your back, loving the feeling of his action causing shivers to run down your entire body.

“that’s right, pretty girl. you’re mine to use. mine to ruin.” he changes his angle and his pace, finding that sweet spot inside you. you don’t know what to say anymore as you feel those tears start feeling your eyes, tears only he knows how to form. “i know you too fucking well to let anyone else fuck this hole that belongs to me.”

want to read more? masterlist!

[bestruction]

His favorite positions

Summary: Just a few headcanons about his favorite sex positions with you because i'm a horny mf

Warnings:...Sex?

Missionary

Sasuke favored missionary because it allowed him...Many possibilities. Like with many people, it was the first position you two tried but eventually, the more you two had sex, the bolder he got.

He fucking loved the feeling of your legs around his waist, but what if he pushed your knee up to your chest? What if he puts your legs on his shoulders? Maybe he should place his hands on the inside of your thighs and keep you spread open for him...

This man is addicted to control for many reasons, which makes the idea of you lying down on the bed, just for him, ready to take anything he has to give you way too appealing. On top of that, he gets to watch you bite your lips, whimper his name, and melt as he fucks you just right and eye contact was something that felt deeply intimate and grounding to him.

Missionary allows him to hold your hands softly or pin them above your head. He could just switch it up depending on his mood.

Spooning

Lazy Sunday mornings were always a problem. The sun would shine through the curtains, telling him it was already time to get up. If he came back from a particularly long mission it'd be even worse because it means he needs to visit the Hokage's office to report, but how can he when you are sleeping so peacefully in his arms?

If he tried to call your name it would never work. So based on his experience as your boyfriend, he tried to get your attention by kissing your temples, and behind your ears. He swears it's always innocent at first. But the way these kisses quickly slide down your neck, leaving a warm trail on your skin, makes you doubt his intentions.

He loves spooning because in these moments all he has to do was stick his hands inside your pajama shorts to quickly push through your folds and find your clit. Your back pressed against his chest as your legs instantly opened more for him, giving him easier access to your pussy never failed to get a smirk out of him. He'd whisper "morning" in your ear with that husky voice that you loved, pressing down your bud of nerves to make you whimper his name.

Sasuke liked the gentle intimacy of spooning, how it allowed him to make you cum on his fingers, and still play with your nipples, how everything he had to do to fuck you right was pull down your shorts and pound you slowly until you are begging him to go faster. Definitely one of his favorites.

Against the Wall

I feel like at a certain point, there isn't a wall in the house that you haven't been pushed up against at least once. He is a very impulsive and impatient person and also loves physical touch. It's a way to express what he is feeling without having to use words, which he struggles with a lot. This all means if you two are fighting or you are annoying him a bit too much just because you like teasing him, you might end up getting dicked down.

The first time it happened you were teasing him a bit too much while you two organized the living room, you liked pushing his buttons to see how much you could get away with since he had a soft spot for you. It started with some silly joke you don't remember but when he told you to stop, you didn't and the next thing you knew was that you were being pressed against the wall with your knees shaking, trying to keep yourself upright. If it weren't for his hands on your hips you would have been on the floor in an instant, which is why he loves it.

Again: control. He loved knowing he could make you feel like this. Like a mess against the wall who can't even stop drooling because he keeps hitting that sweet spot inside of you each time, he shoves his dick in your poor pussy. Where's all the teasing now? Lost behind your glassy eyes.

Cowgirl

Sasuke appreciated this position because it allowed you to take control, which he secretly enjoyed more than he liked to admit. Watching you on top of him, hair freely around your face as you place your hands on his chest and do your best to accommodate his size always left him in awe for you. The way your breasts bounce each time you let your hips fall on his cock, how you let your head fall behind you each time his tip kisses deep inside of you making you smile at how good it feels. He had to hold himself back from not cumming way too fast every time he saw that naughty smile of yours. Plus, it gave him the chance to rest his hands on your hips and guide you gently (not so gently sometimes) if you say you are too tired because what do you mean you can't take it anymore? Of course, you can, you can do it for him, can't you?

[loganhowlettshousewife]

logan howlett x curvy!reader

series masterlist - my masterlist

warnings: smut, oral (fem!receiving), thigh fucking, mentions of unprotected piv, very soft and loving, anyone can technically read it but it was written with a curvy reader in mind

logan’s hands always somehow find their way to your thighs. he likes to squeeze the flesh, feeling the dips in the fat when his fingers dig into your skin, making temporary divots there that burn with his touch long after he’s let go.

you wish, sometimes, that his fingers would leave marks, a tattoo of his hand on the inside of your thigh, a reminder that the phantom touch you constantly feel was real, and it will be again the moment he finds you after classes are finished, guiding you to your shared room in the mansion and ignoring the calls of both your names as you pass by other mutants vying for your attention.

when he’s angry, when he’s frustrated, when he’s annoyed, his hands end up on your thighs, sneaking under the skirts that you began to wear more often once your relationship with him went from friends to more. he knows you wear them for him, so he can have easy access - you see it in the slant of his mouth, the knowing glint in his eyes, the smirk he flashes in your direction as he traces your thighs under the table.

but it’s not just a balm he uses to soothe the pains of a hard day - even when he’s in a pleasant mood he’ll find some excuse. he’ll claim to deserve a reward for getting through a long day without stabbing anybody with his claws, and when you relent as you always do, he’ll smile as he watches the flesh move, staring like they’re the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen.

his absolute favourite thing is to bury himself between your thighs, eating you out until you’re overstimulated, squirming both away from him and pushing closer, your body unable to decide which it wants. he begs you to crush him, says he’d be grateful to die between your thighs, despite the fact that with his enhanced strength it’s pretty much an impossibility.

it’s what brought you to the here and now, both you and logan completely undressed, your pussy so wet it’s dripping a puddle onto the sheets, logan’s cock achingly hard. but he refuses to fuck you, not yet, not until he gets to spend quality time with his favourite part of you.

he presses kisses to every inch of skin on your thighs, slapping them gently just to watch the fat jiggle, groaning before mouthing another wet kiss onto said patch of skin, making sure to leave you with marks to remind you of him.

“fucking gorgeous, darlin’,” he mumbles against your thigh, nipping and sucking until yet another bruise starts to form. no one ever gets to see these hickeys but you and him - it’s not a way to tell everyone else you’re taken and to back off, not another jealous stunt to keep away potential suitors, instead it’s just for the two of you.

you can’t tell if minutes or hours pass by. your inner thighs burn from the scratch of his beard as he eats you out, tongue and fingers expertly working together to bring you to your peak. he knows your body as well as you do by now, potentially even better since his longer fingers are always able to reach where you never can, and he knows to keep going even when you’re crying and begging that it’s too much. 

the pain of overstimulation fades into a dull pleasure, your mind feeling fuzzy with it. he waits for you to return to yourself before flipping you around, expertly manoeuvring you into whatever position he wants for tonight. it’s easy to give up control to him, easy to let him do whatever he wants to your body, chase his own pleasure after he so generously brought you your own.

you jolt slightly when his hands spread your thighs apart, your eyes fluttering open to observe the sight of him spreading lube on the skin there. he smiles apologetically when you wince at the cold feeling, and rubs it in until it warms up between your bodies.

“this okay?” he asks, and you hum your agreement.

you’ve done this before, him fucking in between your thighs. it makes him cum faster than any other position, makes him go feral in a way you can’t even get by offering to let him cum inside of you. like a touch-starved virgin he never lasts very long, so he always makes sure to get you off before he does anything for himself, arguing that your pleasure is more important than his, that he’d do anything if he knew it’d make you feel good.

it’s horrible and gross and romantic and makes your heart flutter like a butterfly in your chest, your ribs acting as a cage, the only thing stopping it from fluttering so hard it exits your body. sometimes, you feel you might truly die from logan’s words, the softness he never shares with anyone else, the vulnerability he affords you.

he lines himself up to fuck into the tight space between your thighs, moaning at the warm tightness of you around him. he’s gripping at your arms like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands, doesn’t know where to place them, scared to touch you in case he presses too hard, loses himself in the moment and forgets that his strength much surpasses your own. he holds onto you like an anchor before letting go just as quickly, his breathing ragged as his harsh pants and groans sound in your ears.

it’s the most beautiful melody, one you wish you could play on repeat forever, a song for only you.

every thrust has his cock sliding against your wet cunt, the head brushing against your clit in a way that has you arching your back against him, meeting his every thrust, changing the angle so it suits you better and hits that spot every time, sending sparks of white-hot pleasure up your spine.

every moan and cry that passes your lips only works to spur logan on. he’s animalistic as he fucks your thighs, one arm snaking around your chest to pinch and roll your nipple until it hardens into a peak under his ministrations. it’s rapid and sweaty and loud, your pleasure rising so quickly it catches you off guard. one second you’re not and the next you’re on the precipice, shouting out logan’s name in surprise.

it washes over you, like a wave taking you under, and for a few minutes or days or years you’re in total darkness. when you come back to yourself it’s to the feel of sticky cum on your thighs and logan curled around you. he’s patient while your breathing calms, heart rate lowering back down to a normal level before he moves away from you.

“i’m just leaving to run a bath,” he says, waits for your agreement to make sure you’re in the right headspace to be left alone, shuffles into the ensuite bathroom to prepare the ridiculously bubbly baths that you adore and he always complains are excessive.

you hear the sound of the water running, can imagine him kneeling beside the tub with the fancy bubble bath soap that you used to only buy for yourself as a treat but now seems to never run empty. 

he comes back minutes later, though you can’t be certain as your sense of time is a blurred mess, carries you into the bathroom despite your protests that you could probably, most likely, maybe walk on your own the few feet of distance required, helping you into the bath. you sigh as the warm water washes over your muscles, an instant relaxation seeping into your bones, a private smile curling on your lips.

you’re lucky the tub in his bathroom is big enough to accommodate two, allowing him to settle behind you, pulling you into his chest.

“thank you,” you say, twining one of your hands in his, staring at the contrast, his rough calloused hands in yours.

“i know a way you can thank me,” he says, only half serious, his unused hand spreading possessively on your thigh. he knows it won’t happen, not tonight, not right now, but he likes the way it makes you squeal out his name in a reproachful tone. he just laughs, happy, a sound that makes you smile in turn.

diversity december taglist: @raeinyourdreams @meetmypointlessaddiction @chubbyhedgehog @yxtkiwiyxt @isepod @dis-plus-fanfic-reblog-writes

curvy reader: @spencerswh0r3 @seasonofthenerd @thegothempress @yourlocalmerchgirl

[vyva-melinkolya]

we all agree that the push towards short form, vertical video (tiktok/reels/shorts) is ruining fucking everything right? Tiktok has been useful for the dissemination of political information (e.g Gaza) i’ll give it that, but that feels moreso a result of meta and twitters algorithms being just a little *more*’evil and censor happy. And i want to make it very clear that my hatred for tiktok has nothing to do with the fact that it was a product of a Chinese company, because i see a lot of critiques relying on some sort of sinophobic conspiracy. On the contrary, it’s what tiktok has become in the vacuum of western popular culture and marketing that makes me fearful.

I know that every generation faces a new, polarizing technology and inevitably, there are those among said generation who will critique it. That is the nature of things. However, there is also something to be said about how, with the acceleration of technology (running parallel to the acceleration of capitalism, acceleration towards collapse etc), each coming generation faces an increasingly more malevolent “advancement”. TLDR, i’m going to talk my shit.

I’m going to speak on the aspect that is most relavent to me, as a musician. I am petrified by what short form video is doing to music and to musicians. I think that tiktok provides the illusion of making music and being a musician more “accessible” while actually pouring gasoline on the fire that the pop music machine had already started. Standards for what popular culture “expects” from music are being doubled and tripled. Let’s talk about song length. Success and marketability favoring shorter songs is not something new, it has been the trend for decades. But with short form video, it goes even further. You’re not just hearing the same song over and over on the radio, you’re hearing the same 15-30 seconds of the same song over and over again. This in-turn, starts to influence the way people write music, persuading people to make songs that *could* have that 15 second appeal. There is an art to pop music, there is an art to writing a catchy hook—this is something else. We weren’t meant to hear or understand music like that. There are so many songs from reels that i found annoying, until i heard them in their full context. It’s insidious. It makes everything feel like a fucking commercial, even if nothing is being advertised.

I’m going to pull directly from someone else’s experiences, someone who’s music seems to be everywhere on short form videos. The ambient musician My Head Is Empty has a hundred million streams on the song “i was only temporary”. Despite that exposure, they experience “never ending copywrite issues” and have “received death threats” by people who refuse to credit them when using their song. Pulling a quote here, from a comment on their own post

“vyva_melinkolya unfortunately it just gets worse. i saw a bot content page that steals pod cast footage and spams dozens of videos with my song stolen, comment on a "motivation" spam content , who actually made a post telling people the name of my song, and the previous page i mentioned, the pod cast spam commented on that video saying "Bro stop don't give out the sauce. this audio helps me pull numbers brooo" - so people are actively INTENTIONALLY stealing it and telling people to not credit me. like. u can't make this stuff up”

Beyond this, My Head Is Empty feels frustrated that despite all this exposure, the rest of their work (nine albums) as a musician remains under appreciated, and i think that frustration is 100% valid. People cannot fully appreciate music, or even understand it as a work of art created by another human, when it’s taken so far out of its context. Again, the soul being sucked out of art by “the machine” isn’t anything new but, this is a whole other level. Being a musician is more expensive than ever, streaming earns you fractions of a cent etc, it all feeds into itself.

When a song or a musician i love deeply finds its way on to tiktok (let’s use Duster’s “Stars Will Fall”, one of my favorite songs ever as an example)I am not upset that i cant “gatekeep” it anymore. I’m not upset by the idea of something I love and hold dearly finding a larger audience. I AM upset in the manner in which it is being disseminated. I’m upset with art I hold dear to me being chopped up and used as “trending audio”. When I saw Duster in concert recently, lStars Will Fall” was the song I was most looking forward to hearing. It was the last song they played, and it was the song seemly everyone chose to talk loudly over. The audience was mostly people my age and younger. This complaint might come off as petty or pretentious or cliche, i frankly do not give a shit.

Let’s talk about how musicians are expected to promote music on tiktok/reels. This is a matter of opinion, at the risk of sounding very pretentious: the “POV we are x band from x” “My label says i need x followers before x” “posting this video until c musician notices me”. I understand that some of it is in jest but, what the fuck? When did this become the norm? I do not blame anyone for promoting their music like this, but we should want more for ourselves. I’ve always said being a musician is deeply embarassing, inherently. If being a musician is inherently embarassing then what is this? I dont have a solution for this, and the music industry has always been ugly and bloodthirsty and seldom fruitful— but i feel like the very small amount of dignity we had as artists is now lost and I cant fucking stand it. Artists seem to promote the same single with dozens of reels over the course of months, hoping that something sticks. I dont want to sound like i’m shaming or, again, sound like i can provide a solution. I’m just very fucking sorry that it seems like this is “the way”. And personally, i’m scared that if i dont “get with the program”, im going to fail.

Again, all of this speaks to larger trends in entertainment industry and even larger trends in capitalism. But i’m just airing specifics right now because frankly? I cant take it anymore.