#its a good way to get a foot in with people who want to engage more

[girlbob-boypants]

I'm kinda wondering if we're approaching a sort of pseudo death to youtube cause apparently even channels that have been seeing viewer growth are seeing ad revenue reduction. Which has led to a lot of experimentation with other sites and other ways of making money.

[kooktrash]

UKIYO ✧ jeon Jungkook

summary: it’s the start of summer and there’s nothing better than dipping your toes in the sand and falling for a local boy who plays beach volleyball in his free time. he’s charming in a way you’ve never seen and you seem to understand each other better than one could imagine. both stuck in an awkward time of self discovery, you try to live in the moment and forget about your worries till they become too hard to ignore.

The Japanese word ukiyo (pronounced "u-key-yo") means "living in the moment" or "detached from the troubles of life".

✧ genre/au: summer romance, local beach boy!jk x city girl!y/n, [she/her, afab]

✧ 17.7k words

warnings: smut, fluff, ‘coming of age’ but they’re in their twenties, jk falls first. oral [f receiving]. unprotected bc they’re literally on a boat. hair pulling. jk is kinda rich boy. oc seems mean but she’s got mean vibes but just sassy and jk likes it. jk was previously engaged. law student jk. intimate missionary. jk is a volleyball player. think beach town vibes. his ex is kinda stuck up—all his friends are. jk is kinda lovesick puppy who needs aftercare lol

inspired by, Nicholas Sparks’ “The Last Song”

songs: tyrant — coldplay, mind over matter — young the giant, left hands free — alt-j, omg — suki waterhouse, sex drug etc — beach weather

✧

For a long time, summer was the only thing to look forward to in the year. The days were longer spent outside enjoying time with your friends and letting yourself sleep in until noon. As you grew older with more responsibilities that didn’t suddenly disappear when the temperature grew warmer, you began to lose feelings for the season. It made no difference in your life anymore and you longed for the days it would.

Maybe that’s why it was so easy for you to drop everything and leave your worries behind. A couple months in the sun, no stress, nothing holding you back.

”I still can’t believe I managed to convince you,” Your friend said for the third time in the last hour. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, again, “I still can’t believe it either, don’t make me regret it.”

Hoseok mocked you using a high pitched voice, turning the Jeep Wrangler into the driveway of a modern beach house, “How could you regret these next few weeks waking up to the waves crashing on the shore?”

”What magazine did you read that off of?” Your friend asked from the backseat, laughing to herself at his expense, “I hate when you talk corny.”

”Whatever, you guys are so ungrateful,” Hoseok jokes, pulling the car in ‘park’ and powering the engine off, “Next time I’ll invite someone else to come with—someone who I won't have to beg!”

”Boohoo,” You pretended to whine, getting out of the car and racing to get to your luggage first, “You love begging for me.”

”You wish,” He says with a scoff, “Hurry up and find your rooms, I want to get down to the beach as soon as possible.”

The beach was at its peak time of day where the sun sat the highest and almost every foot of sand was covered with people’s belongings. Not far from shore were rows of volleyball courts and crowds of people watching and as much as you wanted to avoid that busy side, it was the way to the boardwalk. You had no choice but to follow your friends in that direction. They were steps before you, already arguing about which store to go into first or what food stand you’ll go to but you were distracted by the large Ferris wheel in the back.

Maybe your focus should have been on the matches happening all around you but by the time you realized that it was too late. The white ball barely grazed your side when a tall figure headed straight into you with a loud thud.

A low grunt left your lips as you hit the sand with such a force that it physically ached for a moment. Your hands and face were practically covered in sand it was hard to acknowledge whatever gibberish your assailant spat out.

He didn’t have time to get a good look at you as he rushed to his feet, taking your arm and pulling you up abruptly, “Shit, I’m so sorry, I—“

“It’s fine,” your tone came out harsher than expected and it probably had something to do with the guy who loomed over you, and how embarrassed you felt. Up ahead your two friends were barely realizing you weren’t behind them and turning to find you, laughing once they did.

The stranger let his gaze trace over you with sudden curiosity, not at all intimidated by your attempt at a scowl. Now that he was looking at you up close, he had to admit he liked what he saw. He couldn’t help but grin nervously, “I’m sorry.”

His smile made you glare as you dusted sand off your jeans, “Really? I can’t tell.”

“I… it’s just, usually when there’s a ball flying people tend to dodge it,” he was walking backwards now as you tried leaving, he wanted to face you when he talked and it made his cocky smile all the more unbearable. You’ve just met the guy and he hadn’t given the best impression yet. Honestly, you’re just tired from the trip and you’re hungry so you blame that on your mood but you just want to escape this embarrassment of falling.

A scoff left your lips, “Are you saying that this is my fault? Maybe if you all played the game on the court, you wouldn’t have run after it.”

You were giving him attitude and yet he didn’t back down from returning it with a sweet smile.

“Jungkook!” Someone called from behind but the guy didn’t bother to even look back at the paused game. Instead he kept up with you, “You’re right, it’s partially my fault too so how can I make this up to you?”

You stopped walking, looking at him. You didn’t know him and he didn’t know you so there was no need to hold him up from his game any longer, “Don’t worry about it.”

“But I can’t go on like this,” The stranger, Jungkook, said, “Not until I know you’re not mad anymore.”

The way you rolled your eyes excited him in a good way. He wasn’t amusing enough for you and it was rare for him not to be.

“Jungkook! Come on man, the game!”

“Y/n!” Hoseok said loudly, “Hurry up, I’m starving.”

Just like that, the two of you walked away from each other and you had to tell yourself not to look back at him. You didn’t want to catch him doing the same before he went back to playing.

“Are you okay?” Hyeri asked, still laughing lightly, helping you shake off sand, “I was going to help you but then I saw you talking to that hot guy and I didn’t want to intervene.”

“So considerate,” you mumbled sarcastically, trying to hide your smile as you walked the steps up to the pier and forgot about whatever was happening on the sand.

The stranger really was attractive, and if he hadn’t toppled you over like it was nothing you might have stayed a little longer. When you spotted him below you couldn’t help but look him over. He wore a pair of blue and white striped swimming trunks and no shirt which gave you a good look at his muscular back and sleeve of tattoos. Compared to the players around him, he looked noticeably different from the rest and you kind of liked that.

“What are we eating?” You asked your friends who shrugged, still indecisive.

Hours after the sunset and Jungkook’s adrenaline from winning began to slowly settle down, he walked along the boardwalk with his partner. The two of them are trying to waste time for a while before their night plans come along.

“I know Yeaun is around here somewhere and if she’s here then that means Chae-hi isn’t far,” Jimin said looking around the crowded boardwalk while Jungkook followed behind lazily, “Which means a fun night for us so let’s find them.”

He could hear what Jimin was saying but he wasn’t truly listening. His attention had drifted away from the conversation the second he looked to the side and found a familiar silhouette in the distance. Well, not too familiar but he recognized it from when he crashed into you earlier.

You were with your friends at some jewelry stand looking over all the handmade bracelets and necklaces, such a short distance from him. He could easily make it over to you in no time.

“I don’t really want to see Yeaun,” Jungkook said, eyes trained on you. Jimin groaned in response, whipping back to his friend and shaking his head. He followed his line of sight and jumped in front of him.

“No, look over here, we’ve got plans,” Jimin said hoping to pull Jungkook’s attention away from some stranger, “We told Chae-hi and Yeaun we’d met them tonight.”

“No, you have plans, I never agreed to anything,” Jungkook said with a laugh, clearly amused. He tried to see if you were still there but when he looked back you were already walking away.

“Don’t be that way, think about me. Your best friend, who has been trying to get with Chae-hi for weeks now,” Jimin begged, making Jungkook sigh with defeat. He didn’t say anything as he motioned for Jimin to lead the way and went on with his life.

✧

There’s a story about how you found yourself moving into a beach house with your best friends for the summer. The opportunity sort of fell at your feet when Hoseok’s sister had to leave abroad for a couple months because of her job. She lived in a nice house on the beach that would need to be looked after and that’s when she decided to tell her younger brother about it.

Not long after, he came to you and Hyeri and asked if you wanted to join. It took a long time for him to convince you but when you realized how shitty life currently was back home, there was nothing holding you back.

Your first week has been fun getting to enjoy the warm water and sand between your toes. You’ve gotten into a bit of a routine in the area and you’ve begun to familiarize yourself with the roads and places. That’s probably why you were doing Hoseok a favor by helping him out today.

He’s busy taking care of some errands for his sister and asked if you could bring his car into the shop for some maintenance, considering Hyeri liked sleeping past noon, you had no choice but to agree to it all on your own.

“What can we do for you?” A guy in a dark gray button up and oil streaks across his hands asked you once you made it to the auto shop.

“Just an oil change.”

Jungkook had nearly forgotten about his encounter on the beach. There wasn’t much for him to remember anyway and he’s never been the type to hold onto something so meaningless. He carried on with his usual routine and busied himself away at work.

The shop he worked at was busy all of the time and it was a great distraction from whatever else happened in his life so he truly loved it. He loved getting to work with cars and getting his hands dirty. He worked with people he was friends with and sometimes, if he’s really lucky, someone who catches his attention will stagger in.

When he found you standing in the office with his boss signing papers he was visibly taken back. He had been too busy helping Namjoon take a wheel off a black Sedan, to notice when you came in but he was too late now. You were already finishing up whatever you were doing with Jin and leaving.

“I’ll be back,” Jungkook told Namjoon, tossing him the wrench he had been using and heading straight to the front.

You went across the street to the small diner and he had to think about this. Part of him didn’t feel the need to see you again, mostly because he was embarrassed by toppling you over and probably how he sounded. Part of him wanted to ask for your name, apologize and try and see if you’ll talk to him.

“I’m taking an early lunch,” Jungkook told him without much of a car as he hurried to clock out and leave for the diner.

You sat alone in a booth with your laptop open and scrolling through a website filled with job offers. It was partially out of boredom and a reminder that you needed to find somewhere for when you get back home. You could look for something in the field you used to study in but how far could you get with it?

“Excuse me,” he stood in front of you now, “I don’t know if you remember me from a few days ago but—“

“I remember,” you said blandly, looking up at Jungkook with a mixture of boredom and a small hint of possible curiosity. He looked very different with a shirt on, his abs weren’t as distracting but he still had an intimidating build. That’s why his pretty face surprised you under all that sweat and car grease. He was clearly one of the mechanics and has somehow made his way to you.

“Right, uh,” he swooped in to sit across from you, “I wanted to apologize. I didn’t mean to knock you down and sometimes when I’m playing, I kinda get a little too excited so I’m sure I was just talking and talking.”

You’re assuming he meant how he followed after you and smiled so arrogantly when you looked visibly annoyed with him. What you don’t get is why he’s apologizing again, you weren’t still upset over that.

“It’s fine,” you reminded him with a confused look, trying to read what he was really here for, “You work across the street?”

“Yeah, I’m Jungkook,” He finally introduced himself, “I saw you earlier and it was time for lunch so I came to talk to you.”

You didn’t say anything for a while and the silence wasn’t broken until the waitress came and asked what Jungkook would like. He brushed her off with a ‘Whatever she’s having’ and looked at you curiously.

“Okay,” You’re definitely not from around here because he would’ve recognized you so just who are you? He cleared his throat awkwardly, “Um, yknow, usually when someone gives you their name you say yours back.”

“Y/n,” You said distantly, “Can I ask you something?”

“Yes, anything,” Jungkook sat straighter, almost reaching up to fix his hair but stopping himself. He wasn’t nervous or anything but you’re not speaking to him with the same flirtatious tone and it’s confusing him.

“What are some fun things you can do around here other than the usual tourist stuff?” You asked him suddenly, “You are a local, I assume.”

“You assume right,” Jungkook nodded as he bit his lip in thought, “I could always show you better than I can tell you.”

“You’re a funny guy, y’know?” You smiled, “But seriously, what is there to do?”

He’s pretty sure that was just a rejection so it took him a moment to bounce back from it and tried to catch himself from doing it again.

By the time the car was ready, you were paying for your meal and hurrying to leave while Jungkook ate and enjoyed the last of his break. For the rest of the day he found himself thinking about you.

He’s lived a very repetitive and predictable life. Since early childhood he’s had the same classmates and friends, and gone to the same places and events. He’s known the same girls and has hung out with the same people for years. The only time he got any sense of independence is when he was gone for law school but now that he’s done and has returned home for the sake of his family and friends, he’s reminded once again of the repetitiveness.

Maybe that’s why he’s a little excited to meet someone new. He just had a strong feeling that you were more interesting than you let on and he wanted to know more.

He didn’t know that you felt the same and had to ignore these thoughts so you wouldn’t start anything with him. Jungkook was attractive and you’ve moved on from the fall aside from the slight bruising, and you were just trying to enjoy your time. Did you really need to meet someone?

In all honesty, he didn’t seem as arrogant covered in sweat, he looked good and he seemed nice.

But did that mean you wanted to waste your time with him?

✧

It was a crush, nothing but a small, schoolboy crush that occupied his mind from time to time. In all honesty, it was easy to ignore when he got carried away in his day to day life, it’s only when he sees you or you cross his mind for the shortest of seconds, that he finds himself getting lost. He doesn’t care for the girls his best friend likes to hang around, nor does he feel the need to upturn himself out there. Lately, all he’s wanted is to be with someone who makes him forget about himself and maybe he wasn’t looking in the right places if he thought you could help.

It was wishful thinking for him to hold so much thought over a stranger who couldn’t care less to know his name, but that’s what he liked. He wondered when he would run into you again, what he might say in hopes of getting a response and what would happen after that. He even wondered if you’d be at the beach tonight while everyone told ghost stories and drank bottles of Soju one after the other.

What does he say when he finally sees you looking at him?

You spotted him first, hating how much you wanted for him to look up and see you too. He was with his friends and you had no intentions to approach him but… well, he was cute. You can’t act like he isn’t and he’s oddly charming which makes him memorable but it was a bad idea. This trip was meant to be fun with your friends and that’s it—you weren’t going to make time for strangers.

“For once we don’t have to worry about an Uber and can walk our asses home,” Hoseok said standing over a keg, “So I don’t know about you guys, but I’m blacking out tonight.”

”When has anything ever stopped you from accomplishing that?” You asked him, turning your back to the familiar stranger, “You’re never the one ordering it anyway.”

”No, he’s usually the one we’re pushing into the backseat,” Hyeri joined in on the teasing.

“Shh, why do I always feel judged by you two? Is this what friends are for?” Hoseok pretended to be hurt as he filled your cup with beer.

“She’s not from around here, is she?” Jungkook asked as he looked across at you. You haven’t noticed him—he doesn’t think—but he’s noticed you and for some reason that excited him. Well, for one specific reason and it was simply the fact that he likes you. Does he know enough about you to pinpoint this statement? No, but he knows that he feels strange when you’re around. That has to mean something. The longest relationship he’s ever been in was with Yeaun and he doesn’t remember feeling this excited to meet someone.

“How would I know?” Jimin asked when a scoff, barely bothering to look over at you. He couldn’t help but roll his eyes, “You rather think about her than Yeaun? You’re insane.”

“Are you sure it’s Chae-hi you like and not Yeaun? You sure do bring her up around me a lot,” Jungkook rolled his eyes.

“Isn’t it obvious? I want you to get back together with Yeaun so that Chae-hi will think about me instead of her ‘heartbroken’ friend,” Jimin handed him a cup of beer, “Take one for the team.”

“No, I don’t think so,” He chuckled, “We broke up for a reason so don’t push it.”

“Not a good reason,” Jimin mumbled under his breath but Jungkook chose to ignore it.

“There you are,” the devil herself said as she found him, “We were wondering where you two ran off, right?”

“Right,” Chae-hi agreed, “Hi Jimin.”

“So, it’s kind of boring here isn’t it?” Yeaun asked looking at Jungkook for assurance, “Plus all the low lives are starting to come in and I really don’t want to be around any of them. We were wondering if you guys wanted to come back to mine.”

“To do what?” Jimin asked while Jungkook stood back disinterested and distracted. He couldn’t even pretend to be interested when he was focused on someone else entirely.

By pure luck, he looked back to see if you were still standing where you were before and this time you locked eyes with him. Without much care for the conversation he was supposed to be in right now, he walked off while they discussed plans involving a hot tub.

“I’m starting to think you’re following me,” Jungkook first said as you nearly bumped into him in an attempt to get closer to the bonfire. He walked alongside you with ease, “First, on the court, then at my job and now here?”

That made you snort in disbelief, shaking your head and trying not to smile, “Someone seems flattered but I think you have it the wrong way.”

“As in I’m the one doing the most to run into you? No, never,” Jungkook spoke dramatically, “This is all by chance. There’s no way I could’ve seen you from over there and decided to come and talk to you instead. That would make me seem desperate, wouldn’t it?”

“It would,” you agreed, slightly amused now as you broke into a small smile, “I didn’t take you as the type.”

“Well that’s because you haven’t tried to get to know me, I’m honestly a catch,” Jungkook joked lightly, following you where you walked off to, “Or are you scared?”

“Scared? Of what?” You asked, stopping abruptly and turning to face him with furrowed brows. He couldn’t help but smirk, “Oh I don’t know… getting to know someone new. You give me the vibe that you don’t like meeting new people.”

“I love meeting new people,” You exaggerated childishly, “When they don’t fall on top of me.”

“I caught myself, so let’s not lie now,” Jungkook snorted, “Besides, who’s the one who walked into the middle of a game?”

As he said that, the two of you seemed to have drifted far enough from where the fire had been going, that you found yourself not too far from one of the volleyball nets on the shore. Jungkook looked down at you with clear amusement as you looked up at the net and he walked up to the abandoned volleyball that sat in the sand.

“Do you eat, sleep, and breathe volleyball?” You jokingly asked, finally giving Jungkook some response that implied you were interested in him even slightly.

“Only on the weekends, sometimes around noon or after work if I’m free,” Jungkook told you, picking up the ball, “Do you play?”

“No,” you told him as he began to bounce the ball back and forth between his hands. You looked back at your friends who seemed preoccupied with whatever new friends they made for the night.

“It’s easy,” Jungkook said, “There’s really only one basic rule, don’t let the ball touch the ground.”

“Are you giving me a lesson now?” You asked with slight amusement as he moved to the other side of the net, “I’m warning you, I won’t be any good at it.”

“I’ll take it easy on you,” Jungkook tossed the ball your way and although you reached out to hit it, you missed and it landed a few feet behind you. He couldn’t help but laugh, “Okay, maybe you try and throw it.”

“But how do I throw it?” You looked up the tall net wondering how you would make it over. You held it up and tried doing a practice hit while he tried teaching you.

“Just try a simple serve, you can hit it from under or thro—“

“Oh my god,” you broke out into a nervous laugh as Jungkook covered his face with his hand. The ball sat at his feet, completely oblivious to the fact it had just pummeled straight into his face. You covered your mouth in an attempt to stop laughing but you were embarrassed and couldn’t do anything but try and laugh it off, “I’m so sorry.”

“Really? I can’t tell?” Jungkook said sarcastically, sounding eerily similar to you when you first met but still playful. In all honesty, the pain wasn’t too bad but it was humiliating and the only thing he could think about is how you’re trying not to laugh, “You think it’s funny?”

“No! No, I don’t, I just um,” you tried to stop, “I just…”

“You just what?” Jungkook looked at you, slowly making his way to your side and you inadvertently began to step back, worried he might actually be upset, “You like laughing at causing other people pain?”

“Did it actually hurt?” You asked with surprise, still stepping back the closer he got.

“My ego, yeah,” he joked, “And I feel like we need to get even.”

“We did, think about it as me getting back at you for the other day!” You tried to say, feeling the edge of the ride begin to touch your feet the farther you walked from him.

“Really? So this was all part of revenge?” Jungkook asked, “I don’t think so, I suggest you run.”

“What?” You stopped to think, “Jungk—“

And it began. He kicked water at you once the tide was close again and without thinking, you jumped back. You weren’t wearing a bathing suit or anything appropriate for the water so he can’t. You’re in a simple top and flowy, long skirt, not something you wanted wet, “Don’t you dare.”

“Why? Scared of a little water?” He tried to kick water again but this time you moved back in time and he smirked, “It’s better than getting hit in the face. Will you take care of me if I get a concussion?”

You scoffed, laughing, “Don’t you wis—Jungkook!”

He ran after you as you took off in a jog and before he knew it, you were splashing water back at him, not caring about how wet you got. The night was young and you were having a good time, there wasn’t much to worry about other than making sure you got Jungkook before he could get you.

Not far from where the two of you played in the ocean with the moon reflecting against the waves, a few pairs of eyes watched you unimpressed. Jimin didn’t have much to think about the matter, he just couldn’t understand it. Why would Jungkook waste his time on someone he didn’t even know?

Yeaun was right here desperate to have him back and instead he’s wandered off with some stranger acting childish. It doesn’t make sense, and neither does the big grin on Jungkook’s face once he caught you and tackled you into the low tide, both getting drenched in water.

“Jungkook!” He ignored the call of his name as he watched you shake sand out of your hair with curiosity. You looked annoyed even if you smiled and he knows you probably are considering he pushed you into the water but you’re not cussing him out yet. You’re not screaming at him for getting you into the water so maybe it was a good sign.

“Are we even now?” You asked breathlessly as you looked forward to where your friends were and turned away from Jungkook.

“I guess, for now at least,” He teased, walking toward Jimin, “It depends on if I bruise or not.”

“I didn’t hit you that hard,” you scoffed, smiling and shaking your head in disbelief. At some point in your ascend back up the shore, Jungkook got you to finally give him your number. You didn’t question when his friend approached him, going on about something you didn’t bother listening to and turned in search for someone you knew.

“You look like you need a towel,” someone said from your right. It took you a second to realize she was talking to you, much less holding out a clean towel for you.

“Thanks,” you said, trying to wipe off some of the sand with the beach towel the stranger handed to you. Hyeri was off talking with some guy and you had no clue where Hoseok was so as of now, you were on your own here. The girl was pretty and she seemed nice enough so you didn’t mind responding to her approach.

“I’m getting sand all over it,” you tried to make some sort of conversation, “Sorry, I’m Y/n.”

“Don’t even worry about it, I’m Yeaun,” She said with a smile, “You’re not from around here, are you?”

“Is it that obvious?” You asked, laughing lightly. Yeaun just shrugged as she got closer to you, “Not really, but, well… there’s just some people you should always avoid.”

Your brows began to furrow with confusion, “Like?”

“No, I don’t want to start anything,” she shook her head no, “We don’t know each other and you’ll probably think I’m meddling but… okay, Jeon Jungkook.”

You didn’t say anything to that as you tried to get a good look at the girl. Yeaun was pretty with sun-kissed skin and golden hair that shone under the moonlight. She seemed soft and glowed with a brightness that felt contagious but you didn’t know her. You don’t know why she brought up Jungkook or why she even approached you so you had nothing to say back to her.

“I just mean… you’re not from around here and you seem smart,” Yeaun said sympathetically, “Jungkook’s kind of a known player and I don’t want you to fall for his tricks, trust me, he’s not worth it.”

“Trust me, it’s not like that,” you said, suddenly disinterested in conversation with her and more focused on finding your friends, “Thanks for looking out for me though.”

Yeaun watched you walk away and not bother to turn back and she had to leave like it didn’t bother her to be brushed to the side. She can’t tell if you took what she said into consideration or if you couldn’t care less and she didn’t like that. She didn’t like that she didn’t know you and she didn’t know about your relationship with Jungkook or how you know him.

✧

His life was utterly perfect to anyone who thought about it. He had the bestest of friends, the closest family, the most money and a promising future. Everything he had ever wanted was handed right to him and in a sense, it made him arrogant. It was a given that he would end up that way and maybe that’s why he’s always surrounded himself with people of the like. He didn’t despise any of his friends, just sometimes, when he listened to the conversations they would have, he wanted to disagree.

“Yeaun said you’ve been avoiding her,” Jin said as he pulled a golf club out of his bag.

”Great, now you’re talking about her too?” Jungkook asked, lining his club up with a shiny white golf ball, “I already get enough of it from my parents and Jimin.”

“Well yeah, when you suddenly call off a year long engagement with someone you’ve known all your life, people question it,” Jin said, watching Jungkook swing the club back and shoot the ball into the air, “We’re worried about you.”

“Don’t be,” Jungkook mumbled, “Besides, there’s someone else, I don’t know if you know her, her name’s Y/n.”

“Doesn’t ring a bell,” Jin shrugged, moving his visor down to block more of the summer sun out of his eyes. He wore white golfing gloves and a pair of Raybans, making him look straight out of a country club catalog.

Jungkook sighed, growing more restless by the minute. He’s only seen you on few occasions and he’s yet to leave a good impression on you where he can ask for your number or something, “She was hanging out with this guy, I know you know him but I can’t think of his name—you dated his sister.”

“Hoseok?” Jin asked, “I remember hearing about how he was in town. How do you know this isn’t his girlfriend you’re hitting on?”

“It’s not,” Jungkook said, “I don’t think. I don’t know.”

“But what about her?” Jin asked, hopping in the passenger’s side of the golf cart, “You don’t know a thing about the girl but you like her and you’re willing to throw away your future because of it.”

“I’m not throwing anything away,” Jungkook said with a scoff, “But whatever, you don’t get it.”

He spent the evening golfing on a private course not far from the beach where you wandered around with a book in hand.

You enjoyed passing time with your friends but sometimes, you just needed time to yourself and you would find yourself wandering off on your own without much care for anything else. Your friends didn’t mind when you went off and you always made sure to tell them where you would go so there was never any problem. Ever since you got here, you’ve been doing things on your own.

“I knew I would find you around here.”

You didn’t respond at first, still debating if the person was talking to you, but one look up told you he was. Although you wanted to resist the urge to smile, you couldn’t help it.

“Stalker,” You said with a small sigh, closing your book. He didn’t say anything as he took a seat down in the sand next to you. “You’re on my turf, remember? What are you reading by the way?”

You glanced at the cover of your book, “Nothing exciting—how’d you know I was here?”

“I looked for a dark, brooding figure and assumed it was you,” Jungkook joked, “And just an fyi, my face still hurts.”

“I’m sure you've been hit worse,” You said sarcastically, sitting up and watching him get comfortable. He was dressed in a light color linen button up and shorts, the first buttons were undone and a cliche shell necklace sat perfectly against his collarbone. He was attractive and you’ve thought so since the beginning but something was holding you back.

Did you really want to waste your time on a stranger you won’t know in a few months?

“What are you doing tonight?” He asks suddenly.

“Sleeping, hopefully,” you told him, a small smile when you noticed him roll his eyes.

“It’s the summer, the sun’s out, you live on the beach—don’t look at me like that, it’s a small town. Word gets around when a new person shows up,” Jungkook said with a shrug, knowing it’s him who had been asking about you.

“You’re just solidifying my stalker allegations, should I report you?” You asked, laughing slightly.

“I’ll have you know, a lot of people would love to be stalked by me, you should feel flattered,” He nudged your knee with his.

“What? Like it’s hard? Word gets around,” You said to him, “I’ve already been warned about getting too close to you.”

Jungkook let his brows furrow as he took in what you said but it didn’t take long for it to dawn on him. As much as he wanted to act like there was no way his ex girlfriend would approach you, he knew her too well. Who else would talk down on him? Who else would feel threatened when he ignores them? What does she think she gains from telling you to stay away from him? Isn’t it his decision who he approaches and does she think you’re just going to fall in line like everyone else does?

This is the sort of thing that pisses him off. He’s not a bad guy at all, he doesn’t sleep around, he focuses on his goals, he has fun with his friends… so why?

“But if it makes you feel any better, I’m not very good at listening to what I’m told,” You finally said, standing up with your book in hand and pulling the sand-covered towel, “And I’m starving, so where’s a good place to eat around here?”

As much as he wanted to act like the cool guy and seem indifferent, he couldn’t help but break out into a grin. Without wasting another second, he got up and motioned to carry your things, “There’s a good food shack on the boardwalk. I guess I could show you around.”

“If it isn’t too much of a hassle,” You said playfully, handing him your things.

“So, I want to know, what’s a big city girl like yourself doing all the way over here?” He asked on the way up, “Or do you still want to play at being mysterious?”

You rolled your eyes, “I don't usually play games like that, I think you’ve got me confused with someone else. I just don’t talk if I have nothing to say.”

“Interesting take, I personally never know when to shut up,” Jungkook smiled, pointing up to the restaurant and walking in behind you, “But seriously, usually the tourists come to pollute our water and get away.”

“Are you always so observant? You give me the vibe that you like to watch other people,” You told him, sitting down at a high round table across from him.

“And you give me the vibe that you hate talking about yourself. Why else would you avoid every question I ask?” He asked, raising a brow making you scoff but you couldn’t deny it. When the server brought out your menus, she made sure to greet Jungkook like old friends.

“Do you really care to know?” You asked quietly.

“Why else would I ask? I’m not pretending to be interested, if that’s what you think,” Jungkook said honestly.

You didn’t say anything for a moment, looking down at the menu contemplating what to order and what to say, “Things were getting a little too complicated back home and my friend asked if I wanted to pack up my things and follow him down for the summer and I said yes.”

“How broad,” Jungkook said with a small smile, lifting a brow and waiting to see if you would add to it.

“It’s the truth,” you shrugged.

“What was complicated?” Jungkook asked.

He looked amused when you narrowed your eyes in response to his probing. “Adulting.”

“You’ll figure it out,” Jungkook shrugged, waiting for the server to come back to take your orders. He let you order first, watching the server give you a look as she listened and followed after with his own.

“How wise of you to say. What about you?” You asked him, handing the menus back and sliding your drink closer to you.

Jungkook distracted himself playing with the wrapper of his straw and shrugged, “What about me? We’ll get to me when you give me the juicy details.”

You couldn’t help but scoff, looking out the window to the view of the waves crashing against the shore, “What? I told you everything.”

He chuckled, “Barely.”

Rolling your eyes, “Rude.”

“Really?” He asked, biting back a smile.

“No. You’re actually pretty nice,” once again, you sighed, as if admitting that was hard for you.

“Nice? That’s what you tell a guy when you’re going to reject him. I just want to know more about you but there’s not much I can go with. How long are you staying?” Jungkook finally asked you.

“A couple months, are you already dreading it when I leave?” You asked, sounding sarcastic and amused.

“Maybe, you’ve left an impression despite what you might think. Crushing you under my incredible physique was destiny.” He could tell you wanted to laugh but were refusing to do so.

“Corny.”

“Funny.” He crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back in his chair and making it known that he was going to wait for you however long it took.

“I had this bad roommate situation I couldn’t take anymore and my lease doesn’t end for another two months so when Hobi asked me to come with I jumped at the chance. I left my job because it’s draining me and I felt useless so I figured it’d be easier to run away to the beach and deal with it all later. Happy? I was honest.” You rushed the words, half-assed the pace.

It was his turn to narrow his eyes suspiciously but gave in, “Content. You’ll figure it out, you don’t seem like the type to wait around for things to fix themselves.”

“Really? Because that feels like what I’m doing right now. I’m all the way over here where I haven’t done anything but run into this strange guy at the beach who I think might be stalking me,” You said, joking at the end.

“No, right now you’re trying to live in the moment, nothing wrong with that,” he chuckled, ignoring your joke.

You don’t remember much of what you said to him but for some reason Jungkook was very easy to talk to. Maybe it’s because you don’t really know him or expect anything from him at all but he got you too open up to him like you’ve known him for years. In reality you didn’t know anything about him or anyone here for that matter.

“Okay, okay, enough about me. It’s your turn,” you had finally said between mouthfuls of whatever the two of you ordered and Jungkook couldn’t avoid it any longer.

“Alright, I’m… also trying to figure things out on my own. I’m used to being with certain people and doing certain things and I don’t know, at one point I kind of got fed up with everything being so predictable. I want to meet people on my own and not because they know who I am or something,” He rushed his words, “If I could, I’d move far away from here but right now I don’t think that’s an option so I settle for next best and stick it out. In all honesty, everything’s kind of been a bore until I met you, you’re different.”

You raised a brow, mirroring his earlier stance and crossing your arms over your chest, unamused, “How?”

He smirked, “I don’t know yet, I can just tell.”

You never believe a guy when he goes on about how different you are from other girls because usually they’re just full of shit. You’re not good at picking the right person so it makes you wary to believe anything he says despite how good he looks saying it.

By the time the bill came, the server made sure to sit it without checking if that’s what either of you wanted but you didn’t hesitate to reach for yours. Jungkook snatched the small slip out of your hand and hurried the server back so he could pay for it in full, giving her a tight smile, “Just one check, thanks.”

“Sure thing,” she said with a light scoff that had you looking after her with furrowed brows. Something about the way she acted left you feeling confused.

“What a good first date.” Jungkook said at the end, walking outside with you.

“This wasn’t a date,” you teased, thanking him for the meal nevertheless, “But I should probably call it a night, y’know.”

“Oh yeah, me too,” Jungkook shrugged “But if you’re not doing anything tomorrow night, we should see each other again.”

“Hm, I’ll think about it,” You said playfully, “If I’m not busy.”

“You won’t be,” He smirked, bumping your shoulder with his as the walk turned bumpy and more trail-like as he walked you home, “But why don’t you give me your number and we can talk about it more on the phone.”

“Hah, smooth guy, aren’t you?” You asked, taking his phone and typing your number in. When you got to the soft trail of greenery and sand that led up to the backyard of the beach house.

“How about we watch the last few minutes of the sun set together,” he reached for your head and stopped you before you could head up the wooden steps.

“How about you don’t kidnap my friend for the whole evening!” Hoseok shouted suddenly, tripping over his own feet as he ran out the sliding glass door that led to the pool deck, “I’ve been worried sick about Y/n.”

“Not true, he’s been sleeping!” Hyeri yelled after him, “But you’re the guy who tackled my best friend on our first day here.”

“My reputation precedes me,” Jungkook held his hands up in surrender, “I’m Jungkook. I was just asking if you guys wanted to join us and watch the sun set.”

“How aesthetic, let me grab some bottles of Soju.”

Your attempt to end your time with Jungkook failed and he seemed pleased with himself for that. He was also polite enough to try and get to know your friends too.

✧

He was having a crisis, he thinks. A real life identity crisis because for the first time in his life he thinks he likes someone—in a way he’s never liked anyone before. It’s pathetic and makes him feel so stupid because he barely knows anything about you but it’s the truth. If anything that’s what makes him like you so much. He likes that he can’t tell what you’ll say or how you’ll react to him, it’s exciting.

He just wants to know if he’s on your mind too.

“We’re still on for this weekend right?”

“What are we doing again?” The road ahead was a scenic path between mountain and sea that led all the way to this private property of his childhood home.

“Chae-hi’s birthday trip.” Jimin spoke from the passenger’s seat of the black pick-up truck his best friend paraded in when he wasn’t on his dirtbike.

“Oh, yeah I’m not going. I was thinking of taking Y/n sailing,” Jungkook said with a small smile, looking sideways, unable to miss the way Jimin stiffened and went silent. He looked back to the road, hand tightening around the steering wheel slightly, “What?”

“Nothing,” Jimin scoffed, looking out the window annoyed now. The drive was silent for a while, nothing but the low sound of music and wind blowing through the topless truck.

“What’s up with you lately?” He finally asked, “You barely know the girl and she’s all you talk about. We’ve had plans to go with everyone.”

By everyone he meant their mutual friends—not just his ex and her friend—which made things worse. He’s known them all for years and it’s hard to see them when he wants to move on and do his own thing. Jungkook tried not to let Jimin’s tone ruin his mood and sighed, “Sorry, man, but I’m not going. Are we playing later or what?”

“You sure you’re not busy with your new friends?” Jimin asked, remembering about the night Jungkook had dinner with you. He tried calling him that night to see if he wanted to go out for drinks just to be rejected because Jungkook was too busy with you and your friends.

Jungkook chuckled, “Don’t be jealous, you’ll always be first in my heart.”

“Oh fuck off,” Jimin rolled his eyes, trying to not sound bitter as he asked, “What’s your girl doing anyway?”

“Y/n’s not my girl—yet, I don’t know. She hasn’t texted back,” Jungkook said worriedly, making Jimin stare at him strangely.

It’s not that he had anything against you personally, he just doesn’t get it. You’re a complete stranger who won’t stick around so why has his best friend chosen to hang out with you so much recently. What did you have over the people he’s known all his life? What do you bring to the table?

What did you gain from being around Jungkook?

You couldn’t explain it either. All you really knew was that a cute guy who sort of annoyed you in the beginning was starting to rub off on you. You’ve come to enjoy running into him and forcing yourself to open up because he’ll listen. It made you feel weird in a good way. You wanted to think about how fun it was to be around him and ignore all the worries you’ve had recently.

Even with your close friends, you’ve long since stopped talking about the people you were interested in. It wasn’t because you didn’t trust them or want their advice but sometimes you didn’t feel the need to say anything—especially if it was harmless fun. That’s why when Hyeri approached you about Jungkook, you weren’t sure what to say.

“It’s no fair,” Hyeri picked through a crate of strawberries, dropping them into a basket, “I wanted to find a little beach boyfriend, why’d you get lucky instead.”

“What are you talking about?” You asked dumbly, following her down the aisle of produce at the farmer’s market.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” Hyeri said accusingly, “Jungkook.”

“We’re just hanging out,” You said with a shrug that made her laugh, pushing her sunglasses into her hairline. You knocked against one end of a green watermelon, hoisting it in your hands and continuing past her.

“Right, is that what you called your date the other night? Just a nice early dinner with a hot guy who asked to watch the sunset with you?” She said playfully, “You like him, don’t you.”

“I don’t know him,” You insisted. Yes, you’ve talked a lot with Jungkook recently and you’ve begun to talk about real things in your lives but did that really mean anything? “Besides, in a month and a half I’ll be in my new place settling back into the old routine. It’s just fun hanging out with him, nothing more, it’d be too complicated.”

“Whatever you say,” Hyeri sighed.

You’re lying, obviously you’re lying because you do sort of like him but you didn’t want to think about it. You didn’t want to think about what you could become, you only want to think about now and how things progress. Whatever happens, happens. That’s it. Could you pretend like you have no worries aside from who you’ll run into on the beach instead?

When your phone rang, you knew immediately who it could’ve been and although Hyeri walked ahead, acting like she couldn’t hear it, she was clearly listening. When you answered Jungkook’s call, he was quick to ask about your plans for the upcoming weekend.

✧

“You want to take me sailing?”

Despite the early hours where the sun has yet to shine through, you still couldn’t wrap your mind around it. Even walking along the dock following after Jungkook who led the way through the darkness of the starry sky. “Or are you plotting my murder?”

“Which would you prefer I do?” He asked teasingly, looking back at you with a grin, “But seriously, it’ll be fun.”

Fun wasn’t waking up before the sun did, nor was it following a man you barely know out to the sea. If it weren’t for Hyeri begging you to take up his offer, you wouldn’t be here right now.

The sailing yacht was bigger than you expected with a small cabin area below deck to sleep and wash up in. You’ve never been on a sailboat before but you didn’t think they would look this nice and clean.

“This is yours?” You asked, watching him put in the arm work to undo the rope that tied the boat to the dock.

“Um, yeah,” Jungkook answered blandly, “Kinda?”

“Kinda?”

“Yeah, it’s mine,” he cleared his throat, helping you carry your bag down to the room before bringing you back up to the galley, “I used to be on a sailing team when I was in school and after I graduated I got this for my friends and I.”

“Nice,” You looked around, still in shock at the size of the sails. It was a Beneteau Oceanis 48 with such a sleek, clean look you were scared to sit on any part of it. You wanted to ask how much it was but resisted the urge to, scared you’d sound rude.

Still half asleep, you watched Jungkook set sail behind the wheel, his jacket already off and the sleeves of his linen shirt.

“Sleep a little, we’ve got time,” he said lastly.

It went easy between you two, you felt comfortable and for some reason safe with him enough to letyourself relax around him. You can't remember falling asleep but at some point you had and when you were woken up it was with him dropping anchor in the middle of the open sea.

The waves were calm, breathtaking deep blue and you could see the line of gold separating the ocean from the sky. It was beginning to warm up but you still shivered in your thin sweater, looking up feeling awestruck by the view.

"Look who's finally awake," Jungkook said softly as he secured the wheel and came over to where you sat. He grabbed his jacket — that he had grown too hot for — and placed it over your front. You took in the light scent of his cologne that lingered on the Northface and thanked him, "You said I could sleep."

"I know," he sat across from you, looking at you with a gentle look on his eyes, "I did wake you up pretty early, but look at the view. Do you like it?"

"Yeah, it's nice," You leaned against the edge of the seat, staring down at the dark navy blue water, almost catching your reflection in it. The line of gold was beginning to widen and a circle of light was bouncing off the ocean beautifully. "If you plan on pushing me over the edge, now's the time."

"You're dumb," he laughed, kicking your foot with his playfully. You smiled, trying not to laugh as you looked at him, "Aren't you cold?"

"No, it's hard work getting a sail boat out and I was starting to sweat," Jungkook lifted an arm, flexing it, "But these guns never fail me."

"That's too bad, I was hoping you'd want to keep me warm but I don't want you to overheat," You teased, looking at him invitingly and his eyes shifted to the open space next to you. To set it off, you even winked.

"You know what, now that you mention it, being surrounded by this sea breeze is making me a little chilly," Jungkook pretended to shiver as he got up.

"The sun's rising, I'm sure you'll warm up again really soon," You said as he sat next to you, touching your leg and making you put it on his lap.

"Who knows, I'm suddenly freezing, come closer," he rested his arm on the back of your seat, pulling you onto his lap, "I heard body heat is good to warm up."

"You can always just put your jacket on," You pretended to argue making him roll your eyes, almost sassily.

"But you look so much better in it," He brushed hair out of your face that the wind blew over, finger softly tracing the side of your face.

"I hate to admit this but... you're too good to be true," You said honestly, shifting your gaze away, "Like, too perfect."

"But I'm not," Jungkook argued quietly, "I'm just... I don't know, I'm not acting like myself—or maybe I am and haven't realized it but I think it's you. I want to impress you."

You didn't know how to respond but he didn't mind. He was more focused on the soft glimmer in your eye as you watched the sky turn a powder blue with orange, hearing the seagulls and light whooshing sound of the sails.

It's bad how affected you're leaving him and you don't even know it.

"Y/n," Jungkook tried getting your attention again, leaned his head against your shoulder. You didn't have to say anything to know what he was asking. The first soft brush of his lips against your jaw had you succumbing to his effect. He tilted your chin with the tip of his fingers, catching your lips with his, finally.

How do you describe it?

How do you explain how soft and tender his lips felt? How his fingers grazing your skin sent a shiver down your spine and how he was surprisingly very loving with his affection?

This man who you barely knew and trusted too much was making you melt in his arms, kissing you and making it feel like you've never been kissed before.

"This is bad," he mumbled against your lips, pulling back to catch his breath, eyes still closed, "I really like you."

You gave him one quick peck of a kiss, sitting up, "Tell me all about it then."

Jungkook couldn't he'll but crack a grin, licking the taste of you off his lips. He wouldn't be able to shut up if he did.

You're beautiful, stunning, truly.

Even with your face in sand or your hair a mess, a scowl or pout, just beautiful to him. It was so stupid for him to be swayed by that but it's obviously what pulled him in first.

You were so mean—he thought, at least—but it never stopped him from approaching you. It's like he knew it wasn't your intention to come off so cold and when you'd joke back with him, he could see the hint of mischief in your eyes. It made him want to push your buttons or say something he knew would get a reaction from you.

You're different and he wishes it didn't sound so stupid like he knew you would think if he ever told you but you are. You're like no one he's met—really met, beyond surface level interests or habits. You responded differently, looked at him differently, treated him different.

"I won't shut up if I do," he said honestly, "Can't I just show you, instead?"

"How suggestive," you giggled, letting him kiss you again. There was more force to it this time, like he really meant it. The first one was firm and teasing, really testing the waters when his hand disappeared into your hair to keep you from pulling away.

You were spending the golden hour of the late sunrise with Jungkook sailing on a boat in the ocean. The view was amazing and his lips were so soft.

His lip ring is surprisingly warm when it brushes your lips, and his tongue feels slick against yours. He held you closely making you feel secure and safe [?], and at one point you made it onto his lap, practically straddling him.

You pressed closer to him eagerly and the movement makes his hands travel toward your hips for support, his jacket long forgotten on the floor. The seat was hard underneath him but if he mentioned it you might pull away and that's the last thing he wanted in the moment. Jungkook liked kissing you, he liked feeling your lips trail down his jaw and toward his neck where you didn't shy away from leaving open mouth kissed against his Adam's apple or under his ear.

"Y/n—" his hands circled around you tighter, "Have you gotten a good look at the cabin?"

Your brows furrowed momentarily, looking down the short steps to the cabin door where a big bed was seen through the window, "No, want to show me?"

You began to get up from Jungkook's lap, making his hands slide off down your hip, leading you to the cabin.

Jungkook wasn’t as subtle as he hoped to be when he pressed you into his chest, peppering your shoulder with light and teasing kisses taking you further into the room. A small smile played on your lips when you turned to face him, circling your arms around his neck.

He didn’t question it when you walked him toward the bed instead, making him sit down as you kissed and straddling him once more. You were a good kissed and Jungkook could attest to that by the way your tongue slid between his lips to seek his out. It was a surprise for you to be so forward with him but he wasn’t complaining at all. If anything it made him want to take it further. He wasn’t shy with his touches anymore and you could feel his hands circle down to your butt, pressing you firmly into his lap.

It was hard to ignore his arousal from your simple make-out. It was evident in his shorts and it made you want to keep going. You began to rock your hips against him lightly, feeling his growing bulge apply pressure between your legs.

“Can we get this off?” Jungkook asked about your jacket first, feeling you miles away and when you unzipped it, you pulled off your shirt too leaving him breathless, “You’re bolder than I thought.”

“Is that a bad thing?” You asked, watching his fingers trace down your bare sides, looking at your bra and chest. His finger hooked into the hem of your jeans as if to teasingly ask if they can come off next and you gave him the go ahead, starting to unbutton his shirt for him.

“Never,” he sighed, eyes closing when your hands touched his muscular chest. His hands snuck under her jeans playing with your underwear and grinding your hips against his worn more purpose drawing out a small groan in the process.

When your hips began to move on their own, teasing his aching member, he leaned forward to kiss along your neck, finding your pulse points with ease and reaching behind you for the clasp of your bra to get it off next.

Your arms circled his neck, hugging his head close to feel his lips on your skin and moved your hips with more determined rhythm. You’d be lying if you said his kisses weren’t turning you on and sending shivers down your spine. Jungkook slid your bra off letting it hit the floor while you wrestled his opened shirt off his shoulders and hugged him in a kiss.

“You’re so sexy,” Jungkook whispered, kissing the soft mound of your breasts, “Even when I had you in the ground covered in sand that’s all I could think about.”

“And here I thought it was my personality that drew you in,” You teased, letting him finally turn you on your back beneath him. He pulled your jeans off leaving you in your small slither of panty.

“Trust me, it did,” Jungkook said, kissing along your thighs, “Hurt my feelings that the pretty girl from the beach couldn’t care less about me.”

“A real shot to your ego,” you raised your knees

Jungkook leaned forward to catch your lips in a kiss, hovering over your body, “It really was.”

A small gasp left your lips as you felt his hand trace down the curve of your sides, slipping into your underwear and feeling the soft slope of your nether region. Your thighs parted more, letting his finger tease your clit.

“I wasn’t too impressed in the beginning,” You joked, lifting your hips when you felt his finger begin to feel around your folds, surely finding where the slick began to puddle. He used the wetness to coat your clit, raising a light sigh from your lips there he swallowed in a kiss.

“I’m well aware,” Jungkook whispered against your lips. You rose your hips to meet his hand, finding some stimulation that made your body respond with raise bumps in pleasure, “What about now?”

As he asked, his coated middle finger finally pressed into your wet cunt, with his palm against your clit and grinding into it as he pushed his finger into the hilt. You dug your nails into his tatted forearm to ground yourself against the sudden feeling and holding back the loud moan that almost slipped. He smiled, clearly amused by your reaction. He maneuvered his hand around so his thumb could find your clit and with it covered in your arousal it made the slide so much easier.

Jungkook’s long finger slide into your pussy with slight restriction, curling when he pushed all the way in and finding that sweet spot that had your breath hitching and probing at it. You were at a loss for words and he loved it, it made him want to kiss you as he brought you pleasure with just his hand. He wasn’t even asking for a response anymore, he was just trying to tell you how he’s felt while he makes you feel good on an expensive sail boat in the sea.

The sunrise had long been forgotten and replaced by the thought of how good he made you feel and he was happy about that.

"Oh, fuck." You gasped, gripping his armas he hooks his finger at just the right angle. You didn’t even have to tell him that was the spot that made your toes curl, it’s like he just knew it.

"Like it?" He asked, repeating his previous action, kissing along your neck for added stimulation.

He could feel you on edge of orgasm by the way you pinched his arm but he didn’t care about the slight sting. He cared more for the glazed look in your eyes, walls tightening around his finger.

It’s like he knew exactly when the last push would be, and his pace grew more rough, ready to get you there and finally your body gave way to pleasure.

“Pretty,” Jungkook said softly, feeling your release around his hand, letting you ride out your high and pulling his hand back when you were ready. Your breathing was shallow and the sight of your breasts falling and rising with each breath was hypnotizing. When he pulled back, he couldn’t stand the constriction of his shorts anymore. Without thinking, he licked your release off his hand before yanking his shorts down along with his usual Calvin Kleins.

Jungkook didn’t say he was ready to go further, but you could tell just by the way his cock sprung free from its confines. It was pretty and long, not too think nor skinny and fit his physique perfectly. He stroked himself here and there for some friction but didn’t hurry you along. Instead, he let you catch your breath as he watched in awe at the fact that he had you in bed with him.

“Come here,” you motioned for him to come closer with your index finger and sat up, fully naked before him and getting him in the bed with you. Jungkook followed in a trance, kissing you thoughtlessly and nearly biting your lip in surprise when your fingers touched the tip of his dick, feeling the pre-cum that leaked from the slit.

You barely had your hand wrapped around his pretty cock, giving him a small jerk up his length when his fingers circled around your waist to stop you, “Not tonight.”

You tried to read the expression in his eyes but he just kissed you lovingly, “I want to feel you, all of you.”

“What a giver,” You said playfully, kissing the tip of his nose and laying back with him following after you. He held your legs apart, lining his cock at your entrance, “Can I? I’ll pull out.”

You gave a nod of your head, looking down as his cock pressed forward, aching to feel the tightness of your wet walls hugging him.

You’re not sure what came over you then, but the feel of his dick pushing past your entrance made you feel bold. Your leg hooked around his waist, pulling him forward and watching how his jaw went slack. Jungkook looked down at how eagerly you took him and his arms nearly gave out, eyes rolling as he processed the sudden pleasure.

You still needed a moment to adjust to his size and he practically fused himself to your body, trapping you beneath his muscular figure, “Fuck.”

His movements were slow at first, thrusting gently to find what felt good and what didn’t, running gentle hands over your breasts so he could feel the fullness of them. When he thrusted his hard length in, his thumbs were circled your nipples, pulling his cock out and pinching at them. Something about the leg you had around him drove him wild, feeling your territoriality over him even if there was a chance it meant nothing.

“Jungkook,” you moaned softly at a particularly harsh thrust, scratching at his back unintentionally, “Feels good.”

Something was happening inside of him that he couldn’t explain. He wanted to say things he shouldn’t, things that were too soon to admit and he had to bite his tongue to stop himself. The only other way he could stop himself from sounding like a fool was with his mouth on you and the closest thing to him were your perky nipples.

Jungkook never slowed the steady pace he set fucking you but with the added pleasure to your chest, his tongue circling around your nipple and sucking lightly, had you seeing stars. You’d nearly forgotten where you were till you looked out the windows, seeing the clear sky and the pretty water making this all feel more surreal.

Jungkook hugged you close, hand gripping your thigh and inching it higher around himself as he fucked you rougher, taking pleasure in bringing you close again and this time around he couldn’t bother being as gentle. He wanted to, he swears, but he’s so turned on by you that he couldn’t be patient at all. You didn’t even seem to mind when his hips slammed into yours, turning you to lay on your side, fucking yourself on his cock with more vigor knowing he needed release too, and let him manhandle you however he wanted. His free hand snuck into your hair, pulling slightly when he dragged you into another kiss and groaned against your lips.

Neither of you had to say anything to know you were both close, and it made you impatient. You moaned at the roughness, letting yourself get lost in the feeling unripe you couldn’t take it anymore, once again cumming with little control of yourself. He held you so roughly to his body, not letting you go as you struggled to catch your breath and you knew it was taking everything in him to not let go inside you. That’s the only thing that had you pushing away from him, trying to sneak a hand down to touch him but the second you did, his cock spilled thick cum into your hand, creamy and white. You wanted a taste badly.

Jungkook moaned your name quietly, feeling pathetic to cum so easily by your hand but he couldn’t hold back anymore. It took him longer to bounce back than you, and when he opened his eyes he caught you pressing a finger to your tongue, taking a small taste that left him shuddering.

“Don’t do that,” his voice said, raspy and tired tone.

“You did it to me,” You said, licking your finger clean, “And you made a mess.”

“Sorry,” he couldn’t help but pout, looking surprisingly cute to you even with his hair a sweaty mess and the afterglow of sex on his naked body, “Kiss?”

A grin spreads over his face when you lean in to kiss him, happily kissing you back more gently now.

“Would I sound wimpy if I said I needed a nap?” It pained him to even ask but he was suddenly so tired and relaxed in your arms. It made him feel unmanly to even think to ask but he couldn’t help it, he could lay in bed all day with you if it was an option, “We can worry about breakfast later—perhaps when it’s consider lunch or an afternoon snack.”

You laughed softly, snuggling into him further, “Let me at least clean up a little and then we can sleep for as long as you want.”

Jungkook smiled happily, letting you leave to the bathroom as he hurriedly tugged the bedding off. He wasn’t too worried about the boat, knowing he properly set anchor and the water was calm today. If anything the light rocking of the boat could lull him to sleep if you were in his arms.

“Are you sick of me yet?” Jungkook asked, watching you drift in and out of sleep as he drove away from the shipping dock. It was the evening and the hours spent in the open sun was exhausting, even with how sweet it felt. At least he thinks you might feel that way.

If he were being honest, he could still be with you longer. There hadn’t been enough hours in the day for him, “Or do you think we could still get dinner?”

“We can, but I need a shower, I’m sticky and sweaty,” You said absentmindedly, catching the way he bit his lip with a smirk that had you smacking his arm, “Don’t be gross.”

“I didn’t say anything,” He laughed, grinning as he thought about the way you said his name when you were naked in his arms, “But, I want to take you to my family home. My parents are gone for the weekend and it’s closer than my apartment.”

“Are you hiding your apartment from me?” You asked jokingly.

“No, but I live with Jimin and I want to be selfish and have you to myself longer so your place is out of the question too,” Jungkook admitted.

“And what am I supposed to wear? I didn’t really pack clothes,” You looked down at his linen shirt you currently wore, only panties underneath thinking you’d be going home after the eventful day.

“Something mine, you look good in what’s mine,” Jungkook said with a wink, “I’ll make us something nice—maybe get something ordered…”

“Oh I guess.”

You didn’t question the drive away from the houses lining the beach in his pick up truck. You stared out the window and watched the view turn more scenic would hillsides and small rocky edges, more nature-esque.

Songs played quietly that Jungkook would sometimes hum along too with a perfect pitch that had looking over at him from time to time. When he would catch you looking, he’d stop immediately and tighten his hands over the steering wheel.

He was nervous.

His family home was empty and he could go to it whenever he pleased but did he really want to bring you along? Open up another side of himself just for a few more moments alone? Did you mean this much to him?

Swallowing his nerves, he turned down a private road with tall trees and white gravel. It stretched on for a mile before ending at private gates. You sat up, slightly more aware of what was going on when he lowered his window to type in some code, hearing someone speak through an intercom, ‘Welcome home, sir.’

He could feel your eyes on him and he just smiled, “Wash up first?”

“Please,” You said, looking away, staring straight ahead at the colonial house that appeared in view. It was obscenely large with endless windows and greenery surrounding it making it all the more intimidating.

This is his family home, yours couldn’t compare.

Still, you tried not to question it.

Jungkook didn’t bother driving back to the private garage, he pulled up to the circular driveway by the fountain of a water nymph and got out of his truck, opening the door for you. It should’ve dawned on him that something was going to happen. The lights were on when no one should be home.

Still, he’s already brought you this far.

“Jungkook?”

His hand stopped at the handle of your door, just barely pulling it open but with little room for you to step out. You stopped moving instantly, watching the way he visibly stiffened, face hardening as he looked off to the distance.

“You’re here, what a surprise.”

“Mom,” he turned around immediately, “I thought you guys weren’t home.”

“Well, if you would answer the phone, when I call, you would know your father’s trip was canceled,” a women in a tweed Chanel suit and a tight smile stepped down from the entrance, “You’ve brought company?”

As if being summoned, Jungkook looked at you, motioning for you to step out and although you didn’t want you, you did—undressed and exhausted. The woman was stunning and classy like you’d never seen, somewhat taken back that she was the mother of the beach boy you’ve met.

Not to mention, it was too early to meet anyone’s parents. It made you sick to your stomach even as you smiled politely, “Hello.”

“This is Y/n,” Jungkook reached for your hand, “We were just stopping by.”

“When you thought no one was home?” She asked, making you look at him. He was grown, clearly, but still scolded and questioned like a child.

Jungkook didn’t say anything but you could feel him squeeze your hand when her eyes traveled over your barely dressed figure. He at least had on a t-shirt that was in his truck and his shorts.

“Why don’t the two of you clean up, we’re having dinner on the terrace,” She said looking unimpressed, “I’ll have a maid find you something more appropriate.”

“Oh, we don’t want to bo—“

“We have guests so don’t make a scene, I already had to make an excuse for why you wouldn’t be here, you can’t leave now. Even if you do have sudden company.”

That shut Jungkook up quicker than you’d ever seen. It wasn’t that you couldn’t catch on to what was happening, but more so you could wrap your mind around the reality of it. You moved almost as robotically as he did, sneaking into the house unsure what was going on aside from doing as told. He took you into his bedroom, pulling you in the bathroom with him and washing up. His entire demeanor changed and you didn’t know what to do.

“Should I go? I could probably get Hoseok to get me,” You told him honestly. You weren’t upset — not yet. As far as you knew, Jungkook might have a complicated relationship with his parents meeting the person he’s sleeping with, especially considering how recent things are with you. Neither of you are ready to meet the family, it’s just fun summer things. You’d say the biggest shock was that Jungkook seemed to be wealthy and likes to keep that private but does that make you worried?

“No, I want you here with me,” Jungkook said, swallowing hard and opening the door to his room, finding something folded on the edge of his bed. He handed it to you without much thought as he got dressed.

It was nothing crazy, just a light colored sundress and you had to dry off quickly so you could join him downstairs. Part of you wanted to call your friends but what would it mean if you did?

“What a surprise, brother, and I see you’ve finally brought someone new along,” an arrogant voice spoke up from the large dinner table on the terrace. It was a candle lit dinner with six guests aside from the two of you and you immediately reconciled a familiar face.

“Hello, sorry for keeping everyone waiting,” Jungkook said stiffly, “This is Y/n.”

“We’ve met,” Yeaun said when the others looked at you confused. Their greetings were bland and uncaring but you tried not to think too hard on it, “On the beach, right?”

“Yes, I remember,” You tried to smile, looking at Jungkook just as confused as everyone.

“Yeaun is a family friend,” Jungkook explained to you.

“An ex-fiancée,” His mother said coldly, making him freeze.

Why was she saying this?

“Darling,” an older version of Jungkook with salt and pepper hair said to his wife in warning.

“We’re on good terms though,” Yeaun smiled tightly, “Things have been changing recently, haven’t they?”

She asked you like you would know—like you were the reason for it but you were too stuck on what she was to care.

Ex-what?

“So, are you still going with the firm?” A woman sitting next to his brother said to him. That made his brother laugh, “He’s still playing around Jin’s auto shop.”

“Is everyone already eating? What about us?” Jungkook looked at you suddenly, “Should we get served?”

The firm? What firm? What fiancée? What was going on?

“Y/n, what about you? Are you new in town? Who are your parents?” The dad asked, making all heads turn toward you, a member of who you assumed was house staff, began to serve you and Jungkook dinner.

“Dad,” Jungkook tried to say but he didn’t get very far.

“I’m just here for the summer, I’m from the city,” You told him with a smile.

“How’d you meet?” Jungkook’s mother asked.

“On the beach,” You told her plainly. She didn’t say anything in response but you could feel the way her eyes narrowed at you like she was trying to read you. You weren’t lying or anything but it felt like she didn’t believe you. Under the table, Jungkook’s hand touched your thigh but in all honesty you didn’t even want him to touch you. It’s not anything serious, you were just confused and uncomfortable in this situation. He should’ve just taken you home or let you call Hoseok.

“A city girl, huh? You must have a big job, right? What do you do?” His brother asked.

“I’m in between work right now,” You said honestly, just as you had told Jungkook who seemed to be open to that idea and understood why. Sometimes, doing the same routine in a career you didn’t have passion anymore left you drained and you needed a change of pace. You explained this to him and he made it all feel okay so why were you being looked at strangely?

“So wasting your time over here is what you want to be doing?” His mom asked.

Jungkook took a deep breath, wanting to speak up but unsure how to do so. He obviously hasn’t told you anything but his relationship with his family is complicated. The added guests made it all the worse. Has he always been such a coward?

“That’s what it seems like,” You said bitterly, looking over at Jungkook with a cold expression.

You don’t remember much of the rest of dinner, only that you hated every second of it and how you just wanted to go home. You checked out of all conversations after a while and watched the tension between them with little interest. What you’ve learned is that Jungkook is good at keeping things from others even when he begs to know more himself.

The irony, it was annoying. By the end of dinner, you didn’t care to know what any of them had to say, much less Yeaun who everyone continued to remind you was his ex that they all loved dearly. They were saying it for a reason, like if you wanted to take her place and be with Jungkook who belonged to a group of people who won’t let outsiders in.

“Well at least she’s pretty,” you remember being told.

“I’m sorry,” was the first thing Jungkook said after dinner but you didn’t bother to acknowledge him. Instead, you led the way to his truck so he could take you home.

The car ride was so eerily silent that it felt deafening. He tried and tried to talk to you but you just ignored him, not caring at all for whatever might come out of his mouth and he can’t really blame you.

“You lied to me,” You said finally, staring holes into his dashboard.

“I didn’t mean to,” Jungkook admitted, “Everything I’ve said to you is true.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes and looking out the dark window, “Just take me home.”

“Y/n,” Jungkook reached across the middle console for your hand but you crossed your arms over your chest and shifted away from him even more, “I’m sorry, we should’ve just gone somewhere el—“

“Look, it was never going to work out anyway so just take me home and we can both go on with our lives because clearly we’re nothing alike at all,” You said bitterly, “I was just dumb enough to believe we are. It’s been a long day.”

He wanted to argue but for the first time since he’s met you, he’s left silent. He’s a coward, he’s aware of that now and it felt sickening to realize it finally. He’s always been the type to do what he’s told, follow the plan his parents have set out for him and this is the first time he’s realizing how much he hates it.

When the truck pulled up to the front of your house, he began to unbuckle his belt, quietly saying, “I’ll walk you to the d—“

The car door slammed shut in the middle of his words and although he knew it was better for him to give you space, he just couldn’t. He couldn’t let you walk off on him without trying to really hear him out—just let him get his thoughts together. As pathetic as it sounds, Jungkook feels like a kid again. He feels anxious to be ignored or scolded.

Without a care for gentleness, he swung his side door open to the large truck and got down to follow after you, “I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t realize they would be home and if I did I wouldn’t have invited you over. I just wanted to spend more time with you.”

“That’s not the problem, Jungkook,” you said back to him, “The problem is that you’re so secretive about everything and fine, whatever, you don’t have to tell me but don’t act like you want to know anything about me then if I can’t expect the same.”

You released a sigh at his silence, turning away, “Go home.”

Your front door slammed in his face shutting him out and he could see people staring through the window; probably overhearing everything and he wanted to disappear. When had things gotten so complicated for him?

He missed the days when he didn’t have anything to worry about but now that he’s starting to see the people around him more clearly, he’s realizing he doesn’t like it at all.

✧

It took you days to think about Jungkook again, mostly because you wanted to ignore him and he was making it easy for you. He has only messaged and called a couple times before he got the hint that you don’t want to talk to him and gave up.

You can’t tell if you preferred that or wished he kept trying but you had to move on. The two of you weren’t dating, you hooked up on a boat before realizing his family are pretentious assholes and wanted nothing to do with him now.

You know he’s not his family but at the same time these are people he surrounds himself with and if he was attracted to someone like Yeaun, there was no way he was into you too. You barely know her but you know enough to see that you’re nothing alike.

“What are you looking at?” Hoseok asked, looming over your shoulder.

“Apartments, I still can’t find anything good, I think I need to go home for a few days and do some in-person tours,” You told him with a sigh, scrolling through listings, sitting alone in the beach themed living room that looked fresh out of a cape cod magazine.

“It’s not a quick commute,” He said, “Besides, I already said you can stay with me till we find you a place, there’s no rush.”

“I know, but there’s nothing better to do,” You said with a shrug.

“It’s called avoiding,” Hyeri said, sitting on the edge of the couch, “So Y/n’s probably not gonna come back if she leaves now. You’re mad at Jungkook.”

“No, I’m not,” you rolled your eyes, “That’s over and I haven’t done anything but laze around all day. I need to get my shit together.”

You just want to go home.

“What’s up with you? You’ve looked mad all day,” Jimin pointed out as he mindlessly dug his feet into the sand. He’s dragged Jungkook out after days of not seeing him but his friend couldn’t care less about the beach or hanging out with him. He actually didn't want to hang out with anyone.

“Is it the thing from the other night?” Jimin asked like it was so simple, “Yeaun was talking about it, so you’ve introduced your new girl to the family and it didn’t go so well?”

“Jimin.”

“Yeah?”

“Are you really my friend?” Jungkook asked, sitting at the bottom of one of the net posts, squinting up at the sun.

“Are you kidding? I’ve been around since you were in diapers, you’re like a brother to me,” Jimin said with a laugh, “I just don’t agree with some of the decisions you make.”

“Like?” He pressed for more.

“I don’t know, I just think you have a lot going for you and lately you’ve been acting like you don’t,” Jimin said, shrugging, “You passed the Bar Exam a while ago and instead of going to your dad’s firm you’re wasting time at Jin’s. You don’t answer the phone when your family calls and you ignore your friends for…”

“Say it.”

“For some chick you don’t know,” Jimin scoffed, “I don’t get it. It’s always been you and I, Chaehi and Yeaun. Always. Since we were kids and suddenly you break it off with one of the only girls who’s been here for you and find someone new to entertain yourself with. It’s weird.”

“Asshole,” Jungkook rolled his eyes, kicking off the ground and leaving his friend behind. He wasn’t sure where he was going but he just wanted to be alone.

Were you really just some girl? Is that what everyone thought? Yes, things had been incredibly easy with you but did that mean you weren’t anything more than a fling? As dramatic as it sounds, every interaction with you has been probably the best he’s ever had.

You’re funny, pretty, smart, and so much more than he ever imagined. You pulled him in and pushed him away in the best way possible. Of course it’s been strange getting rejected but you do it in a way that tells him to keep going. You were always there to listen to his obnoxious flirting and when he did decide to tell you anything about himself, you didn’t judge.

He’s so stupid for not doing the same. He wanted you to open up to him because he wanted to get closer to you but he didn’t allow himself to do it too. It was unfair so he understands why you’re mad but he can’t stand it.

He wants to call you but would you want to listen?

Jungkook found himself walking toward the boardwalk hoping the bustling energy from midday was enough to distract him. He thinks you remind him of something different, being somewhere different where he didn’t have to worry so much about what he did or who he was with. Jimin’s right that lately Jungkook hasn’t been doing anything to be apart of his family’s plans for him. He’s kind of been trying to live in the moment and clearly that wasn’t so bad. That’s how he met you and besides, it’s not like he hasn’t been thinking about his future. He just doesn’t see it here in this small town where everyone knows his name. He sees himself somewhere far in the city where he could just blend in with everyone else and do what he wants to do, be with who he wants to. It’s you, it’s seriously you.

You’ve opened up his eyes a little and he hates that his lack of honesty has pushed you away. He can’t even blame it on the uncomfortable dinner because if he wasn’t such a coward, he would’ve done more. He can’t deny that there’s something up with him and he has no doubt in his mind that you have something to do with it. Barely knowing you has done so much more for him than the people he’s known all his life.

Your best friends wanted you to forget about your plans on leaving, knowing you too well to believe you would come back. You’re not the type to do so. If you set your mind on leaving, even for a short time, you wouldn’t come back especially knowing you could run into Jungkook whenever. Maybe you were a coward too because all you ever wanted to do was run away when things get complicated and the last thing you had wanted was for this trip to get that way too.

They dragged you out of the house for a late lunch that you weren’t even hungry for and as a way to distract you but it did the complete opposite of that. Instead, you were brought to that restaurant you came to with Jungkook and the same server who you’ve seen now talk with a girl Yeaun was always around. They were friends and it should’ve been the first sign that you would never get him. You were never part of the plan around here, you were a step back to everyone involved with him and it made you bitter.

How’d you catch the attention of someone so unavailable?

“Come on, I haven’t bought a single thing here, I’ve been too busy working on my tan,” Hyeri said, pulling you along behind her to a clothing stand of sundresses, “We’ve got a few more weeks here, I think it’s time I fit the vibe, right?”

“Yeah,” You told her, looking through the rack of dresses absentmindedly. You wandered away just a little, to a table filled with jewelry and ran your fingers over certain metals and gems. You weren’t thinking much on what was going on around you, too distracted choosing between gold and silver to notice the person standing yards away looking stunned.

For the first time in over a week, Jungkook has found you again, on the beach, looking as breathtaking as usual. After all you’ve been avoiding him, he can’t help but hesitate. Does he approach you or not?

“Y/n?”

You looked up, brows furrowed slightly at who stood in front of you, “Yeaun.”

“Hey! How good to see you,” She smiled her usual tight smile that never quite reached her eyes. Up close you could see just how perfect she must seem to everyone from her height to her figure and tone of voice. She usually wore gold accessories and bikini tops or dresses. She was your perfect ‘Girl Next Door’ but if you paid enough attention to some of the things she said, you’d see how backhanded it all seemed.

“It was such a surprise to see you the other night. I guess none of us knew you were with Jungkook,” Yeaun said it so casually even if you could tell she was prying, “Where is he by the way?”

“Why don’t you ask his mother? The two of you seem close,” You tried not to sound bitter but you’re sure your body language gave away that you were. You searched for Hyeri who was looking at dresses on herself in the mirror and Hoseok left to get snow cones so once again, you were alone in her presence.

“Yeah, sorry about that, our parents go way back,” Yeaun said with a wave of her hand, “It’s a small town, y’know. Everyone knew we were high school sweethearts and when we got engaged everyone was so excited. You can imagine their surprise when we broke it off—sorry, you probably don’t want to hear about this again. I’m sure Jungkook has said enough.”

“It might sound strange but he doesn’t bring you up at all,” You told her, failing to say how you haven’t talked to him, “I guess he got over it a long time before anyone else did.”

“I guess so,” her stupid smile once again, “I like you, you’re good for him and I’m sorry if his family seemed closed off. They’re kind of exclusive with who they bring around. They don’t want just anyone around their sons. I’m sure you can see why, Jungkook is perfect, right? A lawyer in the making, athletic, kind…”

“Silver or gold?” You asked, holding up two different sets of earrings. She blinked in surprise, choosing one and trying to carry on, “What I mean is, he’s the whole package so everyone wants him but he also has a lot of responsibilities. If someone isn’t able to stand behind them all and support him… maybe they’re not the right fit—especially if they won’t stick around.”

You didn’t say anything for a moment, setting the earrings back down and smiling, amused by her audacity, “Who broke it off with who?”

“It was mutual.”

“Doesn’t sound like it was,” You said with a smile, beginning to walk away from her, “But don’t worry, I don’t usually like competing for someone’s attention. I guess I didn’t realize you did, so good luck.”

“Meaning?” Her eyes narrowed.

“Meaning, you’re wasting your breath talking to me because I don’t care what you have to say,” You said sweetly, “But it was so nice seeing you again, hopefully next time we’ll have something new to talk about.”

With that, you left her behind, nearly walking past Hyeri on the way, “Where you going?”

“My phone’s dying, I’m going the house,” you told her quickly, continuing to leave before anyone else could run into you.

“What’d you say to Y/n?” Jungkook asked, pushing his way through the crowds of people, getting to the stand too late and watching you walk away.

“Nothing,” Yeaun raised her hands in feigned surrender, “I was just catching up. Why so worried?”

“Where’s she going?” Jungkook asked Hyeri, ignoring Yeaun who called for him.

“To the house?” Hyeri said, confused by whatever she missed but she couldn’t even ask when Jungkook practically ran after you.

You cut through the beach instead of taking the long route down the street. You walked farther and farther away from him but he never stopped.

“Y/n! Can we talk?” He asks, catching you by surprise but you didn’t even act like it. You merely threw him a glance before walking faster.

“I’m kind of in a hurry,” You lied, stepping over the grassy parts in the white sand where you could see more residential properties.

“Look, I’m sorry. I really am, I should’ve been more up front from the beginning but I swear I didn’t keep things from you to hurt you,” Jungkook said, not stopping his pace even when he can see your house in the distance.

“It’s fine, I’m over it,” You told him, not turning back again as you looked up at the back deck of your house. You still walked closer to down the shore than the trail but you would get there soon.

“But I’m not, I… can’t stand the thought of you being done with me,” Jungkook said honestly, “Since I’ve met you all I can do is think about you and I’m kicking myself over letting you find things out in a hard way. I don’t like the way you were talked to and I should’ve said more but I didn’t and I regret it so much.”

“Jungkook, I don’t care,” you groaned, whipping around to face him, “I don’t care that you kept things from me. I don’t care that there’s something seriously wrong with your family or your ex fiancée. I don’t care if everyone thinks I’m not good enough for you and do you want to know why? Because it’s the summer and I’m not from here and it was fun to fool around in the moment but it’s too complicated now. I don't want anything to do with it. Are you getting it now? I want to go home and forget all about this.”

“You want to leave?” He asked, getting closer and closer, “And what happens then? We just never see each other again because I didn’t mean anything to you?”

“I guess if that’s how you’re seeing it—“

“Bullshit,” He scoffed, “I don’t care how long we’ve known each other or not, you want me just as much as I want you but you’re letting everything else get in the way. I’m sorry, I don’t know what else I can say or do to express that.”

“I’m leaving,” You argued, stepping away, “I’m going back to my normal life and you can go back to yours. Stop making this a bigger deal than it was.”

“What if I don’t want to? What if I think you’re the best thing to happen to me in a while and the thought of you just leaving doesn’t sit right with me? What if I say I don’t want this to just be a summer thing and I will follow you wherever you go if it means I get to talk to you more?” Jungkook kept going.

“Oh my god, Jungkook. Open your eyes! Join the real world, please!” You groaned, too frustrated to bother getting away, “We still don’t know much about each other, clearly. You live in this perfect little bubble with people who care about you and have plans for you. Why can’t you see that? Why are you wanting to throw that away for someone you barely know?”

“I’m not mad, I promise,” You tried to say, “Our lives are just too different and I’m ready to go back to mine—“

Your words were cut off by the rough pull into his arms. Jungkook’s touch was tender yet forceful, dragging your face toward his until your lips clashed messily and you kissed him back. Like a fool, you kissed him too despite everything you were saying.

It made your heart race, practically feeling his want for you and unable to help yourself from succumbing to it.

He can’t remember how long the kiss was, but long enough for his chest to grow heavy with a need to breathe that he had to pull away. His forehead rested against yours, “If you still want to leave… okay. I can’t make you stay but I really want you to, Y/n.”

You didn’t say anything, knowing you did want to leave. At this point it was more for yourself. No matter how harsh they were, they were right. You needed to get your act together and stop avoiding the problems in your life and that meant you needed to go home.

“And I promise that I’m going to see you again whether it be here or somewhere else,” Jungkook said.

FOUR WEEKS LATER

Jungkook was enamored by city life, he’s grown to learn about himself. Something about the tall skyscrapers and bustling traffic excited him like no other while other people hated them. Of course he missed the beach, surfing, volleyball, his friends… but this was for himself. He needed to do something on his own even if it meant doing something unimaginable but it was for the better.

He misses working with cars but he knows better. He put all that work into law school just so he could avoid it and do something else and he needed that to stop. Even if he didn’t work in his father’s firm, that didn’t mean he couldn’t get his foot in the door somewhere else.

After you left and all his distractions were gone, he was able to focus more on what he wanted to do. He got on his laptop to look at internships at other law firms and one day, in his endless searching, he found a small office to work in. It was in the city and it didn’t take him long to pack up his things and go to it. It started problems—of course— but it didn’t stop him, especially knowing you were somewhere here too.

You’ve barely talked since you moved back but he still misses you. He missed you and him on the beach or sailing in the sea. He misses making you laugh or roll your eyes and he wonders how you’re doing. He kept in touch with Hoseok and Hyeri after you left and when they followed suit at the end of vacation, he wanted to ask them about you but he knew better. He knows you weren’t just a fling but maybe one day you’ll come back and give it another shot.

“Iced Americano?”

“I didn’t order one,” Jungkook said as he sat alone at a table in a nice cafe. He didn’t look up until the cup was set down in front of him and when he was ready to tell the barista it wasn’t for him, he froze.

“I know, you don’t really give me ‘Coffee Drinker’ vibes but I figured it was worth a shot,” You sat down across from him.

“Are you stalking me?” He asked, dumbfounded and confused but more excited than anything. He couldn’t believe you were here, at the same place as him by chance.

“Well, I was going to ask the same, this is my usual stop before work and I’ve never seen you here before,” You said, continuing the conversation with him like it never ended.

Jungkook couldn’t help but smile, “Well, you see, I’m new to town and trying new places since this is on my way to work.”

“Is it?” You asked, “You must live around here.”

“As it turns out I do,” Jungkook cleared his throat, “It’s a recent move but one I don’t regret.”

“How are you?” You asked with a shy smile and flushed cheeks, the autumn air beginning to take over.

“Better now—after this coffee I mean,” he teased, taking a sip and scrunching his face in disgust.

You bit your lip in thought, “Actually um, it’s good I’ve run into you. I think there’s some things we should talk about but I have to get to work soon.”

“Well I still have your number, and we can always catch up over dinner?”

“Yeah, I’d like that,” You smiled nervously, standing up, “Tonight?”

That made his heart race, “It’s a date.”

::.

holy shit that took forever for me to update

idk how I feel about this but also after a while I think too hard on my work and can’t look at it anymore so please lmk when you think

permanent taglist

most of u are new but I tried to include some of my old, active members of the taglist and if I forgot about u pls lmk <3

permanent taglist: @notmyfaultbutours @rerefundslocals @fandems @guvgguk @kimyishin @libra04 @saweetspoiled @babycandy111 @jeonninja @skzthinker @lilliankoo @lesoleile @burnahtsw @kooloveys @ku-ku @chaelvrx @whoa-jo @sunnikthv @kochycooky @acielelyseen @giselleswifeee @ilikeitlikethatt @bangmechanpls @lvr2seok @badbyeyoongi @artmsmaid @xyahrinx @angeleen777 @jooniesxbby @maryy1300 @annabtsangels @hyunjinswifeee @bangtans-momma @butterymin @kaiparkerwifes @junggukjeonfreakinwife @tridha345 @ily4jknity @ivygguk @ryuzakiswife-blog @futuristicenemychaos @honeybunnykoo @eunhee-jk @aindrila @cherrymoonlightt @parkinglot-nights @llallaaa @crooked-haven @butterflykpop @sakuragongju @ackward-maknae @investedreader @junggukjeonfreakinwife

[fuctacles]

Henderson's-brother-centered misadventures continue [Part IV]

[Part I] [Part II] [Part III]

Eddie screamed. Then, he screamed some more. Then, he got hit with a teddy bear, which bounced off into the floor, barely disturbing his mane of hair.

“You get a drop of spit on my pillow, and you’re washing all my sheets!”

He groaned, like a wounded animal. If animals could be wounded by their best friend’s disloyalty.

“No, dude! You can scream into your own fucking pillow! We can jam if you need, smoke or steal a beer, hell, I can even listen to you. But don’t just come here to stink my room with-” Gareth made a flapping motion in Eddie’s general direction. “Whatever this is.”

Eddie groaned louder before finally rolling onto his back.

“I fucking hate him.”

“I was hoping you’d choose jamming,” Gareth sighed. He threw his leg over his chair and leaned on the back of it. “You mean Big Bro Henderson?”

“Who else?” Eddie threw his hands up into the ceiling. His friend barely restrained himself from rolling his eyes. “He’s the most annoying person I’ve ever met!”

“Good thing you can’t meet yourself, then.”

Eddie glared at him, but from this angle, it gave him a double chin which severely decreased the look’s efficiency.

“You calling me annoying?”

“Yes.”

“I think the word you’re looking for is ‘lively’. Or ‘charismatic’! Or, or, ‘non-conforming’!”

“No, I’m pretty sure ‘annoying’ is the word. Also, ‘dramatic’.”

Eddie glared again, but since his position has not changed so hasn’t its lack of impact.

“How dare you,” he seethed. Gareth completely ignored it.

“So, what did he do this time? Give you more cookies?”

“No!” He had regretted the decision to tell him about it as soon as it left his mouth, but it was out there now. Well, the price of the blackmail material was listening to it first. “He just…” Eddie trailed off, realizing what he was about to say. ‘He let me sit in his lap for the whole length of Karate Kid’ was so much harder to explain than ‘he gave me an extra cookie for my good work.’ He scrambled to find a better approach. 

“So he’s like a therapy dog,” he started, because painting the scene is important.

“What.”

Wrong approach.

“Okay, so I’ve found out he has some issues, something to do with the Starcourt fire, I think? You know nothing of it, by the way, I probably shouldn't know about it. Henderson, well, the little one, just has a big mouth.”

“And so do you. By telling me,” his friend pointed out.

“Emerson, this isn’t about you,” Eddie scolded him. “So he needs extra physical contact or something. And he might have um…” Wrong turn again. “Engaged me in it?”

“Ok, hold on,” Gareth dropped his forehead on the edge of the chair’s back and rubbed his temples. “What do you mean by that? Because I know it’s not as weird as you make it sound.”

Eddie crossed his arms, which looked extra stupid in his horizontal position. He tapped his socked foot against the mattress.

“We were watching Karate Kid, and the couch wasn’t big enough for four people. Nobody else wanted to sit in his lap and I thought it would be, you know, funny, to offer. And he just said ‘okay’, and did it!” His arms flew up into the air again.

Gareth lifted his head.

“So you sat in his lap.”

“He put me in his lap.”

“Dude, you throw your legs all over me when we watch a movie!”

“Yeah, but that’s different!”

“How?”

“Because we’re friends! We play together and shit!”

Gareth scrunched his nose because while he knew of the wisdom his friend possessed (very selective and rarely occurring in the daylight), admitting him right was painful because the cockiness he possessed was probably far greater.

“Well, maybe he’s giving you signs he wants to be friends?”

Eddie snorted.

"No way. Not possible. No."

"And why is that?" Gareth raised an eyebrow at the adamant negation.

"I'm his younger brother's friend-"

"Who's his age."

"-And we like different things. I'm a freak, I like metal and D&D!"

"So does Dustin, and they get along well."

"They are brothers!" 

"Well, I actually hate my sister, it’s not a rule."

Eddie groaned.

"I don't know," he ended up saying, just to voice his internal frustration. At least he was facing the ceiling now and not Gareth's pillow.

He hummed, considering his friend, trying to understand his problem, to even locate it.

"Okay, so you don't like that he's nice?"

"Yes."

"... You want him to be mean?"

"... Yes? Maybe?"

Gareth hit his head against the chair. 

"This whole conversation is lost on me."

When he looked up he met Eddie's eyes, a storm brewing behind them.

"I don't want to like him. But he makes it hard not to because he's so nice."

‘He treats me like I'm normal, like his equal’, went unspoken but Gareth could hear it anyway. It was time to end the questions for the day because getting any deeper into his friend's psyche could trap him like quicksand. 

"And then I go to apologize and end up talking about BDSM of all things!"

"Nope!" Gareth straightened up and hopped out of his chair. "We're going to the garage, so I can't hear you over the drums."

"What a best friend you are," Eddie grumbled but rolled off the bed regardless. He was secretly glad for an excuse to stop talking about Henderson because he started getting lost in his thoughts and feelings himself.

The next time he sees Steve, he doesn’t make it any easier. They see each other only in passing, and the older brother doesn’t give him more than a weak smile and a "Hi, Eddie. Dustin's upstairs," before leaving.

Eddie walks up to his friend's room thoroughly confused. 

"What was that about?" he asks instead of a greeting. He never greets his friends properly these days, but there are more important things like ‘hi’s and ‘hello’s.

"What was what about?"

"Steve," Eddie frowns like it explains everything. And apparently, it does.

"I think he's still upset after last time."

Eddie blinks.

"I said I was sorry!"

Dustin rolls his eyes.

"Sorry doesn't solve everything. It's like a," he snaps his fingers looking for a good comparison. "Like one of the spell components. It's not gonna work without all of them."

Guess he is casting Charm Person after all.

"Okay, but like. What are the other components?"

Dustin just shrugs.

"Hell if I know."

Eddie was burdened with the most unhelpful friends. 

"What do you do when you upset him?"

Dustin's first instinct is to protest, probably point out what a great little brother he is, but one stern look from Eddie makes him shut his mouth and reconsider his words.

"Well, if I made him upset, I'd help him with dinner, make him coffee or tea, pick a movie I know he'd like. Help out with chores, mostly. He does too much by himself." The frown on his face is deep like the mystery of Steve's adoption and Eddie mirrors it.

"This sounds all great when you're brothers, but I'm not a Henderson, how am I supposed to pull that off?

"You helped with dinner once, you could do it again," 

Eddie sighs, long and suffering.

"I guess…"

"Great! Steve has left to get groceries and is making dinner later, I'm sure he'll appreciate the help!" He grins, knowing full well he just backed his friend into a corner.

Eddie sputters when he realizes that. 

“What? Today?”

“No better time than the present.” Dustin shrugs smugly, like it was a universal law they can’t help but follow.

Eddie bristles, because, yeah, true, but…

“I'm not mentally prepared," he complains. 

"For what?" Dustin raises his brows in this annoying way of his. "Cooking?"

"You ate my mac and cheese, you understand the severity of the situation!" he yells, accusingly pointing a finger at him.

"Ate is a big word, I spat it out. And calling it mac and cheese is also a big word."

"Exactly!" Usually Eddie didn't like his abilities slandered like that but on the rare occasion when it served his purpose… 

"Steve's first casserole was also inedible," Dustin shrugs and Eddie tries to picture Mr. Perfect Housewife fucking up a dish. "You have about an hour to mentally prepare before he's back though. You can spend it finishing your readings."

Ah, right. The mundane purpose of his visit was schoolwork.

Eddie groans. He can only hope the tragic stories of holocaust victims will set him in the right mind for cooking with Steve.

They don’t. He's heavily unprepared for the confrontation when they're running down the stairs to help with the bags. 

When Steve's instructing them which things he needs and which can be put away, Dustin elbows his friend in the ribs, hard. He hisses in pain, attracting Steve's attention.

"You staying for dinner?" he asks before Eddie can say anything. 

"Uh, if I can help with it, then yeah," he says, feeling Dustin’s annoying beady eyes on himself.

Steve frowns at him.

"You don't have to do that, I’ve told you before."

"Yeah, but I'm done with my work for today," Eddie adds under the menacing gaze. "And my cooking skills need some guidance. Wayne is too old to stomach my food, he can't risk another food poisoning,” he babbles, earning himself a snort from Steve. 

“Okay, if it's that bad,” he agrees finally,  the smile Eddie has gotten used to once again on his face. "But you'll be under strict supervision."

"Of course!"

"Okay, you already got yourself a kitchen slave, so I can go finish my work," Dustin speaks up before promptly disappearing, only the sound of his rushed retreating steps left.

"Guess we're alone then," Steve comments, giving Eddie an odd look. He thought he was used to those but Steve's were always hard to decipher. Not the exact kind he usually got.

He clears his throat to dislodge the weird feeling clogging it up.

"So, what are we cooking today?"

Steve hums, looking at the ingredients before him.

"You ever cooked soup?"

"Uh, I assume you don't mean the instant kind?"

Steve makes a disgusted face, fake gags for a good measure too.

"Soup it is then. It's getting colder, and I'm sure Wayne would appreciate it," he says, eyeing Eddie questioningly, and this one he deciphers easily.

"My uncle,” he explains. "I live with him."

To his surprise, Steve smiles warmly.

"Wanna make some extra you can heat up for him?"

"That's-" Eddie's taken aback, which doesn't happen to him often. "That would be very nice, thank you."

"It’s nothing. He should know his nephew is spending his time productively."

"I'm always productive," he mutters back a complete lie. But he's been trying, okay?

"I know," Steve says, surprising him again. "Maybe I want to get on your uncle's good side too."

Eddie doesn't ask why. Doesn't want to know. Doesn't speculate. Just leaves it be, bugging him for the time being.

"I was thinking fritters too? Since they're easy to heat up later."

Eddie nods, watching him sort through the vegetables.

"Whatever you say, chef."

Steve instructs him through the soup preparations first, explaining it needs more time to cook. 

“I hope you don’t mind veggie broth. El didn’t like chicken and we kinda got used to it. Also, it’s cheaper,” he says, watching Eddie pour water over the vegetables arranged in the pot. 

He puts the pot on the burner and looks up.

"Who's El?"

"Dustin's friend. She moved to California though," Steve answers with a frown.

"That's a bit of a drive."

"Yeah," Steve scrunches his nose, then looks back into the pot, before reaching for a box of seasoning.

"Ok, now for the fun part."

Eddie has no idea how seasoning a pot of vegetable water can be fun, but he's not about to argue. He follows instructions and marvels at the amount of weird plants that could be added to food. 

"I feel like a witch," he whispers, tossing dried herbs into his cauldron.

Steve chuckles.

"You kinda look like one."

Eddie side-eyes him from his position over the pot.

"I hope that's a compliment."

"Oh, it is," Steve says in a weird voice and Eddie is too afraid to look at him. He flips through the seasoning packets instead, reading unfamiliar names.

"Okay, so this needs a couple of hours to cook, you'll know when it starts getting together from the smell. Then we'll blanche the onions and garlic, add the tomatoes, blend it all, and it's done. Now we can work on the fritters. Have you done them before?"

Eddie thinks about it for a moment.

"I saw my uncle make them."

"Potato ones?"

"Uh, yeah? Are there more options?" he asks, eyebrows drawn together.

"Apparently, yeah,” Steve rolls his eyes. “A fritter is technically anything you can grate, slap together and fry in a pancake-ish shape."

"Huh. I've learned so much today already."

Steve laughs. 

"So, what do you want in the fritters?" he asks and Eddie is ridiculously giddy about having a choice.

"Can we put meat in them?"

"Yeah, I've made them with bacon before."

Eddie's eyes sparkle.

"Potatoes with bacon and cheese?"

"Holy shit,” Steve groans. “Claudia's gonna kill us, but it sounds so good." He ponders on it for a moment. "We could add corn to pretend there are vegetables in them."

"Ketchup is a vegetable," Eddie points out and Steve bristles. 

"We're not eating them with ketchup!" he protests. "But… we could use some of the tomatoes to make a sauce."

Eddie never thought cooking could be this fun.

"Yesss!"

"You're way more excited than I thought you'd be," Steve observes, grabbing the potatoes to wash.

"I'm a growing boy, of course I'm excited about food. Besides, we're like two alchemists; mixing up stuff to make other stuff."

Steve laughs again.

"Are those the guys who tried turning metals into gold?"

"Precisely!"

He's tasked with peeling the potatoes while Steve puts bacon in the oven. He’s  never good at it, and he huffs angrily when Steve joins him and gets through three potatoes while he peels one. What's worse, he can see him watching and his fingers twitching.

"Okay, I can see you itching to correct me. Just do it."

"You sure?"

"Yeah man, unless you have some disease I could catch, I'll be fine."

Steve winces and Eddie has a lightning-fast memory of a rumour that gays spread a deadly disease. But Steve isn't gay, probably, and it's just a rumour.

Steve is still haste when he rearranges his fingers on the peeler and takes his hand away like touching him burns.

Eddie frowns. Well, that's not gonna cut it.

"Like this?" he asks, making a motion he knows is wrong.

"No, like-" Steve reaches out and hesitates. 

"I don't have cooties, come on."

Steve presses his lips together and wraps his hand around his. He has to move closer too, crowding Eddie's side. 

"Like this," he says, whispers really, pushing his hand in the right motion.

This suddenly feels more obscene than it is, but Eddie’s half tempted to push it further.

"Your hands are weirdly soft. Do you steal Robin's hand cream?" he asks instead.

Steve huffs at the backhanded compliment and retraces his soft, big hands.

"No, I have my own."

"Hmm." Eddie cocks his head, looking him up and down. "Should have guessed."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Steve asks with a frown, but he can tell the anger is played up. 

"Nothing," Eddie shrugs. "You just look like someone taking care of himself." 

Steve keeps looking at him like he is not sure if he should be offended or not so Eddie helps him out by rolling his eyes. 

“Don't worry, I judge you more for your music than your hygiene.”

“Of course,” Steve huffs. “You wouldn't know much about hygiene anyway, would you?” he teases with a smirk.

Eddie gasps.

“Are you implying trailer trash don't clean themselves?” he asks, eyes wide and offended. 

“What? No!” The smile vanishes instantly from his face. “Of course not!” Steve scrambles to defend himself. But then, he cocks his hip and crosses his arms.

“You know what? No. I stand by it. Your hair needs proper care, not whatever 3 in 1 you treat it with,” he says. 

“5 in 1,” Eddie corrects him smugly. 

“Five?”

“Hair, body, face, beard and ass,” he lists on his fingers, earning himself a look of disgust from Steve. 

“For that alone, you’re washing your hands again.”

Eddie knows he doesn't have to, but complies anyway. Whatever makes the big Henderson happy. And consecutively, the little Henderson. And somehow, Eddie himself.

By the time the sun starts setting, he’s gained some valuable culinary knowledge, including the fact that as a cook, he gets to taste the dishes all the time. His growing boy tummy is satiated with a stolen strip of bacon and one of the test fritters he’s munching on, when they hear the door unlock.

“I’m home!” a woman’s voice calls out. Eddie freezes.

“We’re just finishing dinner!” Steve calls back while the man next to him shrinks on himself, looking up at him and wondering why he isn’t being pushed into a closet like a secret paramour. 

“Your mom is here?!” he seethes through his teeth, eyes jumping from Steve to the door. 

“Well, yeah?” Steve raises an eyebrow. “She lives here?” 

“But why am I here?!”

Was Steve this stupid or did he not grasp the severity of the situation?

“You’re cooking? Staying for dinner? Studying? The fuck do you mean man?” he answers, more or less matching his volume.

“Mothers hate me!” Eddie reminds him helpfully, making Steve only roll his eyes with a huff.

“Claudia likes you.”

“She never saw me,” he reminds him. Because as soon as any of the suburban moms caught a whiff of his metal vest, his dark clothes and long hair, he felt disgusted eyes on his back. 

And when the Satanist drug dealer rumours reach them? Things only get worse. 

“Dude-”

“Oh, hi boys!” A tired-looking blond woman enters the kitchen. Her smile doesn’t waver despite Eddie’s presence, meaning she must have seen some shit in her life. “You didn’t tell me we’ll have a guest today.”

Steve steps in before he can put his foot in his mouth, laying his big warm hand on his shoulder. 

“Eddie finished his work early and wanted to help in the kitchen. Hope that’s alright.”

At the mere thought it wouldn’t be, Eddie’s stomach twisted. 

“Of course! The more, the merrier!” Claudia smiled, still seemingly genuine, before stepping closer and extending her hand.

“Nice to finally meet you, Eddie. I’ve heard a lot about you from my boys.”

Steve’s hand is still on him squeezing minutely to remind him to shake Claudia’s hand.

“Likewise.” He smiles to his best ability, unable to remember the last time he was friendly with someone's parents. Except Gareth's, maybe.

“What did boys make?” she asks, sniffing the air and trying to peek over his shoulder.

“Tomato soup, like you asked, and some fritters.”

“With veggies, I hope?” She squints at her oldest (newest?) son.

“There’s corn in them, and we made a tomato sauce.” He smiled brightly and Eddie could tell he was happy to play the good kid role. 

“Good. I’m gonna change and get back to you,” she says before disappearing upstairs, probably to harass the younger Henderson now. 

“Why was she so nice?” Eddie muses, half to Steve, half to himself, half to the universe in general. Wait, that's three halves. Well, he didn’t fail school because of his great math skills.

“She's always nice.” Steve steps away to work on the next batch of fritters.

“Not to me! Mothers hate me! I bet she’s just pretending but as soon as I disappear, you're gonna hear all about it!”

“Hey!” Steve turns back towards him, frowning. And uh-oh, he upset him again. On his reverse-upset mission. “Claudia’s not some uptight bitch like that. She likes all our friends and you're not an exception. Just because you dress differently isn’t gonna ban you from the house or get us in trouble.” He knocks him on the head for good measure. “You’re safe here.”

“Okay,” Eddie simply says, taken aback. Being welcomed somewhere was a feeling he still had to process.

“We're safe here,” was a soft addition he almost missed over his own loud thoughts but made him even more curious about Steve himself. 

User tags: @i-have-three-feelings @mblogs @awkwardgravity1 @imacowboy3 @just-a-tiny-void @clumsiluni @shotgunhallelujah @halfadoginatank @carlprocastinator1000 @irregular-child

[kinardsevan]

as we all know, i haven't really been doing @bucktommypositivityweek because I've been busy working on other stuff. but I still wanted to contribute, and I was feeling inspired reading people's additions for 'outsider perspective'. this was also a character study for one of my OCs.

so have this: -

colors

Wilder Gray was born to be an artist. Color was quite literally in his name. He was also gay fresh out of the womb, and god bless the fact that his parents had accepted that from day one, because otherwise he never would’ve stood a chance. 

Life had been easy for him, mostly. He came from enough money that his parents sent him to semi-private school for he better part of his upbringing. When they’d discovered his ability to draw and paint towards the end of elementary school, he’d been promptly enrolled in the Los Angeles Academy of Arts and Enterprise for intermediate school. Growing up in that kind of environment had fed his need to create as well as be surrounded by other creatives. It also fostered a very accepting community where he never felt out of place or like he couldn’t be exactly who he was. By the time he was in his twenties, enrolled in UCLA, he’d had several serious relationships. 

He met one Thomas Kinard at the age of twenty-five, fresh out of his graduate program with an MFA in interdisciplinary arts. Tommy was just about to turn thirty-three and had looked extremely uncomfortable in his skin as he sat down at a gay bar in WeHo. It would be weeks before Tommy would admit to him that he was freshly out of the closet, and that up until a few months before, the most he’d ever engaged with the community was through one night stands and the boy he had shared a secret relationship with during his five and a half years in the military. 

To be clear, Tommy had rocked Wilder’s universe on its axis. When they first met, Wilder wanted nothing to do with a relationship with him. he knew Tommy was still figuring out his footing with his sexuality now that he was out, and as much as Wilder was willing to be a friend through that process, he didn’t want to play the part of the boyfriend who helped Tommy experiment and get educated. 

Which isn’t to say it panned out the greatest for him. He watched Tommy engage in multiple relationships over the next three years, and he was jealous as fuck every single time. He hated Mike, the forty-five-year-old man that Tommy met a few weeks after Wilder had met him. That relationship lasted four months. Mike was a domineering dick who did a damn good job at pretending to be sunshine. Wilder wondered if Tommy realized he didn’t have to date twice-divorced men in order to figure out what he liked, but it also wasn’t his place to speak. At least, until he and Tommy met up on a random Tuesday, three and a half months into the relationship, and Tommy tried to lie to him about bruises on his wrists. Wilder was a lot of things, but stupid was not one of them. He’d told Tommy that night that he was capable of doing so much better, that he deserved better. When Tommy had questioned him—over half a dozen beers—Wilder had kissed him about it. 

Granted, that didn’t lead anywhere, other than far enough for Tommy to be confident enough to end the relationship with Mike. They were both single for a few months after that, but whatever Tommy was waiting on, Wilder wasn’t sure. He was still firm on his position about not wanting to be the person to help Tommy gain experience. 

After Mike came Leo. Leo came with a million and a half red flags. Leo came with love bombs and grand gestures, with one thing on his mind. As soon as he got Tommy into bed, he was gone. Tommy never really talked about how everything with Leo panned out, but Wilder suspected that it wouldn’t have gone much further anyway. Another night over too many beers, all Tommy would say about Leo was that he was ‘rough. Way too rough.’ 

Either way, he bounced back. Ezra came along only a few weeks after Leo, and Ezra was so, so sweet. And so naïve. He was younger than Wilder, and clearly still trying to figure things out about himself. However, Ezra also seemed to have stars in his eyes about how things were going to work out, while Tommy had lost most of his rosy view on his sexuality. It wasn’t to say that they didn’t have fun together. But Wilder could tell that Ezra thought Tommy would settle down with him, while Tommy just wanted to work out the kinks he’d gone through in recent months and figure himself out more. 

Ezra lasted two months. 

Charlie showed up in the middle of October, almost as though he’d been swept through along with the Santa Ana winds. He put a smile on Tommy’s face that Wilder was positive he’d never seen on his friend. Charlie was the boy from Iraq. He was also Tommy’s first real love. Wilder liked Charlie. 

Wilder didn’t love Charlie. 

It wasn’t that Charlie was a bad guy. Charlie clearly cared about Tommy a fair amount, although it was questionable whether he actually liked Tommy as much as Tommy loved him. The deeper problem was that Tommy looked at Charlie the way Ezra had looked at Tommy. Except, Charlie had done the  ‘make my parents happy’ way. He had been married, was now divorced, and still half-living in the closet. Wilder had warned Tommy against doing that with him, warned him that it would only lead to him getting hurt, but Tommy swore to him that Charlie had promised. Promised one day soon they would be out together. Promised they’d get to tell people the truth. Promised the kids would know him as more than just Charlie’s army buddy. 

Those promises went on for a year before Tommy smashed what was left of his rose-colored glasses. Wilder was there with the alcohol and the metaphorical stitches to piece Tommy back together. 

The thing was, by that time, he’d promised himself that he and Tommy were better as friends. That they’d built something strong enough to withstand the passing glances and the hugs that lasted a minute too long, the pauses when they pullled away where he could feel Tommy’s breath on his lips and it stirred something inside him that he hadn’t felt since he was sixteen and dating Danny Coston, sneaking kisses behind the fieldhouse while they were skipping out on PE. 

He’d loved Tommy too much by then. As his friend. 

As more than his friend. 

And then one night, over beers and a pizza, Tommy was telling him this story about a rescue that Wilder still thinks was absolutely fucking stupid, rocking a helicopter between cliffsides to rescue a group of teenagers who thought rock climbing without gear in Griffith Park sounded like a fun idea. By some miracle, everyone had been saved, Tommy hadn’t crashed the helicopter, and it had made the news. What’s more, Wilder had been the first person Tommy had wanted to tell him about his suicidal save. 

Wilder had to kiss him about it, of course. That shattered whatever falsehoods Wilder was letting himself live in at that point in relation to their relationship. Tommy wasn’t experimenting anymore, and he didn’t need an education. He was out, he wasn’t interested in keeping secrets, and he wanted something real.

. . . 

The first year was amazing. Granted, WIlder never fell in love with the danger of Tommy’s job, but that was fine. He was in love with everything else about Tommy. He loved his personality, his face, his body, his hopes, his dreams, his willingness to be Wilder’s model on any occasion…he just loved Tommy. 

Year two wasn’t as easy. They were settled, talking about living together but not quite pulling the trigger. Wilder’s career was doing really well. He’d taken part in four exhibitions in less than a calendar year and there was a lot of attention coming his way. There were offers coming out of Chicago and New York for residencies and some teaching opportunities. 

There was a bad fire at a compound. Tommy got second-degree burns and had pretty bad smoke inhalation. Wilder hoped that after that, maybe he’d rethink his career. 

Things got worse. 

Still, somehow they found their way through. As they came upon their second anniversary, it felt like they were reaching the other side. There were still offers on the table for Wilder, and he had floated a few of them to Tommy. In return, Tommy had fully supported the suggestion for a three-month residency in Chicago. He would remain in L.A. during Wilder’s time away, but it was good for Wilder, and as Tommy had said to him at the time, ‘what’s good for you is good for us’. 

Except, the offers didn’t stop at Chicago. He was weeks away from finishing his residency when he was offered the opportunity to take part in an exhibition in Texas. What was supposed to be a two week trip there turned into four months, and their anniversary came and went with little more than phone calls and the occasional flight out for a twenty-four or forty-eight hours together. 

After Texas was Savannah, Georgia. Then Charlotte, North Carolina. Then a month-long trip to Florida with a few guest lectures at FSU. Eight months into what should’ve been the third year of their relationship, Wilder hadn’t seen Tommy more than fifteen days total. And the thing was, the love was still there.

But they weren’t in love anymore, and he knew they both felt it. Tommy loved his job just as much as Wilder loved his. Neither of them were going to give up their careers, and they weren’t going to ask the other to, either. 

It ended on a facetime call, just a few weeks before their anniversary. There were tears shed, although it was more a sadness at the loss of what they’d hoped they could be than it was at the actual relationship. There were ‘I love you’s. And then there was silence. 

. . .

The first time Wilder meets Evan Buckley, he’s barely been back in Los Angeles for a week. He’s set to start a residency for the summer and then take on a teaching position at UCLA in the fall. He’s supposed to be meeting some friends for dinner when the blonde man bumps into him at the bar, stammering out an apology with full hands as they turn to face each other. 

Evan looks at him with a weird expression that Wilder doesn’t fully understand at the time. He dismisses the bump as equally his own fault and then turns his attention back toward the bar. 

“Hi, baby. Sorry, I’m late.” 

That voice feels like someone just poured a shot of Jack Tennessee Honey down Wilder’s throat. All the heat with none of the burn. As he turns back around, he spots a familiar head of brown curls just as the blonde tilts up toward him, and then Tommy is kissing the other man. Wilder inhales a sharp breath. 

The thing is, it’s been more than a year. It’s been even longer since he and Tommy were something real. But something about seeing him kiss another man still stirs something in Wilder’s chest. 

Still, he decides it’s not his place. Not here, and not tonight. He steps away from the bar and moves down some ten feet, around the corner of it and in between a few people. 

. . . 

“So were you going to call me?” 

It’s been three days. WIlder is standing in the middle of an aisle at Blick, trying to decide between Golden and WIndsor Newton acrylics when he looks up. Tommy has a basket in his hand, half-full with small canvases and a fair amount of Liquitex. 

“Hey, T,” he greets cordially. Tommy smiles at him and then steps forward, offering him a side hug. Wilder accepts it, tucking his chin over Tommy’s shoulder. “Good to see you.” 

“I had to call your mom,” Tommy states when they part. 

“I was gonna call at some point,” WIlder states a bit sheepishly. 

“You always go with Windsor,” Tommy comments, as though he can hear the argument in Wilder’s head. “Forget Golden.” 

Wilder chuckles. “Sure.” He’s quiet for a moment, reaches out for a tube of Windsor Newton. As he stares at the unbleached titanium shade in his hand, he contemplates. He tilts his head after a moment, glances over at Tommy. “So. The new guy.” 

There’s a glint of something in Tommy’s eye that Wilder hasn’t seen in at least five years. Something he saw once, after their first drunken kiss. 

“His name is Evan,” Tommy replies. He lets out a soft sgh. “He thought I was introducing you two. Had a hell of a time explaining to him that I didn’t even know you were back.” 

Wilder nods. That familiar twinge of jealousy throbs in his chest, under his heart. 

“You sticking around,” Tommy asks him after another minute of silence. Wilder glances back up at him. 

“Got a residency downtown,” he replies. “And then UCLA in the fall. So I’ll be here, yeah.” 

Tommy nods. “We should get dinner. Evan wants to meet you properly.” 

“Sure,” Wilder says again. What else is he supposed to say? They’re not together anymore. 

“Give me call when you’re more settled. We’ll plan something,” Tommy says with a pat to Wilder’s shoulder. He’s walking backwards then, heading back down the aisle. He shakes a finger in Wilder’s direction. “Good to see you, Wy.” 

. . . 

The second time Wilder meets Evan Buckley, they’re in another bar. He’s been in the studio almost exclusively for the better part of a week and had been dragged out by a friend with the promise of carbs—his fridge might’ve been mostly empty, other than juice boxes and pepperoni slices—but carbs is apparently at a bar that doubles as a pizzeria. 

He’s not following them, he swears. But he’s been waiting for ten minutes on his pizza while his friend is on the phone with his girlfriend when Tommy strolls up to the bar with his boyfriend—Evan? Tommy has his arm wrapped around the younger man’s hip, head tilted in and listening as Evan prattles on with very animated expressions. Wilder isn’t even sure what he’s on about, but regardless, Tommy is nodding along, clearly invested. 

When they make it up to the bar, some five feet away, Tommy’s arm wraps around Evan, boxing him in. There’s a grin on his face and Wilder notices as Evan leans back into Tommy’s body, turns his head and says something into his ear. Tommy laughs, loud enough that the tinkling sound of it carries in Wilder’s direction. 

“Four for Buckley,” one of the barbacks calls out. Evan raises his hand and the man steps over with boxes of pizza. At the same time, someone from the kitchen yells out, “Veggie with mushrooms, light alfredo up.” 

Tommy lifts his head at that, leans back from Evan just enough to look around the bar before his eyes eventually fall on Wilder. He smiles at him. A few seconds later, he’s up next to Evan’s ear, and then Evan glances over in Wilder’s direction. There’s a half-second pause where Evan seems to be taking him in before he smiles affiliatively at Wilder. Evan picks up the pizzas and Tommy switches the arm he has around Evan’s waist as they stride over. As they reach him, another person is settling Wilder’s pizza in front of him. 

“So do you just hang out at all the best bars in LA,” Evan asks when they reach him. 

“Honestly, I’m usually locked up in the studio,” Wilder replies. He glances in Tommy’s direction, but Tommy is still looking at Evan. Still that look in his eyes. Evan moves a hand from under the pizzas and extends it. 

“Evan Buckley. Most people call me Buck though,” he states. Wilder extends a hand to him, shaking it. 

“Wilder Gray.” 

Evan nods. “I know.” There’s an expression on his face that’s caught somewhere between a multitude of emotions. A look that falls somewhere between curiosity, understanding, and skepticism. Wilder looks him over, spots the emblem on his t-shirt. 

“You’re a firefighter,” he muses. 

“And you’re a multidisciplinary artist,” Evan replies. 

Wilder nods. It’s interesting. It’s like they’re meeting for the most cordial duel of all time, but neither of them have brought guns; just clipboards and pens. 

A phone rings, and Tommy glances away from them. A moment later, he looks back up. 

“Hey baby that’s Eddie and Chris wondering why we haven’t brought dinner back,” he states, giving Evan’s hip a light squeeze. Evan nods, although his gaze lingers on Wilder for a few seconds longer. He turns then, leans into Tommy. Wilder watches as whatever tension is left in Tommy’s body seeps away. 

God damn. He really wanted to not be able to like Evan Buckley. 

“See you around,” Evan states after a moment, glancing in Wilder’s direction again. Wilder nods at him. As Evan and Tommy walk away, Tommy’s hand still on Evan’s hip, his friend strides back across the room 

“Hey, what’d I miss?” 

. . .

A few weeks go by without any run-ins. Maybe it’s because Evan and Tommy find other places to hang out. Maybe it’s because Wilder basically lives in his studio (it’s definitely not that). Maybe it’s because of wildfire season (it might be that). Either way,  Wilder doesn’t see much social interaction beyond his friends occasionally dropping by the studio and his parents stopping in to drag him into the sunlight. Once or twice he opens grindr, but nothing promising pans out. 

It’s mid August when Wilder spots them out together again. Another bar, another set of drinks. He’s been flirting with a guy who introduced himself three minutes after Wilder walked through the door when he spots Evan on the other side of the room. He almost thinks about going over to say something, but there’s a look in his expression. 

Something that looks curiously like defeat. Tommy is standing next to him—Wilder could place that mop of hair anywhere—talking into his ear much like he was that first night all those weeks back. He tries to look away enough to not make Evan look in his direction, realize he’s being stared at. But he sees the way Tommy’s talking calms Evan, the way he leans into him. The way their communication wipes out the defeat in Evan’s expression and replaces it with a small smile. And then a laugh. And then before long, Tommy has Evan half tipped on the barstool, their noses and foreheads pressed together as Evan straight-up giggles. Tommy is laughing with him, and fuck. 

Wilder really wanted to not like Evan Buckley. 

But Evan Buckley isn’t Mike, holding Tommy hard enough to hurt him (although the way he fists Tommy’s t-shirt before he kisses him makes a different kind of jealousy stir in Wilder, like these two probably throw each other around a bedroom with ease, and he wants to see that). Evan Buckley clearly isn’t Leo, just looking to fuck Tommy hard into a mattress and leave him behind. 

Evan Buckley might be a little like Ezra, and Wilder isn’t sure how he clocks that. Except, there’s an ease about him that Ezra never had. Evan Buckley clearly wasn’t looking for an education. The love in his eyes was obvious to the entire damn bar, whether they wanted to know or not. 

Evan Buckley definitely was not Charlie. He was openly making out with Tommy in public, hands all over the man’s body in a way that Wilder could tell was at least partially to tell the world ‘this is mine, and only mine’. 

. . .

It’s an early morning in September when they run into each other. Wilder is definitely not prepared for an eight AM class, and he’s questioning why he agreed to take this particular one on, but there’s no option to back out now. 

He stands inside the café wearily, waiting on his order, when the door chimes with ringing bells and he glances up. Evan Buckley. 

The blonde is in a hoodie Wilder recognizes as Tommy’s. The Harbor Station seal is on the back of it with his last name printed across the bottom. Evan yawns as he walks up to the counter and grabs two coffees. Knowing the kind of schedules they work, it seems Evan is heading home while Wilder is just starting his day. 

Except, Evan stops in his tracks when their eyes meet. 

“Evan,” he comments softly, acknowledging the other man. “Or, Buck. If you prefer.” 

Evan shrugs. “Evan is fine.” A pause. “Wilder. Its…convenient? To see you.” 

Wilder lets out a small chuckle. He nods. 

Evan walks forward a few steps, as though he’s not going to say anything further, and he makes it about a half-step past Wilder before he stops, leans back slightly, contemplating. He looks up at him. 

“He still talks about you,” he states. There’s no jealousy in his tone, no anger. Almost like he’s just putting the information out into the universe. Wilder nods again. He stares at Evan for a moment and then tilts his head slightly, almost like he’s letting him in on a secret. 

“And he’s in love with you.” 

Evan stares at him for a moment, and Wilder isn’t sure if Evan has realized that or not. His expression doesn’t let on one way or the other. 

Wilder takes a deep breath and the corner of his mouth pulls up a little into a small smirk. 

“Tommy never once looked at me the way he does you,” he states. “Not even during the best of it all. And me? I couldn’t ever fully accept the job.” He pauses for a moment, contemplating whether he needs to say more. Even if he doesn’t, he continues anyway. “I found him when he needed a friend. You founded him when he needed a partner.” 

A smile pulls at Evan’s face. If he has anything else to say, he doesn’t get the chance. His phone starts to buzz in the pocket of the hoodie, and he stacks the coffees together before pulling it out, answering the call, shooting only half a glance in Wilder’s direction before he speaks. 

“Hi, babe. No, I already got it. I’ll be there in like five.” 

. . . 

It’s the first week of December. Wilder is exhausted, maybe even a little burnt out, but riding high. His residency has panned out into an exhibition, and it’s the opening night. He’s been bouncing all over the gallery, trying to greet everyone and talk to them, see what they do and don’t like about the work presented. 

A hand comes down on his shoulder as he finally finds a few seconds to get a bottle of water, and he spins. Tommy. 

“Hey, T,” he greets cheerfully, if not a little weary. “Thanks for coming.” 

Tommy nods, and they share a quick hug. 

“How’d you hear,” he asks. Tommy gestures off towards one of the walls and Wilder glances over. 

“Evan saw the listing,” he states. “Told all of our friends we needed to come support. He’s really obsessed with that picture of your nephews.” 

WIlder glances over at the picture. It’s a large portrait, of two children facing away from the camera. One, old enough and tall enough that he isn’t even in the image aside from his torso and legs, with his hand resting on the younger one’s head. The younger child is a toddler, leaning into his sibling’s leg with his arm wrapped around it. 

“I’ve been tasked with getting your price list,” Tommy adds. 

Wilder lets out a soft huff as a smile tugs across his lips. 

He wanted to hate Evan Buckley. He wanted Evan Buckley to be like Mike. Or Leo. Or Ezra. Or Charlie. 

He wanted Evan Buckley to not be like him, not love and respect Tommy the way he did. But then…

Evan Buckley isn’t like Wilder. Evan Buckley supports the people his boyfriend cares about. Evan Buckley doesn’t care that Tommy is a firefighter or a pilot. Evan Buckley clearly likes art. Wilder barely knows him, and yet he already knows Evan Buckley is caring and selfless. 

He takes a breath and sighs, glancing back at Tommy, watching the way he watches Evan. 

“You’re gonna marry him.” It’s not a question. 

Tommy shifts his gaze back to Wilder. It’s the slightest movement, entirely imperceptible to someone who wouldn’t know otherwise. The twitch of the corner of his mouth, of his eyebrow. 

“Forever doesn’t seem nearly long enough,” Tommy says softly. 

Wilder can only shake his head at him as he smiles at his ex-boyfriend. 

“Well, when you start interviewing wedding photographers, I’d like to at least be consulted,” he states, extending a hand to Tommy. Tommy laughs at him but shakes his hand anyway. 

“Sure, Wy. But you should know, Evan’s seen your paintings and he wants one commissioned.” 

“I’ll take that payday,” Wilder says with a laugh. When Tommy lets go of his hand, he pats Wilder’s shoulder, and then he’s off again, heading back over to Evan and the friends they brought with them. Wilder stands in his spot a moment longer, both hands on the waterbottle he still hasn’t had a drink from. He watches as Tommy’s arm loops around Evan’s waist, and as Evan leans into him. The way Evan points at a portrait and talks to Tommy earnestly about whatever it is he sees. The way Tommy is completely enraptured by Evan’s words, nodding and smiling at him with interest. 

The way Evan puts his hand on the back of Tommy’s head as he leans into him, whispers into his ear. How, when Tommy turns into him to answer, Evan looks at him like he’s the only person in the room. 

The way jealousy still lives inside Wilder, but not the way it was that first night. No, this jealousy is from the way they look at each other, the way Wilder only hopes someone will hopefully look at him one day. He finally looks away when the two men kiss, cracking open his water bottle. He manages to get a sip off of it before someone else is walking up to him.

“You’re the artist, right?” 

[tevanbuckley]

Do you think it's fair to say that Bi Buck was completely ruined by the fandom assholish strike of hating on every LI he gets? Pls don't get me wrong I still smile every time I remember we got Bi Buck but I feel like whenever I want to be happy about it I remember the complete bs people pulled to the point of trying to get the actor who plays Tommy fired. I feel so guilty because now I kinda wish it didn't happen at all. I am sad that this peice of representation turned into something void of joy because of how the majority of the fandom act (let's be real yes the show is popular with gp but the fandom consists mostly of buddies)

I think at the end of the day the people they’re most ruining the show for is themselves 🤷‍♀️

they’re the ones who’ve become so parasocially intertwined with a ship that they can’t see the forest through the trees. All whilst we’re getting to enjoy a queer storyline that’s not only good in its own right but genuinely has the potential to widen the boundaries of queer rep more broadly.

like we moved past just how monumentally insane it was for a network tv show to make their reformed fuckboy main character canonically bisexual 7 seasons in way too quickly imo.

and idk if it’s that the fandom is (at this point) mostly hardcore buddie shippers or if they’re just very very loud. The amount of bucktommy fanfic produced since 7.04 alone is crazy and speaks to their popularity.

I’d also recommend staying away from twitter/tiktok with a 10 foot pole. idk how it happened but tumblr really has become the most sane fandom space. It’s also fine to just not engage with the fandom side of the show at all. 911 has been my comfort re-watch show for years and it’s only in s7 that I really got into the fandom. If this isn’t improving the viewing experience for you anymore then it’s okay to step back for a bit and just watch the show for yourself.

[lenacosse]

Pretty girls

pairing: amy santiago x female reader

cw: alcohol, mentions of vomiting, angst, cheating?

word count: 1,632

summary: it’s your birthday and the squad surprise you, but what happens when amy gets too drunk and takes it too far? you were practically in love with her but you knew where you stood with her. (based on pretty girl by renee rap. also tempted to turn this into a mini story..)

════════════════

“Okay just let me put this blindfold on you.” Jake says putting a blindfold on you and leading you through a door.

You trip over his foot and can’t contain your laugh. “Jake this is a disaster just tell me where we’re going.”

“No can do (Y/N), anyways we’re here.”

Jake takes off your blindfold, and suddenly everyone jumps out yelling happy birthday. You can’t stop the jaw aching grin that plasters over your face, you scan the room, all your friends and colleagues are there. You had said you didn’t want to do anything for your birthday, it was your first one without your dad and naturally that pained you beyond explanation. But standing here you can only appreciate the love you feel.

“Thank you Jake.” You smile and hug him, you knew he was at least partially responsible for this.

“Alright shots!” Jake shouts, making the entire bar of your friends erupt to enthusiastic cheer.

You walk to the bar and you, Jake, Amy and Rosa throw back a few too many shots, but that was for tomorrow to regret.

“Happy birthday (Y/N).” Holt nods, you smile and return the nod. Holt may be way too professional but you appreciated him these last few months more than you could explain, and he knew that.

═════════════════

A few hours into the night most people were beyond drunk, especially Amy who really let herself go tonight. Currently she stands on the bar top pouting tequila into peoples mouths.

“(Y/N)! Your turn.” Amy winks, you roll your eyes and put your mouth in level with the tequila. It burns its way down your throat and into your stomach, lighting up your system with immediate warmth. You felt a buzz of pure energy around you tonight, you couldn’t explain how grateful you really were.

Even Terry is enjoying himself tonight, and of course Gina has started a chant to get him to take his shirt off. You didn’t exactly expect him to do it, but the screaming of Gina and a few other women told you that he in fact did.

“Hey,” you hear from behind you, you turn to see Rosa. You smile.

“Hey Rosa.” Amy had gotten down from the bar, or in other words the bartender forced her down. So you sat on the barstools, Rosa doing the same.

“Happy birthday or whatever.”

You put your hand to your heart. “Rosa Diaz are you turning soft?”

“Never.”

You both laugh and order a drink together.

“Jake did a good job it seems.” Rosa says, finishing off her drink.

“Yeah he really did, I know you helped him. So thank you, I needed this.”

Rosa nods, “well we couldn’t leave you in your apartment. Personally that’s my ideally birthday plans but clearly not yours.”

You both engage in a conversation, Rosa must’ve really been in high spirits to actually have a conversation. Usually it’s complete silence, but you wouldn’t complain Rosa was surprisingly fun to talk to. That was until Charles came over and started talking about him and Genevieve’s colourful sex life which had you suppressing a gag and swiftly moving tables.

You took a minute to take in the night, Holt smiling caught your attention. You couldn’t help but feel uplifted by this. You loved your squad more than anything, and to see that they do in fact love you just as much almost brought tears to your eyes. A permanent smile was set on your face as you watched the conversations and interactions between others, you got so lost in it you didn’t notice when everyone gathered around your table and Terry walked out with a lit birthday cake. The awful singing filled your ears, but you could tolerate it for now. You blew out your many many candles that were on the cake, you could tell it was home baked, it was slightly wonky and questionably iced. It was probably Gina that made it, but you loved it even with its imperfections.

“Don’t tell us your wish! It’ll jinx you.” Amy slurred.

“I won’t don’t worry.” You response, she just giggles at you.

“Who wants cake?!” Gina yells, just taking a chunk with her hand. Jake then of course goes and does the same, you just shrug and let them have at it, after you’ve taken your own handful that is. Terry and Jake sit beside you, chowing down on the cake.

“I think Gina burnt this.” Terry says, you laugh as you hear the crunch of his cake.

“No it’s just egg shells.” Jake chimes in.

“Isn’t that worse?” Your face screws up.

“Probably.” Shrugs Jake, as he takes his next handful of cake.

“Keep my spot I’m going to the bathroom,” you say to Jake and Terry before making your way to the bathroom.

You hear throwing up and knock on the stall door from where it’s coming from. “Everything okay?”

“No.” Groans Amy.

“Open the door.” You reply and she does, Amy is on her knees with her head in the toilet bowl. You kneels down behind her and hold her hair as she finishes.

“Thank you.” She sighs and sits back against the side of the cubicle, you sit opposite her.

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” You reach into your bag and grab a half drank water bottle that’s been in there for god knows how long, you hand it to her and she happily drinks it.

“Having a good night?” Amy asks.

“Yeah it’s been nice,”

“Sorry for getting so drunk. I guess I was nervous for tonight.”

“Nervous? For what?”

Amy looks at you, her eyes lingering on yours. “I wanted everything to be perfect, for you.”

“I thought Jake planned this.”

“It was his idea but I done most of the planning.”

“Oh. Well it was perfect, thank you.”

“Of course. Anything for you.”

Your heart sinks a little as she says that, you felt like you had been punched in the gut. Anytime Amy gets drunk she’s all over you, every-time and you don’t blame her but it wasn’t the easiest thing to deal with considering you were practically in love with her.

“Are you okay if I leave?” You ask.

“No. Please stay.” Amy reaches to grab your hand.

“Okay. I’ll stay.”

She smiles and moves to sit beside you. She leans her head on your shoulder and you both sit on the sticky bathroom floor, you look at your hands. You try not to overthink the situation you’re in, but this was typical, the pretty girls want to kiss the pretty girls when drunk. But when sober they dodge the situation, and this is what Amy is best at doing. Maybe she was confused.

“You know you’re my favourite right?”

“Your favourite?” You furrow your brows. “In what way.”

“Well I don’t know, you’re fun and you’re brave and you’re… hot.”

“Hot?”

“Yeah for a girl, you’re my girl crush.” She slurs. “If I was going to, you’d be the one I’d try.”

You hitch a breath as she says that, Amy may have flirted with you or been questionably close but never had she ever said anything like this. You can’t help but feel extremely conscious of her gaze on your face, you couldn’t face her so you stared ahead.

“What about Teddy?”

“He wouldn’t mind.”

You wanted to roll your eyes, you wanted to tell her that she was out of order. But you couldn’t help the smirk that appears on your face, you knew if you kissed her it would shatter you. But for the moment being you couldn’t think rationally.

“Why are you saying this?”

“Because I’ve thought of kissing you.” Amy says, she grabs your jaw and makes you look at her.

“Why? Do you think I’m just an experiment?”

“I never said that.” Amy moves closer, your faces barely an inch apart. Your stomach drops as you try to control yourself. You wanted to grab her face and kiss her, but that wasn’t a good idea.

You close your eyes as she moves even closer. She presses her lips to yours and you momentarily freeze, that is until you kiss her back. You put your hand on her thigh, her hand goes to your cheek. You both get caught up in a moment, your lipstick smearing across her now swollen lips. She pulls back and smiles.

“That was nice.”

“Why did you kiss me?”

“I wanted to.”

“But why?”

“Im not sure.”

Your heart breaks a little as she says that, you stupidly thought she was going to confess feelings. But that was a preposterous assumption. You look down as you fight off the tears you feel forming in your eyes.

“Im going to go.”

Before Amy could reply you leave the bathroom the tears were streaming down your face as you pushed through the crowd and exited the bar. You sat at the curb side with your head in your hands, you felt foolish and idiotic. Of course Amy would never like you back. But you couldn’t help feeling so damn used, being the token lesbian enabled this idea that you were simply a trial run. You had let yourself get hurt too many times because of this, Amy didn’t understand the damage of her actions and you definitely weren’t going to be the one to tell her. But you swore to yourself never again would this happen. You sit outside for close to an hour trying to rationalise your thoughts before going back inside, no one noticed your running mascara or puffy eyes. So you acted as if everything was great for the rest of the night. Then of course in the a.m the pretty girls act like it never happened and you go back to being Amy’s friend.

[citrusella-flugpucker]

So, I've long held that I always thought Ralph Breaks the Internet was... adequate. Not good. Not bad. Just... okay as a sequel. And I think, catching it on Disney Channel today, that I've figured out why that is.

It's because every one of its big ideas could be an interesting hook or element in a WIR sequel on its own.

Vanellope feeling stifled in her role and considering going Turbo (and how that's both similar to and different from previous documented instances of going Turbo (i.e. on the Sugar Rush end, there's no reason the game will go out of order if she happens to disappear from the random roster))

Ralph becoming heavily emotionally dependent on maintaining his friendship with Vanellope and keeping it as-is, and having to work on that

Ralph going Turbo (though maybe not like he did to cause Sugar Rush to go out of order--and doing it again after the first movie would need care to not feel like a rehash)

The internet (though I wonder if the particular execution of the internet not being as interesting may have to do with Rich Moore IIRC openly not really understanding the internet, circa 2012/2013)

Sugar Rush steering wheel breaking/figuring out what to do about it

Engagement farming (that part where Ralph tries to get TubeTube views, though here I mean it more broadly in the sense of "trying to get people to engage with something"--I could even see the specific engagement farming of dated-by-2018-standards memes feeling funny and timeless if the person doing them was not Ralph; for instance, if Litwak (who's past middle-age by RBTI) decided to try to do some to increase foot traffic at the arcade or something lol)

Viruses and glitches (though like Ralph going Turbo, it would need care to not feel like some sort of rehash of Vanellope and the Cy-Bugs)

The B plot with Hero's Cuties as parents/parent figures to the Sugar Rushians

Not Oh My Disney, the Princesses, or... nnnngh... the Slaughter Race Princess Song™. They just really only "work" in a very particular treatment of the plot and would be uninteresting or bad on their own (at least in the context of a Wreck-It Ralph sequel--maybe they'd be fine in a different movie entirely).

But anyway, the problem, I think, that brings the movie down to "adequate", that makes me not enjoy it as much or feel the magic I felt with WIR, is that the movie shoves all of these individually interesting thoughts together in a way that makes it feel cluttered and unfocused.

In essence, the movie can't pick a lane, I guess is what I'm saying. It wants to do too many things, and the way it does too many things results in an experience that doesn't feel as nice as the tightly interconnected A and B plots of the first movie. Whereas if it maybe picked fewer things from the list (or even just one thing) that it was able to execute well, maybe it would have felt like a nicer experience for WIR fans in particular?

TL;DR: Maybe RBTI would have felt nicer as a WIR sequel if it tried to do... less?

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

I did not do this fast enough and now I cant find the emojis so im gonna try and do my best with remembering the fics you had:

🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨(That ending though. My heart was breaking and healing at the same time when Chris came in)

🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟(OOOOH Im curious to see who is showing up and also learn more about Buck and Eddie's journey!)

⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️(THEY ARE FINALLY MARRIED..in a great ceremony by the way!!!)

WOO! Let's do it!

30 for 🚨 (awww glad it resonated!!!!!!!!):

---

“I’m glad you’re catching yourself,” he says. 

Buck nods. Yes, that does feel significant. 

“Uh, I don’t know what you have in mind,” Buck says. “Or how difficult my past would make something like adoption. But if the question is, would I want that with you? The answer is yes.”

Eddie grins. “Really?”

“Really,” Buck smiles back. “That would be like… Like a dream, I guess.”

Eddie’s cheeks look a little rosy.

“Yeah, I, uh… I think so, too.”

iv.

It’s February and Eddie is looking at engagement rings. 

It’s not premature. He keeps telling himself that. As if someone is going to jump out of the woodwork and accuse him of exactly that. They won’t. Who fucking would? So he’s looking at engagement rings.  It’s been a year. A year since Eddie was buried alive and nearly drowned and kept swimming until Buck found him. A year since Buck held him while he pulled himself out of his own paralyzing terror at the thought of dying. A year since he changed his will. A year since they fell into bed together. Almost a year since they both declared their love. And Eddie is still so in love with him.

---

30 for 🧟 (answers to half of that this chapter!)

---

Eddie likes how light Buck seems. Like he floats where other people trudge. There’s a brightness to him, even among all the ruin. 

“Maybe things could be okay, though,” Buck says after a second. “Maybe we could all have good lives, you know?”

Eddie smiles, despite the corpse dragging themselves around outside his truck window. 

“Yeah,” he concedes. “Maybe.”

▪️▪️▪️

They make it to Shannon’s more easily than he would have expected. They don’t see anyone alive that isn’t zombified. No raiders or deranged lunatics. No danger beyond the obvious. Eddie imagines that there are people alive in Los Angeles. He imagines these millionaires and billionaires up in the hills, in those big celebrity compounds, could make an easy go of it. Well, he won’t disturb them. He just came for his family. 

They have to be careful getting out of the truck. The zombies may not be doing too well, but they still outnumber Eddie and Buck by a lot. 

“I’ve got your back,” Buck assures him. 

And maybe it’s because he was a firefighter, maybe it’s because he’s persuasive, or maybe it’s just because Eddie thinks he’s hot - regardless, he trusts him. They dismount from the truck, weapons loaded, safety off. Buck covers Eddie’s back, while Eddie mounts the stairs to the apartment’s entryway. 

Eddie tries not to let the fact that the apartment looks abandoned make him abandon hope. Sure, there are big cracks in the cement stairs up to the front door. And the glass door is shattered. Yes, what appears to be a disembodied remains of a foot sits off to the side in an overgrown garden. But surely, he didn’t actually think Shannon would be just sitting in the apartment waiting for him. No, he came here for clues. Clues to where Shannon might be. 

Buck keeps his gun aimed at a zombie across the road from them. It seems to be missing most of its leg and is laying, moaning, under a street sign. Maybe that’s where the foot is from. 

“If it gets closer, I’ll shoot it,” Buck says.

[kylorengarbagedump]

Playing Solider: Chapter 9 (NSFWish)

Read on AO3. Part 8 here.

Summary: You're really good at making really good decisions under pressure, especially decisions that don't forever alter your relationship with the one man who holds, at noosepoint, everyone you consider dear.

Words: 8800

Warnings: Naughty language ahoy

Characters: William Tavington x Reader

A/N: WHOOP there it is! I almost felt tempted to apologize for the time this chapter took, but I genuinely won't. It is obviously a monster and we were desperate to get it exactly how we wanted it. SO here you go!

This weekend we met Jason Isaacs and we're still kind of reeling from that. He's literally so handsome and unfortunately we are both in love with him? Sadly I hear tell that he has no plans to divorce his wife for a couple of random lesbians who write horny fanfic about him.

WE HOPE YOU ENJOYED, we genuinely are so grateful for every comment, it literally makes our day when we get them, to know that people engage with the story in ways we do! <3 We love you all so much, see you soon <3

Distant thunder churned the surface of your sleep. As you sat up, blinking against darkness, it softened to a roll. Suffused the ground. Became hoofbeats. Outside, men shouted.

A musket fired.

Leaping from your bed, you wrestled yourself into your skirts and bodice, stepped into your shoes, and ran out into the night.

The air tasted sharp, sweet with the coming storm. Through the blackness, torchlight bobbed against the treeline that edged camp, more shouts coming from its direction. You headed toward the noise.

The sounds of fighting swelled as you wove your way through a maze of tents, keeping low between cover until you reached the border of the camp. A supply wagon stood between you and the combat. You pressed yourself against it, peeking around.

Another musket flash cast men into relief, red coats clashing against blue. Your heart seized.

Continentals.

A shout, and a line of horsemen thundered from the trees, sabers drawing like silvered bowstrings across silhouetted necks. Screams rent the night, dark shapes crumpled to the earth. You could just make out the ripple of red and green coats atop the horses as Tavington’s cavalry peeled around to rejoin the regiment of foot at the treeline. One horseman circled around your wagon. In the dark, you just glimpsed his shape. The solid red of his infantry attire.

“Goddard!” you screamed. His head snapped to you, saber raised, eyes shining with terror.

He stuttered your name, reining his horse to a halt. “W-what are y—”

“What’s happening?” you demanded.

He glanced back up to the battle.

“Continentals waylaid us on our march,” he spluttered. “We tried to regroup but they—we couldn’t—” He ducked over his horse as a sparse musket volley crackled within the trees.

“So you led them back to camp?” you asked, incredulous.

“There was nowhere else to go!” Goddard almost sobbed. “We had no orders, I thought the colonel was right behind me but he—”

“Where is the colonel?”

Just then, a riderless horse loped out of the trees. A passing flicker of torchlight revealed Tavington’s chestnut mare, her coat streaked black with sweat. Your insides lurched. As you watched, she veered around a cluster of fighting men, then barrelled straight toward you and Goddard.

You stepped out into her path.

“Don’t!”

You ignored Goddard.

“Whoa, easy.” You held your hands wide, hummed low in your chest.

The horse slowed, dropped her shoulders to sidestep you, eyes rimmed white. With a quick lunge, you grasped her reins, pulled her by the bit into a tight circle around you until she halted, snorting and quivering.

Panic speared you. Without Tavington’s command, if the Continentals were retaking ground—the regiment was done for. You might be done for, if captured by rebels who could very well decide to string you up as a Loyalist. There was no time to overthink this. You gathered the reins at the mare’s withers, slung your foot up into the stirrup, and hauled yourself into the saddle.

“What in God’s name are you doing?”

You spun the mare around to face Goddard. “Where did you last see him?”

The sounds of fighting began to recede farther into the trees. The Continentals were being driven back. Perhaps that would buy you time. You choked down a wave of guilt, an image of your father among the dead or routed soldiers. You shook it away. You had to stay focused.

“You can’t possibly—”

“Goddard,” you snapped. “Where?”

“I don’t know, ah—a couple miles back up the road, maybe?” Softened in the shadow of night, he looked even more like a boy. “There were more soldiers—militia—they’re holding a bridge crossing.”

“I’ll find him,” you said, turning toward the trees.

Goddard spurred his horse up next to you. “I’ll come with you.”

“No,” you said firmly. Thick drops of rain began to pat your shoulders. “Defend the camp. Get yourself to safety.”

“You can't go alone, it’s madness!”

You grit your teeth. There was no time for this.

“I’ll not be a target on my own, Goddard, but I certainly will be with a redcoat escort.” You nudged the mare forward. “Stay here.”

With one last glimpse at the bewildered Benedict Goddard, you tore toward the trees.

As you skirted the fighting, trunks whipping past you, your only compass was memory. After foraging these woods for weeks, though, you knew them well.

Your eyes scoured the darkness. Caught the shape of the big magnolia tree. You swerved. The road should have bisected the woods north-northeast of it.

The mare took a few more stuttering strides beneath you, crashing through brush. Then the ground dipped, the trees cleared, and you broke out onto hard-packed dirt. Blood singing with triumph, you placed the sounds of battle behind you and pressed into a dead gallop.

Raindrops stippled your face, stinging your eyes as you ducked and squinted. Hooves gouged the dirt, thunder carved its approach through the sky. Beneath your skirts, the saddle bit your thighs raw, but you didn’t slow. Your calves stayed locked against the mare’s ribs until apparitions of men appeared through the thickening sheet of rain, spread across the road ahead.

A flash of lightning, and they were made corporeal. In that brief radiance, you could make out around fifteen. Behind them, a black chasm—water—and the bridge, its planks shining over the river. You could hear the roar, its current churning with the storm’s fury as it rushed past the bank.

Heart hammering, you deepened your seat in the saddle, slowed to a canter. As the shapes of men slowly grew solid edges, dread snaked like cold fingers down your spine. A handful of Continentals, two on horses, turned toward you.

“Halt, there!” one of the cavalrymen shouted. “Halt!”

Trying to avoid the soldiers would result in a chase, something you didn’t need. You cursed under your breath, slowing the mare to a trot. Darkness and rain would help obscure the saddlebags and tack of your mount, but you tossed your skirts around your seat anyway. A horse breaking away from an area of known altercation in a gallop was suspicious enough.

As you approached, one of the foot soldiers advanced. In the darkness, you just made out the shape of his musket as he raised it. You snatched the reins, slamming to a halt.

“Apologies, madam,” said the soldier, lowering his firearm as he drew closer and squinted at you. “We can’t allow you to continue down this road. It’s—”

“We’ll need you to answer some questions.” A cavalryman spurred his horse up, glared at the foot soldier before sidling closer to you, examining you and your mount. “Where are you coming from?”

Deception and conversation were both luxuries that time could not afford you. Without the latter revealing what these men knew, you could not attempt the former. Your only option was to try and sidestep both entirely.

“Please!” you gasped. “My husband! He’s—I have to help him!”

The cavalryman flinched, his attention drawn from your tack to your face. “Your… Madam, where is—”

“Please!’ you screamed, urging your horse forward. “He’s militia, he may be wounded, you must let me go!”

“Calm down, madam!” He seemed to steel himself, tilting his chin higher. “Your husband is in the militia.”

You nodded emphatically. “Yes!”

“They’re stationed north of here, and you’re riding in from the south. Perhaps, and I don’t mean to keep you, but perhaps you can help me understand?”

He’d been disturbed by your performance, but not enough to let you go. You silenced a growl in the back of your throat and then promptly began to openly wail.

“Our home is south, I just thought he might have—” you cried, sniffling with such strength you snorted. “I’ve—I’ve just, I’ve been riding, and looking, and riding—” You choked on your own dramatics, wiping the rain from your stinging eyes as if they were tears. “And, oh, he could be hurt, please, I must find him!”

“I’m sorry, madam,” he said, a grimace flickering over his face. “Many were slaughtered here but moments ago.” He nodded toward the riverbank. Your chest squeezed as lightning revealed several dark shapes laid in a row. “I pray he is not among them.”

Deception it would have to be. But you could make this quick.

“Let me see!” You sprang forward on your horse, making for the bodies.

The soldier cursed, whipping his own mount around to follow. Some of the other soldiers began to raise their guns as you broke away from the two who had stopped you.

“Stay your arms!” the cavalryman shouted from just behind you.

They paused, casting glances among themselves, then lowered their weapons. You reined your horse in, and side-stepped up to the corpses.

The humble pastiche of militia attire stood out in the gloom, maculate with gore. That would explain Goddard’s account of the bridge’s defenses. Now, though, they stared through glass eyes at the sky, its heavens just as violent as their deliverance thereto.

Hunching over the saddle, you studied them. Mostly, it was an extension of your act. But part of you, a part that you would surely enter vicious battle with later, sagged in relief to see that none bore a red and green coat.

You straightened, turned back to the officer who had followed you.

“He’s not here!”

“Madam, how can you be s—”

“He’s not!” you shrieked.

“Christ, let’s just let her go,” said the foot soldier, puffing as he caught up.

The cavalryman's eyes widened. “Oh, well… I mean, I didn’t…” He winced. “I only mean to suggest that perhaps we can escort—” Thunder struck as he spoke, and he jumped.

“God above, you two are the only cavalry we’ve got!” said the foot soldier. “Let the woman go and get shot if she wishes!”

The cavalryman glanced with clear discomfort between the both of you—you, with your hysterical sniveling, and his fellow Continental with his disregard for their duty—and threw a hand from his reins.

You didn’t wait for his verbal permission. Your shouted thanks drowned in the downpour as you charged past them and across the bridge.

The area was swarming with men on edge and ready to kill. If—or when, you’d say when—you did find Tavington, you prayed your return would be significantly less crowded. But if the Continentals were driven back by your camp, you’d run straight into them while carrying a superior officer of the British army.

You’d worry about that later.

The road stretched on in the darkness, the river’s din fading in your wake. Again, your only company was the steady drum of rain, the steaming beast beneath you, the sharp rhythm of your own breaths in your ears.

If you couldn’t find Tavington, if the bastard had gone and gotten himself killed—

You shook your head, trying to dislodge the thoughts as they arose. But they clung like wasps to sap, shooting you through with an unwelcome fear. Strange and loathsome as it was to admit, there was no denying that Colonel Tavington had claimed a position of some vile necessity in your life. That he was the mast to which you must fasten like a sail, if the winds of this war were to ever see you reunited with your father. If that outcome were ever to exclude your father’s death. Or Grace’s. Or yours.

Something reared up within you, lodged in your throat, lashed the back of your nose like rising tears. It left you in a gritted screech, and as the wind whipped it away into the storm, you recognized it as anger.

You were angry.

At your father, for allowing his quixotic obsessions to drive him into peril. For leaving you alone, leaving you to slink like a stray dog to the British army and beg, whimpering, to crawl into its lap. You were angry at Tavington, for being right about all of that before. For seeing through you when you refused to see into yourself.

And you were angry at yourself. For clinging to the sick bulwark that was William Tavington. For not being strong enough to hate him.

For fearing that he might be dead.

Driving on through the rain at a brisk trot, you focused on the road ahead. On what you could do, rather than what might be. As you searched the dark, you spotted a body slumped along the roadside. Then another. Lightning flashed. Three more scattered the road.

Militia.

With any luck, your colonel was close. The horse stuttered for a step, hopped over one of the bodies.

Lightning again, then thunder. In the distance, movement, a single heaving shadow hunched above blackened brush, a demon rising in the dusk. Hell’s fire flickered in the clouds, suspending the earth in time. Light revealed the demon, a fiend in a crimson coat, his blade buried in blood, his victims shucked of their souls at his feet. Thunder shattered the vision, smothering him in darkness again.

Tavington ripped his sword free from the man he’d stabbed, spotting your approach. His eyes narrowed, struggling to identify you through the night and rain. You trotted closer, and now you realized that some of the crimson you’d spotted earlier hadn’t been his coat. His chest, his stomach were smothered in blood, and it became apparent that his hunch wasn’t from demonic inspiration.

He was hurt.

A flash of light, and he frowned, realizing that not only was it you, but you were on his horse. His face twisted in a welcoming mixture of shock and disgust.

You waved him forward. “Continentals are headed this way!”

“I’m aware,” he replied, sheathing his sword. When these two words didn’t magically cause you to vanish, shook his head, continuing, “I’m waiting them out.”

You snorted. “Don’t be absurd. You’re wounded—multiply so, might I add!”

“Return to camp,” he said, walking in a direction that was not toward your horse and therefore irritated you further.

There was no way you were leaving this stubborn goat of a man bleeding from God-only-knew and returning to the damned camp without him. You pushed the mare forward, cutting him off. He glared at you and spat out your name in frustration.

“Orders were given,” he said. “Leave.”

You growled. “Your men ail in your absence. You must return with me.”

His eyes met yours, mirrored the clouds as they pulsed with lightning. Water pelted his face, slipped down the curve of his nose and into the bow above his mouth. He cleaned the rain from his lips with his tongue and set his jaw.

“Must I?” He stalked forward a step. The horse shifted beneath you. “I believe you’ll find I must do nothing,” Tavington spat. “You, on the contrary, are a parolee who has fled your guard, and now act in contempt of an officer.”

The urge to roll your eyes was only suppressed by a tiny pulse of fear as he advanced another step.

“Then mete me what lashes you will,” you said, swallowing. “But I’ll drag you back before I stand by while you succumb to your own bloody pride!”

Tavington snarled, then lunged for the horse’s reins. Anticipating him, you drove one leg into her ribs. She leapt sideways. Tavington doubled over, clutching his bleeding chest, eyes as wild as a wolf with its foot in a trap.

“Colonel Tavington,” you pleaded, “we’ve little time for this.”

He gave a pained huff, straightened just enough to pierce you with his stare. “Then leave.”

“No!”

Thunder cracked the sky. Your gazes clashed with equal force. Fury rolled in Tavington’s shoulders, and you made ready to evade another lunge from him. Then, a new rumble broke through the storm.

Your heads both snapped in its direction at once. Hooves. Pounding and splashing, this time approaching from the north. You were about to be flanked on both sides by the Continental army. Tavington’s lip rose in a snarl.

“Get off,” he said, rounding on you. “I’ll ride in front.”

“What? No! Just get on!” The storm crashed above, illuminating the bright red of his jacket. “And take your coat off, you're a walking target!”

If he’d looked indignant before, he now looked insulted. “I issued you an order, and your response is—”

“Colonel, get on the damn horse!”

Up the road, a horse whinnied. Hoofbeats grew louder. Tavington cursed.

Sneering, he whipped his jacket from his shoulders and tossed it to you. With relief, you stashed it under your skirts before vacating your left stirrup and holding your hand out to him. He stared at it like you’d presented him with the body of a dead rat before electing to ignore it completely. His teeth grit, he stuck his boot in the stirrup and hoisted himself behind the saddle, a stifled grunt escaping him.

He reached around you, grasping for the reins. Scoffing, you thrust your hands out, wheeled the horse around, and gave a sharp kick. The mare surged forward, and Tavington’s arms captured your waist, sealing you flush against his front with a hiss.

In the chill of rain, his body was lit coal, firm and warm against your own. You felt the rise and fall of his chest, still hurried from the rush of violence and pain; heard the graveled depth in his throat wash against your neck with each breath.

At your speed, the bridge would be approaching quickly. Despite your hope that the Continentals might have decided to abandon it before your return, they stood proud guard. And, unfortunately, having been successfully routed, you could see even more of them arriving from the south. You slowed from a canter to a trot, and Tavington’s breath caught in your ear as his horse stumbled on the sodden ground.

“An expert in these lands and this is the route you choose,” he grumbled.

You exhaled, biting your tongue. “Well, perhaps if you were better at dodging swords, we’d enjoy the luxuries of time,” you replied. “Unless you’d prefer trying to jump the river.”

“I’d prefer not approaching a group of Continental officers while sliding off a horse’s arse.”

“Oh, are you uncomfortable?” you cooed bitterly. “I am so sorry for the inconvenience, Colonel.”

“No,” he said. “What I am is experienced. Do you imagine they’ll allow you to walk right past them?”

“Of course not,” you replied. “I have a plan.”

“Words that have always brought me comfort.”

If you weren’t concerned that elbowing him in the stomach would result in organ damage, you would’ve done it.

The horse connected with the first plank of the bridge, and you straightened in the saddle. Ahead, a wave of routed Continentals staggered up to join the bridge guard, their annealing forces pushing fifty, perhaps ten of them cavalry.

In another world, you could be nestled in your bed at home, Mr. Mouser curled at your feet, the rain rattling your roof. Instead, more horses advanced behind you, their numbers unknown, the sound of their hooves rattling your nerves. Continental soldiers flanked you front and back. And a despicable, delicious bastard was strapped to your middle.

It occurred to you that perhaps getting struck by lightning would be an improvement to this situation.

“Hold there!” The voice was familiar. The same cavalryman from before came into view between the opposite bridge posts. “State your business before crossing!”

You cleared your throat. “It’s me!” you called out. “I found my husband!”

Tavington’s hold on you tightened. “Your hus—”

“Play along,” you hissed.

“Go ahead and approach, madam,” the soldier replied.

The horse trod forward, both of you rocking with its stride. Each hoofbeat knocked in your ears. Your hands felt slippery on the reins. You thanked the blessed God above that no one would be able to tell if it was rain or sweat.

“Your plans rival those of military generals in their brilliance,” Tavington whispered.

“There won’t be an issue so long as they don’t recognize you,” you replied. “But I suppose that massive head of yours begs remembrance.”

“Ah, yes, there’s the conduct I’d long desired in a wife.”

“Wonderful,” you growled. “Now shut. Up.”

The cavalryman adjusted his horse, fully blocking your way as you arrived at the other end of the crossing. If you were to ever count on a man’s tendency to underestimate you, it would be now.

“Please, let us through,” you said. “He’s injured, I need to get him back home.”

“So he is injured?” The cavalryman gestured toward one of the men on the ground. “Corporal, go ahead and take a look at—”

“Sergeant Fleming!”

The voice came from behind you. Craning around, you glimpsed a line of cavalry that had advanced to the foot of the bridge. Scanning briefly, you counted twenty. An officer rode ahead, sealing off the way you had come. Tavington’s fingers dug into the soft flesh of your belly.

The officer in front of you—Fleming, presumably—squinted past you through the rain. Then he raised a hand to hail the other horseman. “Captain Pearce! By God, you’re a sight for sore eyes, sir.”

The bridge began to knock with the rhythm of hooves crossing. Fleming, blinking as he once again noticed that you were present, shifted aside and waved you forward. Releasing a held breath, you rode past him and onto solid ground again. The road, however, was still choked with men. The corporal that Fleming had previously addressed approached your horse, moving to take her reins.

“No!” You jerked her head up and away from him, and he flinched in confusion before looking straight past you and addressing Tavington.

“Sir, we’ll have a look at your wounds here.” He stepped around toward the saddle. Both you and Tavington stiffened. “Come morning, we shall escort you back to your post.”

“Please, sir,” you said, casting your arm aside as if to shield Tavington from him. “We have supplies at home, he—”

“Would you mind telling us your name and commanding officer?” he said, again to Tavington. You blinked. “We’ll see that your wife is escorted home as well.”

Tavington shifted behind you, his voice ground between stone. “That will hardly be necessary, Corporal.”

The corporal frowned up at him. “If your wounds are too grievous, sir, perhaps leave can be approved…”

As they spoke, your attention floated to the cavalry now filing across the bridge. To the conversation between Fleming and Pearce as they met. Their voices were drowned by the rain and the river. All you could make out was what you could read on their lips.

British encampment… over three hundred… routed… don’t have the numbers for an engagement.

You squinted, studying them more closely.

…fall back… focus efforts… Camden… intelligence to General Gates… arrive next week with reinforcements…

“...Wilksburg company—”

Your attention snapped back to the corporal with a full-body jolt.

“—will be joining us in a matter of days with more militia, you’d need only hold out until then.”

The Wilksburg company? Here? But that would mean your father—

“I’m afraid my wife is rather insistent that I return home,” replied Tavington, sounding as if he were being forced to say it while dangling over a pit of eels. “You know how wives are, Corporal.”

Your teeth set.

“Indeed I do,” he said with a laugh, “However, I cannot abide desertion. We need every fit man—”

“Fit,” you spat, and the corporal looked at you with a start. “How about I cut you from stem to stern, Corporal? How fit might you feel when I’m finished, hm?”

The corporal opened his mouth, closed it again. Then found his voice under your glare. “Madam, I understand your distress—”

“You understand nothing,” you replied. “We will be going now.”

Your raised voice had drawn the attention of a few other men milling about. One of them paused, his eyes hovering on your horse, your tack, then narrowing as they raised to Tavington. Your heart leapt into your throat.

Below you, the corporal made another attempt to seize your horse’s reins. You yanked her head away from him, and a flare of waning patience threatened his face. The soldier who had stopped to regard you approached the corporal’s shoulder, leaned to whisper something in his ear. Tavington’s fingers burrowed into your hips. His mouth drifted to your ear.

“Move.”

You nudged the mare with your heels. The corporal leapt to intercept, his hand moving to the pistol at his belt. “Hold there. I’m going to need to ask you some questions, sir.”

“Go,” Tavington muttered.

“That’s him,” said another soldier.

“Go.”

“That’s Colonel Tavington!”

Tavington slammed his spurs into the horse. You squealed, launched forward.

With a crack of thunder, chaos burst like a dam. Men shouted, scrambled, sound and movement blurred in the rain. Your horse crashed through the corporal where he stood, trampling him into the mud. A voice cried somewhere above the cacophony.

“Halt! For God’s sake, halt! Stop them!”

The road was still swarming with men. Most parted like silk to scissors at the horse’s advance. Some, either too brave or too slow, fell beneath her hooves. Then the mass of men broke. The road lay ahead, a black, yawning tunnel. As if as one, you and Tavington both leaned forward, and the horse beneath you flattened out into a dead sprint.

Behind you, a rifle cracked. The rain whistled beside your ear, raising the hair on your nape. Hooves thundered in pursuit, and the demon on your back dug his claws into your hips, your belly, his breath ragged in your ear.

“You won’t outrun them,” he said.

“I know, just—” You swerved as a cavalryman advanced into your periphery, saber drawn. “Just try to stay out of the way.”

With that, you drove your shoulders back into Tavington’s chest, sinking into the saddle. He cursed, leaned back with you as the horse slid to a halt, gouging long slashes into the mud. Four cavalrymen shot past you, shouting as they wrested their mounts to a halt. Behind you, more fought their way through the thick web of foot soldiers to join the chase. But you were already moving, pivoting your horse like a dancer on her haunches and making for the cover of the trees.

Blackness swallowed you as you rode into the forest. Slowing to a trot, your eyes hunted for shapes in the dark, your legs shifting like rudders to steer around trunks as they loomed. A spear of lightning scattered shadows in your path. Behind you, brush crashed and cracked, horses squealed as they collided with trees and each other.

“Find them!” a man shouted.

Another voice: “This way!”

More grunting and shouting as men and horses alike flooded the trees, spread out in search.

You pressed straight on into the belly of the forest, slid down a steep bank, splashed through a swollen creek. The sounds of the blundering Continentals grew slowly fainter in your wake, their shouts increasingly desperate. The rain had soaked you through to your skin, and you shivered at its chill contrasted with the solar heat of the man pressed to your back.

Some delirious, danger-drunk part of your mind wondered, briefly, what he might do if you turned on the saddle and wound your legs around his waist.

You shook yourself sane. You still needed to be focusing on preventing your real deaths, instead of seeking a little one.

A glow poked through the trees. Blinking rain from your eyes, you squinted, and spied the forest’s edge silhouetted against open, stormy sky. Lightning illuminated a wide field that stretched up to a farmhouse, candlelight cradled in its windows. Your heart leapt with triumph. That meant you weren’t entirely lost in the backcountry.

You pushed into a canter again as you emerged from the forest, turning to follow along the field’s open edge. Presumably, you’d be able to find…

Yes.

A path divided the field, trailed down from the house and disappeared into the woods. Which meant the other end likely led out to the road. And if you were on this side of the road, traveling more or less parallel with it, that meant you had to be moving—

“Have you any idea where you’re going?” Tavington growled at your ear.

Your teeth locked together. “I do, in fact.”

“Oh, splendid.” You hated the way you could practically hear his eyes rolling in his skull. “Do continue to take your time, then.”

With a scoff, you thumped your heels into the horse’s sides. Then immediately regretted it when she spurted forward, forcing Tavington to seize you closer, a low grunt brushing your ear. Heat flooded your cheeks.

What had you been trying to determine?

South.

Yes, you were surely headed south. Would surely come across the camp soon. With any bloody luck, that was.

Your southward path carried you back into the forest, trees ticking past you like warped clock hands. On and on, until their shapes suddenly grew familiar. A slight left here, then curve around a thicket and ascend that ridge.

Rows of tents emerged from the darkness. You slowed the mare to a trot, bracing yourself on her neck as you arrived at the camp perimeter. If there had been danger before, it was gone now—the rain had scattered every soldier to shelter, the only evidence of the battle a brightly lit medic tent filled with bustling shadow.

Panting, you pulled to a stop, and Tavington’s hold on you loosened. Before you could turn, or even speak a word, he slid from behind you like a limp doll, dropping to the ground with questionable balance. He used the mare’s hindquarters as support, taking a deep breath before stumbling toward camp.

Your teeth ground together. If you’d ever known of a man more frustrating, you couldn’t name him. Grumbling, you threw yourself from the horse as thunder rumbled, following Tavington in a furious splashing haste.

“Colonel,” you said, “you’re injured.”

He said nothing, continuing to stalk toward his tent. The weight of water in your skirts slowed you, slapped to your skin like paste. You bunched the fabric above your knees, mud splattering your thighs as you marched after him.

“You must let me see your wounds.” When he was again silent, you continued, “At least let me check and make sure that you haven’t damaged anything vital.”

Without acknowledging anything you’d said, Tavington found his tent, whipped the flap aside, and allowed it to flutter closed between you. You stood, storm swallowing you, watching as candles flickered to life beyond the canvas. The fury you’d stomped into submission rose renewed, gnarled in your stomach, burned in your fists.

Responsibility had never been granted to you, or bestowed like a gift on your unworthy hands. You’d always encountered it, a stray on your doorstep, starving and seeking a master, and you had always, always taken it inside. Never had you been resented for discovering it. Never had you been begrudged for your charity until meeting William Tavington.

There was no way, after everything you’d done, that you’d allow him to lie down in his bed and bleed to death.

You stomped off, tromping through the rain toward the busy medic tent. You threw open the flap, greeted with a gust of warmth that would’ve been a relief if you hadn’t been halfway suffocated by the heavy fabric hanging off of you. Wounded men not occupied by pain glanced at your entrance before flopping back onto their beds. Lottie poked her head free from dressing a soldier’s abdomen and gasped in delight.

“Oh! Oh my goodness!” she cried out, waving you over. “There you are! Where have you been? I’m—we need your help over here!” She paused, scanning your sopping silhouette. “Oh, my. Where have you been?”

“Very sorry,” you said. “No time to talk right now.” You pursed your lips, trudging through the tent to find your suture kit. “Or help.”

She wilted. “But… What’s going on? Is everything all right?”

“Perfectly.” It wasn’t where you typically left it. Sighing, you turned one of the supply tables and found a pile of soaked jackets. The kit was probably under there. You started tossing the coats on the ground.

“Oh.” Lottie sucked in air through her teeth. “Ah, the mud…”

“Hm?” You continued to throw everything off the table. “Did you say ‘the mud’?”

“Um.” She paused. “Well, I wanted to perhaps prevent their—”

“There you are!” It had been buried under all that clothing. You grabbed it and gathered several bundles of bandages and lint under your arms before turning back to her. “Sorry, what was that?”

She offered a strained grin. “Nothing,” she said, before nodding toward you. “Where are you going?”

“Colonel Tavington is of a mind to die bathed in his own blood.” You turned, heading to exit the tent.

“Do you—” Lottie whinged. “Do you think you’ll be able to come back? To help? Once you’re finished?”

You nodded. “As soon as I can.”

“The colonel is all right?” called one of the men.

“If I have anything to say about it, he will be,” you called back, and darted into the rain.

You hunched over your supplies to keep them as dry as possible as you ran until you stopped at the foot of Tavington’s tent. The candle was still lit. There was no movement inside. You chewed on your lip.

“Colonel?” You waited. “Colonel Tavington?”

Lightning struck the sky, thunder followed. Why were you waiting for this bastard’s permission to save his stupid, worthless, stubborn, beautiful hide?

You flung the tent open. Tavington was laid in his bed on his back, his eyes closed, his hand on his forehead. At the sound of your entrance, a muscle in his jaw spasmed.

“Don’t bother,” you said, “I’m not leaving.”

“I believe our charade is at its end,” he said. “I require no more of your audacious excuse for aid.”

He was impossible. “Actually, I believe I am to thank for getting you here, and without further injury.”

“It was despite your rancor that we arrived here, not due to it,” he replied. “The shadow of a gallows inspires greater solace than your very name.”

You rolled your eyes, walking over to him.

“So hungry for lashes, are you?”

Grabbing a stool, you pulled it close to his bedside and sat down. An eye cracked open to watch you as you piled your supplies at the head of his bed.

“Sit up, Colonel.”

He stared at you.

“Please.”

A long moment passed as he held you in consideration, the rain pattering the top of the tent. Candlelight cast his face in dour shadow. He searched your expression, his focus wandering down, following your neck to your heaving chest and your eager hands, to the medical items pushed into his space. He glanced down at his stomach, rubbed his temple, and sighed.

“Very well,” he mumbled. He rolled to his side, baring his teeth as he pushed himself to sit. “Satisfied?”

You studied him. The rain had stained his shirt pink with blood, but new bright swatches bloomed since he’d laid down. It was so wet it was still transparent, still clinging to his shoulders, his arms, revealing the tightly laid muscle underneath.

It now became apparent to you that treating William Tavington would involve removing this shirt. It would involve touching parts of his body that you’d never imagined you’d actually ever get to touch. Your throat thickened, and you met his eyes.

“Yes.” You would be as composed as possible. “I need… your wounds. Access to them.”

He raised a brow. “You what?”

You shook your head. Composed. “I need access to your wounds, Colonel,” you said. “Could you remove your shirt? Or lift it.”

Tavington sat straight, pulling his shirt from his body and shoving it in your lap. You stared at it for a moment and threw it over the footboard of his bed before looking back at him. Your mouth dried.

He was so broad. His shoulders spanned wide over his powerful chest, the trunk that was his stomach. Patches of dark hair met in the center of his torso, trickled down to below the waistline of his trousers. You felt your head float for a moment before you regained control of yourself and focused.

Two. Three wounds. One was the bayonet wound from last week, which was thankfully healing fine, despite your lack of intervention. Two were new: a gash across his side and a slice underneath one of his pectorals. You could start at least with the stomach—it looked larger, more severe. Probably wouldn’t need suturing though. At least for now.

“Do you plan to stare at my wounds all evening?” he asked.

You huffed. “It’s called analysis,” you replied, as if you’d spent more time analyzing than you had staring. As you reached for the lint, your hands trembled. You inhaled in a bid to steady them.

Tavington clucked his tongue. “Losing your nerve?”

“No,” you said quickly, glaring at him. “Long evening.” Not necessarily a lie, since despite your physical response to him, he was still grating your patience. You grabbed a wad of lint and a roll of linen. “We’ll start with your stomach.”

Swallowing, you kept your attention on your hands and pressed the lint to his wound, packing it tight to soak the blood. Tavington’s abdomen tensed, he exhaled, but was otherwise stoic as you unfurled the bandage and began to wind it around his waist. You shifted to reach around his back, and as you moved, caught something colorful out of the corner of your sight. A book.

Il Principe - di Niccolò Machiavelli.

Your irritation with him vanished entirely in the wake of your curiosity. For some reason, you'd never imagined him as a reader. Nor as a speaker of more than one language. But you supposed you’d also never imagined him as an admirer of wildflowers, either. And a small bundle of those laid drying next to the book.

“You speak Italian?” You started wrapping the linen around a second time.

He sought your gaze. “Yes,” he replied, almost suspicious. “Why?”

“The Prince.” You nodded toward it. “In its original language.”

Tavington’s head tilted. You sensed him staring. “Yes.” He watched as you tore the bandage. “Italian, amongst others.”

“Which ones?”

It’d come out almost automatically. Warmth rushed your face, like you’d asked something about his sexual history rather than his linguistic one.

“Latin, French.” He paused, drawing in a slow breath as you tightened the wrapping around his stomach. “Greek.”

You huffed. “So they do teach something other than warfare at your pompous British academies.”

His lip curled, you thought, in a smirk. “I’m astonished that you even know how to read.”

“Yes,” you replied dryly, grabbing another handful of lint, “though it was difficult when all of our books were made of bark and all our pens were sharpened stones.”

“Ah,” he said. “And your schoolmasters? The wolves, I imagine?”

You bit your lip to stop yourself from laughing. Why was he making you laugh?

“The owls, actually.” You placed the lint against his chest, held it as you reached for another roll of bandage. His skin was warm, almost hot to the touch, and you found yourself wanting to linger, wanting to trace your way to his heartbeat. “Much more wise.”

“They must be, to introduce you to Machiavelli.”

“That was my own idea, actually.” You grinned proudly before glancing at him.

There was a disarming lack of malice in his gaze. More heat gathered in your cheeks. You picked up the second roll of linen and held it against his chest with one hand, rolling it around his torso with the other.

“Is he less cruel in Italian?”

Tavington’s attention flicked across your face. “Cruelty is a weighty criticism often levied against pragmatics.”

“A criticism.” With every inch of skin you touched, your tongue grew drier, your belly tighter. He seemed too close, too far. “It sounds as if you take that personally.”

“Of course.” He shifted, you thought—or imagined, or hoped—closer. Tipped into the hand putting pressure on his chest. “Would you not similarly dismiss such a comparison?”

“I…”

It was difficult to think. His proximity had become dizzying. Your head felt heavy with something greater than hunger, more primal than need. But even the most ravenous part of you knew: given your scheming, bargaining, and deception together? He was right.

“I suppose I would.”

“As I suspected,” he murmured. His voice brushed the depths of his throat. “The vicious creature cannot deny its own nature.”

A shiver ran to your thighs. “You really consider me vicious.”

You brought the bandage to your teeth and tore it in two. His chest rose and fell in a quiet breath.

“Utterly.”

Finishing with the dressing, you glanced up at him. His eyes devoured you.

“Were I truly so,” you breathed, “I would sunder all I touch.”

Despite your shaking hands, racing blood, you couldn’t bring yourself to look away. Couldn’t even take your hand from his chest. His skin felt like a wound under your touch—raw, hot, thrumming with his pulse. You held your breath, fingers skimming over his breast until you grazed the fine, dark hair, hovered over his pounding heart.

“Yet here you are, still whole.”

“Entirely.” Tavington leaned forward. Before you could retreat, he pinned your hand with his own, holding it to his chest. “I do not fear vicious things.”

His gaze dipped to your mouth. Your chin quivered. Your fingers curled against his sternum. Someone breathed—a short, sharp intake of air, punctuated by a clap of thunder—and he tugged you toward him, capturing your lips with his own.

Desire and panic flooded you with lockstep urgency. Your head spun with the rush, thoughts running from one into the other like spools of tangling thread.

He’s kissing you your first kiss he’s your first kiss his mouth is so soft and warm more more oh God if he wants more do you even know what you’re doing—

Tavington exhaled through his nose, pulling you closer, tilting to catch your mouth at a different angle. He tasted of rain, of salt, of storm. You found courage, this time, pressing yourself into the kiss, reveling in the glide of his lips on yours, the sensation cascading like fire to your cunt. Even if you’d never done this before, you’d allow instinct, your ever reliable mentor, to guide you.

You leaned closer, and Tavington adjusted again, one of his hands snaking around your waist to draw you in. You gasped at his touch, shivering. His tongue flicked into your parted mouth, earning from you a delighted, longing groan. It was an unfamiliar sound you’d never heard yourself make. The fabric of your dress seemed now too cold, too sticky on your warming skin.

He chuckled and pinched your lower lip between his teeth, releasing it in a deliciously painful drag before soothing it with the caress of his mouth. Whimpering into him, your free hand found his shoulder to steady yourself against the speed with which the world whirled around you. Tavington growled, grappling your hips to hoist you to a new seat on his lap.

You panted, grabbing both of his shoulders as you settled, instantly feeling the growing evidence of his desire grinding against your center. It tore a moan from your chest, made your eyes flutter, made your heart skip.

Tavington busied himself with your skirts, throwing them up your thighs to expose them. Cold skin was smothered by warm palms—he squeezed, groped at each inch revealed to the air. If you hadn’t been possessed by that ravenous ache before, you certainly were now.

So possessed were you, in fact, that it didn’t even occur to you that the man you were kissing was a British soldier, that he was still hunting your father, and that he would happily place all of you at the end of a hanging rope had he the evidence and ability. All that occurred to you, really, was how firm he felt underneath you, the heat of his chest against yours, the imprint of his fingers trailing closer to the crux of your thighs.

Tavington’s grip tightened, and he kissed you again, drove your pelvis downward, bucking his own to meet it. You gasped, nearly toppling over if not for his strength keeping you upright. Like a conductor, he led you in rhythm, rolling your hips together over, and over, the bulge of his arousal sparking pleasure from the little hill at your center with each beat.

You broke away, tossing your head back with a quiet groan. Tavington’s hand caught the back of your skull and steered you back to his lips, ravenous, parting your mouth with his own. A frenzy birthed within you to match him—your tongue melted against his—and he fisted your hair, his other hand clutching your jaw to hold you in place.

It hit you, then. William Tavington had wanted you.

“I was right, wasn’t I?” you mumbled against his mouth. “You would’ve taken me at Dorchester.”

Tavington held you fast. He avoided a response while he licked his way along your jawbone. “Is that right?” His teeth found your ear, worried the lobe. “On the contrary,” he breathed, voice wrought with need. “I believe you’ve taken advantage of my vulnerability.”

Gooseflesh erupted on your arms, your thighs. “Vulnerable, are you?” You slipped your hands down his back, smoothed over the ridges of his shoulder blades, painting a memory of his body. “No longer impervious to the temptations of whorish writhing?”

He huffed, catching your gaze. “You admit to tempting me?” His eyes glittered with amusement.

You snorted. “As if your pride needs the satisfaction.”

“My, my,” he said, craning your head to expose more of your neck. His tongue, then his teeth, found your pulse. “Rather irreverent for a girl on the precipice of satisfying far more than my pride.”

The implication made your cunt clench, and you exhaled in part-laughter, part-fear. Would Colonel William Tavington—the Butcher—really be the man to whom you gave your virginity? Could he even tell you still possessed it? Perhaps your age had earned you the presumption of more experience than you truly had.

With another jerk of his hips, his erection teased your swelling, throbbing cunt, and that more than halfway convinced you that none of that mattered. The thought of being able to see, touch, feel his cock inside of you was all the promise you needed.

“You seem confident about that,” you managed to murmur. “Pride.”

A low sound rumbled in his throat. He hooked his hands under your thighs and ripped you from his lap. With a grunt, he flipped you onto his bed, following to straddle you, his legs caging yours, his palms planted on either side of your head. Bathed in the flickering fire, he resembled the beast you’d pictured so many weeks prior—heaving, hungry, salivating.

Salivating for you.

Tavington’s gaze raked over your trembling body. A hand slid up your naked calf, teasing its way toward your inner thigh. “Almost appealing like this.”

A deep pulse in your core. “You are a complete bastard.”

“I hear no protest.” He settled between your legs, and his lips found yours.

You relaxed into his dampened sheets, a soft moan escaping you, your hands coasting around his bandaged torso and around to his back. Tavington deepened the kiss, a moan of his own echoing in his chest. One of his hands pawed your breasts, kneading them from over your bodice. A thumb ghosted over your already-firm nipple, and you squealed, back arching toward him.

His tongue glided into your mouth, hips beginning to rock into you again, again. The mimicry of the movement, the reality of his erection—hard, prodding your entrance beyond the barrier of clothing—spurred you to meet his urgency and throw yourself against him.

He groaned again, trapped your pelvis to the mattress with a brutal thrust. His cock was flush with your cunt, so close you felt it pulse inside his trousers, felt it throb at the suggestion of finally breaking you open.

Lust bewitched you. Your nails dug into his back, scraped down his spine, and he shuddered, shook above you before he snatched your wrists and tacked them above your head. He broke the kiss with a gasp.

“You,” he said, staring into your bewildered eyes, “are going to regret every attempt you’ve ever made to deceive me.” He gathered both wrists in one of his hands, while his other moved to clasp your throat. “I will ruin you so completely that neither another man nor another allegiance will tempt your errant cunt again.”

Your heart tripped over itself, unable to decide if it was exhilarated or terrified. Its beat split between your chest and thighs. You remembered his promise—the next time my hand seeks out your throat, it will be to pinch the life from your eyes—but when meeting his gaze, found nothing but manic, consuming lust.

You needed to tell him that you’d never done this before.

“Colonel—”

His grip on your neck tightened. “Colonel?” He lowered himself, chest flattening you to the bed. Lips skimmed your jaw, your ear. “William.”

“Colonel?” came the word again. This time, spoken from beyond the tent.

Both of your heads swung toward the flap. Tavington pushed himself onto his knees and seized your shoulders, flinging you in one swift movement from his bed straight into the ground. You smacked the damp dirt, groaning as your head swiveled like a wind vane in a storm.

What in God’s sweet, holy, unsullied heaven just happened?

“Colonel Tavington?” The voice sounded familiar. “Are you all right, sir?”

Tavington’s brow dropped, a deep sigh of frustration escaping him as he adjusted to sitting on the edge of his mattress. “Yes, Bordon.”

The tent peeled open a foot, and Bordon peeked through, his attention falling to your still-splayed form on the ground. “Um.” He looked between you and Tavington. “Sir?”

You blinked, still trying to orient yourself. “I…” You glanced down at yourself, then back to Bordon. “Fell.”

“Yes,” Tavington said. “Just as she'd finished treating me.”

“Slipped in the mud.” You forced a laugh, clambering to your feet. “But, ah. Yes, I’m finished. Finished treating Colonel Tavington now.”

Bordon’s eyebrow raised. “Very well, madam,” he said, clearly wondering, just as you were, why you were talking so much. “May I come in, sir?”

Another long, excessive exhale left Tavington. “You’ve already availed yourself of my privacy, Captain,” he said. “Why not avail yourself of my time?”

“Of course, sir.” He stepped into the tent, around you, his arms held behind his back. “I bring a report.”

You looked to Tavington. The guttering need in his eyes had been supplanted by indignation. Your own guttering need, however, was falling from your body like snakeskin and evolving into a sheath of horror.

What had you just been doing? Kissing, nearly bedding the colonel of the army seeking to destroy you and your family’s lives? Had you been so distracted, so divorced from your goals that you’d allowed yourself to be seduced by a murderer?

The realization doused your passion like rain to a torch. This could’ve resulted in you endangering your father’s life. Endangering Grace’s life, perhaps, too.

You were not only a fool—you were a capricious fool.

Bordon had begun to speak, but you ignored it all. Clearing your throat, you gathered your supplies in your arms, dismissing the cry from between your legs to stop this nonsense.

Stupid, stupid traitorous desire. That would be the last time you’d entertain its whims, the last time you’d allow it to rule your mind.

“Ah,” Tavington chided. “I believe we had one more matter of business.”

You scurried between them both and glanced back at him a final time. “No matters,” you replied, a bit too quickly. Straightening, you continued, “I’ve done all I can for you, sir. In fact, I need to leave. My responsibilities would see me to the medic tent.”

Tavington’s mouth twisted in a tiny, confused frown.

You bowed your head toward them both. “Captain. Colonel. Goodnight.”

The rain smacked your skin as you escaped into the night. There was no undoing what you’d done, but you needed to refocus. The medic tent was still lit. Perhaps Lottie still needed help. Perhaps you’d start there.

[revlushaun]

that one post about "dungeon meshi is good because it had time to be good!" (which was a lie about the timeline it was produced in being exceptional) completely misses that dungeon meshi is uniquely good because ryoko kui doesnt rely on tropes and archetypes to explain her world building or characters, and actively subverts what tropes and archetypes characters would be linked to based on their appearance or in-world race or status. the fight for good working conditions has no bearing on how often writers are lazy in their world building and characters relying on tropes, and the fight for good working conditions is irrelevant to how good a piece of media is. you can look to something like harry potter as an example, i dont exactly think harry potter was made in crunch culture but theres a hell of a lot of problems with that piece of media explained away by literal sorting of characters into the good house and the bad house and using racial stereotypes like with the goblins or the offensive naming schemes for non-white characters.

falin looks like damsel in distress at a first glance but it was her sacrifice to be eaten, shes extremely powerful, and shes a weird little kid who played in the dirt who not many people understand, not some delicate princess needed to be saved by her big brother in shining armor. marcille is extremely ditzy and makes stupid mistakes like pouring boiling water, and instead of being the prissy academic the entire time who plays by the book she uses banished magic to save her friends, and the entire reason shes on the journey is she questions the powers above her dictating what magic should and should not be used for, and her lack of out of book knowledge gets questioned by the others instead of relied on. senshi ran away from the typical dwarf role, not caring for gold over the livelihood of his party and being actively good mannered. instead of making the half foots cowardly because of size, for chilchuck its just a logical thing to not fight if you would be in the way and stick to what your body can and cannot do, except he constantly has to help in combat situations to the best of his ability and starts to learn to care about his friends (and also he looks young but is actually a middle-aged alcoholic dad). normally cat women get represented with some sort of sexual air to them for some reason? but izutsumi makes it very explicit she is a cat, she makes a comment about how no one would be interested in a beastman and strips openly (not realizing laios is a monster maniac and not a perv that would want a sexy cat lady), her mannerisms are catlike instead of stuff like catwoman or 80s catra from she-ra. the other characters also still kind of subvert tropes and it never feels these are characters that stick to some archetype out of comfort and familiarity. the dwarven women dont have dramatic size differences and dont feel like caricatures, shuro is meant to show the problems with a stoic, cant express, overly dedicated to the girl of his dreams character, and thistle isnt just some evil presence for the sake of being evil but instead wanting to keep everything perfect in his eyes. kabru's party being foils makes his group feel like the party you would see in mainstream media too, stuff like his people sense and chosen one past of his old village and raised by elves, or mickbell being the little kid of the group.

another thing i want to mention specifically is the orcs. instead of relying on racist pan-indigenous stereotypes she engages with how they were the victims of elven colonization and that their way of life was suddenly deemed not okay, but elves displacing their homes with violence is somehow socially acceptable. I also REALLY like that the orcs use terms like brutish and s*vage to describe the main party instead of the main party using those words against the orcs, it made me chuckle about the breath of fresh air that provided. i dont think it handles orcs perfectly but its far better than other media that rely on racial stereotypes without unique world building. it even shows marcille's bias as an elf, the "who was here first" dialogue reflects that whole "no one is really indigenous, the dinosaurs were here first!" but replace dinos with zombies. theres a film called "reel injun" that goes more into how indigenous peoples are constantly either these brutish characters or the "noble s*vage" that has some sort of otherworldly connection to nature, usually to prop up the main characters for being "typical" white cishet christian characters like a cowboys and indians or an evangelical kind of way.

im someone who doesnt watch a lot of mainstream popular media because in my head the characters and story feel predictable and reliant on tropes. im very aware im picky with media and i stick to my comfort zone, but it also kind of feels like if i were to watch some mainstream media like star wars or harry potter, it would go as i can predict it would with all the pop culture knowledge id gained before ever watching those things as a kid. the hero is some chosen one, the bad guys are bad because the plot says so, the characters are some version of some archetype... perhaps im wrong, and maybe it doesnt necessarily mean that a piece of media is bad or boring, but i find dungeon meshi so nice to watch because nothing feels super predictable and you have to learn people's characters and morals instead of: this is the studious prissy one, this is the main character guy, this is the pan-indigenous race that is inherently brutal to people or mystical with nature, this is the tiny coward who doesnt fight cause hes scared and a big softy, this is the big dwarf that wants gold and minerals and has no manners, this is the evil lord of the dungeon that wants to destroy everything, etc.

(i also think the subversion of archetypes in dungeon meshi is why ive seen so much of it even though most of what i follow on tumblr is for hot queer guys or cute nintendo stuff, because if your identity itself subverts what is assumed of your body's archetype in cishet white christian society, youre likely going to enjoy the stuff that doesnt follow that a little bit more.)

[kingedmundsroyalmurder]

Blue Castle Book Club 2.0 - Chapter 1

I told myself I'd start the WIP Big Bang in June, and it is now June. So it's time to get Tamora Pierce's voice out of my head and bring Maud's back. And what better way to do that than to book club my way through the book a second time and bring you all with me?

Dunno if we'll go chapter by chapter this time, since a lot of the middle chapters are short and more interesting to talk about as a group than individually. But we'll play it by ear and see what the vibes are like.

So! Back to Deerwood we go!

We start out strong, with a delightful opening paragraph:

If it had not rained on a certain May morning Valancy Stirling’s whole life would have been entirely different. She would have gone, with the rest of her clan, to Aunt Wellington’s engagement picnic and Dr. Trent would have gone to Montreal. But it did rain and you shall hear what happened to her because of it.

Everyone quite rightly talks about the first sentence, but I like the second one even more, and the way it subtly misleads us by highlighting Dr. Trent. It makes it seem like he will be a primary character (perhaps even a love interest!) when in actuality he ends up being just a catalyst. A fun hint at the humor of this book.

We move into Valancy's room, and we are painted a picture of a place that is both ugly and static. Maud, of course, loves to draw connections between people and the places they inhabit, and what we are learning about Valancy through her room is bleak. Yes, it is ugly and yes none of it is hers, but even more than that everything is old and crumbling: the wallpaper is faded, the ceiling is cracked and discolored, the looking glass is cracked, the shell-covered box has a bust corner and the beaded pincushion has half its bead fringe gone. And yet none of these items are permitted the dignity of retirement. They are on display just as they always have been, and will be until they fully crumble to dust. They have not been cared for, so that they might age gracefully or be preserved longer, they have simply sat, unloved and untended, falling apart but forbidden from leaving even though no one wants them there.

A strong start to the embodied houses in this book.

We get a delightful turn of phrase with:

Nobody in the Stirling clan, or its ramifications

The Stirling clan is an Event, an Act of Nature more than simply a family. They Happen to you and you just have to deal with the fallout.

Our second embodied house is the Blue Castle itself, and it is beautiful and splendid and solidly fantastical. The Blue Castle is like that perfect novel you dream to yourself while going to bed, filled with sparkling dialog and emotional climaxes that hit with perfect devastation and none of the actual work needed to make those elements work in practice. The Blue Castle has no need for laundry or dusting or clothing made from actual fabrics. Its inhabitants are free to float gracefully down the staircase on an endless loop and parade before Valancy swooning gracefully at her beauty. It’s a daydream, written by someone who clearly knows her way around a good daydream and understands them from the inside. As the author states herself:

Things are very convenient in this respect in Blue Castles.

But today Valancy is twenty-nine and miserable and unmarried and daydreams can sustain her no longer. And, unless I’ve forgotten something, she never again finds the keys to her Blue Castle in the story. She talks about it, but I don’t believe she ever actually sets foot in the fantasy again. By the time she’s able to dream again, she’s escaped her Stirling life and doesn’t need airy fantasies to keep her going.

Valancy thinks of the canceled picnic and goes through the list of relatives she’s glad to not have to see, which is all of them. Put a pin in these descriptions, we’ll come back to them in a later chapter. This first round of descriptors makes them all seem rather formidable and dreadful, but Valancy duly does her best to think well of them even in the privacy of her own thoughts. She is in awe of Aunt Wellington, Aunt Alberta has an amiable habit, she dislikes but respects Uncle James. As I said, we’ll come back to these.

Meanwhile, we don’t have to go to the picnic! And so Valancy tentatively plans her day, including her great rebellion of perhaps going unattended to a doctor at the tender age of 29. As I said the first time I read this book, I can so deeply relate to Valancy’s desire to do things secretly because trying to tell anyone what she’s doing will turn it into a Whole Thing.

Colors mentioned:

Greying darkness

Red eyes

Yellow-painted floor

Dark-red paper

Brown-paper lambrequin

Yellow chair

Red brick box

Blue Castle

Blue loveliness

White urns

Golden curls

Heavenly blue eyes

Reddish, tawny hair

Not one single crimson or purple spot

Silver teaspoon

We're limiting ourselves to the css colors, so perhaps Valancy's life is slightly more vibrant than the screen gives it credit for being, but even still this is a limited color palette, especially compared to what we will see later. The only interesting color words are crimson, which is referring to something valancy lacks, and golden and tawny which are referring to someone fictional. Otherwise it's all just the standard names for colors with no nuance.

[itsdeathofabachelor]

Remember the post I made about Jotaro being the same level of fucked up as Kakyoin but in different ways? I think I need to give examples because I have a very distinct thing in my brain I need all of you people to grasp to some extent here.

Jotaro is fucking huge. Ginormous for no reason considering he very likely hadn’t had the time to work out in between beating the shit out of local gang members, dashing and dining, and being a bitch to his mother. But because he hasn’t really been in a setting with a bunch of people with similar physiques as him, he has no idea how to act outside of being ‘cool’. Like, he sees no point in flaunting how he looks so he doesn’t, unlike with someone who, say, worked at their body image for months.

So I am being dead serious when I say Holly didn’t make him a school lunch one time (she had such a bad flu bug she couldn’t get out of bed) Jotaro skips all of his classes, entire day ruined. He goes out to the convenience store, red faced, puffy eyed, and shoves a packet of donuts down his shirt. No one even fucking notices. He eats all of them and cries, it’s so fucking funny.

I should probably mention, Kakyoin is one hundred percent the only one who Jotaro could give less of a shit seeing him do this. So he’s there, gingerly explaining the breeding cycles of salmon and trout in hopes of engaging Jotaro’s autism enough so he doesn’t choke and fucking die around the three donuts he shoved in his mouth.

So, six foot five, bulging muscles, could pop a can of tomatoes open if he put it in between his thighs and squeezed slightly, having a breakdown under a tree somewhere in a national park, defeated. A red haired, twitchy twunk drawing with a stick in the ground saying some shit like, ‘you can tell it’s a type of mammal because of its fin bones, even if it’s exclusively in the water now— please slow down Jojo I really don’t want you to throw up again’.

No, like, he’s a mess all the time but would rather die than be around literally anyone when he has that ‘calm before the storm’ meltdown feeling. So he just sort of shows up at Kakyoin’s doorstep like a stray and lays on his bedroom floor for three hours. Sometimes he falls asleep and Kakyoin uses him as a backrest because he always chooses to be face first directly in front of his Atari and Kakyoin wants to play his games.

Kakyoin’s mother one hundred percent thinks Jotaro is some dangerous delinquent who is going to put her son into a grave, life or death peer pressure situation until she sees Jotaro being dragged out of the house by his ankles with an out of breath Kakyoin carting both their bags under one arm, Jotaro’s coat over one shoulder, and Jotaro’s foot in both his hands. Like, ‘We have a math test. I need good grades. I am not explaining to Miss Holly why you have to retake highschool’.

And Jotaro’s completely limp, like three hundred fucking pounds of pure muscle, wearing a tank top, face down with his hat brim dragging on the floor. He looks fucking dead. He looks like a dead fucking rat. And Kakyoin’s mother no longer has nearly as many worries about Jotaro but also is forever cursed with the knowledge that, even if she were to gossip to her book club about it, they would never believe her.

Also, she’s seen Jotaro cry three separate times on the kitchen floor as Kakyoin makes his grilled cheese in the shapes of dolphins because his favourite cereal changed their packaging or Sadao calls and he’s just losing it in a puddle of tears. He never mentions it again and literally goes back to normal like nothing had happened.

He could beat the shit out of a whole biker gang, spear and set their leader on fire, all stoic and angry and totally badass. Everything falls into place with perfectly timed catchphrases and comebacks, but he’ll still be at Kakyoin’s house, twenty minutes later, face down infront of his Atari. And Kakyoin will use him as a back rest to play his games.

[fortheloveoffanfic]

The Holiday Arrangement

Andy Barber x Reader

Author's Note: I have not been even remotely good at getting back to all the love and engagement that this has received, both in the replies and reblogs, but its so appreciated and they've made writing and posting this fic so much more fun! Summary: When co-parenting during the holidays becomes difficult to navigate, Y/n brings a proposal to her ex-husband, Andy; spend Christmas together- for the sake of their daughter. Their already complicated arrangement becomes even more messy new memories dredge up buried feelings. Masterlists Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter Summary: When a trip to see Santa Claus at the mall goes awry, it puts things into perspective for Andy. Warnings- Angst

The next Monday With just three weeks until Christmas, school out and countless people already on vacation, the only mall in the heart of Newton was packed. It didn’t help that Santa was supposed to be there either. They’d done everything right; woken up at seven, left home at eight and had gotten to the mall by nine- before it was even open- and still, it had taken them more than an hour to get a parking spot. It would have appeared that everyone else had the same idea- get there early to beat the crowd. 

By the time they’d secured a spot, at least fifteen minutes away from the main entrance, Y/n could tell that Andy was a little miffed- he��d always been a little too impatient to deal with traffic. Though, despite his obvious irritation, he’d kept his cool, never wanting to show his frustration in front of their daughter, who’d been practically bouncing off walls since she’d awoken that morning. To say she was excited about seeing Santa would have been an incredible understatement. 

“Can we go see him now?” Were Grace’s first words the minute the trio set foot in the mall, and she looked almost comical as she jumped up and down excitedly while all bundled up in a black parka with forest animal drawings all about it and the faux-fur lined hood pulled over her dark head, almost entirely covering her face.

“We have to line up first,” Y/n explained, dropping to her knees in front of Grace so she could help her take off her purple gloves and unzip the coat to reveal her cute, warm but picture ready outfit underneath; her favorite blue sweater with a woolen owl stitched onto the front and thick leggings. “Then you can see Santa. Got it?”

“Got it!” Grace cheered, still brimming with enthusiasm. Upon standing, Andy took one of Grace’s hands while Y/n took the other, both of them leading her to the escalators that would take them to the upstairs atrium, where Santa was supposed to be. 

There was already a line when they got there, with about twenty other kids in front of Grace waiting their turn, and out of the corner of her eyes, Y/n noted the drop of defeat in Andy’s shoulders; each kid had been allotted ten minutes to tell Santa what they wanted and to take a couple pictures which meant that if every child used up their time to the very minute, they’d be looking at least a two hour and forty minute wait. For a man who’s patience was a little as Andrew Barber’s, that was two hours and twenty minutes too many. 

“You can walk around or go get coffee or something if the wait is too long,” Y/n offered after about fifteen minutes. 

“And miss taking a picture of my little bunny on Santa’s lap? No way,” he chuckled, tapping the pad of his pointer finger to Grace’s nose, making her giggle and grab at his hand. His words prompted a broad grin from Y/n that was hard to fight; a year ago, he wouldn’t have even joined them at the mall, especially if he knew he’d be standing in line for almost three hours so his sudden change of heart was a welcome surprise. She didn’t think Andy noticed the warmth that had gathered in her eyes at his simple profession, and not wanting to chance him seeing it, she turned away for a minute, fixing her gaze on a clothing store to her left.

After ten minutes had passed and they’d only moved one place ahead when Andy’s phone rang loudly, the sound rising above the Christmas carols wafting from the speakers fitted to the ceiling. Glancing at the screen, he grimaced before flashing Y/n and Grace an apologetic look. “Its my  boss. I’ll be five minutes- ten tops,” he promised,” letting Grace’s hand in favor of gesturing with his open palm. 

“Daddy,” Grace protested with a pout as he started stepping away. 

“I’ll be right back,” he offered again, swiping to answer the call, leaving them both standing in line as he started walking a little way up the pathway, probably in search of somewhere quiet to handle whatever his boss wanted him to.

Y/n knew that she shouldn’t have been upset, he’d been completely present up until then and it wasn’t like he could control when his boss called anyway, but she couldn’t help but feel like the phone call was just the beginng. Grace’s doe-eyed look of disappointment didn’t help either. “Daddy’s gonna be right back,” she gave her daughter’s hand a little squeeze. Grace didn’t respond, instead nodding stiffly before starting to pick at the hem of her sweater. 

Sighing as they took a step up when the rest of the line did, Y/n fixed her eyes on the direction that Andy had disappeared off to, practically willing him to reappear. The longer he took, the more she worried that the phone call wouldn’t be the end of interruption. She was so preoccupied with manifesting Andy’s reappearance that she hadn’t even noticed the person behind her trying to call her attention until they tapped her shoulder.

“Huh-oh my God,” she grinned upon turning slightly to see who it was. “Peter, hey.” They worked at different departments at the same company; she worked in finance while he was in accounting. Their paths crossed often though, and after word of her divorce had spread among her friends group at work, she had noticed Peter discreetly trying to get closer. He wasn’t very forward with his advances, and while Y/n did think he was sweet and attractive she was grateful for his restraint; she didn’t think she was ready to date yet anyway. 

“I didn’t know you had kids,” she glanced at the children he’d brought with him; a little boy about Grace’s age and a toddler on his hip. 

“I don’t,” he ducked his head bashfully, allowing a loose, dark curl to fall over his brow, “They’re my sister’s,” he lifted his head again, “This is Jack,” he introduced the boy, “And Mae. She had to work,” he began while Y/n reached out for the little girl’s hand “And their dad’s…..you know,” he shrugged indifferently and the look on his face was enough to tell her that the children’s after, for whatever reason, was out of the picture. 

“I see you’re here with my favorite coworker,” setting the younger girl down for a minute, Peter crouched so he could have a couple words with Grace, who he’d first met at their office’s ‘take your child to work day’ earlier that year, another time when he’d come over to fix the kitchen sink and finally a couple other times after he’d driven Y/n home when her car was down- it went without saying that he and Grace were pretty acquainted. 

“So,” he leaned in conspiringly, “What’re you gonna ask Santa for?”

“I can’t tell you,” Grace giggled, former mood forgotten, “Its a secret.”

“Oh come on,” he enticed dramatically, “I won’t tell,” he winked.

Slapping her hands to her mouth to hide a broad grin, Grace shook her head, barely containing the loud laughter that slipped past her small fingers. In return, Peter chuckled, “This one’s good at keeping secrets,” he declared as he stood again, picking Mae up so he could resume his hold on Jack’s hand. “This line’s crazy, huh?”

“Yeah,” Y/n agreed, “We’ve been here for about forty minutes,” she sighed, “My feet already killing me,” she chortled quietly, glancing down at her feet clad in swede, heeled boots- probably not the best choice for the day. 

Peter laughed too, “Maybe we can grab cocoa after these three get their Santa time?” He suggested, quickly adding, “So you can rest your feet and we can catch up,” even if it had actually only been two days since they’d last seen each other, “They already seem to be getting along,” he threw a glance and Grace and Jack, who’d started playing amongst themselves. 

Her smile slipped for a second, Y/n didn’t think Andy would want to join her work friend for cocoa and they’d already planned to take Grace for pizza and then walk around for a bit after lunch anyway, and she was actually quite excited about their plans. “Actually-”

“Hey, sorry I took so long,” before she could turn Peter down, Andy returned, seeming a little frazzled and giving off the impression that he was in a hurry. 

“Its fine,” she glanced at him as he touched the top of Grace’s head while looking between her and Peter. “Uh, Andy, you remember Peter?” When he furrowed his brows, she explained further, “From work, you met him at the bar-b-que-”

“Right!” He remembered suddenly, “Peter the accountant,” he put out his hand for a quick, polite shake. 

“And you’re Andrew the ex,” he joked lightly, though it didn’t seem to go over well with Andy, who clenched his jaw while retracting his hand. As he did, Andy’s phone beeped and he checked it quickly, letting out what she could only interpret as a frustrated sigh. 

“Everything okay?” Y/n probed as he slipped his phone back into his pocket. 

“Yeah, no, I just uh…..that was Lynn,” he cleared his throat and the look on his face made her anticipate his next words, “She wants me down at the office.”

Y/n scoffed, trying to keep her cool and maintain appearances in front of her friend, “Right now?” 

Andy gestured defeatedly, dropping his arms at his side, “She says one of the legal assistants just got their hands on some surveillance footage and she wants me to go take a look at it.”

“And then do what?” Y/n huffed a dry chuckle, “The courts aren’t open till January.”

Realizing that anything further would lead to an argument in public, Y/n shook her head, “Just go,” she turned away, panning her hardened gaze to the floor more to her right. 

She heard Andy sigh heavily, “I’m sorry,” he offered heavily as she blinked away unshed emotion, “I’ll be back for pictures,” he sounded earnest, but Y/n wasn’t prepared to hold her breath waiting for his return. “I gotta go, Bunny,” he offered Grace softly, and through her periphery, she saw him kissing their daughter’s forehead. 

“But daddy, you can’t leave yet,” she protested, reaching for his hand. It broke her heart that he was doing it again; letting them down in favor of work. “We haven’t even seen Santa.” 

When Y/n focused her attention on Grace and Andy again, he was bending to ruffle her hair as he promised, “I’ll be back before you do.”

“Promise?” She asked, big eyes hopeful. 

Briefly, their eyes met, and Y/n hoped the edge in her gaze was enough to stop him from saying what he was going to. “I…..I’ll do my best,” he smiled tightly, giving her another kiss, that time on the cheek. “I’m really sorry,” he mouthed to Y/n before leaving again. 

After he was gone, she and Peter stood in awkward silence, and she didn’t have to look at him to know that he was feeling bad for them. Anyone who’d heard the urgency in Andy's voice could tell that he wasn’t going to be back soon, besides it did seem to be a running theme with his work; one thing led to another, and then another. “Y/n, I-”

“You know what?” She straightened her back and shoulders, blinking quickly to clear her vision, “We’d love to get cocoa after this.”

That evening Just as Andy was turning off the stove, he heard a car pull up in front, and grabbing a dish towel off the counter, he hurried over to the living room window, getting to it just in time to see everything unfold. Peter getting out of the driver’s side of a silver Lexus, heading to the back door that faced the house just as Y/n got out of the front passenger seat. She’d texted him a couple hours earlier, when he was just about to leave the office, at first it was just a couple pictures of Grace with Santa Claus but afterwards she’d sent a short message letting him know that Peter would drive them home and she’d meet him there. 

The guilt that had washed over him in that moment had been utterly overwhelming. 

After Peter had helped Grace out of the car and the doors had been shut, he and Y/n hugged for a little longer than friends usually did and Andy felt a surge of jealousy join his mountain of guilt. It felt like he was watching his replacement move in on his family. Even after Peter had gotten into his car again, it lingered on the curb until Y/n opened the front door, letting Grace in first. 

The sound of their footsteps beckoned Andy to the mouth of the hall, where he caught them wiping their feet off on the mat and Y/n helping Grace out of her parka, which was adorned with flecks of white. “Daddy!” She beamed and the minute Y/n took her hat off, Grace bounded towards him, seemingly unbothered by his failure to get back to the mall.

Y/n however was visibly pissed.

Feigning a groan, he lifted Grace off her feet, planting a big kiss on her cheek. His heart swoll a little when she held his face against hers for a moment, and in response, Andy hugged her a little tighter. “How was the mall Bunny?”

“It was great! I got to tell Santa what I wanted, we took pictures then we got cocoa,” and just when he thought she was done, Grace continued exuberantly, “And then we went to the arcade and Peter won me a snowman!”

The mention of him made Andy’s expression falter and he felt a pang in his chest; what kind of man took another someone else's family to the arcade? 

The kind that stepped up when a father put everything else before his kid and the woman he claimed to love. 

“Yeah?” Grace nodded, asking her mother for her snowman as the three of them entered the kitchen. From a large, brown shopping bag, Y/n produced a stuffed snowman, back bowler hat and red and green scarf making him look like the embodiment of a seasonal tune.

“His name is Fred Frosty!” She declared, offering the toy to Andy. 

“Cool, how’d you come up with that?”

“Peter helped,” of course he did. Internally, Andy rolled his eyes; was the man determined to prove himself a better fit? 

“Why don’t you go introduce Fred to Mr. Bear?” Y/n suggested when Andy finally set Grace down, and with a vigorous nod, Grace made a beeline for the staircase. As their little one disappeared out of earshot, Y/n moved over to the counter that separated the kitchen from the dining room, setting down her handbag and two shopping bags. 

“So Peter,” he broke the silence, letting jealousy get the better of him. He didn’t think it could be helped though; he screws up once and suddenly there’s another man there to fill his shoes. 

“Don’t even start with that,” Y/n warned pointedly. 

Andy scoffed, “Start with what?”

“‘So Peter’,” she mocked, “You,” she pointed angrily, “Were the one that said he’d be back before pictures. We spent 2 hours in line- I let Peter’s niece and nephew go before us, hoping you’d show up. But then suddenly it's over, another hour is gone and I don’t get as much as a text from you.”

Swallowing thickly, he ran a hand through his hair, “I got caught up-”

“Like you always do,” Y/n interrupted, “Its always work before us- before her.”

“That is not true,” he argued firmly, “Grace is always my first priority, you know that.”

Shaking her head, Y/n licked her lips, “She wasn’t today-”

“If I’d left that footage today, it would have gone to Neal- he would have gotten that case and my promotion,” Andy cut her off, “It’s just one day, she isn’t even upset,” even if he was, that was not the point. “She’s not even gonna remember that I wasn’t there.”

“Exactly, Andy; she’s not going to remember that you weren’t there, because she’s been going to see Santa every year since she was born and you’ve never been there. She’s not going to remember because to her this is normal. But every time you skip out on us for work, that’s another memory that you’re not a part of.” Tugging off her scarf, she made her way to the living room, draping the thick, plaid strip of fabric over the back of the recliner before starting to peel off her long, leather coat, briefly exposing the woolen inside as she did. “And you’re lucky right now you’re still this big hero in her mind,” she gestured widely with the maroon garment held in one hand, “To her, you can do no wrong and as long as you’re around more often than not, you can keep being that for her,” draping the coat over her scarf, Y/n paused, “But when one day, when she grows up and realizes that your job always comes first it is going to break her heart. She’s gonna look back at the pictures from today and remember that you said you’d come back but didn’t,” her voice broke at the end as fury turned to hurt. 

At a loss for words as everything she said hit him, Andy half sat against the back of the sofa, hands shoved into his pockets, shoulders hunched forward a little and eyes fixed on the polished hardwood. He hadn’t thought of it like that; Grace was okay now, but one day she might find out that he broke his promises and let his work come first. 

Maybe he was everything the divorce papers had made him out to be- the realization hit him like a ton of bricks. 

He didn’t know how to talk about his feelings, he didn’t even know how to focus on his family while he was on vacation. 

“You’re right,” he elicited softly, hanging his head, “God, you’re so right.” Clasping his fingers together in front of himself, he moistened his lips and shook his head. “Its all my fault, just like you’ve been saying,” he huffed. He’d spent so long telling himself that he didn’t know where it had all gone wrong, that he had done everything he could to keep their marriage together, but the truth was that he hadn’t. Leaving them at the mall wasn’t an isolated incident; for Y/n’s birthday the year before. he'd been late to her party and then on their last Thanksgiving together, he’d let her and Grace go to her parents’ without him. He’d pushed Y/n away every time she got too close and guarded himself against her efforts to help him open up. 

The click of her heels on the floor was the only  indication of Y/n stepping closer that Andy registered. “You’re a good man, Andy,” she offered, tone as gentle as she reached over to place her smaller hand over his clasped ones, giving his fingers an affectionate squeeze, “I know that, I just want Grace to know that too.” 

Andy sighed again, shifting his hands so Y/n’s would be sandwiched between his. “I screwed everything up, Y/n,” he wallowed, finally lifting his head. Unintentionally, their eyes met, hers were a little dim but Andy couldn’t tell if it was with sympathy or something else, but he did know that he hoped she could see the remorse in his. “I’m sorry that I wasn’t the man you two deserved,” he elicited a heavy breath, “I’m sorry that drove you away.”

Y/n frowned and quickly glanced down at their joined hands, though she made no move to separate them. “Its not too late,” she smiled sadly, matching his gaze once more. Her words linger for a moment, sparking an ember of hope in the center of his chest- until she doused it. “For Grace,” she stuttered, “Its not too late for Grace. You know? She still thinks you’re…..a kind, intelligent, compassionate man. Even if you don’t know how to show it.” 

He mulled over her words for a minute, “She thinks that?” Y/n nodded and he hesitated before asking, “What else does she think?”

Y/n thought on his question for a moment, “She thinks…..that- she knows that another man isn’t gonna love her the way you do. She knows that….she’s not gonna love another man the way she loves you.”

“Grace?” He probed, knitting his brows.

“Grace,” Y/n reaffirmed, clearing her throat and hastily pulling her hand away. Rubbing her palms anxiously on the sides of her jeans, she explained, clearly flustered, “Cause um….no one loves a little girl like her daddy. And to her you’re irreplaceable,” then, apparently finding her explanation lacking, Y/n added, “Because you’re her father.”

Smiling tightly, he nodded, “I got it.” His heart dropped when Y/n turned away to head upstairs and get Grace ready for dinner; of course it would always mean the world to him that Grace looked up at him, but for a split second, he’d thought that there was still hope for him and Y/n. But she’d made sure to draw a hard line, making it exceedingly clear that any chance of their reconciliation had been taken off the table when they signed the papers.

Tagging: @royalwritersoftheuniverses @patzammit @funfickgirl22 @talesofadragon @what-is-your-plan-today @pono-pura-vida @mdpplgtz03 @shipheart @marvelmenwhore @itschrismasevans @findthebeautyinbreakdowns @bemysugarbean @wintasssoldier @elrw24 @imyourbratzdoll @chasingsnowintheshadows @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @sarahdonald87

[factorialsotherfandoms]

its 6am and I'm complaining myself through the ending of purgatory k? This is just the bitching not a full balanced analysis, bits I genuinely enjoyed are missing so it looks like I have a worse opinion than I did, its below a cut because a lot of people don't want that and that's absolutely good. I'm just processing through.

I think purgatory ending feels bad because we were promised by the way it was advertised and treated the end of the arc, and what we got was another fucking mid point instead. A mid point which after this going on for so long nobody really wanted. Setting up new project cool! But it felt miserable to watch the end. Probably could have been helped if the CCs had more info on a meta level - just the timescales and that this wasn't actually the end of the arc - so they could pace themselves and us better. The eggs missing has gone on for far too long, we've been given far too little to work with, and it's just not fun viewing any more. Which is why my engagement is so dependent on the next little while.

That, plus getting to the boat on foot was impossible without near perfection - something they were never going to all have. I like giving qMaxo his big sendoff with the nuke which solves nothing! But people who were legitimately trying to escape (Cellbit, Tina, off the top of my head - Cellbit just legit got lost in the underground. He said after he decided to stay but like... really? We'll have to wait and see next time he plays qsmp. If nothing else he legit had shit to do planned, and I feel like he would discuss it more with Roier if he was going to perma-kill Cellbit as that's massive to put on someone else's character. Pretty sure ccCellbit was just teasing like he fucking does but we'll see. Also changes what Maxo did if any of them die to it /significantly/. I'll be genuinely worried for ccMaxo if his characters actually pretty neat death arc resulted in a fan favourite character permadying in a game without permadeath) should have had a legit chance to do so. If they were supposed to be able to. I really hope the admins smooth that bit over one way or another, because it just made shit feel extremely bad. Kinda expect the /actual/ ruling to be if one person made it they all did, but dear god they needed to tell the players that immediately after or whatever if so. Failing that you could maybe have the others in the Nether or something, but youd need to coordinate everyone who didn't make it and that'd just suck logistically. The sensible answer is if one person got there they all did because this isn't a high legality sort of game. For players.

Like the other eggs were probably kidnapped by something and reported out? And I'm betting on black concrete plot as that's the plot actually associated with them disappearing in the first place, but for all it's cool moments up until then it just... dropped the ball. Tbh the entire thing with the eggs being involved was a massive ball drop which lead to /one/ cool conversation but otherwise just made everything infinitely less enjoyable.

Poor BBH. Like cc wise. He's one of a whole lot of them who have horrific rp safety practices, but also there's not really anyone to teach them that and that's nothing to punish someone for. Hope it gets hashed out with him. All of them but especially him.

Having players of another project as "advertising" for a new project without them knowing more in advance tastes kinda shitty. Very shitty. We'll see how tied it ends up being but that's just not comfy.

Quackity saying about big stuff planned is absolute ass. Like legitimately and out of character the CCs genuinely need a break for a bit you can't just throw them back into heavy stuff immediately. They need space to breath oc and find their footing ic. Most of them have streamed far more than usual this fortnight, and even for those who do stream daily usually it's been intense. You can say if its hurting them they can just take a break but you cannot convince me they can when their literal irl incomes depend on this. Some more than others, but they do.

Also like the tension just genuinely doesn't hold that long. Most of what I run is combat heavy fantasy events, but I've done horror too. And a big bit of running horror events is studying how pacing and tension works, especially over an extended period (horror events locally tend to be multi-day). You /can/ change the usual layout, but you have to know your fucking shit and be really careful if you do, and the admins and Quackity just don't seem to - as a collective whole, some individuals may - have the experience necessary to fuck with the formula. Like. I'm burnt out, the players are ooc burnt out, the fandom generally seems burnt out - not giving the players a win here was already a mistake, but the tension /has/ snapped. Too many people are too burnt out from playing more than usual and all that, under very high stakes circumstances, for very little reward. There needs to be a break where players who do other stuff can play other stuff and players who don't can take the time to find their footing again. Tension levels are not sustainable and they broke them open. If they hadn't revealed the eggs you could have stretched it another few days, but they did. At which point losing the eggs again is genuinely so fucking unsatisfying. They could have only been shown the winning egg. Like sure fuck with people, that's what's going on IC and OC maybe it was supposed to be reassurance, but it just ended up feeling ghoulish. It was so obviously playing on feelings it just fell flat for me. Not even the fun playing with feelings, just a fuck you.

Also communication has been fucking atrocious. Yes keep twists in the bag, I can see arguments for all plot points, but the players needed to know the timescale, the fact it was a PvP not a lore event, and that this wasn't the end of the eggs missing arc rather an interlude waaaaaaaaaaay earlier. Like they found out as these things became obvious, but given the time commitment it demanded they needed to know like weeks before it started. As soon as it was announced. We can tall all we like about trusting the admins, but the admins have got to fucking trust their players to still make good viewing times even if not everything is a complete surprise. It fucked over Cellbit and Roier and their murder plot planning, it fucked over a lot of people ooc and their streaming schedules and their ability to do actual life things. Forever when given the Judas plot should have been told in advance when it would be activatable. The players - not the characters or the audience, the players - should have known it was 15 days, PvP, only 1 egg was on the cards for now, that the chance to save the others will come later (I have no doubt it will), and that they would need to escape fast at the end. Not the why, not the how, not the plot, but you need to know the fucking stakes.

Like okay let's look at shit I run a sec. Its nor perfect, but we've been building on a 20+ year tradition of larp in the same place and learning from what does and doesnt work. Info players have in advance:

date and time. for things run for and at the university, dates generally are announced start of the year, and which system will be which day is the start of every term. For events for the uni but at an unusual place or time (often an IC dinner party or similar), 3 weeks in advance. For stuff not associated with the university (I help with fewer of these, as far fewer happen and theyte the ones i can still play with my disability)... well, they tend to be multi day in a hired venue and players pay a lot of money to be there, so its usually about a year and a half in advance. The stuff below about pitches are for saturday ones - paid for multi day events all that info is announced at least a year in advance, and for single day non-university ones at least 6 months. But like qsmp is a constantly running thing so the university stuff is a fairer comparison.

Every event has a "pitch". This goes up the Tuesday before for Saturday events - theres a couple of different teams running different genres but same place same time theres a larp every termtime saturday just 9/30 are run by my team. The pitch will contain the information the characters know going into a mission or social or whatever. If theres a twist the twist isn't mentioned, ofc, just the initial setup. Then, there's an out of character section, with stuff like date and time and reminders to weather weather appropriate clothing and sturdy shoes.

If the event is /not/ in the format players expect, in the out of character info including things like the time, we say that. We run combat heavy stuff. If it's purely social, we say so. If it'll be more Freeform than usual, we say so. If the party is getting split we - you guessed it - say so.

Our events have different levels of IC rewards. The basic reward can always be assumed (3 gold, iirc). Theres also 4 and 5 gold days. If its not 3 gold, it says so in the pitch, and players know this is a difficulty rstinf system. 3 is normal, 4 is "this is designed to be challenging for late end high xp characters and is likely to kill lower levels", 5 is "we are actively trying to kill someone". Death is always an option, but the ref team don't usually want it.

Sometimes there are RP rewards too. These are not explicately stated, but are alluded to "you will be paid so long as you eliminate the monster. If you capture it and deliver it to the university, however, the chancellor promises an extra something for you" sort of thing. "The Dowager Duchess is well known for rewarding those in her favour. Impress her, and she may do the same for you".

If there's distressing content that isn't covered by genre and game style, we include a warning. Last time was "this session will include horror elements. A list of content warnings is available from any ref on request", and we DMed players we knew have triggers on that list the same day pitch went out to liase with them. Yes even when the trigger is a plot twist or a spoiler because fuck you player safety will always be most important. One which had content warnings but was not horror "this session contains potentially distressing material. A list of content warnings is available from any ref on request".

And like... call me naive but this is the sort of info the players should have? In advance they should have a summary (yes it's also given IC at the start of the event, but it means they can prep properly), dates and times well in advance (so they can prep their lives and other projects), expected rewards (even if vague), and any particularly common triggers (like say a third party intentionally sewing paranoia and fucking with mental health of characters) should have a "theres triggers here please put a message in your help channel for a list". I'd say also some indicator of where on a plot arc something falls.

We dont give this because our pacing plot arc wise is determined by how we run them. Paid events are all always one offs (I run them with a different group of people but same circle) - except when they aren't in which case this is made clear at the pitching stage- and uni ones its dictated by the university schedule - we run nine main events a year, 3 each term. There's a small climax last linear of every term, and a major one at the end of a year. Yearly arcplots do not always exist but when they do they end with the last linear of term. There are some other plots brewing over longer periods - when those come to a head, they will become the main plot for a year and their climaxes run on yearly arcplot rules. It is never the case that all sessions in a year are arcplot related, to give players not interested in a specific thing something to do.

Other things they could probably do with include a safe word and establishing a way for an admin to indicate a fuck up due to glitch or mistake - probably an "ignore me" emote only admins have access to.

This all being said - the admin team want people to have fun and for it to go well, and the medium is much younger than traditional LARP. Information for their specific media does not exist, and while they maybe should look at rp for ideas they probably look at tabletop and don't even consider LARP - let alone larp styles more common in Europe. I can say things all I want, but I'm just a guy over here. The admins are trying their best and do want the best for their players, and will have a plan. It's just infuriating sometimes.

[deuxcherise]

Look At Me

C/w: Includes adult content, NSFW, unhealthy relationship dynamic, unhealthy behavior, murder, animal cruelty, animal death, male x female, dom reader(?), sub lover(?), mentions of sadomasochism, no beta we die like men

A/n: So I wanted to rip something out of my head today and throw it down into something tangible instead of just letting it ferment like all of the other ideas. Writing is hard, aughhhh.

But here's my good boy oc! Enjoy him!

Masterlist

As the daughter of the Astoria Empire's Royal family, there is nothing you can do that can tarnish your reputation. Even if the people see you as “The Mad First-born Princess”, they still worshiped your family's lineage, especially your father, the Emperor, as descended from the heavens and their salvation.

A cultivated image, maintained by the powerful and the rich. You cared not for it, since this empire has never been a source of comfort.

Unfortunately, there is a law regarding marriage that greatly involves the first-born, even if you are literally a princess of the empire. Before any siblings can get married, the first-born must be married off. It is akin to presenting the image of the family forth in public, to serve as a model for the younger ones and other potential suitors and maidens. It is all about connections, yes? And luckily or unluckily depending on your tastes, you seem to have been engaged with a… strange gentleman.

“Princess?”

You sit, one leg crossed over the other, on the edge of your king-sized bed, dressed in a sheer nightgown. On his hand knees, still dressed in formal attire, the man’s chin rests on the dorsal side of your out-stretched foot and looks up at you with the most depraved looking eyes you have ever seen.

Naoki Nightshade.

The one and only son of Baron Nightshade. Considering his family is just slightly above the commoners and far below all of the many eligible dukes, marquess, viscounts, and earls, it would have been impossible for the both of you to become acquainted with one another, much less become engaged. Alas, he is a cousin of Lillian Vallar, who happens to be your best friend.

Lillian had actually been the one to suggest this match, claiming that it would bring you and her closer. You and the girl have a deep history together, having forged your bond through life and death during your teens. You know she had no further intentions. That girl seriously just wanted to become your sister-in-law.

And… well, you had to give some credit to your father, that neglectful bastard, since he had the main authority to approve this engagement.

You hold eye contact with Naoki with your chin tilted up in an arrogant manner. His yellow eyes burn with molten gold as they meet yours, making your eyes flick over to some part of the room out of… discomfort.

“... What?”

He closes his eyes, holds your foot with one hand so that he can give it a light kiss before laying more kiss as he moves upward your leg. You don’t stop him, prideful as you are. You are the first-born princess of Astoria. If you so wanted, you can simply kick him to the side. You could hit him. You could tear him apart. Humiliate him. No one would vouch for this man of low status, and no one would dare speak against the empire. And he certainly could not do anything against your physical strength.

He stops at the middle of your shin and looks up at you again. He doesn't look anywhere but your eyes, only waiting for a chance to meet them.

Uncomfortable.

Not in a bad way, just… With the low lighting by candlelight, the intimate setting being your bedroom with its dark red walls and decor, his connection to you… any other man in this situation would be ogling your body through the sheer material. Many men have, even when you are covered head to toe in opaque clothing in the balls you've crashed. But Naoki… he keeps searching for your eyes, no matter the situation or circumstances.

“Princess… please, look at me,” Naoki whispers.

“...And why should I?” you whisper back sharply, still avoiding his eyes, though more out of mischief.

You don't hear his response for a good few seconds, prompting you to look down only to meet his intense gaze yet again. You look away, then feel a quiver from his body from where his hands are holding your leg. He's taking amusement from your reaction, making you grit your teeth.

“What's so funny?”

He doesn't answer, only pressing his lips against your leg, resuming slowly. moving upwards with each kiss. It tickles, but you don’t stop him. It feels like forever but once he kisses your knee, he whispers in the most quiet and gentle voice you have ever heard from him, “I love you.”

Heat fills your cheeks, his stupid line adding onto why you’re avoiding his eyes. “Liar.”

“It's true.”

“We just met two months ago.”

“Indeed, we should've met sooner.”

“I recall you didn't want anything to do with me just weeks ago.”

He rests his cheek against your lap, wrapping his arms around your waist. “Yes. A mistake on my part. M’ sorry. I love you.”

Having been hidden and isolated since birth by a superstitious court, you escaped and crashed the Crown Prince's coming-of-age ceremony because every child of your family got to have an age-of-coming ceremony except you. Ever since your first public appearance, you've been known to torture the royal guards, insult the royal court, and crash uninvited to every single ball you held an interest in. It is like a game to you, to see just how far you can go before someone in the empire finally realizes just how rotten this country's worship is to your family.

But truth be told, you’re anything but mad. Personally, you'd rather stay out of the spotlight. You'd rather sit at home and read a good book or spend your days drinking tea or coffee and enjoy a good evening scenery. Quiet and serene, quite different from your outgoing and insane persona–merely a petty revenge against your father and the country.

You sigh. What the hell happened to this man? The Naoki you met for the first time always kept a practiced smile on his face, no matter how wicked you displayed yourself, yet this happy expression had never reached his eyes. He'd keep his distance whenever he could both physically and emotionally, though he always made sure to accept any and all invitations just to appease you, like a merchant. He used to be so visibly uncomfortable when you would constantly invade his personal space to spout some of the cringiest lines you could come up with when you’re in character. You had heard the gossip, as you always do, about how pitiful the man was to be engaged with someone like you.

You didn't expect much, for what sane person would want to marry a mad woman who could easily take the lives of millions with a single tantrum. In fact, one of the benefits of this persona was to keep away any potential offers of engagement. Why would you want to marry anyone from this empire you hated? But it is law for first-borns to be married, and this is all for the sake of your youngest brother, the Crown Prince, to continue the bloodline. You may have a vendetta against your father, but you could not fault your dear youngest brother for anything.

It was only just a few weeks ago when you revealed your true personality to him accidentally. There was only so much you could do before you had to drop the act eventually. The moment you shared your inner thoughts as the calm and collected lady you truly are, he became so…

You feel the urge to slap him. Again. You've done it before out of some silly punishment, but his face… oh, how could you forget the way he drooled and begged for you to touch him again? It woke something in you that you hadn't expected.

You may have delighted in watching people of the royal court beg for their lives, but they deserved it. They were all who always ignored you, abandoned you, and never batted an eye when you cried and wailed out of loneliness as a child.

This man making himself comfortable on your lap, on the other hand?

You grip the hair on the back of his head harshly, drawing out a shameless moan from him. You click your tongue. That stupid voice of his makes your body feel weird.

“Shut up,” you demand.

“But Princess…”

“What?”

“It feels good, touch me more…” he mumbles against the plush of your lap.

You release his hair and take your hand back. He whines, getting on his knees to rest his chin between your breasts. His eyes, when you make a quick glance at them, remind you of a puppy along with that pout. Damn his cuteness.

“Princess… look at meeee…”

“No.”

You hear him make a huff. “Is it because of the Duke of Elsie?”

Confusion overrides your bashfulness, and you meet his eyes. They look angry… and hurt, though they soften when he realizes you're meeting his gaze like he asked.

“The Duke of Elsie? Who-”

He cuts you off by pushing you down onto your bed. He places a knee between your legs and leans over you. One of his hands is holding his weight, and the other is caressing your sides, sometimes teasing the underside of one of your breasts with his thumb. One of your hands flies to his chest and the other wraps around his throat, a threat–a bluff, he knows. You raise an eyebrow, silently demanding an explanation.

“At the last ball he attended, you kept looking all over him without so much of a glance at me,” he explains.

The last ball? Ohhhh… the Duke of Elsie. If you remember correctly, he owns a vineyard and is known to let his pet birds have a taste of fermented berries occasionally. You were paying attention to the bird he came with, who was dancing quite vigilantly on his shoulder that night. What you find strange is that everyone who approached the Duke of Elsie simply wanted to get a closer look at the entertaining fowl. How did your fiance miss the forest for the trees?

“I was looking at the bird.”

“The bird? You mean the one that was dancing on his shoulder?”

“Yes. It was quite entertaining, was it not?”

He stares at you for a moment. “Oh.”

“Oh,” you mock him.

A giddy smile breaks out on his face before he lowers himself on top of your body and hugs you tightly. You can hear him giggling right next to your ear, clearly happy that his assumption was wrong.

Regardless of your feelings for him, you'd never disregard your commitments. He is your fiance and you plan to be loyal to him, not shamelessly gawking at some other person or start an affair. Besides, you have no interest in anyone else anyway.

----------

And he'd like to keep it that way. Naoki plants multiple kisses on your cheek and neck, taking in your seductive natural scent.

Oh how it turns him on. Your scent, your body, your personality, your… everything. He lifts his bottom half up slightly, not allowing the bulge forming in his pants from making contact with you. He'd very much like to rip off this thin material you’ve dared to wear, to touch you in places you’ve never been touched, and mark all of his territory, but he can't risk scaring you.

Of course, no one would dare assume scaring you is an easy feat, but Naoki isn't as stupid as he–well, he is stupidly in love with you but he's not naive. He knows you don't take too kindly to extreme measures. Especially coming from him, seeing as you've been on guard with him ever since his personality took a 180.

Like how after the ball, he had secretly cornered the Duke of Elsie. He beat that man black and blue with a cane before dragging him off to hang his body by stabbing his limbs onto very sharp stakes. Oh, and just before that poor man lost his conscience, Naoki captured his bird and held it with two hands in front of the bleeding man. With a devious smile, Naoki snapped the bird into two. And the smile dropped as quickly as the snap that bird made.

Of course, Naoki had cleaned up the mess and erased any evidence that would implicate him. No one will question about the Duke of Elsie for a while, but he'll have to convince you to avoid the east garden for now. The gardeners have yet to get rid of the faceless rotting corpse, since it's feeding the little animals quite well.

For now, he'll simply work on training his beloved to make eye contact with him more often. The more you look at him, the less he'll assume you're looking at someone else. Okay? Mwaah <3

[shdwtouch]

While I absolutely agree with the sentiment and think oc positivity is sorely needed, comparing writing canon muses to fast fashion sounds a bit icky to me. I know you don't mean it in a bad way, but it does kinda sound like you're implying that people writing canon characters are putting less love, effort and creativity into their portrayals. Just because there are multiple people writing the same character doesn't cheapen their value, so I'd personally look for some other metaphor.

firstly, just want to say: I have so much anxiety about this message. like I know you're coming from a good place but its confrontation and alarm bells in my head so let me see if I can articulate. ; ; also, I'm posting this from mobile so I apologize for any weird formatting etc owo;

I'm going to stand by my statement (tho I deleted the tags [edit: I did take a screenshot for context sake]) honestly because I definitely was not implying that canon portrayals have less value, in fact I specifically stated that both canon and original characters have value, just like fast fashion and couture have their own values.

let me explain my thought process.

you walk into, say, Walmart and pick up a pair of Levi's. why ? because you've probably worn them before and like them, or heard of them from others and want to try them out. or because you're simply browsing and like the style and color and they're in the right size so why not ? canon muses have that ease of access, whether it be knowing the fandom or simply having a range of content and reviews to go off of as a "consumer".

original characters don't have that luxury; I don't know about other people, but for me sometimes engaging with original characters - and this is coming from someone who writes predominantly fandomless original characters and agonizes over how accessible their lore is - is, well, bottlenecked by my own energy and willingness to engage with the information and content the creator had provided. it's much easier for me, energy wise, to play a video game and then gravitate to muses from it because I'm already familiar with them, so I already have a foot in the door so to speak.

I fucking love reading original lore tho ! I also FUCKING LOVE canon divergence and headcanons ! but it isn't always easy to engage with or incorporate, and I think that's something that impacts a lot of people in how they view ocs compared to canons. original characters just often take more effort to engage with and understand, and that's not a bad thing ! but in a busy life it's understandable that folks want to go to what is comfortable and what they know, so they pick up a pair of Levi's instead of going to get a tailored pair of pants.

next, I should clarify that the characters are clothes, and we, as writers, are the ones who wear those clothes. which is to say, our own personal style and actions play into the overall appearance and feel of our portrayals. two people can take the same shirt and make completely different outfits with it ! maybe one of them decides to crop it, or bleach it, or cut it up and sew it into something new. and all of these things are valid ! and they all have value. you may be wearing the same shirt as someone else, but you still style it the way you want to. you still look different, still unique, still beautiful. there is nothing bad about liking fast fashion or canon characters. fast fashion is convenient, so are canon characters. some canon characters are poorly written and need to be dressed up or fixed to be worn, while others are quality and wonderfully made ! just like clothes ! and honestly, the same applies to original characters too !

the pants I'm wearing right now ? my favorite pair of pants. I've had them for like... four years. and they're still going strong. fast fashion isn't necessarily cheap, just like couture isn't necessarily haute. but again, it's about how you wear it. and everyone in the BG3 rpc wears their clothes, whether they be canon or original, in their own unique, beautiful way ! we all have our own style, and that style provides value to what we're trying to portray. neither canon nor original characters are better than the other, they BOTH have pros and cons. just like fast fashion and couture. they both have value, and their mode or means doesn't detract or add to the value of the final product.

I apologize if it seemed I was implying canon writers aren't as valuable as original writers, or somehow cheaper due to volume, in my tags. I definitely see where you are coming from and that's a valid perspective. However, that was not my intention and I hope I've managed to clarify my stance and explain myself a bit better. thank you for your message, I hope you're well ! sending lots of good vibes ♡

also, in case anyone was curious, my pants:

they are incredibly soft and flowy, very nice. I sleep in them and wear them out. I know they're winter themed but I think they're subtle enough to be worn outside the season, plus they have polar bears on them and I love polar bears !

also, if it's of any value, I have written my fair share of canon characters. I wrote extensively for assassins creed and marvel, in fact that's where I got my start in the rpc ! if I had to carry the metaphor, my "fast fashion" would be my (canon divergent) cli.nt bar.ton. I may have gotten him from marvel but I have since sliced him up and incorporated the pieces of my portrayal into my original projects ♡