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gretavanlace · 1 year

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Poppins (part 8)

18+ only! Minors do not interact!

Warnings: adult themes, illusions to sex, angst, alcohol consumption, etc

*We’re getting down to it, only two (possibly three) more chapters to go ❤️

It feels like the air has been punched clean out of your lungs, but just as quickly, logic takes over and shakes you straight.

Obviously, you’ve misunderstood…and you tell him as much.

“I guess I’m not following you, Josh.” You attempt a casual laugh and nudge his shoulder with your own, scrambling for normalcy. “But, I suppose it really isn’t any of my business, anyway.”

His stare remains locked on Lily, with that proud, faraway look that so often softens his expression when he watches her. “You’re following me just fine, sweetheart. You’re just a little off kilter because I sort of threw it at you. I’m sorry for that.”

Funny, you’ve never actually had an ‘I must be dreaming’ moment…but you’re certainly having one now. That has to be it, you’ve conjured this jumbled up mess inside your head.

You’re at home, still sleeping off the blunt shared with Jake. Right? No, you can feel the warm humidity of the day building in the air, there is the faint knock of a woodpecker lost somewhere in the trees, there is the sound of him breathing, waiting, existing, beside you.

This is no dream - but it’s every bit as confusing as one.

Afraid she might overhear, you pitch your voice less than a whisper, so quiet you almost don’t hear your own question, but Josh does.

“Yes, she’s Jake’s,” a gently possessive edge nips at his tone. “Biologically. It doesn’t matter, that little girl is mine, and I’m her’s. But yeah, that’s what I meant when I said I could never repay him. Look at her…”

A smile breaks across his face, warm, gorgeous, and absolutely beaming with adoration as he studies her pointing something out in the sand. Her buddy leans in closer to inspect her discovery, as they carry on what seems to be a very serious discussion.

“He gave me my favorite girl. My everything. I would’ve died for him before, now I’d do it with a smile just because he asked. How could I ever level the playing field?”

There’s that playing field making its appearance again, albeit for a very different reason this time around.

“I don’t understand.” And you don’t. You’ve never understood anything less in your life. You can’t get a read on how, or why, or if it really even matters. It’s like someone has taken all the facts you’ve ever known to be true and mixed them all up. Nothing makes sense. Nothing fits. The puzzle is jumbled and missing pieces.

“It’s a lot, I know.” He shrugs, already intimately acquainted with the situation that has ripped the rug out from beneath your unsteady feet. “Maybe I shouldn’t have told you, but if I’m being honest…which I guess is exactly what we’re doing here…I didn’t want him to beat me to it. I wanted to be the one to tell you. I really don’t even know why, and it sounds stupid now that I’m saying it out loud.”

“He never said a word.” The moment you speak the words, you remember Jake’s, she looks like her dad.

Josh leans back against the weathered wood bench and crosses his ankle over his knee. You’d like to ask him how he’s so casually fucking with your head, but you know this really isn’t about you at all.

“Of course he never said a word. Our stoic mystery man, whom you can’t seem to quit. Just remember, my love, still waters run deep. There are a great many things that Jacob has never said a word about. He would have, though. Eventually. Something about you seems to just drag things to the surface for us. Sorceress.”

He’s only teasing. Likely trying to lighten the heaviness of the conversation, but you blush all the same. As only Josh can, he both grins at the pink in your cheeks, and pretends not to see it, to spare your pride.

The way they speak - so alike in sound, inflection, turns of phrase, poetically laced and lovely - only serves to confuse you further. At times, it's like being with the same man who just happens to have split personalities.

“A great many things Jacob has never said a word about,” You muse,” Bigger than this?” You’re not sure you want to hear the answer.

A laugh, easy and genuine, trips out of him, louder by far than anything that has been murmured thus far, “Fuck, I hope not!”

Lil’s head snaps up, attention hooked; though her friend is more interested in watching her reaction than what she is reacting to. “Daddy said a bad word!” The accusation in her tone makes him sigh, defeatedly.

“No, I didn’t!” Josh holds his hands up in innocence, clearly enamored by her tiny cross examination. “Daddy said truck. We were playing the rhyming game.”

“Like we play in the car on the way to Gramma’s?” She shouts over, with disappointment now coloring her end of the exchange…she delights in catching grown ups misbehaving.

“That’s the one.” He smiles with an exhale of relief, like a little boy who has just successfully evaded punishment. “Never, ever, tell anyone how coolly I just lied to that angelic face.” He adds through his teeth, smiling with a wave in her direction.

“That angelic face can be brutal.” You giggle at his nonsense. “Last week she caught me eating one of those vegetarian sushi rolls you hog for yourself, and milked me for extra goodies at snack time for days in exchange for silence.”

“Jokes on you,” he rolls his big brown eyes as if he can’t believe your behavior. “I count them, and I knew it all along.”

“Yeah, well, you just admitted to counting your sushi rolls, so who should be ashamed of themselves, here? ‘Cause it isn’t me.” You’re joking, but only a little.

After an absurdly easy stretch of silence, he turns serious and quiet again, “Look, I know that I dumped this on you, and I know you’ve probably got a million questions…you deserve answers to every single one of them. Come to mom’s with me, yeah? She’s making a big lunch. Sammy’s bringing the dog. It’ll be fun. We’ll eat, she’ll eventually insist on keeping Lil for the night and we’ll go home. I’ll make you dinner and we can talk.”

“Talk? Is that what the kids are callin’ it these days?” You grin, how is everything always so easy with him? This shouldn’t be so casual. It shouldn’t feel this normal to joke about sleeping with him while grappling with something so monumental.

Incidentally, why are you joking about sleeping with him? Because you want to put it out there, that you’re still thinking about it, that you still want it…that’s why.

How do they do this? Both of them. It hardly seems fair. Or normal, for that matter. And he has the nerve to talk of sorcery?

The wind is fluttering through the leaves, rustling them like a soothing psalm. It causes your thoughts to wander…which seems odd; how could you be thinking about anything but this nuclear bomb he has just detonated inside your head. But somehow, wander they do, your thoughts - and you find yourself eyeing the trees, trying to hone in on the one lucky enough to have earned Jake’s favor.

Like always, Josh seems to know what you’re thinking. “It’s across the park. Over closer to that little pond where Lil likes to feed the ducks.”

“What?” You adopt a puzzled expression, though you cannot for the life of you fathom why. Josh knows. Just like his brother, Josh always knows.

It is a frustrating, exhausting fact, but a fact all the same.

“Jake’s tree.” He clarifies, proving what you already understood to be true…that he can peer inside your head and heart as easily as he could were you made of windows. “It’s over by the pond. Would you like to see it?”

“No.” You brush your hands over your arms as if you’ve caught a chill, though the air borders on muggy.

“Okay,” He nods, completely at ease with this unusual situation you’ve found yourselves in. “Would you like to see him?”

Awkwardly, you watch those leaves as they wave and dance together, anything to save from meeting his eyes.

“Is okay to say yes, love…” he taps your knee, just an innocent ‘hello’, and so different from the last time he touched you. “I’d like to see him too. He’ll undoubtedly be at our mother’s lounging around like he owns the place. Come with us.”

“Do they know?” You venture tentatively, “Your parents?”

Your eyes are on him now as he shakes his head. Sometimes you forget how truly beautiful he really is and then you wonder how you ever could.

“Contrary to popular belief, Jake and I can keep a secret.”

“Not even your mother?” You find this hard to believe, as much as Jake taunts his twin for being a ‘mama’s boy’, he’s just as bad. They trust her with everything.

Josh nods at Lily, who is now flouncing her way over like a fairy who has misplaced her wand…all swishing ponytail and laughing eyes. “Not even her mother.”

The windows for questions has slammed shut, leaving all of yours to slam against the pane of glass like dazed birds.

“Rosie, get down!” Sam’s voice barks across the kitchen, startling you out of your thoughts. Rosie, unfazed and standing on her hind legs, continues to peruse the veggie plates and chip bowls Karen has set out on the counter, sniffing out delicious scents and temptations.

“Rosebud, I swear, if you don’t—“

“Samuel,” Karen scolds, snapping at him with the hand towel she’s been toting around. “Get off your ass and get her. Stop acting like an idiot in my kitchen.”

Sammy lopes over and grabs his faithful companion by the collar, lovingly tugging her away. “I don’t come here to be treated like I’m five, ma.” He complains, sweeping open the back door.

“Shut up, and go help your brothers.” She’s turned away from him and smiling, but judging by his returning smile, he has heard the adoration in her admonishing words.

At the table, bathed in the warmth of Karen’s sunny kitchen, you watch Jake and Josh confer near the enormous lilac bush Kelly has insisted be torn out.

“Too close to the septic system.” He’d informed the room when everyone protested ripping such a beauty from the earth, “The roots are gonna screw it all up and not a damn one of you are gonna want to come help clean up the aftermath.”

Of course, the boys have been tapped to help, as Kelly insists there’s no time like the present, and of course, Sammy has been shirking his duties ever since. True to form, rather than joining the twins, he opts for a chair to toss a tennis ball to Rosie from.

Your heart warms watching his honest and open face laugh gleefully as she chases down her bouncing prey. He is the sweetest gem, and you wish you knew him a little better.

But, as it so often does, your attention wanders back over to Josh, in his casual weekend wear, clean and crisp…and Jake, looking gorgeously rumpled and out of place in the domesticity of it all. You know he smells of ember and the Booker’s he is currently nursing out of a plastic tumbler to ensure Lil doesn’t ask questions.

You miss them both. They feel very far away as you watch on, smiling when they raise their arms to point something out to Kelly in perfect, unplanned, synchronicity.

Karen is suddenly beside you, staring out across the deck as well, chomping on a baby carrot. “It’s fun to watch them, isn’t it?”

She offers you a veggie and you take it, nodding in complete agreement around a bite.

“See how they mirror each other?” She marvels softly, wistful for her babies. “They’ve always done it. Even in the hospital, one would move, and there would go the other. Josh had terrible colic - briefly, thank god - and Jake would tense up even before Josh made a peep, like he could feel it coming. They’re each other's keepers.”

Be it motherly intuition, or perhaps just the nostalgia of having all of her boys home at once, she has chosen an ideal time to share. With the men all outside either tending to chores or shirking them, and Lil napping on the couch, you have her, and her memories, all to yourself.

“Tell me more about what they were like.”

If she senses something more behind the question, she doesn’t let on. “They were terrors. Little monsters, just awful. But, gentle angels at the same time. Always quick with a hug or a thoughtful comment. Even when they were just tiny things, they honed in on people and just sank their little teeth into heart after heart.”

“Some things never change then, I guess.” You shouldn’t have said it and long to take it back. They get their empathetic third eye from their mother, and you know she’ll clock the situation for what it is.

But again, she stays mum on the subject of why you seem just as wistful as she.

“They struggled so hard in school,” she finally confides, eyes on them as they begin wrapping ropes around the root of the bush that, evidently, must go. “It was painful. Mostly because they were just so intelligent, but it was all locked away when it came to brick and mortar schooling. They just froze right up behind those little desks.”

You knew this. Josh has explained their plight a hundred times over, wringing his hands with worry that Lily-bit might struggle to overcome the same mountains. Still, it’s so difficult to imagine them, easily two of the most intellectually enriched, well read and spoken human beings you have ever met, grappling with crippling learning disabilities.

“We worked with them endlessly, and hired tutors, and they tried so damn hard.” Her voice wavers a touch, as if she’s swallowing down tears. “When the pieces started falling in place for them, Josh took to reading faster than Jakey. He had these phonics books he liked, and they would hole up in their room for hours while Josh helped him sound the words out. I used to listen at the door. It was like magic…Josh would utilize all the inner workings of that shared mind they can access, and somehow, he’d make it make sense for his brother. He’d remind him to slow down and really see all those turned around letters so kindly it made you want to crumble. Josh was the only one Jake ever went to for help, you couldn’t have paid him to be that vulnerable with anyone else. And Josh just soaked it up, helping Jake connect those dots. He’d grow so ecstatic and proud with each tiny success.”

You both laugh as Josh shoves at Jake’s shoulder, pointing angrily at the lilac and their task, clearly unhappy with something his twin hasn’t executed to his liking.

“That’s when I knew he’d be a teacher.” Her hand, so warm and maternal, pats your shoulder. “Josh, that is. We knew Jake’s fate the minute he was old enough to crawl towards a guitar.”

“The music man,” you watch him nip at his cup, leisurely and mellow, even as his brother barks orders at him.

“The music man.” She concurs, crunching into another carrot. “Always. Have you ever seen him play a song by ear? He’ll listen to it once and just stare off into space like nobody’s home. But really, he’s plucking all those notes out and locking them away. Next thing you know, he’s got it. Just like that. It’s incredible. Kelly and I used to look at each other and think, where in the hell did he come from?”

“Josh, too,” you offer, though of course she knows. “He sings to Lil all the time. Makes up these dumb little songs to make her laugh, or to help her remember something. And he sings in the shower because he seems to think it’s a magical box where no one can hear him.”

“Ah, yes,” she laughs, sliding her plate closer to you, ever the ‘mom’ wanting to nourish anyone who walks through her hallowed halls. “The shower concerts. He used to steal all the hot water constantly. It was worth it, though, to listen. They had a little band for a while. Did you know that?”

In your mind’s eye, the few pictures you’ve seen, pop up to say hello. “Sort of, but Josh kinda blew it off when I asked. Said he just helped Jake out with a few gigs when they were kids.”

A belly laugh, so much like her sons’, trills out of her. “It was way more than that, that liar. Used to have to drag them to all these shitty bars and parties. Samuel played bass. A friend of theirs, the drums…or sometimes Josh. That was always interesting. They were a mess, all over the place, but they had something special. And that’s not just mom talking, everybody said so.”

“So, what happened?”

“They started gaining a little recognition. Started being invited to play at the nicer places around town, and that was the idea all along, we thought. But, suddenly, Jake wanted nothing to do with it.”

Jake calling it quits would have been the absolute last thing you would have deemed to be the nail in the coffin.

She senses your surprise and nods along with it. “He finally told me why one night. Came in after having one too many at one party out in the woods or another. I sat him down at this very table right here and I know he thought I was about to climb up his ass about tapping a keg with his friends or whatever the hell they did that night, but really, I wanted to drag the truth out of him. The truth that mattered.”

“And?”

She leans back in her chair, shaking her head as if she still can’t believe it. On your end, you watch Josh snatch the cup from Jake’s grasp to steal a sip of his own.

“And, it made sense…his reason. Once he said it out loud it made so much sense I still don’t know how I’d missed it. He said things were falling together too cleanly for the band. That he knew they were headed for something that would be too heavy to easily put down, and that he knew it wasn’t what Josh wanted.”

A sigh sounds sad, but her eyes swim with pride for her youngest twin. “I told him he should let his brother make that call, but he’s always been wiser than the rest of us when it comes to Josh, and he said ‘That’s the thing, ma. He’s always gonna choose what I want. He has to think he’s choosing what I want.’”

Your throat feels tight with tears bitten back, “The way they have carried each other all through life is just…” you fall silent, lost for apt words.

“Yeah, well, they used to beat the hell out of each other on a regular basis, too, but that is for another day..” She nods toward the doorway behind you, and you turn to see Lil, rubbing her eye with one fist, and clutching her blanket with the other, as she stumbles nearer to coherency and her grandmother.

Karen scoops her up and whispers in her ear…Lil nods along and nuzzles her blankie, which is actually an old shirt of her daddy’s cut in half. Maroon and decorated with strange, colorful, geometric shapes, it has been her comforting companion for as long as you’ve known them.

“Okay, then…” Karen stands and deposits her favorite person down on her teensy feet. “Time to get this lunch finished up.”

Lily is sent off with a bribery popsicle to play with Rosie and Sam, as the two of you begin preparing to feed the brood.

“Why do I always find you up here, poppins?” He’s leaning against the doorframe, like the casually dapper lead in some movie he would never watch.

You turn away from the desk, where you’ve been gingerly touching relics, as though strolling through a particularly lenient museum.

You love this space, and you make no apologies for it. “I like it in here. Comforting chaos is kind of your brand. Both of you. Why do you always seem to be sneaking up on me in here?”

He grins softly as you lob the question back at him. “I suppose I am always sneaking up on you, aren’t I? Looking for you, searching you out, hunting for my girl.”

Hunting for my girl…jesus.

A gentle hum is your only reply as he slips into the room, kicking the door closed with the heel of his boot. He has showered since the lilac bush incident, and stepped into clean clothes that still somehow look disheveled.

His hair is still slightly damp, and you long to bury into it, to breathe in the perfume of fresh shampoo and him.

“You spoiled me last night, you know, babe.” Down he plops on his bed, the crowned royal head draped across his sovereign throne, just as he had been the last time you found yourself in this room with him. “Why don’t you come over here and allow me to indulge a little more, hmm? Can you be quiet, pretty girl?”

“Jake.”

He kisses the air lazily in your direction, folding his hands behind his head against the pillow, like you haven’t spoken his name at all, “C’mon, baby, I haven’t had my dessert yet.”

You want to go to him. God, how you want to go to him. You want to climb on top of him and fuck his beautiful mouth until you fall apart, and then you want to lie with him in this silent world it seems time has forgotten. You want to be his while her face smiles out of all those curling, yellowing, snapshots. She was so beautiful, a stunning package to hide all the ugliness she had in store for his precious heart.

But, you want truth even more.

“Would you have ever told me?” Your question - accusation? - comes a whisper.

He sits up slowly, eyes locked in and narrowed on yours. He knows what you’re asking, but he’s trying to make certain. You let him watch you for the longest stretch, with his pretty face tilted, studying, observing, until you’re fighting to sit still under his white hot scrutiny.

“Yes.” He nods, at last. “I think I probably would have. It’s interesting, isn’t it? The way you coax the truth out of us. Are you a good witch, or a bad witch?”

There they go again, singing different verses of the very same song.

“She’s what you gave up?” You lean forward, hushed and hungry for answers. “Like we talked about?”

He nods again, barely perceptible in the movement. “Like a kidney, right, poppins? Only so, so much worse.”

Questions gridlock inside your head as he shakes his own. “I told you before, it isn’t my story to tell, babe…and that’s just the way this one has to be.”

He closes up shop with a blink and saunters, calm and cool as ever, over to the door. “C’mon then, Mary Poppins, if you aren’t going to allow me to have my way with you, we really should rejoin the others.”

“Would you like something light?” Josh peers into his fridge while you watch from your perch on the counter. “I just picked up some strawberries from that little stand around the corner, I could make us a big salad. Fruit, nuts, romaine, a nice vinaigrette?” He holds up the basket of berries proudly. “Look how fat they are. Fucking beautiful.”

“Whatever you want, Josh,” you smile at his enthusiasm, as well as his eagerness to please.

He turns his attention to the pantry, and your pulse picks at the memory it conjures. “Pasta?” He holds up a box of angel hair, shaking it around invitingly. “I could whip up some butter and herbs, get you drunk on carbs.”

“Seriously, whatever you want is fine. Order a pizza for all I care.”

True to his predictions, Lily remained at the Kiszka homestead, and was half asleep in Jake’s arms by the time the two of you took your leave. And now here you sit, aching to blurt out question after question while he forages in his kitchen to put together a meal you couldn’t care less about.

“Alright,” he nods, and back to the fridge he goes, finally turning to face you bearing an untouched container of his beloved veggie sushi rolls. “Pretties for the thief?”

“It was one damn piece, Joshua.” You laugh, rolling your eyes at his ridiculous name calling.

“Grab a white and a couple glasses,” he nods over at the wine rack.

You do as instructed, and join him where he has settled in the living room, placing the stemware carefully on the coffee table before uncorking the bottle of reisling you selected. It should be chilled, but neither of you have ever cared much to begin with.

On his elegant end, he loudly wrenches open the plastic container and slides it over unceremoniously.

Without cheers, he tips his glass and then shrugs, “Okay, sweetheart, this is the story of myself, my Lily, and my idiot brother…”

Taglist: @gretasintrees @greta-van-chaos @celestialfauna @s0livagant @groggyvanfleet @kiszkathecook @brokenbellz @llightmyllovee @jakesgrapejuice @doodle417 @seventieswhore @jake-kiszkas-smirk @weightofdreams-gvf @imdepressedaf1996 @alisonwonderland29 @gretavanfleas @gretavangroove @sparrowofthedawn @xserenax-13 @tbagggvf @obetrolncocktails @tripthelightjaketastic @jakeslovehandles @poofyloofy @70sgroupielovr @heatmyfleet @age-of-nyahh @sammiboo162 @gretasmokerising @spicedandicedtea @jakekiszkasleftnutsack @saoirsemaeve @mywickeddivinity @thelvnternskeeper @paintmyhouse @tripthelightfandomtastic @tripthelight-fanfic @mckenna4 @sarakay-gvf @theweightofjake @thewritingbeforesunrise @joshsmama @sammysvanfeet @rhythm-of-space @highladyofasgard @jordie-gvf-admin @calumspretty @sunfl0wer-power @sad1lynn @starcatcher-jake @gretavangroupie

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blueiight · 1 year

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You know what I was thinking about one of the reasons why theres so many confederate/slave owner era vampires??…

I think its a way for white people to preserve and immortalize a time where they were allowed to be their most unhinged.

Like lowkey those are their heroes (do we see a widespread celebration of the union and union soldiers in the same way as the confederacy? why isn’t that also part of their “culture”). So if their heros are villains for trying to keep slavery alive and that era had to die then they found a way to make it undead, powerful still and also a way for them to root for those villians in a way where they don’t have to moralize it bc its the very nature of a vampire to be a monster.

So they get to push that it doesn’t make sense to moralize it in the way they’re always looking for allowances to not have to moralize the fact that they ever existed in that way and still carry a lot more of those sentiments and ways of thinking/speaking/acting than they’re willing to admit.

The vampire is from another time and frozen in the way they were when they were turned. The same way their grandparents are from a different era and stuck in their ways, but they don’t get to be forever young and desirable in their appearance by the standards of what beauty is considered to be. They want to be allowed to hold on to it as beautiful too.

It’s never really explored of contended with in any of the media that has a confederate of slave owning vampire in a way that reconciles with the racial implications of that. How they were already consuming people and exploiting and exerting control over people in their humanity and you weren’t to question them. They had the power and they didn’t want to give up that power and still don’t.

Now that lives on in a figure that is given even more power than their human counterparts and they get to be alluring and seductive and compelling. They also get special powers to aid in their consumption and compulsion. And the white reader is allowed to desire that figure bc it’s fictional and they’re meant to be monsters without ever having to question what it means that they want to be allowed to desire a non-fictional historical figure in a fictional setting so they don’t have to question why they yearn for that allowance. They free themselves from questioning why they’re always looking for allowances i.e. in micro-aggressive tactics and n-word passes (“i was singing the lyrics to the song!” and “I grew up in the hood around black people” and “my _____is black and they said it was fine”).

It’s reflected in the general anti-blackness within goth culture and vampire culture as well. The fact that the white og vc fandom was rife with racism and racist readers for so long. the author herself holding anti-black beliefs and never exploring how that shows up in her work. Just like in twilight and that author pushing against their being black vampires in the movie etc. etc. It’s exposed in the white og readers struggle to watch their beloved characters shown in an adaptation that does not allow them to hide, that challenges the allowance to have racism be an unspoken undertone in the media they consume. In an adaptation that refuses to soothe their discomfort with being challah to reflect on that part of their history and how they exist in the world today. Instead they get angry and accuse the adaptation of making their beloved characters ooc! They revise and excuse the very real examples in the very text they’ve been a fan of for years bc the text allowed them to ignore and participate in the apologia of it all and now the adaptation is not and they didn’t like that. They scapegoat and say they were expecting a romance (despite how the show was promoted) because they wanna romanticize that version of themselves and not be questioned about it ( another example: how they like to get married on plantations)…

sorry to just dump all these idk these thoughts on you, which probably have been talked about extensively and with more intelligence, but I just wanted to write it out somewhere and usually you have great discussions on your blog so yeah. hope you are having a good day 💕

i appreciate what u said. historically speaking, the confederacy was let off w/ a slap on the wrist bc more people who considered themselves union were able to sympathize more w the confederacy than they were with the struggles of black people held in bondage. not to mention the 19th century equivalent of tom cruise assassinated lincoln, and the subsequent line of presidents were so openly sympathetic to the confederacy that they pretty much destroyed what little progress was made + gave former confederates essentially free reign over the southern half of the united states to continue a system of racial apartheid. and still, the government is so concilatory to these people and their descendants. makes u think a lot about who it serves no? i cant see a time where white people wasnt given free reign to cut up in recent history or why theyd need fiction to do so cuz they already got the dub rl.. but i understand wym, in how escapism to this type of fan can entail can ‘escape from black people’ & how cultural products can reinforce the white southern usamerican mythology of the lost cause. i cant say im familiar w the goth culture tho ive loved some goth black girls, but ill trust ur word on it. tvc is rly the only vampire story ive got myself into but i find that the race dynamics in it to be its weakest , most outdated trait of it all that has received very little discussion before, during & even after the modern show adaptation of interview.. a video a thinkpiece here&there to add ur wonderful thoughts on this. but i find that type of old fan to be a loud minority overtaken by a new type tho… its easy to drag the confederate bride but not this one.

i find this newer crop of fans to be less the confederate brides & moreso ppl whove learned from the mistakes of ‘open’ racism & r subtler. cuz its moreshow how their racialist biases impacts their understandings of the narrative, what they center in their imagination& the like. its easier to drag some irrelevant bozos calling real actors UGLY saying MW better or feenin for some teenage boy who aint never acted to go play armand just cuz hes a white. but its much harder to acknowledge the subtleties in these types POV cuz ppl will just reduce me to being a dumb xyz chara stan or some abcd camp of fandom i dont even claim. getting called both a dumb louis apologist blackie & a lestat abuse apologist beating up on poor lou too. idk what i am lolz. but i digress. its relatability in hegemony is what i call it. these types r so discomfitted with a black main character, whos vulnerable, tormented, terrible & flawed. they have to reduce him to certain attributes, selective characteristics, shells of himself or drum up 2d crimes bc his evil so far had yet to target the ‘valued’ sort of victims, or fixate on a character of no color n reduce said chara to tropes too.

ive talked about how incredibly powerful it is, for the typical Black horror victim to become the monster as well as the Black man goring the white man in terms of the historical record. how finn o’shea starting off as louis’s runner & comes up and becomes ‘white’ comes at louis’s expense is hilariously ironic n somewhat [tangentially so, maybe?] comparable to how anne rice, an irish american, gained her notoriety..

he is The Vampire, as louis in the books was, he the only one who , in his torment, does not dwell underground for billions of years, does not contort himself into a beast, who simply just Is. The Vampire. making this creature Black, says a lot. even if amc did it for diversity board points, the showrunners did a beautiful job w this character. these type of fans clamor desperately so for a white, to ~debunk~lying ole lou in show verse. + tend to treat dan as if hes just an objective hardhitter & not yet another flawed character of the bunch, or want to prescribe every aspect of daniel’s life on the amazing mind gift possessed by armand de illuminatus. who conflate lestat’s whiteness, how he lords over rue royale, him unveiling his own trauma after traumatizing l+c so, his own complexity / love with some generic tropes cuz they cant relate to the fictional monster otherwise. hes david bowie w a french passport yall. wake up. its ppl who cried tears of blood for antoinette but aint give af about miss lily. its ppl who think tom anderson & fenwick were anything but racist crash test dummies to show what mainstream human power in new orleans looked like. lowkey its also people who never even much touch or have the intention of reading tvc much less get to qotd suddenly becoming #1 fans of one chapter in qotd out of the rest. itd be funny if it wasnt pathetic. how r u presented such a masterclass of a show. The Interview with The Vampire. now a canonly gay Black monstrosity of the Gilded age. his coffin is a penthouse slash billion dollar blood farm, hes regaling a dying old man he attacked in the 70s the truth& reconciliation committee but its a thriller romance with his maker, father, brother, Lover in one Lestat , the disasterclass of how he did his Daughter sister reflection Redemption Claudia. to find out the Vampire Armand holding the Gate’s Key, awaiting the end of the world, as the covid-19 pandemic reminds us of mortality?. the story shatters n is rebuilt. like omg. unlike the book interview Armand& Louis r still together!! whats going on!! in 2022-23? . but ive rambled enough. ill just be the dumb xyz stan to some ppl or someone else will reword this to make it palatable to these very same fans :/ it is what it is and it was what it was

#yn.#yn answers #fans oh fans #iwtv #do this deserve a vc tag? idk. i feel like i rambled here #if u see this in the interview tag.. i am but a fish in a suit

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docholligay · 11 months

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Ep 9: The descent

Hello! This is about up to Episode 9 of Yellowjackets, and ONLY episode 9 of Yellowjackets. I have not seen beyond the ninth episode, at all, and know NOTHING about this show. Please do not spoil it for me. Things that are spoilery in nature, for me, include: saying things like “Just wait!!” confirming or denying anything I put forward, outside information about the cast interviews or creator statements, leading questions like “Do you think “blank moment” means anything?” etc. Remember that Y’ALL HAVE SEEN THE SHOW AND I HAVE NOT. This informs the way you talk about things relating to the show. Just be really careful is all I’m asking. Also: If there is LITERALLY any stance I could take on this show or character that would make you upset, please just fucking block the tag

If you WOULD like to discuss the show and my takes on it, the Discord is right here! I don’t go there, so it’s a great place to get every emotion out.

Please thank @sailorsunspot and @moonlight-frittata for backing this odd way of doing a liveblog, and remember my tip jar is always open

Man, this is such an evocative part of the episode, and I almost feel unequal to the task of saying something about it.

I love that there is no real blame to be had for this. Misty had the mushrooms, of course, but it was never her intention to drug everyone in camp. She was absolutely going to drug coach Ben, so I guess there’s that, but it wasn’t her fault, and nor is it the fault of the cook, who had no idea that they were those kind of mushrooms, only thinking that it would be a delightful addition to the stew.

The reason for this is because the show doesn’t want us making this into an event with a wrong doer, it wants to use this to talk about the girls and the way the show is heading.

There’s a definite quasi-Roman bent to the whole thing here with Travis. Travis, the boy who has seen them in every aspect here. Seen them in their nakedness, in who they are when they are separated from society, and I think it’s not for nothing that we shift from this sort of sexual sharing of Travis, this erotic consumption, the way he becomes community property, to a very literal calling him the stag Diana and the hunt thing going on, where they pursue him like hunting hounds.

THIS is the whole reason it was so careful earlier to tell us that they were in fact still very much human because it needs us to know that this is coming out of something that already exists in the girls. Nothing has been lost here, just enhanced, and these girls are hungry and they are predators, and it is speaking to the wildness of women, that terrifying truth that so few people can live with.

The whole of Lottie’s “Something’s coming” thing is of course the wildness and how it moves to control and own and kill through the girls, but also, I would argue that it can’t bring out something that’s not in them. It would be easy to say. “Oh this was all because of the evil whatever in the woods” but I think this was always inside of them. THey are soccer players, and they hunt in packs, and I think this spoke a lot to that level of power in the group, maybe that’s even why this whatever in the woods thing that I certainly hope the show has plans for took them in the first place. Violence isn’t a part of doing shrooms, really. What it did was allowed them to see themselves as part of this wilderness, this forest, that cries out for blood.

Important social shift for this moment with Jackie being told she doens’t matter, the one-time leader of them, the domesticated one more than all of them, the one who cannot adapt to

The wild and so will be slain by it. And of course it’s Lottie who says this, and of course it’s Lottie who calls for Travis’ death, because Lottie is going to be their leader now, their spiritual guide, a girl who lost her light in the darkness and does not understand that she herself is no lighthouse but a bonfire.

But it was Shauna who was ready to make the cut. Shauna who was willing to kill, and maybe it’s always been her.

#Doc watches Yellowjackets #Yellowjackets S1 E9

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oftenderweapons · 3 years

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On Duty | MYG

Pairing: Yoongi x reader (nicknamed Kitten)

Wordcount: 6k

Genre: smut, pwp, slight angst

Rating: 18+, minors, do not interact

Synopsis: We all have needs, and they require to be catered to. When those deeper, darker cravings hit, it is only normal to look for our partner‘s assistance. And as a newly-wed husband, Yoongi doesn‘t cower away from his duties.

Warnings: Breast-slapping. Mild spanking; alcohol consumption, swearing, mention of cheating. Degradation kink (usage of “bitch” as degrading), grinding, pussy slapping, deprivation, oral sex (male and female receiving), face riding, sixty-nine. Brief mention of assplay (rimming), prostate massage, anal fingering (male receiving), ruined orgasm (male receiving), cum play, cum eating, breast worship. Listen, Yoongi calls Kitten ‘mami’ at some point, don’t come at me it felt fucking damn right. Unprotected sex (WRAP IT, KIDS). Multiple orgasms, mild overstimulation. OH AND… yeah, queefing. But it’s absolutely chill, and playful.

A/N: Hello everyone! This took long but apparently my spicy flow has been recovered! I’m writing every moment I have, hoping the juice doesn’t leave me. Sorry for being absent! I can’t wait to finish with the Small Town Swoons updates and the requests so I can move on with a big fat new project which I already know you’ll all go crazy about!

Thanking @nervous-moon and @joheunsaram for helping me with this one 🥰🥰🥰

Here’s my masterlist, and there you go!

When you entered Yoongi’s studio, you placed your glass of whisky on his coffee table, laying down on his chaise longue.

You waited five minutes. Then ten. You checked the internet for interesting corporate news. You played sudoku.

You sipped on the liqueur until the glass was empty. It was your second, and you were considerably tipsy, maybe because you hadn't eaten that much, given that your boyfriend-freshly-turned-husband was giving you the silent treatment and you didn't even know why.

No matter how insistently you looked at him, Yoongi showed no sign of turning around, his eyes focused solely on the monitor right in front of him.

You clicked your tongue before exhaling. You were ready for war. “Do you perhaps know an agency for male escorts?” You started, tapping your foot with annoyance, trying to control the urge to throw your slipper at him. Maybe if you hit the screen hard enough he would actually take your existence into consideration.

At first he ignored your question, only to mumble 'what?' a few minutes later.

“Male escorts. Do you know any?”

“Bachelorette party?” He guessed. You rolled your eyes. That is not the point, Min Yoongi.

“No.” You lounged some more, and he let your question fade from his mind, time flowing by as you grew more and more annoyed. The whisky hadn’t helped at all. You just wanted to fill the glass with icy water, dump it all over him and then smash the delicate crystal piece on the floor.

You stood and shot your last shot. You walked over to him, standing behind his chair and bending over the back of it. You placed your lips half a millimeter away from his neck. The tip of your tongue peaked out, giving a minuscule lick that made his spine straighten.

“What?” he said, still distracted

You placed your open mouth against his skin, making sure you suckled it a bit, just barely, just to increase his blood flow and make him more sensitive. Once you were happy with the small wet patch, you blew your hot breath against it.

Yoongi’s eyes rolled closed. “I gotta finish this.”

“Finish it tomorrow.” You found his weak spot, just over his carotid artery and nipped it with your teeth before licking it lewdly, kissing it repeatedly, teasing him with the soft inside of your lips, moving an inch down his neck before heading up.

“Kitten, please. I really want to finish this layer.” He fake-sobbed and squeezed his eyes shut.

You let go of him. “It’s not for a bachelorette party. The escort, I mean.” You turned around and picked up the glass. “It’s for me. Since I'm already on the single wife shit.” He heard you complain as you walked away. “Fuck this and the stupid underwear.”

He rubbed his eyes. There was no point going on, all he could think of was your mouth on him. He stood and reached you in the kitchen.

You were wearing your honeymoon set.

“Kitten.”

You shook your head. “Go fuck yourself.”

You left him alone in the kitchen, stomping your feet a little as you walked to the bedroom.

“Kitten…” he sighed, chasing after you.

You shook your head and unclasped your bra, throwing it to the ground and heading to the bathroom to grab your sleeping shirt. You slipped it on and got rid of your panties too. “Leave. I’ve got the wand. Go finish your fucking layer or whatever.”

Yoongi looked at you through the mirror. He was a little hurt. “Sorry, baby.”

“It’s Saturday! You promised me Saturdays! This is the third one you miss.” You hissed. “Might as well divorce already if we’re doing arranged meetings.”

He grabbed your wrist and turned you around, cupping your nape and kissing you with intention. “I’m your escort for tonight.”

You couldn’t think straight. Not when he was pressing you against the wall, his hand lifting your shirt and grabbing your breast.

“Don’t you have a layer to finish?”

He shook his head. “My wife requires to be fucked.” His hand grabbed your ass. “And don’t you ever act passive aggressive with me ever again.” He slapped your butt, not too hard, given the uncomfortable position. “You want sex, you say ‘Yoongi, I wanna fuck’. No biggie.” He parted your legs with his knee. “Damn escort…” He was ready to rip the shirt off you when he stopped and sobered up. “You want this, Kitten?”

You frowned for a second. “Do you want this? Want me?”

“You're the one who's been drinking,” he said, matter of factly.

“Just two glasses. I was angry.” You barely put up a fight before rubbing yourself against his thigh.

Cruelly he moved his leg away. “Naughty,” he hissed. “Do I have your consent, Kitten?”

“You know you fucking have it,” you hissed back, your hands gripping his hips so hard it almost hurt. He stared into your eyes for ten viciously long seconds, then he pushed your shirt all the way up, taking it off before his mouth found your breast instantly, sucking a mark there. Your eyes were crossing, thighs starting to clench right when he stopped. “You still want an escort, mh? Or do you want me?” he questioned minaciously.

You shook your head as pleasure started bubbling all over you. “You.”

He smirked sadistically, the tip of his fingers hitting your breast in a fast and light motion.

He watched your back arch in reply, your naked folds brushing against his clothed thigh. He pressed his wrist right against your mound, pushing you back against the wall and cupping your crotch, grabbing it possessively. “Whose is this?” he snarled, his teeth ruthless as they nipped at your earlobe.

“Yours,” you whimpered, trying to find friction — to no avail.

“Louder. Whose is this?” He inquired again, this time growing peevish and impatient.

“It's yours,” you spoke intelligibly.

He knelt. “True. All mine.” He smiled cunningly. “Now you're gonna turn around, take a step away from the wall, place your hands on the tiles, and bend over for me, your damn husband.”

You started to move, but he stopped you. “I want your back arched so bad you'll need stretching when we're done. And I want your nipples pressed to the cold tiles. If at any point I find out you broke the rule, I'm gonna stop everything, push you to the floor and fuck you like the horny bitch you are.” He took a pause to kiss your navel before nibbling on it too. “Ass up, tits pressed to the floor. You'd love it, wouldn't you? Screaming my name… Reminding the neighbours who fucks you so good.”

You were panting by the time you actually turned around, positioning yourself for him.

He smiled and stood up, washing his hands, scrubbing his nails before deciding he was ready to get started.

The calluses on his fingertips met the back of your knees, raising goosebumps as they travelled up, to your ass.

He grabbed your hips and pushed you closer to the wall. His right hand slid to your front, his middle and ring finger spreading just enough so they would lay on your labia and avoid all the spots you wanted him to touch.

His mouth at your ear, he whispered, “Spread, I said.”

You widened your stance, but apparently he wasn’t satisfied.

“Wider, Kitten,” he growled.

You obeyed – not without a sliver of hesitation.

He pressed himself against the curve of your butt before lifting his hand. And smacking it against your needy cunt. It took you a second to react as you didn’t fully register what had just happened.

He cackled. “You weren’t acting so prudish earlier. Faking surprise doesn’t suit you,” he taunted you.

“I wasn’t faking it,” you replied, honestly confused. “It just took me a second to process.”

Yoongi came back to Earth long enough to make sure he hadn’t overstepped. “Mh. Would you like to try again?”

He was challenging you. But you also caught his question. Do you want this? “Maybe with a second attempt you can actually give it to me right.”

He groaned and hit you with intention this time, irritation growing real.

And this time he hit you just as you exhaled, manifesting a little squeal. “Is this right for you? For a woman with needs?” He asked before mocking you with a dry chuckle. “Were you wearing your little slutty set for me to notice you and fuck you? You should have just asked.” He spanked you again, causing your knees to quiver.

“Maybe I wanted to feel desired. Maybe I wanted you to want me without having to beg for your attention,” you sneered.

“Oh. I see. Poor nympho, deprived by her dumb hubby.”

Nympho. That word used to be weaponised against you, but you had learnt to accept it, to wear it and shrug it off at your own command. “Are you gonna hold it against me?”

He chuckled and licked the side of your neck before grabbing your breast with his free hand, squeezing it. “Your sex drive? Never.” He kissed below your ear. “I love it.”

“You usually also love sliding your fingers inside me, but apparently you’re making me beg for it, uh? You’re making me beg for a lot of things.”

Your dark cackle made him lose his mind, his hand slapping your breast this time around. “You’re so dirty.” He kissed your nape. “It’s amazing.”

“For a second I thought you were really into insulting me.” You placed your hand on top of his, between your legs. “I was getting a bit scared.”

“You usually like it when I go on and on about how much you like sex–”

“I like it even better when it’s my husband actually giving it to me,” you stated matter-of-factly. “But lately he hasn’t been serving his purpose.”

Yoongi was surprised by your statement. “So my purpose is keeping you fucked and fed, mh?”

You laughed and nodded. “Yes, please. That’s the ultimate fantasy.”

Yoongi laughed too before kneeling. “Sorry for making you feel insulted.” He pressed his lips to your left glute, before giggling a little. “I’m literally kissing your ass so I think I should be excused.”

“I might take your apologies into consideration if you actually lick it.” You turned with a cocky grin, looking at him before winking. “You said you love me…”

The tip of Yoongi's tongue poked out, letting you enjoy the pink glistening of it before he pressed it to your skin and drew a thick stripe of drool over your right butt cheek.

He couldn't resist it. He opened his mouth and tightened his teeth around a pinch of your flesh, sucking it, humming as he did so, his hand travelling to his crotch to fix the uncomfortable stitching pressing against his sex. Once he released your skin, he murmured, “I do love you. In fact, I love you so much I still wanna eat you even when you're a bitch to me.” He felt so strangely calm after saying that, like he was finding you again, after weeks of chaos and rampage. “Can I eat you out like this? Do you… is this position uncomfortable?”

You clicked your tongue to deny you were uncomfortable in any way, then you reached for his shoulder, skimming it with your nails in a way that made him purr. “Give it to me, mr. D.”

He licked his lips. “I give you permission to say that each time I forget why I married you.”

You rolled your eyes and snickered. “Yes, fine, great, now stop talking and start licking, thank you.”

He bit your ass in reply, getting you to squeal and straighten your stance. He grabbed your hips and pushed you back, against his awaiting tongue.

Once you processed the tip of his tongue flicking at your entrance, you felt your eyes cross, pleasure finally snapping inside you, hitting you hard and fast. “Fuck, you’ve been teasing for too long.”

He hummed, his tongue finding its happy nook, the tip touching your clit, the rest of it sliding slippery against your labia. He let it glide against your skin, the taste of you sinking in, the precariousness of the position causing his tongue to wiggle continuously as he tried to maintain contact, to find the right spot and keep it.

“Fuck… Too good,” you managed to pant out, arching further, giving him more room, trying to get him more comfortable.

He took in large breaths as his hand slipped to your front and his nimble fingers started teasing your labia and clitoris while he took a pause. The angle of his wrist was so familiar to the one you usually had on yourself, with his palm directly facing your belly, no strange rotations, uncomfortable leverages, strange twists that ended up cutting on the pressure he could apply to your sensitive spot.

“Kitten,” he called, repeating your nickname twice before you actually replied. “You in the mood for…” He hesitated before suggesting, “Assplay?”

You blinked. “Uhm…” you tried to recall some reasons why you avoided it rather often. “Dental dam?”

Yoongi’s hand slowed down before he squeezed his eyes, scrunching his nose. “Fuck. I forgot. Sorry, love.”

You pouted. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it. I’m just sorry I turn it down so often—”

“Don’t worry about it,” he reassured.

Of course you were monogamous. Both of you were — and had been for years, at this point. But the chances of Yoongi wanting to use his mouth elsewhere afterwards were far too high for either of you to feel safe without protection. And you usually took your time to clean yourself properly before any activity involving your anus. It just felt dirty, in some way.

“Do you wanna cum like this?” Yoongi asked, distracting you.

“What's on the menu?” you wondered, a cheeky look on your face.

He arched an eyebrow. “You’re my honoured guest tonight. Anything’s on the menu for you.”

You said what always made him grin from ear to ear. “Wanna sit on my throne like a fucking queen.”

Yoongi rewarded you with your favourite laugh before nuzzling his face against the back of your thigh, spreading kisses and nibbles all over the sensitive skin. “You’re extraordinary.” He scooted over to the carpet, taking off his shirt, his pale torso appearing beneath it.

You turned around to look at him better. His nipples looked so pink against his ivory skin. “Off with your underwear too.”

Yoongi cocked his head to the side in amusement. “How curious. Wanna get a mouthful?”

“Wanna remind you who’s the true MVP at this.” You arched an eyebrow and pressed your foot to his stomach, letting your toes draw a line all the way down, to the waistband of his briefs, to the perfect curve of his erection. “Take 'em off,” you whispered, your voice resonating with preternatural persuasion across the bathroom.

Yoongi took off his underwear clumsily, wiggling and shifting out of it until he managed to tug it off his feet, and once he was done, you decided you should, after all, plant your foot against his chest and push him down, on the carpet.

He stared at you with wide eyes, his chest looking so powerful as large and rapid inhales and exhales made it expand and shrink so visibly.

“Are you ready for it?” you murmured, your voice dark and smoky, just the way he liked it most. Just the way it was first thing in the morning, but also late at night when you lulled him back to sleep, but also while murmuring confessions in the dark, flirting during movie night with the squad.

“Do you really think I'm gonna let you call yourself the MVP and not challenge you?” He smirked devilishly. “Come at me.” He laid down and crossed his arms to pillow his head.

He looked so insanely lean, so perfect in the mellow light of the bathroom, his whole body made to be observed like art.

The mere thought of touching it felt like blasphemy. One is not supposed to disturb the white marble statues like the ones he seemed to embody.

“Who makes the other cum first will win… One week of no dishwashing?” he propositioned, giving you true purpose as he named your most hated chore.

You knelt to look him in the eye, smirking and offering your hand. “Deal?”

He snickered. “Deal.” He shook your hand before laying down and patting his chest. “Make yourself at home,” he said coolly. You straddled his chest and got into position backing up and offering Yoongi one of his favourite sights in the world.

Sure, you in your white dress had been a breathtaking view too, but not quite like your spreaded thighs right above his eyes.

Your mouth was already drooling, your saliva falling in thick blobs over his erection.

"Not fair, you got an early start!” Yoongi complained right before you bit back,

“Well, I'm already wet, you're not. I'm just making things even. Not to mention the spanks and the tongue action.” You blew hot breath over his sensitive skin, feeling him with your lips, making love to the texture of his sex, to the veins, the ridges, the soft, bubblegum tip, and the silky skin of his balls. You felt him with your cheeks, with your nose, taking in the heavy scent, together with the clean taste.

Once you took in the first inch, he reckoned he'd given you enough advantage and it was time for him to start the match.

You gasped and stopped as soon as he found your sweet spot with his tongue, his hands grabbing your glutes and spreading them so he could have better access to your sensitive areas. He felt like grinning as you slowed down, his fingers working their magic as his fingers found your entrance and started toying with it. His tongue was already stretched out reaching for your clit, his upper lip skimming your entrance.

You were distracted just for a minute, during which you didn't even notice your hand was subconsciously touching his balls, your index finger tracing his perineum back and forth before you exhaled on him, asking for more of his tongue on you.

But his more didn't reach you as you swallowed him, bobbing your head viciously, causing him to abandon his head on the floor as he arched his back snapping his hips a couple times.

He bit the inside of your thigh, searching for something that could help him control his moans.

You released him just to ask him quickly, “do you want a finger inside?”

“I didn't prepare…” He moaned, whiny, frowning, fussy.

“I can grab a condom,” you said simply, kissing his pelvis, your gentle touch causing him to shiver.

“This was about me giving you head…” he complained weakly, sinking his fingers into your thighs, squeezing them, trying to feel you. He just wanted to feel you.

“It’s up to you, baby. Right now nothing could please me more than pleasing you,” you tried to argue, stretching your persuasive skills.

Yoongi smiled shyly. “Really?”

“Really, babe.”

“Okay,” he surrendered, his skin buzzing at the pleasure he was about to receive. Sixty-nine never worked on him anyway. You and him both always got too distracted to carry things through fully.

He watched you unstraddle him, heaven disappearing from before his eyes as your naked legs danced in his peripherals, his eyelids too heavy for him to watch your body sway deliciously as you reached a drawer, grabbed a small square of foil and ripped it with your teeth, unrolling the condom on your index and middle finger, adding some lube to it before you went back to Yoongi, his pale body so scrawny and sexy at the same time.

His body was your wonderland, you had told him so aplenty. For him, loving it had become easier since you entered his life.

And knelt there, between his legs, you were his proud owner, asking for him to rise onto his elbows, so you could look at his face as you pressed your fingers to his hole and entered with the tips of your digits.

His gasp, his head thrown back, his hair following the movement in a rippling cascade of raven black.

“Yoongi?”

He moaned your name, spreading his legs wider. “Deeper,” he hissed, whining as his cock clenched a little, precum leaking, your tongue diving for it before you started sucking the tip of his dick.

“More. Please, more.” He was desperate. He wanted you inside, and he wanted you so bad. He wanted…

His thoughts shattered, his restraint breaking as he finally spilled. But it did not last enough. Your mouth wasn't on him anymore.

But he was still cumming. It kept spilling outside your mouth, where just the first spurt had ended before you realised you had different plans.

You kept jerking him off with your free hand, the other overstimulating his prostate, causing him to whine and whimper and call your name, begging for compassion while you simply covered your breasts with all the semen he had to offer.

And once he was done and uttered a 'yellow', you removed your fingers from inside him, removed the condom and focused on comforting him, offering gentle words and sweet praises.

But he dragged you up, he grabbed your face and pulled you towards him, until your face hovered over his. Then past it.

He tightened his arms behind your back, behind your shoulder blades.

And he pulled you down.

You watched him sink his face between your breasts, turning it side to side, his mouth open, his tongue lashing at the skin until he found that sweet spot, his favourite, where your skin was thin and tender and he could mark you, he could brand you. You were the only woman — the only person — he'd ever been so desperate to claim, and he didn't care about the taste in his mouth, or his face glistening in a mixture of your moisture and his own cum.

He wanted to get messy for you — or rather, he was too high to care. Too high on you, on the pleasure that always came from you.

You were mesmerised by his frenzy: you let him roam, suck, lick, bite, mark.

And once his fever seemed to cool you backed up a little, just enough for you to be at eye level with him.

“You feasted, uh, honey?” you asked, looking at him as he stared at you with a taunting smile.

“Your tits are damn sweet.”

You smirked. “Do you know what else is sweet?”

Yoongi waited, a confused and expectant look on his face.

You grabbed his jaw, holding his head still as you bent over him, dragging the flat of your tongue across his cheek, his salty taste spreading on your tastebuds. “You,” you whispered in his ear, pinching his earlobe gently with the tip of your teeth. “You are very fucking sweet… You and your uncontrolled love for my boobs.”

His smile was adorable, pink gums exposed as he grinned wide and ecstatic.

He grabbed your face too, smashing his mouth to yours, opening it wide right from the start, aiming at your tongue with his own, wanting to suck at it. When he tried to find the words to describe exactly what he wanted, he faltered a little before pulling back, your mouth chasing him as you refused him a way out.

He had to push your face away, gasping loudly before panting out, “Fuck my mouth. With your tongue, your fingers. Anything.”

You ground your hips against him, Yoongi purring in return, his gaze turning weak and imploring and lust-addled. “Please,” he begged. “Fuck me.”

His words got you high. You stretched a hand down between your bodies, enjoying the way his dick was hardening right beneath your fingers. “Inside? Already?”

“Yes. Yes, Kitten, yes.” He was there, mouth agape, eyes closing, so beautiful and lost and sensitive and you just knew, you had to push just a little, a tiny little bit.

“Yes what, baby? Tell me.”

His eyes opened just a tiny bit, the dark pearls of his pupils appearing and gleaming at you, kindling a fire so deep you thought you would burn until you had only ashes to offer. He spoke through a pout. “Yes, mami…”

You grinned like the cat who got the cream and slipped him inside. “Such a good boy. Does it feel good?”

“Mh, yeah…” he smiled and you chuckled, starting to move on him. You weren’t entirely stretched out, but you were soaking wet, sliding on him perfectly. After all the foreplay and the dirty talking and especially the cocksucking, you just wanted to get your orgasm and get entirely ruined by your husband.

Husband.

Goodness gracious.

The thought blew your mind, especially once Yoongi caught your hand and brought it to his lips, picking your middle and ring finger and sticking them in his mouth.

You smirked and rubbed them against his tongue, in and out, Yoongi getting extremely vocal about his pleasure.

The fact that your wedding ring was there, laying on your husband’s lower lip as he sucked on your fingers enthusiastically, full of bliss and shamelessness and faith and trust got you to chuckle in pride before he hit your sweet spot and got you to moan. You slowed down your movements, at which Yoongi opened his eyes and pulled away from your fingers. You gave him more space to back away.

“Is everything okay, baby?” You asked, just slightly worried.

“I’m fine. Perfect. Are we?” He blinked quickly, trying to get his brain to connect with reality.

You nodded. “I’m doing super fine.” You watched him pull himself up, to his elbows, then to his hands. He spread his legs a little before he wrapped his arms around you. “Babe?” You asked.

He kissed your chest as he laid his head there, resting. He hummed in reply.

“Are you tired, sweetcheeks?” You ran your hands through his hair. You’d have to wash it later.

“You feel like heaven,” he breathed out. He licked his lips. “So fine.” He hesitated, feeling his heartbeat quicken, his mouth dry, his cheeks redden as he tried it again. “Can I fuck you from behind, mami?”

You looked him in the eye. “You like the nickname?”

He looked back at you. “I’m trying how it feels. I don’t dislike it.”

“I don’t either.” You caressed his cheek with your thumb. “It’s very sweet.”

He nodded, skimming your spine with his fingertips. “But I want to be sort of… not sweet… anymore? Now?”

You nodded. “Mhm. And?”

“And I wanna fuck your brains out, face pressed to the floor, possibly with my hand around your neck and your nipples squished against the cold tiles.” Yoongi looked up at you. “Can we do that?”

You pulled his hair and pushed his head back, leaning down to his neck, licking it before you teased his ear. “Why aren't you doing that already?”

He smirked devilishly before smacking his palm against your ass cheek. “I fucking love you.”

You unstraddled him, Yoongi groaning as his dick left your warm, velvety cunt.

You got yourself on all fours, your back to him as you lowered yourself to your elbows, then pushed your sternum further down, until your chest touched the floor.

You hissed, your nipples hardening as the cold stung you. Yoongi lowered his face to your entrance, his hands grabbing your hips and tilting them just right while he gathered some spit in his mouth, letting it fall on your perineum, watching it slide down to your entrance.

He felt so dirty and so aroused as he watched your labia twitch at the sensation.

With impatience devouring him, he got himself to his knees, aligned his sex with your hole and slid in smoothly.

You weren't tight this time. You were slippery and squelching and he was hitting just right, reaching the very bottom of your vagina, where the inner nerve endings of the clitoris are located.

And he knew how to hit them just right. He pushed inside with a circular motion, using his thigh to match the in and out with an up and down motion.

“Yoongi…”

“I know, kitty cat.” He purred.

You turned your face to the side. “Know what?”

He looked a little dumbfounded at the question.

You grinned. “I'm just messing with you, baby. I know you know. I know you know how good you feel to me, sweetcheeks.”

Yoongi started moving again with a little petty look on his face. “That's right.”

“You feel amazing, Yoongi. You know all my spots.”

He nodded to himself. “I do.”

“You're the most perfect babyboy.” You lowered yourself further, arching your back some more. “Wanna fuck mami real good?” You checked his reaction.

His thrust faltered a little before he pulled out.

And rammed right back inside.

You grunted and hissed a 'yes' in reply.

“Like that?” He growled, repeating the movement. “Uh, mami? That your shit?”

You mewled another confirmation before he started going faster. “Then touch yourself. If you like it that much—”

“I'm— so… P-please…” You started pushing back, against him, the smashing of your skin against his echoing lewdly across the room, hitting the walls, coming back muted. And at some point you just lost it.

You heard a beeping sound in your ears, your blood pressure hitting a spike as the orgasm overthrew you.

Yoongi was too busy smashing you to notice the way your cunt made funny air noises as he pushed into you, deeper, stretching you.

He just wrapped a hand around the front of your neck, almost messing up before he remembered to arch his fingers away from your throat, using only his fingertips to pull you up, your back to his chest.

He slapped your breast, “Come on. Another one, Kitten. Give it to me.”

You threw your head back, leaning on his shoulder, “I queefed,” you mumbled with a half embarrassed expression.

“Yeah, it was hot, now cum again, baby. Let me feel how good I fuck you, mami.”

You hummed, his hand returning to your throat, finding the veins there, pressing just a little. His middle finger found your clit, torturing it as he started feeling his end approach.

“Yoongi…” you whined, placing your hands on his thighs, straightening your arms using them for leverage.

“Grab your tits, babe. Squeeze your nipples,” he ordered.

“Please, fill me up, Yoongi please!” You weren't sure about how loud you were being, it was just too much, too everything.

“Not cumming without you, come on, Kitten. Focus,” he hissed.

You held your breath. You pressed his fingers harder against the sides of your neck.

And a few seconds later, you were gone.

The air left your lungs in a loud squeal, Yoongi starting to pulsate inside you sometime after you started gaining sensitivity again — going hypersensitive even.

“Fuck it, Kitten. So fucking high,” he growled against your ear, fucking up from below, his hand slapping your clit and making you whimper, his other hand leaving your neck and squeezing your breast instead.

He stilled, not after making you beg for him to slow down, the giggling in your voice letting him know you meant it for real.

He stayed sheathed inside as you collapsed against his chest.

“How are your knees, baby?” he asked.

Thankfully, while your chest had been pressed to the tiles, your knees had stayed on the carpet, together with Yoongi's.

“I'm fine,” you whispered.

“You were so good, Kitten.”

You grinned. “No more mami for me?”

He chuckled. “You'll never let me hear the end of it, mh?”

“It was so hot. Kind of unexpected but hot.” You rubbed your hand up and down his thigh, comforting him. “I like it. I wouldn't mind using this when you're feeling subby and whiny.” You tried to check his reaction as you added, “When you wanna be a good boy and bounce on my dick. Or suck it.”

Yoongi was caught off guard. Yes, he liked when you pegged him. Yes, he liked when you took control from him. “Really?”

You hummed in confirmation. He wrapped his arms around you and held you tight. “If we weren't already married, I would have gone buy the ring right in this moment.” You giggled. It felt amazing on his dick.

“You need aftercare first.” You placed your hand on top of his. It was dirty and messy but you brought it to your lips and kissed it anyway. “But I must have made a good impression if tonight made you wanna wife me again. Despite the queefing,” you said before laughing.

“I read that as a compliment. Must have been hitting it real good,” he mumbled to himself, gloating a little. Actually, a lot. “You're the only one embarrassed by it.”

You chuckled some more. “I gotta go pee. And then we're gonna take a bath and I'll take care of you.” You shifted, ready to move on.

“Thank you, mami,” he purred.

“You wanna get started again?” you said, giving him a side eye.

He just curled his lips before shaking his head.

“Then choose your weapons carefully, babyboy.” You winked at him and then lifted yourself from his lap, Yoongi grabbing you and trying to lick you clean.

“No no, sweetie,” you argued with a smile. “Leave some for tomorrow morning.”

When you were back, Yoongi was curled on the carpet, eyes closed, palms joined, hands tucked between his knees.

“Baby, what are you doing there?” You knelt beside him and kissed his forehead. “Let's have a bath. You need some pampering.”

You filled the tub with hot water, poured in some lavender essential oil. Yoongi seemed less reluctant to join you once the smell reached his nostrils.

He sat himself down in the middle of the tub, forcing you to scoot in behind him. You used a loofah to scrub yourself clean, and then you wrapped your arms around him, letting him lay on you.

“Are you okay, Yoongi?” Your voice was soft, tender.

“Yeah. I’m sorry I neglected you. I forgot about the real world for a little. I felt guilty about not working for two full weeks and I wanted to compensate.” He yawned and made himself more comfortable on your chest. You kissed his head and traced his rib cage with your fingers, shivers coursing through him at how sensitive his skin felt.

“I understand. Sorry I acted so mean instead of confronting you more maturely.”

“You said you wanted me to notice you, and I understand. You think it would have felt less genuine.”

“Yes… But it’s still a lame excuse,” you murmured, criticising your own behaviour.

Yoongi started skimming the side of your leg sweetly, cuddling himself to sleep. “But it’s all settled now. We’ll do better next time.”

You nodded. “Next time.” You sunk your nose into his hair. “Are you falling asleep, baby?”

“Mhm.”

You giggled. “Let’s wash your hair. I’ll dry it for you before bed. Then you can sleep.”

“Thank you, mami.” He grinned, waiting for your reaction.

“Can’t wait to wake you up tomorrow morning,” you teased, your nails grazing against his inner thigh.

He chuckled. “Something spicy?”

“Lemme know what you want in the menu.”

He squeezed your leg eloquently. “I fucking love you.”

You grinned. “I know.”

#Yoongi smut #yoongi pwp #yoongi x reader #yoongi x yn #min yoongi fanfiction #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi smut #Yoongi x kitten #btswritersclub #52 hertz #bangtansorciere #houseofddaeng #thetruthuntoldnnet

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ririsann · 3 years

Note

I just recently followed you…and frckn hell FHFJFKFK WHY ALL UR POSTS ARE SO HCKN GOOD???? I lit spend all my day reading and then REreading all of them ahah thank you for such a ✨masterpiece✨ (my heart can stand THIS amount of perfection and cutenes 💔)

Sooo…I saw that your rqs are open now, so can I possibly request the boys (preferably bonten!Mikey, Chifuyu, Izana and Koko) with very soft, caring and king-hearted s/o (someone who is like “when you can’t fine the sunshine, be the sunshine” type) ? Every time I read about Mikey, I feel this sudden need to hug him, feed him(I mean hey, the guy needs to have a proper meal) and just reassure him that he deserves everything in this world. Kinda same goes for Izana and Koko….about Chifuyu, well, I just want to smother him with hugs, kisses, love and affection and tits too💔

If you don’t want to write, it’s all cool and fine! Just be safe and comfortable with whatever you do💓

Take care 💓💓💓💓💓

「 𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐬 」

when their s/o is a their ball of sunshine.

𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠... sano “mikey” manjirou, matsuno chifuyu, kurokawa izana, kokonoi hajime x gn!reader (separate)

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 - bonten!mikey, mentions of (consumption of) alcohol (mikey & koko’s), petshop!chifuyu, pre-tenjiku!izana, bonten!kokonoi

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 - GOD I ALSO WANNA HUG MIKEY??? AND TY FOR THE COMPLIMENTS??? i honestly dont think i do very well but if u like it then ill still be writing <33 BUT YEAH IM SUCH A HOPELESS ROMANTIC AND TOUCH STARVED ARUGRHGHJDSFHKJ AND THEY’RE MY BABIES TOO.. they all deserve it. every single one of them deserve the best hugs. (also, mini break from fooled ya because i want some variety but i am working on it!! <3)

𝐌𝐈𝐊𝐄𝐘 doesn’t live the best life. a life of crime, a life of mental illness, a life of loneliness. this is what people mean by “money can’t buy you happiness”.

though somehow, through his troubles and “dark impulses”, he found you-- his beloved spouse. got married as soon as the two of you could, knowing each other since he started his second gang, kanto manji gang.

it sounds really cheesy; the both of you knew that, but frankly, who was to judge when you still loved each other like any other couple?

the years pass and manjirou disbands kanto manji gang and heads off to start up something new... bonten. before that, he cuts and bleaches his hair to match someone he knew of (apparently). though he’s not much of an artist, he designs the logo and insists that he gets it as a tattoo.

and he changes. he becomes more and more cold towards you and everyone else around him. you worry that you had done something for this to happen, but after days and days of thinking, you couldn’t think of anything you had done.

you were relatively easy-going with his decisions, and often times supported him unconditionally. so what happened? you really couldn’t figure it out, but you did know one thing amidst your roaring questions.

you still loved him, and you were sure that he still loved you. deep down, he cared for you in different ways, but he always swore to protect you and keep you happy.

～　佐野万次郎　～

in just a few days from now, it was going to be you and manjirou’s 10th year wedding anniversary, though you haven’t even been seeing each other much since he rarely came home and when he did, he would either come home at ungodly hours of the night or ignore you completely. it honestly hurt a little to be married and in love with a man who barely acknowledges your existence anymore.

“what should i do... wait will he even come home on time!?”

you laid your head down on the table of the vip room of a bar that your husband owned. next to you was a mostly-sober yuzuha, accompanying your drunken breakdown. a few shot glasses were strewn across the marble top.

“you’ve asked that about twenty times already, (y/n). let’s get you a ride home--”

“NOPE! i can... i can walk home..!” you retort, though clearly under the influence. “i’m a grown adult, i’ll be fine!!”

you were not fine, though you got home safe.

there was lots of drunk people out on the streets-- catcalling you vulgarly, calling you slurs, you name it. not like you were so much more sober than them, but you were sober enough to process their words.

for the majority of your life, as far as you could remember, you were either the top dog that everyone listened to and praised or protected by mikey, so you forgot how it felt for this to happen.

once you got home, just just went straight to your shared bedroom to see yet another note on your nightstand. it looked like scribbles to you at the moment, so you made the executive decision to just not read it, like the past few notes you’ve gotten. it was probably from mikey, seeing how he was the only other person with the key, and it probably said that he wasn’t gonna be home for a while (again).

you sigh, softly landing on the giant bed. somehow, it wasn’t the lonely, stone cold bed it usually was. it was surprisingly warm.

alarmed, you jump up and take a better look at the assumed-empty bed. there laid your husband, still in his normal all-black clothing. jeez, did this man ever change his clothes? they must be dirty and musty to say the least.

“manjirou?!”

“that’s me, alright.” your heart started to race, and breathing started to become heavy. he notices this and his eyebrows furrow.

“hey, hey, what’s wrong, sunshine?”

sunshine. he hadn’t called you that in years.

“why don’t you ever fucking come home, you douche??” at this point you were sobbing. as if the alcohol you consumed wouldn’t make you dehydrated, the crying would. “you make me so worried, you know that??”

he gets up from the bed and gives you a soft hug. you nuzzle your head into his shoulder while your bawled your eyes out. there were faint traces of some kind of cologne on him, and it seems like he just showered too.

“c’mon, let’s go to bed. i’ll explain everything to you when you wake up.” he tightens the embrace. “just remember that i’ll always love and protect you.”

after a few more minutes of his warm embrace, you let go.

“the (y/n) i know doesn’t cry like this. they’re always bubbly and smiling.” he gives you the biggest smile you’ve ever seen him give anyone.

“and most importantly, the one who’s given my life meaning.”

𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐅𝐔𝐘𝐔 loves you to bits and loves to spoil you with all of his money. he would buy you the whole world if he could. (he’s working on it, but this capitalist world isn’t working out for him.)

and no matter how much he loved you, you loved him back even more. like it was some kind of competition. “who could love each other more” every single day. sometimes the two of you would flirt inside of the petshop after closing and kazutora would be sick of it after a long and tiring day.

“i know you love each other, but would it kill you if you just waited until you got home??”

“nah, i gotta recharge my energy so i can help you.”

“WE’VE BEEN DONE CLEANING FOR TODAY.”

the two of you enjoyed doting on each other and always went out of your day to do some kind of act of service for the other, especially during work hours.

for example: you would purposely wake up late and promise to take the train over to the petshop every so often to give it to him when you finished.

“yeah, it’ll just get it over to you! you should go before you’re late again, fuyu.”

he, on the other hand, would show up unannounced, saying that there was an emergency but it was just that he was taking you out of work early that day for a date. (he would do this while the two of you were in school too.)

he was... quite dramatic.

“I NEED (L/N) (Y/N)-- IT’S AN EMERGENCY!!”

“please calm down sir; tell me what’s happening--”

“TELL THEM IT’S PEKE J..!”

“you came here last week and said that he was dead.”

all would end well anyway. either it was a day off for you or a small visit that’ll always make his day was enough for the both of you.

it would all become good memories anyway. the two of you promised to always stay together, even if times were tough. you were like the epitome of the ideal couple, really. everyone in high school was jealous of the two of you and how perfect you were.

“wow, look at matsuno and (l/n), aren’t they cute together?”

“i would be devastated for them if they ever split up!”

“god, i wish i were them.”

from the start, this relationship wouldn’t have started if not for your bubbly attitude. always so friendly to everyone, and never really held any real grudges.

you were his sunshine, and he swore to always protect you even at the cost of his life.

𝐈𝐙𝐀𝐍𝐀 was weary of love. he was an orphan, and the son of a whore. not to mention that he was mixed in a mostly homogenous society like japan, he was destined to be outcasted from the start.

he had only experienced familial and platonic love once in his life separately. sano shinichirou and kakuchou hitto, respectively.

he had felt betrayed by the man who he had called his brother, and never wanted to look back. he believed that love was fake, and that kakuchou was his only crutch in this world.

or that was what he thought until he had met you.

unlike him, you loved everyone. you were friends with everyone. and you didn’t care about what they looked like, did, or came from. as long as they weren’t an immediate threat, you were determined to make them your friend.

of course, this applied to izana. and maybe a little too well. because he quickly fell in love with your positive attitude towards everything. obviously, you knew how to still know right from wrong and when to acknowledge reality from positivity, but you were bright.

and he loved that about you.

the two of you met while he was on a bench in a park. it was a particularly nice day and you had taken a day off from work, so a nice stroll would make your day better, wouldn’t it?

it was getting a little dark at that point, though it was in a pretty well-lit area so you weren’t so scared. for years, you took martial arts classes and climbed up the ranks and ever since then, you continued to practice your skills though quit the formal classes. quite a formidable opponent, if you do say so yourself.

during your short saunter around the small park, you saw a tanned man with outgrown white hair. it looked natural, and it didn’t seem like it would be because of any type of albinism. he was laying on a bench, cuddling to himself on the cold autumn evening.

“uh, sir, would you like something..? like a blanket or a jacket..?” he looks up at you with the most empty eyes you had ever seen on a person.

“no, i’m fine.” and he left it at that. he didn’t even look at you, though he saw a glimpse of your clothing and liked to refer to you as the “red scarf person”.

from that point on, you took it upon yourself to see if he was there every night. spoiler alert: he was.

after a few consecutive nights of spotting him on the exact same bench, you decided to offer him a place to stay. you weren’t the wealthiest, but you had enough space and money to take care of someone by yourself for a few months.

you took in a big breath, preparing yourself for possible rejection or a random dude living with you because you cared too much.

“okay... i can do this. this is fine, he’ll just move out at some point anyway...” you mumbled to yourself.

as you made your way towards him, you checked your back if you had the backpack full of items for him if he didn’t accept. if you couldn’t house him, then you would at least have things to help him.

“hello?” you meekly peeked towards the spot where the tanned man laid to see if you were intruding as if you weren’t in a public park outside and in front of a bench.

he glances up, recognizing that red scarf that you had worn every time you went to check up on him inconspicuously. he didn’t wanna show it, but he was excited. he saw you hiding behind trees and pretending not to be there for the past few days.

“hm? there something you need?” on the outside, he seemed indifferent. on the inside, his heart was bouncing around, though he just felt like he shouldn’t trust you.

“oh! hi! i don’t know if you remember me but i’m the one who asked if you needed a blanket or jacket the other day?” he looks at you with bored eyes, though you could tell that he was fairly interested. “well, i was wondering if you were interested in a place to stay? you can, um, can stay at my place for the time being..! i know it’s weird to suddenly have a stranger come up to you and--”

“--okay.”

you blink, trying to process what he has just muttered.

OH MY GOD HE JUST AGREED... WHAT DID I GET MYSELF INTO??

“sure thing!! you must be cold-- i have a spare coat in my backpack that i brought. you can keep it, it’s old anyway.” he thanked you and you started to making your way back to your apartment, every once in a while looking back at him to make sure he was following along.

once you got to your apartment, which was actually quite far away by foot, the man stops at the doorway.

“if i died, would you be sad?” what a weird question. you laughed a little, though he didn’t.

“of course i would! why wouldn’t i?” he smiles.

“i’ll think of you too.”

in reality, he saw you as someone who would always stay by his side, just as the sun always came back after each night.

𝐊𝐎𝐊𝐎 was always left alone or used for his money-making prowess. he never really had any lasting friends, especially after leaving inui.

just like another certain bonten executive, he would only trust and be loyal to mikey, believing that everyone is a backstabbing bitch or would end up leaving him.

it was another night with the other executives. at a bar, out in the open, though each person hired someone to accompany them.

you and koko had met years before him reaching out to hire you. it had probably been almost half a decade before this, honestly. he was attracted to your positive view on the world and everyone around you.

he found you intriguing.

as someone who never really had someone who would keep to his side, he really wondered how someone could trust others so innocently-- so easily, just as he used to.

he also denied the fact that he actually did have feelings for you. not just platonic feelings, but romantic ones.

but god, there was just something about you that he just couldn’t explain. something that always brought him back to you.

maybe it was the way you presented yourself. confident, flawless, and very animated. never could he imagine you being down in the dumps.

～　九井一　～

“so you wanted to hang out... at a bar..?”

“do you not like it here? there’s nothing stopping you from leaving.” you sighed and leaned into his embrace. he was so warm... either that or it was the alcohol. you only had around two or three shots, but your face was already so warm.

“no, i just would think that we would be somewhere else. maybe for dinner or something..?” he looked down at you for the first time that night.

“why don’t we do that the next time i’m free, yeah?” you look up at him and give him a big grin.

“so you’re paying, right?”

“anything for that radiant smile of yours.”

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bb-8 · 3 years

Text

Tech Savvy

Pairing: Tech x female reader Summary: You’re an ex-imperial who has a crush on Tech. He’s awkward about it. Until he’s not. Rating: Explicit (18+, minors DNI) Warnings/tags: crack treated seriously, smut, unprotected PIV, awkward flirting, oral sex, first kisses, accidental exhibitionism, lots of bad jokes, slight angst Word count: 5.4K Notes: It’s smutty crack treated seriously, guys. Read on AO3.

The planet you land on isn’t anything special. It’s a humid swamp world in the Outer Rim that offers enough seclusion for even the Empire’s Most Wanted to pass by unnoticed.

You, being the kind and selfless individual you are, decide to help with repairs while Clone Force 99 are on a supply run. It’s the first time the ship has made planet fall in weeks and everyone is a bit stir-crazy, jumping at the chance to stretch their legs. Prolonged time spent in hyperspace has that effect.

Before he left, you told Hunter that your status as an ex-Imperial put an unnecessary target on their back. You’re still wearing your Imperial uniform, after all, and you know for a fact that the Empire is not exactly merciful to deserters. Especially deserters that committed high treason. Like aiding Clone Force 99’s escape from an Imperial prison.

You definitely didn’t just jump at the chance to stay behind because Tech opted to. That would be ridiculous.

You feel your face heat at the thought.

(What? His goggles are cute.)

The truth is, there’s been something – a tension, as it were – between the two of you since you arrived on board. You know it, he knows it. You’ve been orbiting around each other for some weeks now, and this is the first time you’ve been alone –

“Can you spare a minute?” Tech calls out, pulling you away from your thoughts. You swivel in your chair and shift your attention to him, a bit surprised.

“I was beginning to think you didn’t realise I was on board,” you reply as you make your way to the cockpit where Tech is currently fiddling with some wires.

“You’re...very hard to miss,” Tech replies and your heart skips a beat. “The ship is far too small to miss another sentient being’s presence.”

“Right,” you mutter while taking a seat, trying not to sound too deflated. So maybe he didn’t feel that tension. “What do you need help with?”

“I am taking this opportunity to rewrite the ship’s central comm unit to be more covert when passing through areas with increased Imperial traffic. If I can update the ship’s communication infrastructure to resemble that of a first generation Imperial craft, then we will considerably reduce our chances of being identified. Which is why I am particularly glad you stayed behind today. Considering your, er, history.” He fiddles with a mess of wires in front of him, not once looking up.

“And here I was thinking you wanted me around because you enjoyed my company,” you playfully jab.

“There’s that, too,” Tech replies. “Though it would be advantageous if you could list all of the Imperial access codes you can remember. The computer and I can do some pattern recognition to better–,” he cut himself off and anxiously rubbed the back of his neck. “Apologies, you don’t need a long-winded explanation. If you’re happy to share, you can do so whenever you’re ready.”

You consider protesting and telling him that you find his rambling cute, but you decide not to dwell on it for his sake. You list the codes you remember from the Academy. You keep talking, relaying any tangential intel relating to access codes. If it’s irrelevant, Tech doesn’t stop you.

He is silent for a few moments analysing the data you’ve given him. You watch him closely, admiring the way his brow furrows and his lips purse while he’s concentrating.

“You trust me then?” you venture to say. You play with your hands in your lap. “Even though I was with the Empire?”

“You’re helping us now,” Tech replies, as if it’s obvious. He is still inputting data into the datapad he is holding when he continues, “You trust us, it would seem. And we were soldiers programmed upon our creation to destroy the Republic.”

You fumble over your next words.

“That’s – it’s entirely different.”

“And from my perspective, all that matters is where you are now,” he states with finality.

“Well,” you say shyly, “I like where I am.”

Tech smirks despite himself, briefly glancing up at you from his datapad.

You hold his gaze for a moment, before settling into a comfortable silence. You sit in next to him for several minutes, revelling in his closeness like a brezak basking under the Zygerrian sun. It’s only when you notice yourself blushing like a teenager that you decide to make yourself useful and actually help with repairs like you promised.

++++++++++++++++++++

“Would you mind holding this wire out of the way for me while I solder the capacitors for the localised memory bank?” Tech calls, breaking your concentration. The illumination device you were repairing could wait.

You have no idea what Tech means, if his string of words means anything, and you survey his makeshift workbench for a hint. Several panels are detached, limply dangling from a few brightly coloured wires. Tech is focusing his attention on a large panel that is plugged into a cylindrical storage device.

“Maker, that’s a big data stick,” you can’t help but mutter.

Tech makes an incoherent choking sound.

You do as requested and lean over his shoulder to take hold of the wire he specified between your thumb and forefinger. The fabric of your sleeves brushes against his shoulder armour and it feels as though there is a static shift in the air, like the air around you is alive and humming.

And Tech gulps with the contact. He types a few sets of numbers into his datapad with excess force, seriously testing the build quality of the device. His posture is especially rigid as focuses on testing the wires currently in his lap.

Your pulse is racing. It’s as if each second that passes without a confession threatens to rip apart the very fabric of reality.

“Tech?” He has to feel this too, right? “Why...why did you stay behind today?” you ask, careful to keep your voice even. You need him to say it, admit that he feels it, too. You’re desperate for it.

“You can let go now,” he replied, pointedly ignoring your question.

You let go of the wire, but make no move to step away from him. You’re acutely aware of yourself right now and suddenly self-conscious: about the deep shade of crimson enveloping your face, the way you’re breathing, the clamminess you can feel on your palms. You hope you smell alright and silently pray that any traces of caf on your breath are long gone.

Several seconds pass before Tech looks up, over his shoulder at you. His face briefly flickers with concern.

“Your flushed features and increased heart rate indicates that you are nervous,” he remarks.

Maker, is it that obvious, you cringe.

Your mouth is dry and you contemplate making an excuse, but your brain does not want to cooperate.

“Sometimes I –,” you begin. Void, here I go. “Sometimes I get nervous around you,” you admit, attempting to make your confession sound as casual as possible. You bite your bottom lip in a way that you hope will be interpreted as sensual, or, at the very least, cute.

And Tech? Tech is flustered. Like visibly shaken, blushing furiously, two-steps-away-from-hyperventilating, kind of flustered.

“Please do not be nervous,” he responds tightly. Each word is taking considerable effort to be spoken. “I already told you: we trust you. I am not a threat to you.”

The poor guy. There’s no way he can really be misinterpreting that –.

“No, no, it’s a good kind of nervous,” you attempt to clarify.

“Nervousness is not conducive to high quality work,” Tech chokes out.

“No, I mean like giddy. I feel giddy around you.”

Come on, Tech.

“Would you like a chair–.”

“Stars, Tech, I like you!”

Tech...errors. He attempts to start several sentences with no success before mumbling an excuse that he has to go, “fix the reverse polarity capacitive inductor,” which, to your knowledge, is definitely not a real thing.

So maybe that could have gone better. All things considered, he did seem affected by your admission. On the other hand, he also left the room entirely.

Your face burns with embarrassment and, hey, maybe this backwater planet could make a decent home. Maybe the swamp water would be safe for consumption and you could spend the rest of your days foraging for swamp... berries. Sure, it might be a little uncomfortable, but no less uncomfortable than staying here for one more second.

And this is why you don’t admit your feelings to anyone. Ever.

Ugh. You were so confident, too. You squeeze your eyes shut, willing yourself to transport to another star system.

The door to the ‘fresher shuts, followed by a slight scuffle of feet, and a thunk that sounds decidedly like a head hitting the door.

You briefly consider leaving the ship to attempt to meet up with the rest of the Bad Batch. It’s been far too long since you’ve breathed fresh, clean, air and you feel a second wave of self-pity wash over you as you contemplate the thought of breathing in the smell of Wrecker’s feet for several more weeks in the Marauder’s circulated air. They hadn’t been gone longer than a standard hour and there was a clear path to get into town. You could still salvage the day, you could still stretch your legs–

‘Oh you want to know why I suddenly decided to join you, Hunter, after promising I’d help fix the ship? Funny story, I was trying to seduce your brother and he rejected me!’

You physically cringe at that. On second thought, maybe just pretending this didn’t happen would be the easier option. Lesser of two evils and all that.

Well, you’ve endured worse situations than this. Swamp berries, if they exist, probably won’t offer enough sustenance anyway, you conclude. You turn your attention to fixing several access panels that require little to no attention.

++++++++++++++++++++

It takes a long while for Tech to exit the ‘fresher. The door opens with a hiss and you stiffen, not looking up until he briskly walks past you and resumes his makeshift work station in the cockpit. Once he is seated and his back is facing you and you can hear the rhythmic tapping of his fingers on his datapad, you allow your entire body to relax.

You look back down to your newest project: fixing the swivel action on a chair. You’re not entirely sure if the chair needed to swivel, or whether it was supposed to, but it does now. At least Omega would have fun with that.

“Can you spare another minute?” Tech says after a considerable stretch of silence.

His comment catches you off-guard. It’s fine, it’s fine, you are just going to pretend like nothing happened. You can just carry on helping with actual repairs like you promised.

“I’m coming,” you say, while putting your entire weight into tightening a screw.

Tech coughs slightly.

“The, uh, I need your help with the cum system. The comm system!” he stutters.

Your eyes widen and decide it’s best not to comment, furiously thinking about the fact that Tech rarely makes mistakes. You wipe your hands on your trousers and stride over to the cockpit where Tech is fiddling with some wires on his lap.

“Take these,” he says while coiling a piece of wire to make a conductor. He pushes right through the awkwardness and places a handful of resistors in your outstretched hand.

You stand there in silence for several moments before you drum your fingers on the back of his chair. He makes no move to immediately utilise the resistors, so you resign yourself to stand there and watch him work. (You suppress a sigh – you wish you weren’t attracted to him at this moment, but here you are, drawn in by his confidence and fixated on watching his nimble fingers work their magic.)

Normally, you’d have already lost your patience. But not now, not when you are trying to decipher just what exactly Tech was trying to accomplish by calling you over and ignoring you. And that’s when you realise that Tech either forgot you were there or forgot to give you whichever menial task he originally intended.

But there’s absolutely no chance that Tech makes two mistakes within the same standard year, never mind two mistakes within the same afternoon.

You start to wonder if he even has any use for the resistors. Your knowledge of technology is limited, but you really don’t see how they’d be useful with his current task. Maybe this is Tech’s uncharacteristically inefficient way to try to initiate conversation. You really hope you’re not completely misreading the situation, but it’s not like you have any pride left to lose.

“Why did you stay behind today, Tech?” you ask quietly, voice tinged with apprehension and perhaps an unmistakable eagerness. You phrase it more like a statement than a question this time.

He continues to fidget, his leg bouncing anxiously as he works.

“I did some research,” he blurts. “Regarding intimacy between human males and human females.”

Huh.

“I read the specifics on how to kiss,” he continues, “but I fear that I am a bit out of my depth as to how I am supposed to initiate it.” He is still fussing with the wires in his lap, not quite able to look up at you.

“You...want to kiss?” you surmise, your heart thumping wildly in your chest. “Me?”

“Very much so.”

A grin breaks across your face and the sharp sting of Tech’s previous rejection immediately melts away. You deposit the handful of resistors in a tray containing various tools Tech had been using throughout the day before taking a tentative step forward from behind the chair. He cranes his neck to look at you, an unfamiliar expression that you’re not quite able to decipher written across his face.

You reach your hand out to caress his cheek, and sliding your hand down to his chin to guide it upwards as you bend down to bring your lips to his. The kiss is chaste, at first, but Tech proves himself a quick study as slightly parts his lips to deepen the kiss. His goggles nudge against your face and you’re pretty sure you’re leaving a greasy cheek print on one of them.

You pull away to gauge his reaction.

“Was that... satisfactory?” he asks, seemingly dazed. His eyes are hooded and still focused on your lips.

“It was perfect.” You offer a small smile.

He removes the goggles to clean one side of them with a nearby cloth. So you were leaving a cheek print. Once his goggles are back in place, he’s looking at you like he can’t quite believe you’re real, his golden brown eyes blinking owlishly at you.

“I apologise for leaving you earlier. I did not anticipate you returning my affections – it did not seem probable. And I was, regrettably, not prepared,” he mumbles.

“Probable?” It’s your turn to malfunction. You want to usher a thousand reassurances at once.

“Well, no.” Tech shifts his weight uncomfortably, not quite able to meet your eyes. “Hunter or Crosshair usually are the ones who capture the affections of –,”

“I like your goggles,” you interrupt in a rush before you surge forward to press your lips against his, hoping to convey just how much you return his affections. It’s a messy, urgent kiss that Tech returns with equal fervour. His fingers find their way into your hair, pulling you closer.

When you finally break the kiss, you straighten your back and take both of his hands in yours and take small, hesitant steps backwards, encouraging Tech to stand. As he does, the project he is working on slides off of his lap and clatters to the floor. He pays it no attention as he closes the distance between you, his eyes darkened with lust. He kisses you with renewed purpose as his hands wrap around your waist, roaming across your body, before they settle firmly on your ass.

Your hips grind into his codpiece and Tech lets out a low groan that goes straight to your core. He moves to kiss the curve of your neck, sucking at the delicate skin and making you squirm. The dampness between your legs becomes apparent and you press yourself closer to him, desperate for friction where you need it the most. As if he can read your mind, he trails a hand from your ass and places it between your legs, grazing over your clit before cupping your cunt. You involuntarily rock into his hand and moan into his mouth, hardly recognising the sounds you’re making.

Tech’s hand abruptly stills as he draws back to meet your eyes. His expression mirrors yours: searching wide eyes filled with longing, a silent acknowledgement passes between you as you reach the point of no return.

And in that moment you are struck with the urge to want nothing more than his cock in your mouth.

“Can I?” you blurt, glancing downward, hoping he is able to intuit exactly what you are suggesting in that moment.

“You may.” You allow the grammatical correction to slip by. “But I’ve never–,” he begins.

You don’t break eye contact and you begin to drop to your knees. He’s looking at you with his eyes wide, mouth slack. Tech’s bulged codpiece is mere inches from your face, and it’s in that moment that you realise that you have no idea how to undress this man.

And this, this is when you start to worry.

Does it have a latch? Does it even come off?

Your eyes dart from left to right looking for some sort of hint as to how it could be removed. You’re half tempted to just plant a smooch on the armour or the kiss inside of his thigh and pretend that all of this was intentional.

“I can get that,” Tech helpfully chimes in, blessedly oblivious to your internal struggle. He removes the pelvic plate with ease and, to your relief, you can see the shape of his erection straining under a layer of thick black fabric. Black fabric that conforms to his body shape exceedingly well. You reach out to feel his length, gently cupping his balls through the fabric before applying more pressure as you palm his shaft. He soft groan escapes his lips.

It catches you a little off guard, actually, to see him so hard. Knowing he’s been hard underneath his armour this entire time. Wondering when else he’s been hard and you had been none the wiser.

His cock has an attractive silhouette – it’s thicker than you expected and you can feel the patch of pre-cum that dampens the black fabric near his tip. You reach for his waistband and pull it down before slowly wrapping a hand around his shaft. He hisses with the contact and brings a white-knuckled fist to his lips.

You peer up at him through your lashes and you lick your lips, preparing to tease him a bit before taking him as deep as you can manage.

And that’s when something inside Tech snaps.

He looks down at you with wild eyes and places his hand on the back of your head to guide your mouth to his cock, apparently unable to continue the role of a passive observer for any longer. Clearly intent at putting his newfound research to good use. You lick a wet stripe from the base to the tip, before taking him in your mouth, the pre-cum tangy on your tongue. His grip tightens on your hair the same time he tilts his hips forward to push his cock further and you hollow your cheeks, sucking hard enough to make Tech groan and his knees buckle. He braces himself against the back of the pilot’s chair, captivated at the sight your mouth stretched around his length.

You begin to bob your head in a steady rhythm, taking him as deep as you’re able. You drag your tongue and press it flush on the underside of his cock, looking up at Tech with wide doe eyes, batting your eyelashes prettily as he struggles to maintain composure. You continue your pace until sweat starts to bead at his temple and his breathing becomes less controlled.

Patience isn’t your strong point and you’re too pent up not to touch yourself. You bring your free hand down your trousers, between your thighs, running your fingers through your wet folds and hum at the sensation. Tech’s hips stutter with the vibrations and his face contorts in what looks like a pained grimace. He takes a miniature step back and your lips leave his cock with a pop. He’s breathing heavily now and his weeping cock is painfully hard, his balls tight.

“I don’t want to finish in your mouth, mesh’la,” he pants, voice low.

You nod dumbly, currently unable to form a coherent thought or tear your eyes away from his erect length, only inches away from your face.

Tech takes hold of both of your forearms, helping you get to your feet, before wrapping his hands around your thighs, picking you up with surprising ease. You lock your thighs around his torso as he strides over to press you against one of the auxiliary control panels adjacent to the co-pilot’s chair in the cockpit. The incline on the panel is steep and the pressure of his hips against yours is the only thing keeping you from sliding down.

“Let me taste you,” Tech groans against your ear.

You let out a frustrated whine and desperately move to unclasp your trousers as Tech works to open your shirt. You shudder once the cool air hits your sweat-dampened skin and Tech messily palms your exposed breast while nipping at your neck. He helps you shimmy out of your clothing while holding you in firmly place before discarding them on the floor of he Marauder.

And this is how you find yourself spread eagle on the Marauder's control panel in possibly the most undignified position you’ve ever been in.

He goes to remove his goggles and you stop him.

“If they’re not uncomfortable for you, I’d like for you to leave them on.” He quirks a brow at you, quizzical. “What? I told you that they’re cute.”

His face evolves from sceptical to bashful in a few moments.

“Very well, then. I can leave them on.”

Tech moves his hands under your thighs as he lowers himself, draping your legs across each of his shoulders with surprising gentleness for a man who looks like he is ready to devour you. Once he’s on his knees and comfortably supporting your weight, keeping you pressed against the console, he places an open-mouthed kiss on the inside of your thigh.

“A-are you okay with this?” you manage to stutter out. It’s not like you haven’t pictured his head between your thighs before, but something about his head actually being between your thighs fills you with a nervousness you hadn’t anticipated.

He mumbles his assurances against your clit. He begins with slow, languid licks and you suck in a sharp breath as you feel yourself craving more and have to stop yourself from violently bucking your hips up.

Okay, so he’s actually really good at this. You know you really shouldn’t be that surprised, Tech is nothing if not thorough with his research and it’s, er, practical applications. Any thoughts of humour at Tech’s expense are, however, ripped from your mind when he sinks a single finger inside your cunt. His finger curls with a precision that only Tech could manage and you moan in encouragement as he pumps it in and out.

You squirm when he hits the spot that makes you want to beg for more and you feel your bare ass hit a button on the console. The next thing you hear is a soft swish swish sound of the Marauder's screen wipers that you inadvertently turned on. Mercifully, it doesn’t break Tech’s concentration and his hands continue to grip your hips, holding your cunt to his face.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop, please don’t stop,” you chant. You writhe again and another button sounds its activation. Nothing immediately makes itself known. You hope it’s not something like a proton torpedo firing into the swampy area the Marauder landed in. Not because there’s anything nearby, but because you’ll die if Tech stops here.

He moans into your core as he brings a hand down to grip his leaking cock, desperate for some friction.

“Kriff,” you grunt at the sight of him fucking his fist, only to hear Tech utter the same exclamation at the same time.

“Is there an echo in here or something?” You smile at him, offering a half-laugh before your face contorts with pleasure once again and you hiss through your teeth.

“Yes?” a new, tinny voice chimes in on the overhead speaker system. “This is Echo... You’ve, uh, turned on the short range comm system.”

You knew Tech was a good soldier, but the reflexes in which he slammed the short range comm transmitter with his free hand surprised you. He didn’t move himself from between your thighs and skilfully cut off the transmission while continuing to work your clit with his tongue and your cunt with his finger.

Before you could die from embarrassment and wonder just how much Echo and the rest of the Batch heard, Tech adds another finger and your entire body jerks and tenses.

“I’ve – ah, right there – Maker, that feels good. I’ve never been with anyone who is patient enough to let me come,” you manage to say through gritted teeth.

“My research indicated that it can take around 20 standard minutes for women to orgasm if properly relaxed, why would others stop prematurely?” Tech replies, only briefly removing his mouth from your cunt to reply.

“Selfishness?” you guess.

Tech seemed to take your admission (and ability to form sentences) personally, clearly intent on rendering you incapacitated. He returns to his attention to your clit and maintains his rhythm, teasing a third finger near your entrance. You whine at the sensation and move to hold Tech’s head in place, because if he stops now, there’s no way you’ll ever forgive him. The pressure that’s been mounting in your core finally, finally peaks and your entire body tenses as you surrender to your climax.

“Tech,” you whine, unable to formulate thoughts, let alone words.

He assures you with a soft groan and tightens his grip on your hip. He can feel your walls clenching around his fingers as he guides you through your climax.

As you come down from your orgasm, you feel like you’ve spent a year in bacta. You can’t move. Honestly, your bones are like Andorian jelly. The feeling is only temporary, however, as you’re overcome with the desire – no, need – to be filled.

“In me,” you urge. “Now.”

He adjusts his goggles and looks at you, spread out, completely ready for him.

“Lie back then.”

Tech settles between your thighs and nudges his cock head against your entrance. He takes a breath to steady himself, rubbing his length through your folds, covering it in your arousal.

“So wet and ready for me, mesh’la.”

Your hands wildly grasp at his chest plate, fingernails scratching along the plastoid, desperate to hold onto anything to anchor you. You meet his mouth with a graceless kiss, before he finally sinks into you.

“You’re tight,” he grits out.

He waits a few moments letting you adjust to his size before he begins to move. He restrains himself, slowly rolling his hips as your cunt stretches around his length.

“More,” you plead, breathlessly. “Please.”

Your encouragement is all he needs before he snaps his hips against yours, setting an unrelenting rhythm. He rocks into you harder with each thrust of his hips, his plastoid leg places slapping your skin.

“You feel so good, cyar'ika,” he pants. You surge upwards to greet his lips with a messy kiss, which only spurs him on to fuck you faster. “You’re, ah, taking me so well.”

“Fuck –,” you whine.

His grip tightens and his whole body starts to tense – he’s dangerously close to coming undone. And that’s when you notice his pace start to slow, his movements clearly distracted.

“Tech?” you mumble. You focus your eyes on his face and he looks dazed, you can practically hear him thinking. You’re about to ask him what’s wrong, but he doesn’t give you any time to panic.

“Elevate your hips by seven to ten degrees,” he states through heavy breaths.

“What?” Definitely not what you were expecting him to say.

Tech seems unfazed by your apparent annoyance. He wordlessly repositions himself, grabbing both of your hips and raising them slightly, holding your body up so it’s just the sharp incline of the console and Tech’s hands keeping you in place.

He began thrusting in earnest again, his eyes screwing shut in pleasure. And, Maker, he was right. The new angle hits a spot that makes your toes curl and you lose the ability to speak almost instantly and mewl helplessly as Tech fucks into you.

You made an undignified noise as you gripped his bicep, desperate to hold onto something, feeling the pressure mount in your core. With Tech’s hands busy holding you in place as he maintains a brutal pace, you bring a hand down to your clit, still wet with spit and your own essence. You barely have to touch yourself before you feel your body screaming for release.

“’M coming,” is all the warning you are able to give him before your cunt spasms around his twitching cock as your vision whites out. Tech grunts at the sensation, unable to hold his own climax off any longer.

“Where do you want me to –,” he grates out.

“Anywhere,” you cut him off, still feeling the aftershocks of your orgasm. “Just want to feel you.”

“Fuck, mesh’la, I’m going to come,” Tech groans, desperately chasing his release with harsh thrusts. His hips forcefully buck into you before his cock stiffens and he spills himself inside of you. He buries his face in your neck, slowly pumping you full of his cum, before he slumps against you. “Bid jate par me,” he mumbles into your neck, barely audible. “Gotal par me.”

You don’t know Mando’a, but whatever he is saying, the way he is saying it, sends a pleasant chill over your body.

You’re both still breathing heavily when Tech gingerly places you back down with a surprising gentleness for someone who had just been fucking you within an inch of your life. He’s in no rush to remove himself from you, but when his softened cock does slip out and his cum leaks out of you and onto the console, he helps you slide down. When your feet touch the floor, your legs wobble slightly and Tech has to grasp your forearms to steady you, softly chuckling at the state you’re in.

And when you look at him, he looks positively debauched. Sated, but debauched. You probably look worse.

In one swift motion he bends down, brings an arm down under your knees, and lifts you up. You wrap your arms around your neck while he carries you to his bunk. His cool armour against your overheated skin is a welcome sensation and you press yourself closer.

“Your research paid off,” you mumble into his chest as he sets you down on his bed.

“Please do not act so surprised by that.”

++++++++++++++++++++

You and Tech aren’t quite finished with the repairs by the time the Batch return hours later, long after the moons have risen and the bioluminescent plants surrounding the ship have begun to glow. If the squad notice you’re sitting a bit too close to Tech, your thigh pressing comfortably against his, they don’t say anything.

Neither of you were expecting to defile the Marauder all day and Tech was frantically fixing the lever on a storage hatch access panel, attempting to make up for lost time.

“Wrecker!” Echo shouts. “Clean up after yourself, for kriff’s sake.”

“Why?” Wrecker drawls, stomping towards the cockpit. “What did I do this time?”

“You’ve spilled your juice on the console again, all the keys are stuck in place.”

The access lever snaps clean off in Tech’s hands.

#tech x reader #tech x you #tbb x reader #tbb tech x reader #the bad batch x reader #the bad batch x you #the bad batch #tech fanfic #the bad batch fanfic #the bad batch reader insert #bad batch reader insert #bad batch tech x reader #bad batch tech x you #tech smut #the bad batch smut #my writing #cody writes

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minniepetals · 4 years

Text

wine

— summary: you’re filled of surprises when drunk

— pairing: bts x reader

— genre: fluff

— word count: 1.7k

— warnings: drunk y/n, alcohol consumption

— a/n: i’m sorry i’ve been gone for a while and then just put on this content that’s basically jimin centric. forgive meee (literally just came up with this idea)

"Okay, that's enough for you, pretty girl."

The soft mewl of whines immediately escapes from your lips the moment Jimin takes your cup from you and holds it far away from your reach. Your brows crease together, lips jutting out into a pout, and your eyes begin to tremble with sadness as two little hands come around to reach over the man who had stolen your drink from you.

"But I wasn't done," you complain as your head falls into a hazy dreamscape where you ignore everything else around you and throw all your manners aside, eyes set right on the cup Jimin holds in his hand. You hold yourself against his shoulder as your free hand reaches out for the cup, only his arms are too long for you to stretch that far, so the next thing that surprises them is the way you're quick to climb onto his lap without hesitation. The lady that's usually so quick to apologize for even the smallest inconvenience and blushes instantly at the slightest intimacy is surprisingly much bolder when she is intoxicated.

The rest of the guys surrounding the two of you in a circle of the living room simply smirks at the amusing sight while Jimin himself blinks at the fact that you're straddling him just for that half empty cup.

"Y/N." He clears his throat as he composes himself after a few seconds and hands over the cup to Namjoon without averting his eyes from you.

You on the other hand only care for your drink and is just about to climb off with your next target being the leader but Jimin is quick to grab ahold of your shoulders and bring you back to face him. "But Jim–"

"Hey." His tone is low, filled with dominance, but he can see how flushed your cheeks are due to the alcohol and the way your eyes glisten with innocence despite the position you are in. He almost finds himself wanting to just coo and give you all that you want but he knows that sometimes spoiling you too much isn't good for you. "You're our good girl, right?" He asks the simple question with a challenging raised brow.

You huff at the question and sit yourself steadily on his thighs with a pout and two arms that crosses against your chest. "That's not fair, you can't always pull that card on me."

"Oh?" The corner of Jungkook's lips tug into a smirk. "And why can't he, babygirl?"

"Because it'll automatically make me want to submit to him no matter what. You guys will always use that question to your advantage because you know I don't wanna be your bad girl and I hate disappointing any of you."

Yoongi chuckles at your complaints before settling himself back into his seat with one leg crossing over the other. "Is that how you see it?" It's not everyday you openly confess your feelings and they were definitely going to take some advantage of this situation.

"When you say it in a mean way, yes." You pout.

"I was mean?"

"Mhm!" You're quick to nod yet they simply chuckle lightly at your accusation.

"How so?" Jimin falls intrigued.

"You stole my drink and used that low, dominant tone on me."

"I did it because you've drank enough."

"But I can take one more," you insist as your arms unbind themselves and your eyes seek pleadingly into his, body lurching forward to him as your press your hands on his shoulders. "Please, Jimin. I can be like you, I can take my drinks well."

"Sounds to me like you're already drunk," Hoseok states.

"But I'm not!"

"Says every drunk person ever," Taehyung snickers.

"But I..."

Ah.

Those eyes.

It falls so cute and so sweet, pleading not only to Jimin but for the rest of them as well because you want something. You usually do this in an unconscious way, not realizing you look the way you do, in a way that makes it almost impossible for them to say no to, but this time they're pretty positive you know what you're doing. Drunk Y/N is a cheeky little thing who likes to voice out her thoughts and feelings much more than sober Y/N, it seems. And she isn't as shy.

"Can't I be selfish for once?" You ask in a small voice, the same one that sounds like you're about to hide from them as if they had done something terribly wrong.

But maybe because you're drunk, you're just playing with them and is not that serious.

They hope that's true so Jimin takes the bait and sighs. "Alright, I'll allow you to be selfish this time around but only because you're the most selfless person to have ever existed." The way your eyes light up as your head perks up almost makes them want to laugh at your sudden mood swing. "But no more alcohol," he states sternly.

"Aww man," you huff. "What else can I ask for that's better than that?"

"I'm sure you can think of plenty of things, little one," Seokjin grins.

"Fine, then I..." They observe you carefully as you search around the room when your sentence trials off, lips pursing while trying to come up with something better than the reward of alcohol. Usually the you they know wouldn't even choose to look at drinks but it's cute discovering a new side to you. With your cheeks still flushed and your body still sat on top of Jimin, your head returns back to him looking quite confused as to what to choose.

Until your eyes meet his and a smile curls along your lips.

"Well?" He raises a brow. "Figured out what you want?"

"Mhm," you nod. "You."

Oh.

While Jimin sits there taken back with his mouth slightly open, the rest of them snicker at how their usual shy girlfriend is shamelessly flirting with him. It's quite a sight to see. The usually flirty man breaking composure at one single word but a part of them envies Jimin's position.

They want your attention too.

"Y/N." Jimin lets out an exasperated sigh when he sees the way your expression is nothing except innocence. Taking a moment, he sits back again, meeting your eyes. "What do you want me to do?"

"Well..." It seems you haven't gotten that far yet. But as they watch you think and think it over in your head, they also see the way your cheeks turn another shade of pink as your eyes fall to the floor, suddenly looking quite bashful.

Have you sobered up?

Perhaps not. It hasn't been that long yet after all.

Still, they guess drunk you still has some shyness in her no matter what type of alcohol tries to change her.

"I want..." You turn your head to the side, cheeks flaring as you bring your thumb to your lips and lightly bite on the nail. "I want to.." The last bit of your words were too incoherent to hear.

"What was that?" Jimin presses.

"Can I kiss you?" It's soft. A whisper.

"Huh?"

"Can I..." You look up at him again though this time your eyes aren't as brave as they were a minute ago. "Can I kiss you?" You repeat your words, a little louder, just a little, and he sits there, another surprise hitting him, before Jimin consents.

"Go on," he simply says and the rest of them watch as their shy little babygirl works up the courage to place her hands on Jimin's shoulders again.

Your eyes, though still filled with bits of bashfulness, falls with some hints of lust and Jimin holds your hip as you lean forward at a painfully slow pace that makes him want to just smash his lips on top of yours. But he's a patient man and you were the one who had asked to kiss him, not the other way around. And that of course also surprises all of them.

Drunk you is quite cute and adorable and she's full of surprises with hints of seduction.

You lean forward, face just inches away from Jimin's with eyes that do not fall away for even a second. They know that if you weren't intoxicated, you would have already closed or averted your eyes at this point if a situation ever had you in such a position. Namjoon laughs to himself at the reminder of those times when you'd like to shy away first before gathering the courage again to kiss them. So seeing you like this is definitely a new sight to see.

Something they all don't quite mind.

"Jimin." You whisper.

"Mhm." He hums.

"I love you." You claim his lips with your own. A sweet kiss that leaves him too soon but he keeps himself back from chasing those sweet lips of yours. "Can you say it too?" You plead with him when you look at him again, face still close enough to grant him another kiss.

He doesn't hesitate. "I love you, my sweet love."

Your hand drifts up to his cheek, your lips brushing against his as he closes his eyes. Jimin gives you a single squeeze on your hip and it's enough for you to claim his lips again. But rather than taking that lead that you had thought to bravely take, Jimin's the one to make you lose your breath when you part your lips for him. A soft mewl escapes your lips while the rest of the six has to sit through that torturous scene before them.

They're babygirl mewling and making them lose their heads.

Yet just as Jimin is about to snake an arm around your waist to pull the two of you closer together, your lips slip from his with your head following along before it falls right upon his chest. He blinks and the next thing he knows, he hears your breathing growing long and gentle and Jimin closes his eyes to take in that moment of frustration as he realizes you had the audacity to fall asleep in the midst of things.

Jungkook is the first to softly snicker when his hyung curses under his breath.

"What a tease."

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bluejayblueskies · 3 years

Note

Could you do either 3 or 74 with JMart for the kiss prompt?

kiss prompt list!

3 - drunk/sloppy kiss | 74 - Kisses Where One Person Is Sitting In The Other’s Lap

I did both! cw for alcohol consumption and food

“Jon,” Martin says, amused. “What are you doing?”

Jon mumbles something that Martin can’t quite catch, his face buried in the crook of Martin’s neck and his hands fisted in the front of Martin’s jumper.

“Mm, I didn’t quite catch that, love.”

Jon groans, low in his throat, and pulls back just enough to say, “I’m cold. Whoever built this house clearly did not have Scottish winters in mind.” Under his breath, he mutters, “Shoddy workmanship, that’s what this is.”

Martin hums and wraps his arms around Jon, pulling him tightly to his chest. “Maybe Daisy just never got around to insulating the place.”

Jon makes an unintelligible grumbling noise and buries his nose in Martin’s hair. Martin can picture the look on Jon’s face—that little furrow he gets between his eyes when he’s irritated, the way his nose wrinkles as he says words like shoddy—and he can’t help the fond smile that comes to his lips. He shifts and presses a soft kiss to the crown of Jon’s head before saying, gently, “Do you want hot chocolate? I think I still have some of that dark chocolate you like in the cupboard.”

“Yes,” Jon says slowly, “but that would require you going to the kitchen, and then I’d get cold again, which would quite defeat the purpose.”

Martin pauses for a moment, considering. Then, with a conspiratorial grin on his face, he shifts his hands to Jon’s legs, ignoring Jon’s questioning noise, and stands, bringing Jon with him.

“Martin!” Jon yelps, a surprised laugh slipping free as he wraps his arms and legs around Martin like a limpet and grips tight enough to bruise. “What are you—Martin!”

Martin pauses, halfway to the kitchen, and says, “Yes, love?”

Jon makes an indignant, sputtering noise, but Martin catches a glimpse of a smile before Jon buries his face back into the crook of Martin’s neck and says, “Don’t- don’t drop me.”

“Never,” Martin says easily before traversing the remainder of the distance to the kitchen and setting Jon down safely on the counter. He pulls back, despite Jon’s protest, presses a soft kiss to Jon’s forehead, and says, “Let me go get the cocoa ready.”

As Martin pulls out the chocolate and the milk and switches on the old electric hob, Jon pulls the sleeves of his jumper—Martin’s jumper, actually, though they’re pretty much communal property by this point—over his hands and rests them on his knees. His feet swing gently, kicking up against the cabinets every so often, and the soft thud of a socked foot hitting wood endears Martin more than it has any right to.

Martin can feel Jon’s eyes on him as he prepares perhaps the fastest batch of hot chocolate he’s ever made, partly because of his own desire to chase away the bite of December air filtering in through the lackluster wood slats of the cottage and partly because if he doesn’t get Jon back in his arms right now, he might actually die.

Finally, finally, the chocolate is melted, and Martin mixes in a dash of cinnamon and nutmeg before switching off the hob and dividing the liquid between two mugs—a bright, cheery yellow for Jon, a swirl of dark green and blue for Martin. When he turns back to Jon, a mug in each hand, his eyes focus on something in Jon’s hand and a surprised laugh slips free.

“Where did you get that?”

“From the supermarket,” Jon quips, holding up the bottle of Baileys demonstratively. “You were there, if I recall.”

“Mm, yes, but you can be very good at smuggling things through the checkout,” Martin says. “A whole bottle of alcohol, though—very sneaky.”

“I’m really not trying to be,” Jon says, amused, before twisting off the top of the bottle with a flourish. He gestures toward the mugs with the bottle and says, “Yes or no?”

Martin bites his lip, considering, before giving Jon a small shrug. “Yeah, why not? A little shouldn’t hurt.”

Jon obligingly pours a dash of Baileys into Martin’s mug before adding a not-insubstantial amount to his own mug. They settle back onto the couch, mugs cradled between both hands. The gentle, flickering light from the fire reflects in Jon’s eyes and casts shadows across his cheeks and nose, and Martin feels affection swell within him, as warm and sweet as the cocoa in his hands.

“How much did you put in there?” Martin says some time later with a small laugh, when Jon’s mug is empty and his eyes are hazy with intoxication. Jon’s on his lap again, his legs bracketing Martin’s and his hands resting firmly on Martin’s shoulders. Which Martin is definitely not complaining about.

Jon shrugs and wiggles a bit closer, which is not helping the flush Martin can already feel creeping up the back of his neck. “Just a bit.” He gives Martin a smile a touch more lopsided than normal and says, “I… I will admit, my alcohol tolerance is… essentially non-existent.”

“Yeah, I got that,” Martin says, the words jumping up in pitch near the end when Jon leans forward and, without warning, places a feather-light kiss on the side of Martin’s jaw. “Jon.”

Jon shrugs and releases one of Martin’s shoulders so he can place his hand on Martin’s cheek. Martin feels every point of contact between them like pinpricks of static electricity, and he leans his face into Jon’s hand with a small, contented sigh. “I’ve been told that I get… touchy when I drink. And I’m already quite fond of touching you, so perhaps you can understand why I very strongly feel the need to kiss you right now.”

Martin flushes deeply, and his hands tighten on Jon’s sides. “Oh,” he says, embarrassed at the way his voice squeaks around the word. “Well, I- I’m quite fond of touching you too, and ki—”

The rest of Martin’s words are swallowed whole as Jon leans forward and kisses him, hot and fierce and a bit sloppy. Points for enthusiasm, Martin supposes, and he certainly isn’t going to complain about being kissed rather passionately by his very attractive boyfriend who he loves very much.

For a few minutes, there’s just this: Jon’s mouth hot on Martin’s, his hands tangling in Martin’s hair and pulling in a way that has Martin making little bitten-off noises against Jon’s lips, Martin’s hands gripping Jon’s hips tightly and his thumbs rubbing little circles across Jon’s sides. At some point, Jon shifts and knocks his empty mug off the couch and onto the rug. He breaks the kiss with a frown and twists to stare at the mug. After a moment, he shrugs and says, “It’s not broken,” before turning back and capturing Martin’s lips with his again, pushing Martin back against the couch as he does so.

Finally, out of necessity more than anything, Jon pulls back with a contented noise, just far enough to rest his forehead against Martin’s. His breaths ghost across Martin’s lips, quick and labored like he’s just run a marathon, and after a moment, he says, hoarsely, “I’ve decided, after considering all of the variables and conducting quite thorough research, that kissing you is unequivocally my favorite pastime.”

Something in Martin’s chest flutters at that, and he says with a wide smile, “Oh? Even more than reading? I’m honored.”

“Mm,” Jon says in affirmation. He pulls back further as a yawn splits his face in two before curling into Martin’s chest and resting his head against Martin’s shoulder. “I could tell you to ask again tomorrow, when I’m once again fully in possession of my faculties, but my answer isn’t going to change.” He turns his head, presses a kiss to Martin’s collarbone, and says teasingly, “It’s official: I love you more than books.”

“Is that so?” Martin says, amused. He runs his hands down Jon’s back, lingering on his shoulder blades and the knobs of his spine before settling on Jon’s lower back and kneading that spot where Jon always caries tension. Jon makes a low, contented noise and somehow burrows further into the fabric of Martin’s jumper. “Well, then, I suppose I should inform you that I love you more than poetry.” After a moment of consideration: “I love you more than the cows.”

Jon lets out an exaggerated gasp and pulls back to give Martin an affronted look. “No, not the cows! They’re good cows, Martin. You said so yourself; I distinctly recall it.”

Martin laughs and leans forward to press a quick kiss to Jon’s nose. “You’re right, how rude of me. I retract my statement entirely; if we’re going in order, I love Martha the cow, then Francis the cow, then you.”

“Much better,” Jon says with faux severity. After a moment, though, his lips curl into a soft, affectionate smile and he moves his hands from Martin’s shoulders to the sides of his face, rubbing his thumbs gently over the top of Martin’s cheeks. “I do, though. Love you. Very much so, in fact.”

Around the sudden tightness in his throat—no, he will not cry, no matter how much the words make his heart swell with unbelievable fondness—Martin whispers, “I love you too. With all I have.”

The smile Jon gives him, unabashedly tender yet still shy around the edges, melts Martin utterly. Jon leans forward and presses another lingering kiss against Martin’s mouth before wrapping his arms around Martin’s neck and resting his forehead against Martin’s. “Bed?” he says softly, voice rough and weary around the edges.

“Bed,” Martin agrees.

And the surprised noise Jon makes when Martin sweeps him up in his arms again and carries him to the bedroom is like birdsong and windchimes and the rustle of leaves, stunningly beautiful and tucked safely next to Martin’s heart.

#the magnus archives #tma #jonmartin #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #my fic #my writing #anon #thank you for the prompt!

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latetaektalk · 3 years

Text

(he)art thief | jjk [i, preview]

“jungkook is charming, kind, smart, and funny. jungkook is the guy to fall in love with. he is perfect in every sense, except that he is also a member of a notorious heist group and only getting close to you to steal from you. but what does he do when he starts to fall for you? who does he choose? his brothers or you?

genre: heist! AU, thief! jungkook, art curator daughter! oc, ocean’s! AU, fluff, angst, sexual themes/implied smut (in later chapters)

pairing: jungkook x female reader

estimated word count: 35 to 40k

warnings: cursing/swearing, a bit of alcohol consumption

a/n: this is loosely based off the ocean’s film! to be added to the taglist, shoot me an ask/message! also, gureum is jungkook’s dog! and thank you to movie club for helping me come up with this amazing title!!

coming sunday, may 30th 2021

Jungkook avoids playgrounds.

Does so because when he was at the tender age of just seven, he fell off a swing. He ended up in the hospital (his first but not last visit); seven stitches, his mother told him, but he could swear it was a million.

Needless to say, Jungkook has been avoiding playgrounds like the plague ever since.

But here he is, in the middle of one, dog leash in his hand, and heart pounding in his chest so violently it might just explode.

A mob of boys runs past him, all of them no older than six—which means that, for the most part at least, they’re harmless—but still, Jungkook flinches. It’s embarrassing, even more so because Gureum turns and stares at him. If one of them should flinch, it should be Gureum, with him being a dog and Jungkook a full grown adult, but God, today is just not his day. He’s stressed! Out of it! Nervous! A wreck-

“Did you just flinch?”

Jungkook feels his heart drop. Fuck, he thought he walked out of sight!

“No, I didn’t, Tae,” he hisses, pressing the earpiece further into his ear.

“You flinched! We can still see you- ah, okay, not anymore. But we saw that-”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I definitely did not flinch-”

“Denying it is pointless. We all saw it. Back me up here, Jimin.”

“You definitely flinched.”

Jungkook stops dead in his tracks, is about to walk back to the car and tell them that they must be hallucinating because he definitely did not flinch when-

“Can you see her already, Kook?” Namjoon asks and for a moment, Jungkook forgot why he is here, you.

He looks around himself, and it doesn’t take him long to find you, sitting on a bench, under a big tree, soft shadows dancing on your skin.

“Yeah, I-I see her,” Jungkook says under his breath.

“Okay, good. I’m gonna need you to focus up then,” Namjoon continues, and Jungkook nods like Namjoon could see him.

“Yeah, if you screw this up, it’s your fault if we end up in jail-”

“Tae!” Namjoon warns, and judging from the ‘ow’ that follows, someone punched him. Jungkook’s guess is Jimin.

“What? I’m just saying-”

“I knew I shouldn’t have let you come,” Namjoon mumbles and runs a hand down his face. “Hey, Kook, don’t listen to Tae, yeah? He’s just messing with you.”

“Yeah… I know,” Jungkook mutters, and he means it. He really does know that Taehyung is messing with him, but there’s a part of him that takes it to heart, that is worried sick about how he’s going to fuck this up and be the reason for why they all end up in jail.

“Don’t worry, Kook,” Jimin cuts in, taking the phone from Namjoon. “We’ve got your back. All you have to do is repeat after me, say what I say. You’ve got this. Remember what I taught you?”

“Always smile and laugh and never talk about yourself. Keep the conversation about the other person because people love talking about themselves,” Jungkook repeats, and looks at you again, heart heavy in his chest.

He shouldn’t feel like this, wishes he wouldn’t. But he can’t help it. This isn’t how he imagined he’d meet you. Jungkook thought he’d meet you at some fancy event, sipping expensive champagne, or at some luxury clothing store maxing out your parents’ credit card—after all, your mother is a world famous art curator. But instead you spend your time at playgrounds, babysitting.

There’s actually no reason for Jungkook to be this nervous. Jimin did practise with him this exact scenario, but he can’t help but think that with a flute in his hands and some alcohol buzzing through his system, he’d feel more comfortable. But here he is, in the middle of a sea of children.

“Kook, do you copy?”

“What? Sorry, I wasn’t…” Jungkook pauses. He shouldn’t admit that he wasn’t listening.

“Get your head in the game, please,” Namjoon tells him over the earpiece.

“Sorry, you’re right. I’m here,” Jungkook says and starts to walk again even though he still feels fucking lost as a goddamn adult at a playground. Gureum follows him when he tugs on the dog leash.

“Okay, good. Just- just try your best,” Namjoon says, voice a bit muffled. “You’ve got this.”

Jungkook could swear that there’s a waiver to his words.

“Don’t worry. We’re here,” Taehyung tells him before Jungkook can think about it too much, distracting him from the quiver he heard.

He stops behind a tree, close enough for Gureum to spot you, but not close enough for you to spot them. His knees crack when he kneels down to stroke Gureum’s ear.

“Hey, Gureum? I’m gonna unleash you in a second and then I’m gonna need you to run towards,” Jungkook points as discreetly as possible to you, “her, yeah? Just like we practised? Remember? Remember how you ran towards Seok and Yoongi? Do it exactly like that again, okay? If you do, I’ll get you your favourite treat.”

Gureum doesn’t run away instantly when Jungkook unclips him because he’s trained, but when he points at you and whistles, he’s gone.

You react surprisingly calm to a dog barreling towards you, barely flinching. You lean down and greet Gureum.

“Approaching target now,” Jungkook mumbles quietly and can only faintly register how Namjoon tells Taehyung to be quiet from now on, all of his attention on the mission now.

With the leash in his hand, Jungkook jogs towards you, heaving extra hard to sell the act of a dog-owner-who-has-been-chasing-his-dog-for-the-last-ten-minutes to you.

You look up to him when he stops in front of you, eyeing him. Jungkook stands there, bend over, his hands on his knees, breathing like he’s struggling to catch his breath.

“Uh…. hi,” you start, brows pinched together.

Jungkook puts on his most charming smile, ignoring his thumping heart to the best of his abilities.

“Hi.”

“Oh, we’re starting- okay, showtime: I’m sorry, are you okay? My dog- he just ran and I couldn’t stop him. I’m so sorry,” Jimin says in his ear.

“I-I’m so sorry.” There’s a quiver to Jungkook’s voice, and it isn’t on purpose. “Are you okay? He just ran and I-”

“It’s fine,” you tell him with a small smile, still petting Gureum who has clearly taken a liking to you. During practise with Seokjin and Yoongi, Gureum always ran back to Jungkook, but now he’s staying at your feet, relishing in your pets. “Is that your dog?”

“Yes, yes, it is. I’m so sorry. I just unleashed him for a second, but then he ran away and I couldn’t catch up with him. Are you okay?”

“Yes, and I’m so sorry. I just unleashed him for a moment, thinking it was okay, but-”

“Can you prove it?” you interrupt and Jungkook pauses. “I mean that it’s your dog. It’s just that he isn’t really reacting to you, you know?”

Jimin’s response comes a bit late. “Oh, yes, I can. His name’s Gureum and he is- what’s the breed of your dog again? I don’t remember. If you look at his collar, you’ll see I’m telling the truth.”

“Oh, yeah, I can,” Jungkook smiles, wiping the non existent sweat from his temple. “His name’s Gureum and he’s a white Maltese dog. If you look at his collar, you’ll see that I’m not lying.”

You actually look at the collar and part of Jungkook is offended that you don’t just believe him. Does he look like a liar to you? “Actually, I have pictures too-”

“No, no, it’s fine. I believe you,” you say before gesturing for Gureum to go back to Jungkook. He does, but somewhat reluctantly and Jungkook doesn’t know how to interpret this.

“Ask her if she’s okay again.”

“Are you really okay?” Jungkook says and offers you a smile the way Jimin taught him to. “I really am sorry about-”

“It’s fine,” you tell him and wave him off. “Nothing happened. Don’t worry about it. Just leash your dog.”

And then, you turn away from him. Jungkook stands there awkwardly for another moment before kneeling down to Gureum, absentmindedly petting him, mind filled with questions because what now? How does he communicate to the others that you turned away from him? That the conversation has ended and he has no idea how to start it again?

“What’s going on Kook? Is she smiling-”

“Ah, Gureum, no,” Jungkook cuts in. “Don’t turn away- I can’t leash you if you do that. Don’t turn away.”

“Oh, shit, she turned away, huh?”

“What now, Jimin?”

“Shush, Joon. Let me think, yeah?”

Jungkook fiddles with the leash like he has a problem clipping it, hoping that maybe you’re going to offer him your help. You don’t. And why would you? He’s an adult after all.

Before Jimin can come up with anything though, the solution to the problem presents itself. It comes in the form of a girl running and tripping right next to Jungkook and him catching her just in time before she can faceplant in the dirt and scrape her knees open.

“Oh, hey, careful here!” Jungkook brings the girl back up on her two feet. She stares at him with big eyes, and he recognises her from the pictures. It’s Siyeon, the seven year old girl you babysit regularly, the reason why you’re spending your afternoon at a playground today. ”You okay?”

“Kook, what’s happening right now?” Namjoon asks.

Siyeon looks at you, and you’re already kneeling beside her, fixing her hair.

“Siyeon, I told you not to run. See, you almost fell now!” You say it the same way a mother would, less strict though. “If he hadn’t caught you, you would have hurt yourself, wouldn’t you have? Now, what do you say?”

“T-thank you,” Siyeon mumbles, and Jungkook isn’t sure if she’s staring at her hands because she’s embarrassed or just about to cry.

“Who’s that? Who are you talking to? Who’s he talking to?”

“Was that a kid?”

“Are you okay?” Jungkook asks Siyeon, ignoring Namjoon and Taehyung to the best of his abilities.

“Y-yes, thank you.” She won’t look at him.

Jungkook smiles. “Well, I’m happy that you didn’t get hurt there.”

“Kook, answer please. Do you need help?”

“Should we interfere?”

Jungkook’s about to snap. Does it seriously sound like he needs help? He’s talking to a seven year old, for fuck’s sake! Sure, he didn’t practise this scenario, but God, he was capable of improvising!

“Thank you. She’s really clumsy,” you say to Jungkook.

“Ah, don’t worry about it. I’m like that too. After all, I let,” he looks down at Gureum and finishes his sentence by gesturing to him and then you. You laugh.

And that’s when Siyeon seems to notice Gureum for the first time, eyes growing big at his sight like she has never seen a dog before. A chance.

“His name’s Gureum. You wanna-”

“Do you think we should go over there? See if he’s okay?”

And with that, Jungkook snaps. Yoongi is going to give him an earful for destroying his oh so precious equipment, but he can’t do this any longer with Jimin, Namjoon and Taehyung in his ear. So in one smooth movement, Jungkook digs out the earpiece and crushes it between his fingers, hiding it in his hand.

“Sorry, a fly, I think,” Jungkook says, swatting at his ear, and before you can think about it, he moves on. “Do you wanna pet Gureum, S- Is it okay if I call you Siyeon?”

Siyeon stares at Jungkook like he can’t believe he just asked her that. It’s probably the first time an adult has asked her for permission to call her by her name, and she seems to appreciate it immensely because she beams at him and gives him a huge nod.

“Okay, Siyeon, do you maybe wanna pet Gureum? He doesn’t bite, I promise.” Jungkook can feel your eyes on him. He’s doing it, charming you!

Siyeon turns to you.

“Can I-?”

You hum. “If Gureum is okay with it-”

Siyeon kneels down. “Hello, Mr Gureum. Sir, can I please pet you?”

Jungkook melts, and so do you.

Receiving no response from Gureum, Siyeon looks back up to you. Jungkook quickly takes his paw and waves. “Hello, Mrs Siyeon, if you promise not to hurt me, you can pet me. I like it especially if humans pet me at the back of my head. Just, please, be nice to me.”

In all of the years he has had Gureum, Jungkook has never tried to imagine what his voice would sound like, but he knows for a fact that he doesn’t sound like a chain smoker. It’s a questionable choice, but he doesn’t regret it. Because not only does it make Siyeon laugh, it also elicits a chuckle from you.

You look at him with a grin. “I don’t think I’ve introduced myself yet, have I?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Jungkook says, and you two rise to your feet when Siyeon starts to pet Gureum and he doesn’t bite her.

“Well,” you stretch out your hand, “I’m Y/N.”

Jungkook swallows the ‘I know’ that wants to slip him and takes your hand. He has to stop himself from bursting with pride, only allowing his smile to grow into a blinding grin.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N,” he says, and he means it. It’s really nice to meet you. “I’m Jungkook.”

coming sunday, may 30th 2021

#jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #bts angst #bts fluff #jungkook x reader #bts fanfic #jungkook fanfic #bts x reader #jungkook #bts #linh.preview #(he)art thief

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charcubed · 4 years

Text

Celebrities’ sexualities/relationships, and what not to post where

I’m going to make an all-purpose, general post about this topic, because it seems like there’s value in making one. Anyone who’s been following me here or on Twitter long enough has seen me address this before but often in specific scenarios, but y’know what... let me just make a general all-purpose post too just to lay this out for the sake of my own sanity.

We all know this is a thing: people like to speculate on celebrities’ sexualities and/or participate in “real person fiction” (RPF), and that’s been happening since the dawn of fandom. On some level, I understand why; it's exciting to think a celebrity might be queer especially if YOU are. We all want role models & we all want that to be normalized, etc... and sometimes it’s a case of “like recognizes like”; queer people can spot other queer people. But whether or not one is “correct” doesn’t matter, and either way, celebrities' lives are not for our consumption. They do not exist for our entertainment or speculation. This kind of talk can get out of hand very quickly in a way that ruins the lives of real people.

So I am here to remind people to be mindful of what you say about celebrities, where you say it, and HOW you say it too.

For example: under no circumstances should you openly post things about celebrities’ sexuality or relationships on Twitter.

If you know this already, cool! Great! Good! Keep scrolling! But not everyone does know this, and either way, it’s always a good reminder–especially because people can get excited in the heat of a moment and these principles can easily accidentally fly out of the window.

Not all social media is “equal” or carries the same weight of potential real world consequence. Tumblr, for example, tends to influence little outside of here as long as the topic in question stays on Tumblr; AO3 fic stays on AO3, or at least it should. But Instagram comments or tweets do not exist in a vacuum or echo chamber the way people often seem to think, and often route back to the celebrities in question in harmful ways. Those platforms are open to the wider world in a way that can translate to very real consequence for the people being discussed.

What do I mean by that? A good example of how things can get unintended attention is what happened recently when memes about Misha Collins and Bill Clinton got out of hand, made their way to Twitter, and resulted in journalists writing articles that Misha felt he needed to address. On a more related note, recently Brie Larson made one offhand gay joke/reference in a personal Youtube video; it then trended worldwide and resulted in many articles too. There is now, unfortunately, high potential that she could be asked about and pressured about her sexuality in interviews in future. Did any of the people tweeting about those topics expect that to happen? Probably not, and yet it did. But these are good examples of how Twitter algorithms have vastly shifted, and keyword use is enough for things to easily and quickly trend outside of fandom’s intentions or control in ways that cause harm.

Putting any celebrities’ personal lives under a microscope, whether unintentionally or otherwise, is never a good idea. But it’s especially not a good idea when it comes to sexualities or personal relationships.

People will say “Shipping is just in the fandom! We know how to behave! What’s the problem? It’s never gone wrong before.” The problem is multilayered, but here are the main issues: the fact that nothing “bad” has happened before does not mean it never will. You can control your behavior, but you cannot control how other people–especially people who are new to your fandom–may or may not behave on the wider internet surrounding the topic of people's personal lives. Posting about it on main on somewhere like Twitter also inherently runs the risk of other outside parties seeing it, being like “what’s all this then?” and then picking it up and running with it further–whether that be ~haters~ or journalists.

People will also say “These celebrities know about this kind of fandom talk and they don’t care!” or “If the celebrities wanted us to stop this, they’d have said something by now!” To that I say: those are a lot of assumptions, when the only “assumption” one should realistically make is that we don’t know celebrities personally, we don’t know if they may or may not be actually closeted/unlabeled (which is their right!), and we don’t know what may make them uncomfortable while other things may not. The absence of "no" or "stop" isn't equivalent to "yes," nor is it citable as defense for questionable or potentially harmful behavior. Silence isn't blanket approval or consent, nor should it be assumed to be in any situation. Just because celebrities haven’t said in so many words “Please stop doing [this specific thing]” doesn’t mean they are automatically cool with whatever a fandom is doing, such as speculating about them or openly pointing out what they think they know about their sexualities or relationships. This includes posts on the wider timeline, or tweets and Instagram comments @ celebrities themselves filled with references or assumptions about their lives that are very not okay.

Even with something like Brie Larson’s situation... A celebrity making a joke or acting a certain way in one environment where they may feel comfortable or more relaxed–like a Youtube video, or a convention with fans, or anything else–does not mean that that celebrity expects or wants worldwide eyes on their behavior. And worldwide attention is what is always at risk on platforms like Twitter or Instagram.

Ultimately, overanalyzing and calling attention to people’s actions is how people who are allies can be made to feel awkward, or how people who are queer get outed or forced into labels. I literally live in fear of the day when some random journalist starts poking around specific fandoms/celebrities, connects the dots that are out there and are seemingly easy to connect, and then somehow makes their sexuality a topic of interviews. Once it becomes a Topic, it becomes nearly unavoidable for them. That’s what happened to Lee Pace; it’s how many people are forced to come out. At all times, queer celebrities are a stone’s throw away from having to deal with all of that in ways no one should, especially as they get more famous. If you care about any celebrity you like to talk about, or if you care about the privacy of real people at all in the ways you should (especially potentially queer people), this should be a point of concern for you.

So, in conclusion: be mindful. If you must talk about celebrities’ lives on something like Twitter, do it without using their actual names to avoid keywords, because they trend at the drop of a hat out of nowhere and that can ruin lives. Avoid deliberate repetition in your phrases because that’s how accidental trends are made. And, better yet, honestly? Consider just keeping that kind of talk to Tumblr/AO3, and preferably to personal private messages.

Your ability to fangirl/squee/celebrate a real person’s life is not more important than their right to privacy. Ever. This is not a petty topic and it is not “fandom policing” to say things like this out of concern. Acting from an abundance of caution is always the better way to go, because you lose nothing by being extra vigilant; the alternative of not being cautious enough comes with a high risk of negative consequence.

If we all just operate under the knowledge that talking about real people can translate to real consequences for real lives, and act with an abundance of respect/caution accordingly, then there will be nothing to worry about. And celebrities will get to live their private lives and (if this is applicable) be the authors of their own coming out journeys as they see fit, which is a right everyone should have.

From the bottom of my heart: just use both your empathy and your brain cells, please.

#celebrities #RPF #I logged on and I see people vagueposting about one specific actors' sexuality and my hairs stood on end #I know this post is long but I'd appreciate it if you'd reblog it #because this keeps coming up and it keeps BEING A PROBLEM and I am AFRAID FOR MANY CELEBRITIES #BUT ESPECIALLY A FEW WE SHALL NOT BE NAMING AT THIS TIME #please it costs $0 to be smart about this #I am once again begging people to be normal about this!!!!!!#char writes things

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jtrbluv · 4 years

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we’re not really strangers | pjm

summary: We’re Not Really Strangers is a purpose-driven card game and movement all about empowering meaningful connections. Three carefully crafted levels of questions and wildcards that allow you to deepen your existing relationships and create new ones. Ready?

or alternatively,

your furtive infatuation with your lifelong best friend proves to be hard to suppress when there’s (1) alcohol involved and (2) a card game that forces you to reveal more about yourself than you could ever wish for. in short, no, you are not ready.

[friends to lovers!au]

pairing: jimin x reader

genre: fluff, crack, slight angst

word count: 8.7k

warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption, two emotionally constipated best friend, PG-15

A/N: hi, i’ve been really excited about this fic for a while, and i’m genuinely so happy that i finally finished it! the card game is in fact real and i got inspired for this fic after i had played the game with a couple of friends myself. AHEM! @koushiningg ! we both cried and i do highly recommend to play it! but anyways, i hope you enjoy this fic because i had a lot of fun writing it! sending love always... jumi out!

EDIT: @bangtans-peaceful-piegon i’d also like to thank the lovely pidge for beta reading this 4 me as well! PIDGE I FUCKIN LOB U!!!

PLAYLIST ; SEQUEL

♤ ♤ ♤

Not once in your life did you ever imagine a simple card game to become the bane of your existence.

Yet Park Jimin was able to prove you wrong.

Let’s play ‘We’re Not Really Strangers’ he said. It’ll be fun, he said.

You stare down at the card in front of you—everything else in your periphery was blurry in vision and you can audibly pinpoint the erratic beating of your heart.

The card was practically taunting you, laughing in your face. It was as if there was a sentient being in the room who was aware of your own subconscious and the not so latent feelings you had for the boy sitting in front of you.

Same said being loved to constantly place you in a state of trepidation concerning your current situation—your blood pressure skyrocketing—nearly feeling the muscular pink thing inside of you thrusting itself against your ribcage.

The white card with crimson red writing made sure to leave an impact, making you feel the most ridiculed you’ve felt all night which says a lot—leaving your mind in a complete frenzy although you refused to let it be known.

And so you sat there. Fiddling the card in between your fingers, feigning nonchalance. You were very much on the brink of cracking your facade—your sanity practically crumbling as the minutes ticked by. You didn’t think you’d last this long to be honest. Yet an hour and a half proved to be way too straining on your body, especially your heart.

He simply sat there with his hands folded on the table—void of emotion, whistling a familiar top 50s tune you couldn’t quite put your finger on. You considered shifting your focuses on trying to comprehend the tune—hoping it would ease the concerning state of apprehension you were in.

But then you remember that you aren’t that pathetic. Even though you both had probably been sitting in complete silence for about two minutes now. Up to the point where you could probably hear the crickets chirping outside his apartment, except the only sound that was filling your ears was your own conscience telling you how idiotic you were being.

Your face may be gradually morphing the same shade of crimson as the writing inscribed onto the card itself, and you may have a whole line of sweat encompassing your hairline. But it’s just a stupid little card game. You could say any stupid little answer and the stupid not-so-little boy wouldn’t care. He wouldn’t care. So you shouldn’t care.

When did you become so pathetic after all?

-one hour and a half ago-

“Why can’t we just play Mario Kart or Uno? This sounds like there’s too much thinking involved,” you whine, leaning against the side of his couch.

“One, we always play that. And two, I always lose,” he grumbles, plopping down onto the floor.

Jimin rests his back on the frame of the couch as he sits in the small gap made by the large piece of furniture and the coffee table that resided in front of it. You decide to sit on the floor as well, around an arm’s length away from your friend. He places the red box down onto the table—opening the cap and revealing the contents with a mischievous glint in his irises.

Within the box was a deck of cards, separated into three piles with two pencils on either side. Knowing Jimin, you assumed this game had an ulterior motive you were unaware of, and by the title of the game, you could already tell that you weren’t going to like it very much.

“How do you even play this?” You ask, causing him to look up in return.

He bites his lip, taking a couple seconds to ponder on your question, “I don’t know it’s my first-time playing too,” he shrugs. “I was watching Jin and Namjoon playing it a couple of weeks ago and for some reason, Jungkook started crying.”

“He is a sap,” you hum in agreement, thinking in retrospect of Jungkook crying from various situations such as Iron Man dying or that one time Jin farted on his pillow and he got pink eye for a whole week.

“The biggest,” he concurs, “Hm, there’s no instructions in here.” He mutters while shuffling through the cards.

“Why don’t you just search it up?” You suggest, sliding the box to yourself as he nods and fishes his phone out of his pocket.

While holding the box in the palm of your hand, you scan the contents—turning it around in your palm until your eyes narrow in on the words printed at the bottom.

“Oh, it says something here.”

His head perks up. “Hm? What is it?”

You clear your throat at the sight of the long explanation. “We’re Not Really Strangers is a purpose-driven card game and movement all about empowering meaningful connections. Three carefully crafted levels of questions and wildcards that allow you to deepen your existing relationships and create new ones.” You internally grimace at the words. The game hasn’t even started and you already had a bad feeling about it all. “Ready?” You say through clenched teeth, purposely keeping your head hung low.

Jimin’s lips quirk up into a cheerful grin, unaware of the piercing stare you were giving him. “Okay, I think I got it,” he declares, eyes zeroed in on his phone once more, ”There’s three levels—perception, connection, and reflection. Each level we pass, the deeper and more thought-provoking the questions get. Helping us make a deeper connection and get to know each other better yadda yadda yadda.”

You nod in understanding, sliding the box of cards back towards him—forcing the grimace that kept threatening to plaster itself onto your face into a small, smug smile.

“The first thing we have to do,” he begins, taking out two pencils and two small pieces of paper, “is write messages to each other. We won’t be able to open these until after we leave.” He explains, sliding a pencil and paper towards you.

“Wow, very cryptic,” you tut, biting down on your bottom lip before more distasteful remarks decided to leave your lips. He doesn’t catch your reaction or your comment though because he’s already got his pencil in his hand, scribbling vigorously onto the tiny piece of paper. Knowing him it could very well be nonsensical insults and doodles, or a whole essay about your friendship and what you mean to him. Most likely ludicrous and full of thought, either way, just like him.

Without much thought, you lazily jot onto the paper.

know that i love u, u fucker <3

-y/n

The sound of your pencil falling against the table causes him to look up at you, eyes knit together in confusion.

“You’re done already?”

You chuckle, “I mean, I wasn’t going to write an essay. You already know how I feel about you. But it seems like you’re writing one though.”

His eyes narrow in on you—giving you an indiscernible look before letting out a small ‘hmph’ and lowering his focus back down to his pencil and paper. You dismiss his enigmatic behavior—deciding to mindlessly scroll on your phone while waiting for him to finish his MLA formatted essay.

Two minutes pass and you hear the sound of his pencil being placed onto the table. “Done.”

“You added citations too right?”

He scoffs, “No, but i’ll gladly add some if you’d like.”

You roll your eyes for what seems like the umpteenth time in the last five minutes, “Just start the goddamn game.”

He takes the first stack of cards and shuffles them between his hands. “In all three levels, there are wild cards or basically dares we have to complete. And for each level, we get two ‘dig deeper’ cards. Pretty self-explanatory. So this is the perception level. It’s basically designed for first encounters and strangers, and we’re gonna be asking each other questions about ourselves.”

Your eyes widen at the whole confidentiality of it all. “Are we going through all of those cards?” You blurt out, staring at what seemed to be like 50 cards in his hands.

“Oh no,” he quickly refutes, “It would take hours. We’ll just do like 12 cards each.”

“Alright,” you huff, letting out a small breath of relief.

“Yay! Okay I’ll go first,” he beams, his toothy smile evident as he places the deck in between the two of you while grabbing a card from the top, “What do you think my name is?”

You snort at the conspicuousness of the question, “Jamal.”

He immediately guffaws at your response, throwing his head back in addition. “Hey, I don’t mind that.”

“Are all of the questions like this?” You say in between hushed laughter.

“Nah,” he shakes his head as you pick up another card from the deck, “now you ask me.”

“Alright, what’s the first thing you noticed about me?” You ask, slightly taken aback by the sudden earnestness of the question, causing you to become genuinely curious about what his answer was going to be.

He hums, taking a second to think it through. “I think your smile and your laugh. It’s always been really contagious since the day I met you.” He admits, almost matter-of-factly as if it was something you should’ve known by now, yet you did not.

Your heart nearly disintegrates into a puddle of goop right then and there, but you manage to conceal your reaction, “Aw, you actually like me.” You tease.

He scoffs with a playful grin on his lips. “Don’t flatter yourself. You still cackle like a damn hyena.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, “At least I don’t laugh at every single of Jin’s lame ass jokes.”

He gasps, jaw slack open due to your all too accurate truthbomb, “I did not ask to be attacked in my own residence.”

“Well, what are you gonna do about it then.”

He snorts. “Holy shit, do you remember when I banged my head on the corner of his coffee table.”

“How could I forget? I had the picture of the bump on your head as my lockscreen for like a month.” You reminisce, resisting the urge to pull up the picture from your phone.

“Yeah, and that same month I bought and rotated between the same 10 hats.”

“Hey! It genuinely didn’t look as bad as you thought.”

He whips his head towards you, giving you a piercing glare that made you want to redact your statement immediately.

He grins from ear to ear, the little shit, amused at the reaction he was able to garner from you.

“Aha!” He suddenly guffaws, shooting out of the floor and prancing towards his fridge. He then takes out three bottles of lychee-flavored soju and makes his way back towards the table.

Jimin being the borderline alcoholic he is, it doesn’t come as a surprise to you. Not even after he takes another trip back to the fridge to grab yet another three bottles of soju, mango-flavored to be exact. He has probably one of the stupidest grins etched onto his face as he held onto the bottles—meanwhile you were more concerned about the possibility of having to clean up a bunch of broken glass and wasted soju. Then again, it wouldn’t be the first time.

“And do you plan on drinking all of this by yourself?” you say, gesturing towards the bottles.

“I know my liver is strong, but I don’t buy this shit just to enjoy alone,” he retorts. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees you shake your head as you click your tongue, “Playing this while tipsy just sounds ten times better don’t you think?.”

You shrug—although you had a strong hunch for what he was insinuating, “I mean I guess.”

He starts to pour soju into his shot glass, stopping just before it hits the brim. He slides the glass to you and you take it into your hand, eyeing the sparkling fluid and thinking about the way the contents would do its little all-too-familiar dance on your tongue.

“Well, you know what they say,” he says, pouring a glass for himself, “drunk words are sober thoughts,” he finishes while dragging out the last word—downing the first shot in one quick swig. You follow his lead soon thereafter, refusing to let your mind linger on what he had just said and the viable likelihood of you spewing out the words that could just make or break your longstanding friendship and lead to a lifetime of regret.

Obviously, everything’s going fine and dandy for you.

The next 20 minutes consisted of a plethora of superficial questions that would vary from:

“What's your favorite song lyric you can think of off the top of your head?”

Your head shoots up as if the lightbulb in your head just flashed on. “Easy. Shawty’s like a melody in my head that i cant keep out got me singing like-“

He lunges over to clap a hand over your mouth before you could sing the next line. “Na na na na no Y/N. Please stop.”

Or something along the lines of:

“What character do you think I'd play in a movie?” He asks with a smug smile.

“You’d be the second male lead that everyone secretly wants to end up with the main character because you act all sweet and kind and and genuinely cares about her but instead she chooses the other guy because something about him draws her in and it was her ‘gut instinct’ or some shit like that.”

“So I would get second male lead syndrome?” He reiterates.

“Yes.”

He sets his shot glass back down with a glower, clearly taken aback. “That is the biggest insult I’ve ever gotten in my entire life.”

You also couldn’t forget about:

“Oh, this one says to create a secret handshake.”

“No.” You deadpan.

“And why not?”

“Your pinky‘s the size of a vienna sausa—“

He smacks you square in the cheek with a pillow before you could finish your sentence. You don’t even fight back because your mind was so slow to process what he had just done. The fact that you only slept for 5 hours last night didn’t help whatsoever. Your evident lack of energy causes him to jab his finger into your side, causing a loud shriek—your fight or flight response starts kicking in as you grab the back of his neck and slam his face against the fabric of the couch cushion.

Soju was never able to make the two of you full on drunk—buzzed of course, but not enough for complete incoherency. And so you both down a bottle each before finishing the first round.

“I’m surprised we didn’t get any wild cards that round,” he says while resting his head on the couch.

You purse your lips, “You spoke too soon.”

His eyes flash open as he cranes his neck in an attempt to see the card. “Wait actually?”

You can feel your insides churn as you read the words in front of you, and you were sure that it wasn’t the alcohol talking. “Write down the three most important things to you in a relationship for 30 seconds and then compare.”

Jimin reaches over to grab two pieces of paper and pencils while unlocking his phone to find the timer app, “Okay, I’ll put a timer on for 30 seconds starting… now.”

And so the internal monologue in your head begins.

Three most important things… only three? That’s not anywhere near enough to suffice. Wait, what would the first one even be… oh yeah, trust. Trust is very much important yes, yes, yes. What else? Um, communication? Yes of course, that’s essential. Okay, what would the last one be?

You sneak a glance over at Jimin. His cheek is squished against the palm of his hand, making his cheek fat (an area in which he lacked in) more prominent and the pink, plush flesh of his lips appear even bigger than they already were.

The ceiling light emitted a faint, ambient glow—the lights and shadows hitting all the slopes and curves of his face. You never understood how someone could be so effortlessly stunning. Even the mess atop his head that’s supposed to be his hair looks purposely tousled—the ebony strands sticking up in multiple directions was framing his temples and contrasted with the honey-like hues of his skin.

Unlike the glow that radiated from the lights of the worn-down apartment and the radiance of whatever was beyond the glass of the window behind him, everything about him seemed to glow much brighter.

“Hello, earth to Y/N, your 30 seconds is up.” He interrupts pointedly, waving a hand in front of your face.

Blinking rapidly, you shake your head as well as all preceding thoughts that definitely weren’t consuming your mind a few seconds ago, “Sorry w-what?”

He laughs at your disoriented state, “Did you finish writing your three things?”

No, I wrote your name as number 3. “Yeah, I did. You can go first though.”

He nods with a small smile. “Oh, okay then let’s see. First, I put trust. I don’t know, I think everyone puts that to be honest. After that, I put communication. I feel like that’s just a given y’know. Another thing I feel like most people would say.”

You utter a timid “mhm” under your breath albeit zoning out and being unaware of what he was saying. Opportunely, you managed to scribble out his name with the mere seconds that had passed and now you were tapping the lead point of the pencil against the paper, littering the page with a bunch of grey, little dots—incognizant to the fact that he had his eyes focused on you the whole time.

“I didn’t really know what to put last. Three things isn’t anywhere near enough in my opinion. But at the last second, I wrote down vulnerability,” he continues.

You look up upon hearing the last word. “Oh wow, that’s good. I didn’t even think about that.”

He chuckles unabashedly, clearly pleased with your reaction. “Right? I just figured. At first, I thought it would go in the same category as trust but then I thought about it more. Yeah, you can trust someone and someone can trust you, but to what extent does that all go to. Where does it start? And where does it even end? You need to be able to open up to the person I feel like. So I guess trust and vulnerability go hand in hand.”

Impressed with his words, you decide to chime in. “Wouldn’t communication go along with it too?”

“Hm?”

You place your pencil down. “You would open up to each other by means of communication, becoming more vulnerable, and then overall gaining more trust in the end.”

His brows raise at your sudden revelation, “Wait, you’re so right, did you just wax poetic and full cycle all that?.”

You smile, “I mean I guess,” you respond humbly, “ it does make sense though, does it not?”

He hums in agreement while downing another shot, “It applies to us, right?”

You force out a chuckle, but it comes out a lot more faux-sounding than you would’ve liked. “Haha, yeah I guess it does, doesn’t it.” Once again, starting to dive deeper into the abyss of pitiful hope and unrequitedness.

“Describe your perfect day.” He suddenly interjects.

You quirk a brow. “Didn’t I just go?”

“It’s okay, I’ll go for this one too.”

“Alright,” you say, foot tapping on the wooden floor as you look past him and out into the glass window of his living room, “well, I wouldn’t have school of course. And I think it would all depend on how I feel that day. If I was feeling particularly lazy, the day would probably consist of me binge-watching shows in bed while eating a shitton of carbs. And the other case would probably be galavanting around the city or going to an amusement park with friends.”

Jimin listens intently and smiles as you speak, causing you to avoid his stare before pigment threatened to rush to your cheeks, “Both of those scenarios sound really nice. I better be included too.”

You roll your eyes, turning away to hide the grin creeping up your cheeks, “We’ll see.”

He groans, standing up from his spot on the floor and falling onto his couch instead, “My asscheeks hurt.”

Your face contorts into a look of disgust, “And you want me to do what with that information?”

Scoffing lightly, he leans back into the cushions and tilts his head back, “It was a declaration, not a cry for help.”

“Yeah, and it’s the bony ass for me.”

His head perks up. “It’s having a flatter ass than their guy best friend for me.”

Gulping down the sad but unequivocal truth, “It’s kissing up to every teacher’s ass for me.”

His eyes narrow in pure chagrin, “It’s the crying on your teacher’s doorstep for them to round your grade for me.”

“It’s splitting your pants on orientation day for me.”

“Fuck you, people would pay to see this ass! It’s getting a concussion from falling down the main hall stairs for me.”

“For fuck’s sake, I told you that they waxed the floors that day!” You snap back.

“Okay, and who said it was a good idea to walk down three flights of stairs while trying to cram for a midterm? Yeah, exactly no one.” He says incisively, giving you an even bigger urge to push him off of the couch, yet you digress.

“This could go on for hours.” You heave out.

“Is that the sound of someone giving up I’m hearing?”

“Is that the sound of a midget I’m hearing?”

“But I’m taller than you?!” He screeches petulantly, smacking your shoulder. You burst out into a fit of laughter—toppling onto the wooden floor with pure malice.

Gasping for air, you attempt to stifle your laughter and regain your breath. “Wow, I’m on a roll today! I deserve another shot.”

He shakes his head, his anger quelling at the sight of your giddiness. “Remind me to not let you drink and play this game.”

You turn over from your side to lay on your back. “This will be the first and the last time I play this game with you.” You say almost immediately—the words involuntarily slipping from your mouth before you could stop it.

He sinks in his spot on the couch, brows knitting at your comment. “Why?”

Sobriety crashes into you like a colossal wave —your irritation dissipates almost immediately. The exaggerated tone your voice begins to register through your head—as well as the fact that you sounded a lot more disapproving than you intended.

Groaning at your hindered ability to think and process properly, you attempt to clear the air, “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. We just... practically know everything about each other I guess. What else is there to know?”

He hums. “You sure about that?”

What? “Wait what?”

“Nothing,” he chuckles awkwardly, “next question.”

The straightforwardness of the next question causes you to quirk a brow, “How are you, really?”

His eyes widen. “Well, that’s a deep one, isn’t it?”

You smile. “A little.”

He sighs, a small grin lacing his features, “Hm, how am I,” he affirms, adjusting himself in his spot on the couch, “I feel content with where I am right now, I guess. Things can always be better, but at the same time they could be worse too.”

Your number one defense mechanism as of late has been to constantly tease and make jokes at the poor guy—essentially using him as your own mental punching bag. He went along with it out of the assumption that it was all caused by your stress from school while you knew the true origins of your behavior.

You smile at his optimism, "Hey, that's always good to hear."

He chuckles, shifting his position on the couch so he could face you directly, "I don't know, maybe it's the new sense of freedom. Or all the amazing people I've gotten to meet and the opportunities that are offered here. Or the fact that I'm still going to the same school as my best friend after all this damn time."

"Chim, don't get sappy on me man." You warn him while pouting exaggeratedly— slumping onto the frame of the couch while he takes a strand of your hair in between his fingers. You bask in the moment, your eyes shutting close.

"Hey, I'm just being honest! For some reason, it all makes up for the impending student debt and draining lectures and professors that have a superiority complex as fat as their paycheck."

"Too bad their paycheck still isn't as fat as your ass."

An audible gasp coming from the only other person in the room causes your eyes to flutter open.

"Aw," he coos, ruffling the hair atop of your head, "that’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me all night. Admit it, you love me."

Out of instinct, you opt to stick your tongue at him instead of replying with a witty comeback. You turn away from him before mumbling to yourself, "More than you'll ever know buddy."

"What was that?"

Shit. "Nothing. Next question!"

After twenty questions and a whopping 10 empty soju bottles later, you are quite literally about to implode.

Your eyes stare down at the card in front of you—everything that surrounds it is blurry in vision and you can audibly pinpoint the erratic beating of your heart.

The card was practically taunting you, laughing in your face. It was as if there was a sentient being in the universe who was aware of your own subconscious and the not so latent feelings you had for the boy sitting in front of you. Same said being loved to constantly place you in a state of trepidation concerning your current situation—your blood pressure skyrocketing—nearly feeling the muscular pink thing inside of you thrusting itself against your ribcage.

The imminent headache was starting to spread towards your temples and you practically felt like you could feel your brain shifting inside your head at this point. Although you felt groggy, you were certain that your heart was at a rate that is way faster than it should be. And sitting on your legs has caused them to lose all feeling from the tips of your toes all the way up to your kneecaps. One attempt at standing and you would come crashing to the floor in a heartbeat.

To say you were mad was an understatement. Out of all the times throughout the entirety of this hour and a half that you were playing this game, he decided that now would be the best time to use his 'dig deeper' card.

There it was.

Admit something.

"Okay fine, I was the one who stuck pink hair dye in your shampoo last semester."

"Y/N, did you really think I didn't know? C’mon I know there’s something else in there.”

You scowl, brows furrowing, “Why would I keep something from you?”

“Why are you getting so defensive over this?”

"What the hell is there for me to admit to you?" You snap back in exasperation, the harsh tone of your voice rendering the two of you speechless.

He averts his gaze, closing his eyes while inhaling a deep sigh. "Ever since we started college, why have you been treating me so differently?"

Your eyes widen in disbelief, stumped. Yet you refuse to wither out of this.

"I– are you mad?"

"No. Of course not," he quickly digresses, softening his gaze, "I just noticed after all this time that you've only been acting differently towards me. Did I do something wrong?"

"No, you didn't do anything wrong Jimin. You never have."

His eyes narrow, giving you yet another indecipherable look, "I'm using my 'dig deeper' card." He deadpans.

And so you sat there. Fiddling the card in between your fingers, feigning nonchalance. You were very much on the brink of cracking your facade—your sanity practically crumbling as the minutes ticked by. You didn’t think you’d last this long, to be honest. Yet an hour and a half proved to be way too straining on you in a variety of different ways.

He simply sat there with his hands folded on the table—void of emotion, whistling a familiar top 50s tune you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

You considered shifting your focuses on trying to comprehend the tune—hoping it would ease the concerning state of apprehension you were in. But then you assured yourself that you haven't reached that level of patheticism yet.

Even though you both had probably been sitting in complete silence for about two minutes now —practically anyone else could detect was the crickets chirping outside his apartment, yet the only sound that was filling your eardrums was your own conscience telling you how idiotic you were being.

This was it. There was no point in trying to weasel yourself out of this situation. If you tried, your more than futile attempt could very well end up causing more problems than if you were to go with the latter.

So instead of constantly wracking your brain with witty banter and deceitful ways to gaslight your feelings for the man sitting in front of you, you come to terms with the fact that your time had run out. You internally commend yourself for putting up a good fight, as well as internally become accosted at how immature you were at handling the whole situation.

You sharply inhale through your nose, peering at the man sitting in front of you as his eyes meet your own, "Alright."

He offers you a small yet empathetic smile in return, giving you the tiniest sliver of reassurance. His hand pats the couch cushion next to him, motioning for you to sit down next to him.

You push yourself up from the floor, immediately propping a leg onto the couch to avoid your numb limbs to be the cause of your embarrassment.

You inhale slowly through your nose and out through your mouth. "This is going to sound really absurd. Like more than absurd. Possibly borderline hysterical." No Y/N, why would you say that?

He interjects, placing a hand on your forearm. "I'm beginning to think you're becoming borderline hysterical," he lets out a small chuckle, "slow down Y/N. One thought at a time."

Your jaw is still slack open due to your previous rambling. "I'm sorry, I just—I don't think I've ever felt this anxious… around you at least."

He bites his lip, eyes trailing away from yours as he tries to think of a way to aid you, "Will it help if I turn around?

"Maybe." You reply timidly, smiling to yourself as his back came into view.

“It’ll be pretty funny if we don’t remember this in the morning,” you start off with, “I shouldn’t be saying that either I’m sorry. Stupid alcohol.”

He snickers at your drunken state, it was adorable. “Pretend I’m not here Y/N. Like you’re talking to a wall.” He advises, back still turned.

You nod although he can’t see you. “Okay. Well, hi Mr. Wall. I’ve been keeping a secret from my best friend for as long as I’ve known him and I don’t know what to do about it. I’ve suppressed it all this time in hopes that it would eventually fade away, and it almost did. No really, it actually almost did. But now it’s back again and all the same feelings came, but like freaking twofold. No, tenfold. No, like a hundred fucking fold.”

Jimin tries excruciatingly hard to stifle his laughter, cupping a hand to his mouth so he wouldn’t move and distract you.

“I’m literally in love with my freaking best friend when I know he doesn’t see me in that light nor will he ever. If he did, we wouldn’t be where we are right now because I am so shitty at hiding my feelings that I am more than certain that I’ve let the truth slip a couple of times.” You say all in one breath.

He slowly detaches his hand from his mouth, eyebrows raising in disbelief in the words you had just said. His body urges him to turn around. Yet you continue to think out loud. So he digresses.

“Towards the end of high school, I think my feelings started to become more dormant because I had become more concerned over finishing high school and transitioning into college. I was content and I convinced myself that my feelings were fleeting for once.” You begin with, allowing whatever thoughts that you consumed your mind to spill all out for Mr. Wall to hear.

You sigh, taking a pillow from his couch and squeezing onto it for dear life. “That was until we ended up getting into our top picks and going to the same school. I couldn’t believe it. My stupid head tried to convince me that life had always just paired the two of us up together for some reason. And that maybe, just maybe I had a chance. But whatever I guess. I don’t know.”

A notification causes your eyes to trail to your phone. Really, Professor La, this is not a good time to tell me to finish my research paper. You swipe at the notification, revealing your lock screen—a photo of you and Jimin at an amusement park back at your hometown, sporting matching university hoodies with bright smiles on your faces that were captured mid-laughter.

Setting your phone down, you lean into the couch—letting your head fall into the cushions as your eyelids slowly start to droop shut. “What also didn’t help is how college life just seems to suit him perfectly. He just always looks so happy now. Like yeah, he’s always been a social butterfly. Yet in addition to that he has top notch grades. He charms professors. For fuck’s sake the Dean treats him like a son. His passion, his laughter, his love, his happiness. It’s always been so infectious. But college just made the effect he has on people grow even stronger. I-,” you stammer, pausing breathlessly, “it just looks like he truly belongs here. Like college was just made for him.”

He sits there in a complete stupor—still trying to process all the words that he had just heard. His body is itching to turn around, take you into his arms, whisper soft nothings into your ear. Anythings. Everything. He never wanted you to feel anxious about his feelings for you ever again.

“Mr. Wall, that was a lot, I’m sorry. But I’m really… really tired.” You utter quietly, a long yawn escaping your lips. You fall asleep.

Ten seconds pass until Jimin sneaks a glance over his shoulder, scanning your body as he notices your shut eyes and timid grip on his pillow.

“Y/N?”

You’re unresponsive.

He grins at the sight. Getting up from his seat, he makes his way toward you—slowly prying the pillow from your grasp as you carefully slides his hands under your body and picks you up from the couch.

Instinctively, you wrap your arms around his neck and bury your face into his shoulder as he carries you to his bedroom. You are very much still asleep, yet you always had the habit of needing something to hold onto while you were unconscious.

Kicking the sheets aside, he makes room for you to lie down as he gently places you onto his bed. He quickly scurries to the other side, slipping into the covers himself as he lays down beside you.

The sudden contact causes you to shift in your sleep—suddenly wrapping an arm around his torso. He lays there, completely stunned at your actions and begins to heavily debate whether he should give into his desires or not.

The internal conflict lasts about two seconds before he turns to his side—placing his free hand on the small of your back and pulling you into his chest, leaving a small pocket of space in between your two bodies.

Unknowingly, you close the gap almost immediately—nestling your head into the crook of his neck as your arm that was lazily slung over his torso starts to tighten its hold around his body.

His arm slings over your unconscious form, his hands making his way to your back as he basks in the foreign feeling, being this close in proximity to you. It was different. Yet it almost felt like it was where he belonged. And he was scared because he didn’t want it to end.

While gently placing his chin on the top of your head, he begins to stroke your hair as fatigue starts to wash over him as well. “Things will make sense soon Y/N, I swear.”

He retracts, craning his neck in an attempt to see your sleeping form. His attempt proves to be futile when an indecipherable groan leaves your lips—brows knitting slightly and lips curling downward from the sudden lack of warmth.

His soft laughter fills the room as he obliges—carefully pressing a small kiss to your forehead before reverting back to his original position.

“For now, just know that I love you too.”

The intolerable throbbing sensation in your temples caused you to stir in your sleep.

The only events you could recall from last night was being at Jimin’s apartment, playing that stupid card game, and downing the most soju you’ve ever had in one sitting.

It only occurs to you that you’re wrapped in someone’s arms when you open your eyes and the only thing in your periphery is a firm chest, steadily heaving each time they take a breath.

Your legs were messily entangled with theirs—arms slung around each other’s torsos as you felt a strange yet dense weight on the top of your head.

Carefully, you try to pry yourself from their grasp albeit your haphazard state of mind. You pull back ever so slightly, making sure not to wake them up in the process, discovering that the excess weight was actually their chin that had been resting on top of your head. Their fingers were still twined in your hair as you pulled back, making you freeze in your spot. Curious, you tilt your head, peering upwards and catching a glimpse of their face.

The boy is undoubtedly still asleep. Eyes shut and ample lips slightly parted. Your timid movement, to your luck, which hadn’t phased him in the slightest, as he was unperceptive and nearly immobile at this point.

If it weren't for your abhorrent headache and the even more abhorrent symptoms that had rooted from your hangover, it would be an understatement to say that you would be freaking out right about now. In reality,

You'd be in a complete state of manic.

Because of the fact that your body was paying for the despicable amount of alcohol you had decided to consume the night before, an influx of any intense emotion would cause your body to exacerbate itself even more. And the last thing you needed was to puke all over the poor guy after sleeping together for the first time.

While you were physically experiencing withdrawals, your mind felt slightly inebriated nonetheless. You weren't quite sure if it was from last night's affluence of liquor or the way everything's starting to come back to you. And the longer your eyes linger on the boy's face, the clearer everything starts to become. From the foolish banter to your childish outbursts leading up to your intoxicated yet conscientious confession.

You left your heart all out for him to witness last night, and now the only thing you could do is wait for a response.

Taking a deep sigh, you retreat back to his body—deciding not to ponder any longer on the matter and wait until you had felt physically capable of doing so.

Steaming hot streams of water splash against his back. He stands under the shower head while massaging soap into his hair, replaying the events that had happened last night on loop.

The words that left your mouth were engraved into his mind as they involuntarily kept replaying over and over again—particularly your inebriated confession, which kept garnering the same reaction of both hope and frustration within him.

The solution should be simple. In reality it is, yet he still felt so internally scattered.

“—he doesn’t see me in that light nor will he ever...”

That was the singular line that he just couldn’t wrap his head around. There was never a moment where he would hesitate to drop everything he was doing to be there for you and make sure you were okay.

Yes, he knew that you two were best friends and that it was natural. But what best friend drives across town at 2am because you had the stomach flu and your parents were out of town. Keep in mind it was his mom’s birthday that day.

What best friend ditches their prom date when yours had stood you up. Or coax the drama teacher into giving you the lead in the school play because he saw the ways your eyes glimmered when you saw the words ‘High School Musical’. And damn, weren’t you justthe greatest Gabriella he’s ever seen.

Little did you know that in reality, he always wanted you to be the Gabriella to his Troy, and not Chad. Yet you seemed to have believed the latter all along.

But in the end, what the hell kind of best friend remains oblivious to the fact that for years, past exes have consistently broken up with him for the same reason.

“Your heart belongs to someone else.”

Or alternatively,

“I’m not the right person for you.”

Straight A’s don’t mean shit when no teacher has ever taught him how to realize that he was irrevocably in love with his best friend, and that she had always, almost candidly, felt the same way.

He shuts his eyes tightly, hands aggressively running through his soaked hair as he comes to a conclusion.

Being strangers could never be an option. Being friends, or moreso, best friends was fine. But that’s it. It was just fine. It was normalcy. It has been for years.

And that just wasn’t going to cut it for him anymore.

Your arm traces along the fabric of the bedsheets, alerting you that there was a void of space and lack of warmth from the other side of the bed. Your eyes spring open to see that there was no one laying beside you.

A long yawn escapes your lips as you stretch your limbs, body sprawling all over the bed before selfishly tugging the sheets all to yourself.

Soft hissing from which you assume was coming from his shower was confirmed to be true when your eyes spot the closed bathroom door and the small beam of light that was emitting from it.

A small, folded piece of paper that was taking up the space of where his head was resting was where your eyes shift to next.

y/n <3

You knit your brows together, knowing that it was most likely put there strategically rather than a piece of trash that had slipped out of his pocket.

It was addressed to you after all and so you grab it while making a futile attempt to rub the sleep out of your eyes. Your throbbing headache and churning insides had significantly died down. Regardless of your recovery time you internally make a promise to yourself to never get this wasted ever again. The chances of you sticking to it? Highly debatable considering the current situation you’re in.

Blinking rapidly, you finally are able to decipher whatever is written onto the paper. And it says:

hi y/n, i can already tell by the looks that you’re giving me that you already despise this game and im sorry. all i wanna say is that by the time you read this, i hope that we remain close as ever even though what i plan on saying tonight could obliterate all of that. i wanted to play this game bc i know we’re both hiding stuff from each other and it’s about time we get it out. at least for me. whatever happens, i love you. always will.

- chim :)

EDIT: for fuck’s sake y/n i’m FUCKING IN LOVE WITH YOU TOO I WAS SUPPOSED TO CONFESS TO U FIRST LOSER NOT THE OTHER WAY AROUND T-T

“Finally awake?” You hear a familiar voice call out. He walks out of the bathroom, fully clothed (to your dismay) while drying his hair with a towel, eyes immediately softening as they connect with yours.

You swallow down your nerves, “Yeah, I’ve been.”

He walks over to the edge of the bed, eyes shifting to the piece of paper in your hand before reverting his focus back to your face, “What are you reading there?”

“I don’t know,” you huff, feigning ignorance, “why don’t you tell me.”

A soft chortle leaves his lips as he throws the towel to the side, smiling as wide as ever as he jumps onto the vacant spot on his bed right next to you.

Propping himself up, he sits against the headboard, letting out a content sigh before looking down at you once more. “Come here.” He says, reaching his arms out in hopes that you’d fill the idle gap.

And you do, shaking the sheets off of your body as you place yourself in his arms, freshly revelling in the comfort. You wrap your arms snugly around his waist, letting your head rest on his chest while he clutches onto you tightly.

“I’m sorry for pushing the subject so hard onto you last night.” He starts off with, “I guess I just never fathomed the fact that you could return the feeling, and I was too stubborn to even admit it to you in the first place.” He expresses while stroking your back, “I didn’t mean to confront you so harshly, it’s unlike me, and I’m really sorry about it Y/N.”

“Do you think I’m mad about that Jimin?” You inquire, just barely above a whisper.

He pulls back slightly, peering down at you, “Are you?”

“Of course not. I should be the one apologizing anyways for being even more stubborn and resorting to such childish ways.” You disclose whilst mentally beating yourself up.

“Hey, there’s no use in beating ourselves up over it. Look where we are now.”

“Where exactly are we Jimin?” You inquire timidly, head still resting on his chest.

His fingers brush over the base of your chin, gently tilting your head up until your eyes found his.

“Y/N, it’s honestly hard for me to formulate the words but all I know is that I think I’m in love with you. And I think I have been for a long time, no scratch that, I have been for a long time,” he says all in one breath, making you smile at how high-strung he was acting.

The grin remains plastered onto your face, “I’m not drunk still right because did I just hear you say that you’ve been in love with me?”

“Y/N…” he whines, jutting out his bottom lip as he drags out the last syllable of your name.

You can’t help but laugh. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Go on please.”

He bites his lip, “I honestly had a whole speech prepared in the shower but I forgot all of it.”

“It’s alright, I barely remember half the stuff I spewed out last night,” you chortle.

He chuckles, “Well, if you were wondering, you’re cute as fuck when you’re piss drunk.”

The compliment makes your breath hitch in your throat—your heart starting to pick up speed dangerously quick.

A few seconds pass, allowing you to slightly gain back some of your composure, “Why did you um– I mean– when do you think you fell in love with me?” You stutter.

“I was actually trying to figure that out too,” he starts, “in the shower. Well, this is going to sound dumb,” he admits, sharply exhaling out of his nose, “But do you remember when we went on a field trip to that amusement park in 8th grade? Around halloween time.”

“I think so… but what about it?”

He nods. “I still remember that night so vividly for some reason,” he pauses, collecting his thoughts, “There were haunted houses all over the park. And they were all different themes. And I think the first one we went into together was—”

“The clown one.” You deadpan.

“Yeah!” He beams, laughing at the way you shudder after your words, “Anyways, you were walking behind me with your hands on my shoulders, but you had a razor grip and I thought my arms were going to fall off, so I made you walk next to me instead. We had our arms interlocked and you were gripping onto me so closely and you had your head buried in my shoulder the whole time.” He explains, the smile never ceasing to leave his lips.

You don’t take his eyes off of him—smiling sweetly as he explains the retrospective moment that you never knew had held so much significance to him.

“All of a sudden, you grabbed my hand, and honestly, I think that was the scariest part of the whole experience,” he admits, chuckling softly.

“But then I intertwined fingers with you. And I liked it. Thinking about it now, I probably loved it. It felt almost borderline euphoric. Like as if I was riding a high, and when we detached hands, it felt like there was just something missing. And I guess I never really put the pieces together because it just became a normal thing after that. And when our skinship kept evolving from there, I just kept dismissing it over and over again. Like as if that feeling was a normal thing to happen between friends, because I genuinely thought it was. Yeah, I think that’s the moment I pretty much fell in love with you.” He finishes, giving you a close-mouthed smile while he tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

Astounded was an understatement. You couldn’t believe that you both had been suppressing these feelings for so long. Yet somehow, this whole confession didn’t seem out of place or time, it was as if everything that had happened beforehand had led up to this very moment.

“Wow, Jimin I– I don’t know what to say.” You reply.

He shakes his head. “You don’t have to say anything Y/N. I’m sorry for making you wait for so long, after all.”

You interject, “Please don’t say sorry, I think we were definitely both in the wrong here.”

He smiles, except this time his eyes crinkle up all the way, “Alright, but can you at least let me make it up to you?”

“I’m listening.” You jokingly reply.

“Let’s go on a date,” he declares brazenly, “but tonight, after we��ve recovered from our hangovers and what not.”

The corners of your lips upturn so high that your cheekbones sting, “Jimin, I’d love to–”

“Ah, wait! I’m not done.” He cuts you off, head inching forward, leaning in so close that you could feel his breath tickle your ear and the heat rushing up to your cheeks.

“And at the very end of the night, I’ll make certain that you won’t be able to walk normally by tomorrow.” He whispers into your ear— voice low and full of lust.

Shivers run through your body as it feels like all the wind had just gotten knocked out of you. Yeah, this was definitely worth the wait.

MASTERLIST ; SEQUEL

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kingofkingdom-archive · 4 years

Text

So Much Like Stars - Part ONE

Pairing: Boba Fett x Fem!Reader

Part ONE (read part two here!)

Rating: Explicit

Summary: You’ve known nothing but snow and cold wind your whole life. When a mysterious hunter arrives at your village, you find yourself drawn to him.

Warnings: Explicit sex, p-in-v sex, vaginal fingering, breathplay, power dynamics/power play, royalty kink (?), dom/sub dynamics, naked female clothed male, come marking, unprotected sex, mentions of death (no character death)

Word count: 8.2k+

A/N: This fic is entirely self-indulgent. No one asked for it, but here it is. Boba Fett fucks and we all know it. Or maybe you disagree, in which case you’re wrong. Anyway, enjoy! As usual, there’s no use of Y/N here and please heed the warnings before reading.

Across the windswept, snowy plain, you watch as the ship approaches its landing. It slows, rotates, and then lands face-up on the flat expanse. It’s maybe a kilometer and a half away from the outlook you’re perched on; your binocs are old, no longer reading distance, so the best you can do is guess. The wind blows the snow towards the east, blurring the landscape into obscurity for anyone without a trained eye.

Your cloak, woven from the heavy fur of the Kintur that roam your planet, keeps the driving wind from seeping into your bones. Every inch of your skin is covered, from your leather boots and thick leggings to your goggles and well-worn face mask. You carry a pack, as you always do, to which are strapped your net-shoes that allow you to traverse over massive snowdrifts. At your hip is an old Republic-issue blaster and at your side is your staff, which often acts more as a tool to clear paths and knock snow from tree boughs than anything else.

This planet is nearly uninhabited save for the village you were born in. Seeing a ship is rare, and it’s even rarer to see one that’s unaffiliated with a galactic government. You take note of its location and strain to see if you can spot the pilot as he emerges, but you have no such luck.

You sigh, the wind whistling in your ears, the drifts of snow shifting and growing around you. Father will want you back soon. The newcomer is undoubtedly going to head towards the village, and you’ll need to be there when he arrives. You stow your binocs away in your pack and unstrap your net-shoes, attaching them quickly to your boots.

The trek back is one you’ve managed countless times before - that doesn’t make it any less dangerous, but the sheer cliff faces and howling, punishing winds are not strangers to you.

Your village is small by the standards of other planets in the galaxy, from what you’ve heard (the Elders’ stories of Coruscant never fail to amaze you), but in your eyes it’s vibrant and bustling despite the harsh climate. There’s almost always a tavern with its lights on and music flowing out, a friendly face and warm hearth never far.

It’s located in a secluded valley between towering mountains, out of sight of the vast plains from which the mountains seem to erupt without warning. There are no foothills; only flat land interrupted by harsh terrain. It’s very easy to find death in the mountains, but they have sustained your people for generations. Hunting is your main source of food, whether it be the Kintur that also provide their hide or the massive snow-bison whose fat and bones keep your diets regulated. In the warm season water flows endlessly - the streams that run from the mountain peaks are known to have healing properties, and often they seem to glow with a supernatural shimmer. There is a small mine some distance from the village where many men work, and though the job is a dangerous one, the mountains never run out of the ores you need.

Your people’s existence is not especially complex, but they are tougher than most. The landscape requires it.

You arrive back at the stone walls surrounding your village and greet the gatekeeper, a man who recently inherited the job from his father.

“Hello, Isrwill.” You plant your staff next to you and lean on it, taking your weight off of your feet. “Have you heard anything of the visitor?”

The man nods. He’s about a decade older than you, but underneath the goggles and mask his face is youthful, eyes kind and always merry. “Savakya returned not long ago. She says he will make it here within the hour.”

“Did she say anything of his appearance?”

“Only that he wears armor, and a helmet. She could not make out any features, other than that he’s shaped like a man.” Isrwill leans back against the wall.

“Ah,” you reply. “Well-dressed for the weather, then.”

He shrugs. “Yes, but also well-dressed for battle.”

You can hear the concern in his voice. The question is one you’re sure your whole community is asking: what has brought this foreigner here?

“Thank you,” you tell him, and he nods while pushing the gate open.

Once inside the walls, you remove your net-shoes as well as your goggles and immediately head toward the building where you know they’ll bring the stranger. Your father will already be there, conversing with the Elders and with the Committee to prepare for whatever news or needs this foreigner might have. There are protocols in place for such an event, but they haven’t been used in your lifetime. As you walk to the meeting-house, you try and recall the words you studied so long ago, when your father taught you your people’s laws and customs.

The meeting-house is constructed of solid, ancient wood, imported from a forest planet and stark against the gray stone that most of the village’s homes are built from. Inside there is a massive hearth cut from a single stone, the fire inside it already raging. In the center of the main room there is a curved table; on one side sit the Elders, on the other, the Committee. At the head sits your father, next to your empty seat.

“You made it safely, my child,” he greets you when you arrive, a swirl of snowflakes following you in. Smiling, you pull down your face mask.

“I always do, father.”

He smiles from his place at the table, giving you a look. “That does not mean I do not worry.”

Rolling your eyes affectionately, you lean over to kiss him on the cheek. The other people at the table chat amongst themselves, though you can feel the undercurrent of unease at the visitor’s imminent arrival.

You walk around to take your place, setting your pack, staff, and outer layers near the hearth to dry. You are left in a long-sleeved, high-neck shirt and tunic over your leggings, your hair done up in its usual braids. Usually you would go home and change into something more suitable for Committee business, but there was no time.

You turn to your father, who sits next to you with all the grace and poise befitting a benevolent leader.

“Isrwill told me the stranger is arriving soon. Do we know any more?”

He nods, though he doesn’t look entirely pleased. “Yes. From what Savakya described, it seems he’s a Mandalorian.”

The name isn’t familiar to you. “Is that a race?”

“No.” Your father leans back in his chair. His arched brows bely a concern that is rare to see on him. He strokes his white beard, staring off into space. “The Mandalorians are more of a culture, a people. I’ve only ever heard stories of them. They say they are fierce warriors, and that many of them are bounty hunters by trade.”

That’s odd. You frown, confused. “Bounty hunters? Why wo-”

You are interrupted by three sharp knocks on the doors. Beside you, your father calls out “enter! ”, and the doors swing open.

Two village men, two of the strongest of your people, flank a man clad in armor. His helmet has a T-shaped visor with a short antenna, and on his back is a rifle. You take note of the blasters strapped to his hips as well as something that could be a weapon at his knee.

Isrwill was right. Well-dressed for battle.

You sit up straight and keep your eyes trained on the Mandalorian. Though you are a member of the Committee, you are also well-versed in how to use a blaster, perhaps the best trained of any at the table. You are also a protector of your fellow Committee members, the Elders, and most importantly, your father.

“What business brings you to our planet, Mandalorian?” Your father’s voice is stern, strong in a way you hope to emulate when you inevitably assume his role.

“I am in search of a bounty, your excellency.”

The hunter’s voice is deep and slightly muffled through the helmet’s vocoder. He sounds weathered and rough, though you imagine that’s life as a man who fights and kills for a living.

“Sir will suit me just fine,” your father tells him, a hint of a smirk in his voice. “As for your bounty, it is highly improbable that any individual has survived outside of our village longer than a day. There is no stranger here but you.”

The Mandalorian sighs, looking down at the floor and then back up again. “I’m afraid I disagree, sir. The tracker isn’t wrong. He must be hiding somewhere in the mountains.”

Your father shakes his head. “Those mountains are impossible to pass without a guide. If he was there, surely he is dead by now.”

Though you can’t see his face, the hunter’s helmet is surprisingly expressive. He looks at your father for a long moment, and then glances around at the other people at the table. His gaze finally lands on you.

You set your jaw and stare back, unintimidated. A man with guns does not scare you, no matter how he tries.

“Alright,” he says, but you suspect he is not satisfied with this information. “Might I at least inquire about some lodging for the night?”

Later that evening, you find yourself in your favorite tavern, sitting in your usual booth, watching the townsfolk mingle and chat. Your drink of choice is a fermented ale that is produced in the warm season and aged for consumption outside of those short couple of months.

No one pays you any mind unless they’re a close friend or they have news. They know to leave you alone, to let you sit with yourself as you prefer to do.

You’re watching a young couple you grew up with dance to the music when the tavern’s door swings open. You glance over at it but do a double take when you realize who stands in the doorway.

The hunter.

Around you, conversation quiets as everyone takes in the stranger. His helmet scans the room, like he’s looking for someone in particular. Internally you scoff. The bounty would never show his face here, he’d stand out too much amongst your people.

The hunter’s visor stops moving, aimed directly at you.

Kriff, you think, taking a swig of your drink. He wants information, and he’s not going to give up quite as easily as he did with your father.

The Mandalorian walks into the room, headed directly towards your booth. People watch, heads turning to track the stranger’s movements across the floor. His steps are heavy, intentional, large frame imposing as he approaches you.

Certainly a man built for survival. For conflict. If he were a different person, you might find it attractive.

He stops when he reaches your booth, looking down at you just as you stare up at him, brow raised.

“This seat taken?”

You shake your head and gesture to it. “Not at all.”

From the corner of your eye you can tell the rest of the tavern’s patrons are watching, waiting. As the hunter sits, you wave your hand discretely, telling them to return to their conversations, to each other.

The noise picks up again.

“You’ve got some influence here, princess.”

The name both rankles and sends a shiver of something unwanted down your spine. Now that he’s closer, knees almost brushing your own, you really get a sense of how intense this man’s presence is.

A warrior, to be sure. None would debate that.

You narrow your eyes at him. “We are not the subjects of a king, hunter.”

He scoffs, leaning back and resting his arm on the back of the booth. “Forgive me. What are you to them?”

“I do not see how it concerns you.” The words are harsh but your face remains neutral. Your father taught you how to deal with men like this - how to steel yourself against posturing, against prodding, against teasing.

The Mandalorian chuckles. “I just like to know who I’m talkin’ to. No need for the theatrics.”

You don’t respond. He’s the one who approached you - you have no desire to get in his good graces.

He sighs, glancing over to the wall at your left, his right. “I’d never heard of this planet before the tracker brought me here, much less your people,” he tells you. It’s not a surprise.

“That’s how we like to keep it. We stand no chance against something like the Republic or the Empire. Our only means of survival is staying under the radar.”

His visor is trained directly on you, staring, studying your face. You stare back, wishing you could somehow get a sense of what he looks like underneath the mask.

“How long have your people lived here?”

You know it’s not because he’s genuinely curious. Your mind is buzzing with all the different reasons he’d have for asking - he wants to know how familiar you are with the landscape. He wants to know how well-established your system of governance is here. He wants to know if you know how your people arrived.

He wants to know how vulnerable you are.

“Generations. Since before the Elders’ grandparents were born. Memory of our arrival here has been lost to time.”

He tilts his head. “Is yours the only settlement on the planet?”

You nod. As far as you know, anyway. Attempts have been made to reach out, to try and see if any other peoples live in the outer reaches of the landscape, but none have returned successful.

The Mandalorian hums. He glances over into the tavern, at the other patrons and the bartender. You watch as the bartender, a woman a few years younger than your father, uses a rag to clean out a cup, but you can tell she’s watching your table from the corner of her eye. When she notices the hunter’s helmet turn towards her, her eyes flit up to you, then over to him.

The hunter waves, as if to signal that he wants something. The bartender glances back at you and you nod. She sets down the cup and begins walking over.

You look over at him. He’s already staring back, chin tilted down like you’re a riddle he’s trying to solve.

“What can I do for you, sir?” The bartender’s voice does not waver, but it’s tense nonetheless.

He gestures to your drink. “I’ll have what she’s having.”

The bartender nods and leaves. You take a sip of your ale, finding comfort and clarity in the warmth it brings you.

Across from you, the bounty hunter shifts in his seat, removing his gloves to reveal a pair of calloused hands. You glance down at them and follow their movement as they reach up, thumbs curling under the bottom of his helmet, and lift.

The hunter’s weathered face greets you. He’s a man, like any other, like you expected him to be. His brows are arched and dark, but the rest of the hair on his head has been burnt away by something that left scars across the crown of his head and his face. His eyes are cold, haunted, calculating as they look at you.

He sets the helmet on the table with a thud .

“You’ve seen death,” you observe, holding his gaze with your own. “Been close to it.” His brown eyes narrow and he crosses his arms over his chest.

“I wouldn’t expect you to understand, princess.”

Ah, you think. He underestimates me. He thinks you’re the coddled daughter of a village leader, fed by the kindness of your people and adored for your status. You raise an eyebrow and take another swig of your drink, smirking into the amber liquid.

You set the cup down on the table. “There is more in those mountains than snow and wind, hunter.”

He doesn’t move, save for a slow blink. “Tell me, then.”

You sense movement from the corner of your eye - the bartender has returned with his drink. He nods to her in thanks and she gives a tight smile, glancing at you before hastily returning to her station.

The hunter takes the cup and brings it to his lips. You watch as he takes a sip, swallows, and his eyes widen. A small cough forces its way up and out of his throat.

You smile at him, a hint of a grin that curls the corners of your mouth.

“A bit strong for you?”

He glares over the rim of the cup and pointedly takes another swig. He sets the cup down, large hand dwarfing it.

“What is in those mountains?” His voice has gotten lower, rougher, like you’ll be intimidated by a show of verbal force.

“Nothing you’ll concern yourself with,” you reply, refusing to back down. “Unless you want to encounter your own mortality again.”

“I am perfectly fine with a bit of a scare.”

You bark out a laugh. “You wouldn’t survive an hour out there without a guide. And no one here will take the job, not when the options are either a fruitless search for a dead body or a shootout between two criminals.”

He leans forward, face pressing close to yours, warm breath blowing across your cheeks. His nose is inches from your own.

His voice drops to a low murmur. “I didn’t come here for a bounty, little one.”

Your brow furrows and you draw back, pressing your shoulders against the cushioned stone behind you.

“Word has got out of a large deposit of kyber somewhere in this system. The Empire has not yet caught wind, but soon they will.”

You don’t recognize the name of the material he’s referring to, but you do recognize the Empire and know exactly what something like that might mean for a small, defenseless village such as your own.

It’s much different than a simple bounty hiding in the mountains.

“Why didn’t you tell the Committee this?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know if this is where the deposit is. I didn’t want to cause unnecessary concern, especially considering the… size and scale of your village”

You purse your lips and lean your head back, staring up as you consider this development. This man has come in search of something you aren’t sure exists, and if it does, it means certain death for you and your people.

You look back down at the man across from you. “Then why did you decide to tell me? You’d have been better off going to my father with this information.”

He huffs out a chuckle, then grabs his drink and takes a swig. He sets the cup back down and rests his arm on the table beside it. “Because I need a guide, little one. Someone with knowledge of the terrain, who I won’t have to watch out for. I’m willing to pay handsomely.”

The dots begin to connect in your brain. You raise a brow at him. “I have no need for your credits. They’re next to useless here. Besides, how can we know this - this kyber is there at all?”

“Is there anything unnatural about the mountains? Anything that would point to something powerful within them?”

You frown, thinking on it for a moment. All of the ores found in the mine are naturally occurring, the creatures that live on the peaks are all native, and the --

It hits you. Your eyes widen ever so slightly, and your heart rate increases. A falling feeling in your stomach takes the sensation from your legs for a moment, ice cold and burning all at once.

“The water.”

The Mandalorian tilts his head. You glance around to make sure no one’s heard you. Everyone in the tavern seems oblivious to the two of you, despite their stares earlier.

“We have to leave,” you tell him, fishing a couple of coins out of your pocket and depositing them on the table. “We can’t discuss this here. Come with me.”

Hastily you stand, taking your cloak from its hook on the side of the booth and pulling it on. The hunter follows suit, sliding his helmet back on and looking around the room.

You start towards the door, heavy footsteps following behind you.

You bring him to your home, the only place where you know you won’t be interrupted. You live in a small building tucked in a quiet corner of the village, between a storage silo and the village’s north wall.

Inside, the hearth has been going all day, fueled by coal and snow-bison waste chips. There are four rooms; three downstairs and a bedroom upstairs. You bring the Mandalorian to your study, where the fire roars and there’s a few soft chairs and a couch to sit on. He takes a seat on the latter and removes his helmet, watching as you search your bookshelves for something.

“Care to tell me what you meant by ‘the water’?” He slouches, thick thighs spread over the couch cushion.

Your eyes follow the movement of his legs for a split second. It’s supremely distracting, how inviting he looks right now. You glance up at his face and see a small smirk on his lips. A blush colors your cheeks, caught in the act of looking. To hide it, you turn back to the bookshelf, scanning the spines of your books.

“In the warm season there are streams that flow from the mountaintops to the valley. It pools in an area not far from here and forms a small lake, not much more than a pond, that freezes over once the cold sets in again. For centuries we’ve brought our sick and dying there to be healed.”

The hunter hums. “And it works?”

You nod, turning to look over your shoulder at him. “I was brought there as a child. I would have died of the fever had it not been for the water. Our Elders drink if regularly after they reach a certain age, once they haven’t been killed by the elements.”

“Are you saying your people live longer because of it?”

You pause. That has never crossed your mind, since using the water’s magic has always been normal to you, a yearly practice like any other. “I don’t know. How long does man usually tend to live?”

“It depends,” he says. “I’d say a hundred years at most.”

That has you taken aback. You look over at the bookshelf again - this is life-changing, world-shattering information. Dread begins to settle in your chest, like everything you thought was real is a lie.

The hunter leans forward, hands on his knees, concern etched on his scarred face. “How long do your people live, little one? How many years?”

You inhale and look over at him. “Hundreds. A thousand, if we’re lucky.”

“Kriff,” he swears, leaning back with a hand over his mouth and nose.

Turning back to the bookshelf, you resume your search to calm your racing mind. You find the book you were looking for, a collection of stories gathered by your family over generations.

“Here,” you say, sliding the book out of its place and taking it over to the hunter. He scoots over, but only slightly, so when you sit next to him you’re tucked snugly between him and the arm of the couch. His thigh is warm against your own and you get chills down your neck when he shifts to put his arm behind you, around your shoulders.

You clear your throat and open the book, letting it rest on your legs.

“There are a few accounts that speak of the water,” you tell him, flipping through the pages until you find the one you’re looking for. It’s half a page of writing, the other taken up by a crude map of the mountains.

“The waters are life-giving,” you read, tracing along the words with your index finger. “They shimmer and glow in the sun when it shines upon us. The source is deep within the mountain, covered by ice and snow in the cold season. No one has seen the source of the waters and survived. Many have tried. It lies in the heart of ongrol territory.”

“Ongrol?” The hunter’s voice is deep, low in your ear. You look up at him, absentmindedly biting your lip between your teeth.

“Yes,” you reply. “A vicious species of massive snow lion. It’s rare to see one and live to tell the tale. I’ve only ever seen their prints.”

He hums, eyes flitting across your face as he studies you up close. “How large are they?”

You shake your head. “We can only guess, but certainly bigger than this building.”

The Mandalorian nods, his eye contact with you intense and unwavering. You meet it head-on, the warmth you feel in your bones spreading into your thighs and your ribs and your --

You blink and turn back to the book. The map is shaded to indicate the creatures’ territory, with a dot to indicate the general location of where the source is thought to be.

You point to an area just outside the shaded region. “This is as far as I’ve been. I can get us to the source - it’s the ongrol that are the problem.” You look back up at the hunter. “You’re sure the kyber is what’s causing this?”

He nods. “It’s one of the most powerful materials in the known universe. Little else could heal your people the way it does.”

“How do we hide the signature from others, to keep them from finding it?” The unspoken question there hangs in the air as you speak; how do we protect ourselves from attack?

He furrows his brow, shaking his head ever so slightly. “I’m still trying to work that part out, little one.”

That does not do much ease your anxieties, but you have to accept it for now.

You close the book with a sigh and stand to return it to its place on the shelf. When you turn back, the hunter has placed his other arm on the back of the couch, spread out like a king on a throne.

He looks comfortable - at home, here in yours. It’s unlike you to bring a stranger into your dwelling and not feel uneasy about it. Yet here he is, and it’s like he belongs right there on your couch, armor and all. You cross your arms, observing him.

“Do you know the name Boba Fett, princess?”

You shake your head. “No, I do not.”

He smiles, like your answer pleases him. “It's mine.”

Boba. The name is unusual, but it suits the man before you.

“I’d tell you mine in return, but I’ve grown fond of the names you’ve chosen for me, Boba Fett.”

A deep sound pushes its way out of Boba’s chest through his throat - half a chuckle, half a growl. He gives you a once-over with his dark brown eyes, like he can see right through your thick base layer and loose tunic. You watch as he does so, trying to calm your nervous breathing. His gaze is so penetrating, so intense, that after a moment you have to turn away from him, towards the fireplace.

The orange-blue flames dance in front of you, warming your face even further. A mirror hangs above it, but your eyes are focused on the hearth.

You hear Boba shift behind you, metal on fabric. “Tell me, little one,” he says. You can sense him moving closer. “Do you have any suitors, here in the village?”

The question makes your heart race even faster. “No.” You refuse to look at him, knowing that what you see there will render words impossible. “I’ve not had any interest in them.”

“But have men tried? Asked to court you?” He’s right behind you now, the warmth of him nearly matching that of the flames in front of you. The hair on the back of your neck stands on end. You can see his shadow from the corner of your eye.

“Yes,” you nod. “They have tried.”

Boba hums. His hands come up to gently, but firmly, rest on your shoulders. He slowly smooths his gloved palms down your arms, taking them from being crossed over one another to resting loose at your sides.

You risk a glance up at the mirror in front of you. He’s already looking at you, eyes locked on yours. You meet his gaze and dip your chin ever so slightly, so you’re staring at him from beneath your lashes.

A ghost of a smirk dances across Boba’s lips. He breaks the eye contact and you watch as he looks down at the nape of your neck, one of few exposed pieces of your skin. His right hand brushes your hair from over your shoulder onto your back, gathering the long tresses together. The women in your village grow their hair out as long as they can, not only to use for braids, but also to keep warm.

Boba’s fingers brush lightly against you, the rough material of his gloves a contrast to the smooth skin of your neck.

“Why haven’t they been successful, princess?”

You clench your jaw. Boba looks back up at you, his hand resting across your nape, fingers curled ever so slightly. The feeling of it makes your thighs tremble, your core responding to this silent, easy display of authority. It shows on your face, how much you like this, and you know Boba sees it.

“None of them could give me --”

Your words are cut off by Boba’s hand snaking around your neck, firm grip tightening around the column of your throat. You gasp, a soft, breathy noise, and the man behind you chuckles. His thumb and forefinger press into your jaw, forcing your head up, though your eyes are still locked onto his reflection in the mirror.

You choke out the rest of your sentence. “-- Give me what I need.”

“Is that so,” Boba murmurs, the words a deep rumble in his rough voice. He presses just a bit tighter, and your eyes flutter closed in response. “I think I know just what you need, my dear.”

His words burn through you like fire on wood, like a cold wind rushing through an open window. Your legs grow weak and your hands grapple at him, trying to find something to hold onto. Your left hand catches on the gauntlet covering his arm and you draw it around, so his arm covers your hip and his hand rests possessively on your lower stomach.

“What a pretty thing you are,” Boba mutters, sliding his hand lower on your front until his fingertips brush your mound. You let your head drop back against his shoulder at the feeling of him cupping your most private of areas, like it’s his, like it’s always been his. Your legs shift further apart to make room for his wide palm. “A stoic princess who desperately needs someone to take care of her.”

You whine at that, at what he’s offering you. It’s true; of all the eligible men in the village, not one has taken you to bed and been able to let you fully cede control to them. They see you as a leader, as someone not to be messed with, as someone to be respected above all else.

“Oh, yes,” Boba hums, curling the fingers of his left hand into your cunt, hooking them into you through your clothes. “They might follow your orders, little one, but you’ll follow mine.”

It sounds like paradise, letting him have you like this. You nod against the armor on his chest, movement limited and head growing dizzy thanks to the hand around your neck. Boba presses his lips close to your ear, his large body now curled around yours.

“Listen to me, sweetheart.” The pet name makes you melt against him. “I am going to go take a seat, and then you’re gonna take your clothes off for me. Can you do that?”

You open your eyes and there he is, in the corner of your vision, gaze dark and full of heated promises. You study his face for a moment, memorizing his features while he’s close like this, and then you nod.

“Yes, Boba.”

“Good,” he tells you. He then moves his hands away, and though you mourn the loss of his touch, knowing what’s to come keeps you patient.

He turns, walks back over to the sofa, and sits. He spreads his legs as he did before, arms on the back of the couch, watching you.

Boba looks so much like a king in that moment that it makes you want to bow before him, to prostrate yourself like you aren’t the daughter of the Chieftain. To worship him as he demands.

The thought crosses your mind as your fingers begin to unwrap your tunic, taking the woven material from its intricate adornment on your body. You feel a blush rising on your cheeks at the implications - what would the village think of their leader’s daughter, the one to assume his role in the future, imagining such things about a stranger?

Your mind wanders, racing, thinking of seeing him upon a proper throne, all silent confidence and heated gazes from behind the visor of his helmet. Maybe he’d bring you there, show you off to a court, hold you in his wide palms like a treaty. Set you upon his lap like a rare trophy from your far-off snow planet. You’d wrap your arm around the back of his neck and listen to his dealings while he kept a firm hand on your upper thigh.

Dignitaries and crime lords alike would watch, whispering, unable to look away.

It thrills you, to have these secret desires.

You deposit the tunic on the floor next to you and toy with the hem of your top, pulling it out from where it was tucked in your pants. Boba’s eyes zero in on the strip of skin that is revealed as you raise the shirt higher, higher, and higher, until in one motion you’ve slipped it over your head and off entirely.

He stares at your chest and it makes you smile. Men will be men.

Feeling emboldened by the way Boba is looking at you, you turn around and hook your thumbs in the waistband of your pants. You slowly slip them down your hips, over your thighs, and past your knees, bending over as you do so.

Behind you, you hear shuffling. You toss the pants to join the tunic and shirt and turn to see Boba’s codpiece and gloves removed, his hand shoved down the front of his pants.

“I’m enjoying the show, little one,” he says, and waves at you with his other hand, even as you begin to see movement at the crotch of his trousers. “Continue.”

You smirk, a sly thing at seeing the effect your bare form has on him. You tuck your fingers under the band of your bra and pull up. Your arms block your view of Boba’s face as your breasts are revealed to him, but the hungry look in his eye once you can see him gives you a good idea of it.

“Kriff,” Boba swears, jerking himself faster, rougher. The sight of it makes your breathing become heavy, the labor of it causing your chest to heave. His eyes drop from your face to your tits - somehow, you don’t feel embarrassed or ashamed like you might usually.

You just feel wanted. It’s intoxicating, that he wants you for you , not your title.

There’s only one article of clothing left on your body now. You turn around again, your back to him, and take the front hem of your underwear in your fingers. Slowly, almost teasing, you slip it over your hips, arching your back and pushing your ass out towards Boba. The underwear slips down your thighs until it falls to the floor.

You straighten up again and look over your shoulder at him. He gestures with his free hand, a ‘come here’ motion that you’re all too eager to follow.

“Beautiful kriffing body,” he murmurs as you approach. He reaches out and puts his hand on your hip, fingers curling into your ass cheek. His eyes stare at your mound, at the patch of hair there. “Bet you’re already wet for me, huh?”

He glances up at you. You blush, watching as he removes his hand from his pants and snakes it in between your legs, calloused fingers feeling the evidence of his effect on you. His fingertips catch on your clit, rubbing and feeling and stoking the fire within. You moan wantonly, comfortable in the privacy of your home.

“You are. Kriffing soaked. Just begging for my cock, aren’t you?”

His words make your pussy clench just as he slips one of his thick fingers into you, surely spreading his own fluids across your tight, hot skin. The girth of it forces a whine out of you, brows furrowed, and your hand flies down to hold onto his as he fucks you with his finger. Your other hand comes to rest on his shoulder, gripping his armor.

“Look at you,” he mutters, baring his teeth as he watches you writhe on his hand, using his thumb to rub your clit just so. Your mouth drops open in pleasure, sparks shooting down your legs and up into your belly at the feeling.

Boba hums, circling his thumb and flicking it over your puffy, sensitive nub. “What would your people think if they saw you moaning like a whore for an old man, hm?”

Your legs turn to jelly at the force of the arousal that hits your cunt. You sway forward, knees buckling, and Boba catches you as you fall.

He uses the hand on your ass to guide you into a sitting position on his lap, so now you’re straddling him, bare chest pressed to the cool metal of his armor. You tuck your face into his neck and revel in the feeling of a second finger teasing at your opening.

“You like that, little one?” His words cause his throat to vibrate, and the deep tone draws your lips in to kiss at it. Your nose brushes against the underside of his jaw as you move from kissing to licking, getting drunk on the taste of his sweat on your tongue.

Boba groans, sliding the second finger into your cunt with ease. You sigh, blowing cool air across the skin you’ve just wet with your tongue. “You do.” He runs his free hand up your thigh, holding tight to the firm muscle there, toned and strong from a lifetime in the ice and snow. “So desperate for my cock.”

You nod, though your lips hardly leave his neck. “Please, Boba,” you whisper into his skin, pressing yourself as close to him as you can get.

His fingers still their movements within you and you whine. Boba shushes you, and you have to bite your lip to keep from pouting when he pulls his fingers from your pussy. He presses a kiss to the crown of your head and leans back.

“I want you on your hands and knees, princess. Right here on the couch.”

You nod frantically and there’s not a moment of hesitation in your haste to follow his order. You arrange yourself next to him, forearms propped on the arm of the couch and your knees keeping your ass aloft in the air.

Boba turns and positions himself behind you with ease, half standing with one foot on the floor, his other leg bent and kneeling on the cushion.

He may call himself an old man, but he’s got the physicality of someone half his age. It makes the spot between your legs hotter and wetter just to think of it. Your cunt throbs for him.

You look over your shoulder and watch as he reaches into his pants, hand spreading your wetness across his dick, and your eyes widen as he draws it out from the confines of his trousers. Your gaze zeros in on him; he’s thick and long, just as you suspected, and every inch is one you want to feel as deep inside you as possible. Honestly, it makes sense - you’ve always heard that the men with the most to make up for do so in their personalities.

Men like Boba don’t have to compensate, which makes them all the more attractive.

You glance up to his face. He’s smirking down at you, eyes traveling down to your ass, pushed out and open for him. He runs a hand along the soft swell of your rear, caressing you like you’re precious, like you’re prized.

“I could get used to this,” he tells you, guiding the head of his cock to notch at your opening. “Seeing a future queen all bare and ripe for me.”

Your eyelids flutter as you feel him press in further, deeper. The sight of him kneeling behind you, fully clothed while you’re naked as the day you were born, sends a wave of arousal through you. Your brain doesn’t even register what he’s called you, how wrong he is, because you can’t think of anything beyond his dick.

“C’mon, Boba,” you whine, his slow pace driving you mad. “Fuck me like you mean it, old man.”

The noise that comes out of his mouth is almost non-human with the way it reverberates around the room. His hands dig into your hips and he thrusts , unrelenting and rough, spearing you onto his thick cock until his balls slap your clit. You choke out a moan, your eyes rolling into the back of your head at how perfectly full you feel.

“Ah,” he grunts out as he immediately sets to fucking you roughly, deeply. “The little princess does want to be treated like a whore.” His words are accompanied by the lewd sound of his cock moving in your wet cunt, his hips slapping against your own. You moan, loud and uninhibited, unable to conceive of shame or propriety.

For your whole life you’ve been looked up to, treated as both fragile and untouchable.

Boba Fett fucks you like you’re nothing more to him than a pet.

He snarls his words into the air. “Woulda fucked you there on that table in the cantina, shown the whole village how well you take me.”

You keen, arching your back further to give him a better angle. He runs his left hand up your side, gripping your waist and pulling you back onto his cock in time with his thrusts. He’s deeper inside you than anyone’s ever been - you’re beginning to think men in your village must be small, or maybe Boba’s just unnaturally big, because you think you can feel the head of his cock bruising your cervix.

The thought of him taking you in the tavern has you clenching down on him even tighter. Maybe you would have gotten on your knees for him, hid beneath the tablecloth and kept his cock warm in your mouth.

“That turn you on, princess?” He slows his thrusts just slightly, drawing out so he can slam back in with even more force. You cry out, nodding, tears forming at the corners of your eyes.

“Of course it does,” he grunts, and you can feel the crest of your climax steadily approaching as he speaks, letting yourself get lost in the fantasies he’s bringing to life. His thrusts speed up again, rough and brutal, just as you need.

“You were just waiting for someone to -- ungh -- come along and fuck all the thoughts outta that clever little head, weren’t you?”

You whine, because he’s right - your normally sharp, observant brain has been put out like water over a fire. Boba leans forward, placing his hand on the arm of the couch next to your elbow, and brushes his lips against the back of your neck. It changes his position enough that his cock hits you just that much deeper, pounding against that elusive sweet spot deep within your cunt.

“Kriff, Boba --” You barely get the words out, your voice hoarse and strained and your mind turned to mush. “So -- so big.”

Against your ear, you feel more than hear him chuckle. His teeth catch on your earlobe, hot breath skating down the side of your face.

“Yeah? You like having my big cock in your tight little pussy?”

You keen, high-pitched and desperate. “Please, Boba, I’m gonna --”

His teeth trail down the side of your neck, biting firmly enough to leave a trail of red marks across your skin. Once he’s satisfied with his work, he leans up again so he can grip your hips more firmly.

“Gonna come, little one? Go on --” his words trail off for a moment - or maybe your hearing fades out as the crisis within you rises to its limit. Right as you’re on the edge, your face flush with sensation and your cunt fluttering around him, his rough voice fades back in.

“-- wanna feel you, princess. Come for your king.”

You have no choice but to do as he says.

Boba’s words scratch that small, hidden itch in your brain you’d taken a glance at earlier. Your mind whites out for a split second, as blinding as a snowstorm, before you return to yourself.

He’s still fucking you. Using you. Oversensitive and trembling, your senses absorb the world around you - Boba's hands on your hips, the scrape of his armor against your thighs, the crackle of the fireplace somewhere over your shoulder.

The rhythm of Boba's cock inside you, chasing the same high you'd found moments earlier.

You moan, pushing back, encouraging him to find his release. A glance over your shoulder gives you the sight of his eyes focused on where he's thrusting into you, lip curled, a drop of sweat trailing down over his jaw.

Boba glances up at you and smirks, though the flash of teeth makes it more of a sneer. "Where do you want me, princess?"

A serene smile crosses your face and you pretend to think on it for a moment, lazy in your post-orgasmic haze.

"On me," you reply. "Wherever you want."

He grunts, looking back down, and thrusts a few more times, deep and bruising. As soon as he pulls out you mourn the loss of him, the fullness inside of you, but you're rewarded with a vision unlike any you've seen before. Boba takes himself in hand, and with a loud groan, cums across your ass, his spend dripping down your thighs and onto your pussy lips. He covers you with himself, marking you up.

Once he's finished, Boba runs a hand through the cum on your skin, pressing firmly and rubbing it in.

"Been wanting to do that since I saw you in the meeting hall, little one."

You hum, eyes fluttering closed at the thought of it. What a scandal - the Chieftain's daughter falling for the stranger, the first foreigner to visit the village in living memory.

Behind you, Boba shifts off of the couch. He stands beside you and then you register that he's moving you, strong hands arranging your limp body so he can pick you up. One arm slips beneath your knees and the other under your back.

"Bedroom's upstairs," you murmur.

He brings you there, tucking you into bed carefully and then turning to undo his armor. As you watch him methodically remove each piece, you get the feeling that you're privy to something rare. Though you're sleepy, your eyes remain open, intent on keeping this memory clear.

The thought crosses your mind that this man must know so much of the universe. He's probably been to hundreds of planets, has hundreds of stories.

You've only ever known snow and wind.

"Boba?"

He's just finished with the last of his armor when you speak. He sits down on the edge of the bed next to you and puts his hand on your side.

"Yes, princess?"

You gaze up into his eyes, dark but soft when looking at you.

"What's the most beautiful place you've ever been to?"

He smiles at that, letting out a soft chuckle. "I've been to so many places that it's hard to keep track, little one."

You pout. He moves to settle into bed next to you, under the layers of fur and fleece that keep you warm.

"You must have a favorite," you insist, curling up against him, head resting on his bicep.

He's quiet for a minute, thinking. You wait, though sleep threatens to pull you under. Boba's words lull you out of the beginnings of your slumber.

"I think you'd like Naboo," he tells you. You've read about it, about their system of governance. You can't recall seeing any pictures or illustrations, though.

"It's very green," he explains. "There's meadows and forests everywhere. Their cities are vast, the buildings beautiful in themselves. I traveled there with my father when I was young."

You want to ask more, to learn about this place so different from anything you know. Your mind is racing with imaginings when you fall asleep, cozy and warm against Boba Fett.

In the night, your dreams glow as bright as the sun.

#boba fett x reader #boba fett fanfiction #boba fett fucks #mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #boba fett x female reader #female reader #reader insert #reader insert fanfiction

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discoscoob · 3 years

Text

Kiss in the Kitchen | Loki x Female Reader

Loki (Marvel) x Doctor Who

Three days have passed since Loki started avoiding you and you are presented with an opportunity to talk to him however it quickly escalates into an argument.

Part Four | Part Six | Chapter Index

Words: 2.8k

Warnings: angst and fluff

Read on AO3

You were sat alone at the kitchen table, on the TARDIS, digging into a bowl of noodles. A few days ago you had found some packs of them in one of the cupboards and at first you didn’t know what they were, but you could tell that they definitely weren’t from earth. After checking with the Doctor he assured you that they were safe for human consumption, as was everything else he kept stocked in the TARDIS kitchen.

Donna and the Doctor were currently visiting a leisure palace on a planet called Midnight, but you had foregone the trip in the hopes that Loki would come out of hiding so that you could finally talk to him.

Three days had passed since your trip to The Dark Ages, and you hadn’t seen Loki at all since. He had harboured himself away in the TARDIS and due to its infinite size, you were beginning to worry over the possibility that he might have actually gotten lost, but that concern quickly vanished when you heard footsteps approaching the kitchen.

Your heart rate spiked and you sat up straight. You suddenly started feeling nervous, this was going to be the first time you saw Loki in days, you were finally presented with an opportunity to talk to him, you didn’t want to mess it up.

You rushed to wipe the back of your hand over your mouth and chin, incase there was anything left on your face from the noodles and you straightened out your hair and clothes, hoping that you at least looked some what presentable.

As soon as Loki turned into the kitchen, he immediately halted when he saw you. You noticed that today he was dressed similarly to how he had during your first night on the TARDIS, abandoning his pristine fitted suits for a more casual look, consisting of dark jeans and a hoodie. You offered him a kind smile with the hope that it would encourage him to stay, but instead he swiftly turned on his heel already beginning to storm off somewhere else.

“Damn it, Loki! You can’t avoid me forever.” You lost your patience and your chair had screeched against the floor as you abruptly stood up.

Loki had paused at your outburst, his back still turned to you. Slowly he looked at you from over his shoulder with his head tilted slightly to the side, it was a subtle thing which made him look all the more intimidating.

“Can’t I?” Loki challenged as he turned to completely face you. “You really think your mortal existence is that unavoidable?”

His voice was harsh and distant, directed towards you it felt like being shoved into a pool of ice cold water, your whole body stiffened as you literally felt your blood rushing quicker through your veins from the rapid rate of your heartbeat while unpleasant shivers ran down your spine, but you didn’t let it show. You hardened your exterior, squaring your shoulders and narrowing your eyes.

“If you really want to avoid me, why don’t you just leave? Because the way I recall it, you wouldn’t even be here to avoid me if I hadn’t convinced the Doctor to let you stay!” You began to raise your voice, you weren’t shouting but your tone was teetering on a very fine edge, as you clenched your fists by your side.

By now your chest was visibly rising and falling with all the pent up nerves and frustration that were surging heat through your blood stream.

Loki was momentarily caught of guard by your outburst, but he was a master at disguising his emotions, so all you saw was his eyes darken as he took a menacing step towards you.

“I can’t believe I was gullible enough to believe that you might have actually been different, that I might have found someone who genuinely cared about me, but you don’t even try to hide the fact that you’re ashamed of me. And I’m expected to tolerate it because I should just be grateful for the fact that you found it in your heart to save someone like me in the first place. Well I never asked you or anyone to save me!” Loki finally raised his voice and you flinched. “I never asked Odin to take me from Jotunheim. I never asked Thanos to give me an army and a kingdom to rule and I never asked you to convince the Doctor to let me stay!” Loki’s voice rivalled yours and the callous tone felt like a knife straight through your chest.

You had backed yourself away behind the kitchen table, putting it between you and Loki as he had closed the distance between you, as if it would serve you any form of protection.

“Ashamed...” You barely managed to repeat the word in a whisper. “When have I ever given you the impression that I am ashamed of you?”

“Evidently you don’t hide it as well as you think you do. You couldn’t even bare to be seen holding my hand in front of your auntie and the Doctor.” Your lips parted in realisation and your anger began to dilute with regret, you were about to explain to Loki that you hadn’t let go of his hand because you were ashamed of him, but he continued his rant before you got the chance. “Yet you had no qualms about holding hands with that glorified plagiarist in front of the entire theatre.”

At his words you quickly grew frustrated again and your intentions of explaining yourself to him were quickly forgotten.

“He took my hand what was I supposed to do? Snatch it away just to please you? And what do you even mean by ‘glorified plagiarist’ I thought you liked him?”

“Surely you noticed the amount of times he stole the Doctors words, I doubt that man ever had an original idea in his life.” Loki’s eyes looked off beyond you as he voiced his suspicion, before they focused right back on you and pinned you to your spot. “And what about when he tried to kiss you? Couldn’t snatch yourself away then either?”

Speechlessly your jaw fell slack as you brought your hand up to push your hair back from your face and let your gaze fall to the surface of the kitchen table.

“I can’t believe this.” You muttered to yourself before you dropped both your palms to the table and leaned forward to look Loki dead in the eye. “I already told you I wasn’t interested in him. He approached me because he saw I was worried. Worried about you. He asked me what was wrong, I thought he was going to listen to me. As soon as he leaned in to kiss me I put my hands on his chest to push him away because I want you, not him.”

Loki paused as he considered your words, his eyes cast downwards to follow his finger as he ran it back and forth over the top of one of the dining chairs.

“You want me but you would rather no one know about it.” Loki quietly spoke, still watching his own hand.

“No... God, no.” You gently but firmly told him as you made your way around the kitchen table towards him.

You grasped Loki by his elbows to turn him to face you, he allowed you to move him without resistance, but he still hid his eyes from you with his head lowered. You ran your hands down both his forearms until your fingers intertwined with his and then you brought your hands up between your chests. He kept his arms and fingers limp, but apart from that he didn’t object.

“I didn’t let go of your hand because I am ashamed of being with you, but we hadn’t even properly discussed our situation yet and I wasn’t ready to be bombarded with questions from my auntie, you know what she’s like, and especially in that situation it just wouldn’t have been practical.” You explained to him honestly.

“Wh... why would we need to discuss our ‘situation?’ We kissed, doesn’t that say enough in itself already?” Loki finally looked at you with confusion written in his eyes.

“don’t you... on Asgard don’t you discuss with your partner whether or not you’re, like... in an actual relationship?” You hesitantly asked Loki, as you struggled to find the right way to phrase the question.

“Well, we just simply would not be intimate with someone who we didn’t wish to be in a relationship with.” Loki explained, his tone balancing between ‘shouldn’t this be obvious?’ and ‘am I crazy for thinking this should be normal?’

After hearing that, the weight of the situation suddenly crashed down on you. Loki believed he witnessed you almost kiss Shakespeare, the morning after you and he had shared a kiss which to him confirmed that you were together. This meant that not only did he believe you were ashamed of him, he also believed you immediately betrayed him.

“Oh, Loki,” you whispered regretfully. “I- I didn’t realise. On Earth, it isn’t uncommon for people to kiss or even have sex with each other and not be official.”

“Then how do people know whether or not they are, as you call it, ‘official?’” Loki asked, looking completely perplexed by these customs, you had to admit they were confusing and only caused complications, the way of Asgard sounded much simpler.

“They usually just discuss it and come to an agreement.” You shrugged.

Loki slipped his fingers out of yours and for a second you felt your chest begin to cave, but when he pulled out the dining chair in front of him and sat down at the kitchen table, your brows knitted together with confusion. Silently, Loki gestured to the chair opposite him with his right hand, offering you to sit, hesitantly and with a questioning look you lowered yourself into the dining chair.

Once you were sat opposite him, Loki reached his hands across the kitchen table to hold yours in his own.

“I realise that these past few days I have behaved like a fool, I should have allowed you the chance to explain sooner instead of jumping to conclusions and I hope that you can forgive me.” Loki sincerely apologised.

“Loki, I already have,” you assured him. “Just please promise that in the future you’ll let me talk to you instead of avoiding me.”

“I swear it.” He promised. “And if... as you say, we have a future, may I request that we be ‘official?’” Loki proposed and you were endeared by how formal he was about it, you couldn’t hold back your smile.

“I’d love nothing more.” You confessed and you supported your upper body on your elbows as you leaned over the table to seal your agreement with a kiss.

“What’s going on here? I leave you alone for one day to visit a leisure palace and come back to find you two loved up?” You both startled and pulled apart at the sound of Donna’s voice and simultaneously turned your heads to find her halfway into the kitchen.

“You’re not possessed again are you?” She squinted her eyes with suspicion and bounced them back and forth between you and Loki.

“No.” You shook your head, before glancing back at Loki who appeared to be perfectly calm as he offered you a soft smile.

“Oh okay.” Your auntie sighed as she now made her way further into the kitchen, “because the Doctor was.”

“What?” You were hardly following what she was saying as your heart rate was racing, you don’t know why you were having this kind of reaction to Donna finding out about you and Loki, but it felt so sudden, you were hoping that you could have been able to tell her on your own terms and now you were nervous about what she will say.

“The Doctor, he got possessed.” Donna informed you, as she pulled a bottle of water from the fridge before she started approaching the kitchen table.

“At the leisure palace?” Your pitch raised with confusion, as she sat down beside Loki, who suddenly looked nervous by her close presence.

“No, on a space truck on his way to visit a sapphire waterfall.” Donna looked up when you remained silent and saw your wide eyed expression. “That wasn’t sarcasm.” She clarified.

“Is he okay?” You asked with concern.

“Yeah, just a bit shaken up.” She frowned. “But they’re going to have to permanently shut the resort down to prevent it from happening again.”

A silence covered the room while Donna drank from her bottle and you glanced down at yours and Loki’s hands which were still intertwined over the kitchen table and he gave them a gentle squeeze.

“So... how long has this been going on?” Donna rested her chin on her fist as she eagerly leaned forward on the table and glanced between the two of you.

“Uh... since the dark ages.” You softly chuckled at how that made it sound like you had been together for centuries and you caught the way Loki’s lip slightly curved, clearly amused by it as well.

“Oh, so that’s why you both disappeared.” Donna raised her eyebrows.

Your cheeks immediately flamed and Loki began stroking his thumb over your knuckles.

“But listen here, Bruce Almighty.” Donna turned in her chair to focus her attention on Loki, who quickly gave her his attention and furrowed his brows at the nickname. “You might be a divine being of immortality or whatever but don’t think that doesn’t mean I won’t hurt you if you break my nieces heart. Don’t think you’ll get off lightly just because I’m a mortal either, I have a time lord on my side and don’t forget it.”

“Donna!” You scolded your auntie, as your cheeks grew even hotter.

“You have my word that if I were to ever impose any harm upon your niece I’d let you deal with me however you see fit.” Loki swore to your auntie with eyes filled with sincerity before they fell back on you, as you speechlessly stared at him completely enchanted.

***

You and Loki had just crawled into your bed for the night and although you were aware that the God didn’t follow the same sleeping pattern as you, he assured you that there was no place he would have rather been.

You were both laid on your sides, face to face, with your legs intertwined and your chests almost flush, Loki’s arm rested over the dip of your waist and his fingertips traced patterns up and down your spine, his other hand was rested between his cheek and pillow and your faces were so close that the tips of your noses occasionally brushed.

You couldn’t wipe the smile off your face even if you tried. Ever since you and Loki had agreed to be official, it were as if you were receiving an endless supply of liquid endorphins shot directly through your veins, except when Donna gave him ‘the talk,’ you shut your eyes with embarrassment as it played back in your mind.

“I’m sorry for my auntie.” You apologised with a wince.

Your own hand was resting on the side of Loki’s neck and your thumb brushed against the corner of his jaw, so you felt him shake his head dismissively and reopened your eyes.

“Don’t apologise, it’s important to have people in your life who look out for you and care about you. I’m glad that she is protective.” Loki told you, and from the proximity of your faces you felt his breath fan across your lips as he spoke.

Your brows pinched together as you listened to what Loki said and considered how, from what he had told you, he lacked people who looked out for him. To hide your frown, you shuffled down the bed slightly and snuggled into his chest and in response he shifted onto his back so you were able to rest your head upon his shoulder with your arm cuddled around his waist.

“I’ll look out for you.” You promised him with a tired voice.

Loki’s head lifted slightly as he looked down at the top of yours, his features completely softened. Of course he found it endearing that a being far more vulnerable than he, was promising him protection, however more importantly he felt your words to be true.

You had displayed it ever since Pompeii when you ensured he was hydrated while barely conscious in an attempt to keep his temperature steady, then once again when you offered him a place to stay on the TARDIS and then ensured that he didn’t lose it.

The sides of his lips lifted softly as he planted them on the crown of your head.

“I don’t doubt that.” You heard him whisper as he pulled you closer with his arm around your shoulders.

“Goodnight, Loki.” You mumbled softly.

“Goodnight, my love.” Loki answered.

My love. Your chest overflowed with warmth and you pressed your lips to the side of Loki’s neck to give him a lingering kiss before you gently floated off into a peaceful sleep.

#loki #loki (marvel)#loki x reader #loki x female reader #loki x you #loki imagine #doctor who #tenth doctor #10th doctor #donna noble #tom hiddleston

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olderthannetfic · 4 years

Note

It's really surprising that you're so well versed in older fandoms and yet participate in new popular ones (that cdrama, kpop) is this by design? Im in my twenties and my interest turnover is already way slower than it used to be

You know, that’s a really interesting question. I wouldn’t say it’s by design exactly in that I do tend to just follow what strikes my fancy, and I can’t force myself to want to write fic for just anything. (I find it easier to like reading fic without serious involuntary emotional investment, but writing takes more. Vidding I can do on command most of the time, but I don’t usually bother unless I have a lot of feels or I’m fulfilling someone’s prompt.)

However, me getting into BTS was 100% due to me wanting to understand BTS enough to explain to people who weren’t very interested but wanted to know what was going on in fandom lately. Under normal circumstances, I run the dance party at Escapade, the oldest extant slash con. We borrowed vividcon’s thing of playing fanvids on the wall--all of them set to dance music--as the soundtrack for the dance party. This means I’m creating a 3-hour mixtape of fannishness, which has amazing potential to make people feel in the know about Fandom Today... and equal potential to make them feel alienated if nothing they care about shows up. Only about 100-150 people attend the con, so it really is possible to make a playlist that feels inclusive yet informative--it just takes a huge amount of work.

Every year, I do a lot of research on which fandoms are getting big and look for vids from vidders people won’t have heard of, so there is an element of consciously trying to keep up with things. Generally, I only get into these fandoms myself if I had no idea what they were and then suddenly, oops, they’re my kryptonite, like the buddy cop android plot in Detroit: Become Human, which sucked me in hard for like 6 months on the basis of a vid.

(So if you’re into cross-fandom meta and associated stuff as one of your fannish interests, you tend to have broader knowledge of different fandoms, old and new, than if you’re just looking for the next place you’ll read fic. It’s also easier to love vids for unfamiliar things than fic.)

But though I was only looking for a basic primer on BTS, BTS has 7 members with multiple names and no clear juggernaut pairing, not to mention that AU that runs through the music videos and lots of other context to explain. The barrier to understanding WTF was going on at all was high enough that to know enough to explain, I had to be thoroughly exposed... And once I was over that hurdle, oops, I had a fandom.

In terms of old vs. new, here’s the thing: kpop fandoms in English and c-drama fandoms in English right now feel a lot like anime fandom in English did in the early 00s. I had a Buddy Cops of the 70s phase in the middle, but my current fannishness is actually a return to my older fannishness in many ways.

What do I mean about them being similar?

Yes, I know some wanker will show up to say I think China, Korea, and Japan are indistinguishable, but that’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about the way that I used to routinely meet Italian and French and German fans, Argentinian and Mexican, Malaysian and Indonesian and Filipino too. English-language fandom of SPN or MCU may have all those fans from all those countries, but it feels very American most of the time. English-language fandom of a non-English-language canon is more overtly about using English as a lingua franca.

It also tends to attract people who as a sideline to their fannishness are getting into language learning and translation, which are my other passion in life after fanworks fandom. (I speak only English and Spanish and a bit of Japanese, but I’ve studied German, French, Russian, Mandarin, Old English, and now Korean.)

Nerds arguing about methods of language learning and which textbooks are good and why is my jam. This is all over the place in English-language fandoms of Chinese, Japanese, and Korean media. Those fandoms also tend to be full of speakers coming from a Germanic or Romance languages background who face similar hurdles in learning these languages. (In other words, if you’re a native Japanese speaker trying to learn Korean, the parts that will be hard for you are different than if you’re an English speaker, but you’re also usually not doing fandom in English.)

There’s also an element of scarcity and difficulty of access and a communal attempt to construct a canon (in the other sense) of stuff from that country that pertains to one’s fannishness. So, for example, a primer explaining the genre of xianxia is highly relevant to being a n00b Untamed fan, but just any old thing about China is not. A c-drama adapted from a danmei webnovel is perhaps part of the new pantheon of Chinese shit we’re all getting into, but just any old drama from decades ago is probably not... unless it’s a genre precursor to something else we care about. Another aspect here is that while Stuff I Can Access As A N00b Who Doesn’t Speak The Language may be relatively scarce, there’s a vast, vast wealth of stuff that exists.

This is what it felt like to be an anime fan in the US in 2000. As translation got more commercial and more crappy series were licensed and dumped onto an already glutted market, the vibe changed. No longer were fans desperately trying to learn enough of the language to translate or spending their time cataloguing what existed or making fanworks about a show they stuck with for a bit: the overall community focus turned to an endless race of consumption to keep up with all of the latest releases. That’s a perfectly valid way of being fannish, but if I wanted that, I’d binge US television 24/7.

Anime fandom got bigger, but what I liked about anime fandom in English died, and I moved on. (Okay, I first moved on to Onmyouji, which is a live action Japanese thing, but still.)

Hardcore weeaboos and now fans of Chinese and Korean stuff don’t stop at language: people get excited about cooking, my other other great passion. Times a thousand if the canon is something like The Sleuth of the Ming Dynasty, which is full of loving shots of food preparation. People get excited about history! Mandarin and Japanese may share almost nothing in terms of grammar or phonology, but all of East Asia has influence from specific Chinese power centers historically, and there are commonalities to historical architecture and clothing that I love.

I fell out of love with the popular anime art styles as they changed, and I’m not that into animation in general these days. (I still own a shitton of manga in art styles I like, like Okano Reiko’s Onmyouji series.) I’ve become a filmmaker over the last decade, and I’m very excited about beautiful cinematography and editing. With one thing and another, I’m probably not going to get back into anime fandom, but it’s lovely to revisit the cultural aspects I enjoyed about it via live-action media.

BTS surprised me too, to be honest. I really dislike that early 90s R&B ballad style that infests idol music (not just Korean--believe me, I resisted many rounds of “But Johnny’s Entertainment though!” back in the day). While I like some of the dance pop, I just don’t care. But OH NO, BTS turn out to be massive conscious hip hop fanboys, and their music sounds different. I have some tl;dr about my reactions in the meta I wrote about one of my fanvids, which you can find on Dreamwidth here.

But back to your comment about turnover: I know fans from the 70s who’ve had one great fannish love and that’s it and more who were like that but eventually moved on to a second or third. They’re... really fannishly monogamous in a way I find hard to comprehend. It was the norm long ago, but even by the 90s when far more people were getting into fandom, it was seen as a little weird. By now, with exponentially more people in fandom, it’s almost unheard of. I think those fans still exist, even as new people joining, but we don’t notice them. They were always rare, but in the past, only people like that had the stamina to get over the barriers to entry and actually become the people who made zines or were willing to be visibly into fanfic in eras when that was seen as really weird. On top of that, there’s an element of me, us, judging the past by what’s left: only people with an intense and often single passion are visible because other people either drifted away or have seamlessly disappeared into some modern fandom. They don’t say they’re 80 or 60 or 40 instead of 20, so nobody knows.

In general, I’m a small fandoms and rare ships person. My brain will do its best to thwart me by liking whatever has no fic even in a big fic fandom... (Except BTS because there is literally fic for any combination of them, like even more than for the likes of MCU. Wow. Best fandom evar!) So I have an incentive to not get complacent and just stick with one fandom because I would very soon have no ability to be in fandom at all.

My appetite for Consuming All The Things has slowed way down, but it also goes in waves, and a lot of what I’m consuming is what I did back in 2000: journal articles and the limited range of English-language books on the history of m/m sex and romance in East Asia. It’s not so much that I have a million fandoms as that I’m watching a few shows as an expression of my interest in East Asian costume dramas and East Asian history generally.

I do like to sit with one thing and experience it deeply rather than moving on quickly, but the surface expression of this has changed depending on whether I’m more into writing fic or more into doing research or something else.

But yes, I do do a certain amount of trying to stay current, often as a part of research for fandom meta or to help other people know what’s going on. Having a sense of what’s big doesn’t automatically mean getting into all those things, but I think some fans who are older-in-fandom and/or older-in-years stop being open to even hearing what’s new. And if you’ve never heard of it, you’ll never know if you might have liked it.

#fandom meta #fandom history #Anonymous

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