#nearly half a decade. I’m going INSANE
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ANGIE WE MET BRIAN MAY (and each other) FIVE YEARS AGO TODAY
SHDHHDS I JUST SAW THE POST AND I GOTTA SAY, IT REALLY AGED ME LMAO
#nearly half a decade. I’m going INSANE#we’ll meet again at the inevitable Bo rhap 2 premiere LMAO 😭
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Please hear me out!
i’ve been thinking about this for a while, and I wanted to write it myself but I can’t write for shit 😭 Here’s my idea, reader (she/her) is close friends with Satoru and Suguru. She takes Suguru’s place instead, and Suguru ends up not going insane, and decides to stick around in Jujutsu High. But because the reader takes his place in this story, she spirals and abandons the idea of being morally good. (She’s a sensitive softie at heart 🥹 the cruel reality of being a sorcerer really took a toll on her). She commits so many crimes that the higher ups urge the strongest duo to finally execute her after dismissing her for nearly a decade. She dies in their hands, and doesn’t get a proper burial. Kenjaku takes her body and uses it as vessel. When Shibuya arc finally unfolds, she shows up right in front of Satoru and Suguru, alive and well. Soon reveals that it’s Kenjaku who has full control of her body. Of course their guilts eats them alive, and the reader (more like kenjaku) rubs salt on their wounds by taunting them about how she’s a great vessel and also a waste that she had to die so soon.
LOST CAUSE — F. READER x GOJO SATORU + GETO SUGURU, but there’s no romance whatsoever, guest appearance of Kenjaku
cw: an au where SatoSugu have another close friend; spoilers for Hidden Inventory/Premature Death arc and the very beginning of Shibuya arc, so much angst and the usual that comes with JJK – blood, hurt, tears and depression : D also, possibly inaccurate references to the original plot, reader's death — 5,5k words
a/n: I’m hearing you out dear! Thank you for the conception, it certainly fulfilled my need to write long and angsty <3
It was stupid. All of it was stupid. Why? Which decisions led you to where you now stood, all of your mind and body filled with devastation as you stilled in time – above the piles of little corpses, disfigured and permanently contorted in a grimace of dread and suffering. A stench of blood and burned bodies irritated your nostrils, your eyes were teary from all the smoke that still was filling the air and as you looked down at your hands, they were covered in blood and purple goo. Sticky. Repulsive. And the screams. In the dead silence of your surroundings, your head was still filled with an echo of those, who were now dead at your feet. Those, who you were unable to save. The imagery of them running, begging, dying carved itself into your mind. Why were you here, again?
* * *
“Hey, y/n, you’ve lost some weight. Are you alright?”, Satoru asked, playing with pencil that just a moment ago he asked you to throw at him. A showcase of his new skills, the techniques he’s been perfecting for the last year after encountering Toji Fushiguro. You forced a smile, squinting from the blinding sun of the summer at its peak.
“Yeah, sure,” you replied, patting Suguru’s shoulder, because his attentive eyes were scanning you already for any sign of disorder; you could hear his analytic brain cranking up, his golden pupils drilling holes in your head. “I’m good, it’s just too hot you know?”
“Wanna go grab some ice cream later?”
“Always.” No, you didn’t wanna go grab ice cream with them. You didn’t wanna grab anything with anyone for that matter and already you had come up with some half-baked excuse to sell later to your two best friends.
You, Shoko, Gojo and Geto were all in the same year in Jujutsu high. You joined them a little late, but quickly found yourself inside the love triangle with the two boys. You called it love, but it truly was nothing more than just a bonding friendship that you wished will last forever; a really close one and you couldn’t imagine your world without their chaos. They were like brothers to you, the ones you’ve never had and Ieiri was like a sister, but she was smart enough to keep her distance from the mess of SatoSugu. You were not as bright in that matter, but for two years, you couldn’t appreciate enough the yin and yang that they created, the casual bickers and deep talks late at night, the cuddles and pinches, the pats and smacks, the tears and laughs, sleepovers, sleepless nights and everything between. You loved them, you couldn’t think of your future without them.
That’s until not that long ago. Few months, maybe. You felt like you’ve been spiraling slowly into something that could only be named depression, because if not that, then what else? Why would you randomly tear up nowadays, zoning out completely in the midst of sentences. Why would you spend nights, blankly staring at the ceiling instead of sleeping, isolating yourself from your friends more and more? And why would you still hear that? The screams, the pleads of hysteric, the soul-tearing sounds of pain and frighten that you’ve been carrying inside your brain since that one mission.
Everything went wrong then, and you were alone. Shoko stayed at the campus, working her way towards becoming a doctor and you, Satoru and Suguru were assigned only to solo missions since the plasma vessel failure. You were strong, it was stated that your year was exceptional, that all of you have a chance to become special grades soon, but you hated that. Being strong came with a burden that you were not ready to take, and when you realized that, most of it was already heaving on your shoulders.
When you got to that school, it was already too late and it wasn’t your fault. You rushed there as soon as you were assigned with the job, but when you dropped the curtain and looked at the building, there was already smoke coming from the window holes, that some time earlier had glass in them. And when you kicked your way inside the little indoor sports arena, the view struck you in ways you couldn’t possibly prepare yourself for and certainly, you couldn’t process it as well. The school was primary, those people were just kids, but the curses pay no mind to age of their victims. This one was particularly playful – or rather, eagerly violent – spreading hellfire around, burning these children alive one by one, causing chaos, suffering and bloodshed. When you finished exorcising it, it was over. For the curse, for your job and for the lives of all of those children. None survived. Not even one.
Not always we can save everyone, Suguru always told you, rationalizing the sacrifices sorcerers have to make and you tried to repeat that in your head when you got out. You tried to play it over the screams, but eventually, the soft tone of your friend’s voice got lost in the catastrophic cacophony of sorrow, sizzling skin and burning death. And that, maybe wouldn’t be enough for you to lose your mind. Maybe you could recover from that, but soon after the incident you witnessed the group of people that stood behind the assault. A band of grown humans, men and women, who were convinced some of those children were possessed by devils or some other shit, so in all hypocrisy known to race, they hired a curse user to fight fire with fire. Quite literally. Those people were so blinded by their fear of unknown that they sacrificed lives of dozens of little children, they shattered so many innocent lives only because they believed in something absurd. And then, they tried to push the blame on you, on sorcerers despite the fact they hired one to do the dirty job. And then, they killed the user, fearing him too. When you’ve got to see the body of a sorcerer that you’ve never got to meet, or at least you thought so, you realized that probably, you wouldn’t recognize him anyway. You’ve seen corpses barely reminiscing of humans, twisted and broken as curses often chose the most petrifying, violent ways of killing, but this? This was something you’ve never seen before – a cruel, ruthless exhibition of pure hate, evidence of deliberate torture, the picture painted in stabs, burns and bruises. All of which, caused by people, who frankly, showed no remorse nor regret as their faces were painted in pride, origin of which you failed to notice.
Those humans. Used jujutsu to commit mass murder only to blame it on your people and kill them. Animals. No. Worse. Much worse.
“Y/n, please, let’s talk it through,” Suguru tried to reason, as you stood up against the two of your friends, in the middle of Shibuya’s scramble crossing. People were passing next to the three of you, unbothered by the way your worlds were colliding right here, in the busiest part of Tokyo. People didn’t care of others, they wouldn’t react if someone next to them would get stabbed to death, only caring about their own shoes to not get them stained in the dirt of blood.
“Don’t be stupid, it’s not who you are,” Satoru raised his tone, but all you felt was nothing. The emotions you’ve seen on his face were real, you knew it. Satoru wears his heart on his shoulder, he pours everything he feels into the words he aims at people that are close to his soul, and you were no exception, but at this moment, you felt nothing. “I know you couldn’t do that.”
“Couldn’t I?”, you asked, thinking back on the last Friday, during which you executed those same people that used jujutsu sorcerers to wipe the floors of that primary school. To wipe the blood and burned bodies. You remember how they knelt before you, how the women cried begging for their lives, yelping that they have children, families and yet, those same children and families were nowhere in their mind when they ordered a mass murder in the primary school. “And why would that be exactly? Because you two think so?”
“Y/n, I get it,” Geto stepped forward, but stopped as you glanced at him. “I really do. You know me, we talked about it. It was hard for me too after Riko, I know what you’re going through.”
“I know Suguru.”
“I thought you keep his side, y/n,” Gojo threw his hands in the air, helplessly trying to find the words to dress his mind with. “I thought you believe in doing good with your powers. That people won’t understand so we shouldn’t look at them and just do what we do. Wasn’t that what you’ve told me?”
“I did, yes,” you gave it a nod and exhaled. “But it changed. Yes, they won’t understand. Anything that they can’t comprehend is pure evil for them and yet they believe in such absurd like gods. They will use us to do their dirty works and then blame us for it, because they cannot understand a single thing. And then, they will kill us, one by one and we, the strongest, cannot do nothing about it. We’ll have to go through life through the corpses of our friends. People don’t deserve what we do for them.”
“Y/n, please, let’s talk about it. Let’s get back to school-“ Geto tried, but you cut him off.
“You two, get back to school. I know I have a sentence already, there’s no point for me to get back there only to get executed. And frankly, I don’t want to get back there, to take part in what they teach us is right when we die for those people. We give our lives for them and they have no idea,” you said, taking a step back. You could tell the lights will soon switch. “Look around, Satoru, Suguru. They crawl around us unaware of our sacrifice and yet, even if they are so fragile a single blow can kill them, they think we deserve to be killed. I’m not gonna take part in this anymore. I’m sorry.”
“We can’t let you go, you know that, we-“
“Then attack me. I’m sure any of you can take me down. I’d rather die by your hands, than on a job of protecting them.”
You turned your back on them, and Satoru raised his hand, pointing at your silhouette, blue already on his mind as his cursed energy gathered in front of his fingers. Suguru’s curses sprawled out of their dimension, but none of them pursued with the attack, unable to do that. They couldn’t kill you. You were too dear to them. They loved you too much to take your life like this. So they let you go, and soon enough, they lost the sight of you in the crowd.
* * *
Nine years. It's been almost a decade and many things changed. You changed your ways completely, making a point of protecting sorcerers from people, even if that meant killing them, but care for humans was something you’ve lost many years ago, having it slowly replaced by disgust. Your once soft heart turned hard and dark and all the good in you vanished as you time after time solidified your beliefs that humans are simply not worth saving, therefore there was no need to keep them alive the moment they became useless. Over those years, you used those people to your benefit, raising money and gathering intel and then, the second their use to you has become nonexistent, so were them. Blood burned permanent stains on your hands but screams of hurt didn’t phase you at all. Have you become a monster? You might have. But for the lives of sorcerers, it was worth it.
It’s been almost a decade since you’ve been dismissed from jujutsu community for crimes, that over those years piled up rapidly and during this time, both Satoru and Suguru tried to stay out of this, whilst Yaga turned a blind eye to the corrupted path one of his students went down by. The now principal felt responsible for not doing enough, for not saying enough, for not noticing soon enough and though the rest of his students, now teachers in Jujutsu high told him that some things were inevitable, it wasn’t that easy to switch off the thinking. Same went for both the strongest, but for years, they waited in hopes for something to change.
That was until you killed someone seemingly important. A politician of sorts, high government pawn that you learned was funding a unit of so-called sorcerer killers, ones that modelled after Toji Fushiguro in cold blood were meant to take down a menace that jujutsu users were, as if it was them who were the ones to fear. Opposite to little no-one’s deaths, this one was loud, this one was medial and this one, Yaga couldn’t let slip. So, an order was given.
Kill on sight.
Almost ten years, and yet Satoru still couldn’t believe what happened. Whilst young, the three of you were almost inseparable and you, out of the whole group, were the most sensitive person he knew. You were soft and full of smiles, kind above all else and yet, you were strong enough to hold back the tears he knew were threatening to roll down your cheeks on many occasions. You were soothing, an oasis that was easily able to turn any darkness into light, and what Satoru couldn’t forgive himself was that once that same darkness started devouring you, he didn’t notice. Too focused on his own missions, on lighthearted shenanigans, on perfecting his usage of limitless and six eyes, he had no idea about your state of mind and when he realized, you have already been sentenced. Suguru didn’t notice either. Or maybe didn’t want to notice, because you talked through many nights about the doubts you both had. He knew about the utter devastation that was slowly consuming your soul but hoped you’ll overcome it, because you always were a sunshine, and a sunshine couldn’t die down to shadows. Turned out, this shadow was pitch black and no light made its way through it.
“Y/n,” they called you and the beautiful music that their voices created brought back memories of your youth. Ten years, almost, had passed since you’ve seen your best friends the last time, and with curiosity sparkling through your system, you turned to face them.
“Satoru, Suguru,” addressing them, your lips curved up slightly in a manner of soft joy. Your heart fluttered at the sight; your pulse raised just as it would for person who’s just seen the love of their life. “Long time no see.”
“It’s not as pleasurable as we would like it to be, y/n,” Suguru sighed and you took a moment to absorb the view.
Both of them changed. Suguru, still tall and broad, seemingly even buffier than he was before stood there with his hair now longer and partially knotted and partially left loose on his back. His facial features sharpened, jaw got more edge to it, eyes turned more narrow and focused, but still, some softness remained from what you remembered and probably he would seem even more familiar if not for the tough expression he had going on. Satoru, right next to him, became even taller. His white hair was now pointing up, kept by a white wrap that completely covered his eyes – something that he probably adapted during the time of usage of his six eyes. Not much of his face you could see, but with ease you noticed his features matured. Both were dressed in uniforms that you could only tie to their unbreakable bond with Jujutsu high.
“You’re now teachers, the two of you, huh?”, you asked, smiling softly, but keeping their moves in mind. “I’ve heard this year’s students are exceptional, now it makes sense. Good they have such amazing senseis.”
“You could have been one of the teachers too,” Gojo snapped.
“How could I teach anyone something I don’t believe in?” a chuckle rumbled deep in your chest as you thought of the image. Abstraction of it made you amused. “How’s Shoko? Is she a doctor now?
“She is,” Geto muttered, unsure why is he answering your questions. “Yaga is the principal.”
“Oh, is he? Look at him, climbing up that ladder,” you laughed, “so, it’s on his orders that you two are here?”
“You killed a fucking politician, y/n,” Satoru spoke, sounding calm but you could tell his blood was boiling. Both of his hands hidden in his pockets were visibly clenched in fists and even though you couldn’t see his eyes, you knew his brows were furrowed. “Almost a decade we allowed you to do whatever you tried to do, but this time, higher ups stepped in. The sentence is decided, we cannot let you pursue your goals further.”
“And why are you both here? I’m sure just one amazing special grade would be enough,” there was a certain amount of poison in your words, though it wasn’t directed at your friends and both of them knew it. “Are the higher ups so desperate to get me off the board because it’s them who give green lights to those assholes that kill us? Did you know that that pathetic politician I’ve killed was in midst of creating an army of little Toji Fushiguros? How do you think he even knew about the dude, huh?”
“An army of Toji?”
“Yeah, remember that guy, that cut both of you into slices? Yea, that one. And who’s giving away the cursed tools to said army? Well, it’s not me and I assume not any of you as well.”
“Y/n,” Suguru made his way to the side in what seemed like an attempt on surrounding you, because in that same moment, Satoru began shifting to the other side. “I agree with you. People don’t deserve what we do. But no one else can do it. You’re killing those whom we swore to protect.”
“Tell me, Suguru… how many bodies of our friends did Shoko cut open?” you asked and the question made the dark-haired man tsk. It was the truth that hurt the most, he hated how precisely it hit the spot. “How many of our allies were spread across her metal table after Haibara was there? Well, half of Haibara?”
“That’s not the point,” Satoru scoffed and with an exhale, he raised his hand up to loosen up the bandages around his eyes. “We die just as people die. Sorcerers are not above death. You know that, right?”
“We’re not above that, but we are above people and we risk our lives, which we just like them have only one of, for them. And they fuckingstep on it. If I have to pick who’s gonna die from a curse, why would I pick a sorcerer, when a loss of a mere human will be much less tangible than the loss of one of us?”
“Because they cannot protect themselves from curses, and we can.” Geto replied and in a whiff, you felt the appearance of his curses around him. Both him and Gojo were getting ready for a fight, so you had to get ready as well.
“But can we really protect ourselves from them?”, you glared back at him; your tone calm but laced with icicles that pierced through Suguru’s mind as he struggled to see you inside of you.
All of the softness he had always equated you with dissolved into something he couldn’t quite place. Image of you killing someone just for the sake of killing somehow couldn’t materialize inside his mind and it pained him, breaking his heart to think that he will be the reason of your death. And it’s true that probably, just one of them would be enough for that fight, but there was no way they would be able to chose and no one else could do it. You were the strongest, you grew into a special grade quickly after leaving and your technique proved to have no flaws or holes. You were a threat above abilities of others, stepping down only to the two of your friends, if not being equal to them.
“Let’s do it quickly, Suguru,” Satoru sighed, tucking his wraps into one of his pockets.
“Oh, where’s your playful attitude, Satoru?”, you teased, but somehow it hurt you as well. It was your friend you were talking to. Both of them, that came here to kill you and only way for you to get out of it was to kill them.
And killing them, turned out, you couldn’t do. Even hurting them came with difficulty not physically, but mentally. But you fought them both at the same time, keeping a defensive stance, searching for an opening to vanish. From them, you wished to run away, to not make them take the burden of your death because you could see it in their eyes, you were just as dear to them still, as they were to you. But they left you no opening to run away, so you fought. Using everything you’ve got to immobilize them, because instead of taking their lives, that would give you more time.
The way you stood against them, with your cursed technique of energy manipulation, it gave them the hardest time since Toji, and considering they were both taking part in the fight now, ten years after and significantly stronger, just showed how much work you’ve put into your own development. And with pride you noticed, how strong both of your friends became as well. You countered all of their attacks, slashed away the curses and blocked the blues and reds, albeit it really was a matter of time and you knew that. And so, you pushed through, materializing in your hands weapons made from pure, solidified cursed energy, using swords and needles and creating armor around your body that effectively, shielded you from any attack. Your weapon was different from cursed tools. It was made only from energy, strong and unbendable, changing shapes and forms as you deemed it necessary, allowing you to use it in close combat and on long distances. Any curses Suguru summoned stood no chance against what you wielded, but the sheer amount of them was just short of overwhelming you. On top of that, Satoru’s constant offensive, his fists saturated in limitless abilities, the sheer strength of both bodies that were attacking you, slowly rendered you weaker. And it didn’t surprise you.
The end has come when one of the curses stopped you mid-way, engaging in a fight that distracted you enough for a hollow purple to reach your body. The blast threw you away as your body pierced through three buildings straight, through thick concrete bocks and hard steel reinforcements like it was tearing through wet paper and it’s only thanks to the full body coverage of your cursed technique, that it didn’t kill you on the spot. But it hurt. All of your body felt broken once you finally stopped, back pressed against the wall that still cracked underneath the impact of your frame hitting it. Blood covered your vision and a cough shook your body with painful wave overtaking your entire nervous system.
“So that’s the infamous hollow purple, huh?”, you muttered, leaning your head back against the cold solid behind you. There wasn’t much in your body that wouldn’t be fractured at least, you could tell without a mistake that your heart was still beating only because of the cursed energy that still circled throughout your frame.
Both men appeared in front of you, jumping from above – Suguru coming from one of his flying curses and Satoru, probably just teleported here.
“I’m sorry, y/n,” Gojo whispered, squatting in front of you and Geto followed his motion to level his vision with yours.
“’ts alright, ‘toru,” you muttered, feeling the dizziness taking the best of you. After the hit you took, you were certain not even a genius like Shoko could save you. “Sugu… both so strong.”
Exchanging a quick glance, both sorcerers sat down, on your sides, paying no mind to the puddle of blood underneath you. They took your hands, so small in comparison to theirs, now red and wounded severely, but the pain you couldn’t feel much of anymore.
“I’m sorry I didn’t take this mission for you. Back in our days. It was meant to be mine, but I was training,” Satoru confessed, squeezing lightly the fractured bones in your palm, reminiscing of the day that was the beginning of your end. The elementary. That day engraved itself in his memory as one of many days that seemingly mattered nothing. Yaga told him about the issue, the curse and fire in school for the youngest, but he brushed it off, focusing all of his mind on perfecting the last touches of his technique. He still remembers how sensei was mumbling profanities, but couldn’t care less because he was that close from teleporting.
“’ts okay, ‘toru.”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there either,” Suguru added, his voice barely a whisper as you leaned your head against his shoulder, desperate to ease the heaviness. What Geto remembered from the day in question was that he had an issue with his own technique. Little difficulty, as he was absorbing one of the special grade curses he just caught. It wasn’t severe, it wasn’t even that important, he could have fix this on another time and take the god damn mission, but instead, he declined. “I thought if I don’t take the job, Satoru will, but turned out, it got to you.”
“Sugu, ‘ts ok.”
“Remember how we used to sneak out the dorms to get ice cream in the middle of the night?”, Satoru changed the topic completely – a defensive mechanism to lighten up the mood, to prevent him from crying. And you hummed in response, lowering your heavy lids.
“And how Satoru got drunk after three sips of a beer? That’s when we all knew he’s the lightest head in the history,” Suguru added and faded images of how Gojo discovered that he cannot drink to save his life rushed to the front of your mind.
You had no idea how long it took, was it few minutes or merely few seconds, but you listened to both men rambling above your head, reminiscing of your school days and everything that you did together. Of every prank you witnessed that they took on poor first years, of every little mischief and menace they performed, following Satoru’s lead, because it’s always him who stood tall in the name of chaos. You were humming softer and softer, quieter and quieter.
Until you were not.
“And then we put those cupcakes in Nanami’s bed and-“
“Satoru,” Geto cut him softly, looking down at your stilled frame. At your frozen chest and softened features, sensing no more heartbeat. And Gojo turned his eyes towards you as well, taking in the last picture of you, who he loved as his little sister, even though there was no age gap between you and him. And then they both cried in silence, spending another hour with your dead body before gathering you and taking home.
* * *
October 31, 2018
21:18
Only word that could describe what was happening in Shibuya at this moment would be chaos. Pure disorder, people frightened and running, some unconscious on the ground and some other hiding from what was happening in the Shibuya station. Most of them couldn’t see it but felt the terror, saw the blood, smelled the death in the middle of which, two men were standing.
Both Satoru and Suguru, when they came down here to fight whatever the hell was attacking people, couldn’t move; their heads void of any logical thoughts as memories rushed to the fronts of their minds. Stunned to the core and frozen, they looked into the eyes of the person in front of them, distrusting their own vision. The person that wore the familiar look of you, the energy of you and what seemed like – the same cursed technique, and voice, and face, and hair, and everything. Not one thing betrayed trickery or deception as there you stood, facing them both with a smile on your face – one of those soft ones that had melted their hearts on the spot a decade before. Your features relaxed, genuine, borderline joyous as you breathed the air around them once again.
“What…?”, Suguru snapped first, forcing his own body to move and smacking his friend’s shoulder. “How?”
“Who the hell are you…?”, Satoru whispered, voice stuck in his throat as all of the information that his senses were receiving contradicted with what his soul was telling him.
“Aah? It’s been few months, but do you not recognize me anymore?”, your voice flew through your mouth, the very same gentle and bright tone they used to fall asleep to. “It’s hurting my feelings.”
“Cut it,” Gojo snapped, now putting more pressure on his vocal cords, a groan escaping his throat in effect. “Cut the bullshit, you’re not her. You cannot be her. Y/n is-“
“Dead? Yeah, that purple really messed me up,” you chuckled, shrugging your shoulders slightly and stepping forward. “I have to admit, restoring the body wasn’t the easiest of all.”
“Reveal yourself,” Geto took the defensive stance, ready to pursue with attack if needed and his curses floating behind him on standby. “You’re not fooling us.”
“Ah, how stubborn,” another laugh brightened your face, only now more menacing, more teasing as your dainty fingers reached up to gather the lose hair out of your forehead, revealing a line of thin stitches across your skin there. “See, you really did me a favor by burying her body oh-so traditionally. Isn’t that the procedure to burn every deceased sorcerer?” your mouth was moving, spilling the words interlaced with taunt as the, what looked like, thread was pulled out of the horizontal line above your eyebrows and soon after, grabbed by the hair, the top of your head was lifted, revealing the terrifying image of a brain. With mouth of its own.
“What did you do to her?!”
“Oh, I just took what you two threw away,” you replied, slowly putting the upper skull part down on its place, matching the lines as the thread went through the holes by itself, securing the head together. “And I have to thank you for your little sentiment. If not for that, I wouldn’t have my perfect vessel. Ah, but it’s sad, isn’t it? Such a young, pretty girl had to die so early, and more so, killed by her own best friends. What a waste to jujutsu community, don’t you think?”
Both the boys stood there in shock, guilt eating them alive as the salt and acid was being rubbed into the wounds that just opened. The scabs of the past were ripped away, revealing the gushing pain and Satoru growled in anger, realizing that once again, he might have been responsible for what happened to you. This time, Suguru kept up with him in terms of fury, feeling his own blood boiling in his veins, unable to watch your body being possessed like this, used like a toy.
“Y/n, I know you’re there-“ Gojo called, but got stopped quickly by another pilfering laugh.
“Oh, but she’s not. Her soul is long gone and dead. You made sure to have her soul dead, and you have to know I nearly teared up reviewing her memories when I took the body. Such a poignant story, oh, so heartbreaking.” The teasing had no end as more and more poisonous venom spilled through your mouth, contradicting the carefree and joyful tone of your voice.
“What makes you believe that even if you take her body, you can win here? We’ve defeated her already,” Suguru narrowed his eyes.
“Oh, you’ve won but that’s because she let you two won. Wasn’t that surprising how easily you finished her? A special grade? How she didn’t even try to dodge the hollow purple, like the little curse that she was fighting with was really that much of a struggle? Oh, don’t be silly, you two. It wouldn’t be that easy if she tried.”
“We won’t let you-“
“You must understand your situation. What you’re standing in is a special grade cursed object. A prison realm, and to say it simply, you’ve already lost,” you pointed at the floor, from where the four corners of a cube stretched into a mass of flesh, with an eye – giant and bleeding, staring at its target, as the next stage of sealing began before either of sorcerers reacted. “And what’s more interesting, the prison realm can seal only one person at the time, but with the incredible technique of my current host, I was able to fuel its capacity to two occupants, by manipulating the cursed energy it used. Marvelous!”
The cursed object began enveloping both men, rendering them helpless and immobile, as their cursed energy became unavailable for their use.
“We’ll save you, y/n, you hear me?”, Satoru yelled in unison with his friend and the lone tear rolled down your face, before your hand reached up wiping it in amusement.
“Gate close.”
#jjk#jujutsu kaisen#jjk imagines#jujutsu kaisen imagines#jjk angst#jujutsu kaisen angst#jjk fluff#jujutsu kaisen fluff#satoru#satoru gojo#satoru angst#gojo angst#satoru gojo angst#suguru#suguru geto#suguru angst#suguru geto angst#gojo imagines#gojo fanfiction#gojo x you#gojo x reader#satoru gojo x you#satoru gojo x reader#suguru geto x you#suguru geto x reader#geto imagines#geto x you#geto x reader#geto fanfiction#jjk fanfiction
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━ 𝐅*𝐂𝐊 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑.
-ˏˋ. 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ˊˎ-
𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 — FWB!matthew tkachuk x f!reader
𝐰𝐜 — 1.7k
𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 — "old habits die hard..." — or, your boyfriend won’t fuck you right, so you run to the one person who always does.
𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 — patrons know the chokehold this toxic sin-fest has on me and probably always will... in all seriousness, this is one of my favorite things i've ever published and i am so insanely proud of it. i hope you love it as much as i do <3
(spoiler — not possible teehee)
18+ MDNI — content warnings under the cut.
𝐜𝐰 — profanity, innuendo, matthew’s filthy mouth and lack of morals, cheating (not on matty or the reader), outdated/incorrect information about having sex for the first time, borderline too much degradation, some objectification to add a little spice, unprotected sex w a cheeky creampie (what did you expect from two morally bankrupt individuals written by me, a retired whore?), matthew being a noncommittal, possessive piece of shit joking about knocking people up for funzies
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“D’you think you’re so addicted to my cock because you know I don’t give a fuck what you think about me? Or care if you think I’m a Nice Guy?”
Even buried to the hilt—bare with nothing between you and far too fucking close for comfort—Matthew Tkachuk runs his mouth like he’s got nothing to lose and even less to prove. He’s insufferable, his only redeeming quality being the pulsing appendage threatening to split you in half as you buck in his lap.
With your hands braced against his hard chest for leverage, you drown out his grating voice, chasing the white-hot surges, bolts of lightning leading you to the brink of collapse with renewed vigor.
The sooner you come, the sooner he’s gone.
“All I care about, sweetheart, is fucking you good and hard. Giving it to you like the hungry, cockdrunk whore that you are.”
Debonair attitude. Sly confidence. Vulgar demeanor.
Filthy fucking mouth.
You were warned about Matthew Tkachuck. Repeatedly. Warned about him and his complete lack of a filter, about his total disregard for anyone’s feelings but his own. His aversion to commitment, to monogamy, to propriety.
All the things that repulse you about the man lounging on expensive hotel sheets beneath you—as you do all the work—lure you back to him in equal measure. He shouldn’t turn you on, but that’s exactly why he does. He’s all wrong, wrong, wrong.
Which makes him just right.
“I bet if your fiancé walked in right now, you’d just keep riding me. You wouldn’t even notice, would you? After all, you haven’t cum yet. And that’s all you care about, right? Using my cock to get your rocks off because Billy Boyfriend’s too scared to give you what you really need. Lucky for you, I’m not a fuckin’ pussy. I don’t treat you like a fragile doll because I know you’ll take anything I give you—and beg for more. I treat you like what you are, not some chaste little princess.”
You’ve been with Bill for nearly a decade, engaged for more than a year. It’ll be a spring wedding, probably. If the venue pans out, and the caterer finally calls you back with a final quote.
Perfect on paper.
He doesn’t pay attention to you the way he used to. Just throws money at the problem until he can bury himself in work again, undisturbed by you or nagging obligation.
Flowers for being three hours late, a necklace for missing dinner entirely. A trip overseas when he had to go into the office on your anniversary.
But he’s nice, so fucking nice it hurts, and more loyal than the Golden Retriever he wants to adopt after the honeymoon. After you’re settled into a custom-build nestled comfortably in the suburbs and far away from the city. White picket fence, manicured lawn, barely-there speed limits.
It's all so nauseatingly idyllic. So perfectly attuned with what you thought you wanted, what you spent your childhood coveting.
All your single friends are jealous; your committed friends are resentful. Your family loves him, and even though you’ve got a fucked up way of showing it, so do you.
And he loves you too. He’s just busy. It’ll be different once we’re settled, he says. You try to believe him, though not as hard as you should. You tell yourself it's because he doesn’t either.
Bill’s gotten lazy. You’ve gotten bored.
You’re no angel, and never claimed to be. You just want to feel good.
Matthew barks out a dry laugh, almost like he can read your mind.
“You haven’t been since I first got you on your knees at his birthday party. And definitely not after I popped that sweet cherry you were so adamant about saving for him."
Bill doesn’t fuck you. He never has.
He makes love to you. It’s that romance-novel tenderness that got you here in the first place. Slow, sweet, and nearly devoid of passion. It’s so gentle you have to think of him just to come.
How he fucks you.
How tightly he yanks your hair, craning your neck until it aches. How hard he kneads and smacks your ass, bullying the skin until you sob. How deep his cock reaches. And how he takes, takes, takes without forethought. How could you accept a lifetime of only tame rutting in the face of Pavlovian depravity?
It’s awful, and it's so profoundly selfish, but his everything has you in a bind.
Matthew’s everything is ruining your life.
An uncharacteristic wave of guilt and sadness washes over you, and before you can catch yourself, you’re staring down at the engagement ring. The band constricts, digging into your finger like it's out for blood when you glimpse the indentation it left behind on Matthew’s peck. You wince, then choke down the shame lodged in your throat, screwing your eyes shut to will it away.
“If it's bothering you that much, take it off. I’ll keep it safe for you.” —wink— “I can’t imagine the weight of a rock like that, especially one you don’t even deserve. But, if you actually felt as guilty as you claim to, you wouldn’t be this wet on another man’s cock. Don’t play saint now. You’ll ruin the fun.”
You can’t do this right now; you can’t have this worn-out fight. So, you say what you always say even though you’ve long since stopped trying to mean it.
“You keep saying that, sweetheart. We should stop. This is the last time. But no matter what you say, you always come crawling back to me sooner or later because I have what you need. Because I’m not him. Because I fuck you better.”
His words light you on fire. You hate it, but how deeply your body enjoys them is undeniable. How tightly you squeeze and flutter with every degrading line, choking his cock as you use him to satisfy your own perverted needs. How his brutal honesty, his refusal to let you forget your zealous participation in the affair for even a second, arches your back and hardens your nipples.
Even without all that evidence stacked against you, the blitzed-out look on your face says it all. One look at you and everyone would know just how right Matthew is.
“Shut the fuck up,” you growl.
You say it for the sake of saying it. To know, when you curl into Bill's side tonight, that you said something to deny his assessment of you.
But the last thing you want is for him to shut his mouth.
Not right now, not when you’re right there—
“You can’t hide from me, sweetheart, and you can’t lie to me. You can’t fool me, either. I see right fucking through you. It terrifies you—and you love it.”
His raspy voice swims freely through your hollowed-out mind. It unwittingly thumbs through every unforgivable memory, like some sort of pornographic Rolodex.
Matthew’s hips grinding against yours in darkened corners and dive-bar bathroom stalls and poker tables.
His hands fighting against hard-earned sweat in the foggy backseat of his car, battling to find purchase anywhere he can so he can keep rutting with reckless abandon before you’re expected home.
His fingertips burrowing into the sides of your throat, hard enough to bruise, hard enough to silence, hard enough to hurt.
Him spilling inside of you, ropes painting the sacred place white with no remorse or expectation of responsibility.
Matty’s hand over your mouth, urging you to be fucking quiet as he pistons in and out, in and out, keeping you pinned against the bathroom door, against the only thing standing between Bill and the worst discovery of his apple-pie life—
Old habits die hard.
Especially when it’s one that always feels that fucking good. No matter how lecherous or immoral.
Or how badly the betrayal would hurt someone underserving and innocent.
“Even if you walk down that aisle and take his last name, you’ll still belong to me. Wedding or not, this pathetic, weeping cunt belongs to me. But it’s all gonna be okay, though. Don’t you worry that pretty, empty head. I don’t mind sharing my toys. Especially with someone who could never compete.”
You can't compete where you don't compare.
He doesn’t want to be your boyfriend. He doesn’t want to be anyone’s boyfriend. He isn’t the Relationship Type. He doesn’t even want to be exclusive. That’s part of his appeal, no matter how fervently you deny it. He doesn’t want more than pleasure—primal, deviant pleasure—and that’s all you're looking for.
That's all you need.
“Where do you want my load, dirty girl?”
“Inside. I-Inside me, please, Matty.”
“Right answer.”
The burst of warmth is like getting a perfect grade you didn’t earn. Or feeling the cash your sibling gave you in exchange for not ratting them out sitting in your back pocket. It's hard to feel bad about the wrong you’ve done when the payoff is so deliciously worthwhile.
Matthew twitches, still hugged by your sensitive walls, and you shudder.
This is the high you chase every time you bend your morals until they splinter. The still nothingness that lays beyond the denouement, where everything is glowy and the pit inside you appears not-so-bottomless for once. The lack of expectations and obligations. The sheer freedom that stringless pleasure, that sensual self-indulgence provides.
Matthew doesn’t owe you anything, you don’t owe him anything either, and neither of you pretends otherwise.
And you sure as fuck don’t trip on his dirty laundry every time you walk into the bedroom.
“If that doesn’t take,” Matthew flicks his hips in emphasis, “…let me know when and where you want your wedding present, sweetheart.”
You don’t answer. You push his hands away and roll off of him unceremoniously. But he keeps talking.
Matthew is always talking.
“Oh, and before I forget, would you be a dear and let Billy know I won’t be able to make it for his bachelor party? I don’t know why, but I have the oddest feeling that something desperately needing my attention will come up.”
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#*ೃ༄ by holy-pucks#matthew tkachuk#matthew tkachuk x reader#matthew tkachuk x f!reader#matty tkachuk x reader#matthew tkachuk x you#ratty matty#m. tkachuk#nhl hockey#nhl fic#nhl fanfiction#nhl imagine#nhl lemon#hockey fic#hockey fanfiction#hockeyblr#nhlblr#hockey boys#reader insert
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Gaps
Platonic Yandere Batfam x Mentally Ill/Forgetful Reader
Warning: This work is a yandere work, hopefully part of a series, as as such will contain themes of manipulation, abuse, violence and obsession. Stay safe, and enjoy!!
Your ID was missing.
You stand in the middle of your room, every drawer open and rifled through. You had gone through every bag, every purse, every wallet it might have been it. You had moved the bed, moved the couch, moved every piece of furniture that it might have fallen behind. Nothing had worked.
“Fuck..” You groan, sinking onto your couch. “Fuck, this cannot be happening. I’m so screwed.”
You had a doctors appointment coming up, to get your anxiety meds refilled, and you were already starting to run low. You had been hoping to manage, but with your ID missing and no way to find it, you were shit out of luck.
Your phone rings, and you glance down, staring at the caller ID. It was Dick.
“Hey.” You greet, trying to force the appropriate amount of cheer into your voice. The older man was nice, pleasant to talk to and attentive, but he had the irritating habit of picking up on your moods eerily well, even over the phone. That would lead to him fussing, and while you appreciated the thought, you were an adult and would prefer to be treated like one.
“Hey! Everything alright? You sound stressed, kiddo.”
“I’m fine.” You huff, putting the phone on speaker. You, for whatever reason, despised things touching your face, even phones.
“Uh-huh. What’s going on? You’re never this quiet.” Dick presses, and you press your lips together into a fine line, starting to put up your stuff. It wouldn’t do to have someone come over when you had torn apart your apartment. You may live in Gotham, but you refused to have your apartment look half as bad on the inside as it did on the outside.
“My ID is missing. Don’t have a damn clue what happened to it.” You hear Dick suck in a breath, and you curl your shoulders in, wanting to sink into the floor and die. Dick was always so nice that any time you upset or disappointed him, it was like a punch to the gut.
“(Y/N)…” He starts, and your shoulders twitch up higher, and you dig your nails into your forearms.
“I know! I can’t find it anywhere, but I know it’s in the apartment because I literally had it last night.”
“Hey, it’s alright. Me and Dami will come over, we’ll help you look, alright.”
You groan. You didn’t want them coming over, especially not both him and Damian, and seeing you so freaked out and panicked. While Damian was, you knew, extremely mature for being 14, he was also judgemental as all hell and had the very annoying habit of implying that you shouldn’t be living alone. Which wouldn’t bother you all that much, he was a kid, but Dick seemed to be of the same opinion and it drive you absolutely insane some days.
“You guys don’t have to bother, really. I’ll find it, and if I don’t find it, I’ll set something up at the DMV to get a new one.”
“Just let us come over, (Y/N). Maybe we can help you find it.” Dick wasn’t asking now, and you huff, crossing your arms.
“Fine. Just let yourselves in when y’all get here, I guess.”
You hear Dick snicker, probably at your use of the word “y’all” and roll your eyes. For someone who was nearly a decade older than you, he sure had a childish sense of humor sometimes.
“Alright. We’ll see you than.” The phone beeps when he hangs up. You set it down, an ugly knot in your chest.
“Damn it.” You had been trying, so hard, to distance yourself from the Wayne family. They were nice enough, always willing to help even if they were always busy at some point or another, but they had the irritating habit of inserting themselves into anything you did. If you went out shopping, they were somehow there. Doctor’s appointment? They somehow met you outside the office. On a date? They were at the same restaurant. You weren’t sure if it was intentional or accidental but anytime you tried thinking about it you would nearly spiral so badly you had to stop.
“Fuck.” Your chest was tight, and you snarl, frustrated at the way your heart rate was starting to pick up and your hands were starting to shake. You knew, well and good, that the likelihood of it being anything nefarious was low, the Wayne’s were reknowned for being good people, from a multitude of backgrounds. That didn’t stop the way your mind latched onto the possibility though. You tried to ignore it. Your meds had been getting less and less effective, lately.
The doorbell rings. You get up off your couch, ignore the mess, and open the door.
“Hey.” Dick ruffles your hair, and you scowl. He doesn’t seem all that put off, but you suppose he wouldn’t with Jason and Damian as his brothers.
“Hey. You know I said to just let yourself in, right? I gave you a key for a reason.” This had been early on, in knowing the Wayne’s when you hadn’t realized that giving Dick a key meant surprise visits without a call and very little warning.
“Yeah, I know. I left it at the manor, though, I was using one of Bruce’s cars and don’t have my keys.” He explains, and steps inside, not even waiting for you to open the door further. Damian follows silently, and you mentally curse the fact the kid was 14 and already your height. He was going to be so damn tall, it was almost insulting.
“Cool. As you can see, I’ve been looking for it, and..” Your hand motions uselessly. Surprisingly, Dick nods, his face sympathetic. You had expected more scolding.
“Why don’t you just go and sit down, yeah? Me and Damian can search. Did you take your meds today? Set your alarm and everything?”
“I took my meds, Dick. All of them.”
“Including the Methylphenidate?”
“Dick, if I didn’t remember to take that, I wouldn’t remember to take anything else. I took all my meds today, and not only did I take my meds, I actually went to therapy this week instead of forgetting.”
“Good. You need it.” Damian hums, rooting through the couch cushion. You begin to get up to help him, and he sends you a sharp look. You sit back down.
“When do you need your meds refilled? Did you have it in the house?” Dick asks.
“It was in the house. And I need them refilled soon. I can probably try and stretch them out-“
“Don’t. We can get you your meds if we need to, just keep taking them on schedule.” Dick rebukes, and you cringe. You didn’t doubt they could, but you didn’t like feeling like a charity case
“Dick, y’all really don’t have to do that.”
“Relax.” He huffs, standing and squinting at the drawer angrily. “I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t mean it. ‘Sides, you’ve helped me out more than a few times.”
“Yeah, by covering a shift not by buying your psych meds. These are not at all the same.” You laugh. You and Dick had met working at the YMCA in Bludhaven, and when you had moved to Gotham due to the extraordinarily cheap rent, you both had stayed in contact.
“May as well be.” Dick shrugs. “You cooking anything tonight?”
“Was gonna put some meat out to thaw.” You admit, flushing. The judgemental look Damian sends you says more than enough.
“Why don’t you come on over to the Manor to eat? I know Alfred has missed you helping him wrangle everyone together.” Dick offers, and you want to protest. What about your ID, which he had offered to help find? Wasn’t it late at night?
“Sure.” You say instead, reaching for your keys even as Dick cheers, and Damian smiles.
You can’t shake the feeling something is wrong even as you close your front door, locking it behind you, and let Dick lead you to the car.
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Monster
Vlad Dracula Tepes x Reader x Lisa Tepes
Summary: You and Vlad get into a disagreement, and some things are said.
Word Count: 1.5k
A mortal being.
That’s what you were.
No fangs, just blunt canines. No claws, only partially bitten nails. No strength beyond what your human muscles can accomplish.
Knowing the strength of even the lowest of vampires is enough to keep you up at night. One punch is enough to shatter you like the puny human you are.
As mortal as the blonde doctor who has reservation in your heart.
And him. The strongest of all. Vlad Dracula Tepes.
His strength is his own- you know this. But that doesn’t stop the notion of having The Dracula, as your protector, at your side.
He’s beyond any being you’ve ever encountered in your few decades. Never one to get violent around those he holds dear, that doesn’t prevent the small glimpses of power he unconsciously displays.
The love you hold for the vampire and the doctor is too much- overwhelming nearly. It’s hard to be an addition to an already established relationship- the notion of being easily removable isn’t lost on you. A fear that one day you’ll be back in your small cabin in the village of Lupu, all alone- months spent with the doctor and vampire, forgotten. That fear became a reality- one that you have the misfortune to be currently suffering through.
Half empty glass of red wine, in your left hand, and a partially chewed piece of dried goat meat in the other. Slumped over on your worn couch. Never quite felt this low before.
What ifs circle around the room, wondering if anything had been done even the slightest bit differently, perhaps you’d be cuddled between Vlad and Lisa right now.
“That was foolish.” He spits as his heavy steps approach from behind you.
“Dear-” Her attempt to calm him down was cut off by your own agitated voice.
“Foolish? No, what's foolish is your idea of danger!” Facing them now, eyes ablaze locking with Vlad’s. Lisa looks between you both, unsure who she should attempt to soothe first.
“You have no idea what you’re speaking of.”
Rolling your eyes was immature but impossible not to. There was no danger- not real danger anyway. He was the Vlad Dracula Tepes, a man who’s spent nearly his entire existence being hunted and attacked. Danger to him is any living mortal, except for the two standing next to him.
And while he’s overprotective of you and Lisa, taking a trip to visit your parents while he was away, isn’t breaking any laws.
He utters your name, making you reluctantly face him.
“I only wish to keep you safe.”
“Safe? We went to visit my family, Vlad. It was one night away.”
“It’s too dangerous to go out alone while I’m not here.”
“It was the middle of the day!”
“You were to stay in the castle until I returned, like I told you-” Poor word choice. Even Lisa cringes.
He’s Vlad Dracula Tepes, a name he wears with pride, like a cloak that he wraps around you and Lisa. The name alone enough to scare off any sane person, a name alone that keeps you both safe within the walls of his castle.
There are bad people out there- some not sane enough to avoid the castle. Some insane enough to actively seek out your home. And these are the monsters that Vlad fears. He knows he can crush any and all that dare cross him, but he can’t say the same for his two lovers.
Many nights spent snuggled close, bodies melded as one, hearing him whisper his deepest fears. Every night he clutches you both close- too tight- as if every hug might be his last. Human lives are fleeting, this much he knows. Fleeting, fragile, precious.
We’ll be here for as long as Lisa’s remedies keep you going. You remember whispering back to him one night. The warmth from his cold body and the sweet chuckle that left him, put your mind at ease. But did nothing to slacken his hold on you both.
Yet you’re a human being, and wear that with pride as well. Any day now might be the last time you’ll ever witness the sunrise. But isn’t that what makes everyday more special? Being caged away from danger might put Vlad’s mind at ease, but it makes you feel degraded. Something that can’t defend itself.
“Like you told me to? I am not your child nor your pet, Vlad.” Stomping out of the room, a pair of feet right on your heel.
“Of course not, even a child could comprehend a simple command.” It’s bitter and spoken with malice. Intent to hurt. It makes you stop cold.
“Excuse me?” The warning in your voice either goes right over his head, or he chooses to ignore it.
“You cannot fathom what monsters lurk in the shadows out there.”
“Oh I think I can.” Pause, enough time to swallow your next words. “Considering I’m looking at one right now.” Low blow, but spat out in a fit of rage.
If you weren’t so upset, the slight hurt that flashes across his face might have made you cave. Instead you continue stomping away, towards your room.
“What are you doing?” Lisa asks, referring to your haphazard bag packing, grabbing handfuls of clothes and shoving them away.
“Leaving.”
“But dinner is all ready…” Lisa’s sounds worried, scrambling to find the key words to make you stay.
“I lost my appetite.”
Pushing past them, they don’t follow you immediately, allowing you some distance. Once you're at the main door, they stand at the top of the steps.
Neither of them say anything.
That was almost three days ago, and you’ve convinced yourself that this lovely polyamorous relationship was now back down to two. Leaving you back in your empty cottage caring for plants that have been long neglected.
Books lay scattered across your limited floor space and various pieces of furniture.
You don’t remember life being this sad before you met them. It’s as if all you’ve ever known was Vlad and Lisa. Pretty sure that’s not healthy, but it’s true.
The light taps on the door are near vomit inducing, other people are the last thing on your ‘can’t deal with right now’ list.
Even your own parents seemed like too much right now. And once the large silhouette of Vlad’s body was visible from the sheer curtains blocking the window, the nausea was only doubled.
But despite the bile creeping up the back of your throat, the door opens and you greet your familiar visitors.
“Hey…” Is all you can muster, nerves getting the best of you. All the things you wanted to say, words are lost to you. Now that they stand before you, these past few days feel like eternities spent apart. But his voice brings dopamine rushing through you, without any effort.
“Good evening.” Pause. “May we come in?”
“Yeah, of course.”
Lisa rushes in and hugs you, squeezing the life out of you.
“Honey, I’ve missed you.” Pulling away, she tugs lightly at Vlad’s arm, “We’ve missed you.”
Vlad looks almost embarrassed, clearing his throat. “Yes, we have.”
If God were real, he must definitely be cruel. The seconds weigh heavy as you try not to suffocate from how awkward this silence is.
“I’m sor-” “I wante-”
The laugh from you both is genuine, some tensions relieved. But only slightly.
“You first.” You push- curiosity getting the best of you.
“I wanted to ask if you would please come back to the castle.”
Running your hands through your hair helps the sweat that's built up on your palms, but does nothing for the churning in your belly.
“Vlad…”
“If I crossed a line, I apologize.” Just like that.
“Thank you. And I really missed you both too.”
His gaze softens, shoulders relaxing at your declaration. And he practically melts when your hand finds his.
The person before you is no mere man- a being beyond mortal comprehension. An undead vampire longer than he was ever a human. But when he gazes at you with such fondness- you catch a glimpse of the man he used to be. Someone who needs the warm touch of the living, lest he forget he was ever alive.
“Vlad, I can’t find the right words to tell you how sorry I am.” Intertwining his fingers with yours- clutching him close. “I love you so much.”
If he feels the wetness dripping on his hand, he does nothing to show it. Head tilted towards the ground, heavy with shame. “You’re not a monster… You’re kind and brilliant, and- and…” Your sleeve stops the falling tears from wetting both your hands further.
A long clawed finger tilts your head up, admiring the raw emotion on your face.
“I was behaving rather poorly, I understand why you were upset.” Him being so dismissive of your behavior makes you feel even worse. His fear of losing you is preventing him from accepting a proper apology from you.
“My behavior was inexcusable, you don’t deserve any of the hateful things I said to you.” He’s leaning towards you, all you do is stand on your tiptoes to meet his lips. He’s pressing you against his chest, tongue tentatively pressing between your lips.
Lisa’s arms wrap around your waist, her chest to your back. She’s laying quick kisses on your nape, trailing around your neck like an invisible necklace.
Still standing in the small old cottage, but with these two - there’s a new warmth in the room.
#x reader#castlevania#writing request#taking commisions#commission#dracula x reader x lisa#vlad x reader x lisa#vlad x reader#lisa x reader#dracula x you#dracula x reader#fluff
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Fkssbcjdn you mentioned Jet in the tags of a post reblogged from ME and I’m sorry but that means I am now going to talk abt him
Listen listen listen. Fire Nationals need to see the sun to keep themselves sane, doesn’t matter if they’re benders or non-benders. Water Tribesfolk need to be around water for similar reasons. Put an Air Nomad in a cave without air circulation and eventually they’re gonna go spare. Jet, Jet is Earth Kingdom. He needs the earth to stay sane, bender or not.
Why was he insane in the forest of Gaipan? Because he stayed in the trees. Away from the earth, which would have stabilised him. Close to the sky, the open air, his direct opposite element.
I’m not surprised he went crazy. His circumstances, combined with cutting himself off from his grounding (ahehe) element… yeah, no wonder.
“But what about in Ba Sing Se?” Well. Does anyone really think nearly a decade of deprivation from one’s core element wouldn’t leave a deep mark? Yes, he was a little saner on the ferry, a little more reasonable, because he had already been travelling on the earth for a few months - give or take - and it had helped him a little bit. But a few months of grounding does not fix a near-decade of cracking. The fact that he flipped back into obsession and negativity so fast when he connected Iroh’s suddenly hot tea (mere moments after loudly complaining how cold it was) to firebending is testament to that.
If Jet hadn’t made that connection, I’m pretty sure he could have healed a little more in the city instead of spiralling, and the second half of Book 2: Earth would have looked very different.
RANT OVER,, sorry the long ask ahaha 😅
chip gives thoughts?? (also I love your art <333)
oh gosh by all means yell about jet as much as you like!
I am so glad when I get to see a positive post about him!
and I adore this headcanon! like so much!!!
especially how this basically can be summarised with…
jet should chill and touch some grass!
okay so… emergency earth therapy for jet!!!
(long shot want to make sure that jet has as much earth contact as possible!!! I think this is the best option to be buried on earth rather than the canon one…)
[ID: digital drawing form longshot (left) jet (centre) and Smelerbee (right) from avatar the last Airbender. jet is lying on the ground buried in earth unable to get out or move. his head peaks out of the earth hill he is glaring up towards Smelerbee, angry biting on a wooden stick. jet's head is resting on Longshot's leg. who is sitting behind him massaging Jet's temples. longshot is looking questioning and doubtful toward Smelerbee. Smelerbee sits on the earth hill above jets abdomen. she is leaning forward. pointing an accusatory finger at him. her expression is angry and serious. around them are many orange and yellow leaves. End ID.]
#chip!ask#atla#freedom fighters#jet#longshot#smelerbee#kind of pain me to let this ask go into the wild now#i wanted to keep it#you have no clue how often i have read and reread it!!!#i love this#really with my whole heart#in this house we agressivley love jet and make sure he is taken care for!!!#smelerbee agressivley caring for jet gives me life!#also longshot is such a sweet boy!
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I saw this awesome question sheet by @bisexualricks and wanted to throw my hat into the ring!

1. top 5 episodes and why!
The Vat of Acid Episode - It was both a solid character introspection for both Rick & Morty, and also had some really funny moments. Morty flipping Rick off after he had to kiss the vat of acid absolutely sent me
Rest and Ricklaxation - There’s was a lot of funny bits in the episode and is generally pretty good. Also Jessica saying Rick would call her drunk asking about Morty or something is hilarious to me
Ricktional Mortpoon's Rickmas Mortcation - It was a huge turning point for lore but also Rick saying “perfectly fucking vertical.” In an incredulous tone absolutely kills me. Also solid light saber fight
The Rickchurian Mortydate - this entire episode was great from beginning to end. “oh I’ve got pubes, commander-in-queef, y-you wanna count them?” And Ricks rant on the Oval Office was hilarious.
Rickmurai Jack - I absolutely love Evil Morty’s character and the last half of the episode was especially fantastic. The music, EM’s rant “That’s what makes me evil, being sick of him.” Also I absolutely believe EM’s offer to let Morty Prime come with was a genuine offer. The whole “it was a toilet” was just EM trying to save face like he wasn’t kinda hurt.
2. least favorite episode(s) and why!
Claw and Hoarder: Special Ricktim's Morty - The subtext on this episode was mortifying and was just kinda weird and all over the place.
Final DeSmithation - There was a good couple funny bits throughout but again, any funny moments is ruined because we can’t go one season without weird incest plots.
Rickdependence Spray - I feel like this is self explanatory. Jfc Justin what we’re you thinking?
3. Moments that make you insane
“I don’t know this guy, you’re a my grandpa, Rick!” OH MY GODDD
The fact that Morty cares for a family he knows isn’t even technically his.
Mortys voice and expression when he yelled “Your not even in the hole, are you?!” In Fear No Mort because the amount of desperation in his tone nearly killed me
Rick lying to Morty about the Purge candy so he doesn’t realize what he has done. Like Rick absolutely could have told Morty the truth but decided not to.
4. your favorite lines
“oh I’ve got pubes, commander-in-queef, y-you wanna count them?”
“A Vat of Fake Acid, are you dying from dementia??”
“We could be clones, we could holograms, we could be clones controlled by holograms controlled by special remote control headsets the real Rick and Morty are wearing while they’re fucking your mother!”
“Betrayal! Betrayal on all sides!”
“You have a death crystal in your pocket??”
“No, yes, maybe!”
“You little monster, I thought you were masterbating!”
“And you took that in stride??”
“You rather I address it??”
5. Rick head-canons
⁃ Stopped doing any heavy partying after around season 1, not wanted to expose Morty to that, though he’d never admit that out loud
⁃ Is Bilingual, specifically he speaks Spanish. I’m pretty sure he’s canonically Hispanic as well.
⁃ He’s pansexual. He also hasn’t been in a serious relationship in decades. He avoids them after Diane. He did want something serious with BP tho
⁃ When he’s wasted, like emotionally upset and absolutely shit faced he will lock himself in the garage and avoid going near the Smith family
⁃ Sometimes Morty does things that reminds Rick of Prime and it drives him crazy. He will go out of his way to chastise Morty to try to get him to stop the things he can control
⁃ Rick doesn’t heal his battle scars as it’s a way to separate himself from other Ricks in the finite curve
⁃ Rick purposely let the original Prime universe get mutated and made it worse as a last middle finger to Rick Prime. He later felt kinda bad about it, just because he knows what he did is some petty shit Prime would have done.
6. Morty head-canons
⁃ Morty Prime has a lot more physical similars to Rick Prime then he does to Jerry. Most Mortys have brown but Morty Prime has blue eyes, similar to his Rick. His hair more disheveled and a bit more spiked.
- Refuses to drink alcohol most of the time because he’s seen what it’s done to people. However he will do recreational drugs & smoke cigarettes. Often on the roof on his house.
⁃ Morty has a jagged scar around the end of his hand where he had to use the train to cut his hand off. As well as a bit missing from his left ear from a stray gun shot, his nose is crooked from getting broken a lot and he’s missing a tooth.
⁃ He carry’s a blaster in his waistband and one under his pillow just in case. He is in general kinda paranoid
⁃ If Morty has a serious nightmare and/or can’t fall asleep he will sneak into his moms or Ricks alcohol stash and drink until he passes out because it’s the only way to get him to fall back asleep.
⁃ Sometimes Morty will stare at himself in the mirror and try to see if he has any similarities to Rick Prime and will try to change anything he finds. If another Morty refers to him as “Prime” he will bust their head open. Or cry.
⁃ Morty is aware Rick sees him as Rick Prime grandson, and is convinced one day Rick will finish what he started and kill him to. He’d never admit that to Rick
7. Family Head-Canons
Summer
- Is a lot more observant then she gets credit for.
- One of the reasons she started going on adventures with Rick is because she wanted to look out for her brother.
- She nearly cried when Rick told her she reminds him of Diane.
⁃ I could see her as Bi, as she’s flirted with Ethan and the girl from S7.
- She was planning on moving out as soon as she was 18, but lately has been thinking other wise. Her relationship with her family is a lot better then before.
Beth/ Space Beth
⁃ Trash TV is her guilty pleasure, like she says she watches it ironically but no she doesn’t
⁃ Not that great at cooking to be honest, never really got taught how to and can’t be bothered anymore
- is honestly proud of Summer for not ending up like her when Beth was her age
Jerry
⁃ is actually really solid at cooking, and would be a good house husband if he wasn’t kinda lazy.
⁃ Family is genuinely important to him and he honestly would sacrifice everything for them. Rick knows this and can respect Jerry for that
⁃ he’d never say it out loud but sometimes Morty scares him. He’s seemingly the only one to notice how aggressive he’s gotten lately and was mortified when Morty told him about the Tina-Teers thing.
8.Prime head-canons
⁃ He doesn’t regret what he did with Diane, but he did regret letting it get to that point
⁃ He honestly didn’t want to kill his own Morty, and was conflicted seeing him with C-137.
⁃ He was far from thrilled seeing what had become of his planet. He wasn’t necessarily attached to it or anyone in it, however he didn’t want it to end up as a wasteland.
- He’s been keeping tabs with Rick and Morty as was a little surprised with how Rick C-137 hasn’t killed Morty Prime or even really tried to.
- Wasn’t expecting Morty to take after him as much as he has.
9. Evil Morty head-canons
- Was actually bothered when Morty Prime didn’t accept his offer and just lied about it being a toilet seat to save face because he was kinda salty about it
- he’s definitely a clone, not sure what universe he’s based off of and doesn’t care anymore
- EM is lonely as hell and watch’s rom coms to pass the time. He’s not use to getting to live normally and isn’t sure what to do with all that free time
- he chose to use an eye patch because he knows Ricks are scared of pirates
- after the S1 finale, EM started keeping tabs on Rick C-137 and Morty Prime. It was also how he learned about the Prime universe
10. favorite rick and morty pair that ISNT c-137 and prime
Not technically a Rick & Morty pair but the Mortys from the citadel, Left-Handed Morty, Slick Morty, Glasses Morty, and Lizard Morty. The way Slick threw himself into the garbage shoot in a desperate attempt for other Mortys to be better off lives in my head rent free I wish they were still alive.
11. songs that you think relate to them
“This is love” by Air Traffic Controller. This song is such a good way to express Mortys codependency to Rick (not shipping btw you nastys)
#great question sheet op!#had a lot of fun with this one#rick and morty analysis#rick and morty#rick c137#evil morty#morty prime
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look down on me like that - 5 (explicit)
genre: slow burn enemies to lovers hatefucking coworkers au, smut (w some eventual angst)
pairing: yoongi x reader
summary: your asshole coworker min yoongi has made it his personal mission to ruin your life.
word count: 11.4k (you're welcome 😌)
contains: ~explicit sexual content~ !! *deep breath in* YES THERE IS ACTUAL FUCKING HAPPENING - EVERYONE REMAIN CALM. also i promise this is the most unhinged reader gets lmao. alright let's go: one night stand/stranger sex, semi-public sex (bathroom of a bar), fingering, spanking, a truly gratuitous blowjob, orgasm denial, a smidge of dirty talk/namecalling, finger sucking?, protected sex, semi-awkward sex lmao, the hatefucking is HERE 🙌🏻 plenty of alcohol mentions as always,, so much alcohol. this chapter also features a couple fun cameos - kihyun of monsta x and wonho 💜
A/N: hope y'all enjoy this absolute CHAOS!! i have so many lovely friends who cheered me on while i was writing this, far too many to name, but i fucking adore you all 🥺🥺 and i do want to specifically shoutout @kiestrokes because the ~spicy twist~ in this chapter would not be HALF as good if it wasn't for her and her big beautiful brain. srsly she took a half-baked idea i had and made it insane. god i love that woman. ALRIGHT ENOUGH BABBLING - ENJOY!!!!!
read on AO3!
chapter four | masterlist | chapter six
~*~
“Try this.” Jimin yanks an emerald green dress off the hanger and chucks it over his shoulder, nearly hitting you.
“Ugh, I hate this one,” you groan as you hold the offending item up for inspection, pinched between index finger and thumb. “The fabric is so itchy.”
Your best friend whips around, hands on hips, when you question his taste. “I’m sorry, did I just hear you going back on our agreement? Is that what this is?”
You groan, flopping over onto your bedspread, doing your best not to mess up your hair. Jimin had, understandably, been pissed when you’d called him immediately upon leaving the office last night, hands still shaking as you cradled the phone against your cheek. You think you have permanent hearing damage from the anguished wails your best friend made as you finally admitted everything you hadn’t told him. And you certainly could have done without the appreciative noises he made after he forced you to describe Suga’s dick in explicit detail.
It’s not like you aren’t constantly thinking about it, anyway.
Especially now that Yoongi has specifically told you everything, everything he wants to do to you. The words swim back to you in pieces whenever you aren’t actively trying to suppress the memory. Finger that tight little pussy. Spank you until you bruise. Fuck you like the slut you so clearly are.
God. You’ve been horny for 24 hours straight. This can’t be good for your health.
Jimin had nearly disowned you for letting secrecy infiltrate your friendship for the first time in over a decade, but then he’d realized how truly distraught you were as you just kept babbling into the phone about Suga, too far gone to make any sense.
“Jesus fucking christ, it’s not the end of the world!” He’d finally interrupted with a frustrated groan. “You really think Suga is the only man in the world who can fuck you senseless? He was probably overselling it anyway. Having a pretty dick doesn’t guarantee he knows what to do with it.”
At this point you’d stumbled onto the bus home, and you remember smacking your forehead against the cold glass of the window with a whine at the words pretty dick, your mind already departing on another Yoongi spiral.
Jimin’s peal of laughter rang in your ears. “I’ve never heard you down this bad in my life, good god girl! We just need to get you laid so your fucking brain can work right again.”
“Please,” you’d grunted.
“Alright, I’m coming over tomorrow, and we’re going out.” He’d paused then, and you knew there was more even before he continued. It was like you could hear his evil smile. “And I get to pick your outfit.”
You’re snapped out of the memory as a second dress is tossed your way, this one hitting you square in the face.
“Either the green or this one. You’re still in the doghouse, ma’am,” Jimin reminds you.
You pull the second option up to examine it, already grateful for the softer feel of the material. Jimin loves to put you in shit that you’d never wear— usually dresses that he bought for you, or bullied you into buying. You think you already dress pretty racy when you go out, but Jimin likes to take it to another level, always encouraging you to show more skin, more tits, more ass. He’s definitely responsible for this number even being in your closet: dark burgundy in color, it’s tight, short, and the cutouts leave very little to the imagination.
You whine softly despite yourself. “Do I have to? I’m going to freeze to death.”
Jimin has already moved to sit at your desk, examining his hair in the mirror you use to do your makeup. He’s in one of his favorite going-out shirts, one he claims “makes even the straight boys look twice”, a blue and white striped button down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He doesn’t even bother making eye contact with you as he peers at his reflection, fiddling with the silver hoops in his ears. “I dunno. Depends on whether or not you value my friendship.”
You roll your eyes at his dramatics. “I can’t stand you.”
“Will you shut up and put your damn freakum dress on already?” He rummages through your makeup bag without asking until he finds what he’s looking for, a tube of Fenty gloss that he dabs in the center of his bottom lip.
“That is not what freakum dress means,” you say with a laugh as you stand to strip out of your sweats, but he’s already reaching for his phone that’s connected to your Bluetooth speaker, another requirement for the evening in order to keep your friendship intact. Beyoncé starts to blast as you pull your shirt over your head and suck in for dear life.
“So, what exactly is the plan?” You ask as soon as you swallow down another shot, nearly shouting to be heard over the noise of the bar. Jimin made you do a couple in your kitchen before you left, and though you haven’t even been out for an hour, you’re already straddling the line between tipsy and drunk.
He shoots you a look. “Don’t act so innocent, like I haven’t personally seen you go home with random dudes.”
Your gaze flits over the mass of bodies out on the dance floor. “I mean, yeah, but…” You shrug, grimacing slightly. “I don’t know, it’s been a while. And we’re not in college anymore.”
“What about him?” You look back at Jimin and he nods his head behind you. You do your best to be subtle as you glance over your shoulder to see two guys a couple of tables away.
“Which one?”
Jimin makes a face like it’s obvious. “Are you kidding me? The absolutely built daddy with the red hair?”
You examine them more closely, scrunching your nose up a little. He’s cute, big as hell, and you certainly notice his bubble butt in those tight pants. But it just doesn’t feel right. “I don’t know that he’s my type.” When your gaze lands on his friend, dressed in all black, dark hair skimming over his eyes as he leans in to say something, your heart flips in your chest. Now that could work.
Turning back to Jimin to say as much, you realize that he’s already brushing past you. “Well I’m not stupid,” he scoffs, and you scramble to follow after him as he stalks confidently across the room.
He’s already talking to them when you catch up. “Hi boys. Care for some company?”
They glance at each other, and you can tell Jimin’s presence is clearly unexpected but not unwelcome. He wasn’t wrong: nobody can resist him in that damn shirt.
“Sure,” red-haired daddy says with a shy giggle, and you have to bite back a smile. You were not expecting a guy that built to react so softly, and you already know your best friend is going feral on the inside. There is nothing Jimin loves more than a man he can fluster. Especially one who can make him pay for it.
His friend flags down a server and orders a round of shots for the table, then gives you a small wave as Jimin takes the liberty of giving his name and yours. “I’m Kihyun.”
“Hoseok,” Jimin's target is clearly squirming under his intense gaze. “But my friends call me Wonho.”
“Can I be your friend?” Jimin purrs. You’re nearly laughing at how quickly he lost the plot of trying to get you laid, but he’s also such an intense flirt that it nearly works as a wingman maneuver, in its own weird way.
You scoot a little closer to Kihyun as Jimin and Wonho disappear into their own conversation. Up close you can really admire how attractive he is, full lips and a wickedly sharp jawline.
“Hi,” you say with a smile, surprised to find yourself slightly nervous despite the alcohol coursing through your system.
“Hi,” he says back, and he looks like he’s about to say more when the server reappears with a tray of four shots.
“Thanks again for these,” you say as you reach for one, and he waves it off. You glance over at Jimin and Wonho, assuming they might want to toast as a group, but Jimin is already hooking his elbow around Wonho’s ridiculous bicep and making a not-at-all-subtle comment about how big he is, intertwining their arms before they each throw the shot back.
You look at Kihyun again, who is biting his lip nervously, and you can feel your face heat up. You’re no Jimin, so you settle for gently tapping your shot glass against his. “Cheers.”
He echoes the sentiment and you down your drinks simultaneously. You shiver a little as you swallow, but you’ve had enough that you don’t even feel the burn of the alcohol.
“So,” Kihyun’s eyes flit over to Jimin, then return to you. “Do you two come here a lot?”
You shrug. “We rotate. Jimin likes this place more than I do. You?”
He laughs softly. “Not really. Honestly, we’re both homebodies, but we try to get out every so often. Always nice to meet new people.” It’s so quick you nearly miss it, but you swear his eyes jump down your figure and back up again.
You try to ignore the little voice in your head reminding you of another pair of eyes; dark, calculating, wandering over your body. Not now.
“I couldn’t agree more,” you say, because it’s true: a new person is definitely what you need in this moment.
Before you can ask a follow-up question, you hear Jimin, talking loudly so that he’s audible over the music. “Your thighs look so good in those pants!” You have to resist the urge to smack your head against the table when you look over to see him attempting— and absolutely failing— to wrap his small hands around the circumference of Wonho’s leg, who is giggling like a schoolgirl.
You glance back at Kihyun, who is equally enraptured. “I’m so sorry,” you say quietly. “He is unfortunately always like this.”
“You know where else those thighs would look good?” Jimin’s voice lowers as he asks the question, and you watch Kihyun’s eyes go wide.
“Do you want to dance?” You say quickly, and he nods so fast you think his head might fall off. You start to break away from the group, his hand slipping to your waist, when Jimin smacks the table so loud that it makes you jump.
“Hey!” He yells, and you turn back, but he’s pointing at Kihyun, who instantly looks terrified. He leans in, as if to divulge confidential information, and Kihyun takes a tentative step towards him.
“Just so you’re aware,” Jimin starts, and you know it’s going to be bad. “She needs to get dicked down. Severely. Hope you’re ready.”
You close your hand around Kihyun’s wrist and drag him towards the dance floor, eager for a distraction to keep you from murdering your best friend.
Now that you’re actually in motion, you can feel the last couple of shots quickly catching up to you, the room blurring slightly at the edges. At the center of the dance floor, the thudding bass is loud enough to make it hard to think, which is exactly what you need right now.
You’re grateful not to have to force any more conversation, both of Kihyun’s hands slipping to your hips as you start to move in time to the music. It gives you free reign to admire him up close, and damn, he really is gorgeous. He’s only a little taller than you in your heels— probably about the same height as Yoongi, though his frame is slighter, smaller. You watch as his dark hair falls into his eyes again and he reaches up to sweep it off his forehead— Yoongi’s hair is a little longer, and he certainly has much better hands, but other than that—
You have to squeeze your eyes shut when you realize what the fuck you're doing. The whole point of this encounter is to stop thinking about Yoongi. Not pick apart this absolute stranger in comparison to him.
You desperately wish you could get another drink, but you know that would push you all the way into “drunk” territory. As much as you hate admitting it, Jimin was right: you really need to be able to consent to sex tonight. You’re gonna have to get through this the old-fashioned way, with sheer fucking willpower.
“Are you okay?”
Your eyes flutter open to meet Kihyun’s concerned gaze. “Yeah, yeah, sorry. Just, uh. Thinking about work.” Not a complete lie.
“Well, don’t,” he says with a soft laugh. “It’s the weekend. You should enjoy it.” His hands press a little tighter, pulling you close until your body is flush with his. His breath ghosts over your neck as you hear his voice in your ear. “That dress looks really good on you.”
A different voice echoes in your mind before you can stop it. Spread your legs for me. Show me what’s under that dress. You can’t help but wonder if this is what it feels like to literally go insane, and then you grab Kihyun’s face with both hands and kiss him in a desperate attempt to not think anymore.
You can feel him freeze, clearly not expecting it, but after a second his mouth starts to move against yours. His hands slip further down towards your ass, and fuck, it occurs to you that you are still incredibly horny. You need this to happen as soon as possible.
Pulling away and sliding your hands to Kihyun’s shoulders, you tilt up to speak into his ear. “Do you live near here?”
His eyes go wide for at least the third time tonight. “Y-yeah, not far.” You see his tongue dart out to lick his lips.
“I don’t know how to say this politely,” you admit with an embarrassed smile. “But my friend wasn’t wrong. About… what I need.”
He pauses for a moment, and your stomach twists as you prepare for rejection, the reasonable reaction considering you basically jumped this man like a crazy person. But then he smiles, leaning into you so he can keep his tone soft. “Come on, then.”
You follow Kihyun as he guides you towards the exit, keeping one hand pressed to the small of your back. It’s hard to miss the other half of your group making their way through the crowd— Wonho is large enough that people quickly shrink to get out of his way, but his gaze is entirely transfixed on Jimin’s ass in front of him. You nod in their direction and Kihyun follows as you push past bodies to reunite.
“Are you leaving?!” Jimin asks, and you can only nod. His eyes jump to Kihyun. “I told you, you better give it to her!” He shouts it so loudly that people standing behind him glance over their shoulders, but he is fully unfazed, now brandishing his cellphone. “And I always have her location on, so if you murder her, I will come find you!”
With a roll of your eyes, you lean across the circle so that Wonho can hear you. “Take good care of him, okay?” When you pull away, you swear he’s blushing as red as his hair, and he nods sheepishly.
You turn back to Kihyun. “Ready?”
The door to Kihyun’s apartment barely has time to close behind you before you find his lips with yours again. He presses you up against the wall of the entryway, and you waste no time in moving your hands over his body. His shirt and pants hit the floor in quick succession.
When he reaches for the hem of your dress, you cover his hands with yours to stop him. “Do you— is it okay if I keep it on?”
“Yeah,” he murmurs, breathless. “Yeah, okay.”
He kisses you again and you let him guide you backwards through an open door into his bedroom until you feel the mattress hit the backs of your knees. You perch on the edge of the bed and glance around the room, taking it in. It’s clean, if minimally furnished, and your stomach flips when you see a nondescript work desk tucked into one corner.
You look at Kihyun when you feel his hand gently rub your thigh, encouraging you to spread your legs.
“Kihyun?”
“Yeah?”
Your gaze jumps to his desk, then back to him. “Do— uh… Do you think you could bend me over your desk?”
He seems a little dumbfounded, and takes a second to find words. “Wh— I— yeah, yes, I can do that. I just—” he clears his throat. “Do you need, like, foreplay, or…?”
You stand up again, knees shaking slightly. “I’ll tell you what to do, does that work?”
It must, because he kisses you, eventually starting to move towards the desk. When you’ve gotten far enough, you feel him tug at your hips, encouraging you to spin around so your back is flush with his chest. His hand slides up to your shoulders to gently press you forward, and you brace your forearms on the desk, already breathless.
“P-pull my dress up,” you manage to instruct. His hands caress over your thighs, then move to the hem of your dress, pushing up until your ass is fully exposed for him.
Get a good look at that ass you were tempting me with, the voice in your head finishes for you. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to focus on this moment, this man. Not any others.
You look back at Kihyun over your shoulder in an attempt to stay present, spreading your legs a little wider. “Touch me.”
He slowly moves a hand from your thigh up towards your core, and you feel his fingers just barely brush over the fabric of your underwear. The rush of contact after so much anticipation is enough to make you shiver slightly, but his touch is so light, so gentle.
Gentle is not what you need right now.
Keeping yourself held up on one arm, you reach the other behind you to forcefully tug your panties to the side. “Your fingers, Kihyun,” you hiss.
You tip your head forward and swallow down a whine of relief as he presses a digit into you and starts to rub circles. “How’s that?” His voice purrs in your ear, and you whimper as you nod.
It feels good, especially when he adds a second finger, but it’s not enough. He’s too soft, too tentative.
You look back at him again. “Can you spank me?”
You’ve officially lost count of the number of times you’ve surprised this man tonight. “I— what?”
“Like, smack my ass?”
“Like this?” He asks, but you barely feel it when he brings his hand down over your ass.
“Harder,” you say almost instantly, realizing after the fact that you could probably stand to be a little nicer to this random stranger. “Please.”
Kihyun’s second attempt is better, enough to make you groan softly as the sensation of the sting mixes with the movements of his fingers pressing against your front wall. He does it again, harder still, and you wiggle your ass back towards him— you need more, more than his hands can give.
“Kihyun,” you gasp, “want you to fuck me.”
“Yeah? I’ll fuck you right here,” he grunts. At least he seems to be genuinely into it, you think to yourself gratefully. He smacks your ass a final time and you bite down on your lip as he withdraws his fingers. “One second.”
You hear the sound of him opening a drawer somewhere in his room and retrieving a condom, and you let your eyes flutter closed until his hands brush over your hips again.
“Ready?”
“Yes, Kihyun, please,” you beg, your head dropping down onto your forearms. “Please fuck me.” Desire is wound up so tight inside you that you can’t think about anything else; you need this so fucking badly.
He makes a strangled whine as he presses into you, and you move your hips back onto him, gasping slightly at the stretch. “Fuck.”
“God, you feel so fucking good,” Kihyun groans, and he starts to roll into you with steady thrusts that brush the head of his cock right over your g-spot. You push backwards, matching his rhythm, and he’s not wrong: it feels good.
But it’s not enough.
“Harder,” you groan, your voice muffled in the crook of your elbow, and you hear Kihyun grunt as he picks up the pace, hips snapping against your ass. Better, but somehow still not what you need.
“Please, Kihyun,” you encourage again. “Fuck me like a slut.”
“Jesus,” he breathes, and for a second, you wonder if you’ve finally broken him. But then his hand cracks over your ass, hard enough to take you by surprise, and he starts to thrust even faster.
“Is this what you want?” He asks, and his voice is tense, almost angry; something about it makes your walls start to flutter. Your orgasm is so frustratingly close, yet somehow beyond your grasp.
And then you hear that all-too familiar voice in your head. I want to make you come so hard that your legs shake. Before you can help it, you moan a little at the memory. The way Yoongi leveled his gaze on you as he spoke so calmly, in a way that had you believing every single word. You can feel your core starting to tighten at the very thought, and once your brain realizes that’s what will get you there, it’s like the fucking floodgates open.
“Oh fuck,” you groan, and you can hear him grunt in agreement, like he’s close, too.
You’re helpless to stop it now, too desperate to come. Yoongi’s voice, his face, his tongue, his hands, his cock. It’s all you can think of. You gasp as everything inside you tightens and starts to pulse.
“Shit, shit, I’m gonna come,” you whine. So hard that you have no choice but to scream my name as I wreck you, the voice in your head finishes, and you dig your nails into the desk beneath you as you reach your climax.
Your back arches, pleasure washing over you, and you cry out. “Yes, Yoongi, yes!”
There’s a moment where his hips stutter, and then he pushes all the way into you one last time with a grunt of effort as he comes, too. Your heartbeat starts to slow.
And then it occurs to you that the man fucking you is absolutely not named Yoongi, and you smack a hand over your mouth.
“Oh my god,” you say softly, voice muffled, and you remove your hand as you start to straighten up. You can hear Kihyun still breathing heavily behind you, but he’s otherwise silent as he releases his grip on your hips and slides out of you.
“Kihyun,” you turn to watch him cross the room to the en-suite bathroom, where he briefly disappears to dispose of the condom. Face burning with embarrassment, you awkwardly maneuver to readjust your underwear and pull your dress back down over your ass.
When he reappears in the doorway, you try again. “Kihyun, I am so sorry. I—I don’t—” you fumble for what to say, knowing full well you don’t have a good explanation. At least not one that doesn’t make you sound insane.
“It’s cool,” he says, but he’s clearly uncomfortable. “I mean, you know. Shit happens.”
You glance around nervously for your phone before realizing it’s back on the table in the entryway where you tossed it in the throes of passion. You shoot Kihyun a weak smile. “I should— let me call Jimin. I can get a ride home.”
Kihyun laughs dryly. “Yeah, I’m gonna take a wild guess that he might be a little busy. I can take you home. It’s not a big deal.”
As much as your pride wants to refuse, you don’t exactly have a backup plan. “I would really appreciate that,” you murmur.
The drive is silent and painfully awkward, Kihyun turning up the music just loud enough that you get the indication that he doesn’t want to talk. As the lights of the city stream by, you can’t help but wonder how everything got so fucked up.
When Kihyun pulls up to your apartment complex, you indicate where he can drop you off, and he reaches over you as the car slows to a stop to politely open the door.
“Have a good night,” he says firmly, and you can barely manage a word of thanks before you slip out of his car and head up the stairs to die of embarrassment.
Jimin shows up at your door late Sunday afternoon, a takeout bag of haejangguk tucked under one arm, gushing incessantly about the various ways Wonho threw him around all night. It feels like he babbles for an hour, until he finally takes a break to sip from his own container of soup, and prompts you with a raise of his eyebrows.
“Your turn. Was your mission successful?”
You keep your gaze firmly planted on the floor as you recount what happened.
“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
~*~
Jimin decides that you’ll try again next weekend, promising he’ll be less distracted. You’re not positive you’ll survive that long. You preemptively text Jungkook asking to take the week off from boxing class - your stomach is such a fucking bundle of nerves that you barely sleep at all Sunday night, and you know the next five days spent in constant fear of running into Yoongi is only going to make it worse.
Those same nerves creep up into your throat when you unlock the doors Monday morning, Jungkook waiting patiently behind you with his hands wrapped around the straps of his backpack.
Dread blooms inside of you as you move to place your purse on your desk, and then you make a split-second decision, spinning back to face Jungkook.
“Hey, JK?” The nickname is unplanned, just sort of comes out, but you see him visibly brighten. “Are there any open desks on your side of the office? I think I need a change of scenery.”
He nods, eyes wide. “Yeah! I’m actually all by myself right now. Sunye is on maternity leave for the rest of the month. You can use her desk.”
You gesture for him to lead the way and he does, heading past the break room and walking backwards down the hallway to keep talking to you. “Is there something wrong with your normal desk? We can always put in a work order.”
“Uh, no,” you scramble, trying to find a good excuse. “It can just be a little distracting, you know. People coming in and out all day. I’ve got a lot of stuff I need to be heads-down on this week.”
The excuse sounds flimsy and false to you, but he seems to buy it. “Yeah, makes sense! I’ll try not to distract you too much.”
He does a full 360-degree spin on his heels as you turn the corner at the end of the hall, and it’s enough to make you laugh softly despite yourself. There’s a small alcove with a desk pressed against either wall, and you don’t even have to ask which one is Jungkook’s. The standing desk is dotted with tell-tale signs of Baby Star Candy: an empty shaker cup, a mini tub of protein powder, several fidget toys tucked beneath his monitor. A small collage of polaroids is taped to the wall where you see him smiling with friends, throwing up a peace sign in nearly every single one.
Sunye’s desk is mostly empty, save for a few framed photos of her with her husband and two young kids. You drop your purse down and take a seat as Jungkook chucks his backpack under his desk, both of you reaching to retrieve your laptops.
Outlook hasn’t even loaded before he’s turned around and talking to you again. “So how was your weekend?”
You grimace reflexively at memories you’d rather forget, and Jungkook misinterprets the look. “Oh, sorry, no distractions. I’ll be quiet.”
“No, no,” you shake your head. “It’s not you. My weekend was fine. What about yours?”
He laughs, looking a little embarrassed. “I mean, honestly? I’m super addicted to this new mobile game that just came out. I feel like I blinked and lost two days.” He’s already reaching for his cellphone. “Want to see?” You roll your chair across to his side of the room as Jungkook leans over to show you the little island world he’s nearly 500 levels into. After a few minutes, he seems to remember himself.
“Shit, you specifically said you came here to focus. I’m sorry, I really will leave you alone now.”
You bite down on your bottom lip. “No, it’s okay, JK. I— honestly, I wasn’t being entirely truthful when I said that. I don’t mind the distraction at all, actually. It’s kind of complicated, but… it would be nice if I could hide out here for the foreseeable future.”
He looks at you, clearly surprised. “Of course. Whatever you need. Is everything okay?”
You wince a little, with no idea how to answer that question.
His voice drops. “Is it Suga?”
“It’s complicated.” You repeat with a sigh.
An unfamiliar emotion flashes in Jungkook’s eyes. You’ve never seen him angry before, but you’d guess this is what it looks like. “Hey, seriously, if he’s being aggressive with you, we should do something about it. Report it or something.”
You have to suppress the urge to laugh in his face. Like Yoongi being aggressive with you isn’t exactly what you’ve been fantasizing about for days.
“No, it’s not like that,” you reassure him. “I think we’re just two people who are better off kept apart from each other. That’s all.”
Jungkook nods slowly, and it’s clear from his expression that he wants to pry more, but is forcing himself not to. “Okay.”
There’s a heaviness of unasked and unanswered questions in the air, but the two of you manage to lapse into corporate smalltalk as you roll back over to your desk and dive into your workday.
Jungkook eventually has to peel off for a few virtual meetings, and watching him work is its own source of entertainment. If it’s a meeting that requires his focus, you can tell because he leans in close to his monitor, staring at spreadsheets or data visualizations with a look on his face like he’s using every single brain cell he owns.
You can also tell when he’s put on calls where he clearly isn’t needed, because he’ll spin in a full circle at his desk with a glazed over look in his eye. There are even a few times where you glance up to see him silently doing what you vaguely recognize as TikTok dances, and you have to clap a hand over your mouth to keep from outright laughing.
The day rolls on, and you’re neck deep in drafting a communication when Jungkook’s voice breaks your concentration. “Do you like ramyeon?”
Your head snaps up to see him lean down under his desk to grab his backpack. He unzips it to retrieve two containers of instant noodles, and when he offers one to you, you give an approving nod. “I usually bring two in case I get extra hungry. I’ll make it, come meet me in the break room when you finish what you’re doing.”
You genuinely believe him on the first day, but when he just so happens to bring a second lunch on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday, you start to get a little suspicious.
Friday has you stuck on a working session straight through your usual lunch hour, and Jungkook disappears without a word, returning as you’re pulling your headset off with two to-go salads in a plastic bag.
“I ordered one, and they gave me two. Crazy, right?”
You quirk an eyebrow at him to signal that you don’t believe a damn word, but you still thank him as you follow him down the hall to the break room.
“You’re coming out tonight, right?” He asks over lunch, and it takes you a second to remember the planned happy hour your boss has scheduled for the office. You’re torn between never wanting to see the inside of a bar again, and the overwhelming desire to drink as much as you can on the company’s dime. Ideally enough to obliterate the brain cells that store your memories of last weekend.
In the end, your cheapness wins out. Plus, given that it’s a social work event, you’d bet your entire salary that Yoongi will be nowhere to be found. You figure it might actually prove to be a good distraction. “Sure, yeah. At least for a couple drinks.”
“Cool,” Jungkook smiles a little as he spears a piece of chicken on his plastic fork. “Let me know when you’re done for the day, we can head over together.”
As much as you’d like to blow off early, a phone call that was supposed to take fifteen minutes ends up lasting over an hour. You mute your headset briefly to give a loud sigh, and shoot Jungkook a silent pout in apology when he meets your gaze, but he just flips his phone around to show you the progress he’s making on his island. At least he’s good at keeping himself entertained, you think with a smile.
Finally the person leading the call seems to come to the extremely delayed realization that no one is going to make any more progress on the issue after 5 PM on a Friday, and things wrap up pretty quickly after that. You and Jungkook gather your things and head for the front, and the office is a ghost town.
Your eyes drift down the opposite hallway towards the Genius Lab, your pulse quickening a little. You’ve checked the lab every evening this week and have luckily only found it empty, but you’re nearly an hour ahead of schedule today. And you don’t exactly have a great track record with Yoongi when it comes to Fridays.
“I should probably…”
“I can do it,” Jungkook cuts in softly. You’re hit with the automatic urge to say no, to shield him from this chaos in any way you can. But it would be really nice to not have to deal with Yoongi for one fucking day.
“I would appreciate that,” you reply, and Jungkook is already striding down the hall. You pretend to busy yourself on your phone as you hear a knock, then the electronic beeps of him punching the code into the door lock. When you glance up, you see him push the door open and stick his head inside, then promptly close it again.
“He’s gone. Let’s get out of here.”
The bar your boss has chosen is only a few blocks away from the office, and Jungkook holds the door open for you to enter first when you arrive. You don’t see your group right when you first walk in, and you have to round a bend in the layout of the building before you spot the long table of familiar faces.
You move to take a step forward, but Jungkook nearly imperceptibly brings a hand to your elbow to stop you. He says nothing, which is unlike him, and you start to ask a question.
“Wh—” the words die in your mouth when you see Yoongi smiling politely into a glass of whiskey, seated at the table next to your boss. His gaze flickers up to meet yours. Your stomach twists as you watch the smile immediately drop off his face.
“We can go,” Jungkook says quickly, but you know you can’t give him the satisfaction.
“It’s fine,” you say, and it comes out a little more harsh than you mean it to. “We don’t have to sit near him.” Jungkook follows your lead to the opposite end of the table. When you take your seats, he almost immediately gets sucked into a conversation with some of the audio engineers. You do your best to at least act like you’re following along, but it feels like the room is spinning despite the fact that you’re entirely sober.
That absolutely needs to change, you quickly determine. You’re sitting at the corner of the table, so it’s easy enough to slip out and get to your feet. Jungkook glances up when you do.
“I’ll be right back,” you say, and your tone must be direct enough that he doesn’t ask any follow-up questions or offer his company. Which is fine, you think to yourself as you cross the room. You’re perfectly capable of walking to the bar and ordering a drink on your own.
At least it feels that way until you sweep your gaze across the room, waiting on a bartender to acknowledge your presence, and realize Yoongi is headed straight towards you, empty glass in hand.
Fuck fuck fuck.
You set your jaw, determined not to let him smell your fear, and renew your conviction to flag someone down and get a drink as fast as possible. When Yoongi takes a seat at the barstool next to you, you will your face not to react. But you’re not quite fast enough to remember to tell your mouth to stay shut, too.
“What are you doing here?” You snap, refusing to look him in the eye.
“I wanted to talk to you,” he says, voice even, and you blink hard. You don’t know what you were expecting, but it wasn’t that. “I figured an event with free alcohol was a good place to start. Let’s hope no one wore their good shoes tonight.”
Setting your jaw has turned into fully gritting your teeth, and you’ve never been more grateful to see a bartender when one approaches. You order quickly, and see Yoongi silently lift his empty glass as a request in your periphery.
“What do you want, Yoongi?”
When he hums and doesn’t respond right away, you glance over to see him running a finger around the rim of his finished drink. Just his fucking hand is enough to send a shiver up your spine, and you tear your gaze away.
“Well, for one, I honestly have to say I was surprised when HR didn’t personally escort me out of the building Monday morning.”
Your head snaps up to look at him again as you parse out his meaning. “Really?”
Yoongi’s gaze meets yours, his brows slightly pinching together as if he’s surprised that you’re surprised. “Uh, yeah.”
You’re so shocked it takes you a minute to form words. “I— I mean, it’s not like it was unprovoked.”
He makes a face as if he’s considering it, shrugging a little. “I suppose.”
As you drop your gaze to the wood grain of the bar, you can’t help but wonder if that was meant to be an apology. You barely have time to process that thought before the bartender returns, setting your drinks down, and you reach for yours like a woman dehydrated. When you take a sip, it’s strong— exactly what you need in this moment.
You’re already halfway off the barstool, very ready to get back to your seat at the table, when Yoongi speaks up again.
“Do you want to hear a funny story?” Something in his tone makes you pause, and he keeps going.
“I heard from an old friend a few days ago. We used to be really close, but lately I don’t think we’ve talked in…” He shakes his head in disbelief, like he’s trying to think. “God, probably years. I’ve been so focused on work. You know how I get.”
You physically recoil at his strange candor, how comfortable he suddenly is with implying that you know him. Your stomach is already starting to turn, though you can’t put a finger on why. It just feels like he’s playing with you.
Yoongi rolls his glass between his palms as he continues. “So you know, we catch up, ask how life is going, all the usual shit. And then my friend— Kihyun, that’s his name— Kih starts telling me about this crazy hookup he had last weekend.”
You nearly drop your drink as your blood runs cold. Yoongi continues the charade, pretending like he’s telling you something you don’t already know first-hand.
“He said he got approached by this super hot girl out of nowhere, and that she was fucking desperate for it. Barely said two words to him before she was asking him to take her home. And once he did, he said the sex was wild. I mean, it definitely sounded great to me when he gave me the play-by-play.” He pauses for a moment, and when he speaks again, there’s a new tone to his voice, almost aggressive. “Straight out of one of my own fantasies, really.”
You take a nervous gulp of your drink in hopes that it might help cool down your burning face— whether it’s from shame or rage, you can’t tell.
“And get this.” Yoongi’s voice is grave now, all pretense of telling a funny story gone as he turns to fully face you. “You’re never gonna believe whose name she cried out when she came. Because it sure wasn’t Kih’s.”
The shock of his words, at the fact that he knows this, is enough to freeze you where you stand. You’re nearly shaking with the chaotic storm of emotions swirling in your brain, and it takes every ounce of willpower you can muster to keep your voice steady as you fix him in your gaze. “I don’t see that it’s any of your business who or how I fuck, Yoongi.”
“Oh, I think it’s absolutely my business when you’re calling them my fucking name. And I don’t understand why you’d settle for imitation when you could have the real thing.” Despite how livid you are, you don’t miss the way your pussy flutters at the smug look on his face.
“Maybe it’s because your friend doesn’t come with all the strings attached that you do.”
“Strings?” He quirks an eyebrow. “I wasn’t planning on dating you, sweetheart.”
You can’t believe how dense he is, and you slam your drink down on the bar. “No, Yoongi, but you’re my fucking coworker. Have you ever heard the phrase, ‘don’t shit where you eat’?” He chuckles dryly into the rim of his glass. “It’s a bad fucking idea.”
He examines you as he takes a sip of whiskey, then finally speaks again. “Here’s the way I see it. We are both sane, consenting adults, very capable of being rational about this.” You scoff in disbelief at how calmly he can say such a thing as you take another long pull from your drink. “There’s obviously a lot of pent-up feelings going on. I’m not saying we have to be friends. Hell, we don’t even have to like each other. Sometimes it’s more fun when you don’t.”
Not expecting that commentary, you nearly choke on the ice in your glass. Yoongi gives you a moment to recover before continuing.
“It seems to me like we could establish something that would be mutually beneficial. Get some of that energy out. If anything, I think it might help both of us actually focus on our work, and that would in turn benefit everyone. It’d certainly be a lot better than the two of us running around like a couple of horny teenagers the way we have been lately. It’s not a purely selfish thing.”
You hate that his stupid logical argument makes sense to you. You hate it so much that you finish your drink in one swallow.
“Look, I’ll make it easy for you,” he says, eyes locked on you, his voice dropping into a lower register. The tone immediately takes you back to the last time you were in his lab. The things he said to you. The things he wanted to do to you. Heat pools in your belly before you can tell it not to.
“I’m going to head back to the group. You get yourself another drink, come join us, and take some time to think about it.”
He leans in to speak the next part directly into your ear, his voice quiet. Every nerve ending in your body lights up at the feeling of his breath against your neck. “Then I’m going to get up and go to the restroom. I’ll give you three minutes to discreetly excuse yourself and join me. If you don’t show, I’ll drop all of this and leave you alone. Promise.”
Yoongi pulls away, shooting you that trademark smirk, knowing full well that he doesn’t have to explain what will happen if you do decide to join him. He already has. Then he slips off the barstool, glass of whiskey in hand, and strides back towards the table.
When you order the next round, you ask for a double.
You do your best to act like the world isn’t ending as you return to your seat at the table. The conversation continues around you, without you; you can only stare dumbly at the empty space between two of your coworkers as you take a long swig of your drink. You’re vaguely aware of discussions of upcoming mixtapes and the Grammy’s, but your brain can’t process anything over the roaring in your ears, the pounding of your heartbeat in your gut— and a little lower.
You feel insane, enraged, and deliriously aroused.
You have no concept of how quickly time is passing, no clue if it’s been an instant or an hour when you see movement from the other end of the table out of the corner of your eye. There’s no self-control left in your system to keep your jaw from going slack, to keep you from unabashedly watching as Yoongi gets up from the table and strides confidently across the bar toward the restroom. He doesn’t so much as glance in your direction.
“Are you alright?”
You whip around at Jungkook’s voice, having completely forgotten there was anyone else in the room. It takes a second for you to snap your mouth shut, and then you realize you have to open it to answer his question.
“I— uh—” You can barely string a sentence together. “My drink is really strong.”
“Do you need some water?”
When you nod, he’s up in a flash, heading towards the bar, and you realize as you watch him disappear that it might have been a bad idea to let yourself be left alone. Because now you have no distraction from the way every cell in your body is screaming at you.
It’s obvious that there is a right choice and a wrong choice here. And you’ve tried so hard, for so long, to be smart. To deny the truth, to say no and go home, to channel the energy out in any other way. But none of it has worked. You still want this terrible man to do terrible things to you, maybe now more than ever. And you’re so fucking tired of making the right choice.
So tonight, you resolve with a final sip of your drink, you’ll make the wrong one. Fuck it.
You slip away from the table before Jungkook returns, following the same path Yoongi did towards the back of the bar. When you reach for the handle of the restroom door, your pulse is racing, enough that you nearly jump out of your skin when the door swings open before you can even touch it. You glance up to find yourself face-to-face with an equally shocked looking Yoongi.
“Your three minutes are up,” he says dryly. Rather than bother with a response, you bring your hand to his chest and firmly shove him back inside the single stall room. You hear him laugh a little as you follow after, pulling the knob and turning the lock into place behind you.
When he takes a step toward you, there’s nowhere for you to go except flush against the door. You watch his eyes drop down your body and back up, taking his time, shameless. His gaze lingers on your mouth.
“Didn’t think you’d really do it,” he murmurs, eyes glinting.
“Call it a lapse in judgment.”
There’s something about the situation that makes you feel like Yoongi has the upper hand— like he expects every part of this to go according to his plan. That, you decide, simply will not do. And then you drop to your knees in front of him.
“Oh my god,” Yoongi breathes, taking a small step back to give you room. “You’re a whore.”
You do your best to shoot a death glare up at him. “I don’t have to do this.”
He smirks. “I meant it as a compliment, honestly. Respectfully.”
That’s it. You’re determined to suck that smug fucking look off his face. “Hands to yourself,” you say firmly. “If you touch me, this all ends.”
Yoongi’s eyes widen, as if he wasn’t expecting you to be giving any orders. But then he nods, raising both hands in the air as if to indicate compliance. You lower your gaze and realize he’s already straining against the fabric of his joggers, which do nothing to hide how hard he is, the thin material clinging to every inch.
In one swift motion, you tug both his pants and boxers down his hips, and you have to actively suppress a soft sigh of appreciation. Yoongi’s ego doesn’t need any more feeding, but damn, his dick is even better up close: long, pale, and pretty.
Glancing back up at him, you maintain eye contact as you lean forward to teasingly trace your tongue along one of the prominent veins that runs the length of his shaft. His eyes are dark with lust as he watches you. Despite being on your knees, a thrill of sheer power runs through you when you see him swallow hard, his Adam’s apple jerking in his throat.
It occurs to you that you are extremely ready to torture this man.
When you reach the tip, you just barely slide your lips over it in an open-mouthed kiss to the head of his cock, your tongue swirling in sloppy circles. You can hear Yoongi breathing now, clearly trying and failing to suppress his shaky exhales at your work.
Tilting your head to find the right angle, you take more of him into your mouth, then bring a hand to his shaft to guide the head of his dick to one side. You don’t miss the quiet groan you elicit from him as you let him press against the soft wall of your cheek to create a bulge. He makes the same sound again, louder, when you rub your tongue firmly along the underside of his shaft while you do it.
His hips jerk under your touch as you start to move the hand wrapped around him in slow, deliberate strokes. You recenter him in your mouth and bob your head along his length in time, now sucking firmly. Yoongi’s breath catches on a moan as you keep your tongue pressed tight to his shaft and match the movement of your head to the deliciously slow pace of your hand.
The sound only encourages you, and you lean forward to take even more of him until his cock briefly brushes against the back of your throat. You hold him there for a second, then swallow.
“Fuck,” Yoongi hisses. You can feel him twitch a little in your mouth, taste it as he leaks precum onto your tongue. You tip back for a few more shallow thrusts, just tormenting him, then repeat the action, humming this time as he hits your throat. His knees nearly buckle.
You glance up at Yoongi as you pull back again, lashes fluttering, and you have to keep yourself from laughing around his cock at the look of pure distress on his face. Now that you’re watching him, you realize his hands are flexing desperately at his sides— it’s clearly taking everything in his power to follow your no touching policy.
Good, you think, and then you lean forward to swallow him down and keep him there, taking as much as you can until your nose is nearly flush with his pelvis. You bob your head, guiding him up and down your throat, choking slightly but too determined to stop even as your eyes start to water.
“Oh my god,” you hear him groan, and your eyebrows raise at the sound of a loud smack. When you look up, still working him in your throat, you realize that he’s helplessly banged a fist on the bathroom door and is now bracing himself against it. You watch as he rakes his other hand through his hair, his head tipping back with a gasp as you increase your pace in response. His hips shudder as he starts to buck softly into your mouth. “Y-yeah, keep doing that, oh fuck, fuck—”
At what feels like the last possible second, you pull off his cock with a soft, wet pop, swallowing down the precum in your mouth. You wipe at the corners of your lips before getting to your feet, legs shaking a little more than you’d like from how long you’ve been on your knees. As you meet his gaze, now at eye-level, it seems you’ve certainly achieved your mission: Yoongi’s usual smug appearance has been replaced with a look of frustrated desperation, courtesy of one denied orgasm.
“Why should I let you get off that easy?” You ask simply, and he makes a noise low in his throat, something between a groan and a laugh.
“Fuck, you are such a bitch.” He advances towards you, and you find yourself backing up, this time until your ass is pressed against the countertop of the bathroom sink. He’s staring at your mouth again, looking at it with what seems to be a little more reverence now that he knows what it’s capable of.
“Am I allowed to touch you yet?” His voice is so low, his mouth so close to yours, that it makes your core ache. The noises you sucked out of him have unfortunately only turned you on even more. “Or are you going to make me beg?”
As much as you’d love to see that, the desperate throb that’s been steadily building between your legs has now overtaken your desire to tease. “Yes, Yoongi, you can touch me.”
The words have barely left your mouth and his hands are already on your hips, firmly spinning you around. You have to clutch the edge of the countertop just to stay upright, but you only feel yourself getting that much wetter at the rough way he handles you. You shiver as he shoves the hem of your dress up to expose your ass, and you can’t help yourself, leaning forward to give him the best possible angle, too desperate for anything less.
“Fuck,” Yoongi breathes, and you’d swear he almost sounds appreciative.
You don’t even have time to process that thought before his hand cracks down over your ass, so hard that it nearly knocks all the breath out of your lungs. You inhale a shaky gasp, your mind reeling in its attempt to catch up, but Yoongi is already pulling your panties to the side, perfect fingers sliding between your folds. There’s no hiding how drenched you are; your upper thighs are starting to stick together with arousal.
Without warning, he presses two fingers firmly into you, and it’s enough to make your jaw go slack. You outright moan when they find purchase against your g-spot, rubbing in tight, expert circles. He could make you come right now if he wanted to.
“You’re so wet for me,” Yoongi’s voice is low and smug, and you don’t need to see his expression to know that cocky smirk has returned to his face. “Been ready for it all night, huh?” You whimper a noise that isn’t disagreement.
“Good,” he says firmly, pairing the word with another smack to your ass. You’re too far gone to try and hold it back now, not with the way his fingers are working inside you, and you moan again. “Because we can’t take too long,” Yoongi continues. “Don’t want anyone getting suspicious. Which is really a damn shame, because there’s so much I want to do to you.”
When he smacks your ass one more time, even harder, and couples it with an insistent press of his fingers against your front wall, you have to grip the edge of the sink for dear life. Your cunt squeezes around him; the noise you make is practically a sob.
He huffs a laugh as he withdraws his fingers, and you glance up to see him retrieving a condom from his pocket and tearing it open. “Wrecked already? And I haven’t even fucked you yet.”
You try to compose yourself, but just watching the way his hands work as he rolls the condom over his leaking cock has you aching, clenching around nothing. You really are fucking wrecked— nothing has ever come close to this.
Yoongi’s hands come to your hips, pads of his fingers digging into your skin, and you feel the head of his cock against your entrance, sliding lazily through your folds but purposefully not pressing into you.
“Yoongi,” you whine. You’re too far gone for this teasing.
“You have to tell me what you want,” he says, his voice dark.
You can barely even think a sentence, and you try to push back on him instead, but he keeps you held firmly in place, hands squeezing into the flesh of your hips. “Tell me,” he insists.
“I want you to fuck me,” you manage, and you look up to meet his gaze in the bathroom mirror.
He licks his lips, and you realize that he’s having just as hard a time restraining himself. “That much is obvious,” he says, and you can hear the unsteadiness in his voice now. “How would you like to get fucked?”
You’ve had enough alcohol to brazenly tell the truth. “Like you hate me.”
It may be the first genuine smile of his you’ve ever seen.
“Gladly,” he replies, and then he thrusts all of himself into you at once. You collapse forward on the countertop, crying out at the feeling.
“Yeah,” Yoongi grunts, a little breathless. “You like that?” He pulls nearly all the way out and slams into you one more time, pressing his hips flush with your ass until you feel overwhelmingly full. Then he starts to properly thrust, moving at a pace that can only be described as ruthless.
“Oh, fuck,” you gasp, your head dropping down as you scramble to brace yourself against the counter. You practically yelp when his hand cracks over your ass again.
He leans forward; you can feel his chest graze over your back, his hips still snapping into you as he grabs your jaw with one hand and forces your gaze up to look at him in the mirror again. You watch as he runs two fingers along your bottom lip in an unasked question. You let your jaw go slack to allow him to slip into your mouth.
When your lips close around his fingers, you find yourself a little grateful to have something to keep you grounded to reality. Your eyes flit up to Yoongi’s face, and his gaze is piercing, eyes totally fixed on you.
“You look so good like this.” His voice is hoarse, strained from effort, and he continues to drive into you, never slowing. Your own hip bones dig into the bathroom counter, shocks of pleasure-pain rippling through you with each thrust. Little moans and whimpers spill out from your mouth around his fingers at the sensation, and you can feel your climax starting to build.
Yoongi withdraws from your mouth, that same hand moving down your body to slip into your panties and circle your clit, earning a gasp from you. His other hand keeps a death grip on your hip as he thrusts, and he straightens up again, the head of his cock now rubbing so perfectly over your g-spot that you hiss.
“Did Kihyun fuck you like this?”
The question catches you off-guard. “N-no,” you gasp, and the hot coil of your arousal tightens in your core. Yoongi’s cock stroking into you, his hand working your clit, the feeling is overwhelming, dizzying. “Oh, god.” Your head presses into your forearm as you give yourself over to the pleasure. You can only distantly hear Yoongi’s voice continue, somewhere between coaxing and demanding.
“I didn’t fucking think so. So why don’t you say it? Tell me who fucks you right. Tell me who you fucking hate.”
The fingers on your clit are unrelenting now, and your edge approaches fast and hard.
“Y-Yoongi,” you breathe, and it feels too good to say his name and mean it. “Yoongi, fuck, Yoongi.” A loud moan rips through you as your legs start to shake. “Oh fuck,” you gasp, “I’m coming, fuck, yes—” You nearly sob as your climax hits you hard, and your walls flutter around Yoongi’s cock over and over in what feels like an endless orgasm.
The pleasure rolls through you, and you look up in the mirror to see Yoongi grit his teeth as he picks up the pace of his hips. A look of desperation paints his face, not unlike the way he looked when you were blowing him, and you know he must be close.
“God fucking damnit,” he grunts, each word punctuated with a thrust, and then he tips his head back and pushes all the way into you with a moan as he comes.
For a moment he pauses like that, gazing up at the ceiling, chest heaving with effort as his dick twitches inside of you. “Holy shit,” he breathes, and then he starts to laugh softly in what appears to be disbelief. “Fuuuuck.”
You haven’t fully recovered, so you can only watch, still gripping the countertop for dear life, as he slips the condom off, chucks it into the trash can, and pulls his boxers and pants up. He gives his reflection a once-over in the mirror, running a hand through his hair, and you’re amazed at how quickly he’s put himself back together. The only indication that he was literally just railing you is the way he’s breathing heavily.
Yoongi notices you watching him and gives your ass one more firm slap, hard enough that you flinch a little.
“Wait a minute or two before you head out,” he instructs, and you nod dumbly. He crosses the room, opens the door, and slips out, all before you can even so much as think a coherent thought.
It takes several more minutes for you to get your shit together, but you eventually manage to readjust your underwear and smooth your dress down, though your legs are certainly still unsteady when you make your way back to the table. You can’t help but shoot a glance over at Yoongi as you pass, and you’re shocked to see him laughing and chatting it up with the group of coworkers seated around him. You see clear expressions of surprise on their faces, too— because he’s never like this. Except, apparently, mere minutes after fucking you.
You don’t even bother to sit down, instead grabbing your purse off the table and slinging the straps over your shoulder.
“Wow, there you are,” Jungkook’s voice drags you out of your thoughts, and the look of concern on his face just makes your stomach turn. You genuinely have no idea how long you were gone for. “Are you okay? Your face looks flushed.”
You don’t know how to answer his question, so you don't. “I think I’m gonna go home.”
“Do you need a ride?”
You shake your head quickly. “I’ll call a friend.”
Perched on the curb outside, you clutch your phone for dear life as you pull up Jimin’s contact to call him. The line rings and you realize you’re shivering; you don’t think it has anything to do with the weather.
You don’t even give him a chance to say hello when the call connects. “Can you come get me?”
He groans on the other end of the line. “Why? I already took my pants off for the night.”
“Baby mochi, please.” You whine, but you know only the full explanation will get him out of bed. You drop your voice a little. “I just hatefucked Suga in the bathroom at the company happy hour. I need you to come pick me up immediately.”
Jimin’s apartment is a ten minute drive away, but you swear he makes it in five.
“Well, well, well,” Your best friend’s voice is smug as you slide into his passenger seat. “If it isn’t the company whore.”
“Shut the fuck up, Jimin.”
~*~
Come Monday morning, you’re racing down the hallway to the conference room, quietly cursing yourself for being late. You’d seen the email from your boss moving the usual Tuesday pull-up to first-thing Monday, but then you’d gotten so tied up with other projects you’d forgotten about it entirely. It was only once you were in the break room, trying to get your caffeine fix in, that you’d glanced up at the wall clock and realized it was already ten after.
Focused as you are on getting to the meeting quickly— and just as importantly, not spilling any of your coffee— you’re completely unaware of your surroundings until it’s too late. You nearly smack directly into Yoongi as you approach the conference room simultaneously.
He smirks as you jump back in surprise. “We have got to stop meeting like this.”
It’s the first time you’ve seen him since Friday; you’ve been hiding out in Baby Star Candy’s corner all morning. “We’re late,” you say, flustered enough to state the obvious, and he shrugs like he can’t disagree.
“I got distracted.”
Yoongi must notice the way your eyes start to widen. “With work,” he clarifies quickly. He reaches around you to place a hand on the conference room door, and you hear his voice low in your ear. “Amazing how much easier it is to focus today, huh?”
Straightening up to put some space between you, he pushes the door open and gestures for you to go first. You swallow hard and try to keep your composure as you enter the room, briefly apologizing for being late. Yoongi follows behind you silently, slumping into the open seat across the table. You take a sip of your coffee to settle your nerves, which turns out to be a horrible idea when your boss speaks.
“There they are, perfect timing. You’re the very two people my next announcement concerns.”
You just barely manage to keep your drink in your mouth. When your gaze flits to Yoongi across from you, he looks similarly shell-shocked. You can’t help but wonder if you’re about to get fired in front of the entire team.
“We’ve managed to secure funding for the Grammy’s at the end of the month,” your boss says brightly. “We’ll be flying Suga out to do a press circuit as well as attend the award show and surrounding events in-person. We think it will be a great opportunity to network with American artists, try to get his name out there and work on our international appeal.”
“And of course,” your boss’ gaze lands on you, “we all know that our Suga isn’t the most extroverted, or good with schedules, for that matter. We figured he needs a wrangler, and who better than our very own admin?”
You swear your heart stops beating. Your boss keeps going, reminding the team to connect with you about temporarily taking back any deliverables you’ve been handling while you’ll be out of pocket for Grammy’s weekend and subsequent travel time, but you barely process a word. This can’t be happening.
An entire weekend of forced professionalism, in Los Angeles, with the man you just hatefucked in a bathroom. What could possibly go wrong?
chapter four | masterlist | chapter six
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Belief, it's a powerful thing
Summary: Wilbur Cross is dead. He knows exactly what happened to him, and just how he can get a shot of revenge. Of course, that revenge is going to come in the form of someone else, and who better than his husband from the days he was a man, the actual head of an actual task force?
--
John McNamara didn’t often dream. Since the incident with the portal, his imagination had been overrun by a dense, black expanse of nothing. Almost like a void. Sometimes, it showed him things that he couldn’t understand; events, or certain people who never had any idea that he was there. It felt strangely like he was a witness in someone else’s life, powerless to do anything but observe.
He’d tried to piece it together, scribbling whatever he could into a notebook, but he could never truly make sense of it. It always felt like he was missing details, things that would better complete the narrative.
Xander didn’t know. In fact, nobody knew. The notebook never left his person, and work was often that busy with other, arguably more important matters. Besides, it had been a constant presence since his early twenties, and it had never been a problem before.
One day, that void stopped showing him things he couldn’t interact with. One day, it started showing him a man. An awfully familiar man, and he was able to identify him within moments. He was tall and lean, his dark hair was slicked back from his face, and there was a telling scar just above his eyebrow that ran upwards in a skinny, jagged line.
The sight of him made John's blood run cold.
Standing in the void, as if he had never considered the possibility of his death, was his mentor. The man he loved and lost all those years ago. His husband.
“Wilbur-”
There was no denying what he was seeing. Wilbur had possessed his waking thoughts for years now, although now, it seemed like they had always been two different people. The Wilbur that had left fifteen years ago was full of life, and far more curious than nearly anyone else at PEIP. The man who was now manifested in the void looked as if years of insanity and servitude to… Whatever it was he’d pledged allegiance to had really taken it’s toll. His hair was longer, his grin was wilder, and there was a malicious green sparkle in his eyes that made John feel entirely unsafe.
“Oh, Johnny…” Wilbur approached slowly, step by forced step. He looked as if he was being puppeteered, driven by something beyond his comprehension. His movements were uneven and jerky, and there was something about it that was so… automatic. So inhuman. John saw a light from nowhere glimmer off the silver chain Wilbur had worn every day since he turned 18, illuminating his whole face in a horrifying glow. “You know better than that… I’m-”
He stopped himself before he could go any further, and took time to consider. He wasn't that man anymore, not by any means, but John still wanted him to be. John found it difficult to consider the possibility that Wilbur Cross had technically been dead for over a decade.
Maybe this was something he could work with…
He set it in the forefront of his mind, building his facade in a matter of moments, and advanced a little closer to John.
John had to force himself not to react. Not even when the thing that was once Wilbur reached out and grabbed his hand.
“I know it’s been a while, but you don’t gotta be so wary,” he pouted, all too dramatically. “I did come back for ya… Or, don’t you remember?”
He did. He remembered that day well. February 3rd of 2006. Three and a half months after Wilbur had disappeared the first time. He was just about to leave for the night, when he’d gotten a report that his old mentor was back and looking for him. Some kind of instinct must’ve kicked in, because Wilbur had found his way to the office- the space they used to share- and cornered John before he could even think about what seeing him again would do to him.
He was half crazed in a way John had never seen before, and spent the next hour rambling about what had happened since he was gone, and what was on the other side of the portal.
“Oh, Johnny, we coulda never guessed what was really goin’ on out there… It’s everything we ever imagined and more! And, I want you to come back and see it all with me! It could just be us… Forever!”
However tempted John had been by that offer, he had seen it for the madness induced sentiment that it was and refused.
On that day, they’d exchanged tags. Something to remember me by , Wilbur had said. Little did he know, but that name etched into the square of steel became like a poison to John’s mind, infecting him more and more each day.
He knew he wasn’t that man anymore. The eldritch forces had plagued his being and kept the real Wilbur Cross prisoner. There was no escaping that now, not for him. But, that slight of hope that John had clung to all this time was really shining through.
He stiffened, ready to blame it on the chill of the void, or the way his husband’s freezing fingers were tracing the lines of his palm. “What d’you want, Wilbur?”
Wilbur almost looked offended. John knew he was being mocked. “Why does it have to be anything?”
Continue reading (AO3)
#starkid#black friday starkid#wilbur cross#john mcnamara#void offering#nova! is back! on the crossnamara agenda!#god im so grateful for this commission#any chance to write slightly insane crossnamara is good in my books
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I’m only going to weigh in on this once because all the hate is really bumming me out and I need to air out some thoughts.
I know you have all picked up on the themes of all this new music from our Emo Forebears. I will use My Chem as an example because I think they’re the most poignant example:
Think about their musical content up till this point. It’s about suffering and feeling misunderstood and we all loved it because we felt seen. My Chem had the reputation of being the Suicidal Girl band since long before it was seen as anything other than cringe. If you didn’t live through this time; if you have never experienced the feeling of “fuck it I’m gonna live like I’ll never see 30 because I’ll be dead long before then” it may be hard to understand just how special Foundations is.
You Must Fix Your Heart
The resurfacing of these emo bands are all the grown ass adults who were once barely out of their teens, saw a bunch of fucked up shit, many of them nearly died or were very near people who did, and here we are, decades later, still just living.
At a certain point, it’s fix yourself or give up. By give up I mean die. It’s heal or die.
So here we have a bunch of now adult musicians who have been through it, fixed themselves and are now thriving. They have an opportunity to share this wisdom with all those other young people who were just like the. The now-adult fans have done their own growing and fixing. It’s a beautiful thing, really.
Now consider Panic!
Yes, the ‘09 split was the end of the “real” PATD. However, Brendon and Spencer decided they wanted to keep trying. They loved making music, who could blame them for trying to a carry on the way they saw fit?
The transition between Vices and Virtues and Too Weird to Live is very important to the point I am trying to illustrate here.
The whole band was heavy into drugs. Spencer almost died from an overdose. Brendon even said in a statement about the state of the band that he didn’t realize that his friend was so deep into his addiction because he was fine. He admitted his shortcoming and I believe this incident was a serious realization and turning point for Brendon.
The tone between VaV and TWTLTRTD is markedly different. (Don’t @me about Dallon ok? That’s a whole different can of worms and y’all get too insane about that shit. If you’re ready for the real talk you can look up the legal credit given for writing on both those records and bring me the receipts, but most of y’all are not ready for that one yet) There is a turn toward the positive here that progresses throughout the “Shambling Corpse” solo albums.
Brendon was trying to find his positive growth while still doing what he loved, because unlike many others in the genre, it wasn’t about to kill him.
Now take a step back and look at the last, oh, let’s just say, half a decade. The amount of negativity, harassment, personal privacy invasion, along with all the other shit the internet has thrown at him. As stated previously: the majority of these controversies have been proven to be false. Brendon has stated many times that he doesn’t want to be famous. He wants to be able to be himself again and live his life without being harassed (whether it’s positive or negative intention)
He needs this break. He needs to heal. It tracks that the other bands that broke earlier are back with a new outlook, they had years to figure their shit out, one way or another.
Brendon hung around and has been being ground down to nothing in the public eye for nearly two decades.
I’m glad he’s finally taking his turn.
(If you’re interested in learning more about why Brendon was “cancelled” here is an excellent master list)
#panic! at the disco#brendon urie#patd#emo trinity#emo revival#emo renaissance#cancel culture is toxic#musical analysis#long post#rant#don’t come for me#because I don’t give a shit#it’s still a parasocial relationship if you think you know a celebrity’s morals justifications etc
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nothing up my sleeve: ch 4 research notes
As always, more background for nothing up my sleeve can be found here.
This one is going to be less of a coherent explanation and more of a list of funky things I discovered while researching this chapter. I’ll follow up with more links to info on the Children’s March later -- I’m still searching for this one documentary I saw years ago that was phenomenal, but also not the one from the SPLC, argh -- but in the meantime here’s what I’ve got:
“The means we use must be as pure as the ends we seek” is from MLK’s Letter from a Birmingham Jail. I had actually never sat down and read the whole thing through until I wrote this fic, embarrassingly, but I strongly recommend it. The good Reverend put some BANGERS in there.
I went through roughly 30 pages full of alcohol ads from the 1960′s and the only ones that had black people in them were Scotch whiskey and bourbon, so I felt reasonably comfortable making Ray drink that. Also, check out the bottom of this post for some gorgeous vintage decadence & sophistication.
Interestingly, studies of alcohol use in the 1960′s showed that nearly half of black women in the US abstained entirely from drinking, compared to 34% of white women, 29% of black men, and 24% of white men (this is, of course, based off a too-small sample size since medical studies in the 1960′s often didn’t bother to include black people, sigh). The relatively higher rate of abstinence among African-Americans can apparently be traced back to the temperance movement having strong anti-slavery ties; however, that relationship began to break down after the Civil War. Found that fascinating! I still had Allison reference drinking martinis with her friends, though.
This is more of a meta note, but: I don’t think Allison has ever had friends. She went straight from unbridled sibling dysfunction to Hollywood, where she used her powers to control the people around her until she became mega-famous (which then becomes its own kind of control). Her entire life has been divided between family (the only people who matter), hired help, hangers-on, and "workplace proximity associates.” I don’t think she knows what to do with people who don’t fall under the “family” bucket, but also don’t provide a paid service or particularly want anything from her. I can see her trying to recreate this pattern with Ray and him (essentially) forcing her to go get a life.
The Shining didn’t come out until 1980, so Ray just thinks Allison is really into old-school proverbs.
By 1963, 91% of American households had a television, but Ray and Allison might be in the 9% because none of the screenshots I’ve got of their house have a TV in the background. Instead of writing one in anyway, though, I had them all go over to Miles’ parents place because in times like this, you want to be with your people.
I have now gone completely insane and started looking up “what was the weather like in Dallas in April 1963?” Y’all what does it MATTER, nobody is fact checking my writing like this! I could literally make up anything and you’d roll with it!! Why am I worried about whether 54 degrees is cold enough to need a coat?!?
Cleopatra really is four hours long. Good lord.
Part of my current problem is balancing cute stuff about Allison & Ray’s relationship with the Civil Rights stuff, which I originally intended to be more of an occasional backdrop for all this. However, 1963 was an insanely eventful year for the Civil Rights Movement. After MLK’s Letter from a Birmingham Jail in April and the Children’s March in May, Kennedy announces the Civil Rights Act in June, Medgar Evers is assassinated the very next day, the March on Washington takes place in August, and the 16th St Baptist church bombings happen in September. Trying to figure out a way to honor all this and the impact it would have had on Allison & Ray, while at the same time trying to figure out how to give them some of those more lighthearted character moments, is -- actually, it’s a pretty good metaphor for some of my day to day struggles, so at least it’s familiar. Ok, bedtime, no more thinking about this right now.
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Anthony's Stupid Daily Blog (720): Thu 8th Mar 2024
I thought about how I always try to combine two or more ideas whenever I get a tattoo in order to get more original and unique imagery and I have decided apply this logic to a new business enterprise as I set up my own mobile museum. Instead of getting people to come to my museum I will take it to them as I will be driving the bus Rosa Parks would be arrested on and inside rather than spreading out all of the exhibits I will have them collected into one piece. It will be The Elephant Man’s skeleton wearing Jackie Kennedy’s blood stained dress, holding one of the violins the musicians on the Titanic was playing, in the other hand he'll be carrying the headless bat that Ozzy Osbourne bit the head off and on his feet will be the ruby slippers from The Wizard of Oz. Tell me you wouldn't pay money to hop on the mobile museum to check it out if it drove into your town.
After four very long years I have finally finished my gruelling but also incredibly pleasurable challenge to read every book to win the Edgar Award for Best Novel. I don’t know how I found out about these awards (though I suspect it was just through randomly trawling through Wikipedia) or why I decided to read every winning book but when I sat down to read the first winner “Beat Not The Bones” by Charlotte Jay I couldn’t imagine I wouldn’t finish the challenge until four years later. After nearly half a decade of this on again off again mission, at approximately 16:00 today I finished the final book in the challenge, Notes on an Execution. The final pages of the book depict the last moments of a murderer on death row as he sees the world slip away much like I was watching the final moments of my beautiful four year long task disintegrate before my eyes like a swan in a barrel of acid. I immediately took out my bucket list and struck a line through “Edgar Awards” and breathed a huge sigh of relief before stepping outside to do several interviews with the big news networks and watching all the video messages of congratulations from celebrities such as Lee Ryan from Blue, Justin Lee Collins and The Pope. I’m so glad that this thing is over but at the same time I’m thankful that I’ve been introduced to a lot of amazing writers whose work I never would have gotten to sample if it weren’t for this insane challenge. Starting tomorrow I will begin my new insane challenge of attempting to read every book by the great Philip K Dick.
I watched an episode of The One Show that covered a book award ceremony for children who had written stories made up of 500 words or less. I don't know why but I hate seeing children display talent at an incredibly young age. It's probably because when I was a child I submitted a story for this competition about a nymphomaniac bank manager who constantly takes customers into the bank's giant vault to bang them which I titled "Safe Sex" and not only did it not win but I was forced to undergo counseling and electroshock treatment. One of the winners was this eleven year old kid and he was a right smug little cunt. When the host asked him if he could believe he won he replied in a deadpan fashion “Well yeah because you just said it” and when Alex Jones asked if he would continue writing he said “Well I’m currently writing three stories”. This self-congratulatory bitch is going to end up being the Prime Minister one day isn't he? In twenty years time when I get my well earned OBE for all the great sitcoms I write it's going to be this smarmy gobshite who ruins my day by giving me my medal and commenting "I've never seen your stuff personally but I'm told it's very funny".Tom Hiddleston presented an award but he didn’t do his Robert De Niro impression. I actually want to write a Philip K Dick-style book where Hiddleston runs for president and his only act is to make it punishable by death to watch, share or discuss his De Niro impression ever happened.
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Heartfelt Ramble
Trigger warning for depression, suicidal thoughts/mentions, harassment, stalking, etc.
Sometimes I think about how Brittany felt going through everything she's been through and it makes me really respect her a lot and where she's gotten herself today. She's come so far and gone through so much, even things we don't even know. I'm not gonna pretend like we know even half of what she went through in the past decade bc genuinely we never will, but I can't imagine I'd be fine after going through even what we DO know she went through.
I've been through some really terrible shit of my own and did a very similar thing to her, where I disappeared from my online presence completely and basically went into hiding and was so insanely terrified of being found by those who had driven me to do so. They kept finding me and harassing me and I was scared to leave my house, scared to be found, scared of people, scared of trusting and getting close to others, scared of being who I used to be because I'd be recognizable, and scared of re-approaching my public content again. I went through years of therapy and seeing psychiatrists and counselors. I was severely depressed and suicidal. I am only just now starting to learn how to heal/grow from these wounds and am trying to take small steps into feeling "okay" again after nearly 10 years.
I have so much respect for Brittany for fighting through her battles, making it to today, having the courage and bravery to come back and take back her power and what was rightfully hers. I respect her for stepping back into the light despite her nervousness to. It's incredibly inspiring to see, especially as someone who can relate to some of her circumstances. To see that she's come this far and is STILL achieving amazing things even after all this time. Brittany, we could not be more proud of you.. Really.
love u brittany
#mars argo#marsargo#brittany sheets#not gonna put a lot of tags on this one#mostly because it's pretty sensitive and personal#and cause I don't want to make it seem like Britt is only known for the things she went through#We are more than our trauma
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Joan jett songs
Joan jett songs movie#
Perhaps more so than the upcoming film could, Greatest Hits asserts Jett's place in the punk canon. The final two songs, covers of the Replacements' "Androgynous" and Sweet's "A.C.D.C.", mess with gender roles in the catchiest of ways. It's kind of a cop-out, but it's also a really bouncy, fun song, and it erases the disappointment of "Activity Grrrl," a direction-less riot grrrl tune Jett wrote with Bikini Kill's Kathleen Hanna. The Blackhearts covered the Mary Tyler Moore Show theme song for ESPN, and it became so popular that the band recorded a commercial version for radio. I kind of lied earlier when I said that all the Jett songs I expected people to know were on the first disc. And did we really need her to take on "Everyday People"? There are some winners spread around-opener "Do You Wanna Touch Me (Oh Yeah)" is a tough come-on, while "Backlash," which Jett co-wrote with the Replacements' Paul Westerberg, bops along well enough. Tunes like "The French Song," with its butchered French chorus, and "Fake Friends," a lesser riff rock tune, fall far behind the first disc's quality. Given that the first disc covers all of Jett's best-known songs, there's a slight "best/rest" divide between the two CDs. At a half-hour, the first disc is a tightly assembled mix. The songs often jump the line between punk ("I Want You") and hard rock ("(I'm Gonna) Run Away"), although the last track, a cover of "Crimson and Clover," switches from balladry to peppy anthem at will. "Bad Reputation" is a delicious slice of rebellion, while "You Don't Know What You've Got" extends the same "fuck you" attitude to an ex-lover. All of them are included on the first disc and they all rock. There are four Jett songs I expect everyone to know: "Cherry Bomb" (no excuse now that The Runaways trailer is out), "Bad Reputation" (It was the Freaks and Geeks theme song!), "You Don't Know What You've Got" (Jawbreaker covered it, and I never miss an opportunity to big up Blake Schwarzenbach) and "I Love Rock N' Roll" (because it's ubiquitous). Good thing it's an insanely catchy glam rock number. The first time I heard it, I thought my copy was skipping. Slightly less impressive is a 1984 recreation of "Cherry Bomb." The '80s were a bad decade for drums, and this version includes some awkward, shuffling auxiliary percussion halfway through that nearly disrupts the song. Her voice has held up incredibly well, as 2009 versions of "You Drive Me Wild," "School Days" and "Love Is Pain" reveal. So it's a welcome surprise that Jett's updates (A) rock and (B) blend in nicely with the rest of her remastered catalogue. "Beat It 2008," "Shout at the Devil '97" and many more diminished returns attest to this warning. In theory, opening the collection with four Runaways songs that Jett rerecorded during her solo career should be a bad idea. Liner notes are brief- click here to get more depth-leaving the listener to let the riff-tastic music explain Jett's legacy without hyperbole. Two records come wrapped in miniature LP sleeves the case is cardboard. While the combined running time is only 65 minutes, breaking up the songs over two discs helps recreate the feel of vinyl. Before Paramore, Discount, Hole, Bikini Kill or Sleater-Kinney, there were the Runaways. If the Stooges were the pre-eminent proto-punks, then the Runaways were the proto-riot grrrls, perhaps the proto-girl rock band. Even without the film, Jett was due for another evaluation. To that end, the compilation mixes selections from Jett's time with the Runaways and as a solo artist with the Blackhearts, spreading 21 tracks over two CDs.
Joan jett songs movie#
Perhaps drawing attention from kids interested in the film thanks to its casting of Twilight star Kristen Stewart, it is, in a way, more of a soundtrack to the movie than the actual, official soundtrack ever could be. With her biopic The Runaways slated to go into limited released March 19, it makes sense that Joan Jett, subject and executive producer of the film, would drop a greatest hits package the week before.
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Hi, I have a question re:sex and Christianity. Small background: I still go to church, and I still live with my parents even though I'm not much younger than you, because housing is very very expensive where I live (pretty common here, I would say about 2/3 of my friends live with their parents and we are decently privileged kids)
Anyway. How does one get over purity culture? To be clear, I've never been told in church not to have sex, I've never gotten the gendered lessons that you got. But I am terrified of having sex. My first real, multi-year relationship just ended and while there was hand stuff etc, there was never any p in v sex (lol I feel 12). But I still had insane anxiety about being pregnant despite being on bc. And I think its because I know my parents would be so disappointed if I had sex. And if I was pregnant I could imagine all the gossip. And honestly I think im from a pretty open church, b/c one of our previous ministers kids recently got married at 8 months pregnant and lots of church people were at the wedding and supportive and her parents were there and everything.
I dont even think I particularly like sex, i might be on the ace spectrum, but how do I remove it from all the anxiety that's tied to it so I can even give myself the chance to find out???
(Asking because it seems like you've been pretty open about purity culture/removing yourself from it)
CW for sex talk (again)
How does one get over purity culture?
Oh man. That really is the million-dollar question, huh? Obviously, I can only answer re my personal experiences, and this is something you should talk to a therapist about, but I can tell you how I’ve tackled it with my therapist at least.
Purity culture is, at its core, an ideology that is perpetuated by shame. If you’re indoctrinated into purity culture when you’re a kid, the concepts become baked into the way you construct your identity, your perception of self, and your perception of your sexuality. It’s practically intrinsic, by the time you’re an adult, to feel shame any time you’re reminded you have a body, much less a sexuality.
According to the chapels I sat through every week as a kid, a girl's body could be 3 things: an intentional stumbling block for men, an accidental stumbling block for men, or unnoticeable. Women were to strive for the third option so as to keep their (and their male friends/authority figures) purity intact. After all, if a boy, or even your male teacher, had impure thoughts about you, it was your fault for tempting them (which, holy shit. I still can’t believe that was a thing I bought into for so long. If my 45 yr old grown-ass teacher had impure thoughts because he could see my 12 yr old collarbone, that sure as hell wasn’t my fault. But I digress.) The Only time a woman’s body can be something else, is when she gives it to her husband, at which point she must suddenly flip the switch in her brain that she is now allowed to be a Sexual Being and she must perform Sexual Duties despite living in outright fear of her own body and sexuality for years (decades?) up until this point. Jesus take the wheel.
Purity culture isn’t a thing you can just decide to walk away from if you’ve grown up in it. Because its ideology is insidious and internalized. So first you need to submit to the fact that you’re going to be fucked up about sex. It sounds like you’re there. Second, you need to interrogate what you believe. If you’re leaving religion behind entirely, you’ll approach removing yourself from purity culture differently than if you still identify as a Christian. It sounds like you might be the latter, which meant, for me, separating what’s actually biblical and what’s shitty, contrived, doctrine that I was told is biblical but is actually more political than spiritual. This helps you address the shame issue.
You need to throw away I Kissed Dating Goodbye and Lady in Waiting and all those ridiculous books you read and reread in the hopes of somehow obtaining impossible marriage perfection and look into actual scripture interpreted within its historical context. I could write a book on this, but the TL;DR is that the text of the Bible was written, translated, curated, and changed multiple times over thousands of years by human beings with human biases and, often, personal and/or political agendas. It contradicts itself! Reading it as it is—a flawed historical document—rather than some sort of God-breathed perfect document—is incredibly freeing. When you do, you’ll probably realize that purity culture is bullshit on a spiritual level. Which is a good start, if that matters to you. Because any time you start to feel shame or guilt you can ask yourself: does God actually care if I wear a bikini or touch a dick I’m not married to? Probably not. Wear the bikini. Touch the dick.
The most important therapy session for me was when my therapist asked what I would do if I got to heaven and God was actually the God I’d been raised to fear. What would I do if he condemned me for being bisexual and having premarital sex and becoming educated, for arguing with men, and failing to isolate while menstruating, and wearing mixed fabrics? If Montero had come out at the point, I probably would have said I’d pole dance down to hell. Instead, I said I would spit on heaven’s gates. If a god that cruel and that pointlessly demeaning really exists—a god who would create in me condemned desire—I won't worship him. The good news is, I’m 99% sure he doesn’t exist. At the very least, he isn’t supported by scripture.
Okay. The final thing you need to do is figure out what you actually want, sexually speaking. This bit is probably the hardest. I’m still in the early stages of this myself. You say: “I dont even think I particularly like sex, i might be on the ace spectrum, but how do I remove it from all the anxiety that's tied to it so I can even give myself the chance to find out???” Bro, I wish I had an easy answer for you. For me, whenever I’m feeling anxious about Sex Things, I tell myself: 1. My God does not equate my worth to my sexual habits. 2. My partner does not equate my worth to my sexual habits. 3. I do not equate my worth to my sexual habits. It seems silly, but reminding myself of those three things is massively helpful. If, after I’ve sorted through those, I’m still anxious or uncomfortable, I stop doing the thing. I evaluate. Am I overwhelmed and I need to try again some other time? Do I just not like the thing? Sometimes it’s hard to tell. Sometimes you change your mind. Sometimes you just don’t know. That’s why having a partner who you trust and who’s willing to patiently explore your interests (and respect your disinterests) is so important. Half the battle, for me, was having a partner who told me they’d be ok with no sex at all. Because that took the pressure off me. If the bare minimum they need is nothing, then anything more than that is a bonus! Hooray! This is maybe TMI, but let me tell you. I thought I was asexual* right up until I was able to have moderately non-anxious sex. Never in my life did I think I would initiate a sexual situation but… I do now. It’s a fun thing to do with a person I love and, holy shit. I am furious that I nearly missed out on it.
Finally, re birth control: I don’t know how you can approach that fear in a way that works for you. If you don’t want to ever have penetrative sex, that’s fine! If that’s a point of anxiety you can’t get rid of, then don't push yourself to do it. If you find out you like other sex things, do the other sex things! If you don't like doing any sex things, don't do any sex things! Also, have you considered sleeping with people who can’t get you pregnant? Always an option if it’s an option you want to consider. ;)
Okay. I hope this was even a little bit helpful. Sorry if it’s a little convoluted, I typed it up in bursts during my work breaks.
*This is not at all to say that asexuality can be “fixed." Rather, it’s to say that things like purity culture can drastically confuse your sexuality in general. If you’re asexual, then this process is still important to discover what you like/dislike. Then you can be explicit about those necesities and find a partner who’s a good fit (if you want a partner at all, that is).
#purity culture#sex talk#christianity#sex and relationships#sex and religion#mylife#answered asks#aspec#cw sex
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72 for Geralt/Jaskier?
I meant to post this a lot earlier... sorry about the wait, nonnie. I hope you like it anyway. I'm not sure how it came out in the end after I agonised over this for the past couple of days, but it was fun going back to my Geraskier roots.
Masterlist
Pairing: Geralt x Jaskier
Prompt 72: Character A has a secret. Character B does whatever they can to find out what it is. When they find out, they wish they hadn't.
Warnings: brief angsty episode, mention of Geralt's traumatic childhood
Also, I love that art! Holy Shit!? So of course this had to feature before the fic <3
Travelling with Jaskier had its downfalls.
For one, the bard talks a lot. He never stops, not even in his sleep, and that would drive any man insane if you ask Geralt. He listens to Jaskier waffling about poetry all day, every day, he doesn’t have to endure a lecture on the benefits of iambic pentameters when he’s trying to fall asleep, thank you very much. Jaskier also likes to complain about every little thing that causes him discomfort, which when they’re on the path, ranges from fly bites all the way to sore feet. Travelling with a human also means that they travel considerably slower, unless they’re both riding on top of Roach, but Geralt doesn’t like putting his best girl under that kind of strain very often.
For all of Jaskier’s flaws, Geralt would hate to have to separate from his bard. At least, when Jaskier is close by, Geralt can keep an eye on him and make sure Jaskier doesn’t get himself into any unnecessary trouble. Having Jaskier travel with him gives Geralt peace of mind. He appreciates the singing as well, even if he could stand to tell Jaskier this a bit more often. Geralt deems that his bard’s ego is plenty inflated without Geralt making it worse. Not to mention that life always seems a little bit brighter when Jaskier is around, and the nights are a little less lonely as Geralt gets to pull his bard close and fall asleep to the sound of his beating heart. Knowing that Jaskier is safe is the only thing that lets Geralt sleep peacefully at night.
You’d think that after nearly two decades of knowing his bard, Geralt would have figured out Jaskier’s secret by now. Geralt is, of course, referring to Jaskier’s near supernatural ability to always come up with coin when he and Geralt need it most urgently. Geralt has no idea how the bard does it - his songs are popular, granted, and on a good night Jaskier makes enough to buy a nice room for the night and the better pieces of meat from the kitchen. Still, being a bard doesn’t pay that well, not even if you were as famous as Jaskier. Just last week, Geralt’s horse and most of his belonging were stolen by bandits, leaving Geralt travelling on foot and too poor to afford to buy a new horse. Two days later, Jaskier came trotting up to their camp atop a gorgeous mare, looking mighty pleased with himself but refusing to tell Geralt how he managed to afford to pay for the horse.
“Would you believe me if I told you I stole her, Geralt, my dear?”
“Not in a million years,” Geralt admitted deadpan, pulling an offended squawk from his songbird.
“Just because I’m a bard you don’t think I can steal a horse?”
“I don’t think you could ever steal a horse because you’re as stealthy as the proverbial bull in the porcelain shop.”
It’s not just the horse, though. Geralt’s armour needed replacing and good armour doesn’’t come cheaply. Geralt doesn’t hire the services of just any blacksmith or armourer to craft his weapons and protective gear. He has his regular suppliers, the ones he always goes back to because he knows that their work is reliable and of the highest quality. And even though these people know Geralt by now, even offer him a friends and family discount on occasion, their wares still come at a hefty price. Geralt, as it turns out, didn’t have the coin to replace his armour for a few months. He desperately needed new boots, though. A new pair of breeches wouldn’t hurt either, and his silver sword broke in half whilst fighting a particularly vicious griffin a few weeks back.
Geralt didn’t even mention all of this to Jaskier. That didn’t stop the bard from going ahead and commissioning a brand new suit of armour, new silver and steel swords, as well as a few casual clothes for Geralt to wear on the warmer summer days. All of this must have cost an arm, a leg and a fucking lung, and yet Jaskier acted like he didn’t just break the bank all for Geralt’s benefit. He didn’t even get anything for himself and that realisation had Geralt feeling slightly embarrassed about the gesture.
“You don’t have to buy me all this stuff, Jask.”
“I know that, dearest,” Jaskier assured him, eyes soft and an easy smile playing on his lips, “but I wanted to. Only the best for you, my sweet witcher.”
The mystery of where Jaskier managed to find the coin to pay for all this remains unsolved, despite Geralt’s questioning. Well, if Jaskier won’t outright tell him, then Geralt will just have to investigate the matter by himself.
"Where the fuck did you get your hand on all the coin to pay for all this?" Geralt asks one evening, blunt and straight to the point. There was probably a kinder and gentler way to ask this, but after spending weeks mulling over Jaskier's sudden new-found fortune, Geralt has lost the little patience he possessed in the matter. Jaskier, on the other hand, looks perfectly unperturbed.
"From the bank," he offers simply as he sprinkles expensive herbs over the hare Geralt caught earlier that evening, "you know, where people deposit their valuables? I know you witchers don't believe in bank accounts, savings and interests, but-"
"Where does the coin come from?" Geralt interrupts, hissing those words through clenched teeth.
"Why, my inheritance."
Geralt stares for a long while. It takes his brain several seconds to catch up to what Jaskier is telling him, and another few seconds to make sense of the words. Inheritance?
"What inheritance?"
"Well, when my father passed away he left me and my siblings a share of his wealth. That's how inheritance works. Say, pass me my satchel my dear, I think I have some more spices in there."
Geralt wordlessly hands Jaskier his satchel, still trying to process this new discovery. Come to think of it, Geralt knows precious little about Jaskier's family. Sure, that's probably on him for never asking, but Geralt has grown so used to Jaskier oversharing every aspect of his life that he never needed to ask his bard anything. Jaskier just… never talked about his family. Or his childhood, or his upbringing. His life story seems to always begin when he was a student at Oxenfurt.
Geralt is growing curiouser by the minute.
"When did your father pass?"
"Oh? Uh… good question. Maybe a few years after I went to Oxenfurt? I'm not sure. I received a letter from the bank notifying me that a share of my father's wealth was deposited in my account."
Geralt frowns. "You never went back to find out what happened?"
"No."
Well, that's an oddly abrupt response, and Jaskier doesn't seem like he's got anything to say on the matter. Which only makes Geralt feel more curious about the whole thing.
"Why not?"
"Geralt…" Jaskier heaves a sigh before putting on a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes, too tense to be genuine. "My father and I didn't get along. I felt no need to go mourn him with the rest of my noble family in Lettenhove when he passed. That's it. That's all there's to it. I was not a good enough man to refuse my share of the inheritance, either, despite my non-existent relationship with him."
That's a lot to unpack. Geralt always assumed that Jaskier had a good childhood. Then again, he would think that, wouldn't he, considering Geralt spent his own childhood being tortured by magnanimous and sadistic mages. Where most children got to spend time outside helping out in the fields or playing with their friends, Geralt was put through drill after drill, after drill… until he was physically unable to walk so much his muscles hurt.
"Wait… did you say your noble family?"
"Hm?"
"In Lettenhove… there's nothing in Lettenhove. Only the Viscount and his family live there on a large esta-" Geralt's mouth clicks shut as realisation dawns on him. "Your father was the Viscount of Lettenhove?"
"Yes. And since I'm the oldest, after he died that title passed onto me. But I much prefer being a bard, so I graciously devolved my duties to my younger brother, who now manages the estate. Are we done with this conversation?"
"I didn't mean to make you mad…"
Geralt watches Jaskier stop dead in his tracks, his shoulders briefly tensing at those words, before exhaling loudly through his nose. Jaskier anxiously rubs the back of his neck as he straightens up and offers Geralt a sheepish smile, that one warmer and softer than the previous one.
"Sorry, dear heart. I didn't mean to be so short with you. It's just… well, there's a reason I don't bring up my family all that much."
"Hm." Geralt gently taps the spot next to him on his bedroll, and Jaskier doesn't have to be told twice. Soon, Geralt has one arm wound tightly around Jaskier's shoulders. Not quite a hug, but the intention is there all the same, and Jaskier eagerly melts in the embrace. "I shouldn't have insisted. I'm sorry."
"Don't apologise. You did nothing wrong." Jaskier nuzzles the crook of Geralt's neck sweetly before depositing a featherlight kiss just over his pulse point. "Do you want to ask me anything?"
Geralt ponders over that question far too long before whispering an answer in the air pocket between them.
"Did he hurt you?"
Jaskier hesitates.
"Not physically, no. He didn't approve of my aspirations and choices. He didn't support me. I suppose it hurt a little when he didn't see me away to Oxenfurt at the age of 15, but he never raised a hand on me."
"Hm." Good, Geralt thinks. No child should ever have to suffer at the hand of an adult. Geralt earned plenty a beating at Kaer Morhen, some justified and others not so much. Just because he went through this doesn't mean he condones it.
"At least I get to spend his money on someone I love," Jaskier offers softly, eyes as blue as the deepest ocean glancing up at Geralt through dark lashes, “That, at least, the old man can’t take away from me.”
A happy little rumble bubbles up Geralt's chest, despite the blush gracing his cheeks.
"I never thanked you for the gifts." Geralt blushes a deeper shade of red at the realisation. "Sorry. It's been a long year."
"Well, good thing we're heading North soon then, hm?" Jaskier straightens up so he can cradle Geralt's face in his lute-calloused hands. Their eyes meet then, amber seeking out blue, and Geralt thinks that he must be the luckiest son of a bitch in all the Continent.
"Yes," he agrees in a whisper, tilting his face to place a kiss on the inside of Jaskier's wrist, "good thing, indeed."
Request a prompt
#havenwrites#the witcher#wiedzmin#geralt of rivia#geralt z rivii#the witcher geralt#geralt#jaskier#julian alfred pankratz#dandelion#geraskier#geralt x jaskier#jaskier x geralt#geralt/jaskier#jaskier/geralt#dandelion x geralt#geralt/dandelion#request open
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