#possibly fix-it fics rather than AUs

[johnlockissess]

someone give me a good johnlock fics where they are emotionally constipated

[netherfeildren]

Pink : Part I : Humanist Seeking Person in Love

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Humanism: an outlook or system of thought attaching prime importance to human rather than divine or supernatural matters. Humanist beliefs stress the potential value and goodness of human beings, emphasize common human needs, and seek solely rational ways of solving human problems.

The story of a son who won’t love you, and his father, who will.

-OR-

the father-in-law AU

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: No outbreak AU; Fix-it-fic but the thing that needs fixing is a person; Daddy issues; Daddy kink; Divorce; Welcome to the father-in-law suck and fuck extravaganza; Possessive behavior; Jealousy; Slow burn but like not really; DD/lg dynamics; Older man/Younger woman; Self esteem issues; Discussions of emotional and mental abuse; Unhealthy coping mechanisms

A/N: Check the tags on the masterlist, as well!

Word Count: 7.4K

Read on AO3

Ko-fi

1. Humanist Seeking Person in Love

The video you’d watched had said that the differences between a jamb nut and a coupling nut should have been obvious. A jamb nut, which was what you were currently looking for, was typically half as tall as a standard nut, or a coupling nut, and would be of a small, stouter shape compared to the other options. As you stare at the wall of overwhelming stock, the incomprehensible mess of steel, PVC, aluminum and plastic hardware you feel, a little bit, like you’d like to start screaming as loud as you possibly can, for as long as you possibly can. Just a rip roaring and rageful, top of your lungs, screech. Maybe it’d scare the leering men around you. Maybe they’d desist from the ogling of your ass in the tight confines of your ratty leggings, or the mildly pitying glances as your frustration and confusion becomes more and more obvious.

You try and take a deep breath, glancing down at your phone again and the screenshots you’d taken of the parts you need to fix your leaky kitchen sink. Zooming in, you hold the picture up next to the pipeware currently gripped in your sweaty hand and wonder again if what you’ve chosen is the right piece. You don’t understand why the hardware store, a local business, isn’t as neatly and efficiently organized as the larger chains, and why they make it so damn hard for someone without experience to come in and shop. You don’t want to buy the wrong thing and waste the money you already don’t have, you don’t want to have to make the trek back to this God awful fucking place. You hate the hardware store, you hate the way it smells, dusty and wooden, the cavernous hollow echo of it, the leering gazes of the men shopping, looking at you as if you’re some helpless child, something soft and easy to snap up and eat. You hate the memory of following your father around on many a Sunday morning after he’d forced you to come with him in some false attempt at bonding, at spending time together when really all it was, was another instance of you cowering behind him, trying to make yourself as silent and small as possible so as to avoid his anger and irritation. 

You look back down at the piece of PVC in your clutch, at the picture of what you’re supposed to be buying again, back at the other option, a copper bolt you think might look right but can’t really tell the difference, and you feel the backs of your eyes pinch and go hot and achy. A sharp, throbbing pain starting up behind your left eye and spiraling out like a stain to cover your forehead. You want to go home. You want your kitchen sink to stop leaking. You want the past year to never have happened. For your marriage to not have so irrevocably unraveled that the husband you’d so desperately fought to keep had left you out in the cold, divorced, very nearly penniless in a new apartment that you couldn’t make feel like home no matter how many fall scented candles and throw pillows you stuffed into every nook and cranny. You want to not have to make decisions like these and take care of things like this. You want very, very badly for someone else to come and take care of you, help you, make the choices that seem very hard in the moment but that, in the grand scheme of things, aren’t really so difficult, but that still sometimes call for a second opinion, wiser, more experienced hands. 

And in that next blink, in a soft, deep voice that should not be as easily recognizable in your mind as it is given the handful of times you’ve actually heard it, your name, being murmured from behind you. The lilt of a question, the gruff of shock coating the syllables as it pushes against your bare nape. Soft as a sledgehammer, like ice water down your naked back, your shoulders hitch up to your ears, going tense and frightened, a hot flush of shame spilling through you, the keenest desire to run away from that soft voice as fast as your stupidly October flip flopped feet’ll take you. You hiccup the half sound of his name, not turning around, lashes fluttering quickly to prevent the dry heat of your eyes from spilling over, nerveless fingers going listless around the plastic nut. You don’t want to turn around. This is a cursed place, this hardware store, and you should never have come, and you really do hate it here. Deep breath, deep breath. Be polite, be succinct. You don’t need to talk to him. You don’t need to think about the past. Fuck the sink, fuck the pipes. You’ll just move apartments. You let a long stream of air out of your mouth, and then turn on the ball of your foot to face him. 

“Mr. Miller,” you breathe with a limp smile you know isn’t going to fool anyone. 

He frowns, the line of his mouth wavering as he tries to contain his displeasure. “We really back to that?” You shake your head, looking away from him as the last shopper in the aisle you’re inhabiting walks away, leaving the two of you alone. The store suddenly seems to exist in a vacuum echo, all other patrons seeming to disappear, all sound going out. You even feel the imitation of a hollow pop in your ear drums. When you look back at him, he’s really scowling now. His strong brow pulled down over those too pretty, thickly lashed hazel eyes that you know so well on another man, a younger version of him. 

It was the first thing you’d noticed about him, the first time Sam had introduced you to his father, they have the same eyes. The same but different. There was a coldness to Sam’s gaze that you hadn’t recognized until it was too late for you, but you recognized it now, with a painful sort of awareness, recognized the lack thereof in his father’s eyes, how different they were even in their similarity. 

He raises his brows at you, a pressing gesture, “Joel.” His name feels like salt on an open sore in your mouth. “What are you doing here?” And he looks at you, just a little bit, like you’re an idiot, or maybe that’s only you, for his voice is gentle when he says, “Pickin’ up supplies with some of the boys on my crew. What’re you doin’ here, sweetheart? Sam with you?�� Your heart beats like that of a small and hunted creature, pounding painfully against the confines of your ribs while a hot, humiliated flush washes through your entire body, heat suffusing your face so intensely there’s probably steam rising off the surface of your skin. You shake your head quickly, a barely there jerk. You’re suddenly trembling so hard your throat aches as if it’s been pierced by a lancet straight through. Another sharp jerk, and he steps forward a concerned look marring his face. 

“You haven’t spoken to him.” It isn’t a question. 

“He’s been feildin’ my calls for months. Assumed I’d done something– something else, last time to piss him off again. What’s wrong? Everything okay?” He pauses, head tilting, and you can’t look him in the face as you say it, gaze falling to your fingers twisted around the nut. 

“We’re not together anymore. He– he left me. We got divorced six months ago.”

Shocked into silence he takes another step towards you, the toe of his heavy boot coming into your eye line. The ends are thick and rounded, and you wonder if there’s a casing of steel within, how much a kick in the ribs would hurt delivered by a boot like that, and the violent thought startles you, your eyes going wide, shooting up to his face as if worried he could read your thoughts. Ashamed that something like that in reference to him would even cross your mind, for looking at him, the gentleness in his gaze, the utter concern, a man like this would never hurt a creature softer than him, you know that. 

It’s funny, or strange, or a phenomena not easily understandable or explainable unless you’d had a certain type of experience with a certain type of man, but there was a sort of sixth sense instilled in a person who’d dealt with cruel men that made it easy to recognize when one had the capacity to hurt you and when he didn’t. There were, of course, those who were good at masking it, but there was always something, a way they held themselves or moved around others, the cadence of their voices, clues that spoke of the sort of man he was. And from the first moment you’d met him, you’d thought Joel had something that spoke only of gentleness. Despite his size and seemingly rough aspect, there was something about his voice, and the way he carried himself, the way he moved around those who were smaller or weaker or less, less alive, less potent than him, that was always careful and always aware. 

“What?” He moves as if he’s going to reach for you, and you flinch back, the curve of your spine bumping into the framing of the shelves behind you, face turning away quickly. He goes tense, forcing himself into stillness, the white of his teeth flashing in a grimace, but he puts his palms up in a staying gesture, it’s alright, easy, he murmurs, I won’t touch you, hands lowering to fist in the pockets of his jeans into tight balls of false restraint. As if he’s afraid of what they might do of their own volition otherwise. “What do you mean he left you? What happened? He–”

“I don’t want to discuss this with you. Call him again or– or I don’t know. It’s not my business anymore. He was never happy with me,” you stupidly add, finally braving a look back at his eyes again, a bitter laugh scratching up your throat, “You know this. Call your son, Joel.”

You move to leave, to get away from him, but he shifts, blocking your escape, sending your heart up into your throat. “Honey, wait–” but you’re spinning on your heel the other way, stumbling in your flip flops, and you think he says something about the wrong way, but you’re rushing, blindly trying to get away from him down the aisle as fast as you can. You’re going to cry, you can feel it, any second now. You weren’t expecting to see him, the reminder of everything that had happened, your marriage and its failure and the part Joel had played in it. A painful and jarring shock to your nervous system that you’d not been prepared to receive. You blindly scramble through the aisles of the hardware store, losing yourself to the gloom of the dimly lit back rows where plywood and carpeting are stocked, that detested dusty hollow smell intensifying. You take another blind turn, another, until the sounds of the store have gone faint and then a frightening pressurized silence. Bracing your palms against one of the eye level shelves you let your head fall between your shoulders, your bag sliding down your arm to hang and sway at the bend of your elbow. You watch the slow back and forth pendulous movement, eyes wide and blurred. If you don’t blink, you won’t cry, and you’re so fucking tired of crying over this. 

“If you were tryn’a get away from me, exit was in the opposite direction,” comes his voice again. Your eyes flutter shut, a single tear drips from the line of your lashes onto the dusty concrete floor. 

“Please, go away,” you croak.

“Tell me what happened.”

“What do you think happened? Don’t ask stupid questions.”

“He– he’s a fuckin’ idiot, sweetheart–”

Your stomach lurches, “Don’t call me that.”

But he doesn’t listen, continues on unheeded. “There’s gotta be something we can do. I’ll– I’ll talk to him. I’ll make him see that–” You let your head fall back the opposite way now, looking up at the high, cavernous ceiling of the store, another bitter laugh. It’s the only kind left to you now. 

“I don’t want him back, Joel. Be serious.”

“He needs you–” And oh, that makes you angry. 

“Fuck you.” You spin around to spit the words at him, rushing forward to shove at his rock solid chest. He doesn’t budge even half an inch. You shove again, again, a humiliating sob making its way up your chest. You blink then, you can’t help it, the tears fall unrestrained. It’s a specific type of humiliating, facing the estranged father of the man who you’d been married to, who’d been unable to love you, who’d abandoned you. 

Sam and Joel had been unaware of each other’s existence for almost twenty eight years, but two years ago, Sam’s mother had finally told him about his father, his name, where he lived, how they’d gotten together when they were too young, and how she’d split, scared and vulnerable, without telling him a thing. The two of you’d gone looking for the man, and you’d both been varying degrees of shocked at what you’d found. Sam, faced with a man so unlike himself he’d immediately resented him more than he already had for the fact of his absence his entire life. You, as well, faced with a man so unlike your husband that it had made you resent your marriage even more. Immediately welcoming, loving, patient, gracious and generous and forgiving of the fact that a son had been kept from him for almost three decades. Despite the severity of his character, his serious reservedness, he’d done everything in his power to open himself to this long lost son. Not once had the news been met with cruel anger or outrage. Joel had accepted his son immediately and without question, listening to his mother’s reasoning, accepting the fact that a mistake had been made, forgiving, willing to move on and embrace Sam in all the ways he’d been denied for so long. Sam hadn’t been able to fathom it. He’d been mistrustful, hostile, angry, all the things he always was but compounded and heightened to a terrible degree he eventually started taking out on you. 

And it was funny because the fraught, or lack thereof, relationships with your fathers had been the thing that had initially bonded the two of you. Too young and alone and without direction, you’d met him in your last year of college. The relationship had immediately developed without boundaries or reason, you’d been obsessed, a little desperate, unquestioning, and then married a few short months later. Two too young, too lost people, burdened with daddy issues. A terribly sad cliche. You’d never had a chance. You never should have been. And there’s a part of you now, looking up at this man, your ex-husband’s father, that wants to feel angry at him, that wants to spit in his face and say this is all your fault, everything that happened to me, everything that was done to me was in your name, and I blame you for all of it, but you know it’s without reason or countenance. And worst of all, anger, blame, resentment, it’s not anything near to the things you feel when you look at him. The memory of a small, dark restroom flashes in your mind’s eye, his eyes gleaming above your face, the thick slope of his shoulder, the patterned wallpaper behind him, sickening comfort. 

You go still and frozen, fingers twisting in the front of his shirt, jerking with a painful shiver from the top of your head, down the length of your vertebrae, to the tips of your toes that cramp and spasm. Looking up at his face, you can feel a pulse throbbing in the muscle beneath your right eye, and the way he looks down at you, as if he’s never felt as sorry for any other creature in his entire life as he does for you in this moment, so embarrassing. You let your head fall forward again, landing with a soft thump against his chest, an uncontrollable tremble moving like fire through your frame. “Fuck you,” you say again, whispered, soft and weak and without any sort of force behind it. “How dare you say that to me,” another tear. “He’s always needed you. It was never me he wanted, never me he needed. It was always you.” You watch as one hand withdraws from its pocket cage, lifting to push a soft tendril of hair back behind your ear. And there’s fire left in the wake of the brush of his skin at the hollow there. Another shiver of a worse kind, one of desire, one of lust, moves through you. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it – I’m sorry, honey.” Stupid southern charm and their stupid pet names. You clutch at his shirtfront more tightly, press your forehead harder into his sternum, and he brings his hand to your shoulder, tucking you into himself more securely. He’s huge and warm and smells faintly of salt and sweat and laundry detergent. Something clean and fresh and masculine. He smells alive. His other hand comes up to the back of your head, moving through your hair. Fucking, Sam, he murmurs above you, and you’re sure he’s shaking his head in that disappointed fatherly way. “Tell me what you were looking for. What had you lookin’ so confused and irritated in the plumbing aisle?” You’d laugh if you could, a non bitter sort, but you don’t have the ability anymore, and that makes you so angry. Angry and irrational.

“My sink’s leaking, and I can’t afford a plumber because your son divorced me and left me with no money and no house and nothing for myself, and I hate this stupid place. I hate the way it smells, and I hate that nothing’s labeled clearly, and I hate the way you men,” you shove at his chest a little bit again, “look at me like I’m some dumb little girl who doesn’t know left from right.” Even if that’s what you kind of feel like, a dumb little girl who doesn’t know left from right anymore. Slightly out of breath, you go limp and exhausted against him. His palm flattens at the center of your spine, supporting you, and it’s so fucking inappropriate. You should move away. You don’t know him well enough for this, he’s your ex-father-in-law, you shouldn't let him touch you, but should and should not and right and wrong and inappropriate or not has never really mattered to you where Joel Miller is concerned. “This is the worst place in the whole world,” you mumble, voice muffled from where your face is squished against the annoyingly hard and delicious muscles of his chest. You feel, keenly, like you’re being a little bit ridiculous, a little bit embarrassing, but his big hand is slowly moving up and down the length of your spine, soothing and comforting, and you can’t bring yourself to care. He’d been kind from the first second you’d met him, and then, at the worst moment, he’d been understanding, and you’d never really stood a chance against him either. 

You’d never had a chance with the son, you’d never stood a chance against the father, there had never really been much choice or possibility for you as a whole where either of them were concerned.

I was such a little person. Tiny in my insignificance, naivety, hope. Desperate to be as good as I could be, and pathetic in my failure to make myself into what I thought the world wanted of me. 

“You can’t afford–” He breathes out roughly through his nose, stopping himself from continuing. “Do y’know what it is you’re looking for? What part?” And you nod your head, still buried against him, unable or unwilling to pull away. “Let me help you,” and he says it so, so gently that it makes you want to stomp your foot and cry and throw a fit at the unfairness of it all. 

“Don’t want your help,” you can’t help the muffled whine it comes out as. All you want is for someone to help you. 

“Of course you don’t, sweetheart,” he soothes. “But let me anyway. S’the least I can do for talkin’ out of my ass.” You finally pull back, looking up at him, and he brings his thumb up to catch the wetness at the fine skin beneath your eye. “Please, don’t cry,” he whispers like it hurts him. 

And even though he’s currently catching the salt of your eyes with his fingers, you lie obstinately, “I’m not,” whispered back just as quiet. 

After he helps you find the correct piece for your sink, finally, which ends up being neither of the options you’d been previously weighing, a fact that almost sends you over the deep end again, and paying for it at his aggravating and overbearing insistence, he walks you to your car. 

“Is he still in Austin?” He asks as he holds your door open for you, your shopping bag still clutched in his hand. One of the guys on his crew had come to find him while you were checking out, but he’d sent him away with a shake of his head, said he had something to take care of. 

“I don’t know, but he sold our house.”

“Fuck– Where’re you living?” The sound of his spit curse has a wet flutter moving through you, shame following bitterly in its wake. 

“I got an apartment in the East Side.”

“And he just left you to fend for yourself? Took your fucking house?” He’s getting angry, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen him get angry. Something foreign like excitement jumps within you. 

“Well, that’s the point of divorce, Joel. You separate and are left to your own devices.” You reach for the little plastic bag, but he jerks it out of your reach. 

“He has a responsibility to you. He–”

“Again… the point of divorce.”

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, that boy,” he mutters, shaking his head. And that’s the thing of it, you think, that’s always been the crux of the issue. Sam was always a boy, has always been just a boy… there had never been any chance. “Let me come help you with the sink. Let me fix it for you.” Something to take care of, that’s what he’d said, that’s what he’d called you, what he sees you as. 

You’re shaking your head before he can even finish getting the words out, full of regret, and a wish that it could have all been different from the very start. “You know that isn’t a good idea,” and he goes silent because he does, he does know, he’d known since the first time probably. It had been obvious in the way that a secret thing can only be between the two people involved in the unsaid. “I can do it myself. Don’t worry. I’ll find a way.”

“You still got the same number?” He asks.

“Please, don’t call me. Call Sam. He’s the one that needs you. He’s the one that–”

“And who’s taking care of you? Who’s gonna take care of you, sweetheart? You need someone too, we all do.”

A flash of that earlier anger again, and you reach forward to rip the bag out of his clutch now, angry because he’s right. Because he’d always seemed to have a grossly misplaced ability to read you exactly as you are. He’d read you for what you were from the first second he’d laid eyes on you, naive and hopeful and falsely in love with a son who’d never loved either of you in return. “Maybe,” you tell him, “But that can’t be you.” He looks away from you, gruff sound of irritation passing through his clenched teeth, and he drags a heavy palm down his bearded mouth. Fuck, again that provoking spit curse. The wallpaper in that dark restroom had been covered in little blue motifs, butter yellow details sparsed throughout. It had surprised you, the pretty and delicate design in the home of a, for all intents and purposes, bachelor. It spoke of intention and attention to detail, to his space, to care of his home. That dim moment was, strangely, sickly, the brightest memory of the entire two years of your marriage. 

“You still got my number?” He presses anyways. Unheeded or uncaring of you trying to push him away, and there’s something about that, that’s pleasurable, his inability to let a thing go where you’re concerned, his unwillingness to allow you to hold him at arms length. Like he doesnt care to be kept away from you, and so he won’t. You nod your head once, face burning, molars grinding to keep yourself still and in place. You’d felt, for two years, trapped, running in place, and now left limp and exhausted and colorless, and you hope that he can’t read that exhaustion in you. For some reason, that would be more embarrassing than everything else, for him to see just how defeated you’d been left. He gives you one of those looks, those direct, piercing, aggravating looks that you’ve seen from him before, aggravating in a way that is inciting, like a relentless tongue against a slick swollen cunt, God. Your hands are shaking, and he bends his head down to your level to look at your directly, “You promise me that if you need anything, anything at all, doesn’t matter what it is – that you’ll call me. No matter the hour, no matter what it is. Promise me.” Another sharp jerk of your chin, if you talk you’ll scream or make a sound not wholly belonging to the body of a girl, woman, whatever you are. Another nod, the mute shape of an okay passing through your lips. And his face is so concerned, his hand almost lifted in the imitation of what you have to tell yourself, as a form of self preservation, is an ill intentioned caress or hug, but that you know he’d mean as nothing more than genuine comfort. You deflate in relief when he doesn’t touch you, right here, out in the open for the whole world to bear witness to. Things like that, after all, are only meant for dark, wallpapered bathrooms. He’d already taught you this. 

-

The relationship had not been what either of them had expected, Sam and Joel, from the get go. There was a smallness to his son, a pettiness and a cruelty and a spoiled rotten vein through the core of him that was incongruous with who Joel was as a man, something that was glaringly obvious to all involved. And try as he might, in those early days, they could not overcome the disparity in their personalities. The attempts from Joel at closeness had been fraught with tension and unsaid resentments, and eventually Sam had given up, stopped answering his father’s calls, evading his attempts to connect. Your marriage had spiraled into dissolution shortly after that. As if the failure to find whatever it was he’d for so long hoped for in a relationship with his father had highlighted all of the things you yourself lacked, all the ways in which you were so specifically dissatisfying to him and always would be. 

The marriage had not ended up being what either of you had hoped for, the honeymoon phase quashed and dead early on, no brightly lit halcyon. Reality had set in quickly when confronted with the disjointedness of your pairing, a bone out of place, your specific inability to please him in the ways he’d thought you would when he’d first met you. There was something about you that had always been a little bit lacking, something ascetic and cold natured about your personality at times. Since you were a child, trying to appease an unappeasable father, to emulate a singular mother. Always impossible, always falling just short of utter failure. Not so terrible that you were outwardly obvious in your mediocrity, but never everything you could be. Painfully, succinctly average. Sam had come to realize this quickly. Perhaps, unaware prior to tying himself to you because the only thing you’d ever been not average at, was being a little bit of a liar, of being placatingly complacent when the moment necessitated, manipulative in a way that you found protecting. But you see, that’s what happened when you had a cruel father who always needed appeasing, something Sam, in his abject fatherlessness, couldn't understand. Funny, you’d said that to him once, near the end, called him abjectly fatherless, his weakness a consequence of his lack of a paternal role model, and oh, how he’d hated that. Endings could bring out such cruelty in people, you’d found. 

But the manipulation of a moment had become, in some ways, your only talent. The art of superficial gratification at a moment's notice as a way to keep the people around you falsely happy and calm. Like all small and frightened creatures, you’d learned your strengths well, but as all truths do, yours had eventually surfaced. The fact that you weren’t really so appeasing in the ways he desired, not so nice, not so perfect, not so subservient. That the persona was all just a way to keep him happy as a means of getting someone to love you, to stay because you didn’t know how else to be. 

Your mother always said you could’ve been nicer to him. She was a kind, soft, patient thing. Quiet and easy and always, always, above everything else, understanding. It was the worst thing about her. A detriment, a weakness, and she resented you for your resentment, for seeing her as such, but you could never help it. Always asking you why you couldn’t just be a nice girl, a good girl. 

You didn’t think you had not been nice, not been good. You had only been yourself.

Your father had always hated that about you, you being yourself. The man you’d chosen to marry didn’t seem to like it very much either. And she’d tried to instill her better qualities in you, your mother, so you weren’t all bad all the time. There could be a brightness and a lightness and a sweetness to you sometimes, it’s true. You weren’t always all bad. But there was – is still – also a bitterness and a resentment and an anger, a screaming that you could not quell no matter how hard you tried. And so you’d attepted to give him everything you could, your husband, everything you had at your disposal in all ways, to do and be all he could have ever asked of you during those two small years of marriage. Because truly, they had felt so very small, made you even smaller. 

Everything except for sex. You’d never been able to give him that the way he’d wanted. 

At first, it had been normal, sweet, soft missionary in the darkness, tepid insinuations of orgasms, always hushed, always exactly how he wanted it. But eventually, when the other parts of you began to fail, he got mean and callous and casually cruel. And as you pulled away physically, he called you frigid, a prude, boring, cold, bad in bed, didn't know how to make a man hard. And it had made you so agonizingly insecure, already a sensitive and anxious thing when it came to your physical form, he’d beaten you down, embarrassed you, belittled you.

With time, you’d realized the truth of it which had been nothing more than that you’d never really wanted him. He had never made you desperate, he had never made you wet. It was his character, his attitude, yes, but it was also him. He just wasn’t it for you, and it wasnt that you were a prude or frigid at all, only that you needed patience and understanding and care, gentleness. Things he possessed none of. 

You just needed a little time to warm up and someone who wanted to give you that time. 

The reality that your life had not been full of varied and foolish adventures, and that time had seemed to simply slip away like an echo in the brain from one moment to the next was duly painful. A handful of months of wan and false lust, two years of cold, bitter marriage, and now, six months of barren aloneness. Too many mistakes had been made, too many regrets, three big ones that could be held like stones scorched to burn by the sun in the palm of your hand so that even if you let them go eventually, their imprint would still be scarred into your flesh afterwards forever.

So, perhaps the divorce had been painful in the moment. Or not perhaps, there was nothing uncertain about it, you’d fought tooth and nail to make it work, to keep him with you. Prostrated and humiliated and debased yourself. But with time, it became obvious that it was a fantasy you decided you should finally cast aside, as all children do childish things at a certain age. And then, it had been the easiest thing in the world. After all, and let’s be honest now for a moment, the reckoning had come in the shape of his father. That is, at the end of it, the reason you’re really here. 

Sat now, before the open cabinet below your kitchen sink, leaky pipe drip, drip, dripping monotonously in front of your glazed over eyes, you think of him. He’s a large man, intimidating and dark and stoic. Taller and broader than his son. Lush, mahogany curls streaked with silver that speak of age and experience like the smile lines around his eyes. Deeply grooved when he laughs that beautiful laugh of his. He looks exactly like the opposite of whatever his son is, like he’d have the ability to make the opposite of you, to pull out of you whatever the antithesis is of what his son was able to. It had been immediate, the nature of your thoughts towards him. The desire, the desire, the desire, you had wanted like you’d never wanted before — like an illness, like dying. 

Your marriage had been circling the drain, and then you’d met him, and it should have been innocuous. He’d been kind and polite and welcoming, but also, aloof. Holding himself at a distance, something afraid that he carried within himself, like he didn't want to hope, like he was just a little bit scared of what it meant now to have a son, something to lose. You knew a little bit about that, the worst part of it all is never the cruelty, it’s the hopelessness. Everything had become so much worse after meeting him. An unbearable sort of awareness of something that your listless, frigid self recognized as man, man, man, something like hunger. Something slanted about the desire, wrong, sure, for he was your husband's father, and yet, you wanted him. You wanted to know what he smelled and tasted like, and what the weight of his cock on your tongue would feel like. If it was bigger than his sons, you were almost positive of that, if it would stretch the corners of your mouth to near splitting, the hinges of your jaw to aching. 

You’d met your husband's father, and had realized, painfully, with uncompromising clarity, all that your husband could be, all that he was not, all that he would never be. There was no comparison between the boy and the man, and it made you hurt. 

Your eyes flit back to the screen of your open laptop and the instructional video there, popping another fuzzy peach gummy onto the flat of your tongue, mouth full of sucking sugar. You’re going to fix this sink if it’s the last thing you do, and you’re not going to think about him again. But tomorrow, you’ll start not thinking about him tomorrow. The talent of a liar never really wanes.

The apartment is quiet, nothing but the cheerful crackling of your sweet pumpkin candle and the mocking splish splash of the drain pipe. You had, in recent weeks, come to think of your abandonment as something of an accomplishment. Perhaps, your loneliness is a good thing, you’ll tell yourself as a comfort, a sort of friend; you can’t be used against yourself again in this solitude, and oh, how you’d been used. That anemia in your character, the ascetic thread of your personality had been weaponized and wielded against you until you couldn’t tell up from down and left from right. You were certain there’d been cheating, even if you’d never had any proof to confirm it, merely grateful you’d never gotten sick as way of evidence. But you knew. And it could've been so much worse for you, of course, of course it could have. But he’d left your mind so off kilter, broken and confused and not yourself. Utterly damaged in a way that was humiliating and devastating when you thought of the way you’d been, such a little person. So often, not a woman, just a little girl. 

And then his father. Joel. Seeing him today – you had never felt the way you should have felt towards him. Like your eyes were open, awake for the first time in your entire life. A man like that – he was changing. And you wanted, needed very much to be changed. Seeing him today, being presented with that reminder of what he was, how he made you feel, how he’d always made you feel. There’s something ghoulish about you concerning him – about this desire. That ascetic or anemic or under-grown, illformed thing about you, exterminated in the thrum of how alive he is. How unlike his son. You’d never known what it specifically was, never been able to categorize it, and then there had been that moment, brought so low, six feet beneath the ground sort of debased, and he’d been there and you had been – unburdened from the weight of his own son, by him, and you’re not even sure he knew the extent of it. The power he’d wielded over you in that moment in the dark. And you can’t say it out loud, what it is you’d want from him, you can’t even say out loud what it is about him that changes you as it does – not a woman, just a little girl – but you think that if you could just see him, then you’d know, or maybe you could be brave. You don’t know what it is, but you’d know it then, with him in front of you, you’d have the answer to this question that’s plagued you for so long – how to be yourself in a way that is good.

You’re pushing yourself to your feet, fueled by the thought, fingers gripped over the ledge of the counter to pull yourself up, sink forgotten, stumbling to your front door, shoving your feet into your shoes and fumbling for your keys. How to be yourself in a way that is good. 

When you were seventeen, your father had been at his angriest. Angry in that way that all angry father’s are. Loud and brutish – an anger that is cowing, a sign of true weakness. Brute force in the shape of the man who gave you life. When you think of it now, even as a grown woman, you still feel that phantom limb of fear, and you know that it isn’t normal for a grown woman to be afraid of her father, and yet you are. And then to think that you’d gone from your parents home directly to the bed of the same sort of man, one even crueler, if possible. You’re forced to laugh your singular terrible, self deprecating laugh at the irony of it – even worse, if possible. For what’s worse than a person who constantly needs to be soothed into kindness and patience and calm? 

Once, in that terrible seventeenth year, funny and strange and unknowingly perfect, you’d been gifted the Farmer’s Almanac by your elderly neighbor. She’d said that she’d read it since she was a girl, liked the peace in knowing that the year had been predicted by experts and put down on paper. It made life seem more secure, more in control in a small way. You’d needed that during that turbulent time, locked in your teenage bedroom, lulled to sleep by the sound of your father’s anger and the year’s long-range weather predictions before your blurry eyes. It was so comforting to be able to read the future in text, catastrophe or sunshine, at least it was there. You still read it to this day. And there’s no congruity to the thought now, as you crawl into your car, a ghoul in the night, banging your knee on the hastily opened car door, sprouting gooseflesh in the cold; this desire, desire, desire that is the worst thing you’ve ever felt in your whole life, and yet, you can’t bring yourself to stop because there is something about control in this moment also. Control like knowing what the future will be like on paper, control like a man who is entirely grown into himself, who knows who he is and who he is not and is not uncertain, who will not yell, who will not hurt you. He has this – your husband’s father – you know he does. There is something about control, there is something about knowing how a thing will be, there is something about being yourself in a way that is good. 

-

You’d picked up the wrong wine on your way here. Rushing, trying to fix your makeup in the car, you’d gotten confused, chosen the one he didn’t want instead of the one he did. And it was nothing, or an accident, surely nothing to incite his ire, but he’s so fucking angry hovering in front of you. He looks at you, now sometimes, like he hates you, like you’re the worst thing that’s ever happened to him. He said you’d humiliated him in front of his father. That he was going to think he didn’t have good taste, couldn’t afford a decent bottle of wine. And you don’t know Joel very well, but he doesn’t seem like the type of man to care about such things. Calling you an idiot in that poisoned shrill tone he takes on when he’s delivering a set down, and you’re trying to tell him to please, please keep your voice down, Sam, your father is going to hear you. You’d heard someone say once that a truly powerful man never feels the need to raise his voice, it simply isn’t necessary for him, and you’re reminded, terribly, of your father, with the sight of your shrill and seething husband in front of you.  And then a low toned that’s enough, son from the mouth of the kitchen, and it’s so much worse, entirely catastrophic in a way, and you’re rushing away so humiliated, face on fire, tear caught over the trough of your lower lid, trying the doors in the hallway for the nearest restroom. You hear the murmur of voices, one struggling to maintain composure, the other, cool and steady, then the slam of the front door, and finally, the silent din of his house settling around the two of you as you find a restroom to hide in. Your heart beats so fast it makes you nauseous, knees strangely aching, listening to the heavy steps of Joel’s boots, as if he’s trying to warn you with those measured, weighted thuds that he’s coming, coming, coming for you. Turning to face the far corner of the restroom, you press your palm over your mouth, face slippery and burning and so stupid, the soft swoosh of the opening door, a paused breath as he takes in your form huddled into the wallpaper, and then the muted snick of the door closing behind him, shutting the two of you away together.

Part II

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

Updates Blog!

[pookie-mulder]

July 2024 fic roundup

Here are the highlights from this month! I really love doing these. It helps me be more engaged with what I’m reading and actually remember individual fics once I’m done with them (rather than stuffing them in the collective “fic soup” in my brain, where they’ll combine together until there’s no hope of remembering details). Anyway, I highly recommend doing some sort of fic journal! I’d love to know what you guys are reading.

🦆👧 Temporum VI by Emily_M1013

This is the third installment of a wonderful Emily AU, The Mallards series. I love how it puts its own spin on canon events, and I’m delighted every time I see an update in my inbox!

🤫🪪 Snakebitten by @onpaperfirst

My favorite thing about this fic is the way it adds to canon without rehashing what we’ve already seen in the show, building on season 5 so seamlessly. (The motel scene is 👌)

👰‍♀️🤵‍♂️yesterday’s future by @thursdayinspace

This fic answers the question I posed in this post: What if Mulder and Scully got married right after William was born? I loved it so much! The angst and the longing and the overwhelming love were just perfect.

👓😩 spectacular by @thursdayinspace

Scully has a thing for Mulder in glasses. Mulder has a think for Scully in glasses. They bang about it. (And who can blame them, really?)

🌳☕️ Suncadia by @sisterspooky1013

A banger from the great sisterspooky! It’s a casefic set in the weird post-Millennium era where they kiss sometimes but haven’t established the terms of their relationship yet. Pining and yearning abound!

🏥👰‍♀️ Something blue (and something pink) by @sunflowernyx

Mulder and Scully get married during the cancer arc. It’s sweet, angsty, adorable, and tender. I thoroughly enjoyed it!

🐶🪤 A Change of Seasons by Jo-Ann Lassiter

Still making my way through @lilydalexf’s survival fic recs! This one is a one-shot; perfect for when you want a bit of hurt/comfort without all the peril and drama.

🌨️🌲 Frozen by @dashakay

Classic, cozy, cabin-in-the-woods fic where our two favorite agents get snowed in and finally admit their feelings for each other.

🏥👻 Finding Rokovoko by prufrockslove

An instant addition to my holy grail list! This is the first fic I’ve read by this legendary author (I think?), and BOY HOWDY do I see why they’re so revered. I finished this fic in one sitting, reading late into the night (yes, I was very tired at work the next day).

I think it’s best if you go into this one mostly blind. All you need to know is that MSR are teetering on the knife’s edge between UST and RST, there’s plenty of cancer arc angst, and they go on a spooky adventure that will give you the creepy crawlies.

📝📱 Belphegor’s Prime by prufrockslove

Another absolute banger from the legend themselves. This fic is as close to perfection as humanly possible. The way everything comes together is just incredible. If you haven’t read it yet, do it now! Shirk all other responsibilities and devour this fic in one sitting!

One of my favorite things about this fic is how ruthless Mulder is. I don’t think I’ve encountered a version of him quite like this anywhere else. His intense love for his family and his innate sense of duty are intensified to the point where he skirts the boundaries of what’s morally acceptable. He’s so desperate to protect his loved ones and fix the world that he will do anything, even if he risks becoming his father(s). It felt so organic and natural for him to become that version of himself under the extreme circumstances.

Anyway, if you’re a fan of time travel, DILFs, or characters whose greatest strengths become a curse, this is the perfect fic for you!

🎪🎡 More Than a Feeling by @sisterspooky1013

A s6 casefic where M&S go undercover at a traveling carnival. I love how fleshed-out the OCs were — it really raised the stakes of the story and made you care what happened to them. Such a fun read!

🐞🩺 Inspection by @ingridgradient

Our favorite agents use tick checks as an excuse to touch each other. Need I say more? Things get hot! (Thanks for the rec, @is-on-its-way!)

P.S. If you like this one, check out let’s have a look by girlfromnowhere (thanks for finding it for me, @randomfoggytiger!)

🏴󠁧󠁢󠁷󠁬󠁳󠁿✝️ Hiraeth by prufrockslove

This is one of those fics that leaves you gobsmacked that someone wrote this for free and posted it online for anyone to enjoy. The amount of detail in this story is truly unbelievable. I don’t even normally like total AUs, but this one won me over!

Mulder and Scully’s medieval counterparts are so far removed from anything in canon, yet they still feel exactly like the characters we know and love. This fic is an absolute master class in characterization. I am now a prufrockslove stan account.

———

Special shoutout to @skelavender’s latest installment of fall into place, which isn’t out yet but I had the pleasure of beta reading. Guys, you are in for some serious shrimp emotions. It’s got everything you could ever want. I can’t wait until everyone gets to see how awesome it is!

[slexenskee]

MDNSY AU

Posting this WIP bc maybe if it sees the light of day I’ll actually get around to writing more of it

I originally wrote this right after the sick-fic arc even though its supposed to take place during the Eri arc so it gets kinda AU from there

It’s only afterwards— months afterwards, that he realizes the full extent of his own stupid actions. 

So many things had to perfectly align in exactly the wrong way for this to happen. But each and every one of them was his own damn fault, so there’s really no one to blame here but himself. 

It had to have happened when Hawks had been sick and recovering in his hotel room, that’s the only way the timing lines up. Gojo has always been good about practicing safe sex— considering how he sleeps around, he sort of has to— and has never slipped up even once… until Hawks. Multiple times, actually, not even counting the time he was sick. There’d also been that time in Palawan, when he hadn’t brought any condoms with him because he’d honestly thought he wouldn’t need them. That had been rather profoundly short sighted of him, in hindsight. And then of course there were the time(s) when Hawks was staying in his hotel room, when they couldn’t keep their hands off each other and once again Gojo hadn’t thought to go out and buy any condoms because he’d genuinely thought he wouldn’t need any. Hawks had been sick! Basically delirious! How was he supposed to know that the moment he’d recovered enough he’d jump him? And on a related note, how was Gojo supposed to summon up enough willpower to stop him? 

To that point— how was Gojo even supposed to know he should stop him?

That too, though, is entirely his fault.

Apparently it’s a regular part of sex-ed during middle school— except Gojo never went to class in middle school, so he’d entirely missed the memo. With the advent of quirks came a rare genetic mutation that allows for male pregnancies among a small subset of the population. Rare, but not entirely unheard of, either. It was certainly common enough for a segment to be taught in public schools, and testing to be done as part of the gamut of health checks most kids go through around puberty. Most kids aside from Gojo, who was out terrorizing organized crime syndicates just for fun at that age. 

God, he’s a fucking idiot. This entire situation was so laughably avoidable, and yet he’d managed to end up in it anyway. 

Anyway so now he’s having an existential meltdown in the middle of his still unfinished bathroom, staring numbly at the flecks of grout still flaking off the new tile, wondering what the fuck he’s supposed to do now.

“Satoruuu,” a voice whines from the other side of the bathroom door. “I need to pee.”

Gojo scrambles to his feet, binning the evidence of all the pregnancy tests and burying it under a cloud of toilet paper just before he wrenches the door open, smile fixed in place. “Sorry Eri-chan! I was spacing out.”

Eri just takes the excuse at face value, bounding into the only current usable bathroom in the house and shutting the door behind her.

Gojo sighs wearily, slumping against the wall just outside the door.

Alright, first on the agenda is finding a temporary residence for them while he gets an army of contractors to fix the worst of the ‘home improvement’ sins he’s committed upon this house as quickly as possible. He’d originally thought redoing the rooms would be a fun bonding activity for him and Eri, but now he knows all those chemicals will be bad for… for the baby, so that’s probably a bad idea now. He’s also going to need this house in livable condition as fast as he can make it happen, because apparently… there’s going to be a baby here in less than six months. 

He’s also going to need a doctor, and a very good and discreet one at that. From what he’s read in his mad frenzy of online searching, male pregnancies are very high risk. He’s not at all worried for himself, seeing as though he can heal from just about anything, but that same protection doesn’t extend to the other person currently taking up roost inside him. He frowns. Or does it? Wouldn’t his reversed-curse technique still work on them when they’re still a parasite leeching off of his body? When exactly does their cursed energy start to deviate from each others to the point he can no longer heal them as an extension of himself? Man, what he wouldn’t give for a conversation with Shoko right now.

He can worry about things like clothes and furniture and baby food after he’s settled the most immediate concerns on his list. Namely, fixing this house and finding a doctor. And telling Eri, although he doubts that will be much of an issue. The girl will be beyond excited to be an older sibling.

Now as for telling his family and telling Hawks…

Gojo winces.

Yeah, okay. It says a lot that he’d rather tell Endeavor, to his face, that he’s getting another grandchild than fessing up to Hawks about carrying his kid. Even the thought of it is going to give him a stress tumor.

Well, stress is bad for babies, right? So maybe he should just table the thought for later. You know, for his health.

[gimmethatagustd]

venor (epilogue) | kth + jjk

The barista at the university’s café keeps telling Jungkook not to come back, but Jungkook is too busy daydreaming about kissing the beauty marks on his face to be paying attention to his warnings.

○ Pairing: Tiger!Taehyung x Bunny!Jungkook

○ Rating: Explicit/18+

○ Genre: Hybrids, predator/prey, college au, strangers to lovers, slow burn, fluff, light angst, eventual smut

○ Word Count: 5,502

○ Warnings: Heat sex, what the gworlies call self-lubrication aka slick, Taehyung’s got a big dick (in every universe imo), size difference, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, handjob, unprotected anal sex, scenting, marking, pet names

○ Notes: This is honestly just porn 🫣 If there are errors, no there aren't jshdfks I wrote this with scrambled eggs for brains. ANYWAY. THIS IS THE END OF AN ERA. I can't believe I wrote a 79k fic. Who tf am I??

○ Post Date: May 4, 2024

○ Masterlist | AO3 Cross-Post

○ What was Jai listening to? The series playlist

Series Masterlist

"You're gonna be fine, dude. I swear, it's not as scary as everyone makes it out to be. When Suyun first—"

Taehyung's phone slips out of his hand and clatters onto the tile floor. He accidentally kicks it halfway across the aisle when he bends down to pick it up. Poor Jackson is still talking on the other line, doling out advice that Taehyung should be listening to.

"Son of a bitch," Taehyung hisses, finally snatching his phone.

"What the fuck, hyung?"

"Sorry, not you. I'm just freaking out, okay? I'm at the grocery store, and I don't know what kind of snacks he wants because he hasn't texted me back in an hour. An hour."

"Hyung, I'm gonna be so real with you right now. He's probably fuck—"

"Nope. Shut the fuck up, Jackson, goodbye."

"Hyung, I just meant that he's probably fine!" 

Jackson is probably right. Jungkook is probably fine. Taehyung is the one who can't pull himself together.

"I'm gonna go…"

Taehyung doesn't wait for Jackson's reply. Grabbing whatever food he thinks Jungkook would like, Taehyung tries to pay for his groceries and leave the store without terrifying the prey hybrids around him with his tunneled focus. Predator hybrids tend to have a certain air of dominance, something natural and usually out of their control. Taehyung does his best to be neutral, to keep himself in check and glide through life as inoffensively as possible. Ironically, he's been told the intentional suppression of his instincts only makes him come off as even more intimidating.

Not to Jungkook, though, who trusts Taehyung more than Taehyung trusts himself.

On Taehyung's way home, he may have run more than one red light. Tickets in the mail will tell him; he can't be fucked to know now. The trip home is a black hole, like whatever floats beyond the dark outer walls of the tunnel he barrels through. Getting from the parking garage to his apartment is no different, just with plastic grocery bag handles digging painful creases into the skin of his forearms as they swing when he shoves his shoulder against the front door. He hates the way it sticks and reminds himself that he needs to buy oil and fix it himself since his good-for-nothing dog of a landlord won't ever do shit.

Living on his own has taught Taehyung a lot about himself, like how he never wants Jungkook to ever have to bruise his shoulder against a door to force it open, even if Jungkook's shoulders are more muscular than his. It has taught him that he gets anxious over choosing the wrong Turtle Chips flavor. That he cares about not leaving the lights on in the apartment — not because he's stingy with the electricity bill as his parents had been, but because it makes it easier to find Jungkook when the apartment is dark and the only lights on are in Taehyung's bedroom. That he hates putting away groceries and would rather drop the bags in the doorway – they're just snacks – and crawl into his bed where a sleeping Jungkook is curled around his pillow.

Living on his own has taught Taehyung that he would rather live with Jungkook.

"Bun," Taehyung murmurs into the crook of Jungkook's neck.

Jungkook is lying on his side, so it's awkward when Taehyung straddles his legs and drapes his body over him, though Taehyung does his best not to crush him. He's sweaty from wearing the baggiest hoodie he could find in Taehyung's closet and wrapping himself in every blanket Taehyung owns despite it being the middle of the summer. His ears are flopped back so he avoids lying on the left-side one, and his face is flushed pink.

This is new for both of them, though in different ways. Jungkook has never had someone to help him through his heat, and Taehyung has never helped someone through their heat. Taehyung has had rut partners — which he knew better than to talk to Jungkook about — but he knows that experience is entirely different. For the past week leading up to the heat, when Jungkook was particularly moody, Taehyung felt dread sit like a rock in his stomach. It weighed him down and churned his insides. He could do nothing to stop the sinking feeling or the fluttering of his heart when he realized there was nothing he could do. Typically, the experienced one of the two, Taehyung, feels like he has been fumbling behind Jungkook as he tries to learn the right way to do… this.

"Why are you on me?" Jungkook asks. Sleep has made him groggy, easily heard in the thick grumble of his voice.

"'Cause I love you."

"Tae."

With a grin, Taehyung nuzzles his face against Jungkook's neck. He knows he's being annoying, but Jungkook smells sweet, and his body is warmer than usual. Taehyung likes it. He likes how rich Jungkook's scent is right here, in the dip of his collarbone, then just a bit north to that invisible spot on his neck that makes Taehyung's mouth water just from thinking about it.

"Tickles," Jungkook mutters and limply swats at Taehyung with closed eyes. His palm is sweaty, too. It sticks to Taehyung's cheek when he tries forcing his face away, but Taehyung presses further, purring.

"Hmm, you smell good."

Taehyung's tail wraps around Jungkook's wrist and pulls his hand away. Accepting defeat, Jungkook lets his arm flop back onto the bed.

"I'm trying to sleep, Tae."

Jungkook is so cute, with one side of his face smushed into his pillow, squishing his cheek and forcing him to talk through a pout that accentuates his bunny teeth. Taehyung wants to eat him. He can feel the wild, feral thing that crawls inside his chest and turns his brain fuzzy whenever Jungkook gets like this, all soft and pliant. It's worse now because of Jungkook's heat. All Taehyung has to do is gently flick his tongue against Jungkook's scent gland, and he immediately smells the sweet spike of Jungkook's slick. There's nothing that makes Taehyung feel more powerful than the smell of Jungkook's arousal.

Jungkook gives up on pushing Taehyung away and tries to shimmy deeper into the blankets to hide his sensitive neck from Taehyung's teasing.

"Taehyung, leave me alone," Jungkook whines.

The logical, human part of Taehyung's brain understands that Jungkook is irritable because Taehyung has just woken him up from a heavy nap when his body is weak. The emotional, animal part of Taehyung's brain cowers from the blatant rejection.

Slowly, he climbs off of Jungkook and scoots until he's sitting at the foot of the bed. His heart thumps in his throat as fiercely as his tail thumps against the bed.

"Okay…" Taehyung says softly, but Jungkook is already asleep again.

Ears flattened in his messy copper hair and his tail dragging behind him, Taehyung gathers the grocery bags he left in the bedroom doorway and takes them into the kitchen. If Jungkook doesn't want him around, he supposes he'll just do all the chores he has neglected since Jungkook began staying over. It has been a little over a week; Jungkook didn't want to bother Yoongi with his pre-heat symptoms in their dorm, considering they have to share a bedroom. The plan was to let Jungkook take Taehyung's apartment for himself, and Taehyung would stay with his appa until Jungkook's heat passed. Deciding to spend Jungkook's heat together came later. 

It's one of the many benefits of graduating early and living independently; Taehyung doesn't have to worry about silly university rules that ban predator and prey hybrids from cohabitating.

Taehyung tidies up the kitchen, vaguely aware that he hasn't eaten since the morning. It's evening now, and the sun is slipping low into the sky, painting the sky in golds and pinks as pretty as Jungkook's flushed skin. Earlier, Jungkook admitted that he thought his heat would finally hit by the end of the day.

On the stove, Taehyung reheats miyeokguk and thinks about his eomma as he stirs the soup, savoring the garlic aroma that fills the kitchen. He remembers his appa making it for her after she had Jiae and during the week every few months when he and Jiae stayed at their aunt's house so their parents could have appa and eomma time. It's been years since Taehyung stayed with his aunt for appa and eomma time. Now, he's old enough to have his own version of such a week. He just hopes Jungkook likes miyeokguk, too.

Taehyung stands at the kitchen counter as he eats his bowl of miyeokguk and contemplates if he should shower. He was at work for the greater part of the day, organizing plans for an art restoration exhibit at the Seoul Museum of Art. Or he could call Jackson. He could ask Jackson if Suyun has ever rejected him during her heat. He could ask if the hollow feeling in his chest will ever go away or if this means he and Jungkook aren't compatible. Will Jungkook want him at all? Should Taehyung leave? 

With trembling hands, Taehyung sets his bowl down and grabs the edge of the counter, forcing himself to take a deep breath because, with his chest growing tighter, he can feel himself starting to panic. If Jungkook asks him to leave, he will, but he thinks he might throw up first.

Closing his eyes, Taehyung counts backward from ten, then from twenty, then considers starting at one hundred because his tail is wrapped so tightly around his calf that he's cutting off his own circulation, and the miyeokguk is slithering up his throat.

Taehyung inhales sharply when a pair of arms wrap around his waist, and a rounded chin presses into his shoulder. Jungkook's scent envelops him like a weighted blanket, pressing down on his discomfort until he feels warm and secure. He gives into the sensation, leaning against Jungkook's chest, still careful not to overwhelm him or knock him over with his weight.

"What's wrong, Tae?"

With his eyes still closed, Taehyung turns his head to the side so his lips brush against the curve of Jungkook's plump cheek.

"You don't want me." Taehyung knows he sounds petulant, but he can't clear the panic in his head to make room for complex, meaningful sentences. "I made miyeokguk."

Jungkook giggles, and Taehyung feels like collapsing under the pressure of getting this right.

"I just didn't want to get up. Of course, I want you."

Rising on his tiptoes, Jungkook kisses the little beauty mark on Taehyung's nose. He steps out of reach when Taehyung tries to grab for him, his socks slipping on the tile floor.

"Are you sure?" Taehyung can't help but ask, fully aware of how eager and pathetic he sounds. Jungkook's cheeks are pretty pink, and he's wearing nothing but Taehyung's hoodie. His muscular legs are on display, so squeezable and biteable.

Taehyung wants to eat him.

Jungkook must notice Taehyung's interest — which is always held in Taehyung's wild, dark eyes no matter how hard he tries to be calm — because his response is merely a coy smile. 

Where did Jungkook learn how to act like this? Certainly not from Taehyung. 

The look Jungkook gives Taehyung is one he's never seen on him before. He grabs Taehyung's wrist to pull himself close and looks up at Taehyung with sparkly doe eyes damp at the corners like Jungkook may start crying. The tip of Jungkook's tongue darts out to lick his bottom lip, and Taehyung feels like he's going to pass out when Jungkook brings Taehyung's hand to cup his hard cock over his oversized hoodie. 

"I don't feel good, Tae," Jungkook whispers into Taehyung's shoulder, where he nuzzles his face to breathe in Taehyung's scent. 

Taking another deep breath, Taehyung tries not to let his voice tremble when he asks, "Why? What doesn't feel good?" 

Jungkook gently pushes his hips forward to rub himself against Taehyung's hand. Taehyung's t-shirt muffles the quiet little whimper he makes when Taehyung doesn't do anything. It isn't his fault; Taehyung can barely breathe. Jackson didn't tell him that Jungkook would feel discomfort like this. 

"Bun, what did you say? I can't hear you with your face like that," Taehyung asks weakly. 

Jungkook lifts his head to stare at Taehyung with glossy eyes. His cheeks are nearly red now, deepening from the light pink he was before. Taehyung can't tell if he's going to start crying, but panic swells in his chest from the thought of it. He's supposed to be taking care of Jungkook, not making him cry. 

"Need you, Tae, please."

"Shit," Taehyung curses, removing his hand from Jungkook to instead run it through his own hair. He looks around the kitchen as if the fucking dishwasher is going to tell him what to do. Of course, Taehyung knows what to do. He's just scared. Big, confident Kim Taehyung is scared. 

"Taehyung," Jungkook whines as he tugs on the hem of Taehyung's t-shirt, "Hyung, please." 

Eyes growing wide, Taehyung stares at Jungkook, who seems desperately annoyed by how long he's taking to act on his demands. Jungkook has never called Taehyung hyung before. Prey hybrids rarely use such friendly honorifics with predator hybrids. There is too much generational hurt between the two groups, especially in rural areas like Jungkook's hometown, where prey hybrids are still treated as less than. Many of Taehyung's friends, like Hoseok, encourage the terms across the groups to normalize friendships between them. Taehyung never thought much of it until he started courting Jungkook and realized it felt strange to never hear it — not because he wanted to assert his age onto Jungkook, but to feel the sense of closeness he gets to have with his younger predator hybrid friends. 

Taehyung wipes his clammy hands on his jeans and grabs Jungkook's face, tilting his head back to slot their lips together. They haven't kissed since this morning. It hasn't been long, but Taehyung feels like it's been centuries. He pulls Jungkook's bottom lip into his mouth and nibbles on it like he needs his kisses to survive. He acts like breathing beyond just panting into each other's mouths doesn't matter like the only thing he needs to survive is the sound of Jungkook moaning when he sucks on Taehyung's tongue. They keep kissing as Taehyung steps forward, following Jungkook until he has Jungkook trapped against the counter. 

"Hyung will fix it, okay?" Taehyung says softly once they pull away, his heart swelling when Jungkook rubs his eyes with his fist and nods. 

Jungkook is so sweet, with pretty doe eyes and such kissable lips. Taehyung can't imagine what he has done to be blessed with such a boy in his life. More often than not, he doesn't feel he deserves Jungkook.  

Taehyung pushes up the hem of Jungkook's hoodie, bunching it in his hand and holding it against his stomach near his belly button. With it out of the way, he realizes Jungkook isn't wearing anything underneath. Jungkook's cock glistens in the kitchen's fluorescent lighting, shiny at the tip from so much precum that Taehyung's hand easily glides down the length when he grabs it. 

"Is this better, bun?" Taehyung is sure it is, but he wants to ask just in case.

“Mhmm,” Jungkook nods. He has an iron grip on Taehyung's biceps to keep him close, even though they both know Taehyung isn't going anywhere. His breath tickles as he presses his lips against Taehyung's throat.

Jackson told Taehyung that talking Jungkook through his heat would help him know what Jungkook likes so he can better take care of Jungkook as they spend more together. The dirty, arrogant side of Taehyung thinks it's kind of hot, too. He tries to channel that part of himself as he fists Jungkook's cock. It only takes a few twists of his wrist when he reaches the head as he slides up his cock for Jungkook to cum. To Taehyung's surprise, Jungkook bites him when he does, sinking his blunt teeth into the base of Taehyung's neck and digging his nails into his biceps. 

"Fuck," Taehyung hisses, stumbling forward to close the distance between them and ease the pain of Jungkook's grip on him. "Baby, relax." 

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Jungkook's chapped lips leave kisses where his teeth will likely leave a bruise. 

Taehyung wipes the cum off his hand onto Jungkook's hoodie. It's gross, but they will be even more disgusting by the end of the week, so Taehyung can't find it in himself to care. He's more worried about how Jungkook biting him made his cock jump in his jeans. 

"Baby, come on. Let's go to my room, okay?" 

Taehyung tries to coax Jungkook out of the kitchen, but it's difficult when Jungkook won't let go of him. Jungkook noses at his neck, scenting him despite having done so thoroughly that morning before Taehyung went to work. Taehyung supposes he smells different now after being around so many people throughout the day. It's sweet and triggers a smattering of goosebumps across his skin, subtle physical indications of Jungkook's love painted around his throat. 

It takes too long to get to Taehyung's bedroom, but once they do, Jungkook behaves just as Taehyung expected him to after listening to Jackson's advice. He doesn't even bother removing his hoodie; he just climbs into bed on his forearms and knees, and Taehyung feels like he's going to die. Embarrassment floods Taehyung as he fumbles with his clothing, nearly tripping when his foot gets caught in the leg of his jeans. Jungkook doesn't even care how much of a mess Taehyung is. His head hangs low as his limbs tremble, likely with anticipation, though it could be discomfort. Taehyung doesn't feel good about keeping him waiting, even if he's still nervous as hell. 

Once he's fully naked, Taehyung kneels on the bed behind Jungkook and positions his legs where he needs them to be. They rarely have sex like this; they're too romantic, preferring to look at each other. Still, Taehyung has enough experience in this position to know Jungkook's arms might give out, so he places a pillow under his hips, just in case. 

"Are you sure you want to do it like this, bun? Or would you rather turn around so you can—" 

"Taehyung, fuck me right now," Jungkook snaps, though it doesn't come off as aggressive as it could because he sounds like he's on the verge of tears again. 

"Okay, baby, I will, I promise. It's okay," Taehyung rushes to reassure him. 

He rubs his hands up Jungkook's back to push his hoodie away so he can get a better view of his tiny waist and the cute little fluffy tail at the base of his spine. He drags his hands around Jungkook's sides to run his fingers over his nipples, swirling them until they turn hard, and Jungkook moans with his mouth pressed against his forearm. 

Such a weak, debauched sound causes Taehyung to be immediately overtaken by the sudden urge to pin Jungkook into the bed. It's like his veins turn to fire, burning him from the inside with a hot need that pulses through him. It makes him want to have his way with Jungkook, as hard and as fast as he wants to, with bared teeth and fingers digging into his warm, soft flesh. Sometimes, Taehyung scares himself with how visceral his feelings are toward Jungkook, like some kind of extreme cute aggression. He loves Jungkook so much he wants to smother him, to squeeze him and kiss him and fuck him until he's ruined. 

Then Jungkook turns his head to look back at Taehyung with kaleidoscope eyes, and the wild animal inside of Taehyung melts into a puddle, and all that's left is this goopy, disgusting need to drown himself in Jungkook's gentleness.

Taehyung latches onto that gentle feeling when he grinds the length of his cock between Jungkook's cheeks, slicking himself up before he slowly presses the tip against Jungkook's rim. It pops in easily with how wet and pliable Jungkook is from his heat, but Taehyung won't let that wild side overcome him. This is about Jungkook. Taehyung isn't here to pleasure himself; he's here to take care of the love of his life, his future mate. His little bun trembles as Taehyung lightly presses his fingers against the soft spots where his thighs crease at his hip bones, coaxing him backward. 

"Feel good?" Taehyung asks softly as Jungkook rocks his hips back to ease more of Taehyung's cock inside him. 

"So good," Jungkook moans, much quieter than usual, like he barely has the energy to say anything. He keeps his eyes closed and breathes heavily through his mouth, each exhale growing shakier the closer he gets to taking Taehyung's cock completely. 

"You're so pretty, bun. How are you this fucking perfect? You're incredible." 

Jungkook isn't facing Taehyung, so he can't see Jungkook's expression, but he hears him grumble as he shakes his head.

"I'm not," Jungkook whispers, and Taehyung knows him well enough to guess how hard he's blushing. 

"Don't argue with me, Jeon Jungkook," Taehyung challenges with a light smack of Jungkook's ass, soft enough that it doesn't leave a mark but hard enough for Jungkook's body to jolt.  

Taehyung is quiet, too, though his subdued behavior is his way of trying to keep calm. Jungkook is even wetter and tighter than usual. When Jungkook leans forward and then falls back on his cock again, Taehyung has to squeeze his hips to stop him from moving. 

"Taehyung, please," Jungkook whines and tries to wiggle out of Taehyung's grasp, which only further stimulates his cock. "You're teasing me. It's not nice."

"Baby, stop, stop," Taehyung says, wrapping his arm around Jungkook's waist. "Just give me a second, okay?" 

They're both panting even though they've hardly done anything yet. Taehyung rests his forehead against the middle of Jungkook's back and focuses on regulating his breathing. He feels like a teenager losing his virginity, but he can't let himself cum first. If he does, he'll fuck everything up. There's no way for Taehyung to know how many times Jungkook will cum during his heat. On an average day, Taehyung has gotten him up to three. Although there are many other ways for Taehyung to satisfy Jungkook without penetrative sex, he knows from Jackson that those alternatives won't be as fulfilling for Jungkook. 

Straightening up, Taehyung wraps his hands around Jungkook's slim waist and admires how big he feels when he holds Jungkook. It's not about dominating him, though Taehyung would be a liar if he said he doesn't like how submissive Jungkook is in bed. He really just likes to feel big because it makes him feel useful like he can take care of Jungkook by putting in work so Jungkook doesn't have to. This is especially true now when it's clear that Jungkook's heat is making him sluggish and horny. He barely holds himself up as Taehyung pulls him onto his cock, this time with more force than before. Taehyung lifts Jungkook's hips slightly to angle him in a way that he knows will ensure he's hitting Jungkook's prostate with each thrust. Taehyung has spent plenty of time learning Jungkook's body; he knows how to position Jungkook to make him feel good. Confirmation is nice, though, and he gets it in the form of Jungkook finally wailing. 

"Oh my god," Jungkook sobs, digging his fingers into the bed sheet to hold himself in place as Taehyung's hips snap against his ass. “Taehyung, Taehyung, Taehyung.” 

"I know." 

"Oh, fuck." 

"I know, baby," Taehyung groans, adjusting his grip on Jungkook's waist.

He tries not to think too hard about how good Jungkook feels, especially when Jungkook cums for the second time, and his muscles flutter and constrict around Taehyung's cock. He lets the throbbing subside and focuses instead on how beautiful Jungkook is, all splayed out. His shoulders are strong, with muscles rippling every time he shifts his position. Sweat has made his bangs stick to his forehead, and the rest of his hair fluff up, even turning his bunny ears fuzzy. How Jungkook can be so fucking hot while also cute is beyond Taehyung's comprehension. All Taehyung knows is that, when Jungkook's arms eventually give out and he lies with one side of his face pressed into the mattress so Taehyung can admire how sexy Jungkook is with his eyes screwed shut in pleasure and his mouth hanging open as he moans loudly, he would give anything to stay with Jungkook for the rest of his life. Anything at all. 

Jungkook cums two more times before Taehyung can't hold off any longer. His body screams at him to stop, not just because his cock throbs but because his muscles are sore and he's dehydrated from all the sweating he's doing. Taehyung eases Jungkook fully onto his stomach, hiking up one of Jungkook's knees to spread him open so he can fuck him deeper. He presses his hands into the mattress at Jungkook's sides and drops his head so he can kiss him. It's bumpy and sloppy, hardly a kiss at all, but neither of them cares.

"One more for me, bun," Taehyung's lips brush along the apple of Jungkook's cheek. Pulling away, he swipes his tongue over his bottom lip and tastes the salt of Jungkook's tears. "You gotta give me one more." 

"I can't," Jungkook complains through a broken moan as Taehyung quickens the pace of his thrusts. 

"I think my baby can, for me. My sweet, precious baby."

Jungkook ducks his face into the crook of his arm, and Taehyung laughs. 

"Aw, don't hide from me, baby," Taehyung presses down on Jungkook's waist, holding him in place. He's tighter like this, and Taehyung feels his orgasm starting to make him spiral. "You're so fucking sexy, you know that? God, I love fucking you. You're so tight and wet, and you sound so pretty when you scream my name."

Jungkook is a moaning, trembling mess that only spurs Taehyung on. Taehyung's going to cum; there's no way he can stop himself any longer. He's been edging himself the whole time, forcing them to stop moving every time he gets that pulse that shoots up his cock. His rhythm gets thrown off, even as he tries to hold it together a little longer. 

"Jungkook-ah," he calls out through gritted teeth. 

They meet each other's gaze, both exhausted and disgusting, but Jungkook's beauty is so raw that it hurts Taehyung's heart. 

"I love you," Jungkook's bottom lip pops when he releases it from his teeth to speak. Taehyung wants to bite him so badly. 

"I love you too, bun." 

There's a trick Taehyung has learned, a little button he knows to push when he needs a surefire way to get Jungkook off. He times it right this time so that Taehyung cums as he runs his fingers through Jungkook's fluffy little tail and tugs on it hard. 

Jungkook's moan is mixed with a surprised yelp, and his body reacts exactly how Taehyung wants it to. He cums for the fourth time quivering underneath Taehyung, who has slowed to a gentle grind of his hips that he rides out until he's too sensitive to handle the grip Jungkook has on him. 

"Shit," Taehyung huffs across Jungkook's face as he hangs his head. His arms tremble, but he keeps himself upright so he doesn't crush Jungkook with his weight.

They're sweaty and covered in slick and cum, but neither care. Taehyung can only focus on how content Jungkook looks when he rolls onto his back and opens his arms so Taehyung can lower himself until he's snuggled against Jungkook's chest. He feels their heartbeats slow down together, matching each other like their breathing does until they're in harmony in more ways than one. 

When Taehyung was younger, and his eomma gave him her bracelet, he never understood what she meant about saving it for someone special. He worried he wouldn't know how to tell if someone was special enough for his eomma. How could anyone compare to the woman who gave him life? Who raised and cherished him, and showed him what a truly special person could be? 

Jungkook sifts through Taehyung's curls to scratch at his tiger ears, making Taehyung involuntarily purr and the tip of his tail flick as it always does when he's happy. 

"Was it okay for you? Was I too much?" Jungkook asks, his lips brushing Taehyung's forehead. He's so gentle. As a predator hybrid, no one has ever been gentle with Taehyung. No one but Jungkook. 

"You could never be too much," Taehyung insists, tilting his head to look at Jungkook. "I had fun, actually. We could make this a game. See how many times I can make you cum before I do. We could keep a tally on the refrigerator whiteboard every day and count the total at the end of your heat." 

Jungkook scrunches his nose, and Taehyung can't stop himself from grinning boxy, the way Jungkook likes it. 

"Why are you always so gross? Everything you say is nasty all the time."

"You can't tell me that wouldn't be fun." 

Jungkook rolls his eyes, but he smiles that cute little bunny smile that makes Taehyung want to give it all up for him.

“I love you, Jungkook. I love you in kind of an insane way,” Taehyung admits as he crawls off the bed slowly because his body hurts and he can’t feel his legs. 

He’s unsure if Jungkook is blushing from his heat or his confession, probably a little bit of both, but it doesn’t matter. It’s cute, Jungkook is cute, everything is perfect and wonderful. Taehyung keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop, for something bad to happen. Love doesn’t last forever — not in a corporeal sense. Life has taught him that. But he also knows he can’t let the grief of death haunt him, or else he’ll miss out on having Jungkook in the present. 

“An insane way?” Jungkook asks, a little bit cocky because he has learned that from Taehyung over the past year, and he lets Taehyung pull him out of bed. 

“Mhm.”

“Should I be worried about that?” 

With a grunt, Taehyung grabs Jungkook by his thighs, wrapping his arms just under his butt, and hoists him over his shoulder.

“Maybe,” Taehyung smirks even if Jungkook can’t see it and slaps Jungkook’s ass when he grumbles about him being a problem child.

Taehyung sets Jungkook down on the bathroom counter, leaving him with his legs swinging while he starts a warm bath. Taehyung even grabs the Epsom salt from the cabinet to add to the bath and feels very adult about it for some reason. Taking care of Jungkook like this gives Taehyung a strong sense of responsibility.

“Oh fuck,” Taehyung whips his head around to stare at Jungkook from where he stands bent over the bath to check the temperature. He points at Jungkook. “You!” 

Jungkook’s eyes widen. “Me what?”

“You didn’t eat anything, bun! We’ve been fucking for hours, and you didn’t eat anything!”

Covering his face with his hands, Jungkook lets out a sound like a squeak that Taehyung doesn’t know how to interpret. 

“Can you not say that? It’s embarrassing.”

Taehyung frowns. “That you didn’t eat?”

Jungkook peeks from behind his fingers and shows enough of his face that Taehyung can tell he’s glaring at him with his eyebrows furrowed. 

“Tae, no. Don’t talk about us… having sex for hours.”

“Fucking,” Taehyung repeats with a grin when Jungkook squeaks again. “I was fucking you, Jungkook, for hours. Fucking you within an inch of your life, actually.” 

Blatantly avoiding Taehyung, Jungkook hops down from the counter and steps into the bath. He tries to close the shower curtain before Taehyung can get in. 

“You are out of control.” 

It’s no use, though. Taehyung is quick and lacks most preservation instincts, so he nearly busts his ass as he slips into the bathtub with Jungkook, splashing water all over the walls and onto the floor. It doesn’t matter; his antics make Jungkook giggle, and Taehyung only cares about that. 

Taehyung sits in the bathtub with his legs spread so Jungkook can sit between them and lean his back on Taehyung’s chest. They probably don’t have a ton of time before Jungkook’s heat starts making him a horny devil again, but for now, Taehyung will bathe and feed him and cuddle him until he sleeps or needs more. Whatever it is, Taehyung is ready to give Jungkook his best. 

So, yeah, Taehyung is whipped. He lets Jungkook tilt his head back to kiss the beauty mark on the tip of his nose, and then he kisses the little mole on the side of Jungkook's neck, and yeah, Taehyung is so fucking whipped. He wouldn't have it any other way. 

Series Masterlist

Disclaimer: All my writing is fictional and for entertainment purposes only. None of these characters are meant to actually represent the real people mentioned in the stories. 

All rights reserved © @gimmethatagustd​ - Do not copy, repost, modify, or translate any of my writing. Do not use my writing for any AI purposes whatsoever. Do not use my fics for anything aside from reading and commenting on them. My fics will only be posted on this Tumblr and on AO3 (gimmethatagustd & daddytaehyungie).

[catcas22]

Hi! Happy to know that you (particularly you! 😊) will keep working on your fics as if that DLC twist didn't happen (saw your reblog). the Unalloyed, still one of my favs. And now I think I'll finally start Prince of Death too, as a form of therapy ❤️ Thought to do this earlier, really, it's just that it's big, and I'm a bad slow reader, can't find time... But I'm always watching your updates, they get me interested. Always happy to see you on my dash

Actually wanted to reach out to you yesterday. I think we, those who like Miquella and have our own headcanons, fix AUs, should stick together 😊 For now, I myself don't know what to do with all this new lore... There are some new cool additions to the world, but... you know, yeah.

Hi! I hope you enjoy Prince of Death when you get around to it (I know it's a doorstopper lol).

Yeah, I'm happy to stick with my headcanon version of Miquella. The DLC certainly has some interesting editions (particularly regarding Marika's history) but I hate what they did with Miquella and Radahn.

Disclaimer: I haven't played the DLC yet, I'm going off of Fextralife and my mutuals. So if I get something wrong, sorry in advance.

The sad thing is that I think the DLC concept of Miquella could have worked. In fact, it could have been amazing. The idea of Miquella trying to ascend to godhood by sacrificing pieces of himself rather than sacrificing others, only to lose so much of himself that he forgets the compassion that originally motivated him, could have been beautifully tragic and fitting for his character.

Don't get me wrong, that's not how I hoped Miquella's story would end. But this is Fromsoft we're talking about. I don't want Lady Maria to make every possible wrong decision until the guilt consumes her, then die (twice) in service to a lie. I don't want Artorias to die alone and consumed by madness, only able to be put down like a rabid dog. I don't want Lothric to be executed and dragged to the Kiln despite his brother's best efforts to save him. I don't want Vyke to fall to Frenzy because he refused to sacrifice his companion. But all of these ends feel narratively satisfying. The tragedy feels earned, beautiful in a way rather than pointless.

The broad concept of Miquella's arc could have been a classic Fromsoft tragedy. But instead it ends up feeling... deeply stupid, once you look into the details. From what I understand, the entire thing could have been resolved by Malenia and Radahn engaging in single combat at an agreed-upon spot. If Radahn was the one insisting on a match, why did Malenia march her armies across an entire continent of hostile territory? Why involve two armies-worth of collateral damage? If Radahn needed to die to reach the Land of Shadows, why the everliving fuck did Malenia hit him with the one thing that would ensure he lived on for centuries in undying agony? Why did Miquella leave Malenia and the Haligtree to literally rot (before he cast aside his love, mind you) when presumably the whole point of his ascension was to save them? If Miquella was the one manipulating Mohg, why didn't he manipulate Mohg into doing the blood-ministration thing at his cocoon at the Haligtree instead of staging a fake kidnapping?

So in short, yes, I will be sticking with my interpretation Miquella 😊

Glad to have you and plenty of other friends on board!

[fruityfrodo]

Bagginshield Fic Recs!

I've been wanting to do a bagginshield fic recs for a long time now so here are my favorite fics so far for this pairing! I will be adding on new ones as I go ❤

Fix-It AUs :

A Shot in the Dark by Silver_pup — 213.2k words

Summary: When he opens his eyes again, he finds himself in his old bed in his old home in his old body. Is this death? Or a trick of magic? Either way, Bilbo recognizes a second chance when he sees one, and this time his adventure with Thorin is going to go a bit differently.

An Expected Journey by MarieJacquelyn — 294.5k words

Summary:

“I just wish…”

“What do you wish?”

“I wish I could have changed it all.”

For years Bilbo has written about his adventures and told stories about his dealings with dwarves and dragons. To most it seemed like fanciful nonsense but to Bilbo it was all very real. A weight followed him home from his travels, one called regret. Now in his final moments Bilbo has a choice to make – go quietly into death’s embrace or go back again and face all the fear and pain for the chance to make things right?

Of course, change is a fickle thing and not everything can be done again as Bilbo is about to find out. In the end, it may not only be salvation that he’s fighting for.

Discovering Mr Baggins by Eareniel — 94.4k words

Summary: A.K.A. The Quest for Erebor:

The story of a Hobbit, told through the eyes of the dwarves.

Alternate Universes (Canon Divergence):

The Time for Home by Drenagon — 211.8k words

Summary: Bilbo Baggins doesn't fit in in the Shire. He's not a normal hobbit. That doesn't bother him.

Having his warnings ignored? Trying to help those who will not help themselves?

That bothers him.

The Color of Possibility by lindoreda — 17k words

Summary: When Bilbo puts himself between Thorin and Azog's blade, his mithril shirt protecting them both, it isn't long before some dwarves whisper that 'Oakenshield' might not be the best epithet for their king anymore. But for Bilbo, barred from Thorin's sight since the battle, this new epithet only adds to the sting. Spending his days caring for the recovering princes, Bilbo wonders how much more of this he can take, not suspecting his place at the center of a silent divide in the company.

The Nine Lives of Bilbo Baggins by captain (theoddoodisnude) — 15.3k words

Summary: He's not scared, but rather resigned. He doesn't want to die, not when he knows that it will be permanent, but he doesn't regret his actions. He's died many times on this journey; first for his Company, and then for people he could proudly call friends, who then turned into family.

And now Bilbo will die for them again.

For the first time in his life, he will also die for love. 

Call You Home by northerntrash — 12k words

Summary: In which the Company are entirely too nosy about matters that are supposed to be a secret, and Bilbo learns that being concerned about propriety is overrated when you could be making friends instead.

The Naming of Hobbits by Margo_Kim — 9.7k words**

Summary: There's a certain point where you can no longer ask someone what their name is. Thorin isn't sure exactly when that point is, but he knows that it's probably some time before the person in question saves your life. On the far side of the Misty Mountains, Thorin realizes that he never quite caught the first part of Mr. Baggins' name, and he finds that it's astonishingly harder to learn than he would have thought. Fili, Kili, and Dwalin are no help whatsoever.

**I literally didn't laugh this hard in a long while. Definitely worth a read! (And another, let's be honest).

Post BotFA AUs:

A Cultural Misunderstanding (series) by Lindzzz — 96k words

Summary: In which Thorin pushes, and Bilbo doesn't know how to handle emotions and finds himself engaged without realizing it.

(A fluffy "everyone lives" marriage AU)

The Riven Crown by BeautifulFiction — 254.3k words

Summary: ‘We may have won the battle, but I fear the war with winter is just beginning.’

The aftermath of war is no laughing matter. Those who died must be honoured, those who are wounded must be healed, and those who remain need food and clothing, peace and sanctuary. With Thorin's life hanging in the balance, it is up to Bilbo and the rest of the Company to rule the rag-tag remnants of Erebor in his place.

Then there is the matter of the gold...

Can Bilbo save both king and kingdom, or is Erebor destined to fall deeper into ruin?

All The Rivers Sound In My Body by pibroch (littleblackdog) — 5.7k words

Summary: As much as he might like to cut a natty figure in a proper waistcoat and trousers with a reasonable inseam, Bilbo knew there were many more important things to bother with at the moment.

Rebuilding an entire dwarven kingdom, for one. And airing out the stink of dragon would be nice as well.

An Unexpected Proposal by Eareniel — 100k words

Summary: As Bilbo sat smoking in his empty hobbit hole, he couldn’t help but wonder – when did his life become so boring? Or better yet – when did his old life stop being enough?

He suspected the answer to that question lay somewhere around the time when he had refused Thorin Oakenshield’s offer of marriage.

Mother-Tongue by northerntrash — 24.9k words

Summary: Forget-me-not: a small flower, with four petals, which are normally found in shades of blue with a pink or white centre. These are traditional flowers of intent in the Shire, used to express true love, and remembrance.

In which Bilbo plans to leave Erebor, and Thorin tries to understand why.

Modern AUs:

For This by northerntrash — 8k words

Summary: Thorin Durin had lived in his new flat for approximately eighty four minutes when things started to go terribly, terribly wrong. The wrongness came in the form of a package, delivered to his door, wrapped in brown paper and string, with a small tag wishing him a very sincere welcome to the building.

Just To Be by northerntrash — 22.2k words

Summary: Thorin hadn’t really wanted to go on holiday. That was why he hadn’t been on one for over a decade – not, despite what his siblings might say, because he had problems letting go of work and letting other people have control over their own hotel, which definitely wasn’t his entire life, no matter what the opinions of his family might have been on the matter.

In which people go on holiday, and find a little bit of home.

The making of a story by northerntrash — 16k words

Summary: When Bilbo finds a case of old family photographs, he becomes determined to find the original owners: what he does not expect is to become quite so involved in their lives, or that those photographs should prove quite so important.

One-sided conversations by northerntrash — 94.9k words

Summary: "Thank you for listening," Thorin said, getting to his feet. "I hope to be able to return the favour, one day."

The man on the bed didn't respond, but since he'd been in a coma for longer than Thorin had known him, that wasn't entirely surprising.

Candid by northerntrash — 42.3k words

Summary: Thorin wasn't entirely sure why there was a six-foot candid photograph of him hanging in this exhibition, but he was going to wring the neck of whoever had put it there.

In which Bilbo is a photographer, Thorin an accidental model, and Gandalf just likes to make trouble for everyone.

Nothing Gold Can Stay by perkynurples — 296.3k words

Summary: Bilbo Baggins led a rather peaceful life, thank you very much, until an old acquaintance decided to turn it upside down, and he found himself agreeing to take a job that’s… let’s say not exactly up his alley, and might eventually cost him a little more than his treasured cozy lifestyle. Who would have thought tutoring a slightly menacing monarch’s more than slightly overbearing nephew could prove to be such an adventure?

Some Magical Occurence by Drenagon — 9.5k words

Summary: Bilbo could use some magic if he's going to get the annual Christmas event at Goldmine Books to run as planned.

Instead he has Bofur, Ori and a serious case of building panic.

Then the Durins arrive.

Plan B by Drenagon — 85.7k words

Summary: Plan B: an alternative strategy; a contingency plan, devised for an outcome other than the expected plan.

Or, sending an unqualified temp to act as Thorin Oakenshield's PA because no one qualified can put up with him.

(He'd say they can't meet his standards. Of course he would.)

Meet Bilbo Baggins. He just became Plan B.

idylls of the king by aerospaces — 16.1k words

Summary: Thorin a single parent/uncle, Bilbo babysits. Fili and Kili are a handful. Essentially NANNY AU where Thorin is a perturbed Detective Inspector navigating through life.

A Remover of Obstacles by MistakenMagic — 371.7k words**

Summary: Dis often chided her older brother for being a misanthropist. She did it so often it had become a term of endearment. It was true that Thorin struggled with people; he struggled to form and maintain relationships. Dr. Grey had diagnosed him with this and Thorin hadn’t the heart to tell him this wasn’t a symptom of his PTSD, it was a symptom of his personality. He exercised a sense of apathy with almost everyone he met… But Bilbo was different. Thorin actually found himself wanting to know more about him.

** This is honestly a favorite of mine. I can't begin to describe how amazing this fic is. If you have the time, go for it! I promise it will change you for good.

This is all I have for now, but please know that I'm currently reading new ones and I'll be adding them onto this list very soon!

Have a nice read! (And hopefully, with a nice cup of tea).

[unicorncornflakes]

Dark Desire - Modern AU! | Chapter 15

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Paring: Aemond Targaryen x Niece!Reader

Summary: Aemond doesn't know how he feels every time he sees you. Neither do you when you look at him. Your father Aegon has always been absent from your upbringing ever since he divorced your mother. That role has been filled by Aemond until last summer, when everything changed.

Tags:  Alternate Universe – Modern/ Setting Emotional Hurt/ Comfort/ Drama & Romance/ Eventual Smut.

Warnings: This fic includes  manipulation, violence, death, and inc3st, at some points. Reader has purple eyes and her mother is from Dayne House, the rest is complete free :D

Tag-List (If you wanna be tagged in thi series or all of my work, let me know):  @afro-hispwriter @chainsawsangel @thetrueblackheart @atherverybest @itsabby15 @boundlessfantasy @partypoison00 @glame @tempo-rary-fix @tssf-imagines @aaaaaamond @imaloserbby @youngcomputerpuppy @aemondsfavouritebastard @cloudroomblog @queenofshinigamis @wooya1224 @serving-targaryen-realness @darkenchantress @padfooteyes @mariannnavao @moonlightfoxx @jennifer0305 @ammo23 @iloveallmyboys @bellameshipper @okfashionista @shelbyteller @dahlias-and-marigolds @the-knights-of-ne @bellaisasleep

General Tag-List (If you wanna be tagged in thi series or all of my work, let me know):  @thedamewithabook @bluevxnus @hiddencurator @tempt-ress @watercolorskyy

Acknowledgment: To @ammo23 Thank you for everything, as always :D

Author´s note:  Pls, enjoy! Feedback, shares and comments are always welcome!

Word Count: 5.3K

"It was a matter of blood purity," Daemon commented as he leaned back in the lawn chair. He took a sip of an alcoholic drink that Aemond couldn't decipher and continued with his speech. “We did it because we are supposed to be closer to the gods than to mortals. Don't you think we still are?" his uncle asked with a mischievous smile on his lips. A way if you doubt to check to what extent Aemond was a Targaryen. Undoubtedly, that teenager who only had one eye wanted to be the most Targaryen of all. He better if possible. The smartest, the strongest, the most skillful... the most ambitious.

Aemond had not forgotten his uncle's words when he had lost his eye. Daemon had always said he deserved it, but this fourteen-year-old boy wanted to be the best Targaryen he could be, and he could only learn from what had always seemed the closest to what he aspired to be: his uncle Daemon. It was normal to see them together talking about philosophy or history. Aemond was a clever boy, and he himself had found that his uncle was a much better example than his father. Aemond hated to see how his father devoted more time to that model of the old Valirya than to him, he hated how his father was always thinking of his name and how he preferred Rhaenyra over him. His father hadn't said anything when Lucerys had gouged out his eye like an animal…he always lost, and although Daemon preferred Rhaenyra, his uncle didn't make him feel like a loser with his conversations every time he came to visit the family home. . Rather, it made him feel like an opponent, and that was something Aemond could come to enjoy.

Both uncle and nephew were under the shade of one of the trees in the garden, near the pool, in the same place where Alicent had placed everything to have breakfast together every summer. But, at that moment, it had become the ideal place for Daemon and his nephew to discuss the last birthday present he had given him: a book on family history, specifically on the multiple consanguineous and incestuous marriages that had led to them until that moment.

"It's something that hasn't been done in 500 years... for the sake of our genetics," Aemond commented, just that year he had taken the genetics elective at school. He had learned to make those variable trees that he had enjoyed so much during the last academic year, so he knew that his eyes and hair were recessive genes. Having them was almost miraculous considering his mother's genes... but, perhaps his uncle was right, perhaps they were closer to the gods than to men. He liked that thought. It made him feel even better for it. Many gods had given an eye for wisdom, he had studied it in High Valyrian class. He had exchanged it for a precocious maturity that undoubtedly made him the wisest of all his family, at least of his brothers. While they were wasting time in the pool, he continued with his uncle, commenting on that wonderful book. "In class, we have studied..." he tried to continue his scientific and correct discourse with society, but Daemon interrupted him in a whisper.

“Our ancestors are supposed to have conquered the west and flew on dragons. We are not like the others, Aemond.” He took another drink again, making the ice in the glass tinkle. "Even you, being half Hightower, are not like the others" declared his uncle, making him see the importance of what he really was to that boy.

"In the book... they say that we are doomed to find pleasure only in our own blood" Aemond commented in a whisper, just at that moment when he observed the sly smile that Daemon gave him his older sister, that lascivious look while Rhaenyra played with their children in the pool. Daemon turned a cold gaze on his nephew, as if he had hit him where it hurt most without knowing it.

“Pleasure is found in the most unexpected places, Aemond. But, we, those of us who descend from Ancient Valyria, don't find it like the others” he declared again, almost like a dark confession that Aemond began to become aware of from that moment on. “Perhaps we are doomed to it, but we are not like the others. We are better" he whispered again.

That entire conversation with Daemon could simply be summed up as a man's obsession with lineage and power, because Daemon Targaryen came down to those two words at the end of the day. With those words, he confessed to his nephew all his obsession with the purity of his family's blood, which had been threatened by his mother's meddling in the same family line. He and his brothers were from Ancient Valyria. They... had the obligation to safeguard what Daemon's eyes lit up when he spoke. That young boy absorbed like a sponge everything that his revered uncle spoke, his example to follow.

They were an elite, and although that young Aemond wanted to believe that those words never affected him, they did. In an unconscious way, they affected a boy who had little to do with the world around him. Daemon had inoculated him with the same malady from which he suffered. Not only had he succeeded in turning Aemond into a vengeful and ambitious boy. With that speech that lasted almost hours, he managed to convince him of his ideals regarding his family. Aemond scorned each and every one of Helaena's boyfriends until Jace came along, who didn't seem good enough either, but his sister stood up. He had to endure and swallow as his brother impregnated a girl from the south…as Daeron presented himself with a girl each less like what they needed. Incest was off the table, especially since that scandal between Daemon and Rhaenyra had come to light, but not assembling with people from High Valyria. Maintain himself as he had to, as Daemon had taught him... He was a Targaryen, and Targaryens should always join other Targaryens... That idea always hovered over his head. He tried to lock her up deep, and everything had worked fine until you came of age. Much to the misfortune of both.

"What a beautiful girl" Daemon looked at that photo that had just come out of the developing liquid in that dark room. He stared at it. He tried to find something in your image that would remind him of his beautiful Rhaenyra, but it was not the case. The red and black contrasts in that room showed him that your features were far from those of a Targaryen, or at least from what was considered a Targaryen for Daemon. "She looks like her mother" he commented while closely following the work of that photographer. That young boy worked methodically, revealing his work for that week, that work that his boss, Little Finger, had ordered him to keep secret from Whispers magazine. "She doesn't even look like a Targaryen..." the old dragon began, but that boy, who had barely exchanged two words with him beyond the greeting, interrupted him.

"She has purple eyes, it's just that you can't see it in the photos" Lucious Tyrell was a young man who aspired to be a photographer for one of the Westeros gossip magazines. His father said that he should find a real job, not that hobby that barely came to pay for the relief materials. He was a young man educated in the old school of photography. He never used digital cameras. Never a computer. He made magic with his developing liquids, with those photographs that showed the grain of the film he used to capture them. He made art, although he knew that his art was paid with frivolity. He did not care. He had never cared. He felt Daemon's eyes on his work as he developed a photo of you getting out of the family car at a Hightower hotel.

“I love black and white photographs. They make me feel like I'm in a spy movie” the old man who had been the owner of all Westeros smiled weakly. Now it was his nephew. Lucious knew that story well, after all he worked in that world. And yes, that passion that Daemon showed for analog work had been what had gotten him that job. The first great job of his life. The highest paid so far. Lucious didn't know why but the Daemon Targaryen had only hired him to photograph you. Solely and exclusively, for that, and keep silent about all that photo that could take of you. At the moment, Lucious didn't understand anything.

He moved on to the next photograph, under Daemon's watchful eye. He didn't understand why that man was so interested in following you. Lucious had simply drawn one conclusion from those three days in which he had followed you: you were a girl who spent most of her day alone. You rarely left the mansion and tended to go to the same store to buy drawing supplies, only to return before your uncle came home. That was the only thing that was always fulfilled in your routine, you returned before Aemond entered with his car through the door of the family home. Lucious didn't think your profile was important, and yet he was facing the biggest job of his life without knowing it. He was not a journalist, but an artist who took good photos with an undeniable eye for curiosity. The liquid in that tray revealed a rather nice photo of you on the photographic paper. You looked sideways at the target without knowing it, only your face and part of your hair blowing in the wind. You were… a real beauty. Lucious wouldn't have minded being photographed under other circumstances, because you certainly didn't possess typical Targaryen beauty, but you were a mix between dragons and a gorgeous Dornish woman. You were so much better than a Targaryen, at least in the eyes of this boy, who had always praised himself for having a talent for finding beauty.

"Do you think she has a boyfriend, boy?" Daemon asked just as he saw the almost sweet and peaceful way in which that young man wrung out the photographic paper to take it to the tray with the fixer. Lucious looked confused at that old man, who had now sat next to him while he wiped the sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief on which his initials were embroidered. The young Tyrell was able to notice something: Daemon Targaryen was dying or at least he was not in optimal health. His hands trembled and his eyes were almost bloody, with the entire area that should have been white furrowed by numerous blood vessels, each more intricate. Lucious looked at your photo one more time before answering.

"Is it some kind of test?" he said, scrutinizing Daemon with his eyes, who smiled pleased at that answer. Undoubtedly, this was some kind of test on the part of the old dragon. Lucious looked at your photograph one more time before answering, trying to analyze it with what little journalistic nose he had. He wasn't a spy, although it seemed that Daemon Targaryen wanted to play that very thing. "I imagine she has, but he doesn't show up much with her or at least I haven't seen him these days" he said with a shrug. Lucious knew that there was something in you that told him that his assumption was true.

"You're quite the hound, boy" Daemon laughed again. "The truth is that I have to be honest with you, because deep down I like you, even if we haven't talked much" that old man smiled at him. And the tall garden boy stopped working. “I don't need just a photographer. I need a spy, an undercover detective. I've always liked cop novels, you know?" he confessed to him, while he got up again from that small chair and walked with his hands behind his back looking at the photos that were now slipping. They were all magnificent, without a doubt that boy had talent. In the end, Daemon even regretted choosing him. He knew that once his plan was finished, that little boy might not come out very well in the face of his beloved nephew's wrath. “This job you have in hand will never be published. But, I'll get you a good position in the magazine you want and I'll pay you even better” Daemon laughed to himself again at those words. Actually, Aemond was the one who was going to pay for it. He would use the account that the one-eyed dragon left him to pay that boy. It was a sweet irony that Dameon was beginning to enjoy.

“What is this all about?” asked the young photographer. That had begun to scale, what was Daemon Targaryen up to? He knew that it couldn't be good due to the secrecy of everything that surrounded him, but he was beginning to not know what to think of that job. His instinct told him not to go through with it. His checking account screamed at him to continue. He ignored the frist. "What do I have to find out?" he asked, curious and scared in equal measure, messing with dragons was always dangerous. He was scared to be photographing you, but he was even more scared to say no to Daemon Targaryen, just like from Aemond, he'd heard all sorts of things that were best ignored for one's own good.

"This is the daughter of Aegon Targaryen, although given your job it's something you should already know" he commented as he picked up a photo of you that hadn't finished drying yet. You certainly had pretty eyes. Very nice. Aemond had to enjoy having you kneel before him. "And if today's journalists did their job, they would know that she harbors a dark secret, a dark desire," he explained in a whisper, turning back to look at Lucious. The boy looked at one of your photos again, how could you hide something shady? It was impossible, you were just a girl a couple of years younger than him. "I want you to photograph that secret and bring it before me" the old Dragon smiled enigmatically.

The boy stood there, considering his answer. However, he spoke and Daemon smiled. Youth and stupidity were something that always went hand in hand. “How will I know what to photograph? It is clear that you know what it is…” he commented.

"Oh, do not worry. You will know what I want you to photograph” he smiled macabrely. “By the way, we hadn't talked about it, but I don't want the photos to be digitized, I don't want you to keep any copies, or the negatives. All these photos are completely mine” he commented more parts of that deal.     

"Yes, of course" replied the boy. That must have been something lurid, but that was also part of what he wanted to dedicate himself to, right? No one said it was an easy thing to be a renowned photographer, though Lucious Tyrell's career had ended the moment he first shook hands with Daemon Targaryen.

“This young lady is going on a trip to Sunspear. Tomorrow her flight leaves in a private jet for the capital of Dorne, and you are going to follow her on the commercial flight that leaves at the same time” Daemon informed him. “I want you to get all these photos developed and set up before tonight. I already have plans with them and I need them” He inform him again and Lucious looked again at your image on the developed paper. He would prepare everything, negatives included, to give to Daemon, but he couldn't get it out of his head why a girl like you was so important to someone who had been out of the public eye for so long.

Lucious didn't know it, but on the journey to Dorne he would find out why you were so important to Daemon Targaryen, and he would be the last to know the dark secret you guarded so closely. The last to know. No one else would know, unfortunately for him. He would take that secret to the grave.

Only your grandmother Alicent had wished you a good trip. The others were simply missing. Daeron had some company business to sort out. Helaena was on vacation with her husband and their little ones. She had taken them to see the sea for the first time at dragonstone. Your father had simply disappeared after speaking to Aemond two nights before. You'd never say anything, but you were sure he was drowning in alcohol for a change. You sighed and looked back at your book, only to finally leave it abandoned on the seat next to you. You weren't in the mood to read. You really weren't in the mood at all. This was your last trip with Aemond, also the only one before you returned to Sunspear in two weeks to start the academic year. The idea excited you, at the same time that it scared you. Aemond had said to come see you, but…you knew how busy he really was always.

You stretched out in your seat and looked at him. Sitting across from you, he was going over some company reports in silence. After those months shadowing him, you had realized that he was really just working. He took you to dinner, to exhibitions, you made love in hotel rooms that cost a month's salary for the entire company... and then he patiently and quietly returned to his work. He took you shopping, fulfilled your wishes, and asked for little more than to caress your hand under the tablecloth at the end of the day. He worked for his family and because it was a way to show that he was better than the others. It must be exhausting to be like this all day.

Seeing you stretch, he smiled cockily and amusedly. You knew that smile well and it kind of indicated that he was in a good mood. Without taking my eyes off his reports, he speak to you in that diligent tone that concealed much more than it wanted to show when you were surrounded by people. "Are you tired, niece? Didn't you sleep well last night?" He licked his lips, remembering the salty taste of your crotch from the night before. It had been quite a delicacy that he had devoured with enough spirit.

"I have rested very well, man" you looked at him from under your eyelashes while you crossed your legs, in a reflection of pleasure at remembering the night before. Aemond took a small swallow from his whiskey glass, never taking his one eye off of you. The sexual tension between the two was always more than palpable. You were surprised that no one suspected anything, especially after the audacity that Aemond had had the night before. "Someone helped me rest better than I expected" you whispered flirtatiously and he licked his lips again.

"It was fine?" he asked you in an arrogant manner, knowing the answer in advance. He had come home stressed from work, from preparing the entire congress on that occasion due to the absence of Alys and... he had asked her at the last minute to go with him. He hadn't taken her on the private jet like other years, but he had bought her last-minute commercial flight tickets, almost as if he saw that Alys really didn't deserve to be pushed aside. Stressed and tired from such a long day, Aemond had had no better idea than to head to your room in the middle of the night, when the whole house was asleep.

He wanted to explain to you his last minute decision about taking Alys to the conference, in case that made you jealous, and he had only ended up with a terrible boner when he saw you sleep with only those pink panties that he himself had bought you a couple of weeks ago. The room smelled like you had touched yourself and your uncle stood in front of the bed. He could see the sticky wet spot between your legs and at that moment, without thinking about the consequences of his actions, he knelt in front of you on the bed. The extra weight on the bed and the creaking of the springs made you wake up.

You opened your eyes in fright, but you only saw the sensual image of Aemond in his half-unbuttoned shirt, his dress pants, and a terrible erection that blatantly pressed against the fabric. Between your legs and with his hair loose, his hands calmly and slowly slid your panties. Savoring your every move, while his fingertips sent chills through your body, Aemond never took his eyes off his target. Wet. Soggy. Clingy. He licked his lips in silence again and ended up taking off your panties without any resistance. This was his reward after a long day at work. That was just what he deserved, and you were going to give it to him like the docile girl that you were.

You closed your legs playfully and he growled almost animalistically as he opened them again. That grunt brought you back to the reality of your half-asleep state. You were in the family home, anyone could catch you... you looked at Aemond with concern while he continued with his eyes fixed on that humid cave and that he intended to enjoy. You have never been so daring. All your sexual encounters had taken place outside of that place. Never between those four walls. The stakes were too high to do so.

"I'm so hungry" he whispered as he began to kiss your inner thighs and you stopped him with a wait said in a scared whisper and you could see that he had annoyed him. He had had a bad day. He didn't want you to deny him what he wanted so much.

"They could hear us" you whispered and he smirked again, as if you were a little girl who had to explain everything to. He liked to feel superior, you had verified it in those months and that moment was no different. Also, you could tell that Aemond had begun to feel untouchable, having paid such huge amounts of money to almost every media outlet to remove those images of him rescuing you from the crowd at the charity gala. He almost seemed to have learned that money could buy everything…he was getting more daring to be together. Nobody suspected anything, nobody thought anything about you... and he would buy silence if the case had to come.

"Your father is not here. The servants' quarters are a long way away and my mother has taken her sleeping medication…” he purred suggestively, as if this was the moment he had waited his whole life for, because she really thought she could control everything about your relationship. Weren't those days proof of that? "I'm going to take care of everything, my little dragon" He whispered again, with that paternalistic tone, in a mixture of desire and control, that he knew would turn you on.

You lay back on the bed with a smile painted on your lips. Everything with Aemond seemed easy and that was another step in your relationship. You had never made love at home before and that was normalizing what you felt, what was happening between you. You felt another kiss from your uncle on your mount of Venus and then he slowly licked the slit of your pussy. You laughed and smiled. You moaned his name and almost squealed as he continued to eat your pussy like the great delicacy it was to him.

He ate your pussy until you cum, until you were sensitive enough to beg him to stop. He had risen arrogant from the bed and his chin shiny from your slippery juices and you a babbling mess between your own sheets. Aemond grabbed your hair with a grimace that was stoic again. He tugged at your hair as his other hand undid his belt and pants. “I don't want you to touch yourself again while we're under the same roof,” he growled domineeringly, pulling his cock out of his pants and offering it to you. The bright red tip just for you and in front of you. You licked your lips and he again outlined a half smile. This was what he needed, just this. "Have you understood me?" he whispered, dominant, possessive and jealous of not having shared those previous moments with you.

You nodded silently and began to suck him, fixing your purple eyes on him. "Good girl," he whispered under his breath again, though the playful, slow pace you'd begun to set was short-lived. In need of you, he ended up setting the pace by grabbing your hair. That was heaven, heaven itself and that paradise on earth was just about to end for both of you.

You were going to praise him one more time when one of the stewardesses approached you and asked if you wanted something to drink, since you had turned red in a single moment. You tried to verbalize something out of embarrassment and simply asked for a soda while your uncle asked that girl for another whiskey. "Of course, Mr. Targaryen" you saw her waddle right in front of him and for a moment, jealousy coursed through you. It was a girl a couple of years older than you, with a more than short uniform and exquisite manners. Surely she would speak several languages... and... and...

"I'm going to the bathroom for a moment" you whispered rudely and Aemond raised an eyebrow questioningly, but you didn't see it. You just locked yourself in the little bathroom stall by yourself. You needed to think. Were you prepared to leave Aemond once the studies began? Maybe not, you never would be. You felt like a little girl. What was happening to you? Why had a mere waddle of a woman you didn't even know in front of Aemond make you jealous? You remained for a couple of moments sitting on the bathroom floor, thinking about what was happening to you and trying to put all your thoughts back in order. Finally you went out and found that same girl with a worried face. She asked you if you were okay, and the truth is that you hadn't been feeling well for a couple of weeks... the nerves of going to Sunspear alone and away from Aemond had turned your stomach and being on the defensive about things that you hardly cared about before . You politely replied that you were fine and returned to your place in front of your uncle. The girl returned shortly with some motion sickness pills for you and juice and whiskey on the rocks for your uncle. You didn't even look at him, embarrassed and still jealous.

“Hmm. I thought that a juice would do you better if you're dizzy” he commented, putting aside the reports and fixing his eye on you. He would always care about you, gods, he always would.

"I'm not dizzy" you declared in a bad way, as if you were to blame for the way that woman acted and you slipped into the seat. First he had decided to take Alys to the conference, which to a certain extent might seem necessary, then… then he had allowed that stewardess to flirt with him. Aemond had always been jealous of almost every man who had come close to you, but now you were insecure where none of that feeling had existed before. What was going on with you?

“I know you're not dizzy,” your uncle declared, reaching out to caress one of your hands, and at that moment, the confession you needed came. “It's always you, it's always going to be you. You know there will be no one else" he told you devotedly. You saw sincerity in his eyes, and you knew at that moment that there was much more to you than that dark desire that you both hid as best you could. You were made for each other and so it would be until the end of your days. Really, you were in love with each other and nothing was going to change that.

Alys grabbed her suitcase, though Robert from accounting ran over to help her. That had been the first year that Alys had traveled with the rest of the employees who attended the conference. She hadn't traveled on the private jet of the Targaryen family, but at least she had finally traveled to the congress. Meg, from human resources, also waited for Robert to take his suitcase and Rickon managed his luggage himself. The secretary was not going to lie: it had been nice to travel with her companions. They were all pretty good people and the best in their respective departments. The least visible faces, but the hardest workers in the company. Aemond hand-picked them each year and paid for their entire trip to the conference, where they would work, of course, but also enjoy whatever the sundown had to offer. As they waited for Meg's last suitcase, a young photographer picked up his last bag. This looked like a telephoto lens, and it caught Alys's eye. Normally, photographers attending the conference from all parts of Westeros just brought their cameras. Not such an extremely large telephoto lens. The boy threw it behind his back, without a doubt he would work as much or more than them, given the number of great personalities that came together in that place. But, Alys didn't give it any more importance after so many hours of flight and when Meg's suitcase finally appeared on the tape, she didn't think of anything other than getting to the hotel with the rest of her colleges and taking a shower. Although this year he would share a room with Meg, who smiled sincerely at him as they took the suitcase from the carousel together once Robert and Rickon had run to catch a taxi to get to the hotel, or at least to try to.

"I'm sorry you're sleeping with me this year, but you can shower first when we get there." Meg had almost read her thoughts. Actually, they all seemed quite afraid of Alys. She was with the boss or at least the boss's last known lover. Everyone at Targaryen Industries respected her, even if she was no longer pictured arm in arm with Aemond or traveled or slept with him anymore.

"For me it's like we showered together, but let's get to the hotel" she joked tiredly and Meg laughed with her. They dragged their suitcases tired and starting to feel the high temperatures of Sunspear. They finally got a taxi and just when Alys was going to enter the last one, she recognized you in the crowd, getting into the limousine that was waiting for Aemond and in which she always she had gone until that year. But, she did not feel jealous. For the first time in her life, Alys wanted to help another woman. She greeted you without saying a single word and you did the same with a sweet smile. Just then Aemond came in right behind you and Alys watched as the limo pulled away. You were too sweet and too well tamed by Aemond. And this new girl was about to pay the price, even if Alys tried to make that never happen.

[irelandking]

modern/other worlds au fic recs

bucky barnes x reader

❤️ = fluff 😔 = angst 🔥 = smut

one shots:

pièce de résistance - @viollettes

You get creative after you forget to get a Christmas gift for your best friend. ❤️

so money - @viollettes

Bucky, an associate at the Law Offices of Fury, Hill, and Stark, must deal with an annoying Rumlow. It certainly doesn’t help that Rumlow thinks he can get any girl in the office, including a certain junior partner Bucky has a crush on. ❤️

strangers in the night - @redgillan

You’re on a date, but things aren’t going well. You find refuge in the restroom where you meet a man who’s also having a bad night. Together, you make an escape plan ❤️

ball, chain & satin - @redgillan

“Can you write a one shot where Bucky and Reader are getting married, but Bucky is scared. Angst or fluff, it’s up to you. Thanks!” Requested by Anonymous. ❤️

protecting what's his - @jobean12-blog

Bucky has been your bodyguard for some time now and it's been hard to deny how badly you want him to be more than that ❤️

keeping score - @all1e23

After hearing you begging Steve to pretend to be your fake boyfriend to keep your family off your back, Bucky quickly jumps at the chance to play your boyfriend even though you’re a hundred percent sure he hates you. What could possibly go wrong? ❤️

warm - @teamatsumu

“The fire alarm in our building went off and you rushed out without a coat. Wanna share my blanket?” ❤️

leave me weak - @moonbeambucky

Donating blood was the last thing you wanted to do but you find that something else leaves you weak. Paramedic!Bucky ❤️

bookmark my heart - @moonbeambucky

A handsome single dad catches your eye at the library. Is he the one or will your love be shelved? ❤️

what's on the inside - @teamatsumu

The reader’s car breaks down and has to be taken to an auto repair shop to be fixed. The mechanic there is a huge, intimidating man, but with a heart of gold that immediately piques her interest. mechanic!bucky ❤️

convergence of the twain - @sinner-as-saint

Y/n always had a crush on her English Lit professor, Mr. Stan. She planned on keeping her one sided love a secret, however fate decided otherwise. ❤️🔥😔

redamancy - @renxzs

 Roommate AU - Maybe it was a bit naive to think moving in with your best friend and long-time crush, Bucky Barnes, was going to be some smooth road that led to an admittance of mutual feelings for one another and a happily-ever-after ending, wrapped up nicely in a bow. Naive indeed; especially when you have to consider the fact that Bucky is the biggest womanizer you know. ❤️😔

soft - @softlyspector

Bucky and the reader have been together for a few months. She wants him to stay the night with her, but he’s reluctant. Modern!AU. Tattoo Artist!AU ❤️🔥

let me love you - @sinner-as-saint

Things happened between you and your boss over a weekend recently; while on a business trip. Boundaries were crossed, lines were blurred – rather salaciously. Following this; you decide to resign from your dream job because you couldn’t handle the guilt of having been so unethical. So vulnerable and open. Neither could you handle his burning stare at work, nor the craving of being under him each time you looked at him. So you decide to leave before you ruin your own career and further. But then, your boss shows up at your doorstep – determined to make you realize that this isn’t so bad after all… ❤️🔥

the karens of the world - @espinosaurusrexex

Aunt Karen is possibly the worst person you know. So when her annual Independence Day party arrives, you try to give her as little reason to pick on you as possible. Not being single for once should cover most of the topics she complains about. So you ask your friend Bucky to play pretend ❤️

in a moment - @world-of-aus

Five instances when Bucky Barnes promises to give you the world, and one time he actually does ❤️

the forever third wheels - @witchywithwhiskey

it's the weekend of your town's annual valentine's day carnival and you go with your group of friends, though you can't help but be sad you don't have someone special in your life. your friend, and fellow third wheel, bucky barnes makes it his mission to give you a valentine's day you won't soon forget—and show you how special you are to him.❤️

no more losers - @witchywithwhiskey

your obnoxious roommate bucky barnes interjects himself in a conversation about your sex life, and things take a turn you didn't expect. 🔥

personal sessions - @angrythingstarlight

your new gym comes with a few perks. heated swimming pool, sauna, and your very own personal trainer. bucky barnes. and he has the best way of making sure you work up a sweat 🔥

aroma - @navybrat817

florist!bucky barnes x reader - bucky adores domestic moments with you ❤️

cry baby - @buckymorelikefuckme

i want to be fucked so good that i cry, just—completely reduced to tears. is that too much to ask? 🔥

pizza and a movie - @navybrat817

mechanic roommate bucky - you never make it through a movie with bucky 🔥

anatomy - @navybrat817

mechanic roommate bucky - you help bucky relieve some stress after a long day 🔥

sleeping arrangements - @navybrat817

roommate bucky - you insist on sleeping in your own room, but bucky likes a challenge 🔥

starting gate - @navybrat817

motorcross!bucky - you attract the attention of your coworkers friend who just happens to be a handsome racer who plays for keeps ❤️

closer - @tom-holland-parker

You’d never felt like this before, it was like some primal instinct deep down inside of you. You just needed to be close to him. The only problem was that you were already wrapped in his arms and it still didn’t feel close enough 🔥

unexpected - @pellucid-constellations

 With all of his rough edges and impassive glances, Bucky Barnes looked to be the last person you’d find at an elementary school bake sale. Too bad Steve couldn’t make it, and dealing with a class hopped up on sugar wasn’t a feat you could manage alone.  ❤️

if it were summer - @pellucid-constellations

You met Bucky in Italy—a summer abroad with sweet gelato and even sweeter words. You never thought you’d see him again, and you were right. Because the Bucky at this frat party, the one with the smirk and the wandering eyes, was nothing like the one you knew. That didn’t mean he wasn’t still completely in love with you 😔

crossing the line - @jadedvibes

after you friends set you up on a blind date with your sworn enemy, you both drunkenly decide to mess with them by making a bet to see who can pretend to be a happy couple the longest ❤️😔🔥

hearsay - @jadedvibes

your colleague makes you an interesting proposition after he overhears you talking about a bad hookup, beefy lawyer!bucky x lawyer!reader 🔥❤️

freak in the sheets - @buckycuddlebuddy

hearing the man you’ve been fantasizing about had similar feelings for you had to be a dream. a best kind of dream. you never wanted to wake up. pairing ─ dilf!bucky barnes x babysitter!reader 🔥

sharing is caring - @theidiotwhowritesthings

Bucky doesn’t share food. No exceptions. Well, one exception. ❤️

on his knees - @sweetsweetnuit

even the king of the underworld has his weaknesses. bucky’s just happens to be a mortal woman he can’t get enough of. 🔥

stranded - @bucksfucks

 when your car breaks down on the side of the road and your dad can’t come rescue you, he sends the next best thing. 🔥

cock warming - @sweeterthanthis

Explicit language, hints of soft dom Bucky, slight daddy kink, and cock warming. Obviously 🔥

no script - @teamatsumu

Sebastian practices all his roles with you. This one is a romantic scene, and you don’t know how to conceal your feelings as just acting when they are so much more. sebastian stan x reader ❤️

sink or swim - @moonbeambucky

The feelings you harbor for your best friend comes to light after a breakup but will you lose everything once he learns the truth? roommate!bucky ❤️😔

the sins of the father - @sunmoonandeddie

You were nothing more than the Siren, the She-Demon of the Seas.  At least, that’s what you thought. ❤️🔥😔

awakening a beast - @rookthorne

There was an unspoken habit of yours that you seemed to continuously exploit at Bucky’s expense – at least this time, it ended in something that would have you squeezing your thighs together at the very memory. mechanic!bucky 🔥

not so forbidden - @vanillanaps

You were upset after a mishap that happened so your favorite bodyguard came to comfort you with good news. presidents daughter x bodyguard au ❤️

well oiled machine - @vxntagedior

you can’t seem to face bucky after crashing one of his cars mechanic!bucky ❤️😔

[robinainthood]

Concerning the Death of Stars

⸢ ꜱᴜɢᴜʀᴜ x ꜱᴀᴛᴏʀᴜ ⸥ ⸢ ᴊᴜᴊᴜᴛꜱᴜ ᴋᴀɪꜱᴇɴ , 呪術廻戦 ⸥

Wordcount: 11.4k (3/3 Chapters) Tags: Hidden Inventory Arc, Character Study, Relationship Study, Introspection, Missing Scene, Canonical Character Death, canonical character resurrection lol, Fluff and (mostly) Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Grief/Mourning, tiniest AU you ever did see, gay pining and grief: the fic

It’s not fair. It’s not fair and he selfishly hopes that the pain and fear of living in a world without Satoru in it curses the bastard back to the physical realm where Suguru can hold onto him until it is fair, or at the very least until it feels real. At the very most, until it stops hurting.

In which the iron still fears the rot.

Or, Satoru dies and Suguru can't find the body (so a little piece of him dies, too).

AO3 link (excerpt under the cut!)

The wooden stick is fixed between Satoru’s teeth now. Twisting up, down, in small circles. Eyes looking straight ahead because Satoru would not be Satoru if he didn’t run through every possibility as if they were laid out before him in convenient rows, including the possibility of the two girls approaching the gates with sad smiles and hands intertwined abandoning their roles and choosing another path, humanity be damned. Surely including now the possibility that Suguru might step down and leave him alone with that impossible responsibility.

“Look,” he leans forward and props an elbow on his knee, “the higher ups need you as much as they need me, and the supply of living sorcerers is steadily declining so they can’t afford the loss. What good would it do you, anyway? The curses will still be there when you get back.”

Always looking ahead.

“Is that your answer?”

“I’m saying we don’t have a choice.”

“There’s always a choice.”

Suguru watches Kuroi pat Amanai’s head as she bounds forward in line with their ticket numbers called. Takes note of the expression on his friend’s face as the girls wave him over with sad smiles, a softness as rare as his power.

“I just don’t see jujutsu the way you do,” Satoru says. “It’s not always easy, but there’s nothing in the world I’d rather be doing than this. I think I’d kill myself if I couldn’t, to be honest.” He looks over at Suguru then and the way he does puts out his incoming lecture like a fire. “I just wish you could enjoy it with me a little more.”

Suguru frowns. “I’m not asking you to give anything up.”

Satoru spends a long time just looking at him and Suguru gets this twisted feeling in his stomach when he tilts his head, eyes darting for so brief a moment to his lips that he almost misses it. “Good,” he says, voice low and soft, “‘Cause, honestly, I’d probably do it.”

[box-architecture]

which are the aus You have more on your ming latetly?

A mixture of them!

I'm staring at the Dreambur AU I have (Strangers Vassal) and wondering if I should post what I had planned for it to look like. I'm struggling a lot with writing it, partially because I don't have a lot of people to bounce ideas off of, partially because it's an AU that would have a lot of fight scenes, something I don't have a lot of experience in and am unsure how to proceed with.

I really enjoy the concept of it, and I want to write for it, but it might once again turn into a bunch of shortfics in a series rather than the longfic I originally wanted. It's disappointing that I can't seem to consistently write longfics, but if I don't accept the limitation I might risk not getting anything done at all, and that's potentially more disappointing.

The Communication Knife AU is almost always on my mind. It's evolved from just pure demons and rotations to being a huge comfort that I can just idly think about throughout the day.

It's really neat, because I started out as a Dream-centric multishipper who wasn't sure if I could vibe with Punz and Sam closing the triangle, but after marinating in the idea, it's now really important to me that they become something too. They grow from two people fighting around their relationship with Dream to something based on trust and blunt honesty and Forgiveness Withoit Forgetting. They can be deeply affectionate with each other in a way thats different from their relationship with Dream. Not bad, not in a way that excludes him, just different.

The AU has also tentatively opened me up to exploring 2nd Gen characters, something I've literally never been capable of before. I have a lot of vague ideas for who gets together post-main story, and how those relationships works and why. Ponk/Foolish/XD is a ship for example, and I've designed a possible child for them? As well as designed Fooshs Totem children? It's always a maybe for if I actually want to give people kids, and it's not really the point of CKAU, it's just really fun to explore the rest of the smp in this sort of fix-it au and how it impacts their lives in the After of it all.

It's also helped me expand my Minecraft Lore and Worldbuilding Bible (how in my headcanon the mineacraft world works and its history/lore, including tying other media's like Hermitcraft and Maricraft to the dsmp to make everything part of the overall world.)

Writing CKAU post-story had also, ironically, made me enjoy benchtrio more, as I get to talk to my friends about their interpersonal dynamics and how they work and how they end up finally at peace. Especially considering Tubbo and Ranboo are bitterly divorced for a long time.

I had a lot of small ideas for a DNB Mass Effect AU in a similar vein to To Tear Asunder being my Dragon Age AU, but I feel really guilty getting into that when I haven't even finished the Philza fic or the Techno fic I have for the latter. I have significantly less people to bounce ideas off of for To Tear Asunder, which is why I struggle with it sometimes.

A lot of my writing in the beginning was done through utilizing my manic moods, but now that I'm better medicated/no longer constantly manic, it's led to me going a lot slower with writing. Demons (PWP stuff) are a lot easier to write, because they require significantly less scene set-up when I can use the sexual act as a template, and being horny-brained isn't particularly difficult.

(Also. No Plot Nessecary. Hence the Porn Without Plot. Plot is really exhausting to write sometimes.)

Obviously it's a lot better for my health that I'm no longer manic, but it's still disappointing that I can no longer work myself into a tizzy and write 30 pages of something (before collapsing and being unable to do anything at all for the next several days.) Give and take and all.

I briefly was very insane about Benchtrio fucking Dream in various ways. I made a whole Teacher/Student AU about it that's in my drafts, god willing I get my new laptop and can finish that up. I really enjoy CNC and bodice ripper type stuff, so it's pretty fun to explore crack AUs where Dream is just trying to be normal and the 3 most abnormal people in the world come into his life.

I'm not really a fan of the Tommy/Dream dynamic where Dream is preying on the Poor Helpless Child, especially because it has a habit of taking itself Very Seriously. I'm not looking for serious and dark and the villainization of Dream. It's a lot more fun for me to explore a strong, confident, and very tired 20-something desperately trying to figure out how to deal with the 17-18 year old being horny on main. Also it's just really interesting to me when the younger character takes advantage of normal social and power dynamics and subvert them so they can have the older character sub.

^I'm not sure if the explanation there is perfect or makes sense but I'm always happy to try to talk more about it if you'd like.

I have a little more of the Warden Hybrid!Dream type stuff in my head that I wanted to write out, mostly just a lot of Porn With Minimal Plot for purely kink reasons. I also have a Dream/Ravager fic I'm supposed to be posting, but God only knows when I can finish it. I need zoomies.

[aftgficrec]

oooof i neeed long and angsty preferably newer ones like i need to entertain myself for a bit <3 it's okay either incomplete or complete works!

Well, friend, what kind of angst are you looking for?  Heavy angst, mild angst, emotional/physical angst, angst with a happy ending?  This fandom delights in angst!  I think we’ve probably got a bit of everything here for you, even if it isn’t all brand new, including some excellent fics for other pairings than Andreil.  Take your pick! - S

A small selection from previous posts: 

Long angsty Andreil here

Long dark Andreil here

‘Oakland’ and ‘Lifeline’ here (since updated)

‘Birds of a Feather’ (recently updated), ‘Innominate’ (since updated) and ‘Die Free or Die a Failure’ (now complete) here

‘Scared to Live (But I'm Scared to Die)’ here

‘Stranger To Stay’ (since updated) here

‘Inked Truths’ series here

‘Joseph’ series here

‘not your homeland anymore’ here

‘North Star’ (now complete) here

‘L’Amour parle en fleurs’ here

‘Black As Is The Raven, He’ll Get A Partner’ here

‘I Will Always Choose You’ (now complete) and ‘Comeback’  here

‘Not Damsels, Not Knights’ here

‘Make A Believer Out Of Me’ here

‘Pause and Restart My Heart’ series here

‘The Bones of You’ here

‘Back to the Start’ here

‘Sixteen hours’ (jerejean) here

‘Aurora’  (jerejean)  here  (part 1 of Rhapsody: Exile series - part 2 is also complete, part 3 in progress)

‘The Heart and the Knife’ (Matt/Aaron) here

Purely in order of (currently) longest to shortest:

Deals With Devils by ToadlilyAUs [Rated M, 142394 words, incomplete, last updated June 2023]

Neil is on the run with his mother for three years before his father catches up to them. And after finally being handed off to The Ravens his life is never the same. After three more years of brutal training and abuse at the hands of Riko and Tetsuji, his life is changed yet again on the day Kevin Day runs away to the foxes, leaving him and Jean Moreau behind to suffer the consequences. Six more heinous months after that, in the summer before his long promised debut, he's finally allowed to leave the nest...but he's still anything but free. As the list of friends and allies grows, so too does his list of problems. How much of himself is he willing to give away to keep the people who matter to him safe? And how many lies and secrets can he stack on top of one another before his house of cards comes crumbling down?

tw: suicidal thoughts, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: violence, tw: blood/gore

don't break the glass by cracklingamber [Rated E, 103707 words, complete, 2023]

Part 1 of the glass series

“Who even are you?” Neil blinked at him with those perfect, blue eyes. Andrew became very aware of Neil’s weight at that moment and dropped him. Neil bounced back on the bed and yelped. “I’m the guy who is going to go take a shower and you’re the guy who is going to wait patiently for Kevin to come tend to your needs,” Andrew said. He gestured down to Neil’s blanket covered body. “Whatever this is, is above my pay grade.” [AFTG Crime AU that takes place in Baltimore where the Foxes and Raven's are opposing gangs. Neil escapes the Nest and falls for Andrew, but Riko will do anything to get him back. Kevin and Aaron tumble headlong into a secret relationship and Jeremy Knox fixes a very broken Jean Moreau.]

tw: violence, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: implied/referenced drug use, tw: explicit sexual content

NB: fanart by by @/masslowart on instagram

Not Yours To Bleed by Coffeexandxangst [Rated E, 90858 words, incomplete, last updated June 2023]

The Pros were never in the cards. Not for an ex-medicated alleged psychotic with a dysfunctional family and an Exy career he’d rather not have. But even if it wasn't his first choice, no matter what happens, it can’t possibly be worse than that one fucked up sophomore year when he stood toe to toe with the Yakuza-and won. At least, that’s what Andrew thinks until a familiar face shows up. Another Raven!Neil AU. Or, the one where the boys don’t meet until the Pros.

tw: rape/noncon, tw: violence, tw: suicidal thoughts, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: panic attacks, tw: dissociation, tw: eating disorders, tw: torture, tw: nightmares

I can feel you under my skin by ConventionalExy (Conventionals) [Rated E, 82619 words, incomplete, last updated April 2023]

Part 5 of the Our body series, part 1 here; part 3 here

Neil's second year brings changes. Things slow down and continue softer than they have ever been in his life, Andrew's at his side and they are working on being able to not be together 24/7, he can play Exy to his heart's content, he has a home, a family, a soulmate. He also has Jack and Sheena getting on his nerves, papers to write, Aaron's trial coming closer with each passing day, paranoid habits to break, ghosts to fight when he closes his eyes at night and real-people things to consider like bank accounts and taxes and so. much. more. He also has Andrew, their roof, their bond, their kisses, their touches and the promise of a future that is theirs, to grow and play and live. But things are never that easy for Neil Josten, are they?

tw: violence, tw: depression, tw: suicidal thoughts, tw: suicide attempt,  tw: kidnapping, tw: torture, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced abuse, tw: nightmares

turn out the lights by cielalune [Rated M, 70349 words, incomplete, last updated June 2023]

Part 1 of the dark side of the moon series

"What do you think it means to be alive, Andrew?” “What?” "To be alive. Is it just to eat and breathe? Just survive? Because that’s what I’ve been doing my whole life, Andrew, and it doesn’t feel like enough. But I don’t know how to do more. We’re supposed to find meaning or something, right?” See: stupid fucking questions. Like Andrew hadn’t been wondering the same thing his whole life. “Yeah. Yeah, we are.” A The Last of Us AU of AFTG. Set five years after the breakout of Cordyceps, Andrew is tasked with bringing an enigma of a man across the country, who also may just happen to be the cure for humankind.

tw: violence, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: minor character death, tw: panic attacks, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: body horror

The Sun Still Rises by mordax [Rated E, 66087 words, incomplete, last updated June 2023]

Somewhere on the road, Mary Hatford gets pregnant with her second child. When she passes, she leaves behind not only Neil, but his toddler brother. Survival is difficult without also raising a kid. Worn out and desperate, Neil still somehow ends up at Palmetto, only this time, he brings his four-year-old brother with him.

tw: violence, tw: anxiety, tw: panic attacks,  tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, 

NB: find fanart for this fic by @elidanus on Twitter here

I No Longer Feel Things (I Know I Should) by Major_816 [Not Rated, 59095 words, incomplete, last updated Feb 2023]

Part 2 of the Paralyzed series, part 1 here 

Neil's back in Palmetto with the Foxes' triumph over the Raven's, time to see how much damage has been done. ~ “Yes.” He didn’t remember the car ride back. Were they back? He was in a car. Yes. He remembered bits. Things scattered, Remembered- Eighty percent. A bullet. Blood splatter and Riko’s expression. Watched until eyes fogged over with death. Did he watch that long? Must have. His mother used to say- He blinked. ~ The long-awaited Scared to Live sequel

tw: abuse, tw: violence, tw: rape/noncon, tw: suicidal thoughts, tw: torture, tw: panic attacks, tw: dissociation, tw:  self harm, tw: ptsd, tw: anxiety attacks, tw: eating disorders

Longing Distance by F_C_B [Not Rated, 57545 words, complete, 2023]

Post-canon short thought experiment. Andrew moves away to join his new team, Neil stays in Palmetto. How will being suddenly separated affect their relationship? Andrew's POV. Not Nora-note/canon accurate and might break your heart if you let it.

tw: depression, tw: major character injury

Broken Symmetries by puddlejumper99 [Rated M, 53648 words, incomplete, last updated Feb 2023]

Reasons Neil had Died He cried too much as a baby, and his father made him stop He cried too much as a baby, and his mother tried to muffle the sound, and in her terror she silenced him for good His father wanted to hurt someone, and Neil was nearby The runners came for his mother, and they found him instead His mother hid him in a shack and left him alone as the heat soared They tried to run, and his father caught them They tried to run, and the runners caught them They ran, and they ran, and they ran, and they were still running and it didn’t matter, because his father would not stop, and he picked them off in one world after another until there was nowhere left to hide Reasons Neil had Lived He didn’t know, but there were eight

tw: violence, tw: torture, tw: temporary character death, tw: injuries

No More Fucks To Give by Wrotethis [Rated T, 53269 words, incomplete, last updated March 2023]

Part 1 of No More Fucks Land 

Neil rolled over and stared up at the ceiling. He’d get to play exy, eat regularly, and sleep somewhere with heating- presumably. Not a bad way to spend his last months. And hey, maybe his mother would come back from the dead and kill him herself if he went to Palmetto. Little victories. What if Neil gave up completely on making it through the year when he went to palmetto? What if Neil just did not give a single fuck? Maybe things would turn out better.

tw: violence, tw: suicidal thoughts, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: nonconsensual drug use, tw: implied/referenced eating disorders

If Only I Were Enough by Lostintheuniverseslies [Rated M, 33189 words, incomplete, last updated June 2023]

After Andrew moves to Colorado to start his professional Exy career, he intends on everything being okay between him and Neil. But when his self-destructive tendencies tell him that he doesn't need Neil Josten in his life, everything goes to shit. Things between them seem unrepairable and he's not so sure he wants to even try. But when Neil gets into a dangerous car wreck, Andrew finds himself back at the junkie's side with a deadline to fix things or walk away forever.

tw: depression, tw: violence

Already Gone by Nina_reads1804 [Rated M, 31856 words, incomplete, last updated June 2023]

Neil was the pervasive lie Andrew had foolishly allowed himself to indulge and been unable to shake. A person who would stay? Fairytale. It wouldn’t last. Forevers didn’t exist for him. With graduation on the horizon, Andrew makes the hard decision to leave Neil before Neil can leave him. But after a year, Andrew starts to wonder if maybe he was wrong. Maybe he can have it all.

tw: depression, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: implied/referenced self harm

Sometimes I Think the Way We Met Happened Too Fast by andrewiel [Rated E, 25094 words, incomplete, last updated April 2023]

Neil and Andrew break up, but can never stay far apart.

tw: explicit sexual content

[tk-bubblyboba]

“Shared Nightmares”

A Tmnt crossover AU 2012 x rise

Or as I like to call it-

“Leonardo goes full poltergeist on a 16 year old”

This is an idea that I’ve brewing in my mental stirring pot for months now. There is not and most likely won’t be a fic for this au, just short comics and drawings.(as I cant write for anything)

Timeline goes as follows :

2012 - post s5 ep9

Rise - post movie

Warning: Major character death, descriptions of pretty tame gore

•~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~•

After the events of the Usagi crossover arc, the turtles are sent back to their timeline where unbeknownst to them, the Kraang have returned after their disappearance.

They plan another invasion, this time with the goal to destroy earth entirely, their army growing in size by the second. The 2012 turtles find out of their plans to late and the city is overrun once more, taking New York and soon the world by storm. Despite their efforts, the turtles are killed, leaving their world doomed for destruction.

In the wake of violence the wooden totems carried by the now long gone Usagi, fall through a pink triangle portal.. with an orange hue?

Now in the rise universe, rise has just defeated the Kraang and the city is slowly recovering as are the turtles.

Leon, who had been strictly ordered to stay in bed and rest, decides that being a couch potato is not fun and sneaks out. Soon he finds an area of the city not yet cleared of rubble and fixed up, possibly a warehouse, it’s there he finds a small wooden totem of a turtle.

Leon takes it home with him, deeming it “Little Blue”, and puts it on his shelf.

That’s when it starts.

It happens slowly, but rise Leo begins to see things out of the corner of his eye. Shadows that shouldn’t really be there. Noises, the lair begins to grow eerily cold at night, the residents having to pull out all of the fuzzy and warm blankets despite it being mid summer. He’d almost constantly feel like he was being watched even though when he’d look around no one would be there.

And from there comes the dreams. Well it wouldn’t really be called dreams and more so nightmares. Each one would be more vivid and more terrifying than the last. Such specific scenarios of giant swarms of rats, weird mutant cars, ambushes of warped foot soldiers with multiple arms, a mutant shark, being abandoned in space, his brothers dying one by one.. but only sometimes they aren’t his brothers. They glitch and warp between them and other turtles he swears he shouldn’t know, but seem so familiar.

Soon enough, the dreams begin to slip into reality. He starts seeing very briefly people or rather things momentarily glitch in the place of his family. It’s once where Raph finds him in the middle of the night and his older brothers form glitches to the unfriendly bloodied face of a snarling, spiky, mutant turtle that he realizes he might just be going insane.

And it’s then, when rise Leo would start to see him.

He’d see something out of the corner of his eye and look over to see the blurry out of focus figure of something. When he felt like he was being watched and turned to face who might be staring at him, that’d he’d find bloodshot eyes, looking right back at him from the darkness. And once, when he looks in the mirror, someone else is looking back..another mutant turtle. It’s gone once Leon scrambles back up from the floor.

Overtime, the hallucinations get worse and worse, more in focus and clear till one day, it happens when Leon is snooping through the med bay, trying to find something to help him pass out. He would turn away from a shelf to come face to face with a ghostly 2012 Leo, body burnt and bleeding profusely from many different wounds. Leon would scream as the lights flicker, backing as far away from his counterpart as the room allows. A small radio on the side of the room blared static suddenly, muffled noises coming from its speakers as the channels change faster and faster. It grows unbearably cold and Leon’s frantic breaths come out in visible puffs as he holds his hands to his ears. He would break and finally scream over the noise,

“What do you want?! Just leave me alone!”

And just like that, 2012 Leo would disappear and the lights would flicker back to normal with a buzz. The radio giving one last blurt of static before the song “Message in a bottle” by the Police plays through the speakers lowly. Something clatters to the ground and Leon looks down at his feet, there laying calmly and tilted to look up at him, was Little Blue.

Rise Leo tries to do the reasonable thing and throw Little Blue away, but the little wooden turtle would simply appear right back on his bed when the slider walked back in. The dreams and hallucinations simply got even worse, much more vivid and 2012 Leo had started to appear for longer, only ever staring. Rise Leon would slowly start to try and make sense of it all, nervously joking to 2012 Leo with small quips that never get a response.

Like a simple-

Rise Leo: “Oh haha ghosty’s back”

2012 Leo: intense staring

Rise Leo: “Ok then-“

2012 Leo would soon begin to mess with the TV, using it to try and communicate. Rise Leo nearly popped into his shell the first time it happened when 2012 Leo decided to turn on the grudge at 3am.

12 Leo would try and leave messages but they would be garbled and hard to understand. His primary source of “talking” being different staticky clips of people talking in different shows, movies, and radio stations.

Rise Leo would begrudgingly listen, as he found doing this atleast helps reduce the nightmares and two, he doesn’t exactly want to piss off a ghost. He would eventually start to decode the messages, until it becomes clear.

12 Leonardo, needs rise’s help(specifically Leon’s) to find the rest of his brothers and save them. Save them all.

12 Leo has it in his head that if rise Leo was able to stop their version of the Kraang in less than a month, surely he can stop their Kraang as well. After all, he is a Leo, and with mystic powers no less.

Rise Leo would then have to explain to the rest of his family, “hey I’m being haunted by an alternate version of me who is dead and needs our help to find the rest of his dead brothers who are all trapped within these wooden turtle totems that we don’t know the location of, ok? Ok!”

And as such, rise is(forcefully) sent off on a fetch quest to find the rest of the 2012 turtles.

<~>

After each totem is found, a turtle is added to the “bully a minor” squad, and rise Leo knows hardly any sleep. 12 Mikey has the most fun terrorizing rise Leo and is the second scariest ghost(12 Leo holds that title forever in rise Leon’s eyes)

Rise Don I think would eventually build a device that allows the rest of the gang to atleast see the blurry outline of 2012. They wouldn’t be able to understand them tho, they’d just sound like garbled screechy static.

[goldenbcnes]

ARE YOU FOR REAL I AM SO FUCKING EXCITED!!!!!!!!!!

🩰🩰🩰🩰🩰🩰

🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪

🥂🥂🥂🥂

💋💋💋💋

🤢🤢🤢🤢

Not even gonna apologize.

cal you inspire me every day thank u for this idea i needed the big push to get some of these done i love u my king

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18 for fight club fic

Buck knew that Eddie was pulling away from him after Christopher left with his grandparents to Texas. 

He chalked it up to needing space to grieve whatever relationship he had lost with his son, his life crumbling before his eyes as he watched them walk out the door and board a plane 800 miles away, but after two weeks of dodged calls and stumbling into work, Buck knew something was off.

The circles under Eddie’s eyes were dark, a deep purple hue that emphasized the way his skin had paled over the days. Buck knew he hadn’t been sleeping, the house empty and cold with the absence of Christopher's infectious laughter and joy.

His attempts at communication went unanswered, and Buck couldn’t help but worry for him. A deep and painful ache in his chest started to weigh on him at the thought of Eddie pulling away to a place Buck couldn’t drag him back from. It also didn’t help that their current captain was doing everything in his power to make their lives miserable. 

Gerrard had made going to work something Buck dreaded, rather than bring him joy, like it was working for Bobby. The entirety of A-Shift had put up walls to protect themselves. Keeping all discussions of their personal lives out of the firehouse and biting their tongues at every comment made towards an aspect of themselves. 

While they were all struggling under new leadership, Eddie seemed to become someone Buck didn’t know. The perfect soldier, firefighter, and employee. Always punctual, however in disarray he seemed to look, grooming standards met, and uniform pressed and crisp. The distant look in his eyes seemed to grow farther and farther away every day that Buck saw him.

Eddie was retreating into himself in a way Buck had never known, and in a way he didn’t know how to fix it.

Things changed after a night on the phone with Eddie who had found a photo of Shannon and Christopher tucked away in an album that he was reorganizing, and couldn't seem to catch his breath or stop the sobs from his throat. Tommy had been over for dinner, and had given him a look when he went to pick up the phone as soon as Eddie called him. 

“Again? This is the second time he’s called during dinner.” Buck shot him a pointed look, picking up the phone without a second thought.

“Yes, again. I’m gonna keep answering him, too, until I know in my heart of hearts he’s safe from himself.” Tommy rolled his eyes, excusing himself from Buck’s counter to give him a semblance of privacy. 

Buck answered the phone and immediately stood to attention as he heard shaky breaths and sniffles on the other end. 

“Eddie? Are you okay?”

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18 for dance au

Buck had Bobby on the phone as soon as he heard the news.

“Eddie Diaz.” He heard Bobby chuckle on the other end of the phone.

“Well, my name is Bobby Nash, actually, but what can I do for you?”

“That isn’t funny, Bobby.” He was sitting on the floor of his childhood room, rolling out his quad after a difficult physical therapy session. Ever since nationals in February, his ACL had been tight and would twinge during ballet classes more often than not. His physical therapist had told him that if he kept pushing himself like he was, he would tear it and possibly tear his MCL on top of that.

Bobby had also told him to stop pushing himself to the point of injury, especially when it wasn’t necessary during the off season, but Buck took that as more of a suggestion than anything. 

Only when Athena threatened to ground him at the age of 19 did he pull back. He started going to regular physical therapy sessions in California to make sure his body was able to tolerate the stress he knew was coming in the upcoming months.

“Buck, I don’t know what you want me to say. I think it’ll be good for the team. Not just one boy, but two? It’ll be national news.” Buck could hear the chatter of students in the background, Bobby most likely at the studio.

“Are you teaching right now?” Buck groaned in annoyance, knowing that this wasn’t going to be a productive conversation, Bobby half distracted with other students.

“Not at this very moment, but soon. I could use an assistant if you want to get up and come help. It’s the junior contemporary combination I showed you the other day.” Bobby laughed as Buck let out a sigh, still sore from therapy, but all too knowing that Buck wouldn’t turn down the opportunity. “If you don’t want to, Athena will be home soon with May and Harry for dinner.”

“Is this trying to distract me from thinking about stupid Eddie Diaz?”

“Is it working?”

“No.”

“Then no, it’s not a distraction.” Buck stood and went to grab his contemporary bag, phone still in hand. His warm ups were a faded pair of Project 21 sweatpants, one of his favorites that Bobby had given him a few years ago. He held them close to his chest as he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“I’ll be there soon, don’t let them start without me. They love me there.”

“They do. So do we.”

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12 for drunk 5+1

She pulled the door all the way open to reach out and grab at his arm as he was halfway down the steps of her home. She pulled him across the threshold, his senses overwhelmed with the smell of the dinner they had and the sound of the tv low in the living room. 

“You didn’t interrupt anything. We just opened a bottle of wine and it seems like you need a glass.” She looked him over, probably noticing the red rimmed eyes and flush on his face. He didn’t want her to look too closely to see the shaking of his hands. He didn’t want her to see the cracks in his mask.

“Hen, really, I’m– I don’t know why I’m here.” His voice was tight, the tears still sitting at the surface of his eyes. He noticed Karen in the kitchen grabbing a third glass for him and his heart sunk. He really wasn’t trying to be a bother, but it was like he couldn’t help himself.

“Like I said, you’re not interrupting anything. Denny is asleep, we’re just watching a movie. Join us.” Her voice was kind and inviting, and Buck was weak. He sat down in the chair next to the coffee table across from the couch. Hen dropped a blanket into his lap and handed him a glass of wine.

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12 for feminization fic

In the three years since that day, they had made a lot of memories in their kitchen. Good ones, birthday cakes and anniversary dinners. Bad ones, explosive fights over bills and insecurities rearing their heads. They had lived entire lives before they met each other, but Eddie was determined to have Buck for whatever life he had left. Now closer to 40 than 30, he knew that good things could be fleeting, and Evan Buckley was one of the greatest things in Eddie’s life.

It had been three years of healthy and hearty meals when he noticed it for the first time. 

Buck had always been a big guy, broad shoulders and thick legs, a healthy layer of fat over his stomach and chest, but he had always had visible muscle and the vague outlines of abs. He was broad and took up a lot of space in the world, tending to scare people when he would pop up out of nowhere. But Buck was gentle. He was gentle in the way he approached victims on scenes, hands tender and healing when he would hold the hands of parents who had to see their children shipped off to the hospital. He was careful with tiny animals, Eddie dragging him into the backseat of his car in the parking lot of the Humane Society after he saw him handle a kitten with such tenderness.

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12 for husbands sick fic

Buck awoke to an empty bed. The early morning light filtered through the window in their room, dust still lingering in the air from their new furniture. 

The choice to pick a three bedroom was not something they took lightly. Before they got married, Buck had asked Eddie if he was open to the idea of more kids, a question that Eddie didn’t have an answer for at the time. His life had been so defined by being a father that he wasn’t sure he could do the whole thing again and get lost in fatherhood.

They married on a sunny day in July, the weather blessedly cool for the time of year, with Christopher standing beside Eddie and Hen by Buck. Maddie walked him down the aisle and Bobby officiated. Buck couldn’t have asked for a more perfect day. Instead of taking a honeymoon, they used the money to put a down payment on a three bedroom home a fifteen minute drive from Bobby and Athena’s home that they rebuilt after the fire.

Buck knew that the third bedroom was a ticking clock, with neither one of them getting any younger and the age gap between a potential sibling and Christopher grew every day. Some days, Buck would catch Eddie lingering in the doorway, watching the empty room like it held the secrets to their new life.

But if he was being honest, Buck didn’t care if Eddie decided he didn’t want anymore kids. He would be happy as a step dad to Christopher if it meant he got to spend the rest of his life with Eddie.

[hyperfixated-gvf]

Baby, It's Cold Outside

On the third day of Tropemas, hyperfixated-gvf gave to me:

A One-Bed fic with whiny sub!Jake, and it's a Neighbor's AU, too!

Christmas Song Pairing: “Christmas Eve" by Justin Bieber

Trope: One Bed

~~~

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x Reader

Warnings: Language, smut, F. Dom, M. Sub, pet names, a tiny bit of restraint, a single tear, begging, oral sex (f. receiving)

Words: 4.4k

Author's Note: Thank you all for your kind words and generous reblogs, tags, and comments, they mean the world to me! They're also addictive, just so you know ;) Anyways, this one got away from me a bit, so I've decided that each boy will have one longer smut piece and the others will be short and under my self-imposed word limit. Except for Danny. My love gets all the long smut.

18+ / MINORS DNI

~~~

“Mom, I frew up.”

You almost slammed the door on Jake’s face when he tiredly looked at you with his mournful, moony eyes, but the fact that his own joke only made his lips twitch told you that he actually had a reason to be at your apartment door at 1:45 am. 

The twins were good neighbors. Relatively, at least. You could sometimes hear them arguing through the wall, and other times, you had to send them a text to get them to stop playing their instruments into the wee hours of the morning. Your little duplex townhouse walls weren’t all that thick, but other than the occasional noise complaint that they always dutifully listened to, you were glad to have the happy-go-lucky musicians next door. With how many game nights you’d had and beers you’d shared, you’d even go as far to say that you were friends.

So, you sighed and leaned against the frame, looking at the man expectantly. “What do you need, Jake? This beauty needs her sleep.”

Jake nodded back to his own place, making a face that was both pitiful and disgusted at the same time, which was quickly explained when he said, “Josh brought someone home, and usually some headphones will fix it, but…oh god, please don’t make me describe my trauma.” 

He shivered in the cold December air, and that’s when you realized that he didn’t have shoes on and the only clothes protecting him from the wind were his threadbare sleep shirt and equally frayed plaid pajama pants. All in all, he looked like a little puppy, trembling from the cold and without a place to sleep for the night.

You were no monster; there had been enough nights in your life as a roommate where you wish you didn’t have ears at all that you recognized and acknowledged his pain, but the thing was, you weren’t sure what he wanted you to do about it.

“I won’t. But I..sorry, I’m just not sure what this has to do with me.”

Trying to make it as gentle as possible so that you didn’t put him off, there was really no roundabout way to go about the question. Especially not when its answer would get you both out of the cold.

Jake furrowed his brows in confusion. “Oh. Sorry, I just thought, you know, maybe I could use your guest room? I mean, if you’re comfortable with that,” he said quickly. “We’ve been neighbors for a couple years now, but I don’t want to assume anything. I would rather ask and get rejected though, than try than have to deal with that,” he said venomously, looking back at his place with that same pronounced frown on his face.

You appreciated his attempts to make it your decision but, again, there was just one problem. “I don’t have a guest room,” you explained, grimacing as his face fell. The situation must have been dire if he was that downtrodden after finding out that your second bedroom was an office since…well, since it was just you living there. “But…my couch does double as a futon. It’s not super comfortable, but if you wanted to crash there, I guess, feel free.”

Pure relief spread across his features, and you opened the door wider to allow him in, cursing yourself for not just bringing him in at the beginning and saving you both some body heat. “Anything,” he muttered, quite seriously.  “Literally anything else but what I was dealing with over there. She sounded like a fucking banshee giving birth. And there’s no way my hobbit brother is that good with his dick.”

You snorted, retrieving some sheets from a bin in your hallway closet. “Your hobbit brother… that’s also your twin? That one?” Jake bobbled his head, but didn’t say anything as he began to tug at the back of the couch to free the bed. “Also, it doesn’t have to be his dick,” you pointed out, but Jake shook his head violently at your revelation.

“No. No, no, nope, no thank you I am finished thinking about that twerp in any way, shape, or form for the night.” His words were less convincing when they shook like a dog’s growl as it played tug o’ war. He seemed to be losing the fight with the couch, and you stood there, shamelessly admiring his form in half-amusement and half-serious appreciation.

He had a backside that was better than yours, and after all the years of being ogled at by men as you went about your daily tasks, you figured the universe could look away this one time.

“Oh shit!” he yelped, falling back on that perfect ass as the couch came half-loose with a pop, a grind, and then the tinkle of tiny, flimsy metal screws hitting your floor.

You both stayed quiet for a moment, staring at your mutilated couch that was now propped up on one end and slanted in a way you were certain it wasn’t supposed to slant. And didn’t seem all too eager to go either back down or all the way out, no matter how much you half-heartedly pushed at it.

“I’m so fucking sorry, Y/N,” Jake said defeatedly after a moment. The apology was clear in his voice, and you knew this was bound to happen sooner or later; the couch was, after all, a remnant from your college days. Even then, it had been a curbside find that you and your roommate had tied to the roof of your car with borrowed bungee cords. “I’ll buy you a new couch.”

While you wouldn’t decline the help, it obviously wasn’t his fault entirely, so you shrugged and returned the blankets to their place in the closet. “Don’t beat yourself up for it. Contribute a fourth of the cost to a discount couch from Facebook Marketplace and I’ll let you off the hook, destructo,” you joked, turning around to face him again. Now that the couch option was gone, Jake was clearly unsure of where he stood, staying at your place.

“Your bed doesn’t happen to be a bunk bed, right?” he asked dryly, knowing that it wasn’t from the very few times he’d seen it. It got a small chuckle out of you as you thought about your options, considering a few different solutions when Jake sped the process up. “Well, sorry to bother you, Y/N. Thanks for letting me almost-crash here. I’m gonna…go bash my brains out.”

It was obvious he wasn’t fishing for anything else – he was genuinely expecting to go back to his flat of sin without another thought to finding a different solution, but you quickly took the few steps to get to him before he took off and met his questioning gaze. “Wait, Jake. Just…it’s late. Stay here, we can share the bed.”

Neighbor friends could totally innocently share a bed. Call it the proverbial cup of sugar. 

His eyes grew saucer-wide, and he jerked his head back slightly at the suggestion as if you’d just proposed he buy a leather flogger and build a dungeon. “Are you sure?”

You looked at him, completely deadpanned. The late hour was getting to you, and you just wanted to make it to bed before the sun came up again. “No, I was pulling your chain.” Jake smiled sheepishly as you continued, “Yes, dumbass, I’m sure. I offered, after all. And in the name of complete platonic-ness, either join me in bed or sleep in the street. Up to you.”

He obviously chose to follow you into your bedroom, and since both of you were already in your pjs, you slipped under the blankets as if it was the most natural thing ever. “Thank you again, Y/N,” Jake whispered, once you’d flicked the lamp off. 

“I’d say any time, Jake, but if you wake me up at this god-forbidden hour again because your brother is having sex, I’ll move.”

You heard his huff of laughter at your empty threat and you smiled, too, already starting to drift into that hazy state between sleep and consciousness. The fan and low brown noise you had playing from phone was enough to drown out the strangeness of someone else in the room with you – the extra intakes and exhales of breath, the scratch of blankets, the dip of the mattress – and you would have been totally content to fall asleep then.

If it weren’t for Jake’s incessant moving. 

The first time he shifted, it was fine – didn’t even register. But then he rolled over again. And again. And again.

“Jake,” you groaned, flopping your hand behind you without a care for where it landed. “Stop fucking moving.”

“Sorry,” he responded softly, voice a little higher than normal.

That would have been that, but then it wasn’t rolling over, but he was obviously still moving, and you could feel it. You might have had a Queen-sized mattress, but that didn’t mean you weren’t unconsciously hyper-aware of someone else in your bed when you were used to sleeping alone.

“Oh my god, Jake,” you exclaimed exasperatedly, turning your lamp on and abruptly rolling over to see just what the problem was. “What is wrong? Are you sleeping on a pea or something, princess?”

In the dim light from the wax melter candle plugged into your wall, Jake stiffened, and he didn’t answer.

Thinking your words came out too harshly, you sighed. “Sorry. I’m not mad, I’m just trying to sleep. Seriously, though, what’s wrong? Do you need to cuddle to get to dreamland or something?” you joked lightly in an attempt to clear the air.

“That wouldn’t be a good idea.”

Jake’s answer was so soft, you nearly didn’t hear him. But once his words registered, you furrowed your brow, confused and a little offended that he couldn’t even crack a joke back, because now you felt a little embarrassed of your joking suggestion. “Okay. Because one of us is a ticking time bomb or something? I wasn’t being serious, Jake.”

The offense must have shown through your thinly-veiled attempt to hide it, because Jake was silent for a second, and then croaked out, “I wouldn’t want you to hate me.”

Now laying down again, facing away, your confusion outgrew your offense, and once again, you rolled over, seeing that Jake had remained stiff as a board with his back to you. “Why would I hate you?” you asked genuinely, less edge to your voice.

But Jake didn’t answer. Didn’t have to, because when he shifted again, the movement originating from his hips and obviously something Jake was trying to suppress. You finally took in the way he was scrunched up, knees pulled to his chest and arms tucked where you couldn’t see them. You recognized that position, from one past boyfriend that always seemed to get an erection at the worst possible times.

“Are you…” you let the sentence trail off, and Jake sighed out a shaky breath.

“I’m not a creep, I promise,” he said with conviction, if a little shakily. Out of nerves, arousal, or fear, you didn’t know, but you felt bad for him all the same.

Sometimes it happened – you knew that. It was basic anatomy. It was also basic anatomy to understand why the blankets started feeling a little warmer, and why you began to get the same impulse to shift your hips as Jake seemingly had. There was a very attractive man in your bed, hard and a little vulnerable because of it, that you admittedly had experienced fleeting thoughts of desire for.

“Jake,” you said softly, breaking the tense silence. “I don’t think you’re a creep. And I also don’t want you to think I’m a creep.”

Jake peeked over his shoulder at you, straining his neck to catch a glimpse. “What? Why would I? I’m the one who got in your bed and– and fucking immediately got an erection.”

“Mmmhh,” you hummed, acknowledging the truth of his statement. “But I’m the one who’s having filthy thoughts about it.” When you heard his swallow harshly, you delivered the final blow. “And I’m the one about to offer to help you take care of it. If you want, of course,” you assured lowly. “If not, you can use the bathroom and we’ll never speak of it again.”

You waited on bated breath for Jake’s response, and he finally responded, his voice breaking in the middle of the word, “Please.”

Excitement lit up your extremities, and you tingled with a newly-found energy as you rubbed your thighs together, your body’s natural response now magnified tenfold with the promise of action. “Thank you Jesus,” you breathed, waiting for Jake to turn around. “Come on, Jake. Show me what we’ve got.”

He hadn’t so much as touched his shoulder blade to the mattress when you pushed the covers off, licking your lips at the tent in his pants. “Are you sure I’m not dreaming?” Jake asked, watching you watch him with a predatory gleam in your eye. “Because I’m pretty sure this has happened before, but I woke up with a mess to clean in the end. It wasn’t fun.”

You chuckled and gently put your hand to his cheek. “I dunno. Does this feel real to you?” You planted your hands on his chest and swung your leg over his hip. Once you settled your weight over his cock, a broken noise escaped his lips, and his hands came up to rest shakily on your thighs, flexing up into the friction. “Feels pretty real to me.”

“Pretty damn real,” he repeated, gulping down air and squeezing his eyes shut.

Shifting your hips so as not to torture the poor man, you watched him accept your gifts, and eventually his face relaxed as he let you work. “Good. I have to ask, though: what got you so worked up in the first place?”

Perhaps it wasn’t the best time to peel your shirt off, not when you wanted an answer. But the unwavering attention that Jake payed the slight sway of your breasts, moving with the little shifts of your body, was a suitable second prize. You upped the stakes again, though, splaying your hands out under his shirt and working it off, as well. The growing wetness between your legs was already beginning to demand more, and you didn’t intend to keep either of you waiting for long.

So instead of insisting on an answer, you got off and relished in the small whine that came from the man who blinked sluggishly at the loss of your weight and heat against him. But when you unceremoniously stripped your pants off and then smacked his hands away from his own drawstrings, you said, “No. My house, my rules, Jake. And the rule here is that I get to unwrap all the gifts you’ve brought me tonight. Such a good guest,” you cooed, dragging his plaid pants down until his cock sprung back up, bobbing with a shiny tip that was begging to be sucked.

Not one to keep yourself from what you wanted, you bent down and thumbed across the skin of his hip at the taste of salty precum, spreading across your tongue as you swiped and swirled it around his head, pulling off with a pop as soon as he gasped and bucked his hips up. “Please don’t stop,” he asked, so polite even worked up as he was.

“But you never answered my question,” you laughed with a shake of your head, mounting him again and spreading your cunt so that you could rub your clit along the length of his cock for your own relief. He moaned quietly and took what you gave him, no attempts to change the pace, the pressure, the movement – nothing. “You’ve been so good for me otherwise, Jakey. Answer me, and then I’ll get you all suited up so that I can fuck you. Get you the good relief you deserve.” He struggled to keep his volume down, but you saw the way his lips trembled. “What got you so worked up?”

He was apparently more desperate than he let on, though, because when he was able to find his voice, it was a weak little whimper that sent another wave of arousal through you; so much that it made your head spin with want. “The sheets,” he whined, fisting them in his palms. “They…they smell like you. And when you— you…” 

With your grinding becoming nearly too slippery to continue, you knew you had to fuck him soon before he came from this alone. “When I what?” you asked, climbing off of him to retrieve a condom.

You wiped him off for safety and then made sure the latex was securely on before you poised him at your entrance, waiting for his final answer.

Jake watched your with hooded, hazy eyes, desperation written out on his features. “I liked it when you called me princess,” he admitted quietly.

You smiled victoriously, sinking down on him until his balls were pressed against your ass in one go, and you felt him twitch inside of you. “That’s so sexy, princess,” you admitted. “Thank you for telling me.” Your eyes closed as you stretched yourself out on his cock, beginning to bounce on him. The resulting audio was almost better than the visual. You wouldn’t have pegged Jake as one to beg in bed, but he had been brushing off all the subconscious labels you’d attached to him since arriving.

“Holy shit,Y/N, oh god, your pussy is–” he cut himself off with a grunt as you slid your hands up his arms to his wrists to pin his hands to bed, watching as he immediately clutched at the pillows above where they lay, immovable with your weight resting on them. “Hold me down,” he cried out. “I– ah-h– please, please, please, fuck me harder,” he whined, shifting his hips up as you came down, the explicit sounds of skin meeting skin slapping out into the silence. 

“Yeah?” you panted, loving the way you had front-row seats to every face his features morphed into as you experimented with him – taking notes of what made him tick. “You like it when you can’t move, princess? When you can only lay there and take it?”

He nodded, eyes rolling to the back of his head when you lurched forward on your thrust down, taking him for the ride of his life. “I’ll take anything you give me, beautiful,” he breathed, straining against your hold as he got closer to finishing. “I don’t mind it a little rough.”

“Good to know.” You leaned down and let your hips slowly grind in circles as you pinched the skin where his neck met his shoulder between your lips, nipping it before saying, “Keep your hands there, and don’t make me tell you twice.”

Jake agreed willingly. “Anything.”

Your nails scraped lightly down the undersides of his arms to his chest, where you dug them in to make little crescent marks and continued your quest to make him cum harder than he ever had before. “Fuck,” you moaned on an exhale, trying to find your own g-spot with Jake’s dick. “You’re so good for me. Who knew that Jake Kiszka, rockstar extraordinaire, was such a whiny little princess in bed?” you chuckled, looking down at his red face, his shiny, open lips, his hooded eyes, looking at you like you hung the moon. Just to drive the point home, you combed your fingers through his hair, scratching lightly along his scalp until you reached the back, where you tightened your grip to make Jake shout and arch back, exposing his throat to you. “That’s it,” you cooed. “Let go for me. Give it up. Cum inside me.”

He was obviously holding himself back, and he told you why when he panted out, “What about you? I wanna– I– please, please don’t make me cum yet,” he begged, squirming underneath you but still not letting his hands dip below where you’d put them and told him to stay. “I want to feel you cum with me! I don’t want to cum yet, I don’t want to be a bad fuck– I always make them cum,” he claimed, still thrashing, trying to get way from the steady pleasure tightening his balls and making him leak, getting him harder and harder and harder. “I can make you feel so good, Y/N, just let me– let me– shit, FUCK no no no no noooo—” he moaned, long and low and pitiful. 

His pleasure manifested throughout his entire body and he lost control for a second, jerking and spasming as he filled the condom to the brim. His teeth were bared as he drew breaths in to fuel the sobs and grunts that came out, his arms moved listlessly against the sheets in a sacreligious snow angel, and you could feel his legs twisting and bucking as you continued to ride him into oblivion. 

You finally slowed once a single tear fell from his eye. Wiping it away, you sucked the pad of your thumb into your mouth, watching his chest and stomach heave with a deep-seated satisfaction running through your veins. Still buzzing with excitement and arousal, you finally leaned down to kiss him, grinning as he kissed back desperately, vying for your every touch, word, and request and pliable with the desire to please you.

“So needy, Jake – crying because I wouldn’t let you help me cum. But don’t worry, princess,” you murmured, smoothing his hair back away from his fucked-out face. “I still intend to collect my pleasure. And these perfect little Cupid’s bow lips are going to get me there.”

He kissed your fingertips as you skated them across his mouth, whispering, “Thank you,” and then pushed himself up on his forearms, moving to crawl between your thighs. And as incredible as that would be to see, you stopped him with a palm in the center of his chest, pressing him down to the mattress once again. 

You shook your head. “Ah, ah. I quite like seeing you on your back for me,” you said, licking your lips. “You’re so pretty splayed out like this.”

Jake made a strangled noise and didn’t protest even for a second. “Works just fine for me, beautiful. Come here; let me show you how grateful I am for taking such good care of me tonight.”

He tugged at your hip and you went willingly, turning around so that you could see every shift, flex, and squirm of his body as you positioned yourself over him, hovering just above his face. You hummed. “Ready for me?” His response was to pull you down against him, and your clit throbbed as soon as it got friction again, making you sigh. “That’s it, princess, show me what that mouth can do. I want to feel how thankful you are that I let you into my bed,” you said breathlessly, starting to move and ride him again, this time higher up his body, but just as good. “That I was so understanding when you couldn’t control that cock of yours and that I used it so that you could get off.”

Even though you hadn’t established it (and you really should have), you lifted off of him when he tapped you, making sure he could breathe. But he didn’t take that time to take any deep breaths, only to say, “Don’t forget about the couch,” before licking into you again.

You smiled at his reminder, and reached back to grip his hair again. His whine traveled  throughout your pussy and made him sucking on your clit just that more enjoyable afterwards, sensitive from the vibration. He was quickly torn away from you as you bore down with more pressure, feeling your clit brush his bottom lip and then his tongue as he stuck it out for you to use for your pleasure. “You’re right. We can figure out a proper consequence later, though. You were begging to make me cum; I don’t think I should reward you for breaking my shit.”

With him manipulating that particular muscle, you quickly approached the peak you’d caught sight of while riding his dick, and you didn’t stop this time. You did, however, reach down to take his sensitive cock in your hand, roughly pumping it up and down until he cried out into your cunt, just to see him twist in overstimulated pleasure. 

“Come on, Jake, get me there, just a little bit more,” you directed, feeling your orgasm balloon inside of you. “Yes, Jake, yes, yes, yes– there you go-ooo, princess. Just what you wanted,” you keened, keeling over as you lost the strength to stay upright. You let Jake lap at you for a little while longer, shivering as he gently brought you down by avoiding your clit, but laving attention on the rest of your pussy. He cleaned you up like that, gathering all the excess slick on his tongue and swallowing it down. 

You were sure that he’d suck on you until you told him to stop, but eventually, you dismounted him, your stomach clenching as Jake made a small noise of complaint as his oral fixation was taken away. 

“Come here,” you sighed, opening your arms for him. You weren’t about to let him go to sleep without proper aftercare. It only took a small roll for Jake to plaster himself against you, legs tangling with yours, his fingers skirting across your skin as he wrapped his arms around you, and a sigh that puffed out warm against your throat as he relaxed into your embrace.

This time, when your fingers made their way to his long locks, you were gentle in petting him, softly massaging the back of his neck as your other hand rubbed comforting circles on his lower back. “I think I lied,” you said sleepily, and Jake made a questioning noise against your skin. “I think I want you to come here every time your brother has sex from now on. Okay?”

Jake placed a lazy kiss to your neck. “Is it okay if I don’t wait for Josh to sex? Who knows when the next time he gets lucky enough that someone looks down and sees him will be,” he giggled, fully aware that he was only a half-inch taller. 

You smiled, warmth spreading through your limbs. “Mmmm. Yeah, princess. You come over whenever you want to. I’ll keep the bed warm.” With one last kiss to his brow, you closed your eyes. 

Thank goodness for your shitty college couch.

~~~

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[tzuyubit]

time

ch. 1

note: i just wanna say this is a complete rewrite of an old fic of mine from 2020. it may or may not be bad, idk. this is rewritten, but not edited so there’s probably some mistakes. also, this rewrite is inspired by adele’s i drink wine :3

warnings: talk of domestic abuse (don’t worry, tzuyu doesn’t get hurt) and alcoholism. this is kind of just an intro chapter. i hope this isn’t as awful as i think it is fr.

[non idol au]

meeting tzuyu changed everything for you. she was always kind, never quick to lose her temper or scream and yell at you for things you couldn't possibly control.

patient. god was she patient.

she was tender, warm and inviting (only cause you managed to get so close to her). your relationship with her was very new, much different compared to your past experiences.

this profound sense of uncertainty caused you to question everything she did.

of course you appreciated her and all the things she did for you, but you were still waiting for her to snap. you needed her to get mad at you so bad sometimes that you would push her buttons every way you could think possible. the formality of not being kicked, slapped, pushed, or verbally abused in a relationship wasn't something you were used to.

for about a month and a half now you’d been coming home extremely late and so drunk you could barely make it to the door. more than half the time you'd greet tzuyu with bloody knuckles, a couple of dislocated fingers, or a black eye and a bruised cheek. the fights were completely unnecessary, but they were all a consequence of your drunken stupor. but once you were out of it enough, you lost all contact with fear.

with this becoming a frequent occurrence, you figured tzuyu would be angry with you. you thought for sure she would, at the very least, raise her voice, maybe even her hand. but each and every time you came home, she welcomed you with worried eyes and bandages at her side.

what you didn't know or care to realize, was that being so worried for you all the time, every second of everyday, eventually began to take a toll on her.

she only wanted to fix you, but you were making it more than difficult to do that.

it didn't help that tzuyu knew very little about your past. any attempt at holding a conversation about it was usually cut short and she knew not to push anymore.

but she was curious, there was no denying that. more than anything tzuyu wanted to know you.

it was only for your own protection that you didn’t speak about what happened to you. too many of your exes had used parts of your past as a way to manipulate or gaslight you.

occasionally –and to be fair– you spoke to tzuyu about a few brighter aspects of your life. there weren't many and sometimes you had to make them up, but tzuyu savored what you managed to speak on.

and despite her limited knowledge, she knew you’d been hurt – many, many times it seemed.

tzuyu wasn't stupid. she picked up on the subtle flinches, all the times you asked her if it was okay that you did something, and the countless times you berated yourself over small mistakes. each instance broke tzuyu a little more, so she always did her best to make you feel safe and cared for.

not once did she hit you or raise her voice, even when she was most upset.

the past couple of weeks things seemed to have escalated. rather than a busted lip or a bloody nose, you came home with small gashes on your face and hands.

tzuyu often wondered if it would be better to take you to a hospital. she didn’t know how to do stitches after all. there was no use in asking though, you’d only refuse.

somewhere between helping you and trying to live a life of her own, tzuyu began to crumble. she hardly spoke a word to her friends about what was happening. they were very protective of her and she didn’t want them to think the worst of you. not all of them were as quick to be so understanding.

so tzuyu slipped into isolation, confiding in your shared room whenever you were out. her phone was dead half the time, texts and calls were left undelivered. with her friends so far away, who could really be there anyway?

she managed, at least that's what she told herself.

beneath tzuyu’s eyes contradicted her own denial. a dusted shade of purple brushed over her skin.

exhausted. tzuyu was very exhausted.

her nails had become brittle and her pants fit loosely around the waist. to already be thin and lose more should be concerning, but that didn’t matter at the moment.

you were almost never sober. at this point you were sure if it was because of everything you hadn’t dealt with, or if it was easier to numb out how horrible you’d been to the one good person in your life.

tzuyu loved you so much, but accepting that wasn’t something you were ready for.

this relationship had to be too good to be true, right?

and still once more, you found yourself sitting at another bar a few blocks from home.

four vodka tonics and two shots of mezcal in and it was getting hard to keep your eyes open. tonight's bartender wasn’t one to care how much people drink. as long as the money was there, so was the alcohol.

deep down you thought there might be a little spot in hell for people like that. to clearly see someone with a problem and continue to enable them? it left a sour taste in your mouth.

no conversation was made between each transaction, only the sound of the bump of glass hitting firm wood.

another hour flew by and soon enough you were in the back of a cab on the way home.

sighing, you took a glance at your phone. the time read 3:52 and your notifications weren’t as clogged as they usually were.

you frowned.

tzuyu would normally text you a few dozen times. tonight she did not.

maybe she was too upset with you? this would be the night, you reasoned. tzuyu had to be angry enough this time. so you prepared yourself as best you could in the meantime.

the cab came to a halt ten minutes later. you stumbled out, nearly tripping on your own two feet as you walked the path to the front door.

you didn’t open it right away, not when you knew what was coming. another night of guilt for causing tzuyu so much worry. so you stood, fingers tracing the ridges of the metal keys as you bargained with time.

but it was cold and your body was beginning to tremble. tonight felt different for some reason – tonight you wanted your girlfriend's arms wrapped around you.

tzuyu was secure. you were just beginning to realize this, albeit uncomfortable to admit, but it was only true.

unlocking the door you were met with a familiar sight. tzuyu sat on the couch, hair disheveled and a blanket wrapped around her body. beside her were half used rolls of gauze, medical tape and a few bandages. she was surprised to see that there was no use for them tonight.

“hi,” you muttered softly, finding your way next to her. when no reply was given you turned to look at the taller woman.

“tzuyu?”

you noticed her eyes were glossy from crying. before you could comment, the sound of her voice filled the silence.

“i don’t want this anymore.”

your heart dropped.

“what?”

another beat of silence.

“tzuyu, what do you mean by that?”

she shook her head. “i don’t want to do this anymore, i can’t. it’s too much, you’re too much.” her voice cracked. “your things are packed, you can leave in the morning. jihyo will be here around 11, so you should be out before then.”

“but-”

tzuyu waved you off, “i’ve loved you all i can. i won’t continue to cause myself pain.” she sniffled.

“you sleep on the couch tonight. please don’t need anything, i don't want to take care of you one last time.”

without another word tzuyu got up and left, leaving you alone for the first time.

you only realized now that even though tzuyu finally had enough, she wasn’t even angry – just hurt.

you were chasing after something that wasn’t, and never will be there. tzuyu would never be like any of your exes, tonight proved that.

all you had now was yourself, and you were the only one to blame.