sometimes i wonder if i have too much time on my hands

It’s called a unicorn - Jack Kline x Reader

Title: It’s called a unicorn

Pairing: Jack Kline x Reader

Warnings: None

Summary: Other than Sam you are the one that spends more time with Jack, almost forming a bond and coming closer than he has with the man. Jack tends to follow you around almost everywhere, feeling the need to be close to you, so when you go for a supply run he finally comes out of his room and joins you. A trip to the market results in more feelings being revealed than you ever imagined with a simple gift. (Set before 13x06)

“We’re out, I need to go on a supply run.” you said with a small sigh, wearing your jacket, as you walked to Sam whose eyes were fixated on his computer “You need anything?”

“Just the usual thanks.” he gave you a tired smile and you gave him a sympathetic one in return.

“Sam, you know you need to catch a break at some point right? I mean it’s good that you want to find a way to motivate Jack to- to use his powers for good but… he too needs to catch a break and not think about any of it and you know it.” you said softly and he sighed, leaning back in his chair.

“I know, that’s the worst of all. I really know he’s had to suffer too much these days himself, he’s- He’s barely holding I think. I mean, I don’t know if something happened and I missed it but it’s like he’s shut down worse than before. I don’t know what to do and Dean is-” he sighed in frustration, running his fingers through his hair.

“Is not making it easy, yeah I know.” you muttered, completing his sentence as you looked down at your hands “I’ll- I’ll see if I can talk to him when I come back.”

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The Season of Kicksgiving

Kicksgiving is nearly here! I thought I’d do a little rundown of my journey to becoming a kung-fu movie fanatic and offer some recommendations if you’d like to become one too.

I watch too many movies. This has been true for most of my life. I’ll watch just about anything, and exceptions to this tend to be specific. However, action and, by extension, martial-arts movies were a blindspot for me until a few years ago. I never put much thought into it at the time, but in retrospect, I think I avoided them because I had a narrow view of the genre, informed by less-than-stellar representatives. While it still holds that films that act as conservative power fantasies are spectacularly uninteresting to me, now I know for a fact that that describes only a small fraction of what the genre has to offer.

It started with Arnold. Total Recall (1990) is a movie I liked from my childhood. Then The Fifth Element (1997). Yeah, I was that person: I defended my beloved genres all while playing the it’s-not-really-an-action-movie game every time I liked an action movie.

My significant other is an action movie enthusiast but never gave horror films a chance. I am a horror movie enthusiast that never gave action films a chance. We schooled each other. He showed me Commando, Fist of Legend, The 36th Chamber of Shaolin. I showed him Suspiria, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Fright Night. I’m now a die-hard Shaw Bros fan. He’s now a Dario Argento devotee.

Then I started watching kung fu movies voraciously at The Hollywood Theater and on the El Rey Network. (FYI: El Rey does a Way of the Turkey Kung Fu Marathon now on Thanksgiving weekend!) Shaw Brothers films in particular captured my attention. Learning the folkloric ropes of wuxia movies was fascinating. (Wuxia means “martial heroes” and usually refers to period stories about martial arts legends of China.)

The theatrical staging, bright and bold costuming, and pacing of Shaw Brothers’ wuxia movies are reminiscent of traditional hollywood musicals. Swap out the songs for sword fights. Not always tho, sometimes there are songs too.

From my perspective as an American, it took me off guard how many woman-led kung-fu movies are out there. There’s so much variety to the women in kung-fu movies and that variety is almost always valued in the film. Women can be powerful, villainous, dainty, coarse, naive, religious, iconoclastic, antisocial, goofy, cunning, horny, and any of combination of the above. In other words, women are people not plot devices. It’s no wonder Cynthia Rothrock went to Hong Hong to be a movie star, while Hollywood slept on her.

Kung-fu movies can be harder to get into for Westerners because, honestly, plot summaries and home-video packaging can be very misleading for a lot of Chinese/Hong-Kong releases. Take literally any Jackie Chan movie from the 1970s or 80s as an example.

DVD Cover:

Actual Star of the Movie:

So, here’s a few recommendations on where to get started if you’re new to and interested in martial-arts movies. BELOW THE JUMP:

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Seven Things About Supernatural: 13x06 - “Tombstone”

You know, ordinarily I’d start with a reaction gif, but then THIS happened…

…and anything I could possibly say or do is woefully insufficient.  So.  Things.

  1. So hey.  The angel’s, like, back-back.  That’s pretty great for a lot of reasons like: 

    - The most symmetrical Dean/Castiel hug on the show ever, where both of them are like OH FUCK THERE YOU ARE and the rest of us are screaming.
    - Dean’s complete change in demeanor, including his actual will to live. 
    - Sam being like, “So, you’re, uh, happy” and Dean being like, “No shit, Cas is back.  Also, cowboys, but did I mention Cas?”

    And sure, Sam is happy, but he’s not bowled-over and totally emotionally reassembled the way Dean is.  It’s almost like their relationships with Cas are different or something. 

    And actually, this is going to be a point of conflict between the brothers, because losing Mary upsets Dean, but it doesn’t obliterate his ability to function the way losing Cas did.  The subtext of that scene isn’t just “so hey, Cas makes you happy,” but “I’m glad Cas is back, but why aren’t you still upset about mom?” 

    Between that and “I love you.  I love all of you” in 12x12, the fact that Dean and Castiel have a uniquely close bond – profound, even – is obvious even if one doesn’t read it as romantic.
  2. Can we just take a moment to appreciate the level of representation happening with this ep, both inside and outside the text? 

    In the text, almost all of the one-off characters are women (Shawnte, Athena) and PoC (Shawnte, Carl, the guard, Sarge, Athena).  The survival ratio is not terrible – Supernatural is a meat grinder in general, but Athena in particular surviving felt like a big deal – and Sarge gets the killshot on the thing that killed Carl.  Outside the text, it’s an ep written by Davy Perez and directed by Nina Lopez-Corrado.  So hey, double progress.  
  3. Dean’s thing about things that look like other things is actually pretty spot on – in six eps they’ve had a ghoul, a shifter, and Asmodeus – but this is also two eps back-to-back (and three of six) that feature men as either shady/abusive boyfriends/exes, or aggressors whose flavor of violence has strong overtones of rape (i.e. the wraith in 13x03).

    I’m not quite ready to put money on appearance vs. reality being a major theme for the season, but it’s a strong contender, especially with the conversations later in the episode reprising the conversation about what makes a monster.  
  4. Which brings me to Jack, because we’re watching his developmental situation and seeing him have to confront how difficult morality actually is, and how the reality of institutions can be complicated, and how things that are true in generalities or if you dumb them down are ambiguous (or even false) in practice.  

    What burns stays dead, unless it doesn’t.  Heaven is nice, except when it isn’t.  Angels are supposed to be good but frequently aren’t.  You can do your best and still fail, still hurt people.  

    That transition from black and white simplicity to a more yes/and grey is hard, and Cas using the term “relative” feels like it should make all of us think about moral relativism, which as an idea generally carries a negative connotation because of how mainstream voices – especially those with a black-and-white or authoritarian bent – contextualize it.

    But yeah, this was all too good, all too easy with Jack in the role of the Winchesters’ competent-if-unsophisticated intern, and something was going to give.
  5. Speaking of Jack and subtext and things turning, watch Sam’s reaction to Jack lifting the pencil.  He’s not pleased.  He’s unsettled.  He’s intellectually running up against the reality of what it means to have a being like Jack around. 

    And he is afraid at the end of the ep – definitely in the bunker, and maybe even in the car – because Jack’s power is already becoming unfathomable. 

    It’s an interesting contrast with Dean, who’s come to accept Jack now that he’s seen him in action, seen him make choices.  If he’s afraid he doesn’t show it; he may be trying to talk Jack down, but he’s also trying to show Jack compassion.  

    Whether Castiel is afraid feels ambiguous to me.  He voices his support for Jack, directly and unambiguously echoing Kelly’s belief in Jack’s positive potential, and he seems to be curious about how much Jack remembers, and what that means. 

    I lean toward Cas also struggling with some of the moral questions Jack is only just beginning to confront – his effort in the car is, I think, as much for himself as it is for Jack – and that his real fear may be rooted in Cas’ long struggle to understand his own place, just as Jack is.  They’re on the same journey.
  6. But really, Jack’s “I try to do good and only do harm” is absolutely a Cas thing.  That’s been Cas over and over again, trying to do good, either for the Winchesters’ benefit or in the name of Heaven.

    It’s also a Sam thing – See Also: Sam’s plans – and even a Dean thing sometimes.  

    Confronting the problem of harm in everyday life is a part of becoming a moral being for most of us, but the scale on which the Winchesters work is especially intense, and seeing three characters who’ve had to deal with that question to differing extents, with differing degrees of success, seeing a character who’s confronting this more or less for the first time is difficult. 

    Like, you can only hand somebody so much wisdom.  They have to experience things to understand.  And experiences are hard.  So hard that Jack is failing to hear the clear evidence of his own inherent ability to be a moral being: the fact that he’s asking and struggling is the necessary evidence to prove that he does have this capacity, and desires to be good.
  7. Dean “I’m gonna get my boots!” Winchester has absolutely no chill.  None whatsoever.  A hunt in Dodge City?  Motherfucker brings a hat box.  And points out all the people on the wall, gleefully names them, gets Cas a hat from the Stampede Hotel gift shop.

    Yeah, Jack.  He does really like cowboys.  So much.    

    Also, he talks to himself.  Left alone, he’s like, “I don’t wanna,” and “Come to Dodge City!  We’ll have some laughs!” and I don’t know about you, but getting this giant fistful of Dean Winchester, ridiculous human being when nobody is looking (and sometimes when people are looking, but only sometimes) is a thing I treasure about this series because it pulls the rug out from under the gruff, stern, action hero trope and keeps him human.

    Dean is more than one thing, and that’s good and healthy and wonderful.  

Bonus Thing: Jack recognizes Castiel.  And I like that a lot.  And I like their hug.  And I like that bond that’s already there – Cas caring about Jack and feeling some responsibility, Jack looking up to Castiel and wanting to make him proud – even if it’s going to get complicated. 

Bonus Thing #2: Castiel is aware of Dean “angry sleeper like a bear” Winchester, and I have nothing to say about that except of course he is, just as he is utterly resigned to Dean’s cowboy fetish and quoting from the movie at him.

Bonus Thing #3: Hold up, does Sam’s medical kink extend to the funeral industry?  And does he also like Amanda Palmer? 

Bonus Thing #4: Dean isn’t going anywhere without that coffee.  Unless I misread it, his watch says 4:16, and as a man who regularly confronts that time of day, I respect his choices.

Bonus Thing #5: Mysterious Dave Mather has been a mystery for a long-ass time.  Specifically, nobody knows precisely when and where he died.  How long has this ghoul been around?  How long has he been Dave Mather?

Beauty and the Beast - Richonne Modern Day AU

The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched - they must be felt with the heart. ~Helen Keller


“Ex-Yankees starting pitcher, Rick Grimes was never a vain man. Still, a near-fatal accident left him with enough scars to make him want to hide away from the world. Now the only beauty left in his blemished llife are his two grown kids, his weekly Sunday dinners with his daughter Judith and his beloved flower garden. Scarred, body and mind, he could not see beauty outside of those three treasured things.

For 23-year-old Judith Grimes, life was finally falling into place. Freshly graduated from journalism school and armed with a passion for fashion, she’s landed a coveted internship at the powerhouse fashion magazine, Rive. As assistant to the New York City’s most powerful and iconic editor-in-chief, Michonne Dumas, Judith is living her dreams and learning at the feet of a legend.

A global fashion tastemaker, former model turned magazine editor, Michonne Dumas had heard the word “beautiful” thrown around so liberally that it had started to lose its meaning. Ironically though, she knew as the originator of the coveted “Dumas Look”, she had created the unattainable fashion ideal of perfection that drove her and the whole industry. Secretly, however, she had begun to despair that she was becoming numb to all things physically beautiful. That is, until she notices the lovely flowers her new junior assistant has on her desk every week. Fresh blooms from Judith’s father’s garden, the bouquets continually seem to brighten Michonne’s day.

Before long, those delicate blooms from the amateur horticulturist become a welcome daily reprieve from her relentless pursuit of physical perfection. And when Michonne finally meets Judith’s mysterious father Rick at the company’s charity ballgame, as the young woman hoped, sparks do indeed fly. Though, to Judith’s chagrin, not the romantic kind. Yet, it is from that very first encounter that they both begin to learn —things of true beauty can also be things which are deemed imperfect.“



Tale as old as time…

Rick was already missing his garden. The sky was blue and cloudless. The sun was bright, but there was no humidity in the atmosphere. It was the perfect day for puttering around with his flowers. But he had promised his daughter, and there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for her.

He was thankful that the baseball cap fit low enough on his head to cast shadows around his face. The throwing gloves he wore hid the patchwork, Frankenstein-esque scars on his hands. He could no longer run even a mile, but physical therapy made it possible for his limp to be hardly noticeable. Although, it was becoming increasingly more difficult to keep up with the fast strides of his daughter.

He held on to her forearm. “Judy, you know your dad’s an old man. Slow down some.”

People were milling around all over. He felt his chest tightening and his breaths coming out faster. He’d adapted to his solitude over the years, only welcoming the company of his children. Crowds of people made him nervous now.

Judy tossed her head back to look at her father. The bouncing curls of her chic bob haircut matched his greying curls perfectly. Always attuned to him, she recognized the apprehension in his eyes. She squeezed his hand, but didn’t slow down.

“Daddy, I wish you would stop calling yourself an old man. You’re not even fifty yet.”

Rick shrugged. “Forty-five is pretty near fifty.”

“You have to wait at least twenty more years to collect Social Security, so you’re not old.”

“My knees beg to differ. Why are we walking so fast? There’s still an hour until the game starts.”

“I know, but I want to make sure I’m not late in case I’m needed to help with any last minute details.”

“It’s just a charity baseball game. Should go smoothly. You worry all the time like your mother used to.”

She shot him a sad smile. “That’s what Grandma always says too. Guess it’s in my DNA. I just want to make a good impression. Show Michonne she can trust me with the details. She’s so great. I don’t want to let her down.”

“Michonne is your boss, right? Calling bosses by their first names in the office is a thang now? Back in my day—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Judith cut him off. “Back in your day you rode cows to school. Grew your own wheat or whatever. I know Daddy. Maybe you really are an old man.”

Rick chuckled. “Actually, your uncle Hershel grew vegetables, not wheat on his farm.”

“What I said still applies, old man.” She pointed to a woman whose back was to them. Her locs were long and reached down past the middle of her back  “There she is. Let me introduce you. And please be nice and personable, Daddy.”

Rick smirked. “Aren’t I always?”

Judith laughed and rolled her eyes. “Nope.”

His smirk faded as they walked closer. Having new people in his orbit unsettled him. He tried to pull his cap further down, but it wouldn’t budge.

Michonne turned around as she heard footsteps approaching her. Rick had seen her pictures in the fashion magazines Judith used to read as a teen. He always passively admired her beauty, but he didn’t expect the radiant women before him. She was dressed down in a custom baseball jersey with her magazine’s name written in gold letters on the front. Her black shorts showed off her shapely legs. Her smile was warm and sincere as she immediately pulled Judith into a hug. She smiled at him over his daughter’s shoulder. He looked down at his shoes as a wave of insecurity washed over him

Judith, not picking up on her father’s reluctance for once, pulled him in closer. “Michonne, this is my Dad, Rick Grimes.”

Michonne’s smiled widened making her even more beautiful than Rick first thought.

“Ah,” she said. “So this is the doting father who makes sure his daughter always has beautiful, fresh flowers on her desk. Very nice to finally meet you, Rick.” She held out her hand to shake.

He clasped her hand.  He could feel the smoothness even through his gloves. “Nice to meet you too, ma’am.”

Michonne chuckled. “I missed that southern charm. Don’t get much of that here in New York.”

“Michonne is originally from Georgia too, Daddy. Atlanta, not a small town like you.”

“Yes, born and raised,” Michonne said. “I still get homesick for sweet tea, and my aunt’s sweet potato pie.” She pulled the young woman aside. “Judith, could you go help Sasha and Jackie with setting up the magazine display near the entrance?”

“Of course Michonne.” She kissed Rick on the cheek. “I’ll be right back, Daddy.”

He watched her rush off wondering when his little girl became a grown and responsible adult. He turned back to Michonne, who was still smiling at him. His nervous tick was to run his hands through his hair. He felt the urge to at that moment, but he thought better of removing his cap.

“So,” She took a step closer to him. “I didn’t put two and two together when Judith told me her father’s name was Rick Grimes. You’re the same Grimes that played for the Braves and the Yankees, right?”

Rick looked down as if he was almost embarrassed at her knowing who he was. “Yeah. That was me. Didn’t think anyone in the fashion industry would recognize an old baseball player.”

Michonne gestured her hand around the baseball field where they were standing. “Well, we are at a charity baseball game. Beside lots of fashion models date baseball players.” She whispered as if conspiring with him. “It’s a bit of a thing.”

Rick laughed. “That is true. Many of my teammates dated models. And playmates.”

Michonne chuckled. “I bet.” She tossed one of her long locs behind her shoulder. “Besides that, my own father was a huge Braves fan. I used to watch the games with him. David Justice was his favorite player, but you came a close second. He hated when you left and signed with the Yankees.”

“I almost regretted it. I missed home a lot when I moved up here with the kids. Though I did miss David most of all. He was my favorite too.”

Her smile radiated even more. “So you and my father will have lots to talk about if you ever meet.”

He nodded and laughed. “Yeah, our very own David Justice fan club.”

Her voice lowered a couple of octaves as she tilted her head to the side. “I remember reading about your accident, and saying a few prayers for your recovery.”

Rick nodded. “I appreciate that. God was looking out for me that day. My kids didn’t need to endure the cruelty of losing both of their parents.”

“Judith talks about her mom sometimes. She and her brother were both pretty young when you lost her, I remember her saying.”

“Yeah. Judith was barely out of diapers, and my son, Carl, was in the first grade.”

“Had to be tough to continue your baseball career, and raise two kids.”

“It was. Very grateful for my mom though. Couldn’t have done it without her.”

“I know all about the miracle of grandmothers. My mom died when I was young also. Spent so much precious time with my Granny. Judith and I have bonded over some shared experiences. She’s a great kid.”

He smiled. “I always thought so too, even if I’m kinda biased.”

“The best dads always are.” She clapped her hands together. “So, the game will be starting soon. I know you’re an all-star, future hall of famer, but I was known to hit a few home runs in pick-up softball when I was a kid. So don’t think you’re going to strike me out.”

Almost feeling like his old, cocky self when it came to his baseball skills, he crossed his armsover his chest and smirked at her. “Is that right?”

She winked at him. “All I’m saying is watch yourself.”

A woman with a short afro came up to Michonne and whispered in her ear. She nodded and told the woman she would be right there.

“Editor-in-chief duties call, but I’ll see you on the mound, Rick Grimes.”
He smiled a genuine smile for what felt like the first time in years at anyone other than his children. “Can’t wait.”  (” The First Meet“ - Flash Fic written by @blacklitchick )


I want to say a HUGE Thank you!  to my two collaborators @blacklitchick and @iminyjo <3. The both of you have been amazing during this project’s lengthy journey ;) -xo OMJ.

Proud Two [Sweet Pea x Reader]

Originally posted by always-klaus-forever-kol

Okay here is part two. I’m not sure how I feel about this one. Just to explain a little, you can decide if you think Pea and Reader have had sex before what happens. Unless you have sex in bright sunlight, I think seeing someone naked like in this story is kinda different. You’re mind isn’t really focusing on seeing the body or anything during that it’s more feeling. Anyways, I hope you like it. I’m not good with smut so if someone what’s to write the smutty part after this you have my permission to continue. Just link the original.

Summary: Sweet Pea takes you back to his house and gives you a bandaid.

Warning: insinuation of canon typical violence & high school students naked together for a moment & and Pea is probably out of character(but we don’t know much about him anyways).

Word count: 924

————————

One swift move and Sweet Pea has you slung over h, piggy back style. You giggle with your chin on his head as he tells you stories about his final trial, one of which was how Tall Boy slipped in the mud after he gave Sweet Pea a boisterous hug. It was something that Serpents didn’t speak of out outside of the tight nit circle that Sweet Pea was a part of. By proxy, he told you. He trusted you though, with his life. Even before you pledged yourself to the Serpents.

A sigh escaped your split lip as you two finally reached the sanctuary of Sweet Pea’s warm home. You felt the immediate relief of your aching muscles in the small space and you couldn’t wait until you could finally relax on his bed. Luckily, his parents were not home yet. As much as you liked his parents, sometimes they were too interested in them. It was endearing but some alone time with Pea was something you thoroughly enjoyed. You slid slowly down his back on to the soft carpet and all but limped down the hall to Peas room with him following close behind. Once you were sitting on his bed he excused himself to grab the first aid kit.

You scanned the room, absentmindedly running your hand over his worn hunter green sheets, noticing all his little odds and ends. Posters of an assortment of bands covered the dark panel walls. One poster of a scantly clad woman bending over an old Black Impala. You smirked at that one often when you come into his room. You’ve honestly thought about taping your face on hers but you doubt he would even notice the change. A shift in the bed broke you from your thoughts abruptly. “You ready for this?” He asked with a small smile on his pretty lips. You couldn’t help but smile back at his infectious grin before you nod.

With careful movement he dabbed your lip with antiseptic, picking up pieces of dried blood. You hissed, “I’m still trying to figured out this all that was worth it.” It was a joke of course, it was all worth it.

He stopped dabbing and his mouth spread ear to ear in a gleeful grin, “It’s going to be so worth it.” You giggle again and let him finish his work. After your face was all cleaned up he placed a butterfly bandage across your temple and across your purple nose.

“Do you mind if I take a shower?” You ask quietly, “I think it will help my muscles relax.” He nods and hops off his bed, going to the closet in the hall and grabbing a couple towels.

Returning, he hands them to you, “You can use mom shampoo and stuff, it’s smells pretty good.”

You nod and head towards the bathroom. Once you were stripped of your cold damn clothes, you stepped into the welcoming warmth of the hot water. The quiet was also relaxing until the door suddenly opening startled you. “Hello?” You asked with an eep.

“I’m just grabbing your clothes, sorry to scare you.” You could faintly see him gathering your clothes. “I was going to throw them in the dryer.”

He was about to leave when you spoke, “Pea,” he pauses and so do you. You suddenly get very nervous, he has never seen you naked before (also vice versa) and you can feel your face flush a brilliant red.

He said your name as a question, “Is everything okay?”

You swallow, “I was wondering if you wanted to join me?” You feel like you sound ridiculous. You know you do it fact and it only affirms it more when he says nothing. You peep carefully around the opaque shower curtain, afraid he fled the room, to see him standing there with wide eyes and a face that rivals fresh strawberries. He makes eye contact and smiles so widely you think his face might split in half.

“If you are okay with that, I’d love to.” His face shows concern. You nod and he moves so quickly it makes you jump and he’s down the hall before you hear the dryer kick on. You step back under the water and wait for him to return.

Shortly after you hear him re-enter the bathroom and shut the door, you hear him lock the door. You are suddenly very nervous now. You feel silly again for being nervous, you’ve been with Sweet Pea for a while now and you trust him more than anybody in the world.

Some shuffling and zipping was heard and finally his tan fingers poked in the shower and around the curtain. You can feel your blood pumping in your ears and temple, the anticipation is literally making your blood boil. Once fully inside the only place you can look is down at his warm legs. “You are so beautiful.” You hear him say softly. Your head snaps up and you feel very turned on at that moment. He was the pinnacle of “Tall, Dark and Handsome”. Firm arms and tight chest. You blush heavily and he smirks. He steps closer and his long fingers snake around your lower back and ghost up to your shoulder before they land on your face. He slowly moves in and matches your mouth with his. The kiss is like fire and makes you forget every ache from before. You never want to forget this moment and you mentally beat yourself up for waiting this long in the first place.

Bloody Kisses- Chapter 5

Pairing: Ivar x Reader

Word Count: 3106

Warnings: None for this chapter

AN: Feedback is appreciated

Originally posted by alexhoghgifs


“Do you really need an invitation?” She looked up at Ivar, curious, barely afraid. She was getting used to not hearing his heartbeat when she pressed her ear against his chest, feeling his skin the same temperature as the air, or what he’d recently touched.

“Would it not be polite?” She sighed and hit him gently.

“Yes or no?”

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An outsider’s perspective

(don’t hate me).

My two best friends, we’ll call them L and M, from college and I live really far away from each other. But every week on Fridays, we set aside our lunch hour to do a gchat, and catch up on our lives, and sometimes we talk about what we’re reading/watching.

My girls aren’t big into the fandom (they have personal tumblrs but never use them anymore, they don’t pay attention to fandom stuff, etc.) but they love to talk about Riverdale as a group (mostly because we can just laugh about how ridiculous it is a lot of the time and how much we still love it). 

For context: They think Bughead are cute enough but L likes V*rchie more and M doesn’t really care one way or the other about the romantic aspects of the show, so I’m the resident Bughead ‘shipper. (At least we can all agree that B*rchie is 5000 shades of wrong).

Anyway, we got to talking about how everything played out in “Death Proof” and it was kinda fascinating to see how they perceived the J*paz/Bughead stuff.

We all agreed that the BH reunion was super rushed.

L said, “I YELLED at the screen when I realized we don’t even get to see them make up on screen after all that?” and M said, “If it was going to be that easy for them to solve everything why didn’t they just do it last week?”)

And then we were talking about the whole rebound thing and whether Betty is going to ask about Toni after she saw them in the diner, and M said, “I like how one minute he’s bummed that Toni doesn’t want his dick and the next he’s all mad at Betty for breaking his heart.” 

And L was like, “Yeah he’s wanted it both ways since she showed up.”

Neither of them think Jughead did anything wrong by fooling around with Toni. But to them, it was clear as day that it wasn’t like, a hurt/comfort thing, it was a “hell yes this hot girl wants me and I want her, let’s do this” kind of thing. 

And on the one hand it’s like, “Yeah, I see what they’re saying because the whole thing rubbed me the wrong way, too” but then on the other hand it still surprising that both of them came to that conclusion so definitively. Like, it wasn’t even a question in their minds. Yes, Jughead was/is into Toni, moving on.

Now I’m perusing reviews of the episode to see if other people outside the Bughead fandom came to that conclusion. And I saw this from Elle: 

After we see that Toni stayed the night at Jug’s trailer (wearing nothing but one of his t-shirts), the two grab breakfast and Toni puts an end to whatever was brewing between the two, presumably to leave room for Betty and Jughead to rekindle by the end of the episode. And let’s be honest, it wasn’t Jughead who seemed to regret what happened between them.

And yes, this is three voices out of the, what, 2 million people that watch the show? But it all just has me thinking: fandom can be a bit of a bubble and it’s easy to find comfort in confirmation bias. We study the minute details to glean meaning from every single moment to better inform our understanding of this thing we love and then other bloggers tell us they agree with us and it all starts to feel like fact.

But sometimes I think that means we can miss the big picture? None of us want Jughead to want Toni because that puts a much more sizable dent in our Bughead hopes and dreams. 

So we all start to try to get inside his head, her head, the writers’ heads to see this whole storyline in a way that could make sense. But these casual observers, who watch without looking for what they want to see, who just see what Riverdale is showing us on the screen, seem to have come to a completely different conclusion. 

I just want to be clear that I’m not discouraging deep dives and character studies and finding parallels and subtext because those things are, in so many ways, my favorite part of this fandom. In the past two weeks, I have ready so many incredible, insightful takes on Jughead and how his past is driving his decisions, and it’s helped me feel like I understand him better. 

I just am wondering how often in seeing what we want to see plays into how we interpret what’s going on on screen. Thoughts? 

Man Up

by reddit user Pippinacious

When the bookstore at the mall put up its help wanted posters, I jumped at the chance to put in my application. Between being an avid reader who had practically lived amongst the store’s shelves in high school and a broke community college student taking a semester off to save money, it seemed still customer service.

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Five Times Gabriel Agreste Caught Ladybug in His Son’s Bedroom (and the One Time He Caught Chat Noir)

Title: Five Times Gabriel Agreste Caught Ladybug in His Son’s Bedroom (and the One Time He Caught Chat Noir)
Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug
Pairings/Characters: Gabriel, Adrien/Ladybug
Rating: Teen
Notes: mentions of sex


“Adrien, your photoshoot has been moved.” Gabriel pushes open the door to his son’s bedroom, eyes scanning the tablet in front of him. “Nathalie will send you your new schedule for—”

His gaze flickers up, locking on the blonde sitting on the edge of his bed as well as the red- and black-spotted heroine crouched in front of him. Her hands on his knees, spreading his legs wide, face mere inches from his crotch, her blue eyes are wide with fright. A bright red has stained Adrien’s face, from the tops of his ears to the nape of his neck. Neither make an effort to correct their precarious positions.

There’s a stillness that follows his arrival, and all occupants freeze as they realize the predicament they’ve found themselves in. Gabriel’s mouth drops open, questions he’s not sure he even wants answers to on the tip of his tongue, but he still feels the need to ask.

“Adrien,” he begins, “Why is there a superhero in your room?”

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I’m sure you’ve heard a million times over how important it is to comment on fanfiction - maybe even from this blog. I’ve been a frequent advocate of supporting stories with feedback, often reblogging posts about its importance (and even making one or two of my own). For me, every time a post about comment culture crosses my dash I find a fresh determination to be a commenter and vow to leave feedback on every fic that crosses my dash from there on out.

But here’s my secret: sometimes, I don’t feel like leaving a comment.

It’s not that a fic is undeserving or that I have nothing positive to say, in fact it’s usually quite the opposite.

Sometimes, I look at the large number of comments a fic has already received and I think “What difference will it make if I just add to the masses?” But then I remember how excited I get every. single. time. someone leaves me feedback, how much my heart soars whenever I receive a comment notification.

Sometimes, I see that a fic has zero to little comments and I think “Oh, it would be awkward if I was the only commenter, I don’t want to stand out.” But then I remember the stories I’ve published that never received any responses, merely gathering a few reblogs and a handful of likes and leaving me disappointed and discouraged.

Sometimes, I read a fic long after it’s been posted and I think “Why bother commenting now? It’s way too late for that.” But then I remember that one time someone found a fic of mine months after it had been posted and still left a comment, making me feel as though my story had a permanence and a lasting impact.

Sometimes, I read a fic that is already multiple chapters in, and I think “I can’t possibly comment on any chapter but the last, otherwise it’s going to seem strange.” But then I remember all the effort that goes in to a single chapter, all the courage it can take to publish those words and how reassuring it can be to hear that a particular piece of a story had an impact.

Sometimes, I read a fic and I can’t think of anything insightful to comment, and I think “If I don’t have anything profound to say, I may as well say nothing at all.” But then I remember how it feels to stare at a blank comment section, wondering where exactly my story went wrong and wishing for even the smallest of reassurances.

And sometimes, I read a fic and I’m just tired, and I think “What’s it going to hurt if I just skip the comment this time? Who will even notice?” But then I remember how much time and energy a writer put into their story, how exhausting writing can sometimes be.

I read a fic, I remember these things, and I decide to leave a comment. 

Comments, from the smallest of keyboard smashes and heart eye emojis to the largest of analyses, mean the world to a writer. A comment can be the difference between an abandonment and another update, the divide between a story of requirement and a story of passion. Comments truly are everything to a writer, and they require so little from each one of us.

So please, I beg of you: swallow your excuses, realize that leaving feedback has an impact that extends beyond you, and LEAVE THAT COMMENT.

Everything

Author: @kpopfanfictrash​ , as part of the Bound series with @knockknocksoosthere and @bread-jinie

Creative Content Contributor: @baebae-goodnight​ (listen, I’m hurt. HURT BY THIS MOODBOARD)

Rating: 18 + (explicit sex)

Word Count: 12,445

Summary:  It’s funny, how there are certain moments in your life which define you. 

Funny, how when you’re asked what was memorable about a year – the first thing to mind is usually an odd, assorted jumble which makes absolutely no sense out of context. People’s faces, random speeches, objects which move you. I, for some reason, always think of a book. Last year, it was 1Q84. The year before, The Name of the Wind. 

I always think of a book – and then I think of Jimin.  (Arranged Marriage!AU)

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Maybe, if I post every time this happens, abled people will stop thinking that this sort of thing is rare.

A while back I was sitting by the restaurant in Ikea and using my phone while I waited for Marvin to buy some things.

I was seated at one of four high-backed chairs arranged around a low coffee table. Across the table from me was a stranger, his young son sat in the chair to the right of me, and his daughter, who was about nine-years-old, sat on the floor at the coffee table. She was colouring and her brother was playing on a DS.

Their father stared at me while pretending he wasn’t. It’s pretty obvious when someone is watching you from eight feet away, though. I didn’t get angry vibes so I wasn’t concerned and just pointedly ignored him while catching Pidgey after Pidgey.

My phone had a semi-transparent, soft plastic case on it. I usually covered it with cute stickers. At that time, it had large words written in sharpie on the back that said, “It’s rude to stare”.

I was absorbed in my game when the stranger across from me laughed suddenly, loudly, and pointed me out to his daughter.

“Her phone says, ‘It’s rude to stare’,” he said.

He chuckled and looked at my face, expecting an explanation.

I stared at him.

He stared back.

I sighed.

“Oh, yeah. People stare at me a lot,” Just like you were, I thought. I waved my phone to show off the words. “So I wrote that on there. So, yeah.”

I went back to my game. Guy chuckled again.

“Really, people stare at you? Why?” He asked.

I looked up from my phone. I stared at him.

He stared back. I raised my eyebrows. He kept waiting for an answer.

I held up the butterfly-printed cane that had been leaning against my legs by way of explanation. “Sometimes I use a walker or wheelchair, too.”

“And people stare?” He pressed.

“Yep,” I said shortly.

“Wow. Well, you know, I think it’s probably because of their own personal fear.”

I seriously bristled at that. The tone was awful, really patronizing.

“Yeah. Seeing disabled people in public is a real shock. We remind people of their own mortality,” I said humourlessly, adding in some sarcastic laughter for good measure. I tried to signal my disinterest by lowering my head and leaning over my phone screen.

“Yeah-” he said, charging full speed ahead like he didn’t even need me for this conversation. He clearly had something to say all prepared.

"And you know, it’s funny. But I used to be scared of- people- people with disabilities,” he said, with a smile and lean-in, touching his fingertips together, making me want to punch his face.

I was in a bit of social shock. I just kept thinking, are you kidding me? This Ikea food court confession is happening right now, huh?

“Not physical disabilities, but mental disabilities.”

He was so smarmy, you guys. When he said that, I think my soul left my body. And I had no idea how to either respond or extricate myself reasonably. 

I hesitated, looked from this guy to his children, who were watching the exchange with awkward interest.

“Oh. Uh. Well, I’m autistic, so…” I let my words trail off. To this day I have no idea where that sentence would have gone.

“Oh. Oh! But I mean, you can’t tell,” he turned tomato red. “You’re so well-spoken and- I guess you could say that you have really overcome.”

As he was fumbling, I was giving him an exaggerated but sincerely felt grimace and an unimpressed "ehhh”.

At his pronouncement of my overcoming, I sat up straight and said, loudly and pissed enough that his children started looking worried, “Uh, yikes. No.”

Guy’s daughter looked like she would rather he did anything but continue talking, but that’s what he did. Like any allistic abled white dude worth his salt /s, he powered through, ignoring my obvious and projected displeasure.

“But, I mean. In school, it’s funny, because it ended up that most of my friends were handicapped. I guess I kind of protected them-” His voice took on an artificially soft, sticky quality. It was at this moment that I snapped.

“Okay. I’m going to cut you off there,” I said. I put my hand up. His tomato face spoiled.

“What? Why?” He seemed torn between expressing frustration and wanting to appear kind-hearted and open-minded in front of his children.

“Well. Uh. Ugh,“ I looked at his kids, wondering how harsh or how kind I should be. I hated that he put me in this spot. In that moment I hated him so much.

"Well, you’re saying a lot of stuff that non-disabled people think is nice to hear, but it’s not. It’s just- it’s just not.” I knew it was pointless to try to explain. My words were failing fast. He didn’t really care, anyway.

“I wouldn’t even be able to explain it to you,” I shrugged.

He gaped at me. Now he was angry. This wasn’t going how he had wanted it to.

“I know you’re coming from a good place. But it’s not nice. It’s just not… yeah.” I gripped the handle of my cane in one hand and my phone, Pokémon Go forgotten, in the other. I fought the urge to literally run away. I felt the surreal pressure of my behaviour being one of these kids’ formative disability-related experiences.

“Oh. Uh. Well. Okay. Sorry,” he said, embarrassed, not sorry. “And uh, thanks for saying that,” he said, trying to get me back. I looked away.

“I just-” he started. Even his children looked unhappily surprised that he was trying for that last word.

“I just want to say that you’re great.

I didn’t look at him. I smiled at his daughter, who smiled back out of habit, more confused than anything. His son looked down at his DS, secondhand embarrassment turning him red too.

“Hmm. Well, your kids seem nice,” I offered breezily.

After that, I moved away from the circle of green chairs and sat in an uncomfortably high stool in the corner. I hid there, head down, my hands shaking very slightly, feeling paranoid. Like I failed. And that my friends, is ableism. 

A voice told him where to go, and he went.

Maybe there was a time when the word of a disembodied voice would not have been enough. He doesn’t remember it. He doesn’t remember a lot of things. He remembers a lot of things. He remembers the wrong things.

He is slow. Maybe he wasn’t always slow, but he is slow now. There is no straight line between points. He considers every tree and every flower. He picks apples and catches lizards. He stares at the sky, and chases the stars.

He doesn’t speak much. He’s told he never did. He wonders if it was then what it is now, the way the words taste wrong and never fit on his tongue. Hylian and Hylian and Hylian but it never sounds right to the points of his ears. His first language is foreign and his accent is nowhere. He doesn’t sound like a hero. He doesn’t know what he sounds like, but he knows he doesn’t like it. It grates the way any wrong thing grates. He says nothing, and no one seems to mind.

He catches beetles, and stops to take pictures of fish.

In the burnt husk of a home, he finds a rusted shield. It didn’t do them much good, whoever they had been. He finds them all over, these floors without ceilings, these roofs without walls. He wonders, always: have I been here before? Did I know them, once? This house on the mountain, this cabin in the woods, would they have recognized me? Was this a name that fit on my tongue?

He learns to bake a cake, breaks rock salt and rubies from veins of ore in the earth.

He moves the sails of a raft with a Korok leaf, and he thinks: this should be easier. He wills the wind to move, but there is nothing. He looks out at the ocean and thinks: what might we find there? His raft is dead wood. He is alone.

He catches fairies in his hands, pink light and warmth and a faint ringing in his skin. They never complain. They never speak. He opens his hands to let them go, and they are the wrong color. The Great Fairy laughs, and it’s so much prettier than it used to be. Than it never was. He rolls glass bottles in his hands, but he doesn’t take them with him.

There is something restful in this. He can’t explain it, even if he had words to try. In his long slumber something inside him came unmoored, and he knows things he must not. He is tired. He knows this most of all. There is work to be done. There has always been work to be done.

He lights a fire, roasts a fish, picks at the flaky meat while it’s still hot enough to burn his fingertips.

He thinks of a sister he never had. He thinks of a grandmother he never had. Did he know his grandmother? In the Lost Woods he stares at the Deku Tree, and knows this is not home. There is a green-haired girl on the backs of his eyelids, and she sounds like three notes repeating.

He finds an ocarina made of wood, and runs his fingers over the holes. Three notes, repeating. He plays them, and nothing happens. He checks the shape of the moon and his reflection in the water. He plays three notes, different this time. There is nothing but an ache.

It sounds more like his voice than his voice ever did, and that hurts worse than silence.

He tries to remember Mipha. He wants to remember her most of all. They were friends, he is told. Close, he is told. He has nothing but fragments and a shirt that fits too well. When he tries to remember, he sees blue scales instead of red.

Zelda is Zelda is Zelda. She is the reference point around which the world turns. She is always Zelda, even when she isn’t. Her face is always her face. He is grateful and resentful in turns. There are so many people he would remember, if he could. Instead there is Zelda.

Ganon is not Ganon is not Ganon. He doesn’t know if Ganon has a face. He’s had so many faces. Was this ever a man, this manifestation of malice? He remembers eyes of gold, he remembers snouts. He recognizes the smell of him in burnt cloves and blood.

Fear is red lights and a blue glow. He knows these things were hope, once. He can’t remember it. He can’t remember seeing six metal legs and believing they would save him. Did he always know that it was helpless? It feels like he should have known.

The words are different, but the meaning is the same. He is procrastinating. If he needed an excuse, he would call it training. He would say they need every advantage. He would say they will only have one chance. No one asks for excuses. He says nothing.

Zelda has waited a hundred years. She waits, still.

She remembers a boy who never rushed her. She remembers, the way he does not, his silent patience while she found herself. While she took too long to find herself. She will wait for him to find himself, even if he takes too long. They may doom the world with their patience, but does the world not owe them this? There are so many worlds, and so few of them are kind. What could this world have been, if it had been kind? What might she have saved if it had not demanded saving?

She did not save the world. She will not save the world. She saved a single point of kindness who did not ask it from her. She will not ask it from him, but he may save her all the same. He is courageous. He is kind. Please, be careful.

He catches Koroks in durian trees, and chases dragons through canyons.

He jumps off a cliff to land in a stable, and no one there sees the hero he should be. He is no one, he is nothing. He is halfway to a beast, but they’re grateful for his help, when he offers it. He always offers it. He doesn’t know how not to.

His hands are calloused. Sometimes they bleed. He ties up his hair every morning, and does not stop. Swords fit so neatly in his hand. Sometimes he uses them to light fires or carve birds. It’s just easier. A sword is all he knows. He’s trying to be more. This might be beyond him.

Sometimes he growls when he’s angry. Sometimes he rips things apart with his teeth. Sometimes dogs follow him, but sometimes they whine. The shadows aren’t always unfriendly, and he feels them like fingers in his hair. There are eyes like fire in the mirrors at night, but he can only see them in the corners of his eyes.

The first time the Gerudo catch him, it was because he tried to scale their walls. Why did he think that would work? Urbosa would laugh if she knew.

He catches horses, but they’re never the right one. The hooves are wrong, the gait is wrong. They are never a part of him, an extension of his own legs. He rides across fields and they hesitate the way she never did. He whistles three notes, sometimes, but it never works.

He finds it, eventually. The place the voice told him about. Walls without a roof. Has he been here before? Surely he has. It’s night when he arrives. His footsteps make no sound. This is how he navigates the world, now, quiet as the sky. It’s easier this way. He kneels down to catch the latch on the chest, and when it opens, he cannot breathe.

He stares at it for a long time.

The moon is only the moon. His skin is still his own. Eventually, he breathes again.

He almost laughs.

He slides the mask onto his face.

know it all — p.p.

summary : may parker can’t fathom that you and her nephew aren’t dating yet- she can’t wait forever, you know, and she knows it’s going to happen eventually. when has may ever been wrong?

word count : 3k

author’s note : long time no see?? LOL sophomore year is successfully kicking my ass but i wrote this and it’s semi long so?? 

   May Parker prides herself on a lot of things- namely, her stunning resilience in the face of immense adversity, and the way she just seems to know things. She can’t help it, it’s her not so lame superpower and she uses it on Peter all the time, much to his annoyance. She earns a roll of the eyes whenever she says something out of the blue, so profound Peter can’t help but contemplate its credibility for the hours that follow their interactions. She knows things, she does, and she knows that you and her nephew are as meant to be as her and Ben were- are, she chastises herself sometimes- and she knows it so truly in the deepest recesses of her heart that the fact that you and Peter aren’t together is something that goes right over her head. 

   “Peter, hon, when’s your girl coming over? I miss having other ladies in the house,” she says one day, interrupting the silence that had settled upon the pair  as Peter recited the periodic table of elements so naturally in his head in preparation for a quiz the following day. Peter loses track somewhere between lithium and beryllium or maybe it was phosphorus, he doesn’t know anymore, when he hears May call you that, his girl, and he shakes his head at her wildly. “What? What’d I say?” May points her wooden spoon at him, and Peter’s reminded that she’s Italian for the fifth time that day. 

   “May, she’s not- she’s not my, like, girlfriend,” he stresses each syllable the word carries, practically throwing his pencil across the table when he turns his chair to get a better view of his aunt as she prepares dinner- pasta, again, because she claims it’s the only thing she can’t possibly mess up. “You know that! Y/N’s been my best friend forever.” 

    “You realize you can be best friends with your girlfriend, don’t you?” Peter can sense May’s eyes rolling even though he can’t see her since she’s facing the stove with her back turned. “You two have definitely kissed. You can’t tell me you haven’t.” 

    Peter’s entire face feels hot when she says that, his hands clammy when he presses them together against his cheeks, placing his elbows on the table to prop his head up. “That’s embarrassing, May. Why would you ever ask me that?” He runs his hands through his hair and the gel is so terribly packed on it that the carefully prepared hairstyle comes undone with one swift movement. “We haven’t, in case you’re wondering, which I know you are because you’re nosy.” Peter feels the spoon lightly poke into his back, a playful warning. 

   “Anyways,” May continues loudly, “as I was saying before, your girlfriend should come over for dinner sometime this week. I’m making pasta.” She grins before placing a bowl of penne in front of Peter, his least favorite pasta shape. Peter scowls at the penne but picks up his fork anyway and shoves some in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully for a moment before giving May a thumbs up. At least she was proud of it. “I won’t make penne if you get her to come over.” 

    She knows she’s got him when she sees the slow, unsure nod start. He sticks his hand out, and May shakes it happily. “Only because of the penne. I want bowties. Please,” he gives his aunt his best, brightest, sweetest smile he can form, much like the ones that come so naturally when he turns his gaze to look at you- but May won’t bring that up just yet. “And don’t make girlfriend jokes in front of her.” His utensil stabs into the pasta as he thinks to himself, ‘cause if you keep it up in front of her, she’ll think I’m a weirdo and I’ll never genuinely get to call Y/N that, ever. Honestly, he’d much rather launch himself headfirst off of the Empire State Building than never get to experience kissing you, holding your hand, being with you in all those sorts of hopelessly romantic ways that he daydreams about regularly. He’s doing it again, slipping into that endless reverie he always seems to find himself lost in. But it’s okay. His mind is a chasm of soft loves and sweet words shared between the two of you. It’s a beautiful, long mess of a dream. 

   “You lost, Pete?” May snaps her fingers in front of his face, bemused. 

    “A little,” he sighs in that dreamy tone she recalls her own self indulging in so fondly in her younger years. His gaze becomes hazy again, like he’s on another plane entirely, but she lets him be. For now. 


    Peter knows he’s dressing up a little too much for just a friend. He’s spraying too much strong cologne and gelling his hair excessively and praying you won’t notice the fact that it’ll be dryer than the leaves in the wintertime, but it’s all too much for someone he insists is his best friend and his best friend alone, nothing more and nothing less, certainly not his girlfriend. Never that, right? Peter frowns at his reflection and tilts his head down, rubbing his head in attempt to remove most of the gel that had been a serious mistake in the first place. You preferred his hair curly, anyway. Not that he cared. Not in the slightest. He puts on the sweater that you once said looked lovely on him and he wears his nice jeans, the ones without that stupid hole near the butt cheek that you can’t really see unless you’re trying

   His cheeks flush when May gives a tiny, satisfied smirk upon seeing his perfectly put together outfit. He acts as if no time at all was spent on his appearance, but she knows him, like she knows everything else, and she knows that he’s been holed up in the bathroom for over twenty minutes now trying to see which shirt matched his eyes best and debating the chances of you realizing that this was the sweater you liked the most on him before he put it on and beamed at himself in the mirror. Maybe it was the color or the stitching or the fabric but he was starting to like this one much more, too. 

   “You look very handsome, sweets,” May says to him, squeezing his shoulder as she brushes past him to place a salad on the table. Peter surveys the salad with a strange look on his face. 

   “Why’d you make a salad? Since when does Y/N eat salad?” He raises his eyebrows at her, before adding with haste, “not that I don’t love your salad, Aunt May, ‘cause I do. I promise.”  

   Aunt May places her hands on her hips, peering at him through the tops of her glasses in a way that makes her look too wise for someone as young as she was. “I’m making a good impression, obviously.” 

   “You’ve known her for like ten years now, the time for good impressions is over, May. You missed your chance.”

   “This is the first time I’m seeing Y/N as your girlfriend, though!” Peter lets out the loudest groan imaginable, running his hands over his cheeks and slapping his forehead with great vexation. 

   “Still not my girlfriend,” he insists on insisting, taking the extra plates out of her busy hands and helping to set the small kitchen table. 

   May smooths back a loose strand of hair from his forehead with a kind, teasing grin on her face. “Doesn’t mean you don’t want her to be, kiddo.” 

   He can’t possibly argue with that sort of logic, especially not when his aunt hits the nail right on the head in that peculiar way she has a habit of doing, so he just smiles and kisses May on the cheek. There’s a knock on the door less than a second later, and the pair scramble for the upper hand before Peter beats her to it and nearly flies to grab the handle of it and yank it open so he can greet you accordingly, slightly out of breath with his hair flopping to one quite nicely and a joyous smile making its way across his mouth when he sees you for the first time that day. May hovers earnestly behind him, hands fluttering over her nephew’s shoulders so she can push past him to wrap you in a hug if need be. Sometimes Peter has the impression that May adores you even more than he does; he wasn’t sure if he should be glad for that, or a bit offended that you seemed to return the blatant favoritism with ardency. 

   There was a brief second where your eyes raked over your best friend’s face with soft admiration, hidden as carefully as you could manage. When you met his appreciative gaze you felt the palms of your hands clam up and so you cast your look back to his aunt and playfully pushed past him to give her a hug. 

   Peter, offense overriding his previously somewhat moonstruck expression, backed away from you when you finally turned toward him with your arms outstretched. “Oh, now I get a hug? Interesting,” he rolls his eyes in a teasing manner, unable and unwilling to conceal his little, loving smile that appeared when you pried his arms off his chest and defiantly wrapped them around yourself as you hugged him. “Didn’t seem so interested in hugging me when you were shoving me away to get to May,” he says, craning his neck to stare at you whilst continuing to drag the embrace out for as long as possible. 

   “You’re still my favorite Parker,” you reply, poking his chest lightly. Then you turn away before you can say anything else that could be considered too revealing of certain, carefully concealed feelings that had the possibility of being detrimental to a beautiful friendship that had manifested over the years into something more, but not quite, not yet. “Sort of,” you put as an afterthought, lest he get any ideas about you feeling… something for him. “Anyways, what’s for dinner, May?” You anticipate pasta, and when May announces the dish with a great flourishing of her hand, you grin. Typical, yes, but nothing if not welcomed. 

  Peter, gentleman that he is, pulls out your chair for you, and you let yourself imagine that he’s doing it as a chivalrous boyfriend and not simply a polite friend. He imagines the same, though. Imagines that he’s on a date with you and he pulls out your chair and smiles kindly and lovingly- and he basks in this image for as long as he can. May calls you over then, and the daydream is shattered. You make your way over to her in the kitchen, leaning against the counter. 

   May lowers her voice before speaking, “Y/N, I’m gonna need you to explain something to me,” she starts. You nod, raising your eyebrows at her. “Explain why you and Peter aren’t together yet. Honestly, honey, I just can’t understand it.” She talks with her hands the way Peter does. 

   “Uh- what? I, um, I don’t… understand?” Your voice cracks a little, as if having May practically shove your less than friendly feelings for Peter back in your face wasn’t embarrassing enough. “We’re, um, you know, like, friends.” 

   Her hand waves dismissively, pushing that sentence away. “No, no, see that’s what he said, too! I have to disagree. I know everything, kiddo, and I know that you two are going to make it as a couple, so if that’s what your afraid of, don’t be. Go for it. I see the same thing in him that I see in you right now, and that thing is love. So, I’m going to need you to go make my nephew the happiest kid on Earth and tell him you’re falling in love with him, and you’ll see that he’s going to say the same thing to you. Trust me. Aunt May knows all,” she shrugs in a casual manner, brushing her confidence off, before she steers you around and gently pushes you back toward the tiny dining room table where Peter sits awkwardly fiddling with his thumbs with his lip caught between his teeth. 

   “Hi,” you almost whisper, settling down in your seat across from him. 

   He glances up. “Hey,” he says, smiling again. A reflex, in your presence. He clears his throat, then asks, “So, what’d you and May talk about?” He knows May loves him as if he were her son, which for all intents and purposes he is, but he can’t be sure of her secrecy. He wouldn’t put it past his aunt to let slip “accidentally” that he liked you, loved you, cared for you. 

   You take a sip of your glass of water that Peter must have filled in your absence from the table. You had a tendency to take sips of your drink when in uncomfortable conversations, or conversations you felt nervous in. He notes that. “Oh, um, nothing really… but if were gonna talk about it, I’d wanna do it in, like, private?” You twirl your straw around your drink, mixing the ice in the glass. Peter abruptly stands from his chair. You watch him sling a jacket around his shoulders and throw one of his sweaters at you, which you catch easily. “You wanna go now?” 

   He nods, licking his lips anxiously. “No better time than the present, right?” If you’re going to confront him and crush his heart with a single sentence that stands along the lines of I see you as a friend, he wants it done sooner rather than later. He wants it over with, so he can go back to his suffering in comfortable silence and start an attempt to move past this crush the way he had easily drifted away from his crush on Liz Allan. You fumble with the sweater as you stand. “May, we’re gonna step out for a bit!” Peter announces, opening the front door of his apartment and letting you slip out first. He doesn’t wait for her response before he disappears, too. May watches the two of you leave and feels her heart grow twice its size. 

  You’re standing outside the apartment building ten minutes later in the chilly autumn breeze, thankful for the cologne scented sweater that rests over your body like a warm blanket. Peter’s hands are never cold, and so they linger outside of his pockets as opposed to yours, shoved inside the front pocket of the sweater he’s given you. He reaches for your hands wordlessly and rubs them over his. “You’re always freezing,” he laughs quietly, lacing his fingers through yours with a new burst of confidence that you find endearing as you squeeze his hands. “Hey, wanna know something? You might know it already but, I figure I should tell you myself, if you wanna know.” He swings his hands back and forth, and yours swing along with his. 

   “Yeah, please,” you insist, twisting your head to the side to sweep the windswept hair out of your face. One of Peter’s hands comes up to brush it out of the way, typical and cliche and an overplayed move but none of that matters when the action is being carried out, because it makes your stomach constrict in that funny way and your heart melt into a puddle on the dirty sidewalk. His fingers linger over the softness of your cheek, and he keeps his hand there to see what you’ll say about it. You say nothing, let remain there. “You gonna tell me or not?” 

  “Should I- I could maybe…” he sucks on the bottom of his lip. “Forget it, I don’t know how to speak properly around you like this.” You start to protest, demand he tell you because you won’t be able to stop thinking about this if he doesn’t, but every word dies before it can touch the edge of your lips. Peter has his head lowered down toward you and he’s kissing you, a thought that’s crossed your mind more times than you were able to count but now, it’s happening. Real lips pressed against yours feverishly, shyness forgotten in the heat of the moment. When he pulls away first, it returns and collides with him as if he’s hit a brick wall, and his cheeks burn red. He makes no move to back away, still. “D-Did I step out of line? Was that okay? Do you hate me? ‘Cause if you do we can go back upstairs or you can leave and then on Monday we can pretend that this never happened because you’re still my best friend no matter what even if it’s awkward-” 

   Your hands clasp together around the back of his neck as you yank him down toward you again, and this time you kiss him back. You can feel him smiling so hard it makes it difficult to kiss him, but when you break away to tell him that, he just laughs and smiles harder and keeps kissing you. He doesn’t know how to stop now that’s he had the opportunity. You’re both laughing hysterically and trying to kiss properly and his nose bumps against yours repeatedly, and it’s the most perfect first kiss in the world. 

   He keeps his hand firmly grasped in yours when you go back upstairs to his seventh floor apartment, opens the door for you and everything. May is sitting at the table, turns her head to the both of you and peers at you from the top of her glasses. Peter raises his hand and yours, triumphant. May claps her hands together as he, your boyfriend, declares proudly, “Aunt May, I would like to formally introduce you to my girlfriend, Y/N Y/L/N, who I hope will be sticking around?” He looks to you for reassurance, and gets what he needs from the happy kiss you bestow upon the side of his face. 

   “I told you two I know everything!” Is what breaks the joyous silence, and then the laughter starts again; a perfectly lovely family. 

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The First Time With Jeon Jungkook

Originally posted by jengkook

Genre : Fluff, romance,comedy,implicit language,sexual innuendos
Pairing:Jungkook x reader
Length: 29K words
Summary : This is a series based on all of your first times with jungkook, from your childhood till adulthood

PART 1 PART 2 PART 3 PART 4 PART 5 PART 6 PART 7

PART 8


Tell me your thoughts in the comments and ask box :)



THE FIRST TIME YOU CONFESSED TO EACH OTHER

2 days ago, Lusty&Nancy Bar, L.A, 00:42 AM

The scent of alcohol and smoke was heavy as Jungkook was drinking his last shot of martini before collapsing on her lap. She chuckled as she ran her soft fingers through his raven hair. Those majestic looking lips, that gorgeous nose and long lashes, could drive any girl insane at his sight, but only one girl could drive the latter over the edge. He untied his tie as he dropped it on the cold ground before making himself at home, sleeping on her lap. Jungkook was never completely drunk, but had this tendency to collapse at random moments and wake up randomly just to take off his clothes. He sniffled a few times before grabbing onto the soft hand that was caressing his ears.

“I missed you….” he murmured half coherently “…Y/N”

The girl’s face fell into a scowl as she heard your name coming out of his beautiful lips, one more time. Every time, it would be the same story. He would hit her up, they would talk for a few hours and he would end up drunk, sleeping on her lap. Who was she? His business partner Park Sooyoung. Tall, brunette, pretty and a bright future ahead of her. She made heads turn by her presence only. Being a year older than Jungkook, she often talked informally to him even if he was her superior. She never had any feelings towards the boy, but she couldn’t help but feel irritated every time he mentioned your unknown name before casually sleeping on her lap.

“Y/N… I really wonder who she is, for turning him into a mess” she sighed

“Sooyoung-ssi” Jungkook’s eyes suddenly sprung open “Do you think she still remembers me?” he unbuttons the first buttons of his dress shirt “Sometimes, I keep on wondering… if she actually cares about me?”

“Jungkook, I would like to give you an answer but—“

“It’s Mr. Jeon for you” he pointed at her before erupting in a fit of giggles “We’re still workmates remember?”

“Right… only workmates” she clenched her fist

“Mr. Jeon sounds like a sexier title as well. Right? How about Director Jeon?” he ran a hand through his hair before crouching his shoulders “That’s supposed to be my future title…” he grabbed her hand in his “Do you think I can do this?”

“I think the question should be: Do you want to do this?” she replied in a heartbroken tone

“You are right…” he laid his head back on her lap “What do I even want?” he laid the back of his hand on his forehead “I just want to go back home” he felt a tear slipping from his eyes

“Should I bring you back home?” Sooyoung smiled at him

The word home had a different meaning in Sooyoung’s suggestive context

….

Today, Dorms at Seoul University, 12:32 PM

You were sipping on your lemon tea as it was the start of a new semester in your area. You and your friends were about to have a blast for the last remaining weeks of summer before tackling another stressful term. It might’ve been your second year at Seoul University, but you never felt more than welcomed whenever stopping by campus. You’d usually go back home during the summers and get back to the dorms during the school year, but this year it was quite different, as you had to get back to the dorm earlier. Something about a change of roommates was occurring in your department. The dean’s daughter made a fuss about wanting to change rooms so they had to rearrange the rooms. Knowing that you were the only scholarship student in the residence building, they chose to make you move out to make more space for the new tenant.

“That little brat, I swear to god, she’s so spoiled and idiot” Jimin groaned as he watched you pack your belongings

“Don’t say that, Jimin” you nudged his arm “I mean, she does have a right to do this. She’s still the dean’s, one and only daughter.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that her IQ is lower than Hoseok’s grades. I despise people of her type the most”

“Why do you hate on her so much?”

“Because she ruined your summer! You had to get on a 3 hours train ride to pick up your stuff Y/N. Why can’t you realize that she’s an annoying brat? She purposely made you move your ass from your vacation break to come in town.”

“She probably didn’t mean it that way! I actually decided to drop by in advance, so stop it” you patted his arm

“Still doesn’t change the fact that you need to leave your room” Jimin rubbed his temples “Damn you, stupid Park Chaeyoung”

“I always thought she had something for you though…” you raised a brow at him “Like a tiny crush?” you winked

“W-What?! Whoah, that’s the best joke I’ve heard in a century” Jimin flushed a slight tint of red “Girls like her are what I want to avoid the most.” He scoffed “In the last two years I’ve lived on campus, I never saw a girl as whiny and as spoiled as her. Do you realize that her majesty has a personal slave that holds her goddamn haute couture Gucci bag? Even Taehyung who owns the whole Gucci collection doesn’t do that kind of shit”

“But still, she asked nicely” you replied “It’s her last year before leaving for Ireland. That’s the least I can do to help her, as a student”

“That’s the problem with you Y/N” Jimin pointed at you “You’re way too f*cking nice to be real.”

“Come on, it’s just a room” you rolled your eyes

“You’re moving to the science department dorms! Do you realize how creepy most of these guys are?”

“I always thought they were brilliant though “you grabbed your clothes “Namjoon Sunbae is such a cutie. He was the best T.A I ever had in my years here”

“Namjoon is an exception, I’m talking about the weird guys who are in the engineering department. They always become weird as f*ck around finals.” Jimin sighed “They apparently become crazy because of their work load. Take Yuta for example! He didn’t even last a semester in there! He gave up halfway and changed programs” He sighed “These poor beings.”

“Oh, are you talking about those weird rumors of them being perverts? The boys who are taking engineering at Seoul U, are cute though, well that’s what I always thought” you commented “They’re not crazy”

“Okay yes, they seem all normal, but that’s because you’re a girl. They won’t show you their real nature” Jimin pressed his back on the wall

“What about you? Mr. Psychology. Stop digging too far inside my brain with your manipulative talks” you stared at him

“What are you talking about?”

“Why are you so concerned about me, talking to the boys in engineering?” you raised a suspicious brow “Is it Jungkook who told you to look out for me, again?”

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We’ll see that, sweetheart - Dean Winchester x Reader

Title: We’ll see that, sweetheart

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: None

Imagine: Imagine Dean and you being hunting partners and in love with each other for year, but are too scared to admit it. You are close and have a strong bond, being intimate in different ways every time. When he sees you interact with Jack and take care of him he remembers how he’s always wanted to have kids with you and finally gets the courage to bring it up to you.

A/N: In a close to perfect Supernatural universe this is how I’d like to see Dean open up to Jack, just to get over a lil bit of the pain in the previous episode! But I love both so much that the writers are only making it harder for me now!

“And that is how you can also raise the volume if you want to hear more clear, but careful with that around here cause Dean’s always a grumpy old man with these stuff.” you said playfully and Jack grinned slightly, just as Dean looked at you and scoffed.

“I’m not old.” hemuttered and you hummed.

“Sure, whatever you say grandpa!” you winked but he just shook his head, a small smile creeping on his lips “And- no, Jack he’s not my granpa. It’s just a thing, I call him stupid nicknames sometimes. That’s all.” you said, noticing how the nephilim was ready to ask.

“Oh” he nodded his head “Alright, and if I want to watch… cartoons, I press on number one and then three. For… thirteen, right?”

“Exactly! And there’re plenty of Scooby Doo there for you too!” you giggled, patting his back as he broke into an adorable grin.

“I really like that one, it’s wonderful!” he breathed out, his eyes sparkling.

“It sure is, Jack.” you chuckled “But remember, whenever there isn’t something good on TV and you really want to do something you can opt for a book!”

“Yeah if you wanna be a nerd in life sure.” Dean mumbled and you shot him a look.

“There are plenty of good ones around here, and I have a lot I think you’d like.” you said softly to Jack “Just until you find what you really like and what not we keep exploring, alright?”

“Then I think we should name you Dora.” Dean muttered with a snicker and you couldn’t fight the grin that spread on your lips, as Jack merely tilted his head to the side and frown.

“Do- Dora? What is that?” he mumbled and you still couldn’t fight the laughter that left your lips.

“Dean!” you exclaimed, throwing a pillow at him as he dodged it “How the hell do you even know about that?!” you shook your head.

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matchmaker

pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader

word count: 1,582

warnings: none 

this is my first stranger things fic so I hope you all enjoy it. I really hope to get better at writing these characters over time :)

REQUEST: Could I request a Steve Harrington imagine, one that’s really just fluff. He’s head over heels for you and Dustin, your little brother notices and tries to set you up?

“(Y/n)! Go get the door!”

You had been sitting in your living room doing homework when your little brother, Dustin, yelled at you to answer the door.

You knew that he wasn’t doing anything but still wanted you to stop what you were doing.

The doorbell rang again. You stood up from the couch and walked towards the front door. Checking the peephole first, you saw that none other than Steve Harrington was standing on the other side of the door.

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BTS REACTION to stranger pulling your bikini string

Jin

You were just standing there at the shore, holding Jin’s hand as you swung your hands together. You laughed as he made a weird face towards you, making you throw your head back. But just as you started to laugh, someone pulls at your bikini strap, making you gasp as you feel a slap on your ass. Jin’s whole entire face went red with anger as he pulled you towards him. He didn’t want to cause a whole scene, but when the stranger slapped your ass, it set a whole entire different aura in him. He tied your bikini strap back on you, before starting to yell and make a bigger scene than he intended. You would have to hold him back from attempting to punch someone.

“You think it’s funny?! Come on, I’ll show you what’s funny!”

Originally posted by aestheticpinkjoon

Yoongi

He wasn’t much for public affection, except for the times when you would kiss his cheek or softly rub his thigh as he sat there. It was rare for the both of you to leave the house for a date, but this time was different. Yoongi wanted to make your anniversary special and he knew how much you loved the beach. He nodded his head in approval when he saw your bikini, but just as you were about to walk towards him and get in the water with him, you felt your bikini strap come loose, making your eyes go even wider when you felt a slap on your ass. You heard a loud growl escape Yoongi’s mouth as you were quick to pick up your top from falling before anything showed. Yoongi wasn’t one to hold back during these kinds of things, and you immediately started to panic as you pushed at his chest, trying to make him calm down. You placed your hands on his cheeks, trying to distract him, as you kissed him roughly. He growled against your lips, pulling at your waist and kissing you deeper.

“You’re mine, and I’ll go through hell if I let him get away with that shit.”

Originally posted by professional-fangirling

Namjoon

His eyes were transfixed on you the whole time, staring at you with admiration. The way you looked in front of him was almost unbelieveable. You were his, and he felt so special to be standing there with you. You caught eyes with him as he stood far away from you at shore while you stayed in the water. He smiled, chuckling softly as you tried to splash the water in his direction, begging for him to come in. But just as he was starting to walk in, a guy came up behind you in the water and loosened your bikini strap, making you squeak in surprise as you caught your bikini before it could fall. Namjoon’s eyes went wide, before they quickly turned angry. He was pissed, to say the least. You quickly strapped your bikini back up, watching as Namjoon started to march his way towards the man. You knew Namjoon would take things responsibly, but it still scared you shitless of what he would do if the stranger said the wrong thing to him.

“I think you just touched what’s mine.”

Originally posted by jeonyween

Hoseok

It was sunset, and barely anyone was even at the beach. He decided it would be a romantic idea to take you out here late on the beach, as it wasn’t too hot nor too cold. He was currently slow dancing with you, lightly spinning you, making you chuckle as you spun around. His eyes shined with brightness, his sunshine features showing through. Your fingers laced with his own as you stared up at him again, making your heart jump down to your stomach. It was always the good kind of heart jump. Just as you were stepping away from Hoseok, a male stranger pulled at your bikini strap, quickly running away as you gasped in surprise. Hoseok’s eyes went wide along with your own, before his eyes grew dark. You knew just how protective he was over you, so you quickly tied back up your strap before going to calm him down.

“Y/N, I really don’t want to let him get away with that.”

Originally posted by sosjimin

Jimin

He was following you like a lost puppy all day, afraid that someone was going to take you away from him. You giggled, making his heart leap at the sound as he smiled sweetly at you. You smiled back in return, looking at him with love in your eyes. You didn’t want him to worry about someone taking you away from him, so you kissed his cheek, making sure everyone saw. His cheeks went red as his smile widened, making you chuckle once again. All of a sudden, Jimin’s arm snaked around your waist. You felt another pair of hands pull at your bikini strap, making you squeak, but thankfully Jimin’s body was flush against your own. You looked at Jimin, noticing that his honey brown eyes were filled with silent anger. You gulped, knowing how he got when someone messed with his girl. You reached behind you, tightening your straps again as he continued to glare at the man laughing while running.

“If I ever see him again, he’ll regret it.”

Originally posted by jeonyween

Taehyung

His dark eyes searched yours, making your heart flip as you caught sight with him. It wasn’t everyday your boyfriend took you to the beach. It didn’t necessarily have anything to do with the beach itself, it just had to do with the fact that you wore that swimsuit that drove him crazy. And he could tell it drove every other person crazy as well, much to this man’s dismay. His cleared his throat, heading towards you to wrap his arm around your waist. Just before he reached you, some male stranger on a bike rode past the both of you while untying your bikini top. Your eyes went wide as Taehyung’s eyes grew angry and more terrifying by the second. You saw his shoulders tense as you quickly put yourself back together. You were quick to rush towards him, his eyes never once leaving the guy on the bike as you hugged him tightly to prevent him from doing something you knew he would regret.

“He’s going to pay for that, no one touches my girl but me.”

Originally posted by jeonyween

Jungkook

His eyes were fixated on you the whole entire evening, making you sometimes wonder if you just looked wrong all together. You weren’t sure what it was until his eyes shot with jealousy whenever a guy walked past you both. You made an ‘o’ shape with your mouth before walking towards him to wrap your arms around his neck. His attention was immediately on you again as you smiled sweetly up at him. You ran your fingers through his hair, making him sigh as he stared at you with desperate eyes. He didn’t want anyone to steal you from him. Just as he was about to speak and tell his true feelings about his jealousy, a guy pulls at your strings while sneaking up on you before running away. Jungkook’s grip on your waist tightened, making you squeak softly as he started to shout at the male stranger. You could feel the large vibrations in his chest as he shouted, making you hug him closer to you as he starts to reach down and angrily tie your bikini back together after shouting.

“Hey! Don’t you dare touch my fucking girlfriend like that! I fucking dare you, asshole!”

Originally posted by theking-or-thekid

*jungkook’s gif has nothing to do with anything but hot damn*

- admin storm

Imagine You're a Breeder

A life as a breeder. A trait you were born with, a trait that you rather not have. But it’s hard to argue with the genetic lottery. The only way anyone was born on the planet now was thanks to the few hundred breeders. Everyone else was for the most part infertile, it was so hard to keep track of who was or wasn’t a sibling, a common greeting became to call everyone you crossed brother or sister. Hell they might even be an aunt, cousin, uncle, and you would never know. A free app was distributed but it was mostly used for curiosity sake.

As with everyone upon reaching puberty, you were tested. And you came back positive for a breeder. You panicked, it could trigger at any moment, and you would have no control. The doctor eased your worries, saying that it couldn’t fire until you reached eighteen and to instead enjoy life as normally as possible. You were given literature to read, numerous pamphlets, and a link to a website that covered anything and everything about breeders.

Your guardians, a blood uncle and his wife instead sought to shelter you from this forced life. You were sent an all girl private school and college. They were desperate to insure that you wouldn’t enter a forced heat until you were able to support yourself. You weren’t going to be someone’s breeding whore with your belly constantly swollen with babies if they had any say in the matter.

The job market had other ideas. Despite graduating with a business degree, the market was rough at best. You sent out resume after resume, application after application, showed up to interview after interview. But they wanted more experience, always more experience. How were you supposed to get experience without a job! You grumbled but feared working with the public, even being out in public you kept your head down and stared at your lap. Your favorite skirt had 78 lines on it you found out. You didn’t want your heat to trigger, you didn’t know what you could do to control. Everything you read said you couldn’t, and that terrifies you. You finally got a job filing paperwork, at least it was something.

Your job was thankless, your boss demanding, but you needed it for rent and bills. You just needed to survive a year or two, then you could leave. You kept looking for other jobs in the mean time. One of the office girls was always prancing around all dolled up and showing off every God given curve leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. You swore you could see the outline of her groin in some outfits. She often pressured you to break out of your conservative shell, come join the ‘girl night fun’ at Black Market Bar. After a very stressful week, you broke down and, despite your fears, agreed.

All you had for dressing up was a modest dress fit more for church instead of a bar. You played with your hair and managed to make a cute curly up do. A touch of jewelry your aunt had passed down and you headed out. Black Market Bar was hoping like mad that night, the office girl teased you lightly for still dressing so conservatively but did complement your hair at least. She suggested you two should go for mani-pedis sometime. At the bar you managed to find some college friends along with friends you’ve know since high school. It was good to catch up and have some drinks. You couldn’t believe what an enjoyable night you were having, laughing talking, you lost count of how many cocktails you downed. You knew you only bought one round. Or was it two?

But then, it happened. It took nearly twenty-five years, over a decade after learning your assigned path in life. You turn you head towards the bar, shouting at a gay friend and your eyes locked with that man. You both freeze and your breathe hitches as your gazes meet. His eyes shine like a stunning emerald, he had long, light brown hair tied into a short ponytail, a well trimmed goatee, the face of Adonis himself! At least, as far as you cared. His body was great as well, not too thin but not overly muscular either. Your knees started to quiver, you suddenly felt overly wet in your groin. Oh no, oh no! You wanted to fight it, turn it off, but the switch was flipped. He stands up and turns towards you, his pants had a bulge, yeah that would do- No! Don’t think like that!

One of your friends suddenly speak you name snapping you from your trance, “I-I got to go!” You speak hastily, downing your drink and racing out a side door. You turn down the alley, running desperately, wanting to get away. Which way was home? What street were you on? Maybe he could pin you against this wall and take care of- NO! You whimper, it was becoming unbearable and hard to walk. Maybe your vibrator could get rid of this persistent itch. You turn back towards the main street to get your bearings.

And he found you. You squeak in surprise and fear as he blocks your path with one arm, his face was just as flushed as yours, “You know there’s only way for both of us to end this, right?” He questions. His tone was a mix of desperation and domination.

You nod feverishly, “N-Not out in the open. P-Please, I want your cock but not out here.”

“Two blocks away is my place,” he replies and takes your hand to lead you away. His touch was like electric fire. It took over your entire body. You willingly follow him, your body desperate to sooth this heat. Up a flight of stairs, he fumbles his keys for a moment and flings the door open. You just as quickly shut it as you enter his condo as he locks it tight.

Any remaining shred of modesty was lost, you lunge at him planting a kiss firmly against his lips, your fingers tugging on his pants as he lifts your dress. In a tumbling tango, the both of you stumble into the bedroom and quickly undress. Nothing else mattered. You needed to be fucked. More importantly, you needed to be fucked by him! This very instant or you would surely go insane. He must have felt the same.

Next thing you knew you where pinned against a wall and he rammed his thick throbbing cock deep into your virgin tunnel. You howl in ecstasy and dig your nails into his back. He groans and moans from your tightness as he rams his hips against yours without restraint, “Fucking hell you’re tight!” You hear him moan at some point.

“Any bigger and you’d split me in two!” You answer, “Now fuck me proper!” you demand pushing him to the ground. He quickly flips you to your back and holds you by your wrists as you wrap you legs around his waist, “Yes!” You cry out as he hits the deepest reaches of your core, “Come on big boy! Put out this fire you started!” You clamp your tunnel around his throbbing cock causing him to moan loudly.

“Oh, I’ll do better!” he growls lustfully, “I’ll put out this fire. I launch my cum so deep you’ll be pregnant by dawn! Tonight, you’re my broodmare, and I’m going fuck you full and tight with life. Make sure you fulfill your purpose to our kind!”

With that last command, his back arches and you feel a deluge of warmth fill you tunnel. You throw your head back and cry out as you orgasm as well. The fire was put out, and you swore you could fill your very womb filling with his life granting seed. As fertile as both of you were at this moment, you were certain you were going to be pregnant. And for the first time, at this moment, you didn’t give a shit. You moan softly as you ride out that pleasure filled wave and pant for air. Your lover pulls out, but it doesn’t feel like any cum was dribbling out. Whatever, you were exhausted, your head felt fuzzy as you pass out where you lay on the floor.

Fullness, you wake up feeling as though you had eaten too much, even though your stomach was growling. You were on a mattress, the smell of your lover coated the room, you must still be at his condo. Last night was a blur, your friends were probably wondering what the hell happened to you. A sizzling noise, you sniff again, sausage it smelt like and french toast, perhaps? You smile, man you were hungry maybe he would let you have a bite before you left. You feel your stomach flip and squirm and you go to rub it. A firm orb meets your hand. You look down and sit up right with a short yelp. You place both hands against your stomach and rub some more. Movement, lots of movement. It was just last night, and already your womb had grown several times in size with new life. It was a perfect sphere arching from your abdomen. Where you already going to give birth so soon? Now a kick, wait no two kicks, one each side at once. “T-Twins?” you softly whimper. No wonder you felt so full. This was bad. You had to leave, you had find your clothes, you had to-

“Are you okay?” You freeze looking towards the door. It was the voice of your lover, “If you’re looking for your dress, I put it and your other things on top of the dresser. Cellphone is charging by the sofa. I made breakfast, I’m sure you’re hungry.”

You look to your dresser finding your things neatly stacked and folded, “O-oh! T-Thank you. Um, i-if you don’t mind me staying for a bit.” You sigh in slight relief and struggle to stand up, “Hey, uh, bathroom?”

“Beside the closet,” he answers. You quickly run there first and relive your bladder. Next, you tried to redress but your dress wouldn’t go over your middle anymore. You growl at it then look around the room to improvise. You find a sweat shirt hanging from the mirror, maybe he won’t mind, you put it on instead and still it hugs and displays your gravid middle. Your panties barely fit, you decided to not even try your bra. Your breasts were tender and and felt full of milk.

Your twins pummel you with kicks again, “Okay, okay. I’m going to feed you two. Calm down a moment.” You waddle out of the bedroom while and find a table set for two. It seems he hasn’t noticed you yet but none the less you take a seat, “Er, what do you have to drink?”

He looks up, “Cranberry grape juice, milk, and water. I’d offer coffee but, well considering….” You look away in a blush requesting a glass of milk. You stare at your lap as you always do, though this time you cradle your belly with one hand and rub it with the other. A clink of plates and glass cause you to lift your head slightly as he sits opposite you, “Dig in while it’s hot.”

Fluffy scrambled eggs, juicy plump sausage links, pillow like french toast with butter and syrup, crisp apples and berries, and cold milk, you struggled to maintain your table manners as you devour the offered food, your twins happily tumbling and pressing against your womb now that they were being fed. It was delicious, he was kind enough to bring you seconds without needing to be asked. You sigh happily and rub your stuffed middle then frown, “This is super awkward.”

“What is?” He asks in confusion.

“I-I-” you sigh again, “I don’t even know your name. Had a one night stand and woke up carrying twins. My friends are probably worried sick, and if I look at you again that stupid urge is going to come back.”

You hear him choke and cough, “Oh, shit. I’m your first, aren’t I?” You nod. “The name’s Cedric,” he answers, “What’s yours?” You give your name while continuing to look away. “You can look up, the trigger can’t happen if you’re pregnant.”

You arch an eyebrow and slowly lift your head to meet his face again. The feeling from last night, that raging fire in your loins, it never came, “Oh! Um, well shit that does make sense doesn’t it…. Er, sorry about wearing your shirt, my dress wouldn’t fit.”

He waves it off, “Don’t worry about it, I’ve got some stretchy pants you can wear also. So, do you want me to explain things here or would you prefer the sofa?” You look over to the mentioned furniture and decide there. As you try to stand Cedric moves and offer you a hand up, which you take and use him to steady yourself as you waddle over to and sink into the sofa, “There’s a handle on the side if you want to lay back.”

With your right hand, you feel around the side of the sofa and find the handle. A mechanical whir is heard as the sofa reclines. You adjust a pillow against your back then go back to resting one hand on your stomach. Your hand meets Cedric’s for a brief second and he quickly retracts it. You look over to him, now he was trying to avoid eye contact as a blush crosses his cheeks. “Do you want to rub?” You ask pointing at your belly. He looks back and nods. You smile moving you hands out of the way. His face lights up as he moves over and gently rubs your belly. Man that felt good having him rub your stretched skin. He looked damn proud of himself also. You reach for your phone and find several missed messages and calls from your friends and the office girl. You send a text to each saying you were okay and apologized for leaving them so suddenly. You choose not to explain what happened; as far as you knew, non of them knew you were a breeder. And you rather it stayed like that. “Now then,” you speak getting his attention, “That explanation?”

“Ah, yes right,” Cedric answers and stops rubbing, “I figured with this being your first time, you’d be kinda lost. Scared, maybe. I sure was.”

You take his hand and place it back on your stomach, “First keep doing that, it’s feels pretty good.” He chuckles and alternates between rubbing circles and the length of your stomach again. “Second, i-is it supposed to be this quick? I mean, I know they say rapid, but this rapid?”

He nods, “Yes actually. Compresses the first part into a night, in our case, then the last ‘trimester’ as the books call it lasts only a week I think.”

You sigh and groan, “Great, I’m stuck like this for a week.”

He hesitantly questions“Y-you… do know you’re going to get bigger, right?” A look of shock from you gives him his answer, “They aren’t big enough yet. I think they. Considering how big you are already. They need to grow more over the next week.”

“Oh no….” You whimper burying your face into your hands, “Bigger!? And yes I’m pretty sure you put twins in there. I’m going to have to explain this at work. Oh fuck my life. I’ll never hear the end of it! No one knows I’m a breeder! They weren’t supposed to know!” You sniffle placing one hand against your middle and wiping away tears with the other, “Damn it I don’t have anything big enough to hide this!” You sob looking at your middle again.

Cedric flinches away slightly, “H-hey, please don’t cry. I want to say female breeders get government sanctioned off time from work when they get pregnant.” He then smiles and resumes rubbing your middle, “You should talk to your HR department, they might know something. You get a hell of a lot more then the male breeders do.”

“Considering you can just bang and bolt,” you note with a sour tone. You then shake your head and rub away the rest of your tears, “Sorry, I shouldn’t be rude. You’ve been so nice to me, but…why?”

He grins and holds up one finger, “Simple. If I stay close to whoever I knock up, my trigger can’t go off so long as they are pregnant. It’s a nice break from the anxiety of wondering when it’ll happen.” he then frowns and moves his hand from your middle back to lap and stares at the ceiling, “But I understand if you want to leave and never see me again. I’ll drive you back to your place and wait to meet you at Black Market again.

You cast a confused look at him then gaze at the ceiling as well, resting both hands atop your gravid middle. Your vision then wonders over to your phone, “I should lookup a clinic. Make sure these two are okay, make sure it is two more so. And figure out adoption papers.”

“Adoption?” Cedric questions, “That easily?”

“I sure as hell am not ready to be a mom,” you answer, “I can barely keep myself afloat. Last night was a splurge for sure.” You blush, “In more ways then one.”

You hear him chuckle, he looks rather proud of himself again, “No, you’re right. There are some people who envy us.”

“Delusional assholes,” you note causing him to laugh.

“Amen, sister,” he remarks back, “As for a clinic, there’s one on 5th and 23rd. I should have a card for them somewhere, just a second” Cedric hops up from the couch and digs through a drawer, “Ah here we go. I signed this one right?” He speaks flipping it over, “Okay good, thought I did.”

Now you just had to know, “How many times have you done this?”

“Counting you, five women in this city alone, and one in my hometown.” he answers, “Two of them tried to rob me when I showed generosity, one I haven’t seen in a long time and the other comes by when she finds suitable parents. As for the one in my hometown, that was my first and it scared me so bad I ran and never saw her again.”

You narrow your eyes, “So what does that make me?”

Cedric blinks, “Well you haven’t tried to rob me, so that makes you someone I’d give me number to,” he looks at a wall clock, “You’ve also stuck around the longest after breakfast. If you don’t want to do this again or see me again, like I said before, I understand. For what it’s worth, you have been the nicest one though so far.”

“Really?” You speak in surprise.

He nods, “You aren’t treating me like a sperm donor which is refreshing. And you let me rub your stomach. I…,” he turns looking embarrassed again and scratches the back of his head, “I’ve always wanted to feel my kids bouncing around like that, at least once. Anyway here you go,” he fights away the blush and hands you the card, “They have my information for the database, they’ll know who to put down as the father from my signature.

You take a second to look over it, then catch yourself idly rubbing your middle again. You look down, seems as though your children have fallen asleep for the time being, “Thank you, Cedric. I suppose I should get out of your hair.” You manage to push yourself off the couch only to lose your balance. Cedric quickly grabs and helps you to stand up right, “Maybe I should find my balance again first,” you speak with a laugh. It was so bizarre. You woke up terrified and now, you felt surprisingly at ease around him. It was comforting, you started to play around with the idea of staying close to him for the next week.

He smiles warmly and pulls you into a hug, causing your stomach to press against his, “That would be for the best. Can’t have you falling and hurting yourself. Ah, but if you must leave I won’t stop you. Let’s find you some pants first then I’ll take you home, okay? Oof!” Both of you look down, your twins seemed to dislike being squished between their parents, “Alright, alright,” he chuckles and rubs your belly again as he takes a step back to give them more room.

“Don’t go kicking your Papa like that you two,” you playfully scold knowing it wouldn’t do much good, “Actually, could you take me to the clinic first? Then home? I-If you don’t mind, and d-don’t have anywhere to be that is.”

Cedric shakes his head, “Not one bit, I’ve got the weekend free.”