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back-and-totheleft · 1 year

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“I don’t love dictators any more than you do. I don’t like bullies. I hate them.”

I met Oliver Stone for the first time when he came to London for the premiere of his film about US whistleblower Edward Snowden in 2016. We were introduced by my friend Max Arvelaiz, who in an earlier incarnation worked for the Venezuelan president Hugo Chavez - and now works with Oliver. But I've been watching his films since 1978's Midnight Express, and followed the political and artistic journey of his filmmaking ever since: through four decades of features and dramatisations, biopics and documentaries.

Oliver has a reputation as a radical filmmaker in the tradition of Costa-Gavras and Pontecorvo. But as a Vietnam veteran and one-time Reagan supporter, his political evolution has been anything but conventional. It flowed from what he learned from experience about the US, both at home and abroad and perhaps his own mixed US-French background. As Max puts it, "Oliver is an American storyteller with a French sweep of history." And in our regular conversations over the last few years, it's striking how Oliver is still learning. He still reads voraciously and closely follows events across the world - and is of course making films. This conversation gives some of the flavour.

Was the Vietnam War the crucial element in your political shift? It seems to me that you were always a storyteller. Before you went to Vietnam, you wanted to be a novelist and it sounds like being turned down for your novel was the trigger that made you volunteer.

It wasn't that I was seeking any political understanding, it was just about lying. My parents had lied to me-their divorce proved it had been a lie, so the concept of family had been a lie. Vietnam was just clearly another lie I lived through. It wasn't about politics. I came back and the country seemed like a mess. Same thing went for Reagan's policies in Central America. By then, Reagan had been in office for five years. I go down to Central America and there I see another mini Vietnam brewing. American troops were evident and there was no question that they were going to go into Nicaragua, but then it was uncovered through a contractor that the CIA were cooperating with the Contras, and [journalist] Robert Parry, who I deeply admired at the time, wrote a terrific story on it. I began to understand the degree of complicity. I wanted to make a movie about the contractor, and I would say that my consciousness expanded around that period.

So it was after Reagan was elected, not because of your Vietnam experiences. I remember seeing Salvador and the time and finding it electrifying, and of course very political.

Well it was a people's film first of all. I remember I insisted on keeping this scene where Boyle [played by James Woods] speaks to the CIA in the embassy gardens at San Salvador and he tells them straight out in five minutes what is wrong with American foreign policy, and of course that was the first thing they fought to cut. Was the reason you couldn't get distribution with Salvador, but you could with Platoon, was because Platoon was set years earlier, while Salvador was about events happening at the time?

Yeah. But Salvador also had way too much violence, sex and torture, yet it was far more interesting than they were making at the time about Central America. It was about a real journalist who didn't give a shit - Richard Boyle - a truth-teller with big swollen knuckles. So, they said no. But I was a creature of rejection, before and since then. Even Platoon's distribution company never really committed to the film until they saw the rough-cut. And even then they only put up a limited amount of money for a sixteen-theatre release at Christmas.

But it was massive.

They liked the movie, but it's a war picture - a downer to some degree. Then they send out the director who is a veteran and you get a lot of press, and it took off on day one. It was hot for six months.

You were saying that JFK was when the trouble with studios started again.

Born on the Fourth of July wasn't easy either. The studios didn't want to make that, because [Ron Kovic] is a veteran in a wheelchair who gets castrated. Tom Cruise getting castrated is not appealing to the average American teenager. The film is graphic…the hospital scenes are brutal. But again, it's because I always wanted to show the truth. My father used to jump on my case as a kid and say: "Don't tell the truth, you're going to get in trouble." It sounds like you were having that dialogue with him all your life. So where did the truth-telling urge come from?

The truth itches and you've got to scratch the itch.

It feels to me, and this might sound like crude psychology, that you come from an outsider's background in the US. Your mum was from France, your dad Jewish-American, and you describe in your book a feeling of being locked out of the mainstream. I wonder if that feeds the truth-telling and the big-picture political dimension that threads through your films.

That came later. At school I was a conformist. After graduating, I went to Yale. But then I had an internal breakdown, went to Vietnam first as a teacher, came back, wrote a book, and then the book's rejected. So when I go back to Vietnam, I want the real thing. I wanted to see as dirty a war as possible.

You were kind of punishing yourself, weren't you?

I was ruthless with myself. I was suicidal. The whole world had crashed around me when I got back: my parents had divorced and I had nothing to go home to.

I survived and that was surprising, and they threw me in jail on top of that for federal smuggling. The military was brutal, so I got out fast, and I wanted to write about it. I had a version of Platoon very early called 'Break'-I didn't do anything with it. Then I kept writing. I was doing a lot of drugs, and writing and writing. I entered a period where movie writing was more exciting to me than book writing. It was a new form in the sixties, European influenced by the French New Wave. I'm half French, so I'm really digging the mix. And I ended up-thank God—at NYU. They encouraged us to take chances. Sure, they gave us cheap cameras, but all this was very lucky. Most American veterans return to their small towns and die there.

To do that, to come back from Vietnam, keep getting kickbacks, struggle to get the first film made, that must have taken a lot of dedication.

Yeah and a lot of rejection. I wrote ten or eleven scripts and really put my heart into it. Robert Bolt [the great screenwriter and Oliver's mentor] kind of saved my ass in a way. He was English and the English have always been attuned to my work, and he loved a treatment of Platoon I wrote and got me an agent. You need that when you're getting started.

But it took a long time. Overall it took years to get to the place where you were even writing Midnight Express. That was in '77.

What kept you going? What was the drive to tell stories all about really? I mean, the storytelling seems to have been there since you were twenty years-old. Originally you wanted to do a novel. Then you decide to do it in films. And your filmmaking trajectory has covered everything from feature films and dramatizations, like Scarface and Nixon, through biopics, interviews and documentaries of every kind, from The Doors to Snowden. And the politicization came quite late. But the one common thread seems to be the storytelling.

Vietnam gave me the hard material. When you're raised in a sheltered life going to the private schools, very rarely are you in touch with the ordinary person. Until my parents' divorce, I was spoiled. So, experience is the most valuable thing you can have, and most of that is rejection. And that's the world I knew: the world of small Greyhound bus stations, struggling for my weekly paychecks at temp jobs. New York City is also a hard place. It turned very gentrified in the eighties but I remember the sixties and seventies and New York was rough. A lot of reality on the streets hits you in the face, so the people I was talking to…they were all struggling to make it. Vietnam was regarded as a lost cause. People in New York would say: "Why did you go there?"

That's a reasonable question considering you weren't drafted. Why?

I thought it was the right thing to do. I also believed in the adventurous Custer books, and the cavalry and Indian pictures.

It's quite a jump from that to the films you've made over the past thirty years.

It is. I'm sure my father wouldn't recognize me. I think sometimes in life you go to your polar opposite. The question is: did I go far enough? I feel like I failed because I haven't achieved the political changes I wanted to see. You know, all these films I made hit a big note in America, and I was very respected. But we kept going back to war.

No work of art by itself is going to change events. But they do change minds. I was just reading some academic research on how films can change opinions about and trust in governments, in both positive and negative ways. And there's no question that those films had an impact on people's thinking and consciousness, and that feeds into social change. You just can't necessarily trace it in a measurable way. It's very rare to have a Zola style 'J'Accuse' intervention that has a direct effect.

Zola did it, but he had to pay a massive price for it - they wanted him dead. You hear about what a hero he was, not the price he paid.

Did your becoming a Buddhist afffect how you saw your role and experience as a filmmaker and artist?

That really came around during my next movie, Heaven & Earth in 1993. In the story, this woman uses her Buddhism as a way to overcome adversity, and I admired that deeply, and it helped change my own internal approach to life. It's very hard for many people to accept, especially if you are an artist or egotistical or selfish. You have to go with the idea that the world is a lot more important than you. Buddishm is a fascinating exercise for living. I'm not preaching it to anyone, but it seemed to help calm me down.

We could all use things like that.

It's practical. My father used to say, "Nobody gives a beans about you." We're just tiny dots, and it helps me understand my place in the universe. But that movie gave me strength. Her strength was amazing - it's one of my best movies I think. Fuck 'em if they didn't like it. Making The Doors was also liberating, because I have these desires within me to fuck everyone, do drugs...the hedonism. I loved that.

That was the same year you made JFK, which you say was a turning point in how you were treated. You were accused of spinning conspiracy theories. But the sequence of events around the murder of Kennedy is, on the face of it, pretty suspicious. You were saying that you didn't think that way in 1963, but it's hardly surprising that most Americans still don't believe the long gunman story. So it's ironic that JFK was attacked as a 'conspiracist' movie.

The CIA devoted an entire department to Garrison, the DA in New Orleans who wrote the book that the film is based on. But there were so many screwed up details, and it's an unbelievable case where all the prima facie evidence is wrong. At the time of making JFK, I was shocked to be attacked - and how strongly opposed to any kind of investigation the media were. But surprisingly, the film opened and made a lot of money around the world. So, I realized I'd been through hell and survived, and that I need to continue taking chances. I made Heaven & Earth after that, which of course bombed; but at least I was proud of it. Then I directed Natural Born Killers, which is a very dark satire about the media - who I hated at that point.

I don't think you like the media now.

I like you [laughs] and there are some good media people. When JFK came out I used to be invited to these Washington events; with the National Press Club, and I began to see that the establishment, so to speak, was not so honest. It would've been good if they expressed some concern: "Hey maybe Stone's onto something," but they preferred to ridicule me. Ridicule hurts, but you're telling the truth so you have to stick with it. I've believed that since school, because I would always back the underdog. I still remember this handicapped kid that nobody liked in fourth grade, and I encouraged people to go easy on him and we became friends. I was nice to him. As a result, I got attacked by my schoolmates.

So you were always pro-underdog. That seems to be the missing link between coming from a conformist Republican family and then suddenly wanting to tell peoples' stories about injustice and abuse of power.

I even rooted for the baseball teams that were not the best. I was drawn to underdogs.

If you look through your whole pattern of filmmaking, it seems you start with fictional stories and then move into dramatizations, like JFK and Nixon, and latterly more in the direction of documentaries and extended interviews, almost in the zone of journalism.

After JFK, I became well-known all around the world. But when I made Natural Born Killers, I was back to being a bum again, because they tried to pin these 'copycat' crimes on me. The media were saying that I killed people with that film. It was cut to meet the ratings, and I've since restored it to the original version for DVD but you won't find that theatrically. I'm still fighting over this; the same as with Salvador. I'm always fighting. Warner Brothers wouldn't work with me anymore...they didn't finance Nixon because of the controversy. At that point, I became more of a rebel in the industry, which was never a goal for me. I was a famous director, I succeeded. But then I had to fight through the same things I fought with on Salvador for a shot. I became an underdog again.

If these films were not worth making, you wouldn't have to fight for them. What your story proves is that when you make films like that and you've got the power to have a big audience, people try to make it difficult for you.

They [the critics and studios] didn't understand that I was fighting for my ideas. But my ideas became...suspect. So making Nixon was one of the hardest experiences. I love the film. Anthony Hopkins, who plays Nixon, was delightful. It come forty million dollars and it made thirteen million at the box office. We thought we have another JFK, but of course Nixon himself wasn't as popular as JFK. The film bombed. There went my career. Every time I make a film now, I say, "This could be my career," but I do it, because it's worth it. JFK is my apotheosis. It's the most successful thing I've had in terms of fighting the system. Platoon made me more money, and Wall Street did well - even though the studios didn't want to release it, hardly. Again, they opened the film on Christmas, at shitty theatres, drive-ins. This is a longer beef... I'm sorry to pull it up.

It's revealing about your journey. I told my son, who is a movie buff, that we were meeting this evening. He said, one of the interesting things about you is that you had the chance to make films with big budgets in Hollywood while kicking against the system. What you're telling us now is a correction.

Nixon even had my biggest budget and good reviews. I got nominated [for an Oscar] for writing - not for directing. The town was turning against me at that time: "Oliver Stone has too many Oscars, he's a troublemaker..." Nixon took the wind out of me. My tenth film in ten years, so exhaustion set in. After Nixon I stopped.

You took a break from filmmaking.

Yes, and I returned with [1997's] U-Turn, which capped off the three crime films I made - including Natural Born Killers and Savages. There were the presidential films - JFK, Nixon and W....but, one second please. I just have to talk about Alexander, which was misunderstood. Alexander [2004] is the most ambitious film I made. But I was unhappy with the original version because the studios got involved. Alexander broke my heart. The reviews were horrible. But there's a film there. It was released during the Iraq War, and there was a misunderstanding that Alexander was related to that, that he was an imperialist. But it's the opposite. He sees the Asian side of the Greek equation; he did not want slaves. He goes to the end of the world, places where they didn't know what was next. It was a huge undertaking and his dream was to unite the East and West - a oneness. An ideal globalization. It was a beautiful idea.

I heard that one reason Fidel Castro was open to doing an interview with you for South of the Border is because he had seen the film, and was an admirer of Alexander. They do feel a bit differently about him in Iran of course.

I put a lot into the movie, but it was misunderstood. It was partly my fault. It should have been released.

What was the mistake?

Warner Brothers insisted on it being less than three hours and cutting a lot of violence, so the first cut was not me. So, I waited a few years [2007], went back to the original script and produced it for DVD, with a run time of three hours and thirty four minutes.

That's interesting, because the way the media, and social media in particular, has developed, people's attention span has surely gotten shorter.

You have to let the story breathe. I wanted to register who he was, not betray or cheapen him. He is a political hero to me, because he transcends...he unifies. I wanted Alexander to be my Lawrence of Arabia, frankly. I had visions. It was almost there...in other words, another devastation and that leads to retreat.

You finished your presidential trilogy with W [on George W. Bush].

I think there's a lot of wisdom in that film. But it's still incredible the American government allowed a moron like that to become president. When you think about all the devastation, the wars...he said, "You're with us or against us." You can't say that to the world. It's arrogant, and as a result we destroyed the Middle East in a sense. He was the worst president we've ever had. Bush really set an agenda and a whole mindset. Gore wouldn't have overreacted with Afghanistan. I learned that in Vietnam: everybody overreacts. The moment gunfire happens, people freak out, and people get killed. Try and find out where the fire is coming from before you shoot up the place.

Your interview films like South of the Border are a different kind of political intervention where you talk at length with Latin American leaders like Chavez, as you did with Putin later on. As a journalist, what I find interesting is that you still produce these interviews in a cinematic way.

I also did Ukraine on Fire [as producer] which I'm proud of. The reason I go to Castro and Chavez is because they were challenging the American point of view, and saying that we couldn't get away with everything we wanted to. It was ironic that I'm considering people who run their countries in a tough way - no question - as the underdogs. Look at Castro, I mean to hold an island like that against the U.S...but people hear about the films and misunderstand. They say, "Stone loves dictators." I don't love dictators any more than you do. I don't like bullies. I hate them.

Then [2016's] Snowden was your return to feature films - that was when we met with Jeremy Corbyn at the premiere in London.

Yes, he was the sweetest man, and very sympathetic. The Jeremy Corbyn episode must have been very difficult, it was an astounding perversion of the media. Snowden is about intelligence and cyber-warfare - a whole new concept at the time - and a major violation. The US is still the biggest cyber power in the world...but we're crying out about other countries using it. We're the bullies pretending to be the underdogs, and [whistleblower Edward] Snowden proved that this wasn't true. He discovered total surveillance and that the government broke the law. And again, no American funding for the film - everything I make comes from abroad. I shot it in Germany pretending to be in America. So here I am, at the end of my career, and I'm having to make American movies out of the U.S. But I'm proud; the film is good. I didn't compromise - but it was technically difficult because I'm not a computer person. Well...we had Snowden to help.

-Seamus Milne interviews Oliver Stone, A Rabbit's Foot Vol. 3, May 2023

#oliver stone #seamus milne #a rabbit's foot #religion #buddhism #politics #snowden #alexander #vietnam #film journals

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readatrix · 1 year

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(Scheduled to be released November 28, 2023)

I received an ARC of this title through Netgalley. The thoughts and opinions are my own. Godly Heathens is the first book in a series, possibly a duology, about gods cut off from their home world, and in a cycle of reincarnation that keeps drawing together -- largely to try to kill one another, using a magical knife. The main character is Gem, a nonbinary Seminole teen. (To give you an idea of the vibe, one of the chapters is There are no Cis Gods.) When we meet them, they're on the brink of discovery/remembering their divine identity. Those gory, but often erotic, dreams? Memories. They reunite with Willa Mae/Rory, with whom they've shared many lifetimes. We're told early on that the gods, even if they don't always consciously pursue one another, tend to end up in each other's lives, and so many of the people in Gem's life are, well, not people. Or not just people. Among the gods we meet is Poppy, who is a death job with a quirky fashion sense. Has that been done before? Yes. Do I still love it? Also, yes. Every lifetime she's a little more like an animated corpse, for reasons. Gem is a character dealing with a lot even without the whole god thing. They're battling mental illness, like their father, as well as a sex addiction. They were also preyed on by at least one adult. They want to be wanted/worshiped at all times. They're a teen, with all the hormonal stuff, and having a parent to appease. This is a YA title, and there's part of me that would have liked to see it as an adult title simply for the increased freedom and maturity. These characters are both formidable gods, and teens, which certainly can work but it makes them feel occasionally leashed. It reminds me of the scene in Buffy where Anya says, "For a thousand years I wielded the power of the wish. I brought ruin on the heads of unfaithful men. I offered destruction and chaos for the pleasure of lower beings. I was feared and worshiped across the mortal globe, and now I'm stuck at Sunnydale High! A mortal! A child! And I'm flunking math!" None of this is to say the book is tame. There's a lot of blood and gore. Murder and torture. Gem is promiscuous, and while not everything there is spelled out, we're talking at least PG 13. If it were an adult title, it might have been more explicit, but still these topics are mature and the author doesn't pull too many punches. TWs/CWs galore. These gods, even the ones we root for, have their villainous moments, and Gem in the events leading up to their arrival on earth was one of the most villainous of all. The gods connive, they plot, morality wars with expediency. I found myself initially less then thrilled at the (inevitable) revelation of a certain character, but Edgmon managed to win me over. All the gods have a point, even as they're trying to kill our main character. And Gem has a point in wanting to neutralize them. This is very compelling read, though. While I can nitpick some of the logic, or why characters didn't always due the logical thing, I was SO INVESTED! This book ends at a pivotal moment, and I need to find out how it shakes out. There's a god that allegedly is out of play, but are they really? I'm going to be recommending this title a lot!

See original review, and please follow me!

#godly heathens #h.e. edgmon #ARC #netgalley #readatrix review #lgbtqia #queer community #transgender #nonbinary #diverse books #diverse ya

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backtothefanfiction · 3 years

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WHAT BENNY DOESN’T KNOW | Chapter 2

A TRIPLE FRONTIER STORY

Summary: Santiago takes you home after Benny’s birthday drinks. Neither of you could have planned what happens next.

Warnings: Mature 18+ ONLY!! All aboard the smut train, next stop feels station. This chapter features strong language and scenes of a sexual nature, I’m talking watermelon sugar high (oral, female receiving), mentions of sex.

Word Count: 3950

A/N- Here’s chapter two featuring our boy Santiago Garcia. This is the event that kicks off this whole shit show. I had so much fun writing this and hope you enjoy reading it. As always, although I have read through this multiple times, I do a lot of my work in the early hours of the morning so some mistakes may have slipped through the cracks. Anyway... enjoy!

CHAPTER TWO | 3 YEARS AGO

“Ow Benny, you kicked me.” You shouted over the music of the bar that was blaring around you.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry.” Benny mumbled as he climbed back into the booth beside his brother, flinging his arm out to wrap around him, almost hitting him in the face. Everyone at the table watched as Will narrowly dodged his younger brothers fist. “Uhhgg this has been the best birthday ever.” Benny drunkenly shouted as he slumped against his brother's shoulder.

“I should probably get him home.” Will shouted over the music.

“Uhhh buzzkill.” Benny groaned, but he was beginning to lose consciousness and everybody laughed.

“Come on, I'll help you get him to the car.” Frankie said as he began to try and slide out of the booth. You felt the seat dip as he got up from where he'd been sat beside you. You slid into his spot allowing you and Santi, who had been squeezed up together with Fish on that side of the table, to spread out more. “Come on birthday boy.” Frankie said, reaching across the booth on the other side of the table to haul Benny up so Will could get out and they could all go.

You politely got up to give hugs and kisses on cheeks goodbye. Santiago slid across his seat so he could shake hands from a better position without actually having to get up. “You're such a lazy old man.” you teased him as he slid back into the booth allowing you to sit down again when your friends had gone.

“It's my knees.” He said in response. You also said his famous line at the same time, mimicking him and his usual answer you knew so well. “Seriously Querida?” he raised his eyebrows at you before giving you a playful jab in your side and making you giggle. You reached forward for your drink to take a sip of it through the straw, a playful look in your eyes.

Santi reached for his beer bottle he had been nursing most of the night in front of him. There was barely anything left. He knocked back the rest of it before slamming the empty bottle back onto the table. He watched you intently as you continued to sip on your drink, which was mostly just melted ice now. “You quite finished?” he asked you, his eyebrows motioning to the glass in your hand. “You want to get out of here?” you silently nodded your response and he grabbed your jacket from where it had been pushed up into the corner of the booth beside him. You took that as your queue to get up and he held out the jacket for you as he came to a stand, a small groan escaping from his lips as his knees finally stretched out after being sat for so long.

You turned your head back to him as you flicked your hair out, fixing the jacket collar with your fingers. You shot him a smile and he placed a protective hand at the small of your back as he lead you outside.

The air outside was crisp and made you giggly. “Come on giggles.” Santi said as you leant into him, his arm coming around you firmly, leading you towards his truck.

You kicked off your shoes, pulling your legs up onto the seat with you, getting comfy for the ride home. You watched Santiago walk around the front of the truck and climb into the drivers seat. “Really?” he questioned when he saw you.

“What? I took my shoes off.” he let out a low chuckle as he shook his head climbing into the truck.

As he pulled out of the parking lot he looked over to you. He could tell you were thinking about something but he wasn't sure what it was, he was about to ask you when you said, “Can we go back to yours? I'm not ready to go home yet.”

“Yeah, of course.” You were both silent again as you watched him take the next right towards his house instead of left towards your own.

------

The paving stones beneath your feet were cold as you climbed down from Santi's truck. You were feeling a little more sober now but you still couldn't muster up the energy to put your shoes on just to walk from the truck to his house. Santiago walked ahead of you up the path to open his front door. You slammed the passenger door shut and began making your way up the path. The trucks lights behind you flashed as Santiago hit the button on his keys to lock the doors and the truck made a small beep. You had been so distracted by your own thoughts, it made you jump, your shoes slipping out of your fingers, hitting the ground and a small yelp escaped your lips. Santiago turned to see your hand clutched over your chest and he chuckled. You picked up your shoes, throwing one at him. It missed, flying past his shoulder and in through the now open front door behind him.

“Don't laugh at me.” you whined sticking out your bottom lip as he let you pass him into the small house first.

“I'm sorry.” he said, his head tilting in mock sympathy, “I didn't realise that me locking my truck was so scary.”

“Uhhhhg noooo.” you whined as you made your way over to his sofa, falling back on it over the arm rest, your legs dangling over the side. You suddenly propped yourself up to look at him as he closed the front door. “Don't you dare tell the others.” your voice blurted out urgently in panic as he turned to face you.

“Sorry too late.” Santiago said reaching into his pocket for his phone.

“Santi NO!” you squealed, flying off the sofa, running to tackle the phone out of his hand. He mocked you by lifting it above his head so you couldn't reach it. You continued to laugh between fake noises of struggle as you played along. “Santi give me the phone.”

“Nope. Not happening.” he mocked, pushing your arms down with his free hand.

“Santi, give me the phone.”

“You want it, just take it.” he said, his hand never lowering. He laughed at you as you continued trying to stretch up for it. You even moved around to try and climb up his back to get it. He kept passing it between his hands away from your grasp.

You finally gave in with an exasperated grunt, stepping back, placing your arms across your chest. “Fine.”

“Fine?” he questioned, his eyebrows rising.

“Negotiation time.”

“Ahhh there it is.” he says going to take a seat on the arm rest of the sofa.

“What's it gonna take for you to not tell the boys.”

“Hmmmm....” he brought his hand up to his chin, playing along. You began to take a few steps towards him as he thought over his demands. “How about a kiss?” he said catching you off guard and making you stop in your tracks.

He watched as you thought it over. “Fine.” you quickly conceded and began to step forward to give him a quick peck.

“Uh, Uh, Uh.” he said holding a hand up in front of you to stop you. He could read you like a book. “A proper kiss. It has to last at least 7 seconds.”

“Why 7 seconds?”

“Dunno seems like a good enough time for a kiss to last. Any longer for a single kiss feels weird and any shorter, well that's just not a proper kiss.” You take a moment to think over his logic. You'd never kissed any of the guys before, not that you hadn't thought about it. I mean, they were gorgeous. You had just never considered any of them being interested in you back in that way. Then a thought came to you, 'was this Santi's way of making a move?' You shook the thought away, this was Santiago 'Pope' Garcia. This was just him being his usual charming self and doing whatever it took to get a rise out of you.

He raised his eyebrows as if to indicate he was waiting and you quickly checked yourself realising you were getting way too in your head about this. “Fine.” the word fell out of your mouth before you even realised what you had actually just agreed to. You took a final step forward closing the space between the two of you, your body reacting quickly, not giving you a chance to back out.

Your eyes followed him as he stood up, his hands finding a place on either side of your face. “Remember, 7 seconds querida, I'll be counting.” he raised his eyebrows at you. Your head gave a slight nod before he was guiding your lips towards his own. Your eyes closed instantly on contact and your body softened. His lips were soft, moulding against your own like little pillows. They were the perfect temperature, not too warm or too cold. You inhaled deeply through your nose wanting to take in his sent now he was so close and melt into it. You reached your hands up, letting them rest on his arm muscles for support.

Santiago felt you relax against his fingers, the corner of his mouth pulling up into a smile ever so slightly. His brain stopped keeping track after only 4 seconds. He moved his lips slightly, trying his luck, wanting to deepen the kiss. He inhaled through his nose triumphantly when your lips followed suit. His hands, either side of your face, became tenser as he pulled you even closer into the kiss, his lips and their movements becoming firmer. He almost lost it when a small gasp escaped your mouth.

He boldly took a step back, guiding you with his hands and lips as he pulled the two of you back towards the sofa. You both paused as the backs of his knees hit the couch cushion behind him. You broke the kiss, opening your eyes to look at him but didn't pull away. You bit your bottom lip slightly as you looked into his eyes, taking a moment. 7 seconds had clearly long passed, but the look in both your eyes was clear, neither of you wanted this to stop.

You boldly closed the distance between your lips again, the movement of your lips becoming more intentional as a slight tingle took over them. He let his knees give way and he pulled you on top of his lap onto the couch, your knees finding a place either side of his legs. You felt the tip of his tongue graze your bottom lip, asking for entry and the corners of your lips worked their way into a smile as you happily opened your lips wider, your own tongue coming out to meet his somewhere in the middle.

One of his hands came down to rest on your thigh, his fingertips grasping at the flesh at the edge of your skirt. A rush flowed through your body, ending with a flutter and warmth between your legs. Your body took over then as you slowly began to grind down onto him and his breathing hitched slightly in response. Your lips passionately fought one another for dominance as his hand worked its way up your thigh until it found a home on your ass, flicking the back of your skirt out over his knees. His grasp became firmer as he pulled you closer into him allowing you to feel his growing erection beneath you. You pulled your lips away to let out a gasp. Santi's lips never left your skin as he dragged them across your jaw before using his hand that was still placed at the side of your head, to tilt it back allowing him access to your neck as you breathed in quickly.

Your hands found a home around the back of his neck, your fingers carding through his hair. “Fuck querida.” he growled into your neck as you used your new hold to really grind down into him. You pulled back slightly and he looked up at you from your new position with hungry eyes. The hand he had still had at the side of your head, slid down your body to find a home on your other thigh, before it too worked its way up your leg and found a home on your other ass cheek. Your forehead rested against his as you both gazed into each others eyes, panting heavy, as he used his hands to continue to roll you against his erection.

Your breathing hitched and you let out a moan as the friction from his jeans rubbed against your clothed clit in just the right way. His lips latched back onto yours hungrily, stifling the noise. You could feel the heat between your legs rising, your vagina fluttering with stimulation. Santiago's fingers ghosted under the elastic of your underwear that covered your ass cheeks, pulling them apart, making you both aware of just how wet you'd become. Santi's lips pulled tight with a sneer, his hips rolling up to meet yours. “Fuck princessa, I want you so bad.” he snarled against your lips.

You're head rolled back in bliss as a response to his words and he began to attack your neck again, his teeth nibbling gently at the flesh before smoothing it over with his tongue and lips. You gasped. “You want it, just take it.” you repeated his own words from earlier back at him breathily.

“Fuck.” he exclaimed before reaching a hand to your face, forcing you to look at him. “You serious?” he asked questioningly. You sucked your lips into your mouth as you gave him a small nod, your eyes blown wide. “Fuck.” he mumbled again to himself before latching back onto your lips, the moment you had relaxed them again.

You felt the world suddenly shift as he lifted you up and flipped you around, sitting you on the couch. He removed his lips from your own, kissing down your jaw. Your head relaxed against the back of the sofa, your eyes closing in bliss, as he continued to move his lips down your neck. You felt him shift backwards as he knelt down on the floor in front of you, his hands finding a home on your hips as he buried his face into your chest. His teeth and lips nibbled and sucked at the flesh as his hands moved down from your hips, sliding down your thighs before moving up your skirt. He hooked his fingers around the waist band of your underwear and began pulling them down. He pulled his mouth away from your breasts. “I want to taste you querida.” he said as he removed your underwear from your legs.

You tilted your head down to watch him as he threw your underwear behind him, his now free hands moving back up your legs to lift up your dress. “Holy shit.” he said as he got a full look at your pussy already wet and ready for him. “Just when I didn't think you could get any more perfect.” he said leaning forward to nip at the inside of your thighs. He shifted his hands on your hips and pulled you closer to the edge of the sofa, closer to his waiting mouth. His breath was warm against your lips and you squirmed slightly in anticipation. It wasn't much, but it was enough for Santiago's grip on your hips to become firmer, holding you in place.

“Oh fuck.” you cried out as his tongue suddenly caught you by surprise, licking a stripe upwards through your folds, the tip of it flicking against your clit before he sucked it inbetween his lips. Your response made him growl deep in his throat, the vibrations passing through his lips, buzzing against the sensitive bud. You rolled your head back again as you let out a moan.

Santiago pulled away slightly, adjusting himself, before reattaching his mouth to your pussy again. “Oh my god.” you moaned, one hand coming to rest on his head, your fingers lacing between the curls, as his tongue continued to explore you.

You stayed like that for a few long minutes, Santiago only using his tongue to ravish you. His pressure and technique constantly changed, working you up slowly making your breathing heavy. Every now and again he'd pay extra attention to your clit, flicking it quickly with the tip of his tongue before once again sucking it in between his lips, over stimulating you just enough to make you squirm but never long enough for you to find any actual release. The third time he did that you decided you'd had enough. As he released your clit from his lips with a small pop you grabbed his curls tightly forcing him to look up at you. “Stop teasing me.” your voice was commanding. A shit eating grin spread out across his face and he let out a small chuckle.

“As you wish.” he raised his eyebrows, teasing you once more. You were about to bite back with another comment when you felt two of his fingers thrust into your wet core.

“Fuck.” you squealed, more than satisfied with finally having something to actually fill the aching hole. Santi chuckled again before licking your clit back into his mouth once more.

His fingers began to move agonisingly slowly as he gently stretched you out, his mouth still preferring to do the bulk of the work as his tongue focused on your clit. As he curled his fingers against the inside walls of your dripping cunt, he could sense you growing restless. Your breathing was getting shallower and your moans becoming ever more insistent as you felt him drawing your orgasm from you slowly. Santiago could feel you beginning to clench around his fingers and he began to move them faster. He pulled his head back, replacing his tongue with his thumb, circling it around your clit. “Come on baby, I want to see you fucking cum for me.” he said as he sat himself up on his knees.

You latched your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you, capturing his lips in a passionate kiss. His fingers curled up into you even more as he adjusted their speed making you moan into his lips. You pulled your mouth away from his, pressing your forehead firmly against his own, panting furiously, your mouth hanging open, unable to form words. Your hips jerked and your pussy clamped around his fingers as your orgasm took over your entire body. “O-OH F-Fuck!” you stuttered out, finally finding your voice again and it made Santi grunt in satisfaction, a large smile breaking out over his face as he watched you come undone.

Santiago's fingers slowed slightly, helping you work through your release, his other hand pushing your hip further into the couch, holding you down, grounding you. Your lips found one another again as your heaving body attempted to relax once more. Santiago's fingers came to a stop completely, pulling out of you as he felt the final waves of your orgasm leave your body. “Fuck, that was so fucking beautiful.” he exhaled into your lips between kisses. “I have no idea what I did to deserve that, but I want to do it again.” he said his head slumping into your breasts and you giggled.

“I think that can be arranged.” you said playfully.

He lifted his head up to look at you again. “Right now?” he asked, tilting his head. A massive grin broke out over your face.

“Sure...” you started, “-but, not before I've taken care of you.” Santiago could have sworn he'd died and gone to heaven. He hung his head, grinning to himself as you climbed off the sofa and began making your way towards his bedroom. “Hey you coming or not?” you called back down the hall to him. God this was gonna be the best night of his life.

------------

You had woken up in Santiago's house the following morning to find yourself in bed alone. You used the extra space to stretch out your muscles after a long night of bliss. You smiled to yourself, the memory of the five orgasms Santiago Garcia had pulled from your body, still fresh in your mind. It had been a passionate night full of full body massages and cuddles between fucking. Both of you wanting to make the most of this moment, neither of you sure when you'd get the opportunity again. You both knew you were leaving the country on separate missions in a matter of days.

“Santi?” you called out into the quiet house. There was no response. You furrowed your brow as you climbed from the bed to search for him.

You picked up the clothes you had been wearing the night before and put them on as you padded barefoot around his house. “Santi?” you called out again. He wasn't there. You grumbled to yourself. “Unfucking believable.” you said as you searched the living room for your underwear. “I can't believe he'd just fuck and dash and leave me alone in his own fucking home.”

You found your jacket, searching the pockets for your phone to see if he'd even left you a message. Nothing. You began constructing a strongly worded text message when the sound of the front door unlocking behind you, made you turn around.

Santiago froze in the doorway at the sight of you in his living room. “Oh you're up.” he said. “I didn't want to wake you.” In his hand was a small tray with two cups of coffee in it and clutched desperately in his fingers below it was a large paper bag. “I didn't have anything in, so I popped up the road to grab us something to eat.” he continued, pulling his keys out of the door before kicking it shut with his foot.

You quickly pressed the backspace button on your phone, suddenly feeling foolish for thinking Santiago would treat you the way you thought he had. “You okay?” he asked as he made his way over to a small dining table to place the coffees and bag down.

“Uh, yeah.” you said blinking away the startled expression on your face. He held out one of the coffee cups for you and you tentatively stepped across the room to take it from him. “I'm sorry.” you said shaking your head. “I thought you'd...” your voice trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

“You know I'd never do that to you right?” he said, his eyebrows furrowed. “I mean even if last night hadn't been the best sex of my life.” he paused a moment as he searched your face. “You don't regret it do you?”

“No. No of course not.” you quickly said, feeling the need to defend yourself.

“Good.” he said, turning to reach into the paper bag. “You like croissants right?” he asked pulling one out and handing it to you.

“Yeah, I love croissants.” your voice was soft, a small smile breaking out on your face. You couldn't believe he remembered. “Uh hey Santi?”

“It's okay, I won't say anything to the boys about last night.”

“Thank you.”

Santiago had driven you home after breakfast. You laughed and joked the whole way home, never once talking out loud about the great night you had shared together, but you both kept it at the fore front of your minds, replaying it again and again.

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@icanbeyourjedi @theshiningharmony @darnitdraco @kesskirata @wyn-dixie @rosiefridayrogersunday @actual-spawn-of-satan @clydesducktape @asta-lily @honey-hi @heythere-mel @heidi-toevs @wigofokoye @choricenter @goodgriefitsawildworld @lostgirlheather @d0uwannkn0w @justdrawings101 @nicotinebirds @bisexualolympus @babyratt19 @cookiecat22 @peterhollandkait @a-bang-for-your-bucky @asta-lily @codenamewife @lazyunknownwerewolf @emmy626 @natura1phenomenon @fanfics-that-hit-my-feels @fangirl-316 @thisisthewaytofiction @rosiefridayrogersunday-reads @aficwhore @slayerx147

#triple frontier #triple frontier x reader #santiago garcia #santiago pope garcia #santiago garcia x reader #frankie morales #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales x reader #will miller #william ironhead miller #will miller x reader #benny miller #what benny doesn’t know

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s11e17 · 3 years

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popping in to say i'm sorry to hear that and also your writing is so, so good. i get chills every time i read your work. got any excerpts or tidbits you'd like to share? anything you're especially proud of in past or current works?

wahh thank you so much anon! <3 <3

right now i'm kind of pleased over this little bit in the big bang fic - dean can't say "i love you" to cas, so instead, he asks him if he's ever been to the grand canyon.

Cas’s mouth tilts up sleepily, would be a smile if half of it wasn’t squashed against the pillow. He’d say it now, if he could, the thing that Cas deserves to hear, the thing Dean has never told anybody in his adult life.

Instead, he asks, “Have you ever been to the Grand Canyon?”

also i started writing this like 15k pwp (the plot is basically that dean and cas keep having sex in dreams, aka put up your dukes but not as good) but i feel like it'll be ages before i actually finish it so here are the first two scenes (mostly under the cut bc its like 1600 words lmao):

The few times Castiel has been put under by a djinn, he hasn’t felt particularly disturbed by it. Dean flinches when djinn are mentioned. Sam is deeply distressed when the possibility of unreality is discussed. But Castiel is not so committed to this distinction as the Winchesters are.

Yes, undoubtedly, there are things that are real, and things that are, well, unreal. He likes the prefix un-. It implies a sense of reversal; undoing. Something is real, and then made fiction. Fiction, of the Latin fingo: to make. To invent. To create.

Things are, or they are not. If they are not, then they’re nothing — unless they’re something, in which case, they are. So on and so forth. This is to say, a djinn dream must be as real as Dean’s smile: both created and natural at once. Nature, creation, it is. I am that I am. We are.

This must surely be why Castiel is satisfied with being, when it comes to his love for Dean. Isn’t it enough to create? To speak, and to therefore move from nothing to something? From unformed feeling to articulated truth, Castiel has heaved himself down to Earth from out of the sun more times than he can remember. Dean is his lodestone, and Castiel dreams of him often. It is enough.

Sam’s the one to ask him, in the end. Castiel supposes that makes sense. Dean’s always aimed his comfort at Castiel’s shoulders and his stomach, offering back pats and warm meals, as if even his hands can’t meet Castiel’s gaze.

Sam invites Castiel out to the roof of the bunker to look at the sunset, while Dean is out buying supplies for his tune-ups from the 24 hour mechanic shop he likes to visit when the usual customers aren’t around. Castiel knows this because Dean once told him, once said that he liked to go when the guys were just “shootin’ the shit,” so to speak, liked to roll up with Baby and have them look her over and tell him he’s done a good job. Castiel knows he likes the camaraderie of it, likes having men touch his shoulders and slap his ass the way men do, the way Castiel does not.

So Castiel and Sam are on the roof. “It’s beautiful,” Castiel says.

“It’s real,” Sam says, as if in reply.

“Yes,” Castiel agrees. “It’s that, too.”

Sam sighs. His cheek twitches, and he looks at Castiel. His body is so big— that’s what Castiel thinks, whenever he looks at Sam Winchester. So much goodness, in that broad and wiry body— how could anyone beat him down? Castiel’s heart clenches with love for his brother, because that’s what Sam is to him. “You know— you know this is real, right?” Sam asks. “You know it’s not— you’re not— you’re not in the djinn— in the dream anymore.”

“I know.” Perhaps it’s some angelic power, which makes Castiel so certain of his place. “I know where I am.”

“Good. That’s good.” Sam sits back in his chair, then. “Do you— do you wanna talk about what you saw?”

It’s kind of Sam to phrase it that way. Dean would’ve asked him directly. He would’ve said, What did you see? And Castiel would’ve had to tell him.

Maybe that’s why he didn’t ask. In any case, Castiel says, “I’m happy to tell you if you’re curious.”

Sam huffs out a laugh. “Damn,” he says, “you’re well-adjusted.”

Castiel smiles, too. “I don’t have much to hide from you, Sam,” he says. And he thinks of Dean, who surely must know— who must feel the weight of Castiel’s desire every day. Dean sees how careful Castiel is. He sees Castiel’s hesitance to touch him, sees Castiel’s eyes shining when Dean makes dinner for him, and knows the depth of Castiel’s feeling. The depth of Castiel’s feeling drives Dean to the 24 hour mechanic shop whose men can give Dean what Castiel can’t.

But Dean comes home to Castiel, too.

“Okay,” Sam says, “sure. If you’re really okay with it, then yeah, I’d— I’d love to know what an angel dreams about.”

Castiel wonders how to say it. “We had a house,” Castiel starts, “me and Dean.”

It was a small house. Castiel remembers that vividly. It was tall enough to feel comfortable, but with only a single floor. Two bedrooms— their room, and a guest room. Roof access. It was the kind of house where you could bump shoulders with someone in the kitchen easily, the kind of house that built intimacy. Castiel remembers Dean standing in the back door with his coffee, face turned up to the sun, as he did every morning. He was so beautiful. He’d had a smile on his face, an easy and gentle smile. He’d taken a sip of his coffee, and said, glad we started shellin’ out for the good stuff, Cas, because he knew Castiel was behind him. After so long together, Dean could trust that Castiel would always want to watch him in the morning sunlight, freckles coming in across the bridge of his nose. Some days, Castiel would kiss his shoulder, and say, You are who I cherish most in my life. Do you know that? and every time, Dean would say, Yes, sweetheart. I know.

“We were so happy,” Castiel whispers. It’s all he can think to say. He looks at the sunset. Dean will come home in an hour with new parts for the ‘58 in the garage and a spring in his step, and Castiel will say, Welcome home, Dean, and Dean will say, Thanks, man. They will sleep in separate rooms. Dean has no need for the kind of love Castiel dreams of. Dean is already as happy as he will ever be. In his own way, in the way Dean has outlined with his words and his body, Dean has delineated what it is that he wants and what it is he finds unnecessary. Castiel is honored to fit almost entirely into what Dean wants. The only thing he wishes is that he could jettison the remains.

“Did you— did you know you were in a dream?”

“The whole time.”

“And you—” Sam cuts himself off. “Jesus. That’s— wow. Did it, uh… I mean, what did you feel?”

Castiel considers the question. “I think a better way to phrase it is that I knew it… I knew it wasn’t material. That what I was experiencing was a construction. But it’s not… that distinction isn’t meaningful to me, the way it likely is to humans.”

“No shit,” Sam barks, too aggressive to be a laugh. Castiel looks at him. He’s hunched over, knee wiggling. “It’s— it’s important to me to— to— to know what’s real. That means something to me. Being certain about what the truth is.”

“I understand.”

“But I can’t know,” Sam says, and he looks at Castiel. Half-chuckling still, he says, “I think about it every day, but I can’t know. And you do know, but you don’t care. How fucked is that?”

Castiel’s mouth twitches, but he isn’t happy. He knows Sam isn’t either. “I wish I could give you my certainty,” he says, and Sam looks away. “All I can say is that you are real. I see you. I sense you, in all ways.”

Sam nods. He breathes, deeply, and asks, “Do you miss it?”

Castiel doesn’t pretend to misunderstand. Does he miss his house with Dean, the warm sunlight through the bay windows, the way Dean’s hands would slide over Castiel’s thighs in the front of the Impala? “No,” he says, because he thinks also of Dean’s bunker kitchen chili, and his unfettered delight at cowboy movies. “No, I don’t think so. Once — you remember, with God — once Dean asked me what about all this was real.”

“Yeah. I had the same question.”

“I told him we are.”

Sam exhales. “Oh.”

“Maybe that’s why it doesn’t matter to me,” Castiel realizes. “I know that Dean and I are real, that our friendship is— is a truth which has shaped our paths, in all ways. Whether it’s a djinn dream or a material place, I know the truth.”

Sam nods, considers it. Eventually, he asks, “What made you wake up?”

“I tried the moment I first realized,” Castiel says. “And again, a few— what I perceived as a few weeks later. That was when you found me. The first time I was too weak to escape on my own, and the djinn captured me again.”

“Shit, Cas,” Sam breathes. “You— you— you did it twice?”

“I’ve killed more often for less,” Castiel says. “Killing myself was easy.”

Sam doesn’t ask. Perhaps they’ve all tallied each other’s body counts. Castiel wonders if Sam keeps a list of all the people Castiel has killed.

Instead, Sam says, “Well. Here’s a— okay. The distinction between dreams and real life doesn’t matter to you. I get that. My question is, is it right to say that the material world has— that it’s primary, I guess?”

It’s interesting, to attempt to apply dialectical materialism to an angel. But perhaps faithful to God’s original purpose. “You’ve seen Heaven,” Castiel says, working it out as he says it. “It’s nothing but memories. Consciousness. You’ve seen Hell, too.”

“Yeah.”

“The only way to describe these places is through metaphor. A hallway. A cage. Ripping, tearing. I think that tells us that Earth is where true creation happens. No matter what Chuck says or does, you create your own destiny. Here.”

“Shit.” Sam shakes his head. The sun has gone down; now, Sam and Castiel are accompanied by twilight mosquitoes, by stars coming in up above. “We make our own choices, huh.”

“We have to.” That’s perhaps what was wrong with the djinn dream, the reason why Castiel couldn’t stay there. It had nothing to do with whether it was real or not. It was about choice. That Dean in that back doorway of that sunlit house must have had no choice — because this Dean, his Dean, would’ve chosen otherwise.

#asks #anon #suicide tw #(fictional suicide to get out of a djinn dream)#agoodsoldier fic

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aeondeug · 3 years

Text

So while I was reading GtN and HtN I occasionally stopped to be like “Wow, it’s great how these can be just so gay!” And like. That is really great. Super great. I love that about them. But I also remember at least once stopping and going “Wow, it’s great that there’s no homophobia here!” And like at the time I just kind of nodded along to myself. Around when I just finished GtN, I remember being very fond of the bit after the book with like the guy explaining like. The deal with necro/cav relationships in The Media and throughout history and how actually none of these things have ever been romance. This is just a pure relationship, unaffected by naughty things like ROMANCE. WHY DOES EVERYTHING NEED TO BE ROMANCE?! shouts the author of this paper. And I laughed at this. Because it reminded me a lot of people who do this shit with queer love. They do it with history and just go “Why does Sappho have to be gay, why can’t she just have passionate feelings for her BFFs”. Which is mindbogglingly stupid to me and anyone who has so much as LOOKED at some of the poem fragments. But like people do say that shit. And they do this a lot over like queer anything in fiction unless it like punches you in the face with rainbows immediately. “Why do Bubblegum and Marceline have to be gay? They’re just friends!” is a take that I legitimately saw on the day of the finale. And not just once. I saw it a few times. And I’ve seen that happen over so many ships in so many things, whether or not the ships end up canon. “Why does it have to be gay?” and the specific sort of outrage over it I’ve seen in essay length posts is just common, and that sort of outrage reads very similar to the argument that dude made about necro/cav relationships. It reads like that and close enough so that I made a joke about it even. I didn’t think too, too much on this at first though because I mean. We have Abigail and Magnus. They’re right there. A man and a woman, a husband and a wife. So like I was able to simultaneously go “omg it’s just like those why can’t they just be friends WHY DOES IT NEED TO BE GAY people” and also “wow it’s nice that there are spooky negative queer experiences of SADNESS here”. Which has got me thinking. Ok. So we have that essay. Now what else do we have in the books? I suppose could point at the entirety of Gideon and Harrow’s just furious refusal to admit that they might actually be in love with one another. Even though it appears to be obvious to literally everyone else in the galaxy. And is obvious to the readers. Hell, Gideon even has a moment of feeling like she needs to tell Harrow something the day before she dies. Something which is heavily romance coded, I don’t know the word for it. But like a “Wow I feel a need to tell them something and it’ll be my last shot” before a death just kind of always reads “It was an ‘I love you’. They needed to say it and didn’t get a chance”. So we’ve got that and, specifically, we’ve got their outrage at the suggestions. Gideon stresses that she’s JUST Harrow’s cav. And she’s very fucking insistent on that. Part of the why is that she knows Harrow is in love with a fucking dead girl in a casket but like. It just hits a certain way. There’s also Harrow’s just repeated disgust she expresses towards the concept of necro/cav relationships. She needs to explain away to herself that like, well, Abigail and Magnus were ALREADY married before he was named her cavalier primary so maybe that makes it fine. And even then she’s not like super duper comfy with the idea. A taboo has been broken, Harrow feels, and she needs to get really rules lawery to find any comfort with that. Other small things that feel of note to me here are the nature of the ways we know that these two are gay outside of like. Their weird thing for one another. With Gideon we’re introduced to it basically immediately with her joke about titty mags. Harrow specifically makes a comment at some point that some of the magazines Gideon gets are very gross, yes. Her interest in women is explicitly made sexual from the get go, and the idea that The Gays are just weird sex fiends and there is no love there is a frequent one. With Harrow meanwhile we know because she says she’s in love with the girl in the Locked Tomb. Who is very much dead. A thing that is fucky enough that like there is an entire song and dance about “GIDEON THE FIRST IS MAKING OUT WITH A CORPSE??????” and how Harrow is a hypocrite for being so offended by that all. Also the girl is behind the door. She is something that isn’t supposed to be seen or known about or, heaven forbid, woken up. That is all the ultimate taboo and Harrow not only fucking broke that but she looked at the girl and went “Wow I’m in love” on the spot. So we have this collection of things that could be read as some sort of metaphor for like...The taboo nature of queer love. “Why can’t they just be friends?” and issues of purity and the lack thereof. And we have characters who are very clearly in love but who can’t just admit that because they think there’s something fucking wrong with that. Gideon’s JUST her cav and Harrow is also in love with a dead chick. We also have Magnus and Abigail around who are just like. Happily married and fine with things regarding their whole necro/cav aesthetic. Ianthe doesn’t seem to give a shit that Gideon’s into Harrow at all. There’s a fondness for necro/cav relationships enough that there’s an entire romance genre centered on them and like characters in the cast are fond of those, some of them. Things appear to be Fine, at least as far as their friends are concerned. Maybe the asshole writing the essay that kicked this pondering off would have an issue and a stuffy old grandma would pitch a fit. But like their friends don’t have a problem with necro/cav shit. But we still very much have Gideon and Harrow being “Well no. We’re just a necromancer and their cavalier. GOD.” Now part of what got me thinking about this is that I recently decided to start watching Bly Manor. Because fuck it we haven’t yet. And specifically part of why is I remember seeing an analysis of it done by Rowan Ellis which had this bit where like the argument that “Bly Manor proves you can do queer stories without homophobia being a part of it!” is brought up and like...Ellis is like “Ok but we very much do just lock a queer woman in a literal closet while she screams to be let out”. And lo and behold in the first episode we very much do just lock a queer woman in a literal closet while she screams to be let out. In an episode showing that she’s like just unable to go back home for...some reason. And that she has some sort of difficulty with her relationship with her mother. No, the show is not having the character literally go “Wow I sure am in the closet and I kind of fucking hate that woe is me I am so gay”. But figuratively? It’s all over the place in that first episode. I’m not sure about the others because I haven’t watched them, but it is there in the very first one. And that’s something horror does very well. It takes things that are scary and uncomfortable and bundles them up in shades of metaphor. It hides them from you by showing you the thing cleverly disguised. Maybe you do not notice it the first time through perhaps. Maybe you felt that a certain thing like the closet scene resonated very hard with you and you’re not sure why. But you perhaps don’t consciously go “Aha! It is the horror of being closeted!” Upon looking back on it or back through it though you might notice it. And be like “Oh that was there. Holy fuck.” Now maybe you’re also someone who isn’t like. Comfortable. With straightforward depictions of specifically queer suffering. Maybe it’s just too scary. But with this show hiding it in a metaphor you got to sit through that. You got to be brave enough to sit through a very, very scary thing. And afterwords you go to think about it. This is the power of metaphor and it’s something horror has been very, very good at doing for ages. Maybe racism or homophobia or whatever else is too nerve wracking for you to look at face on in media, but maybe you can watch a movie or a show where the horror of those things are very much there but cloaked in metaphor. And so maybe we are getting that with Gideon and Harrow’s weird issues around how “taboo” their feelings are. Two people who are just unwilling to believe that it might be that thing, in part because that thing is “taboo”. Except instead of the taboo being literally “They’re lesbians, Harold,” it’s instead cloaked in a comforting metaphor of necro/cav relationships and some dude who is really fucking offended at people’s space ao3 fanfictions about his historical favs. Which is important because every fucking scrap of anything one gets is an argument. It can’t just be that they’re in love. It’s that you must PROVE it and some asshole with a degree or just a bone to pick is going to come by and be like “WHY CAN’T THEY JUST BE A NECRO AND A CAV” about it all. And like I’m someone who’s known they’re into other women for a long while now. At least half my life. We have conquered that hurdle. But we haven’t entirely unpacked all the weird little societal bullshit that is still in there. Hiding. Lurking. And that societal bullshit specifically frames that sort of love as something gross and taboo and “Why Can’t They Just Be Friends?”. With that last thing hurting a lot. I’ve constantly run across people going “Why can’t they just be friends?” or going “They just have a sisterly relationship!” about things I shipped. Even when those things involved shit like the characters kissing on screen or mentioning that they’ve been dating in a sequel series. I can’t simply like my ships. I can’t simply see myself in romance. Because my sort of love is so taboo that it is, in itself, a debate. Maybe being shown the thing cleverly disguised as another thing might help me unpack that. At the very least it helps me look at it. When it’s something that hurts a lot to this day.

#the locked tomb #gideon the ninth #harrow the ninth #spoilers #this is a bit painfully long #but i have FEELINGS about uncomfortable things being hidden in metaphor #and that metaphor being the thing that helps you be brave enough to look at it

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jadagul · 3 years

Text

Scattered stream-of consciousness thoughts on the Wheel of Time show, episodes 1-3 (from someone who read the books obsessively).

Spoilers for all three episodes, obviously, and also assorted spoilers for whatever book content I feel like discussing.

Episode 1

I liked the way they portrayed the man's madness in the opening scene--really conveyed the problem there.

Moiraine says there are four ta'veren in the Two Rivers. Which is kind of a nice change--it always seemed like it would make sense if Egwene were ta'veren too.

Egwene's ceremony reminds me of the way Nynaeve broke her block--it's surrendering to the flow of the water

They definitely sexed it up a little. (Did they give Egwene a slightly transparent dress, at the end of the braid ceremony? Or at least make it seem like they did?)

The whole series also has a more intense vibe. Everyone gets way more home drama, rather than the nice healthy home lives they had in canon.

I like the way they show Mat's willingness to do what needs to be done this early. That didn't really show up until book 3, and then at some point all his friends started remembering he'd always been like that.

Yeah, they deeefinitely ramped up the sexiness with the Rand/Egwene stuff.

Seeing moiraine _unguarded_ this early is interesting. We don't really see that--ever? In the books. But here she's pretty open with Lan.

Saying wisdoms _can't_ marry ramps up a lot of the narrative tension around Egwene, right? In the books wisdoms "often" don't marry but there's no rule.

Aes Sedai are classist? That's a new one. In canon they were super dismissive of anyone who couldn't channel, and anyone who was too old, but a capable channeler who showed up as a teenager would become important through their taking her on.

This version of the world has actual religion. It was notable in book canon that while there are a few religious precepts, there's not really any sort of religious ceremony or anything like that.

And Tam's speech at Bel Tine is basically the thesis of the Dragonmount conversion. Already a clear thesis statement half an hour into the series.

Got to the battle scene. What the hell is Moiraine's spell doing? She's dancing around a lot and nothing is happening yet.

Wow, that is an incredibly cruel thing to do to Perrin. (But makes sense with his freak out about the wolf)

The power is way slower in this. And more obvious. Made it way more physical, and also kind of nerfed it. But then, Moiraine's channeling in book 1 was always weaker than what we started seeing in later books.

They let Nynaeve get _kidnapped_? That's interesting.

Mat is so done with this shit.

The possibility that the Dragon could be a woman is an interesting change. Don't know what I think yet.

So much less talking and exposition. So much. (And yet the exposition is a lot more efficient. Less talking, and less exposition, but more of the talking is exposition.)

Episode 2

They made weaving more physical, clearly. The aes sedai can't channel while tied up (and handless)? That's a change from canon, but on reflection it makes sense. They have to show their characters doing something.

Best line: "You don't seem like a woman who's used to hearing no." "I am not."

The Trolloc threat is more immediate and closer than it was in the book. In the books you knew they were being chased but you never actually saw the trollocs. This version probably makes less objective sense---do none of the trollocs on the other shore have bows?--but it's necessary to keep the tension up, since tv can't rely on just telling you "ah yes we're being chased and it's scary".

Three oaths scene is interesting. First, Egwene knows the oaths, basically, which is not something she'd have known in canon. But second, it seems like they took out a caveat to "no killing with the power"? In the books you can kill Darkfriends and Shadowspawn. But that's not in the phrasing Moiraine gives here.

Rand already getting angry! Took him several books longer in the original.

But he did get a reaction out of Moiraine, which is better than anyone managed in book 1.

Nice interplay between the two Whitecloak leaders. Probably-Bornhald is intending to be decent, and is just (1) wrong about a lot of facts and (2) participating in a super corrupt institution. Whereas Valda is just awful.

That's the most out-of-control we ever see Moiraine, right? In the books she was never that diffident, even when she swore to obey Rand. (It is wise and good of her to do here, but she was never called on to do that in the books.)

Mat getting the dagger is even dumber than in the book! He just wanders off alone for no reason, after being clearly warned that the whole city is evil.

Ending was unexpected but great. (Well, I guessed what was going to happen when I saw the dagger, but not before.)

Episode 3

Mat and Rand having a reasonable conversation about their plans! People talking to each other! What series is this again?

Perrin is a little...frantic? With the flint, while trying to start the fire. More out of control than I'd expect him.

Best line: Nynaeve's "It's not a demand, it's a threat".

One thing I'm really missing: Nynaeve loses the 'I'll heal you even if I hate you' thing from the books. I liked that aspect to her character, but in this show she has to be talked into helping Moiraine.

Thom is not as impressive, vocally, in this as I would like him to be. But there was no way for him to be, right? A problem with portraying "the best singer ever" in any sort of film. In books you can just say that.

Was surprised and sad that Nynaeve didn't wind up busting out Powered Healing under pressure, with Moiraine.

The Tinkers are not nearly colorful enough. Especially in a world that generally has as much color as this one does. It's not like they have the excuse that "everything is drab in this series".

(Aram is great so far, though.)

Thom comments on how red hair is a sign of Aiel. Which seems like literally the only racial or ethnic distinction the shows are going to have. I wonder if Mat will connect that to Rand? I'm sure Thom has.

(Not sure what I think about this version of Thom in general.)

#wot #wot spoilers #wheel of time #litcrit #wot show #wot prime

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worldwidemochiguy · 4 years

Text

Love You A Latte (MFEEU! Jimin)

➵ You have always wanted a story book romance, no matter how many times your friends tell you it’s unrealistic, and even unhealthy to have such high expectations. You can’t help but yearn for the one who will make your heart sing, who will captivate you with one word, who will treat you like you’re worth more than anything else in the world... and then Park Jimin crashes into your life, with a pretty smile and a warm cup of vanilla latte with your name on it.

➵ Warnings: Yandere Jimin, Stalking, Daddy Kink, Masturbation, Unhealthy Idealisation of Romance

➵ Word Count: 9.1K

➵ MFEEU Masterlist

➵ General Masterlist

➵ a/n: it’s finally here!!! and i made it part of the mfeeu!!!! idk it just felt right also i actually finished this a few weeks ago but i wanted to add a bonus scene which had smut lol. buuut i was finding it hard to write and i didn’t want to make u guys wait any longer :/ so,,, sorry for the wait! but i hope you enjoy :D

“You do realise that kind of stuff isn’t real, right?”

Your head jerked up, fingers curling slightly around the dog-eared page you were just about to turn, leading you deeper into the intoxicatingly perfect story. Your friend looked almost concerned, worry digging a groove in between her eyebrows.

“Huh?” You replied absently, mind still fixed on the story beneath your fingertips.

“I mean, you’re always reading those books, where a perfect guy comes and steals the girl away into a world of love and happiness and all that crap. You know that won’t actually happen to you, right?”

“…Uh, yeah?” You laughed nervously, one hand releasing the book to come up and brush your hair out of your eyes. “Any particular reason why you’re saying this, Buttercup?”

Buttercup’s expression was pinched, almost painfully so.

“I just… I don’t want you to waste your life away waiting for a guy who’ll never come.”

‘I know.” You said, your throat uncomfortably dry, “I know. It’s just… it’s nice to imagine, right?”

Watching you was the most treasured part of Jimin’s day. Thanks to the multiple cameras he had installed in your apartment while you were out of town, he was able to spend many happy hours watching you, completely besotted.

If he ever missed you, maybe while you were in your classes or meeting with your friends in that ridiculous coffee shop — a practice he planned to stop as soon as he officially became your boyfriend — he could just open his laptop and watch endless saved recordings of you. He even had the cameras linked to his computer at work, though he had to make sure Jungkook wouldn’t peak over his shoulder as he opened the webcam viewer, the nosy little brat.

If he was lucky, you might have danced around to the music on the radio while you were waiting for the kettle to boil, or you would be on your couch, giggling as you read one of those romance novels you were so fond of. Little things. Domestic things, which made it easy to image the day when you would dance around in his apartment, safe and happy in his embrace.

Jimin was thankful you didn’t spend much time in the bathroom. He had refrained from placing cameras in that room because he wanted the first time he saw your beautiful body to be a conscious choice on your part. He would also do his best to avert his eyes whenever you got changed in your bedroom.

However, that didn’t stop him from shamefully imaging you in the privacy of his own penthouse apartment, when the nights became long and lonely without you, or any other human company. More often than he would like to admit, Jimin found himself fantasising about how tight you’d feel clenched around him, how sweet your release would taste on his tongue.

Though the two of you had never actually spoken, Jimin knew everything about you, from your favourite colour to the way you had your eggs in the morning. From a little extra research, made easy by your friends’ various social medias and the occasional overworked college administrator that was sweet-talked into giving out students’ personal information, he knew your birthday, your blood type, and many other precious facts that he wrote down in a diary personally devoted to you, containing his photos of you taken from afar and and Jimin’s records of what you did that day. He had filled up several diaries after having first laid eyes on you only a year ago.

The moment Jimin saw you for the first time was forever burned into his memory. He was waiting in front of the office building, checking his briefcase to make sure he had remembered to bring an important file in for that day’s meeting, when the shopping bag of a passerby had broken, spilling all of their belongings onto the ground.

Jimin had merely watched, unperturbed, as the stranger struggled to pick everything up, and it appeared everyone else was content to do the same. Well, everyone except you.

You descended like an angel from heaven, the only one to help him. Jimin could barely feel his heart pounding in his chest, he was so enraptured by your beauty, your kindness, the grace with which you held yourself. Even your scent, wafted over to him by a blessed breeze, was enough to make Jimin realise that you were the one for him.

The only one there could ever be.

Jimin had listened, captivated, as you comforted the stranger with your melodic voice, all the while helping them to collect their possessions which had spilled out across the sidewalk. You were just- ethereal, as you comforted the stranger — they seemed to be having a bad day, not that Jimin cared at all — introducing yourself as a friend. Your name was the most beautiful thing Jimin had ever heard.

Jimin repeated that name over and over again in his head, and with little difficulty he located you and immersed himself in your life. He had to make sure that when he ‘met’ you, he would not be like that bumbling stranger, too weak to even reply to your kind words. He needed you to realise immediately that he was the one for you, your soulmate, as you were his.

Jimin grinned as his laptop started up again, finally fully charged up. When he woke he discovered that the battery had died as he had it playing all night while he slept. Jimin loved linking it to the live stream while you were asleep and then listening to your cute mumbles and sleepy groans, imagining that you were lying beside him, safely wrapped in his arms.

Usually, he would remember to plug it in so that it wouldn’t run out of charge, but Jimin had been a little distracted that night after you released some… strange noises in your sleep, noises that sounded like moans. Jimin was glad you didn’t say a name — he really didn’t have time to murder someone, what with all the workload on his hands — though your moans slightly tarnished his innocent vision of you.

Jimin knew you were undefiled, a fact that brought him great delight and daily erections. He knew this because during that dark period several months ago when you had that despicable ‘boyfriend’ hanging around you, a constant source of contention between you and him was the fact that you wouldn’t let the bastard touch you.

After he drunkenly attempted to pressure you into making out with him on your couch — a proposal you strongly rejected much to Jimin’s delight — the drunk asshole had left you, sobbing into your hands, to ‘get his dick wet’ elsewhere.

It really was too easy for Jimin to follow him out that evening. To knock him unconscious and then drag him into his rundown car. To place his heavy leg on the accelerator and let it speed into a tree, and watch him regain consciousness a second before the car collided and a branch fell through the windshield, stabbing him in the chest.

Jimin watched it all, and smiled, knowing you were safe from that monstrous son of a bitch. You were safe from everyone, as long as he was there to protect you. Not that you knew it yet, of course.

The cops ruled it as an accident caused by drunk driving, a verdict supported by your testimony of his behaviour earlier that night and his general reputation as an irresponsible party-goer. How that scumbag ever got you to go out with him was beyond Jimin, especially given all the work Jimin was putting in to even be worthy of your attention.

But it didn’t matter. After the death of your boyfriend, Jimin watched as you became happier, rising out of the depression that asshole had put you in. Though, to his consternation, you were spending more time with other people, even widening your previously small friendship group, it was worth it given that he was able to see your bright, joyful smile all the more often.

Jimin let out a groan of frustration as the livestream continued to take its sweet time loading. Thankfully, he had a day off today so he didn’t have to worry about being late to work, not that Taehyung was particularly strict about that sort of thing.

It was now 10 in the morning, a Saturday, so according to the rough schedule Jimin had worked out, scrawled on the inside cover of his diary and imprinted into his brain, you should be just starting to wake up. You were a bit of a late riser, but that just made Jimin love you all the more, imagining lazy mornings filled with kisses and pillow fights that devolved into indulgent morning sex.

An excited grin spread across his face when the picture finally cleared and he got to see your beautiful face. The grin dimmed slightly when he saw you were just putting the finishing touches to your outfit, seemingly leaving your apartment to go somewhere. Jimin scowled.

Who did you have to meet that was so important you would wake up specially to see them? He hurriedly got dressed, eyes still pinned on the live feed which made putting on his trousers a tad more difficult than usual.

Thankfully, he was able to be out of the door more or less the same time you were. He followed the now well-trodden route of shortcuts and back alleys that led to your apartment. Or rather, the road across from your apartment.

Jimin followed a block behind you, baseball cap pulled low over his face so you didn’t recognise him, watching as you strolled along the avenues, smiling to himself whenever you saw a pile of autumn-tinted leaves and jumped into them, creating a cacophony of crackles which made you giggle cutely. He almost regretted not bringing his camera to capture these adorable moments, but he knew it would look strange to the other pedestrians if they saw him following behind you taking photos.

Jimin finally realised where you were headed with a bittersweet smile. The coffee shop you loved, The Roasted Bean, which you frequented with your friends. He was hesitant to go in there, worried that your friends, stupid though they were, would notice his constant presence and poison you against him.

He couldn’t resist strolling up to the window, though. Watching as your face brightened when you saw your friends (who had already ordered without you, the ungrateful swine). He imagined a similar look appearing on your face whenever you saw him — except happier, because obviously you would be more excited to see your boyfriend rather than your friends. Maybe when he was coming home from work to greet you in your and his’ shared apartment.

A handwritten note stuck to the window distracted him from his reverence, something which originally irritated him but what he soon realised was in fact a blessing. The ‘help wanted’ sign, proclaiming that the shop needed a new barista, and that they didn’t mind if the applicant had no previous experience, was all Jimin needed to situate himself in your life.

After all, if he started working at the cursed coffee shop, he would get to see you every day when you visited in the mornings, and after that Jimin was sure it wouldn’t take long to make you fall in love with him.

Of course, if Jimin wanted to get the job at the coffee shop, he would have to do something about his proper, full-time job.

“Uh, Taehyung?”

Two heads popped up as Jimin knocked on the office door. They must have been having a meeting. Fuck, Jimin really didn’t want to have this conversation with Jungkook as a witness, but it seemed he had no choice as Taehyung waved him in and Jungkook showed no sign of getting up. On the contrary, he settled into the office chair and looked for all the world as if he wanted a bag of popcorn to snack on while he watched the conversation.

“What’s up?” Taehyung asked, and Jimin felt a slight lick of heat paint itself across his cheeks. He cleared his throat and pointedly ignored Jungkook’s snort.

“I want to cash in my vacation days.”

“Oh, really?” Taehyung’s brows flick up, “It’s… September. Shouldn’t you save them for… I don’t know, summer?”

“No, I want to use them now.” Jimin asserted, and Taehyung gave a puzzled little frown, before shrugging.

“Okay, well, there’s a a form you’ll have to fill in. How long are you thinking, a week? Two?”

“About two months, I think.” Jimin said, less confident than he would have liked, and Taehyung’s jaw dropped.

“Two months? Why on earth do you want to take two months off all of a sudden?” Taehyung asked incredulously, before his expression sobered abruptly. “Is there something wrong with your health?”

“No, no, it’s nothing like that, Taehyung-ah, don’t worry.” Jimin assured his friend quickly, “I just… want to pursue something else for a while, that’s all.”

“Want to pursue someone else, you mean.” Jungkook cackled, obviously casting off his role as a spectator, and Jimin fought to keep his expression unmoved. “You’ve been bright red ever since you stepped into this office.”

“It’s… warm.” Jimin muttered, and he wasn’t wrong, his cheeks certainly were warm at that point.

“It’s September, Jiminie,” Jungkook laughed, “and you’ve got a crush!”

“Is it true, Jimin-ah?” Taehyung asked delightedly, “You’ve found someone?”

“That’s hyung to you, brat.” Jimin snarled at Jungkook, ignoring Taehyung’s coos and his shouts to his girlfriend to come into the office. Jungkook stuck his tongue out at Jimin.

“Wow, look, hyung’s blushing.” Jungkook announced, before walking over to the office door and swinging it open. “Hey, everyone, get in here, look how red hyung’s cheeks are! Hyung looks like a strawberry!” Jungkook turned back to Jimin triumphantly as the rest of the boys came to the office to see what all the commotion was about. He gave Jimin a saccharine smile. “Is that better, hyung?”

“Respect your elders, kid.” Yoongi drawled as he reached the office, the rest of the floor in two. “Anyway, what the fuck is happening?”

“Yeah, why did you call me here, Taetae?” Taehyung’s girlfriend asked, who had come in from her section of the office and been promptly tugged onto Taehyung’s lap. He merely stared up at her, utterly besotted. Fuck, is that what Jimin would look like with you? Gross.

“No reason, I just missed you.” Taehyung smiled dopily at her, and she giggled, pressing a quick peck on his cheek and actually, Jimin would murder every single person in this room if you looked at him like that. Maybe affection isn’t so gross, as long as you’re involved.

But then Jungkook crowed, “Jiminie’s in love!” And affection very quickly became intolerable again.

“Shut up.” He snarled as they all begin laughing and cooing at him jokingly, “I’m just going to be leaving the office for a while.”

“What, so you can take a job at her favourite coffee shop and write love notes on her napkins?” Jungkook laughed, and Jimin-

Jimin looked at his shoes and used the age-old logic of if I can’t see them, they can’t see me.

“No-” Hoseok gasped, equally shocked and gleeful, but Jin interrupted him.

“Jimin,” He said calmly, and Jimin could just imagine his lips twitching up and down as he desperately tried not to break into peals of windshield-wipe laughter, “Look me in the eye and tell me you aren’t going to get a job as a barista as an attempt to get a girl.”

“He can’t look you in the eye, he’s too short.” Jungkook whispered, and Jimin generously refrained from hissing at him.

“I-” Jimin stuttered as he looked up and deep into Seokjin’s pitiless eyes, “I’m not-” He started to say, but… honestly no one can lie while looking at Kim Seokjin.

“She’s so cute!” Jimin bursted out, and immediately there was chaos. Several people were yelling. Hoseok somehow produced a bottle of champagne which he must’ve just been, like, carrying around with him, but Jimin simply did not care anymore.

“She’s so fucking cute all the fucking time and she goes to this coffee shop so fucking often, so if I become a barista there then I’ll see her every day! Do you understand?” Jimin asked, before shaking Jungkook — who had risen from his seat in celebration — frantically by the collar. “Every single day, Jungkook!”

“He’s worse than Taehyung!” Jungkook shouted gleefully, and Taehyung — who was still sat on his chair with his girlfriend — frowned.

“I- don’t know if I should be offended or not.”

“You should always be offended when it comes to Jungkook.” Namjoon told him sagely, and Jimin yelled a wordless noise of agreement.

His yell seemed to remind Taehyung of why Jimin came into his office in the first place, and he starts rifling through his desk, having to shift his girlfriend off his lap slightly to do so.

“Here, Jimin- sorry baby, this’ll just take a second — here’s the file for the vacation days.”

Taehyung passed Jimin a sheet of paper, having to lean around Hoseok, who had just started a conga — where the fuck was that music coming from? Who the fuck brought speakers to an office? — to give it to him. “Take as much time as you need.”

“Thanks, Taehyung-ah.” Jimin grinned as he left the office, pausing half-way out the door as he heard Taehyung call his name. He turned around to see his friend grinning at him.

“Good luck, Jimin. I hope it goes well.”

So do I, Jimin thought as he left the building, calling a taxi to take him to his next job, and (hopefully) closer to you.

You sighed as your alarm went off, jolting you from your dream. It was another romantic one — what a surprise, your friends would probably mutter sarcastically — but it truly hurt your heart to let it drift as your mind fully woke up. That was always the way. Real life coming to interrupt what you dreamed your life could be.

Another sigh escaped your lips as you imagined him. The one who starred in all your dog-eared romance novels, who would sweep you of your feet and take care of you, both in the bedroom and out of it.

In your head, you knew that you should probably want to be self-reliant and independent, values that your family and friends and teachers tried to drill into you, but you couldn’t help creating day dreams of a man whom you could trust enough to let yourself be truly submissive to him, to allow him to make all of the difficult decisions and comfort you when you got upset.

You used to be certain you would find him, your soulmate who would do anything for you, who would be endeared instead of weirded out by your odd quirks, who would love you no matter what happened, but to be honest you were starting to lose hope. With the disaster of your first ever relationship — the one that ended abruptly with his death — you vowed to stay away from boys until you found the one.

This inevitably led to you spending more time indoors and refusing whenever your friends wanted you to join them in going to all the hottest clubs, simply because you were tired of the whole thing. By now, you had pretty much accepted that you would die a spinster surrounded by fourteen cats.

Your alarm blared again, somehow more grating and obtrusive than the first time, and your eyes flicked to the analog display, swearing quietly when you saw the time. You stumbled out of bed, internally cursing the day you decided to sign up to an early morning lecture class, a bizarre decision considering you were so much not a morning person that you gave Garfield a run for his money.

Speed-walking to class, you were thankfully ahead of schedule since you managed to get dressed at the speed of light, forgoing any kind of beauty routine beyond jamming a toothbrush in your mouth and scrubbing frantically. By a rare stroke of luck, this class was quite small so not many people would bear witness to the horror that was bare-faced you with partial bed-head.

Since you, surprisingly, had more than enough time, you decided to pop into your favourite coffee shop. The familiar tinkling bell went off as you entered but, instead of greeting your favourite barista Rosa at the counter with a sunny smile and your usual order already prepared, you came face to face with the most beautiful man you had ever seen in your life.

You locked eyes with him and watched, awestruck, as his full, pillow lips tugged up into a smile, exposing his perfect teeth. His eyes almost disappeared as he grinned, turning into twin crescents above mochi cheeks, so soft and adorable that you felt all the thoughts you ever had fly out of your head, all replaced by one overwhelming sense of… something.

Something strange, that you had never felt before, which made your knees weaken imperceptibly as you made your way to the counter, closer to this Adonis in human form.

He obviously noted your flustered state, which only intensified your embarrassment, and his adorable expression melted into a smirk that had your heart racing and your libido awakening with a vengeance. It was just unfair. The barista somehow managed to be cuter than any puppy you had ever seen in your goddamn life, and then turn you on more than you thought was physically possible.

If this was what a sexual awakening was, you didn’t know how people managed to refrain from having sex all day, every day. And then you were struck with the image of having sex all day, every day, with the Greek God of a barista, and decided there was not enough holy water in the entire world to cleanse you from your sins.

“Hello,” the absurdly attractive barista said, after several minutes of you wordlessly floundering in equal parts of embarrassment and arousal.

“My name is Jimin. What would you like me to make you?” I’d like you to make me come, your traitorous mind suggested, causing even more heat to rise to your cheeks.

“H-Hello… Jimin.” you stuttered, praying for the sweet release of death. The Adonis- Jimin - watched you expectantly, gaze fluttering from your eyes — wide as a deer’s caught in the headlights — to your cheeks — probably so red they had surpassed the visible spectrum and were now emitting radiation — and he chuckled. You wanted to cry. Of course he’d be one of those people with low, sultry chuckles.

“Do you want to tell me your order, Princess?” He questioned, when it became clear you were more focused on not melting into a puddle than telling him what drink you wanted, and you became certain you had died and gone to hell. This was torture, having this perfect specimen of humanity in front of you, having him call you ‘Princess’ with his bedroom eyes dark and mischievous, and choking on your own tongue.

His eyebrow quirked — and of course his eyebrows were just fucking perfectly shaped — and you somehow managed to pull yourself together enough to remember the order you had given every damn day of your life since discovering this godforsaken place, the place you would never come back to due to a mixture of shame and self-preservation (there was a real possibility you might just die if you ever saw Jimin again).

“V-Vanilla latte… please.” You practically whimpered, too distracted with your own internal chaos to notice him cooing over your choice quietly.

“A cute drink for a cute girl.” He smirked again before striding to the espresso machine to fulfil your order, leaving you shocked on the other side of the counter. He called you cute. Cute.

You had never been more aware of your makeup-free face and unbrushed hair, quickly swept up into a messy bun. Fuck, you could've had dried up drool on the corner of your mouth and you wouldn’t have even known it. He returned with your order just in time to catch you running your tongue over your bottom lip, the pink muscle darting out just in case you had missed any on the side of your face.

If you hadn’t been so focused on your own appearance, you would have noticed Jimin falter for a second, his eyes widening, fixed on your mouth.

You caught his attention and sealed your lips together firmly, determined to not let him think you were some weirdo who licked her lips excessively in public. His dark gaze made your mouth go dry. You tried to subtly swallow down the lump in your throat, but his eyes tracked the bob under your skin.

The two of you stood in an oddly charged silence for a moment before he remembered himself and handed over your latte.

Your skin brushed his and you held your breath, his hand pausing over yours for what felt like an eternity, but it was still too soon when you forced yourself to pull back. He smiled again, the adorable mochi-cheeked smile that still managed to turn you on despite its sweet and innocent appearance.

“There you go, Y/n.”

You were so flustered by the sound of his pillow lips curving sensuously over the syllables of your name that you didn’t even question how he knew it, content to stumble backwards out of the shop. You were still caught in his gaze until you backed straight into the door, knocking you out of your stupor and causing you to practically fly out of the shop, his warm laughter chasing you up the street.

You barely heard a thing during the lecture, your pen had dried out after you uncapped it and then did not replace the cap for a solid forty minutes, letting it rest on your blank notepad. The professor had given up calling on you and asking you to pay attention, drawing the conclusion that this was an off-day for his normally-attentive student. You were actually very focused at that moment, it was simply just not directed at the professor.

You were pouring over your memories of Jimin, recounting with perfect clarity how his soft-looking hair fell over his forehead perfectly. It looked so pretty and you would sell your soul for a chance to run your fingers through it. The corners of his perfect lips tugged upwards into a smile a million times in your imagination, and you wondered what it would feel like to be kissed by those lips, to have those lips running all over your body, dipping downwards and tasting-

The professor signalling the end of the class could not have come at a better time, and you rushed out of your seat as fast as your shaky legs could carry you, the heat coiling in your belly tugging you home. You spared a moment to thank past-you for not scheduling any other classes today, because, judging by the slight damp spot in your panties that was growing embarrassingly quickly, you would be quite busy for a while.

Jimin rushed home as soon as his shift ended. His elation invigorated his steps to the point where he was practically skipping. Holy shit. Holy shit. He had met you. He had talked to you and you had blushed and stuttered and been perfect in every single way. He always thought there was no way he could love you more than he already did but that was just another way you changed his outlook on life.

Seeing your beautiful face, devoid of makeup and yet still you put any work of art to shame, and hearing your soft voice speak his name — you knew his name, holy shit — and smelling your sweet perfume was a life changing occurrence for Jimin.

Of course, he had smelt your perfume before — he wrote down what scent you preferred when he broke into your apartment to place the cameras and he had a pillow at home that he doused with the stuff so that it smelled like you — but experiencing it in real life was on a whole other level.

He got back to his apartment and switched on the live feed just in time to catch you coming back from your lecture. Jimin cooed softly at the sight of you, your eyes were wide and vacant, distracted, and your cheeks were adorably flushed, like you had been rushing. You dumped your bag by the door — Jimin couldn’t wait until he could be the one holding your bag for you, having you tucked under his other arm — and went straight to the bedroom.

Jimin switched the feed to the bedroom cam, holding his breath in anticipation. When you came home and went straight to the bedroom, that usually led to-

You flung yourself on the bed and started working your pants down. Jimin stopped breathing entirely as he felt all the blood in his body, and possibly some extra, rush down south. He knew he should look away, should let you have this moment in private, but he found himself unable to stop palming his erection through his jeans.

He pulled his hand away briefly to turn up the audio feed, and your soft moans filled the air. Jimin almost came on the spot, but he forced himself to wait, he promised he would never come before you. Your lower half was entirely bare and Jimin’s mouth watered at the sight of your pretty pussy, wet and glistening, positioned in the perfect spot for him to see it, for him.

He tugged himself out of his jeans and spread the beads of precome over the head of his cock distractedly, watching as you teased yourself open with one finger. Fuck, you were so fucking tight. He could see the slight discomfort on your face as you thrusted your finger into yourself again and again, obviously trying to get yourself adjusted as fast as possible.

Jimin felt a curl of jealously flare up within him, even as he started pumping his fist up and down his cock faster. What had made you so desperate to come? Who had done this to you? As far as he was aware, there hadn’t been anything new that day so far, unless-

You started to relax, the finger gliding in and out so easily, aided by the slick coating your digit. His mouth dried up just thinking about the taste of you. Jimin watched as your head fell back, your eyes rolling in their sockets, and your perfect lips parted.

“Jimin,” you moaned, and Jimin almost blacked out.

He was so hard it was physically painful, but he gripped the base of his cock tightly, unwilling to come because he knew if he did he would miss the rest of your magnificent performance. You were properly riding your hand now, your hips rolling to meet your own thrusts, eyes shut tight, imaging something- imagining him. Jimin had never felt such sweet torture, needing to come so badly, but needing to watch you come more.

You moaned his name again, sounding more debauched than the first time, and Jimin knew you were close. He wanted so desperately to know what you were imagining him doing, so that he could recreate it with you once he had you. It was like you had read his mind, because a second later you granted his wish.

“P-please, daddy.” You moaned, and Jimin whimpered, he wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold on.

Daddy.

You were going to be the cause of his death and Jimin found that he didn’t mind at all.

“Ple-ease,” your begging was interrupted by a drawn out moan, and if Jimin could have thought straight at that point, he would’ve frowned. Imaginary Jimin was much crueler than Real Life Jimin. Real Life Jimin knew without a doubt he would give you anything in the world if you begged him like that.

“Fuck me, daddy, please,” You cried out, somehow managing to add a third finger, thrusting into your tight, tight wet heat, “Fuck your princess.”

You called out his name again as you came, and Jimin lasted a few seconds watching you pant and ride through the aftershocks of your orgasm before he simply loosened his tight grip on the base of his cock and finished.

When he regained consciousness, you were still splayed out on your bed, seemingly unable to move just like he was, but if he could move he knew he’d be jumping around the room in elation. This was undoubtedly the best day of his life, maybe even better than the one in which he first caught a glimpse of your angelic face.

He had met you in person for the first time, and you had been so obviously flustered by his presence, which was something that delighted him more than he could say and he had thought the day could not have gotten any better, but then you went home and masturbated and moaned out his name and called him daddy and then came with his name on your lips and Jimin honestly didn’t know how he was still breathing.

You were perfect, and amazing, and Jimin was almost mad at himself for not realising just how perfect you would be. He hadn’t anticipated you being this affected by him so soon. He had planned to gradually introduce himself into your life, ‘coincidentally’ running into you outside of the coffee shop after a few weeks, slowly integrating hang-outs and seamlessly turning them into dates. Shyly confessing his feelings after a month of being ‘friends’.

Jimin was not exactly a patient man, but you mattered more than anything to him, and he knew that he would have to be careful until you were so in love with him that you wouldn’t leave no matter what. That would be the point where he would break out the diaries and the videos, and bask in your gratitude that he was so enamoured with you from the very moment he met you, just like those romantic heroes in the books you were so fond of.

But at this rate, Jimin was practically ready to start shopping for engagement rings. He knew your ring size, of course, and your jewellery preferences due to studying your buying habits, but he managed to calm himself down enough to realise you probably wouldn’t appreciate a proposal just yet. But you were certainly attracted to him. Very attracted, Jimin thought smugly. He couldn’t exactly fault you though, since he had looked in a mirror before.

Jimin was an attractive man, he was fully aware many would call him stunning, and now he finally met his match: you. God, Jimin could not wait to see how amazingly perfect your children would be.

You chewed your lip as you ran over the dilemma in your head. It had been two days since you last went to The Roasted Bean. Coincidentally, it was also two days since you saw the most attractive man on the planet. And two days since you had the most intense orgasm you’d ever experienced.

You were seriously craving your caffeine fix, and a small, perverted part of you that was heavily repressed was desperate to catch another glimpse of the beautiful barista, Jimin. But the last time you saw him, you embarrassed yourself so much you wouldn’t be surprised if he turned on his heels and fled at the sight of you.

It was so annoying. You had waited your whole life to meet the perfect guy, but the second you meet him, you realise that you can’t spend longer than three seconds in his presence without melting into a puddle of goo.

After another five minutes spent deliberating outside the coffee shop in the chilly weather, your nose had turned so red you could practically see its glowing reflection in the cafe window. You decided that the chances of Jimin even having a shift now were very slim, and it was even less likely that he would remember you.

He probably got reactions like that (maybe slightly less embarrassing ones) every day given how stupidly attractive he was. He probably had girlfriends to spare. You scowled. Getting jealous over a stranger’s hypothetical girlfriends? Wow, you really have hit a new low, you taunted yourself.

The door opened suddenly, shocking you out of your thoughts so much that you jumped, much to the amusement of whoever opened the door, judging by their chuckle. You looked up at them, and then regretted every life choice that brought you to that exact moment.

It was Jimin, because of course it was, and he looked as stunning as ever, his complexion glowing, his eyes shining, his existence in general devastating. He was in his cute little barista outfit, a fitted white button up and black apron that might as well be a runway look for how much it suited him.

“Are you going to come in, Y/n?” Holy shit he knows my name, you screamed to yourself, vaguely hoping your face had an expression of pleasant detachment and not the strange amalgamation of shock, delight and arousal that you were experiencing. He chuckled, shaking his head slightly as if privy to some inside joke.

“Yes, of course I know your name, Y/n.” You stopped dead in your tracks. Could barista boy read your mind?

“No, I can’t, you just say everything you’re thinking out loud, which is very cute. And you can call me Jimin, you know.” Oh, if you thought you were embarrassed last time, that was a sweet walk in the park compared to today. You cleared your throat quietly, refusing to let yourself be dumbstruck again.

“I do call you Jimin.” You replied, trying to make him believe that you remembered his name because God, you were unlikely to forget it. For some reason, this made him pause for a second, his expression darkening and his tongue darting out to wet his lip.

“I know you do, baby.” He said, low enough that you questioned whether he said it at all, and he had already moved past, slipped behind the counter as you advanced to be opposite him, just like you were when you first met.

“Vanilla latte, right?”

You really should stop getting shocked by Jimin’s seemingly eidetic memory.

“You remember my drink?”

“When a customer is as beautiful as you are, Princess, you tend to remember their drink.” You elected to ignore the way that nickname had your toes curling in your boots, and instead fixated on the pinch of jealousy in your gut.

“I guess you must remember many customers orders then.” You knew you sounded too jealous for someone he barely knows, but your strange possessive behaviour seemed to please him, for a small grin tugged his mouth upwards.

“Nope, just you, Princess.”

“Are you flirting with me?”

The question blurted itself out, bypassing both your common sense and your anxiety. Jimin, however, replied promptly.

“Yes.” His confidence, evident in the way he leaned over the counter and into your space, began to falter as you just stared at him wordlessly. “That is, if you want me to-”

“I do!” You blurted out again, and you really needed to gain a filter, but his confident smirk returned.

“Actually, I was going to say: if you want me to stop-”

“I don’t!” Jimin let out a laugh, eyes crinkling in the most adorable way, before he continued.

“Will you ever let me finish what-”

“No.” At that, he threw his head back, releasing a peal of laughter that you swore could’ve lit up the world with its brightness.

He finally stopped laughing, his eyes still swimming with ill-concealed mirth. You were pretty sure your cheeks were about three seconds away from setting the coffee shop and the surrounding neighbourhood aflame, so it was a relief when Jimin turned to the machine, snapping the mechanism into place, even if you felt a hint of disappointment when you lost sight of his beautiful smile.

God, even his back is sexy, you thought, watching as he tinkered with the various machinery behind the counter. At one point, he bent over to check the positioning of the cup and, well, you had never really paid attention to any guy’s ass before but maybe you should start because damn.

Finally, Jimin turned back to you with a perfectly made latte in his hands. You noted how cute his fingers were absently as they brushed yours. But, when you made to grab your drink, he retracted it suddenly, a Cheshire Cat grin on his face.

“Not so quickly, Princess.” You humphed,

“It’s funny, Jimin, you claim to know my name but you never use it.” He laughed again and you tried to convince yourself that your heart wouldn’t always skip a beat at that sound.

“Oh, so you want me to use your name, huh?”

“It’s only fair, considering you wanted me to use your name, Jimin.”

“Alright then, Y/n.” He purred, bending down to scribble your name on the cup, a bit unnecessary considering he could’ve just handed it right to you, but you got the sense he was trying to drag out your interaction for whatever reason.

He straightened up, the glint of mischief present again in his eyes, and you prepared yourself for another verbal sparring match.

“Do you not want me calling you Princess, then?” He winked at you as he said the nickname, which was frankly quite rude. You would have to send him a bill for all the batteries he made you buy, since your vibrator was definitely going to be running out of power soon thanks to him.

“I didn’t say that.” You hated how quiet and meek your voice came out.

“Oh, it sounds like poor little Y/n’s a bit confused. What do you prefer? Y/n? Or Princess?”

“S-stop it. You’re not funny. I’m going to class.” You spun around and marched towards the door, trying to ignore his laughter following you.

“Baby!” Jimin yelled, and, for some reason, you turned around.

“What?”

Jimin smirked when you responded to the new nickname. “Since you couldn’t decide, I thought I’d use Baby instead. Do you like it?”

“No! I mean, yes- no, I don’t. Goodbye.”

“Baby! Aren’t you forgetting something?” At that, you finally exploded, all the sexual frustration caused by him bubbling to the surface.

“What?” You yelled, “You want a kiss farewell?”

“I was going to say you’d forgotten your drink but, since you asked, I wouldn’t mind a kiss.”

You stomped back to grab your drink, avoiding his eye contact like the plague. As you took the cup your fingers brushed his and the odd, frustrated tension between the two of you dissipated into something almost tender. His skin was so soft and warm. Everything about him seemed so cozy and inviting, and hopeless romantic part of you wanted to sink into his arms and never be let go of.

You left before your tongue released the stupid feelings you were longing to express. Jimin couldn’t even watch you go because he was smiling so wide his eyes had disappeared into little crescents.

“-and then he called me baby!”

“Awww-” “Ew!”

Two very different reactions emerged from your friends as the three of you sat cross legged in your friend’s apartment, a haphazard ‘study session’ with open textbooks spread across the floor beside a half-empty takeout pizza box.

“Buttercup!” Two of you whined simultaneously at the third girl, who remained unbothered, tipping her head back to dangle a stretched slice of cheese into her mouth. The three of you had been practically joined at the hip since birth, and — due to an adolescent obsession with ‘The Powerpuff Girls’ — you each had a corresponding nickname, which had stuck as the years passed you by.

You had been nicknamed Blossom, due to your — usually — level head and desire to make peace whenever your two friends were fighting. Your friend — the one who had cooed at the ending of your story — was chosen to be Bubbles, given that she was the personification of candy floss and possibly the closest thing Earth had to a real life fairy.

Your second, much more cynical friend who was currently finishing her slice of pizza and determinedly not looking at Bubble’s puppy eyes, was Buttercup. Self-proclaimed hater of all romance. Given what happened with her parents in your teenage years, you couldn’t really blame her.

“That’s so romantic.” Bubbles sighed dreamily, before huffing slightly. “I wish you hadn’t told me that tonight. I have to study for-” She flushed delicately, “Mr Kim’s lecture and now I won’t be able to think about anything else but my maid of honour speech at your wedding.”

“Hey!” Buttercup interjected, “I’m going to be maid of honour!”

“But you don��t even like weddings-” Bubble started to protest, and you cut them both off.

“There will be no maid of honour!” You announced shrilly, before forcing yourself to relax. “And also, Bubble, you don’t need to study for Mr Kim’s lecture. It’s not like it’s a class or anything, he’s just a guest lecturer.”

“Yes, but…” Bubble mumbled, docilely accepting the pizza slice that Buttercup held up to her face and continuing to speak through a mouthful, “I wuhmfda fimprsh im.”

“What?”

Buttercup scowled, but translated for you.

“She wants to impress him. Gross.” She turned to Bubble. “Isn’t he, like, forty?”

“First of all, he’s in his mid-twenties at most,” You admonished Buttercup as Bubble let out an indignant wail, “and second of all, we were talking about my problem!”

“Oh, what was that again?” Buttercup drawled. You snatched the pizza slice out of her hand in retaliation.

“Jimin! The hot barista! Calling me baby! And, just, existing in general!”

“Oh, that,” Buttercup sighed, as if you hadn’t literally just been talking about it. “That’s simple. Just bang him.”

“I- You- What?” You spluttered as Bubble giggled quietly.

“You’re thinking of this too romantically, like you always do.” Buttercup continued, sounding fantastically confident for someone who had even less experience with relationships than you did. “You just need to bang him and realise that the feelings you’re having are all just repressed horniness.”

“I mean, I would’ve put it differently, but… I agree.” Bubble chirped, paying no attention to your embarrassed whine, “He definitely… sounds attracted to you, and clearly he’s not alone in that.”

“But… I’m a virgin.” You argued dumbly, and Buttercup snorted.

“Do you want to stay a virgin for the rest of your life?”

“No,” You replied, frowning, “…but… it’s kind of a big deal to me. I want it to be special.”

“Haven’t you already said that the guy is like the hottest person on the planet or something like that?” Buttercup asked, raising a lazy eyebrow. “Isn’t that special enough?”

You didn’t reply, too busy blushing furiously, and Bubble squeaked with excitement.

“Oh my god! He’ll be your one and only! This is so exciting!” She cheered, before abruptly slumping down. “I really wish you had told me this after Mr Kim’s lecture. I can’t study now, I’m too excited.” She mumbled forlornly, shutting the textbook and grabbing another slice of pizza. Your mind was still stuck on Buttercup’s suggestion.

“I mean… I barely know him. I just know his name. And his smile. And the way his eyes twinkle when he laughs, oh my god it’s so cute-”

“Y/n,” Buttercup interrupted you, a rare use of your actual name stopping you in your tracks as she framed your face with her hands and shook it gently. “Bang. Him.”

“I-”

“No, no,” She chided you, putting a finger over your mouth, “No overthinking. Just… do what you want to do. Okay?”

Okay, you repeated to yourself. What you want to do. What you want to do…

But what do you want to do?

“I want you to ask me out!” You blurted over the counter the next morning when you walked into the coffee shop and saw Jimin’s back facing you as he cleaned out the milk-frothing machine.

It was only when he turned around that you realised the guy was decidedly not Jimin, and this random stranger was now looking at you confusedly as you debated the advantages and disadvantages of sprinting out of the shop and directly into oncoming traffic.

It would be a quick and painless death, you mused absently, certainly much less painful than this-

“Y/n?” A voice interrupted your thoughts and you whirled around to see Jimin standing in front of the staff door, seemingly just ended his shift with his uniform off. Oh no, he’s even hotter without the apron, you realised miserably.

His gaze darted between you and not-Jimin, something strange and unfamiliar solidifying in his eyes.

“I didn’t know you knew Sungwoon.” He commented mildly, before shooting an abrupt glare at the other barista- Sungwoon, who hurriedly went back to work.

“Oh, I don’t.” You told him immediately, feeling some kind of compulsion to tell him the truth, “I thought he was you.”

The — anger? you weren’t quite sure, only directed at Sungwoon though, not at you — on Jimin’s face melted as realisation dawned. “Oh-” Then his face did something strange, morphing into a smirk which had you biting your lip. “Oh.” He purred, stepping closer to you. “So… you wanted to tell me something, baby?”

Oh no. He called you baby again. Someone call Life Alert.

“I- uh-” You stuttered, thoughts grinding to a halt as he approached you. And then closed his hand around your wrist. He was closing his hand around your wrist. If Bubble were here she’d be having a fit.

“Let’s go and sit down in a booth, huh?” He said smoothly, before tugging you along to the most secluded corner of the coffee shop. After he guided you onto the cushioned bench, he didn’t sit across from you, sliding right in next to you so you could feel the warmth emanating from his skin. He didn’t let go of your wrist.

You were trapped between the wall and him, and as he smirked down at you, you thought that the wall was probably more merciful.

“Anyway, baby, you were saying?”

All the courage which had somehow flooded into you as you stormed into the cafe had abandoned you, wasted on the not-Jimin who had moved onto wiping down the tables, studiously avoiding your corner.

“I…um,” You mumbled, wringing your fingers together nervously. Jimin stopped you by releasing his hold on your wrist and moving his hand upwards to intertwine with yours instead. Your breath hitched as he smoothed a thumb over the back of your hand gently.

“It’s okay, baby.” He said, his voice soft and comforting, “Just say it. I promise… whatever it is-” His lip quirked up slightly, “I won’t say no. I would never say no to you.”

“Never say never.” You mumbled, and he chuckled. You could feel the warm puffs of air brushing your cheek.

“Okay, um, please don’t laugh. I know we don’t really know each other or anything, but… I… like you.”

“You like me?” Jimin parroted, and you would worry he was mocking you, but his eyes were far too happy for that.

“Uh huh,” You replied quietly, squeezing his hand. He took your other hand in his, and you squeezed that one as well.

“Like… like me like me?” He asked, and you could tell he was joking now, so you whined and gave him a half-hearted shove. He shifted slightly, only to rear back and cage you in his arms, dragging you onto his lap.

“I’m sorry, baby,” He murmured, burying his nose in your neck, and you felt like you were going to melt in the middle of the cafe. All those romance books never told you how embarrassing it was to have someone actually pay attention to you. “You just look so pretty when you get teased. My cute little baby.”

You squirmed on his lap, and his hands came to grip your hips securely.

“Baby’s a little restless?” Jimin asked, his voice low, and you let out another little whine. His hands tightened.

“Does this mean… does this mean you like me too?” You asked timidly, and he huffed a laugh against your hair.

“What do you think, Y/n?” He asked, squeezing your hips playfully. After a moment, he softened, tilting his neck slightly to plant a kiss on the crown of your head. “I like you too much.” He said simply, making you flush.

“Well, that’s good, because I like you too much too.”

“You might even say that I like you-” Jimin wiggled his eyebrows, “-a latte!”

You didn’t react, and Jimin’s smile dimmed slightly.

“You know, because I’m a barista?”

“Actually, never mind, I don’t like you that much-” You said as you tried to shift off his lap, but he held you firmly, tugging you back with a smug laugh.

“No, baby, you won’t get away that easy.”

He pressed you back against the wall bordering the booth, and-

So this is what true love’s kiss is like, you thought, before you stopped thinking altogether.

His lips were soft against yours, but insistent as they slanted over your mouth and pressed urgently until you gave in and parted your lips. He swallowed your whimpers as he skilfully twisted his tongue around yours, licking and sucking and biting and-

He drew back so both of you could catch your breath, and you slumped forwards into him.

“Now I’ve got you…” He said, his voice gravelly from the kiss. You did that, you realised smugly. “Now I’ve got you, I’m never letting you go.”

You hummed happily, curling into his arms without protest. Of course he’d never let you go. Why would you want him to? You’ve finally found your fairytale ending, except you hope it never ever ends. And, just like he promised, Jimin never lets you go again.

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