#thinking I was getting something in an ambiguous time setting and then surprise half the 1st chapter is talking about a*3????????

[ceruleanpunch]

started four books in the past month and only one of them is holding my attention hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

[sanarkeo]

they can’t love you like i love you

nayeon wants to show her girl off to the world.

alternatively: look at you getting fucked by someone you barely know on your first date!! nayeon x reader smut - exhibitionism - humiliation - dom!nayeon w sub!reader - idol!nayeon w idol!reader - power dynamics? unnie kink sorry lol... 4+k words long for some reason

-

it all started at music bank a week into your group’s promotions for the new title track, when your manager entered the waiting room and yelled out that she had a surprise for all of you. you looked up from your phone just as the hairstylist had fixed your bangs and shot an intrigued look over to your closest friend in the group. she raised her eyebrows at you and mouthed: “twice?”

you knew then that it was all over for you.

even being at the music program today, occupying the same building as them brought you a rush you’d only felt going up on a stage and seeing a thousand fans gush over you. you were finally going to be able to meet them, actually meet them. not smile and wave from afar. you could finally talk about how much they’d inspired you, even take a picture with them. but you’d be lying to yourself if you said your heart wasn’t in full on palpitation mode thinking about finally seeing your favorite girl face to face like this.

you’d even set her as your lockscreen for god’s sake. but maybe then the rumors were true and her face does bring good luck or whatever. embarrassed just wondering what’d happen if she ever saw it, you shoved it into the shallow pocket of the tightest mini skirt the stylists could’ve fit you into and left the room with your members.

the meeting with twice was brief and took place in the most random of kbs corridors. most of what you’d remembered of it was tripping over your words, bowing a bit too much and too fervently, and staring at how gorgeous they looked in person. seeing them in concert was nothing like this.

“congratulations on your new song!” sana shrieked, pulling your leader into a hug and beaming at the rest of you. “ah, i love seeing juniors with so much passion!”

they took turns wishing your group the best and exchanging some encouraging words. you were avoiding eye contact with one of the girls in fear you’d combust, but felt her gaze lay heavily on you. The way im nayeon stared you down stirred something in your stomach and made your fingertips tremble against the copies of signed albums.

Unlike jihyo or dahyun, she barely said a word beyond the niceties. Which was odd, because nayeon was nayeon. Her expression was fixed and ambiguous, and you swore at yourself for giving into looking her up and down. She was wearing that outfit from the concept photos. the one with that fucking jacket and the tube top and that skirt. nayeon had her gloved hands on her hips and you had to tear your eyes away, afraid of letting your stare wander too much.

when your manager signalled for the group to get to rehearsals, you hurried to bow once more with your members and hastily presented the signed albums to twice. when you gave a copy to nayeon, she accepted it with both hands and a closed smile.

“thank you, y/n-ah~”

you turned on your heels and ran back to the waiting room to get ready. your members teased you for how pink your face had turned even with all your makeup on.

-

when filming was done, your body felt the pressure of the late nights and intense practices come crashing through. you were just glad you’d be able to get a full night’s sleep. stepping into the waiting room ready to change back into your clothes, the sight of your manager glowering at you made you wince.

“how many times do you have to lose your phone? you know, twice’s manager had to come all the way here to hand it to me.”

she sighed and handed you your phone, now with long, deep cracks sustained from a corner - it must’ve fallen out of your pocket while you were running.

you and half your members got into a van to get back to the dorms. as soon as you settled into your seat and got comfortable though, they started to take sneaky glances at each other and giggled.

“i used to think you liked nayeon-sunbaenim too much but i think she actually likes you back,” one of them teased.

“oh my god, did you see how she was looking at you?”

“or maybe she hates you somehow? either way, even i began blushing…”

“-please, please, please guys i think she was just like ill or something.” you were tired, sure, but the annoyance also had something to do with wanting to never think about the stray possibility of her liking you at all. you turned on your phone to send a text to a friend when you saw it. just as you were going to attach some pictures, you were greeted with a flood of selfies of nayeon.

you first raised an eyebrow at your members who were also busy on their phones, as if they played some lame prank on you. but you soon realised that you’d never seen those nayeon selfies before (you were surprisingly on top of twice content for someone who clocked an average of 4 hours of sleep), and that those selfies looked really fucking recent. taken today, recent.

there she was, standing in front of a bathroom mirror, your phone looking small in her hand, a thumb slipped under the waistband, pulling it ever so slightly down. as soon as you saw it, you dropped your phone onto your lap and took a deep breath. nayeon found your phone, nayeon took your phone, nayeon saw your lockscreen and nayeon used your phone to take insanely hot mirror selfies in the kbs bathroom.

all the other images you flicked through were just slight variations of the first, till you landed on a short video. playing it, you saw nayeon moving your phone back and forth from the mirror as she cycled through an array of poses, mouthing… something?

one of your favorite things about im nayeon was how she could sing like an absolute angel, light and airy, while having this depth and hoarseness in her speech. you pressed the speaker against your ear and upped the volume ever so slightly. the sound of her voice, nearly whispering, soft and sultry, forced a sigh out of you. you’d thought she was just spewing random numbers, which you would’ve accepted anyway, but then it hit you.

it was her number.

-

you [9:01 pm]

hello?

nayeon [9:05 pm]

what took you so long?

-

before your first date, all she’d given you was a date, a time, and an instruction: wait for me outside your building. the surprise in it made your breath hitch as you stepped out the front door to your dorm. the fact that you kept it a secret from your members and managers gave it the mildest sense of danger you craved after years of obedience. when you got down to the entrance, you saw nayeon leaned against her coupe in an off the shoulder midi and heels.

“you got down here a lil early… you this eager for our date?”

in an instant, your cheeks flushed red. first, because in the 3 weeks you’d been texting each other, you must’ve forgotten how beautiful she looked in person. then, because you looked down at yourself and realized how underdressed you were. nayeon clocked this, and you didn’t notice how she tried her best to resist smirking.

“sorry, umm… i didn’t know we were going somewhere fancy…”

it didn’t click that maybe she’d left that bit out intentionally.

“don’t worry babe, a pretty face like yours doesn’t need a flashy dress to make an impression.”

she opened the door for you then got into the driver’s seat. all the way to the restaurant, you held in the urge to ask her to keep her eyes on the road. it was surreal. being in im nayeon’s car and her driving you to your first date at a restaurant you could hardly afford on your rookie checks. her looking into your eyes, staring at your body like she’d eat you whole.

you’d admit you felt uncomfortably warm as she cursed out other drivers. you’d admit you leaked through your underwear when she gripped your bare thigh with her left hand and drew lines with her thumb. you felt her grip loosen and her fingers trace your thigh higher and higher until she pulled it back to hold the wheel.

“ahh! we’re just around the corner. i hope you like french food?”

-

you had a curfew, you had dozens of unanswered texts and yet you were tipsy in im nayeon’s apartment. putting down your glass of wine on her coffee table, you looked over at her floor-to-ceiling windows - a view of the han river at midnight framed perfectly - and shook your head at your stupidity.

your leader might kill you. your company could set your contract on fire.

then, you turned and saw nayeon there, bathed in yellow light, head propped against her hand, biting her bottom lip.

“thank you for tonight,” she said and set her glass down to take your hand and stroke the back of it gently with her thumb.

your leader was going to kill you. your contract was up in flames. whatever.

throughout dinner, all that initial embarrassment of feeling out of place in a dimly lit restaurant full of finely plated dishes and women decked out in jewelry, died down and was replaced by a heat that grew up your neck and between your legs. nayeon made you feel like you were the only girl in the room. like you were worthy of everything. like you were beautiful and good. you tried to play it cool but when she got the bill and asked you if you wanted to come over to her place, you’d never felt more easy in your life.

so there you were, the wine’s acidity coating your tongue, your throat dry, just craving her lips that were parted slightly, right in front of you.

“why did you give me your number?” you asked.

“because.”

nayeon licked her lips and you wondered how desperate you looked at that moment.

“and… and why did you take all those pictures?”

as brazen as nayeon was, you still caught her sheepish smile when it appeared for the briefest moment.

“i knew i had to have you from the moment i laid eyes on you.”

you didn’t know then how long she’d actually kept tabs on you for. she scooted closer and intertwined her fingers in yours, never once breaking eye contact. the smell of bergamot and citrus was intoxicating.

“and it worked didn’t it, babe?”

you hummed in agreement and tore your gaze away from her. but your sight landed on her cleavage and you turned dumb. at once, nayeon lifted up your chin and chuckled, just knowing how much you wanted her.

“texting me straight away like a good girl?"

“i had to.”

nayeon exhaled, closed her eyes and moved her hands to your hips.

“such a good girl for me.”

she kissed you and you never realized how soft lips could be. you laid your arms on her shoulders as she slid her tongue between your teeth, then sucked on your bottom lip till it was sore. when you shifted, you felt how wet you were getting just fantasizing about what that tongue could do to you.

when she pulled away, you saw the desire set deep in her eyes. she tilted her head and sunk her teeth onto your neck. she sucked and licked on your sensitive skin, and you didn’t notice how her hands got under your blouse. you were so sure she’d leave hickeys (and what will you even tell your makeup artists tomorrow?), but the way nayeon’s fingertips traced the curves of your waist left goosebumps on your thighs.

“i-i don’t think i should stay overnight though,” you whined, helping nayeon take off your blouse. “i’m already in so much trouble unnie.”

her bunny-toothed grin appeared as soon as you said that last word and she hurried to get your bra off. “don’t worry, unnie will take care of you.” she tossed your bra aside and steadied her breath staring at your tits. “fuck,” she breathed. “i wish all of seoul could see them.”

she played with your nipples for a while before wrapping her lips around one of them. you threw your head back and moaned, feeling her tongue flick at it and encircle it. she planted kisses across your chest making her way to your other breast and slipped her hands beneath the band of your skirt. you resisted the urge to just spread your legs wide open for her when she pulled it down. you never felt more like a slut than then.

after you kicked the skirt to the side, nayeon kissed you and you whimpered into her mouth. “can i taste you?” she asked, and you nodded and ogled at how the pinkness of her full cheeks spread to her nose.

you squirmed in your seat as you watched her carelessly push back her coffee table and get on her knees. it was mesmerizing seeing her fix her bangs the same way she’d always done when you watched her vlogs or interviews, except this time it was in person, and this time, she’d done it before forcefully dragging you closer to the edge of the sofa.

“fuck…” she groaned. ever since she saw you in that mini skirt, she’d been touching herself to the thought of taking it off of you. now you were in front of her, legs inching apart somewhat unconsciously, she was going to have you. all of you. with your underwear still on, she pressed your thighs further back and took a second to admire the sight of you.

“you’re so wet.” nayeon smirked and dragged her tongue from the bottom of your slit to your clit, the friction from the fabric driving you insane. “so wet for me.” she nearly tore your panties forcing it off of you.

she parted your pussy lips with her long fingers and lapped at your cunt with broad strokes. you writhed and wriggled, sobbing at the way her thick tongue moved onto brushing back and forth over your clit.

“nay-nayeon unnie…”

you bit your lip and looked down, catching her gazing up at you like she was going to devour you. you moaned with each shape she drew with the tip of her tongue.

“my little slut got wet even on the drive over to the restaurant right?”

her tongue teased at your hole, dripping with juices, then sunk into it. you tried moving your hips, grinding against her face to get more of it in, wanting so badly to be filled with her warmth.

“mmh…”

“what a slut,” she muttered, pulling away.

nayeon stood up and ordered you to do the same. she grabbed you by the wrist and yanked you to the window. instinctively, you tried to cover yourself up with your hands and angled your body to the side, nervous at who in those officetels and apartments across the river could’ve seen you.

“no, no,” she said in a low voice, getting behind you and taking your hands in hers, exposing you to the skyline of east seoul. you knew the odds were tiny, but reddened uncontrollably at the thought of some stranger being able to watch. your reputation could’ve been wiped just like that. everyone could’ve found out how much of a slut you were for nayeon. yet, she gently pushed your shoulders down and you obediently took that as a cue to kneel.

“what if someone sees?”

nayeon sighed and sat down, her thighs holding you in place, her clothed chest pressed against your bare back. “you’ll put on a show for them then,” she whispered, and gestured for you to sit down. “you’re good at that aren’t you?”

she forced your legs open, but you tried resisting even to come across faintly as having some sense of dignity. digging her nails into your skin, nayeon spread your legs wide open and you instantly felt the cold air on your pussy again. looking down at all those tiny cars stuck in traffic, at all the red and yellow lights of the city, you shuddered but gulped your doubts straight down. as one of her hands slid down your chest to your abs and finally to your needy pussy, the other groped your breast and rubbed your nipple between a finger and a thumb.

you couldn’t get over how warm and smooth her touch was. she rested her chin on your shoulder and you felt her lips hover behind your ear. “baby, i want the whole world to see you get fucked.”

the moment her fingers skimmed over your clit, you jerked your head back, resting it on her shoulder, and whined. she giggled right in your ear and you felt a wave of tingles run down the small of your back. the image of her eating you out was still burned into your mind.

this was the first time you thought that maybe she just liked to torture you, enjoyed the tension in your thighs as you tried your best to keep them apart. not squeeze them together to get a little more pleasure like a bitch in heat. no, you had more patience than that. just enough to to be able to feel the rise and fall of her chest on your back and not collapse to her feet, pleading to be fucked.

with her index and middle fingers, she slowly parted your folds and you heard the subtle sound of her smacking her lips. “such a pretty pink pussy. i can’t wait to ruin you. can’t wait to hear you beg and cry.” nayeon smacked your cunt and removed a hand from your tits to squeeze your cheeks as you winced in pain. “what do you want? say it.”

“i want you…”

she spanked your pussy again.

“you want unnie to what?”

“i want you use my holes and fuck me like i’m your fuck toy!”

just like that, the pent up horniness from nights wasted fingering yourself senseless to imagined scenarios with her spilled right out. you couldn’t tell how badly that sent her on a power trip, but you had somewhat of an idea. because nayeon dragged her fingers up and down your pussy like it was fucking nothing at all then shoved them so far down your mouth you felt them at the back of your throat.

“suck it,” she ordered.

you obeyed her and wrapped your tongue around the salty slickness of her fingers. you bobbed your head up and down, coating their entire length in your spit. all you could think about was them ripping you open. how she so easily held your tits in the palm of her hand. how much more they would stretch your pussy out than your own fingers.

she pulled them out of your greedy mouth and deftly brought them to your entrance. her fingertips dipped in and out like she was testing you, and the frustration nearly made you break free from her hold.

“please, please, please agh… please fuck me, please!”

she kissed your cheek and held your throat in her free hand. “if you say so,” she quipped, and thrust two of her fingers deep into your hole. she plunged into you fast and hard, you were just dumbstruck at how much they filled you up. she curled her fingers to hit your walls at an angle that made you see stars. your breathing grew ragged as she picked up the pace. nayeon’s grip on your throat tightened and you felt yourself reaching a point where you were so blissed out you would’ve done anything to keep her fucking you at that tempo.

“f-fuck me, fuck oh fuck, please i need you, i need more of you-”

without another word, she forced another finger into you and grunted at how tight you felt, clenched around them. “oh my god, you’re so tight for me,” she sneered, the thought of you feeling so vulnerable and small in her hands made her feel ecstatic. at that point, your brain was mush, and every word that left your tongue was some form of: please, fuck, more, or deeper.

“what was that? d’you want me to slow down honey?” she taunted, and drew her fingers back ever so leisurely. the pressure that was building down in you dissipated and you couldn’t help but grasp at her forearm.

“no- no i was gonna- nayeon… fuck!” you felt tears form and the corners of your eyes. how miserable you must’ve looked to anyone who might’ve peered into the window to see you just there, grinding and fucking onto her unmoving hand until it disappeared. her other hand still on your throat, she shoved you down so you were on all fours.

“you can’t cum now, no, not just yet,” she near growled in your ear. she pushed you around and shifted till your ass was up and facing out onto the skyline. it hadn’t crossed your mind until that night how thrilling it was being treated like a piece of meat in nayeon’s hands. your knees and arms yelped at the cold hard marble tiles, but your belly was hot against the silkyness of her thighs.

then, a hard spank landed on your ass cheek. you shrieked but why were you sticking your ass out even more after that? nayeon massaged your ass and rubbed down to the back of your upper thigh.

“i feel so sorry for giving such a good girl such a bad punishment, but i couldn’t stop myself…” she slapped your ass harder this time and you felt the heat and the pinkness form on your skin. “should i? should i stop?”

you shook your head.

“spank me and fuck me until i’m sore,” you sniffled and rested your cheek on the ground.

nayeon shoved all three fingers back into your sopping wet cunt and pistoned them in and out. the only times she’d ever paused for second were to land a slap on your ass. it stung like hell and each subsequent smack made your clit that bit more sensitive to the accidental brushes of her knuckles.

with every pump deeper into you, nayeon felt your walls squeeze tighter and tighter around her fingers. her arms grew tired and yet she just went faster, knowing how close you were getting.

“cum for me baby, cum for unnie.”

as another smack landed on you, the searing pain combined with the overwhelming pleasure was almost too much to handle. your breath hitched and you clawed at the tiles, nayeon’s pace becoming so unforgiving that you just had to-

“fuck- oh fuck! i’m gonna-”

nayeon nearly came to the sound of your scream. you came so hard you felt like your eyes had rolled back into your skull. speechless, shaking, shivering, even when you felt so overstimulated just having her still fingers inside of you, you could only swipe at her arm. feeling liquid stream down your thigh, you whimpered.

when nayeon pulled your exposed form into her arms, you were enveloped in her warmth and her scent. wordlessly, she rubbed your back and planted tender kisses on your shoulder, up to your jawline and onto your lips.

“i like you,” she confessed. and though it sounded so simple and so light, it gave you butterflies.

she cleared her throat and picked you up. you were initially surprised at how strong she was, then blushed when you thought about the definition in her muscles as she fucked you. she kicked open the door to her bedroom and softly laid you onto her bed. tucking you under her heavy blanket, she gave your forehead a peck and slid into the other side. with how dim the lighting was, you could barely make out how nayeon was just looking at you with a goofy smile plastered on her face.

“i like you too,” you admitted. she stroked your cheek and hummed in contentment. you looked over her shoulder and caught a glimpse of the time on her clock. “fuck. my-my manager, i need to let them know i-”

“shh, shh… darling please don’t worry.” all that fear and anxiety was washed away when nayeon shushed you.

“i’ll handle it, princess.”

-

rahhh first fic! lemme know what you think :D i might continue it but we'll see how it goes... title inspired by underwater by red velvet hehe

[earthtooz]

x : BOX OF SURPRISES :*+ﾟ

in which: sampo has something for you and you fall a little more in love with him.

warnings: 1k wc, FLUFF (slight angst), reader is a little mean :,) but it's bc sampo's annoying, gn!merchant!reader, banter, seemingly unrequited feelings, ambiguous relationship?

a/n: need this pathetic sop of a man so badly it's not even funny. anyways, enjoy! pls rb if u liked it :D

“sampo, what is the meaning of this?” setting down the heavy boxes of goods with a huff, suspicion stirs in your gut. 

“did you not see my text earlier? i could have sworn you read it,” he hums, trailing off thoughtfully as he looks at you through his swept-aside strands of hair. 

you look away from the carefree glint in his eyes whilst ignoring the pounding of your heart.

“i’m working, sampo- being an ethical and trustworthy merchant is a hard job, y’know?”

the man laughs, boisterous and loud. a migraine is coming, it's only natural to get one after dealing with its human embodiment. 

“don’t you have other things to do?” you mutter.

“what, other than talking with my favourite fellow merchant?” 

“you mean terrorising.”

sampo laughs again. this time, he shuts his eyes close and grins so wide that he flashes his annoyingly perfect teeth. it’s so painful that he’s so beautiful, if only that could excuse his horrendous personality (you adore him). 

pretending to wipe a tear from his eyes, he sighs wistfully. “this is why i love talking to you, never a dull moment with you, y/n.”

you try not to let his flattery get to you. besides, he probably says this to all of his competitors just to butter them up, breaking their walls before inevitably taking them and distributing their resources to consumers at cheaper prices. 

“whatever, sampo. will you leave me alone now?”

“hey, hey, hey, what’s the rush?” he asks, putting his hands on his hips. you try not to look at the exposed skin that sits above. “the business day is over. don’t you have some time to spare for little old me?”

“the business day may be over for me but never for crooks like you. besides. i need to pack up  and i want to go home, so i don’t appreciate any delays.”

“you think of me as a mere ‘delay’?” sampo gestures to himself, all grandiose and dramatics. “i’m hurt, and here i was thinking that we had a connection.”

there’s a part of you that hopefully yearns for him to expand on the ‘connection’ he so speaks of, but the desire fades as quickly as it appears, replaced with dejection instead. to cross the line with sampo koski would be fatal for your business and you fear that you were already toeing the boundaries. tolerating and talking to him for goodwill was one thing, but going ahead and falling for him was another. 

furthermore, you don’t like the feeling that he knows about how you feel. everywhere you turn, sampo is there, leaning against the wall, looking like temptation itself as he toys with those small blades of his. they’re kind of like boomerangs, but you’re not too sure.

there’s a lot about sampo you’re not too sure about- perhaps if you weren’t a competing merchant, you would have tried to learn them all. 

“you drive me insane,” you murmur, packing up all the leftover goods into a crate.

“let me help you,” he offers, picking up some goods and sorting them without permission. you have half a mind to slap him away, but against the better judgement of your brain, you allow him to assist.

when the crate is filled, sampo walks over to grab another empty box, passing it to you. you eye him suspiciously and the blue-haired merchant is quick to make a comment on your speculatory glance. 

“why are you looking at me like that?” 

“why are you… helping me?”

“what? is it so wild that sampo koski can be of assistance? i have some good in my heart, ya know,” he sings, reaching over your stall to adjust the twisted strap of your outfit. 

sampo winks at you when he meets your gaze again.

you hate the way your body reacts to his fleeting touch, and the way you want more. you want to feel how his hands would fit in yours, or around your waist, or holding your face, or-

“speechless, are we now?” chuckles the merchant. “i normally elicit this reaction-”

shaking your thoughts away, you cut him off with a slam of your crate, defeated by the betrayal of your own wandering mind. “sampo.”

for a moment, shock shines in his eyes, his hair bouncing as he jolts. you also can’t help but wonder what it’d be like to run your hands through it. if he won’t share his heart then perhaps his hair care routine could do, after all, it is unfair to have such luminous hair despite running around all day.

“didn’t you have something for me?” you ask, trying not to let your exasperation bleed into your tone. “that’s why you’re here, no?”

he presses a hand to his chest and acts like he's been shot. “so you read my message and chose not to reply? i’m hurt, y/n, how cou-”

“sampo. please, i’m in no mood to banter. can we get this exchange over and done with?”

for a flash of a second, you delude yourself into seeing a slight furrow in sampo’s eyebrows, expression moulding into something akin to sadness. it’s a face that will haunt your dreams, you think, especially with the way he glanced away from you, doubt evident in his body language as he nods shyly.

it's not like sampo to break eye contact, but he recovers too quickly for you to comment on it and then further shuts you up when he presents an innocently pretty box. through common sense, it looks like a box of chocolates, but because you know sampo koski, you’re a little frightful of the contents inside. 

“wh-what’s the meaning of this?” you ask, eyeing the gift carefully.

sampo pushes it further towards you. “open it and find out!”

“it’s not going to blow up in my face, is it?” 

“do you think so little of me?”

“yes, because you trick people like this, sampo, by presenting a seemingly innocent box of chocolates and then bam- they blow up in-”

“okay, okay, i promise this isn’t one of them ones that go ‘bam’! trust me!”

"okay... i'll trust you on this one."

with a little reluctance, you take the outstretched box, scepticism written all over your face. preparing for the worst, you untie the little bow and gently lift off the cover, melting at the contents within.

chocolates of various sizes and design litter the inside and the cuteness of it is enough to make you melt, the small smile appearing on your face only a tiny indication of the affection growing within you. not to mention, these sweets don’t look like the cheap mimics that the underworld produces. how did sampo get his hands on these, and why would he give them to you?

suddenly laced with guilt at the unnecessary attitude and rudeness you showed him earlier, you look up with a ‘thank you’ and apology on the tip of your tongue, but he’s gone. disappeared into thin air at the crumbling of your heart's walls.

disappointed, you sigh and make a mental note to thank him the next time you see him. resuming your packing up, you’re unaware of the new brightness your expression carries, and how you move around with a little more bounce to your step.

hugging the gift close to you, a certain merchant lays low nearby and watches how enthused you seem by the new gift. sampo concludes then and there that your smile is priceless and he would do anything to be the cause of it.

if only he could tell you.

© EARTHTOOZ 2023, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[niichanism]

another throwaway-ish acesabo fic i might finish eventually maybe not. the logic and characterization started bugging me but also this ain't about that. i wanted to write alpha sabo wearing a muzzle while rejection-sensitive omega ace is extremely pissed to be denied kissies

Me in 2014, unenlightened: omegaverse is just a cheap tactic to make stoic blorbos pathetic Me now: I think ace one piece should experience PMS 

set ambiguously after marineford but ace lives + nothing huge is going on with the RA

TW: omegaverse, pre-heat pms??? lmao, this one actually isn't that spicy it's just silly summary: ace: what if you helped me with my heat. hahaahaha jk. unless sabo: (malfunctions)

“Another meeting?”

Even Ace is surprised at the sharpness in his voice. It's been jumping out of him these last few weeks. He wants to swallow it back down, this twitchiness, but as Sabo turns his good eye back to him, he tries laughing it off instead.

“Yep.” His brother shrugs, smiling. “Duty calls.” “Hmm.”

Ace had his responsibilities as second division commander, but they so rarely involved paperwork. Everything was hands-on, on the go. Meetings were like rallies or even parties more often than not.

He misses it a lot. It feels wrong to sail under any other flag. But Pops was good at protecting people, and that's something Ace can do. Besides, Sabo is here. Sabo, who still has a way of keeping Ace relatively sane– up until recently, at least. There’s a moment where Sabo catches his withered expression, but neither of them say anything. 

Ace falls back on teasing, hand on hip. “I’m just wondering if you ever get to have any fun is all.” “I have plenty of fun, Ace,” Sabo huffs, “especially when you’re around.” “Oh, yeah?” Ace is fairly sure— Sabo must be thinking of the fun they had a few weeks ago.

They’d saved a coastal town from some shitty pirates, which was already a good time in itself. They went to the tavern to drink– the place had good stuff, on the house for good deeds– went back to a good room– it’s actually pretty foggy from there. The emotions remain more than the specifics.

But he remembers riding Sabo stupid. Lighting the lamps so he could see when the sky went dark. And how pretty he looked, panting, his golden hair haloed on the bed. His bruising grip on Ace’s thighs. The sensation of his cock swelling like he could knot Ace outside of a mating cycle. He remembers Sabo’s face, lost in pleasure– growling, even– eyes scrunched tight, the flash of his white fangs in his open mouth.

He remembers thinking that it was so good. In the morning, though, Sabo was gone. He’d left a note on the nearest surface, in a rough scrawl: gone on mission

S

The total lack of specifics was somehow just like him, so Ace had huffed and climbed back into bed. Half-conscious, he’d searched the sheets for the elusive scent so often trapped beneath Sabo’s stuffy, high-necked outfits. And he tried to pull together soft little shreds of memory from the previous night. He hadn’t meant to ruminate. Just to check. Because no matter how he turned it over in his head, it all still seemed like a dream. And if it had happened, should it have happened at all? They never talked about it. Busy, busy days in the Revolutionary Army. Normal, normal brothers who were still learning each other a year after meeting again. Maybe Ace had made a mistake. All those vivid images were  tiny embers that refused to die– for weeks now, he was plagued with curiosity. Then shame. 

When they first met again, Sabo hadn’t reacted to his second sex beyond a small, almost comical lift of his brows. Ace had been equally cool about it on the outside, and he held himself to that, but the fact that Sabo was an unclaimed alpha had gotten under his skin.

If he was going to be honest with himself, it was posing a real fucking issue. 

Ace had always been on the more impulsive side, but he really thought he smoothed that out– if not in terms of danger, then at least when it came to getting along with people.

Of all people, Sabo should test him the least. 

And it sucks because he doesn’t, really. He and Ace still get on well. Better than well. What he's testing are Ace’s instincts.  Ace had always been able to ignore them in the past, so their constant pounding in his head had surprising power and he ended up blurting out stupid shit like never before. He hadn't even been that clingy when they were kids. He knew and yet the antsy energy remained, dunking his moods and driving him crazy.

“That’s a relief,” Ace says, throwing him his utmost charming, normal smile. Sabo doesn't seem to take it at face value– figures– but past the semi-concerned twitch of his brow, he manages not to fuss over it for about three seconds. 

“I’m glad, too. Are you… is everything good?”

“Everything's good,” Ace assures, a little too quick. The last thing he wants is Sabo looking at him like that.  “Go on, don't be late,” he urges good-naturedly, sending him off with a lazy wave. “You just let me know if you need any countries set on fire or anything, yeah?”

Sabo looks like he wants to ask something else, but they have another half-conscious second of conversation with their eyes. Sabo’s face crinkles slowly into a smile, and he leaves, taking part of Ace's peace of mind along with him. 

*

A week later, Ace visits Sabo in his room. “G’morning,” he yawns, hand on the doorframe. Sabo looks up from his desk– coffee in one hand, paper in the other.

“Ace. Good morning. Where have you been?” Sabo asks, casual enough. 

Ace closes the door behind him and leans against it, nearly clenching his teeth against the nerves in his gut. “Sphinx,” he replies cheerfully. “To visit Pops and Marco.”

Sabo turns away to set his newspaper down. “I see. How's Marco doing?”

“Good,” Ace replies. “He’s on top of things as usual. I just help out here ‘n there.”

The revolution lets him come and go as long as he's smart about it. Well, Sabo lets him come and go. Most of the world still thinks Portgas D. Ace is dead, and the RA thinks he should keep it that way until it's the right moment for a blaze of glory. 

No way that's happening until Ace gets his head screwed on straight again. But it's different when he has to be an omega about it. Show up at Marco’s door like a twitchy stray to ask what the hell his body is doing and how to make it stop. He's got a mind that’s too fond of bad ideas, but this sleep with Sabo or else one is throwing him for a loop. 

First of all, stop taking suppressants, Marco had said, way too coolly. You haven't had a mating cycle in– two years now?

Can't I just sleep with people and get it out that way?

Sorry, Ace. You have to pass a heat. 

Ace had gone quiet then, stomach dropping through the displeasure of it. 

You know, there's ways of making it easier, finding a safe partner…

No, I can handle it. I mean, I'll figure it out. Marco. Thank you.

So there it was. He'd tried to take a vacation from his unreasonable instincts only to find out they had to be confronted.

When he looked at his options, his brain became scrambled eggs. The anger in his heart demanded consolation and so he ended up right at Sabo’s door. 

“Want some?” Sabo asks.

It refreshes his attention, and Ace’s eyes fall upon the mug in Sabo’s elegantly gloved hand. That other kind of hunger stokes cinders inside of him. “Nah. Coffee's gross.”

Sabo smiles against the rim of the cup. “Useful, though.”

“How about we get some food in you down at the mess hall, too?”

Sabo raises his eyebrows. “Wouldn't turn that down. Give me a second.”

Ace glances around while the desk gets organized. “I also wanted to ask a favor.”

Sabo pauses where he's just stood up, and looks over, a little too keen for Ace’s liking. “Yeah?”

“See, I was wondering if I could…” he starts– then shakes his head, laughing at himself. He didn't learn to be polite for Sabo. He comes closer and clasps his hand firmly on Sabo’s shoulder, ignoring the low screech of desire that comes with it. “No, let me start over. Will ya lend me some of your clothes?”

He can't help the light pink flush on his own cheeks, but he's genuinely pleased at how Sabo’s face changes. 

He does the eyebrow lift thing, and his hazel-eyed stare becomes that much more sharp, like this simple question does what the coffee couldn't. Ace likes that he doesn’t look away. But then, he's also at a loss for words, unspoken or otherwise. If they'd never been separated, if Ace wasn't a tough guy and Sabo wasn't a child soldier, this would be an easy script to follow. 

Sabo glances down as if he has to examine what he's already got on. Those tough, tan pants that fall just right and the flouncy undershirt and fitted vest; Ace is vaguely amazed at how well put together he looks when the sun’s not even past the rocky horizon of Baltigo outside. 

“Lend you my clothes?” he repeats. “Here I thought you had such a problem with them.”

Well, yeah, they make Sabo look snooty as fuck and they seem as freeing as a straitjacket, but–

“I do, but nesting’s not about fashion, it's about scents.”

“Oh… that's what you mean?”

Now why is Sabo so alarmed, blushing like a village maiden?

“What?” Ace asks, pinning him with an edgy, somewhat challenging look. He crosses his arms, since Sabo looks like he wants to sink into the floorboards. “Why are you so surprised? Did you think I don't nest?”

“Well, no–”

“I nested even when we were kids. It was like the one normal thing I did.”

Sabo laughs haltingly. “I remember. It's just that you insisted it was for Luffy’s sake–”

“Yeah, we thought it might make him less whiny,” Ace reminds him. What a puzzle that had been. Pups raising pups– that Luffy turned out half-decent was a fucking miracle, and maybe Sabo had more of a hand in it than he did. The angel on his shoulder had a lot more sway when it spoke with Sabo’s voice. Makino had loved the idea of their nesting with the clothes she brought, though. Everyone loved Makino, so if she thought it was a good idea, Ace had figured it was. “I guess I just got in the habit, man. You don’t actually have to give me anything, don’t worry about it.” Bless his heart, Sabo doesn’t let this awful feeling in Ace’s stomach take root.

 “What? No, Ace, I didn’t say you couldn’t have any,” he says quickly, eyes as wide as a skittish woodland creature’s. “Please take something. It just surprised me. Nobody’s ever asked me before.” Ace sits with that for a few seconds. He shouldn’t feel happy that Sabo was deprived of meaningful pack bonds. But he feels light as air knowing that he’s Sabo’s first here, too. “Okay,” he says, grinning. When he catches sight of Sabo’s awkward, half-grimacing expression in turn, he snickers. “Could’ve just stolen some of your clothes to save us the awkward little chat, huh? You have so many, you wouldn’t have even noticed.” Sabo rubs his face between thumb and fingers, flustered. Another stilted laugh bubbles out of him. “No, I mean, sure, if you need something from me, you can have it,” he says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Ace’s smile softens, but it feels like a supernova, a victory. He’s having trouble stripping his eyes away from Sabo, the genuine pleasure on his rosy face. “But I’m glad you asked.” Ace bites the inside of his cheek because he feels like he’s about to start purring and Sabo hasn’t even given him anything yet, hasn’t even touched him. He’s out of joint for sure. “No big deal. Used to nest with Luffy’s clothes, too,” Ace tells him. He wrinkles his nose. “He smells like meat and dirt, though.”

Sabo relaxes. “You love meat and dirt.” “I do,” Ace laughs. “Yeah, Lu smells weird as fuck and I wouldn’t change it for the world. I’ll take your gift too. Much appreciated.” And now that he’s got his consolation prize, Ace yearns to get the fuck out of there. Even if he’s curious about fucking Sabo again– just to check– his upcoming heat is something else. It’s going to be beyond terrible, so much so that he already feels like a sweaty human fireball when it comes to mind, and he honestly doesn’t want to think about it. There’s a reason he hasn’t stopped downing suppressants for two years. Sabo’s clothes and memories of nesting in their treehouse will have to do to ease his fraying nerves. Ace has been through worse, so he should be stronger. He should be stronger. He should pass his heat and then, if possible, have sex with Sabo once more just to get this heavy, cloying attraction out of his system– Ace claps his hands together. “That’s settled, then. Breakfast?”

He needs to do something with his body that isn’t standing here and taking in everything that makes Sabo Sabo. But his brother doesn’t budge or even glance at the door. “When do you need them by?”

 “Hm?” “I mean…” Sabo looks to the wall and back. “It’s soon, right? You stopped taking your suppressants.” Ace frowns, and twists his head over to sniff. “Damn, do I smell rank?” “No, no, you’re fine I think, as long as you don’t go anywhere too cramped or hot…” Sabo’s nose twitches; his mouth thins. “Are you going anywhere?” Ace’s eyebrows jump at the sudden steeliness in his voice. He fixes Sabo with a look on the border of teasing and genuine annoyance. “Sabo, have you never been around an omega or something?” “I have,” Sabo says, somewhat irritably. “Just… older ones, or… subordinates…” “Subordinates,” Ace repeats, teasing. “Well, it’s an army here, Ace, not exactly a family,” Sabo sighs, idly massaging one gloved hand with the other. “But now my brother is about to go through a cycle, so shouldn’t I make sure everything is fine? Are you going back to Sphinx for your heat?”

“Kinda thought I’d just stay here and bolt the door.” Sabo studies his face for a few seconds, then relents, throat bobbing. “Okay. Are you going to need… anything else?” “Well,” Ace starts. He puts his hands on his hips, rocks on his feet. “What’re you offering, Sabo?” Sabo swallows again. Ace almost hears it. Shit, it makes him want to pounce. “Oh.” He shows all his teeth. “I’m low maintenance, promise.” Sabo shakes his head, his smile completely lost on his face. Ace’s head gets foggy and hot and his mouth just starts moving.

“T’ tell the truth,” he admits, “it’s… gonna be a tough one to ride out since I haven’t had one for two years– that’s what Marco said. But it’s short notice, don’t really wanna go through the trouble of finding someone I can trust.” Despite knowing how terrible the heat is going to be– and it’s always worse than imagined– he can hardly think of anything that motivates him less than finding a viable partner out of the blue. The thought has worked like a boomerang, just bringing him memories of Sabo’s hands, arms, lips. Something tells him he shouldn’t trouble his brother with his cycle like this. Something else tells him that nothing in the world would be better. Like Sabo his brother and Sabo an alpha could be different things– and they’re not; Sabo is Sabo. 

Ace the brother and Ace the omega are different things, though, and by the four fucking seas, he should know to keep it that way.  “Are you serious?” Sabo asks. Again with the eyebrows raised way up, his stare both hawkish and disbelieving. Ace’s heart beats like a drum. This is a gamble, he knows. But he’d regret anything less. “Dead serious,” he drawls. Go big or go home, and he’s fearless. He understands very well that he can’t always get his way. Can’t make people want him. He gets that. They do or they don’t. It seemed like Sabo did that first time. In fact, it’s hard to imagine a world where Sabo doesn’t. Kind, loyal, capable, pretty-faced Sabo…

He holds up his hands. “If you don’t wanna, that’s that, but I remember last month– kinda– sorry ‘bout that–” “Don’t be sorry,” Sabo chokes out. Nice of him not to play dumb. Ace nods. “-- it was good! Real good. You’d be helping me out, if you’re up to it.” “Well–” Sabo falters. He shifts his jaw around, looks altogether way too serious, rigid. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Ace.” Ace freezes. “Yeah, you’re right,” his mouth says without his permission. Now his heart’s beating in a bad way. Why’d he say that? Sabo never became a pirate. Maybe he’s not built for that up-front, casual kind of thing– “It’s not that I wouldn’t,” Sabo says with that same hasty voice from earlier. Now Ace recognizes that it’s not an endearing fluster, but a quick course correction meant to coddle Ace, and fuuuuck, he really showed his hand at the worst time.  “I just think– I’m not very available– I couldn’t be any help–” Again Ace’s hand comes down on Sabo’s shoulder. Maybe a little harder this time. “Sabo,” he says heavily, and sucks a deep breath in through his mouth. Sabo shuts up for the duration of his exhale, too, and then Ace smacks his shoulder a few times, grounding them both. “It’s fine. It’s cool. You’re super busy. It’s only a heat. Just forget it.”

Sabo looks more horrified than placated. Damn. Ace is pushing a smile harder than ever before because what else is there to do? Yeah, he’s pissed, but he’d be a prick to take it out on Sabo. 

“Wait, I don't think you understand. It’s not you at all. I just think–” “Yeah, I got it. Not cool of me to spring it on you. Way too short notice. And it’s just a heat,” Ace repeats, also trying to convince himself. His stomach feels like it’s about to mutiny, empty itself of its fat 8am nothing. Like nausea lives there now. 

So Sabo doesn’t want him.

That doesn’t even feel entirely true– But Ace is not going to push it.  No regrets, but also damn him and his bad ideas. Sabo grabs his arm. “Wait, Ace–”

He feels overstimulated and shrugs Sabo off. It takes a few seconds to even formulate a response around his brain mysteriously exploding with something like starvation pains. Sabo looks somewhat heartbroken for him, which is worse. It’s just a heat. Sabo is his own person, obviously. His own person who could probably have anyone other than Ace, what was he even thinking. 

Stalling, Ace ruffles his own hair back into somewhat of a bedhead, and tamps down as hard as possible on what wants to come out. You don’t want me? 

Am I causing problems again?

 Can you just hold me for a while, please, please– “If you feel like you need someone for it, just–” “Damn, don’t put words in my mouth,” Ace manages. He turns on his heel. “‘M hungry. I want food in my mouth. Let’s go get breakfast, Sabo.”

*

They sit across from each other for breakfast in the mess hall. If he’s around, Ace eats there even if Sabo doesn’t; like this, he learns the names of all the dour-faced veterans and bushy-tailed idealists, and they also know not to bug him if he lands face first in his plate. That doesn’t happen today. Sabo sits across from him with that disconcerted look, frowning more than Ace has seen him do in a while– it’s irritating– and Ace stuffs his face like they did not have that conversation. Once his stomach is fuller and he feels stronger, strong enough to hold his instincts at arm’s length again, he reasons that it went as well as it could’ve. Of course he had to ask. Was he just not going to ask? Like a coward? And at least now he knows. Yeah, he feels like a popped bubble or a capsized skiff now, strangled by that rejection in a way he hasn’t been for years, but this time it’s just omega stuff kicked up to eleven. That’s why it feels so beyond his control. 

He’ll get all his hormones sorted with a heat, and then he’ll stop feeling like Sabo’s lost, horny puppy dog. Awesome plan. He slams his bowl down. Sabo’s been talking to some staffers– he really does have his sexy little gloved fingers in everything all the time– and he glances up at the noise. “... No seconds?” “I said I’d help train some recruits today,” Ace informs him, stacking his tray up. Sabo frowns. “Really?” “Yeah– quit that, stop worrying about me.” Sabo takes a deep breath and rubs his neck. “I’m not…” Ace laughs. “Get better at lying. Look, this isn’t my first rodeo, okay? Won't be so bad. And us, we’re fine.” “Of course we are,” Sabo says, and leaves the but hanging in the air.  For now, Ace is fine with that. He whacks Sabo’s shoulder. “See you around?” “Yeah…” 

And the back of Ace’s neck tingles, because he feels eyes on him until the moment he leaves the room. * A nice breeze and a few hours of physical exertion do him good, even if he still feels like a time bomb. At least he can make himself useful until pre-heat starts kicking his ass.  He does indeed see Sabo around. He’s hard to miss at his height, with his stature, having left the top hat behind on this relatively casual day. And casual though it is, he sees Sabo cross from one end of the compound to the other, passing the training yard, no less than four times in six hours. 

Maybe that's not unusual? Except that Sabo stops to look at him every time, arms crossed and not quite focused. 

He's not there when the bell for dinner rings, which raises some questions, but Ace pushes it out of mind. He focuses on the roasted turkey and how he's going to have to ask for heat rations from the cook, who he hasn't quite won over just yet. Maybe in the morning when he’s less sleepy.

He's about to pass out in his room when there's a knock at the door and it opens. Huh. A guy has to question the point of knocking, then. 

“Ace?”

Sabo closes it behind him with his foot, approaches Ace’s bunk– nest half-made and sadly lacking– and waits for him to stand up before holding out a folded set of clothes. Ace can't help the way he perks up at the gift. 

As he reaches for them, Sabo leans in and sniffs. Ace goes still without even meaning to, mechanically closing his hands around fabric. 

“You're getting close.”

“Hi to you, too, Sabo.”

Sabo leans back with a frown. “I really think you should stay in until it starts, Ace.”

“How are you? I'm doing fine, thank you for asking.” 

“Ace.”

His voice is pinched. Briefly Ace traces the shape of his scar again and sighs. 

“I think I've got at least a day or two left ‘til it really sets in and gets, y’know, smelly.”

At age 18 he'd fought off a navy squadron in pre-heat, even, and any pirate in a mile radius knew not to fuck with him. Surely the revolutionary army guys are as disciplined as pirates? 

Sabo apparently doesn't think so. His face darkens. It's tough for Ace not to grin, but he tries. He brings the clothes closer to his chest. Sabo's wearing a whole other prissy outfit– so the ones he brought must've been from today. Ace feels itchy with that knowledge. 

He remembers practically tearing his brothers’ clothes off of them when they were kids, so brashly insistent on tossing them into bed, and laughs a little. Sabo scolded him then, too. 

“I'm not joking, Ace.”

“Obviously not,” Ace says lightly. “I can handle a fever, Sab. You worried about my hot, irresistible pheromones?”

Sabo’s face loosens like a lightning flash before his mouth firms up hard. Ace has the sense he's stepping on something he shouldn't. 

“Yes,” he answers, huffs, and rolls his eyes. “You know, a lot of these people haven't mated in years. If it was anyone but you, I’d probably ask you to use the heat rooms in the infirmary.”

That doesn't make him feel special. He scowls. 

“Don't really wanna be cooped up in any room at all for long,” he edges out. The worst thing is that he trusts Sabo is looking out for him, in his own needlessly intense  way. 

“Please?”

Ace catches the inside of his cheek between his molars.

“I'm telling you, ‘s not even pre-heat yet,” he says. His gland hasn't swollen up, there's no miserable heaviness to his groin, and he still has more than enough energy. So much energy he almost feels like he wants to fight.  

He's so hopeless sometimes. He sits on the bed just to put some space between them, looks dourly at Sabo. 

Sabo's surveying the room. There's a few trinkets, misplaced socks, log pose on the standard issue dresser. He hasn't made a home here, but it's something. 

“I still need to get my hands on some water and food for it,” Ace continues, trying the rational angle.

Sabo shakes his head, tic in his jaw. “I'll take care of that,” he says, and his voice is gentle, reassuring. And Sabo always does what he says he'll do, so. 

Ace frowns though. He feels fidgety, full of tinder sparks. He rubs at his neck, eyes shut. If he hunkers down now, he's just going to be… alone… for a while. And usually that’s no problem.

It's not like this room is a prison cell, but he learned just how slow a few days can pass when there's no one to talk to. He sends another silent thank you to Jinbei for keeping him somewhat more sane for that, but his friends can't do anything about his heat.

It's just a heat.

Sabo says his name and Ace realizes he doesn't know how long he was staring at his lap just now. 

“Ace?” Sabo sounds worried. “You still have your baby snail?”

“…Huh? It's somewhere.” 

“Right. So– that's how we’ll–” Sabo gestures, though he seems confused by exactly what he's doing. He pauses, puts his hands on his hips, and smiles. “You just call me on that when your heat starts.”

Ace’s brow twitches. He's not gonna show that side of himself to Sabo just for shits and giggles. Sabo looks at him and cools down, mouth falling open, smacked with some realization.

“Oh. Right. Sorry, are you still–” Again with the gesturing. “I changed my mind about what I said earlier.”

Ace leans back on the bed, incredulous. His arms are taut behind him. Sabo takes in the line of his body, then looks up. Oh, he's serious. 

“Changed your mind?” 

Sabo nods, all sincere, unflinching eye contact. “Yeah. I can’t just walk around doing business as usual while you're suffering in here. You even told me it was going to be bad. Can't take it lightly.”

Ace hums. Shit, he's getting too used to being saved by his brothers. 

Shaking his head, he pats the stack of clothes. “Couldn't have led with that, chief?” 

Sabo shrugs, smiling helplessly. 

“Will you wait for me?” he asks, voice butter smooth. “I have to get some things ready, and then I’ll be one call away when you feel it coming on.”

“Koala says you never answer your snail.”

Sabo makes a face. “Not fair, she's making generalizations. I can't always answer the snail if I'm sneaking around or fighting–” he takes another breath, pauses. “-- and I won't be– I mean, I'll be right here.”

“So…” Ace looks down. “You want me to hunker down now and just wait for you?”

It seemed like the biggest drag in the fucking world two minutes ago. To himself, at least, he can't deny all the warm, fuzzy feelings dredged up. Sabo also seems happy. They're on the same page again.

“I can bring you some comics tonight?” he offers. Ace laughs. 

He's a world-class wanted man who spent years in the Grand Line, and Sabo thinks he still likes comics? 

He's not wrong. 

“Ehh… just bring me all the papers with stories about Luffy,” he suggests, grinning. The two of them are collecting like crazy. “And the ones about Pops if you got ‘em.”

Sabo smiles. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

Excitement grows inside of him. There’s whole-body relief  for the first time in ages. He hates that it's not something he could've accomplished on his own, but– he knows better than that now. 

“Thanks, Sabo.”

Sabo nods. “I’ll take good care of you, Ace, I swear.”

Ace’s ears go hot. He chuckles, looking aside. “You don't gotta say shit like that.” 

“Well, I mean it–“

Ace crashes back into his bed, sprawled over clothes and extra blankets, head tilting back and eyes shut. “I trust you.”

Sabo walks a little closer into his peripheral vision. All serious-faced again. His chip-toothed, wild brat really grew up into a soldier. “Full disclosure, though,” he starts. “I've never shared a heat with anyone.”

“What a surprise,” Ace says breezily. Haha, looks like he's gonna be Sabo’s first again. 

 Sabo doesn't even catch the dig for what it is. Ace clears his throat. “You'll be fine. When was your last rut?” 

“Uh. Not too long ago, actually.” 

Ace looks up at the ceiling, considering that. It means that Sabo’s alpha instincts likely won’t be so intense. Ace isn't sure how he feels about it. He’ll be burning off two years of suppressed heats and also the traumatic stress, according to Marco. 

He worries his lip between his teeth, glances over. “Did ya spend it with anyone?”

He doesn't know why he asked that. 

Sabo sort of stares into the corner of the bed. “Not… really…”

Ace laughs even though he wants to hit something suddenly. “What does that mean?”

“I mean, I didn't,” Sabo says with more certainty. Ace trusts that– and it's not his business, he reminds himself. Sabo’s free, all they ever wanted.  “I didn't share it with anyone. Full disclosure again, I don't like how I get during my ruts.”

Interesting. What does that mean? Ace tongues at the corner of one of his fangs and considers asking. 

He sits up, hunched over his knees. “Sabo. You will be fine. If anyone’s gonna embarrass themselves it's me.” Now that he thinks about it, that's pretty likely. His head dips as if the force of gravity hit it all at once, and he rubs the base of his skull.  “Sorry. I wouldn't bug you with this if it wasn't… believe me, it's just…” 

Something gets caught in his throat. 

“No, Ace, you can always ask.” Sabo is fast to sit down next to him. “I want you to ask.”

“Hey…” 

“You’re my brother,” Sabo says firmly. 

Ace can’t do anything but laugh. That really was one of the best ideas he ever had. He could get half-drunk on it at any time. He lifts his arm for Sabo to cross. Sabo returns the echo of their surprisingly idyllic childhood, then settles back into place, looking rather mindful of… something. That’s the thing with Sabo. He always seems to have a thousand things on his mind, but you can’t guess when or even if they’re going to come up. Ace leans over and nudges his shoulder. “I’d do the same for you if you had a bad cycle,” he swears, “you know that, right? Drop anything to take your knot.”

Sabo’s shoulders shake with his laughter, though it winds down fast and thin. His eyes flit away. “Dude, stop.”

Ace grins, leaning over. 

“Huh, maybe it is starting early…” “Ace, I mean it, please,” Sabo coughs into his hand and then stares at Ace so intently that any playfulness snuffs out. “I need to be prepared for your heat, as much as possible.” Ace blinks a few times. There’s an absurd amount of pomp and circumstance around this. It’s embarrassing, humbling– unexpected. He scoots closer and slaps his hand on Sabo’s back, hard. “Don’t treat it like a chore,” he says cheerfully. “You can have fun, too! I trust ya, and I’m not fragile. I’ve been working on my haki, I could probably kick your ass now–” “That’s not what I mean either,” Sabo says, ruefully shaking his head, but he doesn’t elaborate and Ace is getting sleepy. Sabo pats his thigh and stands up, winding an arm back to loosen up. “Alright, I’ll take care of reading material and the food ‘n water. You’ve got the clothes for nesting. Anything else?” “Nope,” Ace says. He said he was low maintenance and he means it. He shoots finger-guns. “Just you and that dick!” Sabo snorts. Ace tracks his movement and finds himself standing up, walking along to the door. Restless, suddenly. “Good night, Ace.” “Night, Sabo.” They stare at each other. Desire comes to life on the tip of Ace’s tongue. His skin prickles with it.

 Sabo is helping him. It’s too much to ask for anything else– especially not after all of Ace’s insistence that he didn’t even have his pre-heat yet. This isn’t need. Not his health. It’s just wanting. Inexplicable, childish wanting. Now that he’s going, Ace wants him to stay. With his hands, which touch Ace so easily; and his tough, pretty smile; and his scent, like the high canopies of the forest stretching toward the sun. In this stuttering, overborne moment, for once, Ace is unable to get his head around the feeling they’re sharing. There’s a huff– it could be either of them– and then Sabo nods, turns the knob, and leaves. Ace waves. Stands there, processing. When nobody and nothing else so much as crosses in front of his room in the next few minutes, Ace free falls into his privacy– into that clunky bed that’s so much more agreeable when arranged to soothe his instincts. Sabo’s offerings are washed in his scent. Ace buries his face in them. His heat is going to colossally thrash him this year. Now he’s stuck inside this tiny, sterile room for a while, too. And he is so, so lucky. The longer he has his nose to Sabo’s shirt, the luckier he feels.

It’s unfair of him to want more.  -

Sabo comes in the morning with a box of newspapers and a tray of breakfast. He has enough sense to have brought enough for both of them to eat together– they make room to do so on the floor. It’s surprisingly cozy. Ace cheerfully gnaws on toast and downs orange juice while pawing at the pages, eyebrows raised at this or that headline. He always grins whenever he sees “straw hat” emblazoned on the front pages. Sabo has the same enthusiasm, finding Ace first thing to show him whenever something new comes up. It’s been a little while, though.  “D’you think he’s okay,” Ace asks, mouth half-full of apple as he holds up one of the more recent ones. Sabo looks up, slurps the rest of a ham slice into his mouth, pauses. “... Of course he is.” “Uhuh.” Another bite. “Why’d you have to stop and think about it?” “He’s a little reckless, isn’t he?” Sabo notes lightly. “But you said yourself that it always works out for him.” He did say that. It does seem a little suspect though. Ace runs his hand back through his hair again, frowning. He knows Luffy is much bigger and stronger than he used to be. He’s reliable, in his own way. His friends will take care of him. All things that Ace has thought to himself any number of times, with increased frequency in the last few weeks. He can’t wait to start walking himself back from the edge. 

“Hey, it’s perfectly natural for an older brother to worry,” says Ace. “Sure is. Do you wish he was here?” “Yeah, a little,” Ace admits, since it’s Sabo– then he immediately thinks better of it. “Well. No, he should be out there becoming King of the Pirates, yeah?”

One-handed, he shifts some of the pages aside to find a picture of Luffy– well, a picture of Luffy’s wacky limbs splayed across the sky in some foreign land. How can you not root for him? When he glances up, Sabo’s smiling just the same as he is. “Yeah, of course,” Sabo replies. “You know… you know we can call him, right? Well, call the Sunny to talk to him.” Ace huffs. “What’s he gonna say? It’ll be the same as always. That kid....” He takes a deep breath. “We’ll see him when we see him.” “Alright, well, if I call him I’ll say you’re busy–” “Hey, if you’re gonna call him anyway, that’s different–” Sabo snickers. Ace starts cleaning up, annoyed again that Sabo has to play errand boy for him until his heat starts kicking his ass. “How are you feeling?” Sabo asks, setting the box of newspapers aside. “Fine–” Ace pauses when he feels Sabo’s bare hand on his forehead. He squints at him critically, an incredulous joke on his lips, but again, Sabo’s so intense at random times. It’s less work to just let him tire himself out. “You know,” Ace reminds him, gently lowering his hand, “you can’t really check my temperature ‘cause of the whole–” Sabo almost squawks when Ace makes use of his logia from the shoulders up, torn into red and orange flames licking the still air, then settling back into flesh. Sabo blinks at him, annoyed, while Ace gets his laugh in. 

ummmm ur honor i love them. anyway yeah the idea is like. ace in heat is very Not low maintenance and wait. this:

Ace in heat was boldly confrontational, glaring at Sabo like that.

 He started up with I’m sorry only to realize that Ace was channeling all that mysterious ire at his mouth– or, no, at the dull, thin bars of the alpha muzzle strapped over it. 

“You going to keep the gloves on, too?” Ace asked scathingly.

“Do you want me to?”

“No.”

instead of finishing the rest of this fic can't i just.. RP it or smth...

[thiefking]

i need to draw/speak more of my narutos. "my narutos" meaning specifically the versions of every character that exist in my head, of course. i wanna draw hinata and gaara (besties of all time) especially. because other than the fact that they have the most fully realized design changes in my head, they are perhaps the defining aspect of My narutos, as opposed to everyone else's. their friendship to me is like "ok i'm going out...! (wearing some extremely Please Don't Look At Me outfit)" "not dressed like that you're not." "better? (she is now gothed the fuck out with an invader zim handbag)" "yas bitch slay." this is how they work. to me

i want to draw Literally Exactly That what i just described there as a meme but i do also kind of want to write or draw sometjing more substantial because i am The Hinata And Gaara Understander. as individual characters and as a pair of besties. amd i need to explain to others why it makes perfect sense because i just Know that i am one of extremely few to look at these two, of all characters, and deduce that the character arc hinata SHOULD have had is one that would be so obvious to gaara & something he would encourage. or maybe the only one, but the fandom is/was so big that it feels statistically unlikely... if we're talking CURRENT fandom i may actually be uniquely insane about this. i don't know for sure i haven't really interacted with the fandom i've been fucking around in my own skull this whole time that's how i even arrived at "hinagaara bffs" in the first place

but like... listen. hinata's thing is basically (in an inconsistent, half-baked, and never fully realized form): "i can change to improve myself and finally meet everyone else's standards and prove them wrong...!" as she is trying to emulate naruto. ... "prove them wrong", but she is not subverting anything if she meets an expectation that was explicitly set. hinata is not naruto. naruto's expectations were that he is worthless and nothing and not worth having any expectations for in the first place, and basically all of konoha thought this way. if naruto accomplishes basically anything at all he proves someone wrong, even if just a little. hinata had expectations set on her, specifically by her family, that she is not meeting. even though what hinata WANTS to do is prove them wrong, what she is fundamentally DOING is trying to please them by doing exactly what they want her to do. yes, when they think she won't even meet their lowest expectation and she does meet it, she is TECHNICALLY proving them wrong... but she isn't really achieving meaningful personal growth by doing this, is she? all she has done is meet their standards and essentially fall into their evil ghoul trap and accept EVEN MORE PRESSURE as a "reward" because now that she finally met this one single goal, they can move the goalpost. she will only ever be the failure who occasionally surprises them, she will always be lagging behind the others, and every single time she fails she gets sent back to square 1 in their eyes. meeting all their expectations or even surpassing them entirely is always going to feel hollow and fragile, because in the back of her mind, if she slips even once she has to do it all over again. she deserves better than constant paranoia

gaara (and pretty specifically gaara) can rightfully point out the problem with hinata's current mindset because hinata's hardships are way closer to GAARA'S than naruto's, to be honest. it's not lacking a family; it's having a family that doesn't feel like a family, and that family isolating one child and encouraging the others to treat them like shit so that one child never has anyone on their own level when they're at home and they are constantly forced to be aware they lack some ambiguous something that seemingly everyone else has that would make them "worthy" of being loved by their own family

hold on let me put yhe rest under a readmore this post is long as fuck

the hyuugas treat hinata like shit and call her weak, and because her parents gladly and openly call her weak and because she's supposed to be heiress to the clan, her sister and neji (the only family who were close enough in age and rank to not intimidate) were made to hate her, think she is weak, be jealous of and resent her for being heiress despite her weakness, and treat her like shit like the other hyuugas do, thus completely isolating her within her family. and rasa treated gaara like shit and had given up on him LONG before he snapped (let's be fucking real here if gaara had to learn that "love" makes emotional pain feel better at age SIX... and not to mention the entire yashamaru """plan""" was utterly and blatantly fucking NONSENSE on all levels like nice going rasa you just turned your kid almost irreversibly insane... seemingly on purpose...? i can only assume it was on purpose and you just wanted to be a spiteful bitch to the kid who killed your wife because literally what else did you think was going to happen with that but that's a rant for another time.), he tacitly encouraged temari and kankuro to not even bother with gaara and to be afraid of him like everyone else is because RASA was also OBVIOUSLY SCARED and not only that he was constantly literally trying to murder gaara so temari and kankuro also had reason to believe from a very young age that associating with him might make rasa treat THEM like that too, essentially forced gaara to straight up kill his uncle who was the ONLY family member he had who talks to him like he isn't a monster (and inexplicably decided that he should also tell gaara outright that he is not and was never loved by anyone), etc etc etc; gaara was also isolated within his own family and made to be the odd one out, over and over again. naruto knows what it's like not having a family at all, but he never experienced having family— non-metaphorical, blood relation, "entire reason you were born" family— who hates you. naruto knows how it feels to be neglected and feared by an entire village, that's how he relates to gaara. hinata was hated by her own family, the people she depended on for life itself, but she was never hated by the village at large, even if she perceives herself to be. naruto can empathize with this and put himself in her shoes, but like... gaara KNOWS, firsthand, what hinata is experiencing. that is why gaara is fairly uniquely capable of pointing out the problem Very Directly because he would see it way faster than anyone else

naruto could see it too, and he could say all the same things, but he wouldn't do it how gaara would. and i think hinata needs to hear someone speak to her, bluntly and authoritatively, and say "you deserve better than this." because normally whenever she hears someone (her own family) speak to her bluntly in an authoritative tone they're telling her she's weak and pathetic and subpar and needs to improve, and every time she is spoken to like that she believes them and marks that weakness off as something to fix. hearing incredibly matter-of-fact validation and encouragement spoken the exact same way primes her to believe that encouragement, and now her compulsive need to please people who speak to her that way is going to force her, even fleetingly, to take it seriously. especially because gaara would tell her something she is doing wrong, which will feel familiar, but he actually has HER best interests in mind. there is no benefit or advantage for him if she succeeds. he is unaffiliated, not even from konoha, he gains nothing from it. gaara doesn't tell her to try harder nor to give up and accept mediocrity. gaara tells her it's okay to give up and try something else, and sometimes it's the people around you who are the ones who need to change, not you.

gaara looks at "i will change myself to prove myself to others", and he says instead: "you need to stop caring what other people think about you and stop morphing yourself to their perception. just because YOU aren't doing that in a 'if you all want to call me a monster then fine, i'll be a monster' kind of way, like i did, that doesn't mean that isn't still an unhealthy way to think. you should figure out who YOU are and live as who YOU are, unapologetically, until they get the point that they can either accept you as you are and realize they were wrong, or they can fuck off. this is a situation where it is Not Your Fucking Problem that other people are disappointed with you especially because of how hard you've already been working to try and meet their arbitrary standards. this isn't about talent or hard work. this is about whether you even Want to be doing what everyone else wants you to do. and it is difficult and terrifying and lonely to be the only person who knows who you really are. it is hard work to figure it out and it is hard work to convince others, and at times it will feel hopeless. so i won't let you be the alone. i won't let you have to try and fail all alone, like i did. i will be your first victory, i will give you listening ears, i will be your silent dressing room mirror while you try on different hats before you figure out which one fits, i will be here and i will not judge you or decide on your behalf who you are, and i will be your family if no one else will. literally. if they cast you out you can come home to me. temari and kankuro have already accepted me as i am, i'm sure they'll accept you as you are too"

and then with time and gentle coaxing hinata decides to stop trying to be what her family wanted her to be and starts being a goth weirdgirl and pursues her interests in mycology and psychology and entomology and starts fucking THRIVING

i could go on forever. i should stop now or i never will. some of the parallels between them or the reasons that gaara would specifically want to support her in the specific ways i envision came about entirely from headcanon (coughs. even more headcanon than... the rest of this... coughs) and i FORGET that it's headcanon. for example "gaara created his good reputation in sunagakure through brute force good deeds. like people were so scared of him that they wouldn't let him CASUALLY prove that he was trying to be better, so he basically had to scare them even more just to prove that he was no longer scary. things like using his sand to hold people in place... so that he can physically put money into their hands and say 'this is yours and you will take it and use it to pay rent and buy your child that toy he wants. i do not want anytjing in return and i will be leaving you alone now.' because otherwise people would run away before he even gets the chance to be nice. literally just has to hold them still and pointedly do something nice for them and then let them go without hurting them while they tremble in misplaced terror like he;s a wildlife vet wrangling an injured seagull". this is part of why he would say "be unapologetically you and they can accept that and realize they were wrong about you to begin with, or they can fuck off". NONE OF THAT is explicitly canon... but there is so much & it makes perfect sense to me. aauuugaghh hinata my hinata my hinagaara besties my hinata. i could go on and on and on and on. goddammit I WILL GIVE HER THE CHARACTER ARC SHE NEEDS & DESERVES... GIVE HER TO ME KISHIMOTO.... WHAT IF THE FACT THAT HINATA HAS 3 PERSONALITY TRAITS IN CANON ACTUALLY MEANT SOMETHING AND WASN'T JUST BECAUSE YOU, MASASHI KISHIMOTO, SELF-ADMITTEDLY DO NOT KNOW HOW TO WRITE WOMEN? WOULDN'T THAT BE SO MUCH LESS EMBARRASSING FOR YOU? I CAN MAKE IT REAL! I CAN MAKE IT MEANINGFUL!!!! I CAN MAKE IT ABOUT REPRESSION!!!! I CAN MAKE IT ABOUT WORKING HARD TO BE WHO YOU WANT TO BE, AND SAYING "SCREW YOU" TO PEOPLE WHO TRY AND DECIDE WHO YOU ARE ON YOUR BEHALF, AND THE REJECTION OF THE STATUS QUO, AND EMBRACING THE THINGS THAT MAKE YOU DIFFERENT AND MAKING USE WHAT UNIQUE STRENGTHS YOU HAVE INSTEAD OF TRYING TO MATCH WHAT EVERYONE ELSE IS DOING, AND HOW HUMAN LIVES ARE INHERENTLY VALUABLE EVEN IF EVERYONE AROUND YOU SAYS YOURS IS WORTH NOTHING!!! JUST LIKE WHAT NARUTO WAS SUPPOSED TO BE ABOUT IN THE FIRST PLACE!!!! I CAN EVEN SPICE IT UP A BIT AND USE MY MAGICAL WOMAN-UNDERSTANDING POWERS TO MAKE IT ABOUT HOW WOMEN ARE ACTUALLY JUST REGULAR PEOPLE WHO ARE AS VARIED AS MEN AND HOW THE SOCIETAL CONCEPTS OF WOMANHOOD AND PROPER WOMANLY BEHAVIOUR ARE RESTRICTIVE AND OPPRESSIVE, AND THE MANY WAYS THAT SOCIETY WILL FORCE TOTAL CONFORMITY AND PUNISH EVERYONE WHO STEPS OUTSIDE OF THAT FRAME (AND EVEN THOSE WHO REMAIN WITHIN)!!! I CAN MAKE IT ABOUT COMPULSORY HETEROSEXUALITY!!!! I KNOW YOU'RE AFRAID OF GIRLS MR KISHIMOTO WILL IT MAKE YOU FEEL BETTER IF I ALSO MAKE IT ABOUT NEJI WATCHING HINATA COMPLETELY REJECT HER CAGE AND DISCOVER HERSELF AND HOW HE FEELS ABOUT IT AND MAYBE JUST COVER YOUR EARS WHEN I START TALKING ABOUT EGGS!!!!!! MR KISHIMOTOOOOOO PLEEEEEEEASE

[dhmis-autism]

I agree with u too,, I think leaving the book and the meaning of the show itself ambiguous is what makes it so special,,

why conceal a story into a tiny box when there are hundreds of possibilities available all at once? It’s an endless sandbox and I think it’s super fun to play around with :]

Many theories are still coming out to this day! And I think that’s neat :3c

I do understand the desire to understand the meaning of the show though! There’s still a part of me that would love to know the meaning behind everything just to satisfy my curiosity, but I ultimately enjoy not having to worry about canon, because technically there is no canon if that makes sense

everything is wrong and right at the same time

HAH I mean from a writing/storytelling standpoint I actually do love the meaning of the show being ambiguous, having no real solid identifiable plot! I think it sort of helps put the audience in the characters shoes, where they're in this sort of half-aware dream state, where something is clearly SO wrong but they can't articulate it whatsoever. They all know it on some level. And by giving us nothing, BB&J (becky, baker n joe) effectively put us in that same spot! I think it's really, genuinely clever writing. When the characters are surprised by sudden changes in scenery and environment or even just camera cuts, so are we! When they get thrown off when a song is cut off or interrupted, so are we! I think it's sort of because we don't expect characters in a show to react to the environment/scenarios like that! It's a fun playing with expectations that really works to the shows benefit, especially on a surrealist level!

I can't agree on the last bit tho lol- I personally have NO desire to learn about the setting of the show or meaning in any way whatsoever. My main point of interest in it is the character dynamics/characters! And the rest of the stuff is like stuffing to me. Like I'm almost not even really interested in Lesley just because of how we know more of her as a narrative device and very little about her as a character. To me, the weird setting and abnormal horror of the world they live in is just my avenue to seeing my 3 little fucked up guys brains work for 2 hours straight and seeing them totally mess up basic communication!! LOL

^^^^ WHAT WATCHING THE SHOW FEELS LIKE FOR ME

[the-bar-sinister]

The Mechanics of Emotion (17440 words) by thesavagesabretooth

catch up here

Simon had spent the past year living like it was going to be his last year on earth– because it was. But now he is still alive, and there are questions unasked that demand answers. Just what is his relationship with the detective going to be going forward? And what complications of his own does Bobby Fulbright have up his sleeve?

Not to mention that there are two more members of the Phantom Organization who've been captured that Simon now needs to prosecute, and Athena must defend. Love and chaos in LA. In justice we trust– but who understands the mechanics of emotion?

-

December 27, 10:35 am

Simon and Athena had been poking around the so-called "Blackquill Manor" for the last half an hour.

The house was a bit of a mess– mostly from the various unused rooms having accumulated dust and cobwebs, save for the staple rooms of the ‘kitchen, living room, and bedroom’...as well as a room it seemed Aura set up as a home lab, complete with various robotics half completed on a worktable that looked like it’d seen it’s fair share of experiments pass it’s surface.

Athena had had a sneezing fit when she tried entering one of the bedrooms. Simon’s parents bedroom…and gotten a noseful of dust and negligence. She’d been surprised when Simon’s old room had been neat as a pin, and even MORE surprised when Aura’s room wasn’t a mad scientist’s rats nest, and more… elegantly comfortable.

It was clear that while it would make a pretty good living space for Simon– it’d be a bit of an ordeal to get it as clean as it should be.

“I guess she tended to get so wrapped up in her work that she kept forgetting to come home, or ah…to dust the rooms she didn’t think about.” 

"Yes, it seems you were right to be dubious about my father's bed," Simon drawled as they made their way back to the living room.

“Yeahhhhh.” Athena grimaced as she sagged. “Don’t even wanna think about how many spiders may be in that thing.” 

"Disgusting. The worst of it is that Aura will likely get cross with me if I decide to clean it up."

“You really think so?” Athena’s eyes widened. “Huh…I mean…yeah actually knowing Aura you’re probably not wrong about that. She’d either laugh at it triggering my allergies if I helped, or get pissed with you messing with it…”

She tugged at her hair. “but your room’s really clean, at least.” 

"So I noticed." Simon crossed his arms, and glanced away. "My sister has clearly been taking care of it in my absence."

“She was hoping that she could save you before your execution.” Athena mused, thinking back over Aura’s furious defiance of fate. The desperation that led her to force a retrial no matter who may get hurt.

She couldn’t say she wouldn’t have gone that far herself if she’d somehow failed to become a lawyer in time. 

"Well, I suppose she got her wish– devil's bargain that it was. I hope she's enjoying the fruits of her labor." Simon's smile twitched, and Athena could feel his apprehension. It was clear that the thoughts of his sister were difficult for him.

Athena reached out to put her hand on his arm. 

“I don’t know…I.. I can’t bring myself to visit just yet. But Simon, if you’re not ready to talk about her, or if there’s something you’re worried about..” 

He leaned a little into her touch, and sighed. "There's plenty that I'm worried about, I'm afraid, Athena. We both know it wouldn't do any good for me to try to hide that from you. I visited her this morning and I… said very little about the last week."

Athena felt a ping of nerves as she murmured “...Halblicht?” 

She could imagine Aura’s reaction upon finding out, not only that the man who killed Athena’s mother was still alive, but was in some sort of ambiguous relationship with her brother…and that Simon had been lying about him for days.

It wasn’t only that– Athena had no idea if Aura even forgave her.

No, every detail of the past week was a time bomb waiting to go off in Aura Blackquill’s already tumultuous and volatile heart. 

"Halblicht," Simon agreed with a leaden tone. "I can't imagine explaining it to her. Saying it to her face."

Simon's anxiety and sadness warred together in an emotion she didn't often feel from Simon– shame.

Athena’s own emotions were complicated– unsure and nervous about her own future, but she knew one thing.

“You don’t have to feel ashamed , Simon. ” She squeezed his arm. “I don’t know if she’ll understand. Probably not right away. But you don’t have to feel ashamed of your feelings about him. Aura…I care about her too…but her wounds of the heart aren’t healed and it means she’s prone to lashing out. That’s not a reflection on your feelings.” 

Simon put his hand on her arm, and she could feel the tension running through him. "Whatever you say, and however right or wrong you may be– I still feel that shame. I don't know what might be able to abate it. But I will bear it for now, because well– "

Athena felt the pulse of joy from Simon's heart that could only be one thing. Love.

“Because you love him, Simon…” Athena gave him an outward smile. “I can tell.” 

Her internal emotions had dulled to the low and quiet hum she was well used to, the bare flickers of personal anxiety and joy for Simon, and something unfamiliar and flickering

It’s no surprise he loves them. They’re charming, fascinating, kind even after everything, and provided comfort and affection during the worst time in Simon’s life. Even with the heartbreak and confusion, love bloomed easy enough. She quashed her anxieties, her selfish worries of ‘will I still fit’ in favor of nursing the quiet hum of joy to the surface and her smile.

“We’ll figure out what to do about Aura. I– I’ll do what I can.” 

"Thank you, Athnea, I ah…" he trailed off and squeezed her hand. "I feel somewhat unworthy of your endless kindness."

Athena’s smile didn’t leave as she squeezed his hand tightly. 

“Simon, come on. You know you’re not unworthy. You’ve got seven years of missed kindness to catch back up on, right?” She looked up at him “and I care about you, you know? I really do want you to be happy. No matter what.” 

"I appreciate that, Athena. I–" he glanced away, though his hand didn't leave hers. "Why don't we find out if my sister has any bloody coffee in the kitchen, shall we? Instead of standing around in the living room like a pair of awkward lumps."

Athena squeezed his hand and started to drag him towards the kitchen. “Alright, alright…but if she doesn’t, I’ll buy us coffee on Mr. Wright’s dime as SOON as we leave, yeah?” 

"Please do," he scowled, following her toward his old family kitchen. "But, it's not about the coffee in this case. It's about…"

His anxiety flashed bright in her mind.

Athena twitched, a physical reaction to a strong emotion that reverberated through her as she pushed the kitchen door open and stepped inside.

“...” she let him continue.

"About us, Athena. If you'd hear me out. Finish the conversation we were having in the car."

He didn't look at her, instead glancing around at the kitchen that must once have been familiar to him.

Athena took a deep, shaky breath , before she flashed her biggest smile. 

“I’m ready to get back to that, yeah. I’ll hear you out. Do you need me to help you look around, or…or should I have a seat?” 

"Why don't you help me if you don't mind? It's not as if I know my way around the kitchen any more,"

The kitchen was pin-neat, but absolutely filled with gadgets of all sorts…many of which looked like they’d never been used. Some kind of modified mixer sat quietly beside a spice cabinet fitted with a gauge displaying a temperature reading and some interface on one end of the countertop…and an absolutely ornate kitchen scale still bearing traces of flour from the last time it’d been used.

Athena wandered, trying to open the spice cabinet first before it beeped at her and she startled back .“Hah!?” 

Immediately, Simon was there behind her to steady her before she could fall over. "Careful there. Or you're going to make a nasty mess on my sister's kitchen floor."

Athena’s heart beat quickly as she leaned back against him “but it yelled at me, Simon!”

She couldn’t help the indignant whine in her voice.

"And? I yell at you all the time!" He huffed, but she felt his amusement and could tell that behind her he was grinning that sly grin of his. He righted her on her feet and then released her. "Another funny surprise from my sister it seems."

Athena huffed. “I’m going to shake her when she’s out of prison. Shake her VERY MUCH for this.”

She had turned pink, and was brushing herself off when she looked up at it again. “Looks like you have to select what kind of spices you want…and it must unlock them? Is this thing temperature and air controlled?” 

Simon observed the strange and elaborate cabinet configuration. "It would seem so. A nefarious barrier between ourselves and our goal."

“She really is kind of a cad, isn’t she?” Athena huffed. “At least it’s only a button press away.”

She reached up and cycled before she found something reading ‘coffees and tea’ and hit the green enter button.

Off to her left, one of the cabinet lights flicked green and clicked open with a hiss of air pressure. 

Simon bustled over toward the lighted cabinets. "Ah, here we are, I suppose? And one of these gadgets ought to make coffee. Shame she doesn't have something simpler."

“I think she thinks it’s organized in her own mind! And it’s probably alright for keeping food fresh for longer, too…” She shook her head. “You’re a samurai with a sister who’s a technology obsessed sci-fi antagonist.” 

"How miserably anime," he drawled. He got down the coffee, and went hunting for something resembling a coffee maker.

“You say that as if you hate anime, Simon.” Athena smiled at him as she trotted on his heels. “...and I know for a fact you’re kind of a huge nerd for it. I still gotta get you and Halblicht to sit down with me for …for..ah..”

She trailed off “Macross, Love across the universe…”

Next to the mixer there was a glass pitcher and some kind of gadget sat on top of it, perhaps her own take on an automatic coffee machine– with a twist. It didn’t look like it was going to explode if they used it.

Simon snorted as he looked over the gadgets poking at them with thinly veiled disdain. 

"Get me some water, Athena," he harumphed. "I think this is the right machine. As for anime, I prefer live action dramas. But I'll admit I was intrigued by the one you were trying to show us."

He measured out coffee grounds, putting them in the filter and giving it a dubious look as he put it into place.

Athena was all but stopped as she went to go grab the water, when she noticed a switch on the machine. “Simon, it looks like it’s connected to the sink system.”

She leaned over and pushed the switch down.

A small arm popped up a moment later, and began to swirl around the pot at a slow and steady interval as hot water poured from somewhere below the machine and into the grounds.

It was some sort of automatic pour over machine.

“You were intrigued though, huh? It’s one of my favorites, you know.” 

Simon stared at the machine in disbelief and betrayal. He shook his head and focused on Athena instead.

"One of your favorites, hmm? Well, I'll have to tolerate sitting through it for certain then."

Athena laughed, leaning on the counter as the machine went about its work .

“Geeze Simon, you must be a riot at parties. But if you’ll deign to sit through it…I think you’ll have fun."

Simon smirked and tapped his temple. "I wouldn't know, I haven't been to a party in a long time."

He watched as the machine squirted steaming coffee into a pair of mugs.

“We’ll have to hold one for you special then.” Athena walked over and dropped herself into one of the chairs. 

Simon picked up the full mugs, and plopped gracelessly down into the chair right next to her. He handed her a cup of coffee.

"Are you trying to torment me, then?"

Athena grabbed the coffee with an impish wink. “Maybe a little bit. I’m allowed to have my fun after you kept me busy for 7 years trying to save your butt.” 

"I suppose I can concede that– but I won't let you harass me uncontested. Consider yourself warned." He smirked over his coffee and took a long sip. "Hmm. Adequate."

“I’ve been warned , Mr. Blackquill.’ Athena took a sip of it as well. It, honestly was pretty good, but– she supposed Simon must have had some rigid standards when it came to coffee. “It’s pretty good?” 

"It's acceptable. A bitter brew to accompany a bitter conversation, I suppose." He took another sip and looked over at her. "Would you like to start, or shall I?"

“Bitter conversation…” Athena’s smile faltered. “You should start, Simon. I’m likely to get tripped up trying to manage emotions and …and get nowhere fast.” 

"Alright then, so be it." He took a deep breath, and turned toward her more fully, coffee in his hands. "Athena– for seven long years I lived among scoundrels and the condemned, as a man likewise condemned. As a scoundrel. Such was my company. The dregs of society. The ruffians and outcasts. Such things leave their mark– and I was not so noble a man to begin with."

His dark eyes stayed trained on her, watching her. His torrid emotions had become almost placid– not quiet, but harmonious. Inscrutable.

Athena nodded slowly. “...it’s only natural it’d leave a mark, Simon.”

She folded her hands around the coffee mug to stare him down. “Even if you didn’t commit the crime, socially speaking you were as much a criminal as the rest…”

"So I was. And so I am. I have known many kinds of scoundrels these last seven years. Walked among them. Learned their ways. Been changed by them. I strive to be a good man, Athena, but I am a ruffian."

Athena’s brow furrowed slightly as she listened. It was true, of course, he’d been learning from ‘scoundrels and ruffians’ as he put it for 7 years. Made friends with them, including some who’d stepped back into the people around her’s lives as their sentences abated…

It was only natural that it’d change him from the man she’d known growing up, into the man she faced in court….but… “...can I ask you something, Simon?” 

"You may," he said evenly. "Though I have more to say."

He gestured for her to speak.

“No…” Athena held her hand up. “Go on. This can wait till I hear the rest.”

Are you trying to convince me that you’re somehow not ‘noble’ enough for me?

He took a breath. "Very well. Athena– you deserve a good man. You deserve a prince who will ride into the sunset with you on a white horse. You deserve a man who will devote his whole heart to you, and to no one else. But I am not that man. I am a ruffian. And I know the ways of ruffians."

I knew it. Her shoulders sagged, just the slightest as he continued and her eyes flicked down towards the table.  He’s trying to convince me he’s not good enough. That I’m looking for…deserve…a prince to come riding to my rescue like we joked about that night. But I’m not like most people. My heart can’t…won’t…feel the same things they do in the same ways…and I don’t care if the rules of society say a pure and devoted prince is what I should somehow want. He’d changed since the UR-1 Incident…but did I ever make him think it was a bad thing outside his imprisonment? Between that…Europe’s scene…and the Wunder Bar and the Wright Anything Agency…why would I ever judge him for any of that?

His dark gaze swept over her as he spoke. 

"I don't know if you want a ruffian, when you could have a prince. And I don't know what the hell my dear detective twins want. But if you want a ruffian, Athena, and if they're… amenable to such a thing… we could perhaps come to a rough arrangement. The three– four of us. It's no noble romance that you deserve. But that's all I have to offer you."

Athena startled as he continued, her mouth open to object before he’d continued. Her gaze softened, and she turned a surprised pink. 

“....I don’t think I deserve a noble romance, Simon.” she said in a quiet and even voice, omitting any of her usual projection. She rubbed her arm, and gave him a small but genuine smile.

“And not because of self esteem. I was the one who came on the white horse, but I’m not a prince. I’m unusual– I’m difficult to understand, and I see things in ways most people don’t. I’m not …I’m not looking for a prince , or a noble romance. I’m looking for someone who cares about me, and I care for them back.” She turned a slight pink despite her subdued emotional state. “....and I did find that cramped bed in Cauli strangely comfortable.” 

He lifted his chin, looking her over, and he reached out his free hand and touched her arm. "You said as much in the car. I wasn't sure if I was reading too much into your intentions when you said it, but– it's why I felt like I could say what I just did."

Athena’s eyes hesitantly met with his, and she placed her hand against his fingers with a quiet smile. 

“I’m glad you could say it…and I mean it when I say I’m willing to try it, Simon. Coming to some kind of ‘rough arrangement’ if they’re amenable, I mean. I can’t promise I’ll be smooth or that I won’t falter here and there, I’m still learning a lot about how to process these sorts of feelings , but…” 

Simon's fingers curled around her arm gently as she put her hand on his. "I don't think that I'm far ahead of you, admittedly."

She nodded, and leaned over the table. “We’re both learning, Mr. Halblicht is sure to be too– it’s likely to be messy, but I’m willing to try. You know my feelings for you, and I can assure you that..that I want this, if we’re all amenable to it.” 

"The heart wants what the heart wants, I suppose," he said, looking off into the distance. He slipped his arm around her. "This is going to be messy, Athena, if it goes forward. We're likely going to hurt each other in unexpected ways. But I suppose I'm a selfish man in my way."

Athena leaned into his arm and nodded slowly.

“The heart wants what the heart wants. And I’m– I’m a little selfish myself. I don’t want to give up those moments of joy I started to find in Cauli, with you or with them.” She smiled wanly. “I’ll wade through any mess, or hurt, if it means a future where we can be a part of each other's lives. If we’re all amenable...” 

"I'm supposed to meet up with Halblicht in a couple of hours or so," Simon murmured thoughtfully. "I suppose it will be a good idea to get the conversation out of the way."

Athena took a deep breath, and looped both her arms around him in a sudden gesture, leaning under his arm with a small smile 

“It’s probably for the best. Like ripping a bandaid off. Can’t know how to move forward if we’re still in limbo, right?” 

"No. And I've been in limbo for too long, Athena. Seven years too long. Do forgive me if it means that I rush forward."

Athena leaned up and kissed his cheek “I think we’ve all spent too long in limbo, Simon. I’m…I’m not exactly keen on waiting around cautiously either. So I’d say you’re more than forgiven already!” 

"Thank you, Athena. And I'm sorry too, for all the ways in the future that I will surely hurt you, and let you down. I'm a humble man– I know it will happen."

Athena chuckled softly. 

“It might. But life isn’t a fairy tale or a noble stage play. All that’s just part of life.” She poked his chest. “I’m sure to let you down , or even hurt you, sometimes too.”

Simon laughed incredulously. "I'm almost looking forward to it. A relationship, perhaps, is like a struggle in the courtroom. But– let's not get ahead of ourselves. We still have to take our case to Bobby and Robert."

Athena winked at him. 

“We know a lot about struggling in the courtroom, Mr. Blackquill.” She rubbed her chin thoughtfully “...if we gotta take our case to them…should we prepare evidence?” 

Simon gave her a dubious look and raised an eyebrow. "I'm curious just what you'll suggest we prepare."

“Well…if the things I’ve gleaned from the sorts of shows and comics Mr. Wright owns are true– a powerpoint or slideshow is traditional.” 

Simon stared at her with increasing dumbfounded condescension. "Go on."

Athena shrunk down in her chair, and finally drank a sip of her cooling coffee. 

“you…put…together a slideshow…of…uhm..” she murmured “pictures and pros and cons…” She took a longer sip of the coffee with a flush “OH! M ixtapes! Mixtapes are even more traditional! Mr. Wright even endorsed that one!” 

"A mix tape. A slide-show. And what, pray tell Cykes-dono, do you suggest we include here? Go on. Give me an example of what the content of this would be."

Athena gave him an awkward smile, shrugging her shoulders with a grin “A song that makes you think of the three of us? To uh…really sell it as a polypossibility?” 

Simon put his hand to his face, and dragged it down his cheek, staring at her in utter horror. "... yes I think Bobby would love that."

[mikaelsrose]

one: let's meet again, for the first time

Pairing: currently ambiguous, f!MC (Niamh) x Cal, f!MC (Niamh) x (m!OC) Xander

Book: Nightbound

Word count: 3450

Rating: T

Warnings: cursing, mention of drugs

Category: (according to choices) horror; short-series, supernatural, romance

A/n: I'm not sure how my brain works and I don't think I want to find out, but this was first inspired by toss a coin to a witcher, but here we are. Bon appétit. 

I’ve teased about writing it for years (literally), so I’m just as surprised as those of you who remember me talking about it, that I’m actually publishing it 😂

Quick introduction:

Initially, Niamh stayed in NOLA for a few months but eventually left

Throughout the events of the book, Niamh and Cal did not romance each other, but they had a short-lived fling several weeks after the fight with Thomas

By any means, I do not promise to be faithful to the original in terms of... anything. If something is not as it was in the book, it's because I deliberately changed it. 

Setting: a year after the events of Nightbound

Tag list: @ladylamrian @lazypartridge @ginnyginsposts @brycesgirl @cashweasel @lilyoffandoms @choicesficwriterscreations (if you wish to be added or taken off the list, dm me! as usual, sorry if I forgot about someone)

pinterest boards for the vibes: niamh | cal | xander | crystaval / lamrian

Nothing can prepare you for grief. There is no handbook of conduct, and it does not get easier the second time. 

Until forced to spend hours by herself in a spacious chamber, Niamh never thought of her as a survivor or as bearing any trauma. It was half past midnight by New Orleans’ time, the air was heavy and suffocating despite the downpour outside. She's been in Crystaval for over a year, learning the ways of conduct, history, military strategy and magic when despite Lady Avyanna’s motto of nipping one’s emotions in the bud, Niamh fell into panic. She always thought that grief only concerned those who lost someone dear to them, but having spent many hours in isolation she realised that she was grieving her old life, the one she was ready to leave behind before agreeing to stay in Crystaval.

"My Lady, a visitor has arrived."

She nodded almost imperceptibly as her eyes continued to observe the reflection in the mirror. A young woman was staring back at her, clothed in luxurious fabric, wearing a thousand-year-old jewellery, one that created the impression of a powerful, steady leader. 

Straightening her back, Niamh rose up, and followed her aide towards the Grand Hall.

“Is everything ready for the announcement?”

“Yes, my Lady.”

“Who is the guest?”

“A young man from your birth realm. A nighthunter. He said the matter is urgent.”

Her heart skipped a beat, but her face remained impassive. The clicking of her heels reverberated in the spacious hall, blending with the happy chirping of the dwarf kingfishers, birds native to Crystaval, until a high-pitched ringing forced her to stop and lean against the wall. Alerted, Xander scanned the surroundings and, having found nobody around, placed a hand on Niamh’s back. “Breathe, Nia,” he said softly, stroking her skin.

The sense of duty threatened to blow his chest apart. Xander knew that this condition was unusual, possibly life-threatening, thus could not be taken lightly; however, Niamh made it very clear that this should stay between them. Since he was subordinate to her and not the Queen, Xander was obliged to follow the orders of the heiress to the throne.

Niamh bit her lip when the ringing became louder, clouding her mind and making her lose her balance. 

“We should tell someone about this, it’s potentially dangerous and happens too frequently lately,” Xander murmured while delicately wiping the golden tears off her cheeks. 

“Don’t you dare,” she threatened. “I have it under control.”

Closing her eyes, Niamh took a couple of deep breaths, waiting for her heartbeat to slow down. When she opened her eyes, she found Xander piercing her with his gaze.

“Let’s go.”

Familiar laughter echoed in the spacious room.

“What brings you to Crystaval?” 

“What the actual fuck, Niamh?”

The royal guards eyed the nighthunter, looking alerted, but the blonde did not pay them any attention. Xander stepped closer, his hand already on the hilt of his dagger. Noticing the mobilisation, Niamh intervened: “At ease, he's a friend. Why don’t we step outside?”

In comparison to Crystaval, Lamrian's gardens were mundane, stale, boring even. The water had a purplish tint, the sky was adorned with two suns—Halcyona, the crimson giant, and Eirele, a smaller one, yet still bigger than Earth’s sun was slightly peachy. The scarce clouds were pink, and the air smelled of the lush greenery surrounding them. Nik found himself fascinated by the landscape, especially because he’s never been allowed to Crystaval, but his eyes never left Niamh's silhouette. 

“You said you were coming back home,” Nik started, fumbling with his leather glove.

“This is my home.”

“Don't play dumb, rookie, you know damn well what I mean. All of a sudden, you decided to become, what, a queen? How come no one in the supernatural world knew about this? How is it even possible? Elric wasn't exactly that much of a big shot."

Niamh sighed quietly and began smoothing out her baby blue dress in an attempt to hide the trembling of her hands. “The throne is rightfully mine, but no, I am not a queen yet. Since Lady Thalissa preferred to remain in the colony, it became my duty to care for the folk of Crystaval as well as maintain peace among all seven realms,” she looked up and was immediately met with a pair of piercing grey eyes. “The kind fae of the Lavender City were asked to keep the new administration a secret until told otherwise, as we did not want unfit creatures knowing the authority was weak and unstable. Soon, the news will spread. I have gone through extensive teachings of Sir Xander about the history, politics, and militarization, as well as Lady Avyanna's magical training. Tomorrow, we’ll issue a statement of Crystaval’s readiness to aid other realms should they need it.” 

Nik chuckled at the ridiculousness of this situation and averted his gaze, letting it fall on a peculiar looking plant, transforming right in front of his eyes. The flower’s petals were similar to regular lilies in shape, yet its colour differed from what Nik knew back from his realm. The pitch black of the petals was brought out by the elongated, luminescent cyan stamen, and the longer he looked, the more drawn into them he was.

“Don’t stare for too long, or you’ll hallucinate for several days,” Niamh warned. The nighthunter reluctantly obeyed. “Cyan Lily Regina, the hidden treasure of the realm. These stamens hide the dose of cyanide that could easily kill entire kingdoms. The most dangerous poison in all seven realms.”

Nik coughed. “I assume Sir Xander is the one watching me like a hawk?”

“Yes. He’s the royal advisor and the head of the army, you can trust him.”

“Sure I can,” Nik mumbled mockingly and lowered his voice to make Xander’s eavesdropping job much harder. “Niamh, what actually happened?” 

“Queen Nymeria of Crystaval visited me in a vision two weeks after I left and requested that I visit her urgently. During the meeting, she explained that my father was her son, fourth in line to the throne. The rest of her children died under the attack of Svarvali tribes two days before she contacted me, which made me the last rightful heiress.”

“Elric must've been the long-lost child, I suppose,” Nik commented, gathering his thoughts. Ever since it was brought to his attention that Niamh might have indeed resided in either Lamrian or Crystaval, he began studying the fae’s politics, history, developing an unhealthy obsession with the royal bloodline. He noticed discrepancies within the official family tree, and according to his research, at least one heir was removed from the official data. 

He made a mental note to update his notes. His gaze kept coming back to the flower.

“Her Majesty is approaching her final days. Having in mind the balance of all the realms, Lady Fate warned the Queen that she must train the heir and since I had demonstrated magical abilities, I was considered a prospective heiress immediately. Now I serve as the Queen's First Lady. With the aid of the royal advisors, I carry out Her Majesty's duties as she is no longer able to perform them. May I ask what brought you here?” Niamh resumed. 

Nik squared his shoulders and sighed heavily as his fingers caressed the engraved hilt of his dagger.

“You ain't gonna like it, I'm afraid,” he admitted. “Something’s goin’ on in the bayou, it’s messing with the pack's minds," Nik continued, averting his gaze when Niamh finally looked at him. He cleared his throat. "They're nervous, angry—well, angrier than usual. Kinda hard to explain. They say they can hear the voices of their dead loved ones convincing them to give in to their primal needs, to kill, slaughter. Embrace the wolf, or some bullshit. One of them attacked a witch coven last night. They barely made it out alive."

Niamh frowned. "You came all the way here to bother the Queen about a vengeful evil spirit? It's a good thing you met me instead."

“I’ve checked every position in the bestiary, so trust me when I say it ain't no evil spirit, rook— Niamh. It's been going on for weeks, people keep disappearing and the pack's becoming a real pain in the ass, so you might wanna move your royal ass to New Orleans and play Moulder and Scully to figure out what's going on because neither me nor Kathy have a clue how to stop it. Besides, I had a hunch I might find you here.”

“You had no way of knowing that.”

“You’re underestimating my detective abilities.”

"Do you mean pestering Lady Fate for information for so long that she either gives it to you or curses you?" Niamh raised her eyebrow, smiling softly, and Nik averted his gaze yet again. She noticed a fresh scar on the left side of his face, which he skilfully hid until now. "What happened?"

He shrugged uncomfortably. "Your local werewolf leader wasn't a fan of my interrogation techniques."

"Octavia isn't a fan of you as far as I remember. She probably just waited for an occasion."

His brows knitted. "Last I checked, Octavia got her ass beaten during the competition. She was licking her wounds for weeks."

"Competition?"

"Ain't you supposed to know all that's hanging in our realm?"

Niamh blushed. Indeed, she was supposed to know that, and to a great extent she did—she just didn't want to receive any updates on the NOLA werewolf pack. 

Quickly realising his mistake, Nik added: 

"There were two candidates and neither wanted to step down, so according to some kind of their law they had to fight for the position. Cal spared her life, which was apparently very controversial, but yeah, he won anyway."

"Cal never wanted to be the Alpha, why did he change his mind?"

He shrugged and pointed towards the scar with his finger. "Take it up with him, we ain't on the best terms."

"Very well," she agreed, breaking eye contact. "Give me fifteen minutes."

“I hate portals,” Nik mumbled and took a look around. “You took us to the bayou already, great, it’ll save us some time.”

Niamh took a look around at the familiar wooden houses, the lake she used to watch every evening as Cal promised her to see fairies there, and the common bonfire area they used to spend many nights by. Her mouth felt dry at the thought of meeting him again. 

“Alrighty, so a little heads-up—the chick you see next to Cal is Vivian, his unbearable, sassy girlfriend or whatever they call it. A real bitch, if you ask me, embodies everything I hate 'bout werewolves. Massive pain in the ass, too.”

Niamh nodded, ignoring the pinch in her chest at the sight of Cal’s arm around the woman’s waist. You have no right to feel that way, she reminded herself as they made their way towards the small congregation of men. Pack meeting. She remembered how Cal would ask her to stay home until he came back from those meetings, so she wouldn't accidentally interrupt. Pack meetings were in a way sacred to the participants, but the blond nighthunter paid little attention to that detail. Following him, Niamh soon stood in front of the pack leader, giving a stern look to a wolf next to him, ready to pounce on her. Suddenly changing his mind, he backed down and others followed suit. 

Nik cleared his throat. "See, I brought in help."

Holding his gaze turned out to be one of the hardest tasks she’s ever been granted. She felt her eyelids twitch and hands shake, her brain was telling her to look away and run, but as a representative of Crystaval on official business that was not an option she could use. Straightening her back, she tightened her jaw and assumed an impassive expression. Cal could hear the pounding of her heart, she knew that. There was no fooling him. However, having observed him for a few weeks, she also knew how to read him, thus it was easy for her to see his confusion and the perplexed look on his face.   

"How the hell is she going to help?" 

Nik's gloved hand flipped Niamh’s long hair onto her back, revealing a string of golden runes on the side of her neck, old-nymetic runes that every supernatural creature knew about and was taught to respect. The runes said as follows: a high-ranking Crystaval royal, under royal guard's protection, powerful magic wielder, dragon protector. Child of the storm. And an augury rune, mysterious and portentous. 

Crystaval royals were considered a very specific, hermetic group. They were those who held true power and ruled the supernatural world in all seven realms, those whose power far exceeded even the Fate's. Extensive training and versatile knowledge made them the most skilled, knowledgeable magic wielders in the universe. Hardly ever they were to leave Crystaval so as not to meddle in ordinary affairs, all of them marked with a person specific number of ancient golden runes, unforgeable, known to everyone. 

Cal remembered his mother telling him not to ever cross people with golden runes, especially those with the augury rune. He never learned what it meant, but seeing one on his ex-girlfriend’s neck worried him.

Vivian spoke up. "Do you expect us to bow? Cause wolves don't do that, especially not in front of half-bloods."

Nik's brows perked up in surprise, yet he couldn't contain a mocking chuckle. "Feisty. And stupid."

"Viv," Cal warned, growling deep in his chest, his grip tightening on her hip.

"I don't care for your bows," Niamh responded calmly, her gaze pining the woman in front of her. "However, be advised who you're speaking to, as the next time I’ll order my guard to have your head impaled and exhibited as a warning."

The coolness and self-confidence in her voice made Nik's heart skip a beat in the most negative sense of the word. Sensing the threat, Vivian, unwillingly, bowed her head a little in a gesture of apology. Cal spoke up.

"So I assume you're here about Mason. We already interrogated him, he doesn't remember much more than I've told you over the phone," he addressed Nik. "I'm afraid you came here in vain."

"That remains to be seen, our neighbourhood fae queen-to-be appears to have some new powers to show off."

"Queen?"

In her head, she punched Nik in the arm with all her might. In reality, though, her eyes shyly met Cal's and despite the sudden urge to run at the familiar warmth, she spoke up.

"Yes, Queen Nymeria's journey in the far realm is coming to an end, and I was appointed her successor."

Cal choked down the urge to say "the hell?" hearing the manner of her speech. Niamh seemed brainwashed, perhaps indeed trained to become one of the most powerful figures in the supernatural world. It wasn't the same person he woke up to every morning last year. 

"Listen, it's a mystery to me too, but we have more pressing matters on our hands now, don't we?"

Cal nodded. The pack meeting was rescheduled, and he led his guests toward a small wooden cabin, hidden deeper in the forest. Mason let them in wordlessly.

Niamh observed Mason while him, Nik, and Cal gave an account of the events of the night when he "lost control" as he called it. Finally, she addressed her companions. "Isn't it similar to the case of Jimmy?"

"Jimbo," Nik corrected her. "I mean, kinda, but not entirely. Jimbo, as it turned out, was poisoned and with him being a werewolf it didn't kill him but made him go feral. Mason was aggressive, but he kept mentioning voices."

"He got into a fight with several other pack members and mauled them pretty badly, but he was still able to obey me. I'm no expert on spells and witchcraft, but could it be that? We do have beef with another pack and several witches, maybe they decided to take revenge?"

Niamh shook her head. "I would feel it. There's no magic involved. Are you sure it's not some illegal substances from a new source?" she addressed the man on the sofa. 

He looked up at her, shyly, unsure how he should show her respect. "I don't use, Lady." 

Having pondered over the possibility of using magic on him long enough, Niamh proposed going through the werewolf's memories "It's not going to be comfortable, but I need you to stay as relaxed as possible and don't block your memories," she instructed, taking a seat on the armchair next to him. He nodded. 

Cal nudged the nighthunter on his right, focused on polishing his pocket knife. Niamh kept instructing the werewolf in the other room. "Do you feel it?" 

"Feel what?"

"The power she holds. It's… I've never felt anything like this. It makes you obey her even, the air feels different around her."

"What about last year?"

"Not to that extent. You can easily tell she's from Crystaval now."

Nik hummed, thinking of Cal’s words. "Fascinating," he muttered, watching one of the runes on her neck shimmer as she worked her magic on Mason. Leaning across the door frame with his hands crossed on his chest, Cal observed it as well, trying to wrap his head around the fact of how much she has changed in a year. "Well?"

"There's nothing,” she said, calmly, taking her time with the answer. Her hand touched Mason’s cheek as if in a soothing gesture.

"So maybe magic after all?" Cal suggested.

"No, there's nothing. Absolutely no recollection of that day. That's dark sorcery. You must have made enemies with someone more important than a local witch coven, Cal."

Take it easy today, she addressed the werewolf and exited his house. Cal followed.

"Should I call you your majesty now?"

"Not yet."

Taking his place next to her, the werewolf folded his arms. 

"Nik told me you're the Alpha now. How come? The last time we saw each other, you wanted to leave this place and lead a quiet, peaceful life."

"A lot has changed since you ran away."

She turned her head to the other side, pretending to be looking at a passing dog. Of course, he held a grudge, she would as well. She left for no apparent reason. Cal sighed.

"The pack needed a strong leader. We've been having some issues with the Texas pack, and Octavia would just escalate the conflict to the point of a war."

"What do they want from you?"

"Beats me," he crossed his arms on his chest. "They're just sending threats for now. No demands."

“There’s something about him that just doesn’t sit right with me,” Nik interrupted, closing the front door. “You sure didn’t see anything suspicious?”

“No. How did you know how to find me? The court made sure the information would not get out until the right time."

"Yeah, believe me, I've noticed. Your secrecy cost me another round of stripping for the Fate and almost getting cursed, but she budged."

"Why were you looking for me?"

"Cause of Cal, obviously. He said your disappearance was weird, that your phone number no longer existed, and your mother said she hasn't seen you in months. Kristin was surprised as well. It got me thinking you might've fled to Lamrian, but it looks like you managed to made enemies there," he nudged her shoulder playfully. "Come on, spill, what'd you do to poor Thalissa?"

Cal looked up at her, his interest piqued. 

"She believes I'm unworthy of taking my father’s rightful place on the Crystaval throne," she shrugged. "Don't believe in Lamrian's mushy sweet facade, Nik. Those who live there are expatriates from Crystaval, often times criminals who found refuge in Lamrian, which is basically n outlaw colony. Thalissa's protective domes aren't for bloodwraiths, they're for Crystaval's officials."

"What about Garrus?"

"As far as I know, he's free to come back."

"Does he know that? Cause he sure doesn't seem to."

"We've notified him several times. It was the first decree I issued when I gained influence."

Nik sighed heavily, looking around the bayou in thought. “Can we talk about this over a drink or is your curfew up?”

[danglovely]

Regrading Taskmaster: S04E08 Tony Three Pies. AND Series Four Winner

*Score changes noted in parenthesis.

Series Four wrap-up time.

Prize Task: Most Cash

This is an insane prize task category. Let's get the easy out of the way early: Noel didn't bring in any cash so he gets last place. The rest should probably be interpreted consistently and so the question becomes "does the most cash mean physically or in money value?" Hugh actually brings in the least by both measurements, so he gets fourth.

It would be unfair to rank Joe ahead of Lolly who brings in a ludicrous amount of money. This means that money value is the correct measurement and the rest falls into place.

Hugh: 2 (+1) Joe: 4 (0) Lolly: 5 (0) Mel: 3 (+1) Noel: 1 (-2)

VT 01: Make an exotic sandwich. Eat your exotic sandwich.

The first part of the task provides no win condition! That means the grading should be exclusively based on how much/how fast the exotic sandwich is consumed. Per Alex, no one finishes their sandwich -- so we must ask whether the task should be graded based on percentage of sandwich consumed or total mass consumed. My instinct is to grade based on the former so the first part of the task isn't completely irrelevant.

I would say Joe eats a negligible amount of sandwich and Lolly eats a good bit of hers. Hugh easily eats the most. Noel eats some of Alex's hair, which is probably the least, but he still deserves to beat Joe who had actual food and still didn't appear to consume any of it. A for effort, Mel.

Hugh: 5 (-1) Joe: 1 (-5) Lolly: 4 (-2) Mel: 3 (-4) Noel: 2 (-5)

VT 02: Strike one of these objects the furthest distance with one of the other objects. You have three strikes with your chosen object.

I do take issue that Alex counts attempts even when they miss because the task dictates "three strikes," not "three attempts." No other controversy here. Tony Three Pies takes it.

Hugh: 4 Joe: 3 Lolly: 1 Mel: 2 Noel: 5

VT 03: Do something surprising with this rubber duck.

Tasks that call for surprise are always tricky because the nature of the task makes the surprising become expected. Joe gets last because buying Greg a holiday is completely unrelated to the duck. I think Mel is correctly placed in first because she actually surprises Morello who had no idea what was going on.

I'm actually bumping Hugh up past Noel because no one is surprised when Noel does anything crazy. Lolly gets penalized because I've seen multiple people set things afloat with balloons in Taskmaster and it's just not all that original of an idea (blame David Correos).

Hugh: 4 (+3) Joe: 1 (-2) Lolly: 2 (+1) Mel: 5 (0) Noel: 3 (-1)

Live Task: Draw the median duck. Bonus point for the best duck.

Greg quickly takes away any ambiguity as to what "median" means. It means size. We have Joe and Mel trying to skirt the rules by writing versions of "median duck" on their boards. It appears they both drew something too (though it's tough to tell with Joe). Alex only measures length, but Mel's does look third biggest when I look at them all together.

I also agree with Greg that Noel's is the best, mostly because it's generous to call the remaining four "ducks."

Hugh: 0 Joe: 0 Lolly: 0 Mel: 5 Noel: 1

Final

Hugh: 15 (+2) Joe: 9 (-7) Lolly: 12 (+1) Mel: 21 (0) Noel: 12 (-8)

Mel won the episode the first time and she does so again. Major deductions based on my choice to eliminate half the grading for the sandwich task.

Series Final

Hugh: 140 (+11) Joe: 126 (-10) Lolly: 122 (+3) Mel: 124 (-10) Noel: 122 (-22)

Couple of shockers here for me. When I started the series, I predicted I'd have Joe winning. I did not predict Hugh would jump him, let alone by more than ten points. Furthermore, I knew I was going to drop Noel because I remembered tasks where I thought he was inappropriately favored. I didn't think he would be down with Lolly in joint last place.

In all, Series Four probably has the worst grading throughout. Common sentiment is matched here though -- Hugh was the rightful champ.

[quinloki]

Quicksand - ALTERNATIVE

If you haven't read Quicksand up to chapter 5 you're going to be terribly confused.

Fem Reader x Sir Crocodile

CW: Language, violence, blood, moral ambiguity, murder, sexual themes and situations, yandere, angst with a happy ending, a referenced instance of physical abuse. 18+ only

ADDITIONAL CW: Dub-con, kidnapping, imprisonment

The alternative version picks up at Chapter 6- there's a lot of overlap for the first few chapters as the story slowly peels away from the original. The alternative chapters explore Sir Crocodile's yandere tendencies in a setting where the reader rejects him (vs the original where she never ran).

You can read it as it posts to Tumblr, or sate your curiosity on AO3 // Wattpad immediately.

Chapter 7: Shifting

Going to work was utterly nerve-wracking, to the point that you nearly considered calling off. Spending the day job hunting seemed like a better use of your time than spending the day nearly ready to vomit because you weren’t sure when the CEO would decide on a surprise visit.

You checked your phone one last time to see that there weren’t any missed calls or messages. You hadn’t heard from him since you left, and it was one-half a relief, and one-half a concern. Sunday, you had been in a fit of sleeplessness and nerves, randomly napping when your tension had simply forced you to rest. Last night at least you got a few hours in a row, and hopefully it would be enough to get you through the day.

Getting into the office, you checked in with Buggy. He gave you an odd look, but wasn’t prompted to say anything. You’d come into work on Monday’s a little strained before, but it had been quite a few months since anything had happened to cause it. You wanted to ask him if Crocodile had said anything, but if something was already being done against you from an employment standpoint you were sure Buggy would’ve cut to the chase and let you know.

Asking about Crocodile yourself would’ve been completely out of character for you. Your job was almost entirely internal within the West branch, you had no direct concerns or contact with the CEO. You barely had direct contact with anyone higher up the ladder than Buggy.

"So, how'd it go?" Alvida questions as soon as you were out of Buggy's office. Her voice had the usual almost melodic tone it got when she knew she was on the verge of juicy gossip.

"Horrid," you assert, and something on your face must have backed you up because Alvida’s entire demeanor slumped.

“Oh, honey. I’m sorry.” She gives you a hug, patting your back a little. “I expected if it went poorly you would’ve come in with too much makeup or a really bad new haircut.”

You snort and lean into her hug a little. Alvida was a good friend, and even as the main hub of gossip in the office, she’d never betray your actual trust.

“It was good for a moment, but,” you heave a big sigh before moving to sit at your desk and begin to work. “Well, I got cold feet I guess.”

“At least it wasn’t Buggy.” Alvida offers, starting a pot of coffee for the three of you.

“Haa, I almost wish it was.” You admit with a chuckled sigh.

“… Oh dear.” Alvida replies after a moment’s shock. “Can I… I mean, you need to talk about it?”

You shake your head. “I don’t want to just yet, and I don’t even know that I should.”

“Alright. Well, if you just need someone to confide in or vent to, you can trust me, (Y/N).” Alvida says, setting a cup of coffee next to you before sitting at her nearby desk.

“I know Alvy, thank you.”

You start sorting through your work, making idle talk with Alivda.

“Do you know what Buggy did over the weekend?” You ask with a little less energy than you meant.

"He's been working on starting his own business. I guess he's been consulting with some of his old friends." Alvida said absently.

"Oh wow." You stop working and look over at her. "Seriously?"

Alvida shrugs. "As seriously as I think he does anything. I have no idea what kind of business it is."

“Huh… I wonder if he needs any help organizing it.”

Alvida nearly drops the papers she’s working on. “You? Change jobs?” She looks completely flabbergasted. “I… mean this as politely as possible, but I honestly thought you’d retire from here. No risks, no changes, no leaps of faith. You fit in well here and enjoy it, I’m surprised.”

“Mm, maybe I could use a challenge.” You say with a small smile as you return to your organizing. “Besides, it’s not that much of a change, I already know how to handle and work with Buggy.”

“Fair.”

The two of you worked in silence for a while longer before you came across a piece of information that nearly made you groan. "The auction next week is being hosted by Donquixote Doflamingo?"

Just what you needed. Another Warlord in your life.

"Yeah, the CEO of SMILE, Inc.? Well, new CEO, he stepped up after retiring from modeling last year, didn't he?"

"Beats me," you admit with a shrug, wondering internally how many of the Warlords had legitimate businesses as fronts. "Isn't SMILE a pharmaceutical company? From Model to CEO of something like that seems like a heck of a leap."

"Oh, I'm sure he pulled some strings," Alvida says. "His money has money." You snort at her sarcasm. "Still, they say he was educated in the Holy Lands, so he's probably smarter than he looks."

Alvida flips her phone and holds it out to you. There's a picture of a tall, well-built man on the beach in glaringly pink swim trunks with hair so blonde it's almost lost in the sunlight. His shaggy hair is drenched, and it looks good on him that way. You can feel the arrogance rolling off of him in the photo, it's obvious he's aware he's being photographed.

"I'm surprised he's retired from modeling." You admit. "He's not even thirty yet, I can't imagine."

"He's been doing that work since he was 16, I think? He might just be tired of it." Alvida says, seemingly disinterested. "He'd be cuter if he wasn't so aware of his good looks."

"Can you get me a behavioral write up on him before the Auction?" You ask. "I know we usually have more time with these big profile events, but anything would help."

"Sure, I'll have Galdino and Cabaji help me." She assures you. "Think you're going to have trouble corralling him during the auction?"

"Maybe. Better to over prepare than under prepare." You roll your shoulders and release some of the building tension and check your phone. Still no messages. That’s good, you can focus on the task at hand.

Aside from dealing with Doflamingo for a couple of days, you also have to brace yourself to see Sir Crocodile again. He’ll be present during the auction proper, though, if you can make it work you may be able to hand things off to Alvida that day. He’s technically a visitor from another branch, so you don’t have to work with him at all.

It depends on how you feel in a week’s time. If you think you can face Sir Crocodile neutrally, then you will. Otherwise, there’s no shame in hiding behind your good friend who hasn’t slept with the CEO of your company.

You get things organized and pop into Buggy’s office for a moment before going on your rounds to check in on all the teams.

“Hey boss,” you say evenly, pulling out the pages about the upcoming auction. “Can you see if you can get us some extra hands? Donquixote is a big name even in big names, and I’d like to make sure the staff is beyond capable of tending to any requests he may have while he’s here.”

“As flashily as I can!” Buggy says with a smile. “Feeling better?”

You smile a little and nod. “Yeah, sorry for worrying you this morning, boss.”

“Bah, it’s fine. As long as you’re feeling better.” Buggy waves a hand.

“I hear you’re starting a business, boss.” You say pointedly, causing him to flinch.

“Ah, ha ha, I mean, I’m sure I could use your help… (Y/N).” Buggy answers rather sheepishly, almost hiding behind his desk.

You chuckle a little. “I was thinking it was about time I started looking for a new job, so you can certainly keep me in mind, boss.”

Buggy lights up almost instantly, practically screeching with glee. “(Y/N)! You would be an immense help! You’re so much better at organizing people and things than I am, and you’re really good with words and getting people to do what you need, and I’m not failing or anything so far, but I would be so relieved to have your help.”

“Let’s get through this auction, and we can talk about details.” You say, pointing at the papers you’ve left behind. “I’m going to check on the teams and do my rounds, but I’ll be back for this copy later, so make those calls, boss.”

The rest of the day went on without incident and you headed home only a little later than usual. Being able to work through lunch while still getting to eat lunch made the day go smoothly, and you were grateful for Buggy's consideration. There was less stress after work as well, knowing that you wouldn't have quite the mountain to deal with the next day.

On top of everything else he had managed to get some extra hands to help out during the auction, and even better than that, Buggy himself would be coordinating them. All you had to do was determine how they would be utilized, and then your boss would oversee them. Leaving you to focus on Doflamingo, and eventually, possibly Sir Crocodile.

You really did want to just quit and leave the Metro before the auction, but it would leave Buggy and Alvida in the lurch and you didn’t want to do that to them.

The drive home was dull and long. Traffic was terrible this time of the evening, and honestly you should’ve just stayed at work for a couple of hours and gotten more done before trying to get home. Hindsight and all that. You listen to some music and meander your way home without incident.

After you get inside your apartment you check your phone and see a message.

From Sunawani.

Taking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly, you open it up and read it.

Sunawani: The auction was supposed to happen in the South Branch. I can have it returned to that venue if you prefer, but I wanted to be clear I didn’t know it had been changed until today.

You: It’s okay. Thank you, and I’m sorry.

You pause for a moment and then continue. Admitting your plan won’t hurt anything, and maybe it’ll help him to move on as well.

You: After the auction I’m putting in my notice.

Sunawani: I will be true to my word, Miss (Y/N). You aren’t required to leave.

You: I know. I just need to.

Sunawani: Need?

You: Yes.

You: I don’t want to get into it.

There was a long enough silence you set your phone down and went about your evening routine. You took a shower, changed into comfortable clothes, and started something to eat before you checked your phone again.

Sunawani: Very well.

The two words twist your heart a little and you put the phone down. There’s no other response that would’ve gone well, but the finality in the statement stings more than you expected. The conversations of the last two months start dancing through your head and twist your stomach so hard you’re barely able to eat. You pack the leftovers into the fridge and go to bed early.

Your rest is restless, and your dreams are full of sand and citrus and cigar smoke.

. . . . . .

After Monday you kept feeling like you were being watched. You couldn't find anything definitive, but there was a powerful sense of being stalked that itched at you randomly. You wrote it off as being stressed about the auction at first, but as things progressed for the preparations you were less and less stressed.

Despite the lessening job-related stress, the strange sensation wasn't abating.

Alvida’s write up on Doflamingo prompted you to practice with Dandy to prepare for the man’s arrival. Practicing with Dandy went well. Aside from the fact that you spent a couple hours every day interacting with him in the first place. You were, at least, finding a decent space between fully business and marginally interested.

You'd need to fawn over Doflamingo a little more, but you couldn't bring yourself to do so with Dandy. You knew him too well, and you absolutely weren't going to give him any ammunition to use against you down the road. As coworkers it was best to keep him at slightly more than arm's length, preferably with a taser, if you were being honest.

Organizing the space, equipment, and laying out the plans and event timing went smoothly as well. The extra hands - provided by Sir Crocodile and managed by Buggy - were a huge weight off everyone's shoulders. Especially since they were all not just competent, but quiet as well. No zany quirks, no desire to be the center of attention. They were more like you and less like Buggy or Dandy, so they didn't stress Buggy out and they didn't create additional work.

But they weren't creative. They came to people with questions on everything, almost more akin to computers than people. Not that it was a bad thing, the lack of personal decision making might have been part of their contract for all you knew. They were extra hands, and extra eyes, but that was really it.

Alvida caught you glancing around on Friday when things were finally coming together.

"What's got you so twitchy, (Y/N)?" She asks, "Anything I can help with?"

"Ah, no. Everything's pretty much handled. The Auction's Wednesday, the VIP will be in Tuesday, and I'll sleep again sometime Thursday, I'm sure." You joke, stretching. "I just keep feeling like someone's watching me. It's been itching at me for the last few days, and I can't shake it."

Alvida leans in after looking around to make sure you’re alone.

“Could it be related to your date?”

“Hah?” You almost yell the questioning sound and cover your mouth. “What do you mean?”

“Well, things went south, right?” She prompts. “You said you got cold feet, did you bail, after… you know, sex?”

Your face goes red, and you make a face and it’s really all the answer Alvida needs.

“Oh, honey.” She pulls you in and hugs you loosely. “Love, some people don’t walk away well.”

“It… it can’t be related to that.” You say after a moment. “I’m certain.”

“Oh?”

“… Alvida, you… can not breathe a word of this.” You assert, looking up at her from the loose hug you’re still in.

“On pain of death, (Y/N).” She vows, putting a hand up.

“It was the CEO.” You say and feel her entire body tense for a second.

“Are-you-shitting-me?” She hisses quickly, leaning in even closer to you and trying to keep her voice down.

You shake your head. “I was surprised too.”

Alvida puts a hand to her mouth for a moment and looks around, thinking. “You should tell him.”

“What?!” You bark before lowering your voice. “No. No way. Alvida, I… I had mind-shatteringly good sex with the C. E. O. of this company and left while he was sleeping.” You practically growl the words at her. “I’m looking for a new job after this auction, I can’t ask him for help!”

“Are you being fired?”

“No-! No, I’m not. I’m quitting on my own.” You assure her. “I… don’t…” You purse your lips and look away.

“Oh, honey.” Alvida hugs you tightly. “I’m sorry.”

“… It’s alright.” You manage to keep your voice even as you hug her back. “I’m not even thirty. I’ll, I dunno, move, find new work, move on. It’ll be alright.”

“I know, but it hurts right now, and I’m sorry you fell so hard.” She says, patting your back gently.

“Haa, yeah. Me too.” You admit.

[strange-morningstar]

Personal gifts

From prompt list

Thanks for the prompt It took me a while to think about what to write then it hit me I haven't written anything for Peter Quill and Adam Warlock

(Platonically but can be seen as Adam having a cute Crush or Squish if you want but nothing overtly Romantic...uh Ambiguous if you will)

Disclaimer: I wrote this while half awake so the pacing may be all over the place and there may be spelling mistakes and all that jazz

Yes I will be getting sleep after I post this...

Warning for Guardians of the Galaxy 3 Spoilers (Not alot but yknow..some)

Adam sat in his room he had adjusted well to being a Guardian alongside Rocket and Kragglin. however he couldn't help but think about Peter Quill the man he had saved from dying in space, he had only spoken to him once but he was curious about him.

he had heard of Quill's return and he wanted to do something special for him, he grabbed a blank cassette tape and learned to add some songs to it from Rocket's Zune (don't ask how, he just knew somehow).

Adam had gathered a playlist of songs he had found and enjoyed and wanted to share his joy in music with Peter something personal that he no doubt knew that Peter could relate and appreciate.

Nebula had found a Walkman handing it to Adam "Here It should play the cassette" she said with a small smirk.

"Thank you Nebula" Adam said softly taking the Walkman he raised a brow looking around for a pair of headphones spinning around for a moment before he was stopped by Peter.

"Woah Careful there...you're gonna make yourself dizzy" Peter chuckled gently helping Adam stand upright.

Adam nodded gently "Right, Thank you" he blinked before perking up and smirking "Ah Quill you've returned !" he said cheerfully.

he gave Peter a warm hug surprising Quill but Peter hugged Adam back gently nonetheless "Yeah I'm back …just for a visit I wanted to check on you all, see how you were doing..."

The first thing Peter noticed was the change in outfit for Adam, he smiled warmly "Oh, nice...Those colours actually kinda suit you. Not bad"

"Oh well, Thank you..." Adam said softly he quickly hid the cassette tape and the Walkman in a failed attempt to surprise the Terran.

Peter noticed this and smirked "You're welcome" he raised a brow still smirking "Whatchya got there?" he said gesturing to what's behind Adam's back.

"Um...it's a surprise?" Adam tried his best to sound convincing but he sounded unsure if anything.

"Huh...alrighty then, hey listen I didn't know what you'd like from Earth but uh I picked up a few things..." Peter said as he set his bag down gently digging through it. He pulled out a toy for Adam's Pet a small squeaky toy to be specific, he also pulled out a chocolate bar that he thought Adam could try.

Adam blinked a few times looking at the small yet meaningful gifts he had received from Peter. "Why, That's awfully kind of you Peter, I uh Have a gift for you as well".

He handed Peter the Newfound Walkman and the mixtape he had made for him.

"What's this?" Peter asked as his eyes scanned the Mixtape he smirked at the neat handwriting that read 'Warlock Mix (Made by Adam)'.

"It's a collection of songs I want to share with you...songs I enjoy and hold near to my heart, I've listened to your mix tapes on the stereo tape player but I figured this uh Walkman would better suit your needs; listening to it on the go. While you're out there you can uh think of me" Adam said with a smile kind of rambling happily.

Peter smiled wide as he pulled Adam in for a hug "Thanks Adam, I'll give it a listen when I get the chance...that's pretty thoughtful of you..".

"Do you wanna listen to it together?" He offered.

Adam nodded gently "I-I'd love to!, and uh maybe we could dance together? I've learned a few dance moves and heard you've partaken in a dance off during your first battle with the Guardians..".

Peter chuckled softly "Oh they told you about that huh?...That was a fun time actually...But yeah sure. We can bust a few moves together and dance the night away".

Adam smiled warmly as he held the gifts in his hand they meant a lot to him but his time with Quill building a friendship with him as they shared music together meant so much more to him.

[cptn-m]

One Piece chapter 1108 review

Ooh, this is actually heating up right when I was expecting Egghead to start winding down and continue cutting off sources of tension. There was a point a year and a bit ago where the question might have been asked, 'why this arc, on this island?' If Oda is rushing to the finale, what does Egghead offer that Elbaf doesn't, and what will it add to contribute to the macro-level plot? Up til now, aside from wrapping up stories for supporting cast members like Bonney and Kuma, it seemed that maybe the main thing here was getting the scientists in the party and setting up more Void Century teases to develop more later. Well I think now we're getting the big thing that made Egghead unskippable.

But first we've got a Jump cover here, the latest in a long line of 'Luffy is about to punch you' covers, now in Gear Five form, and a very relaxed colour spread. Sure, why not give Uta another appearance in the manga. But what's that going on between Reiju and Tashigi? But my favourite thing here is the dapper canines in the portraits in the background. Cute stuff.

Caribou's scene feels like more of a recap than anything. I'm actually surprised to see him and the Blackbeard Pirates again so soon, I would have been satisfied if their time on Egghead wrapped up with the last chapter. Of course, there's no chance they choose not to take him with them, even if Oda leaves it ambiguous.

Now, I'm not a firearms guy. I don't live in one of those countries where you see them regularly. But is it just me or is Augur's form with the rifle really bad here, with the stock all the way out the back. You're meant to use that thing to brance for the recoil, right? So if he pulls the trigger this weird way he's holding it, the whole thing just slips between his arms and goes flying backwards, wouldn't it? I'll accept corrections for anyone who does know guns on this point.

I love getting names for all the vice admirals here. It's the details. Guillotine is still my favourite design of the batch.

The talk about taking back control of the Pacifistas by eliminating Bonney feels odd though. Is that how it works? So a person of equal rank in the hierarchy can't override orders, but the death of the current top dog will let someone lower down cancel their standing orders? Pacifista control is a mess, and for all the ways Egghead has been a breath of fresh air post-Wano, it's complicated contrivances like this that drag it down in the end-of-arc retrospective.

The giants' meetup with Franky's group has some interesting points. First: they don't recognise Franky because his bounty picutre was changed to the Sunny's figurehead. But that's still weird. It can't have been done just to set up this half-second misunderstanding. Franky's ready to square up, making the at this point safe assumption they've come as enemies, which is great from him. We learn that Usopp's been talking about his time with the giants to the crew since Franky joined. You have to assume that kind of offscreen bonding is happening, but it's always nice getting the little confirmations of it.

Glad to see one of the weaponised sea beasts survived. And Bluegrass and Doll manage to look very cool riding it back to Egghead. I wonder if Doll's connection to Saul is setting up a bigger arc or moment for her, or if it's just an excuse to remind casual readers of his name.

Saturn is truly terrifying in his new form. That's fantastic design. Even before Sanji points it out, you can see something is wrong with his eyes. That is one intense stare. And the fact that he doesn't speak once in the whole chapter makes him feel all the more inhuman. What is this man now, if he's still a man at all?

But where did Borsalino go after the last chapter's standoff. Has there been a little offscreen clash with Luffy and Sanji he's just retreated from? Was he forced to get out of the way as demon Saturn stampeded in? I'd rather have seen either of those things than releared what Caribou knows at the start of the chapter. It's not a hard one to explain, but it still feels like a continuity glitch, which is frustrating. It came up during the 'who fed Luffy' discussions in the past week that Luffy's position changes before and after the flashback, last seen in Franky's hands going in, then lying a decent way away from the group with no apparent action taken by him or Franky after. If there was one thing you could absolutely say in the Onigashima battle's favour, it's that it was intricately and carefully mapped. We had the layout of the whole castle and knew where everyone was inside it. No one teleported from one side to another in a single page, they got at least a little bit of offscreen time to travel before popping up somewhere new. The attention to detail was a highlight there, which makes it all the more disappointing that this battle's staging misses beats like this.

I can't help feeling really bad for Vegapunk as he lays dying here. Not because I'm super personally invested in him, but just because it feels so wrong for the character design. He's so goofy and cartoony with the apple head and forever-lolling tongue that he feels like he should be incompatible with blood. This guy should be giving me the tutorial of an edutainment game, not having his guts blasted out. Like a child, or a housepet, the apparent innocence makes it feel even crueller to attack him. (Apparent innocence only, we all know his morality is questionable at best given the horrors he enabled for the World Government.)

Borsalino getting to finish the job is a shock, and yeah, the monitor at the end does make me think the job is finished. Rough, and unexpected. I was better on Kuma's death and Vegapunk's rescue, but it looks like I got it the wrong way around. Luffy's giant transformation is an awesome panel, with just the intensity you want for a moment like this. No notes. I also love the smaller panel of the page showing him from ground level, towering over the buildings. Would love a bigger and more detailed form of that next week please.

And then the stinger. Vegapunk seems to have set up a dead man switch with some big secrets. This is great. Perfect thing for the smartest man in the world to do, especially considering how long he'd been expecting an attempt on his life was coming. And it has the potential to be huge for the world. A turning point. Potentially the start of a war or several. I don't think we're getting the full Void Century here, of course, but it's hard to imagine it playing out without at least one major reveal. And how will the Government respond? With the Buster Call running too slow, will Imu turn the Mother Flame on Egghead, triggering an escape sequence (and maybe cutting the exposition dump short because this is One Piece). The potential for this is huge. Huge.

I'm always happy to be getting three chapters in a row, but I'm so glad this one didn't line up with a break. See you all next week when the bombs drop.

Read on Wordpress!

[all-the-fun-of-the-cirkus]

next album, neil young's trans. and on behalf of everyone i'd like to say how proud we are of her for finding herself

this album... hoo. for a long time, this might have actually been my most hated album of all time. my dad played it in the car when i was very young, and to me it was one decent-ish song followed by a nightmarish sludge of synths and weird dizzying vocals and endless jamming, and it honestly made me kind of ill. i did my best to blot it out then, and every other time my dad played it i tried to avoid it, and now i'm giving it a proper go

trans has a, uh, fairly mixed reception in general, from what i can tell. some people think it's an unmitigated disaster, an embarrassing failure of lame experimentation. others think it's a tuneful, brave and quietly visionary gamble that didn't quite pay off. what do i think? as usual, something in between

the eighties were a weird time for neil, and i have some Opinions on it, but i'll be saving them for whenever i get to everybody's rockin' (i have a feeling i'll be struggling for stuff to talk about there). suffice to say that he was doing a lot of Weird Shit and this is where it begins

so if you know neil young you'll know there's two relevant details behind this album. the first is that it's two albums spliced together, one lightweight and tropical-tinged, the other weird and electronic. the second we'll get to later, but the islands tracks are actually the weak links. little thing called love is a fun, energetic throwaway, but like an inca is utterly interminable. neil can get away with repeating the same thing for ten minutes when he has a good riff, a decent level of energy and some cool melodies/soloing (see about half of ragged glory); other than a nice chorus and a decent solo about eight minutes in (which sounds to me more like nils than neil) this has none of that, and it clearly should have been less than half the length

as for the electronic tracks, are they embarrassing? eh... we r in control is, i think, very cheesy pulp sci-fi, without the decent melody to carry it through, and i don't think much of the mr. soul remake either. beyond that? nah, these are decent songs. actually this album makes me want to get my guitar out, bc i think i'd have a lot of fun rearranging these into a more crazy horse style. which i appreciate is sort of besides the point of this album, but i can very easily hear how it could be done. also the unplugged version of transformer man is gorgeous, so, y'know. he did it first. i think the vocoder's what bothers people most tbh, it does sort of drown out the feeling, and goodness knows neil's voice is high enough already. i... kind of like it? there's this nice ethereality to it. i think it's a bit omnipresent though

but i'm not trying to say "good songs, shame about all the electronic bullshit," bc obviously the second important fact about this album is that it's inspired by his son ben, who has cerebral palsy, and the therapy they underwent together to communicate with one another. i must admit. i don't know a huge amount about neil's personal life. tbh by-and-large the more i know about rock musicians the less i like them, so. as far as i know neil's not an abuser or anything, which is nice, but i admit i was surprised to learn the efforts he went to to talk with his son. i shouldn't be, it should be the bare minimum for a parent, but it really isn't far too often. i don't know how far neil and ben got together, and if it did all go well i don't know if they still talk. i hope they do

i don't know how much i'd appreciate this album without the context, but i found sample and hold in particular had a surprising impact on me. neil's shtick of pairing ambiguous lyrics with dark music to set a mood works on me a lot, but here the words about (i think) robot, uh, "companions" become really effective. the lyrics about getting the perfect partner, "not the lonely/angry/jealous one" could be a snide and vaguely misogynistic statement (goodness knows you see people on twitter say shit like that), but the icy music gets across the intended emptiness and hollowness. there's a glorious moment at the end where there's a snippet of lead guitar, and it's like just an outburst of emotion finally breaking through the repression and coldness, and it's wonderful

and i can't help but think about the railing against sterile perfection. about how someone might be messy, imperfect, but that's what makes you love them. and in the context of the album it just becomes a lovely sentiment to me. i'm not disabled, but i've had my share of mental health issues that've seen me clash with my parents a lot. and (i don't think i've explicitly said this on tumblr yet so) i'm a trans woman, and i'm yet to tell them. and frankly i hope they're as willing to try and understand me as this song conveys

anyway, enough personal stuff. computer age is a real good song, except for the trite canon in d bridge, and i can't remember how computer cowboy goes but i enjoyed it while it was on (i wanted to extend the trans joke with a "cis crusher" joke here but it's late and i'm tired). i'd put this in the lower tier of his albums, but it's decent, and i'm glad i gave it another go

[sharkneto]

Very iffy on the whole "Five being the founder" thing.. I mean. It's not very surprising that the guy who's power is to time travel is somehow involved in the creation of the time travel committee, but I don't like the Commission (or, I didn't like how they were portrayed in s2) and I kinda would have preferred if they just. Left how it came to be ambiguous and up to interpretation-- But, the idea that they used (are going to use?) Five as some battery for their briefcases, or they study his power to find a way to mimic it, or whatever. That is very interesting to me.

Not sure if that's the way the show is going, but I mean. Five and Lila were able to power up a broken briefcase using Five's power + electrocution so...? There sure is Something there, possibly. And it could be a vague parallel to how the Commission experimented on Five in the comics, assuming that they haven't already done that to show Five. So.. I dunno. It has the potential to be neat. But really that is the only way it will be interesting to me, lmao.

I don't like the idea of Five being the founder of the Commission either. It just continues to validate and redeem the Commission after they were a spectacularly evil villain in S1 - I've ranted before about how the Commission changed from S1 to S2 and the portrayal of Herb and Dot as protagonists rather than antagonists (as they should be) HERE. Five the past two season has been doing everything in his power to stop and get away from the Commission (They want the world to end! They left him to rot in the apocalypse for four decades until he was broken enough to be useful to them!). The Commission is not a good organization and their mission is bullshit and self-serving. And suddenly, Five is the one who founds it??? He's the one who thinks this is a good idea, after he's spent his entire life trying to change the timeline, suddenly he wants an organization that specifically does not allow for change??? Sure, he just lived through an insane paradox that ate the universe and that is what the Commission was hypothetically there to stop from happening (doesn't their jumping around in time changing things make it riskier for a paradox, not less?), but the Commission could do nothing about it anyway and Five ends up in a paradox-proof box by himself in an iron lung??? In what universe does Five go "oh yeah, that's my good ending, I like that". The dude has been obsessively trying to get back to his family for half a century. I refuse to look at this plot point, it does not exist to me.

That said, the only way I even consider "Five is the Founder" is the idea - that is not supported at all by what they set up - is that Five is just a fucked up briefcase battery. They call him the "Founder" because they're mean and have a good sense of irony. That I can get behind because the Commission is that fucked up. They would. He's in his weird paradox box, strapped into that machine because that keeps him contained in case they need more briefcases. Plug him in, zap-zap, new briefcase for time crimes! Great system.

Idk, man. We'll see if they do anything with that if we get a S4 (I hope they don't address it and just drop it like a hot potato), but it just seems so out-of-character for Five to be the genuine founder of the Commission. Only things I liked that came out of that whole journey were fantastic Five and Lila times and the fact Five just carried his fucking skin around instead of finding something to copy the tattoo down onto like a normal person.

[jjkpls]

the wishlist (m) - 6 (final)

“Was it worth it?”

> genre : smut, angst, fluff

> pairing : jeon jungkook x reader (f)

> words : 15k (ugh sorry)

> content/warnings : back at it again w/ the bff2l; one sided love, LOTS of pining; sextoys talk and use; explicit language; explicit description of sex; phonesex; masturbation (f); dirtytalk; alcohol drinking; dubcon exhibitionism; ambiguous infidelity

previous - masterlist

There's a lot of forgetting to get done. It wasn't the plan to get drunk. Maybe you should have known better than to confide the slightest about your heart and its aching to your two girlfriends. Because they don't have much of a solution to present you with. You meant to ask of them to divert your mind, make you laugh, feed you so much you'd fall into a food coma and wouldn't be able to think about anything else but sleep. Eventually, share their own dramas of the moment (they always have some) to get you so invested in their shits you wouldn't be thinking about your own.

You made the mistake of sharing, with probably too much preponderance in your tone, that Jungkook was back with his girlfriend.

Without any context clues -they didn't even know that he was single for approximately four days-, they knew. You're not that complicated to read when it comes to him. Only he seems to not get it.

You still remember the first time they found you out. They had a sense that something was up with this kid, that there couldn't just be a platonic, decade-old friendship based on nothing spicier than the tteokbokki you'd cook for him every now and then.

They only started believing, with utter incredulity, that it was true when they saw you, and him, and his girlfriend. All at the same time, sitting around the same table, there was no doubt left. No reason to believe that there's something unsaid existing. They saw your eyes though. The shine they gain whenever you'd be looking at him, laughing hard with all his teeth out, and the glassy look they took on whenever they'd catch a gesture, a touch that was meant only for Jiyeun.

You've never really gone into details. You've never ranted over the feelings, over him, everything that made him the one person for you. They saw you cry over him though, one drunken night, and it was enough to make them understand how deep you were in.

And perhaps it's your fault, that you wouldn't sort of train them to be the better friends they wish to be to you. They don't know what to say, what to do to console you. You don't even know what you need. Really, all you know, it's that you didn't feel able enough to take care of your tormented heart and mind alone tonight.

You are to blame if they dragged you to this bar, with the music too loud and the people too numerous, bumping their hips to yours attempting to coarse you into dancing. You hate every second of it. Every element that was supposed to distract you, help you forget, feel better, served as annoying distractions. You could picture yourself, dipped in a scorching hot bath, with a bowl of ice cream, weeping your eyes out like in the most cliche, most dramatic breaking down of your life. And it felt right, in your mind anyway, a thousand times better than this.

"Here!" Like the good girl that you are, you accept the shots. Min sets one in each of your hand and stares over the rim of her own glass, expecting. You roll your eyes. Swallow them down in one go and she yells, arms in the air, jumping like the night has just been made.

At least, she's entertained. Dancing her life away, kind of wilding out with too much energy, having to apologize every few seconds for knocking someone with an elbow or slapping another with her ponytail.

"Look, who's here!"

Your heart skips a beat then. Until you follow Mary's finger who's pointing rudely at Park Jimin. Park Jimin as in Jeon Jungkook's Park Jimin, one of his closest friends. He's dressed in all black, tight leather pants clawing to his legs, silk shirt half unbuttoned, perched on heeled Chelsea boots, dark black hair gelled back.

For a second, you worry, stupidly, if your friend is not going to appear, emerging from the thick crowd, carrying a drink, catching your eyes in the room. That's another thing you wouldn't need right now: seeing him. When you're in this weird state of sadness, guiltiness, of hopelessness and confusion. You'd probably be a mean bitch again. He doesn't deserve that.

For some time, you're just watching Jimin, being Jimin, dancing languorously, flashing smiles and winks so naturally; making everyone uncomfortable just because he's so attractive and so talented at catching people's attention and making them want him. It's just Jimin, hoeing out, as always. No Jungkook ever appears next to him. And while you sort of spy on him, there are the two dumb bitches next to you, drooling over him. Commenting about his ass, the way he moves his hips and how tight he seems to be in his pants.

"You should have fallen for him, dude!" It's the pinch to your arm that drags you back to the conversation, lets you know that you're the one Min is addressing. "What?" Your brain is already a bit slow. You haven't eaten much before leaving, drunk not much but too fast and forming intelligible sentences, translating your thoughts in their entirety is not a task easily doable at the moment. You meant to say something about how ridiculous they sound. About how it doesn't make any sense. About Jungkook and the things you feel for him, and the way you fell and how even when you suffer, like in this instance, you wouldn't change your heart because it's him, and only him, has been and might as well always be.

Why would you fall for Park Jimin?

"Jimin, you'd just ask him to fuck you and he'll do it."

"You can see he's a very generous slut."

It makes you wince. They're being fucking weird. Obnoxious, in their way of ogling him and quite disgusting talking about him. There's a smirk on the corner of Jimin's mouth and you wonder if maybe he's noticed them and is enjoying it. They don't mean to be offensive, you suppose, but they're still rude as hell.

"Useless Jungkook could never!"

Either you knock your friend out with your newly filled up glass or you drink it and attempt to swallow along your rage and that strange feeling that the open shirt Jimin is wearing has raised in you.

"Don't you wanna try him?" The question is absurd. You don't try people in general. But you'd never, ever, even think about trying someone as close as he is to Jungkook.

What the actual fuck?

"Fine! Don't give me those eyes!" Your brain and face connection is not that great at the moment that you'd know precisely what Mary is referring to. Soon after frowning and pouting through a sip of her drink, she's leaving, straight for the less crowded part of the bar, where people are dancing, where Jimin is showing off.

She needs less than thirty seconds to have him wrapped around her. Min is howling at your side like it's such an exploit. You don't want to bad mouth on your friend but it is, indeed, Jimin. Manwhore Jimin. And just like that, just because she walked in his vicinity, whispered something quickly to him, maybe just a simple greeting and a reminder of who she is, your friend, in case he couldn't make her out, and he's holding her tight, dancing, more like grinding against her, to her greatest pleasure, face buried in her hair, he seems to be uttering things directly in her ear. You catch her fingers reaching for the wide opening of his shirt, brushing against that tattoo you know to be there under his breast but have never gotten to really decipher, and he's leaving kisses on her shoulders. The next thing you see is his wide, wolf-like grin, now aiming straight at you.

You startle, almost let your glass shatter to the ground from the surprise. That seems to make him laugh. He waves a hand quickly your way and for some reasons, it sends a sudden flaming flush to your cheeks. That guy is such a cunt-tease, he's awful. No wonder people talk so crudely about him.

"I need to get plastered." You mumble, probably not loud enough for Min, whose arm you're dragging along on your way to the bar, to hear.

You may have thought, for a split second, of a fantasy. You may have reshaped the scene taking place in front of you to make it more suitable to you, to make it as self-indulgent as you could. With you replacing Mary, with Jungkook replacing Jimin. She made it seem so easy and for the briefest of moments, it felt like it was realisable. As if the only step missing, the only thing making it not real yet, is the first step, the one Mary took by just walking up to him and asking him to dance, maybe for you to be his for a while.

Then Jimin looked over, with his dark eyes and pretty luscious lips, his very sexy aura and everything that makes him him, and it all felt down to the ground. That's ridiculous.

That would never work.

Maybe hot men with the most endearing hearts that you really desire are not to be seduced by you. It just wouldn't happen. Jungkook would never, as she said. What a shame.

You should have fallen for someone easier like Jimin. He's not one person's man, that's for sure, but at least, he would have been great at pretending to be yours for a moment.

Now you really need to get drunk.

There's pure guilt boiling in the pit of your stomach. Because you've never denied your feelings for Jungkook. He deserves them. He deserves to be loved by everyone. Deeply and passionately. And no matter how true, how pure, how intense those feelings are, he never owes to reciprocate, does he? And here you are, greedy stupid little you, sad and angry because of course, he couldn't love you back like that. Not when there's fucking Jiyeun in the way. Jiyeun or any fucking one else, right?

He's not making it easy for you. Everything he does is making your life harder. As if it wasn't enough on its own already.

Everything he does.

Like buying you these fucking toys you need a science degree to operate.

Sort of.

Maybe you don't need a science degree. Maybe a sober head would be enough to make a toy you've never used before function.

You don't have that at the moment. You're in your favourite pyjamas - an extra-large, greyed by time tee-shirt you stole from Jungkook back in high school - and panties - because it sounded like way too much effort to find shorts or joggings and slip them on. You've managed, somehow, you don't even remember doing it, to make your bed all cosy and welcoming, a perfect backrest made of your fluffiest pillows.

The little toy, this orange thing, sort of shaped like a fat bunny, a big, rounded body with two straight little ears, pointed upwards. It's supposed to be fully charged. It's been disinfected. It's just waiting for you to use.

Except it's the last one Jungkook had bought for you, you didn't get to use it yet, to even turn it on once, nor read its instructions. And here you are, past two am, trying, with your sloppy brain, your blurry eyes, and your impatient cunt, to understand how it works. There's an app linked to it. This much you got from the big, unmissable QR code occupying the first page of the three-page long manual that your eyes won't read.

You picked up your phone, went through the violent burning of your eyes when the screen lit up too close to your face, scanned the code, installed the app and here you are, stuck.

The app won't let you turn the fucking toy on. There's a message that keeps coming up every time you try to link the app to the toy. But the message is written in grey, on white, and you can't see shit and you don't have the patience to decrypt it. Maybe if you close it, and try running it again, and try scanning the code again, and just click on the button that appears under the message, whatever it says, maybe it'll work.

Except it doesn't. After a certain number of times (keeping up with the counting is another thing you can't do well right now) the app keeps on being a bitch. Keeps being difficult and reluctant, and unwilling to let you fucking get off and go to sleep.

You're on the verge of tears.

Why would it be so fucking difficult to make a fucking sex toy work?

Why?

You're so annoyed and impatient and angry now and it's all Jungkook's fault anyway.

You can't try to go to sleep, no matter how tipsy you are, because your brain is filled up with this asshole and won't let you alone. You can't fuck yourself to sleep because the toy you've picked - and for totally irrational reasons you feel like you can not switch to another one - won't let you and it's his. His fucking present. Fucking poisoned gift.

He makes everything worse. Everything difficult. And the more your eyes fill up with frustration tears, the more you're reminded that he's also the answer. He's the worst and the best part of your existence.

Of course, you'd call him.

"I could be sleeping." His voice is light and clear. He wasn't any close to be asleep. He's probably gaming or something. You're so thankful for his voice, the lovely thing, the comforting thing, that you don't even get mad at his aforehand teasing.

"Jungkook-" It's not a call of his name. It's a whine, almost a lament at this point. Tiny high tone, overly dragged vowels. Something like Juunggooo, and he must recognize the tone straight away because he starts laughing in your ear. You bite on your bottom lip hard, almost draw blood, squeeze your fist over your heart, as if it could help it handle it better.

You love him, you love him, you love him.

"Went out with the girls?" You hum as an answer. "Had a little too much fun, sweatheart?"

"No fun at all."

He's laughing again. His sly, mocking chuckle. He's too himself for you to get mad at him. He's too cute when he sounds boyish and happy like that.

"No fun?" He's having fun, it's hearable. It might be because you sound like a dumb, whiny kid. "Why is that?"

"Just cause." He hums like he understands. You hear mockery in it. He sounds a bit distant. As if he's not totally paying attention, as if you're really a four-year-old kid rambling some non-sense after school and their parent just barely pretends to be interested. "Junggooo, I'm trying to have my fun now but your thing is being mean to me."

"What thing?" He's definitely doing something else. He speaks a bit slow, you can picture his gaze far from you. And of course, it'd be, he couldn't even see you even if he tried. It's still vexing. He really doesn't want you to have him all for yourself. Why not fucking Jimin?

"The orange bunny you got me." You explain patiently, pouting a bit. You try your best not to have your vexation be too loud but it's hard. "I tried the app but it won't let me."

"The orange-" You hear it when the gears click. He even gasps a bit. You kind of brought it up out of nowhere when you accommodated him with your constant complains and fights pretty much each time he wanted to talk about this subject. And here you are, opening up a conversation on one of them. You kind of get where the shock is coming from. "Oh, the Gala thing." He even knows its name. "What- How isn't it working?"

"The app says I'm too drunk to use it." You quetch, glaring at the toy laying flat on its back next to you. The asshole.

"The app says what?"

"Jeon Jungkook! Are you even listening to me?" Hysteria was to be expected. Because here you are sad and drunk and horny and highly frustrated and it seems he keeps making you repeat everything. And of course, he would because he can't give you his undivided attention now, can he? Because he's not a generous slut like Park Jimin, he's a useless prick. And if he keeps being one, and he keeps upsetting you, you promise to yourself, as an act of self-love and self-respect, you'll tell him he should be better, he should be more like Park Jimin.

"I am, baby, but I'm confused."

Except he doesn't need any bettering, does he?

It's like he's heard your thoughts. Like somehow, even with the distance separating your two apartments, he's been able to read them directly on the lines of your heart. He knows what you need, the soft and gentle and tender Jungkook who takes care of you, the one that doesn't show often, especially now that you don't really go out and get pissed off drunk together, now that you don't expose the sad episodes you might have to him in fear of being precisely confronted to this perfect torture. Maybe he heard your mind calling Park Jimin's name too many times and he tries to ensure his position. You almost tell him not to bother. That it was just a taunt, it's always him, just him, will ever be.

"What does the message say?"

"That I'm too drunk and stupid to use it."

"I don't think that's what's written, baby."

"But-" You're seriously going to cry in a second. You don't even know from what. The app really succeeded in hurting your feelings by not working for you and he keeps calling you baby, it makes your whole inside boil and scorch like a puddle of lava. "It's invisible letters, how am I supposed to read exactly?"

"If you can't read maybe you should just go to bed for now, hm? Figure it out tomorrow."

"No, now." Full brat mode is on. You know if only he was sitting next to you, you would have raised a hand to pinch him right on the back of his upper arm -where it really stings. It works usually. You don't hurt him, the guy is basically made of muscles, he's the kind of work out junkie that's enjoying the pain. He wouldn't fucking mind your tiny attempt of an attack, no matter the amount of anger and frustration powering it.

By telephone though, it's even harder to make him do something. Possibly undoable. The only weapon that you have is your annoying screeching voice. "You fix it! You bought this shitty thing so you fix it."

"I forgot how rude you get when you're drunk." He's still making fun of you. Not taking you that seriously.

"Jungkook, I'm seriously going to cry." The worst part is that you mean it. If regular menaces won't do, surely affection blackmailing should be more effective.

"Don't cry, it's fine. I'll check. Don't hang up."

As if. You did not plan on hanging up. Ever. You've decided.

It's too nice, cuddled up in your bed, with his voice, smooth and soft, saying words that you really like, like baby, in your ear. You've decided this moment won't ever stop.

"Junggoo-"

"One second, baby." You don't have one fucking second. You don't have any fucking second to spare him. When he's made you horny and lonely and longing for so fucking long. Why would you spare him any more? He takes too long. The time he takes, you prophet, will precisely be the time your vagina will need to dry out entirely.

Even his soft voice calling you baby won't serve to make you wet again.

That's a lie.

It makes you groan. Asshole, asshole, asshole.

"Oh." Your ears perk up. He's back with you, his voice closer than before, it seems, when he starts explaining, a hint of guilt shadowing his tone. "Sorry, it's my fault."

"Of course, it is." You mumble, face deep in your pillows. "Jungkook! Everything's your fault, always." You're probably being unfair. Or maybe not. Is he responsible for making you fall for him or are you to blame for doing so? Turns out, it doesn't really matter, because he doesn't even pay attention to the blatant, telling, honest truth you've just spurred.

"When I received the package I tried it once."

"Tried?" Did he really? The cute little bunny-shaped thing you'd dismissed earlier, cursed at and threw daggers at suddenly looks different to you. You want to pick it up and maybe place a kiss on the top.

"Wait- Not like that! I didn't actually try it! I don't have a fucking clit, what-"

"You just said that!"

"I meant, I tried turning it on and linking it with the app, just to see how it worked. Like the options on the app."

"Oh." Makes more sense.

"Anyway, it's not working for you because I used my email with it and you can only have one." So many words. God. "I have to invite you. Or delete my account and then you make one with your QR code."

You turn into the whiniest, most irritating little thing then. Just a jumble of dramatic cries, something almost sorrowful because your issue appears impossible to deal with. It's not that complicated. He explained it. Too many words, too much thinking, too much paying attention, too much to do and too much delay. How does he expect you to do it when you can't even read the invisible font of the app?

"Fucking invite me then."

"Watch your mouth." It makes you roll your eyes. It's not the first time he says that. He says with this menacing growl at the end. Like he means it. Like he's really threatening you. But no matter how far you go, no matter how many times you curse at him, he never acts on it. You want to tell him, you almost do, to stop promising you things he won't ever give you. There's a ping coming from your phone. With a bit of a struggle, you manage to put the speakers on, so that he doesn't leave too far whilst you take a look at the message. A link to click on. Not that hard, it's bright blue, unmissable. It leads you back to the bitchy app.

Now it's all nice to you. It lets you enter, presents even a picture of your own toy, congratulates you for being linked to it and to Jungkook's account. Of course, it would. Now that it knows you're friends, now that he's in the thing, this bitch of an app is being nice.

There are a lot of symbols, every-fucking-where. Some wavier than others. One is shaped like a music note. Some are just little constellations of dots. You click somewhere, just to try and see if anything happens and it does.

Suddenly, the bunny is brought to life and starts purring furiously on the bed. It startles you, looks a bit intimidating. It sounds angry and complicated with all of these fucking options. At least the other toys he's gotten for you had at most two buttons, one to turn it on and off, and the other one to regulate the three levels of intensity.

You might actually need a science degree to use that. Simply to adjust it so it's not attacking you when you turn it on.

You press another button. The setting changes instantly. It starts vibrating in a jerkier way instead of one straight line of frequency.

Tentatively, you grab it, sort of unimpressed and dubious as to the way this would feel good on you. You've already grown grudges against it. It needs to impress you, prove to you that it's worthy of the effort and of you even bringing it to your precious temple.

It sucks at convincing you. You've brought it to your panties and tee covered crotch, pressed it there, waiting, and it doesn't do much. It vibrates. Weirdly. It stops and goes again, in a pattern you don't understand and it doesn't do much for you. Doesn't turn you on, doesn't make you wet. Doesn't stimulate in any positive way.

You reach for your phone with one hand, trying to keep the other one holding it against you, and it's here that the whole thing fucks up for the last time you can tolerate.

How are you supposed to fucking do that?

Don't they understand that? The people that make those fucking things? That they're going to be used mostly by single people, with a single pair of hands? How are you supposed to manage holding it up where you need it, whilst simultaneously, hold your phone up (everyone fucking knows holding a phone up with one hand, and tap on the fucking screen, especially laid in bed, is impossible and the worst fucking idea one could have - except if getting a black eye is the project) and control the intricate dashboard.

"For fuck's sake!"

"What is it?" Jungkook is sighing heavily in your room. And for a second, you're startled almost off of your own bed. You managed to forget he was even still here, on the other line, apparently waiting patiently for- for what exactly? Maybe for you to wish him goodnight and hang up. You literally forgot he was here. You were about to get yourself off -if only this shitty thing wasn't so shitty- whilst he was still here on the phone.

Why doesn't it mortify you?

"How am I supposed to use my phone and the thing at the same time? Why- How? Jungkook!"

"Stop saying my name like that!" You don't ask because you know exactly how you're saying it. There's no proper balance in your tone tonight. Either you're whining his name like a desperate brat, either you're pestering it like a disappointed, aggravated mom.

"I'm going to cry." You say again, lying this time. You've already started. It's not a lot yet. Just a puddle of tears, in each of your eyes that are just about to spill, and the prickling sensation at the tip of your nose, the latter has already starting sniffling uncontrollably.

"Why?" He sighs again. This time, it's gentler. He might have just found the key to the secret safe holding the very last drops of indulgence he hides deep inside his kind heart. "Baby, the app is really for couples."

"But I'm not a couple, I just wanna cum."

"Y/N-" He chokes on your name. "There are buttons on the toy for you to use. You don't have to use your phone, okay?"

"You're lying."

"Why would I be lying? Look! There are fucking buttons."

There are, indeed. But they suck, you think. You do try them. Pressing on them while you stretch your arms out to keep the bunny's ears close to your covered clit. It's so much work. You don't get it. The buttons are hard to press on, when you manage to activate the little monster, it just jabs against your centre, falls over from your hand. You hate the jerking motion, try to change it because clearly, it won't do. It doesn't work. The buttons suck, the toy sucks and Jungkook is cursing at you instead of helping.

"What do you want me to do? Baby, I'm- Just go to bed."

You hate that he's telling you to go to bed, again. He's probably right. You're being a pain, an embarrassing one at that. You can't just go yet, though. First of all, the very reason you called in the first place, for him to make it so you can fuck yourself to sleep, has not been effectively resolved. And on top of that, the very resolution you took earlier, the one of never hanging up, of never drawing a period to this moment, won't let you.

"This one sucks ass."

"It doesn't." He sounds calm, a bit quiet, tone low and collected. You wonder if he'd dropped whatever he was doing, whatever distraction and laid in bed like you, to listen and talk to you only. That would be nice. You're annoying as hell, poor him, he deserves better, but you're thankful for him.

"It's stabbing, how can it be nice?"

"You just- I don't even know why I'm arguing with you. You're drunk."

"Am not, you are."

He scoffs, doesn't bother insisting. He exhales deeply. You sigh as deep. Your lids are heavy. Your brain is fuming too. Your head feels fuzzy. You could sleep right now. You might make a terrible night. You might have nightmares. You might wake up in a few hours, hot and very bothered, frustrated and on edge. There's a little ping messing with an edge of your eyebrow. You know it'll grow into a headache soon.

"Junggoo..." You whimper as if he could help you. As if he's the key to this headache, to lock it away, along with the rest of your tormented feelings.

"You're tired, baby." He comments. You would bite if you were in front of him. He really wants to send you to bed. "Just go to sleep."

You should. Given that you need a good five minutes to find the energy to open your mouth and mumble, "Don't wanna."

"Then what is it that you want?"

"Told you."

"Hm?" You're not saying it again. You could fall asleep right now. With his slow breathing in your ear. It sounds so lovely. Feels like you've never been this nicely enveloped. It's like those ASMR or lo-fi music compilation videos on YouTube. The ones with the short scene, often animated, playing on the screen. It's instant peace, instant chill, purely quiet, greatly pleasant. You love these sceneries. You even have a few printed on your wall. They are great to look at and try to project in, because it seems you could never create this feeling, this atmosphere in real life.

But you've reached it. Now. The perfect peaceful land. With the perfect soundtrack coming through your phone. You're comfy and warm, it's almost as if he was actually there with you, wrapped behind you, stroking your hair. God, you wish he was there stroking your hair and kissing the top of your head. But he's not here. And why? He should be here. If he can be on the phone with you, when he used to come over to make sure the blanket is nicely tucked under your chin, why can't he be here? Life's so unfair.

"What was that?" He's probably referring to the big loud thump, throwing his toy to the ground made. It's not its fault. Even if it hurt your feelings, it's not responsible for him not being yours. Or maybe it is. He wouldn't give you toys if he were yours. He wouldn't need them. That's probably why Jiyeun doesn't like them. Because she wants him to be all that's pleasuring her. The lucky lucky bitch.

"Your stupid toy."

"Don't- do you know how much it cost?"

"Never told you to buy it."

"Sure, but don't break it! I promise it's good. You can't-"

"It stabbed me!" You accuse, petty.

"You- are insufferable." He sounds about done. Except he's not because he seems to want to prove you wrong, still. The toy on the ground starts shaking back to life. Curiously, you roll on your belly, throw a glance to the ground. It's stirring, moving around slowly, getting closer to you as if it's trying to hop back up on the bed. "Pick it up."

You do as you're told. It's vrooming lightly, quieter than you expected. You can hardly feel it in your palm. The movement more noticeable from the timid sound than by the intensity.

"Oh. It's nice now." Maybe it does have a conscience. It's being all sweet and mellow because the remote is in Jeon Jungkook, international heartthrob's hands.

"See?"

It's really gentle. It turns cute. With its bright orangy-red shade, its two cute ears and its belly, a bit domed to allow a better grip.

Your hand has a mind of its own. If he were to ask about it, to demand an explanation, even when you'll come later, and wonder mad and revolted and half dying of embarrassment, what the fuck came over you, you'd blame it all on your hand. The appendix and its own personal free will are bringing the thing back to your crotch. "You can switch the intensity, it was just at the highest before." You're hardly aware of Jungkook still talking in your ear. The phone on speaker is still laying on the pillow next to you and he's selling it to you, while demonstrating, as if he's signed a sponsorship with the brand. It could be funny but you don't really care, more curious about The Gala and finally getting to know it.

Soon enough you realize that two layers of clothing, no matter how thin, are too much. You lift the hem of his tee, exposing your panties and the lines of your mound, showing through the tissue. It makes sense then, the shape of the thing. It has those two straight ears, or poles, with enough space in between, to tuck your clit comfortably. If you'd like. And you're not sure it won the privilege just yet.

For now, it'll have it but still over your panties. They're so flimsy that really the fitting isn't too far from its initial conceptualized use. "And the modes- see," It's jerky again. It goes for a couple of beats very quick short pulses and then there's a long, monotone one until the pulses come back again. You don't like that one. It's gentler than the one from earlier, that tried to attack your clit with an angry strong beating though. "You can just switch. If you don't like the fast pulses, you don't have to use it. You just try it out." You guess he's right. You just have to try it, tame it. Learn its functions and let it learn you. Probably. Sounds like a lot of work though. The other ones were really straight forward. Good, excellent for some - special shout out to the clit hoover, which is not actually vacuuming but blowing air, which made you cum so fast and so hard in the very first two minutes of trying it. You'd turn it on and it'd do the job. Next to your ear, rambling like a radio you'd forget to turn off in another room, Jungkook is explaining how there are dozens of preset patterns and an infinite amount of slots for personal creations.

It's okay. Sounds like it would do the job. You can already tell how you'll use it if you ever decide to give it a second chance after tonight. Pressed tight against your button, turned a bit higher, in a very basic, very classic constant monotone vibration.

He's switched it to another stabbing like pulsing, very fast and aggressive, you can tell they meant to imitate the pattern of a good pounding but it does little to nothing to your excitation. Really all it does is make your eyebrows frown and your premise of a headache is back. "Hate that one."

"Change it." Kindly, he complies. Another one. You can't really identify it. Maybe a slower thrusting. It's better than the last one simply because it doesn't nearly hurt. Doesn't do much good either. But maybe it's not doing much over your panties though therefore curiously, with eyebrows furrowed now in concentration, you lift the waistband up with a finger and slip the bunny under it. Tentatively, you try to set it nicely where it should be resting, your clit out in the open, hugged tightly by the two ears replacing your lips. It's kinda nice. Barely though.

"So is-"

"Wait, turn it up a bit. I can't even tell what that's doing." You mumble maybe a tiny bit petty, a bit bad faith remaining from the bad impression the toy gave you. It's not that you want to hate because you've decided you would. It's more intricate than that. You're too tipsy to even try and explain that though.

"That one is-" After a while, doesn't do much. The higher setting, you suspect he hasn't gotten up a lot, hardly helps. It does vibrate but it doesn't seem to reach enough, your clit hardly feels anything. Your electrical toothbrush from your horny teenage years used to do a better job at being a vibrator -and this even over your jeans.

You're this close to throwing it to the ground again and give up on it, once and for all. Jungkook would need to understand. It's not because he spent a lot on it, it's not because that strange lady he keeps mentioning insisted on its good, that you are forced to appreciate it. You don't see the fucking point of this one. It does look cute and expensive but is pretty much useless. No one needs a pretty, expensive but awful friend.

"It sucks."

For a few seconds, he doesn't say anything. You consider that he might have even hung up. But then, in the quiet, his voice too serious for him not to have taken what you said personally breaks out. "You're mean."

"I think- I think it's a good opportunity to decide- uh..." The toy is still active in your panties, under your palm. The realization slowed your process of thought for a second but the bigger conclusion that it brings is that really, it sucks. So bad you even forgot it was still on -and it's not you being too drunk to have a fully, 360 awareness of your body, honestly. "To decide collectively that you need, you have to stop buying me those."

"They're not all bad! You loved the other ones!" He accuses, apparently not up for the collective decision. You are probably made of confusion at this point. How many more does he feel the need to get you? Is it that great, that gigantic, that tragic of a frustration that he developed by his girlfriend not liking these that he feels the need to bury you alive with thousands of those? The secretive shelf at the bottom of your dresser already holds little to no place left for another pretty box. And as to the satin bag you use to store the toys themselves, in your bedside table's drawer, you can't even close it anymore.

"When have I ever said that? We talked about one, I said it's fine."

"That's not what you said." Honestly, right now, you have no idea what you said. You know that you didn't find great easiness in talking about them. You've never mentioned any and he never did either, apart from the very first one. You did say something positive about it, you think you can recall. "I don't listen to you anyway because I know how bad of a liar you are."

"Well great. Blatantly admitting you don't care about my feelings-"

He bursts out in laughter. You might be a little bit of a drama queen right now. The hand that is not holding the bunny against your mound -for reasons you don't care to address to yourself, probably for you being so lazy that it feels more like an effort to change your hand's doing, take out and put away the toy, rather than just leave it there quiet and not really bothering- did reach for your chest, in a very theatrical embodiment of an offence.

"That's not what I said, you brat."

"That's what I heard though."

"I said I don't trust your mouth when the rest of you is saying something else entirely." You roll your eyes. Hopefully loud enough for him to hear it on his side of the call. "It's my new passion." He starts, giggling like an idiot. "I won't stop for as long as orgasms will look this good on you."

Oh. My God.

Is he allowed to say that? Is he allowed to say shit like that with the most calm you've ever heard anyone speak with? Like it's normal. Like it's a simple fact. Like the word orgasm in itself isn't so foreign in his mouth. Somehow he makes it sound incredible, so delicious you feel the first proper impulse to your pussy.

"You've never seen it." You counter, uneasy, feeling somehow unbalanced and unprepared against what is probably a simple conversation to him but a real personal attack with too great of weapons to you.

"I've seen the aftermath. I told you already." You wish he'd be more explicit. His words are confusing. They're not telling enough. They can be so much, they might not mean anything. He speaks softly, tranquilly, almost whispers in your ear. It's simply late. It's more appropriate, it feels, to speak quietly like that. It's one of those midnight talks.

He wouldn't know whenever he is seducing you. He's doing it constantly without meaning to. It's just him being himself and you being too weak for him. How could you make out his intentions now?

"You really-" The toy twitches in your hand. He clicked on the switch button of his app again. You're not sure why. From the way he speaks, he might not even have realised. He might be playing with the thing, mindlessly, the way he does when he picks at the skin of his fingers when he talks. He must be because he's still in his own head, talking while the thing, the barely interesting thing, turns into something else. Entirely. It's a wave-like pattern. Growing from pure stillness to a slow, growing vibration that ends in an intense climax. You gasp. He doesn't seem to hear. "You really don't want me to get you any more?"

The second wave hits. "Oh- God."

"I mean- I thought, we were- that it was okay." The sensation is incredible. For some reasons, a technology you don't fucking understand, you wouldn't fucking understand now, every single build hits insanely hard. Each time as intense if not better. You're so close to moaning. If you haven't really taken a second to realize what you were doing, actually using the toy with him on the phone, without him even knowing, somehow you know you need to remain quiet. You can't moan out loud. You sigh loud though. You have to. "I swear with you it's so hard to tell-" It's so hard to keep quiet and the realization brings a grin to your face. You're not that vocal usually. Sometimes you are, with some of the surprisingly good sessions Jungkook's presents have been offering you. But it was conscious. It was you enjoying, wanting to build a bigger pleasure, make it more sensational, it turned you on a bit, you had to admit, to hear yourself. The pleasure the toy is bringing you right now is indescribable. The more you leave it pressed to your clit, the more you feel the heat grow. You know it's already too much. You hiss and sigh, and have to bite back moans each time the high top of the wave comes. It's too much and feels like not enough.

The greedy you would want the final hit of the wave to last longer than those very few seconds. Long enough to bring you there, make you fall over the top of the hill. But it's a teasing setting. Probably programmed specifically for overstimulation. You squirm and bite back whines each time it comes, flinch and have to fight to not tear the ears away because you know the sensation is a lot to handle, too much stimulation, yet you're already addicted, unable to act on the very fair, logical, and sensible decision you should make. You shouldn't even be pleasuring yourself with him on the fucking phone.

"Are you okay?"

Jungkook asks, after having stopped talking altogether for a minute too long but it's not like you were really in any state of mind to acknowledge it.

You don't think he's noticed yet. From the noise, hopefully little, that you were making, at most, he should be able to hear some sort of short breathing, for all you know, he might think nausea is visiting from all the alcohol you've consumed and you're heaving, on the verge of throwing up.

"You're not feeling well, Y/N?" It's his concerned tone. The serious one. The one he uses whenever there's no skip button to the conversation. Usually, it leads to him coming over to take care of you like he's your mother. Which sounds great in theory but doesn't always apply wonderfully in practice.

Sometimes you don't want him to see you looking green and gross from fever sweat; sometimes you just want to be alone and recover on your own without having him watching so dramatically concerned over your shoulder. And now, you wouldn't want him to burst in with your hand still in your panties, a sweaty, bothered, horny mess for him to be left shocked and possibly disgusted by. Maybe disgusted is a big word. Or maybe it's not. How inappropriate is it to masturbate with an unknowing friend on the other end of your phone? Is it even legal?

"I'm fi-fine, Jungkook." You lie through gritted teeth. You can't possibly be fine. You've put yourself in the worst situation and you still don't do shit to get out of it. Something is very much wrong with you.

The logical thing to do, the sensible one, would be to either end the conversation, hang up and then eventually finish yourself; or else, take the thing out of your panties, possibly throw it the further away from you and keep the conversation on if that's what you wish to do.

It would certainly not be to ask for him to turn up the setting because you now really much want to come.

"You don't sound fine."

"But I am."

"How much did you drink?"

"Not that much, Guk." He makes you frown, almost rips a curse out of you. Because all this serious talk is diverting you from your pleasure. It's not like you're going to have fucking alcohol poisoning. You didn't drink that much, honestly. The drinks were not even that heavy, except for the two disgusting shots your friend forced in your hands. "Seriously, I'm good." The building up pleasure has brought a new awareness to your brain, and honestly, you feel way more alert than before. You're far from drunk, no matter how much your behaviour seems to contradict that. You're good. You'd be perfect if he'd shut up or if he'd start half seducing you as he does. Maybe he could talk about your nipples again and what you should do with them.

He did say that. Now that you come to think of it. On top of buying you those toys, he did guide you as to what to do with some of them, how you could use them. They were not his direct advice, they were the lady's but still, he felt the importance to share them with you.

"If you are then just answer the question, how much?"

"Okay in a sec but can you turn up the toy's intensity, please?"

"Turn what?" You almost bark then. The whistling f of a very practical, very useful word you shouldn't yell at him rings to your own ear but you're strong enough to hold back. "Ah the thing, yeah, sure." What a sweetheart. A bit slow, but lovely. Your whole body contracts violently when the newly powered wave hits, the beginning of a moan escaping because it's so good, it's almost painful. "I had like two shots of-" Ah. "Something. I don't know what it was, just-" Fuck. "Gross as- uh." Holy shit, that's good.

You can't believe you've judged this intricate, revolutionary technology so bad before. "And then, like, a martini or two, barely and- and-" You're so fucking close. Each time feels like the final ascension except you get back to square one whenever the vibration drops back to stillness too quick to your liking. It's pure torture. And having to make a fucking list of your consumption that's so far back in your brain right now, especially when you know that it's pointless, is not helping.

"Wait-"

"Jungkook-" You don't know if you're begging him to stop thinking now, not get to the conclusion his logical train of thoughts is trying to lead him to, or if you're begging him to help you cum, maybe be nice to the bunny which only seems to be kind to him and make him make you cum.

"Why did you ask me to turn the thing up?" He already knows the answer. You can hear in his tone that he already knows. And frankly, he's a dumb ass for not realizing sooner. "No, you're joking. You wouldn't- not when I'm talking to you."

"When if not then?" Maybe frustration has brought you some bravery, or maybe pleasure has burned the very last remaining functioning cells of your brain.

"Uh?"

It's probably gone too far now. It still feels like he owns the key to the phenomenal orgasm you can smell coming. If you were to hang up now, you wouldn't even know how to make this shitty thing work. And it's not enough. Still.

Shit.

You're definitely wailing in a second now. The next sound you mean to conceal is a sob. Why can't you reach it? And how can you be so hyper-focused on it, it doesn't seem to matter what's going on with Jungkook.

You've gone crazy. Or perhaps you're drunker than you thought yourself to be. The last wave hits differently. It's straight-up overstimulation when you haven't even come once yet. Doesn't feel very nice but at least, it's the push you need to finally lift it up a bit, make a pause and eventually show some consideration to Jungkook.

"So you've been arguing with me, saying it sucks when really you were-"

"It did suck before you changed the setting." You assert again. Because nagging is the thing you're most talented at doing, apparently.

Silence ensues. In the defeating quiet you realize even the discreet humming of the toy has stopped. He's turned it off.

Something akin to shame is finally showing the tip of its nose. It's been fucking late to the party, you note with a growing, you know to become, devastating mortification. Exhaustion and tipsiness are keeping your conscience quite numb but you don't give a chance to sober-you who'll wake up tomorrow with this awful incident engraved in her memory.

Why can't he say something? Essentially, it's his fault. It's always his fault. He makes you feel things you shouldn't and make you do things you wouldn't. You can't think properly. You're being fucking chaotic and he's responsible for that. Even you know it's reaching. You're not that petty and mean.

In a whisper, dipped in sincerity and shame, you apologize. "Sorry, Jungkook."

"For what?" Because he can't let you off the hook that easily, can he?

"Are you seriously going to make me say it? You know why!" Here comes angry-you again. Getting mad and rude for no rational reasons, and here, awfully unfairly. He really deserves better.

"No, I-" You may have broken him. Jungkook has never been the most eloquent person. Between lisping and stuttering and stopping mid-sentence to let you complete for him his missing words, he's never been the best at talking. But even for him, even knowing his history, you find him pretty affected. Possibly all messed up. There's not even the hint of sensible thought. A void filled with "uh" and "tsk" and lips smacking and hums, it's like he's ceased to function. Maybe if you just hang up and from then on, just pretend it's never happened, both of you can get away with the situation. It's an option.

"Jungkook, seriously, I'm sorry. Let's say it was a fucking, uh, drunk lapse of judgment on my part and- yeah, never mention it again."

"Yeah, okay." He whispers after a while. He sounds really shaken up. "But it's fine, I'm not mad, I'm just-"

"Bamboozled?" You suggest, heart constricted, not ready to joke yet but so desperate to obtain at least a smile from him to prove yourself that it's okay and you didn't fuck it up too bad.

"Bamboozled, indeed." He chuckles, a bit breathless on the phone. You can't help the big sigh that escapes you when relief rushes through you. He doesn't sound too upset with you. "I'm really not mad, I just wouldn't have- I wouldn't have expected this, from you."

Of course not. It makes you cringe. You bury your face in your pillow and release the most intense quiet cry you could manage.

"Sorry." You say again, quiet. Your eyes are prickly. This night is such a mess. You can't make out how you're feeling. It's like your reactions and your reflections all come to their own rhythm, inappropriately, unmatching each other's and certainly unmatching the current situation.

"Stop. And don't-" If you're decomposing yourself progressively, at least, he seems to be getting back to his senses. Voice clearer and more present. "You sound so upset now. Are you embarrassed?" It's a smile you hear in his words. You don't have the right to be mad at him but honestly, you would have hit him in the ribs if he were in front of you.

"Is it even necessary to ask?" You grumble face half suffocating still in the pillow. Oh, here's another solution. Suffocating yourself to death.

"I think so. I mean I bought them and I turned it on for you, I should have- I couldn't have known but I should have. It's fine honestly."

"It's not."

Stop pretending, you fucking liar. Even if he acts quite calm, nonchalant, you can hear a very slight difference to his usual tone. He's not sincerely, honestly, a hundred per cent okay and chill with the situation. He's faking casualness but he's not entirely it.

"It is."

"It's not. I'm just gonna die, Jeon." That makes him laugh even though you're only half-joking. You don't know if it's possible to die from embarrassment. One thing is for sure, if it's possible, you won't survive the night.

"No, you're not, baby. It's fine." Jeon Jungkook is the sweetest, needless to say. You should hang up. Apologize again, hang up and pray for him to forgive you and eventually forget all about it. But you remain on the phone because you're so desperate for his approbation and his love and any sign of reassurance from him. And he's giving it to you. When he could probably have a little rest of his own. If it's awkward for you, you can't even imagine for him. But he accepts to stay and reassures you. What a cutie. "Did you cum?"

You choke on your own saliva. More than taken aback, actually shocked. How dares he?

Or can you say that? Can you act offended when you've just done what you did? In any case, how are you even supposed to answer that question?

"You- It's just that I turned it off and we- I was just wondering if you did..." That sounds about right. That sounds like Jungkook being curious and wording this curiosity without necessarily anticipating how you'd take it. It must be part of his plan, his 'let's be the closest, let's share everything' plan he mentioned a few months back. You're not ready, won't ever be if that's what it'll look like.

You are the problem. Apparently, you can get yourself off when the poor boy is on the phone with you unbeknownst, but you still have a hard time talking about sex with him. "...because it sounds awful if you did not."

And it is. It is horrible. You'd imagine that after getting caught, feeling so embarrassed and guilty, your cunt wouldn't still be quivering and begging for you to pay attention to it again. But you've taken it so far. Made it discover new incredible sensations of course it'd still be obsessed with it and with the climax the toy teased it with.

You groan in your pillow again. Not sure how he'll interpret it. Not sure how you want him to interpret it. Should you just talk to him? He could hang up too. If really he didn't want to partake in this mess he could hang up, he could talk about anything else.

"Listen, you don't ever have to be embarrassed with me, you know that." That's reaching. You want to tell him that he can't ever say that to someone, he can't ever become anyone's mat to wipe their dirty shoes on. He should be the one feeling awkward, being mad at you, except he reassures you again. "And when you just proceed on getting yourself off while I was talking- worrying about your fucking health..." He snorts before he can finish. "How dare you act coy with me!" He's just laughing too hard now, contributing wholeheartedly to the burning flush on your cheeks. Well, you deserved it.

"Is that it? You're going to bring this up each time you'd want something from me?" You sound so upset, even to your own ears. It results in his laughter dying down pretty quickly.

"I think so, yeah." You don't add anything. You don't want to be rude. Still hope for any kind of magic word you don't even know that he could mutter to you and that'll help cure your heart and soul. Therefore you can't tell him goodbye and hang up. You wait for him to do it. Except he doesn't. It's late as fuck too. He might be working later today. Why isn't he hanging up? "If I'm talking about it, you should know that it's fine. I don't mind." An asshole and a cutie. "You okay, babe?"

The simple hum you tried to aim for turns into half of a whimper half of a moan. You're not okay. Any part of your being won't let you lie and pretend.

"Do you want me to turn it on?" For fuck's sake. "I'll hang up and leave it on so you just- it'll turn itself off when there's no battery left anyway."

"Jungkook." Your stern voice is a threat. It doesn't have to be further explained, he gets it.

"What?" He sounds aggravated. You can imagine him raising his hands to the skies, upset and losing patience as he's only trying to make it better for you and oh women are so complicated. Something like that. "Oh my God. Just get yourself off and feel better after."

"You don't tell me what to do." Childish but there's not much left of your brain. "Well, you don't even fucking know what to do with yourself right now. Am I right or am I right?" He whisper-yells back at you. Very mean.

"Asshole." It's a tiny whisper under your breath but you're certain he hears it even if he completely ignores it.

"Listen, since you can't even- how old are you, seriously?"

"Fuck you." Barely louder. You definitely know he's heard this time, but still, he decides to dismiss it. He's always been more productive than you.

"I'll turn it on and hang up. You take care of yourself like a big girl, alright?" He probably believes that you can't get yourself to ask for what you want aka a wild night with the fucking toy you can't get to work yourself. But it's not actually the case. Honestly. Now all you can think about -besides the whole very humiliating moment when he caught you in the act- is the way it kept torturing you, bringing you very high but never enough. It started to hurt at the end, brought impatient frustrated tears to your eyes. You don't even think you could finish with it.

Maybe it's inappropriate to seriously consider it. Maybe you won't ever learn your lesson.

Before you even get to word your refusal, the thing is on. It's on the same devilish setting as earlier. The merciless wave. Fuck.

"Don't! It's not- it won't even make me cum, stop it!"

"What? Why not?"

"I don't know the setting is weird." You start explaining through the thicker pout to have ever existed. You're really considering having him solve your climax. You've gone crazy.

"What's wrong with it? Tell me, I'll put on one you like."

Fuck.

You are doomed.

What are you supposed to do with a guy like this?

"I don't think there is." You can hear the frustration from his end before he even says a word. It's written in the stars that in a second he's going to bring it all up, the part when you got off and pester that you can't still be complaining about the fucking toy. "No, I mean it's- the one I liked, the last one you clicked on, it's like-" Fuck, you're really doing this. "A wave. You know? It grows crescendo but it always stops right before- right when it's really good. And I just couldn't- because the good part doesn't last long enough and, yeah."

"Wait, let me look." He sounds a bit further away from you then. He's logged back into the app, you can tell. And with his tiny "hm" and his "so...", he sounds the way he does when your computer is being difficult and he's trying to fix it because you won't pay a professional to do it when you have this nerd populating your entourage. "Ah. You want the high moment to last longer?" "Yes." You can picture him nod to himself, frowning his eyebrows and sucking his lips in the way he does when he's super focused.

"Like that?" You wouldn't know because the toy is lost somewhere, you can hear it but not see it. You ask him to wait for a second and it stops altogether. Doesn't make it easier to find it but it wasn't lost that far. Once you have it in your hand, you gulp, ashamed, not sure if you could ever play with this thing again. But the other guy on the phone doesn't seem to have his motivation falters. You're not the one telling him to try again, on his own, he executes.

It's hard to tell in your hand, the vibrating ears hugged tightly in your palm, if it's going to be satisfactory enough. If it's precisely the thing that was missing from earlier. It follows the pattern you asked him though. Still to a growing intense high that lasts for approximately a good ten seconds rather than the lame 2 seconds from earlier.

"I think so..."

"Okay then. You... mute yourself and then- Uh, no. I should mute myself so- or we both mute ourselves?" He's not really with you anymore. Lost in his own head amongst those seemingly very difficult questions. You don't even get where he's trying to get at. Wasn't he supposed to hang up?

"Why would you stay?"

"It's just- it's me doing it. There's no setting for what you want, it's me doing it. I have to draw the frequency on my phone."

"There's an option for that?"

"Yes. There's even one to have it follow audio!" He points out with way too much enthusiasm. He might have really found a new passion.

"Sounds like high tech."

"Yep."

"Sounds expensive as hell."

He laughs in the mic, snorts even before he brushes it off. Quite frankly, no matter what you'd have to say to him, he'd always do as he wishes. If spending ridiculous amounts of money on ridiculous things for ridiculous you is what he wants to do, he won't let anyone, not even you, tell him not to.

You don't know what to say, he's not saying anything either. He suggested something quite insane: he'd stay. While his finger would be drawing shapes on his screen to actively give you your pleasure, he'd stay on the phone with you. Maybe it's a bit hypocritical or ironical, how it sounds crazy to you now while ten minutes ago, you had no problem doing it without him knowing. That's probably the main issue here, him knowing. That changes everything.

"But if you stay-"

"We can't both mute ourselves because I won't hear if you ask me to change something or- so you, you just stay like that and I'll mute myself."

"Jungkook, you muting yourself won't change my awareness of you being here."

"But maybe you'll forget about it?"

"Jungkook."

"What?" He sounds contrite then. Like an upset child who's being argued with. He's trying so hard but you make it so difficult, it seems.

There's just one thing holding you back. Until now you couldn't quite pinpoint it. And it's hard to resolve an issue you can't name.

But it just hit you. His way of insisting while making it seem like he does it for you only, to help you out and doesn't necessarily find his part in the cake.

"Do you want to?"

"Uh?"

"You sound like- I don't know what you sound like. You're confusing. If you're just trying to give me a hand and solely that then hang up and I'll just- whatever."

"Oh."

"Of course, it makes no sense for you to do this for me and stay if you don't want to, I mean." He takes forever to answer. For a second, you even peek at your screen wondering if he didn't simply quit the conversation.

It's really all you need to know. If somehow, to some extent, he wants you or at least, wants to partake in this genuinely. You don't want it if it's just a bro hand. You can hardly live with what you've done if he's utterly uninterested. But if he does want it, even a little bit, you might be wrong but you feel like everything would turn out to be fine.

"It's not that hard of a question." You try again because it almost feels like he's forgotten you from how long he's remained silent. He had put you on the spot, in this very conversation too, so many times, you have the right to do the same to him, at least once. "Do you want to stay?"

He cracks up. It's the very hard kind of laughter. With the boyish chuckles, mixed with the squeaky intakes of air. The one that always brings a smile to your face and usually drags you along the fit.

You have no idea what it means right now. It's probably the least appropriate time for it to show up. Therefore instead of making you smile it only reinforces the headache slowly growing at your temple.

"Aah." He starts by exhaling longly. You can hear the grin fixed on his face. "Yes." Your heart trips in your rib cage. You should have guessed it but you couldn't have imagined this answer. And him laughing to tears like a fucking deranged infant doesn't help. "Shit, sorry." He apologized when the remnant of what sounds definitely like a giggle resonates in through the phone.

"What's so funny, Guk?" Your words don't match your tone. You're high under pressure, unsure of what's actually going on. Jungkook is not cruel, you've known him long enough to know that he wouldn't deliberately hurt you, wouldn't mess with you so bad, for so long, even for a great laugh. Still, you can't be convinced that he's sincere. Seriously, how could you? The dude won't stop fucking laughing.

"Nothing, I'm just- I didn't realize until you asked me the question that I wanted to." Oh. "I'm an idiot."

"Welp." Could have told you sooner but I thought you knew.

"Mean. And, uh," It sounds like he's tossing and turning in bed again. You bet he's just gotten the exact same position as before. He's like those cats that turn around in circles again and again until they settle for the initial spot. When he starts talking again, his voice is hardly a whisper, you assume he's holding the mic very close to his mouth. "I should ask you too. Do you want to?"

"I wouldn't ask if I didn't want it, moron." Patience has run thin. Now that you're reassured you don't have to be ashamed and embarrassed anymore, you can simply be annoyed as you get with him.

Honestly, you're still feeling abashed but he doesn't need to know that.

"Quit being mean. It's not my fault I'm slow." He says, faking deep pity and it does make you snort. "Okay, well..."

"Well, indeed."

"You're making this awkward!" You roll your eyes. Feels like you can sort this out. If you do take out the very blatant, scorching awkwardness, it's a very regular interaction between you. Sounds like any other day except in a second he's going to press a finger to his phone in hopes to make you cum.

"Your whole existence is awkward."

"Shut up. Let's just fucking start." He groans as if you're the one belating the initial step –you are but so is he.

"I don't have the fucking remote." He tells you to shut up again, and this time, when you hear him hum to himself when he's opening the app, there's a recognizable brushing noise falling directly in your ear.

"You put your earbuds on."

He doesn't answer but you're sure he's registered the question.

Fine.

If he doesn't want to give you an answer you'll just make up your own. Don't you put earbuds on to hear better? Just saying.

"Put the thing on."

"Oh my God, Jungkook-" You take back your own admission. He's the one, solely, all alone, making it painfully awkward. Sounding like a newly pubescent teen trying to initiate sex. "Could you be any smoother?"

"But-" He sighs. "Do you want me to?" How do you ask your best friend you've may have been in love with for officially a couple of months to please act like an ideal lover even if it's just very short-termed? He sounds willing. But asking is the most difficult part. "I can be- or do whatever you want, I just don't know-"

"I like it when you call me baby." Your whole face is scrunched up in a perfect picture of your intense embarrassment. Formalities need to get fucking out of the way and it's precisely what you've just tried to do. But holy shit, it's painfully embarrassing.

"Oh. Do you now?"

Here comes the smirk. Can't see it. Can hear it clearly. It's pretty much louder than his words even.

You want to tell him to forget it all. That it's not going to work if each fucking second he makes you feel like he's going to be using whatever you say or whatever you do against you later on. You decide to demonstrate exemplary patience, reminding yourself that he's not cruel. Admittedly.

Perhaps you're the idiot and it's all your fault. Because you've just admitted (without him even asking) that you like (and into these circumstances, that it turns you on) to have him call you baby. Thing that he does already every time he starts coddling you.

"Okay then." He startles you, clearing his throat. You wonder if he's as anxious as you are, or at least, a tiny bit nervous. For the most part, he doesn't seem like it. Then again, he's quite good at pretending.

It shows soon after when he starts again, this time with the gentle, soft voice he hardly ever uses with you. There's a tiny newcomer, a certain edge that gives it some firmness and that enchants you. That's exactly what you wanted him to be. "Put it on, babe."

You nod wordlessly, omitting that he can't see you and do as told. Slipping the toy under the waistband of your panties, guiding the ears aside your clit. There's a very faint buzzing coming from them. You barely feel it and you suppose it's just there to have you accommodate better.

"Are you still dressed?"

"It's just my panties and a big shirt." Your shirt you'd add if you had a bit more courage. You hope he's going to let you keep it.

"Take your panties off." The part of you who's his best friend wants to nag, tell him that maybe he should have asked that before demanding you place the toy on your cunt but you feel generous and merciful, and also desperate and tired of your orgasm being stalled for so long. "Are they soaked from earlier?" Okay, this shit's going to be hard. There's no coming back. Strangely, it's just now that it's really hitting you. Even if it's going well, there is no way, you'll ever forget his velvety smooth whisper saying those words. There's no way you're helpless cunt ever forgets.

They are, by the way. You don't even get how you've been able to keep them on and ignore the uncomfortable stickiness for this long. Just sliding them along your thighs feels disagreeable.

"Y/N." Sounds like you're getting scolded. And even if you particularly like the way he just said your name, with that same peculiar edge from earlier, a little sharper then, how are you supposed to answer that? "What did you say earlier? That it can't only be for you, is that right?"

"Yes." You admit sheepishly because now you're definitely getting scolded. It brings flush on your only newly temperate cheeks and you don't even hate it.

"Then I'll give you everything, I told you I would but I'll need you to give me some back. Can you do that?" He sounds so strict, how can you like it so much? You can literally feel the electricity along your spine, sliding down to go faint in the hot mess between your thighs and that's ridiculous. You hate being talked to that way, usually, probably because it's never him doing it. Jeon Jungkook might be your ultimate kink. And somehow, he figured it all out. That whatever he'd do would fit you perfectly well. Also, he might be turning like that because undeniably, you're a brat. "Can you?" He insists again because whilst you've been busy trying not to hyperventilate, he's been waiting for one answer.

"Yes. Yes, I can. Sorry."

"Don't apologize, it's fine." You should want to bite him. Why insist so much if it's to end up leaving you off the hook so easily? You know though, for a fact, awfully bothersome to your ego, that if he were in front of you presently, you'd give him puppy eyes and batting lashes, sad pouty lips and probably tend your neck to invite him to gently pat your hair. "Tell me, are your panties soaked?" "I think I ruined them..."

"You did, didn't you?" He's laughing a bit, kind of full of himself for some reasons. Maybe he knows that it's mainly his fault they ended up this way. Maybe he knows they are not the only pair fallen victim to simply the thought of him. "Was it worth it?"

"You're taking care of me so I'd say yes." A chortle. A purr that you interpret into something you like a lot. It sounds like he's taken your response for exactly what you wished him to. A tease. He makes your belly churns and twists, turns your nerves from your heart to your noggins haywire. The least he can allow you to do, the least you'd like to do, is for him to be affected by you.

It starts with a gentle buzzing. It's nothing much. Nothing at all, you'd say if you'd let your greediness and impatience talk. There's something else doing it for you, for now. Jungkook's breath, sort of heavy, slow, rocking you with warmth. Knowing he's here and here to please you; you're laid in bed, naked from the waist down, wet and about to make it all better thanks to him; the picture itself makes it all for you.

"How is it?" Jungkook asks after some time. It's been silent. You haven't said much, in fact, you haven't said anything yet. Not that ready to demand more, and not feeling enough for moans or whimpers or whatever to be stolen from you.

"Boring." You admit. "S'not what you were supposed to give me." Through a thick pout, you deplore.

It doesn't work. He doesn't care. He doesn't fucking care when he's playing exactly the role you've implicitly asked him to play. "Have you said please, even once?" You hate that he's virtually pinning you down with exactly what turns you on.

"I- Probably." You haven't said much. You haven't been so explicit, so telling simply because you couldn't, but surely, you said please. Didn't you?

"Not probably. You did not. And on top of that, you're complaining." He's figured out exactly what you wanted, what you needed. Therefore, as naturally as it came for him, you fit it your own role easily.

"I'm not complaining. I was just- pointing it out. Sorry."

"You can apologize a lot but you can't even say please. Not once." Well, fuck. You never thought that he could be mean. Awfully mean. You wished, when you let your mind wander there one too many time, a bit too deep, that he'd be like that. Sweet and soft and tender the way he is, always, but also, bad, kind of harsh. "Ask kindly, once."

"Jungkook-"

"I'll give you everything you want. Just once."

"Please, Jungkook." You know he's satisfied with what you offer him because you don't have to wait another second for him to give you precisely what you were waiting for. It's timid, follows the crescendo built you were looking for except it's not intense. It's the first step however it's incredibly effective. It feels as good as the first time. "Plea-please." Manifestly, it is the secret word, the passcode to your pleasure because the intensity you're craving for finally reaches you. It does in an electrifying peak, that lasts long, just like you asked, it's so good, the feeling so perfectly indulgent to your needs, maybe even too much, you squirm, part the little ears from your clit, hissing. "Shit, Jungkook!"

"Too much, baby?" The hypocrite, with his concerned tone, doesn't even take a break from activating the vibration, from keeping on building the intensiveness. You can tell it's he too, him really doing it live, as in it's not absolutely regular, the built sometimes takes longer, sometimes the volume stronger, other times weaker. It's undeniable, every minute of it feels different from the next, you can't even omit for a second that it's him doing it. And he's doing it so well.

"Per- fect, just- sensitive." You moan out. Back arching, right leg twitching. The next brush is particularly nice, goes so far you believe you might come on the spot. Now you definitely can't hold back even if you wanted to. The sounds that come out of your mouth, foreign to your own ears, are not even yours. They come straight from your body, straight from an excess of pleasure you try to deal with, to handle, when you clearly can't. You're alone, and it's you ultimately controlling the power on your own body, you can pull out, even slightly, every time it comes hard and strong and you ought to twitch uncomfortably. You wonder how it'd be if he were here with you. If he forgot just for a while that you were his best friend, the girl who used to be older and taller and has turned, with the years, into this tiny little thing because he just kept on growing and growing, sprouting like a fucking redwood, and now feels like he needs to protect and care for you. If he were there, and he could forget that, you bet, his present voice, heated, scorching, is telling you this, that probably, he'd hold you down, crush your body with his, hand pressing your thighs down and apart, and force you to take the pleasure in its entirety. You imagine him merciless, slipping sweet words in your ear, while he'd have you literally scream from overstimulation.

And then his voice, the perfectly alluring thing, concludes to let you know it won't happen like that. His voice will make you come.

"You sound so good." Especially, if he keeps saying shit like that, with this tone, soft yet strong and highly, terribly affected. He's breathing hot and heavy in your ears. Is he touching himself?

"Please, Jungkook." You implore, vainly, hips slowly grinding against the toy, pressed by your palm on your sensitive centre.

"Especially begging, 'sound so, so good." He's not touching himself. He sounds bothered, but not enough, he doesn't stutter like you do, his voice doesn't jump and dip, stops momentarily like yours does. Shit, you wished he would play with his cock. Fuck, you want to play with his cock. So fucking bad.

"Y-you like it?" You ask, not because you're curious to know, he's said it already, but because you won't ever get tired of hearing him say it, in all those different ways.

"I do, baby. I love hearing you." You can't help the curse that leaves your lips a bit harsh. You're so close. So so close. Eyes filled up to the brim, tip of your nose wet. How many times have you thought, already, that you were seriously going to fall over? "You gonna cum?"

"I can't-" You sob, whine. There's a tear spilling from your right eye. "It's too much." So attentive to your every word, the intensity drops drastically. It still buzzes, discreet, way more tolerable. Ironically, if you can now bear it, you know it's not enough to lead you to your climax either. "Help me, make me cum, Guk."

"Use your fingers." He's been nice, essentially, you can only be good to him. Without even having to think about it, you dip your fingers in the mess that is your cunt. Two fingers slip in between your lips too easily, you could add a third if only there wasn't the bunny taking a bit too much room, and your fingers were longer, and your hips not so twitchy. If Jungkook was here, if only he was here, he'd fit his two fingers and it'd be enough. You bet it'd be enough. You bet his pretty, long, tattooed fingers would stretch you so well and make you come in a heartbeat. "Fuck yourself with them."

It's so gratifying. Having him humming in your ear encouragements and compliments. He's sweet, sweet, sweet. Excellent with his voice. Fuck, he must be unreal with his fingers, with his mouth, with his fat cock.

Diligently, you drag your fingers in and out, it's only mildly agreeable when you're sopping wet, almost gaping. Until he draws on his phone the same magnificent pattern from before.

You wish it'd last longer. It's precisely what you needed, the ideal combination. Along with his words.

You know if you come he'd have to stop. He'll stop calling you baby, stop saying how sexy you are, use all those nasty words he never does and talking like that, with this voice, with this heat in his tone. It's a bothering thought at the back of your mind you have to actively push away.

There's nothing you can do when harshly, yet with a please, he demands you to cum.

You can feel your cunt, wide open from both your spread legs and the excitation, getting wet, growing soaked. You can actually feel it as it happens before you explode. Clenching violently around your fingers, spilling all over them, you might squeak and scream and moan his name continuously, you barely hear yourself through your ringing ears.

"Fuck, Jungkook..." You sigh. Laying there, boneless, hand dripping up to your wrist. He's chuckling. "Fuck."

"Feeling better?" You hmm in response. Words sound like too much effort right now. Your brain is working slow. Extremely slowly. There's a multitude of thoughts forming though, germinating from a strange ground.

One, in particular, does, enlarging ridiculously much next to the others. You could enjoy this luck. You could just bathe in the lovely, perfect haze. Accept that the sky is perfectly blue without a cloud, with even a rainbow somewhere. Maybe a double rainbow even.

There's a very, very dark, very, very large cloud invading your perfect sky though. And because tears, of another kind, have already located your eyes, the new ones fit in, mixing up with them and taking over them with utter ease. What the fuck have you done?

"Jungkook, I'm so sorry-" You start with a tremble in the voice. There's a fat lump in your throat.

"Why? What's going on, baby?" He's sweet as honey, back to his usual self, worried, and you're horrible.

"Your- I didn't even think about her and-" There's a sob bubbling out of your mouth. "It's not me. I didn't mean to-"

"What are you talking about?"

"Jiyeun." The taste in your mouth when you say her name, is unbearable. You know full fucking well you shouldn't say her name. You shouldn't be allowed to. How dare you. Spoil it when you spent way too long virtually getting in this guy's, who's someone else's boyfriend, pants.

"Dumbass." It makes you choke on your own sobs. "It's over. With her, I mean. We broke up." Ah. You want to ask a billion questions. Starting with "again?". Soon followed up by a "why didn't you say anything, dickhead?". You spent the whole fucking night, getting shit faced and spiritually crying in the club over a couple that does not even exist anymore. Then you'd ask for how long they are planning to be over. "For good, this time." You're barely drying up your fat crocodile tears when he calls you an idiot again, says something about how he's not that kind of guy and you should know it.

Feels better. The thunderstorm is gone.

Alcohol and horniness and hardcore loving are such a terrible combo you need to avoid.

"Cuddles." Tiredly, half-dead, but still alive enough to be greedy, to feel sensible, skinned and want him to give you more. "Come cuddle." He's late to answer, delays it as if you don't desperately need his response.

It's terribly quiet and still. The dark of the night seems even more sombre. He can fix everything if only he'd give you the answer you desire.

"You sure?"

"Always." You say, maybe too honest. He doesn't seem to mind, agrees with a snort.

"Alright."

He appears in front of you in the blink of an eye. Literally. That blink does last longer than usual. The orgasm may have crushed you. You close your eyes and when you open them back up, he's here. Standing in the doorframe of your bedroom, dressed in all black and oversized, as usual. You look up, eyes squinted, bothered by the light coming from the hallway. He's staring. Gaze brushing, from your head to your toes, seemingly slowing down when they reach your naked thighs.

"What?" You mumble, embarrassed, one hand sliding down just to make sure the hem of the shirt is covering your crotch. You didn't even put your panties back on. You may or may not have wiped yourself clean enough with the wet wipes wisely sitting on your bedside table -you thought about it really hard but you can’t remember if you actually did it.

"You never mentioned it was my t-shirt you were wearing." You shrug. You'd have a better come back if you weren't so tired and if it wasn't simply true. "Would have been nice to know." He says, kneeling down next to your bed. The latter is low, mattress barely raised from the ground and even when he's crouching down, he's hovering above you, looking down on you. "Easier to picture." He adds quieter the closest he comes to you. It's enough words to know who he is at the moment. In what form, what version of your Jeon Jungkook, has come to visit. It's the gentle one. The one whose voice doesn't raise, doesn't feel as animated as his usual one when he spends his time being a clown to make everyone laughs. The one that made you fall, the first time. Not exactly the one you had on the phone with you earlier and even if you like him, if you adore him in fact, you feel sort of uneasy, worried. He might be gone forever, this one.

Unless it is him. His hands reach forward, large and warm, they lie on your thighs. The fingers brush up a bit, to the hem of his shirt, and they stop there. He looks up from them, straight in your eyes, smiles, digs the tips in the meat of your thighs before he lifts you up, aiming for the border of your bed.

God. You hope it'll happen again. But differently. More in-depth. He'd be less dressed, he would manhandle you, before he'd do some unnamable things to you. But another day. One when you're not almost dead. When you feel hornier and less soft and desperate for direct comfort to your swollen heart. It could be tomorrow when you wake up. If he's up for it. Please God, make it so he's up for it.

Jungkook hops on the bed behind you, huffs comfortably, holding your cover by a corner to bring it up and over the two of you. He fits behind you too naturally for it to be the first time. He doesn't seem to mind that you're so underdressed, compared to the other times, that you still have some remnant of your orgasm on you, that it's different. His arm sliding around you, holding a bit too tight, pressing you a tiny bit too hard, you're still hot from earlier. It's perfect though. You don't want him to move an inch and you hope, the hand that's wrapped on his forearm, makes him understand.

"M'not too clingy?" His own cheek pressed hard to your own, he asks, which is weird. How could he still wonder? He's never ever been too clingy. Even when you were kids and he followed you around before even asking if he could, he wasn't too clingy. The closest, the better. You deny with a uh-uh. He calls out for your name when you're fighting to keep your eyelids open. It's the most comfortable, the warmest you've ever felt. Like a cocoon of pure love and adoration. On top of it, there's his hard arms around you, his hard thigh pushing against yours, his crotch -with the feel of his member, slightly stiff- glued to your butt, and his chest, as hard as the rest, holding your back up like a strong wall. "I promise I didn't plan the whole toys thingy for that."

"For what?" Sleepily, you wonder, actually confused from exhaustion. To cuddle with you? Like you haven't in so, so long. Why would he try to apologize for it? "To use them with you."

"What a shame." You don't think he can understand. Diction is not something you care for at the moment. The hard laugh bubbling in his chest, rumbling, shaking your whole, lets you know he did, in fact, get it.

"You're so-" He starts but the thought dies way too soon for you to even try and complete it yourself. "I'll have a billion questions for you tomorrow."

"No." You whine. Because he's fucking up everything. If he believes you'll say it all to him, there's no way you can. There's no way you will. He chuckles.

Doesn't seem to be taking you seriously.

"Yes. And you'll answer every single one of them." He gives a sweet but pressing kiss to your neck.

"No."

"I adore you." Fucking hell. "I broke up with Jiyeun because I adore you too much. I realized I want to spend all my time and energy on my best friend." You don't even know what he means. You can't even hold your eyelids open now, you can't even keep your hand on his arm, it being too heavy and sleep having taken over most of your body.

You bet he's saying that just because he's guessed it. He's figured you all out and the asshole doesn't mind playing with your soft heart. He knows he'll get anything from you if he's this good. Hopefully, tomorrow, he'll have forgotten about his little interrogation because you're not sure you'll be able to lie. For now, he's holding you way too close for you to care. Whatever. May it last forever, this feeling.

A/N: DON’T HATE ME OKAY?! i know i have an issue with angst and endings, for some reasons, i don’t want to hurt my characters but i can’t get myself to write an actual fully happy, non-ambiguous conclusion, and i’m really sorry for it lmao.

i sincerely hope you enjoyed the last part of The Wishlist! Thank you immensely for anyone who’s followed along, please let me know your thoughts, i really really want to know :)

for now, i’m sending you lots of love and kisses, take good care of yourself and others, see ya very very soon :]

tag list: @safi4x​ @kai-kai-bookshelf​ @somewhereinthestarss​ @hsinmyheart​ @moonchild1​ @monvieesdaebak @pasteljoonie​ @fangirls94​ @jinsalpaca​ @ggukkieland​

[atomicdisappointment]

The Reckoning

Summary: You’re in the middle of a depressive episode, reaching a point where you’re unable to function properly, basically just sitting, isolated, in your room and feeling like sh*t. You haven’t contacted anyone in a few days, and Katsuki gets worried (relationship w/ him is ambiguous, could be a good acquaintance, could be a husband/partner back from a trip or something, idk, it’s up to you). 

A/N: This is kind of like a sequel to Ghosts and Tears, except it’s totally unrelated and in a different universe (unless u don’t want it to be... I don’t think there’s any conflicting information lmao). In this one, instead of you helping Bakugou through a panic attack, he comforts you during a depressive episode. This is pretty much just self-indulgent comfort character sh*t (sh*t being censored b/c there’s no swearing in the actual fic and I don’t want to have to add a swearing warning -_-). I needed this, and now you get it too! The title comes from that feeling when you’re not sure how someone is going to react to a piece of information. Here it’s the struggle with depression. It feels (to me) like once they find out there’s a reckoning, where everything’s on the line, waiting to see what they choose to do. Oh also:

second person, no pronouns or gender specific stuff mentioned anywhere =). 

Warnings: descriptions of a depressive episode, feelings of depression, dissociation, light paranoia, flinching when touched, neglect of needs, isolation... I think that’s it?

WC: 943

You're sitting with your head in your hands, palms covering your eyes and fingertips carded through your hair as sobs wrack your body. There are no tears, only a tight pain in your chest as you heave in shallow, strained breaths. You’re a mess, with spit covering your chin, surrounded by plates of half-eaten food. You couldn’t bring yourself to shower, could barely get yourself out of bed.

It wasn’t this bad before. A few days ago you were almost fine, if not a little tired. You just felt empty, and that feeling only got worse until this point. The culmination, you hope. Not sure how much more you can take.

You didn’t want him to see you like this, but what did you expect? You haven’t reached out to anyone in days, taking a break from work, even. Your friends were scared. He was scared. And now he’s here.

It starts with a soft knock on the door, followed by a gruff voice calling out your name into the silence. Your body curls further, as if trying to shrink into yourself. Maybe I can disappear. Maybe he’ll go away.

You, of course, don’t disappear. And he doesn’t go away. The knocking only gets louder, ringing in your head. You want to scream. The noise, the situation, only adds to your pain. You don’t want to see him. You want the silence back. You want to crawl back in bed, hold yourself, and fall asleep. Maybe this time, forever.

There’s a crash, and then it’s like your prayers were answered. There’s no more knocking, no more shouting voices. Only silence. Vaguely, you recognize that the problem isn’t solved. Katsuki isn’t gone, and from the crash you heard, it’s very likely he’s actually inside now. Closer to you, closer to the Reckoning. But it’s silent, and with your hands over your eyes it’s like you’re alone. Sitting in limbo, floating in emptiness.

But then you hear footsteps.

He pauses in the kitchen, you can almost imagine him looking at the sink full of unwashed dishes, the lights still on, the trash full. Maybe there’s a fine layer of dust over everything, now, after it’s been sitting for a few days. You could imagine him swiping a hand over the counter tops, looking at his fingers afterwards with disgust. Maybe concern?

But you don’t want to imagine it, only grateful for the silence his detour brings.

When they pick back up, the footsteps are faster, hurried towards your bedroom. You hear them only in the back of your mind, already adapting to block out the noise, create your own silence.

The gentle creaking of a door, and then a silence heavier than any before it. A silence filled with confusion, and shock. Probably also pity, and discomfort, you can’t help but think even though you’re only semi-conscious. Maybe now he’ll leave. We can both pretend this never happened.

When you feel his hand touch your back, right between your hunched shoulder blades, it shocks you. You almost jump, but it comes out as a flinch in your enervated state. You can almost hear the whoosh of air with how fast he pulls his hand back.

You hear your name, almost a whisper. It echoes around your skull.

You can feel his eyes as he judges the situation, weighing it in his hand as he decides a course of action. He could still walk away, uninvolve himself in this difficult situation. Could focus his attention on his damage to the front door and away from the situation lying on the bedroom floor in front of him. He could pop it back into its frame behind him as he goes back the way he came.

He could also get angry. He’s always been known for having a temper, and you haven’t contacted him in days, only for him to find you selfishly neglecting everything around you, from your relationships to your apartment to your own health. It’s enough to make anyone angry.

But you’re surprised when you feel warm fingers gently wrapping around your wrists, guiding your hands away from your face. It’s so delicate and patient, you begin to wonder if it’s even him in the room with you.

You slowly open your eyes, blinking away the film covering them to reveal Katsuki. He’s crouched in front of you, his deep red eyes boring into yours while his hands still hold your arms in front of you. He looks… worried. Nit pitying or angry or uncomfortable like you expected. Just concerned. The look warms your chest slightly, and you feel your breath come a little easier.

His palms are so soft, and you can’t help but relax into his grip. As you do, he sets your hands down and moves his own to cup your face. They’re so big, wrapping around your cheeks and under your jaw, his fingertips running through your hair while his pinky rests across the tops of your ears. It’s so… tender. The action and the emotions it conveys are equal parts surprising and soothing. You feel like you’re melting into his touch, sinking into the soft, pillowy skin.

But even with this unexpected support, you still feel exhausted. Drained. Your eyelids are heavy and your limbs droopy. You feel yourself sinking into unconsciousness, barely registering the movement as Katsuki rests your head against his chest, still cradling it in his arms. His warmth, the security his touch brings, the steady beating of his heart and the rise and fall of his breaths. It all only serves to further lull you to sleep, pushing you into your first deep, comfortable rest in days.