#//now that he's a star and sees the grand scheme of things he just- wants his kid to have a happy childhood

[drachliebe]

the german dub of the cartoon's closing song hits differently man ;-;

[chimcess]

Unparalleled || jjk

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader Other tags: Idol!Jungkook, Photographer!Reader Word Count: 6.6k+ Genre:  One-shot, established relationship, PWP, long distance relationship AU, smut Synopsis: You had only met him once, a fleeting moment in the grand scheme of things, and the fact that he was on the other side of the hotel door felt surreal. Or, after being in a long-distance relationship for over a year, you and Jungkook are finally meeting up. Warnings: This is literally just porn, there’s a plot but it’s just filth, soft-dom JK, he calls reader “baby,” oral (m&f), d*ck piercing, tatted jk, jk wears glasses (the entire time), dirty talk, desperate sex, couch sex, they barely made it inside tbh, protected sex (wrap it up babes), multiple positions, light begging, light body worship, light praise, some teasing, reader cums on his face, multiple orgasms, nipple play, nipple sucking, some nipple biting, hair pulling, aftercare cuddling, sweet ending, let me know if I missed anything... A/N: I’m still getting used to writing smut, so I’m sorry if this is a bit awkward in some spots. Found this in my drafts, so I fixed it up a little bit and decided to post it. Thanks for reading.

Staring down at my fidgeting hands, I felt like the taxi was closing in on me, every tick of the clock amplifying the sense of claustrophobia. Twenty minutes felt like an eternity, dragging by as if time itself were taunting me. I stole another glance at my phone, re-reading Jungkook's last message like it was some sort of magic spell. 

Kookie: 324

It was surreal to think he was right here in California, just a short drive away, no oceans or time zones separating us. My leg bounced nervously beneath the table, the excitement swirling in my stomach like butterflies in a frenzy. Each moment felt charged with anticipation, a thrilling energy that made my heart race. I quickly typed out a response, adding a heart emoji before sending my location. Jungkook always said sharing my location made him feel closer to me, bridging the gap between our worlds, even with his whirlwind schedule that rarely left room for anything else. Being one of the biggest pop stars had a way of pulling a guy in a million directions.

I couldn’t help but smile as I recalled our first meeting. It was right after the lockdown ended, during his band’s visit to California for a concert and the Grammys. I still vividly remembered standing by the snack table, nervously clutching a half-empty cup of soda, when our eyes met for the first time. There was an electric spark in that moment, something I hadn’t realized I’d been missing. His grin was infectious, his playful nature shining through, and my heart had skipped a beat at the sound of his laughter. It echoed in my mind like a melody I wanted to play on repeat.

A few months later, we had entered a long-distance relationship, navigating the challenges of his demanding career while trying to keep our connection alive. Late-night video calls, flirty texts, and the occasional surprise visit were our lifelines, but nothing could compare to the rush of being together in the same room. And now, the thought of finally seeing him in person again sent a rush of warmth through me, a blend of hope and nervous energy that was hard to contain.

As I waited, I replayed our conversations in my mind—each one a thread weaving our lives together despite the distance. We shared dreams, fears, and whispered secrets, laying the groundwork for something beautiful and profound. The thought of being in his presence again, of feeling his warmth and the comfort of his touch, made my heart race with excitement.

I glanced at the clock again, biting my lip in anticipation. Each minute stretched into hours, the seconds crawling by. Would he still feel the same? Would our chemistry translate into real life as effortlessly as it did through screens and messages? Doubts flitted through my mind, but I shook them off, focusing on the joy of the moment. Jungkook was just a heartbeat away, and soon, I would be in his arms. The very idea sent a shiver down my spine.

My phone buzzed, startling me out of my thoughts. I scrambled to open the notification, my heart racing. If Jungkook messaged, I had to respond quickly. Our conversations were a race against time, a way to squeeze moments of connection into his packed schedule. Phone calls were our only reliable lifeline, but the language barrier complicated things. We were both trying, though Jungkook's English was much better than my Korean.

Kookie: 나는 신나요

Giggling, I typed back a response.

Y/N: 나도

Kookie: Good job, 자기~

Nothing made Jungkook happier than seeing me try to improve my Korean. He always insisted it was adorable, his smile brightening every time I stumbled through a phrase. Yoongi was usually the more honest one, quick to point out my mispronunciations, but Jungkook wore that supportive boyfriend badge with pride, even if it meant telling me little white lies.

As the taxi pulled up to the hotel, my heart raced with a mix of excitement and anxiety. I thanked the driver, tipping generously as I stepped out into the warm night air. The moment I did, the fragrant scent of blooming jasmine wafted around me, mingling with the distant sound of waves crashing against the shore. I had only packed a small bag for our two-night stay, not knowing how much time we’d actually have together. Remembering that, I hurried up the steps, my footsteps echoing against the marble tiles.

The Sunset Hotel was unlike anything I’d imagined. I had envisioned a quiet, almost sleepy place, but instead, it was alive with activity. I couldn’t believe it was two in the morning; the lobby was bustling, a vibrant mix of laughter, clinking glasses, and the faint notes of live music drifting from the bar area. The energy crackled in the air like electricity, and I felt an exhilarating rush. Yet, amidst the lively atmosphere, a wave of inadequacy washed over me. Just a few moments ago, in the taxi, I had almost forgotten about Jungkook’s status as one of the biggest pop stars in the world, but now, beneath the sparkling chandelier that cast shimmering patterns across the polished floor, it was impossible to ignore.

As I walked through the brightly lit lobby, I caught glimpses of elegantly dressed guests, their conversations animated, their laughter ringing out like musical notes. I felt like a fish out of water, dressed in a casual sundress while they flaunted designer attire. Who would have thought my years in the service industry—working late nights and juggling demanding customers—would lead me here, about to meet someone who could afford such luxury? The thought both thrilled and terrified me.

At the front desk, the staff shot me quick, assessing looks. Their eyes were sharp, as if measuring my worth in this lavish setting. One of the hosts greeted me with a forced smile that felt far too wide for comfort. “Welcome to the Sunset Hotel! How can I assist you tonight?” Their voice dripped with that practiced hospitality, but I could sense a subtle skepticism beneath the surface.

“Um, I’m here to check in,” I replied, my voice steady despite the fluttering in my chest. I fished my phone out of my bag, ready to show them the reservation I’d made, but the host raised an eyebrow, glancing down at the computer screen as if evaluating my very presence.

“Name?” they asked, still wearing that unnaturally bright smile.

“Y/N,” I replied, and I held my breath as they typed it in. A brief moment of silence stretched between us, the bustling lobby fading into a distant murmur as I waited for their response. 

“Ah, yes! We have you right here,” they said finally, their tone shifting to one of mild surprise. “You’re the other half of 324, correct?” They looked at me again, and I could feel the weight of their judgment, as if I were a puzzle they were trying to fit into a larger picture.

“Right,” I said, attempting to keep my tone light. “Should just be for the weekend.” 

The host’s smile remained, but the glint in their eye suggested they were piecing together the details, perhaps even recognizing my connection to Jungkook. As they handed me the key card, I felt a rush of anxiety. What if they didn’t think I belonged here? What if Jungkook didn’t feel the same way about me once we were together?

I took the key, my fingers brushing against the cool surface, and turned to head toward the elevator. I was acutely aware of the looks I was receiving, a mix of curiosity and skepticism from both staff and guests alike. The air was thick with expectations, and I could almost hear the whispers in my mind, doubting whether I was truly worthy of this moment. But I pushed those thoughts aside. This was about Jungkook and me, our connection. And soon, I would be in his presence, feeling the warmth of his smile and the excitement of our reunion. 

Taking a deep breath, I stepped into the elevator, the doors closing behind me like a protective barrier from the outside world. As the car ascended, I clutched my bag, heart racing with every passing floor. This was it. In just a few moments, I would be face-to-face with the boy who had ignited something within me, and no amount of uncertainty could overshadow that truth.

I shifted from foot to foot in the cramped elevator, the anticipation eating away at me like a swarm of butterflies taking flight in my stomach. Each second felt like an eternity, stretching my nerves thinner and thinner. I took out my phone, biting back a smile as I contemplated the moment. It was so surreal that I was just a few moments away from seeing Jungkook again after what felt like an eternity apart.

In a burst of excitement, I snapped a quick picture of the elevator doors opening, the sleek metallic finish reflecting the soft glow of the lobby lights. I sent it to Jungkook with a playful caption: *“Almost there!”* Watching the little blue ticks appear, I felt a rush of warmth, knowing he’d see it almost instantly.

Once inside the elevator, I pressed the button for the third floor with a mix of hope and trepidation. It only made sense that the 300s would be located on the third floor, right? Still, the absence of any signs directing me left me feeling a bit disoriented. The elevator hummed softly, its gentle movement barely easing the whirlwind of thoughts racing through my mind.

The walls felt a bit too close, almost as if they were closing in on me, but I took a deep breath, willing myself to relax. I replayed the memories of our conversations, the laughter we shared, and the longing I felt every time we parted. The excitement pulsing through me was intoxicating, a vivid contrast to the anxious tension coiling in my chest.

Suddenly, my phone buzzed in my hand, jolting me out of my reverie. I glanced down, my heart skipping a beat as I saw Jungkook's name flashing on the screen. 

Kookie: I’m going to kiss you so much.

I couldn’t help but smile. I hoped kissing would be just the beginning of what would happen tonight. After a year of building up tension, I didn’t want to wait anymore. I wanted him.

Y/N: 또?

Kookie: I can’t think of it in English.

Rolling my eyes, I groaned. That was his way of avoiding a question. I knew he understood, but it amused me more than anything. Slowly, my nerves eased, and I felt more confident about seeing him, even if we were hiding away in a hotel I could never afford, lying on expensive sheets while the world outside spun with sharp eyes and curious gazes.

As the elevator dinged softly, signaling my arrival at the third floor, I felt a surge of adrenaline. The doors slid open smoothly, revealing a dimly lit hallway lined with plush carpeting and framed art pieces that whispered of elegance. Taking a deep breath, I stepped out, the plush carpet muffling my footsteps as I moved forward. The anticipation hung in the air like a charged atmosphere before a storm, and I could almost feel Jungkook’s presence drawing me closer.

I glanced at the room numbers, scanning for his. As I walked, I imagined what it would be like to finally be face-to-face with him. Would he look the same? Would that boyish grin still light up his face when he saw me? The thought sent my heart racing as I turned a corner, catching sight of the numbers I had been searching for. 

Room 324. My breath caught in my throat, and for a fleeting moment, I hesitated, overwhelmed by a wave of nerves. What if things were different now? What if he had changed? But I quickly shook off the doubts; this was Jungkook, the boy I had laughed and shared secrets with, the one who had kept my heart fluttering even from a distance.

With a firm resolve, I approached the door, my heart pounding in rhythm with my steps. I held my breath, the moment stretching out like a taut string ready to snap. Would he answer? Would he be excited to see me? I could hardly contain the anticipation, my heart racing as I waited for that door to swing open. The air crackled with anticipation, buzzing with the weight of what was about to happen. 

I raised my hand to knock, but before my knuckles could even touch the wood, the door swung open. And there he was—Jungkook.

He was everything I remembered: pitch-black hair tousled in a way that was both effortless and enticing, metal glinting in the light, thin, silver rimmed glasses, and a thin white t-shirt clinging to his muscular frame. It felt surreal, like stepping into a vivid dream, but this was no illusion. This was real, and it took my breath away.

"You," I whispered, the word slipping out like a gasp. 

His dark eyes widened in surprise, delight flickering across his features. My heart raced as I watched him take me in, his expression shifting from uncertainty to something deeper, more intimate. Had he been waiting for this moment as much as I had? Was he just as happy as I felt?

All my doubts faded when that eyebrow, heavy with steel, raised in appreciation instead of scorn. He stepped into the hallway, and my heart pounded wildly, the space between us charged with an unspoken promise.

"You," he echoed, his voice low and husky as he took my hand in his, guiding me back into his room. 

He kicked the door shut behind him. The air thickened as he moved closer, inches separating us, electric and intoxicating. I inhaled the scent of him—soap and laundry detergent—sending shivers down my spine. A soft whimper escaped my lips, desire pooling in my stomach like a spark waiting to ignite.

With an air of confidence, he advanced, and I leaned back, the weight of his presence drawing me in like gravity. I stopped when my back hit the couch, the world outside fading away as we paused, our breaths mingling in the charged silence. My fingers, betraying me, reached up to trace the row of piercings in his eyebrow, trailing down the line of his jaw to his lips. They were soft and rosy, a striking contrast to the rough stubble that scratched my palm.

In that moment, he darted his tongue out, the pointed tip brushing against my fingers, and I moaned softly, the sound echoing in the intimate space between us, igniting the fire that had been simmering beneath the surface.

And then he was on me.

He seized my hand, guiding it into the tousled mess of hair I had longed to touch. It was softer than I had imagined, and I lost myself in it. His mouth descended on mine, a fiery torrent of passion and urgency. My body responded instinctively, arching into him as our breaths mingled, his desire palpable against my stomach, the taste of longing lingering on his lips.

His palm traced a path down my arm, firm and possessive, sliding over my shoulder and back again. He tugged at the buttons of my cardigan, peeling the fabric away to reveal the inked skin beneath. I shivered at the roughness of his touch, a thrilling contrast to the softness of his kiss.

Breaking away, I pressed my mouth against the line of his jaw, trailing wet kisses toward the piercings in his ear, letting my tongue tease them as my breath washed hot against his skin.

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted to kiss you?” He whispered against my lips.

I panted, my fingers tangling tightly in his hair.

His hands tightened around my arms, pulling us together, the weight of our bodies colliding in a desperate embrace. “Every single day,” he swore, his voice rough yet melodic. He began a slow, deliberate exploration of my neck, the heat of his tongue tracing my pulse and making me shudder. “Every night that you called me, whispering sweet nothings in that voice. It drove me insane. I just wanted to hop on a plane and have you in my lap.”

“God, I wish you would have,” I gasped, feeling the bite of his teeth just below my collarbone, a thrilling blend of pain and pleasure that made me clench around nothing. “Why didn’t you?”

“You make me nervous,” he murmured, teasing aside the cup of my bra.

He took my nipple into his mouth, his tongue flicking against the bud with reverence. I whined in pleasure, arching into him. Emboldened, he bit down.

“Self-conscious, huh?” I teased, winded and shaking from pleasure, even as my nails dug into his back, urging him closer. “I have a hard time believing that right now.”

He pulled back, capturing my face in his strong hands, kissing me fiercely as a low growl escaped him. “Believe it.”

We kissed with a fierce intensity that made me feel like I was on fire, the heat radiating off him, his glasses pressing against my face. He shifted to remove them, but I caught his wrists, holding him in place.

“Don’t,” I growled. “I like them.”

A primal sound erupted from his chest, desperate and raw. He lifted me effortlessly, settling me against the back of the couch, our bodies grinding together, my thighs aligning perfectly with the hard heat of his jeans. Each thrust sent a new wave of pleasure surging through me, my head falling back as I teetered on the brink of ecstasy, feeling weightless and electric, consumed by a desire that felt like it could set us both ablaze.

But he caught me. Just as I was about to tumble backward into dizzying, white-hot pleasure, his arms wrapped around me, firm and unyielding, pulling me against the solid expanse of his chest. My breath came in quick, frantic gasps, my heart racing like a wild animal as I clung to him, my legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, drawing him closer.

“Careful, pretty girl,” he breathed into my ear, a soft murmur that sent shivers racing down my spine. I grasped at his back, fingers digging into the taut muscles, anchoring myself to him, afraid of being swept away in the tide of desire threatening to pull me under.

My hands roamed from his back, gliding over his shoulders and down his arms as he stroked his fingertips along my thighs, mapping a path from my knees to my hips and back again. His skin was warm, electric under my touch, and I traced the intricate black curls of ink adorning his pale flesh—an abstract tapestry resolving into a lion on one arm and a lamb on the other.

“You’re beautiful,” I gasped, the words spilling out before I could stop them, but he silenced me with another heated kiss. 

My fingers fumbled at the hem of his t-shirt, desperate to see what those curls of ink transformed into beneath the fabric. He shifted me closer, his grip on me unwavering, even as his hands momentarily released me to lift his arms above his head. Seizing the opportunity, I tugged at his shirt, peeling it away to reveal the canvas of his torso, the intricate lines of ink telling stories I longed to hear.

I barely had time to take in the intricate Sanskrit lines etched along his side and the lone kanji character hovering over his heart before he was lifting my shirt, pulling it over my head. For a heartbeat, I was enveloped in darkness, blinded by the fabric. My hands scrambled behind me, fumbling to unclasp my bra, and he kissed a heated trail along the bare skin of my shoulder as the straps slipped down my arms.

“I love this,” he murmured against my skin, his lips trailing softly across my collarbone, down my ribs, and back to my breast, igniting every nerve in my body. “And I love it all the more because of this.”

His tongue brushed over the small butterfly tattoo on my ribcage.

His fingers roamed lower, and when he pulled away, I let out a whimper of protest, longing for his touch. The light-headed sensation returned, reminding me just how long it had been since a man had touched me—since I’d felt filled.

I braced myself with one hand against the edge of the couch while the other tangled in his tousled hair, relishing its softness as it slipped through my fingers. His mouth found my stomach, his tongue dipping into my navel, tracing a tantalizing line toward my most sensitive spot. I gasped, an overwhelming hunger igniting deep within me. I had been yearning for this, for him, and the desperate need flooded my senses.

With deft fingers, he teased apart the button of my fly and drew down the zipper, revealing delicate black lace beneath. He licked and sucked his way to my hip, his hand lingering on my abdomen, thumb skirting under the edge of my underwear before descending lower, finally finding bare, glistening skin. When his fingers grazed my clit, pleasure surged through me, and I nearly cried out at its raw intensity.

“Fuck, baby, you’re dripping,” he cursed, his voice rough with desire as he buried his face against the joint of my hip and thigh.

“For you,” I groaned, my body arching instinctively. “I’ve been wet for months just thinking about you.”

A low growl escaped him, and in a blur of motion, he tore the hem of my jeans down, ripping them from my body until I was left in nothing but my panties. He pushed my naked thighs up and over his shoulders, positioning his head exactly where I craved him to be.

I struggled to contain my frantic breaths, fast and shallow, echoing my absolute need to feel his hands, his mouth, to be consumed by him entirely. He inhaled deeply, reverently, his nose brushing against the lace where my body met my thigh. The sensation sent shockwaves through me, rendering me breathless.

He wrapped one hand around my leg while the other snaked behind me, gripping my ass firmly, anchoring me as he pulled the soaked fabric aside, exposing my bare skin to his hungry gaze. His thumb descended onto my clit, and I gasped, waves of need crashing over me as pleasure radiated from his touch. I cried out, the sound escaping me like a prayer, my body arching toward him, desperate for more.

And then he kissed me, his mouth capturing my clit with an intensity that sent me spiraling.

The moans clawing their way from my chest were unrecognizable, a desperate symphony of need as I became a writhing mass of pure, unadulterated hunger. Unlatching himself, his thumb worked expertly at my clit, sending jolts of pleasure coursing through me. His tongue darted out, teasing the edges of my entrance before plunging inside, and I felt the pressure building, the storm that had been gathering finally reaching its peak until I exploded, my thighs clenching around his face as my body ignited into a searing inferno.

I teetered on the edge of ecstasy, and then I actually fell over, the world spiraling away.

When I regained awareness, I was sprawled across the back of the couch, my neck twisted awkwardly, the top of my head grazing the seat cushion. My arms draped limply above me while my thighs remained anchored to his shoulders. He gazed down at me, a mixture of curiosity and satisfaction etched across his face, his mouth glistening—a testament to our fervor.

With a wicked smirk, he wiped his mouth with his forearm, leaving me in my awkward state as he peeled my panties down my body, rendering me completely exposed and unable to rise. His finger glided along my opening, my body still thrumming with aftershocks from one of the most intense orgasms I’d ever experienced. When he dipped gently inside, I gasped.

“Is this what you want, Y/N? My hands inside you?” 

I found myself ensnared in a whirlwind of emotions; I craved this intimacy with him more than anything, yet it felt like just a fragment of the whole picture. The sensation of his fingers deep within me was intoxicating, but beneath that, there lingered a yearning for more—more than just his hands. I ached for him—his body hovering over mine, the heat radiating from him as I traced the ink etched across his skin, my tongue teasing the silver piercings that adorned him.

“Yes. No. God, I want you,” I gasped, my voice a mixture of longing and desperation.

He raised a pierced eyebrow, still kneeling before me, his fingers buried deep inside me. “Want your cock.”

“You want this dick?” he asked, his tone both teasing and serious.

“Yes,” I panted, the word slipping out as both a plea and a command.

“Where?” 

I knew exactly where I wanted him; the desire burned brightly within me. “Everywhere. My hand. My mouth. My pussy. Just… everywhere.” 

A low growl escaped him, reverberating through my body, raw and hungry. But just as quickly, his fingers slipped away, leaving me aching and empty. He gripped my hips, securing me against him and the back of the couch, rising to slide my slick core against the hard line of his body. The urgency of his arousal pressed against me, igniting a fire within. 

He leaned down, gathering me into his arms, kissing me with such fervor that I felt dizzy, his hardness grinding against me—a promise of what was to come.

I pushed him away gently, his expression shifting to one of confusion, but all I needed was a moment to slide off the couch and drop to my knees. He groaned as I ran my nose along the thick outline of him through his jeans, feeling him twitch in response to my teasing. With trembling hands, I tugged his pants and boxers down, revealing him—long, thick, and glistening with anticipation.

The chrome piercing at the tip caught the light, gleaming enticingly. 

Looking up, I found him hovering above me, his body bared save for those damn glasses. His intense gaze locked onto mine, a silent plea reflected in his brown eyes. “Y/N,” I breathed, letting my warm breath wash over the tip of him. He groaned, his fingers tangling in my hair, urging me forward.

“God, I want to feel your mouth on me,” he implored, igniting a wild hunger within me. 

I opened my mouth, eager and wet, my lips closing around the head of him, my tongue tracing the underside, the cool metal against warm flesh sending shivers down my spine. 

“Y/N.”

I pulled away before I could take him too deep, trailing my mouth down his length, savoring every moment as I buried my nose into the soft hair at the base of him. He was practically whimpering, and I couldn’t resist the urge to pump him twice with my hand, the slickness gliding over him before I took him into my mouth, relaxing my throat to envelop him. Yet even with all my efforts, I couldn’t fit him completely, and I rubbed my thighs together, craving the moment he would finally fill me.

I moved my mouth up and down his length, achingly slow, feeling the tension coiling within him, his hips twitching, restrained. He wanted to thrust, to take control, but I held him back, guiding his movements while keeping him still. I could sense his legs trembling, teetering on the edge, so I pulled off, leaving him panting, his length throbbing, a testament to our shared desire.

Kissing the sharp bone of his hip, I pulled his pants the rest of the way down as he kicked off his shoes, the fabric sliding away like a whisper in the night. Just as I was about to toss the jeans aside, he stopped me, his voice low and husky. “Back pocket.”

Curiosity piqued, I glanced up at him through narrowed eyes and retrieved the little foil package from his back pocket. I noticed at least two more tucked away, and I couldn’t help but wonder if he had remarkable recovery time or if he was planning a very long weekend with me. Both notions sent a thrilling rush coursing through me

I held the condom up between two of my fingers. Jungkook snatched the package from me, tearing it open with a deft motion, rolling it over his cock from tip to base. He pressed his sheathed length against my hip, our bodies brushing together with a desperation that left me breathless.

“Turn,” he commanded, gently pushing at my shoulder. I obeyed, and his hands shoved me down, bending me from the waist, positioning my elbows on the back of the couch. When he was satisfied with my submission, he settled his hands firmly on my shoulder blades, a searing presence that felt as though it might melt through my skin, branding me with his touch.

His hands glided down my sides, over my ribs and hips, finally settling on my ass, rubbing it appreciatively. The edges of his fingers grazed my lips, parting them, and I jerked backward, feeling the heat of his cock resting against my back.

“Wider, baby,” he cooed, his fingers sliding over my trembling thighs. I closed my eyes, overwhelmed by the rush of sensation, and obeyed, spreading my legs for him. His knees bent between mine, the tip of his cock gliding tantalizingly from my clit to my entrance, brushing against me but not penetrating.

“Please, Jungkook,” I panted, desperation clawing at my throat as I felt myself teetering on the edge of begging.

Even he found himself pleading. “Please let me inside you,” he whispered, his length teasingly tracing my wet flesh, dipping slightly to part my lips but not filling the aching void within me.

“Yes,” I groaned, finally feeling the head of his cock pressing against my entrance, slipping into me inch by glorious inch. Nothing had ever felt this intense. “Fuck, yes,” I moaned, his grip hot and possessive at my hip while the other hand cradled the back of my neck, steadying me.

It was maddening not being able to move, even though all I wanted was to rock back and pull him deeper. 

My body stretched as he pushed forward, achingly slow until he was fully seated within me, his hips flush against my backside. I gasped as he filled me completely. The sensation was electrifying, and I felt him rock back slightly before surging forward again, the combination of his length and the hot tip of metal against my walls making my eyes roll.

“Please,” I urged, my mantra of ‘yes’ and ‘fuck me’ spiraling from my lips as he finally began to thrust with abandon, our bodies locked in a passionate dance. 

He tightened his grip on my hip, the other hand sliding to the middle of my back, pushing down. I could feel his movements becoming erratic, less steady—so close to coming inside me.

But I didn’t want it to end like this. Not after all this time. 

“No, stop,” I breathed, the words barely escaping my lips before he froze, a pained sound erupting from him like a wounded animal.

“Please, Jesus, Y/N, you can’t—”

I glanced over my shoulder at him, squeezing him tightly inside me. The resulting moan from his throat sent a jolt of electricity through my body. The rejection and frustration etched across his face twisted my heart. “After all this time missing you,” I whispered, locking eyes with him, “I need to see you. I need to see you come.”

In an instant, he withdrew, turning my body roughly until I felt the couch pressing against me once more. Supporting my back with one hand, he parted my thighs with fierce urgency, stepping into them and plunging back inside me. I screamed, the sound echoing through the empty corners of the room.

His face was close to mine as he began to move again, quick, short thrusts finding a new rhythm. Our sweaty brows collided, the metal hoops of his piercings scratching my skin, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. His name spilled from my lips as we captured each other in another fiery kiss, a moment so intense I thought I could lose myself entirely in the swirl of our bodies, his ink swirling around us like dark tendrils of smoke.

His patience began to fray as he kissed me harder, his body pressing into mine with more urgency. I felt the fiery bloom of pleasure building again, hot and electric, and I craved him hard and fast—a deep connection stripped of all restraint.

He must have sensed my need, too, as he quickened his pace. “Hold on, baby,” he instructed, and I complied, wrapping my arms and legs around him tightly. I let him brace himself against the back of the couch as he drove into me, his pubic bone hitting my clit with each thrust, the metal piercing hitting deep within me making me mewl.

“I’m coming, Y/N. Fuck,” he moans, the raw desperation in his voice igniting something primal within me. 

His face contorts in a beautiful, twisted expression of pleasure, each thrust deeper, harder, as if he’s trying to etch this moment into my very soul. The intensity of his words washes over me like a tidal wave, pulling me into a realm of oblivion. My body pulses in rhythm with his, a white-hot light flashing behind my closed eyes, merging with the vision of him—so fully present in my arms, lost in the sheer ecstasy we’ve created together.

As the world around us faded, time seemed to suspend, leaving only the two of us in a cocoon of warmth and intimacy. I could feel the weight of our shared moments pressing against us, every sensation amplified in the silence that enveloped the room. Slowly, we began to come back to ourselves, his body still pressed against mine, a gentle reminder of the electrifying connection we had just shared. The feeling of him lingering inside me sent shivers down my spine, and our breaths intertwined in a rhythm that was both calming and exhilarating.

We exchanged soft kisses, each one delicate and filled with unspoken promises, contrasting the raw passion that had ignited between us moments before. It was a tender kind of intimacy, one that held the power to ground us in a whirlwind of emotions. 

After a moment, he pulled away, slipping out of me with a reluctance that made my heart ache just a little. The sudden emptiness was palpable, a gentle reminder of the closeness we had just experienced. Jungkook reached for the condom, his movements careful and deliberate, disposing of it in the wastebasket beside the couch. When he turned back to me, the soft glow of the room caught the contours of his face, illuminating him in a way that made him look almost ethereal.

“You’re really here,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking too loudly might shatter the magic of the moment.

“I’m here,” I replied, unable to suppress the grin that broke across my face. He was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, and this moment felt surreal.

Jungkook walked back over to the couch, his gaze roaming over my features as if he were trying to memorize every detail. “You look even better than I remembered,” he said, his smile soft and genuine, lighting up his eyes.

“And you look exhausted,” I teased, noticing the faint shadows under his eyes that spoke of sleepless nights and busy days.

He laughed, the sound brightening the room and melting away any remnants of anxiety I had carried with me. “It’s been a crazy week, but seeing you makes it all worth it.”

A smile broke across my face, the tension of the past months finally beginning to dissolve. For the first time since I had arrived, I took in my surroundings. The room felt both elegant and cozy, drenched in soft light, with tasteful decor that radiated warmth. A large bed dominated the space, its crisp white sheets looking impossibly inviting, and I found myself wishing we could make our way over there. It seemed far more comfortable than the couch.

“How was your flight?” Jungkook asked, bending down to plant a gentle kiss on my forehead, sending warmth flooding through me.

“Long,” I admitted. “But I couldn’t sleep. I was too excited.” The truth was, anticipation had been buzzing in my veins like electricity ever since I’d set foot on the plane.

He settled next to me on the couch, his hand finding mine, our fingers intertwining in a way that felt instinctive. “I’ve missed you so much,” he said, his thumb tracing small patterns on my skin, making my heart flutter in response.

“I’ve missed you too,” I replied, squeezing his hand tightly. “It feels like forever.”

We fell into a comfortable silence for a moment, the city lights twinkling outside like a constellation trapped within a glass jar. The reality of being here with him began to sink in, settling deep in my bones. No more video calls with choppy connections or hurried texts exchanged amid the chaos of our lives—just us, flesh and blood, finally in the same place.

Breaking the quiet, Jungkook’s tone turned serious, slicing through the warmth that enveloped us. “How are you holding up? I know it’s been tough.”

I took a deep breath, weighing my response. “It’s been hard,” I admitted, the truth heavy on my tongue. “But knowing we’d have this, even just a couple of days, kept me going.” 

He nodded, understanding etched on his face. “It’s the same for me. The craziness of the tour and the constant traveling—it’s all worth it knowing I get to see you.”

His words wrapped around me like a warm blanket on a cold night, soothing my weary soul. We talked for hours, drifting through a sea of conversation that felt both substantial and light, catching up on everything and nothing. His stories from the tour spilled out with infectious excitement, his eyes alight like fireflies in the dark. I shared my own experiences, and with every word, the distance between us began to melt away until it felt like the space of a single breath.

Eventually, exhaustion crept in like a gentle shadow, heavy yet comforting. Jungkook stood up and held out his hand, a playful glimmer in his eyes. “Come on,” he said, a teasing lilt in his voice. “Let’s move to the bed. It’s way more comfortable.”

I took his hand, allowing him to guide me across the room. The large bed loomed before us, inviting and cozy, the crisp white sheets beckoning like a sanctuary. As we settled into the plush comfort, I felt a wave of contentment wash over me, a feeling that we were finally exactly where we were meant to be. We lay side by side, fingers intertwined like threads in a tapestry, the world outside fading into a dull hum, the city’s chaos a distant memory.

© chimcess, 2024. Do not copy or repost without permission.

[theonevoice]

Have a gold star...

I swear, I started this as a wholesome innocent comment on how when Crowley has to think of a prize, after 6000+ years, his sweet head still goes to stars as the ultimate symbol of something beautiful and cherished.

But then I was struck by something: sarcasm.

Both times, when he tells someone to "have a gold star," he doesn't say it with a tone of affectionate irony, like the cool-but-sweet uncle with a rough personality but a soft heart. He says it with a tone of bitter sarcasm, of painful disenchantment.

Because it's not a prize that he is offering; it's a sop, a cruel joke-gift, something that will get you excited at first just because you have a stupid, naive, innocent soul, and you will later realize that it means nothing to the one who assigned it to you, and that they are ready to take it away whenever they want, while the rest of the world laughs at your ridiculous gullibility.

Because this is what stars were for him.

They were his beloved, exciting creation. The star-factory nebula was his cherished task, assigned to him by God, and he believed that it was meant to be a thing of beauty and splendor, and hold value in the grand scheme of the universe... only to discover, immediately after he created it, that it was never intended to have any value at all. It meant nothing to God. It wasn't even planned to last enough to fullfill its purpose. It was a joke, a cruel prank. 

The stars were God's bad pun of giving angel!Crowley something to do, and love, and have hope and expectations for, and then taking it away. Revealing that it was just a shiny piece of gold cardstock that only a simpleton could consider valuable. Of course he can only say "have a gold star" as a dry snarky sarcastic comment on someone who thinks they have achieved something meaningful when it's actually nothing. Be it the Them defeating the Four Horsemen. Be it Muriel being noticed by the Metatron.

Great, sure, have a gold star, be all excited and squealing with happiness, it will turn into ashes before you even know it.

I am not sure that Crowley's snake eyes were ever intended to signal that he cannot see the stars because snakes have bad vision (even ignoring the zoological fact that they are sensitive to UV light though, so they should still see astronomical objects, in the book it says that demons must be able to see at night, and that's why Crowley doesn't need to turn on the lights on the Bentley), but for sure the Fall and Heaven's cruelty has ruined the stars for him, in a way.

Now, in his mind, they are the ultimate symbol of delusion, of naivety, of foolishly investing your love and passion and hopes in something, of stupidly ignoring that the things you cherish will be ruined or taken away from you or leave you on their own accord.

That's also why Aziraphale's "nothing lasts forever" cuts him so deep. That's why his "no... no, I dont' suppose it does" sounds so much like a truth that he is remembering instead of one that he has jsut discovered.

Here you go, you did it again, you thought you had something significant and instead it was just like your stars, you should have known that whenever you find something beautiful it's just a matter of time before you lose it, you shouldn't get too attached.

In s1e6 he says it to the Them, in s2e6 he says it to Muriel. I do hope that in s3e6 he will get the chance to say it again, but this time it will be honest and out of joy, because whatever is going to happen will make him able again to believe that you can be happy, and can hold onto the good things that you love. You can have all the gold stars, for real. They don't always have to disappear and leave you in pain. They can stay with you.

[yoonsdoll]

his star - yjh

content : n-i!jeonghan x gn!reader ; friends to... something more idk ! ; fluff n romance ; 1.3k words warnings : reader is called 'pretty' - actually, he was your star too . an : i miss hannie already SIGH i am not taking the news well

When Jeonghan invited you on a date randomly, you didn’t know what to expect but somehow it was so fitting. It was something different, but he still took into consideration all he knew about you, creating something ideal for you both — a date at the planetarium. The evening began as you met him outside the building, the city’s soft glow casting a golden light over his pretty face. He stood there, waiting with a smile that always managed to make your heart flutter, his hands tucked casually into the pockets of his jacket.

“You ready for a little trip through the stars?” he asked playfully.

Of course you were. You were ready to go anywhere with him. You nodded soon after, excitement bubbling in your chest. There was something magical about the idea of spending the evening together beneath a sky full of stars, even if it wasn't the real one.

As you stepped inside, the planetarium was dimly lit, casting a peaceful, almost dreamlike atmosphere. Jeonghan led the way, finding the perfect seats in the centre where you’d have the best view of the projection. You sat down beside him, the armrest between you feeling like a small barrier, though the warmth of his presence was (as always) unmistakable.

The lights dimmed further, and the dome above you both began to fill with stars — thousands of tiny, sparkling lights stretching across the ceiling like a canvas of the night sky. A soft voice begins narrating, guiding you through the wonders of the universe, but it’s Jeonghan’s quiet voice beside you that captured your attention more than the show itself.

“This is pretty amazing, right?” he murmured, leaning in slightly, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s like we’re floating in space.”

You glanced over at him, and even in the low light, you can see the soft smile on his lips, his eyes sparkling thanks to the stars above.

As the presentation continued, Jeonghan couldn’t help but make lighthearted comments, whispering them so only you could hear. He pointed out constellations, giving them silly names instead of their real ones.

“See that one over there?” he whispered, leaning in closer, his shoulder brushing against yours as he pointed at a cluster of stars. “That’s the constellation ‘Sleeping Bunny.’ It’s super rare.”

You stifled a giggle, your heart warming at his playful nature. “You’re just making things up now.”

“Hey, I’m an expert at this,” he joked, his tone light. “I could guide tours here if I wanted.”

Despite his teasing, there’s something about the way his voice dipped to a softer tone as he talks about the stars that made your heart race a little. He’s close—closer than before—and it feels like, in this quiet space filled with the cosmos, the universe has shrunk to just the two of you.

As the show transitioned to a slower, more awe-inspiring segment about distant galaxies and nebulae, the mood shifted into something more cryptic, almost surreal. The narrator talked about the vastness of space, about how small we are in the grand scheme of the universe, and Jeonghan grew quieter, as if the beauty of the moment had settled into his bones.

You both sat in comfortable silence, watching as galaxies swirled and stars exploded in brilliant colours. Jeonghan’s hand, resting casually on the armrest between you, inched just a little closer. You could feel the warmth of his fingers, almost brushing against yours, and your pulse quickened.

Then, just a moment later, his pinky softly hooked around yours, the smallest of touches but one that sent a rush of warmth through your entire body. He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, and when your eyes met, he gave you a gentle smile—one that’s almost shy, but full of hope.

“It’s kind of crazy, isn’t it?” he said, his voice barely above a whisper now. “How vast everything is… and yet here we are, together.”

There was something deeper in his words, an unspoken connection forming in the quiet between you two. The stars above seem to shimmer a little brighter, and for a moment, it felt as if you both noticed the connection between you, just like two stars in a constellation.

Impulsively, you gently shifted your hand to meet his, your fingers lacing together naturally. The soft touch felt right — like it was meant to happen all along. Jeonghan’s thumb brushed over the back of your hand, slow and deliberate, as if savouring the moment.

“I’ve been wanting to do that,” he admitted quietly, almost playfully teasing you for being the braver one of the two.

The two of you stayed like that for the rest of the show, your hands intertwined, the warmth of the gesture grounding you both even as you watched distant galaxies millions of light-years away. Every now and then, Jeonghan gave your hand a gentle squeeze, and you couldn't help but glance at him, catching him smiling to himself.

Once the show ended, the gentle hum of the planetarium faded as you and Jeonghan stepped outside into the cool evening air. The night was quieter than before, the city’s distant sounds barely audible as the two of you lingered just outside the entrance. Above, a few stars peeked through the clouds, not nearly as breath-taking as the ones projected inside, but still worth admiring.

Jeonghan’s hand remained in yours, a soft, steady connection that had your heart fluttering. “They aren’t quite as impressive as the fake stars.” he hummed with a playful sigh, tilting his head towards the sky. But there was a lightness in his tone, as if the real stars didn’t even matter — because in that moment, his attention was on something else.

“You’re like a pretty, bright star, just on earth… so I'd say you make up for it.” he added quietly, his voice soft, as if he was letting you in on a secret.

His words caught you off guard, a rush of warmth spreading through your chest. Jeonghan stepped just a little closer, and before you could respond, his free hand gently lifted, brushing a lock of hair behind your ear. His fingers were soft against your skin, lingering for a moment longer than they needed to. The way he looked at you under the dim street lights made your breath hitch — like he was admiring something precious, something close, something real.

“I liked tonight a lot — I mean, I like being with you in general but…” he shared softly, his voice laced with something so genuine it made your heart swell. “I think I could sit under a sky full of clouds and still find it beautiful as long as you were sitting beside me.”

You couldn’t help but feel flustered, your cheeks heating up as Jeonghan’s gaze lingered on you, his thumb tracing a slow, soothing line across your knuckles. He watched your reaction, his eyes twinkling with the tiniest hint of mischief, but also something deeper, something meaningful. It’s like he knew exactly what he was doing — flustering you with the sweet sincerity of his words.

Before the moment could get too overwhelming, Jeonghan let out a soft chuckle, his usual playful charm peeking through again. “Okay, I'm getting a little cold now, let's get going, hm?”

You laughed, the tension easing as his words brought that playful atmosphere back. But even as you smiled, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something deeper has settled between you, something as steady and constant as the stars themselves.

It wasn’t difficult to agree, not when he smiled so sweetly at you, not when you both knew that night changed what you were previously into something more, something closer, something you both wanted. It didn’t have to be then when you’d figure exactly what that connection was, that was a conversation for the future. Maybe another evening under the stars, maybe a movie date or a picnic. It didn’t really matter, because if you weren’t confident of it before, you were now : there will be a future where you explore those feelings, because he wasn’t going to let you go now.

[milliesfishes]

Just a little idea for something to write about Coryo. <3 You've heard the rumors about how he rose to power. You saw first hand the way he cheated in the games. And you knew Lucy Gray didn't go missing by coincidence. But Coryo was still your husband, and the man you knew was so violently different from the president the world sees him as. So one night whilst reading in his study you confront him on what your marriage really means to him. Scared you might be another pawn in his rise to the top. Even if the marriage was arranged, you'd come to believe he loved you the same way you loved him.

౨ৎ꣑ৎHeart Shaped౨ৎ꣑ৎ

[fem reader] contains: mentions of wrongdoings pairing: coriolanus snow x fem reader summary: married to coriolanus snow, you're forced to ask the question, 'real or not real?' author’s note: thank you so much for this anon! love love writing for coryo <3 Pinterest Board Spotify Playlist

The rumors of somebody almost make up an entire person before you meet them.

Your red-tinted, rose swallowed husband was a prime example of such thinking, swirled in mysteries and secrets from days before you had ever known him. The rumors followed him and spread like a wildfire, whispering things into your ears that you were too afraid to stop and consider.

On his arm as his beautiful, effervescent First Lady, you wouldn't even dare dream of asking him about anything you'd heard. There was so much of his past that you were suspicious about purely because of what you'd heard. But you never darkened his doorstep with questions that would surely make you come across as innocent and prying.

And besides that, it wasn't like you had any reason to truly believe them. The persona he inhabited as the president was a stark contrast to who he was with you. It was like night and day.

Even though your marriage had been arranged- a true political scheme to send him propelling to the top- he treated you as though you had dotted every star in the sky. Coriolanus spared no expense whatsoever to keep you comfortable and happy, showering you in the best of everything.

A week before the wedding, when you were in the midst of your hurried planning of last-minute details, a box of catalogues had been delivered to your door, alongside an envelope with a note telling you to pick out the decor for your bedroom in the presidential mansion. Underneath the note was a platinum credit card bearing his name.

It was a grand time deciding on each detail of your new room, and that wasn't even the end of it. You were taken shopping the very next day, to some of the most high-end boutiques you'd ever entered. The assistant who accompanied you assured you that the president wanted you to have lots of new, pretty things, all befitting the First Lady. You left armed with an army of shopping bags filled to the brim with dresses and shoes and jewelry, amazed at the generosity of your husband-to-be.

After the wedding you'd half expected him to be distant. His duty was now fulfilled, and he was free to ignore you, to lock you in your lovely new room if he so desired and keep to himself. But it wasn't like that at all.

Coriolanus was truly with you more often than not, coming to your bedroom after a long day of work to ask you about your day. If you'd gotten your nails done that day (he insisted you go at least once a month) he'd pick up your hand to see, fawning over the color and kissing your knuckles with a fond look up at you.

You would nearly always spend evenings at his side, often reading beside him while he went over documents, sometimes even sitting in his lap if he asked. Your husband asked you questions about what you were reading- usually a classic book of some kind. It always felt like he was interested in your thoughts about the content of what you were reading.

"Juliet was an unstable girl who chose to make a reckless decision," he insisted after you shared your views with him on the play you were reading one night. He was sitting in his desk chair with you on his lap, straddling his thighs. One of Coriolanus' hands was settled on your waist, the other propped on the back of his chair as he played with his own hair. His tie was loosened, sleeves rolled up. He didn't look like the intimidating president everyone thought he was.

Shaking your head, you protested. "No, she was smart. Juliet knew she didn't have many options being a woman of that time. She was going to have to get married no matter what and I think she decided she may as well do it to try and end a feud that was affecting her family in precarious ways."

The smallest of smiles came to his face as he looked up at you in awe. "But she didn't have to die."

"No, probably not," you remedied, fiddling with the buttons of his shirt. "But she's entitled to an impulsive decision every now and then, isn't she?"

"She died." Coriolanus shook his head, but he was smiling. You didn't know if he did it much around anybody else because he did it in a way that made it seem like he wasn't used to it. Still, you found it no less endearing. "That's a rather big thing to be impulsive about."

"Well I can't argue with that," you smiled, and he brought his hand on your waist to your back, pulling you closer into him. Coriolanus always touched you like you were a flower, handling you the same way he did one of his family's precious roses. The way he looked at you made you feel like a treasure.

One day when you were sitting at your vanity, brushing your hair, you noticed through your window that there was a new addition to the garden. Standing up to take a closer look, you saw a newly planted row of dusty pink roses close to your window. When you opened it, you could see that the vines were crawling up a trellis positioned right by your bedroom's place on the second floor, the pink buds just barely beginning to bloom.

Gasping in delight at the new flowers in your favorite color, your hand flew to cover your mouth as your heart beat in a new time. Though it was true that the roses ranged in color, the majority of them tended to be either white or red. But these pink ones took up just as much space as them, it looked like; not confined to the smaller patch with the other colors.

"Do you like them?" You turned to see your husband standing behind you, somehow not looking even a little bit out of place in your rosy bedroom. His hair looked a little messier than it had when he left this morning, and he wasn't wearing his suit jacket anymore.

Your face split into a sweet smile. "I love them. Did you plant them just for me?"

"Of course, darling," he murmured, moving forward and lifting your hand to his lips. Your heart fluttered at the action, and you couldn't help the delicate blush that spread over your cheeks.

"They're so beautiful, Coryo, thank you," you smiled, twining your arms around his neck. He encircled his own arms around you, kissing the side of your head.

"You're very welcome," he muttered, inhaling the scent of your hair, and then there was a pause. He pulled back slightly, tucking a strand behind your ear. "New shampoo?"

"Rose scented, in fact," you tilted your head, trying to gage his reaction. "Is that alright?"

Something in his eyes changed, and he nodded, that familiar little smile residing on his face. "It's wonderful, sweetheart. I love it."

The fact that he'd noticed something so seemingly small made your heart nearly burst, and the feeling stayed with you all through the night.

You decided right then that the rumors and whispers were wrong. They had the wrong man. Your Coryo would never do anything awful. No, he was sweet with you, caring and kind in a way that you hadn't expected from a husband.

Your Coryo was solid, steady and perfect. Just the way you loved.

Coriolanus had left a shiny box containing the dress you were currently wearing on your bed earlier that day, with a note to wear it tonight. You'd opened the lid and squealed out loud in delight.

It was light pink with roses on the bust, and a long skirt that fell in a train behind you. Looking at yourself in your gold framed full length mirror, you couldn't believe how beautiful it was. You fastened your earrings and noticed your husband enter in the reflection. He grinned, coming to wrap his arms around you from behind.

"You're beautiful," he murmured, leaning in to kiss your cheek. "Do you like it?"

"It's so pretty," you smiled, swishing your skirts with your hands. "I love it."

"I want my wife to be the most beautiful woman in the gala," he said, taking your chin between his thumb and index finger and turning your head to look at yourself in the mirror again. "You are either way, but I want you completely unmatched."

When you arrived at the event, Coriolanus covered your hand in the crook of his arm with his, leading you through the crowd and making sure nobody stepped on the train of your dress. He made sure you stayed close; on his arm as he spoke with senators and dignitaries from all over the country. You gazed up at him adoringly the whole time, your eyes soft.

Coriolanus gently kissed your forehead and told you he was going to get you both drinks. You watched him go, sweetly clasping your hands and smiling to yourself. You were happier now than you could remember, with pretty life and a doting husband. Two things you'd dreamt of but never thought would actually come true.

Moving between the crowd, you went to find Coriolanus. It had been nearly ten minutes since he departed for drinks, and you were curious about where he'd gone. Leaning against a pillar, you peeled your eyes through the crowd, searching for that familiar head of blonde hair. As you searched, your keen ears picked up on someone nearby saying your name.

"...so bad for her," the voice was saying. "He's so calculated, you know he's just using her. Such a shame. She's a pretty girl."

"After everything that went on in the Games and some of the rumors I've heard about how he was elected?" another voice was saying. "I wouldn't be surprised."

Eyes wide, you leaned against the pillar, their words hitting you like you were being stoned. Was this what everybody thought about you and him? You folded your arms around yourself, crimson painted nails scratching at your skin. Knees feeling weak, you tried to take in breaths and process what they'd said.

Coriolanus' past was of untouchable quality to you- it always had been. But the words of the unidentified speakers had gotten to you. Was he not who he said he was? And worst of all...was he lying to you?

Remembering how wonderfully loving he'd been with you, your heart wrenched. And now you were thinking of what they'd said about your husband using you. You weren't stupid- you knew your marriage had not originally been a love match, that your family's money and connections had played a large role in his choice of you. But you'd hoped, truly believed that there had been something else.

Suddenly he was at your side, holding two glasses of champagne. "There you are, I-" Coriolanus cut himself off, looking concernedly at you. "Are you alright, darling?"

"Headache," you managed softly, still holding yourself around your arms.

Immediately he set the glasses on a nearby waiter's platter and took you around the waist, gently guiding you through the crowd. "Oh, honey...I apologize for not noticing. Come...we'll get you home and in bed."

The whole car ride back, you laid with your head in Coriolanus' lap at his insistence as he stroked your hair, trying to soothe your 'headache'. It hadn't been a lie. Your head was throbbing from everything whirling around inside it.

If he had only been using you, why had he taken the time to be so kind? Every gesture, every gift and sweet word...was it all to make your cage more comfortable? You recalled how he'd noticed the change of scent in your hair. Had it all been a controlled farce?

The whispers of the things he'd done plagued you all the way up the stairs to your room. The rumors of cheating in the Hunger Games when he'd been a mentor, his unspoken time as a Peacekeeper. And perhaps worst of all, what people had said he'd done to make his assigned tribute disappear.

The man who was helping you into your pretty pink nightdress didn't seem like he was capable of doing all those things. As he pulled your soft covers over your body and kissed your forehead, you felt yourself stiffen. If this was a buildup it was cruel. You thought he had cared for you...how could he have led you on this way?

The thoughts made you toss and turn, your hair getting tangled on your silk, lace trimmed pillowcase. Fisting the crisp sheet, you sighed into the darkness. It was hopeless to try and get any sleep now.

Sitting up, you reached over and lit a candle, the sweet scent of roses filling the air. You drew your knees to your chest and rested your chin on them, huffing quietly. Every thought in your head left you utterly restless, and you wrestled with the only viable solution for what felt like forever before deciding to just do it.

The ornate little clock on your bedside chimed midnight as you rose and donned your dressing gown that matched the nightdress. Sliding your feet into your feathery slippers with the kitten heel, you opened your bedroom door with a soft click and began to pad down the hallway.

Given the time, you knew exactly where he would be. His office door was slightly ajar, and you listened in for a moment. The only sound was of paper shuffling, and so you poked the door to open more, revealing him sitting concentratedly at his desk, the only light two candles on the space. You watched him for a moment before he noticed you, frowning concernedly.

"Darling, you should be in bed," he said quietly, standing up and meeting you halfway across the room. You didn't reach for him like usual, hesitant to treat him like normal in light of this new information. Noticing this and your expression, Coriolanus paused. "What's the matter?"

"Are you using me?" The words blurted from your mouth before you could control them, the product of your hours-long worrying.

His face fell in confusion. "What...what do you mean by that?"

"Are you using me?" you asked again, holding yourself up straighter. "Am I just a way for you to stay at the top?"

Coriolanus took you in; your saddened expression and timid figure. He inhaled softly, and you wished you could read his mind in that moment. "What makes you ask that?"

"I don't know everything that happened before you met me," you started, and his jaw clenched slightly. "But I know it wasn't all good. I know you did certain things so you could be president. But..." Now tears were pricking your eyes, and you cursed them, begged them to go away. "Was I a part of that? Did you...did you ever even care about me?"

Now that you'd said it you felt worse than before. For him this was coming out of nowhere. You were flat-out accusing him of something awful. Would he be angry? Yell at you? You dreaded both options.

Instead, he took your hand, leading you over to the leather sofa in his study. Sitting you down, Coriolanus took your hands in his. Your hair was still messy from sleep, dressing gown falling off one shoulder. You looked as messy outside as you felt inside.

He smoothed your hair behind your back before starting. His eyes were bright blue and sincere, and they were magnetic to you. "I don't know what exactly you've heard about my past," he started, squeezing your hand. "But you know enough to understand that I have done some bad things. Things I'm not proud of. They got me here, and I'm grateful for that, but they were not good." The hardened look he exhibited scared you a little, and you nodded.

Coriolanus continued, rubbing his thumb over your hand. "There were certain things that brought me to this point. And I would be lying if I said you weren't one of them." Your face crumbled, and you looked down at your lap. He lifted your chin, making sure you were looking him in the eye when he said, "But I would also be lying if I said I didn't care for you in more than just that way."

Lips parting slightly, you searched his eyes, trying to determine if he was lying. When you found no hint of one, a feeling of relief took over. You felt tears welling up in your eyes for a different reason now.

He moved closer to you, sliding his arm around your waist and bringing you nice and close to him, right up against his chest. You leaned your head carefully on his shoulder, somehow finding the comfort in him you always had before. Coriolanus rubbed your back, kissing your head.

"You're the only truly good thing in my life," he murmured, and you looked up at him, eyes wide. Confirming his words with a single nod, he whispered, "Everything else is corrupt. But you..." he brushed his fingers over your cheek. "You're sweet. Innocent. You keep me grounded where otherwise I'd have gone over the edge."

"You...you care that much about me?" you breathed.

Coriolanus fixed your dressing gown so it was covering your shoulder again, smoothing the spot with his big hand. He nodded, searching your eyes to make sure you understood. "From the first moment I saw you, I knew I wanted to protect and care about you like I'd never done for anybody else." He lifted your chin with a single finger, stroking your cheek. "I wouldn't have given you the roses if I didn't."

The image of the pink flowers crawling up your window filled your mind, and you nearly burst into tears. His family's flower. The symbol that was so important to him now wrapped around the opening to your living space. The one he'd spared no expense in making yours. Looking into his eyes now, you knew he wanted, if not needed you to have such a spot in his home, in the place he came to at the end of the day. He wanted it heart-shaped, just like you.

Though his past held daggers, he shut the door on them and chose to hold you close, to keep any semblance of good in his life. Who would you be to deny him of that?

Affection and light bubbling up inside you, you threw your arms around him, burying your face in his neck. His hand fisted the back of your pink silk dressing gown, pushing you into his body. He held you tightly, kissing the side of your head as you whispered, "I love you."

"I love you," he repeated, the words like silk wrapping around your heart. You cozied yourself in his arms, and he leaned back on the couch to accommodate you.

The ruthless president of Panem, with power that made men weak at the knees, cuddling you close and whispering affirmations of his love as the candle burned out.

[starryeyedstray]

just a wholesome little rk1k scene i wrote heavily inspired by this comic by @autiacorart

“Markus, are you okay?”

The deviant leader was lying across a pile of blankets unmoving. His gaze was locked on the open night sky, but he turned his head at the sound of Connor's voice. The brunette was a dark silhouette standing in the rooftop terrace's doorway. His face in shadow against he dim light coming from inside New Jericho. Wordlessly, Markus patted the space next to him.

Curiously, Connor approached and sat next to him. He tilted his head towards the other looking expectantly at him.

“Lay down,” Markus said. “I’m stargazing.”

“Stargazing?” Connor gingerly let himself fall onto his back and peered up.

Detroit was left half-abandoned in the wake of the Android Revolution. Since most of the humans had evacuated, there were virtually no city lights. With minimal light pollution, the glittering stars jumped out against the infinite abyss. The milky way stretched across the sky decorated by glittering lights. It was a medley of blues and purples punctuated by shimmering white specks.

“I’ve never looked up at the stars before," Connor said softly as if speaking too loudly may somehow interrupt the sight sprawling above him.

“It can take years for the light of a star to reach us. When a star dies, its light will still keep traveling to Earth for years after,” Markus murmured. “I’ve always found it kind of sad. That they could die and no one would ever notice.” He stared pensively at the sky feeling small and inconsequential.

Connor pondered that in silence before finally responding. “I suppose that’s one way to look at it. But it's nice that we can appreciate the light of a star for many years, even after its death."

“I never thought of it that way,” Markus thought wistfully. “It’s kind of comforting.” Markus had often thought that even with the impact he had now, if he had ever died someone would take his place. He knew his role was important, but he assumed that he wasn’t important. Someone could easily take up his mantle. He had to believe that; otherwise, the revolution wouldn't survive. And it had to survive whether he was there or not. But deep down, he wanted to be remembered. And he worried he wouldn’t be in the grand scheme of things. That he would just fade away without anyone noticing. But maybe that was wrong. Maybe his legacy would live on, just like the light of a dying star.

"It's beautiful," Connor whispered scanning the sky, committing it to memory.

Markus turned his head to look at Connor. In the dark night, his blue LED was like a calm beacon. Connor's features were barely distinguishable, but Markus traced the shapes of his face with his eyes. The peak of his lips, the tip of his nose, the dip to his browbone. And his eyes. His brown iris only a thin ring around a dilated pupil. They reflected a cosmos of stars.

“It really is beautiful…” Markus whispered back.

Markus’ voice drifted directly into Connor's ear, and he turned his head to meet his gaze. Android faces didn’t show signs of tiredness or fatigue in the traditional human ways, but they were still detectable. Namely through facial tension. And for once, Markus looked relaxed. His stress levels were at the lowest Connor's ever seen them.

The corner of Connor’s mouth quirked up into a gentle half smile. “You should stargaze more often. You seemed relaxed for once.”

Markus let out a huff of laughter as he resumed looking up at the sky. "I'll stargaze more if I have good company."

“I'm sure that can be arranged,” Connor answered as he too resumed looking up at the sky.

Slowly, Markus’ hand intertwined with Connor's causing the latter to tense at the contact. The former deviant hunter hadn’t interfaced with anyone since the night he woke up the AP700s at Cyberlife Tower. And he didn’t want to. He was afraid of what the other person would see in a mutual interface. He didn’t want Markus to see him.

But Markus didn’t try to interface. His synthskin remained in place, and he just held Connor's hand in a firm but comfortable hold. After a few seconds, Connor relaxed. As they continued to stargaze together, he realized how comforting holding hands was. It made him feel secure and grounded. Like he wasn’t alone. It felt nice. Androids didn’t need physical touch, but maybe deviants did.

The rooftop door swung up. “Markus—”

Markus immediately sat up pulling his hand away from Connor’s. “Y-yes North?”

North stood in the doorway. Her eyes flickering between the two deviants. Markus looked... flustered? She raised her eyebrow and leaned against the doorframe with arms crossed. “Sorry to interrupt, I was just checking to make sure Markus knew it was his bedtime,” she teased.

Connor finally sat up a bit confused why Markus had pulled away from him so suddenly. He looked at Markus. “You have a bedtime?”

Markus grimaced. “It’s a joke. She’s just making sure I go into stasis regularly. Prevents me from overworking.”

Connor studied him and his voice resumed the slightly stilted cadence and affect he tended to use as default. “I think that’s a good idea. Your stress levels spiked just now, so it would be a good time to get some rest."

Connor stood. “I also wanted to check up on Markus before I left. Is there anything you need from me before I go?”

Markus quickly stood up. “Uh, no. I’ll let you know if I think of anything.”

“Got it. I’ll head back to Hank’s now so you can go into stasis.” Connor turned to leave.

“Connor, wait."

He turned towards Markus again. His head tilted.

Markus tried to ignore North’s stare and focused his attention on Connor. “Do you want to stargaze again tomorrow?”

Connor’s LED spun yellow for a few seconds as he processed that. “No.”

That hurts. Markus managed to keep his face neutral despite the rejection.

“It’s going to be cloudy tomorrow night. It would not be optimal for stargazing,” Connor continued. “However, next Friday there is supposed to be a meteor shower and clear skies which would be a more appropriate time to stargaze.”

Oh, that doesn’t hurt. Markus beamed. “Yeah, that sounds like a perfect time. It’s a date.”

“A date?”

“I meant that’s the date. The date we’ll stargaze again," Markus replied hastily. North snorted holding in a laugh.

“Okay, I will ensure to keep that night free,” Connor confirmed as he set a notification on his internal calendar. He turned to each android. “Good night, Markus. Good night, North.”

“Good night, Connor,” the other two responded in unison as he headed down the stairwell. As the door closed and the sounds of his footsteps faded, North turned to Markus with a smug grin.

“You’re not gonna walk your date home?” North teased.

“Shut up," Markus retorted. He began folding up the blankets they had been lying on.

“What were you two flirts doing up here anyway?”

“Stargazing.”

“Nothing else?”

“Just stargazing,” he said more firmly.

-end scene-

hope you liked it!! this is just a little scene i was planning to incorporate into a larger fic, but i figured i'd post it somewhere since it will literally take me forever to get to this particular scene based on the plan i have for my wip

BONUS SCENE:

-the night of the meteor shower-

Connor: Markus, I'm here. ^_^

Markus: Connor, it’s good to—

Connor: I brought Hank and Sumo so we can all enjoy the meteor shower together. You should make sure North and Josh get up here before it starts.

Markus: Oh yeah, of course. :’)

North: *shows up and laughs her ass off*

Connor: Is North okay?

Markus: Everything is fine. :’)

[blindmagdalena]

If A-Train was able to get a redemption arc, I don’t see why Homie couldn’t get one (I know he won’t). It’s just so annoying to me when people say Homie is irredeemable. I mean of all the villains of the show, he actually has a reason to be one based on what Vought did to him as a child and then as an adult. Like duh. What did they think would happen?? A-Train on the other hand, didn’t really have a reason to be a villain. He grew up with a loving family. He just turned out to be an asshole but gets a redemption arc. I just really want justice for Homie but it’ll never happen in canon. Thank goodness for fanfic and all the wonderful work you do!!!

so, i feel like there's a fundamental misunderstanding of the redemption arc here. the real reason Homelander is "irredeemable" is because he doesn't seek redemption. he has neither the moral capacity nor the desire.

redemption arcs aren't about who has the saddest backstory or who's more "justified" in their villainy. they're about people who feel genuine remorse for their actions and make the choice to do better. to atone.

Homelander doesn't believe he's in the wrong. he fully believes that he is justified in everything he does, and everyone he hurts. unless that CORE truth of his character changes, no, he cannot have a redemption arc.

A-Train, on the other end, is a perfect example of a well-executed redemption arc. he was absolutely NOT an asshole for no reason. sure, he wasn't raised in a lab, but his life was still FULL of abuse and exploitation. from the moment he was born, his parents pumped him full of an experimental drug. his father died when he was still a baby, and his mother worked two jobs while his young brother raised him. kids can't raise kids. his situation was tragic. i mean, for god's sake, his powers developed when he was a three year old (!!!!!!!!!!) because he was running away from the bullets of a deadly shooting towards his home.

so from the age of three, he became the breadwinner for his family. he was trained and likely performed in all kinds of ways. there's no way he didn't with how poor his family was. once he was old enough, he got picked up into Vought's programming and continued to endure god knows what kind of abuse from them. we know for a FACT that every child star of Vought ends up miserable and ruined in some way from the shit they're put through.

remember why he fell in love with Popclaw? "Here's someone who isn't afraid to be happy."

that's heartbreaking. he worked his ass off his entire life and didn't even know how to be happy because of it. even when he went to GodU, Brink commented that he was "the most driven kid he trained." because he had no choice! he was the one supporting his family out of poverty.

i'm not saying A-Train is perfect. i'm not even saying he wasn't an asshole. he was! but to claim he had no reason to turn out the way he did isn't fair. he did a lot of shitty things, he turned to drugs when his powers started to fail him, and he accidentally killed a woman because he was blitzed out of his mind on V... doing a drug run for Homelander. he's then forced by Homelander to kill the woman he loves. he did a cowardly, vile thing, and he has expressed nothing but anguish over it ever since.

but like... in the grand scheme of things, was he really that bad? he spirals and struggles. he gets mocked, he tries desperately to find his identity. the fact his brother shames him for not being connected to a community he was unplugged from because he was shunted into fame and exploitation at a young age sucks.

Reggie, that sweet little boy, was failed in every conceivable way and he became a dysfunctional adult that did shitty stuff because of it. now he's gained perspective and he's working to make different choices. i've been hugely invested in his arc because it's GOOD character work.

so while i appreciate and agree with the sentiment and wanting better for Homelander, redemption comes to those who seek it. so far, we have not seen any indication Homelander ever will. maybe he'll pull a Darth Vader moment at the eleventh hour for Ryan's sake, who knows!

either way, on his own merit, A-Train deserves the chance to be and do better.

[quidell-fics]

New Story "A Tale Painted with Blood"

A Black Myth: Wukong fanfic

Sun Wukong x Reader/OC

The Destined One x Reader/OC

Summary: At the journey’s end, every path she’s tread unwinds to a single, quiet truth: her final breath, where even the stars bow to her fading light.

Act 1: Ember, nicknamed after her wildfire, blood-red hair, finds herself swept into a world far from the one she knew. What seemed at first a cruel twist of fate, a misstep in the grand scheme of fate, soon reveals itself as destiny's design. Her role, woven by powers she could never understand, is to guide The Destined One along the right course. But in the end, as doubt coils around her heart, she questions whether the choices she made have left her with nothing but ashes—or if the fiery and untamed Monkey King, Sun Wukong, is the very thing she needs to help rewrite her terrible fate.

Will Ember let fate forever change The Destined One into an untamed, wild force of raw furious power, or will her own doubts turn the tide of his own destiny? Which path will she choose, and will The Destined One even heed her desires in the end?

Or is the weight of his inherited obsession too overwhelming for him to resist…

Snippet: "Is it not plain?” he said, giving that cursed backscratcher another twirl. "You’re here to aid him." He flicked the scratcher toward the Monkey.

The Monkey flinched, his gaze darting between the man and me like he’d missed a crucial part of the joke. And, no doubt, I mirrored him.

"Uh, yeah, no. That's not happening," I snapped, slicing my hand through the air like a judge laying down a verdict. “There's absolutely no way I can help him…”

“I fear the luxury of choice is not on you, dear one. Should you seek to return home, but one path lies before you.”

My arms shot up in exasperation. "You can't be serious!" I shouted at the sky, praying some hidden camera was tucked away in the rocks around us, because this couldn't possibly be happening! "Enough already! Ha ha, real funny! But I’m done now!"

I spun in circles, desperate for a glimpse of a lens. "Come on, Susie! End the prank! Please? I don’t want to play anymore!"

And then, that chuckle. Low, knowing. “I pity you, child, in truth. Harsh though it may be to accept, I assure you—this is no jest.”

In a blink, he vanished in a puff of smoke, only to reappear at my side, his hand suddenly gripping my forearm. "You shalt need this for the journey that lies before you," he said, pressing a necklace into my palm before vanishing once more.

I actually felt him disappear. His small, pale hand dissolved from my skin, like that was just an everyday occurrence. And, apparently, it was.

"And you," his voice drifted from ahead. I glanced up to see him standing beside the Monkey, "will have its twin." He tossed a matching necklace to the Monkey, who caught it with barely a shrug, inspecting it without a word.

I looked down at my own, a black cord tied around a silver-black stone. It didn’t seem like much—nothing extraordinary… yet.

Note from author: Just wanted to add that I like writing realism into my stories... just a small heads up :)

@nyx-daughterofchaos98

@dressycobra7

[starrailstories]

Hey! Could you write something about Blade having a keeper of time/ timekeeper s/o? ♥

first ask!!! let's hecking goooooooo

i wanted to write headcanons but then one thing led to another and it's a short story that i hope you enjoy

Blade x gn!Timekeeper!S/O — Seen in the shards

warnings: mentions of blade's depression and suicidal thoughts (canon-compliant), possibly ooc but i really really hope i wrote him well

Blade is destruction incarnate, the mara and rage and grief taking over him sporadically, like bile rising to the throat. He is an effective tool of the Hunters (ironic, isn't it? an abomination like him hardly can Hunt), and many would think that this is all he is, a bounty and a sin and a loosely held leash.

You know him differently, though. You know him in the moments of repose in-between the storm that he brings along, and in those moments, he feels like a large shard of time away from where he'd fit. It's always shards with him, glimpses of past mistakes, and battles, and memories, but mostly sorrow. You think of the ways time cracks as you struggle to keep it whole, revealing the uncomfortable truths you dare not mention to the IPC or the Intelligentsia Guild. It's kind of similar, like if you try just enough, you'll see the complete picture once again.

And he doesn't get you at first, because collecting broken shards and piecing them back is not what Blade does. Blade is all about burning bridges, throwing himself into battle headfirst, Blade does - not - get it when you show concern or worry, when you offer to share a meal, when you tend to a wound of his, when you try and protect him in battle, because he isn't supposed to be together, only apart, shatter and shatter and shatter in hopes that one day, he'll just lie there broken and dead and gone.

You care and that hurts, for some reason, hurts in a way that doesn't sate his urge to be hurt.

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

"I almost pity you, Bladie. But envy you all the same," Kafka drops one day as they're sat in a boujee cafe on a planet that will experience a Stellaron catastrophe in about three system hours. She raises her cup of tea to her lips almost immediately, but he catches a hint of a smile.

"Pity, I understand, but I do not welcome it. However, what of the envy?"

Kafka set down her cup gently, in a manner that she would always do, and her smile faded.

"Soon, you would know the meaning of fear. You knew it once, but in a different lifetime. Now, you will know it again, and it will hurt in different ways. It's fascinating."

She spoke with a certainty, as if reciting a script. Possibly that was the case, and that was more sad than anything. Given a power to make anyone listen, but stuck saying words someone else wrote.

"So it will happen?"

"As much as anything said by Destiny's Slave will. There's a seed for fear in that, too. You will resent your wish and your fate, but it still will happen, even if you don't want it to happen anymore."

Right. Blade looks away, because he doesn't usually decipher the grand scheme of things. He was promised a death and a settling of the score, and he is content with that, content in the way a sword is content to rest in its sheath. Kafka reaches across the table to touch his forehead as if to impart a wisdom.

She'd point a gun to his head and he'd be just as apathetic.

"Listen. I am telling you this for your sake, after all."

There's no command behind the word, and Blade regrets this, because thinking he dislikes most of all.

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

Fear is a foreign concept, but the more you reach out to him with your care, the more he starts to grasp it. He knows of your strength, he knows of your capabilities, he sees you constantly fixing time itself, reaching into the molten metal with hands exposed and heart bare, to stitch all together before the past pours into the present and the future into the past and a sea of fake stars replaces the cosmos you traverse (you told him once of a world inside an egg one time, where the sky is fake and the up is down and why does he remember these trivial things again).

But he also knows of his own strength, and how all that he touches goes awry, and that is scary — to see you reach out when he knows full well how your care might destroy you, how he might destroy you.

"You shouldn't be picking up the shards. They'd cut you," he says one time after another crack is restored and the anomaly of the Fragmentum shifts into a stable state. His sword drags on the ground, leaving a distinctly red trace. You know he isn't speaking about the timeline.

"Those are big words coming from someone carrying a sword made of shards," you smile like you always do and it hurts. Because it hurts to be cared for and treated like a person and where were you those centuries ago when dying still felt memorable and there was something besides the anger?

He wishes he fell into a timeline anomaly back then because that would mean even for a moment, being caught by you, and that is a scary thought.

"Blade?" he's zoning out. Bad. He is supposed to keep himself in check, because most people are capable of dying and he is a remarkably well-working death machine.

"I will say this more clearly: if you keep reaching out to me, you will die."

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

You don't stop because... actually why. Blade still doesn't get it. Blade doesn't speak up anymore, a sword in its sheath, but he thinks sometimes. Thinking is still a horrible pastime activity. But he does wonder about what it would have felt like to have met you earlier, when there was some feeling left in him.

He wonders if you bandaging a wound of his would make him feel safe. He wonders if the snacks you buy on the planets you visit would make him feel sated. He wonders if after a long day, sleeping next to each other would make him feel truly content.

Dangerous thoughts, yet strangely warm, like candlelight.

You plop on the bed of a dingy hotel room you two are staying at. Blade cares little about the quality of the establishment, but he does care about security, and keeping on the down low is of the essence. He stores his sword next to his side of the bed, to draw if a fight occurs.

He doesn't sleep anyway, simply lies in a dreamless haze, so nothing would catch him off-guard.

"Room's tiny. Bed's hard as a rock, too," you make small talk, untying the laces of your boots.

"Mhm," Blade hums. He thinks that there were free rooms in the hotel. With two beds in each, no less. He doesn't bring this up because it's safer to stay close together and that's the only reason.

"And it's cold."

"Mhm," he hums again. He doesn't feel much in terms of warmth or coldness.

You lie back on the bed, staring at the ceiling as he checks for emergency exit pathways and makes notes of useful items.

"Sometimes I wish there were no anomalies or Stellarons out there. Then we wouldn't have large bounties on our heads and we'd be able to afford all the good hotels."

"We wouldn't have met then. And this room is sufficient."

Blade says sufficient, but for the last while, he found sufficient lacking. He wanted good things, despite being undeserving, and it hurt, too, because he knew all too well what happened to the good things in his life.

He lies down next to you, six inches, seven hundred years and a universe apart.

"Would we? I'd still have found you, I feel like."

It feels weird to hear this. He remembers how you once got hurt because you tried to block a hit meant for him. It was a long time ago, before that could hurt. It wasn't anything serious, but now, guilt eats at him each time he notices the faint scar on your shoulder. He drifts his gaze left, and there it is, a reminder.

And he also sees that you're cold.

What comes next is a whim and Blade never acts on whims. But he turns on the bed and drags you into an embrace.

"You wouldn't have liked what you've found."

Because then he'd be a mara-struck abomination, immortal mess of ginkgo leaves and dripping bile and the same names roared so much that no one would hear what he says. He still is like that, just somewhat grounded.

"You always decide for me. But isn't it up to me to weigh my choices, Blade?"

No, he wants to say, it's not. He's been mortal and stupid before, and that was his mistake. For that, he must pay a price. He doesn't want you to be hurt that way because you, unlike him, don't deserve this.

But he says none of it, as you raise your hand and touch his cheek and it's warm and it hurts—

His voice breaks, in both anger and fear, "I don't want you fixing me. I know you want to pick up the shards and glue them together. But you will regret that wish."

He isn't Yingxing and he won't be Yingxing ever again. What was him died on the Xianzhou Luofu, and it died again and again and again until what was left couldn't recall the deaths any longer. Then, a mess of shards, an empty husk, he was Blade, and he couldn't ever go back.

You smile gently at him.

"I know. If you ever decide to piece the shards together, it should be your choice and not mine, and I have no deal interfering with that. But still, I want to see all of you, Blade. Broken or not."

It's scary because admitting that he wants you to see him too would mean accepting that it won't change a thing. The script is merciless and uncaring. Even if he allows himself to love you, he is already destined to die as part of the performance. It's scary because it changes everything. It's scary because it changes nothing.

He shifts on the bed, so that you're face to face.

"May I kiss you?"

You close the distance first, as you always do, and he, for the first time in seven hundred years, feels seen.

[lily-lilou]

Aaravos and his grand plan

Hi everyone, it's my yearly apparition on Tumblr after s6 finally being released. Hope you're all doing okay since last time I was here :D

Hehe! (... sorry I only ever come here every 7th tuesday of the month T.T)

So! Guess you'll have noticed our dear Startouch never actually said anything about his "new purpose" after that trial and its ghastly conclusion, and I'll also guess you (like Terry) can already say it's not something pleasant.

I mean, we all knew, to some extent, that he had to do what he was doing for a "good" reason. I think I remember saying (ages ago >_>’’’) that if he really wanted power, he could have taken it or something. Or more likely that it was uselesss because he already had that power : he was respected, powerful, practically a god amongst mortal.

Now we know why:

First, we have a motive, the cutest little bean ever :

(the art guys! The ART!!! Leola bring adorableness to new hight and Aaravos is such a dad and it hurts my poor heart u_u)

(also, I'll totally admit I had many ideas but I really didn't see that one coming. I should have, this IS a story about relationships, especially between parents and children)

Second : he acted the way he did, only moving from the shadows, always pushing others to do what he wanted, very probably to avoid triggering the eyes of the cosmic order. They're all about seeing the grand scheme of things, the general picture (Callum's book and also their arguments during Leola's trial are proof of it). Aaravos more than anyone would know their flaws, especially them missing tiny little details.

Anyway! We can guess that whatever happened with Luna Tenebris, Queen Aditi, Sol Regem and a lot of other people was either for vengeance, or, at the very least, a way to remove potential obstacle in said vengeance. And I'm impressed with his way of killing two birds with one stone, like we saw with Sol Regem : Aaravos made him kill his own mate, allowing him to avoid being noticed/reprimanded by the cosmic order by interfering, AND ensuring a hard vengeance on the archdragon (because losing someone you love is hard, learning you killed them yourself is worse).

(We'll have a minute of silence for Mr Witness and the hell of a price he paid for what he did... and we'll remove at least 50 seconds because I had HOPE for him, when he refused the Sun Seed to heal his eyes… and then he went about healing his wings and I thought “Just go die already!” And guess what? He did!)

But now, what about his "new purpose"? His Grand Plan?

Ooooh, nothing, really...

...

Well, guys... everything is the title.

I mean, the title's panel!

What?

We learned with the last episode that, apparently, stars can fall, nah?

And in our dear picture above, we have a LOT of stars falling, don't you think so?

[drewsbuzzcut]

Stars Around Your Scars

nick moldenhauer x dallas blankenburg

a so it goes blurb

warnings: mentions serious hockey related injuries (blade cutting through skin), talks about scars, fear, insecurities, and hesitation. Reading about Nick’s face injury had me going through so many emotions, because I can’t imagine what it’d feel like to actually go through it. Also, this isn’t me trying to romanticize injuries; I just wanted to write something for those who may still be affected by life changing/ traumatic events in their life. They deserve to be empathized with.

Dallas is laid out on her bed, Nick by her side as they’re buried under her fuzzy blanket. They’re facing each other, Nick’s hand under her big shirt, rubbing her skin all while Dallas tangles her fingers in his soft hair. They’re officially boyfriend and girlfriend, but they’re still getting to know each other. Which is why Nick is finally opening up about his hockey incident.

She was quick to notice his scar when they first met, but never brought it up. She wasn’t sure if it was a sensitive subject. When they started dating, she grew more curious, but decided to wait until he brought it up.

“I feel like I’m being dramatic,” Nick warns his girlfriend.

“No, you’re not dramatic. You went through something traumatic, and if you’re willing to share that story with me, I’ll listen and I will never judge you about your feelings or thoughts,” she whispers as this moment is one of the most intimate between the couple.

“I don’t really remember feeling the blade cut through my skin, but the pain after the shock wore off was something I’ve never felt before. It wasn’t just physical pain either. I knew recovery time would take me away from hockey for a while. I also wasn’t sure if I’d even recover and still be able to play. The waiting was just absolutely daunting,” Nick speaks softly, afraid his voice might display just how affected he is by his incident, even now.

“How did you feel when you were told that you’d be okay?”

“Relieved. I was relieved that I’d make a full recovery. For most people it might seem irrelevant, but my second thought was hockey. I wanted to get back on the ice. I was so scared that I’d never be able to play again.”

“I’m so sorry you went through something like that. I can’t imagine how scared you must’ve been. How scared your parents were,” Dallas adds in, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips.

“I hate talking about it. It was a hard time for me, you know? I was thinking about hockey just about every second, but then I had to talk myself into being okay if I couldn’t play again. Do you think I’m overreacting? I feel like maybe I shouldn’t have been thinking about hockey so much, because in the grand scheme of things, it’s not a big deal. All that really mattered was if I would survive.”

“You’re not overreacting. You had a visceral reaction. There’s nothing wrong with that. You love hockey; I think it’s only natural to go through the emotions that you went through,” the girl assured him, pulling his body closer to his as if they weren’t already as close as possible. She places his hand over her heart, so that he has something soothing to focus on.

“Sometimes I’m still wary about being on the ice. I’m worried about taking another blade to the face. I don’t want another scar, even though scars in hockey are inevitable. I don’t know. I guess sometimes it can make me feel insecure,” he further explains.

“You’re still handsome. As for you being worried about another incident like that, it’s only natural. Just because you’re back to playing hockey and feel comfortable on the ice, doesn’t mean that it won’t linger in the back of your mind.”

Dallas caresses the side of his face, letting her thumb glide over the raised skin of his scar. She watches the way his eyes close at the feeling. She sees his breath get shaky, so she lays gentle kisses along the scar.

“Thank you for trusting me and telling me this story. I’m here for you always, Nicky,” she expresses her appreciation through a few more kisses, feeling content when they bring a smile to his face.

“Thanks for listening.”

Dallas just nods her head, pulling him on top of her body. Her heartbeat races when he immediately cuddles into her, his face hiding in her neck and their legs tangling together. She’d do anything to protect him and make him feel loved.

a/n: If any of you are struggling with something (or not) and want to talk, my inbox and messages are always open.

[elvenbeard]

Maybe the biggest gift is the friends we made along the way 🎂

Happy Birthday, V!

Was staying up way too late and getting way too emotional over these fictional gonks last night, but yes... I've wanted to do a bigger scene like this for so long, and what better occasion than male V's canon birthday today!

These aren't all my favourites from the game (the sofa wouldn't be big enough for it xD), but the people Vince would like to invite over for the occasion for sure, let it be a year or two down the line when they all actually are in the same area at the right time and come together like this (and uuuhhh... obvious problems with one certain ex-bodyguard set aside and solved because I said so!). It would really be a special thing to have everyone there that's been with him during one of the worst times of his life. Thanks to them (amongst many others) he even gets the chance to celebrate another birthday.

Some more ramblings about some of the interactions I'm picturing here and why I placed everyone the way I did under the cut xD And some more pics to come in a separate post later :3

Front and center obviously Vince and Kerry and Judy, my faves, my loves <3 I think this would probably be one of only a handful of times Kerry ever meets Judy in person. He only ever hears her over the holo and knows her from what V told him, because she left Night City before they got a chance to meet prior to the game's endings. I think they would go along so well though, and besides Kerry, Judy is the person Vince feels closest to out of the group pictured here, and he'd be so excited to know Kerry and her get along as well.

Then Judy and Panam... I lowkey ship it so hard, and I mean, they would make one power couple, but at the very least I think they'd become good friends, maybe Judy even travels with the Aldecaldos for a while or joins them, like in the Star ending when she's romanced.

I put River in the back and center cause he's the biggest of the bunch and I think he'd love being there, watching over everyone in a way (and keeping an eye on Takemura, cause he doesn't trust him xD). I'd like to think him and Viktor get talking about boxing, workouts, maybe make plans for a friendly sparring match. Maybe they've even met before on some occasion, only just realizing it now. Viktor is btw out of the whole bunch the person Vince has know the longest, almost as long as he knew Jackie in my background story for him.

Goro keeps himself in the back because he definitely is the odd one out of the bunch (probably didn't wanna come in the first place), but maybe he's starting to realize this moment that a life without Arasaka is not the end of the world after all. That there's always room for new beginnings, no matter how unlikely it seems (but he's still gonna give V shit, and V is gonna give him shit, obviously XD they're bickering like an old couple probably, much to Judy's and Panam's amusement who previously were rather wary of Goro).

Then a pair I only really got thinking about when I set this up were Misty and Kerry because... It does kinda make sense, and I think they'd get along really well? Like, Vince and Misty have known each other for a few years, and he likes her a lot, but he's not as close to her as he was to Jackie for example. She was definitely a positive guidance throughout the whole mess in 2077, and he really appreciates her for always seeing the good in everything. And I think Kerry would be a bit confused about her in the beginning, but since he also has spiritual leanings I think they'd find a lot of common ground. I also think Misty would just treat him as Vince's partner, some guy, not be all in awe about him being famous - aware of it, but ignoring it, because it does not matter in the grand scheme of things how rich and famous you are but whether or not you're a decent human being.

And Nibbles is there because she lives there, obviously, this is her penthouse, her sofa xD Needs to make sure everyone behaves!

I had been thinking about including Rogue in the scene, but then I also thought... she probably wouldn't come xD Be like "nah kid, thanks, but you do you", and she's not that close with Vince on a personal level. Same goes for Claire, I love her so much, and while I think she and Vince get along very well, they're not as close (or maybe she just didn't have time).

I was pondering also if I wanted to include Jackie and Johnny in some way, because they can't be there physically for known reasons (and even though Vince wouldn't have invited Johnny just to annoy him, Johny would have come anyway to annoy him back, so there's that XD). Decided against it in the end because the ideas I had would have meant more editing than what I was ready to do just now, but I have some more ideas with Vince and Jackie and Johnny that work better in a different setting anyway.

if you've read this far, here's a piece of birthday cake 🍰

[glimmervoi]

A SEALED FATE: EMERALDS AND BLOOD: III - Afternoon Tea

masterlist

e&b masterlist

Notes: To the assholes who sent me all of those messages, I hope that you hate this chapter and feel unfulfilled after reading it. I hope that you hate it so much that you block me and never read my fic again. I almost just didn't post the update to tumblr cause of y'all &lt;3

To the people who have been kind, I hope that you enjoyed this chapter! I introduced a new perspective much sooner than in the original version, and I think it helps to show that there were other things happening in the castle aside from just what the reader is seeing and living through.

As always, I appreciate any feedback! (Unless it involves insults or death threats of course. Cheers to you, anonymous trash bags from the Gown post)

With only four days remaining until the ball, the royal caterers had commenced their slow transformation of the castle's halls. In the center hall, a grand pine tree had been brought in and installed, now adorned with shimmering ornaments and velvety star-shaped garlands.

Elsewhere in the castle, numerous smaller trees, similarly decorated, dotted the corridors. Pine and holly wreaths, interwoven with winter blooms, adorned nearly every door while the expansive windows boasted fragrant green garlands.

The caterers had skillfully infused the spirit of yule into every wing, all while adhering to the color scheme that had been a tradition since long before Namjoon's birth. Though he wasn't always the keenest on the castle’s holiday festivities, he couldn't help but admire the craftsmanship of the caterers.

Now, as he stood there, gazing at the grand tree in the main hall, memories of his childhood flooded back. Everything seemed so much simpler then...

"Joon?" A voice called out from behind him, breaking through his thoughts. Namjoon turned to find his eldest brother standing a few paces away, his dark-haired fiancée clinging to his arm. Jin's expression clearly betrayed his discomfort and irritation, causing Namjoon to suppress the laughter bubbling up inside him.

It wasn't uncommon for his brother to wear his emotions so openly, but it always amused Namjoon nonetheless.

"Jin," he greeted his brother, approaching them slowly. "And Lady Woong," he added, giving her a small bow and pressing a kiss to the gloved hand she extended towards him. The elegant woman giggled and waved her hand in response, her cheeks flushing with a rosy hue.

"Prince Namjoon, there's no need to bow to me," Lady Woong cooed, and Seokjin rolled his eyes. Namjoon offered her a friendly laugh, though he harbored little fondness for her. He saw through her bubbly facade, just as Seokjin did. She was merely another pawn in their mother's schemes.

"We were headed to lunch, but I suddenly recalled our meeting that was scheduled a few days prior," Seokjin interjected, his body subtly angling away from his fiancée despite her embrace.

Namjoon cocked his head, knowing it was a lie - a convenient excuse for his brother to evade the discomfort of his lunch with Woong. Temptation gnawed at him to shake his head and leave Seokjin to endure Woong's company alone, as retribution for the prank his brother had played on him weeks earlier. He still felt the need to check under his pillow every night to ensure that were wasn’t a frog there.

However, Namjoon understood Seokjin's aversion to spending time with his fiancée. If their roles were reversed, Namjoon would want his brothers to lend a hand too.

With a nod, Namjoon offered Lady Woong an apologetic smile. "Forgive me, my Lady. Jin and I have an important matter to discuss. Would you mind if I stole him away for a while?"

Lady Woong pouted and released her grip on Seokjin. "Very well," she sighed, taking a step back from the brothers and smoothing down her peach-colored gown. "But do return him promptly when you're finished."

Namjoon nodded, though a twinge of irritation simmered within him. Who was she to dictate his actions? He was a prince, after all, while she was nothing. Engaging in an argument with her over such a trivial matter wouldn't be wise, but he struggled to suppress the scowl itching to emerge. He and Seokjin observed in silence as she brushed past them, making her way towards the southern wing, where her lunch awaited her.

Once she was out of earshot, Seokjin released a heavy sigh. "Thank you," he breathed, rubbing his shoulder. "She had me in an iron grip; I feared she might snap me in two." Namjoon chuckled at his brother's theatrics.

"Well, we'll have to stage a convincing chat now, in case one of Woong's minions catches sight of us," Namjoon suggested, nodding towards the northern wing. "Shall we sit for tea there? We're less likely to be disturbed, as no guests have arrived for the ball yet."

Seokjin hummed in agreement, and the brothers proceeded to the northern wing. Inside, maids diligently carried out their daily cleaning tasks. They bowed respectfully as the duo passed, but the brothers paid them no mind. After all, they were just maids.

At the end of the hallway, they halted at a pair of double doors. Seokjin pushed them open, a satisfied smile gracing his lips. "Already tidied up," he remarked, stepping inside. "No risk of maids spreading dust."

As Seokjin entered the room, Namjoon turned to a maid assisting a caterer in draping a long piece of purple garland around a portrait of their grandmother. "You," he addressed her, his tone firm. Startled, she looked up, her eyes widening in response.

Namjoon would never vocalize it, but sometimes he relished the fear he instilled in the servants. As the fourth prince in line for the throne, he possessed privileges but little power within the family. Occasionally exerting authority over those beneath him served as a gratifying outlet.

The maid promptly set the garland down and bowed, murmuring a hasty "Yes, sir." Namjoon scrutinized her briefly as she remained in a deep bow. There was something about her that sparked a flicker of recognition, though he couldn't quite place it.

Shaking his head to dispel the thought, Namjoon snapped his fingers to gain her attention. She straightened but kept her chin lowered, awaiting his next command. "Fetch us some tea," he instructed briskly. "There should be a crate from Shivermaw; bring that one."

Without waiting for her response, Namjoon strode into the warm room. Seokjin was already reclining on a spacious sofa by the tall window. As Namjoon drew closer, his brother straightened up.

"I thought you weren't fond of tea from Shivermaw," Seokjin remarked as Namjoon settled into the soft armchair to the left of the sofa. Namjoon offered a faint smile, though it failed to reach his eyes.

"Not the tea itself," he clarified, crossing his long legs. "It's the Duchess I take issue with at Shivermaw. Their tea, on the other hand, is rather delightful. We receive the finest peppermint from them."

Seokjin scoffed and rolled his eyes, a broad grin spreading across his plump lips. "With the way you go on about Damaris, one might mistake you as eager to marry her," he teased, draping his arm over the back of the sofa. "Tell me, little brother, should I plead with mother to arrange your marriage to Damaris before I tie the knot with Woong?"

Namjoon's jaw clenched, his gaze hardening as memories of the pale-skinned Duchess flitted through his mind. "I've made my feelings regarding the Duchess abundantly clear," he retorted firmly.

Sensing his brother's seriousness, Seokjin relented, opting to examine his fingernails instead of pressing further on the subject of Shivermaw or Damaris. A wise choice.

"Father requested to see me," Seokjin stated, paying little heed to Namjoon's reaction. Namjoon's breath caught in his throat, and he couldn't help but shift uncomfortably in his seat.

It was unusual for the king to seek out his sons unless the matter at hand was of utmost importance. All the princes understood that their father harbored no intentions of relinquishing the throne until his last breath. However, as the eldest of the seven, Seokjin stood as the primary heir to the crown.

Namjoon was aware that his brother harbored no desire to ascend to the throne of Erydia. Seokjin often spoke of a future where he resided in a grand estate nestled among the glittering lights and bustling social circles of Starwell's most affluent districts.

He couldn't envision himself thriving in such a role as king. Leading a vast kingdom would confine him within the castle walls for the remainder of his days, forever striving to appease the populace while evading potential assassination attempts.

Moreover, Seokjin lacked the knowledge and fairness required to rule the kingdom wisely—an admission he had made on numerous occasions. Years ago, he had expressed his unwillingness to inherit the throne to their father, resulting in a violent outburst from the king that left Seokjin with bruises and a split lip.

Their father's health was deteriorating rapidly. Both Namjoon and Seokjin sensed an imminent change looming, one that could materialize the moment their father's health declined to a critical point.

They shared an unspoken understanding that their father's summons to Seokjin was likely to discuss matters of succession.

Namjoon drew in a deep breath, his unease settling like a weight in the pit of his stomach. "You'll seek me out immediately afterward, won't you?" he inquired, his gaze flickering up to his brother's face.

Seokjin's expression remained stony and unreadable, but Namjoon sensed fear and discomfort beneath the facade. His brother would be venturing into this meeting alone, without the support of his siblings, and that realization left Namjoon feeling cold.

"Of course," Seokjin replied, tearing his gaze away from his nails to fixate on the coffee table before them, adorned with a solitary vase of silk flowers.

"Who knows," Jin murmured, his gaze growing distant as his thoughts undoubtedly raced through every possible scenario between him and their father. "Maybe I'll manage to persuade him to designate you as next in line."

It was no secret among Namjoon and his brothers that he was not only the most competent candidate for the throne but also the only one truly willing to embrace the responsibility. It demanded a level of quick decision-making for which Namjoon was uniquely suited.

Furthermore, Namjoon was one of their father's favored sons. Yet, for some reason, the king remained fixated on appointing Seokjin as his heir.

Namjoon opted not to reply to his brother; they both understood the uphill battle ahead. Their conversation was interrupted by a soft knock at the door, drawing their attention. Seokjin perked up, inviting the visitor to enter.

A moment later a curvy redheaded maid entered, pushing a small silver cart, her head bent respectfully. She released the cart and stepped to the side, bowing her body deeply. "Tea, Sir." she murmured softly.

This maid wasn't the one Namjoon had addressed earlier, but he recognized her nonetheless. She had been a fixture in the castle for some time, long enough for him to recognize her by face.

He knew she performed her duties well, enough that he seldom needed to reprimand her like he occasionally did with other maids.

"Very well," Namjoon acknowledged, gesturing for the maid to proceed into the room. She moved swiftly, arranging the table with the items from the cart—a porcelain teapot adorned with swirling pink flowers, matching tea cups, a plate of ginger cookies, and a small tray of pickled cucumber sandwiches.

"The castle's winter specialty," Seokjin quipped, eyeing the sandwiches with amusement. "Looks like the fresh cucumbers from Esteria haven't arrived yet." He leaned back as the maid began preparing their tea. The aroma of peppermint wafted through the air, and Seokjin found himself relaxing as he savored the sharp scent, his mouth watering in anticipation.

Once the maid had completed her task, she bowed once more. Neither Namjoon nor his brother bothered to offer thanks; she understood her place, and gratitude from those of higher status was unnecessary.

As the maid exited the room, wheeling the now-empty cart with her, the door clicked shut behind her. Namjoon reached forward and poured tea from the pot, serving his brother first before tending to himself.

Seokjin reached for a cucumber sandwich, emitting a satisfied hum as he chewed. "Truly, we have the most exceptional kitchen in the entire kingdom," he remarked between bites. Food always managed to lift his spirits and as he ate, thoughts of his impending meeting with their father faded.

Namjoon toyed with the idea of teasing that their kitchen had to be the best, lest their mother "dispose" of them. However, the atmosphere had finally lightened, and he knew that any mention of the Queen would only dampen the mood once more.

Namjoon savored a small sip of his steaming tea, releasing a breath infused with the refreshing scent of mint. Despite any rivalry with the duchess, there was no denying that the tea she sent remained unrivaled within the castle walls.

A comfortable silence enveloped the room as the brothers relished their afternoon tea, a rare moment of tranquility amidst their busy lives. With Seokjin's impending wedding, such moments had become increasingly scarce. Though Namjoon missed these times, he refused to grant his brother the satisfaction of admitting it; Seokjin would never let him hear the end of it.

For the past week, a nagging sensation had settled in Namjoon's stomach, warning him of impending change. He had initially attributed it to their father's declining health, but a gnawing suspicion signaled something more ominous.

Shaking off his unease, Namjoon averted his gaze to the dark liquid swirling in his cup. Dwelling on uncertainties would serve no purpose now, not when he finally found solace in the company of his brother. Later, after dinner, he would seek counsel from the Healer in the hopes of easing his lingering concerns.

Maybe she would have some answers for him.

[eclairfair98]

The swing doesn’t creak under his weight. It’s different from the little tyre Dad had strung up for him in the backyard when he was a kid. But in the ways that matter, it’s exactly the same.

Securing his grip on the chains, Pete takes a few steps back. And then, he lets go. Swings ahead, kicking the air. The white of his shoelaces almost glowing in the dark.

The height of the swing increases with every pump of his legs, a glorious breeze blowing against his damp brow. The rise in his body’s centre of mass making itself know in bubbly feeling floating in his belly.

It’s almost like one little swing is enough to turn-off something as big as gravity.

And maybe, gravity only exists as a manifestation of the loneliness of all the molecules and atoms and protons and neutrons and electrons that make up the Earth.

Of the loneliness experienced by all the living breathing people with burdens and disappointments and broken dreams that inhabit the planet.

“Pete… slow down. Please.”

The voice reaches out to him, but he can’t really hear it. Smooth syllables rounded out by the faint buzzing in his ears. ‘Cause somewhere in Pete’s head, all the sound has gone out.

And what is life? What does it even mean to be alive?

He closes his eyes against the cool wind buffeting his face, raises his legs as he reaches the topmost part of the arc of his swing. Takes in a breath that makes a gasping sound at the back of his throat.

Is it this?

The act of breathing in and breathing out.

Is inspiring oxygen and expiring carbon dioxide, pumping enough blood from his heart to his arteries and eventually, all of his visceral organs, enough to classify Pete as alive?

Maybe, it is.

If so, maybe he’s only as alive as an insentient tree, or a patch of symbiotic lichen growing on the bark of a tree. Or a non-flagellated bacteria that cannot move freely through its own immediate environment and lives out its brief, insignificant existence stuck in the same ultra-microscopic space that Nature deemed it appropriate to cage him in.

After all, what is he?

A universe of atoms. An atom in the universe.

There’s fresh wetness burning behind his eyelids, clumping his lashes, and Pete makes a valiant attempt to fight the stupid, overwhelming, all-encompassing need to cry, till he ends up crying a little, anyway. Staring up at a flock of stars scattered across the night sky. At the light that’s been traveling for hundreds and thousands of years to reach his tired eyes.

“Push me higher, Daddy, I want to fly!” he would implore. And his father’d always obliged. Instructing him to hold on tight, as the sky rushed up to welcome him with open arms.

The metal chains of the swing dig into his palms, but Pete doesn’t notice the discomfort, tightly closing his hands around the only thing tethering him to the ground.

Pumping his legs for the last time, Pete wonders whether he and his father are looking up at the same night sky, whether Dad sees the frozen lights twinkling against a backdrop of crushed, black velvet, and thinks about just how small he is in the grand scheme of things.

And in that sublime moment that seems to stretch on infinitely, Pete is flying.

After a while, he does slow down, spots Tom who’s now standing next to his swing, off to the side. His shoes skid against the sand as he comes to an abrupt stop. Little spots dancing in front of his eyes. Growing bigger and bigger. Taking on shapes and colors: starry-blues, fuchsia-pinks, firetruck-reds. Till his vision starts crumpling ‘round the edges.

Till strong hands grip his waist and his arm, deftly lower him into the swing, hold him securely till the colors fade away. Bleed into the night.

“I’ve got you,” Tom murmurs, warm hand moving up to cradle Pete’s tear-stained cheek. To caress his quivering chin with a calloused thumb.

This way they’re at eye level, and Pete can see his face clearly. Can smell his scent. Like a rain shower in the summertime after the grass has been cut.

“I really don’t know what this is, but I feel so scared, Tom… I feel so alone...”

Moonlight glances off Tom’s wedding ring, and Pete brushes his pinky against the cool metal. A minuscule movement that stills Tom’s hand. Turns it boneless in Pete’s grip.

“But you’re not alone, Pete. You don’t have to be scared, ‘cause I’m going to take care of you. You have me. You’ll always have me,” Tom whispers. And it feels as though he’s reciting a prayer, breathed into existence against the unsteady beat of Pete’s heart.

He runs his thumb along Tom’s knuckles, over the warmth seeping through his sun-kissed skin. Over the faint scars sloping over the smooth ridge.

Remembers how Tom got those scars. The bubblegum pink balloons that littered the varnished gym floor at prom. The fraying ends of the ribbon tying the corsage to his wrist. It’s rose petals picked away by his anxious fingers. The short-lived relief of getting away from the heat and the people and the noise. From all of the eyes on him, and all of the whispers. Of Annapolis admissions and impending engagements and the possibility of getting bonded before marriage. Of the fact that the Academy forbade Midshipmen from getting married. But didn’t stop them from bonding their omegas.

He remembers the sharp smell of unfamiliar alpha stinging his nose. The cold burn of calloused fingers on his neck. The yelp of distress punching it’s way out of his chest. The white-hot shock that flooded his insides when a senior he hardly recognized leaned in to deliberately scent him and remark: Kazansky’s got himself a sweet one, all right. But you don’t seem to like him very much, do you? Say, if you’re looking for someone better—

Remembers only being able to string together three weak words, nascent tears choking his voice: Let me go.

Remembers the blur of motion at the edges of his vision. Strangled sounds of a brief scuffle. Raw knuckles clenched into tight fists. A spot of blood staining the pressed-clean collar of Tom’s dress shirt. Quicksilver glinting in his steady blue eyes.

Unapologetic even in the face of detention and the threat of suspension.

The same eyes that are looking at him now: open and vulnerable and all the more steadier for it.

“Please, let me be there for you. Let me be good to you. Let me take care of you. Let me…”

Tom shuffles closer, touches the hem of his tee-shirt with shaky fingers. Smooths it down where it had ridden up, exposing a sliver of his pale abdomen.

“Okay,” he whispers.

Because Tom isn’t a liar. He would never lie. Not to Pete. Not to anyone.

Because Tom would never not be good to him.

Because Tom’s hands never shake, but they’re shaking now. As Pete cradles them in his own, brings them down to his still flat belly. Feels the press of them against his covered skin. The space between his breaths shortening, till he lets a little breath go.

Till he closes the distance between them, his mouth hot on Tom’s, the whole of him held between Tom’s shaky palms.

Because Tom feels like home.

Tom’s eyes widen, his next inhale coming in a little shorter, a little sharper. And Tom tugs him a little closer, curls his calloused fingers round the slope of his jaw, kisses Pete deeper. Something desperate in the hard press of his lips on Pete’s. Something heartbreakingly tender about it.

And Pete doesn’t know what to do with it. With the way his chest’s heaving like it’s being crushed under the weight of his ribs. With the way his lungs are bursting, ballooning up and taking his breath away.

And it feels so simple. So easy. Even though it really isn’t. The honesty of it. Of wanting to hold. Of wanting to be held. Of wanting to love and be loved.

But he leans into it. Fingers weaving softly in Tom’s thick hair, thumbs tracing the curve of his cheekbones.

Because, Tom is home.

[jademickian]

I think it’s pretty neat that stargazing was a Gallavich thing. 

In season 2, Mickey says “you want us to put a blanket out and look for shooting stars next?” There is that—once again—an inner desire hidden behind the veil of a witty rhetoric. The dawn is popularly the symbol of new hope, the sun coming up shining its light, enveloping the ground with a potential of joy and rebirth. But with stargazing, the darkness in which it transpires precedes the coming of dawn. It is the hoping itself, the wishing, the tilting of head towards the sky, like the heart whispering a prayer to the universe. The sun is a very bright star that illuminates all. It’s overwhelming with its promise of renewal and warmth of love. That's why it’s much easier to look at tinier, less brighter stars at night. The multitude of them enough to give light—not too much—but just enough to stare at, so it doesn’t hit you all at once. The dawn would tell him he deserves to love and be loved, and that contrary to his belief, he’s not fucked for life. It’s a crazy jump, and the blaze of it might even burn. Meanwhile, the twinkle of the stars would tell him that a boy likes him enough to hang out with him, and that it is okay to long for something so far out of reach, for now.

In season 5, Ian is having some grass time (he’s lying on the grass), stargazing. Earlier than this, he mentions you can never see this many stars from Chicago because of light pollution. Mickey calls, and he holds it up to stare at his ringing phone. Contemplating whether he should or should not. He stares at the stars—weaver of fates, guider of travels. Desire, once again, for answers. A confirmation. Some direction. There must be something because here, they’re clearer, unlike back home where it’s hindered by stray city lights. Maybe this could help clear his clouded mind. Maybe he could draw constellations by connecting the dots and it’ll show him what to keep, what to lose. A glint. A flicker. “That’s the most important thing, to find somebody to love, right? Who loves you back for who you are.” But the thing about the stars’ divine message is that it could often be misunderstood. Misinterpreted. Maybe the stars will sigh, oh well. Guess you could take detours. Because another thing about stars is that, although enigmatic to a fault, they know where everything must go. They are close to the language of the gods. Perhaps for now, the answer is to be apart because in the grand scheme of things, it will all play out as planned. 

In season 7, together, under the very same stars. It is hope and desire realized. Who would’ve thought? It was inexplicable, almost alien, that this is how their story is going now. But to the stars, it’s an old song. This is exactly where they should be. It’s the same narrative back then under the bleachers, when they didn’t know better. When voicing your feelings seems a futile and gargantuan feat. It’s the same story now, when they reconvene after, celestial forces refusing to cut these ties. When feelings are all you could voice out, as you’ve learned that if they swim inside you long enough, you’ll drown. “God I missed you.” The stars have known since the beginning. Its plans, slowly unfolding themselves. The wisdom they hold seem nearer now that if reached by the fingertips could be cold to the touch—not yet, not yet. 

But even stars could grow impatient. 

Even stargazer lilies—observer of heavenly bodies, predictor of futures—bloom facing the sky. Upwards, toward the stars, the flower looks upon. Maybe they’re ready for the dawn. The sun, the bigger and brighter star. The ball of fire catapulting itself, yet it doesn’t burn. It caresses, warm to the touch, and over the land gives life. It is here before them, and it will be here after. 

“Now?” Now.

[jennyboom21]

It might seem strange, especially for those who only know Marshawn Lynch for his football career, to see the Super Bowl champ in a comedy about queer high school girls launching a fight club.

Bottoms (in theaters now) features the 37-year-old former NFL star in a scene-stealing role as Mr. G, a clueless teacher overseeing the feminist after-school club launched by Rachel Sennott’s PJ and Ayo Edebiri’s Josie. Even the film’s director and co-writer, Emma Seligman, admits she initially thought landing Lynch was a long shot.

“It was such a random movie for him to be in that I was so shocked that he even was considering it,” the Shiva Baby filmmaker (who goes by she/they pronouns) tells PEOPLE.

But the real reason for this unlikely casting is altogether more personal: Marshawn Lynch’s queer sister, Marreesha Sapp-Lynch, says he asked her whether to add Bottoms to a growing acting résumé that includes Westworld and Murderville.

“From the beginning when he read the script, he said that I came to mind,” recalls Sapp-Lynch, 34. “I was like, ‘Most definitely you should do it.’ I just told him, ‘It'll get you to understand, get more knowledge about the lesbian community.”

Like the characters of PJ and Josie, Sapp-Lynch has identified as a lesbian since high school. It felt easy coming out to her mother Delisa, she remembers — “She'll tell me to this day, 'I always knew you liked girls!'” — but brothers David, Marshawn and Davonte had a less straightforward reaction.

“They were understanding, but they didn't understand,” Sapp-Lynch tells PEOPLE. “Marshawn had a lot of questions and was thinking it was his fault: ‘What did I do?’ Because growing up he would always say I couldn't have a boyfriend, ‘You can't talk to boys.’ We’d go to a party and he'd be asking everybody, ‘Did you dance with my sister?’ But I wasn't attracted to boys, so I didn't dance with them!”

Her brother has accepted and celebrated her sexual orientation since those teenage years, Sapp-Lynch says. Case in point: Marshawn helped plan her 2021 wedding and walked her down the aisle.

“I asked him to walk me down the aisle because our dad passed away,” says Sapp-Lynch with a smile. “He cried the whole time,” she adds.

“He doesn’t cry — or I don't see him cry. The fact that he did cry and shed some tears, it meant a lot to me.” (Marshawn was so invested in his sister’s wedding, in fact, he urged the pair to reschedule it from 2023 to 2021. “He was very much involved in the whole planning... He called us at 5:00 a.m. talking about the cake designs and party favors.”)

But with Bottoms, a comedy produced by Amazon’s Orion Pictures and Elizabeth Banks’ Brownstone Productions, Marshawn had a bigger opportunity to honor his sister. Discussing the role of Mr. G with the footballer, Seligman, 28, remembers thinking there must have been “more of a connection here beyond him wanting to be in a funny movie or something.”

“In his words, he said he wasn't amazing about it when Marreesha came out in high school and that he felt like this was the universe giving him a chance to right his wrongs,” she adds. “He made it seem like that was really what was interesting him the most about it.”

Throughout the film’s shoot in New Orleans, Seligman says, “he kept on bringing up Marreesha.” Especially when Sapp-Lynch and her wife visited the set, she recalls, “He kept on being like, ‘That's my sister.’ In a way where it was like a proud parent [of queer kids] — a proud brother.”

And when Orion Pictures president Alana Mayo suggested Marshawn for Mr. G, Seligman says, she realized it might expand the moviegoing audience of Bottoms. “Him believing in these girls and getting to know them and getting to understand them means a lot in the grand scheme of things within the crazy conservative town that they're in.”

Plus, the story’s homophobic characters are obsessed with the high school football team, Seligman points out. “To have a legendary football player like him playing this character that's getting to know this subsection of this town, and see them as real people with valid desires and hormones and feelings — that's pretty cool that Marshawn is representing that kind of straight, male character.”

Sapp-Lynch agrees, and says seeing a movie full of gay characters like Bottoms while coming out in high school “would've helped me make me feel easier, make me feel better about me being who I am.”

“I didn't understand my sexuality in high school, so I actually think it might've freaked me out,” admits Seligman. “It would've excited me. Maybe it would've jumpstarted some things!”

Of co-writing the film with Sennott, she says, “I really just wanted to see my high school self in a stupid comedy.” She recalls a quote from Edebiri: “Being stupid is a political act.”

“Just having queer characters in something so silly and that's not serious feels subversive,” Seligman continues. “I don't think we're trying to prove anything political or have some sort of deeper message or meaning out of the movie. Other than ‘Gay people can be funny, sexy and horny, and that's normal.’ Sometimes just normalizing something is enough.”

“Marshawn in the movie,” she adds, “beyond him being a wonderful actor and improviser and a lovely human being, it is wild that it might be seen by so many more people who wouldn't have otherwise seen it.”