#especially since they’re about to fuck up his face in like ten episodes

[bicheetopuff]

I hope this yassification of anime katsuki stays consistent through the season. We all know how bones usually makes him look like a sewer creature…

[pedrito-friskito]

strawberry wine - joel miller x ofc!liv stone/fem!reader

during - part twelve

series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3

joel finally gets his head out of his ass, with a little push from tess.

a/n: we have BIG CONVERSATIONS IN THIS HOUSE FAM. i want to reiterate: i love the canon joel x tess. i live for it. but the drama/angst/emotion it has allowed me to create but backpedaling them SLIGHTLY? delish. enjoy babes, please scream at me about the ending 😇

word count: 5.5k

warnings: MY BLOG IS 18+, MINORS DNI, angst, drinking, lots of emotions, mentions of canon-typical violence and injuries, mentions of death, joel is both an asshole and an Emotional Man, tess and liv are true bffs and god bless last night’s episode for solidifying some of my plans 🤍

✨I do not have a taglist - follow @friskito-library for updates on future chapters/works✨

“You need to talk to her.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, Joel, you—”

“Don’t tell me what I need to fuckin’ do, Tess. Leave it be.”

“Joel—”

“Please.”

+

You’ve been staying at Deanna’s. Two weeks now, since your stint in lockup, since Angie had beat the literal shit out of you. The couch isn’t comfy, and your ribs are still sore, but it’s fine. 

The kids are happy to have you around. Emily especially, once she got past the bruises on your face. You weren’t expecting Henry’s reaction; when you woke up in Deanna’s apartment the next morning, he was sitting vigil beside you, tears on his face, bottom lip jutting out. You told him you fell down the stairs, trying to get a laugh out of him, and he’d just hugged you, buried his face in your chest.

You try to keep things normal, whatever the fuck that means anymore. You take on extra jobs, trying to earn more ration cards for the three living in your apartment. Tess shadows you, follows you around every day, and you tell her your secrets, point out your routes, the soldiers you have dirt on, the ones you know not to fuck with.

“She’s the one that beat you?” she asks one day, jutting her chin towards Angie. You’re standing in the warehouse that serves as the food bank, waiting in line. You’ve had a heartbeat in the bruise on your cheek since you woke up, and standing ten feet from the woman who gave it to you isn’t exactly helping. 

You disguise your nod as a stretch, wincing at the pull on your ribs. Deanna was sure you hadn’t broken any, but you sure as hell were bruised. They didn’t look as bad as your cheek, but the pain was deeper, and seemed intent to linger longer. “Yeah, that’s her.”

Tess sneers in her direction, and you have to stifle your laugh. “Fucking bitch.”

You like Tess. You really like her. She’s a hard ass, but rightfully so, given the history. She hasn’t given you much more of her past, and you’re definitely not about to offer up any of yours, but the friendship between you is quick. You’ve skirted the Joel subject so far, despite the fact that they’re literally sleeping in your bed. Most of your conversations have been about the QZ, the inner workings, your smuggling. You have a job coming up, and Tess has already said she’s coming with you.

“I doubt Joel will be thrilled about that.”

“Joel can fucking shove it.”

She hasn’t been shy about her displeasure towards him, but it hasn’t done much to change things between you. You went down to grab some clothes a few days back, and he’d been the only one inside. Tess was out exploring, and Tommy had gone with her.

He didn’t say a goddamned word.

You’d managed to hold back the tears until you were back in the hallway, but you sobbed so hard you thought you actually were going to crack a rib. And on the other side of the door, you heard the radio flick on, assumedly to drown out your noise.

You nearly put your boot through the wall.

You move up a few places in line, and reach into your pocket, pulling out the ration cards you’ve collected. It’s worked out okay; you had some stashed to begin with and you were able to pull a few jobs after you got back on your feet. But Tess is adamant they’ll pay you back, despite your protests.

“First job I take,” she says to you, jutting her chin towards the stack in your hand, “you get half.”

You shake your head. “I told you, it’s fine.“

“It’s not,” she replies, her tone determined. “It’s the least we can do, after what you did for us. Hell, I should give you back double for putting up with the bullshit Joel’s been throwing at you.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” she repeats, and grabs your arm, turning you towards her slightly. “I’m not fucking okay with this. I need you to get that. He needs to talk to you. You need to talk to him.”

“He doesn’t want to talk to me, Tess,” you say, toying with a corner of a ration card. “I have to respect that.”

“And he should give you the same courtesy,” she says as you move up again. “You need to talk this out. He can’t keep putting up brick fucking walls; you deserve more respect than that. You put your ass on the line for us, and got the shit kicked out of you. History or not, he owes you. I’ll lock you two in the same room if I have to.”

“Hah,” you scoff, lifting your brows. “I’m sure he’d love that.” 

She goes quiet as you reach the front of the line, handing over the cards. The woman working the table slides a crate of food across to you a second later, along with two jugs of water that Tess reaches for. It’s not until you’re back outside that she speaks again.

“I want us to be friends,” she says, and the tone in her voice makes you pause, stopping in your tracks. “I like you, Liv; you’re strong as hell. Brave. Best damn smuggler I’ve ever seen. I just…I need you to understand, me and Joel, it’s nothing close to what I had with Nate, or what he had with you. I know that. I get that. We laid out ground rules from square one. It’s a…” She trails off, searching for the right word.

“A comfort,” you provide.

She nods. “Yes. And I…if I had a second chance with Nate? If I walked down this street tomorrow and saw him walking through that fucking gate, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to—” She stops, clamps her hand over her mouth and you almost jump when you see the tears in her eyes.

“Tess.” She blinks hard, waving a hand at you, and in an instant, the badass demeanour has returned, if not doubly so. You continue, “If he’s a comfort to you, I can’t be the person that takes that away. He’s not mine to take. Especially not if he doesn’t want me back. It’s okay. You can’t force his hand in this.”

She eyes you, chewing at her thumbnail before, “Maybe I can.”

You shake your head, hefting the crate of food higher on your hip. “Let’s take this back.”

+

The doorknob jiggles, and Joel’s head snaps up. He’s sat on your couch, some book about woodworking in his hands, a mostly abandoned glass of whiskey on the table in front of him. Tommy’s at the kitchen table, bent over a map, trying to figure out the path they’d taken, all the way back to Austin. “I’m just curious,” he’d said when Joel had asked, his voice almost clipped. Joel hadn’t pushed any further.

The door swings open, revealing you and Tess, a crate of food on your hip, Tess carrying jugs of water. Joel gets to his feet, wanders towards the kitchen, leaning against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. Tommy gets up immediately, takes one of the jugs from Tess. She starts putting stuff away, and you step closer to the table, digging in the pocket of your coat. “Exciting news,” you say, pulling out a key ring with three keys on it, dropping it onto the table. “Moving day.”

“We’re not going far, are we?” Tess asks over her shoulder.

“No,” you reply, pushing a hand through your hair before shucking off your coat. “One floor up, few units down. Besides, you know where to find me.” Joel catches you glance his way, but it’s short-lived, you turning away a moment later to help Tess put the rest of the food away. “I saw they have a posting for a handyman in the building, one for the apartment across the street too,” you say, putting away a box of instant mashed potatoes. “Unit maintenance and stuff like that, thought you boys might be good for it.”

Tommy nods, enthusiastic. “Sounds good to me.” He glances at Joel over his shoulder. “Gotta get started paying you back what we owe you, Liv.”

You wave a hand, and Joel sees Tess give you a pointed look. “Listen, all of you. We’re square, okay? I mean it. I’m just…I’m glad you’re all here. Safe. That’s all that matters to me.”

Joel can’t hold his tongue. “That soldier beat you half to death.”

“Oh, you noticed?” you throw back, and the guilt simmers in his gut. “We’re square,” you repeat, leaning against the kitchen counter, hip cocked, arms crossed over your chest. A mirror of Joel’s stance. “But there’s something I wanted to bring up to the three of you. Tess and I have already talked it over, and I’ve done okay for myself given the circumstance, but I could use you, all three of you.” Your eyes flick from Tommy to Joel and back again, so quick he nearly misses it. “It’s a risk, I won’t lie, but I’ve got dirt on half the soldiers in this QZ. And I know exactly what to give them to keep their mouths shut.” 

“You already know I’m in,” Tess says, bumping her hip into yours. There’s a tiny grin on your face, the bruising along your cheek pinching slightly. “There are still connections from Baltimore we can use. Between the four of us, we could be living like kings, for a change.”

You nod. “Either way, it’s an offer. I trust you all enough that you’ll keep it secret, but if you want in, my door’s always open.” You pause. “But I do want my keys back.”

“I’m game,” Tommy says, leaning back in his chair. “You tell me where and when, Liv, and I’m there.”

“Same,” Tess agrees, “but we’re still paying you back.”

Joel can’t believe what he’s hearing. “Are you out of your damn minds? Both of you?” He stares at Tommy when his brother turns to face him, glances at Tess when she steps forward and plants her hands on the kitchen table. “We just got safe again, and already you want to put that in jeopardy?”

Tess scoffs, and the sound makes Joel blood boil. There’s too much happening. The guilt never leaves, but seeing you, hearing your voice, it makes it that much worse, and Tess looking at him like he’s a fucking idiot doesn’t help matters.

“We pulled a lot of bad shit to stay alive out there, Joel,” she says, her tone stern. “Baltimore was no different. I highly doubt a bit of smuggling is going to fuck with our reputations.”

“Your records are clean,” you offer, your voice placating. It makes the hair on the back of Joel’s neck stand on end. “When Cowan brought you through, he wiped them. Tommy’s is already clean, otherwise they wouldn’t have let him through to start with.” You lift your hands. “It’s just an offer, Joel.”

How have you managed to make his own name feel like a punch to the gut?

“I’ll show you to the apartment,” you say, grabbing the keys off the table, putting a hand on Tess’s shoulder. “You guys can talk it out. There’s no pressure. I’ve got a job in a few days, and—”

“I already told you, I’m going with you,” Tess says, and Joel’s brows raise.

“Tess—”

“Shut up, Joel.” She turns towards the door. “Let’s go.”

You swallow, hard enough that Joel can see your throat bob from where he’s standing. Tess grabs her jacket, gestures at Tommy to do the same, and his brother gets to his feet. You hold open the door, and Joel follows Tess and Tommy out. He tries to catch your eye as he walks past you, but your gaze drops to the floor.

Their unit is one floor up, three down from yours. You unlock the door before handing the keys to Tess, let it swing inwards. It looks about the same as yours, save for the floral wallpaper. It’s a bit bigger, an actual separate bedroom, another bed tucked in one corner, a room divider that’s seen better days blocking it off. He’s surprised, almost, that there’s furniture, even blankets on the beds, and follows his brother inside. Tess wanders, and you hang in the doorway, leaned against the jamb.

“I found some stuff at the donation warehouse,” you say, scratching the back of your neck. “People will leave all kinds of shit down there, stuff they don’t need. The mattresses aren’t great, but I cleaned them best I could, and there’s some clothes too.” Joel turns to look at you, and your eyes move away from his again. “And, if you’re game for smuggling, when knows what else we might find.”

Tommy walks back over to where you’re stood, slings an arm around your neck, pulling you against him. “You’re an angel, Liv. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you reply, leaning your head against Tommy’s chest, and Joel ignores the zip of…is that jealousy surging through his gut? Fuck.

But it turns into guilt just as quick, makes something mean bubble out of his mouth before he can stop it. “You shouldn’t have done this.” He doesn’t look at you, not directly, but from the corner of his eye, sees you balk, flinching slightly.

“Joel,” Tess chides, walking over to the door, pulling you out of Tommy’s grip and into a hug. “We owe you, I mean it.”

Joel watches, as you hug Tess. Your eyes flutter shut, your hands hooked around her shoulders, your brow pinched slightly. God, how many times had this thought crossed his mind? How many times had he wondered if the two of you would get along?

How many times had he dreamt of merely seeing you again?

Yet here he is, fucking it up harder than anyone ever could have imagined.

“I’m gonna go,” you say, jutting a thumb over your shoulder. “Tess, I’ll see you tomorrow?” She nods. “And Tommy, you can ask Sergeant McCoy about the handyman gig. He’s a decent guy.”

Then your eyes turn to Joel. He meets them, looks back at you, feels the guilt so thickly he’s convinced it’s replacing his blood. He thinks he hears you say his name, but then your wrench your eyes from his, disappearing from the doorway. His feet move of their own accord, propelling him towards the door, but he stops short, hands swinging at his sides.

Tommy claps him on the shoulder. “Brother, I love you, but you’re a fucking idiot.” He turns to Tess. “I’m gonna go check on her.”

Tess just nods, and the door shuts a moment later. It’s just the two of them, and Joel can already tells he’s about to be on the receiving end of Tess’s anger.

“Sit, Miller.” She points to the kitchen table. It’s not much different than yours, though there are no maps spread across the surface. “You can’t keep doing this shit.”

“Tess, don’t—”

“No, shut the fuck up,” she cuts him off, her hand flexing in the air. “You’re gonna sit there and you’re gonna listen, you understand? Please.”

Tess doesn’t often say please.

Joel swallows hard. “Fine.”

“You need to go after Liv,” she says, the words blunt, laying her hand flat on the table. “You can’t keep pushing her away and treating her the way that you are. You can’t keep doing this to her.”

“I have to,” he replies, the words quick, half-hearted. An excuse.

“No, you don’t,” Tess throws back, just as quick.

“You—”

“We’re done,” she says, cutting him off again. “You and I. It was just stress relief, right from the beginning. I know that, you know that. Nate was gone and you were there and I…” She shakes her head, lifts her hand to her mouth and bites her knuckle before continuing. “If I had a second chance like this, a second shot, goddamn, I would have dropped you so fast your head would’ve spun.” She actually laughs. Her eyes are big and wet, but no tears fall. “She loves you, Joel, and you love her. I knew it from the second you saw her at the gas station. It’s not—”

“Tess—”

“Listen to me, Joel. If I turned a corner tomorrow and saw Nate right there in front of me, there’s not a force on this whole fucking planet that could keep me from him. So why are you doing this to her? To yourself?”

He goes quiet, for a long moment. Stares down at the table top, digs his nail into the grain of the wood. “You said it yourself, Tess. We did a lot of bad shit out there to stay alive. I’m not…” He shakes his head. “I’m not who she remembers, who she loved before.”

Tess reaches out and grabs his hand, squeezes his fingers tightly. “Joel, the fucking world ended. I didn’t know her before, but I highly doubt that the Liv I know now was the same before the outbreak. We do what we have to, to survive. She put her life on the line for us, without batting a fucking eye. The least you can do is talk to her.”

“I can’t—”

“You can. What do I have to say to get it though your thick fucking skull, Miller? Second chances like this don’t just happen. If I had one, I sure as hell wouldn’t squander it the way you’re so hellbent on doing. So don’t.”

“Tess—”

“Please.”

Tess doesn’t often say please.

Slowly, Joel gets to his feet, and Tess follows suit. He’s not quite sure what to do next, but then she grabs the front of his jacket, hauls him against her, throws her arms around his neck. He hugs her back, mouth pressed to the curve of her shoulder.

“And I don’t wanna hear any more shit about not joining forces with Liv,” Tess says softly. “We’d be fucking fools not to.” She claps him on the shoulder, pulling away. “I’ll see you around, Joel.”

“Bye, Tess.”

The doorknob is cold when he reaches for it, and Tess doesn’t say another word as he steps out into the hall, pulls the door shut. His feet seem to carry him down the hall on their own. He heads down the stairs, faintly hears Tommy’s voice calling after him as he heads down towards the lobby. 

“Joel, where you going?”

It’s still a few hours until curfew, the sky still light, though dark clouds are gathering over the city. The moment he’s out the main door, he’s sprinting, running as fast as his legs will carry him. He’s pushing past people on the street, boots scuffing on the pavement, mumbling apologies when he almost crashes into someone. 

He just keeps going, arms pumping once he’s through the crowds of people trying to get home. He has no idea where he’s going, but he just keeps going, on and on and on until he finds himself standing in the same alleyway you’d lead him and Tess through, when you’d smuggled them inside.

What the fuck is he doing?

The rain starts slow, a few drips pelting his shoulders, the back of his neck. He tips his head back, stares up at the ominous dark clouds, hears the rumble of thunder in the distance. Joel lets his eyes slip closed, hands loose at his sides.

In a flash, it’s a downpour. He’s soaked in a matter of seconds, rainwater seeping through his hair, wetting his scalp. It runs down his cheeks, sneaks beneath the collar of his flannel, gathers in the hollow of his throat.

She loves you, Joel, and you love her. 

Tess is right. He knows she’s right. It didn’t matter how much time had passed, he always knew in the back of his mind that if he found you again, he wouldn’t be able to keep himself away from you. Everything he’s been doing, everything he’s said since you mentioned Sarah, it’s been…survival. Fear, that if he lets himself have you again, he’ll just lose you, like he lost her. That someone or something will take you from him.

Tommy told me. About Sarah. Joel, I’m so sorry, I just—

It hurts. The memory makes panic and fear surge through him, every single time. Makes his heart beat faster, his hands clench into fists, sweat at his hairline. But you don’t know that. How could you? He hasn’t told you, hasn’t let you in, hasn’t done anything but try and stay as far away from you as possible.

He can’t keep doing this. He knows that. When he closes his eyes, he still sees those tears on your face, at the gas station. The bat in your hand, the bravery in your eyes. You weren’t the same person he’d fallen in love with back in Austin. But you’ve survived just as hard as he has, and you lived. You’re alive.

I’ll find you, baby.

He swore to you.

“What the fuck am I doing?” Joel says the words aloud, towards the sky, to the dark clouds still pouring down on him. “Fuck.”

He turns on his heel and sprints back up the alley. The rain isn’t letting it up, pelting his face, soaking his hair further. He pushes his way back through the crowds, takes the same random path he’d just run in reverse, back to the building.

Back to you.

He takes the stairs two at a time, ignoring the way his knees are shouting in protest. He’s out of breath by the time he skids to a stop in front of your door, bangs his fist on the wood. “Liv!”

“It’s open,” he hears you call from the other side, and twists the handle, pushes the door open. You’re sitting at the kitchen table, rubbing at your forehead, a bottle of whiskey not far from reach. Your gaze lifts slowly, but then your entire expression changes when you see him standing there in the doorway. “Joel? What’re you do—”

“I wanna talk to you,” he says, the words coming out in a rush. His heart is hammering in his chest. He steps through the doorway, shuts it behind him. “Please.”

“Why are you wet?” you ask, your eyes narrowing, but then you shake your head, waving your hands. “Doesn’t matter. What…you wanna talk?”

“I do.”

“About what?”

He heaves a breath. “You. Me. Tess, she—”

You lift a hand, your expression turning defeated, and reach for the whiskey. “It’s fine, Joel. I get it. It’s not like I expected you to wait around for me or anything like that, but just for the record, it’s not reason enough to avoid me like the fucking plague.” You take a swig from the bottle, tearing your eyes from his.

“I’m sorry,” he says instantly, and takes a step towards the table. You lower the bottle, slide your gaze back to his. “About all of it, Liv. Please. I just wanna talk you.” 

He rubs a hand over the back of his neck, shakes the water from his fingers. You don’t say anything when he shrugs out of his jacket, hangs it on the hook near the door, settles into the seat across from you. He points towards the whiskey, and you slide it across the table to him. The liquor burns on the way down, but the warmth that follows helps with the chill from the rain.

You lean back slightly in your chair, crossing your arms over your chest, staring him down. “You wanna talk, Miller,” you say, and part of him wonders how much you’ve had to drink already. “Then talk.”

He takes another long swig of the whiskey. The noise the bottle makes as he puts it back down seems to echo through the apartment. “I’ve been an asshole,” he says, his gaze dropping to his lap, “since the gas station. I’ve been trying my goddamn best to push you away, and I just…” He lifts his head, lets one hand rest on the table, an olive branch between you. “I’m sorry.”

“You said that already.”

“Liv, I just…I did some terrible shit out there, to stay alive. I’m not the same. But I know you aren’t either.”

“We all do terrible shit to stay alive, Joel.” You huff a little laugh. “It’s just the way of the world now.” You drag a hand over your face. “Besides, you are the only thing I have left,” you say, and Joel’s heart jumps into his throat, “from before.” You blink hard, and he can see the tears gathering along your lashes. Everything in him wants to vault the table separating you and just hold you. “I was gonna leave Boston. Before they put up the wall, when all that was standing in my way was a fucking chain link fence. I was gonna leave. Then Cowan calls the Austin QZ, asks about my family, and there’s no record of my sister, no record of you, but my parents…”

You trail off, shaking your head, squeezing your eyes shut. You wipe at your cheeks, and lay your hand on the table, inches from his. Joel’s fingers twitch.

“What happened?”

“FEDRA levelled Austin, when it was overrun. My parents were in a shelter, when they dropped the bombs, and no one survived.”

Joel balks. He remembers, that night, the outbreak. He remembers Tommy’s truck barrelling down the road, down the main drag where the hardware store was. He remembers flames pouring out of the storefront, shattered glass and the way the awning had caught fire. He remembers praying to whoever the fuck was even bothering to listen anymore that your family was okay.

“So you stayed.”

You nod, fingers tapping on the table. “I stayed. I got lucky, really. Dean got me good, before I…” You trail off, rubbing at your shoulder. “They were killing anyone who was injured, shooting them point blank in the streets. I just ran, and nearly a week later, when the soldiers stopped me at the fence, I was still me, and Cowan made sure no one saw my injuries, had Deanna treat me. Left a nasty fucking scar.” You squeeze your shoulder, pulling your eyes from Joel’s. “I never stopped wanting to go looking for you, Joel. Not once. I just—”

He shakes his head, flexes his fingers on the tabletop. “It doesn’t matter, Liv. You did what you had to, to stay alive. We all did.” He swallows hard. “When did it happen? With Dean.”

You grab the bottle, turning fully to face him, your other hand still planted inches from his. “Outbreak day. It’s funny, actually, I had just been on the phone, with you, you remember?”

Joel lets himself smile, the conversation rising to the surface of his mind. “We wished each other happy birthday.”

“We did,” you agree, and take a swig. “I just got home, and Dean was…he was just standing there, in the bedroom, staring out the window. He didn’t notice me, not at first.” You shake your head, letting go of the bottle, rubbing your fingers across your forehead. “I shouldn’t have done it, looking back, but I didn’t know, and I…I called his name. He turned, and he looked at me with that…that dead look they have, you know? And then…then he started running at me, and I knew something was wrong. I kept the bat right by the bedroom door, and when he came at me, I just…swung. Until he stopped.”

You grab the bottle again, and Joel flexes his pinky wide, until it grazes yours. Your eyes drop to the table. “You protected yourself, baby.”

It’s like everything in the apartment shifts, as the endearment rolls off his tongue. He doesn’t mean to say it so soon, but everything in him is aching to comfort you, the feeling tenfold after being stuffed down for so long. Why did he put you through this? Why did he put himself through this?

Your eyes are watery when they lift to his again. “I never should have left Austin, Joel,” you say, and slide your hand across the table, settling it on top of his, your palms pressed together. “I never should have left you.”

“I’m here now,” he says, letting his fingers curl around your wrist. His heart races when you do the same. “It doesn’t matter. None of it.”

Your thumb slides across his pulse, and your eyes flutter shut for a moment before they meet his again. There’s fire in your eyes, one he hasn’t seen in a long, long time. “What are we doing here, Joel?”

His brow pinches. “What d’you mean?”

“This is the ultimate second chance,” you say, and he can’t help his chuckle, “and we are royally fucking it up.” He keeps laughing, and you dig your nails into his skin, making him yelp. “It’s not funny, Joel!”

“I know, I know,” he says, his tone going apologetic. “It’s just…you and Tess get on well, don’t you?”

You scoff a little laugh, nodding. “She’s a badass.”

He juts his chin towards you. “So are you.”

“I get it,” you say, pulling your eyes away. Your hand stays where it is. “The two of you, it makes sense. I…I was with Cowan.” You make a face. “Am with Cowan? I don’t know. It’s just…comfort, I guess, but now, it…”

Joel can’t help but bristle slightly. “He’s helped you all these years?”

You nod slowly. “Hasn’t ratted me out, got me out of some pretty deep shit once or twice. But he’s not…” You nail him to the spot with your stare, leaning forward slightly, sliding your hand up his arm until it’s wrapped around his forearm, resting in the crook of his elbow. “He doesn’t come close, Joel. Dean, Cowan, they’re just…” You shake your head. “They’re nothing, compared to you. I could never love anyone else the way I loved you.” You pause, chew your lip. “Love you.”

“Liv—”

“But I won’t get between you and Tess, I promise. I like her, and you and me, it doesn’t—”

“Tess broke things off,” he says, and your eyes go wide. “She was right. I couldn’t keep doing what I was doing, pushing you away, thinking it was easier that way. I don’t want to stay away from you anymore. I can’t stay away from you.”

“So don’t.”

“You just said you and Cowan—”

“It doesn’t fucking matter. None of it matters.”

Joel’s brain stalls, for a moment, seeing the flare in your eyes. He gets up slowly. Your hands move to your lap as he rounds the table, pulls you to your feet. There’s only inches between you, the air turning thick with tension. “Say it again,” he says, his voice hushed, almost a whisper.

You close the distance, stepping into his arms. His hands slip beneath the hem of your sweater, resting on your jean-clad hips, and Joel inhales deeply when your palms slide up his biceps, rest on his shoulders, one hand slipping up the back of his hair, wet curls twisted between your knuckles. 

“Don’t stay away from me,” you murmur, tugging lightly at his hair, until his face is angled with yours. He can smell the whiskey on your breath, see the remains of the bruise on your cheek. He can feel your heartbeat, wild against his own, your chest against his. “Be with me, Joel, please.”

Your voice cracks on the please, and that’s what gets him. The tension snaps, and he can’t hold back anymore.

There’s no hesitancy in it. It feels like he’s kissing you for the very first time all over again — feels like he’s seeing you for the first time all over again. The press of your mouth is hot and wet, a tiny mewl falling from your lips to his as you hold him to you, your fingers tightening in his hair. He kisses your bottom lip, then the top, sinking his teeth into your flesh, pulling more tiny noises from you. God, he’s fucking missed you, so goddamned much.

You chase him when he pulls away, grabbing his lower lip between your teeth, making him groan into your mouth, giving you a hungrier kiss the second time round. He pushes you backwards, your boots tangling with his and suddenly you’re a heap of limbs on the ground. You actually laugh and Joel kisses the sound right out of your mouth, licking his tongue along the seam of your lips.

The motion makes you whimper, adjusting yourself beneath him until your thighs are spread either side of his hips, your boots planted on the ground. Everything in him feels white-hot, and he can’t stop kissing you, making up for lost time, pouring his apologies into his kisses, memorizing the way you feel and taste now.

“Joel,” you gasp out when he slides his hand along your jaw, tilts your head back on the wood floor, noses his way down your throat.

“Yeah, baby?” he murmurs into your skin, inhaling you deeply, kissing at your pulse.

“Take me to bed.”

PREV | NEXT

[shimmershae]

My thoughts on the Walking Dead Series Finale, Rest in Peace.

Or did they change the title?  

No matter.  Spoilers ahead.  So tread carefully through the lengthy landmine of my consciousness, lol.  

Placing behind a cut because reasons.  Oh and typos abound because it’s 3 am and I haven’t gotten a good night’s sleep since this episode so.  

Some general thoughts about Season 11 and TWD in general—much like the season, this is gonna be all over the place so BEWARE and read accordingly

 ·      Carol and Daryl deserved a better ending than that.  

·      Except for the images of all the characters we’ve loved and the ones we’ve lost along the way saying “we’re the ones that live”?  I basically hated that Richonne coda.  It was too long, too detailed, and too ambitious for a show that all too frequently in its latter season dropped the ball on the little things that would have paid off big.  

·      I’ve lost count of how many fucking time jumps this show has taken over the span of its entire run, but I do know there have been too many.  Not only that but they’re always skipping valuable character moments and arriving at their “end destination” without any build up because, yep, they skipped it.  What could have been forgivable a few times turned into one of this show’s biggest liabilities.  

·      So many characters just disappeared with little to no explanation.  Off the top of my head?  Heath.  Cyndie. Hell.  All of Oceanside was hand waved away this season.  Virgil.  Like did the dude die or what?  And what of Annie?  Negan’s insta-wife carrying his redemption-baby?  After having comparable screen time to the show’s leading lady (c’mon, you know it’s true, especially in 11A and 11B), she just vanished.  

·      Speaking of screen time, what in the actual fuck were TIIC thinking sidelining their leading lady, their most talented actress, the heart and soul of the whole damn show?  As Carol, Melissa McBride is an incomparable actress.  Absolutely phenomenal.  And as one of two OGs, she should rightfully have figured very prominently in the main storyline threads this entire season, not just had her appearances sprinkled over the last 8 episodes.  

·      Inexplicably, it seems Carol’s screen time was “given” to Maggie so that she might have a circular argument with Negan for 2/3’s of the season and only see any real forward momentum and emotional realism in the last handful of episodes. The final episode really.  Given that she has her own spinoff with Negan, it makes very little sense and made for an extremely dull first 2/3’s of the season watching them basically meep, meep like the Road Runner on a treadmill going nowhere.  

·      About that “heart to heart”—I cannot overstate how much it pains me to call any moment between Maggie and Negan that, especially when the pair most deserving of a bonafide heart to heart only got the skim milk version when they should have gotten the full fat, vitamin D version-- in the final episode, it was overdue and I loved that Maggie didn’t pull any punches with Negan because the man murdered her husband with more glee than most children open presents Christmas morning and that’s saying something.  He can seek redemption all the day long and keep “proving” himself. But does that mean he will ever “deserve” Maggie’s forgiveness?  Personally, I don’t think so and feel it is selfish to want it.  Negan suffering the realization of what he cost Maggie and Hershel frankly isn’t enough, IMHO.  I don’t care how much the fangirls cry about his woobie face.  He’s come a long way and morphed into a character I find multi-faceted and entertaining if not wholly likable during Angela Kang’s tenure and I appreciate that.  But as his exclusion from Team Family’s Thanksgiving-esque feast following their last battle proves at least to me?  He’s a bad man that’s done some good things not a good man that simply lost his way because lovelies?  That road was lost ten thousand detours ago.  

·      Random observation.  Or more like questions, lol.  Just who in the hell prepared that big ass feast Team Family enjoyed in the finale to the tune of Stevie Nicks’ Landslide?  Who had the energy?  It couldn’t have been too long after the battle because generally Walker bite victims don’t tend to linger terribly long, unless TIIC threw their usual conventions out the window with Rosita.  Which, come to think of it, wouldn’t be outside the norm.  They’re always changing things to suit their current needs. 

 ·      Ah, Rosita. I knew she’d been bitten soon as she fell into that sea of Walkers and the fact she didn’t have any torn or disheveled clothing was an eye-rolling moment for me.  Also that she wasn’t bleeding because that, to me, suggests the bite didn’t break the skin and you know. Maybe I haven’t paid that much attention to all the various Walker bites in the past, sometimes I simply look away because of the gruesomeness of it all, but usually it takes a break in skin for infection to spread.  I guess she got the Bob treatment, come to think of it.  

·      All that nitpicking aside, Rosita’s sendoff actually had some very lovely moments.  Once I pushed back on how pissed I was that TIIC were leaving another child motherless.  Were killing a WOC who had only recently enjoyed added dimension in her character and story (although…Rosita, like Carol, seemed be to relocated to the back of the class in Season 11 after having much more impactful screen time in Season 10, a far superior season).  Her goodbye scenes with the people she loved, particularly Eugene, hit hard.  But even those didn’t tug at my heart near as much as her trying to soak up every last second she could of her remaining time with Coco.  That made me ugly cry.  

·      Know what made me ugly cry that I was in no way expecting?  Luke’s death scene where Yumiko and Kelly and Magna and Connie were covered in his blood and their tears, sobbing as they fought futilely to save him.  I don’t know. I wasn’t attached to him.  I liked him well enough in the very small doses we got of him.  But I didn’t actually expect to cry over him dying.  Especially since we hadn’t seen him all season and he was obviously brought back to be sacrificed for a bloody death.  Angel Theory, Eleanor Matsuura, Nadia Hilker, and Lauren Ridloff were very convincing in their love and grief for him.  

·      Carol and Daryl were no less convincing in their worry for the little Ass Kicker they both love but to be honest?  Judith coming to in the nick of time and finding superheroine strength while being seemingly severely injured (I mean, she had blood coming out of her mouth) to rescue Uncle Daryl in the opening scene took me out of the moment so bad I had a hard time taking the ensuing scenes with her life being in jeopardy seriously. That and she might as well be wearing chain mail because Scott Gimple done fucked up once (and many times afterward, he’s a rambling, riddler of a perpetual fuck up) before by killing Carl and you’d hope AMC would have learned their lesson by now.  I personally think not, but let’s move on from that, m’kay? I’ll address more on the Carol and Daryl front later.  If I do so now, that’ll be all I talk about because I have a lot of feelings.  

·      Was Jules’ death a callback to Noah’s in that revolving door because it kind of felt like it?

·      Sorry I’m bouncing around a lot here but these “reviews” of mine are always stream of consciousness and hey.  I’m basically a human Dug, lol.  

·      So Daryl wakes up in that hospital bed with a massive shiner and gauze wrapped around his head. How’d he get there?  Who else felt cheated by not getting to bear witness to Carol seeing her Pookie passed out cold on that hospital lobby floor alongside Judith?  Who do you think she went to first?  Judith or Daryl?  Who helped her get them to safety?  She’s the only one that has been shown to have the bare minimum of medical experience and it makes little sense she wasn’t taking lead on amputating Luke’s leg, at the very least assisting; I’m not discounting Connie’s bravery.  Anybody that’s managed to survive in their world and make their disability their “superpower” would have to be, but I don’t see her taking that initiative.  Assisting, yes.  But holding the knife?  No.  Same thing with Kelly.  So that part rang a little false for me but whatever. Anyway.  Don’t you love how we have all these time skips and scene cuts that skip the parts we’re always curious about?  Just me then?  Okay.  

·      I can’t be the only person distracted by the increasing visibility of Norman Reedus’s real life tats.  I mean.  Daryl keeps having all this ink showing up, continuity be damned.  

·      Carol stroking Judith’s hair while she’s lying on that stretcher makes me wish we’d gotten more scenes of the two of them together.  Maybe one where Judith, missing her mom, asked Aunt Carol to brush her hair at bedtime.  Maybe even braid it.  I mean, they established in one of the earlier eps Carol had been taking care of the kids in Daryl’s absence.  They definitely could have spared a minute or two giving us a heartwarming scene like that to show a few things—how much Carol loves Judith despite trying to keep her somewhat at arms’ length, how very much she still misses Sophia, and where she was sleeping in Daryl’s apartment when he wasn’t there and if she and Dog were still missing him and sharing cuddles.  😉

·      They really missed the boat big time not having Carol help Siddiq in the infirmary at Alexandria.  I mean, sometimes I felt like they were hinting at it.  Remember when Siddiq called Carol on the radio for Ezekiel and Dante answered?  He was like “she’s right here.”  I’ll forgive them not doing more with that though because Season 10 was chockful of Carol and she had so much going on.  I didn’t feel the need to fix-it fic her into the fold because she was quite literally the fabric of the whole season but again.  Let’s not dwell on that because feelings.  I got lots of them.  

·      Mercer’s reunion with Princess was cute.  She scaled that big man like a Sequoia, lol.  It reminded me of how much I loved the idea of them earlier in the season.  I really hate they got the fast-forward insta-couple treatment thanks to those oh-so-lovely time jumps and scene cuts because their courtship would have been something else.  Literally so much of Maggie and Negan’s storyline could have been skipped over in favor of them and it wouldn’t have made a damn bit of difference other than the audience actually being more entertained and less exasperated.

·      Okay though. I have to wonder two things about how the fuck Lydia and Aaron came to be back at the Commonwealth.  How in the world did Lydia manage to stay upright much less walk with as much blood loss as she sustained?  Also?  That blood loss had to have her smelling like a Happy Meal to those Walkers.  I mean, logic says so anyway, but I guess we all know logic doesn’t live here in this place.  

·      Rosita finding and rescuing Coco and there being a baby each for her, Eugene, and Father Gabriel made me laugh, not gonna lie.  

·      The callback to Shane blocking Rick’s door with the stretcher was a nice touch.  

·      Come on. Am I the only one LMAO at the obvious doll legs and feet in those shots of Eugene and Father Gabriel climbing that pipe?  I mean, it was definitely distracting.  Again, I ask how the fuck a Walker bit through the thick material of Rosita’s hoodie. It’s not like those assholes have shark teeth.  Oh well, abandoning all measures of believability, I enjoyed how much of a fight Rosita put up and was inwardly cheering her on even as I had to refrain from rolling my eyes.

·      We were robbed of witnessing Carol and Daryl’s reaction to seeing Lydia.  Robbed, I tell you.  Then again, we’ve been straight up pick pocketed all season.  

·      Negan looking concerned for Judith and flanking Lydia was an obvious blink and you miss it ploy to remind us he’s not all bad and it worked a tiny smidgen because JDM’s a softie with kids.  

·      I love that Aaron has come around where Lydia’s concerned.  She’s a sweetheart of a kid that deserves all the love and Aaron has a lot of love to give at his core and experience with the situation she’s now in but dammit.  Carol was right there and Melissa and Cassady would have literally brought us to our knees with nothing more than another tearful  hug to mirror their last embrace.  Why AMC?  Why?  

·      Gimple’s version of Negan could never.  That apology was a long damn time coming.  Long damn time.  

·      Finally, I don’t feel resentment towards Eugene’s scenes this episode.  Like for so very much of this season, Eugene and Maggie have been Pac-Man and Ms. Pac-Man, gobbling up all the airtime with stories we felt no emotional connection to or were just tired of hearing about because nothing novel happened but in this episode?  They were stripped down to the heart of the matter.  Somewhere along the way I fell a little bit in love with Eugene’s friendship with Rosita.  I never expected to.  There was an ick/cringe factor in the very early days.  That changed about the time Rosita firmly friend-zoned him.  I felt sympathy for the guy then even as I cheered Rosita on for saying the words he needed to hear.  So him sussing out the truth of Rosita being bitten and her reaction to that?  It broke my heart more than I ever thought it would.  Their “I love you’s” were sweet and made me tear up and they were shaded so much differently than another pair of “I love you’s” that touched a nerve with a certain faction of fandom.  I bet you can all guess who I’m talking about without my naming names.  😉.  I mean, it’s not the first time the two relationships have been in direct juxtaposition with each other, demonstrating the true differences between platonic and romantic love.  

·      The silent look that passed between Daryl and Carol as they sat vigil at Judith’s beside was intense and full of all the things they’ve never dared speak between them. No two do it better than Melissa McBride and Norman Reedus and that’s 100% fact.  That said, the time for their long, long, long overdue “heart to heart” should have been right there in that very moment.  Or at least the beginning of it.  Because all that chilly distance Daryl’s been keeping between them all season melted with that look at her.  He already knew his feelings.  He tried to tell her then show her why it wasn’t like that before the cave in.  And being faced again with the fragility and brevity of the one life they’re given?  It just seemed like the perfect time for confessions to be made, even if they were in the form of a simple “I can’t lose you” echoed back to Carol this time. For apologies to be spoken and accepted. But the lazy AMC scribes relied on the power and magic of Melissa and Norman’s chemistry to do all the work for them like they have basically all season and seriously.  Fuck that.  Those intense gazes have lit me on fire each and every time all season but goddammit. We’re past time for words here. They’re the OGs.  The OG ship.  The ship to end all ships on TWD whether some people want to admit it or not. The least they warrant is an actual honest conversation where they stop dancing around the hot pink elephant in the room—they are in fucking love, your honor.  Anyway.  Let me nudge these thoughts along before I write ten more pages about that.  

·      Carol’s stroking Judith’s hair again and I can’t help feeling that the walls she’d erected around her heart to protect herself after losing Lizzie/Mika/Carl/Henry started melting like an ice cream cone on a hot summer’s day because she hasn’t been shown to be that tactile with Judith since the Grove.  In that respect, what comes later, her staying to help care for the kids, isn’t as much a WTF moment as it could have been. 

 ·      The ensuing moment, however?  Judith’s comment to Daryl—“Sorry I didn’t tell you before.  I was scared that you would leave, too” and Daryl’s response of “I’m right here” definitely adds to the WTFuckery of Daryl’s ultimate exit.  

·      Ezekiel’s pontificating is an obvious setup for what comes next for him.  And like, it’s been obvious all season.  But I will say this.  I personally resent the fuck out of him leapfrogging Mercer, a figure that’s already been established to have celebrity status with the people of the Commonwealth, someone that’s been there since the beginning, and having a leadership position. Their positions should have been switched but again.  Logic has no rightful home in this place.  

·      It’s the small things.  Carol and Daryl barely letting each other out of sight the whole episode makes my heart sing.

·      Father Gabriel letting the people inside the walls, especially after the way he was introduced, really makes it strike home how much he’s changed.  

·      There would have been something poetic about Walker Lance ending Pamela, not gonna lie. But then we wouldn’t have gotten Carol being Queen of Sass with her so.  

·      Okay. The scene where they’re trying to corral all the Walkers to end them should leave me with more than the thought of “Wow, what a waste of all that fuel, it’s not like there’s an endless supply.” It was anticlimactic but whatever. I’m not here for the fights or explosions or the damn zombies.  They could have mentioned it in a line of dialogue and I would have been largely satisfied at this point because we’ve lost so much time this season with so many characters.  Carol was criminally underutilized until 11C.  I’ll never forgive TIIC for that.  Ever.  

·      “We already had to make an ugly decision.  Kept you alive.” LMAO, I love it when Carol’s a savage queen.  “…At least we don’t have to worry about who gets your house.”  

·      Glenn was beautiful, Maggie.  So beautiful. I still miss my baby.

·      The scene between Maggie and Negan where she tells him she can’t forgive him? It is literally the best scene Maggie has had all season.  I don’t want to remember Glenn like that either.  

·      Who cooked a Thanksgiving feast?  Who?  

·      Eugene watching Rosita with Coco.  Mercer and Princess cuddled up.  Carol smiling and laughing.  Dog. All to the tune of Landslide.  My heart is so full.  

·      Rosita watching it all and confessing to Father Gabriel about being bitten with Judith noticing had me teary again and I’ve always been in the WTF camp with Rosita and Gabriel.  Cailey’s little face, though.  The child has a bright future.  

·      Carol and Maggie helping Rosita to bed and saying their goodbyes.  The way Rosita seemed to squeeze Carol a little extra hard. I mean, everybody seems to just sink into a Carol hug and I’m pretty sure that’s all thanks to Melissa.  Wouldn’t you?  I know I would.  

·      “We’ll see you again someday.”  When Father Gabe said that to Rosita, I let out a little sob and I never liked them as a ship.  I was full on crying when Rosita told Eugene she was glad it was him with her in the end.

·      Another fucking time jump.  When will they ever end?  

·      Eugene and Max naming their baby Rosie was a sweet touch.  

·      I still can’t get over them making Ezekiel Governor instead of second in command to Mercer.  

·      Sounds like Daryl and Connie only see each other when he visits the different communities. I have many words for that but I won’t say them, lol.

  ·      Lydia looks happy.  She deserves it.  

·      Negan giving Judith her compass back—I’d honestly forgotten she gave it to him, it feels like forever ago.  So I’m guessing he finally left like Carol tried to get him to when Maggie first returned. That’s what I got out of that scene anyway.  

·      They didn’t show us the whole memorial wall so all I can see is what looks like NIE, but I’m guessing Annie and the baby didn’t make it.  Which is honestly too bad.  In spite of her convenient insta-existence, I liked her.

  ·      So. This time jump starts at the Commonwealth, goes to Alexandria where we see Carol with her beautiful short curls and the kids are there.  The way Gracie greets Judith makes it plain Judith and RJ aren’t at Alexandria anymore. Carol’s little running hug of Aaron is adorable.  Lydia and Elijah seem to go back and forth between the communities.  Carol and Daryl, too, as evidenced by them traveling from Alexandria to Hilltop.  Sorry for the run-on, thinking out loud commentary, lol.  I’m just trying to piece everything together.  

·      Oh my heart. There’s no longer distance or the symbolism of distance between Carol and Daryl.  They’re on the same side of the river, literally side by side.  I mean, they’ve been that way the whole episode but this is different and you all know why.  

·      Can’t help being a little resentful of Maggie’s talk about the future that leads Daryl away from Carol’s side.  Because ugh. All that talk of “we have a future” and him spending chunks of it away from her.  Ugh.  Did I say that already?  I don’t care.  

·      Carol saying it’s a beautiful day to head out and Daryl looking right at her as he agrees. I’m crying.  

·      Nowhere in the fuck of ever has Carol expressed any interest in having Hornsby’s job so fuck whoever decided to retcon that into the narrative.  

·      “It’s not like we’ve never gonna see each other again.”  But can you promise that, Daryl?  Can you?  Tomorrow isn’t promised.  The world is shit sometimes.  I hate TIIC for separating them and for why?  Why?  I know why, spinoff reasons, but narratively why?  Make it make sense.  You cannot. It’s not like he’s going out to look for Rick and Michonne because a year has passed and it’s apparent he hasn’t ventured all that much further than their established communities. He’s been out “in the frontier” but not so far out that he and Carol and the kids don’t have regular contact.  

·      So.  They left Hilltop and went back to the Commonwealth? Did Carol ride home with him on his bike?  Did the kids take a wagon or train?  Somebody explain this to me like I’m 5 years old, please.  I can’t help thinking she clung to him on the bike ride home, neither one of them really talking about what Maggie proposed because they didn’t want goodbye to be even closer and then they had that emotional talk by the river and oh my heart.  It hurts. It hurts.  It hurts.  

·      They’re beautiful.  I love them. Now and forever.  

·      So what? Are the kids staying with Ezekiel now? Aunt Carol?  I’m a little lost.  

·      Judith promising to keep an eye on Dog and Daryl having her promise to keep an eye on Carol.  He loves her so much.  It’s almost like…you know what?  I swear to god if they went canon off-screen and had their first kiss and everything but exchanged those three words…

·      Judith looking at Aunt Carol while telling Daryl he deserves a happy ending too is obviously a subtlety lost on a certain faction of shippers and I cannot fathom why because it is so very loud, lol.  

·      The fact that Judith called him Daryl instead of Uncle Daryl makes me think he’s still involved in their lives and loves them very much but he’s not involved in their everyday lives and he’s distancing himself from them.  Then again, it could just be that Judith’s growing up because Cailey has grown so very much since she first started the show.  

·      Speaking of growing up, dwell on this little nugget.  Daryl’s been in Judith’s life from the start.  Rick was only there for maybe the first 3 years.  Like the man has missed the entirety of RJ’s life and the majority of Judith’s and then they had Michonne leave them basically searching for a needle in a haystack, no guarantee she’d ever find him or make it back to them, and now she’s missed what?  Almost 2 years of those babies’ lives?  I know the storyline was steered a certain way because of Danai’s exit from the show but it will never sit well with me that a woman, fictional though she may be, would ever leave her children to go on a search that might lead to absolutely nothing in such a dangerous world.  Especially with her history of losing Andre.  By the time Michonne (and Rick) makes it back, those kids could be half grown and that’s sad AF.  

·      That hug between Ezekiel and Daryl was a weird touch but hey.  Maybe they’ve made their peace with each other and their respective places in Carol’s life.

·      I mean, Ezekiel took those kids with him to give Daryl some privacy saying goodbye to her so.

·      Carol waiting by Daryl’s bike.  😊 ☹.  She’s never shied away from showing Daryl affection in the past.  Pre the Prison falling.  She’s been more reticent and careful since then unless they’ve embraced.  Then she’s clung to him like a lifeline she never wants to let go of.  The way she fusses over him and his poncho seems domestic AF and like something a wife would do.  Plus, it’s giving her a reason not to look directly into his eyes because she doesn’t want to risk falling apart like she did a little bit at the riverside.  Honestly it feels like she’s trying desperately not to ask him to stay.  With her.

·      Daryl telling Carol he loves her is a huge deal. HUGE.  Carol saying it back to him is just as big because Lizzie is the only person we’ve ever heard her say it to.  And look.  I think she is trying to inject some lightness into a heavy moment because despite what she said to him while they were sitting on that bench?  She doesn’t want him to go. He doesn’t want to leave her. He looks like he wants to change her mind before he rides off.  She wants to make it easier for him and I want to die.  

·      I don’t think anything will ever hurt me as bad as watching him ride off without her. FUCK AMC for that.  Because it didn’t have to be that way, solo spinoff or not.  They could have still left together.  They could have shared those “I love you’s” and a kiss 12 years in the making.  If this episode wasn’t a springboard for the spinoffs like Gimple claimed it wasn’t?  Why not give us and them the whole enchilada?  It’s been more than earned.  They could have gone all in on them, finally made clear that they were IN LOVE, had them leave TOGETHER, and then cut to a shot where Daryl wakes up somewhere by himself and calls out her name or vice versa.  Same result.  Still painful AF to think of them spending any time apart.  But not without hope because they weren’t separated willingly or by some asinine reason that wasn’t even explicitly spoken.  But I guess we all know why AMC didn’t do that, don’t we?

·      UGGGGGGHHHHHHHH.  

·      I’m not going to say too much about that coda.  It was bad.  The clips of dearly departed characters, though.  The clips of all the people they and we loved and them saying “we’re the ones that live”?  Those parts struck a chord and made my heart swell with remembered love for this show. They’re the parts that gave me chills. The other parts were dramatic but meh. Otherwise, I think having Rick’s voice crackle over a walkie talkie or just getting a glimpse of his silhouette or even having him wake up in a hospital bed again a la the very first episode would have been much more effective and not locked them into anything so far as the spinoff goes or given too much away.  But that’s just me.  Your mileage may very well vary.  I did find it fitting it ending with that shot of Judith and RJ.  So there’s that.  

·      Anywho. Those are just some of my thoughts and there’s a lot of them but this is just the tip of the iceberg.  I won’t bore you with anymore tonight, lol.  Er, this morning.  Happy Thanksgiving, lovelies.  I’m headed to catch a few hours’ sleep.  

[dipstar1489]

Star Wars Clone Wars ending and pilot Rebels Thoughts

TW: SPOILERS to both series, and slight mentions to Ahsoka and the last movie sega. Also, I finished Clone Wars the series yesterday and watched only the first two episodes of Rebels, so please don’t let my post discourage you to watch either show. BTW, please contact me through the comments on this post if there are any trigger warnings I should ask, because the only ones I could think of is beheading.

Clone Wars How exactly does the 66 chip work? Like we know it’s meant to force the troopers to kill Jedi, yet Ahsoka left the Order at the end of season 5, so are troopers post 66 able to identify a Jedi by memory and the chip focuses on the memories involving the force, or is there a subconscious brain waves happening when the chip activates. Also slightly fucked up idea, does Boba Fett have the chip too? And five bucks says he is going to need ten years of full time therapy to get over the fact that hundreds of thousands of clones of he and his father destroyed planets and are universally hated by EVERYONE. And what about the Bad Batch?

Another question, in the last three Star Wars movies, we are introduced to Finn, a Black trooper, even though all the original troopers and Jango Fett have a tanish skin, so why the physical shift in appearance for the troopers? Is Finn in a similar case as the Bad Batch where his skin tone was genetically modified for some reason? Did Finn get kidnapped as a child, and if so, did he get a similar chip as Order 66? Did Kylo get a new clone donor? Is it because Finn’s actor was actually good at his job? I hate the first two ideas, but I need to figure out the origins of the troopers Kylo Ren has under his watch, especially since the troopers in Clone Wars are, you guess it, clones, where the only physical differences between them if out of their suits are tattoos and hair dye+hair styles.

Rex, you are forever best boy, like he could have pretended to still have the chip activated and kill Ahsoka to save his ass, yet he chose to fight his brothers and protect his allies, risking his life for his friend. Also didn’t realize why people loved Ahsoka and Rex’s dynamic until now. Top tier dynamic!

OH MY GOD! Maul, I get you’re a badass, but you didn’t need to BEHEAD the troopers, even if they’re under order 66’s control!

I’m the kind of bitch who watches shows out of order, but I can’t tell if my thoughts are better or worse than the original, for I remember seeing helmets attached to sticks in Boba Fett and I originally thought it was meant to intimate troopers similar to how prisoners during 1300s London were beheaded and had their heads on a stick, but it’s actually serves as a headstone with a body underneath.

Just the way the scenes were positioned, it’s just incredible! Like the glass shattering between Maul and Ahsoka, Rex’s hand shaking and dropping his helmet, and Darth Vader’s reflection in a trooper’s helmet which was painted with Ahsoka’s face, it’s simply genius!

Also, anyone else find it interesting that the troopers were securing Mandalor? Cause the troopers’s clone daddy (I have no idea how to refer him) Jango Fett is Mandalorian, so technically Mandalor is defeated by their own people.

Rebels

Ezra, what character arc did you go through, cause I could forgive you for stealing fruit, but why harass the people who saved your life?! Also, I’m assuming you’re a older teenager, but stop changing your mind seconds later! Oh, and we got a bingo on the traumatic backstory!

Zeb, so far my fav, but we got some issues. I get your pissed with Ezra trying to steal your shit and having a moral compass, but where did the shift in pure glee to get rid of Ezra go when you left him behind, cause that’s indicating something deeper. Also, THANK YOU for shutting down Ezra x Sabine!

Kanan, cool guy, but he feels like someone who needs a life saving cup of coffee with two shots in his cup desperately! Also, COMPLETE BADASS when he revealed he’s a Jedi!

Sabine, how the fuck did you create that explosive powder without a fuse?! Also, please don’t be Ezra’s love interest, since I’m the type of bitch who watches series out of order and know you two said they had a sibling relationship! Also, realized you were living at Ezra’s place in Ahsoka.

Hera, you cool, but when did you get Ezra’s name? Also, maybe a little more info please???

The first two episodes are alright, though I feel like the show was finding its footing, for the dynamics between the characters lacks the build up.

[grace-928]

“The Vanishing of Will Byers” Part 1

Pairings: Steve Harrington x Henderson!reader 

Warnings: None so far

A/n: This is my first Fanfiction on tumblr so bare with me. Hope everyone likes it:)))

Word Count: 719

~November 6, 1983, Hawkins, Indiana~

Ten hours. Ten fucking hours Dustin has been at the Wheelers house playing Dungeons and Dragons. Now mom is pissed at me for not getting him home earlier. He is in deep shit when I get my hands on him. He owes me at least half of the X-men comics after this. 

Taking the keys out of the ignition of my 1970 Chevy Camaro, I head to the front door of the Wheelers house. I knock on the door waiting about 30 seconds before Mrs. Wheeler answers the door.

“Well, hi, Y/n! I wasn’t expecting you tonight.” She greets me with her usual wide-eyed smile.

“Hi, Mrs. Wheeler.” I say, walking through the threshold of their two story house. “Yeah, well, mom was getting worried with how late it is getting, especially since it’s Sunday and a school night. She didn’t want Dusty getting hurt on his way home.”  

As she closes the door we could hear the yelling and shouts of the four boys downstairs. “ Nancy is upstairs in her room if you would like to see her. She’ll keep you company as I try and gather up the boys.” Mrs. Wheeler says, turning around to open the door to their basement. 

As I head upstairs to Nancy’s room, I think about the last time we had hung out. It had to have been before her and Steve “the Hair” Harrington started making out. God, I can’t stand him. All he wants to do is get in her panties, just like he has almost every other girl in our school. All thoughts of the boy leave my head as I approach her bedroom door, noticing that she’s on the phone with someone. I gently knock on her door and once she realizes that it’s me she tells the person bye. 

“Nancy Wheeler. Was that Steve “the Hair” Harrington you just hung up on? And for little ole’ me?” I say, sarcasm written all over my voice, as I take a seat at the edge of her bed. 

“Shut up.” She says, laughing. “It was Barb. She had to leave anyways. But, yes. Steve is supposed to call me tonight and I’m nervous as hell.”

“You’ll be fine. Sure he’s slept with everyone girl desperate enough. But maybe he’s changed, who knows.” 

“Yeah, maybe.” She says looking down at her hands. Furrowing her eyebrows she says, “What are you doing here anyways?” 

Before I could reply, my gremlin of a brother interrupted me. A pizza box in his hand and the cutest little smile on his face. “Hey, Nancy. There’s a slice left if you want it. Sausage and Pepperoni!”

Nancy and I laugh at his cuteness. “I think she’s good buddy.” I say, approaching the door, ready to go home to my bed.

“Yeah, I’m good. Thank you though.” Nancy replies, trying to be sweet for his sake. 

“Well, we’re gonna head home. Goodnight Nancy. Let me know how the call goes in the morning.” I wink at her, knowing exactly what they’re gonna be planning. 

“I will, goodnight Y/n. Goodnight Dustin.” She says, as I close the door to her room. I swear, Dustin looked like he was about to pass out from the little attention that Nancy Wheeler just gave him. 

“Come on bud. I gotta get you home.” I say, leading him to go downstairs. “Thank you Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler for watching him today!” Heading to the door I get a simple ‘you’re welcome’ and ‘goodbye’ from them before meeting the boys outside. 

After telling the boys goodbye I make sure Dustin, Lucas, and Will are ahead of me before pulling out of the Wheelers long ass driveway and head to my house. 

As I head home following Dustin, I never would have imagined that this would have been the last normal day of my life. Not knowing the horrors of a new, horrific journey that would lie ahead. 

A/n: I know it’s kinds of short but I’m just getting started so bare with me. I will write more, I just wanted this to be the introduction chapter. I also have no idea how many parts I will have of each episode, it will just be a surprise each time love. Have an amazing day/night <3

[tiktaalic]

Oh here’s the mary prequel mini series I plotted out in my head last night. cut for length because im polite but it is not That long

Episode one: mary walks into a fairly empty diner. Sits down at the counter pretty close to some woman she’s never seen before. Orders coffee. Sits there twisting her ring till it comes. Lady she’s never seen before looks her way and says rough night? And mary laughs and says rough few nights. Lady puts down her newspaper and says you look like you need to talk about it. And mary blurts out that she’s thinking about leaving her husband because he’s so boring. Woman listens sympathetically then launches into a perfect speech about marriage being a commitment and she should stay with him and tell him she loves him. Mary is like. Yeah. Okay. Goes back home to try to rekindle things but when she starts trying to tell John how much she loves him she tells him she’s leaving. John says ok. Mary is super relieved. She goes upstairs to pack. Hears someone at the bedroom door while she’s facing her dresser to pack, turn around, it’s John. He shoots her, she dies.

MARY wakes up next to John as he gets ready for work. Brushes it off as a SUPER weird dream and more proof that she does in fact need to leave. After john’s gone she throws together a suitcase then hops in the impala (John carpools) and drives till she hits a gas station. She goes in to pay and the cashier feels weirdly familiar till she realizes it’s the lady from her dream. She is understandably more freaked out. The cashier tells her to have a nice trip home. Mary says she’s not going home. The cashier asks her if she wants to talk about. Mary doesn’t respond and goes to fill up the car and then drives a couple of miles  out of town before the car starts making this awful sound. She jumps out to look at it. Car is now smoking. She starts backing up and in a freak accident the car explodes and kills her.

Mary wakes up next to John as he’s getting ready for work.

Rest of the season: mary goes through a few more loops thinking they’re nightmares especially because she keeps seeing the same woman she’s never seen before and she keeps trying to talk to Mary. Eventually mary snaps and screams at the lady to leave her alone and the lady kind of furtively looks around and says I’m trying to help. Mary says I don’t WANT your help and then hightails it and dies again. After a few more loops where the woman is present but never approaches mary, mary stalks up to her and says. Who are you. Lady very wryly says your guardian angel. Mary says how can you help. Lady says you don’t want my help. Mary goes well I changed my mind I want it now. Lady grabs her hands and looks at her and very earnestly says, no, you don’t want my help. weird! Mary leaves. Dies. For awhile mary keeps meeting with the lady just because she’s a semi comforting constant. Lady keeps giving her advice that’s more and more rote just go back to your husband, until eventually she stops doing that and just listens to Mary. When Mary asks what she thinks instead of launching into the stay with him speech she just stands up and says I need to go.

Their meetings after this are pretty similar: the lady will listen, the lady will tell her it’s a hard decision, but when mary asks her what to do instead of saying “go back” like usual, the lady sighs and says she needs to go before she disappears. Eventually mary stops asking because she doesn’t want the lady to disappear so soon. they start spending the day just hanging out. mary takes her to her favorite places in town and asks if she likes them, asks what the lady wants to do, the whole nine yards. day always ends with mary trying to leave john and having a sudden aneurysm/tripping and cracking her skull/etc. after a couple of weeks of this her and the lady hook up and the lady tells mary that her name is anna.

mary dies again and the next day when she sees anna just starts crying about how she doesn’t want to go back. ends her rant with “and i know what you’re going to say, or what you’re not going to say, but just don’t. please.” anna holds her and holds her and after several minutes of silence says “i think you should leave.” mary’s shocked, anna’s shocked, mary has a heart attack and dies.

the next day mary tells anna that she wants to leave with her. anna looks conflicted and terrified but nods. while they’re driving or w/e anna is like mary. this isn’t going to work. you know this isn’t going to work. but i think - look. listen. we don’t have a  lot of time. i think i know how to break this. i wrote it down, you’ll have to translate it - and then anna screams and she’s just Not There anymore. this freaks mary the fuck out while she’s driving, she crashes, dies.

mary spends the next morning hitting all the places she’s seen anna before. nothing. she tears up her house and all these places looking for the journal anna was holding before she disappeared. nothing. she gets more and more frustrated and it’s only after she like completely destroys an aisle at the gas station to no response from anyone that she realizes something is more wrong than usual. she goes back out to her car and there’s this guy leaning against it who goes. hi.

she asks who he is, he tells her to call him chuck. she asks what he wants, he says to help her. she doesn’t trust this for obvious reasons. she asks where anna is. he shrugs and says she’s under performance review. she asks if anna’s okay. he laughs and says oh yeah, she’s gonna be a perfect little angel for about the next ten years. then she’s going to have a great life. very loved by her parents. their little miracle baby, you know?

she asks what he really wants. he shrugs. same thing you want, really. for this whole thing to be done with. mary asks what he means. he waves a hand at her. the groundhog day thing. oh. forgot you don’t know what that is yet. the time loop thing. leaving, dying. leaving, dying. look. just go back home to your ever so loving husband, and everything will be fine.

i don’t want to go back to my husband, mary says. you love him, chuck says. i don’t know that i do, mary says. chuck frowns and tilts his head at her. sighs, twists his hand. mary feels like she just got stabbed in the heart. what did you do, she asks. do you love him? and she thinks about it. and she says. yeah. and then she thinks about it some more. and says but i dont like him. i dont like my husband. chuck claps his hands together and says. okay! what don’t you like? he’s boring. chuck smiles. boring! i can work with boring. perfect apple pie boy from kansas not doing it for you, huh? what about this. what about if he was from... illinois. what if it’s just been him and his mom since he was a kid, because his dad stepped out on them. what if the war made him a little harder, which you like more than him staying kind after the war. chuck laughs. oh, i like that a lot better actually. that’s what we’re running with. mary doesn’t say anything to this.

chuck asks her if she’s ready to go back home to her new and improved husband. mary says anna had a journal. so she did, chuck says, and hands it to her. it’s written in sumerian, so good luck with that. you can spend awhile trying to track down a translator, or. he waves his hand, and it all reads in english. she skims through it. will it work? she asks, and chuck snorts. no. of course not. you’re welcome to try. i’ll be here when you’re done. she leaves. tries the spell or whatever. tells john she’s leaving. dies. when she wakes up the next morning, chuck’s sitting at her table. we done with this? he asks, and mary stabs him. he pulls out the knife, looking annoyed. okay, yeah. we’re done with this, he says, and waves a hand and mary gets struck by lightning.

she wakes up. john’s getting ready for work. there are a few cues that tell us this is the same day. john looks over before he leaves and sees that mary’s crying. he’s very confused. asks her what’s wrong. i don’t know, she says. i don’t know. he asks if he should call his mom. she says no. he asks if he should skip work. she says no. he tells her he loves her. she says i love you too, and he leaves. she spends the day pretty dazed. wanders around town not realizing she’s hitting all the spots where she saw anna. goes to a park where a guy runs into her. it’s chuck. oh, sorry. he says. it’s okay, she says, not recognizing him. great day, huh, he says, and she nods, not really paying attention. bet your husband’s enjoying it, he says, and when she looks confused he points to her ring. oh. yeah. she says. sorry, excuse me, she says, i have to get home. i need to start dinner. he smiles at her, winks, and says her husband’s a lucky man.

they eat together. they sleep together. when mary wakes up it’s a new day. she smiles at john before he leaves and kisses him when he gets back home. end miniseries

[1kook]

espn & bdsm

this is part 6 of my netflix & chill collection !

summary; You would like to personally thank every loud-mouthed, ESPN commentator out there for saving you from Jungkook’s dangerous seduction skills.  warnings; smut (18+) in the forms of brief femdom, handcuffs, nipple clamps, blindfolding, flogging/use of a riding crop, soft dom kook, cunnilingus, spitting, unprotected but passionate, degradation, as always it starts horny n then turns into I love u kink miscellaneous; kook has a swollen ankle so idk how he did all this, jk abuses the fuck outta pet names part 7, revenge gone wrong tbh, this was honestly a beginner’s intro to vanilla bdsm word count; 12.7k

notes; this is like… a healing fic… for the part before lol. also i did not know what was going to happen next as I was writing. anyway entire smut scene was based off THIS bad boy ur welcome fellas and the Jungkook described here is from in the soop episode 2... cutie... yes every single 1 of those words is a link

lmk what you think! a simple ask goes a long way <3

You're at the nail salon with Doyeon when she first mentions it.

“Have you ever, like,” she pauses, making a vague, swivel gesture with her head. You furrow your brows and she sighs. “Topped him. Have you ever been the one to take control?”

Your nail artist blushes, furiously filing away at your nails until the most perfect stiletto shape stares you back in the face. “Oh. Not really,” you admit, wiggling your wet toe nails around in the styrofoam flip flops issued by the salon. “I mean, sometimes I talk him through it.”

Doyeon snorts. “Babe, talking him through it and being the boss are two completely different things,” she says rather dryly, seemingly unbothered by the fact your two nail techs are being subjected to this more than intimate conversation. But you’ve had weirder talks with Doyeon in public; this doesn’t phase you. “Listen,” she says suddenly, dropping her voice down to a whisper that has you leaning closer to hear her. “You know how I’m a member of that site, right?”

You nod. “Oh yeah— Sexuality Unleashed: The Best Toys Worldwide!, right?” She kicks your shin, but the jab is muted by the bottom of her own styrofoam flip flop.

“Yeah, just tell everyone here my credit card number while you’re at it,” she hisses. Her anger fades soon enough. “Well, they’re always sending me all sorts of freebies for my devoted patronage,” she explains. She quirks her lips to the side, throwing one brief glance at the blushing nail artists in front of you. Eventually she seems to come to a conclusion. “Long story short they sent me some cuffs and I’m gonna give you them.”

Your jaw drops. “Woah, really? I don’t know… Don’t those usually run kinda pricey?” you ask tentatively. You’re trying to play it off, act like this isn’t something you want, but the reality is so much worse.

The minute the word cuffs had slipped through her lips it’s like a door opened before your eyes. A big, wooden door with chains strapped across it and a padlock you swore you’d never open.

Somewhere in your mind, you had always convinced yourself handcuffs in bed was something you’d like to have done to you. But, because she was your best friend and by extension a personified version of all your freakiest, often filtered, thoughts, it was like Doyeon had reached straight into your cranium and extracted your most secret fantasy— and that was Jungkook in handcuffs.

Your nail artist pats your hand, motioning you to head over to the drying station. Before you can be separated from Doyeon, you whip around to throw her one desperate look. “I have never wanted anything so bad in my life.”

She cackles loudly, easily garnering the attention of every employee and nail enthusiast in the salon with the evil witch vibes she exudes.

Truth be told, your argument with Jungkook had brought upon a newfound appreciation for him. Weird to say, considering you had wanted to kill the dude when it had originally happened. But the great thing about you and Jungkook was that you were flexible people— both in bed and out. A few long conversations later and you had reached the root of the problem.

And that root was your apparent lack of communicating when something was wrong. It was weird to think that anything could ever be wrong when Jungkook was involved. He was your honeybun, sugar plum, pumpy-umpy-umpkin. Your sweetie pie, for lack of better wording, and he could do no wrong—

—is what you’d like to say. But if there’s anything you’ve learned in the past year of dating Jungkook, it’s that perfection was a made up belief that revolved around the idea that someone’s flaws couldn’t possibly be a good thing. And as you’ve come to realize, Jungkook wasn’t the perfect gentleman you’d initially chalked him up to be. He was human, just like you, with his own list of worries and thoughts, and sometimes those thoughts manifested into flaws. They could be ugly or they could be beautiful, but at the end of the day, they all made Jungkook into the person he was— and you loved that person. Disgustingly so.

You had your moments, and he had his. Everything would not always be sunshine and rainbows for the two of you, but it was fine so long as you learned to play in the rain and stomp in the puddles.

Still.

You were you.

A slightly mean, slightly conniving, petty ass human who had been plotting his revenge since the day the two of you made up. I mean, you weren’t actually just going to let him get off the hook like that, were you? He had saved himself last time with a gooey, heartfelt apology and confession, followed by some extraordinary dicking down that had left you Naked and Afraid for three days after.

But you weren’t that easy! No, ma’am. You had to let him know that some gorgeous demon dick was not enough to satisfy you after a fight like that.

Jungkook was in for a desperately needed reality check, one that jingles in your purse when you step out of the Uber that drops you off at his place. You know he’s home because his front light is on, and also because he’d texted you that he was watching some soccer match on tv tonight. He’s a pretty big fan, especially of the club playing tonight, so you decide it’s a perfect night to strike.

Your copy of his key slips right into the keyhole. Your slippers are in the same place they always are, neatly set off to the side right by the stairs. He’s not in his living room, undoubtedly the most perfect place to watch any type of sporting event with that huge Jumbotron of his. The damn thing made it feel like you were in the stadium itself.

There’s a quiet hum coming from upstairs. You creep up the steps, carefully rounding the corner at the landing until you’re staring right into his dimly lit bedroom.

The way Jungkook’s got his bedroom set up is so that you can look directly at his door from the bed, terribly inconvenient for when that sleep paralysis demon hits in the middle of the night and you’re left staring into the dark hallway. He’s snuggled comfortably over his sheets, about three pillows supporting his back. The light of the tinier, more acceptable television he keeps in his room is dancing across his features in bright shades of green. You almost throw yourself onto his mattress like a starfish until you spot the carefully placed foot on the bed.

“What the hell did you do?” you blurt. A wrong move, considering he hadn’t seen you yet and your sudden appearance makes him jump nearly ten feet into the air, almost knocking down the bag of ice that sits on his ankle. “Oh my god, it was that damned Pilates class, wasn’t it?” you fret, rounding the bed until you’re on his side.

“Oh hey,” he says as if you’re not currently pulling the first eight seasons of Grey’s Anatomy to the forefront of your head to treat him. “When’d you get here?”

“Cut the crap, who did this to you?” you ask, sitting beside him with the utmost care. You drop your bag off to the side, the loud clatter of the inside contents vaguely registering in your head. The ice pack comes off easily, revealing a relatively okay looking ankle save for the slight swell towards the more medial aspect of it.

Jungkook takes the moment to sit up, joining you in your inspection of his injury. “No one,” he answers, using his new position to drop a kiss against the side of your head. “I fell off the ladder helping Mrs. Jung across the street.”

You choke. “You fell off a ladder?” you squawk, eyes wide as your gaze shifts from his ankle to his entire body.

He places a hand on your shoulder, “babe, I was on like the third step. It was one of those old wooden ones,” he explains with a nonchalant shrug. “The step just happened to snap on my way down.”

You scoff. “That old lady is out to get you,” you warn him. “Remember the time she almost had you plug in those burnt out Christmas lights for her? The ones that would have electrocuted you to death.”

Jungkook laughs, settling back into his stack of pillows. “In her defense, she’s old,” he offers. He’s wrapped up in a black hoodie, fluffy bangs parted down the middle. He’s got on some blue shorts, a huge difference from his usual dark-toned clothing. He looks so good and warm, and you’re suddenly hit with the fact you can’t possibly handcuff this poor, injured angel to his bedpost and ride his cock into the sunset. “You didn’t tell me you were coming over.”

You deflate, wild fantasies thrown out the window. “Yeah, well,” you sigh, ditching your pants and climbing over him until you’re snuggled into his side. “Wanted to show you my nails.”

It’s a lame excuse. But he buys it, so.

“They’re cute,” he says, taking your hand in his. He turns your hand over, inspects your pretty new acrylics like he actually has any idea how much they cost or how sexy they look. He raises your hand to his face, pressing a smooch against your knuckles that has you heart thumping embarrassingly loud in your chest. God, you hated this fool.

You turn your nose up at him, like you’re some snooty rich girl who couldn’t give him the time of day. Except it’s not like that, and Jungkook knows.

“What’re you watching?” you ask instead.

He’s got that stupid dopey smile on you, the one that takes one nudge against his side to snap him out of. “Ah, just the game.”

You squint at the screen. “Is this Fox Sports?” you ask in disgust.

He pinches your side. “This is ESPN,” he corrects. “And you don’t know shit about sports channels,” he points out. “So sit this one out.” You give in with a huff, cuddling closer into his side while trying to jostle him as little as possible. Jungkook seems to have no deeply rooted concerns about his injured ankle if the way he hauls you into his arms is any indicator. “How did nails with Doyeon go?”

“You know, the usual,” you respond, idly toying with one of the strings on his hoodie as your eyes focus on the little figures running across the screen. He hums, gesturing for you to elaborate. “Talked about sex, how much better than you at life she is, some more sex.”

He scoffs at that. “Doyeon is not better than me, and I have a whole trophy case to prove it.”

“Okay, but have you singlehandedly Twitter beefed with an entire sorority in your freshman year of university and won?”

He frowns. “No.”

You give him a look, one that says stand down now unless you want to lose to my best friend and get your feelings hurt. Jungkook understands. “Anyway,” he announces, turning his attention back to the screen with you. You think his team might be winning—you vaguely remember seeing him wear a similar jersey once—so he’s pretty relaxed for now. “They’re doing pretty good considering they just lost their main striker.”

You have no idea what that means. “Who? Messi?”

Jungkook knows you don’t know. “He doesn’t even play in this league,” he explains anyway.

“Oh, I saw him trending on Twitter last week. Thought he died or something. Whole time it was just a bunch of soccer nerds crying about him leaving his team.”

He laughs. “You should be a sportscaster,” Jungkook decides after your ever-so-eloquent recap, tucking his head cutely against your shoulder. There was a study once that claimed the incessant need to squeeze a baby’s cheeks or hug puppies tightly was actually the innate human response to kill something they felt threatened by. Oddly enough, you find yourself thinking of that as Jungkook’s citrusy shampoo floods your nostrils.

“Oh, speaking of Doyeon,” he says suddenly. “Did you give her my address? I got a weird package from that store she likes that I genuinely don’t remember ever ordering.” You frown, sitting up slightly until you can look at the side of his face, the cute mole on his cheek calling your name.

“What?” you ask. “Was it in her name?” Jungkook nods. You’re about to tear the roof off his house and go hunt that evil wench down when realization dawns on you. “Oh, no, yeah I gave her your address. My mom stayed over last weekend and Doyeon needed to order something nasty. Guess it got delayed until now.”

Jungkook nods and then doesn’t say much else, which is weird considering the circumstances. You expected him to gently scold you for carelessly giving the psycho that was Kim Doyeon his address, but she’s been here a few times to pick you up, even came over for beer night once. She probably knew it anyway, but you still expected some type of reaction of disapproval from him.

Something’s off, and you know better than to leave it at that. You poke his cheek, right where that mole you’d been eyeing was. “Did you open her package?” you ask, grin slowly consuming your features at the fact Jungkook was apparently a mail snooper.

He looks away. You laugh. “Oh my god, you did,” you cackle, sitting up beside him to get a good look at the blush growing on his cheeks. “What did you see?”

“Nothing,” he huffs, pretending to be overly invested in his soccer match again, but that ship died the moment you stepped into his room. “Babe, I can't see the match.”

You roll your eyes, purposefully shifting in front of him so he’s forced to look at the maniac look in your eyes. “What did you see, Jeon Jungkook, and are we going to steal it from her again?”

His cheeks bloom impossibly darker at that. “No!” he coughs, pointedly avoiding your gaze.

But your curiosity is at its peak now, his reactions only exacerbating it. You grab him by the shoulders, hands balling the material of his hoodie as you give him one firm shake. “What did you see,” you demand.

“Oh my god,” he gives in. You release him and he flops back onto his pillow mountain. “They were things,” he explains slowly, cheeks rosy. “For your, y’know,” a vague gesture over his chest.

You frown. “A bra?” you guess. “I’m not gonna lie, Kook, think I just lost a little respect for you.”

“No!” he huffs. “They were… little clamps. For your nipples.”

If this was a cartoon, you’re almost certain you’d be that character with the object in question in their eyes, heart fluttering in your chest at the words that leave his mouth.

Immediately, two things become obvious to you.

One, Kim Doyeon was a bigger freak than you’d expected who obviously dabbled in an assortment of trades. Clamps, your brain screams, overwhelmed with the image that appears in your head, the one that has a shiver running straight to your core. You would have to thank her for this gracious, unintentional gift she’s bestowed upon you.

Two, you’re gonna have to write her the best, most plausible apology letter tomorrow when you inform her those clamps have been lost in the mail, never to be seen again. Or you could just straight up tell her you snatched them up the moment you found out what they were, but you doubt that’ll go over well.

Jungkook groans. “You have that look in your eye,” he points out. You snap your attention back to him. “And I just wanna say in advance that I don’t think i can give you the fun night you deserve, baby,” he apologizes, motioning towards his still swollen ankle.

Something distinctly mean switches on inside of you.

You flash him a sweet smile that has him letting down his guard. You lean forward, pressing a soft peck to his cheek as you climb down the bed towards your forgotten purse that’d been resting on the floor until that point. “Who said I needed you to have fun?” you throw over your shoulder, carefully slipping Doyeon’s first gift close to your body so he won’t see.

Jungkook levels you with an unimpressed look. “Really,” he says dryly, “you think you can have fun without me?” He almost sounds cocky, as if the idea of you even enjoying yourself the teensiest bit without his help seems unfathomable.

You grin, padding over to his bedside, where you carefully pick up his hand. You mirror his actions from before, pressing a sweet kiss against his knuckles that makes that conceited look slip off his features for a second, eyes soft.

Click.

Jungkook frowns. “What the—“ before the sentence can leave his mouth you’re lunging forward, wrestling his hands above his head, until they’re both secured at his headboard by the soft cuffs Doyeon had given you that afternoon at the salon. Jungkook’s wide eyes stare back at you, briefly leaving to glance up at the silver chain that wraps behind one of the rungs of his headboard. “Babe,” he says slowly. “What the fuck.”

You beam at him, leaning down to snatch a pillow from beneath him so he’s better positioned, leaning back more. “So cute,” you gush, taking in the way his raised arms have the hem of his hoodie lifting at the waist. There’s a faint trail of hairs around his belly button that disappear beneath the elastic of his shorts. “Do you like them?”

Jungkook blinks. “Baby,” he says a second time, much slower and a little too calm for your liking. It almost gets swallowed by the roar of the fans on TV. “What is this?”

You ignore him, scampering around his room until you find the hot pink Sexuality Unleashed packaging peeking out from beneath his bed. Sure enough, it’s in Doyeon’s name but his address. A whole complicated mess just for some nipple clamps she’ll never see again. It’s what’s inside anyway, not that you thought Jungkook was lying, but there’s something about the actual, carefully wrapped packaging that makes your heart and pussy flutter.

“Oh! Aren’t these the prettiest things?” you exclaim, whirling around to where Jungkook is shaking up a storm with his cuffs, pout growing on his features the longer you leave him there. The ice pack slips off his ankle, falling onto the comforter beside him from all his movement.

Jungkook doesn’t seem the least bit interested in the silver nipple clamps in your hands, too busy trying to free himself from the sudden trap you sprung on him. “Sweetheart, we can play with those tomorrow, alright?” he tries, relaxing his arms and finally looking your way. There’s a frustrated furrow to his brows, one you rarely see but adore very much. “Just undo these cuffs for me, yeah?”

You tilt your head to the side, placing a hand on the inside of his calf that you trail all the way up as you move to stand beside his hip. His thighs flinch at your touch, tensing when you stop just before the crotch of his pants. “Mmm, don’t think so,” you smile, dropping the thin chain beside him.

Your shirt goes first, peeled over your body until you’re left standing in your bra. It’s nothing too special this time, just your average run of the mill comfort bra hugging your chest. But that doesn’t really matter, especially not with the way you’re hoping things play out tonight. You’d discarded your jeans a few moments prior, so the shirt joins them on a pile on his floor.

As much as he tries to act irritated by your refusal to release him, there’s a slow stirring beneath his shorts. It’s emphasized by that bright blue material, cock swelling as he watches you take off your clothes. “Baby,” he warns, possibly for the last time. But you won’t know unless you push some more, you tell yourself, placing one knee on the edge of the bed, the other thrown across his lap.

“Wow,” you marvel, picking the chain up once more. Jungkook shifts beneath you, half hard cock brushing against the cleft of your cheeks. “Don’t you wanna see what it’s like, Jungkookie?”

He says nothing, watching you with solemn eyes that leave no room for reading him. Behind you, the game commentator is chattering up a storm.

Doesn’t matter, especially not when this flimsy metal had you so completely hypnotized. You reach behind yourself, unsnapping your bra with one fluid motion that has the cups falling onto your lap, soft chest on display for the man before you. Your breasts spill out slowly from their cage, pretty hardened buds slowly coming into his view. They make him pause his fussing, half-lidded gaze falling to the swell of your chest hungrily. His hands jerk, the cuffs doing their job of keeping them there.

You grin, placing a hand on his chest, over his hammering heart. “Do you wanna see me wear them?” you croon, tugging the material of his hoodie up his stomach, until your thighs are sitting directly on his tiny waist, thin thong just over his belly button. You trail your hand up, letting it brush up the side of his neck and bury into his scalp. You give an experimental tug that has his eyes squeezing shut. “Yes or no, Jungkookie?”

He’s being a huge brat for you, eyes scrunched up together like the sight of you enjoying yourself sans his touch is unimaginable. Another tug of his hair and he’s exhaling shakily, a quiet, “yes,” slipping past his lips.

The chain drops onto his chest with a quiet thud, shocking him enough to blink his eyes back open. Releasing your hold on his hair, you sit back on his lap, towering over his fidgety body like a goddess at a temple, him the lowly worshipper beneath you.

Your hands crawl over your body, starting somewhere around your waist. The glide up over your tummy, caress the underside of your breasts teasingly. Sure Jungkook knew your body well, but you knew your body best. One hand rubs teasingly over your breast, palm pressing down slightly against where your nipple lies, while the other drops down between your thighs, slowly grinding against your mound.

“Look, Jungkookie,” you gasp, body twitching at your own hands. You take a hardened nub between your fingers, rolling it back and forth until it’s standing at its peak. “I can do it without you,” you tease, rolling your hips against him slowly. The thin material of your thong does nothing to save you from the delicious swell of his cock against you. “F-Fuck,” you whimper, circling a finger over your clit. “It’s, it’s even better.”

His restraints jiggle against the bed frame, an obvious look of distress crossing his features. “No,” he huffs out a whine, tugging at the cuffs as you slowly unravel on his lap. They don’t give, no matter how much he pulls. You know he’s holding back, afraid of damaging his headboard, and you take advantage of the fact as you move to roll both nipples between your fingers. He groans harshly, jaw tight. “Hate you,” he hisses, hips wiggling beneath you. “Hate you, hate you.”

You breathe out an airy chuckle. “R-Really?” you ask, trembling hands finally reaching back for that second gift of the day. Your breath is shallow, so thoroughly wound up from your own playful hands, and you tremble at the mere brush of the cool metal. “Oh fuck,” you whimper, bringing them up to your chest, “I’ve never done this before,” you confess.

There’s a sense of amazement that consumes you at the thin chain you hold in your hands, the pretty gold painted clamps on each end. It makes you shiver, body unconsciously grinding down against Jungkook’s lap where his engorged cock was fighting against the material of his shorts.

“Then let me help you,” he tries, the childish tone from before melting into his usual silky smooth baritone. Jungkook even softens his gaze at you, let’s his tongue peek out to wet his lips as you almost seriously consider his request.

Had it not been for the sudden loud shout from the sports commentator behind you, a long obnoxious gooooooaaal, you probably would have fallen victim to that honey-eyed gaze. You would like to personally thank every loud-mouthed, ESPN commentator out there for saving you from Jungkook’s dangerous seduction skills.

Without a second thought, you bring one of the little camps close to your chest, giving it a few experimental squeezes until the nerves are replaced with an overwhelming wave of horniness that even Jungkook can sense. “Fuck,” he groans, shaking his restraints back and forth like a wild animal as you slowly get to clamping your left nipple.

You’re not sure what you expected; part of you had thought it was going to be an excruciating pain, one that would make you want to scream and shout in sheer agony. The other part had reduced it to a barely there pinch that would never live up to your fantasies. As it stands, the sensation of the clamp around your swollen nipple sits right in between, drawing in a choked gasp that makes your eyes roll into the back of your head.

“Baby, sweetheart,” Jungkook gasps alongside you, eyes zeroed in on the pinched off bundle of nerves. There’s a sudden grinding sound that fills the air, like the sawing off of wood that definitely doesn’t sound good, and it’s a direct result of the fight he puts up against his headboard. “Please, please,” he begs, muscled arms tugging back and forth. “I have to touch—“

The second clamp goes on, making your entire back arch as if you were possessed. You're not, just extremely overwhelmed by the prickle of pain on your tits that makes you grind down against his cock, hands fisting the front of his hoodie like it’s the only thing grounding you right now. “Oh,” you shudder, thighs quivering at the heightened stimulation you receive from the clamps sitting on your nipples. “Kook, I-I can’t.”

He growls, hips bucking beneath you in a crazed effort to better situate you on his lap. “You gotta take these off me,” he rasps out. The next buck of his hips makes the chain dangling between your breast brush dangerously close to his face. He’s unintentionally goaded on by the TV in the room, the annoying drone of the commentator shouting something about never giving up. “Can make you feel so much better, sweet girl,” he cooes, jutting his head out like he needs a kiss.

Your head feels woozy, pussy throbbing at the sensations being channeled down into your core. Your eyes flutter shut, and before you can think it through, you're blindly reaching for the chain, giving it one light tug that has you mewling like a kitten. “O-oh, fuck,” you sob, looping your finger around the thin chain carefully. Another tug that pulls against your nipples sends a gush of wetness down between your thighs. “Cock,” you slur dazedly, “need your cock.”

Jungkook shudders out a long breath. “Le-Let me go then, sweetheart,” he chokes out, “let me fuck that pretty little pussy for you.”

“Uh uh,” you disagree, bringing another angry buck out of him, metal cuffs rattling loudly. “Want you to watch,” you pant, reaching behind you for his shorts. “Watch me, Jungkookie.” It takes three tries for you to get a grip, the elastic material slipping from your fingers before you finally gain some semblance of control and paw them down . The shorts and the boxers came off together, his engorged cock springing up to tap against your ass. “W-Watch,” you repeat dazedly, leaning forward with one hand on his shoulder to line him up with your dripping hole. Behind you, the commentator is droning on about core balance or something of the sort. It takes two tries as you blindly have to tug your panties to the side as well, and just as you have his fiery red tip against your entrance, something else happens.

He catches you, pearly teeth biting down on the chain that connects your clamps in a motion you can only liken to a bloodthirsty shark jumping out of the water, jaws snapping to catch its prey. It dangles in his face, the same way his own necklaces have done to you so many times before. But the difference between you and Jungkook was that while you let his assortment of necklaces hypnotize you, drag across your face painfully, he doesn’t. He snaps forward, catches it between his teeth.

You mewl loudly, foggy vision turning onto him. Jungkook’s got this unreadable look on his face, likes he’s pissed off and turned on all at once. “You’re not in charge,” he murmurs around the chain, the s and c sounds all slurred together. “You will never be in charge, silly girl, you got that?” he spits, yanking his head back like an animal, pulling your upper body with him by the two golden clamps on your nipples.

There’s tears in your eyes, lining your waterline and threatening to fall with each tug his mouth gives against the chain of your nipple clamps. He’s got his neck craned back as far as he possibly can with a pillow beneath him, chain links digging into his bottom lip. “Y-Yes,” you sob, your entire body quivering at the way he so easily manages to overthrow you, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he says, solemn eyes flickering across your twisted features once more. He gives another purposeful tug, head snapping back just the tiniest bit, but it’s enough to tug you forward again, a loud whimper torn from your throat. “Undo these cuffs for me, sweet girl,” he commands softly, jiggling the same restraints he’d spent the better part of fifteen minutes fighting against.

“Y-Yes,” you whimper, hands wildly slapping down on his bedside table. You had had half the mind to leave the key there when you had retrieved the cuffs, telling yourself it would be easy access afterwards. It’s not, apparently, the silver pick falling just out of reach. For some reason— it’s probably the sensitivity and horninesss, the pinpricks of pain that originate from your nipples —this fact frustrates you to the point of tears.

“Easy, doll,” Jungkook talks you through, voice low and soft beneath you, “relax and grab it for me, okay?” You nod, angrily blinking away a tear that drips down your face. It splatters on Jungkook’s cheek, bringing a soft huff of amusement from him.

Finally the key brushes your hand, and you sigh in relief, shakily leaning forward to undo the lock above his head. He releases his killer chomp/grip on your chain just as you release his cuffs. “I-I’m sorry,” you sniffle, a sudden need to apologize as you watch him rub at the raw skin around his wrists. “I didn’t—“

“Shhh,” he says, cuddling you into his chest. “It’s alright,” he says simply and you believe him.

Which ends up being a terrible mistake exactly ten seconds later when he’s shoving your face into the sheets, your cries and whimpers muffled by the sounds of the game on TV as he winds your arms behind your back. You struggle for all of five seconds before a soft click resounds from behind you.

“Did you think I’d just let that slide, sweet girl?” he growls against your ear, hot breath fanning across your skin. “I'm not your dog, __,” he spits, suddenly yanking you up by your cuffed wrists. Your chest is heaving, arms aching from the way he’s got you on your knees, blind to whatever he’s doing behind you. “Don’t lock me up, because I’ll always come back to bite.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you stammer, flinching when a hand snakes around your waist, an experimental tug to the chain of your clamps. It sends a shudder down your spine, amplified by the hot press of his body behind you. “I won’t do it again!”

“I know you fucking won’t,” he laughs meanly, trailing his hand down over your mound. One finger circles your clit through your underwear, a shaky sigh exiting your lips at the jarringly light touch. “Because I’m gonna fuck you until you’ve learned your lesson, silly girl.”

“I said sorry,” you whimper, thighs quivering. His cock brushes up against you, the same cock you were about to ride until the sunset. Oh how the tables have turned.

A hand slips beneath your underwear, pad of a finger rubbing against your swollen clit. “Oh,” you exhale, surprised with the suddenly gentle touch following his words. “Th-That’s nice,” you murmur, head lolling forward at the slow rhythm he sets, playing with you like you were a toy that needed warming up.

“Yeah?” he husks out. There’s a yank to your clamps that makes you gasp, chest following the motion as if it’ll reduce the shock. “You think this is about making you feel nice?” he murmurs. Another tug, followed by another, until he’s raining down a series of rhythmic shocks onto your tits that make you shiver and twitch, tongue heavy in your mouth to the point you feel like you’re drooling.

“Wait,” you whimper, arms twisting behind you. “Hurts, hurts” you cry, arching your back like it’ll save you from the steady stimulation against your rock-hard nipples.

“Does it?” Jungkook hums, one hand working away at your clit. He swirls it around his finger, pressing down on the nub in an attempt to distract you. But it only heightens the sting coming from your breasts, the blossom of pain that grows over each mound the longer he plays with you. “Good. Want your pretty little body to hurt for me, baby.”

Right after saying that he releases the grip on your chain, letting it swing back and forth until it eventually rests on your stomach, throbbing nipples spared for now. A breath of relief washes over you now that you only have to worry about the hand playing along your folds. The TV is still flickering to your right, but the commentator's voice sounds fuzzy and so far away, like he’s in a whole different dimension while you and Jungkook are here.

Your reprieve lasts shorter than you expected, as his free hand slowly begins creeping up your waist, fluttering over the little gold clamps pinching your nipples. “Pretty girl,” he compliments, nudging one tender nub with a playful finger. “Pretty, pretty baby,” Jungkook murmurs as he begins massaging the scorching hot skin around your nipples gently. There’s a warm kiss pressed to your shoulder, followed by a trail up the side of your neck. You shudder, trying to focus on the hand that creeps down your folds, teases itself against your entrance.

“Jungkook,” you whine softly, rolling your head to the side so he can suck bruise after bruise onto your skin. You’re definitely drooling, the saliva thick and heavy in your mouth. “T-Too much.”

“Thought you wanted that,” he mumbles, kissing up and up until he’s at your jaw and then he’s at your mouth, languidly kissing you. He’s doing that thing again where he’s hellbent on drowning you in his spit, and if you didn’t know better you’d think he was preparing you for something. “Wanted me to watch you bounce that tight little cunt on me while your tits were like this,” he says, punctuating his statement with a light slap against the side of one breast. It makes you jump, a moan catching in your throat.

The finger that had been playing meanly along your wet folds eases itself past your lips, plunges head first into the aching heat inside of you. He works it against your walls, thumb over your clit as he curls his finger inside of you. You moan loudly, shaking in your restraints. The hand over your chest squeezes, pushes the clamp deeper against your breast until your entire body is short-circuiting.

Your first orgasm comes over you with all the grace of a lightning bolt; it’s sudden and jerky, has every nerve ending wildly spasming as you whimper his name. “No more, no more,” you beg, head lolling back against his shoulder. He shows you no mercy, simply rubs furiously over your clit, until you’re jerking into his maniac hand.

When it’s over, he places a kiss against your jaw, curling his finger inside once more “Play with yourself,” he whispers.

“H-Huh?” you stutter, the rattle of your cuffs loud in both your ears, but not as loud as the breath you were trying to catch post-orgasm. You wonder if maybe he got ahead of himself again—he occasionally did that, thinking ahead to a point you hadn’t reached in your normal progression of sex —but suddenly he’s shoving you back down again, the finger that was slowly driving you insane rudely exiting your cunt.

You flop down against the mattress with a squeal, wiggling around like you actually had a chance of doing anything with him watching you like he is. You struggle for a few beats, every shift against the mattress rubbing harshly against your breasts until you nearly want to cry.

Just as you reach that point, he’s rolling you into your back, hands uncomfortably bent beneath you. It leaves you unwillingly arching to accommodate them, tits practically presented for him to see. “Pretty girl,” Jungkook groans, reaching down for the first time that day to touch himself.

His self restraint was truly unmatched, you realize, watching him squeeze the base of his cock. He runs a palm over his abdomen, up his chest. He drags the material of his hoodie along with it, eventually shucking it off somewhere to the side. His hair, so fluffy and soft, flops over his forehead, a few defined strands tickling his eyebrow.

The mere sight of him alone made you shiver, pussy clenching at the wet dream before you. He’s not an idiot either, obviously aware of what the sight of his body does to you, the tattoos littering his entire right arm that hypnotize you. The faint glow of the TV screen against his side makes him look like the cover star of every middle-aged wife’s erotic romance novel. He reaches said arm down, runs a hand along your thigh until you’re spreading them wide for him.

He doesn’t touch you like you want, only slides over your body until he’s toying with the chain of the nipple clamps that were slowly becoming the bane of your existence. “Open,” he says suddenly, and you do. Your mouth drops open, tongue stuck out slightly even if you don’t know why. He’s ingrained the response into you by now, made you into a desperate slut always ready for anything in your mouth.

This time it’s the stupid, stupid chain connecting your nipple clamps. He tugs it until it’s pulled up, the pull against your nipples making you whimper and writhe. The metal is cool when it touches your lips, but his fingertips are warm. “Good girl,” he praises once you bite down; even this sends a shock of nerves down your spine and to your pussy. “Just like that.”  

A muffled whimper escapes your lips, tears clouding your vision at the stimulation that was quickly overwhelming you again. Part of you thinks no more, please, I can’t. But the other has you spreading your legs for him, quivering pussy desperate to be filled.

The distress must be obvious in your face if the way Jungkook kisses your neck is any indication. He’s got one hand massaging against the underside of one breast, like he’s soothing the striking pain of your pinched nipples for you. If anything, it only strings you along more. “Stupid baby,” he chuckles meanly, a soft puff of laughter against your jaw, “thinking she could push me down.”

He leans back onto his knees, that same careful brush against the inside of your thigh bringing about an embarrassing whimper as he peels your thong away. “But you didn’t really want that, did you?” he eggs on, slowly shifting down against the bed, until his mouth is hovering over your exposed lower lips. His breath is warm, makes you yearn for him to be closer. “You like when I shove my cock into your little pussy, right? Like how it feels when I turn you into my little slut like this,” he sighs, pressing one chaste kiss against your thigh that makes you pull at the cuffs behind your back.

Soon, his mouth is on your clit, the same clit he had previously pampered with his hands but chooses to play with again. He licks an obscenely wet stripe from your throbbing hole to your clit, tongue curling devilishly towards the end. You whimper, though the sound is distorted around the chain in your mouth. Jungkook groans, dives mouth first into your cunt until he’s suffocating himself. His cute nose is pressed against your clit, and he takes advantage of the fact by taking one, dramatic sniff with his eyes rolled back. A soft moan escapes him.

“Fuck,” he shudders, “smell like heaven for me.” You moan at his sweet words, eyes squeezed shut as if that’ll stop the buckets of overwhelmed tears that you’ve been fighting off since the moment the clamps came on. “Wanna give you the world, angel,” he breathes, licking languidly against your folds, tongue occasionally peeking inside.

You mewl and writhe, every movement sending a tug of pain over your nipples. You want that gorgeous cock deep in your cunt, want to feel him in your womb, but you can’t voice any of this with the chain of the clamps between your lips.

Jungkook sits up suddenly, and you’re thinking yes, finally, before the look on his face has you screeching to a halt. There’s something distinctly different about him, a look you don’t think you’ve ever seen in bed before. Your thoughts are only confirmed when his foot slides onto the floor, as if he’s about to leave.

The panic must be evident on your face, because Jungkook is quick to swoop in and reassure you he’s not done with you yet. “Wanna fuck your little pussy,” he admits, carding a hand through your hair. “But the truth is I don’t think you deserve that just yet.”

With that he slinks off the bed, leaving you writhing in confusion as he heads off for the closet behind you. You can’t see what he’s doing, can only hear the shuffling of something back and forth. The TV is still on, the loud cheering of the fans muffling his clattering. You’re suddenly reminded of his swollen ankle, craning your neck to tell him to not overdo it, when something dark covers your eyes.

He’s standing just beside the edge of the bed, his signature teddy bear heat emanating off in waves so thick you could touch them. “Do you trust me?” he murmurs, voice close but not close to your ear.

Something swells in your chest, an emotion so intense your entire pelvis tightens up at the realization that Jungkook was asking for permission to blindfold you. You’re almost certain it’s one of his ties, a silky black thing that covers your vision for the most part, save for a little crack by where your nose juts out. A shuffle to your side, and then he’s gently prying the chain he had pushed past your lips earlier out. “Need an answer, ___,” he says quietly, almost nervously.

“Yes,” you gasp, your entire body set aflame at the sudden turn of events.

If you were being honest you would have never predicted your night would end like this. Maybe you came in a little too cocky, a little too optimistic for the night. It was supposed to be Jungkook handcuffed and powerless, you remind yourself— how on earth did you get here?

“Good girl,” he praises, giving you a little encouraging nudge to raise your head for him to actually tie the knot behind your head. It’s definitely one of his suit ties, you realize, because there’s a distinct cross-stitch pattern that you can feel only when it’s tightened against your skin, pressing against your fluttering eyelids. When he releases you, you’re suddenly all too aware of the sense he’s deprived you of.

“K-Kook?” you call out with a tremble in your voice. The rhythmic pattern of his footsteps rounds the bed again, and then there’s a soft touch against your leg.

“Right here, sweet girl,” he reassures you. The bed dips by your legs as he closes in on you, still tied up and on the verge of a second orgasm that he snatched away before your very eyes; not that you can see it anymore. His hand slides over your stomach, tugs playfully at the clamps. You moan, the sensation magnified tenfold by the fact you can’t see nor anticipate his actions now.

His hands glide like two sailing boats over the broad expanse of sea that is your body, molding against your curves like waves as they go. He hums appreciatively, and you find yourself glad you can’t see him. You can’t possibly imagine with what eyes he’s looking at you now.

You bask in the glory of his attention for another beat before he retracts his touch.

And then, suddenly, something distinctly not hand-like, and weirdly soft traces over the inside of your thighs. “Kook?” you ask tentatively.

No response.

It runs over your skin in the same way his hands just did, a unique shape your brain scrambles to put a name too. It’s soft, so soft. But cold to the touch. Inanimate for sure. It’s a toy, your brain supplies belatedly, but that much you already know.

It’s heart-shaped, you realize, just as it thwacks down against your pussy.

You shriek at the suddenness of it all, thighs clamping shut. Your heart is thundering at a pace of a rabbit’s, chest rising and falling as you blindly piece together what just happened.  “Kook?” you whimper a second time, head craning back and forth in a desperate attempt to track his next move.

He’s not touching you anymore, but the bed is still dipping by your feet, so you deduce he must be there. You test your theory by sliding your foot against the sheets, lower lip trembling at the idea of him not being there.

Jungkook catches your ankle with one warm palm, slightly calloused from years of weightlifting. He raises it up, the cold air of his room hitting your exposed pussy. “You liked it,” he says, not a question but an observation. Your pussy throbs, the phantom strike against it lingering. A kiss to your ankle.

“Wh-What is it?” you cry, unconsciously pressing your leg closer to him now that you have his location. (You don’t see the soft smile on his face at your action.) Ever so slowly you let your thighs open again, now anticipating the next touch of that thing— that riding crop, you realize.

Jungkook confirms. “It’s a riding crop,” he explains, excitement curling around his words. Suddenly, it returns, this time against your stomach. He doesn’t strike you like he did before, simply lets it run across your tummy. “Heart-shaped. It’s so pretty,” he sighs dreamily. “Reminds me of you.”

You nod anxiously, stomach muscles tensed the longer it stays there. Jungkook obviously sees this, lifting it to give you the lightest of taps that still manages to make you gasp. “Cute,” he laughs, trailing it back to where it first touched down.

“Oh,” you tremble, thighs twitching as it pats tenderly over your clit. “Wai-Wait,” you warn, body arching as he runs it down, down your swollen folds. “No,” you weep, going to close your legs. But Jungkook predicts your moves, pressing your thigh down harshly against the bed.

“Shh,” he soothes, tracing the heart down your folds, pressing it flat against you. There’s a distinct lining over it that makes your hips jump, a faux-velvet covering the tip that tickles your skin. “Sit still for me.”

“No!” you gasp. Your back arches, body betraying you as it pushes your pussy against the toy. “I can’t, I can’t, Kook,” you sob, lips contracting around the gaping nothingness in your hole.

He condemns your attitude with a harsh swat of the riding crop against your cunt, tearing another high-pitched squeal from your lips. It’s followed by another against your clit that makes your body spasm. “Bad,” he chides. “Supposed to be my perfect girl.”

“I c-can’t,” you whine, the darkness over your eyes making the sensations ten times more intense. You don’t know where he or the riding crop are if they’re not directly touching you. Even then, the image is fuzzy in your head. “Need you,” you pant.

You try to reach for him, try to pull him into your arms. But you’re reminded of the cuffs holding you back, the metal digging into your skin behind you. You sob at the realization, angrily shaking your hands back and forth like maybe acting like a tantrum-throwing child will save you. It doesn’t.

Instead there’s a tug at the chain resting on your stomach, one that makes you cry out in pain when it pulls at your terribly sensitive nipples again. Jungkook uses it to pull you close, just a small inch off the bed that has you gasping for breath nonetheless.

“N-No,” you wail, nipples throbbing from all the sensations you’ve put them through tonight.

A chaste peck against your trembling lips. “Tell me how it feels,” he purrs, nose brushing against yours. Even with the tie obstructing your vision, the latest version of your boyfriend burns itself into your eyelids, force feeding you his sweaty skin and damp hair until even his breath against your face is enough to bring you to the edge.

“I-It’s scary, Kook,” you sniffle, listening for any signs of a reaction. But even if he did show one, your breathing is too loud and the ESPN channel is still blaring on screen. “Scary,” you whimper, lunging forward in a desperate move to feel the familiar brush of his tongue against yours. You miss.

“Do you want to stop?” he asks carefully, like he’s afraid he’s pushed too far.

He has. But fuck, do you love it.

“No,” you wail, lips smushed somewhere along his cheek, near his jaw and not his mouth like you wanted to. “Feels good, feels so fucking amazing,” you babble, cut off halfway through by a hiccup from your sad cries. “Wanna cum, wanna cum for you like this.”

Jungkook chuckles in relief, tilting his head until you can catch his lips with yours. It’s probably an awkward angle you assume, him adjusting for your vision-less whims, but it feels so good. It sends a shock to your pussy, his plush lips against yours. Without him telling you, you’re opening your mouth for him. “Spit on me,” you beg pitifully.

Jungkook groans, and you can almost visualize the look on his face perfectly— the tensing of his jaw, the push of his Adam’s apple, the pucker of his lips. “God, you’re disgusting,” he sighs, a fat glob of spit hitting the back of your tongue. Without your vision, you don’t see it coming, recoiling with a whiny mewl. The thin trail of saliva that follows trails across your chin when he finally reels back. You swallow greedily, wondering how soon is too soon to ask him to do it again.

With your full permission to move forward, Jungkook wastes no time trailing the riding crop over your wet folds, collecting your oozing pre-cum on the tiny heart as he roves it over your cunt. “Fuck, you can probably cum like this too, can’t you?”

You can’t answer, too caught up in the featherlight brushes. Even if you wanted to say something, one sudden strike against your pussy renders you speechless. “Mmh!” you hiss, biting down on your lip.

“Come on,” Jungkook encourages, resting a hand on your thigh. He presses the crop against you again, pushes down until the flat apex of the heart where it meets the flexible stem of the toy is pressing against your cunt hotly. He grinds it down against you, takes a sick pleasure in the pathetic way you arch up into it, rut against the little heart like it can provide even half the pleasure his hands usually would. “Talk to me, sweetheart,” he murmurs.

Your body is on fire, every nerve, every sensation shooting straight to your most erogenous areas— your cunt and your nipples. Talking seems like the farthest thing from your mind right now, too caught up in the way he roughly pushes the crop against your clit. A whimper rips itself from your throat, shuddering at the sensation. Unconsciously you jerk away from him, only to be scolded with another thwack against your quivering pussy lips. “A-Ahh,” you wail, squirming beneath him like a worm that can’t sit still. “Good— it feels good, Jungkookie,” you weep.

The soft mushy pet name has him raining down two snacks against you in quick succession. “No baby names,” he warns, frown evident in his voice.

Even with you completely under him like this, shackled and blinded with your love, something unmistakably childish and obnoxious curls around your throat, has you biting down on a grin as the coil in your stomach tightens. “D-Don’t like that, Jungkookie,” you choke out hoarsely, wildly bold for someone in your position. “D-Don't like being m-my baby?”

The crop loses its position over your folds, and for a minute you’re left anxiously anticipating its next touch. 

It’s on the side of your breast, harder than the rest, combining with the already powerful pinch of the clamps. It makes you cry out painfully, stomach tightening at what is probably the most unexpected orgasm you’ve ever had. It isn’t like your usual ones that overpower you and make cum trickle out between your folds.

No, it comes in waves— literally. Your pussy spasms, pushes one splurt of cum out between your thighs, almost likes your lower lips are spitting it out. And then again, more the second time, against his mattress. He pushes your legs up to your chest to marvel at the cum coating your lips and thighs. “You’re my baby, stupid,” he hisses. He grabs at your clamps then, twisting the little chain in his hand harshly. You sob at the yank, at the way your nipples feel two seconds away from being ripped off. But you can’t even complain, because the sudden touch has your pussy clenching, before a final trickle of cum oozes out of you.

Even still, your mind babbles on. “N-No,” you choke, shaking back and forth. Despite the tie covering your eyes, they flicker like a mad man beneath it, like you’ll somehow get lucky and develop Seeing Through Fabric Ability if you try hard enough. “My, my baby,” you fight weakly, pelvis trembling from aftershocks of that orgasm. “My idiot b-boy,” you smile dazedly, eyes rolling into the back of your head at the sting you’ve become familiar with by now. “T-Tell me, Jungkookie,” you croon, biting down on your lip to keep a moan from spilling out mid-syllable. “Still the same, r-right?” you stutter, “still think you’re better than me, don’t you?”

He scoffs. “No,” he vehemently denies, brashly landing an unexpected smack against your hip, no warning in sight. “That’s not true,” he defends. You can hear his pout, the little push of his lips when he grows defensive. 

You laugh, every bit the insane lunatic, fueled by your two orgasms and slipping sense of reality. “Ffffuck,” you whimper, rolling your hips up into nothing. “S-Say it again, baby,” you plead, tongue licking across your lips. “Tell me, tell me you don’t care about my problems, Kook-ah,” you whimper.

There’s a hesitant pause on his end, an unexpected lull in your play as he’s torn apart between doing what you want or playing it safe.

You know you’re confusing him, because you’re certainly confusing yourself. You don’t even bother trying to dissect your emotions— you’ve long since accepted your mind was a dangerous place when horny and presented with Jungkook’s sole attention. Well, you knew you were into the whole degradation bit, but this whole having-your-boyfriend-throw-the-words-that-made-you-question-your-entire-worth bit was certainly new and unexpected.

But there’s something in your heart (and in your libido) that needs this, needs him to fix this memory for you that maybe, kinda sorta, has haunted you for days, weeks now, as much as you hate to admit it. Needed him to fix the booboo he gave you with a bandaid, only leave a scar you could look back at and laugh off, not a gaping wound that opened at the slightest mention of it. Because while you forgave, you certainly never forgot*.

(*Unless forgetting meant having your boyfriend overwrite said memory that couldn’t be forgotten with the sheer power of his monster demon cock and wicked tongue. Only then could you forget.)

“Don’t be a fucking pussy, Jungkook,” you spit, feeling the hesitancy in the riding crop that brushes against your skin. It fades away quickly. “S-Say I’ve a dead-end office job; just holding you back,” you beg, trying to pretend the entirety of his little outburst hasn’t been ingrained into your mind for the last couple of weeks. Something flashes in your chest, throat closing off when the toy finally leaves your skin. “Tell me, tell me—“

He looms over you, teddy bear warmth covering the entirety of your body. “Is this what you want?” he asks seriously, lowly, breath fanning across your lips. Your makeshift blindfold feels distinctly damp over your eyes, chest heaving with an exertion that can only be emotional when he speaks so softly to you after routinely raining down brutal thwacks on you for the past half hour. “__,” he says sternly, “is this what you want?”

You gasp on a sob, unsure when these emotions had time to manifest outside your heart like this. You nod your head like a bobble head doll sitting on someone’s dashboard, lower lip trembling on a shameful cry that is not sex-induced like all the other ones until now. “I-I need this, Jungkook,” you admit, voice so tiny and soft, it almost gets drowned out by your shaky exhales and the crowd roaring on screen. “Need to overwrite it.”

He presses a soft kiss to your quivering lips, slow and so devastatingly loving. It’s nothing like the one from before where he’d spit down your throat per your request, and the unbridled adoration he packs into one simple kiss makes you crumble in his arms, sniffles piling on by the dozens.

He leans back after a moment, pulls your thigh over his forearm and finally lets you feel the hard ridges of his cock against your folds. “Stupid girl,” he huffs, trying to sound angry and annoyed, but there’s a lilting tone to his words, a love and trust you wouldn’t have been able to see with or without your blindfold, but can feel nonetheless. He pulls it off you anyway, the warm glow of the TV illuminating his face for you for the first time in about half an hour. Eyes soft, sweat trailing down his body. His body lines up against yours, but so does his heart. You feel it in the way he holds you in his arms, the way he’s careful about sinking into your folds. He slips an arm beneath your waist, uses it to hold you up so you’re not uncomfortably squishing your arms anymore. But if you ask, he’ll pretend he’s doing this for convenience sake only.

“T-Terrible fucking job,” he starts out, the stammer eluding the obvious discomfort he has saying those words, but he does it for you anyway. “Big fucking baby,” he tries again, slowly pushing past your tight walls with a shudder. “C-Can’t look away from you for two seconds because you’re such a fucking kid.”

“Worse,” you choke out. “Meaner. Please, Kook.”

He nods, holds your waist carefully when he finally bottoms out inside of you. “Dead-end office job,” he says, repeating the words that had made you want to crawl into a whole and never come out from. “Got some stupid fucking problems,” he tacks on, slowly withdrawing his hips from your heat. “Always complaining about the stupidest shit,” he hisses, fingers digging into your waist when it’s only the tip of his cock inside of you. “I don’t fucking care about it,” he seethes, forcefully snapping his hips into you.

They’re scrambled fragments of what he’d really said to you that night. Line after line that don’t carry a quarter of hurt or even make coherent sense for that matter. And still. 

You whimper, mind fuzzy from the thrusting pace he picks up, body fluttering at the glide of his cock against your walls. But your heart is thundering in your throat, his willingness to help fix this memory for you tightening around your every being until you can’t breathe. “I-I love you,” you cry, clenching down around him.

Jungkook groans, pulls you flush against his cock until the thin hairs around the base of his cock are tickling your skin. “Stupid, fucking child,” he groans, “immature ass nobody,” he grunts, bucking into you like your words don’t mean a thing.

“I am, I am,” you wail, suddenly hit with the cold hard truth that your body was desperately on edge. From the stimulation your nipples had gotten all night, to the ghost of the riding crop that lingered across your skin; your body was tired, so ready for a final orgasm that you’re certain Jungkook will provide. “T-Tell me y-you—“

“Shut up,” he barks, sweaty skin gliding against yours. “D-Don't tell me what to do,” he huffs, nailing you into the bed. He’s pushing you hard into the mattress, like he wants to brand you into it. “Need to fix this— alone.”

You nod numbly, the crowd behind him cheering loudly. It’s like they’re rooting for him— for the two of you —as silly as it sounds, and as bothersome as it would be any other day, today the obnoxious sounds of the ESPN soccer match only serve to fix a bad memory from before. It’s loud and cringey as all hell, but you’ll look back to this moment and laugh.

And that’s what you want most of all. You want that memory from before, that nasty fight, to go away, to disappear forever and be replaced with this one. Of him, pounding you into the sheets as his TV blares beside you, just another day, another round of sex filled with your usual kinks. Nothing more, nothing less.

“Ffffuck,” you whine when the tip of his hard cock prods against your cervix. He’s going deep, he’s going all out, because he wants to fix this too. Wants to do anything to make it right, and he’ll never know how much you appreciate him for it. “S-So deep,” you whimper, hips jumping when he rams back inside.

“Stupid slut,” Jungkook snarls, tucking his head against your neck the same way he always does. “Making me do stupid shit like this,” he bites, but you know he doesn’t mean it, know he never will again. He rocks his hips into you, no longer concerned with holding you up from uncomfortably laying on your cuffed arms anymore as he pistons into your squelching heat. He’s pressed so close over you, lips brushing against your collarbone with each snap of his hips.

All the pushing and jostling about has the chain of your clamps wildly jumping about, sprawling across the planes of your chest, above your breasts, where he snatches it up between his lips again. “Stupid, fucking—“ he slurs, jutting his head to the side like a wild stallion. You sob at the tenderness of your nipples, at the way he pays them no mercy as he continues rutting into you like a mad dog in heat. “Slut,” he spits. “S-So fuckin’ pretty.”

Your mind is in another universe, and when that last word, that devastatingly familiar term, slips from his lips mindlessly, something inside you snaps. “N-No,” you sob, legs fidgeting around his waist at the orgasm that wracks through your body against your will. “No,” you cry in frustration, “didn’t, didn’t want—“

“Stupid, stupid angel,” he babbles, seemingly unaware of your orgasm as he continues fucking into your leaking cunt, ignorant of the cum that dribbles out, creams his cock as he carries on. “Fuck,” he pants, gnaws against the chain of the stupid clamps like he can’t bare this any longer. “Love you,” he says, though he’s still stuck in that mindset from before and his sweet confession sounds more like a threat. “L-Love that childish side of you,” he confesses, finally dropping the chain— much to your relief —and surging forward to kiss you on the mouth. He tastes weirdly metallic, a thought you can’t ponder too long as he continues ramming himself past your clenched lips and into your pussy. “Your fffucking dr-drive to succeed,” he grunts, mouth smushed uncomfortably against your cheek.

“Kook, sweetheart,” you shudder, sensitive pussy spent as he drills on. His cock is still so achingly hard, and he doesn’t seem anywhere near completion. “Take it easy,” you gently remind him, can’t brush your fingers through his hair like you usually would, so you settle for pressing your lips to his cheek.

“Fuck, fuck,” he heaves, pushing so deep you practically feel him in your womb, swollen mushroom head begging for entry. “Give me it all,” he stammers, “want you—want this forever.”

“I know you do, baby,” you coo, nuzzling your nose against his when he sloppily surges forward, panting and gasping over you like a crazed caveman. “I’m yours,” you gently remind him.

“No,” he chokes out hoarsely, eyes screwed shut. “Need more, all of it,” he mumbles. “Give me yourself, ___, need you for the rest of my life—“ he cuts himself off with a shuddered whine, so airy and wispy it makes you shiver. “Ffffuck, shit,” he howls, each thrust into your walls only unraveling him more and more. “Give me, give me—“

“Anything,” you whimper, body trembling from his excessivity. “What do you want, Kook-ah?”

He says nothing, losing himself in the warmth of your pussy as his orgasm rounds the corner. He’s in the final stretch, the final straight until achieving nirvana alongside you at the finish line. And, as you’ve long since come to understand, a true Jungkook Danger Zone. He loses all sense of self, random syllables and phrases slipping through his lips.

“Fuck, fuck, marry me— marry me,” he moans, snapping his hips into you with a ferocious speed that has you bouncing against the sheets, and that’s despite the tight grip his has on you. “Let me— fuck— let me fuck a baby into you, sweetheart,” he purrs, eyes shining like an absolute psycho, but you’re apparently into that because the idea squeezes around your chest and burrows it’s way in. “A baby,” he marvels like an idiot, eyes big and sparkly, “f-fuck.”

“Wh-What?” you choke, flinching when he bites down against your lower lip. He’s got you trapped beneath him, stuffing your brain with these ideas that make your heart enter cardiac arrest, body tingling like in Mario Kart when you’ve got the star power up. “Kook—“

“Sh,” he groans, digging his fingers into your sides as he rolls his hips against you. “Almost,” he informs you, but the blood rushes to your ears. “Oh, fuck,” he pants, jaw clenching, “oh, baby.”

Jungkook cums with a shivered cry, body hunching over you like some entity has just exited out of his spine. Maybe something did, because afterwards he manages to hold himself above you for exactly three seconds before dropping the entirety of his hefty muscles onto you. “Ouch,” you whine, wrists twisted uncomfortably beneath you.

“Sorry,” he huffs, completely out of breath and dazed as he rolls away from you. He ends up spread out like a starfish beside you, completely fucked out and definitely zooming through the fifth, sixth, and seventh dimensions.

He doesn’t say anything for a hot minute, chest rising and falling like he’s just run a marathon, until you butt in. “Kook. Undo me,” you remind him.

He looks over at you, dark hair falling over his eyes and sprawling around his head like a halo. Oh, he was going to be the death of you. “Oh,” he says, like his brain has just processed the information. “Right.” He sits up, tucking himself back into the shorts he never fully took off. That was his character flaw; never bothers to get completely naked during sex. Anyway, his straight male-equivalent of booty shorts come up around his thighs again, stretching sinfully across the thick muscles.

The five sonnet poem that was gearing up in your head comes to a halt when he touches your breast. “No, no more,” you cry, instinctively withering away.

Jungkook snorts. “I’m just taking them off, baby,” he says, reaching forward again with the same practiced ease you’d use on an animal. The clamps come off, all the nerves suddenly coming back to life. It’s a weird sensation, not having your tits subject to that prickling pain anymore, and it makes you moan softly. Jungkook soothes you with his wannabe masseuse hands, but you think it’s just an excuse for him to fondle your breasts.

“How’re you feeling?” he asks gently, hovering over you like a damned surgeon or something. His voice is so silky and smooth, hands soft against your chest. He’s so careful in the way he turns you over, somehow magically producing the tiny key pick you swore was lost between the sheets after its first use.

Being on your chest makes you tremble like a leaf, the faintest brush of the cotton against your tits enough to make your pussy clench weakly. “ I’ve got you, sweetheart,” he murmurs, carefully detailing his actions like you’re not watching him with your very own eyes. But it’s oddly comforting, having him walk you through the process of rolling your sore wrists. The inside of the cuffs had a plush lining, but it was a pretty cheap thing. After he’s done massaging the skin, he pads over to his dresser and returns with a shirt and undies for you. “Shirt,” he says, helping you into the clothing.

When you’re all snuggled under the sheets again, the television still loud as hell, he mumbles, “wanna talk about it?”

You exhale against his chest, feeling so light and fluttery from your orgasms and the way he runs his fingers through your scalp and the way his heart thunders by your ear. “Hm,” you hum pensively. “Nah. Think I’m fine now,” you admit.

Jungkook chuckles. “A full miracle recovery?” he teases. You nod, taking in the comforting scent of his fabric softener and just him in his entirety.

“Yep.” A beat of silence, the commentator is back to filling the space between you two. He talks about a mile minute, spewing stats and plays you could never understand in a thousand years. But you know Jungkook will get sucked in soon enough, so you strike while the pot is hot. “Do you wanna talk?”

He cranes his neck a little to look at you. “What do you mean?”

You roll your eyes, pushing yourself up to look at him straight on. “Oh, my mistake,” you drawl. “I seem to have missed the part where we were going to act like you didn’t just ask for my hand in marriage and then offered to get me pregnant—,” you pause, the realization suddenly hitting you like a trash can whipping down a hill on a rainy day at a thousand miles per hour. “Pregnant!” you exclaim, cheeks warm at the fact he really just said that to you.

Jungkook’s cheeks fare no better, a Flaming Hot Cheeto shade dusting his skin. “I, it was just…” he tries, poor tiny monkey brain working overtime to offer an excuse. “It-it doesn’t have to be a thing,” he blushes, big Bambi eyes flickering from you to the television to the heart-tipped riding crop by the foot of the bed. “I was just…”

You raise your brows. “Consumed by the spirit of King Henry IV to have fourteen kids?”

He blinks. “Wait, you actually paid attention to that film?”

“That’s not the point!” you exclaim, shifting onto your knees in front of him. “What,” you inhale sharply, heart beating wildly in your chest, “what was that?”

Jungkook can only play the shocked angel card for so long before he’s sinking back into his pillow stack with the sigh of a man who’s worked in construction for the last sixty-four years. “I just,” he mumbles, “I think about it sometimes.” His admission makes your heart lodge itself into your throat, wide eyes watching him spill out his heart to you.

He misreads the expression on your face. “I-Not now!” he hurries to explain. “Like,” he stammers, rosy hue slowly crawling down his neck, over his ears. “Maybe, y’know? In the future…”

You blink, brain reduced to a series of beeps and clicks like that of an old computer trying to compute information that is simply not processing. “Yeah…” you murmur, unsure of what to do with the film reel that suddenly flashes before your eyes, a look into a doorway you had never considered before. “I— me too.”

Jungkook chokes on his own saliva. “Really?” he yelps, has those sparkly anime girl eyes you always tease him about.

The gulp you do sounds loud in your ears. “Yeah,” you breathe, throat drier than the desert, but more confident than the first peabrain response. “I-I’d like that.”

There’s a bright beam of light that shines right in your face, so vibrant and dazzling it makes you flinch and by the time you’ve recovered you realize it’s his smile. “Yeah?” Jungkook mumbles back, pearly teeth framed by his pretty smile, brows raised at your stuttery confirmation. You nod. His lips twist into a smaller grin, a condensed version of the superstar one he gave you just moments before. Before you can brush it off with a joke, he’s snatching your hand up in his, a soft smooch pressed to your knuckles. “Okay,” he says quietly, dark eyes meeting yours. “One day?”

Your heart constricts in your chest, and all you can do is nod. “One da—“

“Goooooaaaaallllll!” the announcer on screen shrieks, the loud sounds of the TV killing your mood instantly.

Any dumbstruck, love struck, idiotic, ditzy expression on your face is wiped clean, replaced with an unimpressed glare you narrow on him. His nose is scrunched up like he wants to laugh, lips pressed into a thin line at your annoyance. He swipes the TV remote off the side table, arms spread open for you to crawl back into. You do so with a huff, pout smushed against the front of his hoodie.

“That’s enough ESPN for today,” he chuckles, switching the channel about a thousand times until Rick and Morty is playing on screen. “I’ll just watch the highlights later.”

“ESPN,” you scoff like an evil villain in a movie who’s just been presented with their mortal enemy, fisting the front of his hoodie.

Jungkook nods. “ESPN,” he repeats. A beat passes. “Kinda like BDS—“

“Go get your ice pack.”

epilogue

Because Jungkook couldn’t sit still for that one eventful night following his ladder injury, he ends up in a medical boot for one week, loudly clunking around the place like a reverse pirate. You snap a picture of him that you post on Twitter for your twelve followers to see, just him pouting at the doctor’s office with his new boot and club jersey on to celebrate last night’s victory.

It’s just a cute pic for you and your friends to laugh at.

Until it’s not, and his handsome face is circulating around the entire internet.

He’s being called the Face of FC Seoul, with desperate women messaging you left and right for his information. Other fans are bragging about the beauty that is an FC Seoul fanboy. It gets to the point where his face appears on the next night’s ESPN Nightly Recap, a special on social media stars posting about the game. Except Jungkook is neither a social media star nor did he even post about the game— you did.

But there he is, all five feet and ten inches of him smiling brightly at you from the ESPN Sports channel, wearing the boot he got from hand cuffing and whipping you to completion. 

Copyright © 2020, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.

[morganaspendragonss]

Prompt idea: Tk’s past drug use causes him to have seizures and Carlos always looks out for him when he has them and being all protective and hovering in the aftermath? x

holly's august extravaganza day 22: know me crazy, soothe me daily

thanks to a friend of mine who gets these types of seizure and who kindly talked me through what it's like 💚

ao3 | 880 words | hurt/comfort, fluff, seizures, mentioned past drug use, protective carlos

It had freaked Carlos out the first time it happened.

One minute they were sitting up in bed, talking like they would on any normal evening. The next, TK’s expression had gone completely blank, his eyes staring straight ahead. He’d started rubbing his hands together and mumbling under his breath—Carlos didn’t catch exactly what he was saying, but it sounded like the same thing over and over.

He’d reached over and shook TK’s shoulder lightly. “TK,” he’d called, panic setting in when TK didn’t respond. “TK, are you okay?”

Still no response, and Carlos had been on the verge of calling 911 when TK had shuddered and blinked, confusion clouding his eyes. It had been a minute at most since whatever it was had started, but it was long enough to make Carlos never want to witness it again.

Unfortunately, he wouldn’t be that lucky.

“It was a seizure,” TK explained, after Carlos had finished telling him what had happened. TK had been disoriented and confused for about ten minutes after, and couldn’t even remember half of their earlier conversation. “I… It’s because of the drugs. They fucked something up in my brain, especially after my first overdose, and now I get seizures occasionally.

“That one was a complex partial seizure, but those don’t happen too often. Usually they’re just absence seizures; I’m surprised you haven’t noticed before.”

As it turned out, Carlos had noticed; he’d just thought that TK gets a little spacey sometimes. The absence seizures apparently only last for a few seconds, and sometimes TK isn’t even aware that he’s having one.

Carlos feels guilty for not noticing anyway, even if it was nearly impossible. From that first moment, he resolves to keep a better eye out—to take care of TK properly, like he’s supposed to.

*

“Carlos, I’m fine.”

“But, you just—”

“Blanked out for a few seconds, yes.” TK sighs and looks at Carlos with a fond, but moderately exasperated expression. “Seriously, it’s literally like a blink for me; the only reason I know it happened is because Mateo is on the other side of the room now.”

Carlos sighs and purses his lips—it’s the same routine they do every time he notices one of TK’s absence seizures. And he knows that they have no impact on him, but he can’t help but worry.

Sue him—he only found out about his boyfriend’s serious medical condition after six months of dating; he thinks he’s allowed a little worry.

Not that TK seems to think so. He laughs and shakes his head, pressing a kiss to Carlos’s cheek. “Relax, babe,” he says. “I’ll probably have another in like ten minutes, it’s no big deal.”

Carlos scowls at him. “That’s not nearly as reassuring as you think it is.”

TK’s grin lets him know that he already knew that.

*

The complex partial seizures are less common, but much worse. There’s usually no warning, though TK has said that sometimes he hears things that aren’t there, or gets a feeling of deja vu right beforehand.

But for Carlos, there’s no warning at all. It’s terrifying, every single time, to see TK just freeze up, like his brain has separated from his body and gone offline, even though they’ve done this a handful of times now.

He learns very quickly, however, that they’re nowhere near as terrifying as the times when TK doesn’t freeze up.

“TK, what are you doing?”

TK doesn’t answer, that familiar blank look coming over his face. Except, this time, it doesn’t stop there. This time, he starts walking, heading—horrifyingly—towards the stairs.

“TK!”

Carlos has been warned about this. He’s been warned that, sometimes, TK will do things during seizures, like walking around or picking at his clothes. That doesn’t mean he’s prepared to see his boyfriend attempting to go down the stairs without being in control of his own actions.

He follows after him, arms outstretched to frame TK’s body but not quite touching him. Carlos keeps his eyes firmly on TK’s feet, waiting with a lump in his throat for the moment when he misses a step and falls—not that Carlos would let him.

Thankfully, the moment never comes, and they reach the bottom without incident. Even so, Carlos is pretty sure his heart doesn’t stop pounding until TK starts to come out of it. He stumbles when he does and Carlos wastes no time in steadying him, holding him gently but firmly against his body.

TK looks around, a tired frown appearing on his face. “What...?”

Carlos rubs his arms, guiding him over to the sofa to sit. “You’re alright. You had a seizure and decided to come downstairs, but you’re alright.”

“Oh.” TK sighs and burrows into Carlos’s side, his eyes fluttering closed. “Tired.”

“I know.” This is the familiar part; TK is often tired after these episodes, and Carlos is more than happy to let him sleep on him if that’s what he needs. “Sleep, sweetheart.”

TK hums and curls impossibly closer, his head tucked against Carlos’s chest. Soon enough, his breaths even out to soft, sleepy puffs, and Carlos wraps his arms around him protectively.

He might not be able to prevent TK from going through this, but he can help him afterwards. And that, he thinks, must count for something.

[forgiveness-in-the-misery]

Skwisgaar's Psychology

After rewatching Metalocalypse a total of three times ever since the news of the potential finale movie I kind of had a realization; I really fucking love Skwisgaar. I also started by halfway through rewatch two realized that his story and background and general psychology is really fucking fascinating to me.

So I am going to do my best to discuss his character and his psychology and how we see him progress through the show....I already did this with Toki a while back and kind of would love to do it with Murderface and maybe Pickles as well, I'd say Nathan, but he's the....least fucked up in a sense.

Skwisgaar let's start has the most dialogue in the first couple of seasons of the show and even then it isn't overwhelming compared to the other members of the band. By season four he speaks very little and rarely.

When we are introduced to him in the beginning of the show he seems to be like the rest of the group; a diva spoiled rich rocker who has been grossly wealthy for so long that he's forgotten how to function as a human.

You also with the first season especially have this running gag that isn't even a running gag that Skwisgaar or Toki will say something weird and then the other will add onto it and they just say weird shit about life and death or the violence of man, it's weird, and strangely endearing.

Which speaking of how those two play off each other brings me to the fact the pilot episode immediately establishes that these two are almost always together. The band goes to a grocery store and everybody splits up, except for Skwisgaar and Toki who go off together when in all reality that isn't remotely necessary. We also learn in that first episode that Skwisgaar gets pissed when Toki teases him and calls him a woman despite Skwisgaar calling him one like a second earlier and also that Skwisgaar is sexually attracted to elderly women.

Two things are heavily associated with Skwisgaar as a character; he is extremely sexually active and he's got his guitar with him in 99% of scenes. Skwisgaar also doesn't appear to be the most talkative, he can be bitchy and throw tantrums like the rest of his bandmates, but also seems to be more prone to crying and becoming anxious or worried for his friends and their wellbeing/safety, in terms of socializing he seems to be a bit awkward and seems the most comfortable communicating through sex and music. He's teasing and can be a dick, but there's no real edge to it. He also while seeming in some regards to be a bit....dumb to be blunt about it seems to actually be rather smart, though often seems to just keep that to himself probably because he knows who his friends are and they aren't prone to listening to people.

Season one wasted no time in introducing the band's parents and this included Skwisgaar's mother, Serveta. One thing that I do find super interesting is that he is the only member of the band who comes from a single mother, technically it isn't interesting, but the theory (probably canon) that their fathers aren't really their fathers at all and that their mothers became pregnant by the Deth Star makes it interesting. To me at least.

With Skwisgaar's mom in regards to the first season of the show we quickly learn that their relationship is strained. She's an older woman who just like Skwisgaar is very sexually active, we see her come onto Nathan's father who is married and sitting with his wife and son, Skwisgaar's reaction to this is to get upset and begin frantically playing his guitar. Skwisgaar spends a good portion of this episode drinking and at one point saying that ever since his mom got there his stomach had been hurting and he'd just been feeling like absolute shit. When we see him bonding with his mom he's brushing her hair and looking like he'd rather be dead or any place else, seeing him helping her groom is weirdly a red flag to me.

We learn by the third season of the show that his mother is intensely vain and in love with herself, she resents Skwisgaar because being pregnant with him and giving birth to him ruined her 'perfect' body and I'm sure the years where he was too young to fend for himself annoyed her because it meant she couldn't party or have men over or run off whenever she wanted, something I get the feeling that changed when he was about ten years of age. In a bonus video that comes with the first season of the show you see interviews with the band on various random topics; one of the scenes that is...uncomfortable to say the least is when family is brought up. Skwisgaar begins to say something, but trails off and becomes visibly upset before saying he's just going to shut down for a while, Toki confesses some more physical abuse before also shutting down.

I'm going to take a guess that Skwisgaar only had his mother when he was growing up and she only had him, I'm sure she has parents and maybe even siblings and aunts and uncles, but it appears that she has absolutely no relationship with them and Skwisgaar most probably never met these people.

The walls of Serveta's home sport dozens of headshots of herself and a couple of pictures of Skwisgaar as a kid thrown up by the front door almost as an after thought. It's likely and most probable that Skwisgaar was thrusted into the position of caretaker and even a husband sort of position when it came to his relationship with his mom; given the task of looking after her, holding her hair back when she pukes after a night of drinking, doing laundry, cooking, cleaning, etc. We know when he was about ten or thirteen years old he came home from school to find his mom having sex with two men, an event that scared him and led to him being chased by wolves and falling into a pit where if he weren't a demi-god he legit would have died. I feel like his mom reached a point with him where she stopped caring whether or not he saw her....personal life, perceiving him as an adult despite still just being a boy and also seeing him as somebody who is taking up space in her home and preventing her from having fun.

When she marries Tyr they're all over each other constantly....until Skwisgaar and Tyr become friends and begin spending time together, then she cheats on him. She was jealous that her latest man wasn't giving her constant attention and got angry at the concept of sharing him with her own child, which is super fucked up.

Skwisgaar throughout the show has a fake persona. He likes to pretend he in some way is like his mom; he likes to pretend he has his head up his own ass and doesn't need anybody but himself, he loves himself more than he could ever love another person. Which isn't true. At all.

I think that growing up with a narcissistic parent who emotionally neglected and emotionally abused him put him in a position where he had to shut down like that. He had to learn at a very young age that crying and yelling and being angry gets nothing done except maybe piss his mom off more, after finding his guitar he threw himself into music and appeared to shut himself off socially, preferring music over human interactions.

Music is something that Skwisgaar can rely on no matter what happens; he will always have a guitar, he will always be able to create music even if it is just for himself and nobody else. People come and go, people physically hurt you, people emotionally hurt you, or make you feel worthless. When we see the flashback to the night Magnus was kicked out of Dethklok Skwisgaar is faded into the background, almost like a ghost with his slumped shoulders and his hair curtaining his face as if he wants to just disappear. When they're auditioning for a replacement Skwisgaar is positive he doesn't want somebody else in the band, that they are fine just being four.

I think it comes from the fact he was terrified of repeating what just happened with Magnus, finding somebody he might think he can bond with over music only for that person to turn into a monster who makes him feel like he can't even do the thing he loves more than anything correctly....Then Toki came in and when they had their duel it quickly turned from a competition into a conversation. Because that's the one way Skwisgaar knows how to communicate, the way he is the most comfortable with; he likes to communicate through guitar and finding somebody who he could speak to through music excited him.

It's clear for obvious age related reasons that Skwisgaar has/had a care taker role where Toki is concerned. I mean he was about 15/16 when Skwisgaar took him into the band so he was a literal child, even when he's older Skwisgaar still looks out for him and is in his own sense immensely protective where he's concerned. Skwisgaar is also that way with the rest of the band even if it's more subtle. He worries about his bandmates, if they get injured or nearly killed it bothers him and he doesn't want anything to happen to them. When the band is going to break up he completely shuts down, because admit to it or not they had become the only family he ever had. I think Skwisgaar is so hard wired from his childhood to care for people that it's something he can't shake and maybe with the band he doesn't feel its a bad habit, because unlike with his mom, his bandmates arent forcing him to look after them. It's something he does because he wants to do it.

Of course in regards to his attraction to older women that definitely comes from issues relating to his mother....I don't think it's in a creepy Freud way, but more so just wanting to feel cared for back. Very obviously he can't exactly approach any of his bandmates and ask for a hug....well except maybe Toki and Pickles if he's super drunk or high, but outside of those two instances....they aren't people he could exactly just ask for validation or comfort or consolation. They aren't....good with that shit. Older women though usually have a tendency to be coddling and kind, Skwisgaar probably learned that as a teen or in his twenties, I think it's less about the sex factor and just feeling important. In terms of sex with people closer to him in age (I will die on the hill that he's bisexual, because he keeps just throwing it out there that he would blow a guy and he had multiple three ways with Melmord) I think it's a distraction for the most part, he uses sex the same way he often uses music, and honestly....He grew up seeing his mother have men over constantly.

Skwisgaar didn't grow up seeing love or healthy relationships, he saw his mom parade various men through the house and maybe she kept some of them for a while and I doubt the relationships were healthy and I'm sure he knew that his mother didn't love any man she dated or married for a short while. Even in the show he isn't fond of love or marriage, the only time he dates somebody is when he moves back to Sweden and finally starts to get his life together in a more healthy sense and that relationship didn't feel like it was based on sex. It was based on physical and emotional affection and it was the only time Skwisgaar ever looked actually happy in terms of intimacy.

Sex is a job, a chore for him; he's the God of Life so it's technically what....it's y'know his thing, creating life. As a lot of people notice....he seems far more sexually active after him and Toki's second fight in regards to music and petty bull shit. Season four is essentially the season where Salacia gets what he wanted aka the band tearing itself apart and you can see them all fall apart individually. For Skwisgaar falling apart means closing himself off, throwing himself more into his guitar and more into sex. He becomes more of a tool and an object as if that's all he wants to be, because being a person who opens yourself up and lets people in and tries to care about people ends up with you being hurt, badly.

Which does bring things back to his super complicated slightly homoerotic to the point even the show had to mention it for a hot second relationship with Toki.

We can gather from Doomstar that Toki was far more into music when he first joined Dethklok which I think worked out great for Skwisgaar, because as I said before; Skwisgaar communicates through music and this gave him somebody that he could talk to without the awkwardness of verbally conversing.

Though that changed clearly and you can feel that Skwisgaar is bothered by it, like in some weird way it feels like a minor betrayal. Toki notoriously never practices or puts in a lot of effort in terms of making music which Skwisgaar often comments on, complains about, or gets on him about. Reasonable. Guitar is part of who he is, but at the end of the day a talent that made him rich, that's what it is to Toki.....Skwisgaar on the other hand his guitar is literally an extension of himself and seeing him without a guitar in his hand for longer than a single scene gets weird.

Still despite the two of them losing the art of communicating through their music....they're close. Super fucking close. If you watch Metalocalypse and tell yourself going into the show that you're going to focus heavily on a single character or on a certain relationship you notice a ton of shit. Like you notice that Toki and Skwisgaar almost always sit together, stand together, talk over one another, finish each others weird sentences or ideas, copy each other to the point they spend an entire episode bickering like children over copying each other, and often spend their time hanging out together. Again. They're really close as if they're a single person split into two.

They're close to the point that inverse their fans just to some extent assume the two of them are fucking and madly in love and I mean I'm gonna be honest just objectively speaking here I would not be surprised to find out they have had sex before at least once or more times. Just saying.

That aside though and just sticking to the platonic here....They're close, Toki means as much to Skwisgaar as guitar does, and that's saying a lot. One big reason I want to bring up their relationship is that his relationship with Toki brings to light Skwisgaar's issues with death or more specifically death where Toki is concerned.

In season one when Toki has a bit of a breakdown and Pickles suggest they kill him, Skwisgaar looks tense and uncomfortable and says that he doesn't like the idea because it's a lot and it makes him feel not so good. In a deleted scene where the band watch Nascar together Pickles ask Toki and Skwisgaar if they were supposed to be dead or in jail or something because it's the same episode where they got shit faced and got into a high speed chase. Skwisgaar when responding about it changes the word dead/death out for sleep, stating they were supposed to be put to sleep but just had to do community service instead (Toki corrects that it was jail, not being put to sleep). In the deleted IKEA scene when Toki stressed says maybe the two of them should just kill themselves Skwisgaar immediately freaks out and later when they return to Nathan and Murderface they both look super emotionally fucked up and when Nathan ask if they had been crying Toki gets defensive and says no while Skwisgaar beginning to cry again says they had been crying. Then of course after Toki ruins Skwisgaar's reputation and becomes Magnus Jr. for a few weeks and ends up having a panic attack and making an ass of himself....Skwisgaar thinks he's having a heart attack and freaks the fuck out terrified that he's dying.

Then finally for a compilation of Skwisgaar not handling Toki dying well; in Doomstar before they go in to save Toki Skwisgaar makes the sorrowful comment that sometimes he wonders if they should have stayed a one guitar band. It isn't him being a dick, he isn't saying this isn't worth it. He's saying essentially that Toki was stabbed, kidnapped and possibly murdered and it's completely his fault; if he hadn't taken Toki in then none of this would have happened. Which immediately leads me to believe that post the funeral episode that Skwisgaar spent those months high and drunk and late at night blaming himself for Toki being taken/murdered. That's a lot of blame to put onto yourself and to say its your fault solely because a few years ago you took this kid in off the streets is honestly heart breaking.

Early on in the series there's an episode where Toki's pissed that he isn't seen as Skwisgaar's musical equal, he wants solos, and Skwisgaar turns him down. Which through the series and within that episode itself we easily learn why Skwisgaar never gives him a solo; Toki has performance anxiety and he never practices and quite honestly knows almost nothing about guitar. It's valid. Either way in this particular episode Toki gets pissed and decides he wants to take lessons, Skwisgaar offers and Toki turns him down because last time they tried...he kind of just ended up beating the shit out of Skwisgaar. (to be fair don't dump a bucket of blood on your friend's head) So he goes off and finds an elderly man to teach him how to play guitar, Murderface being a dick decides to tell Skwisgaar that Toki is super good at guitar now and.....Skwisgaar doesn't react well. He gets pissed off and has nightmares about Toki becoming better than him. He even confronts Toki and his guitar teacher and threatens to kick him out of the band. When he realizes at the end of the episode that Toki is still....really not great with music....he's chill again, everything is forgiven.

I kind of think that episode is a reason people perceived Skwisgaar as a dick or is one reason, but honestly he isn't being a dick. I mean sure, a bit, but they're all dicks. The thing is guitar is a crutch for Skwisgaar, it is super important to him and he doesn't know who he is without his guitar, without his music. So somebody else threatening to take that from him freaks him out and he reacts poorly to it.

Then we get to near the end of the show when the same issue arises except completely different. Toki again later in the series ask Skwisgaar for a solo and Skwisgaar annoyed refuses him, Toki being the mild psycho shit that he is decides to just kind of ruin his life as revenge. Again by this point in the show its kind of obvious if you actually pay attention at all that Skwisgaar keeps telling him he can't have solos because Toki never fucking practices and even in the studio Skwisgaar has to record most of the rhythm guitar parts. He's also known since Toki's audition that the kid is prone to choking up and making mistakes, so he's technically protecting him without just outright confronting him.

Toki writes a book calling out Skwisgaar as an abusive tyrant and an over dramatic bitch. Admittedly Skwisgaar is a slight diva and just like the rest of them can be a total asshole, admittedly to a lesser degree than the others. What's really fucking interesting for me personally about this episode is that Skwisgaar is catatonic and depressed for 99% of it. He doesn't speak. This starts literally the second that Toki releases his book saying that Skwisgaar abuses him, this is before Skwisgaar's career goes down the toilet, his career hadn't been impacted by this yet.

Skwisgaar falls to pieces because Toki, Toki who he's known since he was just sixteen and took in off the streets and they're always practically attached at the hip and have been since day one just released a book calling him an abusive monster.

I do have a feeling one reason this fucked him up is because he might be terrified that he's turning into Magnus without realizing it, that perhaps he has become an abusive monster and has been making Toki feel the way that Magnus made him feel towards the end of his time in Dethklok. I think there also is probably something soul crushing about the person you love platonically or otherwise referring to you very publicly as abusive. Of course all of this worsens when Skwisgaar's career begins to fall to shit, eventually towards the end when Toki is at the top of his ego trip being a prick Skwisgaar does confront him, that in itself is interesting.

Skwisgaar goes in way calmer than I would be in that situation, sure he gets pissed off as they bicker, but again he's waaayyyy fucking calmer than anybody else would be especially since Toki just yells at him through the entire conversation. Of course interestingly is that Toki perceives Skwisgaar in a way that isn't entirely true, he thinks Skwisgaar mocks him and thinks of him as nothing which isn't true at all, when he says Skwisgaar laughed at him he just responds that he never did that and he sounds slightly hurt by that. They're both hurt and none of these men are good with healthy emotions. Skwisgaar never loses his shit on him in the entire conversation, he looks like he could easily go ape shit but instead warns him that the audience will eat him alive the second he fucks up.

Which turns out to be true, Toki fucks up and people begin turning against him which leads to him having a severe panic attack. Like I mentioned before Skwisgaar thinks he's dying and tries to save him, scared out of his fucking mind at the concept of Toki dying. Which....the dude just spent several weeks treating you like garbage and calling you a monster who abuses him, if Skwisgaar was actually a shitty person then he would have laughed at him or mocked him or given him shit about this moment for years to come....but he doesn't do any of that. He is worried about saving him, probably terrified that if Toki dies then their last conversation was a fight.

Their dynamic changes a lot after this, not in a way that's overly obvious unless you watch it closely. They spend a lot less time together and what feels almost out of character initially in Dethcamp is....Skwisgaar easily going along with Murderface and bitching about Toki, because....again can't stress the Scandinavian dudes are always attached at the hip and now suddenly he's easily saying mean shit about Toki. It feels weird until you remember that not long before this they had a massive fight, Toki called him abusive and momentarily ruined his career and most likely afterwards tried to act like nothing happened at all while Skwisgaar probably wasn't capable of doing that.

Occasionally in season four Skwisgaar and Toki will sit together or stand together, still talk or have that physical closeness but it's far between and you see Toki spend a majority of his time with the toxic trio: Murderface, Rockso, and Magnus. Skwisgaar spends his time typically with Murderface and Pickles then near the end spends most of his time with Nathan.

Skwisgaar is a person who grew up in a home lacking affection and love or safety, he didn't grow up with examples of love or healthy relationships and as far as he's concerned relationships are a waste of time and energy because they all end the same.

Of course for as much as he says that, as they all say that....it's bull shit. He cares deeply about his bands and him trying to act near the end like Dethklok was just another gig it isn't, these people are his close friends and his only real family. Seeing Pickles and Nathan fall apart wrecked him and having Toki turn on him so easily gutted him. Skwisgaar is a super emotionally fragile person, he seems absolutely terrified of showing anger or aggression as if it's something he's never been comfortable with or learned when he was young gets you nowhere or perhaps there were men around who were violent and loud and it made him scared to ever be that way. He's the only one of the band we never see really lose his shit or be randomly aggressive and violent, he also strangely enough cries the most out of them canonically. People always make the assumption Toki cries a lot, but like canonically he cries waaayyyy fucking less than Skwisgaar.

I really find Skwisgaar interesting....clearly and this analysis might be a jumbled mess, but there's strangely a lot of things to unpack and things I probably didn't even touch on as much as I could have, because this is already insanely long. I have a deep appreciation of him rewatching this show now that I'm older and far more into analyzing works of fiction.

I hope that this was remotely coherent.

[chidoroki]

TPN - “Dreams Come True”

What better way to cheer up the TPN fandom after the second season’s final episode than with the special exhibition chapter finally being fully translated. I caught glimpses of a few pages here and there over the past couple months but seeing all the children live happily together in the human world in their own little village that they made close to Emma and Alex warms my heart. Of course I would’ve loved if we got to see more of the GP Resistance (because the anime denied us of them) but following the GF kids around the world as they experience their dreams is fair enough. We started the series alongside them so might as well finish strong with them too. I really loved seeing everyone grow up but no matter how old they get or how much time passes, I’ll probably never get used to seeing Emma without her iconic “63194.” It’s a bittersweet feeling for me, but her smiles bring me so much joy and I’m beyond happy that she accepted everyone into her life as they accepted her without her memories.

I haven’t a clue on how much time passed since everyone found Emma in ch181 to now, but seeing her call out everyone’s names is a little detail that I love so much considering she had no idea who anyone was at first. Trying to remember 60+ names doesn’t seem like an easy task to me. No doubt I was just as shocked as our girl upon learning these mere children bought a goddamn plane! We learn in a couple pages that it’s because of Norman’s company that they can afford it, but still, he’s like 15 or 16 now? He’s still a child! And I’m impressed! Not only at him, but that Oliver and Violet became pilots as well! It’s especially cute when you remember that Lucas gave Oliver a little toy plane during their time at Goldy Pond.

Speaking of GP, is it just me or does Emma’s current outfit resemble her GP one just a little bit? Sure we have no idea what color scheme this one has but come on, the short jacket, the dark shirt and jeans.. just imagine it! Jemima, Yvette, Alicia and Mark remade Gillian’s original GP outfit sometime before the Grace Field Raid arc (ch137 extra page) so I don’t doubt they could’ve done the same for Emma. Of course that’s just me being completely hopeful and missing the Goldy Pond arc to death but yeah! I’m also so happy to see Chris up and moving again! Seeing him wake up briefly in ch181 was nice but this is so much better. I imagine he and Emma have a lot to catch up on in terms of stories, with him being unconscious since ch105 and Emma not remembering anything.

But here we go, the original 15 escapees plus Norman, Phil, Sherry, I believe I saw Carol somewhere and a couple other random kiddos ready to see the entire world. They get to accomplish so much.. and in a single day too I believe? At least that’s what Phil and Alicia say a bit later about everyone’s wishes, but aahh what a lucky bunch. Hell, I’ll say we’re lucky readers too to be able to see such a great story. Can’t thank Shirai and Demizu enough y’all. I wish we got to see more of Alex though. He’s such a kind soul but I’m sure he’ll be just fine staying behind with everyone else.

This entire page where we learn about Norman as a CEO is gold. I still can’t believe this child successfully built up an entire multipurpose company not only to help their search for Emma but also because he didn’t want to live off the Ratri clan. I wish I knew about this last week when writing out Norman’s birthday post because hell yeah this deserves some praise! AND he managed to graduate school as well during all that! Well, by skipping grades which totally makes sense. I mean, if he managed to pass all the Grace Field and Lambda tests effortlessly I’m sure normal human world school was a piece of cake for him. Holy shit dude, keep on impressing me why don’t ya. Not only him but Nigel and Sonya too! I’m not surprised that Vincent helped out but I’m glad those two got a tiny moment to shine as well! Ray is another obvious choice when it comes to helping Norman, as they’re best friends and he’s always been good with machines.. but boy, I can’t take you seriously when you’re just sitting there unamused and eating chips! Hahah I love him so much! And the fact he replies to Norman’s idea with just a simple “kay” is an eternal mood.

Okay boys aside, can we talk about our fabulous girls now? Because oh my god, they’re so darn beautiful! They’re more fashionable than I’ll ever be and it’s so cute how they drag Emma along to take advantage of the 3-for-1 deal. But our girl pulls off that sporty look so well! (r.i.p. goldy pond outfit ver2.0). I’m not at all surprised that Nat wanted to go see the opera. That's perfect for him and I’d like to think the anime did something similar with that one shot we see of him in the human world. We don’t see him in a theater like this but to me it looks like he’s on the streets of Broadway? At least that’s the vibe I get from it. I’m sure there was something music related on one of those signs.

I can’t get over how adorable all the children look and how happy they are fulfilling their wishes, even if some of them aren’t as extravagant as others. Like eating a fluffy pancake and a ton of ice cream? We can do that whenever we want. But for these kids, it means everything and they absolutely deserve to experience such simple joys like that after all the harsh nonsense they’ve been through. I also love how Ray continues to be such a great older brother by still looking out for them too. The fact he remains completely unfazed by the haunted house is perfect. This boy has been haunted by his own nightmares and demons his entire life, there’s no way a couple of lousy jump scares are gonna spook him. Though I do find it funny that Alicia and Rossi still manage to get scared while Yvette is having the time of her life. I can’t help but laugh at Thoma’s “Shirai face” as well.

I find it interesting that out of all the different kinds of exhibits they could’ve shown us while Rossi visits a museum, they give us dinosaurs.. like that seems so silly to me. Y’all have seen several demons in your young lives already and yet dinosaurs manage to amaze you too? God these kids are precious. And then our boy Phil finally gets to see and ride a train! Just look how happy he is! The poor kid can’t even sit still he’s so darn excited and I can’t help but smile with him! Thankfully the anime showed us this too.

We eventually get to Ray’s wish and guys.. oh my fucking god. Tell me that this is not the absolute best and prettiest smile we get to see from him!! It honestly leaves me speechless okay? Ray never imagined he would ever get to see the outside world, let alone live past the age of 12, and yet here he is, seeing such a beautiful sight such as this, right in front of him instead of from inside a book. You can’t believe how happy and proud of him I am right now. Did you see how ecstatic I was when the anime kept Isabella alive? Multiply that feeling by ten and there ya go. That’s my level of happiness upon seeing my favorite boy smile like THAT! AAHHH!! That panel is gonna live rent free in my head until the end of time. I can’t get over how damn perfect it is. His smile is so pure and how he looks like he’s in complete awe is beautiful. He’s about to burst into tears and I swear I might do the same because I’m making myself emotional over this fantastic boy. Someone hold me.

No seriously, hold me because we’re about to get into some angst as we move onto to Emma’s wish. We all know that ever since 2039 her one dream was to ride a giraffe once they got outside, so here we are, about ten years later and the animals in question are within reach. Our girl should be totally excited, right? Ha, not quite.

That wish was something the old Emma wanted, but since demon god had to be such a bastard, this Emma doesn’t know what to think, let alone what to even feel. She hasn’t experienced the same hardships as her family. She hasn’t gone through hell and back while holding onto that one wish that would make all the suffering worth it. The amount of joy everyone else felt upon living out their dreams, she wonders if she would be able to feel it too.

They brought her here to make her happy, but is this truly want she wants as well? This is old Emma’s wish after all. What about her and what she wants? Could this wish make her just as happy as her old self? She knows her family is only trying to help, but seeing her doubt herself does a number on my heart. Even without her memories, she’s still the same Emma deep down, as she doesn’t want to disappoint her family. She spends so much time worrying about living up to her family’s expectations, to try and be that Emma they all love so dearly.

Little does she know that she acts the exact same as usual, almost as if nothing has changed when she finally expresses how much she wants to ride a giraffe. And that’s great considering when they first arrived at the giraffes, no on had even mentioned riding them. She came across that feeling all on her own and everyone else can’t help but laugh and feel relieved. Her mind may have forgotten but her heart remembers everything. There is no “old Emma” and “new Emma” to her family, just “Emma” and words can’t express how wholesome that is because they love her regardless. All that matters to them is Emma’s happiness because if anyone deserves to feel and experience that, it’s her.

I just made myself tear up, damn it. I started this series with season one okay? I heard about this precious girl’s dream within the first minute of the first episode and here I am, a little bit over two years later, finally reading about it coming true and seeing that bright as hell smile on her face. Do you know how amazing it is to come full circle like that? My heart feels so full right now. I’m beyond proud of her and love her to death. Say what you want but I believe this to be the true manga ending in my eyes.

(damn this series for always getting me emotional)

[davids-cartoon-corkboard]

Here’s the final part of the “Raph is a system” theory compilation post! It’s the last of what I can scrape up from canon; while I still have ideas on how it might loop back into character interactions and plot and so on, they’re much more speculative in nature. (Part 1 is here) (Part 2 is here) (You’re reading Part 3)

---

"Red” is the alter with the least screen time, so it took a while for me to connect the dots on when and why he formed.

His shadowed face, the dramatic background music when he speaks, and his seriousness are reminiscent of the “brooding on rooftops in the rain while gloomily staring off into the distance” thing that Raphs throughout the franchise will do sometimes. That’s easy to poke fun at on a superficial level because most of us look back on our edgy phases with self-deprecation, but it’s a lot less funny in the context of the life he lives. Being a normal human teenager in normal human society is a fucking nightmare; being a mutant teenager who has no idea what to expect in terms of development or lifespan, only five people he can safely interact with ever, and a very limited future hiding from everyone else for as long as he lives has got to be just awful.

RR’s few lines in “Pizza Puffs” tell us a lot. “It’s the only way they’ll learn” and “this is for their own good” suggest that he formed when the turtles started exploring more of the sewers and going aboveground, and Being The Leader became more of a responsibility. A thousand new ways for them to get in trouble meant a thousand new ways Raph would have to bail them out, and that got old fast- especially since they didn’t have April’s knowledge to help them in the beginning. I doubt they met her the very first time they left the sewers. The wiki says April knew the boys for five years as of “Mystic Mayhem”, so they would have been nearly eight at the time, perhaps the mental equivalent of a ten- or eleven-year-old human.

A while back I sifted through all the eps with Raph in them in the vague hopes that “Pizza Puffs” wasn’t the only episode featuring RR... and lo and behold, I found something! The shadowed face and dramatic background music are also present in “Minotaur Maze”!

“I can’t do it. I got no mystic mojo. I’m useless.”

“Hey, that’s not true, brother. You just gotta believe in yourself, and know this: If I die in this maze, I will haunt you for the rest of your life.”

(I know that’s only two data points, but y’all canonically cannot scoff at me.) RR shows up when HR is no longer able to tolerate the bullshit at hand. “I’m not going to baby you Leo, get your shit together before your ego kills us all” was a reasonable response to nearly being shish-kebab’d.

“Pizza Puffs”, on the other hand... LDM pulled through in the end, but that RR got HR to stay behind added an unnecessary level of risk. Getting his brothers to learn a lesson should have waited until after the giant mutant cannibal had been dealt with and they were no longer poisoned.

This hands-off “figure it out on your own” approach probably came from Splinter. I swear to Pizza Supreme In The Sky I’m not trying to shit-talk him, but his lack of involvement with his sons was a major flaw. Before all that character development he was terrible at things like “emotional support” and “life lessons”, leaving Raph without the blueprints to deal with a lot of problems. HR would respond by rushing in and figuring things out as he went, but sometimes RR would have to say “No, we’re maxed out and can’t deal with this, we’ve gotta step back”. As we’ve seen in other iterations, when Raph is maxed out and doesn’t step back...

...he goes too far. Plenty of folks have commented on how rarely the Rise turtles smack each other around compared to other versions; it’s telling that RR spoke up just a moment after HR smacked Mikey in “Pizza Puffs”.

Raph is much bigger and stronger than his brothers this time around, meaning such an outburst would have a much higher risk of Genuine Grievous Injury. And while his size and strength also mean a measure of gentleness has been baked into him since day one, there would still be times HR would feel himself boiling over and RR would head off somewhere quiet for fear of the above situation; which was potentially alluded to in “Hot Soup: The Game”.

“You went out on your own when you were his age.”

The context of “Man vs. Sewer” suggests Raph isn’t going to go off on his own without very good reason- such as cooling down before he does something he regrets. That this detail shows up in Casey’s debut episode suggests it is how they will properly meet and bond, since befriending Casey and doing vigilante shit with him is what usually gives Raph a way to blow off steam while having someone nearby to keep him in check. But that probably won’t happen until partway through season 3, since I doubt we can cram the rest of Casey’s redemption arc into the movie alongside the invasion and time travel trauma shenanigans and leader drama. So in the meantime RR will continue to brood on rooftops in bad weather and listen to Ephemerality songs and monologue to himself because he knows nobody’s going to hear him over the incessant background noise that makes up the cities above and below.

I was a bit stumped about how that meeting would take place- the events of the finale (and possibly also the movie) would no doubt have both the human and yokai populations on high alert, making it dangerous for RR to slip away for some peace and quiet. But the events of the finale also gave us some insight on Raph’s powers; he has a way to leave without actually leaving!

Hardlight Clone Jutsu, baby!

So whenever HR finds himself in a particularly sour mood, a wisp of power winds its way up through the open-air portion of the lair and forms into a clone aboveground. HR doesn’t have to leave for a while to cool down before coming back and dealing with the situation calmly, because RR is already on a rooftop somewhere dissipating those bad feelings by listening to the rain and/or yeeting trash cans.

But mutants can’t freely walk the streets of New York, and the Hidden City Police probably still have it out for Raph. And someone, hero or villain, will eventually realize that Raph has a gloomy stray clone running around and ask questions that can’t be answered without cracking open the can of worms that is This Whole Situation. RR needs to get creative. That we’ve seen clones have both full color and the basic red/white palette suggests their color could be altered in other ways; and that the holo-form grew extra arms in the lair fight vs. the Shredder suggests their shape could also be changed further.

So what will he choose to look like, if not his body?

Obviously he’ll use a red and black color palette because it slaps, leaning more towards black since I compared him to Batman back in Part 1. A low-detail design makes it hard to identify him, giving onlookers the impression that they just couldn't see him well in the dark. Mentally filing down his spikes and decreasing the curve of his shell are easy enough, but it takes him a while to figure out five fingers instead of three, and there’s not much he can do about his voice other than lowering the pitch so he just opts to not talk much within earshot of others. A cape further disguises his silhouette and again, it slaps. The impression of a mask means he doesn’t need a face and it lets peoples’ assumptions work for him. Humans are more likely to think he’s human than a Very Human-Shaped Mutant, and yokai come in so many shapes as is that he could be anything from a witch to a dehydrated googlyschmootz.

(You know how it is with franchises. Old patterns repeating in new ways.)

New York City never sleeps, and I doubt the Hidden City does either. He’ll run into Casey eventually, but in the interim he stumbles across and intervenes in some attempted purse-snatchings and kidnappings and the like. Most of the would-be victims use his arrival as their chance to escape, but one of them is too frozen with fear to move until their attackers are chased off into the dark. He escorts them home, and it’s only once they’re at their doorstep that they work up the courage to ask him who he is.

It’s... a difficult question, in more ways than one. “Raph” is out of the question. “Red” isn’t quite right, and neither is “Angel”- they’re a tad too identifying still, and the R.A.P.H. thing was HR’s idea anyway. So he shrugs, and melts away into the shadows.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m Nobody.”

[winterscaptain]

infirmity.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader

a/n: part four of our 100 arc, covering 5x02, haunted! I forgot how much i love this episode, so i really leaned into this one. it’s a labor of love!! i can’t wait to hear what you all think (i crave feedback and affection) and if you reblog, i’d love to see your cheeky lil thoughts in the tags!!

an ajf fic arc that happily stands on its own! one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine | ten | eleven

words: 4.3k warnings: language, bad decisions

summary: “a friend should bear his friend’s infirmities” - william shakespeare, julius caesar.

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | requests closed!

You knock on the door at 8:30 sharp. Almost thirty seconds pass before he answers, and you note the hand on his holster as he opens the door. 

“Hey.”

“Hi,” you chirp. “Ready to go?”

He turns, gathering his things. “What do we know about this case in Kentucky?”

Thrown a little by the lack of greeting, you follow him into the apartment. The sight of the Foyet files on his desk aren’t foreign to you, nor are they a surprise. They’ve been there every time you came over during his leave (in fact, you’ve sat on them more than once), so why you expected them to go away once he was back you had no idea.

“Um, no connection between Call and his victims. They’re canvassing, but no sign of him so far.”

“Start with his recent history. Find the stressor.” His voice is flat, impassive, and you frown. 

He was just getting better…

You’re about to head back toward the door when -

“Don’t move.”

Right. The alarm. 

He stands by to arm it. “Ready?”

“Are you?”

+++

You arrive at the tarmac, Hotch in the passenger seat of your car. He looks a little resigned, but straightens and takes a breath before he opens the door, settling into his role as he steps out and straightens his suit jacket. 

It’s always a little funny to watch him transform. You’re honored you get to see it, even if he’s in rough shape. 

Especially then. 

You climb the stairs and follow him in, settling in your usual place. 

“Good to see you,” Dave says as Aaron scoots down the aisle. It makes you smile. 

“You, too.”

Aaron gets settled and you shift, trying not to hover but finding it difficult to be separated from him after his weeks of absence. He greets the rest of the team, exchanging pleasantries and checking in with Reid about his knee. 

“Any other attacks?”

JJ shakes her head, while Spencer elaborates. “Call’s proven hard to track. He’s never had a driver's license so he’s probably still on foot.”

“Or public transportation,” Emily notes.

You hum. “He wouldn’t take the bus. His face is everywhere.”

“Has anyone found a stressor?” You weren’t sure if Aaron’s brusque affect was going to continue once you made it to the plane, but his tone just about answers your question. 

Stepping back into authority quickly, there, Aaron. 

“He just lost his job,” Garcia supplies. “He’s worked at a factory since 1990. Made appliances since forever and not a single promotion.”

Derek tilts his head. “That’s a long time to be bitter.”

“Or he doesn’t care?”

JJ looks at Spencer and shakes her head. “Not if he’s got a family to feed.” 

“Actually, he’s of the hermit variety as far as I can tell. He’s got no one. No wife, no kids, no parents.” You watch Garcia’s eyes flicker around the screen as she talks to you, doing what she does best. 

“Nothing to live for.”  Derek’s looking a little too pointedly at Aaron for your taste, but your evaluation is interrupted. 

“So why hasn’t he killed himself yet?”

Your brain sputters at Aaron’s offhand delivery. “What?”

“Sprees usually end in suicide. If he’s got nothing to live for, why hasn’t he ended it?”

The energy in the room grows uncomfortable, fast. Aaron’s voice is still flat - you might go so far as to say it sounds dead, but that inspires a kind of heavy sullenness in your chest you’d rather not subject yourself to. 

You wish Haley was around for no other reason but to kick his ass. 

You’re thankful for Spencer when he answers Hotch’s question. “Because he isn’t finished, yet. We know he has displaced anger. He took it out on the first victim.”

“Well,” Aaron continues, “the stock boy represents someone. We need to know who.”

You meet Derek’s eyes and you can tell he’s trying to read you - trying to see if you’re as concerned as he is. You don’t give him the satisfaction. 

+++

Later, you corner Morgan on the plane before landing, keeping your voice low. The case is in your lap so there’s a valid distraction when you need one. 

“What’s wrong with you?”

He stops and turns. “I thought Hotch was cleared to drive.” 

“He is.”

“Then why did you pick him up this morning?”

You shrug. “I wanted to.” His eyes bore into the side of your head and you look up with an exasperated huff. “What?”

He sighs. “He’s only had a month off.”

“Well,” you say, aware that you’re being pedantic before you even get there, “thirty-four days. That’s a little more than a month.”

His stare is withering, but you’re impervious. “And you think that’s long enough?”

“Are you asking me as his coworker or as his friend?”

“Is there a difference?”

You shrug. “Maybe.” Yes. “But if you don’t think he’s had enough time, you should tell him.”

He scoffs. “No thanks. I like my job.”

“You like him more.” A little smile crosses your face. “Though, I know you don’t like to think so.”

“No. I like you.” Derek corrects. “He also happens to like you, so I tolerate him for your benefit.”

“Much appreciated.” You return to your work, but Derek’s eyes linger. You don’t look up as you ask, “What?”

“What if he has PTSD?”

Still writing, you answer with a general air of nonchalance. “He was evaluated.”

“Oh, come on. We wrote those questions. Hotch knows exactly -“

You slam your pen down and lean back with your arms crossed. You draw Spencer's eyes and lower your voice again. “So, what? Are you going to pick at me until you get me to say something you want me to say?” You let out a sardonic chuff, settling back to work. “If that’s the case, you’re gonna be here a while.” You tip your head a little toward the little table by the window. “Your coffee’s getting cold.”

You admittedly feel a little bad for being short with him, but everything seems to be testing your patience today. 

And if you’re honest, you’re worried about Aaron, too. 

After a few minutes of work in silence, you call out to him again. There’s the smallest of apologies in your voice. “Derek?”

He looks at you, dark eyes open and yielding - concerned and forgiving. “Yeah?”

“He’s back because he has to be. He needs to know we’re here for him.”

“He knows that.”

You offer him a small smile. “Don’t let him forget it.” You pause, your head wavering a little bit as your tone turns a touch facetious. “I can’t do all the heavy lifting around here.”

You get a laugh out of him - just a little one - and it’s enough. “Don’t push it, kid. I remember when you were dead weight.”

You roll your eyes. 

That’s enough, for now. 

+++

Even your seemingly-endless patience with Aaron rapidly wanes as you spend more time at the crime scene. It’s frustrating. 

“He was on an antipsychotic?” You ask with a little frown. 

The pharmacist nods. “Well, that’s why I wanted him to calm down. He’s been off of them at least a month, now.” 

“And when were you going to tell us this?” Aaron asks, harsh and sharp. 

You look at him, your frown deepening. 

What the fuck is that attitude?

“He’s armed, he’s delusional. Who’s his doctor?” Hotch’s tone grows even pointier, somehow, as he pushes harder. 

“I don’t remember - my computer…” She gestures behind the desk, where the computer has been fried by a bullet. 

“Great. That’s great.” He walks away, already making a call. 

“Excuse us,” you say in an attempt to recover. Derek echoes you and you try to avoid running after Hotch as he strides down the aisle. 

Long-legged asshole. Slow down. 

“Hotch,” you call. He doesn’t listen. 

“Call JJ and tell her about the meds.” He’s still walking. You’ve caught up. 

Derek chimes in, gesturing back at the pharmacist. “This is not her fault.”

Aaron turns on him. “Morgan, he’s in a psychotic break. It changes everything.”

“You want to talk about this?” Derek asks, taking another step closer. 

Squaring up to Derek’s shoulder, you’re ready to pull them apart if they get really heated. 

Wouldn’t be the first time.

In some ways, Morgan’s admission on the plane was truer than he let on. You are the link between Derek and Aaron, almost like a balm. You see things in them that they can’t see in each other. It helps. 

With a pang, you think of Haley, for some reason. 

You miss her. 

“No.” Aaron’s interruption is sharp and it startles you out of your thoughts. “I want to find him - Garcia,” he turns, continuing on his warpath forward, “he’s been off his antipsychotic for a month. What else did you miss?”

Your mouth drops open and Derek’s about to deck Aaron while his back is turned. You push in front of Derek, getting between them to give him a chance to cool off. The last thing you want is to handle more wound dressings - for either one of them. 

Aaron hangs up and walks out after what you imagine is a rather unilluminating update from Penelope. You turn, putting your hand on Derek’s shoulder and looking him in the eye. 

Still think he’s alright? His eyes ask.

 You grit your teeth. I don’t know. 

+++

The psychiatrist and patient lay dead on the floor, Call nowhere in sight. Derek directs the local officers to check the perimeter, just in case. 

You look at Hotch, who still doesn’t look completely checked in, himself. 

Or maybe he looks too checked in?

I don’t know. 

You’d be lying if you said his behavior didn’t freak you out. Though he’s standing beside you, you miss him. 

Come back to me. 

You miss the man who pliantly sat under your hands as you washed his wounds and brought him takeout and forced him to take naps in the middle of the afternoon on a weekday. 

You miss the man who fought you for the remote and stole far too many of your fries, who would change the channel if you made the mistake of going to the bathroom on a commercial break. 

That man was with you as late as Saturday. Returning has brought something else out in him, the part of him that spent (often very) late nights looking for Foyet has risen to the forefront. 

“We’re too late.” 

Before the rest of you can do anything, Aaron leaves the room, pushing past Dave in his haste to leave. 

Emily calls after him, but he’s long gone down the hallway. They look at you. 

All you can do is shake your head with a downturned curve of your mouth. 

+++

After a little while, you go downstairs and find Hotch outside. Before you can say anything - 

“I should have seen the blinking on the video.” 

You huff at him. “Hotch, it could have been a nervous tic. You couldn’t have known - none of the records were available, yet.” 

“But it wasn’t a tic. It’s a classic sign of long-term antipsychotic use, and I missed it.”

You step in front of him, squarely meeting his eyes. “We all missed it.” 

He’s got another pessimistic jab that you choose to ignore just before Emily and Dave arrive with news from Garcia. 

Oh, Aaron. 

+++

The officer huffs. “I don’t care why he took him.” 

Aaron had, once again, escalated the situation with local police. Tensions are high, and you only hope he can get his shit together at some point. “You should.” 

Goddamn it, Aaron. 

He continues, advancing on the police captain. “Call’s memory is no longer suppressed. He’s reinventing his past and unless we understand how, we’re not going to find either of them.”

“Well, I’m not gonna just sit around and speculate.” 

It’s an old-fashioned Western standoff, now. 

Who’s Clint Eastwood?

Well, Hotch has the looks but -

Quit. 

Fine. 

“Then don’t.”

The captain turns to you, Emily, and Dave. “You don’t think we should chase him either?”

“We need to get ahead of Call,” Dave answers evenly. 

The captain looks at Aaron once more before storming off. The rest of you approach Hotch, and Emily’s a little frustrated when she reminds him, “There’s a kid missing.” 

“They don’t need the extra manpower.” 

You squint at him. “Since when?”

“If we had studied Foyet’s initial crimes -”

Oh for the love of fuck. 

“- we would have known that a survivor didn’t make sense.”

“What does he have to do with this?”

Great question, Emily.

“All we had to do was stop and look at Foyet’s history. But we didn’t, and we lost two couples and a bus full of people. I am not making that mistake again.” He leaves the three of you stunned in his wake. After a moment, you follow him. 

You always do. 

+++

“Let’s go.” 

You’ve got the address to the unsub’s home and you take the car with Aaron, the rest of the team following behind you. 

He drives fast, but that’s nothing new. He throws the siren and floors it. You call SWAT yourself, getting Derek prepared for staging. 

When you get out of the car, you throw your vest on, helping Emily with the straps across her shoulders before she can reach them themselves. 

“Prentiss,” Aaron says, putting his earwig in. “Check in with the lieutenant, see if there’s anything we can use.” 

She nods. “Yes, sir.” 

“You good?” You ask, looking over at him. 

“Yeah, I’m good.” 

You throw your head to the side, and he takes your flank as you get closer to Emily. Her briefing with this particular lieutenant could go sideways, but you don’t want to leave him feeling trapped. 

“...The kid’s in there. We got this. Tactical teams are covering the exits. He’s still focused on the old man.”

Emily squints, adjusting her comm. “For now, but we’re gonna have to figure out the safest way to get that kid out.”

“I’ve got a team in the back and one on the way. We’re going to infiltrate.” 

“You do that and someone else dies.” The balance of firm and collaborative rests delicately on her tone. She’s doing well. 

“Either Call or a child murder. Flip a coin.” 

His tone frustrates you, but you leave Emily to her devices, checking your magazines for the third time. Your sidearm is in place, as is your backup. 

“It doesn’t have to end like that. We get a confession out of Jarvis and he goes away, and Call gets his answers. No one else has to die.” She pauses, and a streak of white flashes in your peripheral. “Hotch!” 

You whirl, ready to sprint after him as he walks decisively past the rest of you, past the gate, and into the house. After a moment’s hesitation, you make a break for it. A wall of arms stops you, and you know Derek’s behind you when you hear, “What the hell is he doing?”

No vest...Is he even carrying his gun? 

“Let him go.” 

You turn on Dave, your face plastered with fear and fury. “What do you mean let him go. Rossi -”

“I’m not letting him go in there solo.” Derek pushes against Dave again, but to your surprise, he’s locked in tight. 

“We have to trust him.” 

That cools Derek off, but not you. You thrash, freeing yourself from one of the local cops. “The hell we do.” 

“Kid - wait, no.” The roles reverse, and Derek catches up to you and locks you in his arms before you can breach the perimeter. Your elbows don’t land against his vest, but you sure try. “You’ll get him killed.” 

There’s only stress and silence as you stop struggling. All you can do is wait. 

Derek keeps his arm around you, but you almost feel like the contact is for both of you. You take deep breaths, trying to slow your heart rate. It’s through the roof. 

“What’s he doing?” Emily asks into her mic. 

Dave leans into his comm. “Stalling.” 

You can almost feel Derek’s jaw tightening. “He has nothing to lose.” 

He has everything to lose. 

You have everything to lose. 

Don’t be a hero, Aaron. Don’t do anything stupid. 

You hope that he can hear you somehow. 

Too late. 

Hotch appears in the window, followed by the boy. 

There’s a quick SWAT conversation in your ear. 

“Do you have the shot?”

“Negative, negative.”

He’s blocking the shot. 

Goddamn you, Aaron. Goddamn you. 

“Bringing the boy out,” a faceless voice on the radio says. The hostage runs down off the porch and you catch a glimpse of Aaron before he disappears behind the door again. 

You turn your head a touch, keeping your eyes on the door. “Get him out of there.” 

Dave shakes his head. “That’s his call.” 

Your body is wound tighter than a coil and you’re not sure if you’re ready to storm in there or just start walking home. 

There’s a gunshot, and you’re out of there like a bat out of hell. You launch yourself over the short fence and attach yourself to the first SWAT agent you see, remembering your training at the last moment. 

You breach the house and find Aaron cuffing Darin, whose father is dead in the armchair in front of him. Your jaw has never been tighter. 

Once you confirm that he is in fact still alive and still only has nine holes in him, you turn on your heel and you storm out of the house. You don’t stop until you’re leaning on the front of one of the cars, trying to catch your breath. Your hands shake and you don’t trust your knees to hold you up. 

The relief wars with something hot and unpleasant, leaving you more exhausted than you’ve been in weeks. 

You keep your head turned away from Aaron as he approaches you. It’s petty, but you also don’t want him to see the fear on your face. 

He calls you with a sigh in his voice and it finally ignites the fear into anger. 

“I can’t fucking believe you,” you spit. Your voice isn’t loud, but it certainly carries. JJ’s eyes flicker to you from the other side of the yard. “What kind of stunt are you trying to pull? Are you trying to get yourself killed?” 

His jaw tightens. “Let’s not do this here.” 

Your brow draws across your eyes and your mouth opens, indignant. “Let’s not do this here? You’re fucking kidding me.”

In his current state, nothing is off the table. His temper is running short and you know you’re capable of pushing him until he breaks. It hasn’t happened yet, but today might be it.  

Much to your surprise, a sigh leaves him, and he knows he’s stepped in it. “It was stupid. I’m sorry.”

You scoff, shaking your head. 

His remorse only stokes your anger. Go figure. 

“You’re sorry? You’re sorry. You could have died, Hotch. What you did was so beyond protocol I don’t even know if I should start with the necessity of your life because we need you as our unit chief or the importance of your safety as my friend -” You cut yourself off and look away from him, frustrated you even got that far. 

He has nothing to say to that. You’re completely right. The guilt might as well be written across his face in Sharpie. 

His absence fucked with you, to say the least. It felt awful, empty, in the field without him. And then when you were home - well, back at the apartment, he was only ever in pain. 

Overall, your anxiety regarding his health and safety is riding high. 

Much to your frustration, your eyes water, and your lower lip shakes - angry tears an ever-present threat. Your arms cross over your chest. “I can’t even look at you right now.” 

He reaches out for your arm, but you throw him off before he can make contact, turning your head. You stare at the ground, watching him flounder out of the corner of your eye. 

“Go. Go do your fucking job, Hotch.” His nickname is acid in your mouth. It feels like a punishment, a lash of a whip. He doesn’t move, and you turn on him, meeting his guilty brown eyes with your flinty ones. “Go. Make the arrest. They’re waiting on you.” You throw your chin to Derek and Emily, who are indeed waiting for him on the porch with the unsub. 

With another heavy sigh, he turns and rejoins the rest of your team. 

You stay where you are, directing coroner and local law enforcement personnel to relevant staging areas as the crime scene is processed and handled. Aaron’s eyes try to find yours, but you avoid them, focusing on someone, anyone else with crisp professionalism that hardly belies your fear. 

You’ve never been so angry in your life. Even if you have, you can’t remember it feeling this wretched.

+++

He sits beside you on the plane once you’re up in the air and leans forward with his elbows on his knees. The rest of the team sleeps scattered around the cabin, but you suspect that at least one of them is faking it, waiting for some kind of spectacle or spectacular blowup between the two of you. 

You haven’t spoken to Aaron since leaving the crime scene. You drove back to the precinct with Emily and Dave, staying close to JJ and Spencer while you packed your things. There’s a part of you that feels bad for creating what Strauss would call a “hostile work environment,” but the other part can’t bring itself to care. 

You can’t even begin to articulate the fear that coursed through you as you waited for him outside that house. You couldn’t begin to explain the extent of your fear, but after the stabbing and the removal of Haley and Jack from your lives, the prospect of losing him in the field was beyond unbearable. 

It’s frustrating to feel so comforted by his proximity while you’re still so angry with him. The familiarity of it all hardly blunts your anger. If anything, the relief at having him back at your side sharpens your anger into something that scares you. 

The impossibility of it is beyond measure. You’ve known for some time now, but this is the first you’re willing to admit it. 

I love him. 

Fuck.

You love him. You love his son. You love his wife. 

You love the weird look he gets on his face when he has to say “penetration” while he’s delivering a profile. You love the way he tries not to smile when Emily beats Spencer at chess. You love the way he twiddles with pens when he’s thinking or nervous or both. You love that each of his smiles feel like a gift just for you. 

There’s nothing you don’t love about him. 

Except, of course, the way he, with profound idiocy, endangered his life today for no particular reason in addition to his generally asshole-ish behavior. 

“I would say I’m sorry, but I’m sure you know that.” 

You do.

He waits on you, quiet and still. 

You take a deep breath, finally looking at him. “You scared the hell out of me.” 

He nods, his jaw flexing. 

“Don’t do it again.” 

He blinks once, slowly. You know he can’t promise that, but you appreciate his acknowledgment nevertheless. There’s quiet for a moment. 

“Aaron…” You look at him, nothing but concern in your tone. 

He shakes his head. “Don’t.”

“I was just going to say…” You swallow, trying to find better words but coming up short. “We’ll get him.”

+++

Derek’s voice echoes down to the bullpen as you finish up the last few pieces of your paperwork. “I will not stand by and watch this man kill himself.” 

Aaron’s door is closed as he works. You’re not sure if you’re thankful for that, or if you’d rather he hear it. You can’t really hear Dave - not that you’d want to, you’re almost as pissed at him as you are at Aaron - but it doesn’t matter. You know what he has to say. 

Derek’s voice drops lower than you can hear. Dave drops his head. 

Moments later, Derek flies back down the stairs, grabs his jacket, and takes his leave with a cursory goodbye thrown in your direction. Dave returns to his desk and Aaron’s door finally opens. 

You look up as his lights turn off, gathering your things at your desk. With a little sigh that looks a bit like defeat, he stops at your desk. The smugness doesn’t completely leave your tone. “Need a ride?”

Of course, he does. “Please.” 

You rise and walk to the elevators together. In the silence, you tell him, “I’m still really mad at you.” 

A sigh. “I know.” 

+++

You walk him upstairs and take care of the alarm while he removes his suit jacket and throws it over the couch. 

“Do you think Call’s gonna be okay?” You ask, still facing the alarm. 

“I don’t know.”

“He got his answers,” you note, turning to him. “He killed the man who haunted him.” 

His eyes are fixed on a spot on the carpet. “And what else is there?”

“Years of torture.” You both know you’re not talking about Call anymore, but it’s nice to pretend. It gives you the opportunity to say things you wouldn’t - shouldn’t - say to him. “Fear. Grief.”

“Think he’ll get over that?” 

“How could he?” A humorless smile pulls at one corner of your mouth. “But at least he doesn't feel like he’s alone.”

He finally meets your eyes. “He doesn’t have anyone.” I don’t have anyone, his brow says. 

“He has Tommy. He’s not alone.” 

You have me. You’re not alone. 

His brows pull low over his eyes, and you take another opportunity as it comes. “Do you want me to stay again tonight?”

“No, I’m alright.” He takes a little breath and you round the corner, pouring him a couple fingers of whiskey before making a slow, purposeful trek across the room. “Thank you,” he says, taking it. 

“Of course. Anytime.” Now, you both know you aren’t talking about the drink. 

Nevertheless, you pat your pockets for your keys, phone, and various federal paraphernalia, finding them all where they belong. “I should head out, then. Call if you need anything.” 

He nods, watching you with quiet eyes as you close and lock the door behind you. 

+++

tagging: @arganfics @quillvine @stxrryspencer @agenthotchner @hurricanejjareau @ughitsbaby @rousethemouse @criminalsmarts @shrimpyblog @genevievedarcygranger @ssaic-jareau @good-heavens-chris-evans @davidrossi-ismydad @angelsbabey @writefasttalkevenfaster @venusbarnes @hotchsflower @ogmilkis @marvels-agents100 @hotchslatte @risenfox @mrs-dr-reid @captain-christopher-pike @dwellingsofrosie @pan-pride-12 @sunshine-em @word-scribbless​ @jdougl-love​ @sageellsworth05​ @dreila03 @forgottenword @aaronhotchnerr @ssa-morgan @buckybau @sana-li @tegggeeee @abschaffer2 @ssacandice-ray @ellyhotchner @lotties-journey-abroad @mrs-joel-pimentel-23-25 @laneygthememequeen @violentvulgarvolatile  @mooneylupinblack @ssareidbby @violet-amxthyst @bwbatta @roses-and-grasses @lcvischmitt @capricorngf @missdowntonabbey @averyhotchner @mandylove1000 @cevanswhre @qvid-pro-qvo @jeor @spencers-hoodrat @infinity1321 @zizzlekwum @popped-weasels @evee87 @nuvoleincielo @this-broken-band-girl @reidtomestyles @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @winqhster @spencerelds @the-falling-in-the-danger @nattylite49 @crazyshannonigans

[ri-ahhh]

good taste

Grayson puts his money where his mouth is — or maybe the other way around — after their last encounter; pt 2 to good vibes

warnings: smut, pretty much unedited sorry

***

“Are you asking me to eat you out? Because that sounds like a challenge you know I can’t refuse...”

“Maybe when I find out what your mouth can do, I’ll consider you competition for the vibrator. You need to be knocked down a peg or two, Dolan.”

It’s been three weeks since the incident on your couch between you and Grayson. Three weeks of things almost being normal, maybe with some added flairs.

Like the one day when he came over right after you had finished your Pilates workout; instead of throwing the shirt on you had discarded in the first ten minutes of the video to answer the door, you had decided opening it wearing only some tiny Nike pro shorts and a matching sports bra was perfectly acceptable. His eyes lingered knowingly, his signature smirk that oozed confidence — and subsequently made you ooze in your panties — playing at his lips.

Or that one night where all of your friends gathered at the twins’ house to have a good old movie night. You and Grayson somehow ended up together on the loveseat section of the giant cloud couch, and he convinced you to sit on the elongated cushion between his bent knees so he could try and braid your hair. It felt nice, and you didn’t really care your hair was in knots by the time his fingers started scratching up and down your back to lull you even further into bliss. You ended up reclined against his chest, slouched down with a blanket thrown over both of your legs and a giant bowl of popcorn plopped in your lap that he would reach over your shoulder to dig his hand into and playfully shove a handful of kernels into your mouth.

You remember ethan eyeing the two of you peculiarly from the opposite end of the couch, but you ignore him, because he undoubtedly knows what happened between you and his brother. You can admit that the scene of that night was more domestic and comfortable than what one would expect from two close friends who had just hooked up, but you can’t be bothered to care what other people might think about what’s going on between you and Grayson.

And then there was earlier today at the beach, where you both simply couldn’t take your eyes off each other, especially under the inconspicuous camouflage of dark sunglasses. But in a moment where you caught him with said glasses perched on his head, blatantly admiring the tiny black triangle covering you between your legs while you tan, you felt bold and confident enough to call him out on it.

“You know, you’re being a lil pervy.”

“Says the girl who’s been eye fucking me all day.”

You blushed. “Shut up.”

Grayson grinned and crawled from his towel to your own, stretching out next to you with his head propped up on his elbow. His fingers reached over and toyed with one of the ties on your bikini bottom teasingly; you bit your lip and trailed your hand up his tanned arm until you were squeezing that massive bicep appreciatively.

“It’s hard, knowing what’s underneath there now,” he said quietly, fingertips trailing then across the top of your bikini, along your lower belly.

You smiled. “It’s hard or it’s hard?”

Grayson threw his head back with his loud, signature laugh, then groaned and rolled onto his back next to you. “Both, baby. Both.”

Now, later that night, you’re at the boys’ house again, chilling on the couch watching old episodes of Parks and Rec that you’ve seen a million times already. You feel nice and relaxed, your body tired from being in sun and saltwater all day, but your mind content with how good of a day it had been.

Ethan and Kristina have already gone to bed, and Gray is in the kitchen cleaning up from dinner. You should be in there helping him, but you tell yourself you’re too comfy to get up right now.

And maybe you’re still a little on edge — vibrating, if you will — from the unresolved energy of your and Grayson’s moment on the beach.

The light shuts off behind you, and you hear his heavy footsteps make their way towards the living room.

“You look comfy,” he remarks with a grin, plopping down on the couch right next to your feet. He lifts them up and shifts over so they’re resting in his lap.

“I mean, it is a big comfy couch.”

Grayson sighs and drops his head to the back of the couch, pressing his thumb into the sole of your socked foot. “You look really pretty right now, too.”

Your heart stutters a bit, completely caught off guard. It’s a chaste and surprisingly sincere statement given the romanticism between you two so far has been purely sexual.

You should say ‘thank you’ — that’s all you have to say. But you’re an idiot, and your brain short circuits, and your first instinct is to deflect. “I’m pretty sure my nose got burned. And not in a cute way.”

“It is cute.”

You deadpan him. “And I can feel my hair frizzing by the minute because you don’t have conditioner.”

“Adorable.”

“You’re impossible.”

Grayson pretends to be offended, but the facade is broken by the smile he can’t hold back. “I’m just being honest!”

You shake your head, the corners of your lips twitching. “If you were being honest, you’d admit you’re just saying that cuz you wanna see me cum again.”

He shrugs. “Two things can be true at once, sweetheart.” His big hand starts dragging up your bare shin, and your eyes follow his touch. “I can think you’re absolutely stunning with a sunburn and smelling like my shampoo, and want to see you cum.”

He pauses, and you’re silent, until you look up at him with your lower lip caught between your teeth to find him already staring at you. The heat in his gaze makes your pussy flutter, and your eyes almost threaten to shut at the feeling... especially with his next confession.

“I want to make you cum. Me.”

A tinkling, disbelieving giggle escapes you before you can stop it. He’s unreal. “Still think you can outdo my vibrator, huh?”

Grayson winks at you — you hate how much the simple, cocky little action turns you on so much instantly. “I’ll never know until I try.”

He’s right. Desire clouds your rational reasoning, and you’re also justifiably curious. And horny. And maybe your heart is warming to him more than it should.

“Okay.” Grayson looks surprised for a fleeting second, then he’s grinning and starting to crawl over your body, but you stop him by placing the foot he had just released from his hand on his shoulder firmly. “In your room. No interruptions.”

His eyes darken, and he nods in agreement. He doesn’t get up right away, though; he watches your face intently as his hand continues it’s way up your leg, making circles on the sensitive inside of your knee. You don’t know what your expression says, but it must convey your approval, because his fingers go higher until the tips of them light upon your covered center.

The barely-there touch makes you gasp, and before you can stop yourself, your hips are hiking upwards to make the contact more direct.

As expected, Grayson smirks smugly. “You want more?”

You nod, and gasp again when he bypasses your shorts altogether now in favor of slipping his hand into your panties. You both let out tiny little groans when he touches your wet folds, his middle finger trailing up and down your slit to test out the moisture leaking from you.

“There’s one question answered,” he says lowly, grinning when he finds your clit and starts rubbing slow circles into it with the pad of his finger. “I can get you wet no problem.”

“Mmm,” you can’t help but moan, both at his touch and his words, despite the ones you speak yourself. “Stop — stop being such a... such a douchebag.”

Grayson just chuckles lowly, because he somehow knows you love it. You indulge in his touch for a few more seconds, before reach a hand down quickly to grasp his bracelet-clad wrist. “Your room, now.”

He doesn’t need telling twice. Grayson plants his feet on the ground and pulls you to stand with him, leading you by the hand down the hall to his bedroom.

You flop back on the bed and scoot up to rest your head on the pillows as you watch him lock the door before joining you in the cloud of white sheets and blankets.

He crawls to you, stopping on his knees in front of you and batting your hands away from where they’ve just gripped the waistband of your shorts to tug them down.

“I didn’t get to do it last time,” he explains roughly, his demeanor changed some now that he’s so close to getting what he wants. He’s less cool, calm, and collected and more hurried and desperate. “I wanna do it now.”

You can only lift your hips in response, nodding once he’s tossed them to the side and takes hold of your panties now. When those are gone, he groans louder than before and settles on his belly as he pushes your thighs open wider to both get a better look, and to accommodate the breadth of his shoulders.

“Fuck,” he exhales harshly, breathing in deeply in the next moment to take in the heady smell of your arousal.

He looks up at you with dark hazel eyes, and you bite your lip nervously as you wait for him to make another move.

You don’t have to wait long at all, because not even a second later he’s sucking two fingertips into his mouth, then placing them directly on your clit to pick up where he left off just a minute ago.

“You have a pretty pussy,” he says, like it’s a normal compliment to give. You flush anyways, unsure of what to say to that.

“Are you implying there are ugly pussies?”

He shrugs. “Some are just nicer to look at. And yours is just... wow.”

You blush harder, moaning when he presses a little firmer into your clit. “Thank you.”

Grayson smiles up at you. He moves away from your clit, exploring the rest of your pussy with a genuine curiosity and hunger on his face that makes you clench with every little touch and glance he gives it.

“Yeah,” he sighs, trailing the fleshy outside lightly. “Smooth.” His fingers part your lips. “Pink.” Hisnother hand squeezes one of your thighs, pushing it back and out a bit so you’re more open, allowing his middle fingertip to brush over your hole. “Fuck. And so wet.”

“Grayson, please,” you whimper, reaching out to brush your hand against his cheek and coax him to your pussy, unable to wait for him to get his mouth on you any longer.

He’s just as impatient, because he’s already halfway there by the time your hand makes contact with his stubble. You’re crying out with his rough moan at the first swipe of his tongue up your slit, your hand instantly sliding up to find purchase in his hair.

“Fuck,” he growls, pulling back to stare hard at your pussy as he spreads around the fresh rush of srousal that had just graced his tongue with his fingers once again. He dives back in, delving his tongue deep inside you before dragging it all the way up to your clit. He circles it, flicks it, suckles it a few times. “Oh fuck.”

There’s no gentleness, no sweetness, no innocent exploration in how Grayson eats your pussy for the first time — very unlike any other guy you’ve been with when they did it initially. There was always some level of hesitance or fear that they were doing something wrong, or trying too hard to figure out what you liked.

Not Grayson. Like most other aspects of his life, he’s fully confident in his abilities, and seems to just be enjoying the experience of eating you out with a voracity you’ve never been on the receiving end of before. It’s infectious, makes you want him that much more, makes you throw a leg over his shoulder and press your heel into his back while you drag him closer by the hair.

Happy to have his face completely buried in you, Grayson moans, really moans, into your center. He sucks on your clit, relishing in the curses and whines it elicits from you. He looks up at you through hooded kids while he sneaks his hands under the oversized hoodie you’re still wearing — he must feel the throb of your clit against his mouth when you simultaneously meet his eyes and he squeezes your breasts firmly, because he grins into your pussy.

“You taste so good,” he hums, more of a whisper than anything else, but with enough vibrations to make you shudder.

You cover one of his hands with your own squeezing harder and grinding into his mouth with steady, insistent thrusts against him. “Please!”

Grayson likes that. He sighs again and pinched your nipples before making sure you keep your hand there as he brings his down to wrap around your thighs. He shakes his head deeper into your folds, dipping down just enough so his lips are exploring every crevice of your pussy and leaving his nose to brush against your clit teasingly every now and then.

The noises of his mouth are almost too much. Loud and sloppy and wet as he quite literally slurps you down with every lick, suck and swallow, spitting back onto your swollen pussy a mixture of your cum and his saliva.

When he suctions his lips around your clit again and starts making those quick flicks of his tongue over it, too, you just about lose it. Your mind is in another dimension, so far gone you barely register you’re giggling because it feels so good.

“Oh my god! Holy shit!”

You’re writhing against him, unsure if you’re trying to escape or get even closer. Grayson looks up and watches your face contort and fall apart because of him, and he can’t stop grinding his own hips into the mattress for some form of relief. He’s always enjoyed this to some extent, but he can’t believe just how close he is to getting off without so much as a touch from either you or his own hand.

He grunts and moves his hands to lay firmly across your tummy, holding you down so he can get you there exactly how he wants.

And he does get you there, the pitch of your moans getting higher and higher until you’re forced into silence by the overwhelming pleasure that explodes inside of you. Your thighs tremble uncontrollably, even clenched around his head, your fists gripping wads of the sheets as you gasp out his name like a stream of consciousness.

Grayson pries your legs from around his ears and brings you down with gentle licks and touches to your skin — over your legs, your abdomen, even clutching your hand in his to help anchor you some.

It’s that strange bit of intimacy that helps ground you the most, and you’re barely coherent by the time he sits up and shifts onto his knees. You open your eyes, taking in the huge bulge in his shorts and reaching out to it without even thinking.

He mumbles your name, but you’re on a mission; even in your post-nut haze you reason it’s the least you can do after that... orgasm is too bland of a word. You want him to feel even an ounce of the pleasure he just gave you.

You fish his dick out easily, and it’s definitely not the best handjob you’ve ever given by any means, but he doesn’t seem to need much, anyways. He moves closer to you, taking your hand off him long enough to lubricate it in the slick coating your pussy. He puts you hand back on his dick for you and holds up his shirt while you work him over, until he’s grunting and moaning out, “I’m gonna cum...”

There isn’t a less messy option, but you wouldn’t mind even if there were, so you stick your tongue out and jack him off into your mouth. Grayson grips the back of your mussed hair to keep you there, groaning harshly with each spurt of his cum that lands on your proffered tongue.

You stare up at him as you squeeze out the last of what he has to give, lick your lips to catch any stray drops, then you collapse together back into the pillows. Both of your chests heave, and you stare at the ceiling together as reality starts to set in of what the two of you just did.

Like the last time, it doesn’t feel wrong. But you’re not ready to face the changes it means just yet. For now, you’re happy to snuggle into his side, and pretend things are even a little normal. Whatever that means, anyways.

“So. Was it good?”

You hum and chuckle. Your body is so heavy now, you can’t even move your head to look at him. But there’s the normalcy you wanted — Grayson looking for praise of his obvious talents.

You decide to not even try and tease him. Or bullshit him, because how could you? You think back with a clearer head to how you writhed and moaned for him, blushing at how easily he made you lose control of your inhibitions.

“Yeah, Gray, it was good. Really good.”

“Better than the vibrator?”

You yawn and smack his chest weakly. “All I’ll say is, as long as you’re around to do that, she won’t be seeing the outside of my underwear drawer.”

“Good.” You can hear the smile in his voice. “I will be. Around to do that, I mean. I loved tasting you.”

If you had any capacity to be turned on again, that might have done it, but for now it just makes your chest warm. He’s also making you think too much again.

“Can I sleep here? I can’t move.”

Whether he understands your inability to reply or not, he chuckles and kisses the top of your head. “Of course.”

You sigh gratefully. “Night, Gray.”

“Goodnight, sweetheart.”

[duhragonball]

What do You think about Maron, the Krilin's ex-girlfriend? I know she is hated a lot because she looks like Bulma and because of her poor intellect (although it must be admitted that she cares about others), but I would like to know your opinion about it? Why do you think that, without any reason, they introduced a character like her and why make she looks so much like Bulma when they could easily avoid a thousand controversies by even changing the color of her hair?

I think you don't understand the issues surrounding this character.

First off, let me take this moment to clarify something, mostly so I can remember it myself. Krillin's ex has almost exactly the same name as his daughter, and here's how to remember which is which.

Maron (マロン Maron) is the ex-girlfriend.

Marron (マーロン Māron) is Krillin and 18's daughter

The names sound indistinguishable in the dub, but they're spelled differently in English. The ex has one 'r', and the daughter has two. And the names are also spelled differently in Japanese, with a long vowel mark added to extend the vowel in "ma".

The characters have nothing to do with one another, and the naming was likely just a coincidence, since they both tie into the same chesnut wordplay that Krillin's name uses.

Anyway, the ex-girlfriend was introduced first, and she gets one 'r', and the daughter came second, and she gets two 'r's. Convenient.

So there's two major problems people have with Maron. The first is that she's a filler character introduced in a long stretch of filler episodes. By the end of the Frieza Saga, Toei's production schedule was cranking out episodes faster than Akira Toriyama could keep up with the manga. This was always a logistical hurdle with Dragon Ball (and other anime), which was always resolved by padding episodes with filler scenes, or sometimes entire filler episodes. But things got especially desperate around that time, so Toei had to do an unprecedented run of filler episodes to keep the show on the air. And this was how we got the Garlic Junior Saga, the Driver's Ed episode, Mr. Shuu, the flashback to Frieza getting turned into a cyborg, and so on.

It also gave us Maron. The thing is, a lot of people don't care for the Garlic Junior Saga to begin with. It's ten episodes of marking time, Goku's not even in the story, it doesn't even try to fit into the continuity of the show, and many of the plot "twists" just feel like random stuff tacked on to drag out the conflict. Personally, I like the arc okay, but that's mostly because I dig the Black Water Mist and Makyo Star lore. But I do find myself checking my watch in the final leg of the saga. Let's face it, this thing doesn't need to be ten episodes long, and you could easily trim it down to seven if you edited Maron out of the show.

So that's Problem Number One: She's a filler character shoehorned into what was already a filler saga. Her job is literally to waste time, and while there's plenty of timewasting in Dragon Ball Z, Maron is an especially egregious example. For a lot of fans, Maron represents everything wrong with the show, all of the pointless bullshit added in for production schedules rather than entertainment value. Making her a redhead wouldn't have solved that.

Problem number Two is that she treated Krillin like dirt, and fans love Krillin. He's the fucking best. She seemed to like him well enough, but it was impossible for anyone to figure out what she really wanted out of their relationship. Characters would ask her directly, and she would just avoid the question or say "I don't know," like a friggin' toddler. Meanwhile, Krillin's trying to figure out how to propose to her, constantly worrying about whether he's worthy of her, but she doesn't even know anything about him. He takes her to meet his friends, and she flirts with the boys and insults the girls. I don't think she was being intentionally cruel about it, but the message of that arc was that she wasn't taking the relationship nearly as seriously as he was. She was too impulsive and flighty, and indecisive, and Krillin was focused and serious and ready to settle down. The only reason he put up with her for as long as he did was because he lacked the self-confidence to understand that he could do better.

This is why all of his friends were so supportive of him when he told them he broke up with her. They were skeptical of Maron the whole time, and they were glad Krillin had finally wised up to the situation. This was only borne out when she showed up at Kame House again, three years later, trying to rekindle their romance. Roshi told her where Krillin was and why, and she didn't pay attention to any of it. She almost ran off with some complete strangers for no real reason. Then she tried to make out with a turtle. Then she called like two dozen "boyfriends" to pick her up, presumably because she was bored waiting for Krillin to come back.

Roshi and Turtle agreed that they should never speak of it again, and really, why should they tell Krillin about this? Maron's entire visit was a complete waste of time, and she fell in and out of love with Krillin all over again, without even seeing him! Again, this is a character solely created to waste time and make you feel bad for Krillin, and that's not a road to popularity. A new hairstyle wouldn't solve anything.

You say "it must be admitted that she cares about others", but no, I won't admit that. Maron doesn't have the attention span to care about others. She only seems to be interested in "having fun", but in this really vague way that doesn't require any sort of commitment to anything or anyone. I always imagined that she was created as some sort of bitter parody of a real-life ex-girlfriend, like the writers were trying to express their frustration through her.

I find the idea of Maron interesting from time to time, but more as an overlooked curiosity than anything else. A dedicated writer might find a way to get a cool story out of her, but I don't see any takers, and I've got bigger fish to fry. For most fans, I think, she's just a speed bump in Krillin's character arc, which leads into the arms of #18.

Maron's main contribution to the show is "fanservice", which is a term I've never cared for. Maron wears a revealing swimsuit through much of her time on DBZ, but the house-style is poorly suited to that kind of aesthetic. Most of the time she ends up looking like someone tried to make a woman out of stockings stuffed with ground beef. I watch DBZ for gonzo cartoon violence and occasional slice of life stuff. No one was doing me a "service" with all of those lingering shots of Maron's cartoon boobs.

[kuiinncedes]

just the keys to paradise

jatp au - prologue - part 1/15? - 1834 words

relationships: blaine & sam & tina & artie

okkkk we're doing it 🤪 idk how regularly i will update this (omg ongoing fic??? who is she) but i do have like technically a ~few~ chapters i guess done,,, and i am working on the next so . we're gonna try this lol

anyway if it wasn't clear this is an au based on the most amazing tv show ever with only 9 episodes pls watch or rewatch it on netflix the emmy-award winning julie and the phantoms !!! 🤪

that being said if you haven't watched it what are you doing jk i think you can still read this and hopefully it makes sense 😂 feel free to ask me if there's anything that doesn't make sense lol :)

also fyi in case it influences your decision to read: this will be more focused on platonic relationships for a while but will almost certainly have main endgames klaine, quinntina, and samcedes 😋

prologue title and lyrics in this part from "now or never" from the jatp soundtrack

plot and some dialogue from julie and the phantoms so like credit to all those creators and writers 🤪

warnings for this part: car accident, major character deaths (both of these are not actually in writing/"on screen" just implied at the end (especially within the context of this being a jatp au) and nothing really described -- if you want/need more details feel free to ask me)

read on ao3 or under the cut :D

--

1995

“Dudes, we fucking killed that !” Sam cheers when the smoke has cleared, going around and giving each of them something that could be called a high-five, just not to their hands. Tina laughs and cheers too as Sam excitedly taps her feet after she gets out from behind her kit, still elevated on the drum stage. Some of the workers applaud them from the audience space.

“Too bad we wasted that on the soundcheck,” Artie jokes, putting his guitar down and grabbing his water bottle. “That was the tightest we’ve ever played, yo!”

Tina grins and hops down from the drum platform. Sam slings an arm around her shoulders and she grabs his wrist. They’re both sweaty and too warm but she doesn’t mind having Sam’s heat pressed against her right side.

God, she thinks… that really was something else, even though it was just the soundcheck. She looks around at her bandmates’ faces -- shiny with sweat, red with exhilaration and exertion, bright with elation, eyes wide with excitement and --

Wow. They’re playing the Orpheum.

Blaine pats Artie on the back, jostling him enough to spill the water he’s trying to drink down the front of his shirt, but Artie just laughs -- he’s soaked with sweat anyway. They have spare clothes backstage just for this reason.

“Just wait until tonight, guys, when this place is packed with record execs,” Blaine says, looking out wonderingly into the empty (for now) audience. His grin widens almost imperceptibly, which is impressive considering how huge it already is.

“We’re gonna be legends!” the other three of them chorus, before Blaine can, and they laugh when he turns to them, affronted. “That’s my line!”

“It’s what you get for saying it ten times a day for the last month!” Tina teases. Blaine pushes her shoulder playfully, putting his hand within reach for Sam to grab. It’s a strange position considering Sam’s arm is still around Tina’s shoulders, but Tina adds her hand to their hold as Sam beckons Artie over from his side of the stage, barking out his name with joking anger.

Artie puts his water down and walks over to complete the group, placing his hand on top of Tina’s. “Tina, you were smokin’,” he says.

She rolls her eyes a little and grins back. “Pretty sure you’re just talking about the pyro. You guys were the ones on fire,” she says, pointing her drumsticks around at them.

“T, can you just own your awesomeness for once?” Blaine exclaims.

“Queen T!” Sam calls, pulling her closer into his side. She stumbles into him, laughing as the guys all start cheering it after Sam.

“Okay, okay! Thanks, guys, I got it!” she squeals, trying to get them to quiet down although -- they are in the Orpheum, where they’re playing later, it’s not like they have to be quiet -- while Sam leans his weight on her, causing them to stagger into the drum riser. Tina catches herself on it and Sam finally detaches from her and they’re still being loud and raucous and probably somewhat annoying to the staff, but she’s just laughing too hard to care.

“We’ve got an hour ‘til the show; I say we go celebrate before we become legends!” Blaine proclaims, jumping off the stage. The other three follow.

Tina starts, “Celebrate our last night of being -- ”

“Losers?” Artie interjects.

They’ve caught the attention of one of the Orpheum workers -- a woman with brown hair who’s wiping down the tables, smiling at them as Tina catches her eye. “There’s some nice restaurants around here,” she says with a wink. “You guys really killed it, by the way. But it seems like you know that.”

Blaine laughs, a little sheepishly. “Thanks. Uh, I’m Blaine,” he says. “This is -- ”

“Sam, hi!”

“Tina, how’s it going -- ”

“Artie, hey.”

Tina raises her eyebrows and stifles a laugh at Artie as he leans his sweaty arms onto the table that the woman just cleaned.

“We’re Sunset Curve!” Blaine says to complete their introduction.

“Tell your friends!” Sam calls, raising his voice and drawing the other workers’ attention to them. Tina elbows him lightly in the side.

“Nice to meet you,” the stranger says. “I’m Elle. So… what were you guys thinking for this -- what was it -- ‘celebration of your last night as losers’?”

“Well, we really can’t afford any nice places -- ” Sam starts.

“Oh, you know what? We should just go to Tip Top!” Blaine says, clapping his hands together. The others are quick to agree -- it’s the small, cheap diner where they spent the evening after their first “real” gig, and they’ve spent countless hours there since, annoying the staff and depleting their supply of plastic silverware. The employees there have learned to let them take what they legally can (and sometimes what they couldn’t), and the band is friendly with most of them. They haven’t been there in too long, having been working hard to get the Orpheum gig, and then writing and rehearsing like crazy once they got it.

Elle smiles as they excitedly and loudly recount stories of Tip Top to each other -- sentimental memories and the ridiculousness they got up to -- talking over each other and having multiple conversations at once.

“I guess you don’t need my recommendations?” she says lightly.

“Oh! Yeah, sorry, we’re good, thanks so much for offering,” Blaine answers, polite as ever.

“Have fun! Looking forward to seeing you guys perform again tonight.”

“Thank you!” the four of them exclaim as they make their way back to the exit. Tina yanks on the back of Artie’s shirt as he lingers at the table, a dumb look on his face that tells her he’s trying to flirt, or at least, his version of it.

“Tina!” Artie yelps and she laughs at the annoyed look on his face.

“You are not exempt from this last night of loser-dom celebration. You’re telling me you’d rather flirt with a girl than this?”

“Yes,” Artie grumbles. There’s no heat behind it, and Tina playfully pushes him sideways.

“Plus, we need you to drive.”

“You can drive!”

“Technically we all can drive!” Tina laughs at Artie’s horrified expression, probably at the prospect -- and memory -- of the one time Blaine drove them to a gig. “Just not your car!” she calls, jogging to catch up with Blaine and Sam, Artie running after her. “Your car is the fucking worst.”

“Don’t talk about her like that!”

“Blaine and Sam agree!”

That gets their attention and the two guys turn, Blaine asking, “What are we agreeing with?”

“I agree with Tina,” Sam says immediately. Tina nods gratefully at him.

“You don’t even know what we’re talking about!” Artie complains.

They’re at his beat-up car now and they pile in, Tina in the passenger seat laughing as Sam all but tackles Blaine into the backseat when he starts for the driver’s side, jostling her and Artie in the front. They continue shuffling around while Artie attempts to start the car, to many concerning -- but normal for his car -- noises.

“This thing is gonna go down and take us with it, Artie,” Tina mumbles teasingly, absentmindedly twirling a drumstick in her right hand. (She realizes too late that she probably should’ve left them at the Orpheum, but it’s not a big deal -- they’re not her favorite pair which are safe in their studio and she has extras backstage in case something happens to this pair while they’re out.)

The car finally starts with a rumble and Artie lets out a cheer. “We’re fine, T. Let’s go, y’all!”

“Floor it, Artie!” Sam calls from the back. The car accelerates comically slowly even as Artie presumably “floors it,” but they’re going somewhere.

After a few minutes, Tina finds herself unconsciously humming her solo in the bridge of “Now or Never,” only noticing when Sam interjects suddenly with his “Tomorrow!” leaning between the front seats and slightly startling her. She laughs and continues with the words, “‘Cause we got all we need today! ”

“Today!” Artie echoes, miming his guitar playing with one hand on the steering wheel.

“Living on a feeling that’s been running through our veins!” Blaine sings loudly, joining Sam in crowding into the front of the car.

“We’re the revolution that’s been singing in the rain!” It’s Sam’s line, but they all belt it at the top of their lungs together.

“That’s my line!” Sam exclaims at the same time that Blaine cheers, “My favorite line!” Tina continues to clap the beat for the next part of the song, Artie hitting the steering wheel in rhythm with her. Her face hurts from smiling.

“Artie, dude, where’d you go?” Blaine asks suddenly. Tina looks around at their slowly darkening surroundings that are completely unfamiliar. Slight panic rises in her stomach but she swallows it down; she’s with her boys, they’re safe, just a little lost.

Sam bursts out in uproarious laughter as Artie complains, “You guys distracted me!”

“Told you I should’ve driven!” Blaine says. He leans forward again and Sam follows. Tina stays quiet, pressing herself against the door a little to make room; her boys aren’t that much better but she’s always been completely hopeless with navigation and directions.

“You would’ve gotten even more distracted from singing and veered us right into a fucking building,” Artie grumbles, but he obeys as Blaine directs him to turn left and chooses to ignore his comment.

“Safe driving, am I right, dudes?” Sam cackles as he returns to the backseat, and Tina can’t help but laugh with him. “We’re gonna miss our gig, that’s how we’ll be legends!”

“‘Sunset Curve Skips Orpheum Showcase For No Reason’?” Tina suggests, turning around in her seat to face Sam.

He points at her. “Exactly. Or, 'Sunset Curve Skips Orpheum Showcase Because They Don't Know How To Drive.' The end of a promising career,” he jokes somberly. “No one would ever book them again.”

They fall silent and only the mutters of Blaine and Artie fill the car, along with the loud engine.

“Still haven’t figured it out yet?” Sam groans loudly, laying on his back across the backseats as Blaine is leaning awkwardly out of his seat to help Artie navigate.

“Not like you’re helping!” Artie says.

“That’s the street!” Blaine exclaims, pointing ahead. “The next intersection.”

“Give it up for Mr. Blaine Anderson, everyone,” Artie drawls, speeding up the car a little bit. “Perhaps not able to drive, but navigator extraordinaire.”

“You chose the wrong career path, dude,” Sam says, propping himself up on one elbow to clap Blaine’s shoulder. “Like, songwriting?”

Blaine looks down at him, raising an eyebrow. “Songwriting?” He gestures for Sam to continue.

Sam shrugs, sitting up finally. “Just, you know, songwriting, bro…" His gaze suddenly shifts and fixes at a point beyond Tina. "What th-- that car Artie!”

Tina snaps her gaze away from Sam just in time to see him yank Blaine down into his seat and the set of blinding headlights through the car windows in her periphery.

---

as a final note, i'm not sure if it can be seen this way but i'm not trying to erase artie's disability or anything and i believe i'm not doing that; as you might be able to guess, the car accident at the end of this is what paralyzes him, like in glee canon but just several years later (in his life not in actual time). please let me know if any aspect of this is disrespectful or anything <3

[makeste]

BnHA 6th Popularity Poll Reaction Post - Risky Spoiler-Dodging Edition

hey guys, so seeing as the results from the 6th popularity poll were leaked today, I figured I would do a separate reaction + analysis post this year, rather than piling it in as an extra on top of the chapter reaction post tomorrow. I figure this makes more sense anyway, since they’re really two completely different things. also this way I can write as much as I want lol.

also, just fyi, I am still completely unspoiled for chapter 293. and probably the smart thing to do to keep it that way would be to log off tumblr and hold off posting this until tomorrow, but I apparently have no impulse control today so oh well. anyway, so I’m hoping you guys will keep this spoiler-free if you don’t mind! as always, I would prefer to just jump right in completely unaware tomorrow like Troy returning to the study room with the pizza boxes lol.

okay so this first part is just going to be my predictions. fyi I am writing this part on Wednesday night, and then I’ll add on the results part on Thursday or Friday (ETA: Thursday, apparently, since I am impatient.)

okay so first of all, just as a refresher, this poll was open to Japanese voters from Aug 3 to Sep 30. meaning chapters 279 through 285. meanwhile last year’s poll took place around the tail end of the MVA arc. so between then and now we had Heroes Rising, the Endeavor Agency arc, and the War arc up to the part where the 1-A kids took on Gigantomachia in Gunga, and started battling Tomura in Jakku. so technically only a couple of arcs, but a LOT of stuff going down in them. oh and season 4 of the anime as well

so! firstly, I predict that my truculent africanized honeybee son will hold on to his crown at #1, coming off a year in which he did some internship-boosted soul searching, borrowed OFA in movie canon, and finished out the voting period as the my-body-moved-on-its-own character development MVP. like CALL ME CRAZY lol, but I’m pretty sure his title is safe. and then after him will be Deku and Shouto as usual

Aizawa should hopefully also have a strong showing because the dude had a banner fucking year. reunited with his old dead friend, took on Tomura with his hopelessly inept hero pals, and then chopped his fucking leg off. he had better be in the top 10. his fucking leg died for this, idk what else he has to do

Endeavor also stands a decent chance of doing well given the internship arc and the final episode of season 4. which I’m sure will go down just swimmingly if that does happen lmao. especially if he somehow manages to rank higher than...

Dabi, which I don’t think he will btw, but you never know. anyways though, but I’m thinking Dabi’s going to have a stronger showing than in past years (in the last poll he only got 367 votes and was ranked 19th). mostly because of his fight in the Gunga mansion, and his cheekily censored name reveal to...

Hawks, who is also going to rank pretty high here, I think. might be he loses some points for killing off Twice, but his back was basically to the wall there. and he has always been very popular, and I think season 4 will also give him a boost, along with his heavy involvement in the first half of the War arc

Tomura was already in 6th place last year and I think he cracks the top 5 this year. he’s gotten exponentially more popular since the MVA arc, and got a boost in the last poll even though his flashback had only just barely happened, and he hadn’t finished Awakening yet and all that stuff. anyway, so he’s only gotten cooler and more tragic since then so I think he makes a big play here

Kirishima, Momo, Tokoyami, and Mina should also hopefully do well, since the poll opened right in the middle of all that Gigantomachia action, and Toko had just got done being an absolute badass and protecting his birb dad. I don’t think he’ll quite make it to the top ten, but he should

and last but not least, I’m hoping that Mirko will come out and take the polls by storm, although I have no clue how popular she is in Japan lol. she’s clearly Horikoshi’s favorite though. she SHOULD be everyone’s favorite, but I mean, we’ll see how it goes

anyway that’s it as far as predictions! and so now, through the magic of writing stuff at different times, we will fast-forward to the part where we actually find out the results!

OH MY GOD YES, STEAMPUNK KHLKSLLKL. HERE FOR IT. JOLLY GOOD SHOW. 5 STARS

Kacchan looks SO COCKY and SO HAPPY and SO ADORABLE, YES I SAID IT. he is adorable as FUCK. I don’t quite know what it is about this particular Kacchan that just screams “LOOK HOW FUCKING CUTE MY STUPID, LOUD SON IS WITH HIS BIZARRE WINDOWPANE-LOOKING CONVERTIBLE SUNGLASS GOGGLES and his POORLY TIED CRAVAT”, but I think it’s because he looks like if a Digimon character and a FMA character had a baby

anyway, so it looks like most of the people present here are more or less who we expected to see. except that I can’t tell for sure if that’s Dabi or Shindou, and if it’s Shindou I’m going to punch somebody in the face so you will have to excuse me

Iida wearing a TRENCHCOAT and a TOP HAT with ENGINE EXHAUST GOGGLE ACCENTS is my new favorite Iida of all time. take note how there is no possible way he can wear those goggles with them sitting on top of his hat like that. plus he’s already got glasses on. these are just purely for aesthetic and IF THAT AIN’T JUST THE STEAMPUNK WAY

Deku out here speaking softly and carrying a lead pipe. Kacchan you best look out. seems like he’s done watching you take first place year after year while he languishes in the number two spot. your only hope is that he trips while attacking you because his boots are unbuckled

Shouto’s standing over there with the rest of the non-first-and-second-place characters, but what are the odds his results are actually within spitting distance of Deku’s same as always. anyway he doesn’t mind, though. also his outfit is by far the most sensible one here, but if you look closely he’s got some sort of fire extinguisher/jet pack thing strapped to his back that’s got a control switch on his belt. Shouto are you jetpacking or putting out fires

Kirishima out here all “I’m not sure what steampunk is so I’m just going to take off my shirt and pose”

AIZAWA WITH THE EYEPATCH SKLKSDLKFJLSKJLDFKJSLDFFJLDKSJFL:KS. SIR. SIR. also, lowkey furious that Horikoshi refuses to show us the automail leg that he is clearly sporting here but which we just can’t see, SHOUTO MOVE GODDAMMIT

Endeavor has TWO fire extinguisher-slash-jetpacks. THE BETTER TO... WHATEVER. look at you here in the top ten again. you really live for that controversy

HAWKS OUT HERE WITH HIS STEAMPUNK BEATS BY DRE AND HIS WEARING A RING ON EVERY FINGER. nice to see you’ve still got your wings there, kiddo. then again Deku still has both of his arms too so who even knows what is going on

BUT SERIOUSLY THOUGH, IS THIS DABI OR SHINDOU. as if I don’t know the truth deep down in my heart. y’all I am gonna flip lmao. it’s not that I dislike Shindou, strictly speaking. but just... I can’t explain what it is, but if you put him and AFO next to each other and told me “you can only punch one”, I would be having a serious crisis. just, THIS FUCKING GUY, idek. STOP SMILING

Tomura looks like he just wandered onto the set here by mistake and has no idea where he is or what is going on. it’s because you’re wearing a bigass severed hand that’s blocking your entire view, Tomura. just take the hand off your face my sweet murder dumpling

anyway! so I managed to also find a link to the full poll results while somehow managing to avoid spoilers, and then I wanted to compare the results to last year’s poll, and so I made... this

hopefully you can all see this. if you’re on desktop you might be screwed, but on mobile you should be able to click and enlarge it. I mean, assuming you actually give a fuck about boring poll analysis spreadsheets lmao

anyway, so there were actually 13k fewer votes cast this year which is a bit of a surprise. is the series not still growing in popularity? do people apparently have better things to do during their quarantine lol

anyways but despite this, and despite getting 8k fewer votes overall, Kacchan still managed almost twice as many as his closest competitor. well fought, Deku. please put down that pipe

I somehow always underestimate the power of ship popularity to influence these things. but for example, it looks like Present Mic got that Vigilantes Trio bump. ride that wave for all it’s worth my man! hell, you got me on board

Iida fucking Tenya somehow got some sort of POWER BOOST out of NOWHERE which I can’t explain at all lmao, but I’m here for it. NOT BAD FOR AN OLD MAN

Sero managed to get the exact same number of votes in both 2019 and 2020. clearly the most loyal fans in the business

Mirko being all the way down at #20 is, of course, a travesty, and I hereby nominate her to be the one to punch Shindou in the face

ngl though, the lack of a single female character in the top ten hurts just a bit. it’s not overly surprising, but still. the worst part of it is that even if you kicked Shindou to the curb and moved everyone else up one slot, it would still be all dudes since Mic beat out Momo by a margin of a little more than a hundred votes. hard to stay mad at Mic for too long, though. ah well

Tomura actually lost a bunch of votes which is a genuine surprise to me. I know the villain standom isn’t as dominant in Japan as it is in Western fandom, but still. you can go ahead and punch Shindou too I guess

Tokoyami lowkey doubled his vote count over the past year while hiding down there at #18. he is slowly becoming more powerful. biding his time

anyway so I think that’s it! I mean not really, but I’m getting kind of tired lol. so just, you know, insert the usual gripes at Overhaul’s ranking here, although we can be happy about Magne making her way onto the list (r.i.p.), and Mineta and AFO taking a very satisfying slide down (all the way out, in AFO’s case; good riddance you bum). Hadou also got a huge boost which is awesome. Mustard’s persistent ownership of the #36 spot will forever remain a mystery to me, but oh well

anyways, this was fun. and I really do feel like everyone is looking away on purpose so that when Deku brains Kacchan with that pipe in about two seconds from now, there will be no witnesses, oh my fucking god