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lo1k-diamonds · 5 days ago

Text

Make It Right 💜 Part 2

I won't make that mistake again.

PAIRING: Idol!Jungkook x (f) Reader

SUMMARY: After the last concert in Busan, Jungkook decides to stay at his parents' and make the best of that pause. He never dreamed he would have the chance to meet you again, but now that he has, he won't give up. This is his chance to make things right.

WORD COUNT: 13.1 k

GENRE: Idol AU, childhood friends to lovers, reunions, angst

RATING: Explicit

WARNINGS: arguing, angst, Jungkook likes to tease you a lot, nipple play, dry humping, cum eating, oral (both), unprotected sex, creampie, reader calls Jungkook by his actual name (Jeongguk), reader has a nickname

A.N. I've been seeing so many GIFs about Yet to Come JK that ouuuf 🥵 like please and thank you! Anyway, I hope the ending matches the vibe of the first part :) I wanted them to be soulmates without a soulmate AU and show their history a bit, even though this is only a two-shot. A huge thank you to @downbad4yoongi Jasz for helping me fine-tune this one 💜 Enjoy 💜(Thank you @eerieedits for the cool banner 💜)

Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad | < Part 1

“Imo-nim,” Jungkook greeted with a respectful bow.

Your mother beamed, “Jungkook! How wonderful to see you! Do you need something?”

He raised his head and looked behind her for a split second. “I was hoping to catch Mimi.”

Your mother's face showed wonder, then sadness. “Oh, she doesn’t live here anymore. Hasn’t in a couple of years.”

His heart dropped. “She’s not here? I thought… Did she not come here last night?”

Her brow furrowed in confusion. “She had dinner and left.”

Jungkook looked behind your mother as he processed that information. He had trouble sleeping, so he was out front for at least an hour, waiting for a decent hour to knock on your parents’ door. You couldn’t have left without him seeing it. And your mother wouldn’t lie to him, she’d have no reason to because you wouldn't have told her what happened last night. Which meant you hadn’t come here last night, and he was even more at a loss.

“But I can give you her address so you can go talk to her.”

Jungkook was instantly relieved, but he worried as your mother turned to a nearby table in her foyer to grab a Post-it and a pen. “Only if you think she won’t mind. I don’t want to upset her.”

Your mother chuckled as she scribbled. “Let her get upset. She’s already mad at me for yesterday anyway.”

“Because you were late?”

She hummed quizically and gave him the paper. “Late? No, because I told her it was time to stop sulking and talk to you. She wasn’t pleased about that.”

Jungkook safely tucked the paper with your address in his closed hand and pressed his lips, unsure how to reply.

But your mom just smiled. “I’ll be happy to see you two together again, even if it’s none of my business,” she added with a sigh, raising her hands in surrender. Then she smirked. “I can call her to let her know you’ll be coming over, if you want. Or give you her—”

“No!” he interrupted mindlessly, instantly regretting his outburst. “No, it… It will be okay like this. I’ll drop by tonight; maybe it’s best that she doesn’t know about it.”

Your mother raised a playful eyebrow. “Why are you waiting until tonight? You should go now. She has the day off.”

His shoulders stiffened as he licked his lip, instantly eager to do precisely that, and your mother simply chuckled.

“Take your time, okay? She might put up a fight at first, but that kid cares a lot about you. Always has.”

Jungkook’s heart fluttered as he squeezed the Post-it in his hand, and he didn’t linger. He thanked your mother properly, then made his way to his parents’ garage to borrow their car. The GPS quickly showed him where you lived, how to get there, and where to park, and he felt every minute of that twenty-minute car drive.

The further he got into the city proper, the more he realized he had no clue about what he would say to you. On top of it, you’d surely be angry that he had your address. Not to mention, there was no telling if you’d open the door to see him, but he had to try, especially with your taste lingering on his lips.

As soon as he parallel parked across the street from your building, he hopped out and took a few long strides to cross the road. Once he got there, his stomach finally twisted with nerves. The building's front door was locked, and he prayed that you'd open it for him as he stared at your name on the intercom panel.

He rang your apartment, looking at his feet while he waited, fully aware of the red light, the camera, and the beep. Especially when it stopped, but the light stayed on.

“Talk to me, Mimi,” he said quietly, raising his arms to support his weight on either side of the intercom. He stared into the camera, knowing you could see him. “I’m not letting this happen again. When we were kids, we were… stupid and silly and insecure and selfish and overwhelmed, and ugh— But not now. I won’t leave with things left unsaid,” he stated. “I won’t leave without seeing you. I won’t make that mistake again. I know you’re there, will you please open the door?”

The red light was still on, but no one replied. He glanced at your name again before nodding.

“Okay, well, then I’ll start. I said I thought I was over you, but I lied. How can I get over someone who contributed so much to who I am today? I thought of you in my darkest moments, and your strength pushed me through. And now seeing you, feeling you— No, it’s not possible. I can’t get over you.” He shook his head with a sigh. “You’re my person. We might never work, but you’ll always be my person. I’m sorry I ever hurt you. At thirteen, sixteen, or yesterday, it feels like I keep hurting you when I—I never meant to, I'm so sorry.”

His voice wavered as he lowered his head. Were you even listening? Truly listening? Did you even understand or relate to anything he was saying?

He raised his eyes in time to see the red light turn off. His heart dropped; did you turn it off? Or had it timed out?

His chest tightened with a mix of emotions, making him close his fists and clench his jaw, but then the light turned on again.

“You’re there,” he breathed, staring at the camera. “You just activated it again, didn’t you? Please let me in. Let’s talk.”

His guts twisted as he waited, his emotions tethered to anxiety as he wondered if you'd give him, and you both, a chance.

A long buzz followed by a click was his answer. He pushed the door open and ran up the stairs so fast, it felt like he teleported to the fourth floor. Then he stopped and stared at your closed door. Another barrier, another question. Would you—?

The door opened, and the first thing he saw were your eyes. Heavy and glistening, avoiding him before you opened the door further to let him in.

Suddenly, getting inside wasn't the priority— you were. “Are you okay?” he asked, stepping towards you.

Suddenly, a few loud barks made him raise his eyebrows and look down. A white Jindo was fast approaching, hurrying to stand by your legs, barking and wiggling its tail in excitement.

Jungkook was too stunned to speak. It was so out of character for you to have a dog, but there you were, giving a command. “Sit.”

The Jindo looked up at you and sat down obediently, wiggling its tail incessantly with its tongue hanging from its open mouth. You reached your hand to pet its head, and Jungkook was stunned.

He could still see the faint scar on your hand as you stroked its white fur. Nobody would have noticed the mark, but he did because he knew about it.

“You have a dog?”

You nodded, and Jungkook instantly looked at the Jindo differently. He kneeled in front of your pet, and it was enough for it to restart barking and attacking Jungkook with its tongue, almost knocking him down.

Jungkook laughed, catching the excited dog before it could do so and calming it down with soothing pets, while you scolded, “Nal, no. Come on, bed. On your bed.”

The dog was too excited to listen to you now, giving its full attention to Jungkook, who was befuddled.

“You called him Nal?”

“I called her day, yes.”

Nal had calmed down, lying on the floor to get belly rubs from Jungkook, whose eyes were fixed on you. His heart was in such turmoil that he couldn’t speak. Not only did you have a dog, but you had called her Day, just like you used to talk about. It was enough to make him want to grab you and kiss you. It was enough for him to be mad that you wouldn’t let him.

“Why did you run away?”

You bristled and stepped further inside. “Come inside first. Nal, come.”

Nal instantly got up and happily followed you, but Jungkook took a second before doing the same and closing the door behind him. There was something wonderful about following you inside and seeing you walking side by side with a dog, without fear. With your dog, who was looking at you endearingly as you crossed the living room and told her to settle on her bed, a large gray pillow in the corner. You knelt beside her, stroking her shiny white coat, a sharp contrast to your black sweater and leggings.

He blinked. Those were just like the clothes from yesterday. Which reminded him of why he was there, so he repeated the question. “Why did you run away?”

Your eyes flickered towards him before you gave Nal one last pet and got up. “What do you mean, why? What was I supposed to have done?”

“Stay!”

“And what?” You turned to face him. “Give you the chance to let me down slowly?”

“Does it look like that’s what I want to do?”

“What else can you do?!”

“Figure it out!” He snapped, pushed by your tone. “With you!”

“What? How can you say that?!” Your voice trembled. “After you left and stayed gone all these years?!”

His anger diminished rapidly, and he finally understood where your reaction stemmed from. “That was then, this is now. I told you, we’re adults now. Writing our story and taking it wherever we want it to go.”

Your anger simmered down, finally leaving only sadness in its wake. “Yes, okay. Well, your story led you very far away and—”

“But I’m here now,” he cut in, stepping closer to you.

“Now? What now? That’s just bullshit!”

You were easily upset again, but he wasn't. “Why? Mimi, why do you think it’s bullshit?”

“Because I know through my mom! You barely visit home, you’re always busy! How long can you even stay now?”

“As long as I want to.” He was firm, and you heaved a deep breath. “Things are different now. You know why, you said you worked on the concert.”

“I know,” you muttered, looking down.

“Then you know BTS is going on hiatus for a while. And I told you yesterday that I'm taking time off.” Your eyes were fleeting, and he insisted, “What are you afraid of?”

“Everything!” you breathed before you ran your hands through your hair. “I don't know what we're doing! We're supposed to be part of the past.”

“And if we’re not?” he asked. You looked at him, and he insisted, so eager he couldn't hide the want in his voice. “Is that so bad?”

Yet you smiled sadly. “Yes. Because it won't be a dream anymore.” Your eyes softened as you eyed him, and his heart thumped underneath your gaze. That was the first time he saw clear affection in your eyes as they met his. “If… If I kiss you the way I want to, you won't be in the past anymore. You will be someone I want now, and… What do I do then? I'll just have to let you go. You don't belong here,” you added, even as he shortened the distance between you and raised his hands to your waist. Your hands met his chest, and you looked into his eyes as you whispered, “A part of me wants to do it anyway, no matter how little you can give, but I have to be smarter than that. I know how much it will hurt. Heck, it will be even worse this time.” You chuckled. “So yeah, I ran away. I’m sorry.”

He pressed you closer. “I don’t want to be your dream anymore, and I don’t want you to be mine. I want you to kiss me and give us a present. A future.”

Your lips parted as you looked at him, stunned. He couldn't believe the words out of his mouth either; twenty-four hours ago, he would never have guessed where he'd be or with whom, and feeling so sure about his heart.

But the more he looked at you, with your sparkly eyes and nose freckles, the more certain he was.

Yet your expression saddened as you whispered, “But you don't even know me anymore…”

“But I can get to know you. And you can get to know me. Who else will ever know me the way you do? Understand me? Accept me?” Your eyelashes fluttered, and he knew you understood exactly what he meant. “I have time now, so I can finally choose us and treat you right.”

You shook your head in disbelief. “Why would you want to do that? I'm just someone you left behind.”

“You're someone I could never forget and thought I had lost forever,” he corrected, feeling it heavily in his heart. “Meeting you like this is… It's the most amazing opportunity. All the what-ifs, doubts, regrets, certainties I could never confirm… and then I saw you. Met you, talked to you, touched you, kissed you—” He could feel the desire seeping through his voice, and seeing your cheeks gaining color made him lick his lips. “Everything is so clear to me now. I could have never made you promises before, but I can now. I can actually spend time with you and do this right. If it doesn't work out, it won't be because I'm never around or too busy to call. We can be together and see where things go, and I really want to. You heard me, I'm not over you. You stayed in the back of my mind even though I was certain that for my whole life, you’d just be someone I used to know. Someone whom I would have held in my arms, had all my firsts with, and loved madly if things had happened differently.”

You whispered, “You can’t know that.”

He smiled. “Yes, I can. I know I'm a romantic at heart, but… I mean, if I had never left, I would have tried, of course… It doesn’t mean you’d ever see me as more than Jeongguk, but—”

“Oh, shut up!” You swatted his chest with no real strength. “I saw you as more years before you did!”

He smiled playfully. “That’s true. So is what I’m saying that crazy?”

“No,” you admitted quietly, then pushed on his chest softly. “But I’m afraid of believing it and getting my head full of dreams and ideas that are impossible.”

He held you firmly by the waist. “Mimi…”

“Don’t.”

“I have to,” he countered gently, despite the ache at seeing you trying to put distance between you two. Even after he saw in your eyes how his words touched you. “I will fight for you unless you tell me you don’t want me. If what happened yesterday was just two people getting each other off, that’s fine. I can accept that even if that’s not how I see it. Is that what it was?”

His tone was gentle as you stopped pushing his chest and crumpled his sweater in your hands instead.

“No.”

His eyes softened. “Okay, tell me what it was.” You kept your eyes firmly on his chest, and he insisted. “What happened yesterday?”

You pressed your lips together, and he couldn't handle the silence.

“Did you get carried away?”

“Yes.”

His eyebrows twitched, but he kept going. “Was it an impulse?”

“Yes.”

You refused to look at him, and he began tensing up, both knowing you weren't lying and that there had to be more to the way you felt about him.

“Has your curiosity been satisfied?”

You pursed your lips, and he bit his lip.

“You hate me and want nothing to do with me.”

Your eyes snapped up. “That’s not true.”

But he was already irked. “You kiss everyone like that,” he whispered.

“That’s not true!”

“I know, I could feel it!” He squeezed your sides to tame his annoyance. “So won't you tell me what you’re thinking and how you feel. Talk to me.”

“I don’t know what to say!”

“Yes, yes, you do. Your secrets.” You opened your mouth to counter him, and he interrupted you, “That, right there. That thought you’re not voicing.” Your eyes flitted between his, and still you hesitated. “You always told me everything. Trust me again.”

Your eyes watered. “It won’t make sense,” you whispered.

“I’m the only one who it will make sense to,” he assured gently.

You let your head fall to his chest and embraced him so firmly that the air was squeezed out of his lungs.

Then, you whispered, “I don't know what to do. I thought you had forgotten all about me, but now, I—I don’t know what to do. I was in love with you for so long,” you breathed, hiding your face in his shoulder. “The type of innocent, childish first love that never blossomed, never materialized, but still haunted me for years. I was angry, so angry. So hurt and angry, I despised you and myself for feeling that way about you. And jealous. Everyone would talk about you, how mature and responsible you were, and I’d burn with jealousy of whoever got to be with you while I became smaller than a side note you had already forgotten.”

He had to grab you as gently as possible to pull you away enough to face you. To see you as you finally let him know about your heart.

You were tearful and anxious, but you continued, “I had to work hard on myself to let it all go. To move on with my life and accept all that was unrequited feelings and a bruised ego. And now you’re here, what do you want me to do? To say? I can’t even be angry at you anymore!” Your voice trembled with tears as you shook your head. “I’m so sorry I didn’t try harder! I shouldn’t have shut you out, I should have been there for you!”

A tear escaped your water line, and he instantly held you closer as you wiped it away.

He spoke softly, “You did your best. I should have tried harder to reach out to you, too.” Your shoulders shook as you tried calming your breathing, and he pressed a kiss to your temple. “I’m sorry you went through all of that by yourself. I should have been there to tell you your feelings weren’t unrequited. That I couldn’t even talk to girls for so long because I had you on my mind, and it felt wrong. That I had to accept that our lives went their separate ways. That it drove me crazy to think that if I ever saw you again, I’d find you settled down with an amazing life that didn’t include me or the dreams we had growing up. That I wished I had stayed in your life, and it hurt every single day.” His voice turned to a whisper as you cradled his cheeks, seeing his pain. “That's why we deserve this, Mimi,” he assured you with a warm heart. “We've been apart for too long, we deserve to—”

You tilted his head until his lips were close and got on your tip toes to shut him up with a kiss. Instantly, he groaned into your mouth, lifting you to his chest. You drove him wild, making him recklessly kiss you as if he missed you for a lifetime and feared never tasting you again.

His ache materialized when you pulled back, breaking apart your kiss, even though you were still holding onto his sweater.

“It will make a mess of things.”

“Or make everything right,” he countered, kissing your head.

“We’ll get hurt,” you whispered painfully, squeezing your eyes shut.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” The hope that had settled in his chest was not enough for him to mindlessly insist this time. “I want everything but that. If that's the only future you see for us and prefer to leave things as they are, I’ll leave.”

It was the first time he offered, and it didn't come without pain and disappointment. Fortunately, looking into your eyes, he saw that you didn't take the matter lightly. You knew there was a chance of getting hurt no matter what, and it made you hesitate, but not outright take his offer.

He brushed your hair behind your ear gently. “It’s okay. However you feel is right, you can tell me.”

You leaned into his touch. “I don’t want you to leave. Ever again.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him into a smothering hug, and he chuckled, nuzzling your neck.

“Me neither.” He breathed in your perfume and sighed, relaxing further into your embrace. “I believe in us. I remember playing mom and dad and the talks we had about one day having children and dogs and a house and—”

“You remember all that?”

“I do, and I cherish it,” he promised, kissing your neck. “And you do, too. Or you wouldn’t have named her Nal.”

You pulled away, glancing at your dog, asleep on her pillow, before looking back at him. Despite the hue on your cheeks, you hesitated.

He brushed a finger down your warm cheek. “Just like I named my dog Bam.”

You gasped mutely, and he couldn’t help but smile and cradle your cheek.

“I used to believe it was a dream, but after yesterday, I know it’s real. I know we’re special. I feel vindicated after all these years.” He chuckled.

“But it’s crazy,” you countered with a sniffle.

“My life is crazy. Meeting you again and finding out you’re the love of my life would not be the craziest thing that has ever happened to me. But it would make me the happiest.”

Your mouth parted as you stared at him, blushing furiously, stunned and silent. It made him smile; your shock was endearing, especially after everything he had told you today.

He leaned in to peck your nose and cheeks, waiting for your reaction. Your response.

You squeezed your eyes shut, whispering, “I’m scared.”

“Don’t be…” He kept holding you and kissing your skin tenderly. “We’ll figure it all out together. Like we used to.”

“That was a long time ago.”

“And it can restart now for an even longer time.”

You looked at him with stars in your eyes despite the puffiness and nodded. And he never felt more ecstatic in his whole life, lifting you and spinning you around as you laughed and held on. Nal finally woke up and looked at you both groggily before lying back down. By then, your feet were already on the ground, and the world stopped.

Your eyes were different—affectionate and curious— as you cradled his cheek. It was as if you were taking the time to really look at him for the first time. It brought tears to his eyes and such a warm tenderness to his heart when you guided him to lower his face to yours, and your lips met. That kiss felt different, settling so deeply and lovingly in his heart, he felt complete. He didn't know what was missing for so long, but now that he had you in his life again, something had definitely been restored, and he was at ease.

You pulled away with a smile, and he was sure that kiss was the first of many.

“Well,” you cleared your voice, “can I offer you something to drink? If you have time.”

He smirked. “I'm not leaving anytime soon.”

You nodded. “Get comfortable, then.” You immediately moved away to the kitchen. “What would you like to drink?”

“Is coffee okay?”

He made way to the entryway nearby, taking his shoes off as Nal happily followed him. “Yeah!” he replied, petting Nal as she sniffed his shoes next to yours. He scratched behind her ear as he pictured Bam there as well. He'd also be excited, thinking he’d go out for a walk. “Do you walk her much?”

“Oh, yeah. She's super energetic,” you told him with your back turned as he saw you busying around. “I usually walk her twice a day. She already went out once today.”

He nodded, impressed, and petted Nal once more before getting up and crossing your small apartment towards the kitchen. “Bam is also like that. He plays a lot, but he also sleeps a lot.”

The espresso machine came to life as your milk frother buzzed and he quieted, observing as you moved around preparing the coffee. Your back was turned, but he could tell you were careful and precise as you poured the espressos, milk, and foam into cups. When you finally turned to him with a cup, his lips rounded to an ‘o.’

“I hope a cappuccino is okay,” you said as he took the cup, then grabbed yours as you pointed to get back to the couch.

He kept staring at the pattern you had made with the milk foam that resembled a leaf. “It's perfect.”

You chuckled as you sat on the couch, petting Nal's head once before pulling a blanket to cover your legs. “It's pretty, not perfect. I'd need freshly brewed coffee for that.”

He sat next to you. “You seem to know a lot about it.”

You grinned as you blew gently on the cup. “I worked as a barista in Canada during my semester there.”

He gaped. “You studied in Canada?”

“And learned all about coffee,” you confirmed, finally tasting your cappuccino while he tasted his.

“Wow!” he exclaimed, and you chuckled, knowing he was exaggerating. As the Jeongguk you knew would.

Nal sat on the floor in front of you expectantly, and you patted her affectionately a few times on her head.

“How do you know where I live?” you asked, brushing the fur around Nal's collar.

“Your mom.”

Your eyes darted to his before you rolled them, and he tried stifling a small smile. He knew you'd be annoyed by it, but could you even complain?

“Maybe you should thank her,” he suggested casually, pulling on the blanket to also get it over his legs, and you huffed.

“No, thank you. I'd never hear the end of it.”

He chuckled as you put your legs over his while still petting Nal.

“When she finds out…”

You opened your mouth to counter him, but nothing came out. Because you knew there was little to argue there, and he smirked again.

“Because you can't keep your mouth shut,” you whined, pouting, and he shook his head.

“Because I don't want to.”

Your pout fell through, and you leaned closer to him, letting your head fall gently to his shoulder as he wrapped an arm around you.

Nal stayed seated, happily receiving pets while she eyed you both with her tongue hanging cutely from her open mouth.

“She's such a good girl,” he commented, surprised she wasn't jumping to get on the couch with you.

“Usually, she's protective over me,” you told him, smiling at your baby. “I don't think I've ever seen her so relaxed with a stranger.”

“She likes me.”

He was sure of it as he said it because your dog's tail kept swishing on the floor, looking at him like she had always known him.

“She must. I mean, she was sleeping while we argued.”

You sounded playful, but his expression sobered before he said, “Because she knows you're safe with me.” You smiled. “How old is she?”

“Two years. I got her when I moved out.”

He nodded as Nal's eyes started closing, soothed by your pets. Your bond was undeniable.

“I never thought you'd get a dog.”

“Why?” You were genuinely curious. “You helped me get over that fear.”

“Yeah, but you only ever let my parents' dogs near you.”

You nodded. “You told me they were family, so I should love and respect them. I still visited them after you left.”

He shook his head as he chuckled. “You grew up with my dogs in my stead.”

“I guess I did. Because you didn't take them with you.”

“I couldn’t. We were too many in the dorm, and by the time there was space, I was never home.”

“And Bam?”

You sipped on your coffee as he explained, “He stays with someone who takes care of him when I’m away. But what about you? How come you decided to get a dog by yourself?”

“When I moved here, I felt lonely and… brave,” you said, looking into his eyes for a moment. “I decided I could do it alone. I didn't need to wait for anyone else. Then a neighbor had a litter and I saw her and I just knew. My sweet Nal.”

You scratched under her ears and squeezed playfully before falling back into his embrace. Nal decided to lie down right there, as if that was the perfect place for a nap, and you relaxed into his side. Jungkook adored the way you loved Nal; it warmed his heart, especially as you placed your now free hand on his lap, the faded scar still visible.

“Of course, I couldn’t risk freaking out, so Nal went to puppy school for almost two years,” you confessed with a sheepish shrug. “She listens very well.”

“That’s good. And good that you thought of that. I’m amazed by you. You got over your fear and have a family now.”

You leaned back on his shoulder and chuckled. “That’s true, she is my baby. Do you want to show me Bam?”

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and opened a dedicated photo gallery. You gasped as he opened the latest photo of his Doberman, sleeping on a couch.

“He’s so beautiful! And has dark fur,” you remarked, glancing at Jungkook, who nodded while biting his lip.

“That’s why he’s called Bam… Thankfully, we don’t both have Bams or Nals,” he joked, earning a light poke with your elbow so he’d show more pictures. He thumbed to the next photo. “I was in Daegu with a friend and someone he knew had puppies, so we went to take a look. He was the only reddish pup, and he was the only one not getting any milk from his mom. When I saw that, I just knew I had to take the little buddy with me. And I’m glad I did,” he mused as you gasped when he reached a puppy photo of Bam in his arms. “Puppies shouldn’t be given dog food early on, but they were doing that to make the puppies bigger, and I complained about it. They tried to deny it, but I found out because Bammie vomited all over me when we drove back to Seoul,” he recalled, smirking. “All over me,” he gestured to his chest as he laughed, “and it was all dog food.”

“Ohh.” You pouted, certainly imagining the sweet puppy being sick.

“Yeah, so I complained about it,” he told you, quieting as he put his phone away.

“You did well,” you assured, and Jungkook smiled as he drank from his coffee. He tended to do the right thing and speak up, and so did you. You wouldn’t be the one to discourage him, quite the opposite. “Caring for them properly is important, especially when they’re so fragile. And I get it when you say all over,” you added with a chuckle. “Nal also gets carsick very easily.” You eyed his phone and asked, “How old is he?”

“Almost two years old,” he replied, putting the empty cup on the coffee table next to the couch. “I’m going to live with him and enjoy it until I have to go into the military… He’s already a big dog, so he’ll stay at a dog school while I’m away.”

He saw in your face that you knew what he was talking about. “When are you going?”

“Not now,” he declared, looking deeply into your eyes. “I decided to rest and maybe make a solo album before going. Not sure when, but…” He sighed. “I just want to rest right now. To live a little. I can think about all of that later.”

He relaxed further into the couch, looking at you under his arm. He couldn’t read your expression, but he knew you were listening attentively. He wanted you to.

“Is Bam well-behaved?” you asked before taking a sip of coffee.

“He can be a rascal, but he listens well.” He grinned, missing Bammie dearly even though it had been only a few weeks since he left his dog in Seoul. “I promise you’ll feel safe with him.”

Your eyes showed no fear as you sighed. “Well, he’s in Seoul and I’m here. And I wouldn’t want Nal to be uncomfortable.”

His eyes traced your features. “Seoul is a drive away, and Nal wouldn’t be uncomfortable. Something tells me they’d bond straight away.”

You smirked. “Because of their names?”

He nodded, lacing his fingers with yours on his lap. “Among other things.”

You smiled and looked at your hands. “I’m thankful, you know. If you hadn’t helped me and built up my trust again after that dog attacked me, I’d never have taken the risk of getting Nal. I would have been lonely. So, thank you.”

Jungkook's emotions got stuck in his throat as you spoke. To hear he had a positive influence on your life, even when he was absent and hurt you, made him tear up.

“What about you?” he croaked after clearing his throat. “I wouldn’t even be alive if it weren’t for you.”

“What?”

“Remember when you stopped me from going down the driveway on my bicycle and onto the road? I lost balance and you grabbed me and almost got dragged with me,” he recalled, remembering perfectly the second he saw the red car fast approaching, knowing it would hit him. Only for you to yank on the handlebars of his bike, making him fall on top of you. “My mom said it herself: if it weren’t for you, I would have been hit by that passing car.”

“You would have been fine.”

He looked at you, dumbfounded. “One second and my whole life could have been different or nonexistent!”

“You also saved me all the time,” you said, as though that countered his belief. “Like that one time I fell from a tree straight on top of you.”

He groaned. “That hurt.” He chuckled painfully, remembering taking his eyes off you for a second, only for you to drop on him from a tree branch literally. “Your mom thought I broke a rib.”

You nodded and snuggled up more to his side. “Fortunately, you didn't. But see, I could have broken my neck.”

He shook his head — there was no way he would have ever let that happen. “What about when I was running on the pool deck, and you tackled me into the pool? Mid-air?!”

You shook your head, though you were laughing with him. “We were so reckless back then.”

“Yeah, but it was sooooo cool!”

He grinned as you leaned to put down your empty mug next to his. “It wasn’t always cool. Remember when we used to fight?”

His grin widened despite squinting his eyes. “Ahh…”

“How old were we?”

“Six? Maybe seven?”

“It got rough, and you got so upset because I’m stronger than you,” you continued, returning to your spot with his arm over your shoulders.

He had to laugh. “Stronger than me?!” You had a wide Cheshire grin, and he shook his head. “At the time, perhaps. But I shouldn’t have kicked you like that.”

You shrugged. “And I shouldn’t have eaten your chocolates behind your back.”

He gasped dramatically with wide eyes. “So you admit it!”

“It’s all bygones now, right?”

“No!!” He scoffed despite his incredulous smile. Meanwhile, you had that familiar angelical smile he remembered so well. “I believed you when you said you didn’t eat them! You started crying!”

His accusation made your smile wider. “Ahh, yes… I always cried.”

“To fool me!”

“No, I was upset you were getting mad at me.”

You tried pouting with sparkly eyes, and he felt the need to hold you in his arms and whine, “You ate my chocolate!”

“But I didn’t know that would make you so upset,” you smiled, and he scoffed. “What about that time you drank my banana milk when I asked you to hold it while I tied my shoe laces?”

It was his turn to have a wide, mischievous grin. “Ahh, revenge.”

You opened your mouth in mock outrage. “You said you believed me! You’re horrible!”

You raised one leg from his lap under the blanket and kicked him playfully, and he tried catching your foot. “You got another one!”

“Because you drank mine!” you insisted, kicking him again.

He laughed and finally caught your foot, pulling on it to drape your leg over his lap again. As he did, he realised, “You stole my chocolate all the time, but still, I love banana milk the most. Your favorite.”

His heart skipped a beat when you leaned in with a playful smile and asked secretly, “Want one?”

You sprang from the couch in a second, giving him no opportunity to reply. He stayed seated as you went back to the kitchen, and Nal followed you. He already missed your legs on his lap, but now he was sure you’d come back.

You returned to him with a gleeful smile, passing him one banana milk bottle while you kept the other. He pierced the foil with a straw, same as you, playfully and silently, as you both kept an eye on the other.

As soon as there was a faint noise from the hallway, your head snapped in its direction. “Nal? Ah, shit. Nal, no!”

You leaned further to get a peek at Nal, forgetting all about your drink. After a third call, Nal finally stopped whatever she was doing and happily trotted to you for a pet.

“Ugh, I’m sorry,” you apologized, petting her head before turning to him. “She likes to play with sh—”

You gasped, and he pulled back before you could swat him. While you were distracted, he sneakily leaned in to drink your banana milk. He knew you’d catch him immediately, and your shock was priceless.

“You are horrible!” you whined, then tried drinking some more. It lasted barely a second before you gasped again. “You drank it all?!”

He could only laugh mischievously as he went back to drinking his banana milk, but you weren’t having it.

“Give me yours!”

He dodged your first attempt easily, but you didn’t give up. You put the empty bottle on the coffee table and got on your knees on the couch, trying to grab his drink. He kept slowly drinking out of his straw, keeping you at bay with his free hand, even as you huffed and puffed.

“Jeon Jeongguk! Stop being mean!”

He almost choked with how much he wanted to laugh at your reaction, but eventually his taunt backfired. You managed to pass through his defenses and grab his hand, and he had to let go of the straw and pull away to prevent you from using your whole body weight against him.

You managed to fall on top of him, and he let go of the bottle to support you. You exclaimed victoriously before putting the straw in your mouth, only to whine two swigs later.

“You—! You’re the worst!” you accused, and all he could do was laugh as he supported you on his lap. “You owe me a banana milk!”

“And you owe me a mountain of chocolate,” he retorted, knowing you could see in his eyes how gleeful he was.

You tried slurping the last drops of banana milk before saying, “You first.”

He chuckled. “My mom always said ladies first…”

You swatted his shoulder, leaning back to put the empty bottle on the coffee table, fully supported by his hands on your waist. Then, you placed your hands on his shoulders. “Ladies first, huh… Does that mean you’re waiting for me to make the first move?”

“The first move?” He hummed. “Wasn’t that me?”

He tilted his head, and you squinted. “You’re here, yes.”

“And I kissed you yesterday.”

You huffed lightly. “You don’t have to win every time, you know?”

“On the contrary.” He grinned, feeling the way you adjusted yourself on his lap. “I’ll always win, regardless of who does what first.”

You chuckled, leaning in slowly with your arms around his neck. “Such bullshit, Jeongguk-ssi,” you whispered, then pressed your lips to his cheek. “You like to brag.”

For a second, he was caught up in the way his body was warming up underneath yours. But your words made him smirk and relax. “Not really,” he challenged, closing his eyes as you kissed his jaw. “Not about this.”

“No?” you teased, pecking his skin as he heated up underneath you.

“No,” he breathed, hoping your lips would meet his. Instead, you nuzzled him, and he looked up at you. “We’re in this together.”

Your lips curved in a smile as though his words warmed your heart, and you finally closed the gap between your mouths. He couldn’t help but sigh as you grazed his lips gently, your kiss tasting sweet, like home. He very much liked that you kissed him on that note — he had asked for a present and a future, and it felt like you wanted the same.

His heart fluttered as you kissed, letting you guide where things were going. As always, he’d gladly go wherever and at whatever speed you needed, but things sparked quicker than usual. He groaned mutely when you deepened the kiss, making him heat up even more, but it wasn’t just that. His hands gripped your sides firmly as you adjusted yourself on his lap, and at first, he didn’t think much of it. But eventually, the air between you became torrid as you ground against him, his fingers tangling in your hair to keep you close.

He realized the state of things when you moaned into his mouth, sparking such an intense desire that he had to stop you and hide in your neck. Inhaling your perfume as he heard you panting, both soothed and taunted him, but he stayed put, calming down. All rational thought left him as he held you in his lap by his grip in your hair, your own hands tangled in his hair. He had stopped thinking and just did what he wanted recklessly, but he wanted to do things right.

“What’s wrong?” you whispered near his ear as he nuzzled the crook of your neck.

“I don’t want to go too fast,” he whispered. You stayed silent, so he pulled away to look at you, relieved when you rubbed your nose along his and caressed his cheek. “I want us to take our time.”

“You said we've been apart for too long,” you recalled, brushing his hair sweetly. “I agree. Which means we have to catch up, not wait.”

He could see the fire in your eyes, hear the passion in your voice, and feel the want in your fingers. He sighed. “I don’t want this to be an impulse. We have time, we can wait.”

You smiled as you kept caressing his jawline. “I understand what you mean. How about a compromise? We do it slowly, but we don't hold back.”

He closed his eyes as your nails grazed his scalp gently, treading dangerously between a tender caress and an inflaming touch. He didn’t want to stifle something as beautiful and intense as what you two had, but he also didn’t want to mess it up. He was sure he wanted something more with you, and looking into your eyes, he trusted you wanted the same.

“Okay,” he whispered, feeling the tension between you become even tighter.

“Good,” you crooned, kissing the corner of his mouth. “I want to see you,” you confessed, looking into his eyes.

He was about to ask what you meant when your hands moved under his sweater, grazing his stomach. His breath caught before he breathed, “I want to see you, too.”

You smiled and eagerly pulled on his sweater so he’d take it off. Instantly, you were so caught up in the view that you barely thought to put the sweater aside so you could touch him. So he did it for you; he pulled the black fabric out of your hands to free them, and your fingers instantly splayed over his broad shoulders. His heart thrummed under your touch, but it was more than desire. The way you looked and touched him didn’t invoke only lust, but recognition. A mix of memories and dreams with the need to set all the details straight.

You touched every inch of skin, noting his moles, marks, and scars, and asked about them. You knew the one from when he fell from his bike and pointed at a mole that used to be much bigger. He smiled as you did this — you didn’t just make him feel seen, but remembered.

Then you trailed your fingers down his arms, and of course, you focused on his tattoos. They were part of him, but they were, in a way, examples of his impulsiveness.

“It’s incredible,” you breathed, tracing over the details on his skin.

“Do you have any?” he asked, much more interested in talking about you.

“You’ll find out soon enough,” you teased, passing a digit over the inked microphone. “Why do I have the impression you didn’t think them through?”

He let his head fall back as he laughed mischievously. “'Cause you know me too well,” he agreed, fiddling with his lip ring.

You noticed. “Same with the piercings, right?”

“Yeah.”

“But those you can take off, so it’s not as permanent if you regret them.”

“I don’t regret my tattoos,” he explained, following your finger over the details of his birthflower. “I might not have started them with a clear idea of what I wanted or gotten them in shady places…” Your eyes darted to his, and he chuckled, knowing what you’d say. “But I don’t regret any of them. I’ll keep improving them; my arm is like my canvas.”

You shook your head. “At least do it at a trustworthy place.”

“I was… a bit reckless.”

“A bit?” You raised an eyebrow, then sighed. “You have a good one now?”

“Yes,” he assured you with a grin.

“Good.”

He bit his lip as he observed your focused features. Your worry made him all fuzzy — he felt thirteen again, about to do something stupid, more excited about you trying to stop him than actually doing it.

Your fingers traced the lines of his stomach until they reached his lower stomach, grazing his abs, and he eyed you expectantly. What would you say? How would you react?

All you did was look back up at him before you took a deep breath. “My turn, right?”

“If you want to.”

You did your best to hold back a smirk. “I think I want to.”

His hands stayed on your hips as you grabbed the hem of your sweater and pulled it over your head. He couldn’t see much as you lowered the fabric in front of your chest, yet the way your hair fell all around you made him swallow dryly. His heart was racing as he waited with bated breath to see more of you. And as your eyes locked with his, he knew you realized how caught up he was.

But you didn’t keep him waiting. You pulled your arms out of the sleeves and let the sweater fall on the couch, near his and the crumpled blanket. Despite the lack of obstacles, his eyes stayed on yours, waiting, and you smiled. You leaned in to peck his forehead and the tip of his nose before straightening up so he could see you, and he did.

He tried his best to do it slowly, but it was hard to deny how immediately smitten he was. You were beautiful; that much he knew, his hands had shown him. What he didn’t know was that your round breasts were even more perfect than he had imagined, or that your waist was so tiny. But what really surprised him was what eluded him while being right under his nose.

“Woah!” he let out as his inked fingers traced your navel piercing.

You smirked. “You didn’t notice it yesterday, did you?”

“No!” he admitted, touching the two-beaded golden piece of jewelry. He was surprised by it and was about to tell you this when his eyes raised and he noticed something else. “Oh, wow!”

You raised your arm slightly to let him see the tattoo on your side, right where your bra should have been. It was a flame about the size of his thumb, contoured in black, filled with orange and red hues. At the base, a black line shaped into a diamond was a window inside you, letting the flames peek out. He touched it with his thumb and could swear he could feel the flames’ relief on your skin.

“Why fire?” he asked, although, meeting your eyes, he instantly thought it was perfect for you.

“Because it’s our element,” you replied, referring to the birth year of both of you. He nodded in understanding. “I’m impulsive and passionate but also have a temper at times.” He chuckled, sliding his hands to your waist again. “It’s complicated, but fun, right?”

“I didn’t think it was fun when you ran away from me…”

You huffed. “I explained it to you.”

“I know, and you’re right,” he soothed, shuddering with your fingers playing with his hair around his neck. “You’re all those things, and I’ll learn how to balance them.”

You pursed your lips as he leaned forward to trail his lips over your collarbones. “We’re both fire,” you breathed, and he saw the goosebumps form as he kissed your skin. “We might just burn to ashes.”

He shook his head as he nuzzled down your chest. “No, we won’t. We’re older now,” he whispered, letting your sigh make the hair on his neck stand on end. “And we’re the same. The same flame. Separated for many years, and now together again, reuniting our flame back into one.”

You cradled his cheeks and raised his head so he could look into your glistening eyes, and he gave you a subtle nod. He was in this with you, through and through.

Your kiss was more than an acceptance; it was an invitation. You shifted closer to him, letting the skin of your chests touch, and he had to force his brain to stay focused. His hands traced your back as you kissed him, feeling your warm and feminine figure. Every curve was another chance for him to lose sight of reality. Your hands slipped down his chest, and he shuddered. Your touch was like a flame licking his body, and a permission to burn further.

You moved slightly away, fumbling with his jeans’ button, and he gave you space. He grumbled something, brushing your hair falling on both your faces when you got up from his lap. He had to jump and squirm to get his pants off, forcing him to break your kiss. Fortunately, there was an instantaneous silver lining — you also took the opportunity to get your leggings off, letting him see and feel your smooth legs as they were revealed. Then you stood in front of him only in panties, and as soon as your eyes locked, his dick throbbed. You must have noticed as you glanced at the bulge in his boxers, and he didn’t try to hide it. He didn’t want to rush things, but suddenly, he craved you like the air he breathed. He needed to feel you; nothing else mattered.

You reached out your hands for support, and he helped you get on his lap, knowing then and there that he really liked that. It was strangely liberating, despite being pinned down under your body, because it meant he could touch you with both hands, pepper your neck and chest with kisses, and still look at you whenever he wanted, which was just perfect.

You moaned gently when his lips found their way to your breasts and his dick throbbed yet again from the anticipation. Once a nipple was inside his mouth while he pinched the other one, he realized that trying to stop things from developing quickly between you two was futile and silly. He wasn’t a teenager anymore, and neither were you, and yet he felt as wild and unrestrained as he had back then. With the bonus that it was you, and this time he knew exactly what he wanted — you in his life with no end in sight.

And your hips bucking on his lap, trying to align with his hard, stiff length, only made him more sure. You wanted to take this all the way, and he didn’t dream of stopping you.

At least, voluntarily. When his stomach thundered, you stopped your keening and pulled away to look at him. He couldn’t help a groan or the thread of saliva that connected his lips to your nipple.

“You’re hungry? Wait, let me grab something.”

He was so dumbfounded that he watched you get up and go to the kitchen in stunned silence. Only when he saw you bending down to open a cabinet did he realize what had just happened. He had to bite down on his lip so as not to whine at you to get back on his lap. His dick throbbed painfully and he had to adjust it, though it made it worse. His eyes closed as the elastic squeezed the tip of his dick, giving him the slightest bit of pressure.

“Fuck,” he said under his breath, looking down. There was a bead of precum wetting his skin.

“I only have choco pies and American chocolate chip cookies,” you told him, returning to him with two boxes in your hands and more banana milk. His hand darted to the side to grab the blanket and cover his lap before you placed everything on the coffee table. “I hope you still like those.”

“I do,” he croaked, leaning forward to take a choco pie.

You eyed the blanket. “Are you cold?”

He hummed, stuffing the cookie with marshmallow filling in his mouth. He needed to focus on food before he’d start begging you for more.

Slow. He had said slow, and he was not going to change his mind minutes after promising you he could wait.

Not even when you were almost naked in front of him, grabbing the blanket and leaning in. “I’ll warm you up.”

He grabbed your wrist to stop you from uncovering his lap and swallowed the cookie harshly before looking up at you. Your shining eyes and raised eyebrow were a dangerous tease right now, and he told you as much with a look that was probably half desperate, half brimming with lust.

“I know you said we should take our time,” you crooned, setting one of your knees on the couch next to his thigh. “And I promised we would do it slowly, but remember we also agreed not to hold back.”

The tension relented as he nodded; you did say that. You were partners in this; he had to trust you as well.

He let go of your wrist and pulled the blanket away, heating up at your mere gaze. He was so ready for you.

“Just so we’re clear, you can see and are one hundred percent sure that I’m not a boy, right?” you taunted, taking support on his shoulders to get your leg over his lap to straddle him.

Your question annoyed him, so he grabbed your waist and pulled you in to fall on his lap. “Yes, I know. I always knew, and now I’ll never forget it. How warm and beautiful you are,” he muttered, licking across your chest while his fingers grabbed fistfuls of your ass and squeezed. “So don’t you forget that.”

You chuckled sensually. “I might tease you about it forever.”

He nipped your breast. “If you do, I’ll remind you how well I know it.”

“By telling me I’m warm and beautiful?” you whispered, and he pulled away from your chest, then leaned in to ghost your lips.

“By being inside you.”

He spoke without thinking, and instantly the need to have you reared its ugly head. You smiled and glanced down between your bodies, knowing without a shadow of a doubt how much he wanted you. How easily he could slip your underwear aside and push his hard cock into you, doing so much more than prove his point.

The thought alone made his balls tense up, yet your soothing voice meddled with his mind. “Not yet. Slow and all that.”

For a split second, he believed you were teasing him yet again, and his fingers lowered to your waist, pressing, ready to show you just how badly he craved you.

He couldn’t trust himself to speak. He realized that you genuinely agreed with him, so he just nodded, quietly enjoying your proximity again.

“Have you ever thought about us like this? I mean, us doing this,” you clarified, brushing his hair back absentmindedly.

“Yeah,” he rasped, observing your lips as you smiled.

“Me too. What have you thought about?”

“Everything,” he breathed, struggling to focus.

You giggled and nuzzled his cheek. “Same, but come on… Pick something. The last time you thought about it or—”

“Eating— Eating you out,” he pushed out, after trying to interrupt his snitching mouth. Your eyes were curious, so he explained, “Last night, your taste. I couldn’t help thinking about it.”

You licked your lips as you listened, then bit down on your lip, and he hoped. If you were curious as well, perhaps you’d let him.

“Last night… As anxious as I was when I got back, I must confess the thought crossed my mind,” you admitted, licking your lips again, and that was all he needed.

In a flash, he grabbed you and rose from the couch with you, only to place you back down gently with your legs wide open around him. Instantly, he noticed the dark, damp spot on your panties, and his mouth started salivating. He wanted to bury his face in you and get your slick all over him. The thought alone made his eyes glint dangerously. But he couldn't do it. All he did was press his lips to your inner thigh, and suddenly, his personal space was invaded.

Nal had woken up, perhaps because of how abruptly Jungkook had moved. But now that your Jindo was trying to lick his face, he couldn’t continue. On the contrary, you started laughing, and he had to laugh too. Nal thought it was time to play, and Jungkook had to keep her at bay.

“She’s so cute!” you gushed, and he nodded as he petted your dog.

“She is, but she’s interrupting.”

He couldn’t help the slightest frustration in his voice, and you smirked. “Can’t have that, can we? Can I invite you to my bedroom?”

He got up and grabbed your hands, pulling you to him and picking you up in his arms in a heartbeat. You giggled and held onto him as he carried you with a happy Nal following you.

As he had done so far, Jungkook didn’t even take in his surroundings — your home, your style — he’d have time to look at it all later. For now, all he wanted to do was get back on track to getting his mouth on you as quickly as possible.

So he placed you gently on the double bed, even as Nal tried to stop him playfully before attempting to get on the bed.

“Nal, no. Off.” Your commanding voice was enough for Nal to get back down. “Bed.”

Nal hesitated for a second, then left the room with a purpose, and Jungkook closed the door behind her.

Looking at you, you had the widest smirk. “Thought you wouldn’t get lucky, huh?”

He stalked back to the bed, his eyes focused entirely on you. “Don’t you mean you?”

You chuckled sensually as you opened your legs for him. “No, I mean you.”

Your confidence was sexy as hell, bringing him to his knees before you figuratively and literally. He took his time nuzzling your leg from your knee to your thigh as you tried reaching for a pillow behind you to get comfortable. You threw one to the floor next to him as well as he looked at your beautiful naked form above him. This was really happening. He was overcome with excitement and driven to nibble on the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. You squirmed, holding your breath as your legs trembled around him. His eyes were glued to you, taking in the way your breathing was ragged, and you bit your lip. Your sparkling eyes were beautiful, making this worth every second of longing.

His kisses led him down, closer, and he followed his deepest wishes — he pressed his face to your covered core and inhaled deeply.

He loved the way you writhed against his face as the heady scent of your arousal permeated his senses. Getting pussy drunk was a personal favorite. He had to have your taste flooding his mouth.

He licked you through the delicate lace covering you, nuzzling you with curiosity. Your hips swiveled around, controlling every point of contact, and when he chased your clit to suck on it, you moaned. It was a deep, breathless sound by someone caught by surprise, and it made him throb inside his boxers. You were so fucking delicious, and he didn’t mean just your taste that he was so close to devouring.

But first things first.

“Tell me what you like,” he whispered, nuzzling your sex hard before pulling away to pepper kisses on your inner thighs instead.

You sucked in a raspy breath. “What?”

“I want to know what you like,” he repeated, stopping his kisses so you could think.

“You’re doing great,” you said, and your voice trembled as he nuzzled your clit through the fabric. Schooling your emotions must have been hard, and he had barely started.

“Could you cum like this?”

“Definitely,” you declared, with no hesitation. The way you looked at him made him smile.

“See, some of it can be good.”

He couldn’t help a teasing smile, and you laughed, letting your head fall on the pillow. “Ahh, you’re right! Finally! You’re giving me something good to remember.”

“More,” he mumbled. “I want to be more than something good you remember.” His words gave him the final push to withdraw and pull your panties down your legs, never looking away from your eyes. “You’ll never have to complain about dating or not being satisfied,” he told you, then his eyes dropped to your slicked folds. He drooled. “You found the right person,” he promised, lowering his lips.

His first taste was a light lick from bottom to top, yet the second wasn’t as kind. He pushed in between your folds with his tongue, diving into where your taste was strongest, and you whimpered. Your legs squeezed around his head as he dove in, licking and searching, following your warmth and clenching entrance out of pure hunger. And you replied to him in kind, your fingers curling into his hair while trying to raise your hips, chasing the pleasure. He loved it, every little buck made him want to give you more. He’d be the best for you, the one you should have had all along. Make you crave him as much as he craved you. Make you never want to leave.

“Your—” You could barely talk between moans, and he didn’t want to slow down. “Your fingers,” you breathed, and he immediately obliged. He moved his mouth higher, around your clit, and brushed your folds with his fingers. Your reaction wasn’t as strong as he expected, so he touched harder, feeling how wet you were, slippery and welcoming. Your clenching hole instantly tried sucking his fingers in and he burned as he let it happen. “Fuck,” you moaned, trembling from head to toe. He licked and licked, but he was greedy, pushing inside you to know how you felt all the way. You tightened around him, and he groaned into you. “Stay—” you tried, and it took a second and more information for him to make sense of your request. “In and out and in and out—”

Your voice wavered. You were dripping and warm and perfect. Just imagining how he’d feel with his cock burried in you instead of his fingers knocked his thoughts right out of his head. Your taste was finally getting to him, as was everything. You were a moaning mess, covering his face with your juices as he slurped hungrily, and it was almost bliss.

Bliss came when you trembled against him with a deep, wanting moan before you let your head fall to the pillow as your back arched off the bed. You spasmed around his fingers, and he chased you, preventing his mouth from losing you.

He licked and fingered you to completion, becoming increasingly gentle as your hips relented their bucking as well. Then, he groaned, reluctant to let you go.

“What the fuck,” you whimpered, and he parted his tongue from you, only to shove his wet fingers inside his mouth. He probably looked as crazy as he felt, with his hair disheveled and his mouth and chin covered in your wetness, but he didn’t care. When you looked at him, with wide eyes and flushed cheeks, you didn’t seem to mind. “You’re damn good with your mouth you know that?”

He nodded, eyes glazed as he licked his fingers with his eyes fixed on you. “Would it be too much if I asked you to get on top of me?”

You were flushed and beautiful before him and bit your lip. “I thought you said to wait.”

His stomach dropped. He let his hand fall to the mattress as he reeled it all in, trying to shake the haze clouding his brain. How could he do this? He said he’d wait and now—”

“Hey, look at me,” you said, and he realized he had closed his eyes. Opening them, he saw you sitting at the edge of the bed with him between your legs. Your hands cradled his cheeks and made sure he looked at you. “I’m joking,” you whispered, but he was still stunned. Maybe he was doing something wrong, and in any case— “Jeongguk, look at me,” you insisted, nuzzling him. “I’m just teasing you. Please forget it, I said something stupid,” you whispered. Your voice became wanton as you pecked his lips and confessed, “I just like teasing you, I don’t want you to stop. I want to keep going. I want to get on top of you and give you the ride of your life,” you revealed, and he felt his cheeks burning underneath your lips. Your legs wrapped around him as you hugged him. “I want to feel you inside me, I need to.” Your voice morphed into a whimper as you moved closer to his ear, and he closed his eyes, focusing on feeling every detail, from the need in your voice to your nipples brushing his chest. “I need us to make a mess and make everything right. I don’t want to stop.”

He shuddered from head to toe, and when he opened his eyes to face you, there was no need for words. He had concluded there was no use in trying to hold back, and if you wanted him… he was already yours.

He pressed a firm kiss to your mouth, a final warning before he touched you, and your reaction was instant. Your fingers gripped his hair as your legs locked behind him, pressing his hardon to your wet core, and he was unleashed. He grabbed your hair by the nape of your neck and squeezed your side so hard, you whimpered, opening your mouth. His tongue darted out to meet yours, telling you faster than words could how much he wanted you. That there was a fire inside him to be with you, as though that was his sole purpose. He wasn’t holding back. He was in it with you. All the way.

He got up from the floor with you on his lap and crawled on top of the bed, lowering you as gently as possible. He could feel by the way you kissed him and pressed him to grind on you that you wanted this just as badly, but he needed to get the damn bowers off.

So he pulled away and sat on the bed to strip them, and you wasted no time. You were on your knees in a flash, gluing your mouth to his neck. You suckled, and he was no longer responsible for the sounds exiting his mouth. The band of his boxers was forgotten, pressing the swollen tip of his dick to his lower stomach, and before he could get a grip and strip, you took over.

You kissed him harshly, biting on his lip ring and pulling gently before withdrawing, and he could barely catch his breath. You had kissed him hard enough that he was lying back on the pillows now, but he still tried to reach for his boxers to get rid of them. Because he needed to be inside you as quickly as possible. But you were faster than him.

You were still trailing your lips down his chest and stomach, but your fingers were already hooked on the hem of his boxers, sliding them down in an instant. He tried kicking them off his legs, but the world stopped when you sank your mouth on his dick.

He writhed under you, groaning from the bottom of his heart, gripping the sheets desperately as you kept going greedily. You sucked him into your mouth unabashedly, taking him as far as he could go, and he moaned. His hand managed to let go of the sheet to find your hair, and the way you looked at him with his hard cock disappearing between your lips made him throb. Your eyes glistened as you swallowed around him, and again, whimpers fell from his lips. He wouldn’t last if you kept going, not when you looked at him like that.

But you looked down and gave him a reprieve, letting his dick go with a pop, and he sighed. He could finally stretch his legs and—

Your lips became tauten around the tip of his cock as you hummed, closing your eyes, and his chin dropped. Your suckling had him holding on to the sheets and your hair with everything he had. Meanwhile, your hand searched for his balls. One tender caress was enough for him to shiver, but then you grabbed them firmly, and he tensed up from head to toe.

His mind soared to another plane of existence. Your massage had the perfect rhythm to match your mouth, and suddenly, he was floating. His toes curled, and he couldn’t breathe without moaning. The pleasure got such a hold on him that he just closed his eyes, starting to see white.

But then you pulled away, stroking him as you looked at him. “Are you close?” you whispered, and he looked at you.

“So fucking close,” he almost whimpered, bitting his lip.

“I thought I recognized that sound,” you teased with a mischievous smile, and he groaned. His hips bucked, making your strokes slightly faster, but that wasn’t the problem. He could edge himself forever, but you knew better. You knew to make a fist and add pressure and it was too fucking good. He tried his best not to squirm but still had to throw his head back and groan. You did some fucking magic with your hands on him like that. “I want to ride you. Can I?”

He almost got whiplash. “Fuck yeah!”

He groaned when your hands released him, but he was eager to help you get on top of him and straddle him. He had to bite his lip as you grabbed his cock and aligned it with your slit as quickly as possible, wondering if he’d burst as soon as he was in. Wondering if his soul would fucking combust the moment he was finally united with you.

You looked him in the eyes as you sat down, and everything was perfect. You moaned as you sank slowly, and he had to close his eyes. He felt everything. He finally felt you around him, and as you bucked your hips, accommodating his size, he did feel like he would combust. You were wet, warm, tense, restless on his cock, like riding him was as essential as breathing, and when he looked up at you, he finally was certain that everything was exactly how it was meant to be. Yes, he was supposed to be writhing under you on the verge of orgasm as you moaned above him. Yes, he was supposed to hold your waist and fuck you, letting the squelching sounds complement your every moan. And yes, he was supposed to have you drapped over him like the goddess you were, fucking him like you needed your insides covered in his cum.

“Fuck,” you moaned against his lips.

He tried kissing you as he rutted into you, feeling a roaring fire climb his spine, but he didn’t stop. He knew he was risking it, but your moans, your eyes, your wet cunt taking him so well, and your nails on his neck and shoulder as you held on were everything. Your moans turned to whimpers as you arched your back, and he somehow knew to stay consistent. He locked his legs with yours and fucked you with purpose. He was so fucking happy. He was with you. You.

You tried speaking but couldn’t, and he just looked at you, transmitting as much trust and safety as possible with his gaze. He knew you were close; you were telling him in other ways. Every moan, writhe, and breath of yours was pure, sharing with him as rawly as possible how you felt with every pound.

“Fuck,” he groaned, suddenly realizing it — he was raw inside you. “Fuck,” he breathed, gripping your hips even more, not relenting his thrusts. The thought almost blindsided him, but he was in control. “Mimi— Where do I—?”

You couldn’t answer him because you gasped and arched as much as you could inside his arms, and he selfishly kept you close. In seconds, your climax started a thrum around his cock and he thought he could take it, but he couldn’t.

His orgasm started from so deeply within him that he saw white again. He moaned with you, crushing you to him as he fucked into you desperately, letting your walls milk him dry. He couldn’t breathe because it was as though your orgasms fed off each other, pushing aftershock after aftershock that made you whimper and him tremble and sweat.

And then suddenly you both collapsed, and he thought he would faint. He was lightheaded and breathless as you lay on top of him, but he didn’t dare move as he recovered. Even his balls had tensed up to empty inside you and now needed a moment.

He chuckled at his thoughts, soothingly trailing his hands up and down your damp spine. He was so happy and at ease. He just knew you were the one.

“I’m so happy we didn’t wait,” you whispered near his neck, and he smirked.

He kissed your head. “We should have done it sooner.”

“Sooner?” you asked, raising your head to look at him. “When?”

“From the start,” he whispered, brushing your hair behind your ear. “It was you all along.”

He could have sworn that you blushed even more. Meanwhile, he couldn’t be happier to say such soppy things. He grinned as you tried to comb your hair properly. Then you seemed not to know what to do with his full attention, so you started brushing his hair with your fingers.

He couldn’t stop smiling widely and happily until you stopped, looking at him, mesmerized.

“Perfect as always.”

“That’s my line,” he told you as he brushed your cheek. Your sparkling eyes, along with your endearing smile, enveloped his heart, and he kissed you. He was finally connected to you, and every second a bit more. He couldn’t be happier.

You kissed his lips and then his chest before sliding off him. He hoped to snuggle, but you suddenly raised your legs, bent at your knees above your chest.

“Can you grab a tissue or something?”

He blinked at you before nodding and getting up, but you called him back. You pointed at the tissues on your nightstand, and he cleared his throat, grabbing a few to clean you. You teased him as he did, and for the first time, he couldn’t keep up with you.

“Couldn’t help yourself, hmm?” you taunted while he cleaned you carefully, unable to keep his eyes away from every detail of your naked body. “Needed to make a point about being the right person, huh?”

Your voice became softer, but he still didn’t reply. You had his cum forming rivulets out of you and it changed something for him. You were beautiful, the one, and his.

“Yes,” he breathed, finally looking into your eyes. “Can I be the one for you?”

Your expression soothed as you lowered your legs and raised your hands to welcome him to lie beside you again. As he did, you tangled your legs and held him close, and he hid his face in your hair, breathing you in.

“You are, Jeongguk,” you whispered, caressing his head, and he sighed. He didn’t know what would happen now, but at least every piece had fallen in its rightful place. “What’s next?” you asked.

“I think breakfast.”

“We have to go to the grocery store then. What do you like to eat?”

He withdrew to look at you and smiled widely. “Will you cook?”

“We can alternate,” you answered cautiously. “How are your skills?”

“I’m improving.” He grinned, excited. “We need drinks, too.”

“Yup, let’s go,” you told him, tapping his leg. “We need to get condoms, too.”

He raised an eyebrow, and you laughed.

“Let’s go!”

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sticktothestars · 24 days ago

Text

𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 , " 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐢 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 '𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐢 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 . " ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

a/n: *walks in, twiddling my thumbs* so i watched thunderbolts. we're just gonna say that i totally didn't fall in love with bob. AVENGERS FOUND FAMILY FANFICS ARE SO BACK GUYS. FHDSFFJ I'LL MAKE A SEPARATE POST ABOUT WHAT I THOUGHT ABOUT THE MOVIE, BUT YEAAH. I LOWKEY AM SUPER EXCITED & I CAN'T WAIT FOR YALL TO READ THIS 'CUZ I'VE BEEN HAVING THIS IDEA STUCK IN MY HEAD & IT WON'T GO AWAY. ANYWAY, IMMA STOP YAPPING NOW. ENJOOOYY!!1 (ALSO. you have the powers/fighting style of deadpool!)

paring: robert/bob reynolds x male!reader

word count: 1k+

warnings: slight spoilers for thunderbolts* if you haven't seen it. takes place post movie. slight cursing. contains a shit ton of angst & hard topics like anxiety attacks, child abuse, gore, & character death are mentioned throughout this oneshot. yeah i lowkey kind of spiraled while writing this lmfaooo.

════════════════════════════════════════════

──★

IF you told the [Y/N] from 3 months ago that you'd be working with the new avengers, you would've laughed HARD in your own face. Seriously. It would've lasted for like 7 minutes before you'd probably go tell you to fuck off or something. But now that you was here - saving people instead of being the one to end people for money - it felt trippy thing to even consider. Especially with the things you've done in your past. Despite your initial hesitation on even teaming up with this unstable group of people, you couldn't help but feel a LOT more happier than how you was before.

Maybe it was just the fact that saving people felt good or that you finally had a purpose in life - but no. It was something completely different. You was finally around people who understood what it felt like to not feel like they didn't deserve anything good or be stuck in an endless loop that just hurted you even more. It felt like a HUGE breathe of fresh air. Or maybe it was because you were around him like 99.99% of the time now after everything.

You met Bob in... troubling circumstances, to say the least. Bucky - a good friend of yours - contacted you while you were in New York in retirement from your mercenary past. You were honestly struggling a little. Working as an unsuspecting barista for some cozy coffee shop was nice & all, but it felt.. meaningless. So with one last second thought, you put your suit on & rode your motorcycle to a new mission. Which ended well overall, but with a lot of memories you wanted to lock away unfortunately.

But since then, the two of you have grown closer - especially since you were living together amongst the others in the Avenger's base. Bob obviously couldn't go on the missions due to not being able to control his powers all that well. You try to help him out the best you can when you're there.

...But sometimes that helping could go sideways.

──★

[Y/N]'s flicked open as he noticed the surroundings around him. Where was he? Just a moment ago he was sparring with Bob in the training room & then..

" Oh fuck.. " you muttered with a sigh as you realized what's happening. Your gaze fixes on a teen version of you - freshly scarred, WAY more defensive - yet afraid. Like there was something out for him. You knew what this was. You knew it all too well.

Back before you became a mercenary, you were a cage fighter in Orlando - trafficked at 7 & escaped at 16. 9 years of horror. Yeah that fucked you up pretty bad. Of course it would. But you had friends. It what kept you sane.

But they took that away too along with your dignity.

One night - when you were 16 - a new match was starting. They didn't tell you who the opponent would be. They never did. To them, it was just another body to throw away for entertainment. Having survived for so long & having so much blood on your hands, you'd think that you'd get used to it by now. But it only just got worse from there.

You stood there, watching yourself as your younger self enter the cage - a look of uneasiness on your younger self's face, tuning out the crowd of people as they cheered for blood. But you? You just wanted to know who else? Who else's blood would you have on your hands? As your opponent stumbles out into the cage with a shove from one of the guards just outside the cage, you saw your heart drop. Just by the horror on your own face.

Your opponent was your best friend, Liam. The Liam who stuck by your side through the last 9 years you've been here. The Liam who managed to make you laugh when things got that dark. The Liam who was your anchor. The Liam who you absolute adored like an older brother. You couldn't do it. You refused to. You couldn't do it if you tried.

" ... No.. No I'm not hurting him. You can't make me kill him. " You refused, backing away & banging on the cage's exit. Liam just watched you. He watched you try to figure out something. Anything to stop this match from happening. Liam knew this would happen soon. He was prepared for this. Hell, maybe he even prepared this moment from the start. You know that now. You wish you knew it sooner.

" [Y/N]. " Liam says gently, his voice calm - causing the younger you's attention to snap towards him, eyes tearing up as you tried to say something. Anything. But only a mournful silence filled between the two of you as the crowd cheered for the two of you to fight. You shook your head, keeping your head down.

" [Y/N], you have to. " Liam says gently, putting a hand on your shoulder as he approached. You just shook your head. " No- No- I-i-i can't- " You stammered out, clenching your fists so tight you felt as though you were bleeding slightly through your bandages.

" They'll kill you if you don't, kid. " Liam states. " I don't fucking care. " You say back, holding yourself close as you look back up at the 20 year old you've grown to be so attached to.

Liam sighs. " Well start caring. You're surviving. Even if it means killing me too. " The brunette says sternly.

" No! I'm not losing you! And I'm not listening to them anymore just to survive! " You call out so everyone can hear. The crowd boos, insults rolling out into the arena like a hurricane. The ringleader scoffs, motioning the guards to ready & aim at you.

Liam clocks this & horror enters his face, shielding you as bullets & sparks fly - the crowd falling silent. The bullets stop. Everything stops as a body slumps onto the ground. But it wasn't yours. It was Liam's. You stare at the hole covered body for what feels like a lifetime. You couldn't breathe. You couldn't even think straight.

Only when a guard grabs you is when you react is when you scream, absolute anguish & horror in your voice as it breaks as you're dragged out of the arena - new plans settled for you that changed your dna & life forever. The present you doesn't look away from Liam's corpse. You felt yourself spiraling within your regrets over the What If's.

What if you had let Liam kill you that day? You didn't deserve to live. Especially with the blood on your hands. The things you did without mercy. But Liam? He was kind. He was good. He deserved way better. He was so good & no one else ever got to see that goodness in him.

You scratched at the collar of your shirt, trying to force yourself to breathe but you couldn't. Everything felt so meaningless. You were meaningless. You were the problem because you couldn't keep your mouth shut.

Fuck. Everything felt so heavy. You collapsed to your knees, squeezing your eyes shut but Liam's lifeless body kept coming in again & again like a broken melody.

๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦

" 'M sorry- M' so sorry- I-i should've known this would happen- I'm so fucking sorry- " A panicked & oh so familiar voice called out, snapping you out of your vision to feel Bob holding you in his arms tight as you sobbed. You hold onto his warmth, clenching his shirt. The two of you stay there for a while. Which seemed like forever. But neither one of you complained.

You sniffle slightly, letting your head nuzzle into the crook of the other's neck. And Bob just held you tighter. He couldn't let you go through this again. He couldn't bear seeing you hurt because of him.

You were probably one of the coolest people on the team, but seeing you fall apart like this felt gut wrenching. He mutters out more apologies, his chin resting on your head.

He's made everything worse again.

And to you of all people.

The man he absolutely adores.

──★

lowkey locked tf in on this one idk. hope yall enjoyed tho lowkey !! lemme know if yall want a part two or smthin cuz i'm down. SEND ME MORE REQUESTS PUHLEASEE.

anyways, that's it for now !! BUH BYEEE ^^

── DAMIEN ★

#bob reynolds x male reader #bob reynolds x reader #robert reynolds x male reader #robert reynolds x reader #sentry x male reader #sentry x reader #thunderbolts #marvel #new avengers #thunderbolts x reader #thunderbolts spoilers

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ineffable-suffering · 2 years ago

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Why Aziraphale is an unreliable narrator

Part 1: The Story of Job

I'm absolutely not the first one to talk about this on here and I probably shan't be the last either. Alas, here's my take on why all of the minisodes in Season 2 should be enjoyed with great care – and taken with a grain of angelic salt.

I'm gonna split this into 3 parts, aka the three minisodes we are shown, since I tend to get a bit waffley in my posts and want to still be able to include all the little details. Once I've written them, I'll link Part 2 & Part 3 here as well!

Alright, let's get into it under the cut of doom.

Episode 2 opens with the Story of Job. Right off the bat, I noticed that it sort of looks like an old film playing. At first I didn't read that much into it, but once we see the cut-away to Aziraphale at the bookshop, currently reading that part of the Bible (presumably), I immediately thought: "Oh! It's because it's his memory. He's remembering how it went down and therefore it plays like a figurative film in his head."

This, I then came to realize, is a very crucial difference to all the flashbacks of S1, which were exclusively told and narrated by God. May her intensions be as ineffable as they are: She did tell us all of these stories from an objective outsider's point of view. Now, however, it's Aziraphale who's re-telling those stories to us from memory.

And if there's one thing that's for certain, it's that a memory is something entirely different to an objective narration of a story. Just think about how you yourself remember things. Especially things that happened years, maybe even decades (or, in an angel's case, millenia) ago. What is it, that you really remember? Can you know for sure, that a conversation was held with those exact words? Are you 100% certain that the clothes someone wore weren't different? Had it really been snowing or would that make very little sense given what you're remembering happened in May? And did it even happen in May? Or does that just happen to be your favourite month, the current weather, your preferred style of clothing and what it was that you would imagine someone would have said to you?

What I'm trying to say is: The further away it is that something happened, the more your brain has to fill in the gaps. This is why, for example, your parents will remember the family summer holiday entirely different when you ask them about it 20 years later.

"No, it was Sarah who puked on the car ride home!" "Nonsense, Sarah never puked as a child. Bobby had that gone-off pizza, he's the one that was sick the whole ride long!"

We've all been there. Bobby made it out alive. Don't buy gas station pizza.

Alright, back to the plot: Naturally, Aziraphale is not actually human, so it is a pure assumption on my part that the way his memory works is similar to ours. However, the whole topic of "memory" is actually quite a recurring one on Good Omens.

Crowley seems to have lost his in the Fall, yet somehow managed to get most of it back. Not all of it, though, he clearly has some major gaps ("You used to jump on me back, little monkey in the waistcoat!"). Beelzebub helps Gabriel store all his memories in their little fly container before they get wiped entirely too, by the Metatron and/or Saraqael. Crowley and Aziraphale (and possibly Jimbriel) perform a miracle together that makes everyone in Heaven and Hell forget who Garbiel is or what he looks like. And we know that the Book of Life apparently has the ability to completely erase someone from existence – ergo also erasing them from everyone's memory and making it is as though the person had never been in them at all.

So, clearly, angels and demons being able to remember, forget, reconstruct and, if you're the Metadork, wipe memories, is very much canon. Apart from that very last one, it does make them quite human-like in a way. We too can forget or (wrongfully and incompletely) reconstruct memories, due to things like trauma, illness or simply a lot of time having passed.

So, just like Crowley remembers going into battle but doesn't remember Furfur being there, or just like Jimbriel has entierly forgotten who he is but still remembers the tune and lyrics to Buddy Holly's song Everyday, and just like archangel Michael was miraculously made to forget Gabriel and yet says "Don't I know you?" when seeing him again – just like that, Aziraphale's memories of the story of Job, the story of wee Morag and the story of the magic show in 1941, might not actually be the whole truth.

So, time to look at where the furniture isn't.

Now, it could very well be that the costume designers of S2 thought: "Fuck it, let's go crazy" – but given that this show has a track record of meticulously making sure to stick to accurate and cohesive character design, doesn't it strike you as odd that Crowley would go from this look at the Flood in Mesopotamia, 3004 BC:

... to the (very iconic, don't get me wrong) Bildad the Shuhuite drip in 2500 BC:

... back to this at the crucifixion of Jesus Christ in 33 AD:

I mean ... I mean– come on, that seems like a bit of a far stretch, even for someone as enthusiastically experimental with fashion as Crowley.

And it's not just that: Where did the sunglasses come from, all of a sudden? And why do they look like some sort of obscure, ancient optometrist's device? It's a known historical fact that the Romans were the ones to have invented sunglasses, somewhere around 50-ish AD. Which actually matches perfectly with when Crowley and Aziraphale meet again in Rome 8 years after the crucifixion (51 AD).

So, where do the weird spectacles come from, over 2000 years too early? Maybe from Aziraphale's brain filling in some gaps? Hasn't Crowley always worn those ridiculous sunglasses? Was it Rome? Or Golgotha? Wessex? Oh, blimey, what does it matter!

And it's not just Crowley: Aziraphale's own clothes, as well as the other angels', seem to be very different from the rather plain linen we see him wear before and after the story of Job.

They're laced with golden embroidery along the neckline and sleeves. The remind almost of the clothes angels are depicted wearing in biblical and historical drawings. Ornate and decadent. Not at all like we see Aziraphale in the other flashbacks of S1.

Even Bildad the Shuhite's hair within the minisode keeps changing, going from all pouffy and voluminous to rather deflated and straight-looking:

The costume department either had to fix up two seperate wigs or manually straighten out the volume of the one again to give it a more sleek look. I'm not a professional in this field, but if there's anything I've learned from watching hours of behind-the-scenes material of movies and shows, it's that very little about costume, character, prop and set design is purely coincidental.

You know what it could be, though? An accurate representation of how memories aren't linear, historically correct and objective representations of a certain event, but rather an ever-changing, jumbled mess of impressions, emotions and exaggerations.

More specifically: Aziraphale's impression, emotions and exaggerations.

Like "remembering" Crowley with sunglasses because he's been wearing them for so long.

Like "remembering" himself wearing more luxurious, angelic clothes because that's how he thinks of the difference between Heaven and Hell.

Like "remembering" the permit as a ridiculously long scroll that folded out over an entire valley.

Like "remembering" Job's children to be weirdly sassy in an almost Aziraphale-esque way (Enon: "Don't be silly!") for the fact that Job would have probably taught them to be more humble and obedient in the presence of a literal angel.

Like "remembering" eating an entire fucking Ox after having just one bite of it while Crowley watched him lustfully, sipping on his wine.

Like "remembering" Crowley calling him 'angel', despite them having barely known each other back then.

There's a reason why the flashbacks in S2 seem so much more alive, quirky and, at many points, confusing and all over the place. Because they're not objective stories being told by a third party. They're Aziraphale's. So much of his own thoughts and feelings at the time get projected onto them because that's simply how memory works!

It's subjective. It's unrealiable.

It's not that I'm calling Aziraphale a liar. He's no more a liar than your parents are, mixing up Sarah and Bobby. Or you, remembering snow instead of sunshine. Memories aren't lies. They can simply be faulty, focus on things that you thought were more important and leaving out or changing things that weren't, to you.

The real challenge in all of this, is trying to filter through Aziraphale's stories to see what it actually is they're telling us. Where it is that the furniture isn't. And I think in this case, that's 6 main things (eff you, God, I know you like sevens, but I don't care):

God and Satan (still) talk to each other We see that Aziraphale is quite surprised when Muriel mentions that the whole Job thing is God's bet with Satan. But clearly, despite having made him and the rest fall, God still converses with Her number one traitor about whether or not the humans simply love Her because she gives them nice things or because they truly believe in Her.

God and Satan (and Heaven and Hell) can and do collaborate with each other when they feel like it So much for choosing sides, huh? Truthfully, this is not the first time this is shown to us, but still. It's another piece of evidence on the growing pile.

Aziraphale understands the World and humans way better than any of the other angels "Well, you see ... Citis is 58 ..."

Aziraphale, despite having troubles voicing it, absolutely disagrees and even condemns God's plan of destroying Job's children (and goats and camels and––)

Aziraphale is willing to lie and thwart the will of God Also not the first time we're being shown this but again, piiiile of evidence.

Angels don't automatically Fall simply by doing the above To me, this is one of the most important take aways. It's already hinted in S1 as well that 'Falling' seems to have been a one time even back when the first war broke out in Heaven. And I actually believe that ever since then, no other angels have Fallen again. Aziraphale is the best example for this. He has gone against God's plan numerous times and even lied to her very face (voice?) about it. And yet, nothing ever happened to him. Why exactly that is the case remains a topic for another meta (that I might or might not be working on already, teehee).

Alright, that concludes this first look at the Job minisode! If there's anything I missed, feel free to share it with me. I'll try and add Part 2 (the story of wee Morag) and Part 3 (the magic show of 1941) soon.

Update: Part 2 and Part 3 have officially been written, you can find it them right here:

Part 2: The Story of wee Morag

Part 3: The Story of the Magic Show in 1941

Hugs and kisses, (God)!

#good omens #good omens season 2 #gos2 #go2 #good omens 2 #good omens meta #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #crowley #story of job #job minisode #good omens analysis #aziraphale is a storyteller #but not a very accurate one #my own meta

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mythalism · 5 months ago

Note

i think, anecdotally, canadians love to use land acknowledgments and Diversity(tm) a bit more than americans do, and have a degree of always pointing at the us and being like "well at least WE didn't do anything that fucked up! we're so much more enlightened and respectful 😌". and so any acknowledgment that racism exists, or that necessary societal change is often only brought by unpleasant disruption, or specifically that indigenous people live in terrible conditions because of colonization, is bracketed with this type of "but it's very complicated, and who's to say if there's a solution? we're thinking about it really hard, and holding space, and listening and learning, and maybe we will get to fixing it in like 50 years if people ask nicely" rhetoric. and there's a degree of apprehension that "land back" is a call for ethnic cleansing of settlers (somehow, despite this being both physically not possible and not actually anyone's demand) and that any movement towards that will be bad and overly radical.

which maps directly onto how bioware writes elves specifically haha. they'll sympathetically show how they're oppressed and living under the boot of a catholic church-esque entity, but then... ahhh noo, actually they had a very problematic pre-colonization culture, and they're too impractically fixated on the past and that prevents them from moving forward, and the church employees are sometimes trying their best and making amends, and the demands of the elven leadership are just too out there and violent... so really, it's very complicated. maybe it could be better to keep the status quo and only have Incremental Change, forever.

(they sort of didn't do this in the masked empire, but as always they had to throw in a bit about how Rude And Mean the dalish are. plus the ridiculously evil chevalier lore of each one randomly executing a few elves as a rite of passage, and then never mentioning that aspect again bc i guess it wasn't relevant to michel's story. as well as the insanely underwritten premise of what briala and celene's relationship actually was. there's ~toxic lesbians~, and then there's "extremely rich and powerful white noblewoman calls her younger servant class gf ugly for being dark skinned, lies to her for years, has her family and then entire community killed, then tries to seduce her back when she gets angry and leaves" lmao. i think weekes was going for a tragic morally grey starcrossed lovers to enemies vibe, but to me it was more of a horrific one-sided exploitation that the author did not seem to realize they were writing.)

and in veilguard i suppose they tried to avoid the entire issue by mostly removing those aspects of the setting, so you no longer even have the somewhat well-observed depictions of oppression combined with Justin Trudeau Moments, it's just kind of empty.

anyway thank you for appreciating my very long ted talk! i left tumblr after the whole "popular bloggers mass reporting pro-palestine people for terrorism" thing (i can get that treatment for free irl, don't need that extra stress from the Fandom Webbed Site haha). i've just been drifting back to look at dragon age posts bc i was curious about veilguard. i didn't expect much from bioware but it was surprising that they just went even further into tone-deaf bizarre race allegories rather than reading 1 (one) nonfiction book in the years since dai, or hiring anybody from a different background who could weigh in. :')

wow this is seriously so fascinating and insightful and truly does give me a better understanding of both canada and bioware LMFAO so thank you so much for sharing seriously. you are welcome in my inbox for more ted talks anytime and now im just gonna leave this here to marinate on it further and hope other people read it because its fantastic. xoxo

#asks #veilguard critical #fave

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skibasyndrome · 4 months ago

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may never make it out challenge

Thank you so much @saynomorefic for creating this very fun game and for the initial tag 💜💜💜 Equally big thanks to @goldenwilmon and @toffeelemon for tagging me as well 💜💜💜

Post a 1-5 paragraph excerpt of a WIP / fic idea that may never make it out of your drafts but is near and dear to your heart

I've been dragging this one around for a WHILE (seems like I created the doc in decermber '23 oh my god). And you've likely seen parts of this already. Essentially, the idea is that Simon and Wille never got back together and when Simon starts university in Stockholm Wille reaches out again and, even though Simon would love to think he's over Wille, they start hooking up again. Simon is... angry in this. This is far from 5 paragraphs, but. Uh. If I never get to actually finish it, then at least it's here, lmao. Beware, there's some smut (NSFW) down there.

When he first spots Wilhelm, he immediately regrets his decision. Wishes he'd just ignored the text, maybe even told him to fuck off, all decorum and pretense of being over the past be damned. He shouldn't have agreed to this. The smile he flashes Simon as he starts walking towards him, moving around tables and bags people have placed on the ground in the small coffee shop is every bit as crooked and cheery as Simon remembers it from four years ago and he can't stand it. He shouldn't be able to act like this is okay, like they are okay, like he just gets to burst back into Simon's life like that and smile about it.

But that's the whole problem. Simon let him, let it get to this. “Hey, Simon,” he hears him say as soon as he's standing in front of him. And it really shouldn't affect him that much, the simple utterance of his name shouldn't hold that much power. He twists the napkin he's subconsciously grabbed with one hand, forces a neutral expression. “Hey,” he replies. If he has to be here at all, he's sure as hell not going to be cooperative in conversation. Wille's smile falters ever so slightly. It really wouldn't be noticeable, but Simon knows that face, knows all its traitorous tells and he seemingly still has all that info filed away neatly. As Wilhelm sits down opposite of him the initial enthusiasm has seemingly left him and he's starting to pick at his nails. Simon knows all the signs and if he were a better person he'd try to reassure him now, make him feel a little less anxious about their encounter. But he fights the urge, tightens the grip on the napkin when his hand threatens to reach out to grab Wilhelm's. He hates himself for wanting to give in so easily. Before any other body part can betray him he decides to speak instead. “So what do you want?”

[...]

[Simon] does wonder, too, in between his moans and gasps that mirror Wilhelm’s sounds, whether Wilhelm does this with other people, whether Wilhelm has ever held anyone so close and made sure their bodies aligned perfectly. Whether Wilhelm has lost himself like this with anyone else, since. There’s a spark of anger at the thought of it, then a crashing wave of pride when he feels Wilhelm start to shake under him. A heady warmth, thick and sticky, when he realizes that it’s him and him alone that made Wilhelm spill into the condom. It’s powerful enough to spur him on, to give him enough fervor to raise and lower his hips once, twice again. He messily fucks into Wilhelm’s fist and finally he’s coming in streaks that lay claim on the man that’s turning boneless underneath him. He doesn’t say any of it out loud, doesn’t repeat his traitorous thoughts about wanting to be the only one to fuck Wilhelm like this. He doesn’t lie about sex with Jacob, but doesn’t feel the need to mention that it’s been weeks since they've done it like this.

[...]

Simon’s gotten into the habit of lying. Says he’ll have to be back in his apartment soon, says he can’t possibly stay overnight, that he needs to get up early for classes tomorrow. Says he can’t on weekends because that’s when Sara comes over. Or that Ayub is planning to visit him. Or that he’ll have to take an extra shift at the café. Wilhelm never questions him. He never really pushes, simply adjusts his schedule somewhat and ends up parking his car down the alley from Simon’s apartment building on a Tuesday evening, Wednesday evening, any evening Simon hasn’t given an excuse for. It’s bitter-sweet. There’s something thrilling about the fact that the Crown Prince will roll up any time of the night just to get his fix of Simon, no matter the ridiculous restrictions Simon gives him. It feels good to be the one calling the shots for once.

[...]

Underneath him, Wilhelm is writhing, moaning, arching his back, doing everything to meet Simon’s thrusts, offering his body in a way Simon is not quite sure how to take in. This openness, the unguarded way he lets go while Simon is pinning him down, the desperate pleas for moremoremore that he’s uttering, tumbling over his lips and glinting in his eyes whenever he stares back up at Simon, it twists something deep inside of Simon’s soul. Wilhelm is letting him in, he’s laying out his soul, opening up his chest for Simon to reach inside. It’s fascinating to watch and it’s scary to think about. Another thrust and Wilhelm is throwing his head back, baring his throat, pale and soft and long and claimed by the violently purple bruise Simon has sucked into the skin of it. And somehow it all wraps up in that sight, this vision. Wilhelm would let Simon tear into him, no questions asked. Would offer himself to him, bleeding.

I'm not sure who has and hasn't done this before, but I'm tagging @saynomorefic (if you want to do another one <3) @impossibleknots, @earlgrey-lateatnight, @the-impala-is-my-home, @shouldntbearevolution, @grapehyasynth, @pagegirlintraining, @wilmonsfolklore, @iwouldnevergetintofanfic @caramelpenguin, @willesworld &&&&&& can we make this about gif-art as well? Probably right? In that case, maybe @sobadbad & @books-books-smolderinglooks have any projects to share? Anyone else who would like to share one of their may-never-make-it-outs, you've been tagged as well💜💜💜 Tag me if you do so I can read it!

#tag game #wilmon #wilmon fanfic #wilmon snippet #yr #young royals #tales from the google docs #my fanfic #I know I overtag ppl probably............. I'm sorry kjsfakdghadfkjg I get excited about these so when I do end up doing one I go overboard #listen Simon in this is......... he's having a time okay #but......... maybe he gets better.......#may never make it out challenge

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illyrianslut · 4 months ago

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In His Arms - Azriel x Reader

Summary:

Isla went to Velaris with Rhys after UTM, but quite frequently has nightmares about what was done to her. Azriel is always there to aide when he can.

Warnings: (These will be chapter by chapter) nightmares, mention of past abuse

Word Count: 2.9k

Author's Note: (I totally changed this from an OG character to Y/N) This is part 1/?. This is my first ACOTAR fanfic! I've been writing fanfic for 13 years (fuck im old), so I'm super excited to finally be posting in the ACOTAR fandom<3 Ao3 Link

Masterlist | Ao3

“Please don’t make me do this.” I beg, glancing between Amarantha and Rhysand. The fear forming in my stomach like a brick. “I’ll do anything else, please My Queen, I beg of you.” Amarantha’s grin only grows wider at my plea. Rhysand’s face is stone cold, hatred burns through me as I realize what’s about to happen.

“Search her, now.” Amarantha hisses at Rhysand. For the briefest of seconds pity seems to cross his face, but it’s gone in a second when I feel him begin digging through my thoughts.

Memories of the fae I’d been sneaking out fill my mind, their faces and names being run through so quickly I can barely process it myself. Pretend this hurts. A thought that feels my own, but somehow belonging to someone else fills my mind. But I trust the thought, and bring myself to my knees letting out a pained scream.

Part of my acting feels real, the invasion of my privacy and the fear of what Amarantha will do to me once she finds out evokes a very real reaction from me. She is going to kill me.

“Well Rhysand?” She beckons, a bored almost annoyed tone surrounding her question. “Have I found my traitor?” The itch in my mind ceases, and something tells me now it is time to end my performance.

Rhysand watches me for a moment, almost like he is deciding something. But then he shakes his head “No.”

Amarantha’s head snaps from me to him. “What do you mean no?” She hisses “I’ve been informed that she” Another sharp glance in my direction “has been helping other slaves to escape.” I hate that word.

“You’ve been informed wrong, she has no knowledge on the escaped slaves.” Rhysand tells her calmly, his neutral expression still on me. “You should bring the liars in at once to be questioned.” Rhysand sounds bored, almost annoyed that he’d even been brought here. I stand up slowly, looking between Rhysand and Amarantha trying to figure out what was going on. Is he lying for me? Why would he do that?

A hum from Amarantha, I glance up at her on her dais realizing that I may get out of this situation alive. Maybe not unharmed, but at least alive. Thanks to Rhysand, Amarantha’s whore. His gaze snapped to me, a look of annoyance. I just saved your life, do you think it’s wise to be using those words right now? Rhysand’s voice floods my mind and I have to hold back the fear shooting through me, that he had heard me.

“I suppose you’re right. Twenty lashings for the girl so she knows to keep her mouth shut about the escapees. And make sure they leave a mark so everyone knows.” Amarantha sounds proud of herself at the idea.

“No!” I shriek, whipping my head to the Attor who is stalking towrds me, an evil grin spread across his disgusting face. “Please, don’t do this My Queen! I will keep quiet, please!” I beg just as the Attor grabs my arm to hold my in place for my punishment.

My shirt is ripped off by the Attor, and a leather whip appears in his hand. “I’ve been waiting to see you break.” He whispers in my ear.

I shoot up in bed, a scream escaping my lips at the memory of my first real interaction with Rhysand. I can still feel the burn of the twenty strikes inflicted on my back. “It’s over.” I remind myself, wiping the sweat from my forehead.

A hurried knock comes from my door, Azriel surely as we are the only two currently residing in the townhouse. “Sorry Az, I’m fine, you don’t need to worry about me.” I call, scolding myself for waking him.

“May I come in?” He asks, sounding distressed from the other side of the door.

“Yeah come on in.” My chest is still heaving slightly from the adrenaline, but I know he wont rest until he knows I’m really okay.

He opens the door and I take in his disheveled hair, worried expression and then much to my personal satisfaction, his shirtless body. He may be one of my best friends, but I would be blind to not notice how beautiful this man is. “Hi.” He says gently, looking me over as if assessing for physical injuries.

“Hi.” I smile up at him as he walks closer to my bed.

“May I sit?” He gestures to my bed, and I scoot over leaving a space for him to sit beside me. “Did you have a bad dream?”

I give him a nod and sigh, getting ready to spill my guts. “It was when I first met Rhys.” My voice shakes, despite how hard I’m trying to pull myself together. I think of the twenty raised marks staining my back and feel the tears well in my eyes. “Sorry, I know it’s dumb to cry over it still.” I insist, wiping at the tears just as they begin to spill out.

His expression shifts at my admission. Rhys and I had made a promise to each other when we got out that we wouldn’t talk about what we went through with the others. But there were times when it felt impossible to not talk about those things. “I know you wont tell me, but I am here for you. If you ever need to talk about what you went through. I know Rhysand made you promi-”

“No.” I stop him, it wasn’t Rhys’s idea to promise anything. It had been mine, but he seemed a lot better at keeping his secrets in than I ever had been. “Rhys didn’t make me. It was my idea, Az. It’s just, sometimes I want to word vomit everything I did and went through. But I know it wouldn’t fix anything.” It was the truth, it’s the only thing holding me to that promise with Rhys.

Of course he had shared a lot, probably everything if I’m honest, with Feyre. But that’s different, she’s his mate. Maybe one day if I ever find my mate I would feel different, but cauldron knows how rare a mating bond is.

“I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry.” Azriel frowns, “I just meant-” He shakes his head, but when he looks back his eyes land on a scar wrapped around my shoulder. I freeze, and feel a twinge of panic in my stomach, but I focus on his shadow that rises slowly to the scar and caresses it gently. I can’t help but think of the first time he saw my scars, and how angry he had been.

The Summer Court had been just as beautiful as Feyre had described, maybe even more so. But I still can’t help the excitement of seeing Azriel for the first time in two weeks. He is by far my closest friend, much to Mor’s annoyance, and two weeks without him was hard.

Knowing that he wont be home at this hour, I decide to bathe and get the sweat from being in perpetual summer off my body. My room is just as I left it, and I can’t help but smile at the lights turning on as I walk in. Home.

I tear my shirt off, tossing it to the ground and heading for the attached bathing room. I’m attempting to pull my pants off when my door swing open, and a stunned Azriel is on the other side. In my shock I don’t know which part of my body to sheild from him, so I threw one arm over my boobs, and turn away from him.

The second I do it I hear the audible gasp from Azriel, and my body goes cold. “Get out!” I yell, tears filling my eyes, knowing Azriel has now seen the worst part of me.

“Who did this to you?” His voice sends a chill down my spine, but I still can’t bring myself to move in my frozen state.

“Azriel. Get. Out!” I hiss, feeling my body begin to shake. I’m going to be sick. I run to the bathing room, in an attempt to get away from his line of sight. Why isn’t he leaving?

“Y/N. Who did that.” I’ve never heard his tone like this, filled with such venom. His shadows enter the bathing room, and my shirt is dropped next to me. Before I can throw it on, the shadows begin roaming over my back as if exploring the raised skin.

The Attor’s wicked grin fogs my memory, and I can hear my pulse in my ears. The whipping sound fills my ears, the smell of the leather surrounds me. Rhys. And my back, I can feel the scars burning like it’s happening all over again.

Arms wrap around me, making me I feel like I’m floating. I look up to see Azriel looking down at me, fear flooding his eyes. “Y/N, talk to me. Can you hear me?” His voice sounds far away, like it’s being covered by the sound of the cracking whip, but I nod anyway.

I can feel the shaking, my whole body is shaking but I can’t stop it. “Y/N what can I do? I’m so sorry.” I’m set down onto something soft, but I instantly miss the warmth his body had been providing. My body feels void of warmth right now, ice cold. It doesn’t help the shaking.

Everything is going to change now.

“I need R-Rhys.” I hear a broken voice say. Was that me?

Hurt flashes through his eyes for the quickest of seconds but the next thing I remember is Rhys and Feyre being there. Azriel is gone. “Y/N. You need to breathe.” I hear a familiar voice instruct. I look around, attempting to figure out who, but they’re both just looking at me expectantly. “Can you hear me?” Is the voice above me?

I look up and realize I am wrapped tightly around Azriel’s waist. I nod, I can hear him. “Breathe. You aren’t breathing.” I pity the sadness haunting his beautiful face, am I causing that?

“What happened exactly?” I hear Feyre’s voice, but she sounds so far away. I turn to look where she had been and she’s still there. Why is everyone so far away?

“I-I didn’t meant to. I didn’t know she was home. I came in and she was-” Azriel pauses when I turn my attention to him. No. He can’t tell her. Nobody can know. “Changing.” He finishes.

“Oh.” Rhys tone changes. I glance at him, pleading silently that he wont make me, make us, relive that moment again. I begin shaking my head quickly, hoping he will understand my plea. “I understand, Az I think I can handle this.”

Azriel’s body stiffens in my arms “I’m not leaving her.” Suddenly the harsh tone from earlier is back, and I feel an arm tighten around my shoulders. Az? I turn my head to look at the hand and see his scarred hand rubbing gently. “Don’t you dare ask me to leave her while she’s like this.” Rhys looks to Feyre, clearly having a silent conversation.

I only focus on Az’s hand, willing the comfort of it to bring me back to the present fully.

“Azriel, will you come with me? I think this may be one of the times Rhys and Y/N need just each other.” Feyre looks at Azriel, pity written all over her face.

Just as Azriel is about to say no, Rhys looks to him with the face of the High Lord of the Night Court. “Azriel. You’ve done enough here, now go.” Just like that, the hand that had been bringing me comfort is gone, and I am being unwrapped from him. Then I watch him walk out of the room with Feyre, looking back at me like I’m broken.

I curl into a ball on the bed, soaking in the warmth from where he had been. I didn't want him to leave. I wanted him here. Buy why? “Was it your back he saw?” Rhys asks, his voice breaking ever so slightly.

Two years had passed and we had never spoken of what happened that day again. He still doesn’t know who caused those scars. I’m sure he has made his assumptions, but we both knew I wasn’t ready for that conversation. Assuming I ever would be.

“I just meant that you can talk to me if you ever want to, is all” He finishes his sentence, glancing back at the visible scar.

I reach to the end of the bed and grab the throw blanket there, wrapping it around my back to hide the scars that show with this damn top. The shadow that had been settling over the scar drifted back to him, hovering at his ear for a moment before dropping away.

“Are they giving up all my secrets?” I try to laugh, but truth be told there’s a part of me that is worried they’ll somehow know just from touching it who caused those marks.

“They enjoy you too much to tell me your secrets.” I can feel the truth behind his words, his soft smile is reassuring. “As much as I want to know Y/N you have to know I would never invade your privacy like that.” He almost sounds as though he is begging me to agree with him.

“I know you wouldn’t.” I admit, “I wasn’t so sure about these ones.” I giggle when the shadows reach out, and hover around my hair- their preferred location to situate on me.

I can feel the oncoming panic attack begin to subside in his presence. “Was it a dream of what happened,” He pauses for a moment “Under the Mountain?”

I chance looking him in the eye, his gaze is already fixed on my face and I can’t help but blush at the intensity. “Yes.” I admit, looking away.

“Will you tell me about it?” I know he doesn’t mean to pressure me, that it’s not his intention. But the idea of actually telling someone about what I went through down there? It sends a shiver down my spine.

“I want to, Az. I just can’t.” I finally say after a few heartbeats of silence.

“Will you ever?” The question catches me off guard, he sounded so desperate, almost like he was pleading with me to trust him with the most private part of my life.

“I don’t know, I’ve just always told myself that I wouldn’t talk about it with anyone. I mean maybe if I ever mated someone, but it’s a lot, Az. If I told you, you would never see me the same.” I feel bad avoiding the no I want to say, but I also don’t know if I would mean it. There might come a day that I trust myself enough to open up, but I can’t chance him hating me. Not yet.

“Y/N, mated couples are rare, and you know it. What’s your plan keep it to yourself for the rest of your life?” I play with a tendril of shadow that’s hovering around my fingers. When I look up to meet his gaze again I almost break. I know he wants to help me with what I went through, but I’m just not ready.

“I’m not ready Az, but if I ever am I promise it’ll be you I come to.” The corner of his mouth rises slightly.

“That’s all I can ask for, I suppose. Are you going back to bed?” The question catches me off guard, but I shake my head.

“I can’t ever fall back asleep after I’ve had a nightmare. I’ll probably be up for the day.” I shrug at the inconvenience of it. It’s become a semi regular occurrence, usually a couple times a month.

“It’s hardly past midnight, are you sure? Why don’t you lay down? I’ll stay in here with you.” I cock my head at his suggestion, but it may not be the worst idea. “I’ll sit over there, I lost a bet with Nesta the other day anyway. I have to read one of her books.” He chuckles, nodding his head to the chair in the corner of my room.

“No Az, uh” I only give the thought a moment before it’s out of my lips. “just lay in bed with me. You being here probably will help, but there is no sense in chancing both of us not sleeping tonight.” What did I just say? My eyes widen at the offer I’d just extended. “I mean, if you’re comfortable with that I guess.” I rub the back of my neck.

He gives me my favorite Azriel smile, his goofy grin that meets his eyes. “Deal. Lay down.” He nods behind me.

I take the blanket off my shoulders, avoiding his gaze as I do so, and lay down facing him. “Your turn, Spymaster.” I tease, knowing he hates when I call him that. But he obliges, laying down draping his wings behind him.

Without either of us saying a word, the lamp that had turned on when he entered the room goes out. The moonlight filtering through the window gives me a clear view of him.

I can’t see them, but I feel his shadows hovering over the scarred shoulder that shown with my tank top. “You do know I will ruin whoever did that to you, don’t you?” He whispers, his fingers reach out and gently brush over the scarred skin.

That’s what I’m afraid of.

#mine #writing #holy fuck i am posting something #acotar #acotar fanfic #azriel #azriel fanfic #rhysand #fyere #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf #feyre #feyre archeron #azriel x reader #acotar x reader

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queen-simia · 6 months ago

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now that ep 4 is live to the public, I can finally post what I've been sitting (and spinning) on for like a week, wheeee!

Major Monkey Wrench spoilers abound, so putting below a cut if you haven't yet seen the latest episode. And if you haven't seen it (or the rest of the series), you can do so here:

now ON TO THE INFODUMP

Shrike's status

so, since the beginning, I've been putting all my money on Shrike being an artificial being. Not in the sense of robotics/cyborgs and the like, but in the sense of a one-of-a-kind bioengineered creature. Since he was confirmed as an endling (as opposed to just hinted at in past episodes), I'm choosing to take that as a bit of reinforcement; his species is still marked as "unknown" by LAW, and if no one knows what you are and you're the only one they've ever seen, it's safe to assume they assume you're the last of whatever you are.

now, in a leap on my part, I'm further going to postulate that Shrike is actually an engineered squid. As in an honest-to-god Earth cephalopod, albeit in the same sense you can call a human a monkey. I think that maybe our boy Shrike is the end result of years-long genetic modification and breeding programs to create something closer to human shape and intelligence, but with whatever attributes his human creators wanted from squid...

...maybe attributes like producing ink.

"that's stupid, what makes you think that?" Glad you asked, Strawman! Here's what I'm drawing from:

Scratch's nicknames for Shrike

As much as these can be considered throwaways, Zeurel and Ash have been very good about sneaking in foreshadowing in dialogue. I don't fully think Scratch is calling Shrike "squidhead" just to be antagonistic (though in-universe, he certainly is; I doubt the character himself in canon has that kind of insight); I'm choosing to believe it may be a bit of a Chekhov's gun.

Shrike's design inspiration

In Tumblr ask replies, Zeurel's confirmed Shrike's design is based heavily on Humboldt squid, and he finds cephalopods and deep-sea life in general interesting. It's going into meta rather than narrative precedent, but I think for these reasons, having Shrike actually be an ascended squid wouldn't be that far out of the blue.

Shrike's terran connections

It's been established that Earth no longer exists, and what humans remain are persona non grata in LAW space. They're the reason behind the Cataclysm/the creation of Secondary Green, and what artifacts remain are traded on the black market (as implied by Scratch and Jaw Bone dealing in them, neither of whom are exactly upstanding citizens).

Yet somehow, Shrike speaks primarily in a canonically dead Earth language—Latin Spanish—and thinks highly of terrans/terran culture. He apparently is the only being in LAW space who does both. One could argue he picked up Spanish through exposure to contraband as a LAW officer, but even his translated speech is Spanish-accented. That to me is a clue it's his native language, as opposed to one picked up later in life. Maybe he doesn't speak it all that well, but it's what he learned as he grew up.

I believe that Shrike's interest in terran artifacts isn't so much fannish as it is nostalgic, though he doesn't realize it (yet). Remember, we don't know his true age—he's only estimated to be in his mid- to late 20s. He could very well be several decades or even 800+ years old, and for reasons yet unknown he isn't aware of it. Hell, he knows what VHS tapes are and how to watch them, something present-day kids are unfamiliar with right now. Even if he was treated as only a scientific specimen in his youth, something about Earth/its people may have been warm and familiar enough to endear terran mementos to him. But it's now too far gone in the past for him to remember why exactly he loves them so much.

Shrike got no dick

(originally posted to Twitter before the Shittening)

Canonically, the boy is Ken-doll smooth both front and back. Even though he has a gender (Questionably Masc™), he has no sex. Maybe his species could reproduce asexually, but it's pretty unusual for complex bipedal critters to do that. Plus, there's the fact that no peehole and no butthole also mean no bodily waste excretion, which is pretty much a death sentence for most life forms that run on metabolic processes. Therefore, I'm taking all these as artifacts of Shrike's artificial creation (and not just so it's more difficult to make show-accurate porn of him).

The Primaries, LAW, and Secondary Green

So there are three godlike beings that ostensibly also serve as the basis for government, referred to as the Primaries. Only one has been directly referenced as active in LAW government—Primary Red—but given the colors of the three LAW divisions, one can safely assume there must be a Primary Yellow and Primary Blue (whether they also govern, are off doing something else, or are AWOL is a mystery for now). It also just so happens that interstellar travel takes place in subspace pathways in the same colors as the Primaries (with varying speed depending on color), and spacecraft is fueled by "ink" in those corresponding primary colors.

It's also revealed in a news chyron in ep 4 that an intergalactic-capable drive had been in development (and had been stalled by bureaucracy) for at least 20 years, and is now ready to deploy. It's referred to as a Trinity drive, and required Primary Red's approval before it could officially launch. I think it's pretty safe to assume it's a form of propulsion that combines all 3 colors, however the in-universe physics work in that case. At the moment, it's been shown that using the wrong type of ink in a color drive will cause an explosion and a tear in space at best (at worst, we don't know yet), so whatever science went into developing a drive that combines colors must have been fairly dangerous (or potentially threatens to weaken whatever power the Primaries hold over LAW citizens).

Secondary Green

Background details are vital lore sources in Monkey Wrench. If you paid close attention near the beginning of ep 1 (and can easily read backwards text), you already know what's in the box the boys pick up in ep 2: something called "Secondary Green." It was evidently once in Chester's possession, but by the time Kara caught up to him, he'd already sent it on its way to LAW.

The second and third episodes refer to the Cataclysm being caused by terrans. The third episode explains the green corruption's effect on life forms, and LAW subsequently quarantining it to prevent its spread. It also shows Secondary Green corrupting the bit of Them that gets too close into the horrific black-green monster that overtakes the Bucket. The fourth ep has Jaw Bone directly refer to the terrans' "false idol" in reference to the Cataclysm.

While I was typing later paragraphs, I hit upon a possibility I hadn't even considered for what Secondary Green could be. So now, I've got 2 potential reads:

1. Secondary Green was the humans' attempt at recreating the Primaries' power for themselves. Whether this was to undermine LAW or to try to join the galactic stage at the Primaries' level has yet to be seen, but either way, it ended up biting humanity in the ass. Secondary Green and/or a byproduct of it/its creation ended up destroying Earth and a good chunk of its neighboring Milky Way space, and landed whatever humans remain squarely on LAW's shit list.

Now, those of you who remember me from pre-2018 Tumblr also know I'm pretty heavily into Mass Effect. That universe's version of the Milky Way also was governed by an alien-run coalition: the Citadel, which tightly controlled the means to interstellar travel (although the Citadel species did not create these means, they just found and activated them first). Thus, the similarities to the idea of a three-pronged alien government holding the keys to interstellar travel and commerce and forcing you to play nice if you want in have been resonating in the back of my mind whenever I watch Monkey Wrench.

The similarities end in that MW's answer to the Protheans are still very much alive and active, and are directly overseeing galactic travel, commerce, and government. There aren't established mass relays, but every ship contains its own "relay" in the form of ink drives. These can open portals into respective colors of subspace to get from one side of the galaxy to another faster than conventional propulsion (so far, red is the fastest, and blue seems to be the median speed everyday schmoes like our boys can access). And, most importantly, the means of this travel are less an external technological development and more appear to be tied to the nature of the Primaries themselves; these beings are not just obeyed, but worshiped (see Scratch's oaths in ep 3 and the red officer greeting Shrike and Armstrong exchange in ep 4).

However, there are still two very important similarities between these two settings that I think should be kept in mind:

i. Trouble started when humans started sticking their fingers into the galactic government's pie. In Mass Effect, it was shoehorning Shepard into the Spectre program and wriggling humanity's way into the Citadel Council. In Monkey Wrench, it was messing with fundamental forces it didn't yet understand and (maybe) creating human-made Great Value primaries, which resulted in at least one: Secondary Green.

ii. Control over interstellar travel—specifically, access to subspace—is a cornerstone of power. In Mass Effect, you need a specific form of reactor in order to engage the mass relays and "cheat" your way to FTL travel. These relays are heavily guarded and regulated by the Citadel; humanity famously learned this when it activated Relay 314 near Pluto and got a knock-knock from the police in the form of a turian armada. In Monkey Wrench, you need to equip specific color drives and fuel up at ink stations, which presumably are subject to LAW regulation and pricing.

In both settings, Earth appears to have taken a look at the galaxy already being run by someone else and immediately thought, "but how do I get around this?"

Engineering Secondary Green was MW Earth's answer to this question. Unfortunately, it backfired and drove humanity to (functional) extinction and criminal status.

2. Secondary Green is an unintended fusion of Primaries Yellow and Blue. This would explain their current-day absence (provided they don't directly appear in later episodes), and the subsequent fall of LAW enforcement into disorder that Armstrong alludes to in ep 4. Humanity was up to something that attracted the Primaries' attention—perhaps tapping into pocket dimensions, like the one embedded in Shrike's head?—and maybe things went awry. One way or another, Primaries Yellow and Blue's intervention ended in them fusing into a new anti-entity, Secondary Green. Instead of fostering life, their combined and imbalanced power corrupted it.

Left to their own devices (and likely hawkish methods, given Red oversees enforcement), Primary Red sealed off Earth's part of the galaxy and declared humanity LAW's enemy. The quarantine for justifiable safety/life preservation reasons, the outlawing likely to create the narrative that humanity was entirely to blame and not at all any fault of Primary interference (and maybe some vengeance for losing their comrades).

Or maybe, Red is covering their tracks.

LAW and Order

So the League of Aligned Worlds (LAW—yes, it's an acronym) is the current empire ruling civilized space in the Milky Way galaxy, under direct command of the Primaries (or at least Primary Red). There are three established branches: enforcement/military (red, which Shrike was once and has since defected from), science (yellow, which Dr. Agness impersonated), and commerce (blue, as represented by Killix and Sixty-Two, who appear to be led by an as-yet unseen Commander Tezzoree).

Being a centralized civilization, LAW has certain cultural and legal standards it expects its citizens to observe. Commerce and community are enabled by way of implanted universal translators á là Star Trek, but with one specific caveat: swearing is not allowed. It's so not allowed that it's physically punishable through painful translator auditory feedback—interestingly, people in earshot get punished this way as well just for hearing it.

Maybe it's a form of socialization, in that LAW hopes you're nice enough not to want to hurt your fellow citizens by swearing? Or that your fellow citizens, having had pain inflicted on them, will browbeat you into compliance? Either way, it's a window into current LAW space being severely authoritarian in both the moral and legal senses.

This extreme authoritarian approach doesn't prevent corruption, however. Corporate lobbyists exist, as demonstrated by Chester in ep 1, and LAW officials patronizing vice industries like sex work (see the end of ep 3) is not unusual. And current LAW is disorganized to the point of each division being largely ignorant of what's going on in the others: Neither Killix nor Sixty-Two were aware Shrike is a defector, nor do they bat an eye at him admitting as such. Armstrong is able to impersonate a red officer with either stolen or purchased equipment, and even he's astonished that LAW keeps such loose tabs on itself that they still have Shrike registered as an active officer. Dr. Agness is able to get away with impersonating a LAW scientist, and the LAW representatives who collect her don't appear especially ruffled by it.

It's possible that this rigid adherence to authority and subsequent breakdown in the ability to enforce it is due to Primary Red being the only Primary left. The harder you clench your fist, the more sand slips through your fingers, and all that. However it happened, Red is at the moment the only one at the wheel, and they don't seem to be able to keep it together on their own.

aight, so where's this leave us

so for now, I think these are where we may be headed:

a: Shrike was genetically engineered to be in the running as a peer to/defense against the Primaries, but aligned with Earth. He has a means to access a pocket dimension/subspace, could possibly be a source of ink (either as secretion or in the form of his blood), is an exceptional marksman, and possesses anthropomorphic form and (allegedly) intellect. The problem is, he turned out anti-authoritarian, impulsive, and kinda stupid. He was disposed of at some point and now wanders space as the only one of his kind.

b: The same program that produced Shrike also created Secondary Green. Unfortunately, something happened—whether through accident or external manipulation—that turned it into a rampaging force of destruction. We have yet to see whether humans really did just monumentally fuck up, or if LAW is rewriting history.

c: LAW is on its way to collapse through Primary Red's mismanagement. Whether said mismanagement is through the other Primaries going missing on their own, or through a power grab on Red's part is the main mystery.

hooray done for now oh god

#long post #monkey wrench #monkey wrench spoilers #really fuckin' long post

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eijizwrld · 2 months ago

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“To the people I secretly hated and to the people I loudly loved”

It was no secret to everyone that their no.1 hero was madly in love with you"

M.Izuku x gn!reader angst

Fuck, okay. I'm writing this because I can't seem to move on. I have so many unsaid things, so many words I need to get out. You don't understand how much this is affecting me. I can spite you all I want, but deep down, I still love you, and I think I always will. Unfortunately.

It’s been a year and three months, and it still hasn’t sunk in. I never thought I’d be forced to let go. I always thought, no matter what, we’d be together. I was wrong.

I still can’t accept it. The thought of moving on feels impossible. There are so many things left unsaid. This letter is my attempt to finally say them, to maybe, just maybe, start to heal.

Are you okay? Are you eating right? You're such a klutz sometimes, forgetting to take care of yourself. That's why I loved looking after you. It felt so good to be close to you, to hold you.

The boys are doing fine. We still see each other from time to time, to catch up. But it feels… weird… not having you here. The kids don't say it, but I know they miss you, too. Those boys loved you so much. It feels…empty… without you. We started this life together, and now.. it feels wrong. Incomplete. Without you by our side.

I can't help but wonder if things would have been different if i just been more patient and understanding? If I could go back, would I have changed things? Would more patience, more understanding… would it have made a difference? Would you still be here? It’s a question without an answer, a cruel twist of fate that haunts us only with what-ifs and regrets.

The apartment feels empty without you. I never realized how much a place can change, even without physical alterations, simply because of one person.. You were the reason I call this place home; you weren't always here, but you made it feel warmer, as if time slowed and I could finally breathe without the weight of the world...

I've achieved everything I ever wanted. I have the life I always dreamed of. But it doesn't feel like a victory. It feels… incomplete. Losing you left a hole in my life, a big empty space that nothing seems to fill. Even this success, this thing I worked so hard for, doesn't change that. It's like a picture with a missing piece, no matter how beautiful the rest of it is. I keep thinking about the good times we had, the things we shared. I hope you're doing okay, and I hope you know how much I miss you.

I loved you more than words can say, and losing you is a pain I can barely bear. You were everything to me, my reason for living, and now I'm lost without you. The regret eats at me—I wish I had done something, anything, to prevent this..

Hello! This is the first time I'm writing and posting it, i hope you guys like it :3

Credits @thecutestgrotto for the dividers

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vitaminseetarot · 7 months ago

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Pick a Card: Your Next Upcoming Transformation 🌕🦋

Hey y'all, welcome back for another pac reading for our last supermoon of the year. This full moon is in Taurus, so we are encouraged to step back and focus on resting and self care in between these tumultuous and difficult energies we are currently running through. Every late autumn season invites us to explore how we have transformed over the year and how we are still evolving. This Scorpio season in particular has been very emboldened and expressive as I've seen its presence in everything from neighborhood construction to politics. And while I will avoid making this post too charged, I will use this post as a reminder that I support all marginalized communities who are feeling confused and vulnerable at this time. I hope you find this blog to be a safe space.

Butterfly imagery has been surrounding me, and I was even gifted some butterfly magnets this season. Butterflies represent the soul and its deep transformative abilities. As we release the old, we may be able to spread our wings to be magnets for better times ahead. So I've created six piles to show where and how this process is shifting you to your next chapter.

1. Pink Butterfly - Little Princess 2. Red Butterfly - Inferno 3. Yellow Butterfly - Spirited Yellow 4. Green Butterfly - Willow Hedge 5. Blue Butterfly - Sea of Tranquility 6. Purple Butterfly - Joie de vivre

Pile 1: Pink Butterfly - Little Princess

6 of Pentacles, Queen of Cups; Appreciation, Marquise, Wolf, Grandmother Moonstone "Forgive, not because they deserve it, but because you deserve peace."

Good evening, pile 1. Your next chapter involves balancing your needs with the needs of others. Perhaps for a while, you have been on one end of an extreme when it came to exchanging. You may feel as though you give too much without receiving the equivalent in return, and this realization means that your generous energy is wearing down on you. It could also be the other way around, where you could feel guilty when others give you things because you're not sure how you will be able to return the favor. It may feel easier to lean on oneself than to grapple with paying back such a gift, as you wouldn't want the other person to feel tired too. I'm feeling many hang ups on both ends when it comes to generosity, and this energy may be arising due to the holiday season getting closer. With the Marquise card showing the Libra symbol above the 6 of Pentacles, balance is the emphasis here. Balance is not always an exact 50/50 at the time of exchange. Cycles will come where you may rely on the help of others more, followed by phases where those same people will come to need and appreciate your help. This is balance in a higher order sense, in terms of your lifetime and not just one season.

It could have been that, in childhood, you were given strange attitudes and beliefs on giving and receiving. I'm getting a weird reaction from seeing "Little Princess". Some part of you may want to embody the princess archetype, who lives in abundance and receives adoration. But maybe there were people who used it with a more negative connotation, like saying "bratty princess" or "spoiled rotten princess". This could have been from family, friends, or even ideas picked up from TV. It could have been that others act like they're spoiling you or really going out of their way when they give you or help you with something. It's such a sticky back and forth, and in time it becomes harder to receive or be grateful from such a source of negativity. And now you've been getting this intuitive nudge that healthier beliefs need to be created.

This season is about observing these negative beliefs and reclaiming your feelings of gratitude and generosity, in a sense. Gratitude isn't about settling for bad standards; if you get a bad gift or a good gift out of somebody "spoiling" you, it's not a reflection of who you are but of where they're at in their own journey. If they don't seem grateful for what you do, that's also a part of their own process. Some people won't be able to reciprocate, just as there are times where others will give more than you can give back. You can embody a healthy princess archetype by allowing yourself to receive without guilt, and letting yourself give without exhausting yourself. People above all like to know they're being appreciated, even if the gift isn't perfect, which means you're off the pressure from finding that perfect thing too. It's ultimately the thought that counts, so whatever you give or get, release the burden and enjoy the gift swapping. If you feel others don't appreciate what you do, please understand it's part of their own life to deal with and please give yourself that gift of self-appreciation.

Pile 2: Red Butterfly - Inferno

XXIII Prism, XI Justice; Future, Tear, Lion, Anandalite and Lemon Balm "Try. Make mistakes! Try again. Perfection does not exist."

Good evening, pile 2. You're transforming into a time of life that's filled to the brim with creative passion. There is an overflow of fiery hot emotion in this group, see how the volcano plumes from the lion's head. You may be getting a lot of ideas at this time for what to make next, some of you could be working on a project now but I'm also getting that many haven't started yet and only will when the grand idea comes through. There are two ways I'm interpreting these projects. They could be artistic or writing projects, but it could also refer to the creation process of forming and completing new goals. This group could benefit greatly from making vision boards, especially for what you want to see or do for next year. Interesting enough, this tarot deck has two additional cards and you got one of them, the Prism, which I interpret to mean "everything". This card sits below the Tear card with the Gemini symbol, so you may also benefit from using a notepad to write ideas down as you get them on the fly. I'm hearing that the ideas that make you feel the most will be the most potent when made physical, you are being asked to work closely with your emotions as a creative compass.

Your cards are bright and hot, but must be tempered with cool confidence. You are stepping into a fresh role where you can imagine your visions easily coming to life. I don't have the Moonology deck in this reading but I'm reminded of the Leo card where it says "confidence is your key to success" because it's such a strong affirmation. Your task is to be your own cheerleader to keep the energy and momentum brimming alive. Cause that's the thing about fire: it will eventually burn out if it's not attended to. Cool casual confidence is a firewood coated in fat, it's what starts the fire and keeps it going long. Not every idea will be the great one, but it's important to put down anything that comes to mind. There will always be time, with the Justice card, for sorting and deciding what works and what doesn't later on. You know how you don't edit a story chapter by chapter, but only after the full draft is complete? This goes for anything you work on, even for future plans.

It doesn't seem like it now, but you are moving into a time where you will have the spark and the passion to move your vision forward. Making excited plans about what you will do or make next will put you in a better mindset for starting them. If you're looking at these cards thinking "passion? motivation? I've never felt so depleted, how could this be true?" then perhaps you're now in a space where sitting with your heavier feelings with grace and integrating them needs to be prioritized beforehand. Part of this transformation process into living in a more impassioned state requires small steps. Intuitive freewriting in a journal may help to break up darker feelings into something more manageable, or you may find another healthy creative outlet for dealing with difficult times currently. But if you've been convincing yourself that you can't create because you're in a bad mood, you may in the process of shifting around your perspective so that creating becomes a means to work through the bad mood. Beautiful, incredible things could come from embracing artistic skills from every facet and angle.

Pile 3: Yellow Butterfly - Spirited Yellow

10 of Wands, VII Chariot Rx; Self Love, Brilliant, Unicorn, Golden Topaz and Yellow Rose "Better to regret the things you've done than to regret the things you didn't do."

Good evening, pile 3. Goodness, do I want to give this group a big pat on the back for all you do! Whatever you've been working at over the months, you have been pushing hard! So much so that the end result doesn't even feel all that great anymore; you're just happy for it to be finished so you can take a break. This pile may have a lot of tired students who will be finishing out their semester in the next few weeks and you're excited for the brief moment of rest. You are very bright and intelligent as well as hard working and I feel your transformation involves acknowledging your talents and strengths. Maybe things didn't end the way you hoped for them to, like getting an A- instead of an A+, but you can still congratulate yourself for the effort you put in anyway, because to do so would congratulate you for who you are. And I get that this pile has had to deal with some major disappointments, but sometimes things just don't work out the way we intend them to. Sometimes the teacher just puts down a random grade because they're tired, maybe there isn't a good reason why. It's not worth belittling your own abilities.

Unicorns indicate something spectacular and magical. To see one before you is to see what cannot be easily believed. Next to the abundance card is a sign of great things to come. The Earth symbol in the Brilliant card reminds me of the Wheel of Fortune. At this time, things may feel "cursed" or futile, but a big spin of the wheel is due to come during your next evolution which may propel you to a different octave of luck. And it may not even be luck but rather the positive karma from the work you've done now. Trust that your good intentions and efforts will be reflected back to you when the stars align, but now is a time to pat yourself on the back and give yourself the recognition you need. The Morbid Mirror says "better to regret" but I wouldn't even say that. You don't need to spend any more time regretting the wrong choice on the quiz or that you answered a question awkwardly in a job interview. What's done is done and you don't need to beat yourself up for what didn't work out.

Forgive yourself for not meeting every goal perfectly, and forgive yourself if your energy to keep pushing is waning. This may be a time where you need to focus more on cheering yourself up and resting than trying to figure out what went wrong or how to make it right. Remind yourself of all the times where things have worked out before and affirm your own brilliance. Don't let the silence of today make you think that you don't deserve good things for what you give. Have faith your efforts will be met with great reward down the road. For now, your catalyst to transform involves making peace with yourself and creating opportunities to be happy. Enjoy the little things that raise your spirits up, and take pride in what you've accomplished so far no matter what.

Pile 4: Green Butterfly - Willow Hedge

6 of Swords, I Magician; Self Esteem, Sunflower, Swallow, Ethiopian Opal "The most damning lie you can tell is the lie you tell yourself."

Good evening, pile 4. Your next phase in life involving moving on from a rough chapter in your past. There could have been an event that scarred your sense of trust or elicited deep insecurities, like an audition but not getting the desired part, or a friend group wasn't what you thought it was. You'll be walking away from something that was toxic, whether it be a situation, group, person, or even from something within you like a limiting mindset that has tried corrode your self esteem. The Willow tree is traditionally a tree representing sorrow and loss, so at this time you may feel despondent and unsure of how things will change. But a hedge represents a boundary line between the known and unknown. Please remind yourself that things are meant to change, that from this difficult time a more prosperous time can later come, even if it's not clear now. The Swallow is a sign of hope and optimism showing you that you are meant to shift away into a better time. Do not let yourself get stuck in believing that the way things are is the way things will always be, as that will close doors faster than the wind. The only door you're meant to close is to the past that left you feeling hurt and torn. Soon, upon leaving the chrysalis, you will be able to open the doors to greater change.

The Magician makes full use of the here and now, using whatever they have at their disposal to see their goals through. Just because you don't see fresh flowers blooming doesn't mean the earth isn't ripe for new possibilities. Many plants can be seeded in the autumn that will blossom and grow fresh food in the spring and summer. There is more you can do with what you have now than you think. With the emphasis of wings in this pile, I'm getting that you're at the peak of something. You've risen up and overcome something difficult for which you don't give yourself enough credit. Only a vast horizon filled with potential lies before you, which you can do with however you please. You're not meant to forever stay frozen at the peak, reflecting on the toxicity you left behind, but to glide back down and start anew.

The Sunflower always faces the direction of the sun. So should you turn your attention to what in life makes you feel most good about being alive and being you. This is how you can move on, by making space for what you wish to grow. The Opal card speaks of children and birthing something into being, so however low you feel about yourself now, remember that we are all flying in our own altitudes and that there's always room to expand on yourself as a person. If you feel beat up because you didn't make it onto a sports team, place energy on creating the next opportunity to play at the game. Talk to yourself truthfully and fairly as if your child self is hearing everything because your inner child is the part of you who will help guide you through your transformation. Harness your courage to take the next step forward as in your next chapter you will be in perfect alignment to achieve whatever you wish.

Pile 5: Blue Butterfly - Sea of Tranquility

XV Devil, IX Hermit; Learning, Mazarin Rx, Hawk, Pixie Helpers and Green Aventurine "Just being born, makes you worthy of being here. Let yourself just be."

Good evening, pile 5. Your next transformation is a smooth and steady pace of growth. You're entering into a phase of life where you can exist and embrace the fullness of your life for how it is now, at its best. It's strange to put it like this, but with the Mazarin card in reverse it's almost as though your growth path doesn't actually involving growing in the traditional sense. So during this season you may experience a sense of regression or going backwards, and this is to brush up on old sticky lessons that need to be cleared out. I feel this lesson has to do with the fixation on self-improvement. This pile may be the type to put a lot of time into ameliorating your life and relationships. You could even be thinking about your New Year's resolution when we haven't even yet entered December at the time of this reading, just because you wanna get ahead on your to-do list planned out for next year. However, I'm seeing that your transformation will involve some pulling back and withdrawing your energies to highlight overlooked aspects.

We live in a culture of constant doing, and it makes sense that this feeling ramps up during the end of the year. There could be real engagements that require attention due to real deadlines, but sometimes our brains make up deadlines just for feeling like it makes sense to do so. The Hawk is vigilant, always keeping a sharp eye on every task and detail. For some things, you may have a lot more time than you believe you do in working something out. It's okay to occasionally sleep on something and come back to it. The Hawk also speaks about self-sabotage. Could you be putting unneeded frustration on yourself when maintaining a flexible outlook might help you reach your goals sooner? It's like if you're trying to write a song but you're not sure how to finish it: it make take less time to just put it aside and come back to it instead of straining at the same verse for hours on end.

If, during this regression, you feel lost at what to do, perhaps taking time to meditate or center your mind may be the best course of action, instead of spinning wheels to figure out the next thing. Life is not a neverending to-do list where we're meant to go from one thing to the next right away. Your transformation forward requires compassion for not being where you want to be in the present, but finding space to breathe anyway. Be more discerning with how you use your time and remember that free time isn't wasted time. It's okay if you feel stuck in a certain position, but it'll be easier to rise from that when you let yourself be and avoiding pushing too hard. Within that tranquil state, great ideas and solutions can come. We don't always need to chase for the next great problem to tackle to feel like we're making proper use of the present. There is purpose in the peace and silence of doing nothing. You will transform into somebody who understands the value of resting your thinking mind when it's needed.

Pile 6: Purple Butterfly - Joie de vivre

XIV Temperance, King of Cups; Retreat, Heart, Tiger, Laboradorite and Blue Lotus Flower "Everything is energy and energy never dies; it just transforms."

Good evening, pile 6. This pile is for the intuitive people out there! There is a lot of psychic energy in this group. Your transformation is on an almost imperceptible level, too subtle for those who are not as spiritually inclined. This could involve some kind of moment of awakening or enlightenment, but it may not necessarily be a dramatic one. You are stepping into a more mature and balanced disposition, not the kind of awakening where we suddenly get clued into to the basics of souls and spirit guides, but one that involves a shift on how you view the world as a whole. Joie de vivre means "joy of living" in French, and it refers to having a cheerful and optimistic outlook on life. You may have been working on the heavier aspects of spirituality, like doing shadow work, getting used to the idea that it's how all spirituality functions. But I'm getting a brighter view of seeing things here, realizing that nothing stays the same so that the good can come along with the bad. You'll be shifting into a spirituality that satisfies you with a sense of hope, love, joy, and community.

The Tiger represents opulence, so you may receive an abundance of psychic energy and information during your shift. This could come as automatic intuitive knowing (clairsentience), or through vivid meaningful dreams that provide deeper revelations about people and self. The Temperance card shows that this revelation is not one of fireworks but of a more intrinsic lasting sense of contentment. These are downloads meant to help you see that while spirituality isn't all sunshine and rainbows, it's also not all doom and gloom either. You may be retreating from doing the big bold kind of karmic work over this transformation period, which is okay as there is always a time for doing and not doing, and I really feel with your maturity that you've already done a lot. Now it's time to pull back from the shadow work so to find balance in between the lessons.

The secret to this transformation is non-attachment. Let the events and moments in your day come as they may. You will soon get the sense in your spirit that there is a constant inner joy that doesn't respond to external circumstances even if they're intrusive or annoying. With the unconditional compassion of Pisces, you find that bad situations that come up do not tend to last long when your heart is directing itself towards what you feel love and gratitude for, you won't be able to as easily dwell on the worst parts of the day over the best. And with less dwelling on negative parts of the past means less need to heal those parts. If something falls away, another thing will come to fill the gap. Your regenerative abilities are potent for this next phase of your life. I'm talking like this unshakeable faith in the best outcomes while feeling fine with things even when the outcome is far from ideal. This transformation is a form of wisdom that heals and will continue to heal as you gracefully move forward. Some may mention that you have an aura glow around you, which is your transformation at work.

This reading has not been evaluated by the FDA to diagnose, prevent, treat, or cure any disease or infection. Please ask your physician before going online.

2024, @VitaminseeTarot ™

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multifandom--mess · 1 year ago

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Hannigram Fic Recs! pt.2

Here it is, the big fat fic recs post I've been putting off for like two months but at least that means I had time to read a shit ton of fics. I made sure to do a mix of short and long fics this time around since the first part were all long ones. Enjoy!

part 1

》 The Lamb and His Monster by petrodactyl352 (Explicit)(104k)

Will has always been drawn to the macabre. The proverbial flame upon which he has burnt his fragile moth’s wings time and time again, it’s why he had fallen in love with Florence and why he alone seems to see the beauty in the grisly but exquisite work of Il Mostro. But when he meets a young man in the Uffizi Gallery whose sketchbook is filled with nothing but page upon page of intricate renditions of the Primavera drawn in reverent strokes of pencil, he realizes he may not be alone in his fascination with the Monster. As they lift veils and scale forts and slowly begin to understand each other, Will gets a taste of exactly how bright the cinders of intrigue can burn—and how quickly they can kindle into an inferno of obsession.

(Young hannigram in Florence ahhh this is seriously one of the best fics i've ever read it had to be at the top of the list)

》 Spectral Hearts by mattHughdancy (Explicit) (16k)

Will has a meltdown at a crime scene. Guess who’s called in to help.

(Another top fave of mine they are so fucking cute in this fic 🤧 features autistic Will, and Hannibal just loves him so much oh my goddd my heart exploded reading this)

》 lay like a flood spills away by bleakmidwinter (Explicit)(35k)

Will Graham meets Hannibal, a frequent cruiser, at an open-minded nudist lake. Despite his reservations, Will is drawn to him, but is eventually forced to question his mysterious nature when the lakeside regulars start to go missing.

(I loved this one bc what better setting than a nudist lake. This is just gay as hell honestly lmao bc the lake is all dudes and Will is "straight" at the beginning until he meets Hannibal and it's all downhill from there. Definitely give this one a read it had some hilarious moments too)

》 Doing Things That Friends Don't Do by HigherMagic (Explicit) (39k)

A year after the fall, Will and Hannibal have settled into a fairly blissful, domestic harmony. But Will's imagination has never let him simply enjoy what he has - why should it start now?

(Basically Will trying everything in his power NOT to have sex with Hannibal but of course we all know he can't keep it together. They are so horny for each other in this i died laughing so many times. Also this author is such an amazing writer expect multiple recs from them in this post)

》 Railroad Romance by OneWhoSitsWithTurtles (12k)(Explicit)

Hannibal is still Hannibal, and Will is still Will. Except Will is not part of the FBI and they meet on a two day train trip from New Orleans to Baltimore.

(A strangers to lovers meet-cute on a train. Lots of fluffy moments and of course train sex ensues)

》 Three Stars by beforethedawn (94k)(Explicit)

Three months after the fall, Jack finally tracks them down in Canada and Will and Hannibal have to make a run for it, slumming it through America in three star hotels and eating sub par food.

(Hannigram roadtrip!! This fic was so fun I loved it. They take on the identities of some familiar Mads and Hugh characters ;)

》 Unexpected Delight by HigherMagic (Explicit) (61k)

Will has a kink that he’s deeply ashamed of. Unbeknownst to him, Hannibal has the same or a similar/compatible kink. They get together, and Will is going out of his way as he usually does to seem like his sexual tastes are as “normal” as possible. As a result, Hannibal gets the idea that Will is super vanilla and maybe a little prudish, and not wanting to scare him off, is also keeping his kinky side on the DL. This goes on for while, with them each trying super hard to hide how kinky they are and act as “vanilla” as possible, to hilarious results, all while privately thinking the other one would be super freaked out if they knew since they’re obviously so sweet and normal.

(This whole thing is literally ALL smut 😭😭 but Han and Will love each other to death and the sex is so good y'all omg I had to stop reading multiple times to catch my breath)

》 The Substitute by Devereauxs_Disease (Explicit) (10k)

When Hannibal tells Will he's sick, Will is skeptical. Before he knows it, he's laying in a hospital bed and being told he's going nowhere for two weeks. Will is distraught until Hannibal swoops in and offers to take over Will's courses at the FBI Academy. Will doesn't mind Hannibal showing up every night with a home-cooked meal, but he might just resent Hannibal becoming the most popular teacher at the Academy in just two weeks...

(A seaon 1 au if Hannibal wasn't an asshole had told Will about the encephalitis. This is hilarious tho because the students don't like Will no more when he comes back and they keep asking about Hannibal 😭😭 poor Will lmaoo)

》 When This Old Tired Body Wants to Sing by KareliaSweet (Explicit) (7k)

“Fuck me quicker, darling,” he purrs with liquid insincerity, “God forbid you see my face.” Will never touches him unless it is in the dark. In the daylight he is a ghost.

(Will being an asshole and only fucking Hannibal in the dark ugh 🙄 but things work out eventually so don't worry!)

》 Maybe Tomorrow by Shotgun_sinner (Explicit) (26k)

After recovering from their tumble off a cliff, Will agrees to get Hannibal to Portugal, where the good doctor can start a new life for himself. In exchange, Will can take the boat and return to his life, or start over himself. A storm hits on the open water, leaving them stranded somewhere in the Azores. With no one else on the small island, they're forced to work together for survival, and work through their violent past in order to get along.

(A survival au! I LOVED this and author is another fave of mine. I go crazy for a good stranded on a deserted island trope and this did not disappoint. Also there is an insanely funny part where I absolutely DIED. You'll know when you read it 💀💀)

》 I've Always Been A Daughter by air_of_the_Waterfall (44k)(Explicit)

It's been a month since Will and Abigail ran away with Hannibal. Living in a safe Canadian town, Will and Hannibal are free to explore their newfound intimacy and Abigail has a chance at the future she craves. However, upon meeting Hannibal’s sister Mischa and her daughter, loyalties are tested and insecurities run rampant. The Lecters have an undeniably dark past, and as Abigail and Will fall deeper into its truths, Hannibal’s manipulation and misguided love come to light more clearly than ever before.

(This fic is truly a hidden gem I am so glad I found it. Murder family post-mizumono and also MISCHA LIVES. The plot is so well written and I love Mischa's characterization. Definitely give this one a read, yall it is SO GOOD it deserves so much love)

》 Home is Not a Place by Shotgun_Sinner (11k)(Explicit)

Post-Fall, Hannibal recovers from his injuries. Will takes care of him, and their relationship evolves much more easily than Hannibal thought it would. The only issue is that Will is a constant presence, and he hasn't had alone time in three years. It ends up not being an issue at all.

(This one is so sweet. Basically Hannibal wants to jerk off but he can't because Will is just always there and he hardly gets a moment alone and he'll feel bad for telling him to go away 😭😭 but they finally get together in the end

》 Held in the Highest Regard by HigherMagic (12k)(Explicit)

What happens when a group of serial killers pick the absolute worst targets? Will is already having a pretty rough night, since Hannibal proposed to him and Will said 'No' for reasons he still hasn't quite figured out yet. It's not their fault - they couldn't have known - but sometimes people have to learn lessons the hard way, and Will could definitely use some stress relief.

(If you are familiar with the movie 'The Strangers' then you'll really like this one. I reread it like three times it was so good. Shit had me tweaking omg this is like the perfect au for them)

》 Green-Eyed Monster by CestPasDuBaudelaire (53k)(Explicit)

Will and Hannibal have settled in Cuba and, for the past year, they have been living their happily ever after in a small hidden community for retired wanted criminals. However, at the hazard of a gathering, Will is faced with an unbelievable fact, other members of the community may also fancy his monster of a husband. Then comes Will's spiraling, as he learns to come to terms with a disastrous, chaotic and slowly overwhelming possessiveness. And of course, feelings are never easy to deal with, when Hannibal is involved. A smut character study in three acts exploring Will's possessiveness.

(Top!Will my beloved. Don't let the title fool you, this was so fun to read and I love the community for wanted criminals idea. And possessive Will is always a treat ;)

》 Haunted by Anonymous (165k)(Explicit)

Still recovering from their fight with Dolarhyde, Will and Hannibal escape to New Orleans with Chiyoh's help. But Will is still struggling to accept Hannibal and his own darkness, something that Hannibal has every intention of helping him overcome...

(And finally I leave you guys with this monster of a fic. So sad that the author chose to go anon but if they somehow see this I hope they know how much I love this story. Will is struggling and Hannibal is an asshole at certain points but when is he not? Lots of references to Will's past too and some stuff about his mom that's very interesting)

I hope you guys enjoy these stories as much as I did. If you read any and want to discuss my messages and ask box are always open! ♡♡♡

#hannibal #nbc hannibal #hannigram #will graham #hannibal lecter #murder husbands #hannibal fanfiction #hannigram fanfiction #hannigram fic #hannibal fic #ao3 #fic rec

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theragethatisdesire · 1 year ago

Text

quick bright things - eren jaeger x afab!reader, 18+!!

okay hi. after my many-months writing hiatus, i am offering up this humble creation. welcome to the world of quick bright things, caught somewhere between a fairytale and a shakespeare play and a priceless piece of jewelry. this was inspired by....a lot of things, from midsummer night's dream to saltburn to the secret history to romeo & juliet like, you name it and i've probably crammed it in here. eren is a lot different than i normally write him (or read him, for that matter), i hope you all find him as lovely as i do! this will be 2 parts (for now...), i'm not sure what else to say except i'm happy to be back and i hope you all love part 1 ₊˚⊹♡

pairing: eren jaeger x reader

wc: 10.4k

DISCLAIMER: this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. if you are a minor, please do not read below the cut.

cws: alcohol, swearing, smut, fingering, reader has female anatomy, wet dreams, allusions to cannibalism (idk that's a stretch it's more of a metaphor), exhibitionism, cum-eating, creepy stepsiblings, rich assholes, throat-closing amounts of sexual tension, i honestly don't even know what to put here

without further ado...

"Last year I abstained / this year I devour / without guilt / which is also an art."

“Now don’t forget: university is for discovery, for adventure.” Your mother tucks the front of your shirt into your skirt, tugs at your collar until it’s sitting prettily against the cliff of your collarbones. It’s not a good fabric, this shirt; it’s cheap and scratches uncomfortably at the summer sunburn still lingering on your chest. “It’s for finding your passions, your life path, yourself…”

“Darling, you’ve been philosophizing since breakfast. You’re going to give the poor girl a conniption.” Your father chuckles lightly, swinging the hammer at the wall of your dormitory and finishing the hanging of one of your many posters over your creaky, lofted bed. The posters are bright and colorful, almost garish in the pristine, ancient light pouring in from the windows. With a slow blink, you realize you’re going to take them down later, that they feel incongruous with the dust particles and the oak furniture.

“It’s alright, really.” You manage a smile of compromise, lips clamped tight to hold the flutter of nerves in your throat at bay. “I think I’ve got it from here.”

There’s an expectedly teary goodbye, a small monologue from your father about how much you’ve grown, and a few reminders from your mother to separate the darks and the lights when you do laundry, to focus on your studies. Just before she slips out behind her husband, she grabs you by the shoulders and presses her lips to the side of your head, kisses a blood-red print into the shell of your ear.

“Don’t forget. Find something.”

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

Whether it started with that conversation or with the buildup that accompanied the thirty-six months of monotonous paper-writing and numb boredom of your first three years at Oxford, you can’t be sure. In truth, maybe your first three years weren’t all that boring, and they only seem so by comparison of everything that came after, but you can’t be entirely sure of that either.

What you can be sure of is that something down the line—between meeting Sasha in that class on Milton and squeezing her hand as the plane landed and the dozens of bottles of champagne you’ve consumed over the last weeks—something led you to this moment, standing in this kitchen somewhere outside Verona with your bare feet against the hot clay tiles, staring at the sharp angle of an unfamiliar, tanned collarbone.

He’s coated in linen: a half-unbuttoned, burnt-orange drape of a shirt is rolled carefully up around strong forearms, and one large, boyish foot peeks out from his baggy jeans, propped up on its throne upon the opposite knee. A golden cross winks at you from his chest, nestled in the sparsest dusting of chest hair and dripping with the same peach juice that’s sliding down his Adam’s apple, from his strong chin, from the crooked smirk that’s pointed at you like a knife.

You recognize him before he speaks– this must be Eren. Sasha’s mentioned him enough times: the shock of rich, dark hair, the lakewater eyes, the way he leans back in his chair like a king and cocks his head like a trickster. This is Eren, and you tell him so.

“Guilty.” The sun compliments everything about him but his smile, a little too sharp with too much danger behind it. It’s a smile made for moonlight. “And you are?”

A memory surfaces in your mind, a cautionary childhood tale. “You can never let a fairy know your name,” Emma tells you, graver than death, crouched in the bushes beside you, “or they steal you away, and you can never be human again.”

“Well?” Eren says expectantly, head leaning even further to the left. He’s studying you, the baggy linen pants pooling around your toes and ruby-studded ears poking out of a fray of frazzled bedhead. You feel naked, feel a wild urge come over you and wonder how his eyes would glow at you if you were. You shiver, goosebumps raising in the stuffy summer air. When his lips twitch, you realize Eren’s noticed; you feel feverish.

You mumble your name at him, as if it’s something given unwillingly. Waking the espresso machine seems like the right thing to do with your hands, and you’re grateful for the noisy mechanical sounds it provides to shatter the still morning. You bring an absentminded hand to rub over the tip of your ear, feel if it’s grown to a point yet.

“We haven’t met, have we? I feel like if we had, I’d remember.”

God, you wish he’d stop talking.

“Well, do you go to Oxford?”

“Sometimes.” You roll your eyes, and he laughs, little bells and glass shattering. “I’ve been abroad for the last semester. I flew in from Egypt a couple of weeks ago.”

“Hm,” you hum to yourself, choosing a small red cup for your morning coffee. You aren’t sure what to say; the most exotic place you’ve ever visited was a seaside town three hours from your house.

You can hear his newspaper crinkling; the sound of him putting it down betrays his arrival behind you, but you still don’t expect the puff of warm breath over your shoulder. He comes into your space like he belongs there, like there’s never been a door that wasn’t held open for him to stride through. “Are you still asleep?”

Before you can answer, you hear a shriek from down the hallway, and you breathe a little sigh of relief, thanking whatever ancient gods that belong to the hills you’re in for the interruption. Venus springs to mind, and you swat her and her entourage of Graces away from you with a huff.

“You absolute asshole!” Historia comes barreling into the kitchen, dramatic, fluffy dressing robe spilling out into the unrelenting summer heat behind her. You realize that in the three weeks you’ve spent with her, you haven’t once seen her in the actual kitchen, watching the way the breakfast chef’s eyes widen at the sight of her as he hurries by with an armful of eggs.

“Stori!” Eren elegantly catches her best attempt at a tackle with the good grace you assume he does everything with, breaking out into a warm peal of laughter. “Since when do you not love a surprise?”

“Since always.” Historia’s face is scrunched up where she’s buried it into the crook of his neck, forehead red with the effort of squeezing Eren as hard as she can. “You could have at least called, I mean– ugh, I didn’t even get the chance to get your favorite–”

“Relax.” Eren urges her, rubbing soothing circles into the small of her back. He carries them both over to his seat, plopping down and curling her up in his lap like a child. Eren holds his cup of coffee to her lips temptingly, and Historia shoves it away with another scowl. You hide your giggle at her antics behind your espresso, not wanting to remind them of your presence, but enjoying the show all the same. “Brat.”

“Ow,” Historia hisses when he pinches her thigh, expression lightening when she catches sight of something on the wall. “I always forget how pretty the kitchen is here.”

“Where’s your brother?”

“Still getting dressed.” Historia’s blue eyes turn to the frescoed ceiling with an irritated huff. “You know he can’t stand to be seen in his pajamas.”

“That’s because he doesn’t wear any,” Eren remarks with an eye roll of his own. “You could have called to let me know we’d adopted such a pretty houseguest for the summer.”

Your face burns with acknowledgement, and you can feel your toes curling into the clay bricks of the floor hard enough to scrape the tip of your pinky. Eren seems satisfied at your bewilderment, letting his eyes drag over your hardly-covered chest lazy as a wandering mouth.

“Why would anyone wear pajamas under those heavy duvets? It’s almost thirty-two degrees out.” Armin breezes in in a feigned display of nonchalance, but you can see the way his eyes skim over Eren like a ship narrowly avoiding an iceberg. The Titanic was inevitable, and so is the gravity of Eren sitting golden on the other side of the room.

“You look good, Min.” Eren squints his eyes at Armin’s shirt, nearly identical to his own. “Where’d you get that?”

“You left it last summer,” Historia hums, tucking her head under Eren’s chin and nuzzling into his chest more completely. Armin makes a soft snort of irritation, grabbing for a fig in the bowl of fruit on the counter and beginning to rummage through the cabinet drawers.

“Do you want half a fig?” Armin’s cool gaze slides to you, and you shake your head, feeling a little underwater as two lifelong relationships unfurl in front of you, your mind still fuzzy from last night’s wine. “Historia?”

Historia says no as Eren says yes, and Armin makes his sound of annoyance again before continuing his rummaging, muttering about the inconvenience of finding a knife.

“Do my eyes deceive me?” Sasha, still disheveled with sleep and grinning bright as Christmas morning, pops her head around the doorway. “Shouldn’t you be overseeing the construction of your pyramid?”

“I’m not dead, Sasha,” Eren laughs—it really is distracting when he does that—pulling Sasha onto his other knee, ignoring Historia’s grumbles of discontent. The NYU Men’s Lacrosse t-shirt that Sasha cropped too short rides up, exposing the swell of her breast, but no one acknowledges it. Eren’s hand tucks in snugly around the curve of her hip, easy and natural, and you wonder if his fingers have ever itched to travel up under the hem of her tiny sleep shorts.

“Not dead yet.” Historia glares up at him venomously, reluctantly making room for Sasha to pile onto Eren and smother his face with kisses. Sasha pulls away from him suddenly and frowns.

“Peaches?”

“Where are the knives in this fucking kitchen?” Armin’s growl of frustration is loud enough to make you jump, and Sasha giggles at you.

“Jesus, Armin, you’re going to kill her, and it’s not even noon.” Sasha slips off of Eren’s knee, practically bouncing over to where Armin’s viciously jiggling a locked drawer. She slides open the drawer next to him and draws a long, wide knife from it, passing it to him with the blade extended and her eyes on you. “Did you meet Eren?”

“Careful of his hand!” Historia squeals, shooting an arm out towards Armin as if she can deflect the tip of the blade from across the room.

“It’s fine, Stor.” Armin’s voice floats across his nearly-bare shoulder, mild and careless as it grazes the collar of the too-big button down sliding off of his slim frame.

“That knife’s a little big for a fig, Sasha.” Eren stands, placing Historia on the table and pinching her cheek when she scowls at him.

“There’s no such thing as a too-big knife– listen to me. Did you meet Eren?” Sasha’s fingers are gripping into the flesh of your arm– hard. Your eyes widen in surprise at the urgency in her eyes, like if you haven’t been introduced to Eren, there’s grave danger afoot.

“We met.” It happens quickly and easily, the slide of his heavy arm around your shoulders. You can feel your body tense under the lazy weight of him, big hand wrapped around you like it belongs there. “I don’t think she’s particularly fond of me.”

Eren shoots you a wink that you’re sure is intended to mean something, a reference to an inside joke that you have yet to establish, maybe.

“I didn’t say that,” you say in your own defense, wanting to yank Sasha to the side and demand to know why she hadn’t warned you that Cupid himself was going to greet you in the kitchen this morning. Armin slices the fig neatly in half, a strangely practiced motion performed by small, soft hands. He offers it to you again insistently, and frowns when you shake your head.

“I said I wanted it, ‘Min,” Eren says with a hint of red to his words, snatching the halved fig from Armin’s hand and biting into it voraciously, little pieces of the flesh spattered around the corner of his mouth.

“You’re such a brute,” Armin scoffs, picking the meat of his half out gingerly with an oyster fork that you don’t remember him grabbing from the drawer.

“Why don’t you like Eren?” Sasha pouts at you, grabbing the hand that’s squashed between yours and Eren’s hips. Your palm feels hot against her fingers.

“I said I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t say much of anything, to be fair.” Eren’s got the fig pressed to his mouth, digging his teeth and tongue around in the husk of it obscenely enough to make your cheeks warm. Being so close to him is filthy, that cross around his neck is looking you straight in the eye to make sure you feel it.

“Eren’s always a pest,” Historia provides from her perch on the kitchen table, picking at her perfectly manicured toenails, “why would she like him?”

“You like him plenty,” Armin says, not looking at her. It’s not the first time that’s been brought up, if Historia’s answering sneer is anything to go by.

“You’ll love him if you give him a chance.” Sasha smiles hopefully at you, nodding.

“Yeah,” Eren grins down at you, teeth colored with fig, “give me a chance.”

“Eren, you’re going to scare her off,” Armin says with a roll of his eyes, peering around Eren’s broad shoulders to look you up and down. The way his eyes drag over you makes you feel like there might be a stab wound somewhere on your person that you don’t know about yet, the adrenaline of the moment keeping you numb.

“Back off her, Eren,” Historia echoes, “she’s fun, I don’t want you to make her leave.”

“She’s not going to leave.” Eren looks directly at you as he says it, something in his smile growing imperceptibly darker. A dare. How much will you let me get away with?

You stare and stare at him, ignoring the continued bickering of Armin and Historia in the background. He’s golden and blood-red, oil smeared on his forehead and a crown of thorns nestled in his dark thatch of hair if you look close enough. If you’re not imagining it, his hand might be tightening around your shoulder, maybe he’ll leave a purple bruise on it.

“Of course not,” Sasha interrupts your thoughts, thumbing at your cheek affectionately, “she belongs here. With us.”

“She’s our little fairy,” Historia giggles dreamily, referencing the long-winded fairy tales you drunkenly make up every night, casting each other as heroines and knights and dragons.

“Right,” Eren agrees, not breaking your gaze, “our little fairy.”

The only thing that comes to mind is your childhood friend, Emma, looking on at you sadly with her muddy toes, watching the wings sprout from your back.

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

Days lug themselves by, barefooted and dragging their heels, and most of the time, even the monotonous rise and fall of the sun doesn’t help to differentiate one calendar block from the next. Like a bat, or maybe a slinky, silvery fish in an underwater cave, you rely on your other senses to track the passage of time.

For example, today, you know it’s a Wednesday because Maria, one of the three house chefs, brings fresh peaches up from the co-op down the hill every Wednesday. Sasha’s spent the last thirty minutes hand feeding you peach flesh as you lounge by the pool, insisting that you suck her fingers clean of juice and feeding you little sips of champagne each time you sober up enough to tell her that that’s lewd. Historia swats at you and giggles at the smacking and slurping sounds you make around Sasha’s fingers, oiled-up palm landing on oiled-up hip with a wet slap; Armin admonishes her quietly from his seat beside her, insisting the girlish noises emanating from the three of you are tearing him from his book. You can feel Eren watching, too– that’s all, though. Always just watching.

You wonder how opaque the lenses of Armin’s sunglasses are, perched haphazardly on your nose, wonder if they’re doing a good job of masking the slow lick of your gaze over Eren’s skin, wonder if you care. Maybe the champagne is finally getting to your head.

“We should go in soon,” Historia sighs, a hand tossed across her forehead. She’s a little movie star, built for the golden age. “It’s so hot.”

“It’s always this hot,” Sasha argues, and you can practically hear the furrow in her brow, not willing to take your eyes off of the trickle of sweat running down Eren’s chest to see it for yourself. You’re really getting the hang of it, this opposite-sense thing. Everything’s upside down here in the heat.

“She’s getting hungry,” Armin supplies, wiping the sweat off his palms to reach up and turn the page of his novel. Brideshead Revisited. A little on the nose, isn’t it?

“I am not!” Historia hates when people point out her appetite, but not really. She kicks up a fuss because it’s “ladylike”, and she’s advised you to do the same.

“You are,” you sigh, really feeling the heat sink into you even with the heavy, lazy movement of lolling your head to face her, “you always get hungry around this time.”

“What time is it, then?”

You don’t reply– you don’t know the answer.

“I think we’re all hungry,” Eren, ever the peacemaker when he can find the time to be so, sits up, letting the shirt that’s been shading his face fall into his lap. Your eyes track its descent– even that seems slow. He says something to you, managing a crooked grin while he squints in the heat of the sun, but you don’t hear it.

“Huh?”

“Everyone except you, anyway,” he repeats himself, reaching over Sasha and smearing his thumb through the peach juice collected on your chin. Eren’s thumb disappears between his pink lips, and when he sucks on it with a satisfied hum, your jaw clenches hard enough to hurt.

“I guess it’s getting close to dinner,” Sasha says regretfully, picking her wristwatch, a priceless Braus family heirloom, up from a puddle of orange juice and tanning oil. “We should probably clean off.”

“I might even shower twice,” Armin rubs a hand over his belly with a grimace, “this tanning oil makes my skin greasy.”

“I feel disgusting,” Historia agrees, sliding red toes into her sandals and standing with a dramatic stretch.

“Filthy,” Eren murmurs in agreement. He’s still staring at you.

“I’ll be in soon. I’m so close to the color I wanted for today– I just need, like, ten more minutes.” You peel down the strip of bathing suit stretched over your hip, showing off the distinct mark of yesterday’s color and today’s tan.

“You’re crazy,” Sasha scoffs, throwing some designer sarong her mother lent her over her shoulder, “I’m melting.”

Armin and Historia pause their bickering over who gets to wear Armin’s Cucinelli belt to dinner—Armin wants it for his trousers, Historia for her maxi dress—just long enough to offer a momentary goodbye, breezing along into the house with Sasha. You settle back into your chair and take a deep breath, letting the sun sink into you just long enough to forget that you’re not alone.

“Open up.”

You’ve been enjoying this game of trading one sense for another, and you keep your eyes shut firmly, letting your jaw fall open and your tongue hang out. A piece of peach, fleshy and dripping with juice, finds its way onto your tongue, pinched too roughly between strong fingers. When you close your lips around the fruit, the fingers stay with it, frozen in their pinched position and forcing you to suck the peach from them, to swallow around them, to run your tongue along them and get as much of the meat as you can. When the fingers withdraw from your lips, you open your eyes and gasp quietly.

Eren’s leaning over you, a solar eclipse that smells like tan skin and sounds like Campari, and in the silhouette of the sunlight, you think he’s smiling.

“You’re still hungry,” he says, a question that’s left its punctuation mark behind. You think of Historia, of the improper shame of revealing your appetite. You dodge.

“I’m never hungry.”

“Never?” Eren crawls over you to kneel between your legs, propping one of your ankles up on his shoulder. The game you started is ripped out of your hands, chess pieces flying into the pool, scattering across the table, knocking over bottles and matchbooks. It’s so silent out here in the sun it hurts, and you almost miss the constant buzzing horseflies of early summer.

“Never.”

“If you’ve never been hungry,” Eren muses, tilting his head so that his cheekbone fits into the sensitive arch of your foot, reaching a hand down to splay it wide on your belly, “you’ve never been full.”

“How do you figure?” Your words come out throaty, waterlogged.

“Can’t have one without the other.” Eren shrugs, turning his head to the side. His lips brush against your heel, your Achilles’, the swirly seashell dangling from your anklet. You dig your teeth into your bottom lip, toes twitching behind his ear. “I don’t believe you, anyway.”

“No?” You try to tilt your head coyly, like your heart’s not clawing and scratching against your throat to get to him. Hungry, indeed.

“You wouldn’t stare like that if you didn’t want to.”

You’re taken aback, but not enough to fall out of the moment– Eren’s lips closing around the knob of your ankle slowly, like the pit of a fruit, make sure of that.

“Didn’t want to what?”

Eren’s hands meet the cushion on either side of your head hard enough to rattle the chair, his long, tanned body stretching over yours. He’s close enough to brush his nose against yours, but you can still see the hazy green of his eyes flicking here and there on your face: from your eyes to your lips to the beauty mark on your cheek. Your poolside lounge feels more like a butcher’s block under your taut spine.

Sasha’s told you about the wolves in these hills, that they howl murder at night, but they’re sleepy and indulgent in the heat of the sun. One of Eren’s canines catches the light and glints at you as he grins.

“Eat yourself sick.” He practically spits it into your mouth, one thigh pressed into where you’re sticky and sinful, and he chuckles under his breath when you shudder under him, feverish in the late-afternoon heat.

Before you can even think of biting back, Eren’s off of you, picking your sandals off of the ground and sliding them gently onto your feet, stopping to run his palm from your ankle to your kneecap with an appraising hum.

“We should head inside,” he says evenly, offering a hand to pull you to your feet, “I’d hate for us to miss dinner.”

You don’t have anything to say back to him, letting him lace his fingers through yours like lines in a play, interspersing seamlessly with the summer scenery. Eren leads you through the kitchen, waits patiently for you to take your sandals off, and waves you on your way up the stairs, saying he needs a cigarette. As the distance between you grows, your mind grows clearer, and you turn on your heel, calling down to him from the top of the stairs.

“Eren? Eren? Where are you, Eren?”

“Call me something else,” Eren pokes his head around the corner, smoke pouring from the grin on his face, “whatever you want, really. Make your own name for me.”

“You stare at me, too,” you say, tearing through his impishness. Eren cocks his head, unperturbed, smile growing wide as he nods.

“I do.”

“So you’re…” You can’t bring yourself to say it, not where it might echo in the cavernous hallway, where it might take the form of a confession. You scamper down the stairs, nearly sliding on bare feet, almost crashing into Eren when he appears at the foot of the staircase, catching you with two broad palms on either side of your ribcage. You pluck the cigarette from his mouth, stick it between your own teeth, narrow your eyes accusingly, and whisper: “You’re hungry too.”

“For every man hath business and desire, Such it is.” Eren takes the cigarette back, pulling on it and making a clear show of trying to hide a smirk.

“Hamlet?”

“A woman with teeth and a brain,” Eren tilts his head at you, “aren’t you something?”

“Do you always quote Shakespeare when you want to fuck somebody?”

“Only when I want to fuck you.” Eren stubs the cigarette out on the ancient oak of the staircase railing, grins up at you brilliantly, smiles brighter when he notices how obviously flustered you are.

“I need to go take a shower,” you say hurriedly, choking on the remnants of your shame and your confidence as they burn out in your throat, making an attempt to back up the stairs away from him. Eren laughs at your attempted escape, catching you by the wrist and pulling you close to him, close enough to dizzy you on the tendrils of smoke still sticking to him. Your breath stills, your heart slows as Eren wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you together, skin on tacky skin.

“Oh, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?” Eren coos to you, mouth moving against your cheekbone. “C’mon, just one bite.”

“He that is proud eats up himself,” you hiss a quote back at him in response, ripping yourself from his grip and scrambling up the stairs, heart pounding and cheeks burning. You can hear a lovesick sigh follow you up to your room, and hope that the slam of the door behind you is enough to keep it from touching you.

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

The murky waters of your vision ripple out into clarity, and you’ve found yourself in a forest. You’ve been here before, you recognize the tall, thick trunks and the bed of fallen leaves under your feet. You’ve been coming here since you were a little girl, been wiggling your toes in the greenery since before you could remember. You never come alone.

It appears just as you remembered: a blinding glimmer of light, a flame for a head, and ribbonlike wisps of energy that beckon you like arms, like love. One step towards it, and it disappears, vanishing into nothing with an echo that might be laughter. You think it’s happy to see you.

When it reappears a few feet away, you take your first steps, sighing at the feeling of the wild enveloping you, of the prickling of your skin, kissed by the chill winding through the trees. You wish you could explore this place, so familiar and so strange all at once, but you know you have to keep moving, keep following the lights as they lead you deeper and deeper into the forest. They won’t hurt you; you aren’t sure why that’s true, aren’t sure why you keep moving. You just know better than to stop.

They lead you over a familiar path, winding past a creek, over a bed of flat stones with an ice-cold creek running over them. You never tire here, legs pumping and arms working to push yourself faster. You’ve never caught the lights, and you aren’t sure if you ever will, but again, you know better than to doubt. It feels like hours, feels like minutes, feels like purpose, chasing these lights through the forest, but suddenly, something’s new.

There’s a little chirping sound, almost conversational and too high-pitched for you to understand; you’re not even sure if you recognize the language. It ricochets around the bones in your body, touches something ancient in their marrow. You almost jerk your head to the right to find the source, but you resist, pushing ahead on your path as the lights lead you deeper. You get the feeling that you’ve gone off-script somewhere, that this is a part of the forest you haven’t seen before, but the warmth in your bones shoos your doubts away. You’ve never been this far, but it feels like home.

A growl curls around the shell of your ear, plants fear right in the center of your chest. Your eyes widen at the light before you before it disappears; you frown at the next one, not daring to speak but demanding an answer anyhow. The lights will save you, won’t they?

Shrieks from overhead, guttural, animalistic calls, howls and chatters of excitement; you never presumed to be alone in this forest, but you never presumed to be in danger, either. The lights urge you on, vanishing and regenerating at an alarming rate, your feet drumming against the forest floor faster and faster. A sliver of moonlight begins to glow from the trees a ways off, an indication that there’s a clearing ahead, and you shove the bile in your throat down, swing your arms faster, ignore the frantic fluttering of your pulse in time with the bestial chorus ringing clearer and louder from the trees with each passing second.

You do, against all odds, manage to launch yourself into the clearing, and the moment you feel the soft cushion of moss under your feet, as opposed to the branch-littered, crunchy path of the forest, you nearly stumble to your knees as your eyes adjust to the sudden brightness of the clearing. The grumblings of the woodland entities have quieted, an almost awestruck silence settling in the open space around you.

“There you are.”

Your head snaps up comically fast– “You?”

“Me,” Eren says, that razor-sharp, moonlight smile lighting up his face. He looks…right here, as if the forest is extending a sense of belonging, as if he’s been here longer than the ancient trees themselves. Even the little crown nestled atop his head is fitting: a tangle of brambles and thorns and leaves tucked into his dark locks. Is that a throne under him, that mass of branches and leaves and some silvery metal you can’t place?

His eyes glow in the starlight, illuminated with a certain hunger that you can feel reverberating through your bones. It should be frightening, but it’s enticing. You feel welcome.

“What are you doing here?” Your tongue is slower on the uptake than your mind, and you can feel the suspicious expression folding your facial features, hiding the thrum of anticipation the sight of him brings.

Eren cocks his head pityingly, smiling at you in a way that would seem predatory if it wasn’t so entirely disarming, so entirely inviting. Your feet are bringing you closer before he even speaks— you know why you’re here before he says it.

“I’ve been waiting so long,” Eren beckons you onto his lap, firmly grabbing your shoulder and silently demanding you straddle him when you try to turn away from him, “you’re beautiful, so…alive here.”

He takes a bit of your hair between your fingers and rubs it, satisfaction flickering over his face. It’s then that you realize how little fabric covers you; really, it’s only a thin, wispy excuse of a dress, hanging in tatters around your body and leaving your skin free for the taking. Taking notice of your dress leads you to take notice of another pressing matter: Eren’s naked beneath you.

“Where are we?”

“Does it matter?” Eren reaches up to toy with your hair again, smiling gently. He tilts his head up, asking you for something you can’t identify, but that you already know you’re willing to give. Your soul, maybe.

Your lips meet his in a tentative brush, a motion that feels shy, but practiced. It’s a reflex, an instinct, to kiss him this way. Eren groans gutturally against your mouth, pressing into you deeper, digging his fingertips into your bare skin. The chorus of inhuman chatter erupts around you both again, and you jump, almost pushing away from him before he stops you with a firm hand against the small of your back.

“Sh,” he whispers, nipping at your chin, “don’t pay them any mind. You’re with me, remember?”

It’s difficult at first with the ever-growing hum of life around you, but it grows increasingly easier to melt into him, to lose yourself in the rhythm of him. He’s thick and hard underneath you, pressed right where you’re already slick and ready for him, and he’s got a tight grip on your hips, working you against him to make sure you feel it and oh– do you feel it.

A debauched gasp pours from your mouth to his; Eren sinks sharp teeth into your bottom lip with a grunt of approval, pulls you up to situate you over his twitching cock. You can feel the lecherous eyes of the woodland creatures, spirits, monsters, whatever they may be around you, looking in on the sticky, tangible arousal building between your bodies. The steady glow of Eren’s eyes, the prick of the thorns in his hair under your fingertips, the insistent weight of him pressing against the wet heat of you: all of it keeps you grounded, keeps your hips rolling into Eren like your life depends on it, like it’s what you were born to do.

“Are you ready?” Eren murmurs, quiet as the grave, stilling your hips and lifting you.

“I’m not sure, I–”

“I’ve been waiting so long,” Eren interrupts, “so long for you– you’re ready for me, I know you are.”

And with that, he’s sliding you down onto his cock, splitting you open, dropping your jaw. The cacophony from the forest grows deafening, but the glowing eyes in the brush streak and blur as your eyes flutter closed, a stuttered moan falling from your lips.

“Oh–”

“Knew you were ready,” Eren sinks his teeth into your collarbone, lets you wiggle and roll your hips until he’s situated comfortably inside of you. “You were born for this. For me.”

You can’t even bring yourself to disagree, to refute, to question. It’s godly, the way he fills you, the twinge of pain in the pit of your belly that doesn’t waver, no matter which way you squirm. The longer you sit, perched upon him– you feel something akin to divinity, akin to prophecy ringing through your bones. You were born for this.

“Eren…” It’s more of a sigh than anything, a confession and an admittance of guilt, a repentance. He likes the way it tastes, you can tell by the way his hands grip you harder, roll you along his cock faster with an urgency that betrays his calm, adoring gaze. He’s sinking his claws into you, bit by bit, and you’re better for it. You belong here, with the night on your skin and Eren nestled inside of you.

“Don’t ever leave,” Eren smiles gently, as if it’s a choice, “stay with me forever.”

The pleasure’s beginning to peak in your stomach, the howls swirling in the air around you start to feel more like a blanket, the moonlight like a crown. His hands are so hot they almost burn, his tongue licking up your neck feels like a baptism. Your back is arching, your blood is rushing, the stars are speaking to you– what are they saying?

Your fingernails have left angry indents in your throat where you’ve clutched into the skin in a desperate attempt to regain your breath, shooting up out of your slumber with a vicious jolt. Your head spins with the sudden movement, the antique furnishings of the room bleeding into candlelit blurs as you heave for breath.

“Sleeping?”

You nearly jump out of your skin at the gravel of Eren’s voice, having believed yourself to be alone. Some instinctual part of your mind almost remembers falling asleep on the loveseat in the glass-enclosed sunroom earlier, one too many martinis to thank for that, but you can worry about that later– Eren’s your priority now, shirtless and leaned against the doorframe with one eyebrow raised and a very telling flush rising to his cheeks. The chilly wetness between your legs brings your dream to the forefront of your mind. Had he heard, somehow?

“What are you doing down here?” You do your best to narrow your eyes into something convincing enough to pass for annoyance, unsure if you’ve managed to pull it off with the rapid rise and fall of your chest.

“Water,” Eren says simply, raising a glass you hadn’t noticed he was holding, “but it seems like you might need it more than I do.”

“I don’t–” He ignores you, crossing the room to hand you the ornate glass. Your throat is dry, and so you drink, eyeing him suspiciously as you sip.

“Dreaming?” The corner of his mouth twitches almost imperceptibly.

“Nightmare.” You push yourself up to sit, crossing your arms defensively over your chest. “How’d you know?”

A long pause, Eren’s eyes dragging over you slowly, your skin burning. “You were squirming.”

“It was disturbing,” you say truthfully, looking over your shoulder and half-expecting to see some horrible monster leering at you from the doorway, salivating over you and Eren, “but I’ve had this same dream since I was a kid. Part of it, anyway.”

“Need company?”

“No,” you say quickly, shaken by the dream and how low Eren’s pajama pants hang on his hips, “I just need to get to my real bed. I’m sure sleeping outside had something to do with it.”

“That’s not true.” Eren’s scooping you up into his arms before you can open your mouth to argue, as if you even would. This isn’t unusual for him; you’ve grown used to his tendency to touch you, to hold you close to his chest as though you belong there. It echoes in your head, you were born for this. A shudder wracks through your body. “Cold?”

“Mhm,” you hum, not trusting your own voice. Eren nuzzles your head deeper into his shoulder, lets you get a noseful of the scent of him. Dewdrops, mankind, a rotting forest floor. It gives you a disconcerting sense of deja vu.

“Sleeping outside is good for you,” Eren goes on, scaling the stairs with impossible ease, “my mom used to tell me that.”

“Is that so?” It brings a sleepy little smile to your face, despite yourself: the image of a messy-haired, fussy baby Eren, curled up in his mother’s lap and looking up at the night sky.

“Sure.” You can hear the nostalgia in his voice. “The stars can talk to you that way, through your dreams. They show you where you’re supposed to go.”

Your blood runs cold at that– does he know? How could he? He’s a man, not a mind-reader, not a mystic. Right? You let him carry you to your door in silence, the only noise being the padding of his bare feet down the Turkish carpet runner in the hall. When he gets to your door, Eren finally starts to move to let you down, and your mouth moves without your permission, voice small and echoing in the still nighttime air.

“Eren?”

He freezes, muscles locking you in place against his chest. “Yeah?”

“Was I talking in my sleep?”

Eren settles you on your feet before answering, leaving one lingering hand on your hip and bringing the other up to brush at your cheek. Your eye must have been watering– his thumb catches a stray tear. His smile is a little too sharp when he answers.

“No, why?”

“Just wondering.” Relief courses through your body, but your muscles stay taut under his touch.

“Okay,” Eren looks you up and down one more time, as if he’s making sure you’re all there, “goodnight, then. I hope your dreams get better.”

When he turns to go, the broad silhouette of him growing darker as he retreats, you remember something fragile underneath the floorboards.

“Wait, Eren! You forgot your water.”

“My what?” When he turns to face you, he’s still grinning– baring his teeth, more like. You think you’re imagining the glow in his eyes, too fresh from that dream.

“Your water. I think I have a cup in my room if you need it.”

“Oh.” Eren waves a hand nonchalantly through the air, catching a stray stream of moonlight. You can see the dust particles dancing around his hand, enchanted by his movement. “Wasn’t thirsty."

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

It’s a slinky, dazzling dress; Elie Saab, Spring 2005, maybe? 2006? Sasha had lent it to you, insisted upon you taking it, really. It’s got to be worth at least your years’ rent payment, dripping with Swarovski and cut low and square across your chest, and easily the most decadent thing you’ve ever worn but– it’s family dinner night. No expense is spared.

Historia sits across from you, reaching one dainty hand out for Armin’s negroni, nearly dipping the massive drop-pearl charm on her bracelet into the first course: a cold, cucumber soup. Armin nudges her meaningfully, scowling and handing his glass to her, glancing apologetically at the stiff-backed butler across the room, who wasn’t looking anyway. Sasha’s at the head of the table, working on Historia’s serving of the cucumber soup, dunking focaccia bread into it in a voracious manner that you’re sure wasn’t outlined in the etiquette courses she’d endured as a child. And he’s next to you, naturally.

His dinner jacket looks out of place on him, oddly enough: angular and overly formal, as well-fitting as it is. You wish it was a little greener, a little more playful, something to match the Eren you’ve gotten to know under all the glitz and glamour. It’s too human for him, really, but that thought makes you shudder faster than you can shove it to the side.

“Wasn’t that the girl from Luxembourg?” Sasha asks through a giggle, finally leaning back to allow the butler to collect the remnants of her first course. Historia frowns at her, gulps back nearly half of Armin’s cocktail.

“No, the girl from Luxembourg was a slut. He wouldn’t have touched her.”

Armin and Eren exchange a look that implies that, whoever the slut from Luxembourg might have been, she didn’t escape their clutches unscathed. Historia notices the guilty smile dimpling Eren’s cheek and smacks Armin in retaliation.

“Ouch, Stori!” Armin scowls right back at her; if you didn’t know about Armin’s father’s remarriage to Historia’s mother, you’d think they were actually related.

“She was a slut,” Historia sniffs, finishing the rest of Armin’s cocktail in a second swig.

“It was Eren’s idea– you’re always punishing me for what he does.” When the staff place the second course, some sort of ceviche, in front of him, Armin crosses his arms over his chest and looks away like a huffy child. Sasha laughs and swats at his shoulder.

“Don’t pretend you don’t have your own hand in things. You can’t blame everything on Eren.”

“Maybe he can,” you shrug, the champagne going to your head. You’re feeling impish, feeling like one of them. Wildly, you reach a hand up to pinch at Eren’s cheek, smiling to yourself when you feel it turn warm under your fingers. “I mean, just look at him. He’s a devil.”

“Am not,” Eren scoffs, slapping a hand on your leg and shaking it playfully, “you weren’t there anyway. Min’s very convincing when he wants to be.”

“I am.” Armin smiles at you, head tilting intrepidly. “I can get Eren to share anything I want, I bet.”

It feels loaded, like a challenge, and Eren’s fingers tighten where he’s gripping your leg. When you chance a glance to the side at him, his jaw is tense, gaze focused on Armin like a threat, like a predator.

“Not anything,” Eren says, voice low and dangerous, more somber than you’ve ever heard him. Armin’s face falls for a millisecond, scrunching his nose at the murderous glint in Eren’s eyes, before he clenches his jaw and glances between the two of you with a haughty smirk.

“Est-ce vrai? En êtes-vous sûr? Tu l'as dit toi-même - je suis convaincant quand je veux quelque chose.”

“Ne commencez pas avec moi, pas pour ça.” It’s hardly louder than a murmur, but the threat carries all the same. You look to Sasha with widened eyes, hoping for a translation, but she’s chewing slowly on a bite of her ceviche, looking at Armin, Eren, then Armin again with a strange expression you’ve never seen before.

A heavy silence settles over the table, Eren’s fingertips leaving sore spots through your dress where they’re digging into your thigh, and Armin’s eyes dancing over Eren’s face, that same smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. Daring.

“You two are so in love,” Historia gripes with a roll of her eyes, smashing the carefully-cubed ceviche on her plate into a mush. You eye the smear of meat on her fork disdainfully and set down the bite you had been about to pop in your mouth, opting for your glass of bubbles instead.

The jokingly grumpy lilt of Historia’s comment seems to cut the thread of tension that had grown taut between the two men, as Armin allows Sasha to pull him away from Eren and back into his corner of the table with her and Historia. Their conversation drones on, the ethics of Eren and Armin’s tendency to tag-team women fading into the background as you wait for Eren’s hand to slip from your thigh. It doesn’t.

His thumb rubs idly over the slit of your dress, brushing it back and forth over your bare skin for just long enough to get you used to the pressure of his palm beaming heat through the thin fabric, get your guard down. And then his fingers slip underneath, grabbing into the hot flesh of your thigh.

You jump ever so slightly, flighty as a fawn, and Eren chuckles under his breath beside you when you choke a bit on your champagne. He’s cool—stoic, even—as he bashfully bats away the scandalous insinuations of Sasha and Historia’s storytelling, the lewd raise of Armin’s eyebrows at the mention of a certain leggy redhead in Prague. His hand stays steady, possessive and permanent on your leg. When Armin and Historia start arguing over yet another of Armin’s alleged missteps with one of her college friends, Eren takes the opening to lean into you, murmuring into your ear.

“What’s got you so jumpy?” His breath puffs out hot and sensual against the shell of your ear, and you can feel your earring lifting with the movement of his lips. He’s so close.

“Not jumpy,” you answer under your breath, trying to keep your composure.

“Hm,” Eren hums, leaning back just enough to study your profile, “wasn’t sure if you’d dozed off, started dreaming again.”

Your head whips towards him in what is surely an uncouth accusation of insinuation, borne of shock, but luckily, Armin’s too busy being hand-fed ceviche by Sasha and scolded by Historia to notice. Other than his eyes, Eren’s stiller than death, watching over the antics with the littlest smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. His eyes, though, flick down to you, glinting like a dare.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means something?” It’s a challenge, and you realize too late that the rope around your ankle has cinched, and you’re caught in his trap.

“No,” you say, hoping for more conviction in your voice, but it comes out as a breathy whisper. The corner of Eren’s mouth twitches, and it pulls an irritated huff from you.

“Tell me about your dream. The one that woke you up the other night.”

“Tell you– w-what? Here?”

“Yes, here,” Eren repeats you, quiet and calm, keeping one eye on your bickering friends to ensure you’re kept all to himself, “unless it’s something you can’t share.”

The blanching of your face tells him everything he needs to know, and that sickening admission almost overshadows the fact that he knows. He undeniably knows, now; maybe not the specifics, but enough to know that you had woken up sticky and gasping after a sinful dream. Maybe he even knows it was about him.

You’ve given up on trying to understand the otherworldly elements of Eren; the way he seems to appear at inopportune moments and know what you’re thinking at every turn, but this is too much. You quickly realize that while you’re not sober, you’re certainly not drunk enough to deal with him, and you finish your glass of champagne in a single gulp.

“You’re one to talk about sharing,” you hiss at him, trying to will away the goosebumps prickling your arms as his fingers inch higher, skating along soft skin. Eren’s demeanor falters, if only for a moment– he looks frustrated.

“Didn’t you hear me?” Eren leans into you, brows furrowing. “I don’t share just anything, and especially not just because ‘Min wants a taste.”

“Am I yours to share?” That heavy swig of champagne has gone straight to your head it seems, as you turn your face up to him defiantly, finally saying the quiet part out loud. The weight falls off your shoulders like a head, and you can almost feel the itch of the guillotine at your neck as the words leave your mouth. Eren, ever the gentle executioner, only lets the calm fascination return to his face, brings his fingers further up your thigh.

“Tell me about your dream, hm? They’re not listening, it’s just you and me.”

He’s only inches away from where you’re already beginning to grow hot and wet– he hasn’t even done anything, and you want to chastise yourself over the undeniable need beginning to bubble inside you. Eren’s smiling so sweetly, as if he’s lulling you into a sense of complacency, and your tongue hangs heavy in your mouth, eager to spill your secrets.

“I…I’m scared.”

Eren’s eyebrows raise and his smile grows a bit toothier, disbelief written plain on his face. “Of me?”

“Sometimes,” you say, small and honest as the grave, “it’s like you aren’t real.”

“I’m very real,” Eren insists, two fingers pressing against the damp silk of your panties, his eyes lighting up when you stifle a gasp, “doesn’t that feel real?”

“Wait–”

“The dream,” Eren says again, increasing the pressure of his fingers, “were you scared of me there, too?”

“Yes,” you whisper, ashamed and painfully cognizant of the feel of him between your legs, “I was in a forest, running after the little lights, they– I’ve seen them for a long time.”

“Since you were a child,” Eren repeats your confession from the other night. He’s reading you, you realize, not like a book, but like a poem. You couldn’t put the difference into words if you had to, but there’s a certain melody to the flickering of his gaze over your hot face.

“They’ve never led me anywhere before,” your words hitch in your throat, stopped dead when Eren’s fingers start rubbing circles over your swollen clit. The silk is thin and soaked, and his fingers slide over you in a way that feels god-given. Your jaw hangs ever-so-slightly, the butlers coming to change the course. You wait for Eren to slip his hand out from under your dress, fearful of the staff watching as he toys with you, but he only nods encouragingly.

“Keep going.”

“Um,” you stammer, swallowing thickly and glancing at the plate of bleeding, rare filet in front of you, “they took me to a clearing in the forest. There were creatures, ones I’ve never seen before.”

“Did they hurt you? Any of them?” A furrow appears between his eyebrows, deep and concerned. Some small part of your brain, muted since Eren’s hand slid beneath your dress, worries itself with why Eren seems so disquieted with your dream– it’s not like you actually could have been hurt, it was only a dream. Wasn’t it?

“No, they stayed away. They just made a lot of noise, but they all got quiet when…”

A knowing smirk. “When?”

“When I saw you.”

Eren pats your thighs gently, urging them apart; he looks relieved, exhilarated, unreal. If you didn’t know better, you’d think his eyes were glowing in the candlelight. Armin, Historia, and Sasha’s clamor across the table grows louder with each passing second, but as soon as you begin to wonder if you should be doing a better job of hiding what’s very clearly happening under the slit of your dress, Eren’s fingers have wiggled their way beneath the fabric of your silk thong. Your teeth dig into your bottom lip, eyes widening.

“I was glad to see you,” Eren says quietly, “in the dream, I mean.”

“You said you’d been waiting for me,” you whisper, keeping your voice low to hide the whine scratching at the back of your throat, “that you’d been waiting a long time.”

“I bet I was,” Eren hums thoughtfully, grinning viciously when he sinks a finger into you, clearly relishing the way your fingernails tighten into his wrist. “I never lie.”

“Even in a dream?” You feel fuzzy and warm, blinking moony, worried eyes up at him. Eren shakes his head in confirmation, curling his finger and making your thighs clench. “You put me in your lap, and–and, you had a crown. It was nighttime, I think, and the moon was really bright. You were inside me.”

Eren slides another finger in to match the first, and you’re hardly able to stifle a moan when it comes fluttering through your teeth, a breeze of a sound compared to what you’re struggling to keep captive in your chest. Eren’s other hand reaches forward to grab a small piece of the carved steak, brings the meat up to your mouth and brushes it over your lips.

“Eat,” Eren instructs, smiling placidly as you mindlessly obey, biting into the red meat, “but keep telling me.”

He waits patiently for you to chew around the bite of steak he’s offered you, eyes searching you for something– what it is, you can’t be sure. Your mind is wobbling around the flashes of memory of your dream, distracted every few steps by an overwhelming rush of pleasure from between your legs, Eren’s fingers curling incessantly against your walls. You swallow, never taking your eyes off of him.

“You fucked me.” The confession is breathless when it leaves you, and even through the haze of what you pray isn’t a rapidly-approaching orgasm, you don’t miss the way Eren’s shoulders stiffen, the way his eyes flash.

“Did I fuck you, or did you fuck me?” Eren murmurs back to you, mischief in his eyes and a tense gravel to his voice. “You said you were in my lap, after all.”

“I—oh, god—I don’t know,” you’re barely able to keep your voice low, a little whimper interrupting you, “Eren–”

“Keep going, it’s okay,” Eren’s fingers don’t slow– in fact, they begin to move more harshly, “you’re safe with me, you know that. I showed you in the forest, didn’t I?”

“Mhm.” You can’t stop your forehead from falling onto his shoulder, teeth digging into your lip so hard you aren’t sure if that coppery taste is from the steak, or your own blood. The conversation in the room, despite being made by only three people, feels like a deafening rush in your ears.

The realization hits home that Eren’s going to make you cum all over his fingers in front of your friends, the staff, and your dinner, and he’s going to wrench it out of you in a matter of seconds, if the tightening of your gut is anything to go by.

“What else?” Eren practically growls in your ear, low and hoarse. “Is there anything else?”

“You asked me– fuck, you asked me something.” Your hips are canting forward into his palm, your face tacky and warm thinking about the couture fabric under you, now drenched in your cum and sweat. “Eren, you have to slow down, please–”

He’s merciless, pumping his fingers into you ceaselessly, rendering you a lost cause. “What did I ask you?”

“You asked—oh, my god—asked if I, if I would stay with you forever.”

“What was your answer?”

You can’t respond, not with the way you’ve stopped breathing to swallow down the debauched moan bubbling in your chest. Your entire body tenses, strung tight as a bow around Eren’s fingers as the knot in your stomach unravels, cool, inevitable release finally crashing over you. Eren works you through it, murmuring little hushes into your hairline, and placing a comforting hand over your fingers that are digging into his wrist, smiling against your forehead as you slide your hips back and forth over his hand.

You manage to pull the whole thing off impressively subdued, no more than a tinny whimper leaving your lips, only to be absorbed by the sleeve of Eren’s dinner jacket. When you dare to sit up, to meet Eren’s eyes, he’s still looking at you expectantly, as if that wasn’t enough.

“I can’t believe you just did that,” you whisper, waiting for Historia to chastise you, or Armin to make a lewd comment. The three of them are still arguing, Sasha stealing bites from Armin’s plate each time he turns to snap at Historia, who’s now sitting amongst a crowd of empty crystal glasses.

“What was your answer?” Eren says again, pulling his fingers from you and smirking at the glisten that stretches down into his palm.

“I woke up,” you say with shaky conviction, trying to glare at him.

“Are you still scared of me?” Eren asks innocently, picking up a piece of his steak with his hand and feeding it to you again. Your cum mixes in with the flavor of the steak, gives it a certain tang and salinity that makes your heart beat faster, even though you’ve just floated back down to consciousness.

“I– I don’t think so, but…” you trail off, looking down at the plate. Eren brings another piece to your lips, letting you bite half and giving the rest to himself, not missing the opportunity to suck on the tips of his fingers. Your thighs press together when his eyes flutter shut, knowing what he’s tasting and watching him revel in it.

“But what?”

“I don’t think I understand you,” you confess breathlessly, “I think that’s what scares me. I spend all day looking at you, and I never feel closer to understanding you, to really touching you. It’s like you’re not…” you trail off in search of the right word.

“Real?” Eren cocks an eyebrow at you.

“Human,” you say without entirely meaning to, widening your eyes at him in apology. “I’m sorry, not in a bad way necessarily, but– you feel…like you’re above me. In a sense.”

“Above you?” Eren frowns, forgetting his dinner entirely and looking straight at you with rejection written all over his face, wrinkles you want to smoothe over with your thumb.

“I just…” you sigh, finding it harder to meet his gaze by the second, “I don’t understand what you want with me.”

“Still?” Eren tilts his head. “Even after that?”

“The dream?” You nearly chuckle in exasperation. “It was just a dream, that’s all.”

Eren frowns a little, reaches for your glass of champagne– oh, god, when had that been refilled?– and hands it to you. He watches you take one sip, and then another, that concentrated pull of his eyebrows never ceasing until you reach a shaky hand out for your fork, beginning to feed yourself small bites of steak. His perplexed expression ripples out into one of contentedness, smiling gently as he watches you take care of yourself.

“All days are nights to see till I see thee, and nights bright days when dreams do show me thee,” Eren finally says, looking at you very much like you’re supposed to be parsing something out from his quote.

“On to the sonnets now, are we?” You cock a playful eyebrow at him, despite your tired, slouching posture and your repeated attempts to keep your guard up. Eren grins mischievously, leaning in as if he means to press the tip of his nose to yours.

“I know no ways to mince it in love, but directly to say–”

“If it be love indeed, tell me how much?” You’re quicker than him on this one, a vicious little smirk cutting across your face when you manage to cut him off. Eren’s eyebrows raise, impressed, but you don’t keep him down for long.

“There’s beggary in love that can be reckoned,” Eren finally says, twirling the ring on your pinky absentmindedly. You don’t even remember when he laid his hand atop yours, but it feels heavy and comforting, and so you let it lie there, just for the time being.

Your post-orgasm exhaustion hits you like a train, the temptation to slump against Eren’s shoulder winning out over your propriety. You’ll sit back up by the fourth course, you tell yourself, nibbling on a large piece of parsley that had come as a garnish on your plate. Eren doesn’t seem to mind the weight of your fuzzy head nodded into the cotton of his shoulder; in fact, he seems to adjust himself so you can nuzzle closer, eyes blinking owlishly as you reach for your glass of bubbles. You’re teetering dangerously close to the edge of unconsciousness, and you almost wouldn’t care, until something catches your eye.

Over the rim of your glass, Historia is staring at you. It’s not a look of admonishment, but more…caution? Concern? Pity? All you can discern for certain is that Historia must have seen everything Eren did to you, everything he’s still doing to you, taking a caviar bump off the back of his hand and laughing at Armin, shoulder shaking under your cheek. Historia’s brows furrow at you, her bottom lip wavering slightly.

You sit up suddenly, ignoring the way the room spins with the speed of your action. Eren turns his head to you, surprised, only to follow your gaze across the table to Historia. You’re trying to keep from looking at him, but you can’t help yourself, watching his expression crumple into something stern and disparaging.

Historia withers for only a moment, before narrowing her eyes at him threateningly. Eren squeezes his hand around yours. Sasha shoves Historia admonishingly for not listening to her joke. Armin’s eyes focus in on where your fingers grip your champagne flute hard enough to turn white.

You think you see a few pairs of familiar, glowing eyes in the bushes outside, peering in on the scene at the table. You think you need to go to bed.

#eren jaeger x reader #eren yeager x reader #eren jaeger smut #eren yeager smut #eren jaeger fanfiction #aot #aot fanfic #eren jaeger x you #eren yeager x you #attack on titan x reader #aot x reader #that's all for now folks!!!!#more to come in part 2<3

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