#And I refuse to delay posting because of that man

[moonbaby26]

Title: The Best Laid Plans

(Chapter 18 of Doflamingo’s Marine Series)

*Crossposted to AO3 Here*

Chapter Pairings: Doflamingo x Reader, Doflamingo x Caesar Clown (implied), Smoker x Reader (referenced)

Chapter Warnings: language, reader is still going through it, toxic relationship, abusive relationship, manipulation, breeding kink, Doflamingo is a freak (as always)

Chapter Synopsis: The morning after your and Doflamingo’s public engagement and actual marriage, he’s already working towards what he wants from you next. And you begin learning a bit more about the family you’ve now been chained to. All while this news of your union begins affecting even those who want nothing to do with you.

A/N: Not fully proofread! I will buzz back through later to clean up mistakes. I had a personal goal to post an update by this weekend, and I wanted to stick to it. 🫡

Chapters: 1,  2,  3,  4,  5,  6,  7,  8,  9,  10,  11,  12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18

——————————

——————————

“I have to say…this is unusual, Caesar. Am I to feel like the pay I’ve already wired was insufficient this time? Or have you just had higher priorities this week outside of me?”

Caesar Clown was staring at that snail on the lab table in front of him, and the wholly disappointed edge behind every additional word.

Simply not answering Joker’s phone calls at any hour they might come had never been an option. Punk Hazard was far too close to Dressrosa for one thing. And Doflamingo’s warlord status allowed him impromptu visits whenever he’d wished on this otherwise restricted government island.

But even more important than that constant threat of his proximity, was the fact that Caesar wanted to answer when this man called for him.

Everything about Doflamingo intrigued him really. Every new test of his scientific skills that the pirate could offer him, every new payday, and every thrill of power by association that came along with it all.

Joker had a way about him that just couldn’t be refused, an equally dangerous and charismatic provider like no other.

And this conflict of emotion was only further proven in the way Caesar’s stomach twisted with fear, simultaneous to his face flushing with embarrassment as he tried to lie. “I just wanted this to be perfect for you, Joker. That’s all.” 

The truth and real reason for Caesar’s unexpected delay was something far different of course. A setback that the scientist had no idea how to yet articulate when it involved his favorite client so personally as this.

Because the flaw wasn’t in the new concoction itself that Caesar had already created. It was in the biology of the man who had commissioned it.

“It doesn’t have to be perfect. It just needs to work as I instructed.” The other responded so flatly though, still unaware of what new knowledge Caesar was now hiding. “Did the news coos come by Punk Hazard yet this morning?” He asked almost conversationally next though.

“No.” Caesar was quick to answer a bit louder then, eager to divert to another subject if even briefly. “Why? Did something happen?”

The snail finally smiled a little there.

“I’m calling because I moved the timetable up again yesterday. At the colosseum in front of everyone actually. I can’t help it I guess. When I want something, I just take it.” Doflamingo answered far more smugly at that.

“Oh?” Caesar was twirling the phone cord between his fingers nervously now. He remembered well the urgency of their last conversation. Because Joker had obviously selected you as his broodmare of choice well before taking this public. 

And why not? 

The sheer vanity of the idea was appealing to Caesar as well. Taking a fiery, desirable woman and riding her into submission until she ultimately bore fruit. It sounded like a good time to him as well.

“It’s an official betrothal then?” Caesar could guess as much then.

The snail smirked again. “Yes, it went well. You should have heard the roaring of that crowd.”

But just when Caesar had started to feel the smallest bit of calm when Doflamingo had begun to further gloat, those words turned sharp again in an instant.

“So I want that serum in my hands by tomorrow night at latest, Caesar. I can’t wait any longer. Can you make that happen for me or not?”

Even when posed as a question, there was only ever one possible answer of course.

“Yes, Joker.”

The drug was already ready by Caesar’s standards. It’d force ovulation regardless of any contraceptive previously in your system. And it’d grant resilience in the fetus to the most common toxins, preventing either accidental or purposeful chemical abortion in at least the timeframe until it could be old enough to survive outside of your body anyway. Also with some other chemicals added to further the thickening of the uterine wall and amniotic sac for a bit more physical protection too.

Forced reproduction is what this plan truly was. But the devil always remained in the details.

Though confident as always in his own work, Caesar had still snuck what should have only been an uneventful peek into Vegapunk’s data from the currently unnamed warlord project as well.

All the warlords’ genomes and lineage factors had already been mapped out by Vegapunk. Made from clandestine samples taken from each warlord at the time of the signing of their government contracts in Mariejois.

So in only a single afternoon, Caesar had scoured through Doflamingo’s file. Just double checking for anything obvious. Any potentially debilitating mutations that could interfere in successful fertilization and healthy fetal development regardless of Caesar’s drug’s limited protections.

The scientist did not want to be blamed for a wild card like that after all.

But there, deep into those genetic markers, he had found something that was indeed a hard stop. Nothing that uncommon he guessed, but the absolute opposite of what this plan needed to be successful.

“Will…you be arriving here to pick up the product yourself then?” Caesar felt like those next words were coming out of his mouth on their own now. 

Joker was exponentially faster in the sky than any ship could hope to be on the water. It’d grant Caesar nearly a whole additional day of lab time if Doflamingo came here himself instead of having the drug shipped to Dressrosa.

It’d also give Caesar a chance to dose the pirate with something complimentary to that formula being given to you. Perhaps Doflamingo’s one breeding fault Caesar had found could be temporarily corrected here as well.

The snail paused. 

“You really need the extra time then…don’t you?” And there was a bit of new incredulousness in that tone that may have made Caesar proud in different circumstances.

Because he had never let Joker down prior to this moment. Thus the other’s natural surprise.

“It will be ready by then. I promise.” Caesar still tried to steady his voice.

He would do whatever he had to, to keep in the good graces of those beautifully deep pockets of course. Even if it meant degrading himself to finally ask for help from the last person he’d ever wish to as soon as this call would end.

“Fine. I’ll see you tomorrow night.” Doflamingo’s voice eventually conceded to the new terms.

A rare mercy that further reinforced just how badly the Heavenly Demon must want this to happen with you.

“But no more extensions after this, Caesar.” He warned none the less.

“I understand, Joker. And it will be very good to see you again.” Caesar tried to throw on that additional subservience at the end at least, to finish on a good note so to speak.

Doflamingo did notice that difference in tone too. Because flattery was always appreciated, and a brief hint of flirtation even better. “Heh. I’ll be in a hurry. I can’t leave her alone for long. She just gets into trouble every time I do.”

“She does sound fun.” Caesar mused then, gladly sensing that returning deescalation which came with this bit of parting indulgence. 

“She is. But I’m not sharing this one.” The snail grinned fully then. “So fantasize in private. And don’t miss a deadline with me again, dear Caesar.”

The snail disconnected with a click at that as the scientist was left still recovering, here alone in his lab.

He shivered, this new stress so very real as it ate through him.

Caesar knew what he had to do. It was the only way to fix this in the remaining time window available now.

And Vegapunk would be all the more insufferable after this impromptu request for collaboration he was sure.

But sacrifices had to be made, with Caesar’s own ego included in those losses for just this once.

Because Joker would have what he wanted.

Always.

——————————

This meeting had been scheduled ages before now.

Crocodile’s request for official residency in Alabasta was to either be approved or denied today.

But his initial months of planning that should have had him walking into this room as the vessel of vengeance in the young princess’s tragic ransom attempt gone wrong, had been derailed in a single evening. 

Simply because you had to be in the wrong place at the right time.

Crocodile had always intended for his agents to kill Vivi. And then he would have killed them, dealing false justice and earning the full attention of Alabasta’s people.

King Cobra would then have had no choice, unable to publicly spurn the man who had captured and disposed of his precious daughter’s murderers.

And later, when the timing was fully right, Crocodile would have further pressed into that man’s paternal grief.

After getting all the information he’d need about the ancient weapon from the broken royal, it’d have been far too easy to then stage a suicide for Alabasta’s noble leader.

He’d have sewn the story of a father who just could never overcome the loss of his only child. 

And with the people’s favor by then, and Vivi already gone to leave no Nefertari heir to contend with, Crocodile would have been poised to take over this country in the power vacuum which would have followed.

But no.

Because of you, that little blue haired girl whose corpse should have long been sealed away in the Nefertari tomb was now standing before him and actually smiling instead.

She had apologized profusely to the king for not being able to wait a moment longer to share her news as she’d entered the palace dining area where Crocodile and her father had still been talking business.

The royal family’s guard zoans, Chaka and Pell stayed close, but also were losing their air of professionalism as they tried to look over the girl’s shoulder while she presented that brand new news coo delivery to the table.

“Father! Please, may I call and congratulate her!?” The girl was practically vibrating in this new excitement.

But Crocodile’s teeth were already clenching against his cigar.

Because even from across the table, of course he’d recognized that fucking bird’s high cheek bones and dark glasses on the front page.

Every last bit of his restraint was being tested as the tip of his hook punctured the smallest hole into the tabletop now. Catching there in that new imperfection as his jaw tightened further.

And Nefertari, a literal king, was sitting there all the while, marveling at these images and the hyperbolic words of Morgans’ that accompanied them while he turned through those pages.

“My, it says they have been courting one another for years even. How unusual…a pirate and a marine.” Cobra said aloud with some added incredulousness. But only then seeming to remember his own pirate guest at all. 

The almost sheepish look on the king’s face at that realization silently infuriated Crocodile all the more, before Cobra had the audacity to ask something even worse afterward.

“Besides being the ruler of Dressrosa, Doflamingo is also your colleague though. Are you close with him? Is this a surprise to you as well, Sir Crocodile?”

And it was also in the way that little girl’s bright eyes looked up to Crocodile with such anticipation for more details then. This insanity was beyond what the warlord could take.

Because it now surpassed all natural reason and probability the way that pink demon just kept ruining his life.

“Doflamingo does as he pleases. So I’m not surprised.” Crocodile’s deep voice somehow still managed rather noncommittally. His hand removing his cigar from his mouth then.

A tell they wouldn’t recognize. He was utterly seething. 

Because that fucking, feathered whore could never stop being this ridiculous and over the top in every single thing that he did.

And for what reasoning this time? There was always a play, a scheme, or a manipulation when it came to Doflamingo.

Nothing was ever genuine, nothing ever truly real.

That creature was a narcissist, a sociopath, a nymphomaniac, and any other random assortment of mental conditions he chose from his grab bag of collected neuroses on any given day.

“Father, please may I call her?” Yet Vivi started once more, not dissuaded in the least by Crocodile’s lackluster response.

“Yes, of course. But with Igaram to assist you. A call from you is an official contact from Alabasta and the Nefertari family after all…and this would essentially be us reaching out to the Donquixote royals as well now if you speak directly to her.”

And this realization somehow delighted the girl even further. “Oh…yes, you’re right! She’ll be a queen soon. Maybe we can even go to the next Reverie together!”

Cobra chuckled at this. “It’s certainly possible now, isn’t it?”

The girl wasted no time however, having now received her father’s permission as she hurried back out of the room to no doubt find Igaram and make that call.

Which did remind Crocodile of his own brief interaction with you too of course. When you rather rudely rejected his flowers and their very efficient poison.

But now he knew why Doflamingo had not immediately struck back in retaliation for that.

This public exhibitionism was that idiot’s response.

“My apologies for that interruption, Sir Crocodile.” Cobra had turned his head back to look at him again then once Vivi had left. “My daughter doesn’t have many friends outside of this palace any longer, now that her prior playmates have moved on to Yuba. And after that incident in Scylla, I believe she’s found quite a female role model in that marine captain.”

Cobra glanced at that print one more time and your pictures there with his sentiment, smiling warmly before he closed the newspaper.

“You know…” He started again not long after. “I think times are beginning to change in this world. I have to admit, when you first asked months ago for my public blessing to transition your Rain Dinners casino into a more permanent residence here in our country, it didn’t seem wise to me given your nature of remaining a pirate.”

Crocodile was still holding his cigar between his fingers then, outwardly concealing his full disgust as he did at least listen.

“But, the warlord program has clearly been working well for Dressrosa. By all accounts, they are thriving under your peer Doflamingo. He protects them. And now, I’d say they’re on their way to having a rather selfless queen as well. What she did for us in Scylla, I will never be able to fully repay her for.”

And even Crocodile’s expression shifted slightly there. Because he felt that change coming in Cobra with these next words.

“But I’m going to try to. So yes, I wasn’t going to approve your official residency and citizenship request at first. Even with you being a warlord, I suppose I still had learned misgivings about what powerful pirates can do to weaker targets. Yet, I’ve thought about these prior prejudices so much in the days since our experience in Scylla. And the way that captain has obviously deemed Doflamingo at least, as worthy of a second chance in life.”

Cobra even sighed a little there, taking a brief sip of the still warm tea that his servants had prepared earlier. “And you and I both know she will face some ridicule and shame for this choice regardless, being that her partner is also still a pirate. This wasn’t the only reason for my change of heart, mind you. But, I can’t deny that my desire to help her, especially now, will be a large part of my decision.”

The king smiled again there, but with a seriousness that still showed his understanding of the gravity of what he was conceding. “So I do grant your request to stay in Alabasta, Sir Crocodile. Partly for your agreed protection of our coasts of course, as I realize more than ever, the enemies we still have in this world. But also because I want to show that men even with histories like yours and Doflamingo’s can be offered these mercies later in life if earned. We will stand with Dressrosa in this regard. I will publicly support her choice of allying with a warlord, by doing much the same here in Alabasta.”

Crocodile’s stare was wider then. His breathing had paused.

Nothing was ever supposed to truly surprise him. And his hand returned that cigar to his mouth as he forced a smile.

The fucking audacity of this all still had his blood running so hot. His heart was pounding with hidden rage. But even Crocodile’s pride couldn’t surpass his sheer ambition any longer. He knew goddamn well what this meant for him in the end.

This new way into Nefertari Cobra’s confidence and the secrets of this kingdom now came with the ungodly price tag of warming back up to the Donquixote family.

“A sound decision, your highness.” Crocodile drawled through an exhale of cigar smoke though. “I can certainly protect this kingdom just as well as Dressrosa has been taken care of as you said. But even more so, this feels a bit like providence doesn’t it? Why, with your daughter being saved by such dear friends of mine…”

Vomit would have been far more pleasant to roll out over his tongue than those words.

But Doflamingo could be baited and used in a heartbeat. He’d come here with you in tow without question if invited. Crocodile knew this. Just like the card games at his casino, as soon as one hand had folded, another had been dealt to him.

His false smile remained. “In fact, if you truly wish to put your support for that soon to be Dressrosan queen front and center in the public eye, why not ask her to visit here? An engagement party of sorts? As further reward for her sacrifices to your family of course...”

And now it was Cobra’s turn to look surprised, though not at all unwilling for this new idea. “Oh, Vivi would love that.”

“As would your subjects.” Crocodile agreed.

And he did see Cobra glance briefly back up to Chaka and Pell who were still observing this conversation hesitantly as his bodyguards.

“It has been ages since we’ve had a proper ball…” Cobra mused.

The two zoan users looked at one another, but their king didn’t give them any real chance to respond.

It was clear that this thought had rooted in his mind. “Notify Igaram please. We’ll go over the details together, and I’ll let Vivi offer the official invitation once decided.”

Yet it already was decided, wasn’t it? Crocodile saw that. Just as clearly as he dreaded what a reversal of his own word this would be. He had sworn to never work with that bird again.

But using someone wasn’t the same as working with them. Or even denying the full blown hatred that remained for them, now was it?

Crocodile would still tear through each and every one of you without a second’s hesitation if Pluton could finally be his. And then, all these days in hell would be but a distant memory.

Temporary tortures endured by him for the achievement of his broader goals.

And torture would be the proper word for what would be coming. Because he could envision that freakishly long tongue slipping out from behind those bright white teeth even now.

Doflamingo would be elated. 

And Crocodile only had you to blame.

—————————— 

There’d been another note on the nightstand when you’d woken in Doflamingo’s bed in the morning sun. Just like that time on his ship on the way here from Scylla.

That beautiful handwriting that still seemed so disconnected from the ruthless individual who had penned it now stared up at you once more from clean, white paper. 

The curves and flourishes almost looked like they could move, flowing as your eyes narrowed with your now splitting headache, sitting up alone in the bed to read it.

“Good morning, my drunken wife. Though if you can read this, then congratulations. You’ve rejoined the living.

I doubt you’d be in the mood for more pain medication after the last time. But all you need do is ask and I’ll still provide. There’s no reason for you to suffer needlessly. Unless you just enjoy it of course.

I tasked Baby 5 with watching the door out in my suite for you. No unexpected visitors this time. I had some very time sensitive calls to make however, or else I’d still gladly be tangled up beside you. But I’ll check in on you soon.

Yours,

-D.D.”

You closed your eyes briefly then, trying to focus enough to not want to scream.

The haze of yesterday and last night could have been easily dismissed as only a fever dream.

If not for the reality of the diamond ring still around your finger. The only thing you were wearing actually besides a pained scowl as you opened your eyes again and left the bed. Dehydrated as usual and wishing for any semblance of relief.

Even now, you had the instinct that you weren’t supposed to be exploring Doflamingo’s private chambers without him.

Probably why he’d given you your own room to begin with. A safer holding cell for when he was away, before you and Trebol had immediately destroyed it anyway.

But fuck it. 

You were thirsty and still such a mess from last night as you crossed the bedroom.

And soon enough you found yourself standing alone in Doflamingo’s massive bathroom. With the centuries old mosaics and stonework that conflicted with his far brighter, modern tastes. 

It wasn’t your first time being here. But without him even lurking just beyond the door to wait for you, it felt entirely different.

You did your business, relieving yourself and flushing the toilet before standing again. Your bare feet then met his tacky pink rug as you pressed up against the marble sink. The floral scents of his cologne bottles lined up on the counter only messed with your overtaxed senses further.

You turned on the water, washing your hands with one of his fancy soaps, and rinsing them well before cupping your hands under that stream to bring the cool relief to your face.

And you drank it afterward as well. Because to hell with his weird freakout about this very thing back at the villa. You drank that water several times in fact, refilling the makeshift bowl that was then your cupped hands pressed together.

But as you did turn the water off and straightened back up, you caught your own movement out the corner of your eye.

In that floor to ceiling mirror that was well big enough for even Doflamingo to fully admire himself in the nude.

And you’d seen him do it. One too many lingering glances towards his own image in that reflective glass after showering.

But all you saw now was nothing near as flawless as him as you made that same mistake of also looking for too long. 

Into your tired, pained eyes. And over all the bruises now transitioning through every sequence of unnatural colors, while the trapped blood tried to dissolve for days at a time beneath your skin.

The shape of Doflamingo’s foot sole was still centered prominently over your sternum from that battle in the other bathroom as well. His love bites also along your shoulders and one deep enough to actually have thickly scabbed over on one of your hips.

You weren’t always quick enough with your armament when you were supposed to be experiencing pleasure. He’d kiss and lick you, bringing you nearly to orgasm, and then nail you with a real bite sometimes. 

It furthered his arousal at the complete loss of your own in moments like that.

And you didn’t want to see this anymore. 

Not right now.

You turned and stalked out of the bathroom before that disgust in yourself could fully take hold again. Before you could shatter that mirror and even the ancient stone behind it with your clenched fist.

Your luggage was just set against a wall in his bedroom when you came back to it. Like it didn’t belong here at all as you spitefully dug through it.

You put on your usual underwear, but with sweatpants over them this time. That and an old, long sleeve shirt as a top.

It was throw away shit, only fit for laying alone in a ship’s bunk late at night. But you were purposefully covering everything but your face, feet, and hands with it now.

You didn’t know what your plan even was anymore. You didn’t have one as you cracked open that tall bedroom door to exit into the hallway that led to the rest of the king’s suite.

And even with the warning of Doflamingo’s letter, you’d still paused at seeing Baby 5’s back while she stood silently at the window she’d apparently opened in the main sitting room.

She was staring out, not yet noticing you at all.

You’d considered still making a purposeful sound though. To spare you both the inevitable bad reaction of surprising her. You weren’t in the mood of dealing with that. But then you’d noticed the small cloud which rose up as she exhaled.

And something else still inside of you immediately reacted instead.

You didn’t know why. Because it wasn’t as if she was anyone you could actually help.

You couldn’t even help yourself in this place.

“And just how old are you to be doing that!?” You snapped at her regardless.

The girl made a frightened noise of course, eyes wide as she looked back over her shoulder with that lit cigarette still sticking out from between her lips.

Her hands went together in a begging gesture almost simultaneously too as her whole body then turned to face you in the realization of being caught. “He said you’d still be asleep! Please! Please don’t tell the Young Master!”

And her higher pitched plea was like a knife through your still throbbing head.

But you just couldn’t imagine why Doflamingo would care either. He’d thrown his child soldiers out into battle without hesitation for years. Why would any additional lung damage ever matter?

“What would he care?” You asked along with that thought as you approached. But your displeasure must have still been clear even as she didn’t answer.

One more look at you and she’d tossed that still lit cigarette right out of the open window rather than argue.

But that still wasn’t enough. Not for you. “Give it to me.” Your eyes narrowed at her anyway as you held your hand out tiredly, so close to her then.

“What?” She asked defensively, starting to back away.

“The pack, kid. Because you never answered me. What are you, fifteen?”

“Sixteen.” She looked at you with such indignity there, her defiance trying to return.

“Yeah, no damn difference.” But you saw the top of that small box sticking out of a pocket on the apron you hoped they didn’t make her wear. And you snatched the pack right from her, then and there.

“Hey!” She protested, exacerbating your headache yet again with the shrillness of her upset voice. 

Your head was hurting enough that you made your own choice next. You were already over this hangover pain. You needed to feel, taste, or do something different. Anything.

Baby 5 had paused as you opened the confiscated box just as smoothly and removed a single cigarette from it. 

It’s not like you’d ever said you were entirely fair either.

“Chill out. You owe me one for all your yelling anyway.” You sighed. “So give me a light, and I’ll at least let you keep the lighter.” You told her as you brought that fresh cigarette up to your own lips.

“You smoke?” She asked incredulously.

“No. Well, not cigarettes. Cigars…sometimes. I just-” But you realized that was far too honest for this moment. And you walked that comment back quickly. “No. I don’t smoke. Just light it already.“

It was not at all your desire to remind yourself of Smoker or anyone else right now. Of course he’d taught you how. Of course he’d let you try his, and thought it hot whenever you’d held one cigar between your fingers and the other between your teeth, breathing deeply for him while his own mouth had went to work much farther down your body.

You’d had your fun together. And it had meant something, at least to you. Those memories wouldn’t be erased just because Doflamingo said they should.

Yesterday, he’d told the papers you had no exes.

That it had always been him for as long as you’d been old enough to be with a man. That’s what that new timeframe meant, and you were sure he knew that.

He’d told them you’d been fucking a pirate since you’d even known how to fuck.

Baby 5 still stared at you, but she listened to your command regardless as she got the lighter from her other pocket. Likely just in that habit of her always being told what to do around here. 

You bent down enough for her to light the cigarette as you inhaled slightly to get the burn going.

And you did cough a couple of times, that shitty taste one you probably should have long forgotten when you’d first tried and ultimately rejected these years ago as a chore girl.

Baby 5 watched that too, almost entranced for a moment before your hand suddenly moved and you tossed that nearly full pack of her remaining cigarettes right out of the window as well.

“Ah! Why!?” She yelled again, as if you’d wounded her physically that time. While her gaze followed the tumble of the box and its fall multiple stories down until it was out of sight. 

“Because you don’t need it.” You grumbled, even with the utmost hypocrisy of taking yet another drag as you said so. 

“And neither do you.”

Both you and the girl straightened up then, looking to the open archway that connected back to the rest of the royal suite. 

Doflamingo’s long frame darkened it, slouched in that odd way of his with his hands in his pockets as he surveyed this new scene.

Yes, you were also starting to lose count of just how many times he’d now silently entered his own rooms to catch you off guard.

He must do it on purpose.

“Young Master! I didn’t do anything! I didn’t-” The teen tried.

“Out, Baby 5.” The warlord answered. Oddly calm, but non negotiable to his subordinate all the same.

And she didn’t have to be told twice. She slinked past him immediately, head down and fully submissive as she quickly exited.

Leaving you and Doflamingo then staring at one another with that burning cigarette still between your lips.

Your senses were still jumbled. You couldn’t yet feel his intent. And that worried you.

But it was a somewhat good sign when he did take off his glasses, propping them into his hair as usual when the two of you were alone. Though he still watched you sharply through his good eye.

“You love to test me…don’t you?” He said, straightening his tall posture as he moved closer. 

And you held your ground, even when seeing his focus move critically back to that burning cigarette. “I’m having a rough morning. I just wanted a distraction.” You exhaled as you spoke.

But he was so close already then, bending down to grin at you as he inhaled that smoky exhale of yours right into his own lungs.

“And I hate the smell of your ‘distraction’, love…because it lingers. I’ve told them all so many times. Anywhere else they want, just not in my private rooms.”

Yet you remained still as Doflamingo’s hand exited his pocket to so purposefully come up towards your face. His long fingers ran along your cheek softly, just before he plucked that cigarette right from your unsuspecting mouth in one harsh motion. 

Like yanking a weed out of a garden.

At least that’s what his brief glare seemed to say. That he was correcting you, just before his hungry lips covered where that cigarette had been. 

And you didn’t stop him. He’d even made a wanting noise soon enough, one that sounded fully involuntary with his tongue seeking deeper entrance as you parted your lips for him. 

His legs were bent as he tasted you and the remnants of that smoke, again and again actually.

And when he was done, you heard his harsher breathing just from that bit of intimacy. There was a reluctance in him even then as you saw that needful look briefly flicker through his eyes.

His other hand had now taken yours though while he began to lead you away from the window.

But not before he put that cigarette he’d abruptly taken from you into his own mouth.

“We are not making a habit of this. Do you understand?” He chided you again.

And of course you were staring, watching him smoke for the first time you’d ever seen.

He noticed your bit of awe too.

That taunting air of his resurfaced easily. “What? I’ve tried it all. Everything at least once. And many things several times more.” He didn’t even cough as you had, like he was proving that point. His lungs clearly didn’t care about this fresh assault.

“But like I said…” His lips downturned then as the humor left as quick as it had come. “I’ll never tolerate this specific smell on my things again.”

And you were now one of those “things” to him you were sure. With the further squeezing of his large hand around your smaller one just reiterating this idea, before he took and tossed that last cigarette out of the window as well to walk on with you.

“It actually takes years to fade you know.” He added even more seriously, not looking back at you anymore then.

He was pulling you now.

“Doffy…” It was obvious you didn’t have the will to resist him today. But he was already leading you both back towards the bedroom, which felt fully ridiculous and unwanted for you in this moment

Because he’d had all he wanted last night. You’d been a little drunk doll for hours, positioned this way and that to do whatever he pleased.

And Kizaru had caught you redhanded only to worsen it exponentially.

That pain of true humiliation went through you again as you did force yourself to speak, even when Doflamingo hadn’t acknowledged your prior plea of his name. 

You at least wanted some kind of update on the real status of your life before he’d just toss you on that bed again.

“Did anyone call from the marines yet this morning? Did the news coos come?” You knew it sounded like begging. Were you demoted? Discharged? Were you being called a traitor? How bad was it?

But he still didn’t look at you. And his voice sounded so odd when it did finally come.

“Your priorities need rearranging, little bird.”

His hand loosened slightly. But just enough for his fingers to move against that engagement ring you’d still never taken off.

You glanced down, feeling him briefly turning that band.

And then the two of you had passed the bed. You were standing before another large door as he pushed it open and pulled you through it. 

You went quiet, confused and surprised again as Doflamingo drug you into his closet without any further explanation.

Of course the simple description of “closet” was not near good enough either. Because it was a whole room of its own. Much bigger than even the one that was still supposedly yours in the other bedroom.

And Doflamingo did finally let go of your hand as he walked to the back of this space. 

He was looking for something while you stayed near the front, staring at the racks of clothing rather helplessly. His coats, suits, shirts, and more in just row after expensive row. 

Some garments were embroidered, some had real gold adornments and other precious stones. Everything was here. All the way from the gaudiest, neon colored capris pants you’d ever seen, to floor length furs and ceremonial uniforms truly befitting a Dressrosan king.

Your head tilted back a little too, then looking up as the glimmer of a literal crown and scepter sitting on a shelf above you caught your eye. They looked carelessly set aside, as if they were as unremarkable as an old pair of shoes to him before you heard him speak again.

“Come here.”

He’d been digging in the back corner, pushing away more of his suits that you’d never seen him wear in order to get to something.

And you had to trek across this  “closet” just to reach him.

But you stood there once you had, already uncomfortable before he shoved something large and black right in front of you. 

Your body reacted as if it were some sort of animal carcass, you taking a reflexive step back when those feathers shook all at once from his movement.

Doflamingo was holding the coat at the level of his waist then, and only had to extend his arms to follow you with it as you tried to move away.

“No. Smell it. And then tell me if you still think I’m full of shit.” He sounded irritated again for a moment there, as if he didn’t want to be holding this either for any longer than he had to be.

Of course the reasoning of this harsh new order made no sense to you at all. You just wanted to tell him to fuck off actually when this new weirdness began.

Yet you still felt like the biggest freak too as you were forced to let those black feathers graze your face anyway when he pressed it even closer instead and you finally inhaled.

It wasn’t strong, but it was definitely there.

“Cigarette smoke.” You confirmed, but still looking at him as if he was being insane again.

As usual.

But Doflamingo scoffed at your expression, just before doing the same to strangely smell that coat as well when he briefly brought it up to his face.

“This raggedy thing is almost six years old.” He said, somewhat quieter then. And he lowered it again after. But was still clutching the coat in one hand, as he watched you intently once more.

His glasses were still perched in his hair. And you saw a different look in that moment, just the slightest warning before he swept that black coat around to hang it over your shoulders. 

You tensed. And it was awkward and heavy, but no real difference to the pink ones he wore every day that you could tell.

But you said nothing in your obvious confusion. You only stood there, uncomfortably silent and waiting for the next touch, the next nonsensical action from him.

Yet Doflamingo was only staring at you for a few more moments, taking this all in like it meant something far different for him. 

Your eyes flitted to his hand, cautious of everything again now as he’d moved it to once more touch your face.

“He’d really hate this.” Doflamingo muttered as he grazed his knuckles softly down your cheek. “He was always so adamant about me letting you go.”

Your head was still aching horribly, surely interfering with your own powers of reasoning. But your heart only began to beat faster as his hand then moved down onto your shoulder next.

He was neatening the feathers there. But some were missing. As if they’d been singed and burnt away actually, you finally realized.

“Marine code zero, one, seven, four, six…” Doflamingo added from nowhere as your breath did stop.

“That’s not my code.” Your mouth and brain shot off reflexively then. All of you were trained to give your marine identification number when captured. To say it over and over if you had to under potential torture, rather than giving anything sensitive away that could hurt your crewmates. “My code is-”

“I know.” Doflamingo’s face was tense. His eyes met yours again.

And that all new dread sank into your chest as he did.

“That was his code. My baby brother…my Corazon.”

Your eyes widened as the full adrenaline began. 

In so many instances already there’d been these strange moments and the offhand comments about his blood family. All dead, all so seemingly triggering to him to ever speak of.

And you weren’t stupid. You were perceptive. But when every day and every night had you always still racing through the gauntlet of your own survival, it never allowed you the time to put any of these pieces together.

So he’d just thrown it right on top of you instead.

A dead man’s coat, now heavy in every meaning of the word as it hung across your already vulnerable frame.

“Rosinante…was a marine?” Your quiet voice both asked and confirmed at once. Because the silence was worse. And you didn’t dare look away from this pirate now.

“Yes.” Doflamingo answered directly that time. His long fingers still moving idly though, now nearer your breast, separating the individual feathers where this garment had evidently been crumpled against other things for years now.

He was actually preening you.

“This is just one of the coats he burned and left behind. I was always wasting money buying him new clothes. He could never take care of anything for long.”

Even with the almost neutral expression on Doflamingo’s face then, you still picked up on that real distaste in his tone. A true danger that made you try to force all of your energy away from your hangover and back to your very limited observation haki now.

You needed to focus.

This was no game anymore.

“I didn’t know.” You said in full honesty.

Doflamingo’s fingers paused too, his eyes moving back to your face with renewed skepticism that would have made a lesser soul cower.

“You really never met him?” He asked so plainly though.

“No.” You told the truth again.

The warlord scowled a bit.

“Well, I always talked to him about you.”

And you knew he saw that hint of surprise on your face again there that you couldn’t hide.

His eyes narrowed a little more in response to it. “You think I lie about everything, don’t you? I was telling the truth when I told the crowd I always wanted you. You had my attention years ago.”

That hand that had been neatening the feathers at your chest now moved all the way down to your hip as Doflamingo abruptly squatted onto his haunches in front of you.

His touch slipped so easily beneath the bottom of your shirt as he began to rub the skin of your waist. 

“I told my brother that you’d be mine. But he was too weak to last long enough to see it.” Doflamingo’s grip tightened a little more, holding you firmly by your waistline now, skin to skin. “Do you understand what I’m telling you, (Y/N)? He hid from me. He lied to me. He hurt me.”

“He was undercover.” You said in something not far above a whisper then. Acknowledging the true scope of what was now being revealed to you.

And Doflamingo’s eyes finally looked bothered. He was watching that growing upset in your own.

“You were there that night too. With Tsuru…weren’t you?” Doflamingo asked you. And you felt the warmth of his body as he moved in even closer, still squatted down before you.

“Minion Island? Yes…I was there.” You responded as he leaned his head against you so unexpectedly.

He wanted you to touch him in return as he still held your waist.

And you did reach up, the black coat shifting as your hand moved softly around the back of Doflamingo’s neck.

It took everything in you to keep your hand from trembling.

“He left me no choice.” Doflamingo breathed just as your grip met his skin.

The primal chill that went through to your very bones was linked only to the way his eyes had changed again then. No trace of remorse as he said these words to you.

And Doflamingo simply shifted, wanting you to rub him further.

So you began stroking the back of his neck as you felt his face briefly nuzzle you. Partly against your own clothes, partly against those black feathers of his dead brother as he now chuckled.

A sickening sound.

“He took everything I had left. My heart…my trust.”

But it wasn’t sad or mournful. That tone felt like loathing even as Doflamingo’s hand moved again beneath your shirt, his large palm splaying low onto your abdomen.

“And I want it back.” He reaffirmed.

He thought he was the only victim here.

He thought he was owed whatever he wished to take because of the things he’d already lost.

You felt his fingernails beginning to press soon after. Like a claw digging into you with that renewed show of possession.

His teeth were bared again.

“I want it from you.” His voice was so low then, this demon of a man practically sitting on the floor now as he pushed your shirt further up.

“Give it back to me.”

You felt his lips against your stomach next, just before he whispered once more.

“Bear me my new Corazon.” 

———————————

    T⨂  BE 

CONTINUED

———————————

Thanks for reading!

[laurikarauchscat]

My first ever wump!Geralt

Upon request from @do-androids-dream-ao3acc, I'm returning to my roots here (I used to own property in the wump!Geralt tag on ao3 🤣. But that was before I started drawing)

An assassination attempt is thwarted by love.

A Witcher kills and is nearly killed in the process.

And an Emperor long thought mellowed by love and old age proves himself more bloodthirsty than ever...

____

Featuring Geralt swooning like a damsel, and a background that refused to fucking co-operate being beaten into submission by my black paint.

[yxstxrdrxxm]

(ooc)

I am so sorry @ everyone.

I believe I may have a favorite when I'm done writing a certain guy's fic.

[hoseoksluna]

VAPOR, pt II. | jjk ft. myg

pairing: boyfriend!jungkook x steam!oc 

genre: smut, a great dose of angst

word count: 11.9k

summary: hard times ask for extra care and like the healer he is, jungkook doesn't fail to give you his absolute best.

pinterest board: vapor | playlist: vapor

warnings: heartbreak, lots of tears, oral sex (f. and m. receiving), praise kink, sucking fingers, female masturbation, fingering, oc is extremely wet and jk is rly rly hard for her <3, squirting, multiple orgasms, jk tells her off kinda and it's hot, pet names, raw and rough sex, the abandonment issues are heavy in one part, mention of a sex toy

note: hi, my loves. this was absolutely painful to write, but i know i made a good decision. unfortunately for those who are waiting for the next series—i'm sorry, but this will have another part. it's already so long and if i kept going, it'd have probably like 20k plus words and i don't want to take up your time. i think i can manage to post the last part THIS week, so look forward to this. one part of the happy ending done. <3 i love you, guys, i hope you like this. don't hesitate to let me know; i worked hard and i want validation skfjslkfjsklfs. enjoy, my loves. <3

A dead man for the fifth time, Jungkook finds the unfolding of the events quite ridiculous now. And he’s not surprised, how could he really be at this point, that there’s radio silence within the chambers of his heart. 

The food court is muted, the lights are ever still bright, but the corners of his eyes gain peculiar shadows that cling to the side of your face as you swirl your spoon in your hot soup. His phone is ringing and its obnoxious sound is but a vibration in his hand and the only thing that’s delaying him from sliding his thumb across his device is some sort of consent in your solemn, yet saddened features. He can see translucent threads lining your rounded lips that have sown your mouth shut, preventing you from speaking out your tender heart and it’s predominantly this thing, among the obvious other ones, that drives him to make a scene in front of all of these people crowded around him. 

If he has to, he will rip those wisps. Make it as painless as possible because whether he likes it or not, he needs you right now. Needs your word of advice, needs your consent in order to do what the entirety of his organs yearns to do. And if you say no, he’ll willingly turn his phone off and refuse to speak to his once-closest friend. 

Just for the sake of your mental health. Just to outrun fate and grasp her wrist to stop her from furthermore scarring your heart. 

You have enough of them and he has only one pair of lips to heal them. 

Lifting the spoon to your mouth, you keep your gaze on its silver coat and it unnerves him—the fact you won’t look at him, the fact that you so evidently don’t want to be in this situation. Your own boyfriend is chasing you around town, even though he transmitted waves of nothingness your way when he had you under his roof. He doesn’t fucking understand it. Doesn’t understand how he’s capable of doing such a thing and fury rises in his gut, soars high to his throat, which constricts around it so tightly that it forbids him from inhaling any oxygen into his lungs. And he fears that if he speaks, it’ll soak you. Make you even smaller than you are and he’ll hate himself for the rest of his life for it. 

However… 

He needs to talk to you. Time is pressing down on his shoulders once again and here and now, he’s too burdened, too fragile to bear it. His stoicism has long been fractured, its shards cracking cacophonously under the soles of his sneakers and… the singular tear rooting on his pale cheek hasn’t even dried up. 

“Tell me what to do, sweetheart,” Jungkook says, his voice a soft, deep murmur; a plea. His surroundings gain volume, little by little, the lack of air in his lungs causing his mind to spin. His body grows cold and, unwittingly, he bounces his leg underneath the table. “If you don’t want me to pick up this call, I won’t. It’s your decision.” 

He knows that whatever it is that will come out of your mouth and change the trajectory of his fury, he’ll protect you nonetheless. No matter what, no matter what it takes. He’ll unleash what’s been swarming in him for a long time in private sometime later if you ask for it—he’ll gladly tell his organs no and they’ll have to listen. That’s certainly not an issue. 

What will be an issue is if you remain quiet. He doesn’t know what will happen to him under that circumstance. He has very little trust in something that’s out of his grasp and he has  strong disliking for the looseness of it all. Doesn’t feel right. 

A quick, soft slurp of your soup. A lift of your weary eyes. A kick in his heart. “I don’t want to make any decision. If you want to pick up the call, you should. I don’t mind. If you don’t, that’s fine, too.” 

He must be dead because he’s staring at his own reincarnation. 

You’ve walked so far on your pathway of suffering that you reached the point that you don’t care anymore. Don’t care that there’s a risk Yoongi will see you or hear you. Don’t care about what’s going to happen when he does and about the events after. It’s as admirable as it is disturbing and a faint pulse begins to sound in his chest. Thrill nips at his skin; a sense of responsibility uncoiling within, linking to the surety of his instinct to protect you. To stand up for you. To make things right in a way, way different manner than he’s ever tried before and it’s those inclinations that drive his thumb to swipe across the screen. 

Though he doesn’t look at Yoongi. No, he looks at you, studying your features. It’s not that he doesn’t trust your words, he does and vehemently so, but this is a difficult situation that you’re both in and it would be only understandable if the gravity of it washed over you all of a sudden and you weren’t comfortable with this anymore. He wouldn’t hesitate to end the call right away. Fuck what Yoongi thinks. 

But nothing changes about your weariness. It’s a still pool of water, unmoving and utterly impenetrable, like the pond behind his cabin during cold, winter times. When this is over, he promises to get warm and dip his fingers in, permeate your skin with rosiness and coziness. Stall the change of seasons unfurling in you. 

And Jungkook pleats that promise into the palm of your hand as he takes it, his thumb against your head line. Watches you stuff your mouth full with noodles. His own stomach churns, the fury half parting, making a way for his hunger to suffuse his senses. He’s so happy you’re eating that all he can think about is how he’s going to make your life better with this one singular video call. 

He leaves you to it and focuses his gaze down on Yoongi. His once-close friend is driving in his car and despite the shit view he has of him, due to his service and the way Yoongi’s phone is angled, he can still see the way he’s swathed by murkiness. The purple marks under his eyes are a stark contrast to the pallidness of his skin and his hair is a mess, tufts of black strands sticking in different directions as if he had been on the verge of ripping his hair out. He has one hand on the steering wheel, while the other runs over his upper lip. Over and over, back and forth, waiting, patiently, for Jungkook’s attention. 

He starts speaking once he knows he has it. 

“Sorry to bother you, I didn’t know who else to call.” He sighs and explains that he’s calling because of you, the mention of your name causing his voice to crack. “I drove up to her apartment, but she’s not there. She told me she was going to her place when she… when she… left.” 

So he heard you loud and clear, and yet he didn’t have the decency to respond to you, make you know that you were heard. Jungkook looks at you and this time you look back at him, too. A tight, painful exchange of glances. He squeezes your hand, even as Yoongi continues. 

“She’s not picking up the phone. I’m worried about her—”

Jungkook is swift with his words. “You should’ve thought of that before you let her leave,” he snaps, his whole body tense, hanging yet again by the thread. He keeps his hold over your hand gentle, despite it all—despite the fact that his form yearns to explode. “You’re too reckless. Leave her alone.” 

Your eyes widen while Yoongi’s narrow, but he doesn’t regret what he said. He knows there’s utmost truth in them, something that should scramble his brain until he comprehends it. Yoongi’s mouth purses in a tight line and his fist clenches before he places it on the steering wheel with a thud. 

“Don’t talk to me like this. I don’t need this,” Yoongi mutters, pulling out his hyung card and while it angers Jungkook even more, he also thinks that’s the biggest load of bullshit that has ever come out of his mouth. “I need to know where she is.” 

He gazes intently at you as he says, “It’s none of your business.” 

And those big eyes of yours round in a good emotion that he can’t really recognize and slowly, you swallow down your noodles. Speechless, he deduces. A tendril of adrenaline courses in him, strengthening his responsibility and protectiveness over you, kissing it ever so sweetly when you squeeze his hand. 

A validation. 

Jungkook could stay like this. He wouldn’t mind at all—it feels too nice. Feels like you’re his. And perhaps at this very moment you are. 

The feeling is so overwhelming that he doesn’t give two shits about the fact Yoongi is detonating on the other side of the screen. He keeps his eyes on you. 

“What the fuck do you mean it’s none of my business? Is she with you?” 

It’s at this moment that a proud smile curls Jungkook’s lips. And it’s joy that absorbs his organs, his heart beating loudly and clearly. Even the people around him seem happier in his peripheral vision. He thinks this night tops in the best days he’s ever had. 

Tension has grabbed a hold of you, too. But he will make it better. He’s got you. 

He continues with the truth and he’s not afraid of it. Not at all. 

“Yes, she’s safe with me.” 

Those words, most peculiarly, soothe Yoongi’s rage. Silence fills his car, one that forces Jungkook to flick his eyes to his phone because he truly can’t believe what’s happening. Yoongi runs his hand down his face and nods once, the murkiness loosening a fair bit before it pulps him. It’s now that he becomes small. A tiny boy, at the hands of his own repercussions. Displeased, but relieved. A strange, strange sight.

“Good,” Yoongi says and Jungkook’s stomach drops. “She should be with you. You’re better than me in ways I could never be. She doesn’t need me anymore.” 

Your mouth parts and a vexation of your own clutches you. Enough for you to drop your spoon and lift your hand, palm up. The adrenaline in Jungkook’s system thickens. “Give me the phone.” 

Yoongi's head turns to the screen at the sound of your irritated voice and Jungkook’s smile widens, handing you the device. He knows what you’re about to say will put an end to this difficult situation and he’s eager to hear it, eager for it to happen. 

“Careful, don’t make him crash his car,” Jungkook whispers, ever so smug, just for your ears, but on the other hand, he doesn’t care if it finds a way to your boyfriend’s as well. You gaze at him most solemnly, fleetingly, and he can’t read shit in your expression. He’s not troubled by it, however; he wants you to let loose in whatever form of your choosing, of your liking. You deserve it, to be boundless like that. It’s been a long time coming.

His phone in your hand is too large and he finds it so cute that it helps him relax. Without withdrawing his hand, he hunches over his soup, getting his utensils ready. 

And his first taste of his meal is as good as the first words you hurl at Yoongi. 

“Are you joking right now? Is that all you have to say after everything? You’re actually unbelievable,” you spit, shooting daggers at the screen, your brows furrowed, a lethal glare directed at him. Yoongi doesn’t say anything, but he hears him sigh. “I’d like you to know that it’s my decision that I’m with him. Not yours. You’re not in control of it and you never will be again. I’m with him because I want to be with him, not because you let me be with him or because you think it’s good.” 

Your voice rises in volume ever so slightly, respectful of your surroundings, but untethering your heart free nonetheless. A tortured pain coats it, despite the fact you’re holding yourself strong and it drives Jungkook to let go of his spoon, unable to eat when he feels your agony in all its raw immensity. You struck his awe and all he can do is watch you make order of your life. For your sake and also, most remarkably, for his. A beautiful, beautiful sight.

Love unable to be real turning away, slowly, from the dead end. 

“So, we’re over?” Yoongi asks, small—small voice. Jungkook has never heard it before and butterflies zap his stomach with the strongest electricity they could come across. 

Your face doesn’t change and you don’t hesitate to unleash your next words. “I think you should go see other people and heal from this mess. You’ve grown too attached to your own fucked up impressions and you need a reality check.” 

Such coldness, such brutality. Jungkook can’t breathe—finds it hard to believe this is happening right now, that angels are by his side, keeping his bloodstream flowing. He feels as though he’s dreaming again due to the speck of vagueness in your answer. Yes, you’ve told him to go see other people, but he’s also aware that Yoongi needs the raw truth on a silver platter. If there’s anything he hates with all his being, it’s the abyss of obscurities. It’s the space in his brain for him to make up for the emptiness of your words. 

Jungkook intertwines his fingers with yours, his thumb fondling the crook between your thumb and your forefinger, giving you the little strength he possesses in him—the last of it, all he has. 

Are you breaking up with him or are you taking a break? 

Jungkook longs to know, perhaps he needs it, too, even though both options are more than merciful for such a wretched dreamer like him. A dreamer that has stumbled upon gold in a poor, poor world. 

“Honey, please.” Yoongi breaks into sobs and it’s now, now as Jungkook hears the sound of a raw emotion from such a detached person that he softens, his fury snuffed out in a blink of an eye, and he can’t feel his arms, nor his legs. He realizes, most strangely, that it’s his friend, one he spent the last ten years of his life with. The aftertaste of copper pools in his mouth again and his own eyes wet. Yours, too, your chin quivering the more you take in his devastated state. “I can’t do this without you. I–I don’t know how to.” 

Despite your tenderness, your words remain firm. “I think you’ve managed quite well these past few days. You’ve pushed me away, needed space. So go have it. I won’t suffer through it, though. I’ll do what I want, you should, too. You need to heal in the only way you know how. Alone.” 

Yoongi sniffles, taking long breaths to seemingly calm his shuddering lungs. And pity enfolds his heart, pity for his friend that he’s become such a wreck and that he’s a witness to it, more than the cause behind it. He puts the latter to the side, now is not the right time for it. 

He knows what will happen to him once he breaks the dam of self-blame. It’s not what you need right now and he will make sure to keep that dam of your own safe and stable. It’s his duty. 

“Will you wait for me?” Yoongi asks and Jungkook feels that question curl around his gut. With a light layer of sadness, he returns to his food, his stomach grumbling. 

You sigh, swiping your fingers under the skin beneath your lower lashes, perhaps so Yoongi doesn’t see your weakness. Jungkook watches you as he slurps on his noodles, nervous—terribly, terribly nervous. 

“I don’t know if I’m able to trust you like that again,” you conclude, taking a big breath and Jungkook chokes on his food, coughing so hard that you untangle your hand from his and slap his back. “Gotta go. I’ll call you later.” You end the phone call and gently lay down his phone, rubbing his back soothingly as Jungkook splutters. “Are you okay? What happened?”

What happened? You gave him life. Made a pathway for his dreams to come true. Gave him a leeway to walk upon this earth with no weight on his shoulders. Turned something inaccessible accessible. 

Love unreal becomes real, running headlong in the opposite direction of the dead end. 

The last of his aching coughs emit out of his throat and he swallows, lungs heaving with freedom and easy, easy breaths. The air is different, the oxygen much sweeter. You put his tall glass of water into his hand, encouraging him to drink, never letting go of him as Jungkook takes a big sip, the cold liquid washing away all of those dark ashes left from the fire of his fury. His vision blurs once he looks at you in this new, shifted reality and there’s a smile to his face, calmness surging through his body, exhilaration most needed twining around it. 

“You tell me,” Jungkook says, almost out of breath—out of his mind. “What just happened?” 

You go back to your soup, squeeze your fried egg open with your chopsticks. “I’m not letting him hurt me again. I don’t have to be strong and take it, do I?” With the yolk spilling in, you push the entirety of the egg white into your mouth, huffing in delight, rolling your eyes back and chewing, cheeks puffed up like a little squirrel. His own utensils go slack in his hand, watching you enjoy your food, his heart enlarging. But then you furrow your brows and stop chewing. “Fuck, it’s cold, but it’s so good.” You sigh and resume chewing, your eyes flicking across the table, your body bouncing excitedly in your seat. You act as though you didn’t just break your own boyfriend’s heart—as if you led a normal conversation with him, in which he was just checking up with you. Jungkook’s awe is so struck that he can’t speak. Can’t eat. Can’t do anything but watch you with all that love abounding in his being for you. And then you flick your eyes to his and the wrinkle between your brows deepens. “Why aren’t you eating? Is it too cold?” 

He calls your name, firmly. Leans back in his seat with a big sigh. Rubs his eyes with his fingers. “What just happened?” 

There’s simply no way this is real. 

You devour your noodles, swallowing spoonfuls of soup. “I ended things with him, Jungkook, and I’m not coming back to him.” 

His mouth dries, heart picks up speed. How are you saying this with such ease? Isn’t your heart split in two? Your devotion clung to his guy with every breath you took and back at his cabin, you wouldn’t let him play with you unless Yoongi was present. How come it seems like you’re anything but heartbroken right now? 

“Are you okay?” Jungkook asks in all honesty, confounded by your behavior. 

You push away your bowl, cradling your full belly. “Yes, I’m okay.” 

He doesn’t really believe you. Losing your appetite was proof enough. “Positive?” 

You look over to the side and your chin begins to quiver. There it is. Your hand flies to your face and you hide the rupture of your pretense behind it. The corners of your face, the only parts he gets to see, flush in red and Jungkook grabs your things with a heavy, sinking heart. Walks over to you and gives you his hand. 

“Let’s go home, sweetheart.” 

The weeping clouds have migrated not just to your eyes but to his, too. The night is deep and Jungkook feels it, ardently, coming to rest beneath his skin, floating on its back upon the stream of his tears that he’s stifling. He’s holding your hand and your purse as he’s leading you to his place. You didn’t want to see the face of your apartment. As a matter of fact, you couldn’t stand anything that reminded you of Yoongi and you begged him to take you somewhere you’ve never been before. Jungkook only nodded, brushing away the tears that managed to escape. Thought he’d bring you to any place you’d ever ask, just as long as you stuck with him. 

He’s gained what he wanted for a long time, but at what cost? The two people he loves the most are broken. One, his dearest, he’s grasping tightly so she wouldn’t fly away. The other is becoming but a memory, ten years going down the drain—never to be seen again, never to be continued. 

He has you, but he lost Yoongi. And the realization hangs, heftily, over his clavicles, swinging back and forth, kicking into his chest. 

He can’t stand the sight of him either, however. How strange. 

Once inside the warmth of his apartment, he can’t help but rid you of the hideous flannel of his that you’re wearing, bunching it up in his fists and throwing it away to the corner of his bench on the side of his wall without you knowing. With his hand on the small of your back, he guides you to his living room and he lets you skim your sight all around it, slipping his fingers under the hem of your tiny top, just touching you there. White walls, brown leather couch, a TV that takes up the most of the space alongside the kitchen with a plain dining area consisting of an old wooden, rectangular table with four chairs. A huge singular space of nothingness that has never felt home-like, not until you’ve stepped inside. 

Now, all of a sudden, it has colors. Vibrant, yet soft-toned with each inhale of his breath. You bring your oxymorons everywhere you go and they stay where you reside, even if you move someplace else. The evidence of it is in his very body. While he feels at his most fragile, he also senses himself to be strong. Strong enough to take care of you right at this moment, be there for you and give you anything you’d ever want. And while his eyes are still wet, cheeks bedewed by his softness, he also wants to break this place—self-blame creeping in, threatening to emerge from the hidden spots somewhere within the battlefield of his chest. 

This is his fault. Had he never said yes, you wouldn’t be in pain and neither would his friend be. But in that scenario, he wouldn’t know you existed. Wouldn’t have you. Would lead a forlorn life, with his paints and his alcohol. 

You would be happy with Yoongi. Radiant, glowy. With your glitters, your little dresses. Your nighttime robes and your little lingerie. 

Would you? Has he ruined your happiness? Has he ruined you? 

Jungkook turns you around to him. He needs to ask you; he needs to have the certainty, otherwise he won’t sleep tonight. Won’t even close his eyes—the thoughts would eat away his drowsiness. Leave only wakefulness in their wake. Jungkook presses his lips against your forehead, lingering there, formulating his words, carefully. His hands clutch your shoulders. Your frail, slender shoulders. 

Yoongi devastated your appetite enough that you lost all your soft fleshiness. He took it away and he doesn’t even perceive it. It was clear to him by the way you pushed your plate away, when your emotions rushed through; you didn’t have to say a word. And although he grieves the personal loss, still this is something he’ll never forgive him for. 

“Would you have been happy if you never knew me?” he asks, subduedly, torment clawing at his vocal cords. “Would you have been happy with him?” 

A teardrop spills down your cheekbone, plopping onto the material of your top, soaking it. You furrow your brows, seem angry at his choice of words and he regrets them, enough that his mouth rounds in a tender emotion that he’s too weak to stifle back. And then you bunch up his T-shirt, just like you did earlier in the dressing room, and there’s a tendril of relief that maybe he didn’t fuck up so majestically. He wants to weep; holding them back pains him too much and that ease, that repose is all he wants. It’s not that he’s shy or unwilling to let out his feelings—it’s just that he’s putting yours above his, deeming them more important. He wants to be strong for you, someone you can lean on—and how can he do that for you when he’s crumbling on the inside? 

“How can you say that to me?” you ask in disbelief and Jungkook wants to rewind back the time. Wants to keep quiet and just hold you through this fateful night. He winces, looking away, his own chin quivering this time and he can’t—he can’t hold back. He possesses no strength. A tear trickles down his cheek, one full of agony, hot against his skin and he whimpers, he whimpers when you cradle his face in your hands, step on your tippy toes and press your lips against his. Your mouth is so warm and he’s shivering with cold; silky while his are ruined by the constant biting he did in the car. He is a ruination—how can you want him? He ruined your relationship. And now even his tears have stained your angelic, pure face. 

“I feel like I’ve ruined everything,” he admits and his chest hurts, lungs tight, body trembling in that persisting cold. “I’ve ruined your relationship. I’ve ruined your life. Yoongi’s. Caused so much pain, so much trauma. Only because I let my friends convince me into going out when I came back from the military.” 

The wrinkle between your brows smooths down and you pout, caressing his face. Jungkook can’t halt the rivulet of his liquid emotions. Not when he feels your love so awfully intensely, embracing him around and around, tightening, giving him a sense of safety. 

“Can I tell you something?” You take his hand in yours and Jungkook already misses your warm touch on his face. He nods. “Where’s your room?” 

He leads you there and you crawl onto his bed, patting the space beside you, curling on your side. He mirrors your position and you prop the side of your leg on his, intertwining your fingers with his on the bedding, moving his hand to your mouth. 

And your words seep into his fist. 

“We were together for five months and I never met his family. Never met his friends, except you. I never really thought about it in depth because he kept me busy, despite the fact all we did was fuck. It was enough for me, I guess, because I’d been alone for a long, long time before I met him. And I’m a bit of a loner myself so I didn’t mind that we spent all of our time in his apartment, fucking and watching movies. It wasn’t until I met you, Jungkook,” you pause, taking a big breath in, fondling his knuckles with your thumb, soothing him, soothing the drowsiness that is suddenly falling upon him like a blanket, waving off his tears, drying them. “That I realized it’s not really supposed to be like this in my life. I remember that night when he was out with you and I was in the bathroom. I thought about when was the last time he took me out and I shivered. I shivered, Jungkook. It was the first seed sown and I didn’t know. And when you came into my life, I spent my weekends out with you. You took me to your cabin, you took me out to dinner dates. Even today you took me to the mall. I realized it’s supposed to be like this. Yoongi never did that.” 

Your words tingle across his fist and he’s quick with his own. “But were you happy?” 

So are you. You don’t hesitate. “I thought I was, but the way I’m happy with you can’t compare to the way I thought I was happy with him.” 

The truth wafts in the air, sweetening it and another onrush of tears come out of his tear ducts. He leans in closer to you, nose to nose, sniffling, sobbing quietly and you kiss his hand. Over and over, breathing against his skin. Light opens in him as the truth unfolds—with the little time he had with you, he managed to make you happier. Not just happy, but happier.

“I had a lot of time to think about this. It wasn’t just today that he didn’t speak to me. He barely did throughout the week, but today was the worst of it all and I couldn’t take it anymore. It hurt, it hurt so much,” you continue and Jungkook knows how much it pains you, when Yoongi abandons you over and over, clawing his fingernails in your scars. He’s glad, brims completely with that gratefulness that it also rolls down his cheeks, mingling with his tears, that you were strong enough to put a stop to it—as hard as it was. “And you know what I think? Yoongi needs someone like that. Someone who’s a much bigger loner than I am. Someone who’s okay with staying home, with keeping things casual. He needs a friend and I’ll continue being that for him, but not in the way he wants. I’ll be there for him, but not as closely as he was used to, you know? It has to be a process. I can’t just disappear out of his life. I don’t have the heart to do that.” 

Extending his arm, Jungkook invites you to rest your head against his bicep—only because he yearns to touch you. Without untangling your intertwinement, you lay against him, breathing in his scent and Jungkook wraps the same arm around your shoulders, cocooning you in. Body to body, his lips against your forehead. You look up at him and he looks down at you, a profound exchange of glances. The reality shifts once more, the energy deepens, filling it with something beyond affection and love—fate thickening the air, intense, earnest and impassioned. And submitting to it, Jungkook raises your chin and kisses you, deeply, slipping his tongue inside just briefly. Kisses your cheek, your neck, your shoulder, hides himself in that crook, breathing with you and nothing else.

A brand new reality. 

He can’t help but think about how smart you are. How admirable, how good. How well you handled everything, how well you made an order out of your life and ultimately out of Yoongi’s, too. Like Jungkook will take care of you, you will take care of Yoongi—not leaving him on his own with his shattered heart and mental health. He just hopes that sometime soon, he will be able to have a part in it, too. It’s his utmost wish. No matter how upset he was with him, how strongly he disliked him in certain moments, it’s still a person he loves, a person he spent the last ten years of his life with. A family, almost. 

“Do you think he’ll ever forgive me?” Jungkook whispers, squeezing you against his body, drawing you closer until your lungs and his gain that singular synchronization. Your leg straddles his torso and he grows greedy, needing you even closer. Needing to get underneath your skin. 

“I’ll try my best to make it happen,” you whisper back, running your fingers through his hair. The light that shines in your eyes faintly illuminates his shadowy room and it’s precisely the one he longed to see. Something tells him it’s here to stay and it drives his thumb to caress your wet lashes, the skin beneath your eyes, your rose-kissed cheek. 

Jungkook trusts you. You’re such a badass that you will succeed in anything you set yourself out to do. And he tells you. Asks you if you want to take a bath. Thinks it will distract your heart from what it knows, from what it’s used to. Teach it something new—something you will connect only with him.

And your reaction enlarges his heart to the point that it breaks his ribcage. Your eyes widen, its light erupting, blinding him, and you gasp, lifting your whole body and grabbing his shirt in your fists. He chuckles in endearment. 

“You have a bathtub?” 

And your eyes almost fall out of their sockets at the sight of it once he carries you to his bathroom and sets you down. He kisses the back of your head, his hands on your hips, guiding you closer to the bathtub, reaching over to lift the tap and let hot water pour down. You both need it after such an emotionally-exhausting day and Jungkook is eager to get in with you. 

“Stay here. Don’t strip. I’ll get your candle,” Jungkook says, lowly, squeezing your hips once and caressing your bum as he turns around and heads to the kitchen. 

He wants to be the one who takes off your clothes. Plans to do something with you he hasn’t done in a long while, something he deems you deserve after everything you’ve been through. He grabs your mango-scented candle, your bag of cheese balls, a lighter and a chair and returns to you. 

You’re crouching by the bathtub, your hand flowing in the hot water, its steam curling, tenderly, your hair cascading down your back. Jungkook pats the back of your head to announce that he’s come back and you smile up at him, your eyes big and twinkling, so magnificent that he grows weak in the knees, butterflies fluttering their wings in his stomach. 

Lighting up your candle, you watch as he does it, each three knots flaring up to life and suffusing the air with a balmy, tropical scent. He sets it down on the chair and, helping you stand up to your feet, he doesn’t waste a second. His fingers hook under the hem of your top and fling it out. And because he knows you’ve never bared yourself like this before him, he hides your nakedness by pressing you against his chest, your soft breasts a pleasure, his digits sliding beneath your leggings and dragging them down your hips, looking over your shoulder. You shimmy out of them, moving your hips ever so delightfully and before he knows it, he’s on his knees—kissing the apex of your thighs as he takes your feet out of the pant legs. And he thinks he could stay here all his life. 

Jungkook looks up at you as he removes your socks, kissing your knee without breaking the gaze, and he hopes that you can sense his love for you in it, the unyielding stability that he will cling to you with his body and soul—simply, with his entire being. 

Rising slowly, he kisses his pathway up, leaving behind the translucent evidence of that love. Your mound, which makes you giggle, a celestial symphony to his ears, your full tummy where he hopes your invisible rose tattoos still are, both sides of your ribs, the middle of your breasts, your sternum, your collarbones, your throat, your chin—up and up until his lips find yours. And he devours them. With such vigor that you hum into his mouth, your hands reaching for his shirt again. 

Oh, you want him to get in as well. Very well. 

He wanted to be the witness to your relaxation, but if it’s your desire that he shares it with you—by all means. He lets you take off his shirt, lifting his arms for you, and you’re quick to allow your hands to discover the parts they don’t know. His mole beneath his left pec that he caught you staring at shortly after that turn of events at the cabin. You press your mouth against it, unravel your love for it there by grazing your teeth against it before you lick it over with your tongue, going as far as marking the spot right beside it. Jungkook sinks his fingers in your hair, reveling in it, tummy tingling, holding you like that as you do what you please. Your own digits descend to his pants, setting him free from them and when you get on your knees just like him, his cock tightens in your face. 

And he dies, angels know for how many times today, when you rub your face in this intimate part of him, his heart bursting.

Not now—he can’t let you do that now. He wants your muscles to relax first before he can strain them all over again, in a much different way. 

“My sweetie,” he starts, sighing, rubbing your scalp. He takes you by the back of your neck, sliding his hand underneath your armpit, and drags you up. A healthy, radiant flush adorns you and he’s glad for the paleness to be gone. Glad his body is the cause of it. It makes his heart happy. “Not now. Let’s get in the tub.” 

Your stiffened nipples brush against his bare chest and he almost doubles over, loving the feeling of it. The sigh that leaves your mouth, so akin to his, too. 

“But you’re hard,” you whisper, tugging down his boxers until his cock springs free and you immediately wrap your small hand around it, squeezing him lightly. 

He can’t help but to grunt, the faint pleasure dizzying. He missed your hand, missed your touch. Haven’t had it in so long. It fits so well in your fist and he believes, in all seriousness, that it belongs to you. It’s yours. 

He brushes his lips against yours, but he doesn’t kiss you. His brain malfunctions a little bit, the pleasure you’re giving him zapping his dominance. “You like holding me like this?” 

You fondle his tip with your thumb and he hisses, sparks of electricity coursing down his body and he hums at the aftershocks. So good. He feels his arousal drip for you; feels himself lengthening in your hand. You nod, watching it happen, and while it feels nice to be looked at like that, he wants your eyes on him. He cradles your face in one hand, making you look at him, and he pecks you. At the contact, you finally nod your head. Jungkook envelops his palm around your fist and guides you to squeeze him harder, groaning onto your mouth. 

“You’re such a good girl,” he praises and embraces you, hiding himself in the crook of your neck again, inhaling you. Petrichor, mango, your personal scent. It’s all he wants to breathe in for the rest of his life. It’s what heaven must smell like. Actually, heaven must be what he’s hugging. 

You whimper and for it Jungkook tightens his hold around you. Skin to skin. He’ll never get over it. “I love being good for you.” 

He hums his approval, following the cascade of your hair down your back with his palm, rooting at your bum, grasping the flesh. “You’re the best girl. Let’s get you clean.” 

The loss of contact aches and he can see it even on your face, an adorable pout forming on your mouth. Helping you get in the bathtub, you wait until he joins you and it’s only then that you sit down, unsure of how both of you are going to fit in such a small space like this. Knees in between his, you exchange a few giggles in the awkwardness of it all before Jungkook kisses them and leads you to lean back against him, your spine against his chest, your body getting lost in his. 

Turning off the tap, the water is scorching but pleasant, his muscles relaxing, the very little remnants of the fight of his self-blame tearing apart at last. It must be as enjoyable for you because once you settle in and you take in the heat, the effect of the candle, the dimmed light and the soft shower of rain pittering against the windows, you let loose completely, your head slack against his sternum, breathing steadily, eyes fluttering closed. Jungkook wraps his arms around you, your breasts pressed against them, and he loves the feeling of your raw femininity in his hands, in such a nonsexual context. His arousal might be alive and longing for you, but that feeling, somehow, overweighs it in a way he’s unable to understand. 

He doesn’t mind; he could stay like this. 

And both of you do for some time, feeling each other’s top halves of bodies, resting, thinking of nothing, until you tip your chin and, puckering your lips, you ask for a kiss. Arch your back until your breasts bounce free from his hold. His cock twitches against your back from the sight and you smirk. 

Sly little girl. He cages them once again, though this time quite differently. One hand grabs the flesh at the base, the other sneaks to your chin, your other breast nudged in the crook of his elbow. His finger traces the lines of your lips, flattened now, kissing it every once in a while. And as if it was a signal for you to open up when he stalls his movement in the middle, you open up for him. And the feeling of your tongue, the suction of your lips, the sound of it all—it drives him to head down the path of absolute madness. 

He might have just found his ultimate weakness. 

Jungkook adds a second finger in, when you angle your body, so he can have a good view of it, your head propped against the bathtub wall, lidded eyes fixed on him. 

So much for relaxing. He pulls his fingers out of your mouth, swiftly, causing your brows to knit in confusion. It humors him, but you’re not getting your way that easily. 

“You should relax,” he scolds in a teasing manner, not meaning a word of it. “You’ve had a long day of shopping.” 

You laugh through your nose, a soft smile gracing your lips and for a split second, Jungkook wonders if he didn’t ruin the moment again by altering the reality again, bringing back the memory of what’s happened. If he didn’t invite in your guilt, perhaps. You’re here with him, about to be made love to, while the person you still love is dealing with brokenness on the other side of the city. 

And he tells you in the form of a kiss sunk into your cheek, drawing your body closer to him, cradling the back of your neck, squishing you against him. It causes you to turn your body to the side, slightly, and Jungkook hikes you higher, letting you lean your face against his cheek like that, pecking you over and over again. There isn’t enough body of water to overspill from the tub, but your shifting caused small waves to lap at your body and Jungkook finds himself transfixed by the sight of it. It seems as though the ripples are worshiping your body and an inkling to do the same, to do better, rises in him—as well as the impulse to tell you with words this time. 

He should verbally communicate with you. Just to be safe. 

“Did I remind you of it again?” 

Your fingertips follow the valleys of his abdomen, half dipped in the water. 

“Remind me of what?” you say and there’s a striking gentleness to your voice, some kind of blissfulness that feels terribly foreign to him. “Of my freedom?” 

A bearable tightness clutches his chest, interlaced, most heartily, with the simplicity of his shock. Freedom. With his directions, you set yourself free. It should be something to perhaps honor and rejoice over—so why is there still a morsel of pity swarming in him? He needs you to tell him. 

A streamlet of tears blurs his vision. Because his clinginess to you intensifies with each move forward, for the most part. Because he feels bad for his friend, for the lesser. 

“Why do I feel so bad for him?” Jungkook questions, pressing you harder against him until there isn’t any more space to push you into. 

You plop your body onto his. Chest to chest. Tummy to tummy. His cock, a bit soft now, against your femininity. Nonsexually, in all its beauty. You drag your thumbs under his waterline, collecting his essence of pain. His heart constricts. 

“My freedom is his,” you say, still holding him like that—both palms on his cheeks. “We’d be stuck in a circle like this. We’d go round and round until one of us would burst and end things eventually. He’d never fully heal in this environment. He’d never look past his own insecurities, not when I’d continue to enjoy myself with you the way I always did.” 

He thinks the merry go round had already begun the moment he and Yoongi made up and tried again. And considering the last thing he said to him on the phone today, there’s nothing left to do but to accept it. 

Your freedom is his. Those words ring in his headspace, settling there. By unbuckling yourself from the seat of that ride, you did the same for him. And while you got off, Yoongi still remains seated. 

For now. 

He’ll get out of there. Jungkook believes in him. 

“I’m meant to be with you,” you say and his heart goes wild, violently, under your forearm. For you. You’ve said it. You’ve made it official. Brought it into this new reality and Jungkook could weep again—and he does. Touched by his emotions, you kiss his tears, sighing against them. “I’m yours, Jungkook. Have been the moment I looked into your eyes the very first time.” 

Your bare, boundless truth drives him to reveal his, too. Such power you have, such strength. 

“You know I have feelings for you, right?” he murmurs, an allusion to the way you wept together in the dressing room, brushing your hair back, feeling his tenderness radiating off of his eyes, immensely. How easy it is, to tell you something groundbreaking like that, even as absurdly as he did. “Don’t let go of me. Don’t let go of those feelings. Keep them safe.” 

Your own tears pool in your waterline and you nod, a smile glinting upon your lips. So you knew, felt the love like he did, enkindled by your mutual release. He wasn’t wrong. His heart pounds and for the first time upon this trajectory, this doesn’t feel unreal. It feels real. Alive, possible, full of life. 

“I do, too. Held them in for so long. Never admitted it to myself for his sake. But that’s over now. I’ll keep it safe. All of you, Jungkook.” 

You love him. 

His sobs gather in his sternum, his lungs too small to capture them in place. 

You love him. And it’s real. 

Gripping your hair, he kisses you, deeply. And both streams of tears turn into one river—and both of you can’t halt the hunger creeping in. The hunger for more, for your love to burst at last and absorb your reality. Tongues mingling, tasting something new. Teeth clashing, lips tingling. Breaths hard and ragged. Jungkook can’t take it. Can’t hold back his body from lifting off of the rounded wall of the tub, the water sloshing and splashing all around. 

And then you say something that grazes his madness ever so unmercifully. 

“Put it in.” 

He groans, biting your bottom lip, fingertips making dents on your small waist. Horny girl, asking for something you can’t handle. He swears, his arousal awakening yet again in full speed, taking over him wholly. “I haven’t stretched you out yet.” 

You grind your femininity against his tightening cock and he’s done for, feeling your pulse. “Stretch me out like this.” 

He squeezes your ass hard, making you moan onto his mouth, in effort to make you listen to him and submit to his better knowing. “It’ll hurt, sweetheart.” 

Your breath wafts over him as you close your lips over his, sucking. “I can take it.” 

Such a stark contrast to the words you uttered in the dressing room. His madness heightens. So much that he moans into your lip lock, dipping you in the water to make you laugh, clutching onto him as you yelp, your adorable laughter vibrating through the bathroom, bouncing off of the walls and sneaking, in the long run, into the chambers of his heart, coming to live there.  

This is happiness. 

And the vibrations are too, too much for him to handle. So unusual, so beautiful. 

“Hold onto me,” Jungkook commands as he wraps your legs around his torso tighter and rises, stepping out of the bathtub and reaching for a towel in his cabinet while his other hand holds you steady by his forearm under your bum like a child. 

Leaving you to your own strength for a second, he wraps the large fabric around you both, bunching the ends in his fist on your back, exiting out of the bathroom and laying you down onto his bed. Your hair sprawls on his bedding and he thinks you look like an angel, maddened just the same by something beyond lust, by something way purer. He kisses your lips, fleetingly, and begins to focus on your neck, unfurling his love there. He sucks your wet skin, licking it all over, scattering his hard kisses there—the ones that drive you wild, moaning loudly and bravely, deservingly so. And he marks this victorious day there with pretty, pretty colors of red and purple. Doesn’t stop. Not until you beg him, writhing underneath him, excited and eager. 

“Please, Jungkook, take me.” 

Such sweet, innocent words. He listens, cooing, dragging you further up on the bed, so he can lie on top of you and take his hard kisses further down, marking all the places where your invisible tattoos are, bringing them to life all over again. Above both of your nipples, especially on the right one, where that frilly rose was, covering the peak. And he feels you melt, feels you soak his lower abdomen when he sucks on that nub, flicking his tongue, making you cry out so beautifully, so desperately that his arousal for you rigidifies. And when he looks at his artwork, fists propped on either side of you like his knees, it steals all of his breath. 

“You look so beautiful like this. All mine.” 

All his, wet with the last drops of water, with the pearls of his saliva, with your essence coating your folds. Adorned with red tattoos. He has his own on his arm and hand, except on his chest and he thinks the one he gave you make up for it. Thinks they’re his as much as they’re yours and it causes his length to twitch against his stomach, so terribly needy for you. 

“And you look beautiful like this. All hard for me,” you mimic his words and he grows feral, even more so when you continue. “It’s all mine, isn’t it?” You take him into your hand again, but he pins both of your wrists down, above your head. And the smile you grace him with—it makes him yearn to make love to you like this. Bound, while the rest of you would remain the quite opposite. 

He growls, kissing you. “All yours. All yours for you to take and come around. All yours, my sweetheart. Always has been.” He kisses you harder and you whimper. Pulls away just to swirl his tongue around yours, open mouth and all, before closing his lips down again in a profound, warm and homely lock. “Spread your legs for me. I’m gonna get you ready for it.” 

He does it himself, folding you in half, the glistening of your folds visible even in the slight lack of light in the room. Oh, he can’t have you like this. Reaching behind himself, he turns on his bedside lamp, bathing you in a soft, yellow light that suits you the most. You’re holding your legs apart for him and he places wet kisses on the back of your thigh, ravagedly, to reward you for it, trailing them down until he’s face to face with your drenched princess parts. And it’s a groan of relief that emits out of him when he’s this close to you, hands pushing your knees down, spreading you even more to gratify his hunger. 

He’s starving. Terribly starving. 

And he rolls his eyes back when he takes the entirety of you into his mouth, tongue dragging upon your slit, up and down, drinking your dew, penetrating only a little bit just to tease you, just to mess around with your madness. And when he flattens his tongue against your swollen clit, you cry out. Surprise him when you grip his hair, enough to cause him to flick his eyes to you. Your mouth is parted, but grinning nonetheless, your own eyes heavily lidded, emitting light and joy and Jungkook simply decides to make this experience better for you. 

He lifts your hips in the air and devours you, lapping at your clit over and over again, letting you see what he’s doing to you without taking his eyes off of you, nose pressed against your shiny mound. You whisper your vulgarities and he’d let it pass if he didn’t consider this a holy, spiritual occurrence. He withdraws and it doesn’t go unnoticed by him, the way your slick trickles down your clit and your mound, rooting in the squishy part of your lower tummy. He hums, delighting in the sight. 

“Be good,” he scolds, smiling down at you and your grin widens. You nod your head, your hands still crossed above you without his to hold them down. Scratch his words—you’re already the best girl. He licks up the trickle of your essence trailing down your clit, making you writhe again. “Feel how wet you are for me.” 

Carefully, you skim your palm down your soaked belly, gasping, until your fingers reach your nub, the concoction of his saliva and your arousal seeping into your skin. He encourages you with noises of approval to keep going, bending you even more in half, your back leaning against his thighs, the pads of your fingers circling your center, eyes wide at the discovery, able to see just how celestially aroused you are for him. So beautiful. He bites onto the flesh upon the side of your thigh, only because he can’t help it, soothing down the sting with his tongue. And he hums at the sound of your moans, at the sound of your slipperiness when you drag your fingers down to your clit and stop there. 

“Hm, yes, sweetheart, rub that pretty clit for me,” he murmurs and his chest explodes at the principle that he’s able to say that to you. That he doesn’t need anyone’s permission or approval. That he can do whatever he pleases with you without any consequences to reap. That he’s free. You must be thinking about this, too, but in a different way, because you hesitate. He’ll destroy that dubiety. It won’t show its face again—as long as he lives on this earth. “You can do it, my love. You’re free.” 

The reassurance washes over you and rids you of that fleeting negativity. He understands this is new for the both of you—there’s some still getting used to, so it’s completely normal. He’ll try his hardest to make this as much of an easy ride for you as he can. It’s his duty. 

“Don’t be afraid,” he continues, adding your name, softly. “You’re here with me and you’re safe.” 

Jungkook leans over and kisses you. You nod into the kiss and he returns to his position, catching you rubbing your clit, slowly, with two fingers, the other spread on your folds. And both of you moan simultaneously. 

“That’s it,” he whispers, enthralled, making way for the sound of your slick to overpower the atmosphere. “That’s my good girl. Make yourself feel good for me.” 

You whimper his name, buckling your hips in his hold, squeezing your eyes shut and Jungkook can see the waves of pressure charging your tender body. Now is the time for his participation. 

He sinks his middle finger inside, making your eyes pop open and stare him down, just for you to submerge yourself under the surface of that sea of lust and let your irises whisk back. Your walls clench around him and he waits until you speed up your circles to join his other finger, biting his lip to push back his desire to sink himself inside you. He tries to pay little attention to the way he drips for you. 

But then you use the rest of your fingers to bring yourself to your climax and Jungkook takes it as a sign. Another finger in, he curls them, fucking you the way you like. Fast, grazing your sweet little spot that beckons your sweat out of your pores and when your pussy drools even more for him, he adds another. You gasp and he knows exactly how you’re feeling, how good this is for you. 

“You feel so full, sweetheart, don’t you?” he coos, jackhammering his hand harder and you drench it, completely. He flattens his fingers, allowing you to see the thick sheen and you mewl, a litany of his name spilling along. “You’re so wet. So horny for me, aren’t you? You’re gonna come?” 

You scream your agreement, squirming, strumming your fingers harder and this is it for him. He changes direction. Fucks his fingers up and down and your toes curl, chest heaving heavily and you just keep on screaming. A delightful sound. 

“Come for me, then. Like the best girl you are.” 

You clench around him. So much that he can barely move his fingers, sunk in so deeply. He just flexes them, drawing out your orgasm and you give it to him. 

And you’re wet all over again. Sprinkled by pearls upon pearls of your pleasure. He is, too, and it worsens his desperation for you. 

You’re panting, but he’s not done with you. Setting you down, he laps up the violent evidence of your orgasm, making you twitch in overstimulation and he eases the pressure of his tongue for you. Sucking on your folds, he decides to mark you there. Just below your hip bone, too. Such intimate places. Perfect for a temporary keepsake like this. 

Hovering above you, he circles his tongue tinged with your taste around yours, forcing you to moan again. And he kisses you softly. “You deserved that orgasm.” 

You whine, red all over, and Jungkook understands you need more. He pulls away, clutches himself to line up at your entrance, but you stop him. 

“I want you.” 

He smirks, longs to hear you be more specific. “How?” 

You huff. So adorable. “In my mouth.” 

He chuckles. Should’ve asked where, but he’s at your service—he’s willing to give you anything you want. “All right, but just for a little bit, okay?” You nod, vehemently, and he pats your cheek. “On your knees.” 

Oh, he’ll never tire of the view of your submissiveness, of your hunger for such a private part of him. He makes a mess for you on the towel, dripping more than he ever has, and he holds himself at the base, grabbing your jaw in his hand. Brutality, the one he’s obsessed with, swims past your irises when you gaze up at him. A feral animal, an angel in hiding—he’d love to embellish you with the sticky traces of his fixation, but he shouldn’t, no matter how much he craves it. He can’t stain you, not today. Can’t ruin the holiness. He’ll let you play with him before he seals it for all eternity. 

Tomorrow he will. Smear you with it until it’s all your pores know. 

Jungkook traces the lines of your mouth with the tip of his length, just like he did with his finger in the bathtub, and you hum, liking it. He can vividly see your yearning to rub your face against him again and he lets you, encourages you in fact, pulling you closer until you nuzzle your nose against his girth, his skin caressing your cheek, and you kiss him all over. Place your hands over his and suck him inside your mouth, drinking his precum. Only to withdraw right away, sit back on your legs without lifting your hands, and look up at him with the vastness of your overbearing innocence and love. 

“You’re mine,” you purr, fucking him with your fist. 

Jungkook nods, just once. Doesn’t even feel his butterflies anymore, too numbed by you, by the pleasure you’re giving him. “That’s right, my love.” 

You suck in a breath, biting your lip hard as if it took all of your energy not to make him come at this very instant. And you lengthen your spine, asking for a kiss again, and he bends at the waist, kissing you nastily, pushing your head back to his cock, inciting you to do what you truly crave to. 

And you take him so well, your cheeks hollow, and he’s unabashed, free to let out his male noises, whimpering for you, panting heavily as you bob your head, slurping him, spitting on him. You toy with his tip, tugging at his length, colliding into his fist and it isn’t until you rub your face against his balls that it becomes his undoing. He stalls his orgasm, strains to do so, just to please you and he pries your hands away from his length, lets you focus on his sack. The least he could do to last. But then you grab it into your fist, sucking his balls, one by one, into your mouth, even try to take both of them at once and that’s it. He can’t breathe, his heart wringing painfully with all the love that brims in him for you. No one has ever done that to him. 

You flick your tongue against them, your other hand wrapping around his tip again, tugging and he nears dangerously close to the bursting of his orgasm. 

“That’s enough.” 

He draws you away from his cock, using all of his strength, and pins you down. A splutter of your giggles waft in the air, your chin wet with your spit and he moves his mouth so rapidly against yours that you struggle to kiss him back, growing calm all of a sudden, as if overcome with the gravity of it all. 

He looks at you for a long while. Puffy, red mouth, that he craves to bite onto—and he does. Darkened eyes, full of freedom and exhilaration. Neck, chest, tummy and the rest of the delicious parts of you scattered with hickeys, with his own personal keepsakes. He loves you so much that he becomes frustrated, needing to let it out somehow. All of his muscles tense and he clenches his grip on your wrists. 

“You want me to die? Is that what you want?” he hisses, speaking of the sloppy blowjob you gave him, gliding his wet cock across your seashell. You lose a breath, drowsy eyes fluttering, spreading your legs for him. No wonder you’re tired—you gave it your all. He sinks his teeth hard into his bottom lip, his frustration rising, brows knitted. “You can’t play with me like that. I was seconds away from coming all over your pretty face.” 

“I wanted you to,” you say, loud and clear, and Jungkook is hot all over. 

Turning you over to your side, he squeezes the flesh of your bum until it hurts as a punishment, knowing you’re not ready for the full thing. It’s too soon. Your wincing breaks into a low, alluring moan and it fills him with adrenaline. And then you smile at him, light flashing in your countenance. You’re anything but punished; you’re pleased. 

Looks like you need another form of punishment. 

Fuck it, fuck all spiritual aspects of this. The angels in heaven need to look away for now and cover their ears. He’s going to make love to you in a way they’ve never witnessed before and it’s good that they never will. 

“What did you say?” Jungkook feignedly questions, pinning you back down and burying himself in your heat. Having stretched you out well enough, he gives you his half right away, but he doesn’t stop there, not when you lift your chest off of the mattress, not when you lose yourself in the sudden fullness and the music of your mutual moans. You grip him so tight that he forgets, for a split moment, what he’s punishing you for. 

You stammer, seemingly forgetting, too. And when his mound kisses yours, your words falter altogether—a crescendo into silence. Eyes wide, unblinking, taking him most courageously. Jungkook hums, immensely proud of you, slowly pounding you into the mattress with hard strokes. 

And when he gives you a particularly unmerciful one, you scream, shaking all over in his hands. 

“Yes, sweetheart, that’s what you get,” he purrs, grinding his hips, loving the way he toys with your senses, your peaked nubs digging into his chest, and you can’t catch your breath, your whole body tense. “Too deep?” 

You nod. “Too deep, baby, I can’t take it, fuck. It’s too much.” 

Cooing, he kisses you. The pet name, your tightness—he’s losing his mind and it’s your fault. Your wonderful, wonderful fault. You don’t even let him pull out, you keep him caged in, your walls fluttering against him and he whimpers, shaking like you, unable to continue kissing you. 

“Relax, my love, or you’re really gonna kill me,” he croaks out, ascending to heavenly places where they don’t, in most certainty, don’t want to see him. Sitting back on his feet, he thumbs your clit, helping you calm down. “Good girl. Feels good, stuffed full like this? My thumb rubbing your sweet little clit, hm?” 

It is a miracle, the way he knows your body and knows what to do with it because your walls loosen, enabling him to fuck you, sloppily, your slick squeaking along with your quickening breaths. You scream out your yeses, driving him to give you his all. 

“Just like that,” he whispers, approving, his balls tightening already, the pressure in his lower tummy becoming bigger. 

You deserve the full thing, though. Jungkook places your knee on his shoulder. And with each stroke, his mound stimulates your clit, getting you nice and fast to his level. 

He cradles your blissed-out face, the heel of his palm putting pressure on your throat. And onto that expression of elation, he uncoils his love for you, brutally fucking you until your whole body ripples beneath him. 

“Whose are you, huh?” he moans, driving into you, rearranging your guts. Sweat drips off of his forehead. “Whose pretty girl are you?” 

Your own sounds of pleasure rise in pitch and volume and he senses, he knows you’re about to come for him. 

“Yours, Jungkook, yours,” you choke out and he’s so proud of you that he hums, his balls slapping against your bum, and he kisses you, giving you his tongue. You suck on it, getting him right there to the edge of his orgasm. 

“Fuck, such a good girl. All mine. You know that I love you, right?” 

And the once reappearing absurdity of his choice of words pushes over that edge and you squeeze him, squeeze him hard, milking his cum out of you and he growls into your mouth. You take over each and every one of his senses, making them yours, and he fucks his cum into you, his mouth smacking against yours, as you whisper your I love you’s and he swallows them down. 

Heaven or something beyond. You created it and he wants to spend the rest of his life there. 

Panting, he kisses your jaw, marking you there for the last time. Unbelief grasping him that he finds himself in such a place glazed with love. “You love me?” 

You whimper, shuddering all over, your orgasm still seizing you. “I love you so fucking much.” 

He licks into your mouth, ending your release. “My best girl. I’ll take care of you. I’ll never let you go. You’re never getting out of my sight again.” 

Jungkook lets go of your wrists. They must be cramping, tingling and he massages them in the air, sitting back, his length still inside your homely heat. Your eyes wet again, sobs break out of your mouth and he shushes you most affectionately, his heart twinging. He lifts you and sits you down on his lap, hugging you close to his chest. Skin to skin. You cling to him with everything in you and he holds you together, so you don’t fall apart. 

“You’re my savior. My healer,” you wail, gripping his hair. As if your breaking wasn’t enough, your words hit him hard and his vision soaks along with yours. You’ve never told him that before—never told him the roles he has in your life. He appreciates them so much, holds them dear to his heart. Never wants to forget them. “Don’t ever leave me, please. I beg you.” 

It’s him who now breaks. Right there on your shoulder, beneath the waterfall of your hair. 

“I could never. You’re my life. You’re my everything. How could I ever leave you?” 

You sob harder, lifting your head, and the sight of your rawness makes him fall even more in love with you. Jungkook smooths down your hair and wipes away your tears. Kisses you, deeply, and lingers there. And along with the kiss, you and him exchange your last I love you’s for the night. 

Tub drained, candle snuffed out, cheese balls devoured, the rain finishing like that chapter of your life—Jungkook feels himself entering a brand new one with you, one where Yoongi isn’t present, as he dresses you in his clothes. For panties, he slinks your legs into his boxers, keeping them warm with a pair of his own joggers. Then, he tugs his hoodie down your head, pushing your arms through the sleeves. Smirks at the way his clothes fit you well. As if they were your own. At the way he matches with you. 

He overflows with a thrumming life. 

A brand new chapter filled with myriads of different, ecstatic possibilities. And you seal them to completion, when tucked in bed, lying on his chest, you sleepily utter the first prospect that you want to bring to life.

“Will you take me to your cabin tomorrow?” 

His breath hitches in his throat. He never thought he’d be returning there so soon, especially not with you. His mouth quirks up, body suffused with a foreign excitement, and right away he deduces the reason why you want to go there. 

“You really want that dildo, don’t you?” 

You merely laugh through your nose. 

Oh, he’s calling in sick tomorrow. Will take you there first thing in the morning. Will do absolutely anything for you. 

“I’ll fuck you hard with it until you completely drench it, then. Sleep for now, so we can get to tomorrow.” 

You kiss his clothed chest. Nuzzle your face in it. Whisper your thank you. Jungkook pretends he didn’t just get hard all over again. 

“Good night,” you say. 

He pecks your hair. “Good night, sweetheart.” 

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

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[astrophileous]

Derek getting jealous over Bug’s pregnancy pillow 🤭🤭🤭 he just doesn’t understand how it can be that much more comfortable than he would be. If Bug makes him snuggle with it post-pregnancy when she needs to sneak out from his arms during the night to check on the baby too? He wakes up like “????”

Nooo but can you imagine how EXASPERATED he is when Bug pulls out the pillow again when she's pregnant with their daughter/Baby Bug???? 😭😭😭

Btw so sorry for the delay, I was stressing FOR DAYS bcs my brain refused to cooperate and write (I think it's back to normal now so YAY)

Love Bugs Masterlist / Criminal Minds Masterlist

"Not this montrosity again."

Derek nearly whined at the sight of your pregnancy pillow; the one you had stored safely after the birth of your son, and the same one you had pulled out of its resting place now that you were in your second trimester with your daughter. It was a gift from a friend, and Derek was never a fan of it since the first time the pillow found its way into your shared bed.

"Don't say that." You put your palms on either side of the pillow, acting as if you were cupping its ears. "He might hear you."

"Great. So it's a he?!"

"Derek Morgan, you're not seriously jealous over a freaking pillow?"

"I have the right to be when you constantly choose to cuddle with it." You suppressed a giggle when you saw the daggers Derek was shooting its way. "I don't understand why you need the pillow when you have me."

"Because, as much as I love and adore your hard panes and muscles, I need something fluffy to get me sleeping comfortably through the night."

Derek scoffed loudly.

Who would've thought Derek would ever live to see the day he found himself mourning over the fact that he was fucking ripped?

Every night before the two of you went to bed, Derek never failed in throwing the dirtiest, nastiest look in the direction of said pregnancy pillow as if the inanimate object was singlehandedly responsible for ruining his entire life. Derek couldn't be more happy to get rid of it the moment you came home from the hospital with your daughter in your arms. Unfortunately, the man soon realized that getting rid of the offensive item might be a more challenging task than he had ever anticipated in the first place.

"Bug?" Derek mumbled blearily one night as he rose from the light sleep he had accidentally fallen under.

The last thing he remembered was lying in bed with you in his arms. Something about the lull of your voice and the familiar scent of your body wash had managed to make him drift into an unexpected slumber. Derek was putty whenever you were next to him, and he was perpetually alright with that knowledge if it meant he got to keep you constantly by his side.

The bedroom was enveloped in darkness as he stirred, squeezing your flesh wherever his arm could reach. But Derek realized a little too late in his half-awake state that the softness in his hand was, in fact, not you. And it took a few more seconds for him to turn on the bedside lamp to confirm that it wasn't you who was lying in his arms.

It was the fucking pillow.

Derek grabbed the object with utter disgust, stomping through the house until he found you in the nursery. You were sitting in the rocking chair, nursing your infant daughter in your arms, when you looked up at the sound of the door opening. Your head immediately threw back in laughter once you saw the look of contempt that Derek was aiming towards the pillow in his hand.

"What's wrong, Derek?"

"I woke up to this in my arms."

"Did you have a good sleep cuddling with the pillow?" You snickered, enjoying the way Derek's frown deepened with frustration. "I told you it's comfy."

Derek scowled at your cheeky wink, refusing to relent even if deep down he had also begrudgingly started to agree with that sentiment.

After that night, you never heard him threaten to throw out the pregnancy pillow, ever again.

[a-star-that-burns-brightly]

What the fuck is up with this man? No seriously, what the fuck was this about? I know what you're probably thinking "Everyone was trying to send Teruko to death, why is Whit being focused on here?"

That is true, but my thing about this is, to me, Whit joining in on the immediate bandwagon to vote for Teruko is...really fucking weird given his personality. One of Whit's main traits is the way he, almost rashly, puts his faith into other people. To the point where he is willing to lie or delay information from being presented. I made a whole post about this around a year ago, but later in this trial he puts his faith into the idea that Charles is not the culprit, lying about Charles being his friend so that the others would believe him. He interrupts when Teruko starts asking Eden for the note even though the note itself implicates Eden heavily. And he outright refuses to share David's secret for multiple minutes to "protect his career (paraphrasing), which I don't buy for a second because why the fuck would Whit care? what I'm trying to say is that all three of these circumstances where someone is being suspected or in danger of being suspected, Whit implicitly puts his faith in the idea that they are not the culprit, even if a majority of the evidence is pointing towards them. ...So why the fuck does he not do the same for Teruko? Later he joins Teruko's side in the scrum debate so we know eventually he stops suspecting her, but before that and especially in the screenshot, he just wants to vote and have the trial be done with. Given everything else, there's no reason for Whit to not defend Teruko, so why doesn't he? ...Well. Unless there was any particular reason he would want her to bite the bullet for Xander's murder.

Probably nothing though

[bibbityboppitybillyharvgrove]

Thanks to the Amortentia - S.Snape

Summary - When Y/N goes to fetch her cloak back from Severus, she is overwhelmed by the scent of him in the dungeons. Turns out that the students are brewing amortentia, giving away her affections for the broody professor.

Pairings - Severus Snape x Fem!Professor!Reader

Warnings - Embarrassment, female reader, use of Y/N, mentions of bets

Author's Note - She's finally here! I know it took me a little while to write this but school and work have been kicking my ass lately. I was supposed to get this done yesterday because I was supposed to have a half day at work but that turned to be a full day instead. Fingers crossed that I'll be back to writing more consistently soon!

Based off this requests from @acupnoodle thanks for the request!!

Expect delays in my posting! My semester has started and I am taking 4 classes! Please be patient with me!

My requests are open!

my masterlist

Feedback is welcomed and encouraged

Enjoy!

After working so closely with Severus Snape, the scent of the man was something she was used to, the smell of old books, wine and something uniquely Severus. Because she was the only professor in the school that grew the ingredients he needed for potions, the two had formed an unlikely friendship. One that the students and fellow professors thought was strange. 

She had realized that she had left her warm cloak in his office the night before, finding her way to the dungeons to grab it. The second she stepped foot in the dungeons, she smelt Severus, a very strong scent of Severus. She made her way to the potions classroom, seeing the students leaning over their cauldrons as she walked in. Her head was beginning to hurt because of how strong the smell was. 

“The whole dungeon smells like you, Sev! It’s giving me a headache!” She said loudly as she approached the man. 

“Here’s your cloak, you left it on my desk last night,” He handed her the cloak with a slight smirk on his face, “The students are brewing amorentia today.”

She felt her heart pick up speed and heat rush to her face, she muttered a quick thank you before fleeing the room. The students were all in shock as to what they had just witnessed. One brave soul, Mattheo Riddle, raised his hand, a shit-eating grin on his face. “Yes, Mr. Riddle,” Severus sighed, knowing what the boy was going to ask just by the look on his face.

“What do you smell, professor?”

“None of your business, get back to brewing.”

In reality, Severus was in bliss at the smell in the room, it was earthy and floral with a little bit of something sweet hiding behind the other scents. He felt bad for embarrassing her so he chased after her although he knew that leaving the class was a terrible idea. “Y/N! Come back!” He shouted to her retreating body. She had stopped short, turning around and slowly made her way back to him. By the time she had reached him, he had a full blown grin on his face.

“Please tell me you aren’t going to make fun of me because I don’t think I can handle that,” She pleaded quietly, looking down at her feet.

“Can you look at me please?” He asked her, but she shook her head, refusing to look up. He gently grabbed her chin between his thumb and index finger and guided her head to look up at him. “I smell you too.”

“You do?” Her face had lit up with excitement, a smile reaching her lips.

“I do,” Severus admitted, “Meet me in our spot tonight? So we can have a proper date?”

“I’ll be there, Sev,” She smiled, kissing his cheek before skipping her way back to her own classroom. He turned back to his class, a gentle smile still gracing his face until he noticed all of the students at the doorway, having listened to every word the two had said to each other. His smile quickly dropped, stepping back into his usual attitude.

“Get back to your seats,” He droned to the students, all of them scurrying back to their spots like roaches, “10 points will be taken from each of your houses for listening in on a conversation between professors.”

By the time dinner came around, the whole school had known that the two professors fancied each other. Most of the other professors had already known how the two felt before confessing. It was the talk of the castle for the remainder of the year, the potions students bragging to the other students that they got to witness what had happened between the pair. 

Multiple students had won bets, many had lost and even some professors had won. But in the end, it was really Severus and Y/N who had won, finally confessing their feelings all thanks to the amortentia.

Taglist

@bigsimperika

[beauty-and-passion]

CCCC Vol.1 - Cacophony: entering the lore (1/5)

Hello and welcome back to my analysis of CCCC.

Do you see that little beautiful number in the title? Well, the Cacophony act is long, I couldn’t fit an entire analysis into one single post. It would’ve been endless, Mucka Blucka alone took this entire first post!

So you will get the full analysis in manageable pieces and I will introduce each piece with a brief recap, so we won’t miss anything ;)

A brief recap of what we got from the Calamity act:

The events are stuck in a time loop, caused by the clash between Heart and Mind

Chonny starts to show his frustration regarding writing songs others already wrote

Soul is introduced and the poor guy is so tired of everything (from Heart and Mind to the loop), to ponder suicide. But in the end, he finds the strength to give it another try. Maybe things will be different this time.

<- Previous post - First post

_______________________________

Mucka Blucka (Intro to Cacophony): welcome to the lore

"I decided to do the ENTIRETY of MMMM, and it’d be very, very funny if the dumb chicken song was the most verbose in the album." (Chonny’s Q&A)

Well, it is funny that the stupid song got the honor of being not just the most verbose of the album, but also the introduction to the lore and the preview of what will come.

*

A clear vision: Chonny makes it clear from the very first verses that:

We will see his struggles, pain and dark thoughts  (“My blood, my sweat, my open doors”, as he will say in Taken for a Ride)

The songs are full of metaphors

There is a time loop ("So when we come back here again, and the start becomes an end/Consider this lamentation a foreword")

*

Awareness of the time loop: In Dream, Soul showed us he’s aware of the loop. Now Heart and Mind show the same awareness.

This confirms the point I previously made about all sides knowing the same stuff Chonny knows. No delay of information, here

This justifies Soul’s frustration even more. He knows they should come back into one and yet, the other two sides still haven’t learned a single thing after so many loops

*

The loop as a punishment: while talking about the loop, Heart and Mind say that they are “condemned” to repeat it.

From one side, none of them is taking the blame. It’s as if it’s not their fault, but the fault of something outside of them. Maybe an event that influenced them.

From a meta perspective, it’s very poetic/tragic, because Heart and Mind are condemned to clash every time, because of their contrasting natures. Because, as Chonny said in the Q&A, they’re parts of the same being and yet, they “can produce completely separate and juxtaposed conclusions from a single input”. So it’s not specifically their fault the loop happened: it’s because they are built this way.

*

Wanting and refusing the audience: Chonny wants an audience that listens to him, but at the same time, he acknowledges his audience isn’t able to understand his work:

Who will refuse to properly see The man behind the lines The triplicated rhymes

And later on, he says his audience cannot help him either.

This all anticipates and connects to Greener. In that song too, Chonny will show the same apparent contradiction - it will also be explained better, so for now, I’ll just point out how Chonny shows the same consistent vision.

(But yes, this thought is understandable. Every artist wants an audience, even if they’re not the main reason why art is made. Art is an artist’s need first and that’s particularly true in Chonny’s case. But we’ll talk about that in the Concord act.)

*

The current leader: First Soul wants to introduce us to their “poultric pullet commander”, then Mind immediately follows, by saying: “The coward in question? By now, you know him so well”.

And since we will soon learn that Mind doesn’t have a high consideration of Heart, we can safely deduce that yes, the current leader is Heart. And yes, this makes sense in the overall narrative.

*

Heart: Sisyphus, hate, the despited

Heart is Sisyphus: just like him, he’s forced to roll his rock up the hill (aka to keep their vessel moving forward). And every time he’s almost reached the top, every time he feels they’re accomplishing something, his efforts are in vain and they come back to square one. And he’s doing it for a very long time. Can’t really blame him, if he gets overwhelmed by pessimism.

Heart is associated with hate: as seen before, Heart can be pessimistic and dark, and that's because he’s not just the bearer of positive feelings. As he will say in The Heart Acoustic, he’s “the emotional side”, not the “positive emotions only side”.

Heart is the despited: he embodies all emotions and those are instinctual, uncontrollable forces. We always blame them (and consequently our hearts) when they make us do stupid shit.

(And how we’re aware we’re doing stupid shit? Thanks to our minds. So yes, Mind despising Heart for everything he does makes perfect sense too.)

*

Mind: time, berate, the freak

Mind is associated with time: a great reference to Ruler of Everything, a song about how time is the ruler of everything and, by association, how Mind is the ruler of their vessel… or at least, that’s what he wants to be, because for now their leader is still Heart.

Mind berates Heart and oh my god if he does it. He spends entire songs to diss the other side, "berate" is the perfect verb for him.

Mind is a freak: again, incredibly human and understandable. Not just because Mind is a freak (Heart himself will call him "automaton freak" and his appearance on the album cover is freakish too), but also because it's very common to associate cleverness with freakiness. The more clever someone is, the more they look/act like a freak. And who is more of a freak, if not the embodiment of the mind himself?

*

Soul: minutiae, amalgamate, the enlightened and the free

Soul is associated with minutiae, through a reference to 1984: just like Winston in the Ministry of Truth, so Soul feels in his powerful position, forced to drag himself through every futile, trivial detail. Like, you know, listening to Heart and Mind's "silly war" (The Bidding).

Soul is associated with "to amalgamate": again, his vision is clear, he remembers the goal. To become one.

Soul is the enlightened, because he's the only one remembering that goal from start to end and actively working for it. The other two get... well, a bit lost on the way.

Soul is the free: as stated in Dream, he's the most powerful of these three characters. The other two aim to control him, but Soul cannot be controlled.

*

A connection with Sanders Sides: these two lines made my brain immediately click

And sure, I lament the lack of a hen to share with in sick or in health But how am I supposed to love another when I barely know myself?

Why? Because they’re a lot similar to this line:

[Thomas]: Do I really know myself as well as I should?

and this line is the premise of Sanders Sides. So yes, it’s interesting (and understandable) that both stories open with the same idea of “not fully understanding yourself” as a starting point for a deeper exploration of the self.

The big difference is that Chonny takes one step further and doesn’t just tell he doesn’t know himself… but that he cannot pretend to love someone else, if he doesn’t know himself first. Which is the solution to the Thomas/Nico relationship I kept talking about for ages.

(I will write that post about these two series, I promise)

Also… remember this point about loving others when we will reach Concord.

*

About the Juno Incident: Chonny says that "there's a me stuck underground", clearly referring to the Juno incident and how Heart got stuck in the hole dug for Mind...

But, wait: the incident hasn’t happened yet. How can Heart be already stuck?

Unless the Juno incident is a fixed event of the time loop. Every time the loop restarts, the Juno incident happens, Heart misses Mind and gets stuck in that hole.

This also explains how they can talk about the incident in such clear detail and especially about the events before and after said incident:

One time they tried to sing to me About blues and greens; the in-betweens But mechanical hands decided where the Heart would be Just apathy I had been trying for years and for years that streamed To thrive, and relish entropy But when he finally shot at me Lines once solid were blurred

Heart says that they tried to find a compromise, an in-between (Night). But then, Mind slowly took over: he appointed himself as the new leader (Ruler of Everything) and decided Heart was beneath him. Heart’s reaction was a slow descent into apathy (Just Apathy), until he gave Mind full control of the vessel (The Heart Acoustic).

On the other hand, Mind says he tried for years to thrive, to keep their vessel up (Be Born, Storm and a Spring, The Mind Electric). But when Heart shot at him, he “blurred the lines”: his action reminded them both they’re not separate entities. They are the same entity. And that’s because:

And right as he (I) missed, my eyes in a mist I finally realized I shot at myself

Heart’s eyes were “in a mist”, because feelings are irrational and instinctual, so of course he didn’t act with a clear, logical mind.

Hence, he missed. But at the same time, he still hit a target: himself. Because what struck him wasn’t a bullet, but the consequences of an event. Specifically, the consequences of a failed romance.

But I will further explain this once we’ll reach Haiku and Hidden in the Sand. For now, as it was for most of this song, just keep this stuff in mind: we'll develop everything down the road ;)

Next post ->

(How about a coffee? ☕)

_______________________________

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[eluxcastar]

Pantalone x reader (male or gn) where reader returns from a particularly bloody and mentally exhausting mission late at night. Perhaps a little emotionally scarring

Reader is concerningly silent

Pantalone helps them bathe and carries to bed

Hurt/comfort fic where reader softly cries to sleep and pantalone can do nothing more than hold them tighter and closer

You're not used to losing people

── ୨୧：pantalone x reader

୨୧﹑synopsis :: you spent days out travelling near the edge of snezhnaya, delayed by trouble you encountered that has you home half a day after you were expected to be. by all official accounts the objective was completed and the mission was therefore a success, but you seem to return a different person than the one who waved Pantalone off with a warm smile and a kiss for good luck.

୨୧﹑genre :: angst

୨୧﹑content :: masc reader (could be read as gn), mentions of blood, use of petnames (darling), implied death, reader is at a bit of an emotional breaking point, pantalone is written to be soft, they're married because I said so

୨୧﹑words :: 2.7k

anon this is strangely so cute I love it. sad but still somewhat cute an idea yk (I had literally no idea what to call it until five seconds ago). our man pantaloon needs more love. I accidentally wrote clock instead of cloth in one part and the mental image of Pantalone trying to clean reader with a clock made me fucking die laughing this is so stupid

if you like this also go read this post as the two are similar in theme and story but with very little comfort to the hurt 👍

something about the evening seems...wrong, the sky grows darker, too dark for it to be your usual time. the moon suspiciously high, yet there's no sign of you to be found. you should know better than to make him worry, knowing that though your strength may carry you through battle, you're also not invincible. what happens if you reach your limit out there? how is he supposed to know if you're safe? what if you don't come home?

abruptly Pantalone's thoughts are interrupted, the door opening, and he knows nobody would be bold enough to waltz on in without knocking unless it was you come home from a long and tiring mission. he only heard earlier that you would be returning, "Some time in the early evening" he had been told and clearly that was a lie. it was likely no fault of yours, just some hold up along the way.

he hears your footsteps, knows you're there-- at least he thinks that's you. you've been awfully quiet, though you usually call out to him when you return home. you still manage to worry him. he can't see you tucked away in the entrance, only glimpses of you as you remove your coat. there's a moment where he swears he hears you suck your breath through your teeth, then the rustling of fabric and finally your footsteps again, abruptly followed by a loud thud.

now you're really worrying him.

it takes him seconds to decide he's no longer waiting on you, standing to walk to you and see what has happened. the moment he turns around, Pantalone can see you even from where he stands several feet away, the thud clearly caused by you falling flat on your face, leaving you struggling to get up though not for a lack of trying. just before he reaches you, you just give up and turn yourself over so you can sit for a moment. you barely get there before he's lifting you up from the floor like a life-size rag doll.

"You're injured. Why didn't you go see someone?" his concern translates to disappointment at some point, and though he wonders if it was too harsh, the blood you're covered in and the bandages that bind your hand tells him you need it just a little bit. why aren't you taking better care of yourself?

you try to speak, but find it impossible for your words to comply, caught in your throat and refusing to come out. he's not impressed with that either; you can see it in his face that he would've said something if you didn't look so, frankly speaking, pathetic.

you have to ask yourself if he can tell you're trying not to cry, the quivering of your lips and glassy eyes hard to hide. he cradles you so gently it almost tips you over the edge, so safe compared to the way you've spent the last few weeks feeling. nothing about the day leading up to now specifically makes you feel that way, and it feels so draining trying to hold it back, but overwhelmingly so being home just makes you so emotional. your wound doesn't hurt too badly, and it's not as if your fall was anything but tripping over your own feet in absent-mindedness. if it proved anything, it was that you definitely did something to your shoulder, coupled with the fact that grabbing the blade of a sword to stop it in its tracks had left a shallow mark across your palm, you were beginning to doubt your instincts again.

still, you cling to the fabric of his clothes tightly, finding comfort in these familiar things which you associate with your home. hearing his voice, the cool contrast of the rings he wears against your skin, the scent of home, even just being held in this way makes you want to close your eyes and settle.

then suddenly you're moving again, and he sits you down on the couch and kneels down to remove your shoes for you, "I'll take you to be seen by a doctor tomorrow, but for now let's get you cleaned up and in some nice fresh clothes." he stands and places a kiss gently to your forehead, "I'll come get you when the water is ready, don't push yourself, darling."

you dare not test his patience, so you wait, staring down at your hand covered in bloody bandages. your hand is shaking. most of that blood is yours, though your mind wanders seeing it, back to the several corpses you laid your hands on, the people whose bodies you beat with your fist begging and screaming at them to get up as they lay lifeless. your throat still hurts. you untuck the end of those bandages, unravelling them from around your hand until you see your skin and the awful gash across your palm. it looks awful, red and swelling, far worse than when you last saw it. you run your thumb across the wound, flinching at the tinge of pain that shoots down your arm.

"Tsk tsk, what is this?" from behind the couch comes a hand, taking you by the wrist and pulling your arm up, "You should've gone to get this looked at. Did you at least clean this properly?"

you stare up at Pantalone who adjusts his glasses. it's strange to feel his hands against yours, bare and slightly damp hands warm against your skin. remembering he asked a question you shake your head, and his eyes flicker back to you with a strange look.

"The bath is ready." he finally says, "Does it hurt when I carry you? What else are you hiding that you haven't tended to properly?"

"It's ok, you can carry me." you say, finally able to speak, though your words are quiet and rougher, than you'd like. you clear your throat and repeat "You can carry me." to him knowing his usual fixation on acting your best, even though you're also aware there's no way he expects that of you.

Pantalone purses his lips a moment, glad for you to finally say something, but still finding something to worry about in the fact it didn't tell him much, resigning himself to the fact that you'll simply have to show him once he helps you undress to take a bath. you watch as he walks around the couch, and raise your arm up to him, wrapping it around his neck when he leans down to scoop you back up off the couch and into his arms.

the way his hands touch you as he removes your shirt, letting you lean your head down rather than pull your arms off and he promptly tosses it aside. his hands return to your shoulders, running down your arms to observe your skin, noting that you had bruises but no other cuts or scrapes, save for a minor one on your side barely in need of a band-aid. it's slightly more awkward shimmying yourself out of your pants as you have to put your weight on your hand while trying to avoid pressing it too forcefully against anything. his observation continues, though he once again finds you to be in perfect condition.

it's the dried blood that sticks to your skin that he worries about, even knowing it likely isn't yours.

"I wasn't told there would be delays in your arrival, was it so bad that you weren't about to communicate your messages back to me?"

the water is warm, but not hot, shallower than you might've filled it but you suppose only having the water rise to your waist was in case you were keeping another nasty scar hidden under your clothes from him. that was in case. every bone in your body adores this man's care for you, the usually pompous banker with a clear soft spot for you.

he holds a cloth which he dips into the water, running it along your skin as he dabs at the stains taking extra care not to scrub too harshly. days of dirt and grime and a battles worth of blood and sweat washed away by the loving hands of the Regrator. he can tell by your reluctance to answer that it's not the time, and carries on in silence letting only the sounds of running water making its way to your ears. it's a calming silence, though you watch as the water surrounding you is slowly dyed by the blood that runs off your body.

it finally hits you just how bad things got, even when before you could in some way write it off like a nightmare and pretend it hadn't really happened. some metaphorical weight presses down on your emotions and you just break as your vision blurs, tears welling up in your eyes.

perhaps noticing your shaking or catching one of the few tears running down your cheeks, the cloth is immediately set aside as Pantalone places a hand to your back. you try desperately to wipe your tears away, but a wet hand isn't the best tool to dry your cheeks with and you only serve to make it worse. a part of you feels hopeless, like a failure to your own team as you know you let them down. you were supposed to be a fighter, a good one at that, husband of one of the Harbingers and somehow you still managed to lose two people.

you feel yourself back in that place, weary as you finally stand, your shoulder stinging, you assume from the initial fall. you clasp a hand over it and rub your thumb on the area, making it sting. you groan at the pain. one of the more medically verse teammates tends to one of the wounded. you walk toward the collapsed body of a fellow fatuu, seeing them unmoving and bleeding into the snow. you practically fall at her side, landing on your knees as you slightly let your feet give out and bring you down to her.

cautious at first, you shake her, trying to roll her over though it hurts you to do so. she remains unresponsive to any poke or prod at her, not even a groan or mumble, and she's so cold.

you're all cold, you tell yourself and try again to shake her awake, "Hey, get up..." but despite everything nothing works, barely able to roll her onto her back to see her face. her eyes are wide open, a look of shock frozen on her face that haunts you, it's enough to make you hesitate, like a harsh slap across the face. "Wake up!" you say again, the desperation building. you know she's not asleep but it doesn't even matter anymore, beginning to feel more and more like a child pounding their fist on the floor throwing a tantrum the less and less put together you become. "WAKE UP DAMNIT! Nobody said you could die like this!"

"Captain, stop!" without warning, you're grabbed from behind and yanked away, sending a throbbing pain shooting through you as their grip is rough on your shoulder "Calm down and look at her. She's gone." they say.

in the blink of an eye it all rushes back to the view of a bath tainted by that same blood, long black hairs tickle your neck as you are held tightly once again. it grounds you just enough to remember that you're safe in a bath, cared for by the man you love.

"I'm such a failure." you choke out those words through your sobs, echoing off the bathroom walls, "They needed me to lead them and I just got them killed. I couldn't even keep my composure when they needed me to pull them together..."

you curl into yourself, squeezing his arm in your hand, "You're not a failure, darling, but you're not used to losing people." his assurance helps, if only slightly, but something about feeling like even someone who seems to care for none understanding your reaction eases your heart a bit. it doesn't do anything to help the dying part, but he's never been good with sincere reassuring words, and he chokes thinking of what to say to you.

all Pantalone can do is hold you and rub your back to let you cry, finishing up quickly to get you out of there and back into his arms bundled up in a towel. just as you feel hopeless for being unable to live up to whatever outlandish expectations you had of yourself, Pantalone feels as if his comfort falls short as he can't stop your crying, though he shushes and assures you it doesn't seem to make it better.

when you reject his offer to go to see a doctor, saying you just want to sleep. he doesn't want to push too much, only asking that you agree to let him disinfect your hand, otherwise letting you dress yourself in fresh clothes he set out for you while he goes to tend to other things momentarily. at the very least, your tears stopped, for now you seem calm again.

he returns to find you've already tucked yourself away bundled up in the covers, brushing your bangs from your faces and leaning down to kiss your temple. "I'll be with you in just a moment, darling." he whispers to you, earning a noise of acknowledgement.

stepping away only to change his clothes and let his hair down, he sits back on the edge of the bed, though on his side. he removes his glasses, folding them and setting them down on the nightstand. it's an unusual silence knowing you're lying right there behind him. he's so used to you talking to him right up until he tells you to go to sleep, and yet you seem so exhausted and drained. you're not used to losing people. he has to remember that you're more emotional than he is, but he doesn't mind--likes it in fact--as it's usually a good thing. just...not now.

he sighs to himself, unable to help it. he hates this, seeing you so upset, so unlike yourself. he hates feeling so powerless watching you punish yourself for something you couldn't have changed, like some passive observer in your life. his words don't help, and there's little he can do to take away those memories or even fix your body.

there is one thing Pantalone can do, the thought of resigning himself to simply being a source of comfort, someone to support you so you can cry as much as you want. it's better to cry in somebody's arms, isn't it? he turns on his side to face you, who faces away from him. he's not sure why, you just happened to be comfortable there. feeling his hand against your side, you shuffle closer and allow him to wrap his arms around you, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

you let out another shaky breath, closing your eyes again. above all else you feel safe. given everything he's done for you, you can't ask for more, though even just being by his side is enough to put your anxiety to rest. still, it hurts. not even physically, but your heart won't stop aching, and unable to distract yourself you replay the sequence of events in your mind once more.

an ambush, the ensuing fight, a firm whack to the head which you still haven't discerned the source of, boots running and kicking up snow all around you as you watch through blurred vision, you manage to block a sword that swings down at you though in the stupidest way possible, you finally get your head straight and get up and fight more.

where did she die? more importantly when did she die? if you can just remember that maybe you would know what you did wrong, what to fix.

you become distracted again, knowing you're shaking and back to holding back your tears. what pulls you away most of all is Pantalone's voice, "Don't cry, darling, it's over now. You're home."

you grip his hand tightly, fingers intertwining with his. "Is it...is it ok if you talk to me more?" you ask quietly, "I think..."

"That's hardly a difficult request." he says, squeezing your hand in reassurance, "If it would help you fall asleep."

[hantenguclonesimp-minuszoha]

Spife had a funny thought about Hantengu getting Isekai'ed into the real world but as cats and began chilling around a human who really likes him as a character until said human accidentally steps on Aizetsu's tail albeit slightly. Human immediately feels bad and begins to pamper Aizetsu's, and while he feels uncomfortable at first bcuz that's an adult man as a cat, he also can't help but enjoy the pity.

Which brings me to my next point. Aizetsu, Urogi, Zohakuten, or Urami, it doesn't matter, at the end of the day, they're still Hantengu. Even if they can't get severely hurt unless their opponent is a Hashira or another Upper Rank demon, they'd secretly enjoy the pity their S/O would give them even if they themselves have less of a need to have it.

Hantengu has an extreme victim complex, we all know this and so do the clones, even if their actions say A LOT different. The clones still honestly believe that Hantengu and they themselves could do no wrong, are innocent and virtuous, and that they have never told any lies. My point is, all of them would deep down enjoy getting pitied equally as much as Hantengu, the difference being that they won't show that they enjoy it. I'll give an example.

It's something I saw from a post that @fallstreakfeathers had made about Urogi delaying his regeneration so that Charlie can worry about him some more (I think it was her post). I firmly believe that the clones will sometimes fake being severely hurt or be stressed so their S/O can pity and pamper them – Urogi, Karaku, Aizetsu, and Urami being the ones who do this the most. They enjoy the sympathy because it feeds their victim complex even if they have strikingly different personalities, alongside their ego.

This was just a random thought but it's so crazy that despite the bloodlust, sadism, masochism (karaku), and more, they still are as pathetic and "weak-willed" as Hantengu, refusing to take responsibilities and constantly wanting to be pampered.

That is how you write a villain.

[shadowthian]

fuck it, original post because i'm pissed and have no idea what else i can do.

TL;DR: i was going to be in my new house today, but we got fucked over and are playing a waiting game for an extra 10 days. requesting donations to make sure i can eat while i'm stuck here.

so 2 days ago, we got up at 5 am, packed all of our remaining belongings, packed up the cats, and began a roadtrip to our new house in new york. we were gonna stop for the night halfway, then make the rest of the trip the next day.

my mom gets a call from our attorney while we're halfway through south carolina that the house was in fact NOT empty like we were told, and the man in there was refusing to leave, stating he had movers coming on the 28th and he would not be moved before then.

so, given we were transporting 5 people and 6 cats, we made the decision to turn around and drive ALL THE WAY BACK to a completely barren house, because we were promised compensation for travel expenses and bedding and shit related to this issue if we did that, and could not be assured compensation if we tried to wait it out in a hotel.

i had to quit my job on jan 17 because we were going to leave at the end of jan, but things got delayed until this point, and now i'm staring down AT LEAST another month without any income, and i'm fucking scared.

i know everyone is strapped for money right now and i absolutely hate begging like this, but at this point even five dollars is better than what i got right now. any donations will go towards food while i'm here and groceries for the new place.

my ko-fi is over at https://ko-fi.com/shadowthian/

if you made it this far, thank you. even just sharing this around helps, i really don't know what else to do.

[matan4il]

Daily update post:

After Hamas were the first to say yesterday that the break in fighting will start today at 10 in the morning, as part of the hostage release deal, it turned out that wasn't possible, since they didn't sign the agreement. Then it was reported that Hamas didn't, because they wanted to negotiate some of the details. According to one report, Hamas suddenly insisted the hostages will leave Gaza in Egyptian ambulances rather than Red Cross ones. Getting into bed with the devil surely feels like this. Despite the delay, Qatar has now announced that the break in fighting will begin tomorrow at 7, and the hostages would be released at 4 in the afternoon.

I saw people wondering regarding yesterday's daily post, whether Hamas really doesn't know where all of the hostages are held. So obviously I can't tell for sure, but keep in mind these two things. First, Hamas' rule of Gaza is dictatorial. If they want to find out something, they can and they will. If there's something they don't know, it can only be if they aren't interested in finding out. Second, a part of the deal says that the hostages that won't be released, will get Red Cross visits (finally. They should have had those all along). But how would Hamas take the Red Cross representatives to see the hostages, if Hamas doesn't know where they are?

Hamas has been using civilians to lure Israeli soldiers into ambushes. Despite that, there have been several incidents reported here, about IDF soldiers risking their lives to help Gazan civilians. Today was an especially moving incident, when the soldiers rescued an old woman from underneath rubble, and she asked them to find her autistic daughter, too. Here the two are, after their rescue:

After the president one of the Belgian parliament refused to screen the 40+ minutes of footage showing Hamas' crimes, calling it propaganda, a Belgian party did so instead. Twenty seven members of the Belgian parliament watched the footage. One of them said she was expecting the worst, but what she saw was beyond that.

This vid is 9 mins long, and isn't the full one (which is 15 min long), but it gives you an idea of how developed the system of terror tunnels and bunkers under the Shifa hospital in Gaza is, and how closely tied the tunnels are to the hospital. For example, the hospital was providing the tunnels with electricity, which means there's no way the people running the hospital didn't know about it.

Charges against a Palestinian man and his three sons were filed today, for having tried to kill a Jewish man about a month ago in the Binyamin region.

This is 26 years old Arnon Benbenisti-Vespi.

His mom lost her father in the 1973 War, when Israel was attacked by 3 Arab armies on Yom Kippur, the holiest day of the year for Jews, when most of us fast. She then lost her brother in the 1982 First Lebanon War, when Israel went to fight the Palestinian terrorist organization the PLO, which was attacking Israeli civilians from Lebanon, including a notorious terrorist attack where they infiltrated Israel, and took over a Children's House in a kibbutz, targeting the kids inside. She named her son after her brother, but the other day, Arnon was killed in Gaza. May his memory be a blessing.

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

[ssuperficialspacecadett]

Have Your Cake And Eat It Too

Chapter Nine of the Through the Scope series | Chapter Ten

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 5.5K

Chapter Overview: Wednesday brings a date and Friday brings an unwelcome fate

TW: Oral (f&m receiving), Fingering

Notes: hey everyone !! sorry for the delay to my unofficial posting schedule ! i was battling writers block and life threw a bunch of bullshit at me this week. in better news...i got a kitten today ! my friends were fostering four kittens and I fell in love with one and now we are basically soulmates. ANYWAY... there has been a small resurgence for my One Condition (reader x Din Djarin) fic recently which has made me smile ((: i updated the tag list so let me know if i missed you/ you want to be added ! as usual...my asks are always open & happy reading <3

*no use of y/n & female presenting reader*

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Frankie’s house hasn’t been this clean since he first bought it. He isn’t a dirty man, he is probably one of the cleanest he knows if he's being honest, but suddenly everything looked dull compared to your sparkle. The chemical fumes from all of the products he is using have made him light headed. He just cracks open some of his kitchen windows and keeps on working. He has been deep in soap and suds since he got off work today at 7:30 P.M.. So far he has managed to vacuum off of the carpets and rugs, wipe down all the sinks and scrubbed the toilet (he even made sure to put the seat down), cloroxed the stove and the countertops, fluffed the couches pillows, and put fresh sheets on his bed.

Last night after his ‘work meeting’, he ran to the grocery store to pick up some ingredients for your date this Wednesday. You both decided on a quiet night in since your weeks have been surprisingly busy. Neither one of y’all had the energy to battle the busy crowds of a restaurant. He left the store with chicken, potatoes, asparagus, and some extra spices he didn’t already have. As soon as he got home that evening, he began making a marinade for the chicken so it could soak overnight. He spent his entire lunch break today sifting through dozens of different recipes on how to best prepare asparagus and calculating how much time he would have to put all the food together before you arrived tonight. When you texted him to confirm that 9:30 was still a good time for you to come over, he answered quickly saying ‘yes, but take your time closing with Benny’. He was filled with a combination of happiness and stress when you told him that Benny graciously told you that you didn’t need to help close tonight because you had a date. Damn, there goes the extra padding of time he thought he might have. He wanted to see you so badly, but he also wanted to be finished before you arrived so he wouldn't be distracted by cooking. You were the only thing that he wanted to give his undivided attention to. 

***

You’re practically vibrating in the front seat as you pull up to Frankie’s house. Much to your dismay, he refused to tell you what he was preparing for dinner. If you didn’t know what the two of you were eating, the option of buying a wine to pair with it was obviously out of the question. Well, when in doubt, make a chocolate chip bundt cake. Your only worry now is that he had already made something sweet. You park in his driveway like he told you and you take the cake’s carrying case from the passenger seat out of the car with you. After setting the dessert on the roof of the car, you look down at the casual dress you decided to wear. It’s comfortable and flowy which fits the warm Florida weather perfectly and the color of the fabric compliments your skin effortlessly. You didn’t want to over dress since the date is only at his house, but you still wanted to look nice for him to show that you care. Figuring that there isn’t any point in dwelling on your clothing choice since there is no time to go home and change, you pop your trunk to grab the overnight bag that you packed. Frankie not so subtly mentioned that by the time dinner was over it would be ‘too late to drive home’ and that it would be ‘much safer’ for you to spend the night. Who were you to argue with his bulletproof logic? You swing the bag over your shoulder, collect the cake, and walk yourself up to his front door. The mouth watering smells coming from inside have managed to leak their way past the door and tease you and your empty stomach. You knock with your foot as your hands are a bit occupied by what you’re currently carrying.

When he opens the door the two of you are quiet for a split second as you take each other in. His hair is on full display now with the absence of his cap. You suspect that it might have something to do with the shower he took. The ends of his curls are still damp from the water. He’s wearing jeans that you don’t think you have seen him in before and a crisp looking white henley. 

“Wow.” Frankie feels exactly the way he did when he first saw your photo on Benny’s phone. “You’re beautiful.”

“You don’t clean up too badly yourself.” You blush.

He leans down and kisses you, but as he pulls away you notice that he slipped the cake carrier out of your hand.

“Hey! You don’t have to-”

“But I want to. Remember?” He gives you a playful wink before waving you inside.

If you thought it smelled good on his front stoop, there are hardly words to describe how it smells inside. The whole house is warm with the scent of cooking chicken. It’s the kind of smell that feels like it's wrapping your whole body in a hug. While restaurants are wonderful, nothing compares to homemade cooking. The two of you walk into the kitchen and you spot an electric grill on the counter with four thick chicken breasts cooking on it. As you walk further in, you see that he has two trays of food heating in the oven. 

“You did all of this yourself? It looks amazing!” You say walking over to set both your purse and your overnight bag down by the couch. “Can I help with anything?”

“Uhhh,” An alarm goes off on the oven as he starts to flip the meat on the grill. “Actually, help would be great. Would you mind taking the potatoes and asparagus out of the oven for me while I handle this? I have mitts that you can use to grab them in that drawer right there.”

You locate the drawer and take out a set of oven mitts and two pot holders. The pot holders you place on the counter beside the oven so the trays will have a place to be set so they can cool. You open the oven and take each tray out carefully and set them down in their respective spots.

“Okay, what next?” You ask.

“I printed out the recipe I’m using for the asparagus. It should be over there by you.”

“You printed out the recipe?” You laugh, turning to look at the man next to you.

“What? I like to have a physical copy of things. The text on my phone is just too small to read sometimes and it's annoying that it turns off when I’m in the middle of looking at it.”

“Those aren’t bad reasons.” You confess as you pick up the paper. “Have you thought about getting glasses? You know, so you can see your phone better?”

“I don’t want to get glasses.” You have to stifle another laugh because he sounds like a grumpy child right now.

“And why is that?” You walk around him to grab the lemon in his fruit basket that the recipe calls for.

“They are going to make me look…” He mumbles the last word in the sentence so you can't hear it clearly.

“They are going to make you look what?” You press while slicing the lemon in half so you can squeeze its juice over the vegetables.

“Old.”

“Frankie!” You stop what you’re doing and face him directly. “You are not going to look ‘old’ with glasses! You aren’t even old to begin with.”

“I’m almost 45.” He counters. “Hold that plate for me, please.”

You do as he asks, but you aren’t done with this discussion. “I’m a few years shy of 30. Do you think I’m old?”

“No! Of course I don’t think that!”

“Then what’s your point? You only have a couple years on me.”

“A couple?” He raises his eyebrows.

“Shut up and finish plating the chicken will you? The bottom line is that you won’t look old. If anything you’re going to look even more handsome. I like the way glasses look on men.” You smirk.

“I’ll think about it.” He blushes. “For you.”

“Do it because you want to see, Frankie! Now help me over here.”

The two of you talk back and forth while you finish the asparagus and he prepares the baked potatoes. This is a different kind of intimacy than you are used to. The intimacy that you had come to associate with partners was skin on skin contact and hands tangled in hair, but this is seemingly more personal. You could have sex with anyone you wanted at any time you wanted, but fucking someone doesn’t make you compatible with them. You don’t have to talk during sex, like really talk. Standing shoulder to shoulder with someone while you cook and casually talk about summer vacations you each went on as children or pets you had growing up was intimacy that you didn’t know you were lacking, that you were craving. This was the kind of intimacy that you only thought lived in between the pages of a book. 

“Oh my God! This is so good! I haven't eaten like this in forever!” 

Dinner finally found its way to each of your plates along with a cold beer to wash it down. 

“It’s just a hobby, but I’m glad you like it.” He smiles, cutting another bite of food for himself. “The guys and I sometimes take turns cooking dinner when we go over to each other's places when we watch the game or before beach trips.” 

“Benny was telling me about those a few weeks ago actually! He said that y’all haven’t had one in a while because life has gotten in the way. What would you say if we went during a weekend in March? My friend Robbie, the one I told you about last weekend, is coming down to visit me then and what better way is there to introduce her to Florida?”

“That sounds really nice. It will be great to go with you, Robbie, and the guys. God knows we could all use a break.”

Speaking of the guys,” Questions that have been plaguing you since you first looked at the contents of his room swim to the tip of your tongue. “What did all of y’all do when you were in the service? Like your jobs?”

“What a question.” He reclines back in his chair. “Let’s see…Pope was the man with the plan. He was always plotting the best entry and exit point for us on missions. He was usually the one that found us the job in the first place too. Will was the one who kept us all on task and on time. I've never met another person alive who keeps track of things the way he does. He has actually kept count of every single speech he has given at the VA.” He chuckles.

“Why am I not surprised?” You love how he looks when he is discussing his friends. He’s so full of love and pride.

“Benny was the guns. We can all shoot really well, I mean that's what we were trained to do, but Benny can shoot ridiculously well.” He stops to take a sip of his beer. “We had a captain as well. His name was Tom, but he was Redfly to us. He was the one who led all of the missions we went on.”

“Is that the man in the group photo that you have in your bedroom?”

“You saw that, huh? Yeah, that’s him. He,” Frankie clears his throat. “He moved away about a year ago and unfortunately we fell out of touch. But, that's what all our jobs were.”

“And you?” You’re resting your head in the palms of your hands with the look of curiosity painted across your face. ‘What did you do?”

“I was- I was the pilot. Whatever needed to be driven or flown on a mission, I was the man to do it. Vehicles are nice, don't get me wrong, but flying? God, there isn’t anything else like it in the world.”

“What does it feel like?” Your dinner grows colder, but your heart grows warmer as he talks. 

“I don’t think I can do it justice, but I’ll try. When I’m in the cockpit of a helicopter, I feel so at peace. It sounds weird to say that operating a machine that weighs tons of pounds can give me that feeling, but it's the truth. Nothing can take it away either. Not the guys yelling over the headsets that we have to wear inside, not the chaos of whatever mission we are currently on, not even the millions of beeping sounds coming from the controls. It's just me and the open sky.”

“What’s been your favorite view?” You could listen to him talk about this for hours.

“Apart from the one I currently have right now? That's going to be hard to pick.” You have to temporarily look away from him to hide how hard you’re blushing at his comment. “I would have to say it was when I was piloting a helicopter over some mountains. The mountains themselves were beautiful, but as soon as we got close enough, the sun peaked out from behind them. It made the mountains look like they had halos.”

“I would give anything to see something like that.” You say wistfully.

“I could, if you wanted, show you sometime.”

“Oh my God! Really? Frankie, are you serious? You would do that?”

“Of course I’m serious! I want you to experience it first hand.” His million dollar smile slips for a fraction of a second. “It might take me a while to get my hands on a helicopter though.”

“I don’t mind waiting.” You rest your hand over his on the table. “At the risk of sounding corny, the best things in life are always worth the wait.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” He turns his hand over so that your palms are touching. “Do you want to cut some slices of cake and curl up on the couch to watch some TV?”

He takes your squeal of excitement as a ‘yes’. You work together to pack up all of the leftovers and load the dishwasher. He tries to cut the cake himself, but you shoo him away.

“You have done enough work for one day. Let me take care of the cake at least. Why don’t you go relax on the couch and find something for us to watch?”

You cut two hearty pieces and set them on plates for the both of you. It's shocking how natural it feels to exist with him like this. There isn’t a label on what y’all have, but you don’t mind right now. All that matters is that you’re enjoying yourself and you wouldn’t want to spend your Wednesday night any other way.

“Alrighty.” You set down the plates along with two forks on the coffee table. “What did you find?”

“How do you feel about Narcos Mexico?

“I’ve been meaning to start that one actually!” You plop yourself down on the couch next to him. “Robbie and I binged Narcos when it first came out. We finished it in a matter of days. It was probably a little unhealthy now that I think about it. She had the biggest crush on Murphy, but I was partial to Peña.”

“Should I be worried?” He hits play and adjusts his arm so that it drapes over the back of the couch. His fingers are able to brush over your collarbone rhythmically. 

“I wouldn’t say so.” You look up at him. “Lucky for you, I prefer the real thing over something fictional any day.”

“Lucky for me indeed.”

He takes the hand that is toying with your collarbone and uses it to gently tilt your chin up towards him. Your lips are captured by his in a kiss. Without warning a low moan comes from your throat. It had only been two days since he had touched you last, but why did it feel like a lifetime? His free hand slides up your thigh, taking the hem of your dress with it. He can feel your pulse quicken and your breath hitch when he moves your underwear to the side and starts to rub circles on you. His voice is strained and raspy when he speaks to you.

“I missed the way you felt around my fingers, mi estrella.” One of his fingers finds its way inside of you. “So tight I can barely move.”

His words have you clenching around him and gasping for air when you feel yourself stretching to allow another finger in. Your back arches off the couch as he makes contact with the spongy spot inside you. 

“Do you know what you’re doing to me? I could hardly get any work done these past few days because you’re all I can think about.”

Your head falls back against the plush pillows of the couch. He presses sloppy kisses along your jawline as your mouth parts to allow shallow breaths and quiet moans to escape. 

“Look at this beautiful neck.” His tongue charts a warm, slick path up it. “God, I wonder what it would look like with my hand wrapped around it?”

You stretch your neck out for him as if to silently say ‘come and find out for yourself’. 

The hand that he initially used to tilt your head up comes to snuggly wrap around your throat. With each squeeze, pump of his fingers, and rub of your clit you can feel yourself start to gradually lose control. 

“That’s it, pretty girl. I want you to soak my fingers.”

Even with his hand restricting your airway, your moans have gone from quiet to boisterously loud. You can hear him groaning in your ear as he watches his fingers disappear inside your wet pussy over and over again. 

“That feels so fucking good.” You gasp out.

You can feel your legs starting to shake and the fire in your lower belly aching to be put out.

“Let go for me.” He whispers.

You cry out as your orgasm rips through your body. He guides you through your bliss with honeyed words.

“So fucking pretty coming all over my fingers. Such a good girl for me.”

When he reluctantly takes his fingers out of you, you grab his wrist with your hand and bring his drenched fingers to your waiting lips. You can see him watching you with lust clouded eyes from your peripheral vision as you take them in your mouth. You allow your tongue to glide across and lick them clean of the mess that you just made. After you are content with your work, you pull them from your mouth with a satisfying pop and lazily roll your head so you can face Frankie. 

“It’s your turn.”

“Oh?” He’s breathing almost as hard as you are.

“I want you in my mouth next.”

“Oh.”

Without breaking eye contact, you lower yourself onto your knees and situate your body in between his legs. He scoots down deeper into the couch and opens his legs wider. His lids hang low on his eyes as he undoes his belt for you. When he’s done, you take over by unbuttoning his jeans and pulling the zipper down. Your mouth starts watering when you pull him free from his boxers. As you take him in your hand a guttural moan comes from the man in front of you. You tap the tip on your tongue a few times before wrapping your lips around it. Beads of pre come dissolve in your mouth as you begin to suck.

You take your time with him. Only taking him deeper into your hot mouth every once and a while. His hand comes up to pull your hair out of your way. His words go from slurred to unable to understand when you attach your lips to his balls. Your hand continues to pump him while you kiss and suck below the shaft. His thighs twitch and jerk with every touch you grant him. Licking a long stripe up his length, you connect your mouth to him again while your hands work in tandem. You dare to take a peek at the man coming undone above you. God, he’s breathtaking. Once perfect hair, now going every which way, sweat making his forehead shine, and plump lips being pushed out by his ragged breathing. You can feel yourself grow wet for him all over again. 

“Fuck, I love the way you look with my cock in your mouth.” He fumbles out. “It feels like your mouth was made for me.”

Even with your hollowed out cheeks beginning to burn, you keep pushing yourself. You want him to feel as good as he makes you feel. When his stomach starts to heave, you know he’s close. You take him all the way down your throat. The coarse hair at his base brushes against your nose and you can feel tears trickling their way down your cheeks. 

“I’m gonna come.” He speaks frantically.

You place your hands on his thighs and keep him deep inside your mouth. Immoral sounds erupt from him as he spills down your throat. You hum as you feel it going down. You pull off of him, but softly lick him clean as he lays disheveled against the cushions. He watches with intense infatuation as you use your finger to gather some of him that is left on your lower lip and push it to your tongue. You smile contently at him as he reaches down to pull you into his lap. He wastes no time tasting himself on you. In some possessive corner of his brain, he can’t help but feel like you are his now. He hasn’t said it out loud yet, but he hopes you can feel the genuine care he has for you in the way he kisses you. He hopes you can feel it in the way that he touches you. 

“Let’s go to bed.” You breathe into him.

“Something tells me we won’t be getting much sleep.” He says standing with you in his arms. “I don’t mind one bit.”

***

The majority of your Friday shift is spent selling tickets for the fights this evening. You were excited to attend this week's match on Frankie’s arm. Honestly, you were excited to see Will and Santi as well. Between juggling your dad and trying to see Frankie as much as possible, you hadn’t had any quality time with your other two friends. 

“I have a problem.” Benny pokes his head around the brick wall that separates you from the rest of the gym. “But I think you can solve it. If you don’t kill me first that is.”

“I feel like I’m going to regret asking this, but,” You spin your chair around to face him. “What can I do for you, Benny?”

“So you know my regular ring girl? The one that has those cool purple streaks in her hair?” You nod in confirmation. “Well, she just texted me sayin’ that she has the flu.” 

“You’re kidding.” You know exactly where he is going with this.

“I wish I was.” He’s now standing awkwardly in front of you. “However, like I said before, I think you can help me.” 

“Are you asking me to be your ring girl for the night?” 

“Please!” He has his hands clasped together as if he’s praying. “It would only be for one night! I know that you were plannin’ to hang out with the other guys, but I really need you!” 

“Benny, I- I don’t even have clothes to wear.” You gesture down to your current attire. “I don’t think this would suffice.” 

“That’s where I come in.” He says proudly. “My other ring girl is about the same size as you and the new outfit that I ordered for her just so happened to be delivered to my house last night.”

“You’re the one that orders the outfits?” 

“Well, she technically picked it out, but I just ordered it so I could put it on the company card. So, what do you say?”

“Let me see the outfit first.”

Much to your chagrin, he heads back into his office and comes back with the package and a pair of black thigh high boots. “Go change! I’ll be waitin’ right outside for you!” 

You snatch the items out of his hands and head back into the locker room. As much as you hated that so few women came to the gym, it was nice to have the whole room to yourself. You set the boots on the ground and tear open the package. The top is an extremely high cropped white collared shirt that ties in the front and the skirt is pleated with a red and black checkered pattern. You can’t do anything else but laugh when you finally pull the fishnets out. The things you do for friends.

“Okay! I’m coming out!”

Benny can hear you before he sees you. Your new heeled boots echo throughout the locker room as you exit.

“God damn.” He lets out a low whistle. “Fish is one lucky man.” 

“I feel like Britney Spears in her ‘...Baby One More Time’ music video.” You rest your hands on your hips.

The skirt's short length is accentuated by the fishnets and how tall the boots go up on your thighs. The shirt’s tie sits above your belly button. This whole look leaves very little to the imagination.

“Well, I think you look great!”

“It’s not too much?” You twirl to give him a 360 view. “It’s kinda fun to wear.”

“See?! I promise it’s just for tonight, unless you want to give it another go?” 

“Let’s just take it one week at a time, okay?”

“I can live with that.” 

He starts to head to the front desk when the doorbell chimes out, but you call after him.

“Benny?”

“What’s up?”

“Can you- I don’t really know how to ask this- can you watch me tonight? Like make sure no one tries to bother me?” 

His face softens at your request. You know that he understands who you’re talking about. “I promise that the guys and I won’t let anythin’ happen to you. You’re our girl and we’ll watch you like a hawk.”

“That means a lot to me.” 

You hurry yourself back into the sanctuary of the women's side of the locker room before you give the guest waiting at the front desk a preview. Before you take your new outfit off you take a picture of yourself and send it to Robbie. She responds by firing off multiple messages that should never be allowed to see the light of day. Robbie always had a unique way of making your ego flair up. Armed with your newly gassed up confidence, you send the picture to Frankie. He responds almost instantly.

Frankie: What are you wearing?

You: What? You don’t like it?

Frankie: I never said that.

You: Benny’s usual ring girl is sick. You’re looking at Brass Knuckles ring girl for the evening.

Frankie: I’m looking alright. I hope Benny knows that he’s not getting that outfit back after tonight. 

You: And why is that?

Frankie: Because I’m going to tear it off of you piece by piece. There won’t be an outfit to give back.

You rub your thighs together anxiously as you see another text bubble pop up.

Frankie: How am I supposed to focus for the next few hours with this photo of you living in my head?

You: You better figure it out because if you don’t, you will be to busy playing catch up to fuck me after the fights.

Frankie: You’re going to be the death of me, you know that?

You: I know (:

Giggling to yourself, you change quickly so you can resume desk duty. Hopefully you can stay focused for the rest of the day despite Frankie’s words swimming around in your mind. 

***

You and Benny see the guys pull into the parking lot in their respective cars 15 minutes after closing. 

“Would you look at that? They actually got here on time to help.” Benny hums as he throws the last of the dirty towels into the basket.

“I’m gonna go say ‘hi’!” You shout over your shoulder, already darting towards the front.

You bust out the door right as the group of three are walking across the middle of the parking lot. 

“Hey Will! Hey Pope!” You rush out as you make a beeline for the man in the center. 

You leap into his arms and wrap your legs around him while snuggling your face into the crook of his neck. His exuberant laugh reverberates through your whole body as he clutches onto you. If it were anyone else, you would feel foolish for greeting them like this. But it just feels so right to be held in his arms. It doesn’t matter where you are. You feel him let out a heavy sigh into your hair as he cups the back of your head with his hand.

“What the fuck are we? Chopped liver?” Pope jokes. 

“I totally greeted you, you whiny baby.” You laugh, face still hidden from the world.

“Who are you calling a ‘whiny baby’?” 

You turn to face him, already knowing that he has his hands on his hips. “You!”

“You hearing this shit?” He turns to Will who has been silently snickering.

“Every word of it, Pope.” Will comes up and pats you on the back. “Good to see you, hon.”

“You’re going to let her talk to your best friend like that, Catfish?” Pope pouts. 

Frankie carefully sets you down and readjusts his cap. “I couldn’t control her even if I tried.” He shrugs. 

“Come on, Pope.” You lightly push him in the shoulder. “You know I love ya’.” 

Before he gets a chance to respond, a car pulls into the lot extremely fast. Frankie quickly scoops you up and moves over to the side of the parking lot that is closest to Brass Knuckles. You didn’t even have time to process what had just happened, yet the rest of them reacted just as quickly as Frankie did. 

“What kind of idiot drives like that?” You say, trying to get your bearings as you feel your feet touch asphalt again. 

“The kind of idiot with a bone to pick.” Pope mutters. 

When you look around, all three of them are watching the car park in a spot that's a few spaces down from theirs. Nervousness starts to rear its ugly head when you see them all exchange quick glances, followed by nods of their heads. Will is the first to break the silence.

“Why don’t we go inside?” His eyes look like they are pleading with you. “You can show me what still needs to be set up before people start arrivin’ tonight, huh?”

“Wait, what?” 

“That sounds like a good idea.” Frankie confirms, his gaze still fixed on the now unmoving car. He doesn’t sound like himself. “Take her inside.”

“Frankie? What’s going on?” 

He must have heard the quiver in your voice because he turns his attention to you. “I’ll be there in 5 minutes. I just need to take care of something first, okay? Everything is fine.”

“Let's go, hermosa.” You feel Pope's hand come to rest softly on your shoulder. “Please.” He whispers in your ear. 

You have never seen any of them act like this. It’s causing your stomach to turn violently. Three of the toughest men you have ever met getting skittish doesn’t sit right with you. 

“Al-alright.” Pope pushes your body towards the door, but your eyes stay on Frankie. “I’ll be right inside if you need me.” 

“I know, estrella.” A car door slams hard somewhere in front of y’all and his face hardens. “Get her the fuck inside the gym.” 

For the third time in a matter of a few minutes you’re being carried. This time it is compliments of Will. Before you know it, you’re being ushered inside and taken back into the gym. Neither Will nor Pope stop until they approach Benny who is in the middle of cleaning the heavy bags. 

***

The only thing that matters to Frankie is that you’re away from the catastrophe that he knew was about to ensue. He steels his emotions as he watches her round her car from the driver's side. With how quickly she is marching there should have been flames kicking up behind her.

“Francisco fucking Morales!” She screeches. “We need to talk!”

He starts walking towards her. “Yes, Rochelle. We do.”

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

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[adragonsfriend]

"If Anakin had just been able to be open about his family..."

Frankly, if Anakin and Padme had been open about their relationship during the war they would've been that couple that everyone knows is pretty but dysfunctional, and whom no one wanted to invite to parties because of the risk of Anakin publicly trying to get into fights.

Don't get me wrong at all I think Anakin and Padme have the potential to be a good couple that that good for them and the people around him, I love the ship in general (even and sometimes especially for the fact that it's a messy one), I think they're characters with great chemistry and enough overlapping values to work together. That said:

We need to stop with the idea that openly having a family (while simultaneously being a Jedi or not) would've automatically fixed a single one of Anakin's issues.

This is going to get spicy and not be as well written as my usual kind of post, cause I'm tired of this idea. Fight me if you wish (but before you do, think really hard about whether this post is actually mad at you or if it's talking about someone else).

If you're familiar, Jane Austen put it best in Sense & Sensibility in this conversation where Elinor (the main heroine) and Marianne (her sister) discuss Willoughby (the man who played Marianne, unwittingly actually fell for her, then left anyway when an opportunity to marry rich came along, and afterwards came to confess than he was miserable despite his new wealth and now believed he would've been happier if he'd married Marianne and been comparatively poor),

Marianne's lips quivered, and she repeated the word, "Selfish?" In a tone that implied, Do you really think him selfish? "The whole of [Willoughby's] behavior," replied Elenor, "From the beginning to the end of the affair has been grounded is selfishness. It was selfishness which first made him sport with your affections (he intended to play Marianne), which afterwards when his own were engaged made him delay the confession of it (he didn't tell Marianne he actually fell for her when he had the opportunity), and which finally carried him from Barton (he left her when the opportunity to marry rich appeared). His own enjoyment, or, his own ease, was, in every particular, his ruling principle." "It is very true. My happiness never was his object." [said Marianne] "At present," continued Elinor, "He regrets what he has done, and why does he regret it? Because he finds it has not answered towards himself. It has not made him happy. His circumstances are now unembarrassed (he's rich now), he suffers from no evil of that kind, and he thinks only that he has married a woman of a less amiable temper than yourself (he doesn't like his new rich wife). But, does it follow, that that had he married you, he would have been happy? The inconveniences would have been different. He would then have suffered under the pecuniary distresses, which because they are removed he now reckons as nothing. He would've had a wife of whose temper he could make no complaint, but he would've been always necessitous, always poor. And probably would soon have learnt to rank the innumerable comforts of a clear estate and good income as of far more importance, even to domestic happiness, than the mere temper of a wife." --Chapter 47

(Please excuse any mistakes in the quote, I was typing it out from listening to the audiobook)

Point being, circumstances do not automatically change people. We largely create our own realities and our dissatisfactions with those realities. A greedy person who refuses to change themself will be dissatisfied no matter what they gain in life.

And Anakin is greedy when is comes to his relationships. Not for money, but the way he wants people to make him feel. It's the whole arc of his character over the prequels and the originals. He learns to love selflessly from Luke, right at the end of his life. It's so important. It's the most important moment in the whole of Starwars, and to claim that Anakin was loving well before that moment diminishes it. Anakin's love for Padme did exist, and it had its good moments, but it was not selfless or giving like his love for Luke became in that moment.

Being open about his relationship with Padme would not have changed that quality of it. Openly having kids would not have changed the qualities in him.

Could he have found the people and time and motivation to face and deal with his issues while having a family, especially if the war somehow ended? Of course.

But having bio kids wouldn't've fixed him any more than having a padawan did. Being with Padme openly wouldn't've resolved the fact that she has a job she cares about , and is a full person who can't cater to his feelings all the time. ("Nothing matters more to me than the way you make me feel.")

Side note, but the utter hypocrisy of criticizing Yoda for assigning him a padawan and then turning around and saying, "but if he'd just not had to hide that he was having kids..." is wild. A knight raising a padawan is going to get a so much communal help and oversight from the community around them (as we see in clone wars), as oppose to a parent in a nuclear family format. If Anakin was "too young and totally unprepared for a padawan," and "Yoda shouldn't've done that," then Anakin was infinitely less prepared to be responsible for actual infants.

The only way being able to be open about his marriage would've helped him is that someone outside the relationship might've tried to step in and been like "please get help." And frankly, that's not actually anyone outside the relationship's responsibility to do. Also, Anakin displays plenty of red flags that have literally nothing to do with his relationship with Padme that people advise him to deal with, which he does not deal with.

I've said it before and I'll say it again:

Anakin could've left the Jedi. He was free to put down his laser sword and have the househusband arc he deserved at literally any point. And frankly, if his ONLY two options (and this is absolutely a false dichotomy) were commit mass murder or "fail" his duty to the Republic by retiring, I think we can all say which of those is better--both for the Republic and, for Anakin's soul or whatever.

When Ahsoka lost faith in the Jedi she was brave enough to make the decision to leave and find her own path. She left and discovered she still wanted to help people, just in other ways. Literally no one (in world or fans) considered her a failure for opting out of being a soldier in the war. Anakin could've done the same, and it was only his own ideas about status and attachment and violence (and yeah some genuine sense of duty too) that stopped him from doing so. In fact, he is the one to yell at Ahsoka that "The Jedi are your life!" Because he wants her to stay in his life.

Romantic relationships don't fix people.

Becoming a parent doesn't fix people.

People can fix themselves. When they do, it's often partly so they can be better to the people in their lives, be those spouses, friends, children, whatever--but the relationships themselves, the presence of those people in and of itself, is not what does the fixing.

It's effort. The genuine effort to act better. To follow their best impulses over their worst. To take themselves out of risky situations. To build good habits.

The idea that Anakin had to have a spouse, or had to have children in his life either to be happy or to not murder people is Hollywood and/or Sith propaganda, and we should treat it no differently than any other, "her magical vagina will cure him of his issues," or, "let's have kids to save our shitty suburban marriage," narrative.

[wenumsmol]

Hump~Day — Satoru Gojo

Daddy's home and he's tired, baby. Happy Gojo Unboxing Day <3

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MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, 18+ only interactions, ageless blogs will be blocked if you dare.

Do not repost or translate my works ANYWHERE. If you see my works posted anywhere other than here and AO3, let me know because that ain't me and it's not okay.

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Synopsis & Content Warnings: Gojo is tired and asks you to hump his pillow before bed tonight so he can sleep well with your scent right under his nose. /|/|/|/ pillow humping, voyeurism, established relationship, m/f, fem reader, masturbation/mutual masturbation (m/f), cunnilingus, overstimulation, pussy drunk Gojo, soft Gojo, fluffy smut.

Wc: 2.8k

Smutty smut, under the cut (╯✧∇✧)╯╰⋃╯

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“You want me to hump your pillow?” you chuckled, confused and tilting your head to the side.

“You know I love the way you smell, baby. Won’t you do it for me? It’ll help me sleep better,” he cooed as if it was nothing out of the ordinary. He had grown accustomed to your scent and found comfort in it, making it difficult to drift off to sleep without it. Despite how peculiar it may have sounded to others, he saw it as a simple and harmless way to ease his insomnia. He needed rest after all that had happened, his six eyes needed rest.

"Aw, my poor baby… You must be so incredibly exhausted," you said, your heart sinking at the thought of how long he's been fighting without a moment to just breathe. It's a miracle he hasn't collapsed from sheer exhaustion the moment he walked through the door of your shared apartment. You carefully studied his face, taking note of the dark circles under his eyes and the restlessness in his body. Despite this, his expression remained neutral yet soft, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips. Without saying a word, Gojo silently joined you at the end of the bed, crossing his legs patiently as he waited– leg bouncing anxiously.

"Whatever you wish, I'll do," you said, sounding like a genie. You shuffled and shifted on the bed to straddle his pillow, but before you could proceed, he stopped you with a single word. "Wait--" he pleaded, his voice filled with an unparalleled desire and impatient longing. "Strip down for me. I want to see every inch of you, and I don't want any of the good stuff going to waste," Gojo's eyes remained fixed on you with an unyielding intensity that demanded obedience. He yearned to feel every droplet of your sweet release, refusing to let any go to waste, drenching your panties. "Give me everything you've got," he urged with a commanding and persuasive tone, as if he were on the brink of breaking down from the sheer anticipation, each moment of delay torturing him more than the last.

“Won’t it be too wet for you to sleep?” Sleeping in a wet spot is never comfortable, so his request was a little concerning.

"You let me worry about that," he chuckled a little, his voice emanating a sense of ease and assurance. "It'll be perfect," he added, with unshakable confidence in his ability to take care of the matter.

Feeling his eyes on you, you tuck your thumbs into the waistband of your underwear, a nervous anticipation building within you. How long has it been since you’ve had his undivided attention? Like 1,184 days? That’s what it felt like. No wonder you’re nervous as if it’s the first time he’s seen you bare as the day you were born. All that matters now is that he’s here, and he’s craving you like a man fresh out of prison. Well…

Gently, you slide them down your thighs, over your knees, and with a flick of your wrist, toss them onto the sheets within Gojo's reach. He picks them up delicately, inspecting the moisture on the crotch with a nod of approval, encouraging you to continue with his gaze. You shed your shirt, letting him have that as well before he could ask, and he grabbed it with a smirk that said “you know me so well.”

You make your move to straddle the pillow once more, squeezing it between your thighs. Starting to ease into a comfortable position, you begin to rock back and forth in a steady motion while feeling the softness of the cushion against your skin, as if it were an extension of your own body. The luxurious silk fabric of the pillowcase presses up against your folds, catching your sensitive clit repeatedly, each stroke sending shivers of pleasure coursing through your pussy. With each grind, you can feel the warmth and pressure build within you, creating an ever-growing coil of desire at your core, begging to be released. You close your eyes, surrendering yourself to the sensations, and focus on the rhythmic movements of your hips as you grind against the pillow. Riding the cushion with growing passion, the plushness offering just the right amount of resistance for maximum pleasure. Your moans of "Satoru..." fill the room, intermingling with the sound of your movement. Gojo watches with keen interest, taking in every detail of your body: the glistening sweat on your skin, the way your lips part in ecstasy, and even the faint thumping of your heart. With his six eyes, he sees all and doesn't miss a single thing, fatigue be damned.

You look over, locking eyes with him, and he smirks, gazing at you with a sense of undeniable lust. To Gojo, there's something utterly captivating about the way your body moves, the way your breathing quickens as you delve deeper into your own pleasure. The sight of you, with your head thrown back, and your lips parted, lost in a world of raw ecstasy, is nothing short of intoxicating.

“You’re so damn pretty like that, princess. Gorgeous…” he says lowly. As if he hadn’t been fighting demons for gods know how long, here he is fighting his own, debating whether he’s got enough energy left in him to lap at your pussy the way he usually does for hours on end. Wondering if he has just enough to get his fill of your flavor coating his tongue to get him through the night. Seeing the way you commit to him like this, knowing that you’d do whatever it took to see your man satisfied– every appetite of his, fed… Your man, who keeps your world turning– who keeps this world safe from the threat of curses... Every inch of you exudes sensuality, and as you writhe, fucking your sweet tangy moisture into his place of rest– a vision of pure beauty unmatched.

The unmistakable bulge in Gojo's pants is prominent as he watches you, his intense gaze causing his leg to bounce more aggressively with indecision. Despite displaying clear signs of exhaustion, he can't seem to resist the temptation of taking you, and you can sense his internal struggle as he battles with his desires.

Just as you're in the midst of exploring and pleasuring your own body, you experience the added sensation of another's touch. Gojo's hands, vast, vascular, and pulsing with heat, glide over your skin with expert ease. He guides your movements as you rock your hips, toying with your senses while you indulge in the moment. “That’s it, baby,” he encourages, his teeth latching onto his bottom lip and his gaze locks onto yours from beneath thick, snowy-white lashes

You look into Gojo's intense eyes, and he slowly leans in, his breath hot against your skin. You close your eyes in anticipation as he tenderly licks your lips, causing a delicious heat to pool in your belly. The tease continues as he expertly traces his tongue over your lips, making you crave more. Abruptly, he pulls back ever so slightly, only to nibble on your lower lip, causing chills to course through your body. His fingers expertly circle your clit, and you feel that coil within you winding tighter. Gojo encourages you with sweet words, “let go, pretty baby, you can do it. Soak it for me. Make me proud, and I’ll reward you by licking your pussy clean after, okay?” he assures, as his fingers intensify their pace, bringing you closer to the brink of pure bliss.

With an earth-shattering moan you stare into the rippling blue pools of his eyes, gasping and clutching at his arms to steady yourself, “that’s it, that’s my good girl,” he says as he continues rubbing your clit, giving you the space to ride out your high and bask in the afterglow. Slowly but surely, he coaxes every last drop of sweet elixir out of you, ensuring that your release is complete and total. “Good…” he breathes again, kissing your forehead. He wraps his strong arms around your waist and effortlessly lifts you up, before gently laying you down on the bed.

His lips eagerly seek yours once more before making their way down your body, planting kisses and sending shivers down your spine. Fingertips expertly teasing your nipples, he takes his time, relishing in every moan and gasp that escapes your lips, asking with a sly grin “you like that?” Gojo plants an open mouth kiss between your breasts before kissing around the soft mounds, tongue finding each peak. Both nipples receive the softest of nibbles and sweet suckles from his soft pink lips, the tip of his tongue playfully flicking with the tip and then flattening to suck harder. “Can’t wait for the day these are full of milk, you’ll never get me off you,” he said, excitement too evident in his voice and he hummed satisfaction as he continued to overstimulate your chest, praises between every hard suck and popping release.

Continuing down your torso, licking a long wet trail, his tongue dips into your bellybutton briefly, and he nibbles at the softness of your stomach. Peppering gentle kisses over your womb, fighting yet another demon. Always fighting demons. Gojo then reaches your wetness and pulls away. “Mmm,” he tilts his head in awe for a moment, then leans in to tease around your puffy lips with his teeth, grazing the meat of your outer lips and making your hips pulse with need. Skipping the gooey center, he thoroughly licks up the slickness from your inner thighs instead, savoring every drop of arousal from your previous release. Finally, settling between your legs, he takes his time exploring every inch of your throbbing, sensitive core, parting your folds. Gojo exposes your glistening and inviting cunt to his hungry gaze. And his next words send shivers down your spine, breath tickles your most intimate areas. "Look at that pretty pussy," Gojo whispers directly into your folds. The husky timbre of his voice makes your heart race as he accents the beauty of your pretty pussy. With his tongue darting out, he asks, "You want me to tongue fuck this tight little hole of yours, princess? Would you like that?" He waits for your response, eager to bring you to new heights of pleasure before he further indulges in the taste of your sweetness.

"Please..." you whisper, with tears gathering at the corners of your eyes, as you gaze deeply into the captivating brilliance of his mesmerizing blue ones, piercing through the soft white tufts of hair that frame them ever so perfectly.

"Please? What do you want?" he asked in a devious tone, his words slurring slightly due to the heavy drowsiness. He lightly flicks your clit with the tip of his finger, teasing you with delicate and precise touches. You feel his skilled fingers exploring your most sensitive areas, tracing the curves of your body with a feather-like touch– dipping into the wetness –sending shivers down your spine.

“Aah, fuck– please — I want to feel your mouth on me— please.” As you utter those words with a trembling voice, your body is consumed by an insatiable desire for him. You've been yearning for his touch for what seemed like a never-ending stretch of time. Every fiber of your being ached for him to finally fulfill your carnal desire. Your throbbing pussy was a testament to the intensity of the longing you felt for him, and you couldn't wait any longer. He knows exactly how to push your buttons and drive you wild with pleasure, leaving you trembling and breathless.

"Anything for you," Gojo confessed as he hungrily licked a long, slow strip from your clenching entrance all the way up to your pulsating clit. “I’d burn the world for you.” The sensation makes you arch your back, unable to control the volume of your voice. “Yes, yes– mnngh– ahh!”

"You're so fuckin' juicy," he breathed heavily, his saliva dripping down your inner thighs as his lips eagerly attacked your sensitive nub, coaxing out moans of ecstasy from your quivering lips. His hunger to please you was insatiable, and you could feel the intensity emanating from his skilled tongue as he probed every inch of your swollen pussy with an almost inhuman relentlessness. Every flick of his tongue sent jolts of pleasure rocketing through your body, causing you to arch your back and grip the sheets beneath you. You were completely lost in the wild torrent of sensation and passion that he had ignited, and as he lapped at your folds with a feverish intensity that left you reeling with pleasure, you felt as if you were on the verge of transcending into another state of being. The entire scene was an overwhelming assault on your senses, and you could feel your mind and body spiraling out of control, thoroughly consumed by the exquisite sensations that his unyielding technique was producing. His addiction to your unique flavor seemed to be driving him to new heights of pleasure —eyes rolling back–and as he lost himself in the heady cocktail of passion and taste that you had created, you could feel your own arousal building steadily to a fever pitch.

Tongue swirling around your clit, gently sucking on it with a steady rhythm. He pulls away with a wet pop of his lips, groaning in delight at the sweet, intoxicating scent of you. "You taste and smell so damn good," he growls, his voice deep and husky with arousal. He dives back in, his lips making wet and sloppy sounds as he eagerly consumes you, his soft groans adding to the symphony of pleasure filling the bedroom.

“More… Give me more,” Gojo demands, slipping two fingers inside you, stroking in time with the movements of his mouth. His fingers curl up, massaging that sweet sweet spot at the roof of your walls with that perfect ‘come hither’ motion that sends you over the deep end every single time.

You writhe and moan under him, lost in the sensation of his skilled mouth and hands. In between the delicious friction of his touch, Gojo jerks his thick length in sync with the rhythm he’s fucking his fingers into you, the steady flow of pre-cum lubricating his feverish strokes as he fucks his fist as if he’s balls deep inside you. He’s so lost in the euphoria of it all that he's shaking with pent-up desire, and you’re whimpering as the buildup of ecstasy overpowers you both, leaving you both teetering on the edge of blissful release.

You're crying out Gojo's name, letting him know how close you are to climaxing, moans choking your voice into a higher pitch. “Satoru, baby– please, I’m gonna cum,” you whimper, core absolutely aching as you look up at him– moans take your vocal cords hostage. He grunts in response, encouraging you to let go. “Mm, that’s it, pumpkin. Give it to me. Be a good girl and give it all to me. I want everything,” he growls, his gaze locking onto yours as he pushes for his goal, unstoppable as ever.

Finally, you experience the ultimate release, as your body shudders and trembles. All the while, he never breaks eye contact, relishing the moment as you gush, squirt and cream in pure bliss just as he adores– directly down his throat.

Your whole body pulsing and quivering beneath him, your once familiar screams contorting into primal and guttural sounds. At that Gojo let’s out a low moan sending vibrations over your folds and clit– overstimulating you. Suddenly, Gojo's breath quickens and his body tenses up as he feels himself on the brink of climax. He gasps out loud and his senses become heightened. Without much more warning, he explodes with an intense release of his hot, thick and seemingly endless load, which excitedly spills into his hand, causing him to groan with satisfaction as he rides out the waves.

Panting and gasping for air, you feel his lips brush against your skin as he makes his way back up to you, a satisfied grin spread across his face. Once he's close enough, he dives in for another passionate kiss, taking his time with his tongue to let you get a taste of yourself on him. It's almost too much for you to handle as you lose yourself, his lips and tongue on yours, but you can't help but be grateful for the intense release. As you come down from your high, you look up at Gojo with half-lidded eyes, still in a daze from the mind-blowing orgasm he just gave you. His eyes are dark with lust and his lips are parted, letting out heavy breaths. You reach up to stroke his cheek, adoring the way he makes you feel. His hand still lingers between your thighs, softly massaging your sex, keeping you in a state of bliss.

“Thank you so much, my love. I’m gonna sleep so fuckin’ good tonight. You always know exactly what I need to feel relaxed and at– at ease. You take care of me so well. Happy to finally be home with you,” he said, a yawn escaping as he spoke, “I missed you.” Gojo pressed his forehead to yours, “I love you.”

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A/N: Special thanks to my lovely mooties and beta readers @melaninma6ic & @bajiissofine SURPRISE, I revised. It was a Gojo unboxing emergency and lemme tell you... I cooked this meal and we're all EATING. Be well-fed my babies.

(づ￣ ³￣)づ ꒒ ꒩ ꒦ ꒰ (づ˶•༝•˶)づ♡

[horizon-verizon]

hello, i read this www.tumblr.com/universallyexpertfan/753881321066168320/firstlet-me-be-clear-daemon-is-loyal-to-rhaenyra?source=share The op made interesting takes, but I doubt the court would corrupt Rhaenyra and Daemon's children so easily. I mean, they are good kids but at the same time paranoia is real, power corrupts people, and certainly it would be a bigger mess (a civil war between rhaenyra's children) more horrible given that she,in opposite of viserys, did not have favorites (although i think she had) what do u think?

Excerpt that Matters:

Important note :Rhaenyra and daemon are clearly better parents than viserys and Alicent. The children all love each other and team black is clearly a very big and happy family. But then Viserys doted upon Rhaenyra so much yet when Alicent birthed two sons she was worried sick that she will be replaced as an heir. So it's totally possible that jace and luke felt that same fear and anxiety when they saw Aegon iii with his valyrian features. The siblings relationship between team green children is eternally cracked and one of the biggest contributor to that was the court of kings landing. I am a team black person all the way but i have to say that the reason why team black kids are so close to each other is because they are in dragonstone. They have no idea about the viper's nest that is king's landing even without the greens. The court has always been ruthless. [...] Jace is a very patient person but power brings a lot of paranoia with it. Jace loves his little brothers with all his heart but the constant murmur of the people around would eventually give birth to resentment or at least some self hatred. Meanwhile Aegon iii would grow and the snakes of kings landing would obviously try to get into his head and tell him that he is the firstborn son of Daemon and he's not a Bastard unlike his brothers. A child will reflect the environment that they grew up in. And even if aegon iii could not be persuaded i know Viserys ii could be. And i know that because book Viserys ii was a political menace who cared about only 2 things the targaryan bloodline and his brother.

Viserys' Character =/= Rhaenyra's Character

But then Viserys doted upon Rhaenyra so much yet when Alicent birthed two sons she was worried sick that she will be replaced as an heir.

I have a lot of posts on Viserys' characterization, bk or show. Here's a list:

LINK -- "What Viserys really did was to try to maintain a balance between his wife & his daughter, because he just inherently hated conflicts, had already married Alicent (so he didn't know she'd be so persistent), loved her AND Rhaenyra was his miracle child from the woman he probably feels very guilty about." -- Viserys was very focused on making sure that as many different people with different interests in him at different times were satisfied with how he ran things, which is why he often putting down Rhaenyra and Daemon's more norm-divergent ideas and behavior. Rhaenyra is decidely not like Viserys, she does not and will not compel her children to follow contradictory and fruitless orders or arrangements. She's more the type, bk or show, to try to listen to her kids' protests and reason through it. You might think Viserys was the same in Rhaenyra's youth in the show....no, the man decided to marry Alicent knowing Rhaenyra would have...words and didn't want to deal with that. He had options, do something like the Maiden's Day Ball but with more class. There is him breaking the deal or reneging on the deal with her about dismissing Otto for her to "happily" marry Laenor instead of trying to push for her marriage to be delayed--he brought Otto back. Which decidely endangers Rhaenyra's place at court bc now Otto is in close proximity to plot better. Of which Viserys knows but he also refuses to really confront that Otto and maybe others would go against his wishes if they had the chance. He in general hopes that others will play the game exactly as he would.

While it may seem that bk!Rhaenyra was like Viserys in that she also relies on her position or she seemed as ineffectual as Viserys in the Rosby-Stokeworth, etc. that was an actual precarious political situation unlike Viserys who again had options in a few of his own decisions, that is more to advocate for herself in a situation where not much else aside from her dragon does. She is also not desperate for others approval as Viserys was, not so. So she will not ignore those closest to her or force them into compromising positions--Viserys was not paranoid, he was just careless; her paranoia (which may or may not have even been as bad as it is told by maesters and different anecdotes to be) stemmed from actual events at least of betrayal as well as the justified fear of losing her mainly male supporters clashing.

The Kids' Upbringing/Characters

I am a team black person all the way but i have to say that the reason why team black kids are so close to each other is because they are in dragonstone.

That's a whole lot of assumption there. One, that even other siblings who don't grow up together absolutely 100% of the time willi backstab each other or suspect the other.

As for all the problems about the siblings turning on each other bc of pressures, kinslaying is so taboo it's not even funny. Maegor's shadows lingers...Rhaenyra already (assuming she is successfully Queen before any of her kids are monarchs) had to contend with that particular accusation without actually having kinslayed bc she was a woman, but now we're dealing with boys and there is no sign of proof that any of Rhaenrya's supporters cared abt her kids maybe being bastards. None. Don't forget, Cregan Stark and Jeyne Arryn, why they themselves decided to support Rhaentya AND her heirs...I doubt that Cregan or his direct children (unless something situationally coincidental happens) would prevent them from supporting Jace...esp if you believe the Pact of Ice and Fire existed b/t them, forever locking them and their kids in oaths that Starks apparently don't tend to break. "What if we get a Stark who doesn't care or is held back?" Again, this ignores that Rhaenyra had many more allies than just the Starks and Jace was her defacto heir...like Joffrey, she would have also made it so to make him her heir apparent de jure. Not to mention Jace married Baela, Luke married Rhaena (in this hypothetical). Luke would be Lord of the biggest naval force there is while beign brother to Jace; both their wives are granddaughters of a dragonrider (assuming Rhaenys is alive) who's not sitting idle if her grandkids are getting attacked. Even if it was just Baela, not sitting out. Baela and Rhaena both would also be dragonriders...if Aegon and Viserys both foolishly decided that they were now wanting to become kings, they are vastly outpowered.

Even if Aegon and Viserys were or grew up to be inclined to rebel or try to take their brother's seat...who exactly is trying to turn them against him and how much influence do they really have or how jealous & emotionally distant do these two boys have to become for them to be willing? Why and how did they become so influenced as Daemon Blackfyre, who unlike them, lived in a household of misery and emotional distance bc the father wanted to overindulge himself at the expense of those around him AND his mother was forced to live in the shadows and lose her birthright to a religious zealot of a brother. Brynden's generation comes from competeing women and their families' interests--Aegon IV's mistresses, that is. The Brackens and Blackwoods were already long-born enemies! There was absolutely no unity in this generation, unless we speak of the BryndenxShiera-Daeron II untis? Still, divided and comparatively to greens vs blacks...which we all know what heppened there.

It's such an assumption made from the belief that people grow to want power just for the sake of it more times than to find validation. it take s for granted the perceived norm of step relations and bastardry. We need a journey/explanation of character development to really prove why Aegon and Viserys would turn with how they grew up so differently from other noble children and esp in relation to their older stepbrother/half brothers who I don't believe for a min that they thought of as such but just "brothers". Very Valyrian, tbh. Like rhaenin-time says here:

In Valyria, "step" anything didn't have the same sort of value as Andal-FM step-relations.

Jace grew up both with much more people backing him up AND he, Luke, Joffrey are growing/were growing with stronger sense of self bc they were growing up in that sort of alternative space in their formative years. As I say below, Viserys (II) either needed more time to cook, he grew up with a suppressed fear of chaos that motivated him towards the "easier" path and because most of his life he had to essentially clean up his family's messes as their second, AND

i know Viserys ii could be.

Viserys had a whole different life from his other brothers--he was literally kidnapped and forced to grow up in a foreign land, as safe as he technically was. He lost most of the family and a chance of a dragon bond--he is more dissociated from Rhaenyra than any of his siblings, which is why he's the more adamant about maintaining the succession practice and family line arrangements that coincide with the lay of Andal customs--so another succession crisis doesn't erupt. We can't make as his he is a good example at all to evaluate the others who lived longer and had a stronger impression of Rhaenyra's influence and authority than he did. Given more time, we also don't know if Viserys would have been more amenable to an alternative succession plan for himself...

This all speaks to a reduction of Rhaenyra's/a ruling mother's influence over her own kids, tbh. Fact is, we'll simply not ever know.

Even if she did have a "favorite", how she'd handle her kids while having one is not likely going to be the same as how Viserys did.

It's kinda like the Queen Elizabeth I vs her son Charles and how they dealt with family intrigue or public faces and how we see a clear difference there. Under a more family-conscious/prioritized woman, the royla family didn't really go through terrible public crises and yes there are some secrets that deserve some digging up....with Charles, it's every fucking month.

And I'm talking about critically healthier dynastic, internal unity that comes from a good parent being firm but fostering strong bonds between the kids no matter the environment bc they themselves or more or less adjusted, adaptable, and have a strong enough will to establish boundaries wherever their family goes.

So honestly, it bleeds a lack of faith in this unique family. Is the possibility 0% there won't be some sort of trouble, sure. When in life is there ever a perfect 0% or a perfect 100%? But also we can and often do make good guesses on probability through our observation and rely on said material evidence that we use to make our conclusions that we base our decisions on. These characters are capable of the same as well as a change of values but we need to ties those changes and developments to actual specific events that build up on each other for them to turn out the way they do when the evidence before suggested that such a thing was unlikely.

So the other problem I see there is that the person is making a lesser possibility into an unavoidable or very likely probability without giving much evidence and relying on assumptions based on traditional observations from conventional family patterns that this family simply deviates from in many ways. Therefore, again, you need material evidence that Aegon Viserys = Daemon Blackfyre or this "bastard" situation is the exact same as all the others apart from your own assumptions. It all seems overly cautious, nonanalytical, too avoidant-focused--ironically is what Viserys I did. You gotta pursue the implications of the difference sometimes further than the environment. We are not all our environment and we aren't always so affected by it as to go wherever others wish for us to go.

And I partially blame HotD, bc they really made it so that we can't even speculate much abt the boys' parentage as much as we could book-wise since Rhaenys was dark haired from her Baratheon mother and some Targs even before Rhaenyra's generation came out with nontypical Targ features: Alysanne and Alyssa. And we don't get to see how people out of the court saw things. I'm talking about the impression on the audience made through scenes HotD could have built to establish to contextualize and make stakes for how the greens v the blacks interacted and competed in court and out for political dominance before the actual war. Who favors who and why?