#<-bc someone this tiny deserves to be seen twice

[andy-15-07]

More tommyyyyyy

Can you write sth where there's a misunderstanding and he thinks f!reader doesn't want him bc he is too old ? (Reader of course does not care and is deeply in love with him...) ❣️

Old Bones, Younger Hearts

PAIRING: Tommy Miller x reader

Word Count:1885| requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

The Last Of Us Masterlist

Tommy’s boots crunched softly on the frost-hardened dirt path as he made his way back to your little cabin on the edge of Jackson. Dawn’s pale light was just brushing the sky, and the settlement was stirring,guards taking up posts, chairs scraping porches, and the distant click of the generator sputtering to life. He paused at your front door, squared his broad shoulders, and rapped twice, heart thundering in his chest.

When you opened the door, yawning, hair in chaotic ringlets, and a steaming mug of coffee in hand, something constricted his chest. You offered him that brilliant half-asleep smile that always felt like sunshine after too many months underground. “Morning, cowboy,” you murmured.

“Morning,” he replied quietly, stepping in. He glanced down at himself,worn leather jacket, faded jeans, scruffy brown hair mussed from sleeping in his clothes. Nothing too awful, but still. He brushed past you toward the tiny kitchen area. “Coffee’s good.”

You poured him a cup and set it on the battered wooden table. Your cabin was modest,two rooms, a little wood-burning stove, a rusted record player in the corner. You’d painted wildflowers along the windowsill, and on the wall hung a photograph of you and Tommy from last spring: standing in the field outside Jackson, sunlight dancing across your faces. He sat heavily opposite you, eyes flicking around the room until they settled on that photo. He cleared his throat.

“We need to talk.”

You blinked, surprised. “We do?” You reached for your own mug. “Uh… okay. What’s up?”

He lifted the photo off the table and turned it face-down. His hands trembled,something you’d never seen before in him. You swallowed. “About New Order duties? The supply run?”

Tommy shook his head. “Not that.” He leaned forward, the low morning light catching in his green eyes. “It’s… us.”

Your heartbeat spiked. You’d sensed something off this morning,a flutter in the pit of your stomach,but you’d chalked it up to the cold. “Tommy…”

He ran a hand through his hair. “I,I’ve been thinking. About us.” He closed his eyes, as if bracing himself. “I think maybe… maybe I’m too old for you.”

The words hit you like an ice shard. You stared at him, uncomprehending. “Too old?” you echoed, voice small.

Tommy’s eyes snapped open, the guilt and fear swimming in them. “It’s,look, I know you’re young. I’m thirty-two,hell, I feel like fifty some days. You’re what, twenty-five? Twenty-six? And you’ve got your whole life ahead of you. Then there’s me… I’m old. My bones ache, my reflexes aren’t what they used to be. One day I’ll be gone, and… and I don’t want to drag you down with me.”

Your heart twisted in your chest. “Tommy, come on. You know how I feel about you.”

He shook his head, voice quavering. “You deserve someone who can sprint through a warehouse, dodge a clicker, haul you out of trouble without breaking a sweat. Someone who,”

You slid off your chair, stomped over to him, and grabbed his face in both hands. “Stop.” Your voice was fierce. “Listen to me. I love you. Not some version of you that’s forever young and strong. I love you,right now, with your laugh, your stubborn jaw, your crooked smile, your… your scars. All of it.”

His eyes glistened with moisture. He swallowed hard. “You’re just saying that so I don’t leave you.”

You pressed your forehead to his. “I mean it, you idiot. You think I care about age? You think days left on your body matter more to me than the moments we have together? You can’t,” You choked on the next words. “You can’t let that stupid, fucking fear steal what we have.”

Tommy’s lips trembled, and he swallowed. “I don’t want you wasting your life on me.”

“You’re not a waste of anything.” You cupped his cheek, thumb brushing the stubble along his jaw. “You’re my life.” You paused, breathless. “Now please, stop talking crazy.”

He closed his eyes against your palm and nodded slowly. “Okay.” His voice was muffled. “Okay.”

You laughed softly, brushing your thumb across his cheekbone. “Good. So.” You stepped back. “How about breakfast?”

Tommy glanced at the stove, then back at you. “I think we’ve got some stale biscuits. And those eggs I traded for last week.”

You grinned and moved to the counter. “Sounds perfect.” As you cracked eggs into the pan, you heard him drop the photo of you two back onto the table. It slid, face-up. When you caught his eye, he said quietly, “Don’t ever hide that. It’s beautiful.”

You smiled back, heart soaring. “I won’t.”

Later that day, you found Tommy sitting on the porch of your cabin, guitar in his lap, playing a few soft chords that caught the sunlight. You carried out two steaming mugs of lemonade, handing him one. He looked up, surprised.

“Thanks,” he said.

You settled beside him on the weathered bench. “You know,” you said casually, “I was thinking we could go shooting at the range this afternoon. Dust off your elbows.”

He glanced over, half-smile tugging at his lips. “Think I can still hit a target?”

You nudged his shoulder. “Let’s find out.”

He set his mug down and scooted closer. “You’re sure you don’t mind the… age gap?”

Your eyebrows rose. “Tommy Miller, will you drop it?”

He closed his eyes, pained. He picked at the guitar’s body, as though turning the wood grain would unstick his thoughts. “I can’t help it. I worry I’m not gonna be around as long as you. I… I don’t deserve someone with so much life ahead of her.”

You reached for his hand. “Age doesn’t scare me. I want a man with some stories under his belt.” You poked his arm playfully. “Like music lessons from Harry the mechanic, two fights in Pittsburgh, and the time,and I quote, you got kicked by a horse and said, ‘That’s the Spirit of Jackson for ya.’”

He snorted, tension easing from his shoulders. “I said that?” He grinned. “Well, I meant it.”

You smiled, leaning against his shoulder. “You’re perfect.”

He tapped at his guitar strings. “I’m a little rough around the edges.”

“Edges are good,” you murmured. “Keeps things interesting.” You pressed a light kiss to his temple. “Now let’s go embarrass you in the shooting range.”

He stood, stretching like a cat. “Fine. But only if you promise not to laugh when I miss.”

“Oh, I’ll laugh,” you admitted. “But only after I miss in an even more spectacular fashion.”

He laughed, and you felt it in your bones: the worry, the misunderstanding, the fear,it all washed away. He looped his arm through yours, and you made your way down the dusty road together, hands clasped.

At the range, you set up two old wooden targets twenty yards downrange. You handed Tommy his revolver; you took your 9mm. The sun was high now, baking the ground, and the air smelled of sand, oil, and spent gunpowder.

“First shot to ten yards?” Tommy asked.

“Deal,” you said. He nodded, took aim. You backed up to the line.

He fired. Crack. The bullet tore through the bull’s-eye. He fist-pumped. “Ha! Beat that.”

You peeked at your own target,your shot was just outside the circle. You frowned, then turned, feigning offense. “What? Those wooden targets are unfair!” You moved five yards back. “Rematch.”

He laughed. “Here we go again.”

You fired twice,both shots smack in the center. You jumped up and down. “Yes!” Your laughter echoed off the walls of the range.

Tommy laughed too. “Alright, alright, you got me there.” He holstered his revolver. “So… guess I still got it.”

You stepped closer, pressing your hands into his chest. “You got more than ‘got it,’” you said softly. “You’ve got me. And no… no damn clock on your bones changes that.”

He wrapped his arms around you in a fierce hug. “Thank God,” he whispered, voice thick. Then he dipped his head and kissed you,slow, sure, everything you needed.

That evening, as the sun dipped behind the mountains, you and Tommy climbed onto your cabin’s roof, legs dangling over the edge. The sky blushed pink and orange; a gentle breeze cooled the heat of the day.

You nestled into his side, arm across his waist. He draped his jacket over your shoulders, the collar still smelling like him,leather and patchouli soap.

“Promise me,” he said suddenly, voice low and trembling, “Promise you’ll still want me when I’m gray… and limping around with a cane.”

You turned in his arms and lifted his chin. “Promise I’ll love you in a wheelchair, a walker, or strapped to a rocket bound for the moon.”

He laughed, breathless. “Rocket to the moon?”

“Anything to keep it interesting.” You winked. “Besides, you’ll still have that charming devil-may-care attitude.”

He grinned. “Guess I’ll have to work hard to keep you.”

You pressed your lips to his. “You’d better.”

Silence settled, warm and comfortable. You traced constellations in the sky,Orion’s Belt, the Pleiades,telling him their stories in a soft, wandering monologue.

“Did Travis say he’d join us next time?” Tommy asked.

You smiled. “He did. Wants in on our rooftop tradition.”

“He’d better bring snacks,” Tommy said.

“I’ll hold him to it.” You relaxed against his chest. “You know… I almost worried today. Thinking you might push me away.”

Tommy’s grip around you tightened. “Sorry.”

You shook your head. “No apologies. You just… you showed me how much I mean to you. And that,” You paused, smiled. “That means everything.”

He pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “You mean everything.”

Two nights later, you found him again on your porch, guitar in lap, humming a tune. The night was still, stars glittering like spilled diamonds.

You slipped out in your pajamas, bare feet on the cold wood. “Writing songs now?”

He gave you a crooked grin. “Thinking about it.”

You settled beside him. “You know, if you’re gonna write me a ballad, you’d better make it good.”

He strummed a chord, then looked at you. “Let me try something.” He cleared his throat and began:

“Old bones and younger hearts Meet where the firelight glows, Age is just a number drawn In lines only love shows…”

Your breath caught. His voice was rough but tender. You sank further into his side. He continued:

“If time is thine enemy, Then love is our disguise; We’ll dance through fleeting years, Hand in hand ’neath these skies…”

By the time he finished, you were blinking away tears. He set the guitar aside and cupped your face. “I wrote that with you in mind.”

You leaned in and kissed him, fierce and grateful. “It’s perfect.”

He chuckled softly. “Good. Because I don’t think I could write another one.”

You laughed. “Don’t worry. You’ve got plenty of time.”

He pulled you close. “Yeah?” His voice was hopeful.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “I’m here for every minute.”

He held you tight and buried his face in your hair. “I love you,” he murmured.

You stroked his hair. “I love you too, Tommy Miller. Old man, young man,whatever you are, you’re mine.”

He hummed contentedly, and you both sat there in the gentle glow of the porch light, two hearts beating in time, age nothing more than a number lost in a song.

[honeyandthunderstorms]

Miami please!!! 💗🌊🎉🪩

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you more happy to give up first place as you are now,” he remarks offhandedly, gesturing to Max with a flick of a wrist. “You of course seemed happy for me in Austria in 2022, but not like this I do not think.”

Max raises his eyebrows, “I was very happy for you.”

Charles turns to drink some water, his side now turned to Max, “Not like this. But it is fine. Lando deserves the hype,” Charles says, after swallowing his water. It’s cold, dripping down his dry throat. It somehow makes the air feel more humid around them. A shitty attempt at cooling down. Especially after having been hours without water in a hot car.

“Hm. I guess you’re right. I think I was feeling something different than I am for Lando.”

Charles only takes another gulp of water, feeling more sweat bead at his brow and along his upper lip. It’s kind of gross. Especially when the saltiness of it mixes with the taste of refreshing water as he swallows. He makes a blech sound as he pulls back from the lip of the bottle.

He feels Max boring his eyes into him, staring at the side of his face. He’s probably waiting on a response. It’s the quietest he’s been since they started talking. It’s almost uncomfortable.

Turning his head, he meets Max’s eyes. They’re a beautiful sight. Blue. Like the sky or Miami’s ocean. Clear enough that Charles feels like he could fall in. He darts his eyes to the tiny freckle on his top lip, seeing the sweat there. Much unlike his own, he wants to lick it off and swallow it hungrily.

It should be gross. It’s not.

His eyes come back up and Max’s eyes are narrowed now, watching him closer, calculating.

LONGER SNIPPET THAN THE OTHERS BC I HAVE THIS MOSTLY WRITTEN TBH

literally just a Miami 2024 based oneshot that I started writing that weekend and then abandoned 🧍🏼‍♀️as someone who lives on the east coast of the US (not that far from Florida) and has been to Florida twice, when I heard Charles’ drink wasn't working 😵‍💫 humidity is the worst and driving in that car probably didn't help. so basically the theme was thirsty for max (and water) hehehehe

I will hopefully finish this one of these days bc I loved the concept 😭 but thank you for requesting this one fr bc I need the motivation to finish it and post it 🫶🏼

my wips

[sadlittleratboy]

Well, it's finally over lol. Truly I gave up on this anime chapters ago. It's disappointing but me and my friend have already ironed out our canon for continued rp (we bring people back from death all the time anyway so who cares) bc we knew where this was going. Because I was already done it was genuinely funny to me. Aizawa got a bad haircut. So many unanswered questions but at least Deku is still a hero pft.

The ghost? The Shigaraki ghost? Holy shit? That's so unserious. No Dabi update, Hawks is getting truly punished for what he did to Twice, and we didn't even get a fucking update on Spinner's book or manga or whatever, it's all fucking DEKU. Also where tf is compress? We haven't seen his ass AT ALL. Is that tiny little image him? What the fuck? We're probably getting BNHA Boruto too so that's fun.

But hey, they didn't go full hetero so... that's... something?

Anyway, I started following this manga (after starting the anime) when I was the same age as the students, and I end it... actually I end it the same age as the student if the time skip is 8 years like I read it to be somewhere. That's almost worse somehow.

Anyway, maybe someone will do a villains spin-off manga like vigilantes and we'll get what we deserved. It's been a wild ride but I'm not nearly done with bnha. It's still my hyperfixation, which means that maybe I'll write up some of what I have decided happened instead bc nobody can stop me. Eventually I'll post some twiceshigs art, and maybe get back into writing fanfiction.

My condolences y'all, but at least it's ridiculous enough to laugh at.

[bambisnc]

impurities [ft. h.yj]

pairing : yunjin x winter's sister!reader genre : fluffyy w tiny sprinkles of angst cw/tw : kissing + use of caps/swearing + reader gets sister-zoned by yunjin like once ;-; wc : 1k !!

sister's bsf!yunjin mmm

she's been besties w minjeong since forever and your sister is very possessive of her

not to say that she isn't possessive of you !

she just wants the 2 main girlies of her life not making heart eyes at each other tyvm

but how can yunjin help herself from falling for you? you're so sweet, so cute, so pure well at least that's what she thinks; extremely different from her ditching classes, being stuck in detention 24/7, playing in a rock band self

you've always been her biggest supporter - always been there to cheer her on, to wipe her tears because she can't help that your presence makes her want to show all parts of her to you - the good, the bad and the ugly

so she drops in some a lot of flirty remarks around you, teases you in the hopes of seeing your oh so adorably flustered face as you struggle to respond to her way too suggestive quips

yunjin is always quick to keep winter's annoyance at bay however by also making sure to gush about "this gorgeous girl she's been talking to who she met at one of their band's concerts"

you're pretty fed up of this hot and cold behaviour of hers, to be honest

because how can yunjin go from looking at you like she could see entire galaxies in your eyes as she follows you around like a lost puppy to coolly ignoring your attempts to make conversation with her, droning on and on about how she has to get some other girl's number? and there's also the millions of times she's referred to you as the sister she's never had... :/

obviously winter ends up finding out eventually bc come on. yunjin really isn't that subtle with her ogling

but gasp gasp? she's actually really supportive! she gives you both her blessings to "finally fucking make out or something the tension is killing me ugh"

absolutely letting no time waste, yunjin decides to properly confess and get a chance to woo you how you deserve to wooed :( &lt;3

but,

seems like there's trouble in paradise!

because you're apparently going out w someone?! yunjin physically feels her heart breaking when she sees you hug a pretty girl w long black hair and her then kissing your cheek TWICE and calling you 'darling'?? she's never seen her around before and you couldn't already be this close with just a friend???

completely dejected when she explains this situation to her bsf, minjeong goes :O and then her face turns a rather angry (or flustered?) shade of red on hearing your alleged lover's description

she apparently knows who that girl is and she can definitely confirm that you're not dating her

minjeong sus. yunjin will confront her suspicious behaviour another day. but right now you're more important; if you were not romantically involved with that girl.. why would you pretend to be..?

as she sees you walk towards where the 2 girls were sitting on yunjin's bed, winter immediately shouts something about "needing privacy right now and claiming that you both must not enter the room at any costs and leave RIGHT NOW !!!!!" yunjin is pushed out the door to an equally shocked you

"isn't that your room.." you very cleverly point out "i've learned not to question your sister's strange, strange ways.." yunjin mutters back

she knew what winter wanted her to do, she could practically hear her menacingly excited laughter

so yunjin fixes a charming smile on her face and offers a little walk, just you and her &lt;3

you nod, despite there being visible hesitance written all over your awkward figure

the "little" walk ends up going on for rather long, seeming longer than it actually was, in fact, due to neither of you saying a word to each other

but finally when you decide to attempt some small talk, yunjin interrupts you, "why did that girl kiss you yn."

... this, quite validly, offends you, "oh i'm sorry am i obligated to tell you about each and every single person i'm romantically into?"

"uh no! of course not it's just um how could you just.." she's at a loss of words because such hostility from you makes her confident persona crumble so fast that at any other moment you would've laughed. a lot.

"i don't want to be talking about this with someone who thinks of me as their sister" you bitterly spit out, ready to walk away from her before the tears threatening to spill over your waterline make their way down your now heated face

as you turn, however, yunjin grabs your wrist and pulls you back, forcing you to fall into her arms as you desperately clutch her shoulders to not fall

"yunjin ??? WHAT do you think you're doing???" before you can push yourself away from her she brings her face so, so close to yours that you can smell the sweet, fruity fragrance of her lip gloss and forget running away, all you want to do at this moment is connect your lips to her ever so kissable ones

ignoring your question, her attention remains focused on her original goal, "can i.."

you move one of your hands to cup her cheek and and finally steal a peck from her but before you can let yourself completely drown in the feeling of her warmth, she pulls away and with a finger on your lower lip and continues, "can i please know why you were with that girl?"

dazedly you let the truth slip out, "minji's .. friend.. she isn't.. i'm not with her or anythi- mmph!" and just like that yunjin finally kisses you like she's wanted, hell, like she's dreamed of for ages now and you're more than happy to let all her previous actions be forgiven - as long as she keeps holding you just like this &lt;3

notes : for the ppl waiting for the yunjin/yn/rina fic mwah <3 + [m.list]

[themotherofhorses]

pairing: aemond targaryen x handmaid!reader

summary: “please,” aemond begs, keeping you flush against him as he nuzzles your breasts. “allow me to make love to you, sweet girl.”

(or aemond's first time with his handmaid).

warnings: explicit lang. a tiny bit of angst at the beginning. protective!aemond. p in v smut. slight breeding kink. spitting kink towards the end. fluff. all around good vibes bc aemond's in love and we all love that for him.

notes: happy birthday to me. pls be nice to me, i'm unfortunately entering my twenties today.

his handmaid's tales | main masterlist

Aemond spends the better part of the chilly winter day searching for his handmaid.

You had been missing when he returned to his bedchamber at midday, wishing to eat his lunch in your company. Did she forget my first rule, by chance? Aemond thought to himself, holding the chalice to his lips. Perhaps…but he could not stomach another bite of his roasted meat, his mind too consumed with thoughts of you.

So he looks throughout the kitchen wing, and the library and Great Hall, until he passes by his mother and sister in the hallway.

But neither woman claims to have seen you, and he’s left twice as confused and frustrated and concerned as he continues to wander about the Red Keep like some lovesick and anxious fool.

“Ah, my prince,” Lord Larys Strong purrs as his steps falls alongside Aemond’s. “Perchance I could be of service. I overheard you are looking for your little handmaid.”

Aemond turns to look at him. “Yes,” he answers, his eyebrow raising, “-have you seen her?”

The lord’s smile is sly. “Several hours ago, actually. She was heading up to the servant quarters…” but his smile then drops, quickly replaced with a frown, “but she seemed to be in tears, if I’m to remember correctly. Poor child, she was an awful, trembling mess, never once looking up to meet my eyes when I greeted her.”

“She was crying?” Aemond cocks his head sideways, swallowing down the ire beginning to bubble inside his chest.

“Yes. It was rather grievous and sad,” and Clubfoot shakes his head dolefully. “A maiden like her deserves a smile on her face at all times, would you not agree, my prince?”

Aemond’s jaw clenches, and he glances to the stairs leading upwards to the servant quarters. Someone made you cry? His blood turns cold, and his fist balls up at his side. Remembering where he was, he gives the lord a curt nod. “Thank you, Lord Strong,” and leaves it at that, rushing up the stairway and down the hall, whilst hundreds of questions thronged in his head.

Who dared make you cry? You, who is rightfully his- his handmaid, his woman. You were supposed to remain safe and happy within his room, tucked away from ill-tempered bastards and envious tongues. If he could not protect you…

He turns the corner, huffing. He’d see whoever made you cry is punished, Aemond decides as he walks down the strip, passing by shut door after door, until he hears fainting sobbing. A sniffle, then, and a tiny hiccup that soon follows. That stops him in his steps. You. You. You, you, you…

“Love,” he whispers, knocking his knuckles on the door before slowly cracking it open. “Love, it’s me.” You twist to meet him in sullen silence, and his heart shatters at the sight. Your pretty doe-eyes are both red and teary, and your bottom lip quivers. It’s busted too, more scarlet now than pink. But it is the ugly bruise coloring your left cheek- large and hand-shaped, that causes his eye to widen.

“Who?” he spat, crossing the room to gather you in his arms, his voice raising. “Who’s done this to you?”

But you lower your eyes, and bury your face within his neck, hiding away from his gaze and questions. Aemond softens, and his thumb gently strokes your cheek, pausing when you flinch. “My love, I need to know at once. This…this is a horrible injustice served upon you, one I know you did not deserve!”

You shake your head, face crumpling as another sob escapes you.

His eye narrows.

“Was it my brother?” Aemond demands. “Or a houseguard?”

“No,” you mumble, feeling ill, like your tummy is tied in a knot. “It was neither, my prince.”

“Well?”

You sigh. “It was one of the septas, a new one to the castle. I do not know her name,” you explain. “She caught me in your room and scolded me, saying how it was beyond disrespectful and ill-mannered of me to flaunter about your bedroom as if it was my own. She said…she said you would have my head for such, and when I tried to explain myself,” and you hiccup, feeling a wave of fresh tears, “-that I was your handmaid, she slapped me!”

“She said I would have your head? That I would kill you?”

You nod, wiping away the few fat tears streaking down your cheek, wincing at the slight sting from the bruised skin. “She said she would bring it up with the Queen herself, that there was no need for insolent little maids like me running around the castle. Oh, I’m so sorry, my prince. I’m terribly sorry. Please, please, please forgive me!”

But Aemond’s thumb brushes lightly across your plump lip, shushing you. “Those words should never fall from these lips, sweetling. They were not made for that.” You feel like crying again, this time from relief.

“You’ve done nothing wrong, my love. I couldn’t even imagine…” his voice trails off. How could this septa easily plant a seed of doubt within your mind, and make you think he would ever harm you? Or call for your death? As if you’re not the very air he breathes every day.

“You terrified me when I could not find you earlier, love.”

By now, you’re a lot calmer and breathing fine again, nestled within his embrace. Your cheek still stings but you’ll live. You lay your head against Aemond’s chest, listening to his faint heartbeat in his breast. Thump, thump, thump.

No more words are shared between the two of you, but his kiss on your temple says much more than anything could.

Soon, Aemond takes you back to his bedchamber, to his tub, and calls for several women to tend to you while he busies himself in burning the servant garb you were wearing today, until nothing is left but sooty ashes and singed cloths. He refuses to allow you to wear that shabby, tainted dress you were so wrongfully punished in. If not for you, then for himself. It eases his mind. And someday you’ll wear nothing but the finest and prettiest gowns, he swears, ones that are fit for no one but a princess.

He’ll have a talk with his mother too. His queen mother has a soft spot for his handmaid, he knows, and Helaena too. This will not go unseen and unpunished.

The prince returns when your bath is finished, and dismisses the women before carrying you off to his featherbed. You’re still quiet, hushed, lips pressed in a tight line while he dries your hair. “You do not need to do this, my prince,” you tell him softly, nervously lacing your fingers together. ���I’m undeserving of such treatment, really. It should be I who does this for you.”

“Nonsense, sweetling.”

He’ll be your husband one day, and is merely practicing his husbandly duties, although he doesn’t actually say that piece aloud. It’s all a bit tricky right now, but he’s already decided he will not marry anyone who isn’t you.

Aemond bends to kiss your shoulder, ever so tenderly. You have four pretty birthmarks littering the skin, and he presses a sweet kiss atop all of them. He loves it. You’re so fucking gorgeous. “You’re mine,” he mumbles, nuzzling his forehead against your shoulder blade. “It’s my duty to care for you.”

“No, my prince, ‘tis my duty as your servant.”

He smiles up at you. “Ah, and I’m your protector, best to remember that, sweet girl.” And he leaves nothing more to be said, quickly standing you up in front of him, naked and breathing messily and too shy to meet his eye. Oh, but you’re too pretty for your own good, he tells himself. His fingertips gently trace along your hipbones while he leans to nuzzle his face into your tummy. Aemond then feels your soft hands finding his hair, fingers raking through as you sigh deeply.

“You smell good,” he whispers. “So damn good.”

You giggle. “Do I, my prince?”

Aemond hums, raising his face up to kiss your nipple- once, twice, thrice. He feels you suddenly tense against him, your breath catching in your throat. “Nice and warm and all mine,” he adds, blowing a puff of warm air over your breast that earns him a sweet little moan, one that sends blood rushing down to his cock. His arms circle around your waist, hands falling to knead your asscheeks.

“Let me make love to you.”

“My prince?” you ask, eyes widening as you recoil from your prince’s touch, your legs suddenly feeling weak like water.

Did you hear him right?

“Please,” Aemond begs, keeping you flush against him as he nuzzles your breasts. “Allow me to make love to you, sweet girl.” I see my future in your face. My children in your eyes. His hand cups your right breast, catching a hard nipple between two fingers. My sons at your breasts. His handmaid has come for him, to deliver to him everything he’s been so cruelly denied in this life. “Say yes,” he murmurs. “Let me finally claim you as mine own.” It is your blood I need, your blood on my sheets, and my seed in your belly, and your life and name as my own.

You close your eyes, yet still see your handsome prince grinning at you.

It’s wrong, you think. It’d be so wrong of us. I’d be banished.

I can’t.

I can’t.

I can’t.

“Okay, my prince,” you say, with a bated breath. “Make love to me.”  

An hour later, the wind has risen to a sharp howl against the stone walls, and fat raindrops ping against the windowpane. A winter storm, but there is little to no need to worry about such.

You’re quite nicely warm and dry, and safe within your prince’s arms as he nudges your thighs open. He’s already been down there, spending a good half of the last hour feasting on your wet cunt. It was like he’d been fasting for weeks; he took little mercy on you.

“Open wide,” he mutters. “Good girl. Keep ‘em like that for me.”

You whimper. Your Prince Aemond is gorgeous, with silver hair that shines like fresh snow and pale, naked skin that is covered in faint scarring, undoubtedly from boyhood. You’ve never seen someone so beautiful. His arms are thickened with lean, lithe muscle as he holds himself above your body, one hand laced firmly in yours.

And he looks down at you with bright, violet eyes, with a look perhaps only a man gives his new bride on her wedding night.

It makes you squirm beneath him.

He slides his cock in slowly, hissing at your tightness. “FUCK.” His head dips down near yours, lips barely grazing your ear as he lets out a low moan. “Gods be fucking good, you feel so fucking good…wrapped around my fucking cock, at last,” he says, voice raspy. “Right where you belong.”

Aemond feels that he won’t last long. He’s back to the days of his boyhood, during his thirteenth nameday when Aegon took him to the whorehouse, and he felt a woman’s touch for the first time.

Except now he has the woman he wants- soft and submissive and cunny wet and ready for him- and it is his turn to teach and guide her.

“Ah, my brave girl,” he tells you, pausing to kiss your forehead, then your swollen, pink lips. “It hurts, I know. It’ll feel better soon, I promise.”

And afterward, Aemond Targaryen’s watching as you shake and sob and fall to utter pieces, your beautiful face scrunched up in blissful pleasure as his thrusts soon quicken, and his hips snap into yours with such a harsh pace, it’s sure to leave dark bruises behind.

Your hands find his shoulders in a tight grip, in some desperate attempt to cling onto him whilst he fucks you good.

And, thankfully, it’s his name that tumbles out of your mouth, and not his stupid royal title. It follows your cries and moans and whimpers that echo throughout his bedchamber. To Aemond, it is poetic in some way. Several months back you were seated on his settee, singing, and now you’re buried within his sheets as he makes you a mother.

His loins ache for release, and he fondles your breast, toying with your nipple as he pounds you only harder. Aemond hopes to any god listening that the guards outside are listening in, and the serving girls too. He’s a prince of the realm- he means to claim all his rights. Let them all hear as he plows into his handmaid and stuffs her full of his sons.

Beneath him, you shudder and gasp- again and again- before arching your spine and flinging your arms around his neck. “AEMOND,” you scream, feeling a sudden tightness deep within your belly, almost like you’re only several seconds away from exploding into flames. Perhaps you are.

“Mercy on me, Aemond! Please!”

“Shhh,” Aemon coos, cradling your face as he fucks you through your orgasm. “I have you, pretty girl. You’re okay. Doesn’t this feel good? It feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Ah, so- so good, Aemond…!”

He grins at your fucked-out face, and the little bit of drool pooling around the corner of your mouth, before lightly tapping his fingertip against your bottom lip. “Open up,” he commands, squeezing your cheeks together, when your mouth opens, he spits in it. “Now swallow- mmm, such a good girl, always doing what I say.”

Aemond chooses all his words carefully, loving the way his sweet little handmaid preens under all his given attention and praises, so prettily that he’s willing to discard all of his morals and seed her full of his future bastards. Silver-haired babes that would gurgle at him happily, and grow to carry on his name and legacy.   

For her, he thinks, leaning to kiss you again, feeling your cunt clamping down on him, she’s worth every damn thing and more.

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[1kook]

viki & hickeys

the 8th installment to netflix & chill :~)

SUMMARY Just like in those Viki dramas Jungkook likes, the world around you is enveloped in shades of pink and red, kisses and hearts, so many goddamn roses it makes you sneeze. It’s absolutely perfect— nothing could possibly go wrong when there’s so much love in the air.  WARNINGS a little hurt + a lot of comfort, mentions of cheating!villain!jin, insecure!kook, emotional breakdowns, mentions of jk’s lonely past, jk cries :( smut in the forms of making out, eating out, fingering, clit play, hickeys, jk likes cum, double orgasm, squirting, tiny praise kink, blindfolding, rough + unprotected sex, doggy style, choking!!!, breeding/impreg kink, JEALOUS KOOK, mini hand kink, a lil bit of spanking, degradation, he gets progressively meaner lol oc cries MISC there’s a lot of fuckin plot omfg -_-, it’s Valentine’s Eve!, doyeon makes Some Points, mentions of park seojoon juicy ass, they go on a d8 😳, oc like rlly wants to marry him, oc commits double phone homicide  RATING m (18+) WC 16.3k !!!! ik its fckin LOOOONG

NOTES (!) in true Viki fashion, here’s an nc fic where there’s like 3 different plot lines n a hot male antagonist <3 this series started off as just me wanting to write smut n it still is! now i just like to infuse different levels of angst into it as well </3 as always, lemme know what u think!! i proofread it twice but one of those times had been at 4 am so if u see a typo no u didn't. also here’s a gif  of jungkook crying during a dolly parton performances and here’s another gif of jungkook crying bc it’s scary how pretty he looks

Being evil and hot does not come for free. As you’ve long since learned in the past twenty-three years of your life, you truly can’t have it all. 

There is always some deliberating character flaw the universe must bestow upon you in order to level you out, make you fall onto the same plane as all the other mortals. Everyone has one, no matter how small or insignificant. Doyeon’s is that she doesn’t know how to work a straightening iron. Namjoon's is that he can’t tell the difference between water and liquor. Jungkook, despite all his tech-y nerdiness, doesn’t know how to do his own taxes. And yours? You don’t know shit about romcoms. 

Your knowledge on the romantic genre is what leads to this predicament now, the ring on your finger heavy as Doyeon regards you with what is perhaps the most unimpressed look known to mankind. “This is a promise ring,” she says bluntly, the bustling sounds of the coffee shop around you the soundtrack to your sudden realization. 

“No,” you deny, even though you know she’s right. “It’s an engagement ring.”

Doyeon rolls her eyes. “Babe,” she starts slowly, talks to you like you’re a dorky high schooler with her first boyfriend, “did he ask you to marry him?”

The truth is, the timing had been weird. It had been a few days after you’d rocked Jungkook’s world so you understand if he felt the sudden need to pop the question. But you were also sick as fuck that day, had only vaguely remembered the events because you were too busy with the snot up your nose and the raging fever you were battling. Had Jungkook asked you to marry him? 

You’re not so sure. 

It’s been a little over a month since then, and sure his lack of proactive wedding planning was a little weird, but you had always assumed Jungkook was one of those people who liked long engagements. Liked to drag out the last few months as a bachelor. Maybe he was waiting until you were both financially stable or something, who knows. 

Doyeon had been on some soul-searching journey around the country, so she hadn't been home for a while, had only heard of the ring through a two-second snapchat. This is the first time she’s seeing you and it in person; you can tell by the expression on her face that she’s rightfully disappointed. 

“Have you no shame, woman?” she tuts, arms crossed over her chest. “You have me parading around the world bragging about your engagement— just for this?”

You knock your forehead against the table, know it’s dirty and icky, but you deserve it. “Listen,” you huff. “I’ve only seen The Notebook, like, once.”

She scoffs. “I can tell. This is so embarrassing, don’t tell me you’ve brought it up to him?”

At her words you startle, nearly send the drinks flying across the floor. “No!” you shout, mindlessly reaching to twist the ring around your finger. It’s become a habit these past few weeks, a comfort to feel it around you. Granted, the feeling is a little muted now. “Of course he’d get me a promise ring,” you grumble, gaze flickering down to the silver band on your ring finger. “Jungkook loves all that cheesy corny stuff.” He really did. 

You’ve had enough of Doyeon’s disappointment, decide this coffee date has brought you enough three am anxiety material for the next year and a half. You conclude your date by taking a walk around town, arms locked together as you laugh at people who pass by because you’re both a little mean. 

“Maybe it’s for the best,” she says, and you agree. Well, a promise ring certainly meant something. It was, essentially, a pre-engagement ring. And the engagement ring that followed was a pre-wedding ring. And a wedding ring was, well, a wedding ring. Your heartbeat thunders at the thought. “You’re busy right now anyway,” she points out, snapping you out of your bumbling thoughts. “Aren’t you getting promoted at work soon?” 

Oh, you certainly were getting promoted at work. After many grueling months of hard work and dedication, the fruits of your labor were finally being recognized. Gone were the days of useless desk work, intern-like errands that barely required the use of any higher-order brain functions. You had worked hard these past few months, proved your worth over and over again, until you were here. Getting promoted into a new branch at your company— one where your talents were actually needed. And truth be told, there was one man to thank for that. 

Your friend and superior, Kim Seokjin. 

Seokjin is a great boss. In fact, you could argue he’s the best in the entire world and that, if it wasn’t for him, you would have quit this job that first month you started. But you had him to push you along, friendly smiles and encouragements that kept you going until this point, where you’re being promoted up into a branch where your degree finally matters. And it was all thanks to him! What Kim Namjoon was to Jungkook, Kim Seokjin was to you. 

So what if he cheated on his wife and flirted with the secretaries— Seokjin was practically a god in your eyes. 

And what Seokjin did in his free time was frankly none of your business anyway. You were colleagues at work, got along fairly well, but outside of work you were practically strangers. He was your beloved work colleague, someone Jungkook teased you about endlessly despite never having met him, and you were immensely thankful for him. “Should I be scared he’ll steal you from me?” Jungkook had joked one night, standing behind you as you scrolled through your company profile page. “He is a little handsome.”

You had pinched his side, smiling at his feigned concern when he pressed his lips to your temple. “You’re right,” you had joked back, “he is sooo cool.” And Jungkook had bitten you on the shoulder, laughed that pretty laugh when you yelped in surprise. 

Anyway, Kim Seokjin was a god, Jungkook was on his way to maybe, hopefully, one day, being your husband, and all was well. 

To honor this moment in time, you decide to swing by Jungkook’s place after your date with Doyeon, finding him lazily sprawled across his living room couch while What’s Wrong with Secretary Kim? plays on the Jumbotron. He’s in between projects right now, so he’s spent most of his time relaxing and catching up on all his favorite shows. 

Which brings you back to that deliberating character flaw of yours: no knowledge of the romantic genre to utilize in your everyday life. Your love language has always been blunt words, teasing jabs, the raw and unfiltered type of love. Emotions? Impossible to figure out. You’ve gotten pretty far in life reading verbal and physical cues; with Jungkook, you always know he’s upset when he does the little tongue-against-cheek thing, and it has saved you from many potential arguments. 

On the other hand, it is so obvious what Jungkook’s love language is when he spends fifty percent of his time on Viki, home to some of the most cheesy kdramas in existence. Most guys spend their weekends watching sports or dramatic action movies, but here was Jungkook. Watching some guy try to court his secretary. 

(Okay, he does watch sports and action movies too, but that’s not the point!)

“Hello, sweet boy,” you greet, plopping down beside him. Jungkook smiles back softly. He’s serving absolute pre-pre-husband deliciousness right now, cute glasses, fluffy curls, plaid bottoms that make him look so comfy. God, you were going to suck his dick tonight. 

Jungkook slots his mouth against yours, tastes like the chocolate cake you specifically told him not to eat without you. He blindsides you before you can scold him, pulls you onto his lap where the swell of his cock nudges against your thigh. Oh, you were definitely going to suck his dick and ride him well into the sunrise. 

“What’s my pretty girl doing here tonight?” he asks, cutely looping his fingers through yours. “Thought you were with the Wicked Witch of the West today?”

You roll your eyes, reposition yourself in a laughable attempt at pretending like you’re actually interested in the show. “We just went out for lunch,” you explain, watching the hot lead saunter across the screen. Juicy ass, but nothing compared to Jungkook’s. 

There’s a question lingering on the tip of your tongue, Doyeon’s explanations mixed with your worries, and you hold it for exactly ten seconds before you’re turning to face him head on, eyes going a little crossed from how close he is. “Hey,” you say bluntly. “Is this a promise ring?” you ask, wiggle your finger in his face. 

Jungkook blinks, once, twice, and then his face shoots up in flames. “Maybe,” he mumbles, lips pursed as he tries to avoid your gaze. He was adorable. You laugh, endeared by the red flush that crawls over his cute little cheeks and up his ears. Unable to stop yourself, you squeeze said cheeks between your hands, cooing at the annoyed expression that consumes him soon afterwards.  

“Aw, you want to marry me,” you tease, but it’s secretly a leading question for him to confess that yes, he does want to marry you. For as hot and confident as you are, you too are plagued with doubts. Doubts that can only be smoothed over by hearing it straight from Jungkook’s mouth. 

He rolls his eyes, trying to break free from your hold. “We’ve talked about this,” he murmurs, all embarrassed. But like always, Jungkook knows exactly what you want so he doesn’t deny it, and that’s good enough for you. He’s too flustered to look you in the eye now, childishly craning his head away from you when you try to force him into a staring contest. “Can I finish my show?” he whines, slightly not as hard now that you’ve reduced him into a shy, bumbling mess. It was a nice change of pace from his usual, composed self. 

But you relent, sliding off his lap to sit against his side, classic octopus hug around his waist. The episode is in full swing, not that you know anything about it. Like you said, romantic shows and movies were the least of your concerns. Jungkook, however, eats this type of shit up. “He still trying to fuck her?” you ask, not the least bit interested, but if you’re planning on sucking his dick tonight you have to listen to a few minutes of him rambling first. 

Jungkook sighs. “Yeah,” he says, “I don’t get it.” You hum, trail your hand over his abdomen teasingly. He feels so warm and lean beneath your palm, you were getting hot just thinking about it. “Why would anyone agree to dating their boss?”

You know that Jungkook’s boss is some old Facebook fart, pioneer of something on the site that neither of you two care about. So it makes sense that such a notion disturbs him. You shrug anyway. “Everyone wants to sleep with their hot boss,” you offer. “It’s like, the power dynamic, I guess.”

His frown deepens. “Would you?” Your boss isn’t exactly an old fart; the reason Kim Seokjin was such a renowned playboy is because, well, he had the looks to pull it off. Still, he had become a sort of respectable figure to you and the idea of sleeping with him doesn’t really sound appealing as much as it would to any other random bachelorette, which you admittedly were not. You glance at the screen, where Park Seojoon swaggers around in those tight slacks and fitted button-ups. 

“Hm,” you ponder, “maybe.” 

Jungkook laughs. “You’re supposed to say no, you idiot,” he says, knocks his forehead against yours softly. You can’t help but chuckle too, enamored with the happy glint in his eyes and the way his smile eats up his features. 

Oh, you loved this man. 

Because he was so sweet and good on Christmas, you let Jungkook make the plans for Valentine’s Day. After all, it’s his favorite holiday (“Why? Well, because it’s a day all about you, and me, and us,” he had sighed dreamily in the bathtub one night, hair adorably pushed back to showcase that handsome face of his. Bubbles clung to his chest, had made you dizzy with every breath he took.), so it’s only right that he gets to make the itinerary for the day, fill it with all his favorite things. After all, cheesy romantic stuff like this was right up his lane. 

He reserves a spot at the fanciest restaurant in the city, the one that has a months long waiting list. It sounds perfect, and the closer it gets to February 13th, the more excited you become. You say 13th because the 14th is a Sunday, and as much as you would love to get on your knees and praise Jungkook’s body until the wee hours of the next day, you have work. So Sunday is off the table. And it’s better this way, you tell yourself. Everywhere would have been packed that day anyway. 

It seems like everywhere you go, the entire world is gearing up for the holiday; from the fast food drive-thru to your favorite lingerie shop, there’s Valentine’s Day specials everywhere you look. Just like in those Viki dramas Jungkook likes, the world around you is enveloped in shades of pink and red, kisses and hearts, so many goddamn roses it makes you sneeze. It’s absolutely perfect— nothing could possibly go wrong when there’s so much love in the air. 

But what good is a lovey-dovey holiday without your own lovey dove himself? 

One glance out your window and your knees feel weak, because there he is. Dressed in a loose satin button up, shoulders broad, chest defined. He’s got on these fitted dress pants that accentuate his tiny waist too, thick thighs bulging beneath the fabric. There’s a coat hugging his frame, something to shield him from the cold while he waits out on the curb, does this cute little shivering dance in an attempt to warm up his muscles. Your heart feels like it’ll explode at the sight, and you can practically hear the corny, overused romantic song playing in the background of your thoughts, so you hurriedly distract yourself by slipping tonight’s dress on. 

It’s cold outside, but the sight of Jungkook makes you feel warm and fuzzy everywhere. He’s so hot it makes you dizzy, and the sap knows it when he meets you on the sidewalk. Instinctively, his hand reaches out to tangle with yours, the other slipping around your waist. “Hi, gorgeous,” he greets playfully, kissing your knuckles. His hair has grown out a little, curls up cutely when he lets it air dry and tickles your skin when he gets too close. “Lookin’ like Secretary Kim.” 

“Oh? So does that make you my hot boss?” you tease as you make your way to the car. 

As always, he opens the door for you first, flashes you this dorky little wink as he rounds the front of the car. “If it means you’ll sleep with me tonight, then sure,” he says, buckling himself in. You roll your eyes at his claim. You don’t get to see the proud little smile on his face; by the time you’ve composed yourself, he’s already pulling off in the direction of the restaurant. 

It’s a classy thing, a restaurant and bar in some insanely tall skyscraper. Of course your seats are right beside one of the huge floor to ceiling windows, overlooking the beautiful, glittering cityscape. “Fancy,” you murmur as you sit down, catching a glimpse of the eye roll Jungkook gives you. 

“You say that about any place that serves wine,” he chuckles, reaching for the bottle on the table to pour you a glass. 

The wine tastes like perfection, aged for the perfect amount of time. Whatever that was. You don’t really know, but it tastes amazing! Still, amazement aside, you manage a scoff. “I didn’t say that about your house on our first date,” you huff anyway, throwing him a playful glare over the rim of your glass. 

Jungkook laughs, full and real this time. It’s a little too loud for the classy establishment you find yourselves in, drowns out the jazz music for a second. “That’s because it was a house,” he says, wearing that big, shiny smile you adore, “and we were watching Transformers.” An amazing date, the mere memory of it makes your toes curl. He had been so dreamy— nearly two years ago now! —and had retained that aura up to the present day. You don’t think you’ve ever been so in love with anyone or anything in this world before, as cheesy as it was to admit. 

As if sensing your sudden wandering thoughts, Jungkook nudges your ankle under the table. “Hey,” he says so softly you could melt; his voice was so silky and sweet. “Everything okay?” he asks. 

A sigh, chin in your palm. You had to have been abducted by aliens or something— there was no way this was your life, this disgustingly romantic date with this disgustingly handsome man. An episode of Black Mirror maybe? One where you get forced to live in a romantic Viki drama with the man you love, every single day for the rest of your life? Maybe. 

Dramatics aside, you could practically feel that sticky sweet, sentimental monster begging to crawl to the surface, unleash the entire Shakespearean collection of lovesick sonnets on your unsuspecting boyfriend in the middle of this restaurant. But the weird ones, were you accidentally dedicate an entire six lines to the bulge of Jungkook’s thighs in his workout pants or the heart-shaped mole on his shoulder. Those kind. Before that can happen, you settle on an equally as gentle, “I love you,” murmured for only him to hear. 

Across the table, Jungkook smiles. One of those thin ones when he’s trying to keep his composure but is actually quite flustered, his subtle bunny teeth nibbling at his lower lip. “Thanks,” he responds, still trying to play it cool, but then he almost knocks his glass down and you’re reminded just how perfect he was, flaws and all. “Me too.”

You jab the pointed tip of your stiletto against his shin. “Say it back,” you warn and he laughs. 

“I love you,” Jungkook says like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Straight out of a romantic drama, like the ones on Viki that require a minimum of four different story arcs just to get to this point. But with Jungkook, it takes a few shy smiles and maybe a kiss. It has a scorching heat rising on your cheeks, one you ward away with a hurried sip of your drink while Jungkook reaches for your hand, thumb rubbing over your promise ring as if for good luck. 

That singular phrase makes your world pause, its axis stalling while you deal with the overwhelmingly soft and gooey feelings in your chest. Oh jeez, you had to rock his world tonight. It was only right. He deserved it for making you feel like this— this silly and ditzy, like a middle schooler with her crush. 

Anyway the food gets to your table after a millennia. Jungkook orders some fancy lobster dish, one that you're pretty sure costs more than the purse you brought along tonight (to be fair, you’re a cheap buyer), and still has the audacity to poke around at your plate too. He eats enough to feed a schoolhouse full of children who’ve just come off recess, practically devouring the table cloth before you stop him. And then he doesn’t let you see the bill; “baby, don’t worry about that when you’re with me,” he purrs, warm breath fanning against the skin on your neck, drunk off pure love and strawberry lemonade because he was driving tonight. The hostess is a blushing mess, fumbling for his change as Jungkook practically gropes your ass in plain sight.

You swear he’s spending too much time on that Viki streaming service, because then, as if the romantic dinner date wasn’t enough, he whisks you off to an even more romantic walk along the river. 

If there was ever a world record for “Number of Times you can Make your Girlfriend Swoon,” you’re positive Jungkook had broken it in the span of a few hours. You feel so light-headed and in love by the time you reach the river. 

“You know,” you tell him as you walk, the serene sounds of the flowing water beside you the soundtrack to your date. Jungkook swings your joined hands between the two of you. It’s chilly but you’re so full and happy that you don’t let it bother you. “I was gonna throw wine at you when we first met.”

He cackles, that loud, airy sound again that he only lets you hear, with his head thrown back. “What?” he gasps, smiley and pretty, your pretty boy. “And why were you going to do that?”

You huff, feeling slightly embarrassed now to admit such a thing. But aside from Doyeon, no one else has ever heard this classified tale. And well, you’re feeling extra emotional tonight. An abundance of emotions in one night usually ended with you crying like a little bitch at some point or another, so you’re trying to push that off for later. “Because,” you sigh, squeezing his fingers, your lone promise ring versus his assortment of fashionable rings. “You sounded like an absolute fuck boy when you first texted me!” 

Jungkook scoffs, playfully scandalized. “Me?” he squawks, pausing to stand in front of you with wide eyes and a ridiculously huge smile, the kind that has his brows raised high, lips going thin, practically displaying every tooth in his mouth from how wide it is. 

“Jungkook,” you say calmly, shoving one finger against his chest. “You asked me to Netflix & chill for our first date.” 

He groans, using your entwined hands to pull you into his arms for a suffocating hug. “I already told you,” he laughs, patting the back of your head while you get in a few lighthearted punches against his sides. “I didn’t know what it meant.” 

“Whatever, you sleaze,” you say anyway, eventually melting into his hands. “Bet you tell all the girls that.” Jungkook makes another scandalized noise, but settles when you wrap your hands around him. He smells so good and familiar, comforting even. Like home and safety, a refuge for your heart. When you’re this close, you can hear the light beating of it beneath your ear, a steady rhythm that has you closing your eyes when he begins humming your favorite song. 

He gets about two verses in when your phone suddenly goes off. 

Everything in your body says to ignore it, to continue basking in the comfort of your boyfriend’s embrace and this absolutely perfect moment. But it’s the stupid ringtone you set for all your work peers when you first loaded the entire company contact list onto your phone, so the sound alone lets you know it’s a work-related call. And for work to be calling you on a weekend was definitely not a good sign. 

“Give me a sec,” you tell Jungkook, pulling away from his arms. He frowns but lets you go, staying close as you dig through your purse for the offending device. 

It’s Kim Seokjin calling at this peculiar hour, a fact that confuses the hell out of you. Jungkook’s bouncing on his heels in an attempt to fight off the chill, giving you his beautiful side profile as he glances down the winding sidewalk that follows the river, and then at his watch. His nose is a cute red color that you want to kiss so bad. But work calls, so you tighten up and let that dream go for now. You swipe your thumb across the screen. 

“Hello, Mr. Kim,” you greet, trying to keep the confusion out of your voice. “How can I help—“

“__, my love,” he beams through the phone, so fucking loud it has Jungkook glancing over curiously. You give him a tight-lipped smile, one he returns as he shuffles closer, trying to steal your warmth like a penguin. You let him snuggle close before turning back to the droning voice of your superior on the line. 

“Hello,” you repeat again, slowly. Jungkook takes your free hand in his; when he squeezes, the band of your promise ring digs into your skin just the slightest. “Was something the matter?” 

Seokjin laughs, loud and clear. There’s a lot of other noises filtering in through his line. Briefly, you remember that there had been some work-related party for the higher ups tonight so you write it off as that. “Does there need to be a problem for me to call you, love?” 

You falter. Beside you, Jungkook’s brows furrow together, his devilishly handsome features even more pronounced. He’s obviously heard the other man on the line. “Um,” you flounder for a second, “well, usually yes.” 

Without missing a beat, Seokjin carries on with a playful tut that you’re almost certain has him lifting the receiver up to his mouth, because it’s so goddamn loud it has you flinching away from your own device. “My __,” he says, sweet and… slurred? 

He’s never used this tone of voice on you, only on other women at the office. Something about his broken marriage and needing to heal a wound, you don’t fucking know. You can’t even begin to truly understand that logic, which is why you’ve always just ignored it. Still, in the last few months of knowing Seokjin, he has never made a pass at you. Until now, that is. And until now, you had kind of convinced yourself he saw you in a sisterly way. Which sure, was worse than being friendzoned. But this was your boss you were talking about. Whether you got sister-zoned or not by him was the least of your concerns. So what was going on? What had changed over the span of a few days that had him suddenly reaching out to you on a weekend? 

Beside you, Jungkook doesn’t look the slightest bit impressed, tongue prodding against his cheek as Seokjin rambles on the line. You wish you had lowered the volume before answering, but doing so now would appear suspicious, even you could admit that. “You’re amazing, you know that?” Seokjin praises. You nod, remember he can’t see you, and settle on a blunt thanks instead. Jin laughs. “You’re different from the rest,” he hums, voice soft and weirdly intimate. 

Jungkook’s frown deepens. “What does he want?” he murmurs, somehow managing to keep his voice calm as always. The deep furrow of his brows and the tongue-against-cheek motion he had done just a few seconds ago all indicate he’s annoyed, that much you can tell. 

You shrug, eyes wide as you hurry to get to the reason for the phone call. You’re almost certain it’s just Seokjin being drunk— many people drunkenly dial their friends and family to tell them how much they’re appreciated, this wasn’t anything weird! 

Is what you try to convince yourself, but then Seokjin’s voice is dropping an octave by your ear. “Did you get my gift?” he murmurs, voice nearly drowned out by the sounds of the event he’s at. 

“Huh?” you stammer, quite stupidly if you do say so yourself. Jungkook shifts closer, obviously trying to hear. A breeze ruffles his hair, his cologne wafting over you. “What?” 

A sigh over the line. “My gift, love,” Kim Seokjin says, loud and proud. Jungkook exhales, hard. “I had it sent to your house this evening. Something pretty for a pretty girl— don’t tell me the postman fucked that up,” he jokes and Jungkook huffs, practically breathing fire through his nose when he hears the words. 

You fidget. There had been no gift when Jungkook picked you up around sunset, not like you had expected anything to begin with. And aside from Jungkook and maybe your parents, there was no one else on this planet you wanted to receive a Valentine’s Day gift from anyway, especially not from your boss of all people. “Um,” you mumble, acutely aware of the way Jungkook’s face is nearly pressed to yours now in his effort to listen in on your phone call. “I— um, haven’t been home, Seokjin.”

Jungkook scoffs, spits out a particularly unimpressed, “Seokjin?” 

Said man doesn’t hear. “Oh, of course,” he says, almost sullenly. “I forgot you had that little boyfriend to entertain tonight.” 

It’s the breaking point for Jungkook, who leans back to glare at the phone with the heat of a thousand suns. You press it against your chest before he can hear anything else. “I’m sorry,” you rush out in a hurried whisper, eyes flickering over his face, trying to gauge the intensity of his emotions. “I think he’s drunk— he’s never said things to me like this before,” you stammer, feeling like you have to defend yourself for some reason. “I’ll- I’ll take care of it, okay?” No answer, just an aggravated shake of his head, like he’s trying to calm himself down. “Jungkook?” you say, can feel the panic begin to lace your voice when his eyes flutter shut. 

He calms your worries with a gentle head butt that has you gasping in surprise, one hard exhale fanning over you. “Okay,” he says, teeth clenched. “I’m gonna go sit.” And then he stiffly walks over to one of the many benches lining the pathway. He sits, just like he had said he would, and glares down at his hands instead. 

The sight makes you anxious, unsure of how to diffuse the situation because, like you’ve said many times before, dealing with emotions— especially someone else’s emotions —was hard. Your eyes refuse to leave his figure as you draw the phone back up to your ear again. “Hello?” you call, voice trembling when Jungkook finally looks your way. The soft look he had given you all night is nowhere to be found, replaced with this rather unreadable expression. Something between annoyance and confusion if you had to guess. You don’t know, and the fact you don’t know makes you panic. Your chest feels tight when Seokjin begins speaking again. 

“You know,” he says, “you’re quite something, __. Strong, confident. Beautiful.” Had you been anyone else, you might have been flattered by Kim Seokjin’s remarks, maybe would have swooned. He was, objectively speaking, a handsome man with a hefty bank account. 

But if that was the criteria for a man to make you swoon, then the man on the bench in front of you checked all the same boxes three times over. The man who’s brows draw closer and closer together the longer you linger on the phone. Jungkook’s foot does one agonizing tap against the concrete and you find yourself stammering into the phone. “I think you’re drunk, Jin.”

A scoff. “I am,” he agrees, and doesn't even bother to hide it. “But you remind me of her, you know that? I like that.”

It’s like he knows something is going on on the line, because Jungkook visibly bristles when you sidestep in surprise. What was going on, your brain screams. Having your superior compare you to his infidel wife was definitely not something you saw coming tonight. “Uh, okay?” you say, “listen, Seokjin— Mr. Kim, I’m... I have a boyfriend. And I really lov—“

He cuts you off. Jungkook bristles at the sudden stop of your sentence. “Yeah, yeah,” Seokjin drawls, and you can feel the sheer terror of accidentally jeopardizing your relationship with Jungkook step aside for the briefest moment to allow some annoyance to seep through. Annoyed with Seokjin and his audacity, his tone, his voice. “Mrs. Kim used to say that about me,” he chuckles humorlessly, “I love you, I love you, I love you.” A long pause. You’re unsure of how to respond. “It’s not real,” Seokjin says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the entire world. “Love, that is.”

You clench your jaw, gathering your thoughts to respond when Seokjin beats you to it. “But you know what, love?” You don’t respond. Seokjin pushes on anyway. “Someone’s gonna cheat sooner or later— why not beat him to it?” 

Your body reacts first, a startled gasp inhaled through your lips at his disrespectful preposition. Your phone slips out of your grasp. It bounces twice, lands on the ledge that gives way to the river, and you almost kick it in when Jungkook comes up behind you. “Hey, hey,” he says sternly, tugging you away from the phone you almost killed. “What’s wrong— what did he say?”

You exhale, face warm from the discomfort sitting heavy in your chest. “Nothing,” you huff, mind slightly foggy as you try to process that awkward conversation. “It’s— it was stupid,” you spit, pressing the heels of your palms against your temples, the raging anger and confusion making your head pound now. 

You had always known Kim Seokjin wasn’t the most faithful man, that the infidelity ran both ways in his relationship. But you had never imagined he would ever compare you to her, his cheating wife, in an attempt to win you over. Furthermore, you’re downright disturbed by the fact he would even try to hit on you after all the mentoring he’d given you, all the polite smiles he’d flashed you, all the praise you had bestowed upon him to Jungkook. 

Jungkook, whose jaw twitches as his hands graze your forearms. When you look at him again, you feel an immense wave of remorse wash over you at the way his own irritation is clouded by his worry for you. He had been wronged as well— disrespected just like you —but here he was, pushing his own emotions aside for your sake. He doesn’t want to see you upset. He was so good at dealing with your emotions, knew just what to do when things became too much. 

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, lips pursed together. “I don’t know why— he’s never— I wouldn’t do that,” you settle on, voice wobbling when Jungkook’s jaw clenches. “Jungkook,” you frown, reaching for his hands, “I wouldn’t—“ 

He shushes you with another one of those gentle forehead bumps. “Calm down,” he says, voice deeper than usual. “I know you wouldn’t.” 

Weirdly, it feels like you’ve committed a grave sin against your boyfriend. A crime. “I’m sorry,” you blubber anyway, heart thundering in your chest. “That was horrible,” you huff, desperately blinking away the stinging sensation behind your eyes. “You didn’t deserve to hear that.”

“Don’t cry,” Jungkook says, so soft and comforting; stable. You want his composure, his ability to process and understand things so quickly— his maturity. Sure he had been put off by Seokjin, but he had processed it all so quickly; adapted to the situation and stepped in to save you. Meanwhile, you nearly committed cellular murder because you couldn’t handle yourself. “He’s a weirdo,” he says, for both your sakes. “You didn’t do anything wrong, sweetheart.” 

Still, you sniffle. “I’m sorry,” you say again, the heavy feeling in your chest lightening just a little bit when he pulls you into his arms. 

“Crybaby,” he teases softly, a kiss on the crown of your head. You pinch his side. “Second phone you broke in a year.”

The mood for the riverwalk is off after that, and you only walk a few more meters before Jungkook decides it’s enough. “We can still enjoy ourselves at home,” he reassures you, and the way he tries to salvage that soft, fuzzy feeling from before is admirable. So Jungkook takes you home, holds your hand the whole drive back to your place, like he knows you’re still fragile from that extremely uncomfortable interaction, need him to hold you together. Jungkook’s emotional stability guards you like a shield, covers you in a wave of comfort as you calm down. You tell him about Seokjin’s preposition and he bristles. “Prick,” he murmurs beneath his breath, grip tightening just the tiniest bit. Your ring pinches against your skin a little painfully, but you say nothing. 

There’s a box of flowers on your doorstep when you arrive, one that makes Jungkook pause at the sight. “Wonderful,” he drones, picking it up for you as you unlock the front door. It gets left on the coffee table, practically mocking the two of you as you remove your shoes and coats. “That’s your favorite flower,” Jungkook notes. 

You glance at the expensive bouquet. “It is.” 

Jungkook drops down onto your couch, eyes flickering to the meticulous arrangement in front of him. “You told him?” Not really. But back when you had thought Jungkook and you were engaged (read: last week), you had spent days looking at different floral shops that specialized in this flower, frequently leaving the tab open on your work computer. Seokjin must have seen it then. At your extended silence, Jungkook says, “nice.”

You frown, setting your heels on the shoe rack. “Baby, I didn’t,” you tell him softly, reaching for the zip on the back of your dress. It comes down, and after clearing your hips, it falls to the floor in a dark heap you pick up quickly. It leaves you scantily clad in a black lingerie set. Meanwhile, Jungkook drops his head back, glaring at your ceiling. Tentatively, you step over to him, toying with the fabric of your dress in your hands. “You said it was okay.”

“I know,” he sighs, an unexpected confession from him that makes you pause. Despite all you’ve been through, he still rarely highlighted situations that upset him. “It’s just,” he says, turning his head to look at your form again, eyes not drinking you in like you hoped he would. “It’s scary.”

The couch cushion dips beneath your weight when you settle beside him. “What is?”

Jungkook shrugs, avoiding your question by reaching for the TV remote on the coffee table, right beside the box of flowers Seokjin had sent. He opens up the Viki app in a flash— the one linked to his account —and has even loaded up the next episode of Secretary Kim when you question him again. “What’s scary, Jungkook?” you repeat. 

On screen, there’s a beautiful scene on a bridge, the two leads happily conversing. It’s serene, something neither you nor Jungkook feel at the moment. 

Eventually, he says, “you could leave.”

You pause. “What do you mean?” Leave? Where on earth would you leave to when this was your home? He doesn’t meet your gaze. 

Another scene passes by on screen, some cheesy line and an even cheesier promise. Jungkook’s foot taps against the floor, the sound dull against the plush rug beneath you. It’s a nervous tick you’ve only seen him do at the height of truly stressful situations. Weird because just half an hour before you had dubbed him as the epitome of calm and collected at the river. 

“I thought he was cool before.” 

He did. But the word ‘cool’ didn’t always have the same meaning for Jungkook as it did for you. 

In the past, Jungkook had frequently joked about having to meet Kim Seokjin and thank him for all the help he’s given you at work. After all, up until now, you had only ever had good things to say about the man, raving about his cool demeanor and respectable work ethics. Now, the memories paired with the conversation from earlier leave a bad taste in your mouth. 

You’re a little confused with Jungkook right now; part of you had convinced yourself that whatever happened on the phone earlier with Seokjin was put behind you, marked off as an anomaly in the evening. After all, Jungkook himself had said it was okay. Park Seojoon appears on screen, and you can’t help but glare at the character, residue emotions from the river pushed off onto this innocent actor. 

Still, Jungkook surprises you. “It’s just that—“ he sighs. And then, “what if you leave?” 

You blink, eyes trained on his side profile and the way he’s nervously chewing through his bottom lip until it tints a red shade, gives way to sensitive skin when he bites too hard. “Why would I leave?” 

He says nothing. On screen, Park Seojoon says something so cheesy and romantic that it would have otherwise made you cringe, made Jungkook soft. But he’s stiff as a board beside you instead. You almost think he’s going to disregard the entire conversation when he finally speaks again. “Well.” You perk up at the sound of his voice, overly aware of the way he’s started picking at the skin around his thumb again, another nasty habit you’ve been trying to help him get over. “He’s cool. Rich.”

“And so are you,” you offer, covering his hand with your own. 

Jungkook ignores you, releasing a long, shaky exhale. Somehow, he’s exuding a similar energy as before; discontentment mixed with understanding. Like he’s greatly conflicted but forcing himself to remain calm. Another trembling inhale, and then Jungkook quietly recites, “everyone wants to sleep with their hot boss.” 

You recoil just the slightest, brows pinched together at the absurd conclusion he’s drawn. “Baby, that was just a silly conversation,” you say slowly, slipping your hand into his. He squeezes so tight you’re afraid he’ll break your bones. “And we were joking—“

“I know!” he exclaims, enveloping your significantly smaller hand in both of his before bringing them up to his face, lips pressed against your knuckles. It’s not a kiss, more so a desperate need to feel you against him. Eyes wide, you can’t do anything but watch as that collected exterior slips away, revealing a whirlwind mess of emotions. It’s a rather unexpected show from Jungkook. “It was a joke. We were joking. But I’m—“ his jaw clenches. His voice is so tiny when he speaks again. “I get scared sometimes, __.” 

His emotional outburst renders you speechless, watching as he squeezes his eyes shut, jaw clenching, hands trembling. 

It’s a stark image change from the cool Jungkook that had comforted you at the river, had patted the back of your head when you had been so distraught. His chest heaves for air and you don’t know what to do; it’s always the other way around, him comforting you, that when it comes down to this you find yourself at a loss. It makes you feel like you don’t know enough about yourself or him or your relationship in general to help him, always so lost when things like this happen. 

Jungkook has never been good at expressing negative emotions, always preferring to bottle them up and only show you his very best side. Granted, he’s been getting better at letting go lately, has whispered his doubts to you in the dead of night after a particularly grueling project, an uncomfortable social meeting. But he always waits until you’re half asleep and in the dark to tell you how he feels, hushed worries that you barely remember the next morning. And by then, Jungkook’s moved on from them anyway, flashes you a pretty smile and purposefully guides you away from that conversation. You know he’s started keeping a journal recently, but aside from seeing the blanks pages when he’d first gotten, you don’t have a clue what happened afterwards. It’s probably hidden away somewhere, his feelings locked up in a cupboard or a box, the secrets it holds never to be spoken of aloud. 

He doesn’t like talking about his more personal problems, hoards them until you’re forced to intervene. Find him slumped over at his dining table with bags under his eyes, the skin on his lower lip bitten beyond belief. 

Rarely does he sit down and express himself like this, lays his heart out carefully for you to see. Had he not said so right now, you would have never known Jungkook struggled with such doubts about you and your relationship. 

(It makes your heart ache at the realization.) 

Jungkook always acts like everything is okay, always forces himself to hold it together for the sake of you and, quite frankly, everyone else. He’s there when Taehyung breaks up with his girlfriends, pats him on the back and lets him run through every video game he has on his PS5. He’s there for Namjoon when his thesis becomes too much, proofreads it even though he doesn’t understand a word just for the sake of giving his best friend another perspective. Hell, he had even been there for Doyeon when her new landlord had tried to overcharge her, had carried the bulk of your argument when you ran off to try and fight with the old man. 

(“He’s too nice sometimes,” she had murmured the next morning at her place. After the shouting match the night before, you had crashed with Doyeon on her new bed, your sweet boyfriend taking up her couch. Somehow, you and Jungkook had managed to knock a clean seventy-five bucks off her monthly bill. It wasn’t much, but for an apartment in the city it sure felt like a lot. 

You had hummed, patting the top of his head on the way to the kitchen. “He’s a good boy,” you had said, heart thrumming when he instinctively pushed closer to your hand, nuzzling into you even in his sleep. “He cares about everyone a lot. Worries to death about his friends.”

The state of their relationship was weird; they were always fighting about one thing or another, ‘eternal enemies’ as Doyeon liked to claim. 

But for the first time, she hadn’t denied they were, in fact, friends. Instead, she had quietly stood at the breakfast nook overlooking the living room with a somber look on her face that was completely unlike the Doyeon you knew. She didn’t respond with her usual backhanded compliments, didn’t even call him a gremlin either. 

“He even worries about you, Miss Wicked Witch of the West,” you had teased, reaching over to pull Jungkook’s shirt down where it had ridden up, exposing his cute belly button to the cold apartment. She had sipped at her mug of coffee, eyes foggy and distant. “It just takes him a while.” 

“He’s always cared about you though,” she had murmured then, and you had marked it off as her being half asleep. But Doyeon had given you this look, a look so profoundly wise, as if she was saying, “more than you’ll ever know.”) 

Most importantly, Jungkook is always there for you. He holds you in his arms, strokes your back comfortingly whenever something goes wrong. Listens to your concerns and offers you advice, learns new things for the sole purpose of helping you out. Lets you make stupid decisions and always saves you at the last minute. And you want to repay him for all that, want to look after Jungkook like he does for everyone else. But it’s hard, it’s so fucking hard, when he doesn’t let you in, when he holds his emotions at bay for the sake of protecting yours. When you don’t even know where to start sometimes. 

The beating of your heart is accompanied by a dramatic orchestral ensemble on screen, violins and flutes as the two lovers reconcile some issue with a kiss. Beside you, your own lover is one second away from falling apart. “Hey,” you say quietly, slipping your hand out of his to hesitantly place on his back instead. With your release, Jungkook uses his empty hands to drag over his face, hide himself from you. “I’m not going to leave you, Jungkook,” you try and comfort, “I love you.” 

He shakes his head, dark locks bouncing around. “I know, I know,” he sighs, but it doesn’t sound like he believes you. It sounds like he’s forcing himself into composure again, jaw flexing as he shakes his head. “But— what if—” another aggravated huff, his thighs jumping anxiously. “You’ll get bored.” Not a question, but a statement. 

“Of you?” you ask anyway. He nods. “I won’t.”

He sits up so suddenly you have to move away to avoid bumping into him. “You will,” he urges, finally looking at you, distress painted over every inch of his face. “That guy, that Seokjin, he sounds more interesting than me. He sounds cool and put together, like the world is his oyster and,” he rubs the heels of his hands against his eyes. “You talk about him sometimes and... and you call him a god, __,” he stresses, doesn’t leave room for you to object. “And I know you’re joking, but—“ a sharp inhale, and then, quietly, “everyone gets bored of me, __.” 

Your frown deepens. “But I won’t,” you argue, confident in your claim, shifting onto your knees beside him. Your dress is thrown over the armrest of the couch, and the draft in your apartment makes goosebumps rise on your bare flesh. “You’re not boring, Jungkook,” you tell him, voice softening when his features pinch up, nose wrinkling as he wards off the stinging behind his eyes. 

It’s teenage trauma. Jungkook had told you at least that much before, this crippling sense of loneliness and an inferiority complex that hindered him during an influential growth period of his life. It’s why he’s so quiet when he has so much to say, why he brings you along to every party he gets invited to; he’s never felt like he was enough by himself. 

Sometimes, it leaks into his confessions. “I don’t deserve you,” he says frequently, but some days you want to hot glue him to a chair and force him to listen to every reason why he does and always will deserve you or anyone for that matter. “You make me better,” he claims, but he does that all on his own, lights up the world with his smile alone. 

He’s gotten better, that much you’ve learned from Namjoon and Taehyung. And even you’ve noticed it on your own, watched as he animatedly talked with his friends and his coworkers, drew people naturally to him with his warm aura. 

Even still, there’s moments where he relapses. Moments like this. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs beside you, “I know I’m a handful—“

“You’re not,” you interrupt, cupping his soft cheek in your hand, turning him to face you. Jungkook leans into the touch, and your heart breaks in half when a tear escapes over his waterline, pretty eyes brimming with tears. “You’re not a handful, Jungkook,” you tell him, shuffling closer until you can press your forehead against his. The truth is, you don’t know how to comfort him, but this is how he’s always comforted you; it feels nice when he does it for you. “You’re just enough,” you say, voice soft because it feels like your precious boy is about to fall apart in your arms, his shallow breaths rivaling the volume of the television. “You’ve always been enough.” 

He sniffles, and another tear tickles the side of your thumb, catching the light. “I’m sorry,” he repeats anyway, a disbelieving chuckle tacked on at the end. 

“Don’t be,” you shush, pushing away a strand of hair when he leans closer. His frown is still prominent, pink lips red and soft under your thumb when you tap your finger against them. “You can tell me when things worry you, you know,” you inform him, heart swelling when his eyes fall shut and he leans into your touch. He’s so handsome, the cute little mole beneath his lip begging to be kissed. “I’ll always listen.”

Jungkook hums, breathing evening out. “I know you will,” he says. “But I like listening to your voice more, and I can’t do that when I’m talking.” 

You snort and Jungkook finally lets a tiny smile slip. “Don’t flirt with me so soon after your meltdown,” you mumble, kissing his cheek softly. 

Jungkook chuckles, real this time, and sniffles right afterwards. “I’ll flirt with you whenever I want.” And, because he’s just so full of surprises tonight, he sniffles once more before he’s unceremoniously tackling you back onto the couch. You squeal, the TV remote digging into your back painfully. It has the volume accidentally skyrocketing, startling the both of you with an ear-shattering orchestral piece at the height of some emotional scene. Jungkook scrambles to free the device and lower the volume before your eardrums burst. “I didn’t even know your TV could go that loud,” he says, and he’s speaking normally but the deafening violins are still reverberating in your head, making him sound quieter than he really is. 

“Come here,” you say instead, and he obeys, crawling into your arms, mouth hovering just over yours. “You feeling better?”

Jungkook nods, dark hair bouncing. “You make me better,” he tries, but after tonight’s realization, you respond to his corny words with a pinch against his doughy cheek instead. 

“Don’t say that,” you frown, toying with one of the earrings decorating his ear. The tip of his nose is flushed red, the exertion from crying catching up to him. His lashes are dark, probably feel so heavy with the residual tears that cling to them. 

Jungkook repositions himself, guides your legs around his waist. “Why not? It’s true.” He glances at your mouth. “You make my life better.”

“Wrong,” you say bluntly, brushing his hair back with your hands. “Your own perception and understanding of your experiences makes your life better. I just happen to be in it.” Jungkook looks the tiniest bit surprised at your suddenly logical argument. “Trust me, I saw it in a documentary the other day.” 

At that he laughs, full and loud, pecking your lips once with a sweet smile on his face. “Now I know you’re lying,” he grins, gently nudging his nose against yours. The drama on the TV is but a quiet hum compared to the pounding of your heart in your chest when he looks at you like that. “Because you don’t even like documentaries.” 

You kiss him softly, holding his hair back for him. He tastes a little bit like the chocolate cake he had at the restaurant and the lemonade he drank (he didn’t indulge in the sweet wine with you because he needed to drive). His lips mold perfectly against yours, and he sighs softly when he finally draws back. “But I like you,” you purr. 

Jungkook’s eyes darken, one heavy exhale fanning across the lower half of your face. You readjust the leg around his waist, pull him closer just the slightest bit. “Don’t flirt with me so soon after my meltdown,” he repeats, lips brushing against yours. You chuckle. “You don’t know what that means to me.” You can roughly guess, but that opportunity is taken away when Jungkook slots his mouth against yours, soft lips molding to yours. His tongue swipes across your bottom lip, wastes no time slipping in when you open for him, hot and wet. 

Jungkook’s fingers are just as warm when he trails them up the back of your thigh, pulls you impossibly closer until the buckle on his belt is pressed flush against your mound. A tiny whimper escapes your lips, chest jumping just the slightest from the pressure. It makes Jungkook pull away with an easygoing grin, chocolate eyes half-lidded. “You okay?” he murmurs, breath a little shaky from the kiss. You nod, tangling your fingers behind his head and pulling him in close again. 

He evades your puckered lips, ducking down to press his own against your throat, right beneath your jaw. “Ugh,” you groan, digging your nails into his back through his satin shirt. “I wanted a kiss.”

Jungkook nips at your skin, this tiny gesture that couldn’t hurt even if he tried. “You always want a kiss,” he retorts softly, the quiet smack of his lips filling your ears as he bestows a series of smooches against your skin. And it’s so devastatingly tender how he handles you, like you’re made of glass and will break at a moment’s notice, like he wants to treasure your body for the rest of his—

Jungkook chomps down, hard, and you hiss. “Sit still,” he orders, soothing over the bite with one broad lick of his tongue. 

You whimper. “That hurt.” 

“And it’ll hurt even more if you keep moving,” he warns you, and before you can ask what that even means, he’s leaving another stinging bite just further down. It’s at the midway point of your neck, right in front, and you can feel your heartbeat in your throat when he sucks a painful mark over it. “There,” he says, mostly to himself. “All mine.”

Your legs tighten around him, and you fight down the wave of heat that threatens to consume you when he places one final kiss over the second mark— the hickey. 

Jungkook doesn’t usually leave them. In fact, you can rarely recall a time where he had purposefully gone out of his way to mark you up like this. It was always accidental, always unplanned, because he knew how troublesome it was for you to cover them up for work the next morning. Work, where your coworkers and your bosses and Seokjin could see. 

Brows pinched together, your brain begins to draw a connection, one that Jungkook is soon confirming himself. “Everyone will see that now,” he hums, kissing a trail down your neck. 

Of course. 

You pat the back of his head in amusement, hiding a smile against his soft locks. Before you can say anything more, maybe tease him for being so cute, there’s a hand on your hip that snaps you out of your scheming. Jungkook lifts his head, does that endearing little head shake that pushes his hair out of his eyes, before leaning in for another languid kiss. 

It’s even slower than the first, mostly because he’s a little too preoccupied with running his hands over your body now. It starts at your shoulder, teasingly snaps the strap of your bra as you push your tongue down his throat. Jungkook whimpers, that pretty sound that makes you desperate to hear more. It’s the same sound that he always makes when he wants to be pampered, wants you to kiss his entire body while he lays there and takes it. 

And you’re all too ready to act on it. 

Duty calls and you’re there to answer, tilting his head for him with your hands against his cheeks. He sighs against you, breath trembling as it tickles across your skin. That soft and tender way that makes you melt because he’s just so precious, so dreamy. 

But you’re too caught up in your plotting to remember the hand he’s got on your hip, the one that teases the waistband of your panties with one lone finger. It’s only when Jungkook pulls away from your inviting mouth, his other hand holding you down by your shoulder, that you’re snapped back into reality. His lips are swollen and red, slick from your tongue, and so tantalizingly kissable. He huffs out a breath, eyes flickering over your face. “Can I touch you,” he husks, and gives into the temptation to press a kiss against your jaw. 

“Yes, please,” you shiver, hypnotized by his hungry stare. 

Jungkook wastes no time, pressing another kiss against the bruising mark over your throat that dissolves into a series of lighter smooches he trails down between your breasts. His hands come up to cup your boobs over your bra, giving them one harsh squeeze that has you releasing a long exhale as he moves between the valley and down your tummy, over your belly button. “Open,” he says at your pubic bone, carefully guiding your legs apart until you’re spread wide for him. 

The dark panties you’re wearing tonight— the super expensive ones you had spent an hour measuring your body for the exact sizing —receive one light kiss over the front. “Always so pretty for me,” Jungkook murmurs, tracing one lone finger down the middle. Your stomach contracts when he nudges it against you, the soft material of your panties just barely pushed between your folds. 

As his hand occupies itself with some relatively light foreplay, Jungkook tasks himself with leaving another tingling mark against your skin. This time, it’s on the inside of your thigh. He starts it off slowly, a few littered kisses against the skin until he deems one spot worthy enough and abruptly sinks his teeth into you. “Not so hard,” you whimper, reaching down to bury your hands in his hair. 

Jungkook lets it go, sloppily licking over the area. “You like it hard,” he husks, meeting your gaze as he licks one, long stripe over the tender skin. “Don’t you?” You nod demurely, pressing your knuckles against your lips to hold back a tiny moan from slipping past your lips. 

With that new mark blooming over your skin, Jungkook transfers his attention to your pussy, hidden beneath the soft material of your panties. One finger hooks under the hem, tucking them aside until he can see you in your entirety. “Fuck,” he groans, pressing one light kiss over your clit that makes you inhale sharply, fingers digging into his scalp. Jungkook throws one final glance your way before letting his tongue slip past his lips, the very tip flicking against your clit. 

Your breathing becomes shallow, anticipation building in the pits of your stomach as he slowly but surely begins playing with you. His tongue is so warm and wet, nudges your throbbing clit, nose pressed against your mound. “Mmm,” he moans, eyes fluttering shut as his mouth works wonders. 

“Ah,” you gasp, whiny and high-pitched, when he dips one finger past your wet folds. The entry is seamless, his pointer finger sinking into the velvet walls of your cunt as his tongue swirls against your hardened bud. “Jungkook,” you mewl, knocking your heel against his shoulder. Jungkook huffs, suctions his lips around your clit. The cold metal of the rings he always wears— the duo set from that Chrome Hearts brand he likes so much —presses against the trembling lips of your pussy, makes your back arch when he twists his finger inside of you. 

He’s so precise with his tongue, knows just how long and how hard to lick against your pulsing clit until you’re trembling, thighs quivering. Briefly, he pulls away, flicks his hair to the side in one suave motion that lets you see his dark eyes when he glances back up at you again, covered in a thick sheen of lust that makes them appear almost black as opposed to his usual warm brown. His hands reach for the waistband of your panties, tug them off with one fluid pull. 

“So pretty for me,” he murmurs, the end of his words laced with a slight rasp that makes your hips jump. “All for me,” he says, roughly pushing his finger into you again. The harshness makes your entire body tighten up in surprise, eyes fluttering shut when he slips his middle finger alongside his pointer this time around. 

“Baby, wait,” you whimper, walls fluttering around the two digits. Jungkook leans back in, presses a chaste kiss against your clit that makes your breathing stall as he thrusts his fingers into you. 

He ignores your cries, locks his lips at the juncture where your thigh meets your body, sensitive skin that bruises all too easily when he sucks against it too hard. “Only for me,” he sighs, all pretenses discarded as he begins rapidly and roughly fucking his fingers into you. It’s intense, has your thighs quaking as he speeds them up. 

The coil in your stomach tightens, and you have to bite down on your knuckles to stop the litany of whimpers from slipping past your lips when Jungkook ducks down again. He bypasses your quivering clit, warm tongue licking at the warm, wet folds around his fingers instead. The proximity makes the tip of his round nose brush along the length of your cunt, a sight and sensation that makes you moan, his bangs harshly tugged away from his forehead to give you the perfect view. 

It’s with a particularly hard shove and twist combination of his fingers into your clenching walls that you cum, a gasp caught in your throat as your hips push toward him, chasing the feeling Jungkook bestows upon you. Your breathing is a mess, inhales too short, your exhales inconsistent, as Jungkook slows the speed of his fingers inside of you, lets your cum ooze out around them, coat his fingers and his rings. 

“No,” you cry, watching that look come over his face when he withdraws his hand, the look that usually follows him sucking your cum into his mouth. “Jungkook, you don’t have to do that—” you whine, reaching for his wrist and yanking it towards you. 

Jungkook follows, crawls back up beside you as he chases his own sticky fingers. “It’s mine,” he urges, has this weird look in his eyes you don’t think you’ve ever seen before. And just as quickly as it crosses his features, he’s lurching forward to catch his own fingers in his mouth. It’s lewd, the way his tongue wraps around them, leaves them sleek under the TV glow, tattoos and rings glistening. He has the audacity to moan, eyes fluttering shut as his devious tongue slips down between his fingers, so long and precise. There’s a tiny noise that tears itself from your throat, one that has him flickering his clouded gaze up to you as his fingers are released from between his own lips. “You like that,” he murmurs, wet fingers trailing down your cheek, capturing your chin to turn your face his way completely. 

His tongue is sinful as it slips past your lips again, the tangy taste of yourself clinging to him. His breathing feels hot, suffocating. But his kisses are so good, make your mind go blank. So blank, that the fingers that rub at your clit surprise you completely. “Kook,” you gasp, breaking away from him in surprise. 

Jungkook doesn’t let you get far, capturing your mouth with his again. The two fingers you had felt on your chin are gone, firmly pressed against your swollen clit, experimentally rubbing against it. Never mind the fact you were still sensitive from your first orgasm, thighs quivering when he drags them against the wet, soft skin. It makes you shudder, breaking away from him a second time for a desperately needed inhale of fresh air. Jungkook follows behind closely, pressing kisses over your jawline, your chin, as his fingers continue moving against your clit.

He has them pressed together, rubbing at the front of your slit where that bundle of nerves is hidden. It makes your stomach contract, hips jerking forward into the touch in an effort to match him, to speed up the process. “You were made for me, pretty girl,” Jungkook huffs against your cheek, nose pressed against your skin because he’s just so close, practically molded into your side as his fingers send rhythmic shocks of ecstasy up your spine.

Your mouth drops open, stuttered gasps filtering through your lips as Jungkook takes advantage of your sensitive body to draw out another orgasm. But there’s a weird sensation that builds in your stomach this time, one that brings with it a sense of panic. “Wait—“ you gasp, fisting the silky material of his shirt beneath one clenched fist. “Jungkook,” you warn, toes curling.

He responds with a harsh nip against your lower lip that makes you whimper. “Go ahead,” he purrs, rubbing his fingers over you at an insane speed, one that has your juices sloppily spread over your pussy, makes you buck into him and moan against his mouth. 

The feeling grows, an intense, unfamiliar thing that you rarely recall ever feeling before, gasping for air as Jungkook’s fingers caress your clit, pressing down hard. “Fffuck, fuck,” you sob, mouth opening in a silent scream, eyes rolling backwards as you feel your pussy lips contract harder than ever before, thighs quivering as your juices squirt out of you, lower body reduced to jello as Jungkook quickens his movements, wrists jerking back and forth as your pleasure sprays out of you. “Ju— Jungkook,” you wail, forcefully slamming your thighs shut when he doesn’t stop, the pleasure seemingly never-ending under such a torturous touch. “Stop—stop,” you beg, eyes filling with tears that spill over when his trapped hand manages one final rough rub against your clit accompanied by a final gush of wetness. 

Only then does he stop, leaning back on his knees to drink you in with dark eyes that make you quiver. There’s no trace of his usual post-orgasm cockiness, the smile he’ll flash you, the teasing jabs. Nothing, just a frankly terrifying gaze that has you self-consciously pressing your hands over your chest. 

Jungkook doesn’t take kindly to it, roughly snatching one of your wrists up until you’re sitting up, the traces of your own orgasm present in the damp couch cushions beneath you, inner thighs coated in a thin sheen of your own pleasure. Jungkook leans in close, nose bumping against yours. “You came like that for me,” he says quietly, chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. You nod, eyes wide and teary when he reaches for the front of his shirt, giving it the same treatment he usually gives yours; two hands at the front, yanking it apart until the buttons are torn from their stitches and bouncing across your floor. 

He throws it off to the side, his tan skin highlighted by the cool tones of the television, the dark sleeve of his tattoo especially prominent. The black ink almost looks blue under this light. You’re so distracted by the perfect swirls and doodles on Jungkook’s skin that you don’t realize that same hand is reaching for you until it’s too late, long fingers wrapping around your throat to jerk you forward, head tipping back to look up at him. “Say it, sweet girl,” he murmurs, eyes half-lidded. “Tell me you’re mine.”

The fingers around your throat squeeze once and then slowly begin tightening. You gasp, meeting his hooded gaze with yours, lips quivering for a response that’s stuck in your throat, trapped by your own surprise and tightening airways. Frantically, you reach for his wrists with both hands, not to pull Jungkook’s hand away, but to ground yourself from the hazy cloud of lust the moment evokes. 

Still, your body isn’t as strong as you thought, and once Jungkook reaches a certain tightness around your throat you find yourself coughing. Instantly, he loosens his grip. But not too much. “I- I’m yours,” you rasp out, gasping for air. 

For now, it satisfies Jungkook enough for him to release you. And while you’re grateful for the rush of fresh air that fills your lungs, the phantom ghost of his grip around your throat sends a new gush of wetness between your thighs. One that grows tenfold when Jungkook reaches for his belt, undoes it easily. It comes off with one fluid motion, carelessly shucked off to the side as his attention moves to the front of his pants instead. 

He doesn’t let you sit around uselessly. “On your knees,” he says, so quietly you almost don’t hear it. “Sit on your knees facing the table.”

You blink slowly, the dry tears on your cheeks leaving stiff trails against your makeup. It takes a moment for your brain to process his request, one long second that has Jungkook pausing in his movements, leveling you with one solemn glare that eventually has you springing into action. You hastily slip off the couch, shuffling toward the coffee table between it and the television. The rug is soft beneath your knees, a luxury you can’t enjoy to the fullest because there’s a ball of excitement and fear stuck in your throat. (Right beneath your bruised skin and recuperating windpipes.) Sitting back on your calves, it feels like every nerve is standing stiff as you await his instructions. 

“Bra off,” Jungkook says from behind you, and you’re startled by the sudden ripping of stitches behind you, almost turning to look at him. He stops you with one hand around the back of your neck, drawing a surprised gasp from you. “Sit still,” he commands, your back stiff straight, eyes focused on the screen. After a beat, Jungkook lets you go, pats the back of your head gingerly. “Good girl.”

A whimper catches in your throat at the praise, and you barely manage to bite down on it in time, hurriedly reaching behind you. Your hands fidget over the clasps on your bra, and you nearly jump out of your skin when one lone finger traces down your spine, undoing your bra for you. You don’t know why, but you say, “thank you.”

The television changes scenes in front of you, the bright colors a stark contrast to the darkness of Jungkook’s eyes. Your hands tremble in front of you, fingers anxiously tangling with each other. A few inches beside you, there’s a dark red box filled with the flowers from—

Suddenly, your vision goes dark, hands instinctively reaching up to your eyes. The pads of your fingers come in contact with a soft material, smooth and silky. Just like— “Is this… ?” you murmur, hands sliding across the makeshift blindfold Jungkook’s made for you, the same texture as his shirt had been. 

He doesn’t grace you with an answer, just a hand against your hip as he, presumably, settles behind you. “Does it matter?” Jungkook says instead, voice all too close to your ear. Your entire body locks up, hands quickly returning to their spot against the coffee table. 

Just as you’d suspected, Jungkook is all too close now, hands crawling over your body. They start at your waist, massage the skin tenderly, lovingly, before gliding up to cup your breasts. You shiver, a quiet exhale escaping you as Jungkook rubs his palms over your boobs, trapping your stiff nipples between his fingers. A sound threatens to escape you, and you trap it behind a bitten lip, fists clenched against the table before you. “You know,” Jungkook says conversationally, like he’s not pinching your nipples enough to make you squirm. “Who else do you think can make you come like this?”

You brain lags. “W- What?” you stutter, thighs pressing together to ward away the arousal. Not like they’re already sticky from before, from when Jungkook had made you squirt. 

Jungkook doesn’t miss a beat, pressing a kiss against your shoulder that he trails up to your ear, nibbling at your earlobe. “Who else,” he says slowly, “can make you come like this?”

It’s not a trick question— no one could. You tell Jungkook as much. “I— no one,” you answer, rolling your lips in when he kisses the tender spot beneath your ear again. 

His kisses feel loud, but not as loud as his voice when he says, “exactly.” You swallow, gripping at the edge of the coffee table when he releases your boobs, trails one hand between your thighs, the other around your throat to pull you backwards against his chest. It makes your hands flail, landing against the tops of his thick thighs. 

Jungkook holds you close, fingers tightening around your throat teasingly. “No one else can please you like you want,” he exhales, letting his fingers trail over your skin. “Not the guy on tv, not your exes, not the fucking loser at your job,” he hisses, lips against your ear. “No one,” he reiterates, voice softer now as he presses a kiss against you. “No one but me.”

And it’s true. 

You can’t even muster your usual mouthy, bratty attitude when Jungkook serves you cold hard facts like this. Not when you can feel his aching member press against the small of your back, rest perfectly in the slight dip between your ass cheeks. “Isn’t that right, sweet girl?” he murmurs, voice low. 

You nod, tummy tightening when he uses the hand between your thighs to spread them apart. “Only you,” you agree, voice feathery.

Jungkook hides a grin against your skin, a mean chuckle escaping him when he rests his forehead against your shoulder. “Fuck,” he says, releasing your throat. “Such a good girl,” he praises, hands on your hips again. He uses them to encourage you up onto your knees, hips bumping into the edge of the table as he shuffles you forward. “Bend,” he says quietly, palm flat on the center of your back, pushing you down until your belly button is pressed against the cold wood, boobs swinging forward just the slightest. “Perfect.”

Jungkook shuffles up behind you, soothes a hand over your hip when you flinch at the first press of his cock against your folds. “You’re okay,” he comforts, voice like honey as he lines himself up. Your folds are slippery and wet, loose from your arousal and the two orgasms he’s already given you. 

Despite all that, the first push of his engorged cock past the tight muscles makes you gasp. “Baby, that’s,” you moan, nails scratching against the coffee table to make a sound that you would otherwise find uncomfortable. “I—“

Jungkook pants behind you, cock sinking further and further in. “I’ve got you,” he husks. His voice is like the light at the end of the tunnel, your dark vision forcing you to rely on him entirely as he guides you through the motions. “Made for me,” he repeats, voice airy.

You nod jerkily, arms trembling as his cock plunges deeper inside of you. “Made for you,” you gasp, head falling forward, forehead pressed against the cold surface in front of you. 

He moans, and there’s one deafening moment of silence when he finally reaches the hilt, soft pubic hairs at the base of his cock brushing against your folds. It’s a familiar sensation, having him buried inside of you, but it’s always different when he’s doing it from behind. He always feels fuller, bigger, mushroom tip practically kissing your cervix. 

“Kook,” you whimper, walls unintentionally contracting around him when he lingers a second too long. “Move.”

“Fuck, fuck,” he curses behind you. “I know, it’s just—“ he pauses, squeezes your hip so hard, you’re certain it’ll bruise. “I wanna… y’know,” he groans, dropping his head against your back, warm breath fanning across your slightly sweaty skin. 

It makes something in your stomach click into place, shifting back just the slightest. The small drag around your lips makes you brave. “Then do it,” you urge, desperate for any sort of friction. 

Jungkook practically growls, bucking into you once. “No,” he says, like he’s battling with himself, faced with a mental hurdle he can only cross alone. “You don’t understand,” he sneers, suddenly snapping back into position behind you, pulling you flush against his pelvis once more. It makes you whimper. 

“I kinda do—“

“You don’t,” Jungkook hisses, forcefully thrusting his hips into you enough to make your hips knock painfully against the edge of the coffee table, a startled moan falling from between your lips. And from there, it’s like you’ve unleashed a beast, because Jungkook shows you no mercy as he begins fucking you, his fat cock slipping in and out of you, his angry head flirting with your entrance. “I wanna fucking breed you,” he sneers, fingers digging into the skin around your waist to hold you still as he bucks his hips forward.

His vulgarity makes your skin heat up, the warmth probably tangible over your sloppily made blindfold, eyes wide despite the fabric that covers them. “That—” you gasp, thighs trembling with each powerful thrust. 

“It’s too much, I fucking know,” he huffs dryly, releasing one hip to press against your shoulders, roughly shoving you forward until your breasts are pressed against the surface, arms bent up beside you to stop yourself from hitting your head. “But— But,” he shudders, suddenly stopping his thrusts to grind his cock against you instead, pussy lips quivering around his girthy member. “I wanna,” he pants, “wanna see you so fucking full of me, because— you’re mine, __,” he seethes, “right?”

You nod blindly, dumbly, brain too flooded with the stimulation he’s bestowing upon you to think properly. “I- I am,” you confirm, gasping for air. “And you’re mine,” you manage to get out, one hand slapping down against the coffee table when he draws his cock out, slams himself back into you quickly. 

“I’m yours,” Jungkook slurs behind you, slowly picking up his pace again. The hand on your back lets go, and it’s with trembling arms that you manage to push yourself back onto your forearms, one hand blindly reaching for the hand he’s got gripping at your hips. 

“Oh my god,” you whimper, the sounds coming from your connected bodies so lewd and obscene, disgustingly wet when Jungkook slips back inside. He surges forward again, and you try to catch your balance, knees quivering underneath the force of his thrusts. Your hand slides over the tabletop in a feeble effort to hold onto something, anything. You can’t see, and even if you could there’s not much to hold onto on a flat surface. 

Except the box your hand knocks into. Your confusion lasts for only about a second because then Jungkook is ramming his cock into you, over and over, until you’re certain your hips are going to bruise and your knees are going to give out. Jungkook’s moans are soft and feathery, sighs that fan over your shoulder and make your back arch, eyes rolling backwards for the briefest second as if you were possessed. 

“Mine,” he whimpers, desperate and needy, fingernails digging into your skin as he pushes on. “Gonna be mine forever,” he growls. “Gonna— Gonna be so pretty and big,” he moans, “tits so fucking full.” The image he puts in your mind makes you dizzy. 

You nod dumbly, knuckles bumping against the box a second time. “Jungkook,” you choke out, fingers blindly nudging the box aside. But there’s no strength behind it, your entire body feeling weak and useless, all the energy concentrated in the coil in your stomach, the one that grows and tightens with every entrance of Jungkook’s cock into your pulsing walls. “There’s— There’s something,” you gasp, pinky finger tapping against it.

Behind you, Jungkook stills, harsh breaths deafeningly loud. Louder than the television and the corny music that plays, the mindless chatter of the characters you couldn’t name even if you tried. “Why would you...” Jungkook huffs, irritation lacing his words.

You don’t get to question it, because a second later his finger is tucking itself beneath your blindfold, yanking it off carelessly. It makes your head crane backwards, a tiny yelp torn from your lips as the blinding glow of the TV attacks your poor eyes at full force. Jungkook’s long since stopped his rapid thrusts, and it’s only when you glance off to the side that you realize why. 

It’s the stupid box of flowers Seokjin had sent you, the one Jungkook had placed on the coffee table when you first got home. 

Behind you, Jungkook releases one long exhale, both of you looking at the arrangement with various degrees of discomfort. “Did you like them,” he murmurs, cock throbbing inside of you. 

You shake your head, a soft, “no,” falling from your lips. The muscles in your thighs quiver like mad. 

Jungkook says nothing, but you watch as one inked arm stretches out from behind you, the movement of his hips pushing his cock deeper into you. A tiny whimper catches in your throat, watching as Jungkook hooks a finger over the lip of the box. One swift tug has it gliding over the tabletop, coming to a stop right beside your forearm. Jungkook leans back, the silence terrifying. 

“Did you think they were pretty?” he asks, tracing one finger down your spine. Your lower lip trembles as your eyes scan over the bouquet, at the pretty color selection and lovely scent that joined together to overwhelm your senses. 

“No,” you say, but it feels like a lie.

And Jungkook thinks so too, wrapping one hand around your throat and pulling you back forcefully. It’s the same as he did earlier, but with his cock deep inside your pussy, it sends a shock throughout your entire nervous system, a sob tearing itself from within you as he unintentionally pushes himself deeper inside. “Did you,” he says a second time, practically seething, “think Seokjin’s flowers were pretty?”

Your eyes flicker nervously across the screen in front of you, but everything is a blur, Jungkook’s harsh breathing against your ear. “Yes,” you confess, whimpering when his fingers tighten around your throat, press down against your windpipe as he inhales sharply. “But they’re just flow—“ He squeezes your throat so hard, your eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets, mind growing fuzzy. Eventually, he lets go and you dissolve into a fit of coughs, bent over the coffee table again as Jungkook slips his stiff cock out from within you. “I’m sorry,” you sniffle, throwing a teary-eyed look over your shoulder.

What you’re not expecting is for Jungkook to grab that same shoulder and roughly push you onto your side away from the coffee table, falling onto the fluffy rug as he shoves you down. “Something pretty for a pretty girl,” he sneers, biting down a frankly maniacal grin.

“What?” you exhale, probably looking at him with the same maniacal look in your eyes. 

(You were made for each other, so crazy and in love.)

Jungkook stretches one toned arm out, and you flinch when he uses that same beautiful arm to send the box of flowers flying over the edge of the coffee table, a hard thwack resounding throughout the room when they land face down on the other side, petals against the floor, water dripping out from inside. 

With those out of the way, Jungkook wastes no time flipping you over, face shoved down against the soft rug as he angles your hips up. “Thinking about someone else when I’m right here,” he growls, ramming his cock back into you with no warning. You sob, clawing at nothing as he bucks forward. “What a mean girl,” Jungkook scolds. 

“I- I wasn’t,” you defend weakly, shivering as he snaps his hips against you, the rug irritating your cheek when the motion sends you forward. Jungkook uses the hands on your hips to pull you back, your skin clapping together loudly. 

“You think Seokjin would— would fuck you like this?” he spits, using you like a toy as he fucks basically for himself, cock sliding in and out of your squelching walls. “You think he’d push you down and—and call you a stupid girl?” 

You shake your head, eyes squeezed shut to fight the wave of tears threatening your waterline. Truthfully, it doesn’t make much of a difference, especially not when Jungkook yanks your hips back again, your entrance sensitive from all the friction. “No, no,” you sob. ”He wouldn't.”

Jungkook scoffs, not bothering to slow his pace down. “Of course he wouldn’t,” he spits, and then, strikes your ass. Two hard cracks of his palm, rings and all, against the globes of your ass. You wail, unconsciously jerking away only for Jungkook to drag you back. “Stupid girl,” Jungkook sighs, cock twitching inside of you. You can feel the beads of precum oozing out from the tip of his cock inside you, their warmth making you shudder. 

Your other ass cheek receives the same treatment, two harsh smacks that leave the skin tingling, blood rising to the surface. “Stupid, stupid girl,” he repeats, palms rubbing over your cheeks for a brief second, only to strike down again. “Aren’t you?” You nod, fat tears dripping out of the corner of your eyes and down onto the fluffy rug beneath you. Your behind stings, pain blossoming over your skin. But it’s the good kind, the one that has drool escaping from the corner of your lips from how overwhelmed it leaves you. 

“I- I’m a stupid girl,” you agree, your words punctuated by a series of tiny sobs and sniffles. Your walls feel sensitive, raw, from his thrusts. You’re ready to come, trembling hands slithering down to reach for your clit. 

“Don’t,” Jungkook warns, snatching your arm up and twisting it behind you. 

You cry, tears and drool against the rug. “I wanna come,” you whimper, trying your other hand only for it to meet a similar demise. “Please,” you sniffle, turning your face the other way as if the angle will somehow be different. 

“You don’t come until I say so,” Jungkook hisses, using his grip on your wrists to tug you onto his cock. You moan, choke on your own saliva from the force, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix for real this time. It renders you stupid, just like Jungkook had called you, chin trembling as your eyes roll backwards. Behind you, Jungkook grunts something deep and raspy. “Fffuck,” he spits, pistoning his hips into your inviting heat. “You were doing so good tonight—“ a particular brutal buck of his hips, a loud moan torn from your lips “—but first those fucking flowers and now this?”

The rhythm of his deep thrusts cut your moans into stuttered little cries, your words broken with every ram of his cock inside of you. Your walls feel worn, every brush sending a tingling shock up your spine. “I- I’m sorry,” you weep, shoulders shaking from your own tears and the rumbling orgasm that’s just about ready to snap. 

Jungkook says nothing, too busy shoving his cock inside of you to grace you with a response. Instead, you’re subjected to his relentless thrusts, sharp gasps from his pretty mouth. “Fuck,” he pants, releasing your wrists after one particular thrusts, your walls clenching around him painfully when he draws his cock out. 

“I can’t,” you sniffle, knees giving out before he can catch you, sadly sinking down onto the plush rug. “Kook, I—”

Jungkook makes a sound, something between a growl and a roar in the back of his throat as he follows behind you, planting two firm hands on the sides of your head to use as leverage to fuck himself in. With your thighs pressed flat together, the squeeze is tighter than ever before, and your eyes roll backwards as he gets to work, walls fluttering from the overstimulation. 

“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” he pants, all games thrown aside as he begins pounding his cock past your folds, deep into your contracting walls, until that tight spring in your stomach gives out and you’re clenching up beneath him, entire body going stiff for one long beat. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you weep, thighs quivering as you cream his cock, make his movements so slippery and wet, almost dangerous when he’s going this fast. His name falls from your trembling lips, every nickname and pet name you’ve ever given him mindlessly blubbered through your orgasm. Jungkook pays you no mind, thighs tensing up as he chases his high, short breaths and moans filling the space as he fucks himself into you. Until, finally, a few deep strokes later, he’s coming with a shuddered cry of your name on his tongue, collapsing over you, forehead pressed to your back as he catches his breath. 

“Fuck,” he groans one last time, body going slack very quickly. He slumps down beside you, softening cock slipping out of your tender folds. 

The floor between the coffee table and the couch is dark, the television glow not reaching down here. Even still, the sweat clinging to Jungkook makes him look like a sparkly Twilight vampire, the dip between his pecs collecting the smallest pool of sweat. You can’t stop yourself from running your pointer finger along the skin, over his nipple. His pec jumps deliciously under the attention. “Stop,” Jungkook sighs, catching your wrist in his, pressing his lips to your knuckles in an attempt to distract you. “Or I’ll really get you pregnant next time.”

You push yourself onto your elbows, pinching his doughy cheek. “You won’t,” you tease. Jungkook flicks his hair away from his eyes to level you with a look you’ve never seen before, not a trace of his usual post-sex playfulness to be found. It has you retracting your hand, eyes wide when he doesn’t stand down. Still, you can’t lose. “...No you won’t,” you repeat, quieter, almost unsure. Almost a question. 

Jungkook rolls his eyes, tugging you into his arms. He’s all sweaty and sticky, just like you. He’s lucky he doesn’t have four separate loads of cum— three from you, one from him —sticking between his thighs. “Keep telling yourself that,” he pants, so smoothly. Too smoothly. It makes you clench your thighs, something Jungkook doesn’t miss. “Stop it,” he warns a second time.

“You’re just so dreamy,” you whine, sitting back up to play with his hand. “Like, when you made me squirt?” He chuckles softly, eyes fluttering shut. “Not gonna lie, I thought I saw the answer to the universe for a second.” 

He’s worn out today, more than usual, that he doesn’t bother gracing you with a response. But it had been a long day for Jungkook; from planning an entire date, to the Seokjin debacle, to the crazy hot sex he’d gifted you. It was only reasonable. You reward his efforts with a soft peck against his cheek that makes him smile, a light blush painting his cheeks. “You did good today,” you hum, patting chest comfortingly. 

“Felt like I was in a Viki drama,” he confesses after a moment, has that tiny smile on his face that makes the apples of his cheeks especially round, especially cute. “The kind that have twelve plot lines going on.”

You laugh, snuggling beside him. The rug feels dirty, but so do you so the feeling is cancelled out or whatever. “You’d be the Park Seojoon of any Viki drama,” you tell him, and Jungkook laughs.

That loud and airy one he reserves only for you. 

epilogue

Namjoon calls Jungkook’s phone a little after eleven, talking your ear off about some date he’d gone on while Jungkook is in the shower. You tell him about what happened with Seokjin and like all respectable college mentors, he just about flips. “You can sue him,” Namjoon hisses, furious for you. Not that you aren’t anymore, but in a weird act of impulsiveness, Jungkook had gone outside and ran the stupid box of flowers over with his car as you watched from the open window of your apartment. It was weirdly cathartic. 

He’s in the shower now, humming the lyrics to one of the songs from Secretary Kim, a song called It’s You by Jeong Sewoon (thank you, Shazam), that makes every inch of your body overflow with adoration when he hits that long note. Anyway, you’re perusing the rest of the streaming service for a movie to watch. Jungkook said you couldn’t watch Train to Busan tonight, something about it ruining the mood. So now you’re debating between a historical romcom or a modern romcom. 

Over the line, Namjoon is doing all the raging for you. “Men are trash,” he huffs one last time, before eventually letting it go. (For now.) “Hey, do you know how to cover up hickeys?” he asks suddenly, just as Jungkook reappears in the living room. His skin is glowing, looking like the hottest man alive. The window is still open, a feeble attempt to air out the smell of sex in the room, and the draft makes Jungkook shiver because his hair is still a little wet. 

“Hickeys?” you repeat, stretching a hand out for him as he rounds the couch. Jungkook takes it, places a soft smooch against your knuckles, close to your promise ring. Your heartbeat stutters just as Namjoon hums. 

“Yeah, this girl,” he says, cutting himself off with a laugh. One you recognize all too well because it’s the same one you let out when you talk about Jungkook to other people. Said boy settles close beside you, leans his cheek against your head when you snuggle into his neck. As soon as he’s there, you lose all rights to the remote, watching as Jungkook completely disregards all your searching just to click back onto Secretary Kim. He had missed a whole episode. “We went a little crazy tonight—“ you gag at the image Namjoon places in your head “—and Doyeon bites kinda hard—“

“Doyeon?” you interrupt, all mental processes coming to an abrupt halt as the name bounces around your mind. Jungkook, having mastered the art of listening in on your phone calls by now, freezes beside you. “You know a Doyeon?” 

“Yeah!” Namjoon says excitedly as you sit up. Jungkook meets your gaze, big Bambi eyes giving the performance of a lifetime, and gives your this overly innocent shrug of his shoulders that tells you more about what he does know than what he doesn’t. “Kim Doyeon. She went to your school— actually, she graduated with you and Kook.”

The world comes to a complete stop as you glare at Jungkook, his panicked features cueing you in to the fact he was aware of this, as you’d suspected. “Namjoon,” you say slowly, fist tightening around Jungkook’s phone. “Are you aware you’re fucking my best friend?” 

There’s a long silence on the other end, Namjoon presumably processing the information while Jungkook tries to calm the boiling anger within you. “He didn’t know,” Jungkook whispers, big pretty eyes on you as he tries to save Namjoon from you. 

All his efforts are in vain when Namjoon clears his throat and so eloquently says, “and you’re fucking my best friend?”

epi-epilogue

The Best Buy employee doesn’t ask questions when you and Jungkook go in to get your cracked phone screens repaired. He does, however, give Jungkook an over-exuberant sales pitch on a brand new line of computer monitors that are almost as big as the television at your house. 

You try to save him from the dangerous hands of capitalism, but the Hello Kitty bandaids decorating your neck are itchy, the skin still so tender, so sometimes it’s wiser to let him waste his money than argue otherwise. 

“Good girl,” Jungkook says as he swings your arms back and forth on your walk to the car, impressed by the fact you didn’t argue with him in a Best Buy today. “My perceptions and understanding of you in my life make me happy,” he beams, too smiley as he unlocks the doors. 

“Shut up,” you glare, painfully tearing the stupid bandaids off your neck as soon as you get in, brandishing the blossoming hickeys Jungkook had so graciously given you last night. At the sight, he bites down a smile. “You’re about to perceive and understand these fists.” 

And Jungkook smiles— he always smiles —as he leans over the center console to press his mouth against the darkened skin at the front of your neck, mindlessly rubbing his thumb over your promise ring. “Perceive this love,” he says, so cheesy it makes you gag. 

“Goddd,” you groan, pushing him away before he can see the smile on your face. “Someone get this man a Viki deal.”

Copyright © 2021, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.

[jemmo]

what's one thing about pat and pran you wanted to rant about but still didn't?

oh dear anon you have well and truly opened a can of worms here. i think there are like a million tiny things about patpran that i havent ranted about yet, like little aspects to their dynamics or specific headcannons i have for them. but seen as im being give the opportunity, youre putting down the soapbox for me, i felt like i had to think carefully. tumblr is telling me its been 8 hours since i got this ask and believe me, i have non stop been going through the filing cabinet in my head of patpran rants looking for a good one. then i remembered that i wanted to talk about something, so here we go.

ive seen people talk before about how much they love the fact that, when pat has his realization, he doesnt go into any kind of gay crisis. his mind is going through a lot, but i dont think any of those thoughts are 'oh god i like a boy wtf am i gay what is this its weird gross ew'. im not saying his revelation has no affect on how he views his sexuality, i think its just that its not that shocking to him bc hes just so fine with it yknow. like if someone came out to him he wouldnt even do a double take, and so he doesnt for himself. hes more like oh cool moving on, very much so concerned with acting on his feelings. like i dont think it even crosses his mind to have an identity crisis, he just needs to tell pran, like, now.

anyway this is all to say that i love how this attitude manifested in ep 7 in a more physical way. bc throughout the series we've seen that pat is fine with physical contact and closeness, but it wasnt inherently sexual or romantic at that point. but now it is, you can just tell, whenever theyre near there are sparks just because of their proximity. and the thing is, not only is pat ok with that, but he more so than pran initiates and encourages physical intimacy with that implicit meaning. he takes his shirt of twice, openly invites pran to look at him in a sexual way, encourages pran to touch him, and even outside those moments in the curry scene at the start and the face cleaning scene, pat is the one to touch pran's face. and i just think it fits pat's character so well that there is no hesitance in the exploration of his sexuality, not emotionally or physically. its just so plain and simple and i think thats really something ppl should see and deserve to see. that this man is like 'oh ok i like this boy, i want to touch this boy, i want this boy to touch me too... cool'. pat is a creature that follows his instincts, lives moment to moment and i just love that liking pran for him was like finally putting in the last piece of a puzzle, bc now that its complete, its not like hes wondering 'hmm i wonder if that was the right piece, does it fit right', bc the picture is clear and it makes perfect sense and theres no need to fret over or overthink or analyse any of it. and it screams so loudly this whole meant to be, destined to be together vibe they have, like the universe itself was created so they could be with each other.

anyway, im rambling and getting off topic, but as i was talking about ep 7, i wanna end it with this. in all of pran's flirtations and advances, very contrary to the finger licking incident at the end of ep 7, all of his flirting, seduction, insinuation is verbal. he is the absolute king of dropping lines so laced with romantic and sensual meaning that absolutely ruin pat. but think about all the flirting we see in ep 7, in none of them does pran touch pat without pat starting it. even in the library when pran is very much getting up in pat's personal space, he leverages himself on his arm, traps pat in and dangles himself in front of pat without touching. this says a lot to me about both of them. firstly, that i think pran knows that pat is attracted to him, plain and simple. bc its so easy with these two to talk about their star crossed, written in the stars, decided by fate love. but i love that in these moments you can see there's plain and simple attraction, like pat's face sometimes screams 'i find you so hot and attractive' and like yes looks arent everything but i love that in their relationship that can be so deep and complex, sometimes its as simple as were both really attracted to each other, bc that is a part of any good relationship too. and the fact pran uses it as leverage in his flirting is excellent. secondly, it shows how pran is the more reserved one, the one more reluctant to end this bet, bc hes so comfortable with talking the talk, but walking the walk is a whole other thing, and he's only comfortable with that when invited into it by pat, when in his mind he can be certain that this is a game, and he is free in the game, and this physical intimacy doesnt have to mean anything. i talked before about how pran can truly express himself when his mind switches off and he allows himself to act in the moment, and this applies here too. there's too many mental barriers stopping him from instigating a physical interaction, but when caught up in the moment, swept up on the fun of the game and being with pat, he doesnt have to overanalyse his actions and therefore he can be physically intimate.

and i love how this whole physical vs non-physical battle plays out. i love that, while he wont touch pat, he'll touch wai and make a show of it bc he knows thats something he's keeping from pat at the moment. he is well and truly keeping that card close to his chest, dangling it right in front of pats nose that he'll put his arm around him at the rugby practice and wipe his mouth at the noodle place. its more than just jealousy that pran is touching wai, its an absolute power move. pran is literally like i wont instigate any physical intimacy with you, but look at me drape myself all over wai, and let it stir up all that jealousy, let it make you angry, let it be the thing that breaks you bc you do desperately want me to touch you, and for that touch to be of my own accord. and then he does, right at the end, the first initiation of physical touch by pran is him wiping pats mouth, right after he made his confession by feeding him. it shows that he's now allowing himself to initiate bc he is comfortable with it, he doesnt need there to be any excuses of a game and neither does he have to withhold that from pat for the sake of winning. there are no winners and losers anymore, just a boyfriend that he can touch whenever he wants and who will touch him in return. and i cant wait to see this whole thing blossom into the most beautiful and adorable displays of casual intimacy so i can throw up over how in love they are.

[ailuronymy]

do you think every disabled character in wc is handled poorly? i understand theres def some cases of ableism but at the same time when i hear ppl say that its usually bc the disabled cat wasnt able to become a warrior due to their disability. and i feel like ppl forget, that not everyone irl CAN do what they want after they become disabled. ex. someone wants to be an athlete, but their legs have to be amputated. a cat like briarlight esp i feel is p realistic and could be a source of comfort

Hello there, thank you for writing in. I’m going to reply to this question with a series of questions I think are a bit more useful, given what you’re trying to ask me. I hope that’ll clarify what is a deeply complex, multilayered issue. 

Do I think Erin Hunter handles anything in the series “well”? Not really. I don’t have a high opinion of the work of the collective and, broadly speaking, I think every right note they play, metaphorically speaking, is an instance of chance rather than effort, skill, or intention. Stopped clocks are right twice a day, mediocre writers will sometimes do something cool by accident, similar principle. That’s not to say Erin Hunter hasn’t ever done anything on purpose--just that overall the underlying drive of the series isn’t so much quality as it is quantity, and speed of production, and it shows. 

Do I think Erin Hunter puts any significant research into how they portray disability? No. I do not think it is a priority for this series. They’re not trying to make a meaningful work of literature, or capture a realistic experience of disability, or tell especially impactful or thoughtful stories, or even make a particularly good or coherent fantasy world. Warriors is a specifically commercial product that was commissioned by HarperCollins to appeal to a particular demographic of drama-loving, cat-loving kids. It’s not really trying to do anything but sell books, because it’s a business, so the text in many ways reflects that. They’re not going for disability representation, in my opinion. They’re including disability in many cases as a plot-point or an obstacle. 

Do I think this means that people can’t connect to these characters and narratives in meaningful ways? No. Often I say that a work is completed only when it is read. Before that point, it doesn’t have a meaning: a reader finishes the work through the act of reading, and interpretation, and filling in the spaces and resonance of the story with their own values and experiences. When people talk about subjectivity, this is what they are talking about. What this means in the context of disabled characters in Warriors is that these characters and their stories can be multiple, conflicting, even mutually exclusive things at the same time, to different people, for different reasons. 

Do I think characters have to be “good” to be significant to someone? No. I think genuinely “bad” (i.e., not researched or poorly researched, cliche, thoughtlessly written, problematic, etc. etc.) characters can be deeply meaningful, and often are. Ditto above: for many people, and especially marginalised or stigmatised people, reading is almost always an act of translation, wherein the person is reading against the creative work of the dominant culture in a way that the author likely didn’t intend or didn’t even imagine. There’s a long documented history of this in queer culture, but it’s true for just about everyone who is rarely (or unfairly) represented in media. Disabled people often have to read deeply imperfect works of fiction featuring disability and reinterpret them in the process--whether to relate to a kind of disability they don’t experience themselves but which is the closest they’re offered to something familiar, or to turn positive and meaningful what is intended as narrative punishment, or simply to create what’s commonly called headcanon about “non-disabled” characters who echo their personal experiences. 

Do I think everyone has to agree? Extremely no. As I said before, people will actually always disagree, because all people have different needs and different experiences. What can be interpreted as empowering to one person might be very othering and painful for another. There is no “right” answer, because, again, that is how subjectivity works. This is especially true because marginalised communities are often many different kinds of people with different lives and needs brought together over a trait or traits they share due to the need for solidarity as protection and power--but only in a broad sense. It’s why there is often intracommunity fighting over representation: there isn’t enough, there’s only scraps, and so each person’s personal interpretation can feel threatening to people whose needs are different. You can see examples of this especially when it comes to arguments over character sexuality: a queer female character might be interpreted as bisexual by bisexual people who relate to her and want her to be, while being interpreted as lesbian by lesbians who also relate to her and want her to be like them. Who is correct? Often these different interpretations based on different needs are presented as if one interpretation is theft from the other, when in fact the situation is indicative of the huge dearth of options for queer people. It becomes increasingly more intense when it comes to “canon” representations, because of the long history of having to read against the grain I mentioned above: there’s novelty and, for some people, validation in “canon” certainty. And again, all of this is also true for disabled people and other stigmatised groups. 

Do I think this is a problem? Not exactly. It is what it is. It is the expected effect of the circumstances. Enforced scarcity creates both the need for community organising and solidarity and the oppressive pressure to prioritise one’s self first and leave everyone else in the dust (or else it might happen to you). The system will always pit suppressed people against each other constantly, because it actively benefits from intracommunity fighting. Who needs enemies when you have friends like these, and so on. A solution is absolutely for everyone in community to hold space for these different needs and values, and to uplift and support despite these differences, but it’s not anyone’s fault for feeling threatened or upset when you don’t have much and feel like the thing that you do have is being taken away. It’s a normal, if not really helpful, human response. But until people learn and internalised that the media is multifaceted and able to be many things at once, without any of those things being untrue or impacting your truth of the text, then there will be fighting. 

Do I think my opinion on disability on Warriors is all that important? No, not really. I can relate to some characters in some moment through that translation, but my opinion on, say, Jayfeather is nowhere near as worthy of consideration than that of someone who is blind. I don’t have that experience and it’s not something I can bring meaningful thinking about, really. That’s true for all these characters. If you want to learn about disability, prioritise reading work about disabled rights and activism that is done by disabled people, and literary criticism from disabled people. And as I mentioned above, remember that community isn’t a monolith: it’s a survival tactic, that brings together many different people with disparate experiences of the world. So research widely. 

Finally--do I think there’s only one kind of disabled narrative worth telling? No. For some people, a disabled character achieving a specific, ability-focused dream is a good story. For other people, a story that acknowledges and deals with the realities, and limitations, of disability is a good story. The same person might want both of those stories at different times, depending on their mood. That’s okay. Sometimes there’s power and delight in a fantasy of overcoming seemingly impossible obstacles and defying all expectations. Sometimes there’s value and catharsis in a narrative that delves into the challenges and grief and oppression experienced because of disability. There’s no one truth. 

To round all this off, I’m going to give my favourite example of this, which is Cinderella. I think it’s a great and useful tool, since for many it’s familiar and it’s very simple. Not much happens. In the story, she is bullied and tormented, until a fairy godmother gifts her over several nights with the opportunity to go to a royal ball, where she dances with a prince. The prince eventually is able to find Cinderella, due to a shoe left behind, and they are married. In some versions, the family that mistreated her are killed. In others, they’re forgiven. 

Some people hate the story of Cinderella, because she is seen as passive. She tolerates the bullying and never fights back. She does every chore she’s told. She is given an opportunity by a fairy godmother, and she doesn’t help herself go to the ball. She runs from the prince and he does the work to find her again. Eventually, she’s married and the prince, presumably, keeps her in happiness and comfort for the rest of her life. 

For some, this story is infuriating, because Cinderella doesn’t “save herself”: she is largely saved by external forces. She is seen as a quintessential damsel-in-distress, and especially for people who have been bullied, infantalised, or made to feel less capable or weak, that can be a real point of personal pain and discomfort. 

However, for some others, Cinderella is a figure of strength, because she is able to endure such hostile environments and terrible people and never gives up her gentle nature or her hope. She never becomes cruel, or bitter. She is brave in daring to go outside her tiny, trapped world, and she is brave to let the prince find her. She doesn’t have to fight or struggle to earn her reward of happiness and prove her worth, because she was always deserving of love and kindness. The prince recognises at once, narratively speaking, her goodness and virtue, and stops at nothing to deliver her a better life. 

Depending on the version, the wicked family disfigure themselves for their own greed--or are punished, which for some is a revenge fantasy; or Cinderella forgives them and once again shows her tenacious kindness, which for others is a different revenge fantasy. 

The point? Cinderella is the same character in the same story, but these are almost unrecognisable readings when you put them side-by-side. Which one is right? Which one is better? In my opinion, those are the wrong questions. I hope this (long, sorry) reply is a set of more useful ones. 

[pomegranates-and-blood]

Lips of an Angel (Modern!AU)

My Masterlist  

Pairing: Ivar/Reader, Ivar/Freydis, Reader/OC

Summary: “Well, I had this idea of Ivar x reader based off the song Lips of an Angel. (If you feel like a Modern AU works best that's fine) Where Ivar is with Freydis, but Ivar never let go of his feelings for the reader and she never let go of hers, and you can decide how you want it to end.”

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: Angst, lost love, implied/mentioned sex/cheating, teeny tiny mentions of sub!Ivar (couldn’t help myself, sorry)

A/N: So here’s the modern version of this request, bc I’m a mess and couldn’t decide. I hope I did okay, and that the lovely anon that requested this is happy with how it turned out. Thank you so much!

You can find the Viking Era version of this request right here

“He asked me to marry him.”

Your words drop on Ivar’s chest with such weight he almost gasps, and parted lips try bringing air to lungs that cannot function, that remain paralyzed.

You’re marrying someone else.

He tells you to wait, or he thinks he does, hopes he does. All he can think of is getting out of this fucking bed and being able to talk to you, to…to make sense of the world again.

You haven’t called him in…Gods, in so long. All he has had of you for almost two years is the polite smiles and the civil conversations to be held when your family and his get together.

But now, now you call him in the middle of the night, saying his name like you used to, and telling him…telling him…

You’re marrying someone else.

Getting onto his chair has never proven so difficult, with shaking hands and panicked breaths. He moves towards the leaving room, leaving behind a bedroom of two people that have seen someone else when they whisper their I love you’s for months now, that have pretended not to hear names not their own when they lose themselves in each other since the beginning.

“Talk to me, princess.” Ivar asks once he gets to the living room, free hand tapping anxiously at the wheel of his chair as he hears you take a few deep breaths.

“Emil asked me to marry him.”

He grits his teeth, “I got that part.”

“I…I don’t know why I called, I just…” “I should have said yes. He’s…he’s a sweet guy, and my dad loves him, and…”

Ivar refuses to sit there like an idiot and hear you sing praises to the man you’re dating, and it is with a bubble of anger and resentment that he calls out your name, stopping you.

You sigh, and it feels so familiar his chest pulls tight, “It’s been so long since you’ve said my name.”

His eyes fall closed, and he drags a hand over his face, trying to find some sort of stability in this madness. He hates how you still have this hold over him, how with only a few words you turn him inside out, leave him raw and vulnerable.

“Wh-Why do you tell me this?” He asks, tilting his head back and resting his head on the backrest of the chair, looking up at a darkened ceiling. “To torture me? To play some kind of-…”

“Because I couldn’t say yes,” You whisper, and at the way you seem to be so close to crying his own chest hurts. “Ivar, I…I…”

“What, princess?” He presses, because he cannot hold his breath any longer, because you pulled him under with the sweet sound of his name on your lips and he hasn’t been able to breathe properly since you called.

“I shouldn’t have called,” You mutter, almost to yourself, “You’re with someone else, I-…”

“She isn’t you.” Ivar tells you, too-late regretting being so honest, sounding so pathetically desperate.

You remain silent for so long he almost wants to hang up, to end this whirlwind that has made his world be upside down, to save himself the humiliation of a rejection.

“I never moved on, Ivar,” You confess, and in a sigh that he can close his eyes and feel by his ear as if you were there, you seem to find your strength. Because after a moment, you clear your throat and sentence, “But I have to.”

He’s left alone with silence on the other line.

He’s angry and drunk and he feels broken, and you have to answer for what you’ve done to him His fingers are tapping on the call button before he can think twice about it, but all that meets him is silence.

And sitting alone in a darkened living room of a place he doesn’t know, because he had to leave his last apartment haunted by the ghost of you; he finds himself alone and heartbroken.

You’re marrying someone else.

Someone that isn’t him.

You’re loving someone else.

Someone that isn’t him.

He feels the prick of tears in his eyes, the tightening of his throat, the restless energy to do something, stop this…this chaos you put inside of him, this mess you’ve made of his heart or whatever is left of it.

You always did breeze -barrel- into his life and turn everything upside down, made him lose control over his heart, his mind, his everything. Since the beginning.

And now you call him to…to what? To tell him the woman he loves is getting engaged to some fucking guy that doesn’t deserve her, that could never love her the way he could? To let him know you’ve moved on and are going to marry this fucker and have his children and all that while still holding Ivar’s heart with an iron grip?

No, no, he won’t be played with, he won’t be humiliated like this.

Ivar pulls out his phone with shaking hands, jaw set so tight he fears his teeth will break.

Two can play that game. Two can ‘move on’. Two can inflict pain.

He’s searching for an engagement ring before he can think twice about it. Scrolls down countless diamond rings, trying to find the most expensive-looking one.

Freydis will agree, she is as lost as he is, she will agree. He can convince her if she has doubts, he is sure of it.

Imagining putting a ring on her finger feels wrong, so fucking wrong when he still holds on to the one he won for you at that stupid fair you forced him to go to.

You extend your left hand excitedly, almost bouncing on your feet, and for a moment Ivar can pretend it isn’t a plastic ring what he’s putting on your finger. You bring his lips to yours and seal a smile against his lips, “This one will do till you give me the real one, Lothbrok.”

The night everything fell to pieces you gave him back that plastic ring, like it meant something, like he’d meant something. And he still has it, he still keeps it safe next to the arm ring his father gifted him.

That last night -it wasn’t the last time he ever saw you, he has seen you afterwards many times, but it was the last night of the two of you, of what had been and what could be- still replays in his head in his worst times. And his best too. Ivar cannot let go of the could have been’s, cannot move on from you, not when his legs are worse than usual and he feels alone and cursed, not when his father praises his work in the family business and he feels like he’s on top of the world.

And that night that repeats in his head taunts him with the last -not the last, but in a way they were- words you said to him, “I wish we could be strangers again.”

It is with an angry twist of his lips, with a frustrated growl that is kept at bay by gritted teeth that Ivar stops searching for the engagement ring to give Freydis.

What will change, if he makes her his fiancée? You will still be with someone else, marrying someone else, loving someone else.

Before he closes the browser where some expensive and pretentious-looking store offers him rings to cover up regret, his eye catches on one of the diamond pieces. It is strikingly similar to the one he gifted you as a joke that ended up being so much more, and when he taps to see the name, Ivar’s breath catches.

Angel.

Your eyes are adorably focused on the red marks on his chest, a small frown between your brows.

It is almost without thinking, almost startling him, that you lean closer and press the softest of kisses over one of the marks, making Ivar feel so unbearably warm.

He finds himself smiling, like the lovesick idiot he is. And for the brief moment where your lips are pressed against his skin and your warmth is enveloping him and he is still riding that high of feeling utterly yours¸ he finds that he doesn’t care if he is playing the part of the enthralled fool chasing after a girl that is so out of his reach. Because in these small instants where it is just him and just you, he feels loved.

“Are you trying to heal me with kisses, princess?”

“Maybe,” You mumble, before offering him a smile that is almost blinding. “I’m good with kisses.”

“Mhm, you are,” For good measure Ivar puts his hand at the back of your head and brings your lips to his own. After a few breaths, he continues, “You got the lips of an angel.”

He manages to make you snort with a roll of your eyes, clearly flustered even if you try to write it off as cheesiness.

“That’s a song, and you know it.”

He moves closer to you, pressing a kiss right over the dip of your collarbones, “Is it?”

Your answering laugh sounds breathy and soft by his ear.

He doesn’t give himself time to think it through before he’s given his credit card number and made the necessary arrangements.

He is calling you before he can think about it and back out too.

“I b-bought plane tickets, and booked a hotel. Vestfold.”

“Vestfold? The same h-…”

“Yes,” He interrupts, although some of his anxiety recedes at the fact that you don’t immediately laugh and hung up. “A week. Will you be there?”

“Ivar…”

This is madness, he is being crazy and impulsive and desperate, but he finds he doesn’t care.

“You aren’t sure, you wouldn’t have called me if you were sure and happy with him,” He presses, hand tightening over the phone, “One week, princess.”

The silence that follows his words is deafening, and Ivar feels like he is dangling over the edge of a cliff, needing but one word to either fall or return to safety.

You sigh, and it sounds tremulous, “What time does the plane take off?”

____

He knows it is not rational, he knows it is stupid and crazy. But Ivar finds himself trying to convince you to stay with him with sex.

Whoever this other man is can probably give you more stability than Ivar ever did, with his anger and his pain and his jealousy. He can probably give you a normal life where the name Lothbrok doesn’t hang over your head with the promises of unfaithfulness and broken marriages. He can probably give you much more than he can.

But he can’t make you feel like Ivar can.

He can’t make your lips -hypnotizing, dangerous, lips- part in ecstasy like Ivar can, he can’t make you moan and whimper and say his name in that sweet way of yours, he can’t make you shed that pretend softness and let you draw pleasure and pain and blood and pleas from his lips, he can’t make you come like he can.

And in the week he gets to have you, both of you pretending there’s nothing wrong with this, both of you satiating more than a year’s worth of hunger on each other’s skin; Ivar does try his best to show you this.

To show you that if nothing else, he can make sure your body will never forget him.

That for all the thing a life with him would take from you, it would give you this, whatever it is worth. His body, his heart, him.

He isn’t a sucker for punishment, or…not that kind of punishment, so of course he doesn’t say anything. He pretends, alongside you, that there’s not a world past this, that there isn’t a choice to make at the end of this brief paradise.

And it is easy, to forget, to pretend.

Waking up every day to the sight of the snow covering the small hotel in the middle of nowhere, with you pressed against him in some way or another; getting to wake you up by making you moan his name, getting to play idly with your fingers as you both look out the window and watch the sun rise; it lets him keep this fantasy alive.

Spending the day and night lost in you, in your scent and your touch and your lips, it lets him pretend the last year never happened, it lets him pretend this is his life. What it always has been, what it always should be.

And Ivar dares think it is the same for you, because your left hand holds no ring and your eyes are loving and warm as you look at him, because your smiles are easy and your kisses are as if the time apart never happened.

For the first time in a long time, Ivar feels happy, Ivar feels -naively, wretchedly maybe- loved.

But, all good things end, especially for him.

And soon it has been a week since you agreed to meet him here.

You wake him up with the delicate and warm caress of your fingers up and down his back, and all Ivar can offer in response to your good morning is a hum as he sinks further into the pillows.

After a moment, he lifts a heavy hand and lets it find a home on your thigh, moving up and down and delighting himself in the way you fidget whenever he creeps too high up.

But because one of you has to say it, Ivar turns his head on the pillow so he can see you where you sit cross-legged at his side, and whispers, “Time’s up, isn’t it?”

“Mhm,” You tell him with a nod. After a few moments of silence, you sigh, “I should have known…earlier. I should have been strong enough to face the truth.”

He swallows down the apprehension, the knot of tension in his stomach, “Which is?”

“I could have never accepted that ring,” You sentence, and with almost as man words as that night a week ago when you called and dropped the weight of the world on Ivar’s chest, now you free him of it. You shake your head at yourself, “I feel like a monster. He went down on one knee, gave me some speech about how he loved me, and how…how he wanted to deserve me; and I couldn’t answer him.

Ivar sits up when he hears the bitter laugh that leaves your lips.

“My boyfriend proposed to me, and the first thing I did wasn’t call my mom or my sister to tell them the news, or…or take a picture of the ring and post an announcement, or…I don’t know, fucking my fiancé!” Your words end with a shout, and you drop your head to your hands, “No, the first thing I did was call you. Because…Gods, Ivar, despite everything, I don’t see the rest of my life with anyone but you.”

Nothing could stop him then from leaning close to you, from having his hand find yours and your fingers intertwine. He lifts your hand to his mouth and presses a kiss to your fingers.

“Do you think it is any different for me, hm?”

This time you do smile, and it looks freer than earlier, and you still look at him with the same softness and the same warmth even if the fantasy is over.

“We are hopeless, aren’t we?”

“You told me once that you wished we could be strangers again, start over,” Looking into your eyes he lowers his voice and promises, “We can do that.”

“We’ve spent the last week in a hotel room together. That isn’t something strangers do.”

He shrugs, a downward curve of his mouth, “Could be. When our children ask, we’ll say we met on some bar while on holiday, and spent the best week of our lives so far fucking each other in some hotel in Vestfold.”

His heart beats fast in his chest because Gods, he is getting ahead of himself, he is being reckless and crazy and…

“That’s not something you can tell the children, Ivar.”

He laughs with you, not so much at the levity of the situation, but at the weight you lift from his heart with the curve of your smile.

When the moment passes, the smile you offer him is the same one he remembers, the excited and scared and loving curve of your lips -tempting, perfect, lips- of that day when he offered you a plastic ring and a promise.

“I didn’t call too late, did I?”

And he gets to kiss you again, this time not in borrowed time, not in fantasy, not in fear of what is to come.

____ ____ ____

I hope you enjoyed, and thank you so much for reading!

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius @xbellaxcarolinax @1950schick @ietss  @peachyboneless​ @encounterthepast​ @maggiescarborough​ @chibisgotovalhalla​​ @fae-sedai​

[sanchoyo]

danny phantom, season 3 episodes 3-6 thoughts!

see prev episode thoughts in this tag <3

-johnny was actually pretty civil with danny and left when he asked! thats nice. also, SKULKER?? HAD A FRAMED PICTURE OF EMBER?? oooo fuck wait had they established they were a Thing Before?? I dont think so. thats weird. its like that country boy/goth girl meme lmfao. I think i am going to choose to ignore this new info and pretend I didnt hear it. 100% unrelated to the jazz/ember fanart I already drew and posted....😳

-LADIES NIGHT EPISODE THIS IS WHAT ITS ALL ABOUT. wish it didnt really center around the guys or them being pissed at them, but. willing to bet this was written by men lol

-THEY ERASED ALL THE MEN??? meanwhile, jack and danny are fishing at. silent hill or something. im glad jack is trying to read a parenting book and making an Attempt. (theyre at lake erie, but, they made it actually eerie...thats fun)

-the girls alt outfits...cute. EMBER MADE A NEW SONG TOO!!! kinda. jazz being one of the backup singers and being AWFUL. NOOOO

-'how are we going to get kitty to blow a kiss?' 'she'll have to think there are still some males in town!' ...i dont know how to break it to you, but I dont know that a 100% het girl would wish for all men to Begone. I think. I mean im not a het or a girl so I dont really know for sure. she Is probably Bi tho. esp having the other ladies in town chanting NO MEN!!! excitedly............(then again, the kiss is to get Rid of men, so, she probably would have blown it at the ladies only if they were actively trying to attack/stop them, so...I MEAN. THE DRESSING LIKE DANNY BIT WAS SO EXTRA)

-I feel like an all female cast ep couldve been way way way way cooler than that was. like. why was it still somehow all about Men. ...anyway. (where was valerie...)

-next ep opens with the observants, and, way way more of them than I expected...existed? I mean I guess them being a council/jury of some kind is what I expected from their first appearance (bc at that time they were basically TELLING clockwork to kill danny, not asking,, so I figured they had SOME kind of authority) but. there were so many. anyway, here goes vlad! letting his own hubris go brrrr. releasing a weather ghost for political gain! #justvladthings

-okay say what you will about him (he IS an asshole) but having an umbrella with his own face on it and more prepared to share is SUPER FUNNY. and him being fanned by huge wads of money by his bodyguards. SO ineffective but so Dramatic. He UNDERSTANDS that if youre rich you need to be. you know. obnoxious and kinda eccentric about it! fuckign hate when rich people are boring about it. I would trust vlad with nothing except to not be a boring rich asshole who wears...fucking khaki or some shit. man knows his Presentation Skills. and that 'V' chair in his mayoral office. is that fucking embroidered?

-maddie get your MAN PLEEEEASSSE. IM SO EMBARRASSED FOR HER. the way jack stays simping for this man. in FRONT OF HIS WIFE!!!! ...my god its like a love triangle. jack clearly loves vlad, who loves maddie, who loves jack. jack fenton is at the very least bi, right................. this is an OBSESSION . 'THE V MAN COMETH'???? i...my god. (also, on a serious note, to have a friend THIS SUPPORTIVE...and still be SUCH A DICK TO HIM (TRYING TO KILL HIM AND STEAL HIS WIFE??) NOT COOL VLAD. JACK IS YOUR 1 AND /ONLY/ HYPE MAN. if someone loved and supported me THIS HARD...LIKE. CMON DUDE.

-STOMP the fucking GAS, JACK

-this would make a great shirt design, looks like a metal band design! we love The Maelstrom

-oh, so vlad did in fact get a mansion in amity park. and its purple! good color choice! not as flashy as a CASTLE or MURDER CABIN, but still pretty eccentric, which I appreciate.

-...vlad knows the difference between picasso and da vinci? in the ep last post where we were watching him fail at conquering every historical time ever he didnt seem to know history well enough to like. be effective...was vlad taking art history at college?? (was he an art MAJOR??? we never DID KNOW WHAT HE WENT TO SCHOOL FOR. I kinda assumed business because in the masters of time ep he was still rich without ghost powers so he had to have..known something about business or something, right...but also, art and or theater FITS HIS PERSONALITY. possibly also something science-y, I guess, but I always felt like he got roped into that, esp how pessimistic he was about the ghost portal in the flashbacks to college, like, i felt like he was just there for maddie and was uninterested/un-invested at the time...)

-THIS GHOST JUST ELECTROCUTED MADDIE (THE CAT) BITCH!! THATS MY FAVORITE MADDIE!!! vlad going after vortex and being ~shocked~ .....WHEN. WHEN WILL YOU LEARN. THAT YOUR ACTIONS. HAVE CONSEQUENCES!!!

-the way this random man with a camera sees the mayor laying in an alley covered in TRASH AND DECIDES TO TAKE A PICTURE HAHAH

*snap* this ones going in my cringe compilation!

-vlad 'if we're going to defeat vortex, we're going to have to do it together!' *immediately dips after dropping danny off in front of vortex* JKASDFHKJHJKN

-DANNY CAN DUPLICATE!!! ...he couldnt even attack with it, but he DID IT!!! INTO (4) OF HIMSELF!!! SO PROUD!!!!!!!!!!

-'THE ROLLER COASTER EMOTIONS OF A TEENAGER THREATEN MY PLANS!' ...0 self awareness of his own dramatic moodiness. incredible, how dumb this man is. its very close to circling around to endearing, if he was less of an asshole. at least its very very funny to see danny shooting him with tiny lightning bolts anytime he's even slightly irritated! vlad you should be nice to danny anyway. this is what you GET

-...making sandwiches and ice cream and playing video games with your nephew is a totally normal thing. WHY is vlad acting like this is the end of the world. if you were a GOOD UNCLE YOU WOULD ALREADY BE DOING THESE THINGS!!! bitch I make my nephew food all the time and dont forget what he does and doesnt like. if u didnt know danny didnt want tomatoes, thats on u. if u, a grown adult, are gonna piss of the 14 yr old by not letting him win, u deserve to have to pay for the arcade machines he ruins because he now has uncontrollable storm powers because YOU THREW HIM INTO A FIGHT WITH THE STORM GHOST. fuck u vlad. paypal me $400,000 while ur at it tho. (also, gamer vlad confirmed)

-VLAD CAN COOK THOUGH???! I assumed he had...people working for him that did that. I mean. billionaires usually dont do that. then again, we've only seen those vultures working for him (and I guess the dairy king was AT his old mansion, but it was never really clarified if he worked there...I think he probably just Hung Out and they Enjoyed Cheeses Together. thats what I think, I dont think a KING would be working for anyone and also the dairy king was nice <3) but then again he would be a private person and we cant have anyone accidentally finding Ghostly Things, so...still, that's hilarious. pour one out for that really cute banana split that got ruined 2 seconds later

-vlad just fucking picking danny up and THROWING HIM AT VORTEX TWICE WITHIN LIKE A MINUTE. JUST ABSOLUTELY LAUNCHING HIM. BITCH THATS MY SON BE CAREFUL!!! HES GOT ORGANS AND THINGS!!!!

-danny seeing those animal commercials and feeling sad is the biggest 2000s throwback so far. i legitimately had to change the channel or walk out of the room when those came on bc id CRY AND BE SAD ABOUT THEM FOR DAYS AFTER. fuck those commercials and fuck that IN THE ARMMMS OF AN ANGELLLL song 😭

-'vlads ego almost got the town destroyed!' yes danny thats the entire episode. the entire series anytime vlad shows up honestly. this episode was just him being really embarrassing the entire time, and, me laughing about it. 10/10 would laugh at him again

-NEXT EP WE HAVE A SHAPESHIFTING GHOST?? I've said it before but shapeshifting is the power I would want when asked those 'what superpower do you want' questions...its the Best power! this guy looks like a homestuck character. ive never read homestuck but thats the vibe

-I love every time we see tuckers family, they are by far the most functional family. and dash has a lil chihuahua!!! named pookie!!! i am crying (I've had 3 chihuahuas, so I am very biased, but...) AND HE WATCHES THE ROMANCE CHANNEL WITH POOKIE. POOKIE I WILL DIE FOR YOU YOU SWEET LITTLE BABY.

-danny can lift a bus! I shouldn't be surprised, but i am proud of my son. hes got lil kid fans. i am going to cry about this

-JAZZ KEEPS A SCRAPBOOK WITH DANNY'S LIL HEROICS AND NEWSPAPER CLIPPINGS!!! we've actually seen it on her floor before, but I didnt realize it was a scrapbook!! thats sooo cute.

-...and danny has to stand there listening to his parents saying danny phantom sucks and is a 'filthy ghost' and calling him egotistical...i am once again stealing their kids!

-THIS GHOST RIPPING JAZZ'S SCRAPBOOK!!! ILL KILL YOU. SHE WORKED HARD ON THAT!!! BITCH

-yes, maddie, the one with red eyes is For Sure Actually Your Son. ignore the, red eyes... (CLEARLY she hasnt watched the other 2 eps where danny has been evil, she doesnt know red eyes= evil!!!)

-'billy fenton'.......................

-danny being stuck as phantom in his own house, no way out is a fucking NIGHTMARE. his parents pointing giant weapons against him and SHOOTING AT HIM. THIS IS A HORROR MOVIE.

-NINE INCH NAILS POSTER.

-this is the most screenshot of all time

-amorpho turning into mr. lancer because hes 'someone no one will want to be around' BUT HES WRONG, I WOULD BEFRIEND AND HANG OUT WITH MR LANCER SO FAST.

-tucker dressing as danny, now I have the full Tucker set of him being sam and also being danny. also saying 'the ghost...uh...RIPPED MY FACE OFF.' and then running. SMOOTH. NOT AT ALL CONCERNING TO ANY PARENTS.

-sam accepts the toast from jack. and then 2 seconds later is like 'why am i eating this.' THIS SHOWS HUMOR IS SO UNEXPECTED SOMETIMES ITS REALLY GOOD. and then the scene after, mr lancer running into his ghost doppelganger and being like 'YOURE GORGOUS' THEN FAINTING. I AM CRYING. AND DASH FAINTING TOO.

-sam disguising herself as danny again to help tucker run from the fentons. but leaving him shirtless in the streets. incredible. 'plEASE DOnt NOTice MY FACELessNESS I MUST LIVE IN EXILE' this episode is destroying me the humor in this show is exactly my brand of corny and cheesy

-the impromtu story made up by danny and amorpho to explain stuff to the fentons. my god they are both such bad liars. but amorpho is a good egg. wish danny wouldnt have said he didnt wanna see him in town again!! I want him to be reoccurring. not that thats gonna matter since I'm almost done with the series, but the idea of this being the Only Time We See him is :(

-NEXT EP SAYS STARRING MARK HAMILL??????!!! hello ! mr . joker....mr. star wars.... I feel like I should be. idk. taking off a hat im not wearing in respect. I shouldnt be surprised tho bc hes in a lot of cartoons as a very good voice actor, and dp has already had a lot of talented ones so I've been looking out for ones I might know, but....mr. hamill....

-sam has her own greenhouse, names all the plants, and says thank you to them (in the languages from where the plants are from) whenever she harvests from them. thats SO cute. and her lil gothy lunch box...

-and danny's lil red fuzzy lined jacket!!! ive said it before but every time the characters get alt outfits im like :D

-danny has ice powers now!!! THATS WHAT FROSTBITE MEANT. HE KNEW SOMEHOW WAY BACK THEN

-THIS SHOW NEVER LETS YOU FORGET VLAD IS A BILLIONAIRE, HUH.

-danny's lil 'holy hibiscus!' first off the 50s batman swearing is hilarious. 2nd. my username is from the flower sanchoyo hibiscus, so, shoutout to ME this ep. hi :)

-EURGH UNDERGROWTH MAKING EVERYONE PLANT ZOMBIES. HIVEMIND PLOTS SCARE THE SHIT OUT OF ME. and this dude made the city SO overtaken so quickly like how long was danny asleep?? oh god

-evil fucked up sam! now the whole trio has gone evil at some point! the voice actress did a really, really good job with making her sound like a zombie...

-frostbite's paws are so so so big compared to danny. oh my god. i want to hug the snow dog...

-the far frozen has an advanced medical stuff!!! very cool. very smart snow dogs

-im so glad danny has a friendly ghost snow dad to explain this new power and teach him!!! this is so sweet. DANNY'S GHOST SENSE WAS A PART OF HIS ICE POWER?? OOOH. COOL. we love a training montage!!!

-danny saying if he cant defeat overgrowth, that he'd want to stay with frostbite...oh my god...do you think this is the first real supportive adult figure in his life (I am NOT counting his parents because they threaten him on the daily even if they dont realize it.) I mean mr lancer is a Teacher, but he was also nice but this is different, but this is a GHOST WHO IS WILLING TO HELP HIM with his powers and also will help him when hes injured and is so so nice and comparatively so much more mature than 90% of the adults in this show!!!! god. dad frostbite is my everything.

-the framing and lighting this episode, and all the angles...they went all OUT and it looks really really good. this is my nightmare scenario, tho. like, FUCK zombies and dead city zones and hivemind shit. and using the humans as 'nutrients for the children' i am going to THROW UP.

-MALEFICENT VIBES WITH THE HORNS AND GREEN EYES! this costume kicks so much ass. sam is now mark hamills daughter, I guess.

-danny's ice powers making his eyes blue!!! thats neat. and him going for the roots underground was SO SMART. i will not stand for danny ever thinking hes stupid, hes SO smart.

almost done with the show... :"( thats a sad thought!!!

[morninkim]

Favourite PCs from dimension 20?

OKAY LEMME DIG DEEP

For simplicity I'll go with one per season just so I don't end up writing whole essays on everyone in the entire show

Fantasy High -

Figueroth Faeth - god I love Fig so much, the way she goes from angsty bad girl teen who's acting out and trying too hard bc she feels scorned by her circumstances and the fact that her life was upended by The Sudden Realisation Of Her Infernal Heritage to legitimately caring and introspective friend who works to better how she presents herself to those around her is one of my favourite parts of Fantasy High + Figayda owns my entire soul (bonus shoutout to Figaydadaine bc I thought about it the other week and Adaine having to come to grips with realising that what she feels when Fig and Ayda kiss or something is, in fact, not only jealousy but jealousy TWICE is very good and compelling and I just think that Adaine Abernant is an ace lesbian)

Escape from the Bloodkeep -

Leiland - YES I'm a lesbian YES I'm a Matt Mercer simp we exist, the way he plays Leiland in Bloodkeep is so well done and I love the concept of someone so devoted that it blinds them to their true worth and they end up defining themself by how useful they are to the subject of their devotion, so much so that it's detrimental to their own mental health. Until they are eventually faced with a situation where they no longer have anyone to please and have to reconcile with the fact that they have worth beyond what they mean to others and also BECAUSE they mean things to others. Also I think that he and Markus should kiss, Matt and Ify should come back to do a oneshot w Brennan that is just that I'll fund it myself

The Unsleeping City -

Sofia Lee/Bicicleta - GOD THE VERY PEAK OF CHOSEN ONE NARRATIVES. She's so fucking DRIVEN and love her so much. The scene where she chooses herself is so fucking good and i've mentioned before that I love that it happened in the same episode as Ricky's big chosen one moment bc just like I love the Pete/Kingston dichotomy I'll NEVER be over the Ricky/Sofia dichotomy of "Man chosen by those who came before him" vs "Woman chosen by no others but herself" + Monk/Warlock is a Very Good combo and Emily Axford deserves the world also. YES IM A SIMP FOR EMILY CHARACTERS IM ENTITLED TO BE. Anyway Sofia's the only one of the main cast who doesn't have any real cosmic obligation to do good in the context of those 17 episodes but she does it anyway and I love her for it

Tiny Heist -

Either Agnes or Bean - first off I love Jess Ross and Griffin McElroy in general, they're both incredibly funny and so great. Agnes' reveal of the fact that she's dying is so heartbreaking and the fact that the Heist is her last hurrah is so cool and sexy of her, we love a morally dubious facewoman. Bean is a delight, the fact that Griffin said "hell yeah" one time and then it became the Watermelon Dojo's motto?? Incredible. He also leads to some of the most resourceful and fun moments in the show just bc of having such WACK Monk abilities in a heist setting which is SO GOOD. I might be misremembering things bc I truthfully have only watched TH once but y'know

A Crown of Candy -

AMETHAR. FUCKING AMETHAR.

He's so fucking good and Lou plays him so perfectly and just,,, the way he talks about his experiences playing Amethar in AP is so interesting to listen to bc you can ABSOLUTELY feel the imperfect dad mindset shining through his performance. The way he's the king who never wanted to be king, the way he's a father who's trying to do what's right by not only his daughters and his family, but his kingdom as well, even if he sometimes doesn't know what that is. I'll never forget the heartbreak I felt as Brennan was playing out the excommunication scene and you can see and hear Lou's pained "No"s as he goes on and.......I love Lou Wilson and I love Amethar so fucking much,,,,, truly if push had come to shove and he'd actually died sacrificing himself to stop his daughters from killing each other, I don't think I'd have ever recovered. There's something about parents who sincerely try their best but never really succeed to the fullest that get to me real hard

I haven't seen Pirates of Leviathan yet bc I was waiting for it to all come out before watching it but I anticipate I'll probably love Jack, Bob or Myrtle (leaning toward Myrtle bc aah hot monster lady.......)

[rrrawrf-writes]

lordy lordy loo it’s been a hot minute since i’ve made an original post, i forgot where the button was

so. some of you may have seen the stuff running around about violetvineyard and mvcreates, some of you may not have. i’m just gonna lay out my experiences here, now that other people are talking about it and now that the server has been deleted. i’m gonna try to present a fair and nuanced version; i’m not gonna include screenshots (right now) bc i’m lazy, mostly.

there are several other people who are putting up way better breakdowns than i am. i just figured i might as well toss mine onto the pile bc why not? but if you’re hoping to hear from me a story about how i’ve been wronged, per se, you won’t find much of one, because i played mainly a spectator role, and never had much trouble there. i will have a vague, lukewarm defense of some of the people involved that other people may not agree with, but again, this is all just the whole VV deal from my point of view.

@nuwuhorizons (i haven’t said how dang much i lOVE your url) and @sapiencenotes have very good receipts and breakdowns. if you want a more in-depth (and dramatic, forgive me for using the word, i’m not trying to downplay this), check them out. @time-to-write-and-suffer also has some great stuff on their blog about all of this.

all righty. so. i joined VV not right at the beginning, but soon after it was started. there was an application process, i got accepted, i was looking for a community to help me start writing more. (it didn’t help, but that’s not their fault, that’s mine.) the person who owned the server was called mina, and on tumblr, mina’s url was mvcreates. mina is a nonbinary Muslim woman of color, a professional who i believe works at harvad and deals a lot with things like infectious diseases, iirc. she was doing a whole lot of work when the pandemic came around, and so the past few months wasn’t quite as active as she had been at the start, both on the server and tumblr. 

the very first time mina came on my radar, before i joined vv, was because she had corrected someone’s typo on a post, and it stirred up a minor drama about “don’t give unsolicited criticism” and “is pointing out minor errors like that okay” and blahblahblah. i ran across that on a friend’s dash, and also ran across the promo for vv from that friend’s dash, as well, and joined bc y not.

everything was p cool for a while. it was nice to meet some new people and some of my mutuals on there. mina seemed like a fun person. she was about a year, year and a half, maybe, older than i am. the first things that kind of started rubbing me wrong at the start was how she would kind of dismiss suggestions for the server than i and a friend had, and how she kept bringing up her age - she would often say things like “well i wouldn’t do that but i’m an Old(TM) so maybe i just don’t get it” and i can’t really explain why that bothered me. i think it felt dismissive, like Younger Folks Don’t Know How Things Should Work. also, like. she kept bringing it up. as if it meant something, as if plenty of us on that server weren’t actually around her age. there was a convo on vaccinations where i wanted to make the point that a lot of anti-vaxxers should be educated instead of ridiculed and shamed, but i never really got to making that point bc she jumped in very sharply and explained that anti-vaxxers all come from a class of people who are generally educated. i didn’t bother saying anything else. 

at the start, it was tiny little things like that. i chalked it up to her personality and mine just not quite matching up. i sat down a lot and examined my own internal biases, bc i knew something was bugging me, but i couldn’t tell if it was legitimate, or if i was jealous and petty, or if i was being discriminatory towards her identity. i still wonder that a lot; i want to be careful that i’m examining her actions here, and not the person who made those actions.

because the other thing that bothered me was that she was perfect at pretty much everything. she was a decent, if not good, writer, from what i read. i thought her “art”/edits were neat, even if sometimes i looked at them going “that just looks like an edit, not your own art, but u kno, edits are art too, so i’m not gonna say anything.” she had a lot of motivation, a lot of ambition. soon, this kind of transferred over into me feeling like she acted like she had to be perfect at everything. i think this is probably one of the more “lisa is just being petty” things, rather than a judgement on her character, but she seemed to flaunt her own skills and accomplishments a lot. not that no one is allowed to brag sometimes! but it was just another layer of “this bothers me.”

then there was the hero worship.

people in the server loved mina. i liked her. i had no problems with her, even if there were a few things i was a little “ehhhh” about. vv got pretty big, pretty quickly, and i assume there was a decent amount of turnover and people who just joined to lurk or sometimes share things in the promos channel or elsewhere. but the most active folks just. they adored mina with every fiber of their being. mina could do no wrong. no one ever called her out on anything; everything she did was hailed as fantastic and wonderful. and honestly, for the most part, it wasn’t like she was doing crappy stuff. some of the praise was well-deserved, imo, but it just bordered on embarrassing for some of these people, how much they just worshipped the ground she walked on.

and she didn’t really like, discourage it. like, at the start, i think i remember her being more modest, but in general, she just let it go, and so did i, bc like. i aint that kinda jerk.

the stated purpose of violetvineyard was to have a community that valued reciprocity. reciprocity was mina’s biggest thing. there was a channel for people to post their stuff on, so the rest of us could browse and read and reblog. i, admittedly, didn’t do as much of that as i wish i did, but part of it was because i do have a life outside of the internet, a memory and attention span the size of a gnat, and because like. 90% of the stuff that people put in the promos channel were things like edits, writeblr intros, wip intros, etc etc, when all i wanted was to just read some actual writing. but that’s neither here nor there. what got hilarious to me, though, was whenever mina’s fervent admirers would talk about how mina was, quote, a pillar of the community. how vv was doing something No Other Writeblr Group Had Done Before. how Important and Special this server was.

folks. i’ve been on here for several years now. we don’t have a community. we have a bunch of little cliques who reblog from their friends and complain about people not reblogging them. noah fence, but come on. vv got pretty dang big, but it was still a small corner of a small section of tumblr. like. sorry, all y’all, but them’s the breaks.

also, this was hilarious to me bc there are several big writeblrs who have been running around long before mina and vv showed up. yet, according to these people in the server, mina had Single-handedly Brought Hope To This Desolate Wasteland.

in the end, vv became just another little clique whose members reblogged from their friends. i don’t want to devalue the good that did come out of vv. a lot of the picture being painted rn was that the majority of the server were scary dog-piling people. the majority of the server were just writeblrs looking to promo their stuff and talk about their writing. unfortunately, few bad apples, bad rep, negatives outshine positives, etc etc. but i think it did do some good re: exposure for a few folks, even tho it didn’t turn into what it could have been. 

another one of the things that was a minor irritant to me was that they eventually started archiving the vent channel, which was probably the most-used channel. that didn’t sit right to me, but as always, i was a coward had nothing to say about it, so i didn’t. the reason given was that there were often things in the vent channel that people might regret being there, so it was periodically archived and a fresh channel started.

so i’m rambling a lot about stuff that’s probably boring and inconsequential. that’s 90% of this whole vv thing, tho, you need to understand that. 

the biggest thing that bothered me about mina, i think, came about from the constant hero worship from her adoring fans. and i know there’s a whole argument to be said about expecting labor from people with marginalized identities, which is an argument i agree with - don’t expect someone of a minority group to educate you or to face trauma or to shut down bigots, etc etc. but by now, mina had a lot of followers in general, and in specific, she had quite a few people who would defend her at every single perceived slight.

she made a lot of those fun writeblr reblog games, like “send me a fruit that says this about my writing.” those were cool, i’ll admit that. but she was super into “you have to send an ask to the person you reblog from, RECIPROCITY!!!!!!!!!!!” and seemed to struggle with the fact that sometimes, people don’t follow her established rules on her posts for these games. she’d complain about it every single time that happened in the vent channel, which, again, that’s fine? that’s what vents are for, it’s annoying to not get cool fun asks when you do these games, but also, that’s life for you. she could depend on her fans to send her plenty of asks, whereas the much smaller blogs who reblogged these games would probably get f-all, half the time. if you’ve gone through nuwuhorizons or one of the other blogs i mentioned earlier, you’ll have run across the incident where mina’s friends harrassed an 11 year old for not doing her ask game right.

an eleven year old. 

and this is my biggest grief with mina. she only stopped her friends from dogpiling people... once? maybe twice? that i remember. and not only that, but there were SEVERAL occasions where she would get on the vent channel, complain about someone who had said something wrong on one of her posts (and sometimes, again, these were legitimate!), and then ask if someone in the server wanted to reply to them. reasons for such ranged from “i’m too busy rn” to “they would probably listen more to a white person than me.”

again. this, on occasion, is not necessarily a bad thing. we cannot expect labor and response from minorities. my issue was that she kept doing this. and sometimes it was fine, just someone who would drop a note on the post or send a polite anon. but this, to me, the whole asking someone else to fight your battles for you? that really bothered me. mina is a grown adult. either ignore it, like the rest of us chumps, or deal with it yourself. having friends support you is not a bad thing - if i was attacked on tumblr and my friends jumped in to defend me, i’m cool with that. but i wouldn’t ask them to, and then not do anything myself.

to me, this attitude just encourages dogpiling. this felt like she was taking advantage of the people admiring her so whole-heartedly, and using them to deal with minor grievances. (again, i don’t want to downplay some of the actual racism and xenophobia she experienced on this website, because there was some pretty sketchy stuff that did need someone else stepping in to object to. but then there was “ugh this person asked me what program i use to make my music and i don’t want to answer them bc that’s rude,” and stuff of that caliber. like, mina, you built yourself a pretty big following here on tumblr, you don’t get to complain when people are trying to ask you questions and engage with you when you set yourself up as a knowledgeable person on a subject.)

i’m going to mention @gingerly-writing because she already made a post on the subject, but there was an instance where we were in the vent channel and watched a lot of mina’s friends send anons and reblogs of a hurtful nature to one person. eventually, ginger stepped in to say “hey, i don’t think we need to keep doing this, they are a minor,” and after she did so, i also jumped in, saying something along the lines of, “yeah, i’ve seen this kind of stuff blow up in another server and end in a really regrettable situation where no one was happy, can we stop.” both ginger and i received a private message from the mods (individually) saying that we shouldn’t police the chat, etc etc. not during that message, but on the vent channel, another mod jumped in to say that the people dogpiling the blogger were also minors. as if that makes it okay, and isn’t actually extremely worrying in its own right.

after that, i pretty much took a stance of “all right then i just won’t say anything at all.” i stuck around vv because i hated myself actually really liked a few of the others in the server, including a couple of the mods who are actually really cool people, not all the vv mods are sketch, and because honestly? i lowkey knew that vv was going to crash and burn sometime, and i wanted to be there to watch what happened. due to the pandemic, and her line of work, mina became less active, and the whole server died down a bit. 

then someone reblogged one of mina’s ‘art’ posts and accused her of tracing. mina’s admirers immediately jumped into action. nuwuhorizons has it pretty well documented on their blog. there was nothing in the server about it, except one of the others said “oh man i saw that and it pissed me off,” there was some minor chat, and then i woke up and wanted to know what had happened, and was told “don’t worry about it.”

so, naturally, bc the only thing i thirst for is water and Drama(TM), i went looking for it.

found it on some of mina’s friend’s blogs, where i found who had reblogged and said mina was tracing, and followed those reblog chains, where several of mina’s followers attacked the accuser and made fun of their name and age and defended mina, pulling out progress videos and stuff of mina’s work. the accuser was trans and still a teenager, even if technically an adult, so that made things a lot worse. mina eventually posted something explaining that she was pencil tracing and had a very cheery, false-positive tone to the whole thing.

things sorta ended at that, but then maybe the same day, or the day after, user hyba made that big ol post about the Big Scary Tumblr Mirror Website Copying All Your Good, Hard Work. mina and her friends jumped on this. they threw it in the server and talked about things like intellectual property rights and “i don’t like how this makes me feel :(” and from there, went in to how tumblr was a terrible garbage site and then mina and most of the mod team decided that it was time to pack up VV and leave tumblr completely. 

pretty much everyone i know were mina’s besties have vanished off tumblr. mina made an announcement that VV was “migrating” off tumblr and discord(???) and dropped another application to join the great vv migration. i did not apply bc i just have too freaking much going on in my life and needed to get out of this for the sake of my own mental health. it was tempting as hell, tho, i will say that. 

a couple things about this - at the time, mina is also having some pretty bad things going on in her family. she was very vague on the details, but i think that really contributed to wanting to leave; on top of the pandemic and everything else, she was probably heckin stressed. but also like. she never called out her followers for attacking her accuser. she never made any sort of post talking about it. she never told her friends on the server “hey don’t do that.” she never took accountability for it, or, honestly, for anything else she or her friends have done that didn’t feel too good. the mirror sites aren’t really a big deal. 

after the server was archived, it was left up a couple days so everyone could grab contact info, etc. during this time, i was checking the ‘violetvineyard’ tag and saw someone post “what happened to mvcreates they haven’t answered my application to vv,’ and i responded with “oh, the server closed down bc of the copy cat sites.”

the same day, i got a tumblr DM from one of the former mods asking me not to give away any details about vv leaving tumblr. it was very politely worded and everything, but it was still just like

okay? vv is over? why are you asking me not to say anything. and it wasn’t like i was even spilling any hot goss, i was just repeating the excuse (and i do mean excuse) mina gave us. 

anyway, that mod is off tumblr, too, as far as i know, or else they stealthin. which is fine, u do u, buddy.

uhh conclusion time, i guess? i have a few scattered screenshots of things, but i’m not posting em bc i’m lazy and also running late for a thing. but really, for me, i didn’t have a whole lot of beef with mina or pretty much any of the other folks on vv. i thought that mina and her friends were a bit too eager for blood, and that really bothered me. i’m annoyed they shut down vv completely, because it could actually have been something great. if mina wanted off writeblr, i wish she had given the whole network over to people interested in running it; instead, what was a good thing for a lot of people is now completely gone, with no existing framework for people to build on. sure, anyone can go make their own network/family for writeblr, but now it’s just going to splinter into a bunch of different, smaller groups, and we’re all back to square one.

but whatever. i didn’t get to see the server go down in flames, instead it just ended with a hasty retreat and a few whimpers, and quite honestly i wished my staying in had paid off.

i do want to reiterate - there were quite a few people in vv who i think are great, and this does include some of the mods themselves.

i’ve also gotten a couple messages from a few other folks who had been in vv who have their own real, real sketch stories, which are making me rethink how i feel about mina and her friends, and all the good credit i gave them. i just wanted to present this bc it’s my blog and i do what i want, fight me.

and if anyone wants to chat about vv, hit me up. i keep things as private as you want them to be, and i love love love talking about this nonsense. Give Me The Deets.

[alit0my]

You know those fanfics, 5 times (something) plus 1. So five times someone on the team taught Booker something. And since it was he who taught. (maybe with OT3) {for example: teaching a language, cooking, fighting with a sword}

hello anon! idek if you still want this fic bc its been so long... but i have finished it! no ot3 this time im afraid, just didnt fit well with where i took this... hope you enjoy!

~

1 - Russia, 1812

When they first found him in Russia, they barely understood one another and had to use Andromache’s passable French to communicate. The Asian woman beside her named Quynh stared at him, as if looking into his soul as he gasped out words of conversation as he recovered from another hypothermic shock. The two men were paired off, keeping a close eye on their surroundings and ignoring the conversation altogether as they did not understand.

”The first thing we will do,” Andy said, handing another wooly coat his way. ”Is teach you a language we can all speak.”

”Like hell you will. I’m to return to my family,” he replied, wrapping the coat around him tighter. Andy shook her head and huffed, glancing at Quynh beside her.

”When you return in fifty years, when your family is dead, we will teach you Russian.”

”Or you could learn better French,” Booker snapped, cursing the entire world under his breath as his limbs shook uncontrollably.

The corners of Andy’s lips curled upwards slightly.

(Back then, Booker paid no mind to this. But now, he knew it was the introduction to Andy’s competitive side.)

It was thirty-eight years later when Booker returned. Andy had gotten better at French, and Booker grumbled at the fact that he now had to learn Russian, as per their unofficial agreement.

He wasn’t half bad at Russian, but he wasn’t particularly good at it either.

~ 2 - Italy, 1850

As he returned to the group after the passing of his son, the last of his true family, Quynh pulled Booker aside and placed a bow in his hands. She watched as he pulled the bow string back slightly, testing the recoil of the weapon as if he was examining its limits. Booker was just trying to not break the thing.

Quynh was scary, and Booker did not want to mess with her.

”Now aim at the target,” she had told him, nodding her head to the tree as she placed an arrow in his other hand. ,em>”Aim, and fire.”

Booker did as he was told.

Booker missed the tree by a mile.

Quynh tutted and put her hands on her hips, before taking another arrow out of the quiver on her back.

”Try again,” she said, almost encouragingly. ”We have time. I’ll make sure you can handle a bow almost as good as me.”

Booker ended up being half as good as Quynh, which they both saw as an achievement.

(He could never be as good at archery as Quynh, but it was the thought that counted at the time. Really, Booker should have been grateful for the distraction.)

~ 3 - Japan, 1894

Nicky was sitting at the kitchen table cleaning his sniper rifle when Booker walked in, still half asleep. Pausing in his tracks, Booker rubbed at his eyes and looked at the weapon on the table, never having really seen it out of its case which Nicky kept stored under his bed in their various safehouses.

Nicky looked up at locked eyes with the youngest, beckoning him over to sit beside him.

”I will show you how to clean this, and then if you want, how to use it,��� Nicky said, picking up the scope and rubbing the rag gently across the glass. Booker nodded and watched silently before Nicky handed him a part and a new rag. ”Gently, don’t rush or you may scratch the metal.”

Booker wasn’t sure how a piece of cloth would scratch metal, but he dared not say. Nicky was allowing him into his space, to help clean his most prized possession.

When the weapon was cleaned, Nicky showed Booker how to reassemble the rifle before picking it up and beckoning him outside.

”We will set up here, and I will teach you how to shoot,” Nicky explained as he set up the tripod that would hold the barrel steady. ”Come, look down the scope.”

Booker could not see a thing, and Nicky gently nudged his head until he gasped, suddenly seeing the tin can in the distance.

”Now line it up, and shoot.”

Booker missed, but Nicky’s eyes gleamed.

(It was something that Booker looked back on fondly as he sat in his French apartment surrounded by booze.)

~ 4 - Egypt, 1948

”Where is your sword, Booker?” Joe exclaimed whenever they were gearing up for a mission. Booker looked at him then the others, who all had a sword strapped to their bodies whereas he only had an assault rifle and a handgun.

”I.. Don’t have one?”

Joe scoffed. ”I will change that. When we are done I will teach you how to wield a sword.”

Booker objected, which fell upon dead ears as the team went back to gathering their gear. Furrowing his brow, Booker looked down at his assault rifle and started to feel anxious. Was knowing how to wield a sword some kind of necessity to be in this strange team of immortals?

(He found out later, the next day in fact, when Joe had woken him up at the break of dawn with his scimitar in one hand and a longsword in the other. Joe was always the early riser, and the most energetic. Booker missed him the most.)

”Here, I will train you the art of the sword,” Joe smiled, but Booker could see the excitement shining through his eyes. ”Try to strike me.”

Booker looked at him incredulously, but swung the blade at him.

He ended up on his ass with Joe standing above him, scimitar pressed lightly on his throat.

”You take too big of a swing, leaves too much gap for the enemy to strike,” Joe explained, removing the weapon from Booker’s neck and holding a hand out to help him up. ”This will be fun. Bonding, if you will.”

”Joe, no one even uses swords anymore?”

Booker ended up on his ass again, in record time.

~ +1 - France, 2020

Booker hadn’t heard from them in six months, as per their non-contact rule, but he hadn’t expected a package to arrive at his front door with his alias on it. Curious, he placed his glass of water (which still tasted of whiskey from the night before) on the counter and picked up the box, setting it down on his kitchen table.

He stared at it for a while, not sure what to make of it as he decided to rip open the box before he could change his mind. Inside were a bunch of letters each with his name written in different handwriting, a few pictures and five small magnets that represented each member of the team.

Booker picked up the first letter from Andy, skimming through the words quickly before the tears fell on the paper and ruined it for good.

’...miss you Book…...Nile’s idea to……..considered your biological family……….struggling to cope……..should have listened to you more, and for that I’m so sorry. You taught me that there is more to life than what we do, and I should have seen that back in the 1800’s and not belittled you for it. I love you Book, see you soon.’

Quynh’s letter was short as sweet, but mainly contained phrases in many languages calling him a dumbass and pictures of him practising with the bow.

’Next time, maybe try to be a perfect shot before you decide to cross us you moron…….I hope you have improved with your bow I gave you, oh wait you left it in England and some historian took it to the museum because it is so ancient…..You better get me my bow back you absolute- Nile has been reading over my shoulder this whole time and now I’m going to write some good things about you…

‘How to start? What is good about you, Booker? You reminded me that not everyone is good at something first go, and that they deserve the effort and time you put into them. You ended up being a good shot and it only took you ten years! The others took twice as long. We will have a competition when you return, so keep those archery skills sharp, my friend.’

The next letter was from both Joe and Nicky, and Booker smiled softly to himself. Never to be separated, those two, and he was a fool to think otherwise.

’Nicky does not want to write you a letter, so I will write for both of us. This was Nile’s idea, sending you this little ‘care-package’ as she called it, but do not think this is an olive branch. We are grateful for you, Book, and since you turned up our lives have been somewhat exciting. Our separate and joint experiences in teaching you things has brought us both enjoyable memories, and though somewhat tainted by your actions, upon your return we would like to teach you more new things as we teach Nile. Maybe you might actually improve on your skills for once.

We both love you dearly.’

Booker sniffled and separated the picture enclosed within the letter. It was a capture of when Nicky was teaching him how to cook proper spaghetti bolognese, after he found out that Booker was using jar sauce and packet pasta. Booker remembered getting scolded all night in Italian, and when he told Nicky he understood, the response he got was ”Good. I should hope so."

Nile didn’t write a letter, but she didn’t need to write one. They only knew each other for two weeks before shit hit the fan and Booker was sent away. Instead, in Nile’s envelope was a tiny slip of paper with a phone number on it, along with some fliers for activities to do around Paris.

’Call me anytime, I’m here to chat. Also, don’t mope about for a hundred years, do something! Learn a new skill! (Okay, that might be hard but just do it, maybe bake some sourdough? You love that stuff!)’

Booker took the magnets out of the box, walked over to his fridge and placed them in a circle with a small click!, his heart panging every time.

Bow and arrow, two swords, a labrys, and a handgun with a US flag.

~

AO3 Link

[starrykids-remade]

first impressions tag

im doing this Now bc i need. a fucking. break from writing. ill die.

i was tagged by @hyyunjinn to do this !! ty!

taggin no one bc snnnnsznsnnn tired

the date you found stray kids: oct 7th!! i got the notif from jyp abt them and. hoo boy

how: hellevator mv had been released and i was ready to Die

first overall impression: okay so i wasnt like. too invested in them when the mv came out and i didnt even really watch the show until like episode six so djhsbdjkasdnh Whoops. i thought they were super talented and i could already tell they were one of jyps Better Groups but idk they just werent my thing for a while but :] look @ me now .

individual impressions—

chan: bitch i thought he was The One like u kno that post that says “u ever seen someone SO ur type that ur blood pressure just drops” that was me. half the reason i stan stray kids is bc i saw hellevator and chan gave me a heart attack. bitch if ive ever seen a boy My Type its Him

woojin: my first impression for woojin was “id die for him” and honestly thats still my thoughts now. ilu woojin u talented angel voiced ass bitch aint ever gonna stop lovin u bitch. also his platinum blonde hair was and is still so beautiful like that rlly was A Look for him

minho: where do i begin i thought his rapping was GOOD as FUCK in hellevator but he didnt really stand out to me too much because of the lack of screentime, but i really loved him in the elimination show. broke my heart to see him and the rest of the team be hurt like that but i admire his determination

changbin: his rapping was so fucking intense and good when he first appeared in hellevator like i was gonna Die i wanted him to scream @ Me like that. but i also was like Haha Tiny Boye when i saw him among the other members he truly is Short 

hyunjin: i didnt really notice him rather i noticed his voice like. his verse in hellevator was prob my fave but other than that i really didnt know he existed hfjkdshfjbsklflsdn but then i watched the elimination show and Hoo Boy. hoo boy. i could also tell that he was a pisces Immediately like there was no other zodiac he couldve been. there was just no way 

jisung: i loved this boy automatically in the elimination show he did his cute ass doraemon impression and i was Gone. thought he was the funniest bitch and that he only deserved maybe half of the teasing he got from the others hdjksfjkdbsf just a real lovely kid who wears his heart on his sleeve yknow

felix: my first impression, like basically everyone else, was Holy Fuck Voice like that was rlly so wild to me. i also laughed my ass off when i found out hes a month younger than me like. baby boy sounds like hes been through puberty twice how does he do it. became real fond of him real quick when i saw how hard he was trying

seungmin: soft boy with softer voice i thought he was rlly sweet and shy looking but. here we are bitchy. hes out here. still a sweet boy tho like holy hell

jeongin: i saw his “boys” shirt in hellevator and i was like “ah. yes. mood.” and so he was automatically my favorite for like three days hes still prob my biggest bias wrecker which :/ i miss ur braces u Baby

[lolbtsaus]

Pirate!Jungkook

So I have finally finished this series, took me like two three months bc I’ve been so fucking busy but I loved writing it so much so without further ado, it’s time for the second half of the Busan line, our sweetest lil bunny boy with the cutest smile, Jeon Jungkook aka kookie

BLA CK HAIR BLACK HAIR BLACK FUCKING HAIR

We all know that Jungkook loves himself some dark colored hair, he always goes back to it but normally he has that dark brown, he had the blonde hair for like two days and I loved it so fucking much still one of my favorites on him in all honesty

But typically he’s got this chocolate/dark brown hair that can sometimes look black but when he has the actual black hair oh my g o d

Just look at this shit it’s ridiculously nice (ight so this one may not be fully black bc there are a couple pictures that look like it could just be a dark brown but it’s close enough and it still makes my heart hurt)

Should one singular person every look that nice is my question bc Jungkook already is 1000000/10 good fucking shit but then you add in that lil forehead peek and the black hair and fucking just take my heart

Like you know the War of Hormone hair or the DNA hair that’s my everything, one of my favorite Jungkook looks to this day is that one log he made during the War of Hormone era (I looked it up, it’s the 141021 one) where he’s got a white shirt, a black bucket hat type of hat and then the black hair with the tiny forehead peek it’s so fucking good idk why I love it so much can a scientist explain it to me bc no hairdo should look that good on someone

Okay so for outfits here’s the thing

I have less links and more of a visual for this so I’m gonna link some other outfits and some moodboard type of things but the main outfit I think would be his white t-shirt black jeans look bc oh lord

This one is the one that’s just perfect in my mind bc look at that shit that’s just a really fucking good look on him like what happened to your precious lil bby who wore all red in the Harlem Shake video and was still pretty big but still lil and smol and we all wanted to just tuck him into our pockets to keep him safe and now bitch’s out here looking like a fucking man who would treat you r i gh t

Like honestly here what the hell happened what are they feeding this kid I fucking blinked and he’s all broad and shit he’s not fitting it anyone’s fucking pocket anymore

But some more ideas for pirate!kook are here, here, here, here, here part two and here (lol this is pretty much the same look as the first one)

A fighter

He runs the training for the hand to hand combat, while Jimin handles the fencing/sword fighting shit (I’m sure there’s a term for it but idk what it is)

I’ve said it about a million times and I will continue to say it bc I’m not over it but kookie is literally so fucking strong the dude was lifting up Jimin at the age of 15/16 in every No More Dream performance they had !!!!

Like why do isn’t this talked about all day the dude was a b a b y and he was lifting up another bby like it was no big deal

And he’s only gotten stronger since then, he doesn’t even stutter when someone decides he’s gonna give them a piggyback ride, he tossed Jimin over his shoulder like he was a fucking ragdoll, he carries these grown ass men around like they’re toddlers so I’m quite sure Jungkook would be strong enough to hold his own in a fight

He’s also incredibly fast which is helpful in a fight bc good luck getting any hits on that kid lol

He’s so smug after taking over a new ship and as he’s kicking all the old crew off of it, he’s just got this smirk on his face and he probably gets sarcastic and cocky and gives them a lil bow as they make their way to the escape boat bc tell me you can’t picture him pulling that shit

He’s smart, he’s fast, he’s strong, he’s got a loyal crew, he’s got a shit ton of ships, he’s pretty much indestructible

And he’s so young when he’s doing all of this so a lot of the other pirates don’t take him too seriously bc they think oh it’s just some kid with a big boat and a couple of wooden swords and he uses that to his advantage

He’s a competitor, he’s pretty damn competitive so it’s all one big game to him, how many ships can he get, how many captains can he piss off and how many crew members can he get

He loves adventure and I think that would be his base reason for becoming a pirate, he loves seeing new things and exploring and I think he would love being out on the sea, just in a ship with his best friends, exploring the world together

Dresses up as a pirate for Halloween and spends the entire night just giggling at his own joke

But you can bet your ass he’s still gonna give candy out to the lil kids who come onto the dock

He just sits on one of the posts with this giant ass bowl of candy that he gets some of his crew to refill whenever it’s nearly empty and probably eats half the bowl himself before the first kid even arrives 

But he sees another lil mini pirate and gives him his hat bc you know what the kid was super cute and so happy about getting an actual sized candy bar instead of the mini ones and he deserves an actual pirate’s hat

He gets so :D watching the lil kid skip away with their new hat

You two meet when he’s docked for a bit to pick up new supplies

You instantly recognize him bc you’d actually seen him before but you’d never talked to him so when you see him a second time, you take the chance and start up a conversation bc you already let him go without starting anything once, you don’t wanna do it again

He’s actually kinda shy?? and flustered that you’re talking to HIM out of all the people around him and it’s actually really cute to look back on once you know just how amazing of a pirate the dude actually is

The same man that’s never lost a battle, that laughs during fights, that just smiles and waves to his opponents after he’s won is now giving you lil shy smiles and acting all cute

He doesn’t tell anyone but you two spends the rest of his time there together and then, just a month later, he’s back bc he “ran out of supplies” again even though they rarely ever go to the same dock more than once or twice

The boys start getting suspicious when it’s their fifth time back there and kookie’s gone the entire time and comes back wearing your necklace around his neck, something he definitely didn’t have when they got there

He eventually tells them the truth, that the two of you have been together for a few months and that’s trying to build up a relationship before inviting you onto the ship with them bc he doesn’t wanna have you come onto the ship and realize you hate him or that you don’t get along

Plus he’s young and in love and one of the hardest things for a young, in love person to do is be away from their loved one so he may make an excuse here and there to spend more time docked and visit that dock much more often than they should

It’s around the sixth trip back that he decides to invite you to join him, after already having told you what it is he does and all of that and you saw yes to coming with him of course

He’s so smiley the entire first night you’re on the ship with him and he clears out a drawer for you and it’s basically like moving in with him you’re just on a ship and it’s just, he’s really really happy

[dciji-blog]

( * shin deiji . )

scanning shin deiji, he is twenty-two years old and read as audacious but hazardous, which explains why he is referred to as the scelestic. before virtual reality he was battling multiple personality disorder and living in japan. he’s been said to look incredibly similar to park jimin, but he’s never seen it. in this new virtual world, he plans on finally taming his temper and hopes to never go back to reality.

trigger warning: multiple personality disorder, abuse ( physical, emotional, sexual ), death, murder, violence, blood, adoption.

heeeeeeey-ho, your favourite friendly neighbourhood loser sky is finally here to talk about her beloved Angel™. she/her, twennnnney & from cest aka gmt+2, a nerd. but !! i’m not important here, my baby is sooo i’m really fckn hoping you guys are down for reading some perhaps confusing shit bc i plan on rambling a lot eeek ok here we go.

ps. i hope no one is triggered by this. if you have a problem with any part of my bio, feel free to contact me but only if you genuinely have a problem with it & not because you wanna be an asshole. ok ty~!!

pss. i know that it might seem Extra, introducing so many dark topics here, but abuse, separation & depression are believed to be among the main causes of mpd, so they needed to be included.

psss. i won’t actually be portraying the mental illness itself. it’s only present in my love’s past.

GANG JINYONG:

of course shin deiji isn’t a real name. shin deiji doesn’t exist in reality. at least not with this face. the name they’d attach to his solemn features back home was gang jinyong. jinnie.

born twenty-two years ago on november 11th in ilsan, south korea, this scorpio was raised by a single mother with occasional, undesired appearances of his sperm donor ( his father, but he doesn’t deserve to be called that ).

he was a result of a loveless act, a drunken hookup that failed to turn into anything more. a product of reckless infidelity. his mom, min seo, was a college senior & the guy, jiho, was the owner of a local pub, a married man with two children. when she discovered that she was pregnant & that he was married & uninterested to help her with the baby, she threatened to ruin his marriage if he did not support her financially.

he did so during her pregnancy. she kept asking him for help even after giving birth ( naturally, bc her parents didn’t want to support her & she had to drop out of college so she had no income whatsoever. couldn’t work bc who’d take care of tiny jinnie then ? ). he found them a decent apartment & gave her a job at the bar. jinnie grew up in that bar and watched men catcall, emotionally & sexually abuse his v young mother night after night. he even witnessed jiho slap her a couple of times when she asked for a raise or complained about the regular customers being nasty towards her.

min seo, bless her soul, was a wonderful mother. she put her child first and would rather starve than let her kid walk around hungry. but during the years of torture she became very mentally ill & she would snap at jinnie during her breakdowns. afterwards, though, she’d fall on her knees in front of the tiny kiddo & apologise, kiss his little cheeks & forehead.

when he grew up, he became a victim of the drunks as well. i don’t feel like writing about that now, it was too nasty.

experiencing all of this first hand, more often than not, jin would lock himself away & daydream about a better life. either a life where he was capable of protecting himself or a life in which he was appreciated. those two were among many scenarios he’d get lost in. 

while he was still young he dealed with some blackouts & memory loss. he couldn’t figure out how he ended up standing in a particular room. he couldn’t remember certain conversations or things he had done. it was a rare occurrence at first, but as he got older & more plagued by tragedies, it became more frequent.

min seo, believing she was doing the right thing, gave jinyong away when he was eleven. he would’ve been taken away from her anyway, since she was deemed an unfit parent & jin was growing up in an unhealthy environment.

the separation made his illness even worse, it really did. that’s when he had the most alts who distracted him. however, all of them merged and then split into two, leaving jin only with jiu & jeaki.

he was adopted by won mina & jongin, who moved to tokyo, japan with him a year later.

he went to school there & was a remarkable student who was especially interested in nanotechnology.

personality-wise, he was more of a quiet type. not shy but he didn’t like to speak when he had nothing smart to say. blunt af, honest. though, still considerate & kind.

JIU:

the only major alt that survived besides his most prominent one, jeaki.

jiu loves fashion more than life itself. sometimes jin would wake up in piles of new clothes & then look in the mirror and see that his hair’s grey or pink   ------   that’s mostly how he discovered when this alt was in charge of his body. jiu always styled his host. other alts didn’t really care about that, but would sometimes sigh at jiu’s extravagant fashion choices, cashmere suits & silky scarves, while going through the closet.

jiu wasn’t delusional, he knew he was not actually a fae prince, but he liked to view himself as one. no one ever praised him, so he took it upon himself to praise himself.

he was created to battle sexual abuse & the depressing lack of love jin was dealing with.

sweet af. pure. heart of gold. god of love. lecherous. classy.

heart-shaped sunglasses. dimmed lights with a rosy glow. tasty, edible lip scrubs. summer.

JEAKI:

main alt. he came when jin was feeling helpless. when anger was bubbling inside of him & ached to be released. he was initially envisioned as a protector of both jinyong & his mother, but soon jin could no longer control him & jeaki became a separate personality with a mind of his own. he started appearing more when jin moved to tokyo to live with his adoptive parents. with a tongue as sharp as a razor & steel knuckles that aren’t afraid to fight back, he failed to manage his wrath whenever he was present.

he was aware of his host & other alts and he wanted to do everything he could to be the most superior alt, often engaging in conflicts with them in jin’s mind even when he was not controlling his body. he managed to consume a couple of minor alts.

he’s not your typical murderous alt you know in media. no, he was never violent just because and he was never aggressive when unprovoked. as i said, he was there to fight back for jin, who was too afraid to do it himself.

thunderstorms. static noise. heavy eyeliner. danger. sore knuckles. bruised skin. jumping out of a plane. taking risks. cats. glares. autumn.

the night of doom: jeaki didn’t have the time to change from jiu’s ridiculous clothes. he needed to go out & get some fresh air. he was angry. mina yelled at jin because of a bad grade, not knowing that he, jeaki, took that test insted of jinnie. jeaki was the one feeling worthless so he needed to go out & cool down. but when his anger management issues combined with a street thug calling him out on his ( jiu’s ) fashion choices & using slurs ( reminding him of his days back at the bar in ilsen ), he could only see red. he started a fight without the intention to end a life, but that’s what happened.

TRANSITION: 

jinyong came back to his senses in the middle of the street with dirt & blood on his knuckles & face, beaten, but without a sign of the other’s body anywhere around him. he had no memory of what had happened, but he was having a panic attack & didn’t trust his adoptive parents enough to ask for help.

not long after that jinyong was tracked down & supposed to be charged for murder but a psychiatrist managed to prove that jin had dissociative identity disorder, so they placed him in a mental hospital.

alone, terrified & clueless of jeaki’s deed, jin cried his eyes out in his room in the hospital, until everything around him started pixelating.

SHIN DEIJI:

present day. no, there was not an epic war between alts & their host in order to determine who’d be the cured version of him in this world. it was peaceful. fragments of jin, jiu & jeaki merged in order to form a boy who thoroughly knows himself, but doesn’t know how he’ll react to anything. the voices from his head are gone   ------   they all speak at the same time when he opens his mouth.

seeing how he’s the perfect harmony of the three boys that used to live in his body, he couldn’t choose one of their names. he also didn’t want to be associated with anything from his past. that’s when he adopted the name shin deiji, deiji meaning daisy, his mother’s favourite flower. he might introduce himself to you as daisy rather than deiji if you don’t speak korean.

depending on what kind of person you are, you will be shown an appropriate side of deiji’s personality. so, when a couple of different people sit down and start talking about deiji, they might realise that it sounds as if they’re talking about different individuals.

he doesn’t trust people easily. he’d rather die than let anyone lay a poisonous hand on him again. he sticks up for himself. he’s his own protector and best friend. he’ll play you before you even think about playing him.

him not trusting people doesn’t mean he doesn’t engage in various interactions with them. he loves to charm his way into people’s lives because he’s no longer scared that he’ll blackout & do something that he won’t remember afterwards. something that he won’t be fully aware of & unable to control.

hooo, boy. he’s so angry. if you’re rude to him, he’ll be twice as rude to you. always wants to one up others. always. if you’re playing a game ?? he will lie & cheat & do everything to win. then lie about lying & cheating. if he still loses, expect a hissy fit.

god. affection. give this boy affection. would 11/10 die if someone cuddled him. especially when he’s being Extra with his raging, burning anger. he’d just ... melt tf away.

loves to party ?? he doesn’t have to take his medication anymore, but that doesn’t mean that he’s going to drink and get high every chance he gets. get those nasty substances away from him. they took his mother away.

he’s forgiven his mother for every single bad word she directed towards him bc he knows what it’s like battling a mental illness. he’d give anything for a chance to see her again & tell her that he loves her.

nanotechnology is still the love of his life & he’s still such a nerd and wants to know what tf is up with this virtual world & figure out how it works but like ... he’s a scared bambi that fears that he’ll get sent back to his own personal hell if he tries to figure out what’s going on.

so rly what he’s focusing on rn is becoming an actor because he has all these FEELINGS that need to be expressed without having a poor individual who’d be hit by that tidal wave. he rly wants to act, he thinks that will help him a lot. the idea of finding roles that would fit each of the personalities he previously consumed makes him all giddy.

pansexual & rly just a sexual person afaf.

so ... basically what i’m giving you here is a screaming nerd who loves to flirt. ok. should’ve only written that. rip.

if you’re still confused: he no longer has mpd. call him deiji/daisy. don’t yell at him. unless you want bad shit to happen ??

if you’ve read all of this, you’re my new best friend & i love you more than anything glrwbgowgo. come plot with me !!