#cb 18

[farawaydoe]

"I’ve been musing on what exactly happened with Bebop that, despite so much content pointing otherwise, people ended up with Julia as the prime love interest for Spike. The answer I finally arrived at was that Julia was deliberately built in the image of the “typical love interest” character trope with Faye intentionally designed as the exact opposite to maybe drive home a point. Keiko Nobumoto as a writer has built in very strong messages around women in her works and what she has done with the love interests in Bebop seems no different.

Faye Valentine as a love interest was a feminist statement way ahead of its time (and maybe still ahead of this time). In Bebop, some of the most thoughtful and introspective sessions are written by her directly including Asteroid Blues, Honky Tonk Women, Sympathy for the Devil, both parts of Jupiter Jazz, My Funny Valentine and the two-part finale. The much more sensitive and emotionally heavy Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door is again written by her. For me, one of the key themes in Bebop which, in line with her writing of female characters in other works, is a satire on how women are viewed by society. She created two characters, one appearing as the typical demure and “respectable” woman and the other an archetype of the “cheap and easy” woman and then flipped the tables on both. Appearances and narrow mindsets can be deceiving, seems to be the message. What is the commonly believed version of the story seemed too simplistic, too base, too…macho. When Spike talks about his “other half” it is very easy for us to imagine the uber-feminine Julia as the counterpart to this man who oozes “masculinity” and charm. That’s what wives are supposed to look like, dressed in aprons, smiling, and singing for you. The image of Faye Valentine is not a ready fit and most people still struggle with the idea because that is simply not how they view women. How can a woman who dresses in tiny bits of clothing, who is assertive and difficult, who is very flawed in ways real women usually are be anyone’s “other half,” much less that of a guy they look up to? The idea here was not to shame anyone for being feminine or glorify the opposite, but call out the general societal tendency to put labels, boxes, and irrational expectations on women.

In Bebop, neither Spike nor Jet are ever, at any single point in the entire series, seen commenting on Faye’s body, calling her out on the way she dresses, leering after her, or “slut-shaming” her. Other men are seen doing these kind of things but they are always treated by the series with ridicule and contempt, never respect. The crew call each other out on their idiosyncrasies and bad behaviour but never do anything uncomfortable. Faye never feels the need to “use her body” with the boys, something she has had to build her entire personality around because of how the men in the rest of the world are. She is just one of the crew as far as they are concerned.

Ed, a thirteen year old girl, is completely safe around both of these men. Jet, an ex-cop and a very “typically masculine” character does all the domestic work without every making a big deal out of it. When Spike flashes back on Julia he thinks back on both her in the “homely” attire, which she happened to be wearing during those memories, and also her “Syndicate” avatar in the black leather. Spike understands mid-way through the series that Julia made a different choice and chooses to accept that choice and move on. He does not take it on his ego and hunt her down to make her pay. It is only when she has to play against him in the end at Vicious’ behest that he gets back involved with her but never vengefully. He cradles her head and reassures her life is just a bad dream when hers is slipping away from her.

He gets irritated by Faye’s behaviour and bickers with her but begins watching out for her from fairly early on. When she needs emotional support while facing up to Whitney, he hangs around to be there for her but does not make a big deal out of it. Through these characters, Bebop tries to show us how men should be toward the women in their lives. Neither of the men are perfect but they try in the ways they each can. And that is why, for Spike, how Faye chooses to dress is depicted to not matter since he loves her regardless. That is her choice and irrelevant. He falls in love with the woman, not with what she wears or how she possesses flaws every human being will have. And that is why it is important to understand that his feelings for her begin before he gets to know about her past. They are not strong and he does not act on them because there is already someone else in his life, even if currently absent and ambiguous. He does not fall for Faye only after learning about her past, indicating that she was sweet and homely once. That just happens to be the point where he is no longer emotionally encumbered and committed to Julia, and can allow himself to get invested with her.

So how does Spike end up here? Hopelessly smitten, aware of it, and filled with a life-wish for the first time ever? The movie is set right after Session 22, so this goes back to the episodes post Jupiter Jazz. We know he liked Faye on some level already and then the realisation about Julia strikes, allowing him to let go of things finally, or at least begin to. Spike probably takes an emotional breather, needs some time to reset.

Going back to their motif of “entwined journeys,” from ‘My Funny Valentine’ the second half of the show builds Spike as the one to get a peek into Faye’s past and secrets. By accident, he ends up hearing her real story, waking up after 50 years to a new world and no memory, saddled with debt, and scammed by someone she liked. Bebop has this habit of covering up extremely poignant moments with humour and so he is shown saying idiotic things like her story needs editing and Whitney is probably crying in the afterlife, rather than sympathising with her.

But honestly, if it was really too long and he didn’t care at-all, he actually didn’t need to stay stuck in the bathroom eavesdropping till she finished it.

The story he hears causes him to feel pain on her behalf. While he is brushing it all under calling her out on not paying Whitney’s debt and the story being yet another fake past, when she tells him this is her actual story, we are shown a certain expression on his face, again like he feels pain or concern over what she has gone through. He belongs to a troubled and difficult background himself so it would not be a stretch of the imagination for him to comprehend what it takes to go from a woman who trusted the first guy she met to someone who trusts no one. This is where his emotional wheels begin to move I believe, since he gets to see behind her tough exterior for the first time to understand who she really is.

As the episode progresses and Faye runs away with Whitney to try and get some answers, Spike ends up going after her. Whitney is Jet’s bounty and the episode again goes out of its way to establish this is a small fry Spike would never be interested in. Even if Faye ran away with him, Jet could have very well gone after her but Spike makes it a point to, resulting in what can only be described as a lovers’ quarrel executed through a dog fight.

He knows she is hurting, lost, and confused. She is alone and feels she has no one at her back. He perhaps also begins guessing now at exactly how vulnerable and untethered she is. I get the sense from that scene that he goes out to make sure she is ok, especially because he knows how difficult it is to confront your past. He distracts her, engages her, does not let her fall prey to something irrational. There is also a chance Whitney could harm her, distraught as she is at the moment, and I feel Spike wants to ensure he is in the vicinity to prevent that from happening. The pattern continues with him making it to the police station, waiting for her outside, albeit under the guise of cashing in the bounty. He makes sure she is ok and not going through all of this alone. She is sad about not knowing her past but he gently points out she has a future and that’s what’s important. It’s very uncharacteristic of his interactions with her, much more caring, and tender.

The next couple of episodes deal with other subjects but Mushroom Samba is significant in what both Spike and Faye experience while high. He sees an unending staircase and she sees herself drowning in water way over her head. The episode draws another parallel between the journey and current situation of these two characters.

'Speak like a Child’ shows things no one is expecting. It’s a beautifully over-the-top episode with the Bebop boys risking hell and high water (quite literally) to watch one tape which has nothing to do with either one of them. Spike launches into his “doing things for no reason” mode, the one he takes up when pretending to do something weird with the actual intention of helping Faye. This time he does so by acting like he has no brain cells left alive. Just as Jet is talking of returning the tape, he opens the parcel so he can’t.

From the moment they walk into the pawn shop, Spike starts doing things which will irritate the owner and will get them thrown out so the sale of the tape will not go through. He finally succeeds when the tape player begins eating the tape and he smashes it to pieces, kicking it unnecessarily hard till it breaks and getting them chucked out from the shop. A man so skilled in Jeet Kune Do would know when to stop kicking. Over here, I also wonder what Jet knows about Faye’s past (he was an ex-cop and could have found details about her cryo situation) since he walks the unnecessary extra miles with Spike to get the Beta player. Of course they get the wrong one and of course, once the correct one finally arrives, Spike immediately proceeds to open it up before Jet can return it.

We know what the last few scenes of the episode are like and the series deliberately cuts to Spike as the younger version of Faye is wondering if there is a wonderful person next to her.

I feel the theme of Spike understanding Faye’s overwhelming circumstances comes to a head here as he sees the young girl she once was on screen. Again the reactions shown on both his and Jet’s faces speak volumes. It would break anyone’s heart but I feel the protective streak Spike has anyway been harbouring for her so far reaches a critical point post this.

The episode Wild Horses sets up a hilarious reminder of how similar Spike and Faye are as individuals when they both cannot comprehend the computer jargon and then decide to shoot both purple penguin delivery trucks, unanimously agreeing it is a good idea without even considering that both might be real. Spike also comments how he is not one for delicate operations, reminder of similar statements Faye has made earlier in the series.

The truth is both of them are actually very similar. Spike’s ‘whatever happens, happens’ philosophy is mentioned by Faye as a life philosophy as well in Mish Mash Blues, though using different words to describe the same idea. Both characters are tough as nails and have managed to survive in impossible circumstances. Both are emotionally stunted due to their trauma but also capable of intense emotion and care.

Faye is the very embodiment of the survival spirit. The circumstances she was set up with three years ago, she should not have been alive now. I feel that is what begins to awaken the will to keep living in Spike somewhere around this point. He has seen what she was like in her earlier life and the contrast is stark. He’s been wrapped up in his misery but then sees someone who has had it equally bad, if not worse, but hasn’t given up. Likely a sense of bonding and affinity emerges from the realisation.

This also goes back to the idea of seeing a woman who was “truly alive” which I spoke about in the last piece. He loved Julia who, despite all her strength, could not find the courage to break away and walk the line with him. She stayed shackled to what she had always known and abandoned him when he needed her most. Then he sees Faye who found herself in a situation she knew nothing about but was courageous enough to adapt and keep going. She is shoulder to shoulder with him, never giving in.

It likely also comes both from knowing how incredibly difficult things have been for her but she has kept going and from realising she has no one else but the people on the Bebop to take care of her. I feel he begins feeling the fear of death because if he dies he does not know if she will be well and cared for or not. Even though they are not in a relationship and multiple factors may be preventing him from taking that step with her yet, perhaps he realises eventually that he wants to live so he can be there for her.

That’s also reflected in what we see him do during Pierrot Le Fou. After Spike has received a solid beating up and is lying mummified on the Bebop couch, Faye makes fun of his recklessness and leaves an orange peal on his head, feigning indifference.

However, we see her moments later smoking with a mix of worry and anger on her face. The moment she sees Pierrot’s mail addressed to Spike, she gets panicked and asks Ed to hide it, knowing he will go.

He sees it though and realises if Pierrot can mail Ed then he can definitely trace the people in his life and likely hurt them while trying to get to Spike. So he has to go and face up to Pierrot. But I feel at this point Spike’s feelings are intense enough to want to know if Faye feels something for him as well. Perhaps, seeing her so concerned about hiding the mail from him, he senses that she might but doesn’t know for sure.

So he asks her in the most juvenile and adolescent way possible, asking if she will come rescue him. Faye is not amused but then she does come. She’s not much use to the fight and ends up being shot down almost immediately but it tells him for the first time that she cares for him as well and how much. This romance in his life is very different from whatever he may have had earlier since it is very much reciprocal, authentic, and really quite innocent on both ends. But he has not experienced such reciprocation before.

When she shows up he likely realises how idiotic he was in riling her up to this level of concern, thus explaining his reaction at seeing her there (again the Bebop theme of covering up a poignant moment with an opposite reaction). He said what he did just to see her reaction, not expecting her to actually act on it, believing his own feelings to be one-sided. Since she acts indifferent to him, he probably feels she does not like him that way or, even if she does, her feelings don’t go deep. But the fact that she comes in the face of sure death tells him finally that what he feels is equally reciprocated, even if she hides it. Faye risking her life to try and save his, regardless of how futilely, is the ultimate test of commitment. It’s part of the progression which leads him to refer to her as his “other half” later, since he knows he is as important to her as she is to him, even though they never actually reach a point to be able to admit it openly to each other.

Unfortunately, during the entire time Spike is falling for her, Faye continues to care for him but the perception built in her mind of Julia’s presence in his life keeps her guarded. We see that in the finale as well, the intense, suppressed emotions she is carrying around after meeting Julia. It continues till the very end of the series and he never does get a chance to tell her how he feels about her. It causes her to stay away from him, keeps fuelling her sense of not belonging on the Bebop, and he doesn’t quite know why since he is unaware she knows about Julia’s existence.

Boogie Woogie Feng Shui has some hilarious sequences of “dumbass guiding dumbass” as Spike and Faye conjecture at Jet’s relationship with Meifa, get kicked out by Jet for smoking, and then he declares themselves fairies as they defend the ship together.

Cowboy Funk is a love letter to fragile masculinity and Faye takes Spike’s case with the comparisons of his personality to Andy. The events of the movie happen right after this one but we don’t see Spike too overtly bothered by Faye spending time with Andy. He has not made any kind of commitment or confession to her so what can he really expect? I always feel his reaction to the can of stew had more to do with Faye returning from Andy’s place in the morning than his hatred for Andy itself. Anyway, the episode is an allegory so we can’t exactly take it at face value.

The events of the movie happen, which I have already covered earlier, and we see Faye kidnapped by Vincent. Despite the threat of death, she refuses to be an accomplice to someone like him. Even without the definitive jail scene between Spike and Elektra in the film, the story of Spike and Faye is traceable, but that piece was deliberately woven in later to go back and enunciate what is shown in the series. It shows the point where Spike finally accepts for sure how important this woman is to him. He already knows he is important to her as well. It ties in very well with what happens during the next chronological episode.

Analysing the relationship of Spike and Faye within Cowboy Bebop

Part four of four

[asciuto]

on the way home, I wrote a poem, you say "what a mind", this happens all the time

[hazel-makes-things]

[brifdi-daily]

DAY 18: Charger Block & Michael !

Source: LOVE OF THE S*N [malues]

hang in there michael.

[hettywoodstonenumber1fan]

I just realised that I've been in this fandom since before season 2 and that technically makes a veteran

[jeremycollinz]

[britishchick09]

cbs' botched version of rudolph's misfits song...

and nbc's restored one! ;D

bonus- the original song from the botched footage, 'fame and fortune':

[sunmisbf]

quitting my job so i can focus entirely on the sunmi cb as a good boyfriend should

[chanceoflove]

just looked on last fm actually i was almost exclusively listening to girl groups this year lmao

[diomedrian]

He's here and he will tell me he likes me every now and then but I just. It's not enough? I want the honeymoon stage to last longer, I want us to grow more in love more obsessively. I don't want to hear about how you don't pick up the phone when you're out, I hope you're miserable.

[beardedbarba]

they featured an all female rockband on cbs news this morning and fml i can't remember the name of the band only that i enjoyed the music i'm gonna cry

[jeremycollinz]

it should be illegal for survivor players to keep calling themselves jt and stephen. there will never ever be another jt and stephen.

[jaeyvnie]

ᴍɪɴᴏʀꜱ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛ | 18+

— pairing: park jongseong x female reader

— cw: daddy dom!jay, sub!reader, praising, dlrty talk, some spit play, ch0king, implied br33ding

(A/N: i'm a little rusty and a little nervous but omg first cb post kinda nervous 🫣😛)

If there was one thing that made every bit of hard work a little bit more bearable throughout the day, it was the fact that Jongseong knew he'd be coming home to you. He knew you were already waiting for him, all soft and warm, smelling like heaven on earth and ready to give him whatever he craved.

So, when you were kneeling between his spread legs, your beautiful eyes widened almost innocently, he physically couldn't hold back the deep grunt escaping his throat.

"Just like that, baby", Jong whispered breathlessly, his head thrown back as you stroked his thick cock with both of your pretty hands, sending jolts of pleasure through his body in ways only you could do.

"Look at you, what a good girl you are", he grunted and bucked his hips up into your fists. Jong loved the way you almost immediately opened your mouth when the angry tip of his heavy cock grazed those pretty lips of yours.

"Gonna suck me off, baby? Gonna let Daddy fuck that pretty little throat, hm? Ask for it. Use your big girl words", he said firmly and gently wrapped his big, ring clad hand around your throat, making both of you gasp as he mirrored your reactions in an almost mocking manner.

"Please, fuck my throat, Daddy. Wanna make you feel good, have you let off some steam", you replied, your eyes were heavy and hooded, lips swollen from your teeth's abuse and the sight of your chest heaving so unevenly made Jay groan.

You were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen and as he gently slapped his cock against your lips, he thought about how only he got to see you like this.

"Good", he tapped his wet tip against your bottom lip before you let your jaw fall open and he gently pushed his cock onto your tongue, "girl. So good for Daddy. God, you're gonna make me come so hard, baby."

"Please", you whimpered, thighs pressed together, one of your hand still stroked Jay's cock firmly when you wrapped your lips around his tip and relished in the sound of his deep grunts and growls, "please, Daddy."

"Keep that up, angel girl. Let Daddy hear how desperate you are", Jong replied and pulled his gock away, stroking it himself before his thumb pulled your chin down and you instinctively stuck your tongue out.

With a satisfied smile, Jongseong spat into your louth not once, twice but three tomes. Each time you swallowed and each time you thanked him before he chuckled in amusement, his beautiful eyes gleaming with desire.

"Goodness, you're so pathetic, baby. You know exactly what Daddy wants. Time for a reward, don't you think? Come on", Jongseong hummed and watched the way you slowly took more and more of his thick cock into your mouth and straight down your throat. Every inch that entered your warm throat made his eyes roll back a little harder and when you started drooling and gagging, he moaned just loud enough for your pussy to clench in utter despair.

"Daddy's good girl. Keep going, maybe I'll even fill you up with my cum tonight", Jong grunted and thrusted his cock all the way down your throat, "make me proud, baby."

(a/n2: if you're new to this blog just know i will talk about daddy and spit a LOT lol)

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

1968 [Chapter 11: Hephaestus, God Of Fire]

A/N: Only 1 chapter left!!! 🥰💜

Series Summary: Aemond is embroiled in a fierce battle to secure the Democratic Party nomination and defeat his archnemesis, Richard Nixon, in the presidential election. You are his wife of two years and wholeheartedly indoctrinated into the Targaryen political dynasty. But you have an archnemesis of your own: Aemond’s chronically delinquent brother Aegon.

Series Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, character deaths, New Jersey, age-gap relationships, drinking, smoking, drugs, pregnancy and childbirth, kids with weird Greek names, historical topics including war and discrimination, math.

Word Count: 5.4k

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged! 🥰

💜 All of my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Here is our final interlude. Do you have the patience?

President Lyndon Baines Johnson has halted all U.S. attacks on North Vietnam: no bombs from the air, no infantry on the ground, no artillery shells launched by destroyers cruising in the South China Sea. The election will determine what happens next. If Nixon wins, military operations will resume until the South Vietnamese are in a sufficiently advantageous position to defend themselves from the communists. If Aemond is the victor, troop withdrawals will begin shortly after he is inaugurated on January 20th.

Regardless, it will not be until almost a full year from now, in October of 1969, that it becomes illegal for employers to reserve positions for men; the common practice of refusing to hire women with preschool-aged children will not be outlawed until 1971. Unmarried people will not be guaranteed access to contraception until 1972. Abortion will not be legalized across all fifty states until 1973. Women will not have a right to their own bank accounts or credit cards until 1974. It will not be illegal to exclude women from juries until 1975. The first female Supreme Court justice, Sandra Day O’Connor, will be appointed in 1981. There will be no female president of the United States, not for at least half a century after our story ends.

Each night on CBS Evening News, Walter Cronkite recaps the latest poll numbers. Nixon appears to have a slight advantage, due in large part to pulling ahead in Florida, Illinois, Ohio, and his home state of California. Aemond has comfortable leads in Texas, Pennsylvania, New York, and New Jersey. George Wallace will likely sweep the Deep South: Georgia, Alabama, Mississippi, Louisiana, and Arkansas. From their hovels, the racists rejoice. From her grave, Lurleen Wallace rests uneasily, scratching at the lid of her coffin with the bones of her fingers, entombed in dark oblivion like all the rest of the world’s discarded wives.

~~~~~~~~~~

You go for the door, but Aemond is faster; he catches you just as your hand is twisting the handle and the hinges creak. He throws you against the wall so hard the paintings rattle: replicas of Monets and Warhols, Almond Blossoms, The Birth of Venus. You fight, clawing at him, ripping off the eyepatch that Alys must have at last convinced him was no defeat to wear. The hollow, gore-colored abyss of his left eye socket beckons you to fall in and be burned: Hestia’s eternal hearth, the volcanic forge of Hephaestus. He’s fire all the way down, hunger and fury, bones charred black and brittle. You think of the uninhabitable furnace of Jupiter’s moon Io, lethal radiation, poisoned air, lava bubbling up like blood through a bullet wound.

“You can’t hit me,” you gasp. “You need me for photos—”

His knuckles are in your belly, crosshairs made of scar tissue. The air collapses out of your lungs; your vision dims like twilight, like an eclipse. You’re on the floor and trying to crawl away from him. Aemond’s fingers hook into the fabric of your robe; it matches the silk nightgown you wear beneath, a pale anemic pink, something soft and young and desireless, something eternally at others’ mercy, something to be guarded or gutted. He’s dragging you towards him.

He’s going to hit me again, he might even kill me.

“Stop, stop,” you plead, still struggling to breathe. “What if I’m pregnant?!”

You almost certainly can’t be, but Aemond doesn’t know that. Yet his lone eye glints like metal, like coins, no weak mortal compassion. “I would have no way of being sure it was mine.” And then he tries to cover your mouth as you scream for help. You bite at his fingers; your bare feet kick the wall. Your hair, long and loose and wild, flows around you like a bride’s veil.

Too late, Aemond realizes that the door is still open a crack from when you grabbed the handle. There are footsteps and a voice that crescendos as it approaches: “What on earth is going on in here…?” Fosco appears in the threshold, yellow tweed jacket, tight olive green trousers. He stares thunderstruck down at where you and Aemond are entangled on the floor.

You beg: “Fosco, help me.”

“No, no, no,” Fosco says, jolting from his paralysis and holding a hand out towards Aemond. “No, you cannot do this, whatever has happened, you cannot touch her like—”

“She’s not your wife,” Aemond says. She’s not your property. Fosco hesitates; his large dark eyes shifting between the two of you from behind his glasses.

“Aemond, brother, listen to—”

“Get out.” Aemond’s voice is low, searing, malignant.

“Fosco, please don’t leave me,” you whimper. You try to pry Aemond’s fingers off your robe; they dig in deeper, bruising the flesh underneath. “Don’t leave me, don’t let him hurt me.”

Abruptly, Fosco turns and sprints out of the room.

“No!” you shout after him before Aemond grabs your face, his hand like a claw, fingernails leaving half-moon indents in your cheeks, crushing pressure on your jaw.

“You’re trying to sabotage this campaign.”

“I didn’t see the reporters, I swear to God.”

He knocks the back of your skull against the wall so hard that you see momentary flashes like stars, that all the words vanish from your throat, that words cease to exist at all. “You’re a traitor. Do you know the penalty for treason? The U.S. Army would have you executed by firing squad. Zeus would chain you to a rock so your liver could be carved out.”

“You betrayed me first,” you hiss through clenched teeth, your head pounding hot and maroon.

“I have been working for this since before you were born. You can’t take it away from me. I won’t let you.”

“I did everything right and you still couldn’t love me.” You swing at Aemond and he catches your wounded hand, squeezes it, digs his thumb into the spot where the doctors stitched you closed. The pain is excruciating, incapacitating. You wail as scarlet flowers bloom through the white of your bandaged palm.

Now the door flies open again and Aegon collides with Aemond, sends him sprawling, crouches over you. He’s screaming something at Aemond, gripping your shoulder to keep you under him, his too-long hair hanging in his face, black turtleneck sweater, one of Daeron’s frayed army jackets thrown over it, ripped jeans, bare feet. Aemond grabs his brother by the lapel of his army jacket and draws back his fist. His golden wedding ring flashes in the grey November sunlight that streams in through the windows. Aegon doesn’t flinch. He’s taken knuckles to the face before; you remember cleaning blood off his skin under a streetlight in Biloxi, you remember not wanting to wash him away.

“Don’t you see what it will look like?!” Fosco is saying, trying to coax Aemond to relent. “If he is photographed with a busted face after that story comes out? If she has bruises or a black eye? By harming them you are confirming what your enemies have printed, and the voters will believe it is the truth.”

“They already know it’s true!” Aemond snatches the Wall Street Journal off the table and hurls it at Fosco. Then he paces back and forth through the room, glaring at where you are still crumpled on the floor, sobbing, cradling your bleeding hand to your chest. “It’s right there, three goddamn photographs, and that’s all it will take to bring down a lifetime of work!”

Fosco studies the pictures again, shaking his head, one hand covering his mouth. At last he offers weakly: “It could be worse, Aemond.”

“How could it be worse?!”

Aegon scrambles to Fosco to rip the newspaper out of his hands, then returns to you. He hasn’t seen the front-page story yet. He skims it frantically. “This? This is what you’re losing your mind over? It’s dark, it’s blurry, they can’t even see what’s going on!”

“I have one fucking eye and I can see it!”

“So come up with another explanation, this doesn’t prove anything.”

“If she costs me the election—”

“If you lose, it won’t be because of her!” Aegon roars back. “It will be because the Democrats have held the White House for eight years and the world has gone to hell on our watch, it will be because of Kennedy, and Johnson, and Vietnam and the riots and the hippies and the drugs and the assassinations, it will be because Nixon is promising law and order in a time when nobody is safe, it will be because you just weren’t good enough. But she has given more to your cause than anyone. You hit her and you’ll lose your other eye.”

“They were in conversation,” Fosco says, meaning the photos. The four of you know that’s not true; it is a lie for the rest of the world, it is hope for Aemond’s campaign. “On the beach. They were whispering, comforting each other. Because of Mimi. That is all.”

Aemond scoffs, his remaining eye fierce and wrathful as it lands on you again. Aegon grips your shoulder, still crouching over you, still shielding you. “You bitch. I should have left you at that party in Manhattan to be the dope-smoking whore you were when I found you.”

“I shouldn’t have helped save your life in Palm Beach.”

And Aemond blinks at you, not hurt but bewildered, like he doesn’t understand your words, like what you said is impossible. He doesn’t believe you saved him. He believes it was God’s will.

Otto storms into the hotel room and takes in the scene: you and Aegon on the floor, Aemond pacing furiously, Fosco attempting to mediate. “Nobody says anything,” Otto commands, deep booming voice, black suit like he’s going to a funeral. “The Wall Street Journal hates Aemond. Everyone knows that, they’re probably the only national publication that would run the story. Our newspapers are already pushing the counternarrative, that this was a shameful, deceitful, desperate attempt to discredit Aemond right before the election. Our supporters will insist upon an innocent explanation. Nixon’s will use the photos as evidence of our degeneracy, our amorality, us immigrants with our strange faith and our progressive politics. Everyone else in the country will be warring over this headline. We will say nothing. We will conduct business as usual. The best thing we can do now is go out there and keep our schedule as planned.” He looks meaningfully at Aemond. “And your wife must be at your side. Smiling, unscathed, devoted.”

“I lost my composure,” Aemond says to you, more collected now, businesslike. He is smoothing any wrinkles out of his suit jacket. “I was wrong to put my hands on you. I apologize for that. It was beneath me.”

You reply: “Very little is beneath you, I’ve learned.”

“You have been.” A trace of a grin, crooked and cruel. “Plenty of times. And you will be again.”

Aegon is watching is brother, seething but terrified, sheltering you with power that is only illusory, never real. It is a mirage that Aemond or Otto could punch through at any moment. It is glass that would shatter into crystalline dust.

“If I win, you will beg on your knees for forgiveness,” Aemond tells you. “You will beg in private, you will be perfection in public, and I will magnanimously overlook this indiscretion in which you were taken advantage of by my notoriously dissolute brother. There was no affair. There was a fleeting moment of weakness on your part and depravity on Aegon’s. We will put it in the past. I will be the president of the United States and you will be my first lady. You will spend every second of your existence in service of my career, my country, and my legacy. You will give me children. You will obey me entirely. And you and Aegon will never be in a room alone together for the rest of your lives.”

“You can’t keep me away from her,” Aegon says.

“I just did. I make the rules here, I am the heir to this empire. If you wanted that responsibility, you should have seized it. You squandered it, you cursed it. It’s mine now.”

A whisper: “Aemond, it’ll kill me.”

“Then have the dignity to die quietly. It will be the most useful thing you’ve ever done.”

“Aegon must be seen in public too,” Fosco says, trying to sound like he isn’t defending him. “If you appear to be punishing or excluding him, it will be used as evidence of his guilt.”

Aemond nods, then turns to his brother. “As soon as the election is called, whichever way it goes, I want you gone. I don’t care where you go. I don’t care what happens to you once you’re there. You will disappear. We will say it was your choice, and if you comply you can keep your children and receive a modest amount of severance pay to get you started. And as long as you abide by my terms, my wife will not be harmed.”

Aegon doesn’t reply. His large Atlantic-blue eyes glisten, his lips tremble, his hand is still on your shoulder. You think through the throbbing pain of your bleeding palm: Is this the last time he’ll ever touch me?

Otto grabs Aegon, wrenches him away from you, drags him yowling and clawing at the carpet through the doorway.

~~~~~~~~~~

Your hand is freshly bandaged, pristine white gauze that people in the crowd jostle to touch like the relic of a saint, to pray over, to kiss. Men tell you how brave you are to bear the pain without weeping. Women give you komboskini, stained not with their husband’s blood but with only the clean, colorless ether of hope, faith, reverence, love.

Fosco and Helaena have been dispatched to accompany the children on a tour of the Franklin Institute, one of the oldest centers of science education in the nation. Aemond is giving a speech in front of the Liberty Bell at Independence Hall. You and the others are arranged around him like a starving crescent moon. You are standing immediately on Aemond’s left side, Aegon placed at his right. He looks drunk, he looks drugged; you aren’t sure if anyone else can tell, but you can. His cheeks are flushed. His eyes are pools of murky, desolate indigo like the night sky between stars. A few attendees give the two of you curious glances, but no mention is made of the accusations in the Wall Street Journal. You get the sense that if someone took it upon themselves to ask a question on the subject, they would be jeered, reviled, banished like President Johnson, who is currently besieged in the White House by the ghosts of Vietnam.

When you look to Aemond, you see his scar, his prosthetic eye, fierce and stoic determination in the lines of his face. He is quoting the inscription on the bell: “Proclaim liberty throughout all the land unto all the inhabitants thereof…” The bronze metal has a crack in it like one of Zeus’s lightning bolts. The smile on your face is frozen, demure, humble. Aegon’s eyes accidentally catch on yours—a childlike vulnerability, a deep raw woundedness—and then swiftly dart away.

“America is the Land of Opportunity, but some have forgotten that,” Aemond says into the microphone, and vengeance creeps into his voice like a spider up a wall. “Unfortunately, for as long as new communities have arrived at our shores, vile and prejudiced lies have been used to demonize them. Greek immigrants have been crossing the Atlantic for over a century. In 1909, rioters violently expelled them from Omaha, Nebraska. In 1922, an anti-Greek initiative was launched by the Ku Klux Klan. In 1924, Congress drastically restricted my people’s entry in favor of migrants from Northwestern European nations like Britain and Germany. Greeks have been condemned as unintelligent, immoral, and unworthy of the glorious opportunities of this country. We have been barred from jobs and universities, we have been used as cannon fodder in the World Wars. Discrimination against any group is antithetical to the American Dream. I have given an eye for this nation, my wife has bled for it, my brother has—even in the midst of personal tragedy—uprooted his life and the lives of his children to fight alongside me for a better America, and I will not stand by silently as the Targaryen name is tarnished by bigoted falsehoods…”

Now you can no longer hear him over the thunder of the applause, and you remember all the other faces in all those other cities, their eyes illuminated as if by fire, as if by the sun. You imagine devotees of the Greek gods bowing low in temples of white marble and flickering torches, bringing offerings of gold and livestock, grain and blood, murmuring prayers, bargaining for miracles. Did the gods hear them? Do the gods love anyone but themselves?

Alicent and Criston are watching you and Aegon with the same eyes: large, dark, shimmering, a curious combination of horror and profound sympathy. You can feel yourself becoming a ghost, a legend, a myth. One day people will read about you in textbooks and academic journals, in plaques erected at Aemond’s alma mater, Columbia University, and your own, Manhattanville College; and they will know only the fabled version of you. Who you really were will fade into nothingness like Echo, like Icarus into the waves, like Eurydice when her lover Orpheus dared to glimpse back at her.

That night in your penthouse suite at the Ritz-Carlton, you get out of the bathtub—dewy with steam, donning your pink robe—and then go to your side of the king-sized bed and slide open the top drawer of the nightstand. The card Aegon gave you at Mount Sinai isn’t there. Your heartbeat quickens; your stomach lurches.

“What…?”

You get down on your knees to reach into the back of the drawer, to see if the card has snagged somewhere. You hear footsteps and whirl to see Aemond standing in the doorway between the bedroom and the living room. He is holding the card. The cartoon cow beams jubilantly at you. You recall what Aegon wrote inside after crossing out the manufacturer’s message: I thought this was blank…congrats on the new calf! As your eyes widen, Aemond rips the card down the middle.

“Don’t!” you scream, rushing for him. “Please don’t, it’s all I have from—!”

Aemond shoves you back and then, with a grin more like a wolf baring its teeth, tears through the remnants again and again until the card is nothing but shreds. He opens the sliding glass door that leads out onto the balcony and throws them into the cold night wind, where they scatter in a flurry like snowflakes, like bones turned to splinters by cluster bombs in the swamps of Vietnam.

The paper fragments spiral down thirty stories towards the zooming headlights on South Broad Street, and you think about following them. Then Aemond pulls you into his arms as frigid air blows through you and whispers: “You don’t need Aegon anymore. You just need me.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s Monday, November 4th, and you are walking alongside Ludwika on Broadway in Astoria, Queens, the part of New York City known as Greektown. She chats about the modelling jobs she did here before meeting Otto, her Louis Vuitton stilettos clicking on the sidewalk, her Camel cigarettes smudged with red Yardley lipstick. It is an act of kindness; she is trying to distract you. A few yards away, Fosco is telling Aegon about how he just won $500 by betting on the NASCAR Peach State 200, held at Jefco Speedway in Georgia. Aegon nods along, preoccupied, miserable. He has dark shadows around his eyes and is smoking one of his Lucky Strikes. He is wearing a green knit cap, windblown curls of his blonde hair escaping from underneath. You’re not supposed to stare at Aegon, but sometimes you can’t help it. You miss him. You’re worried about him.

The Targaryens have suites reserved at the Plaza Hotel in Manhattan, where the family will stay through Election Day to witness the results as they are tallied on the evening news. The children are there now, enjoying pizza from Little Italy with Helaena and the nannies. But you and the other adults are being photographed by flocks of journalists as you head for lunch at one of the oldest Greek diners in the United States, paying homage to Aemond’s ancestry. The candidate himself is locked in a fraught conversation with Otto and Criston: polls gaining here, polls slipping there, Nixon inching further ahead in Florida, the state you were supposed to help Aemond win.

“What should I order?” Ludwika asks you. “Not spinach pie, oh, horrible, worse than Hitler. Something else. Why can’t we go to a Polish restaurant for once? I will take you sometime. You will see. You will try a pierogi and never look back. We invented bagels, you know.”

“Beagles?” Fosco says. “What an accomplishment! They are so cute!”

“Bagels, stupido.”

“Do not bully me. I am suffering too. I should be back at the hotel eating a prosciutto pizza.”

As you pass an electronics shop with stacks of televisions in the windows, all turned to NBC news, the journalists begin to gasp and chatter excitedly amongst themselves. The flashbulbs strobe madly, shutters clicking and reporters shouting for Aemond to give them a comment. The youngest Targaryen brother has appeared on the screens, bruised and gaunt and missing teeth. He looks twenty years older than he is. His once-golden hair is turning white.

Otto sputters: “What…what the hell is that?!”

“Oh my God, Daeron!” Alicent howls, and then bursts into the shop so she can hear what her lost son is saying. The rest of you hurry after her, locking the front door behind you so the journalists can’t follow. Through the windows, they take photographs until Fosco and Ludwika lower the blinds.

Inside the maze of electronics, three adolescent employees gawk at the presidential candidate and his retinue. “Out,” Otto instructs them, and then, when they are too stunned to immediately vacate the premises: “I said, get out!” The teenagers scurry into the backroom and slam the door.

“Daeron,” Alicent moans in front of a Zenith color television. Tears flow torrentially from her huge, horrified eyes. Criston holds her, arms circling, his cheek pressed to hers, and you are reminded of how Aegon touched you in your hotel room in Houston, in his basement at Asteria, on the shores of the Atlantic Ocean.

Daeron is saying: “The United States has committed war crimes in Vietnam. I am ashamed of the actions my country has taken here. We have burned children with napalm, executed innocent civilians, and interfered in matters that we have no legitimate jurisdiction over…”

“He is reading from a script,” Fosco says. “You can see his eyes following the words.”

“Shh,” Otto snaps.

Daeron continues: “The only honorable course of action now is to immediately withdrawal all American soldiers from Vietnam…”

“I think this will help us, actually,” Otto says. “People will know he’s being forced to make propaganda for the communists, and they will have sympathy for him and the family. They’ll want to rescue him and all the other servicemen too. He’s obviously…under duress.”

Aegon drops to his knees and puts his palm against the screen over Daeron’s face, just like the shadows of your fingers once fell over Ari as he fought for his life in an incubator in Mount Sinai Hospital. “Do you see what they’re doing to him?” He turns to Aemond with tears in his eyes. “What you did to him? You left him there, you abandoned him, and now he’s being tortured.”

Alicent looks to Aemond, puzzled, petrified. “You tried to get him out, didn’t you?” Aemond doesn’t answer. Otto averts his gaze, counting the tiles on the floor.

“Dear lord,” Ludwika mutters, lighting a fresh Camel cigarette and puffing on it anxiously.

“Was it worth it?” Aegon demands. “Selling your soul?”

Aemond is steely, resolved. “It’s almost over.”

“You were all right.” Aegon stands, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his green-striped sweater. “I don’t have what it takes to win the presidency. I couldn’t do something like this. Me, the perennial fuckup. Me, the godless degenerate.”

“Aegon,” Alicent whispers. “Please…please don’t…”

He turns to his mother, insurmountably sad. “Mom, I tried to stop him.” Alicent sobs and covers her face with both hands as Criston embraces her. She can’t even look at Aemond. She can’t believe what he’s become. Her long coppery hair flows like blood.

You reach for Aegon, your fingertips brushing his ruddy cheek, and immediately he folds into you, burying his face in the curve of your neck, breathing in your warmth as you inhale his smoke and rum and pain and terror. “Daeron will be home soon,” you say, not knowing if it’s true. Your bandaged hand aches; your throat burns.

“I should have gone instead. It should have been me.”

“No, Aegon. Your children need you, I need you. I wouldn’t have made it without you.”

Then Aemond yanks you away, his grip on your wrist like an anchor, like chains.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Dad, play us something,” Orion says; and it is the first time you can remember him calling Aegon that. Aegon smiles. He’s sitting on one of the couches in the penthouse suite you share with Aemond, the Gibson guitar he bought back in July lying across his lap as he strums it absentmindedly. The television is on and turned to CBS News. It’s just before midnight on Tuesday, November 5th, Election Day. The children are thrilled. It’s the one night they’re allowed to stay up as late as they’re physically able to. This allowance is not purely altruistic; Aemond wants them awake and ready for photographs as soon as the winner is announced.

“What should I play?”

“Frank Sinatra,” Fosco says. He is beside Aegon on the couch, smoking a cigar and flipping through the Sports section of the New York Times, which he’s not really reading.

“Marvin Gaye,” Ludwika suggests. They are both on your side of the room. Aemond, Otto, Sargent Shriver, and a number of campaign staffers are huddled around the television, transfixed by the ever-updating vote totals. Alicent and Criston are between your factions, murmuring back and forth to each other, flutes of golden champagne in their hands. Helaena is on the floor entertaining Violeta, Daphne, and Neaera with Crayolas and coloring books full of scenes from gardens. You recall how eerily calm Helaena had been the night Aemond was shot in Palm Beach, like she somehow already knew he’d survive. Now she is nervous, looking fretfully around the room, wringing her hands, filling outlines of butterflies with ten different shades of blue.

“The Beatles,” Orion tells Aegon, casting Fosco and Ludwika a judgmental teenage glance.

“Any particular song?”

“You can pick.”

Aegon sips at his rum, ice cubes clinking in the glass. He looks over to the coffee table, where you are embroiled in a game of Battleship with Cosmo. He’s getting better; he’s genuinely sunk your destroyer and submarine so far. Then Aegon’s eyes drop to his guitar strings and he plucks the opening notes of In My Life. His voice is soft and low, almost secretive.

“There are places I’ll remember

All my life, though some have changed

Some forever, not for better

Some have gone and some remain…”

Cosmo turns to watch his father. Orion, Spiro, Thaddeus, and Evangelos are gathered around Aegon’s feet, gazing up at him with admiration, with love.

“All these places had their moments

With lovers and friends, I still can recall

Some are dead and some are living

In my life, I’ve loved them all...”

Cheers erupt over by the television; Aemond has just won Michigan. But then tense, indistinct deliberations follow. Florida is still too close to call, a bad omen. You wonder where Alys is as she watches the results come in. There must be some part of her—however small, however smothered—that fears Aemond will win. If he captures the presidency, she could be separated from the man she loves for the better part of a decade. You drink your Pink Squirrel, wishing it was stronger. You think of sea sponge divers down in the depths and imagine what that first gulp of air tastes like when they resurface, when they shed their rubber suits and brass helmets and step back into sunlight, warmth, freedom like Persephone returning from the Underworld each spring.

“But of all these friends and lovers

There is no one compares with you

And these memories lose their meaning

When I think of love as something new…”

You wear a sapphire-colored gown that Aemond chose for you, strings of silver around your wrist and throat, diamond teardrops hanging from your ears. Your hair is up, your fingernails painted a tasteful opalescent shade, the aching of your bandaged hand dulled by booze and Vicodin.

“Though I know I’ll never lose affection

For people and things that went before

I know I’ll often stop and think about them

In my life, I love you more.”

More triumphant shouts and applause across the room by the television: Aemond has won Washington state. From his own suite at the St. Regis Hotel a few blocks south on 5th Avenue, Nixon’s people must be celebrating that he just secured Ohio’s 26 electoral votes. He needs 270 to be the next president of the United States.

Florida, you think. If Nixon can take Florida, I think he’ll win the whole thing.

As Aemond and Otto are distracted, as Fosco and Ludwika watch with pitying, knowing eyes, Aegon sets his guitar aside and walks by you with his rum in hand, taps your shoulder, disappears onto the balcony. You wait a few minutes—Cosmo wins Battleship and goes to color on the floor with Helaena—and then follow Aegon.

Outside the night sky is moonless, starless, thick with clouds. Rain is beginning to fall, soft hushed pattering. Far below taxis and limousines are still rushing and blowing their horns on West 59th Street. You can see the vast forested shadow of Central Park and streetlights like constellations. In apartments and office buildings, windows are illuminated as Americans sit numbing their fears with beer, wine, shots of liquor, smoldering hand-rolled joints.

Aegon is cross-legged at the ledge, one hand on the iron bars of the railing, staring out at the nightscape of Manhattan. His hair lashes in the cold November wind. His nose is pink, his eyes wet and faraway. He passes his Lucky Strike cigarette to you as you join him and says: “I don’t think Aemond can win without Florida.”

“No,” you agree, taking a drag.

Aegon snatches a rattling orange bottle from the pocket of his olive green army jacket, pops it open, and swallows three pills with a swig of straight rum, dark amber poison.

“Don’t do that,” you say, you plead.

“I need it, babe.”

“I want you to still be alive in ten years.”

Aegon smiles and reaches over to pat your cheek twice. “I think that ship might have sailed, little Io.” Can decades of self-destruction be undone, uninflicted, nullified like Heracles becoming immortal? Can the Underworld be escaped? “Come with me. No matter what happens tonight.”

“Aegon, I can’t.”

“I’m in love with you.”

“If I leave, he’ll hurt you. He’ll hurt me worse.”

“It’s not fair,” Aegon says, his voice breaking.

“Nothing is.”

There is an uproar inside the hotel room, screams that could be horror or triumph, realized dreams, breaking bones, bullets through flesh. You and Aegon are on your feet, hauling the balcony door open, stepping through the threshold into the rest of your lives.

Glasses are being toasted until champagne rains down onto the carpet. The telephone is ringing so Nixon can concede. On CBS News, Walter Cronkite is reporting that Aemond has won Florida and thereby accumulated 270 electoral votes. The blue text on the screen reads: Senator Targaryen will be the 37th president of the United States.

[k-zuzulibrary]

스트레이기즈

s.CB, h.HJ, h.JS, l.YB 𖹭 gn!reader

my enemy.

synopsis: they eventually give in after years of hatred, rivalry, and built-up tension only to get caught by another member.

content: changbin, hyunjin, han, felix (seperate) 𖹭 reader, enemies, suggestive/nsfw/18+ (minors do not interact), idk what this is honestly, poor attempt at comedy, reader has gender neutral pronouns and no specified genitalia, gentle brat tamer!cb x brat!reader, mean dom!hj, switch!felix x switch!reader, subby!han x mean-ish dom!reader, bondage, unprotected sex (cb), big dick | blowjob | dubcon penetration | photography (hj), implied feelings | doggy style | penetration (felix), lots of teasing and some pet names in all of them, swearing, not proofread, lowercase intended.

zuzu's note: part 2!!! hope u enjoy. part 1 here.

binnie.

"you need to learn your place," changbin spoke softly, his tone dripping with condescension. he had chased you around his room for quite some time before he finally caught you, and with a swift and experienced motion, he grabbed your wrists and skillfully bound them together behind your back with a length of silk rope. his grip was firm, yet gentle, as he tied the bindings tight against your skin.

what could you have possibly done to make the kind and lovable seo changbin hate you? you were a brat, a nuisance who pushed his buttons and tested his patience. he tried to be patient with you for months, but your bratty behavior was too much to handle. and worst of all, you sent him mixed signals. half of 'i am a brat because i have a crush on you' and the other half being 'i am a brat because i hate you.' years passed and changbin had finally had enough, he decided it was time to do something about it.

with a swift and powerful motion, changbin easily picked you up off the floor, walked to his room, and tossed your form onto his bed, not missing a beat as he quickly locked the door behind him. he looked down at you with a stern expression, his tone firm as he spoke.

"you can't just go around doing what you do." he scolded softly.

you looked up at him, feigning innocence. "doing what i do?" you repeated his words, genuienly confused. "y'know, changbin, if you want me to come up with a great comeback you're gonna hafta give me some details—" your words were cut short when changbin stuffed a piece of fabric in your mouth.

changbin looked at you directly, his gaze intense and focused. "let me do the talking," he said firmly. "i need to know if you want to fuck me or not." he held your gaze as he waited for your response. "so, just nod if you do." he continued, his voice steady. "and shake your head no if you don't." he wasn't afraid of the consequences of his actions. it was you sending mixed signals, and he wanted to clear the tension by being direct.

he watched. struggling to keep the smile off of his face as he watched you nod your head, eyes staring directly into his. finally. for once, you were easy to talk to.

"okay... may i take you... here, now?" changbin sat on the bed next to you and removed the fabric from your mouth.

"...yes... you may." you said, breathy.

"but i wanna be able to use these ties, is that okay?" he asked. "to be able to do that, you'll have to get naked."

"yes, fine, please, whatever! just- just take me." you shook around, trying to free yourself from the restrains so you could undress yourself.

"don't get too excited." changbin reached for the hem of your baggy shirt and pulled it over your head, revealing your exposed chest — he wanted to roam his hands all over your body so badly but he had to be patient. he pushed you against the bed so you laid down on your arms. he steadily, cautiously, painfully slowly pulled your shorts and underwear down. finally taking the remainders of the silk rope on your wrists and he tied them expertly around your thighs, keeping them spread.

you watched all but in silence, giving bratty, annoying commentary about how he was taking his sweet time, but he was patient once more because he knew he would be able to fuck you in silence. but you're not very quiet in bed to no one's surprise.

finally, when he was done, he stood up and observed his masterpiece, you, spread all perfect for him — you looked at him in silence, expression defeated by how he took his sweet time and you were still horny. finally, changbin climbed onto the bed, hed in between your legs and he collected his saliva before spitting onto your hole. fitting his middle finger inside, you squeezed tightly around him and let out a soft mewl.

"ah, come on, do you have to be such a tease~?" you whined out. you couldn't move much so your only weapon was your words

"yes, yes i do." changbin curled his finger in your hole right where you wanted it and your entire body jolted at the sensation.

"f-fuck, just take me now. don't wait. i can't take it anymore!" you shuffled around his bed, almost crying.

"beg for it." changbin watched your desperate form freeze at his words.

"what? this isn't a porno, quit making me do shit and just fuck me already—"

"beg. for. it." he stood up and pulled out something from his drawer. "i got a vibrator here and i could edge you all night if you're not up for begging,"

"f-fuck. fuck you. fuck." you closed your eyes and sighed deeply. "please. please, changbin, fuck me. i want your cock in me so bad, please... i'm begging." you whined, tears forming on your eyes.

"good job." changbin placed down the vibrator on the table and climbed over you, one hand stroking the side of your hair and his thumb grazing over your cheek. "don't cry. s'beautiful." he whispered. unzipping his pants and pulling out his hard, fat cock, pushing it against your entrance that begged for him to come inside.

"ahh, please..!" you whined. your legs were already sore from the restraints and you just wanted his cock to fill you up so good. "seo changbin!" you yelled. finally, he pushed his dick inside without a warning, erupting a yelp from your throat.

"fuck..." changbin hissed. hips unmoving as he let you adjust to the pain. "fuck, are you okay?" he asked, looking into your eyes and you nod, lips parted and unable to speak.

"better than okay. keep going..." you took deep, ragged breaths, squeezing tightly around changbin's thick cock as he began to thrust into you with an unrelenting pace — he was so much faster than you ever would have expected him to be. (not that you ever imagined having sex with him.) "ahh, changbin! keep going~" you moaned out, your voice high and desperate as he thrust into you faster and faster, the bed creaking beneath the force of his movements. the sound of you being pounded filled the room, mingling with your pleas for him to continue.

the noise of your moans and changbin's thrusting filled the room, effectively covering up the sound of keys jingling and the door slamming open. however, the moment was quickly ruined by a high-pitched scream that didn't come from either of you.

han stood frozen in the doorway, his mouth and eyes wide with shock as he took in the surreal scene before him. "OH MY FUCKING JEEBUS," he yelled, too traumatized to even flinch. he began crying and quickly barged out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him. "I'M SO FUCKING SORRY, I'M SO SORRY." he sobbed. you weren't sure if he was apologizing to you guys for barging in or apologizing to himself for ever coming inside unwelcomed.

jinnie.

"hyunjin, i swear on my unborn dead great grandchild's grave. delete that photo right now." you chased hyunjin around the living dorm room as he cackled like a maniac. "hyunjin, i'm fucking serious! someone might walk in! don't be such a dickhead."

"oh, but throughout our relationship when was i not a dickhead?" he stopped running and held the phone farther out of your reach when you attempted to grab it. "y'know, i'm starting to think you wanted me to see this."

he held his phone tightly in front of your face, revealing the nude mirror selfie you took a few minutes ago and accidentally shared to him. in a panic, you accidentally unsent the photo 'for you' rather than 'for everyone' causing you to quickly cover up in a robe, run to his room in hopes that he was asleep so you could delete it before he saw anything, only to lead to this very moment.

"why on earth would i want you to see that?! delete it! " you whined and grabbed his phone but he pulled it away from your grip, his eyes flickering down to your exposed chest in your loosened robe.

"come on, y/n, stop playing hard to get." he held your chin and put his forehead against yours. you pushed him away and scoffed.

"fucking forget it. asshole." you grumbled and walked away.

"you sure?" hyunjin called out to you. "i know a way you can get me to delete it."

you froze in your step and slowly turned around, eyes meeting his across the room. of course he knows a way. it's hyunjin. you let out a small sigh and crossed your arms over your chest.

"...fine. what is it?"

hyunjin shrugged. "deal with the problem your pic caused," he set the phone aside plopped himself down on the couch, legs spread wide.

you wanted to scoff and tell him to fuck off but you thought this could be an opportunity an eye for an eye, or in this case, a nude pic for a nude pic — so, you walked over and sunk down on your knees. hands roaming his pyjama-clad thighs before ghosting over his erection. you smirked, looking up at him. "is this all just for my picture?"

"do you want it to be?"

"ugh, you're impossible."

"i technically can't be 'impossible' because i exist, the term you're looking for is that i'm 'improbable'—" his retort cut off short when you squeezed his cock through the thin fabric before kissing it softly.

"blah blah blah. you're hard for me." you looked up at him before slowly pulling his pants down along with his underwear. your breath hitching in your throat as you catch sight of his large, long, and pretty penis — fuck, you're starting to just wanna suck him off but you can't let your plan go to waste.

hyunjin looks down at you, brows a bit furrowed and lips slightly parted as he takes in steady breaths. you take in the tip of his dick into your mouth and he lets out a soft moan, you bob your head a bit before pulling away, a string of saliva connecting the two of you together. "fuck." hyunjin mutters under his breath, throwing his head back, eyes closed.

"is it good?" you ask as you pump his length with one hand. the other reaching down for your own phone in the pocket of your robe.

"more." he whines.

you smirk as you turn on your camera and turn the flash off, your right hand pauses from jerking him and you stand up to take the perfect photo of his fucked out form on the couch, legs spread and dick exposed in all his glory. hyunjin looks at you and immediately runs to grab your phone. "hey! what do you think you're doing?" he grabbed both of your wrists, squeezing your left hand until you dropped your phone to the carpeted ground.

"taking your picture since you have mine." you winced at his grip but that didn't stop you from being a bitch.

"i already told you i'd delete yours if you just-"

"what? sucked you off? nah, i'd rather use your own picture against you." you chuckled in his face.

"but you already- why did you have to- ugh, you're so frustrating!" hyunjin tossed you on the couch and pinned you down, his large frame over yours. he uses one hand to undo your robe and he lines up his member with your entrance. it was all so fast but you didn't want to interject.

"you need to finish what you started, darling." hyunjin pushed his tip inside you.

"fuck, fuck-" you hissed out as he stretched your insides and you grabbed on tightly to his shoulders. "it hurts!" you cried out and hit his back, he immediately pulled out and looked at you.

"fuck, sorry, are you alright?"

"asshole, couldn't you prep me first? you know you're big." you grumbled

"ayyo what the fuck," a deep voice erupted from the doorway. your heads simultaneously snapped to felix. his eyes darted from your position, your exposed body through the undone robe, to hyunjin's hard dick. the sparkle in his eyes faded as they grew wider and wider. "WHAT THE FUCK?!"

hannie.

"stop making a fuss about everything! focus on a way to get out."

you didn't know how a private discussion with the hate of your life inside the storage room would lead to you both being trapped in it. you were convinced one of the members did so, but it was not funny.

"kick it down, asshole!" jisung stepped back, giving you space.

"you kick it down!" you yelled, almost offended that he even believed you had enough strength to kick the damn door down. "you have the years of training and working out for performances—"

"quit yapping about and just do something about it, i'm tired of sharing oxygen with you—" you slammed jisung against the wall, rendering him and yourself speechless. you didn't know what your next move was at this point, but when you saw the small tent forming on jisung's thin pyjama pants, you knew what your next move would be.

"you—"

"shut up." jisung darted his eyes away from yours, stepping closer to the door and repeatedly banging his hand against it. the loud, irritating noise filling the room. "guys! is anyone there? let us out!"

"stop it." you stepped closer to jisung, your form sandwiched his with the door on the other side. "you don't want them to hear what's gonna happen next, no?" you gently guided his body to turn around so he faced you before you got on your knees and slowly pulled his pants down, revealing his large hard-on squeezing past his black underwear.

you looked up to see jisung with no objections but still avoiding your gaze, so you slapped his bare thigh to garner his attention. "hey." you blankly called out for him. "look at me." without hesitation, he looked at you, his brows were furrowed and his eyes were watering a bit.

"fuck, can you just suck me off already?" his hands reached for your hair, pulling you toward his crotch, but you fought back, pushing yourself away from him with the help of the door behind him.

"don't be so eager, jisung—" you attempted, but he was too strong, one hand turned your head to face his dick and pushed your lips against him.

"shit," he hissed, throwing his head back. he began rocking his hips and pushing his clothed groin against your lips.

"jisung!" you yelled and slapped his thigh again, erupting a yelp from him, pausing his actions. "i told you not to be so eager."

jisung's knees fell weak and he slid down the door, sitting against it and covering his face in shame. "b-but i wanted it so bad—"

"well, you're gonna have to earn it." you got on your feet and stood, looking down at him.

"h-how?"

"make me cum."

jisung eagerly nodded and went on his knees, going straight for your crotch, but you grabbed him by his hair and pulled him back. "ah ah," you tutted. "don't be eager." slowly, you gently guided his head to your crotch. "slow and steady," you whispered and let out a breath of relief as you felt his warm breath against you.

slowly, you let go of his hair and pulled your shorts down — the scandalous sight of your enemy, han, on his knees for you, his warm breath against your skin, his erection still evident and aching against his underwear — all of it combined turned you on more than you thought it should.

you stepped backward so you had something to lean on while han pleasured you, instantly, your back met with the shelf and you hit it a little too hard — causing a stack of unopened canned paint to fall down and clatter against each other as they rolled across the floor, you and han slowly watched as it rolled from your side, all the way down to the door that was now open. your eyes went from the bare feet, slowly going up to the skinny form see hyunjin with his jaw dropped (you were surprised you didn't see it on the ground next to his feet.)

"BANG CHANNNNNN," hyunjin ran away from the ungodly sight.

"fuck." you cursed and pulled your shorts back up, running after hyunjin and leaving han on the floor. "HYUNJIN, WAIT, WHAT YOU SAW IS NOT WHAT YOU THINK IT IS." (what the fuck else could it be, y/n?)

lixie.

"c'mon, don't tell me you haven't imagined us making loveeee~" you purred, sauntering towards felix's bedside. you'd walked in on him mid-fanfiction, his phone glowing with the words of a steamy enemies-to-lovers scenario on ao3, his phone discarded and long forgotten on the floor. he flung it across the room when you walked in. funnily, he flung it in your direction. so, you picked it up and read enough to get the gist.

"don't tease, y/n. it's art, it's a- a novel—" felix tried to excuse his behaviour with a scoff and made a weak attempt to push you off of his bed, you remained seated.

"novel my ass. the literature published on ao3 are nothing but for self indulgence and the pleasures of dirty minds like yours."

"aren't most books?"

"come on, just say it. say you wanna fuck me." you giggled, poking his side teasingly. "say itttt~ ah!" you let out a pained yelp when your head bangs against the headboard and felix pins you down on his bed.

his face hovered inches above yours, his breath hot against your face. "is that so bad?" he growled, his voice dropping to a lower octave that sent shivers down your spine and straight to your core. you gulped, suddenly finding it hard to breathe.

"oh shi, my bad bro, i didn't mean to trigger the demon within-" you attempt to laugh it off. but your heart raced in your chest as felix continued to pin you down with his gaze, his grip tightening around your wrists. "come on, i was just teasing, bro, let me go. i have work to do."

"come on, if you had time to come in here and tease me, you can take a few hours off work, no?" he purred, tilting his head closer to your face.

"quit joking, felix-"

"you're one to talk about joking," felix whispered, his lips brushing against your neck. you let out a breathy moan in response as he placed open-mouthed kisses on your sensitive skin.

"no, really," you gasped, threading your fingers through his hair to keep his head close. "you can't handle hours with me. you'll tap out first."

felix chuckled darkly, his hands roaming over your body. "wanna bet?" he asked, mouth against your neck, peppering kisses up until he finally connected your lips together, you moaned into his mouth and chased him as he pulled away.

"fine, let's bet then," you challenged, breaking free from his grip and reversing your positions. straddling his hips, you slowly lowered yourself onto him, grinding once, twice. his hands dug into your hips, and he buried his face in his pillow to muffle a deep groan. "what's wrong, baby boy? can't handle it anymore?" you teased. grinding again before taking your sweater off and tossing it aside.

"nah, come on, you can do better than that." felix laughed and pulled his pyjama pants down, revealing his plain black boxer shorts. you pushed his shirt up, exposing his chiseled abs, and you peppered them with kisses, pressing a soft kiss against the bulge in his underwear.

"do you think i could take you?" you tilted your head and pulled his underwear down, revealing his pretty erection. you began pumping him slowly, licking the precum off of his tip. you can feel him shiver under your touch and you smile sweetly. "can't take it anymore, honey?"

"you're being unfair." felix complained, sitting up and turning you around to put you on all fours. he pushed the small of your back down, forcing you to arch, and then expertly pulled your pants and underwear down in one swift motion. you decided to let him have his way and see what he could do to please you.

"shut. the. front. door." hyunjin stood at felix's doorway with a cheeky smile. "Y/N, YOU DID IT! I TOLD YOU BEING A BITCH TO HIM WOULD WORK!"

"HYUNJIN, GET THE FUCK OUT."

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆.˚

main masterlist.

©️ 2025 k-zuzulibrary All Rights Reserved.

[thirstkanaphan]

Tinytown Digest - May 2025 Week 3

Hello! These recaps come out at the end of the week and new entries will be pinned to my blog and reposted to the Ateez Community.

What Did I Miss?

Ateez performed at Kpop Masterz in Santiago, Chile! Thank you to all the Chilean Atiny who gave them a warm welcome!!

San attended the opening of the luxury jewelry brand REPOSSI's new store in Korea

Hongjoong appeared on 'Hong Seok-cheon's Jewel Box' with his brother Bumjoong

Seonghwa and San appeared on YouTube program '연고지 (Hometown)'

Wooyoung will have a 14 page feature in Arena Homme+ Magazine June 2025 issue

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Arena Homme+ Korea (@arenakorea)

This Week

CB announcement....? 😭

TBD Hongjoong, Yeosang and Mingi will appear on Epik High’s YouTube Channel

The Ateez concert movie hit cinemas worldwide! I hope everyone who went had a great time!

Coming Soon

5/31 Ateez is on the lineup for 'K-POP Masterz 2025 in Kuala Lumpur' to be held on May 31 (Sat). CRAVITY will also feature.

TBD San will appear on ‘Naraesik (나래식)’. The episode will be released this month.

6/9 Ateez will feature on "Immortal Songs - 2025 Gyeongju APEC Special"

6/11 Ateez will perform at the 2025 BOF BIG&BAND CONCERT.

6/18 Ateez is on the artist lineup for 'Mrs. GREEN APPLE presents CEREMONY' to be held on Jun 18 (Wed) at K-Arena Yokohama.

Voting and Streaming

Thank you to everyone who voted for the 2025 AMAs! Ateez is nominated for Favorite K-Pop Artist. Voting has ended and the ceremony will be 5/26! Let's cheer them on!

Ateez has surpassed 3B streams in total on Spotify!

Seonghwa’s cover of Odoriko reached 1M views!

With a comeback on the horizon, I am sharing resources for anyone interested in participating in collecting + voting for music shows. No one should feel obligated, but if you are interested, this is a great website to familiarize yourself with the different voting apps and how to collect (feel free to message me if you need help or advice!):

Extras

On May 17, the fandom celebrated the seven-year anniversary of Ateez's (KQ Fellaz) first performance video.

Screenrant: 10 Underrated ATEEZ Songs That Every K-Pop Fan Should Appreciate

Song of the Week

Happy 3rd Anniversary to "ROCKY (Boxers Ver.)"

That's it for this week!

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