#Anyways. I both hate and love rendering flesh

[lloyds-archive]

I want to see this man suffer.

[theundeadsnake]

I agree on romanticizing Ben is weird. I seen a lot of people complaining about that. But I won’t stop people write love fanfics of him. I wouldn’t mind headcanons about him anyways. C:

I won't complain about it either. I find that fandom members and creators view the human like-characters as being their age. As a long-time member, I have always viewed them as my peers.

Ben is a being with no body, no flesh, and no senses other than hearing and sight. Instead, he exists within the online world and visits the offline realm as a hard-light hologram. He can affect the physical world, move things, and play tricks on others.

However, he is unable to sense anything other than cold and wetness. The softness of a blanket, the warmth of a cup of tea, or the delicious flavor of a meal are all experiences he remembers yet cannot have. Not anymore. Never ever again.

Instead, he feels the discomfort, it is like buzzing at the back of his head. Always there but never strong enough to fully identify.

Most of his time is spent in the online world. He is akin to an online spy, a hacker that faces no limits.

On one hand, he feels lucky, thankfully that he didn’t die. On the other, he hates what has been done to him and what he has lost. He longs for those human comforts he has memories of. But he doubts he will ever get that back.

How he ended up being an electronic spirit baffles him to no end.

The human online world does not have any answers for him. Ben has read countless documents, everything from the most classified document files to the hidden secret of the overly long blog recipes, and yet no real answers have been found.

Those countless hours of data processing have only led him to one creature. The Slenderman. An entity as old as time. A being feared by many and yet surrounded by a mist of mystery. That’s how, or rather why he ended up working for that horrid creature despite their opposing nature. Slender and his connections are Ben's only hope for answers and possibly a physical flesh entity to possess.

Now that we are on the topic of that pair, there is something that must be acknowledged. Ben and Slender do not mix. Ben’s existence relies on technology, while Slenderman by nature renders all nearby devices unusable. So how do the beings reside in the same area?

The answer or rather answers are simple. Both beings remain as far away from each other. Slenderman, the Master of the mansion has his own wing others are not permitted to enter. While Ben has been allocated a basement room.

When Ben wants to socialize with others, he will visit as a hologram and spend time with them all. Though that happens on very rare occasions. Seeing others enjoy what he can no longer sense brings feelings of jealousy and resentment.

Ben mostly keeps to himself because he does not want to lose the friendships he has - he will only interact with others when he is in the right state to do so. Ben lacks what most others have and yet has endless knowledge and understanding. He knows that the people he holds dear are fragile emotionally and deeply traumatized, and so is he.

[cosmic-walkers]

Okay one last Dorthea/Stephen and Thomas comparison posts - this is going off of my observations that Thomas has unique relationships with bastard children forced into religious lives, and those two just happen to have a close proximity to Wolsey and him.

Anyway, both Dorthea and Stephen have been the only people to completely render Thomas silent, and warp what he believes about his father figures. And it was done in similar ways, where Thomas has set up this foundation of thought regarding his relationship with his father figures, and he navigates his life from that foundation. But then Stephen and Dorthea ruin it

1.) When Stephen revealed to Thomas that Walter paid off the family that wanted to kill Thomas. When Stephen reveals that, and playfully says 'see, there are things about you that I don't even know', Thomas is literally speechless. Because this implied the man who abused him, whom he believed hated him and wanted him dead, actually loved him. Or at least, could have potentially loved him. This is important because up until that point, Thomas had been navigating his life with this idea that Walter hated him, that was a huge foundation for him pushing himself and becoming better than Walter, to show the man who hated him that he was worth more than his love, or lack of. But then, here is Stephen, who complicates things. Who renders Thomas helpless, digs up some terrible trauma, and basically, makes Thomas feel like that scared, helpless, confused boy. Stephen does it on purpose, because at that point, he hates everyone, but it did the trick. And it leaves Thomas in shambles.

2.) Dorthea shatters his perception of Wolsey and puts his relationship with Wolsey to question. Thomas, as we know, practically idolizes Wolsey. Even after Wolsey’s death, his connection to him is so strong, he conjures up an appiration of him. There is no doubt, in his mind that his relationship with Wolsey is pure, and that this was a feeling reflected on both ends. Wolsey knew he was doing everything to save him, to get him back in Henry’s favor, to make sure he was safe. Wolsey viewed him as a son, a confidant, something more than both of those. There was no secret nor hate between them. And then…Dorthea shatters that. It’s not simply her telling Thomas he betrayed he father that stings, it’s the fact that she is Wolsey’s flesh and blood.

No ghost or apparition of Wolsey, is ever going to come close to his literal flesh and blood calling you a traitor. I believe in the books, it is implied that Wolsey also thought Thomas betrayed him. Because that is what was conveyed between Wolsey and Dorthea, and it is most likely something Wolsey told Dorthea. While this isn’t explicitly stated in the show, it is heavily implied that Dorthea views Thomas a traitor, because Wolsey did. So we have a relationship that Thomas cultivated and cherished so much, flipped on its side. A relationship that was the blueprint for his current life, is now questioned. And because Thomas will not speak to Dorthea anymore, he will never actually know what Wolsey thought. Yes, he has ideas, but Dorthea is his daughter, and she knows.

These two scenes one again, illustrate how two people, with a close proximity to Wolsey and who are also parallels of each other (bastards, forced into religious lives), interact with Thomas, and how they influence his view on his father figures and his relationship with them. This in turn, influences how he sees himself and how he navigates his life. After both discussions, he is in shambles. With Stephen, he is angry, with Dorthea, he breaks down. Stephen, Thomas and Dorthea are all connected through Wolsey, but the way the two bastards interact with Thomas, especially since he is going after their religion, is interesting. They have been the only two, to render him speechless, because they both know where to hit.

[pivsketch]

zipper trouble...

another timelapse/art rambling under the cut, probably needs an epilepsy warning for when i start workin on those sleeve stripes tho. i tried making a brush instead of just manually drawing them and my undos caused a lot of rapid flickering

mostly just on one layer except for that initial midgray jacket fill-- felt like itd be a dumb idea to just bulldoze my sketch lines so soon. by the time i got to the darker tones i just slammed it on top of everything though. ive never used oil paints irl because i am both a coward and impatient, but i'd imagine the type of process or principles or whatever im doing here is vaguely similar. extremely destructive. yolo!

nice thing about the one layer thing is being able to just liquify tool nudge stuff around. i hate having to adjust it layer by layer. iirc the liquify tool doesnt work on vector layers tho which is pretty lame u_u but whatever i dont like doing lineart on separate layers anyway (i just draw them directly on my sketch layer) (it usually ends up getting buffed out in the rendering anyway) (i dont recommend doing this its a huge pain if you ever change your mind and want to have your lines separate later)

i never used liquify that much in ps but i use it all da time in csp. love it. i miss being able to relax the distortion before applying it, but oh well

prolly couldve tilted mjf's head down more to match the ref but its a real tough angle as it is so whatever i'll forgive myself lol. been thinking a lot about The Jowls Zone in drawing lately. one of these days im gonna have to sit down and figure out how to draw lips in a way that looks normal and not bad, its starting to get weird to just ignore it and have everyone have skin flesh where their lips should be

anyway what is the DEAL with the burberry pattern fading out on his sleeves. such an ostentatious custom jacket job

[kimetsu-no-imagines]

submission request

its ur bf write me rengoku porn rn before i kiss you in electrical- u know what i want 😩 ——————————————————————————- a/n : !!!!!! anything for u babe!!!!! a request from my bf,,,,,,,how special,,,,especially when haven’t written on here in forever,,,,,, warnings ; mugen train spoilers!!!!!!!!!! s o m a n y!!!!!! mentions of rengoku/akaza fight, alternate universe where rengoku lives it’s what we all want anyway, pre-established relationship/rengoku is your husband, breeding/pregnancy kink, rengoku living and dying (figuratively) between your legs, “dirty” talk but rengoku is such a loving man i don’t think it should even be called that here, uhhhh body worship but with his eyes? its very vague but it is there, boy just loves you okay, also none of this is proof read or anything if that matters word count ; 2,728

I’m Home

When you first hear about it, of course, like his fellow pillars, you’re terrified-thankful, naturally, that your husband at least hasn’t died, but the crow sent to inform you of the events of his mission, of his injuries, doesn’t exactly try to sugar coat anything, not even for you, his spouse.

Skull fractures from dodging the punch that would have smashed his eye completely, broken ribs from dodging yet another hit that, if he hadn’t moved back fast enough, would have gone through him and killed him-the details were gruesome, they were bone-chilling, it wasn’t as if you or anyone particularly enjoyed hearing about it, but one thing was for certain-you were relieved not to have lost him to this, to have lost anyone. Tanjiro and the others were so strong, so hard-working, and they were so young, with so much to live for-you couldn’t imagine how you’d feel if anything had happened to them, either.

There’s so much about it that pains you-not being able to have your husband home with you after he’d already been so busy with this mission and the ones before it, knowing how injured he was and how long it’d take him to recover at the Butterfly Estate, it was all… Torture. Not that you couldn’t go see him, of course-but Shinobu urged you to stay home and relax, you wouldn’t want to see him in the state that he was in, she promised you that much. Her crow did come by to personally update you on his condition every day or so, though-that was at least some amount of relief.

… Or, it would have been. You hadn’t seen any crow come by in a week or so, to the day-and yes, you kept track, because of course you did, you were an anxious wreck, and it’d already been months of your husband steadily recovering, or so you thought. Had he died from his injuries? Did something happen to the estate, were more people hurt? … Well. You supposed that was a silly thought, she lived so close to the Master’s own residence-no demon could get close enough to hurt them, with all the wisteria around both places.

You were so used to having your husband around to calm you when you thought about the worst things, like this-your heart hurt with anxiety and worry. What could you do but stand outside by the door, every day, for hours, just waiting for some sign, of a crow, of Shinobu herself, of anything?

It was another day that had gone by just like that-your feet and legs ached from keeping yourself up for so long, dried tear trails staining the sides of your face-you knew it was silly of you, you knew you should have tried to be at least a little stronger, for him if no one else, but… You just couldn’t help it. You hated this. You just wanted your husband back.

A dejected sigh leaves you as you watch the sun set for just one more moment before turning to go back inside, tears stinging at the corners of your eyes again-maybe tomorrow you’ll go up to Shinobu’s estate yourself. You couldn’t stand this for another–

“Hahaha! Now isn’t this strange! You’re running away from me!”

Your heart stops, and you freeze in place. What?

You feel him before you can turn to see him-chest pressed against your back, though soon you’re spun around and pulled up into a crushing hug anyway, and it’s all you can do to immediately start sobbing into your husband’s brightly-colored hair as you’re held.

“… Hello, my sweet,”  His voice is no longer booming and jovial like it was a moment ago, but soft, gentle and meant only for you, as he squeezes you to him-you want to worry about the injuries he was supposed to be recovering from still, but you don’t want this to end, either. You suppose, he must have just been coming around the corner and through the gate when you turned to go inside-not that it mattered, all that did matter was that he was… Here, holding you.

“You must have missed me terribly!” All hearty, he laughs with you again, even if all you can do is cry in his arms while he rubs soothingly at your back, “But of course I missed you terribly too! I tried many times to sneak out and come home to you, but Shinobu or one of the other girls always caught me-”

You missed his voice dearly, you did-and you were still crying, but you couldn’t help but lean up and kiss him. It was something you usually did to quiet him, for sure, but right now you just… Needed him. And he didn’t seem to mind, hands happily and readily sliding down to hoist you up into his arms, never breaking from you as he carried you into your home.

“… Such a beautiful shouldn’t have quite so many tears upon it, you know,”He mumbles gently against your lips, and you sniffle as you finally reach up to start wiping at them, “I-I just missed you so much, Kyojuro, I was so scared-you were almost-you could have-”

“But I didn’t, and I won’t.” He interrupts you sweetly, but firmly nonetheless, shaking his head at you, “I am fine. I am healed, my love. I am still here to fulfill my duties-and I always will be. That includes my duties to you as your husband.”

“I…” It doesn’t feel like you should believe it-after what you’d heard of his battle, knowing he’d even just encountered an Upper Moon demon, this felt too good to be real or true, and yet… There’s such certainty and finality blazing in his eyes as he stares at you, all you can do is nod.

“… Alright.”

———————————————–

… Really, all you had intended to do this evening, now that you had your husband home with you, was cook him his favorite meal and go to sleep with him, in his arms, for the first time in who knew how long, at this point. Truthfully, that had been your only goal. You wanted him to rest, no matter how many times he told you just how fully recovered he was through the mouthfuls of sweet potato you so lovingly prepared for him-and yet… And yet…

Well, you suppose you simply didn’t account for him wanting… Dessert.

“It’s been so long,” The words are mumbled around you, your flesh, as he greedily, really voraciously eats and licks you up from between your legs-you’d already known him to be feral when presented with the sweet treat only you could provide him with, but this was something else entirely, “-it’s been too long, my love, don’t you understand how very hungry I am?”

You don’t, but by no means are you going to let that stop either of you. You missed his mouth just as much as he missed your taste.

“K-Kyojuro-Kyojuro, I’m-Kyo–”

… He’s never been one to tease or deny you. And yet just as you’re about to cum, so close to the edge you could have tasted it yourself, he’s pulling away from you. His lips and chin and… Well, his face, in general, are so shiny with you-you easily forget your frustration and get lost in the blissful look in his eyes as he cleans himself with his tongue. “While you certainly are the most delicious thing in this world, my sweet,” He crawls up the length of your body so quickly, so desperate to smash his lips to your own, “-as I’ve told you, it’s been far too long. I want to feel you cum around my cock this evening. But I’m sure you have no complaint either way?” Any other day, you’d want to hit him, to get that cheeky look off of his face, but… You also can’t say you don’t want that. Maybe you really don’t have any complaints either way. “… You’re awful,” You huff up at him, but you nod, “… But alright.” … And yet he stays still. It would be so easy-you’re properly soaked, and the pair of you are completely naked, and yet your infuriating husband is just… Sitting there, hovering over you with a smile on his face. It’s a soft, loving smile-but you’ve known him so long, you don’t miss the mischief in his eyes. “… Can I not admire you, my beautiful spouse? Even for a moment, after I’ve been gone from you for so very long?” It’s not a crime for him to stare at you so adoringly-really, you’d love it if you weren’t as damn horny as you were. But... It has been a long time. He’s teasing, but as much as that’s true, you know he’s being earnest, too-his eyes flicker all over your form so carefully, meticulously re-memorizing every tiny detail about you. “... Even more beautiful then before I left you, dear one,” The way he murmurs it, so absently, it’s almost more like he’s saying it to himself, but his eyes raised to bore back into yours after a minute-clearly, he wants you to hear every word of what he’s saying, absent or not. “... Would you like to know something I thought about while I was away?” His love renders you breathless, speechless-it’s all you can do to nod up at him. “During the brief hours of respite I would get, I would think to myself... What would it be like to come back to you, our home... How would it feel, the joy of it all... And then, another thought had started to occur to me,” A sharp gasp tears through you as you feel a few fingers suddenly and swiftly beginning their work at stretching you out-sneaky man, he’d distracted you from his hands with his voice, and even then, he kept talking like he hadn’t done anything, “... What would it be like if I could come home to the sight of you all swollen and glowing with our child...?” Those words rob you of whatever meager amount of breath you had managed to regain. With your child...? “... Oh, my love, you squeezed my fingers so nicely just now,” He marvels at the sight, the feeling of you, worrying his lip between his teeth-you’re so pretty like this, is what he wants to say, but his mind is suddenly consumed by the thought he’d put into both your heads a moment ago. You, glowing with the product of your love in your stomach. You don’t fail to notice the twitching of his cock where it hangs all hard between his legs. “Do you like the sound of that, then...? Do you want to carry my children, our children, my dear one? I’ll give it to you if you just say the word-after all, what poor excuse of a husband would I be if I didn’t?” His fingers move in and out of you faster, frantic and eager to prepare you for him, now, as he almost rambles on like that-his words set your body, your insides, on fire. You do want it, you realize-it’s not something you’d given much thought to before, but here, like this, right now after spending so much time worrying about losing him? You really do want nothing more. “P-p-please, please Kyojuro, I want-please give me your children, I want it, I want you, please make me pregnant, my husband, please-” It’s not meant to egg him on, truly it isn’t-you just can’t help but beg with how badly you want it yourself. But that doesn’t mean you don’t delight in the way he seems to snap, just the slightest bit, above you, quickly removing his fingers from you to replace them with his cock-what you’d been waiting for since he laid you down in bed earlier. That felt like an eternity ago right now, though. The stretch isn’t an uncomfortable one, with the care he’d still taken to prepare you-you missed it, if anything, you missed him. And it’s clear that he feels the same-he’s gone so tense above you, arms trembling on either side of you with the restraint it takes not to move. Somehow, he still manages to keep up that bright smile of his, too. “Do tell me when I can move, my love. This is a bit unbearable with how lovely you feel!” ... As hazy as your mind was with pleasure, you couldn’t help but giggle. Even now, your husband was so... Endearing. So cute. Your bring your hands up to hold his face as you nod your head eagerly, over and over, “Please, Kyojuro-please, I want it,” You can see that he wants to worry about you, wants to ask you again to make sure-but he can’t, his body betrays him, his hips instantly slotting themselves against your own, pulling back only to quickly bring themselves back down, his cock pressing and rubbing against every bit of your insides as it moves in and out of you, over and over and over, so fast-and your husband hardly even breaks a sweat. ... His being a demon slayer, and a pillar, at that, had its perks, you supposed. His stamina was one of them. But he seemed to already be losing his composure, too, with just how long it’d been since you’d gotten to be so close. “This-this is embarrassing, haha-I feel like I could burst at any moment already-just-just thinking about how-utterly perfect you’d look, ah-” His hips stutter, and he stills for a second, to keep his own pleasure at bay for a moment-though he makes up for it with the hand that shoots down to rub and stroke at what his cock isn’t already touching, “-goodness gracious-how perfect you’d look, pregnant, my love-” As if you aren’t ready to burst, yourself. Did he suddenly forget about denying you mere minutes ago...? “M-my husband-my husband, Kyojuro, please, m-me too, just go ahead, please-please give me your child, give it to me, please-” “You’re really as difficult as you are beautiful!” The very wind is knocked out of you as you find your legs suddenly on either side of your head, as he fucks into you with a very renewed, fittingly fiery sense of vigor and passion, grunting freely every time he feels you wrap around him again and again, “I truly did want to take my time with you this evening, my sweet-how irresistible you are like this-I’ll have to savor you another time-” This position, the wildness in his eyes, the feeling and the sight of him-yes, the sight of him, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t see the bulge appearing and disappearing from your stomach-fucking into you desperately, all of it is far too much for you, far too overwhelming, but of course he revels above you in the way you clamp down on him and make a sudden, abrupt mess all over the pair of you, not to mention the futon underneath you. “So beautiful-so beautiful like this, my love-I-just the sight of you, you’re going to make me-goodness-” He leans over you and folds you in half even further, nose brushing against your neck, “I-I’m going to-I’m going to give it to you now, alright? I swear it, my love, my dear one, I’ll-I’ll get you pregnant, I promise, I promise, I--” It’s so intense, he almost roars as it washes over him, as he fills you up so completely it leaks out of you, with how long its been since either of you had any form of... Release. Your legs are released, and they flop numbly down against the plush futon beneath you-your husband can barely keep himself up, but he at least tries to be careful as he collapses against you, chuckling so happily against your shoulder while you can hardly keep your eyes open, let alone say anything. You wish you had the sense what was apparently so... Funny, right now. “... I love you, _____.” The biggest wave of tranquility falls over you, hearing those words. You can’t quite say much of anything still, but he knows-he sees it in your eyes when he looks up at your face. You love him too. Right now, that’s all he needs. “I really am so happy to be home, dear one.”

[grandhotelabyss]

—Adam Lehrer, “Away from Arthouse Horror”

The right-wing social democrats (but I repeat myself) at Compact have really led me astray here. I watched the pointless Terrifier and the endless Terrifier 2 and don’t see why they deserve a commendation from this particular constituency—or any other. 

Lehrer says these films, especially the two-and-a-half-hour “mega slasher” sequel, signal a departure from increasingly middlebrow arthouse horror of the A24 variety, with its social conscience and its attempts at emotional depth. I think he exaggerates both sides of the contrast, however. Terrifier 2 perhaps indicates a cyclical return to the 2000s torture-porn era, itself a recapitulation of ’80s slashers, but in its thematic concerns and even aspects of its tone it follows on naturally enough from Hereditary, whose own gore is more naturalistically rendered and therefore more disturbing, even if I find the scenery-chewing family melodrama at its core banal. 

Lehrer also calls Peele’s Us a “hollowly political” falling away from Get Out’s effective subversions, but this is exactly backward. Get Out is an easy political cartoon; everybody loves it because everybody already hates its satirical target, elite white liberals, including elite white liberals themselves. Us is a far more searchingly anxious self-satire of the black bourgeoisie—an actually suspenseful movie since you’re never sure where its aggression and complicity will go next. But the cognoscenti couldn’t wring a portable political message out of this and popular audiences probably didn’t understand it, so the film was unjustly demoted. 

Anyway, “cruelty without apology,” Lehrer says. I thought, “These must be some intriguingly fucked-up people,” so I headed to the social media profiles of the filmmaker and performers, as one does these days, but found only the dispiritingly familiar. A symptomatic example, one that parts the curtain of ideology: the director, whom Leher associates with Artaud and Wyndham Lewis, was on Twitter offering critical support to the lead actress as she/they joined others in accusing “incels” who complained about the film’s (relative) lack of nudity of being “pedophiles.” The mind reels. Leaving aside the fact that our heroine is all but nude in several scenes, and leaving aside too the “pedophile” nonsequitor (she is and looks like a full-grown adult), what stands revealed here is a telling arbitrariness about where moral lines are drawn.

This is a film where a female character is slashed and scalped, her arm torn off at the elbow, gouts of blood erupting out of the flesh of her back. Half-flayed, her skull exposed, she is doused in bleach, her wounds packed with salt as she howls and moans. The camera lovingly lingers on her backside as she crawls helplessly along her pink bedroom’s carpet, a mass of blood and gore. According to director and performer, no epithet need attach to the devisers or enjoyers of this spectacle. It’s wholesome entertainment, “without apology.” But any male who wishes to see an adult woman’s breasts, sans gaping wound or spouting blood? Incel! Pedophile! 

My point is not to advocate for nudity nor even to deny that a (male) spectator who requires a full-frontal shot of the body before he can enjoy its dismemberment may earn himself a legitimate suspicion or two. (Though the decadent frisson of the body’s robustness preceding its obliteration may be healthier than a not-even-decadent destruction-without-beauty.) But on ideological grounds, Lehrer appears to be wrong that these films depart from 2010s ideology: the strange, crazy-making moralism that greeted something like Midsommar still applies. (I once described Midsommar on here as “advertising the white ethnostate to sad white city girls sick of their insensitive ‘Cat Person’ boyfriends.”) Every deviation from some imagined norm, no matter how baroque, must be celebrated as a triumphant emancipation; every desire once thought to reside within this norm must be castigated as retrogressive, monstrous. Flaying the body? Righteous. Appreciating the body? Heinous. 

Skip the Terrifers and watch Us. Or, if you want something that more closely resembles what Lehrer describes, I renew my claim that the Rob Zombie Halloween movies fit the bill with the indescribable and impossible tenderness that somehow arises from their indeed unapologetic cruelty. For my part, I’m not squeamish but I am easily bored by the mere meatphysics of the slasher film. Inside this particular genre and out of it, we have surely heard enough by now about the body. What we need in horror is a new metaphysics. 

[graceverse]

31 Days of JonSa 2021

Day 22: PTSD

Her skin is scrubbed raw and she winces in pain as the sting of pain seems to run from the tips of her toes to the top of her head. It is impossible, she knows, for her scalp to hurt since she hasn’t touched it. Not yet anyway. She feels a sudden urge to cut off all her hair – it has brought her nothing but the unwanted attention of men and women alike who hated the way she looked, the way she talked, the way she sang, the way she is the daughter of the North.

She feels phantom hands grabbing her, fingers violently pushing into her flesh, the cold edge of a sharpened knife pressed against her neck where her pulse jumps, stops and restarts with equal parts fear and anger.

The bath water has turned tepid. It was near scalding earlier when she had first submerged herself without a sound, just a detached acceptance of the terrible ache that had filled her the moment she had woken up.

Today isn’t even the day she left for Winterfell all those years ago. Nor was it the days of her marriage to Tyrion and then to Ramsay. It wasn’t the day she lost Lady and then father, followed by mother and Robb; Rickon and finally Theon.

Today was just like any other day. Startling in its ordinariness but something about the way the gray winter light had filtered into the window of their room that made her feel deeply tired, used up and morose. That she had woken up without her husband by her side had rendered her gasping for breath, terrified that everything had just been a dream: that there was still no Winterfell, that she was still trapped in a game of thrones where she was not Queen, but pawn to be manipulated and abused as though she was an object – key, was it? Key to the North? ­– passed around, from one cruel hand to another.

She rubbed and rubbed the insides of her wrist, her elbows, her thighs; the scented soap Araya had so kindly almost shyly given her once she returned from her voyages had all but dissolved in a swirl of water tainted by her tears.

She feels undone, like she has unraveled, skin falling like ribbons of flesh: scrubbing and scrubbing and scrubbing.

She stops only when she feels raw and clean.

Jon finds her sitting naked in front of a smudged mirror, their room dark and smelling of lavender and lemon. Her wet hair dripping unto their already soaked rug.

“I’ve made a mess.” She mumbles dejectedly. “I’m so sorry.”

Jon says nothing as he tenderly drops a kiss on her temple. He picks up her brush and gently starts to untangle her hair, his fingers strong but soothing. “There is nothing to forgive, beloved. Tell me what will make you feel better?”

Sansa swallows past the lump on her throat that feels strangely both like pain and love. “Stay with me.”

“Always.”

-----

PTSD is such a serious prompt and I lack the proper knowledge about it but I hope I had been able to somehow write about it even with what little understanding I have of it. I tried to do some research but I know it's not enough.

I only know of always being there for anyone who might be suffering from it. Please seek professional help if you are in any way suffering from PTSD and please know that we see you and we are always here for you.

[streetlight11]

Try Not To Fall In Love

Summary: Being forced into marriage is never an exciting idea simply because you are getting married to someone not out of pure love. So when he was forced to marry a girl he doesn't know, he desperately gets help from his friend, hoping his friend could save him from the arranged marriage.

Theme: fake dating au, strangers to lovers

Genre: fluff, tinge of angst

Warnings: none

WC: 6.6k

Pairing: Bestfriend's Friend!Hoseok x Fem!Reader

a/n: Hello! I got this idea the other day while I was listening to a song by Keshi called Summer, where there was a line in the song which goes, "3 months is all we got, try not to fall in love" so I wrote this before I lost the feel of it ✌

“Shoot, what am I gonna do? My parents are setting me up for marriage with this… I don’t know, this spoiled brat whose parents apparently owns the famous clothing brand in Korea. Ugh, I hate her! I don’t wanna be married to some spoiled girl who only thinks about herself.” Hoseok groans in frustration as he paces around Namjoon’s living room.

Hoseok’s parents were power and money hungry. They thrive to be rich but forgets that the safer alternative was to work hard for it instead of taking a short way out. Since Hoseok was an only son, they used him as a pawn by planning to marry him off to the daughter of the most wealthiest family in the country.

He despised this whole plan.

Namjoon could only frown as he didn’t know what to do for his friend.

“Can’t you like maybe, I don’t know? Tell your parents you’re not interested in her or something?” Namjoon asked.

“Yeah, unless you want me to waste my breath then yeah sure I’ll make that excuse to them. They’re going to make me marry her no matter what I say! Shit! I hate this!” Hoseok growled as he plopped on the couch and threw a pillow across the room, making Namjoon scold him for throwing a tantrum.

Hoseok mumbled an apology as the room fell quiet. Just then, it was as though something clicked in the back of Namjoon’s mind. He snapped his fingers and shot up from the couch instantly, shocking the poor boy.

“I know! How about you get a fake girlfriend? That way your parent’s can’t say anything right?” Namjoon exclaimed as if it was the most brilliant plan ever.

“What do you want me to do if they ask me to break up with this fake girlfriend? Joon, I’m telling you. My parents can be hella desperate, they'd do literally anything to make their plan work.” Hoseok sighed again.

“Look, if you get a fake girlfriend, treat her like a real girlfriend. That way, when they see how much you care and love each other, your parents won’t bother you with arranging a marriage for you ever again. There! Problem solved.” Namjoon shrugged, only for Hoseok to roll his eyes.

“Okay fine, sure. But the problem is, who am I gonna ask to help me with the plan? You know I don’t have any close female friends…” Hoseok frowned worriedly at his older friend before the male smirked.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got that covered.” Namjoon said with a satisfied smirk on his face.

You were just typing away your codings for your assignment when a familiar figure stood in front of you on the other side of that wooden table. You glanced up and were immediately greeted by your best friend, Namjoon.

“What is it now, Namjoon? I already told you the group project is not discussable with members outside your group.” You sighed, earning a blabber from him.

“Yeah yeah whatever. Listen. I need you to do me a favour.” Namjoon began, rendering you curious.

“With what?” You asked.

“I need you to be a fake girlfriend for a few weeks.”

“What? Why do you need a fake girlfriend? Having girl trouble again?” You chuckled at your successful mock directed to him.

“Shut up. Anyways, not me. It’s for my friend.”

Your eyebrow was raised in confusion, staring at him with so much doubt.

“Yeah, I don’t know about that.” You said but he was quick to stop you.

“What? Why?”

“Namjoon, for one, I don’t know who your friend is. And two, this might be a little risky…”

“Why do you say that?”

“Most of the time when two people get into these fake relationships, they often end up being awkward and are close to opposite from what they hoped to turn out.”

“Y/N come on! Please! He’s really in need of help, his parents are forcing him to marry a girl he doesn’t even know and love. Just help him this once, will you? After all of this ends, I promise I’ll make it up to you.” Namjoon begged as you stared at him with worry in your eyes and he could clearly see it.

After much thought, you decided to help out simply because if you were in this person’s shoes, you would also dread the idea of being forced into marriage.

You just hope this plan turns out successful.

It was a Saturday afternoon and Namjoon had texted you earlier saying to meet his friend for lunch to discuss how you want the plan to go. Namjoon gave you the address of the cafe and told you to find a guy with dirt blonde hair and black long sleeved shirt. You didn’t want to have a bad first impression for yourself so you opted to dress slightly nicer instead of your usual sweatpants and oversized sweater.

You chose a simple denim skinny jeans, fitted cropped top with a cardigan to go over. Once you made it to the cafe, your eyes skimmed over the entire interior of the cafe.

You noticed that the cafe was filled with people but out of pure luck, there was only one guy seated near the windows alone and was exactly as Namjoon described him to be. With that, you made your way to him, noticing the two cups on the table. You assumed he bought a drink for you to not get kicked out of the cafe.

He was handsome. You definitely never met him before. Which makes things slightly harder considering this means you would have a lot to learn about this guy if you had to pretend to be his girlfriend for the next few weeks.

Right when you were a foot away from the table, his eyes glanced up from his phone only to lock eyes with yours. For a moment, you saw the way his cute brown eyes sparkled.

“Hi, are you Hoseok?” You asked as he nodded.

“I assume you are Y/N?”

“In the flesh.” You joked, only for him to crack into a smile that seemed too adorable. You took a seat after he gestured for you to sit down. Both of you went silent for a split second before you spoke up.

“How long have you waited?”

“Not too long, I think close to about 10 minutes?”

“Oh, sorry. I got stuck in traffic for a bit.” You apologized knowing you were in fact late.

“No, it’s fine…” Hoseok smiled as his eyes glanced around your face for a second while you looked down at the cup to see that it was a Hazelnut Latte, your favourite.

“I bought Hazelnut Latte with almond milk for you. Not gonna lie, I had to get help from Namjoon on what you usually drink. Didn’t want to buy the wrong one on a first meet.” He said as he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. You giggled at his confession, finding it extremely endearing how he asked Namjoon what your favourite drink was.

“Anything is fine honestly, I’m not picky but I guess I can say this is the perfect pick.” You smiled when you saw the corner of his lips curled up sharply.

The two of you began chatting more comfortably with each other, getting to know the other in slight depth so that you would know what to say if someone questions you about the other. You later found out he was your age and that he owns a puppy named Mickey. He was a dancer and he likes to rap when he’s bored.

You also found out that he and Namjoon have been friends since high school. Which means he’s known Namjoon longer than you have.

A few minutes later, you both decided to lay out the plan for his fake girlfriend project. You went through the basic stuff, saying what you can or can’t do in public, all that kind of stuff.

After brainstorming and exchanging ideas or thoughts on the plan, you smiled before saying the one thing that both of you had to try to be mutual about.

“Whatever we do, let’s try not to fall in love with each other.”

Your first few weeks of fake dating went well. Hoseok and you managed to act like a legit couple in public. He would drive you to campus every morning, hold hands as you walked around the campus grounds, sit with you during his free period, have lunch with you and Namjoon on days where your lunch schedules are in sync, walk you to your classes with his arm on your waist, basically everything a couple would do.

Of course, not to forget the little kisses he gives you after every walk, before every separation, in between chats, but those kisses were anywhere but your lips for you both agreed to avoid lip kisses.

Everything was going well so far and despite the little butterflies you sometimes get whenever he holds you or kisses you a certain way, you tried your best to remind yourself this was all temporary.

Besides, you were only doing this to practice so that when you do in fact go over to meet his parents, they would believe that you are dating their son.

Nobody would believe someone is dating if they saw an awkward couple who doesn’t know what to do around the other.

Right?

It was a Tuesday afternoon and you were having lunch with Namjoon and Hoseok when the latter sighed deeply the minute he sat down beside you with his own tray of food.

“Hoseok? What’s wrong?” You asked as Namjoon eyed his friend worriedly.

“My mum’s inviting that girl’s family over this weekend to our family dinner. All my relatives are gonna be there…” He said hesitantly as he avoided your eyes. Hoseok was currently picking his food, not actually eating it.

So you gently placed your hand on top of his that was on the table, successfully gaining his attention when he turned to look at you.

“Hey, you’re gonna be fine. Don’t worry too much, okay?” You tried reassuring him but it looks like he was too stressed out about it.

“I know… It’s just… The last thing I wanna do is to humiliate myself in front of everyone, or even worse, humiliate you. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. I shouldn’t have dragged you into this mess in the first place.” Hoseok said as he began to have second thoughts.

Before you could respond, he got up abruptly while slinging his bag strap over his shoulder.

“Sorry, I have to go.” He apologized as he began to walk away. You turned to Namjoon who looked just as confused as you were. Namjoon told you to go after him and that was exactly what you did.

Hoseok had just left the cafeteria hall and was making his way towards the Dance Studio building when you ran after him.

You grabbed his hand to stop him and once you were standing in front of him, you took in a breath to speak.

“Hoseok, listen to me. Everything’s gonna be fine. No one’s gonna humiliate anyone. Don’t stress out too much okay? It’ll be fine.” You tried to reassure him but it looks like he was still having doubts about it.

“Y/N, the plan was to bring you home with just my parents and that girl around, not my entire family. I don’t want you to get hurt if they say anything bad about you, about us… We really shouldn’t have done this, I’m sorry for bringing you into this.” Hoseok apologized again but you weren’t having any of it.

With that being said, you cupped his face and caressed his cheeks with your thumbs, not caring about the looks you got from the students that were currently passing by your two figures in the middle of the hallway.

“That’s not gonna happen… Okay? We’re going through this together. No matter what. We have to finish what we started. Besides, if there’s anyone during that gathering who I trust would keep me safe, it’s you.”

Your words hit him deeply and he couldn’t agree more. It has been 3 weeks since you started this whole fake dating thing. And if he were to be completely honest, the very last agreement you made right before all this started in which you said ‘try not to fall in love with each other’, this statement has been washed down the drain since the first week of your fake dating.

After the third day of practicing your fake relationship, he realized that you were an amazing person. You were so humble, kind, selfless, down-to-earth, basically everything a guy dreams of. Seeing how sweet you were with such a genuine heart, makes him go all fuzzy and warm for you.

It was only after the first week of that fake relationship that Hoseok realized, maybe he really was falling in love with you.

With that being said, Hoseok leaned into your hands as you watched his frown get replaced by a smile and soon, he wrapped his fingers around your wrist gently to say, “Okay… Let’s show them how love should really be.”

Weekend finally rolled around and you were currently getting ready for Hoseok’s family dinner. You opted to wear a beautiful lavender laced sleeveless dress with a pretty round neck, where the hem of the dress stops just past your knees. You were going to pair it with your nude heels. You style your hair to a pretty low bun with your bangs framing your face in a middle parting.

You kept your makeup at a bare minimum since that was just your personal preference. You were just packing your important belongings into your purse when you heard the doorbell ring.

You abandoned your purse for a second as you jogged to your front door. Once you opened it, you nearly got your breath stolen by how handsome he looked.

He was wearing a white button down formal shirt, the first few buttons undone, his sleeves rolled up to his forearms, pairing that with a tie loosely hanging around his neck. He wore black jeans with the shirt tucked in, along with a pair of black loafers.

Not to mention his hair being styled in a way that his forehead is shown but at the same time, his fringe flops down with a slight volume so that it’s not too flat.

He looks really good.

“Hey gorgeous.” He smirked upon seeing your outfit.

You couldn’t stop the blush forming on your cheeks but you were quick to respond to him to avoid getting teased by him.

“Hey handsome. Give me a second to get my purse!” You said as you jogged back into your apartment, hearing his soft chuckle behind you. After you grabbed your purse, phone and house keys, you strapped your heels on and soon left the apartment. You made sure to lock your door before walking down the hall with him.

Both of you were talking about random topics when you felt him slide an arm around your waist. For some reason, this made you jump while your breath hitched in your throat a little too loud.

Hoseok chuckled at your reaction, clearly not expecting you to react that way especially since you were always relaxed when he does that out of the blue on campus.

“You okay? You seem jumpy…” Hoseok asked worriedly before his eyes searched for yours desperately.

“Uh, y-yeah… I’m just nervous I guess.” You laughed, earning a soft squeeze to your side before he kissed your temple gently like he always does.

“Don’t be. I promise nobody’s gonna hurt you… I won’t let that happen.” Hoseok’s voice gradually got lower until he whispered those last words to you. It made your heart flip and your stomach swirl from both anxiety and adrenaline.

The drive to his family home was about 40 minutes but you enjoyed the entire ride there. Hoseok made you laugh quite a few times, both of you singing along to the songs on his playlist, you played around with his things in his car, him glancing over at you every now and then only to smile every time he catches you doing something silly or was just laughing at something he said.

Gosh he was sickly in love with you.

He finally managed to park in his parent’s driveway along with a few other cars that probably belonged to the other guests. You got out of his car, suddenly feeling nervous all over again. Hoseok noticed the way you were stuck in place beside his passenger car door, making him walk over to you.

“Hey, relax. We’re gonna be fine. You said that yourself didn’t you?” Hoseok smiles as he cups your face softly while he caresses your cheeks with his thumbs.

You slowly nodded up at him, watching as he plants a soft kiss to your forehead.

Of course this was all for the fake relationship at the end of the day, but was all of this gestures really fake though?

Both of you walked towards the front door with your left hand in his, fingers intertwined while your right hand wrapped itself around his left forearm to hold him close to you. Hoseok stopped in front of the door before turning to you and whispered, “Are you ready?”

“Ready if you are.” You gave him a weak smile and soon, he pushed the door open.

You made it inside without anyone greeting you at the door since it was in fact his house anyway. However, the minute you entered the living room, you instantly squeezed Hoseok’s hand lightly. Clearly overwhelmed by the number of people who were gathered there.

“Oh! Hoseok dear! You’re here!” One of the middle aged ladies said with a smile.

“Yes Aunt Ju, I’m here and I brought my girlfriend with me if you all don’t mind. I figured it’s a perfect time to introduce her to all my family.” Hoseok said proudly, making you feel slightly safe in his arms.

Just then, a voice sounded from behind you and it wasn’t exactly pleasant.

“How dare you bring an outsider to our family dinner! She’s not invited! And who said you’re dating this low life girl? You’re getting married to Lena!” Who you could only assume to be Hoseok’s mother, said in full disgust as she glares and looks at you from head to toe.

Hoseok’s body shook with rage as he frowned at his mother, ready to shoot her down with his words if he had to.

“You can’t tell me who I can and can’t be with, mom. Why should I marry someone who doesn’t mean a single thing to me when I can live happily with the girl of my dreams?”

“Nonsense! I am your mother so you have to listen to my decisions!” You were afraid of what might happen next so you tugged Hoseok’s hand a little to gain his attention. Luckily, he felt it so he glanced down at you for a second and the moment he locked eyes with you, he immediately softened.

He took a deep breath before turning back to his mother and smiled, “Yes, you are my mother. But I get to decide who I want to marry for it is my life and not yours.”

His mother’s face distorts into an offended scowl. She watched as her son brought you over to the rest of his family in the living room.

Upon sitting down, one of Hoseok’s cousin’s greeted you with a hug as she began talking to you.

“Hi dear! What’s your name?” She asked.

“Hi, I’m Y/N, you?”

“I’m Seori. It’s nice to meet you!”

“It’s nice to meet you too.” For the first time that night, you smiled genuinely as Seori warmed up to you pretty quick. Though from the corner of your eye, you could see a girl who hadn’t kept her gaze off you from the minute you entered the room.

For this reason alone, you could only guess that she was Lena, the girl who Hoseok was supposed to marry.

You were just chatting with Seori about Hoseok’s old habits when she suddenly leaned in to whisper something surprising to you.

“Honestly, I’m rooting for you instead of that rich girl. She’s such a brat. Hoseok is definitely too good for her.” Seori smiled, making you chuckle. You couldn’t believe Hoseok’s cousin was actually agreeing with you being her cousin’s partner even though she only just met you.

“Oh… Thanks… I guess?” You said awkwardly, earning a laugh from her.

“No really! She’s such a spoiled brat. I don’t understand why my aunt is dying for Hoseok to marry her. Blegh…” Seori faked a gag at the end.

Just then, your eyes travelled over to the other side of the room, only to find Lena shooting daggers into your skull. You got uncomfortable under her intense gaze which caused you to fidget in your seat. Unfortunately, Hoseok noticed this so he turned to you and whispered carefully.

“Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

“H-Huh? Oh, n-nothing. I’m fine.” You smiled at him as he frowned knowing you were lying but he decided to just trust you so he snuck a quick kiss to your cheek before smiling at you.

Why is your heart racing?

An hour went by, Hoseok kept you close to him at all times, making sure Lena or his mother never got too close to you.

You were just talking to Seori and Wooyoung, another one of Hoseok’s cousins when you excused yourself to go to the washroom. You made it down the hall and was about to enter the bathroom when you heard bickerings from one of the rooms.

As bad as you know it would be to eavesdrop, you got even curious when you recognized one of the voices to be Hoseok’s.

The closer you got, the clearer those voices were. However, your heart wasn’t ready for what you were about to hear.

“I want you to break up with that stupid girl and marry Lena!”

“No mom! What the hell? You can’t do this to me!”

“I’m your mother! And I demand you to leave that lowlife brat or else, I won’t take you as my son anymore! You choose. Outsider or Family.” His mom threatened him as she began to walk towards the door.

For some reason, you couldn’t seem to move. Your feet were glued to the ground as your eyes pooled with tears at the brim.

The moment his mother pulled the door open harshly, you flinched.

The tears on your eyes were now falling freely down your cheeks. You locked eyes with Hoseok for a brief moment before you looked back at his mother who had a satisfied wicked smile on her face.

“So, you heard right? Break up with my son if you love him and care about him still being a part of this family.”

Hoseok was frozen behind her as he watched you carefully for your next words. You two were supposed to be strong for each other. You were supposed to come out of this family dinner hand in hand with a proud smile on your face. Unfortunately, that doesn’t seem to be the outcome tonight.

So with one shaky breath, you locked eyes with his mother while your tears streamed down your face, giving her exactly what she wanted.

“Okay. I promise I’ll leave your son alone from now on. This will be the last time you see me in his life, if that’s what you want Ma’am.”

“Good. Now leave. You don’t belong here.”

With that, you gave her a weak smile before you turned in your heels and ran. Hoseok was going to run after you but his mother stopped him.

Your running figure caught everyone’s attention as Seori and Wooyoung called out to you desperately but all you did was run to the front door and left. A few seconds later, Hoseok was seen running down the hall and was about to go to the front door when Hoseok’s mother yelled his name.

He stopped in his tracks, only for her to threaten him again.

“Jung Hoseok! Don’t you dare go after that girl!”

“Why?! Why not mom?! Why can’t I go after the one girl that I love?! Tell me mom! Tell me!”

“You don’t love her…” She scoffed, trying to convince herself that her son isn’t capable of finding love on his own.

“What do you know about love mom? You call marrying someone I don’t know, someone I’ve never talked to, someone I’ve never met before, love? If that’s what you call love, then I don’t want to be a part of it. In all my life, I’ve never known what is the true meaning of love besides a family’s love. And now I know…” He paused to take a deep breath before he continued.

“Call me insane, but I am in love with her. I am madly in love with the girl who you just blatantly threatened to break up with me. It’s such a low move of you to threaten an innocent girl when all she did was love me.” Hoseok said as he turned and was about to leave when his mother threatened him again.

“If you step out of this house right now just to go after that brat, you are never to step foot in this house ever again.”

With that being said, Hoseok turned around and gave her a sad smile. He knew the decision he was going to make. He knew it would probably change his life forever. And yet, not a single ounce of regret was lingering in him when he said the next few words.

“And let the girl I truly love slip out of my hands for good? I’m sorry mom, but I don’t think so.” Hoseok said and with that, he left.

Hoseok’s father had to hold his wife back from slaughtering her son as Seori and Wooyoung cheered for their cousin while Lena was just fuming in her seat.

Hoseok arrived at your apartment building, running up to your unit level only to pound his fist against your door. He waited a few seconds but all he got was silence. He tried a few more times and still no response. He panicked as he ran his fingers through his hair, trying to think of where else you could go.

Just then, it was as though something clicked in his brain that made him rush back to his car and soon drove off to the one possible place you could have gone to.

After a few more minutes on the road, Hoseok practically leaped out of his car and soon sprinted up the apartment steps not bothering to wait for the lift.

Once he was on level 4 where Namjoon’s apartment unit was, he gave it a few knocks.

It was currently 10:40pm so he knew damn well that Namjoon was still awake. Hoseok’s mind was currently running amuck as he tapped his foot impatiently against the ground.

Just then, the door opened to reveal Namjoon who looked worried for something, or perhaps someone.

“Joon ah! Please tell me she’s here…” Hoseok whispered desperately as his eyes pleaded for Namjoon to give him the answer he really wanted. Of course, Namjoon could never lie to his friend. Which is why Namjoon lets out a sigh of relief before smiling at the latter.

“She’s in my room.”

With that being said, Hoseok quickly kicked his shoes off only to walk towards Namjoon’s room carefully so as to not scare you.

Once he was standing in front of the door, he skipped the knocking and went straight ahead to open it.

The moment he did, his heart shattered upon seeing you sit on Namjoon’s bed with your knees up to your chest while you hugged them. You had your face buried in your arms as your soft cries echoed around the room.

Hoseok softly entered the room, closing the door behind him as he carefully made his way to you.

“Joonie… Why am I feeling this way? Why am I so sad? This is fake, isn’t it? All this is fake… So why does my heart hurt so bad?” You whispered in between sobs but still not looking up. You felt the mattress dip beside you which means someone had just climbed into bed with you.

Except, you just assumed it was Namjoon. Little did you know, you were wrong.

“Maybe because our feelings weren’t fake.”

His familiar gentle voice caught you off guard as you slowly brought your head up only to gasp when you locked eyes with Hoseok’s soft ones. He was smiling down at you, and yet, you could see how broken he was.

“H-Hoseok… W-Wha… What are you doing here?” Your voice was weak as you stuttered over your words.

“I left… I couldn’t let you leave.”

“N-No…” You croaked out. “N-No… No… What about your family? Hoseok, did you not hear what your mom said?”

With that being said, Hoseok gently cups your face with both hands as he shushes you to calm you down.

“Shh… Shh… It’s okay. I know what she said. But it doesn’t matter because what’s important is that we’re together.” He smiled as he kissed the tip of your nose, wiping your tears away with his thumbs.

“Hoseok…” Your voice was barely a whisper, earning a soft ‘shh’ from him yet again.

“I don’t care what she said. I don’t care what any of my family says. It's my life so I make my decisions. And right now, I’m so glad I left. That way I can show you just how much I truly care for you…” Hoseok paused as he slowly leaned closer to you until his lips were just an inch apart from yours, foreheads touching gently before he took one shaky breath and finally expressed his feelings for you wholeheartedly.

“I love you, Y/N.”

Your heart was pounding against your chest as you closed your eyes, afraid to look him in the eye. Finally, with one small breath, you whispered your reply for his little confession.

“I love you too, Hoseok.”

And just like that, Hoseok smiled as he caressed your cheeks before he kissed you on the lips.

Your heart almost jumps out of your chest as you slide your hands around his waist. He kissed you so sweetly, you nearly allowed yourself to fall on him. Hoseok pulls away with a soft sound, keeping one hand on your cheek while the other rests on your neck.

He kept his forehead gently against yours as his lips purposely brushed over your lips. You could hear his nervous breaths, only for him to whisper against your lips.

“Let me love you properly this time. You’re all that I want.”

With that, you couldn’t help but giggle feeling your heart full again. You loved him. You don’t know what you did to deserve him. Nevertheless, you promised to love him back equally.

7 months had passed without any of you realizing. Hoseok has been staying with Namjoon ever since that unfortunate incident with his parents, more specifically his mother. Hoseok hasn’t talked to his parents ever since, simply fulfilling her request if he decided to leave the house that night.

You were in a stable relationship with Hoseok in which he has shown you more love than what he was capable of giving you previously when you were fake dating.

He showered you with so much love, it makes your heart melt every single time.

It was a gloomy Saturday afternoon. You went over to Namjoon’s place to hangout with him and your boyfriend. Upon your arrival, Hoseok seemed too excited as he quickly tackled you down onto the sofa whilst he tickled the life out of you.

You had to beg him to stop as you ended up panting for air. You were just cuddling with Hoseok on the couch while Namjoon sat on the huge bean bag chair at the corner while you all watched the movie.

You were just drawing random patterns onto Hoseok’s clothed chest, earning soft kisses at the top of your head when you heard the doorbell ring.

All of you glanced around at each other, only for Hoseok to ask his roommate if he ordered anything.

Upon Namjoon saying no, the male stood up and made his way to the door. You and Hoseok continued watching the show while Namjoon went to answer the door. A few seconds later, you heard Namjoon’s voice calling to Hoseok from the end of the hallway but for some reason, his voice sounded a little suspicious.

You definitely didn’t expect this.

“Uh, Seok ah, you might wanna pause the movie.” Namjoon warned as you both turned around. The minute you locked eyes with Hoseok’s parents, you immediately tensed up whilst he sat up straighter in an alert stance.

“Mom. Dad.” Hoseok whispered under his breath as the two of them smiled at their son.

You could feel the tension rising as Hoseok’s body became stiff. To avoid making things worse, you carefully got up and excused yourself.

Before you could leave, Hoseok grabbed your wrist as his eyes were begging for you to stay.

“You should talk to them.” You whispered as you looked at his parents and soon gave them a small nod before you and Namjoon left them to head to Namjoon’s bedroom.

You closed the door behind you and the minute you were inside, you couldn’t help but let out a shaky sigh. Pressing your back against the door, you slid down to the ground until you were seated on the floor. Namjoon frowned as he went over to you, pulling you into a warm hug as he caressed the back of your head comfortingly.

Meanwhile, Hoseok's parents took a seat on the same couch he was in except there was a huge gap between Hoseok and his mom.

“My dear son, how are you sweetheart?” His mom smiled sadly, knowing Hoseok probably still held a grudge on her.

“I’m fine…” Hoseok said coldly, unsure of how to react.

“How’s school? Everything okay?” His dad asked.

“Yeah. I’m coping okay. Nothing out of the ordinary for me as usual.” Hoseok shrugged as he looked everywhere but his parents. Just then, his mother was the first to apologize.

“I’m really sorry for the way I acted that night… I… I wasn’t thinking.”

Hoseok finally looked at his mom with a deep frown on his face.

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I shouldn’t have treated Y/N that way and that I shouldn’t have made those threats to you and her when I should be happy that you found love and that you were genuinely happy to be with her… I’m so sorry, dear.” His mother started to tear up as Hoseok’s heart immediately softened for her.

Of course he couldn’t hate her.

He could never hate his mother.

So when she began to cry, Hoseok scooted closer to hug her, rubbing her back soothingly to calm her down. His father simply smiled as he patted Hoseok’s back a few times for he wasn’t a man of affection. No doubt, he still loves his family dearly.

A few minutes later, Hoseok pulled away from his mother, only for the lady to sniffle and ask, “Can I see her? I want to see the girl who’s been making my son so happy.” She smiled as Hoseok nodded.

He soon got up, making his way to Namjoon’s bedroom. He gave it a few knocks before opening it, only to find Namjoon and you seated on his bed facing each other, placing a game of rock paper scissors. You were just laughing at Namjoon’s mistake when you heard the door creak open and soon, you met Hoseok’s soft eyes.

“Hey…” Hoseok said as he stepped inside briefly to walk to you and Namjoon.

“How’s everything?” Namjoon asked with a weak smile, only for Hoseok to speak up.

“We made up…”

“Oh? That’s amazing.” Namjoon sighed in relief but then Hoseok looked at you and placed a soft hand on your thigh.

“But now my mom wants to see you.” Immediately, your breath hitched in your throat.

What if she still hates you?

Hoseok could sense your worries so he squeezed your thigh softly and soon reassured you that if anything goes wrong, he’ll be there to protect you. With his words of affirmation, you both finally left the room with Namjoon flopping onto his bed.

You walked behind Hoseok while he laced his fingers with yours. The minute you came into the living room, you locked eyes with his mother and for some reason, her words from that night came haunting you back.

You unconsciously hid behind Hoseok and his mother saw this.

However, the frown on her face couldn’t easily be mistaken for anything else. She knew she would leave this effect on you, but maybe not to this extent. And for that, she feels bad.

Seeing how you wouldn’t budge from behind him, Hoseok gently tugs you forward while he whispers to you, “It’s okay… I’m here…”

This was enough to give you some moral support as you carefully sat down on the couch beside his mother.

“Hi dear, how are you?” She asked as you saw a brand new tear threatening to roll down her cheeks.

“I-I’m good, Ma’am.”

“Don’t worry sweetheart, I’m not here to yell at you… I’m here to say sorry. I know what I said to you that night wasn’t right. And I know that I can’t take back whatever I said. And I totally understand if you don’t forgive me. All I wanna say is thank you for making my son happy. I can see that he truly loves you. I’m sorry once again.” She smiled as the tear finally rolled down her cheek.

All the while, you were still holding Hoseok’s hand as he sat closely behind you but his fingers were laced with yours on your lap while his right hand gently caressed your sides to calm your nerves down.

For some reason, you could see the sincerity behind her apology. Which is why you reached for her hand afterwards and spoke up.

“I forgive you.”

His mother stared at you in shock, surprised that you forgave her despite all the things she said to you.

“You… really forgive me?”

“I understand that all you wanted was the best for your child. And I couldn’t blame you for that. But apart from that, I’m thankful that you finally approve of my relationship with your son. I love him so much but I dread to see him being torn apart from his family.” You said.

His mother couldn’t help but cry harder as you offered her a hug to which she openly accepted.

You rubbed her back to soothe her nerves only to hear her say, “Hoseok did an excellent job at choosing the right girl.”

You pulled away to find her smiling at you before glancing past your shoulder to look at her son with a look that Hoseok seemed to understand. His parents soon took their leave, while you went back to join Namjoon after saying goodbye to Hoseok’s parents.

Hoseok was just standing by the door to say bye to his parents when his mother cups his face and whispers, “Don’t lose her, no matter what people say. She’s a keeper.”

With that being said, she kissed his forehead and soon left.

Hoseok couldn’t agree more with his mother’s sentence, knowing that he would never let go of you that easily nor would he lose you because of other people’s words. He won’t ever let those things happen.

And that’s exactly what he’s going to do.

~~~

[happyandticklish]

Dinner

Shizaya Week - Day Two (angst with happy ending)

Notes: Angst with a fluffy ending, you say? My two favorite genres of fic, you say? Why yes I will, thank you very much.

Izaya’s fingers tapped absently against his desk, a telltale sign of the impatience rising slowly within him. One hour. He was supposed to be here one hour ago. And yet, his place at the dinner table remained empty. The food that had been laid out, before steaming and delicious, was now a cold and unappetizing sight. Izaya had eaten already, after the first twenty minutes had rendered no sign of the other—no point in wasting both plates.

He sighed, checking his watch again. There were lots of reasons why Shizuo could have been held up, he told himself. It could have been traffic (doubtful considering Shizuo rarely drove). Maybe work had gone late. Maybe one of his clients had been a little too aggressive and Shizuo had stayed behind to deal with the aftermath. 

Unless something had gone wrong. Unless he was alone and injured somewhere and Izaya had no idea. His fingers momentarily stopped their tapping to curl into an anxious fist. He of all people knew how dangerous Ikebukuro could be, especially late at night.

Which it was. By now, anyway. He stood up, the idea of remaining sitting any longer suddenly repulsive to the man. He paced the floor, chewing on his lip idly. He knew he was being ridiculous, but he couldn’t help the way anxiety clawed at his chest, whispering falsehoods into his ear.

By the time two hours had passed and still no sight of him, Izaya began to get truly worried. Surely he would have texted, if something had gone wrong? He wouldn’t just leave the other in the dark like that. But then again… maybe he would?

Izaya stopped, a cold seeping into his limbs. Maybe Shizuo had simply come to his senses and realized that there was no point dating someone like him. After all, they weren’t technically official yet. Meetings in alleys and stolen kisses in the middle of the night didn’t count as a relationship. This was their first official date, suggested hesitantly by Izaya as the two lay curled in his bed one night. Shizuo had agreed, his words mumbled with sleep as he pressed his nose against Izaya’s shoulder, kissing him softly; he was always so gentle when they were together like that, entirely unlike his usual persona. Izaya hadn’t thought to check back up with him after that, but maybe he should have? Maybe Shizuo had forgotten about the conversation entirely—they had both been half-asleep at the time, after all.

In the corner of his eye, Shizuo’s plate sat, abandoned and yearning for company. Trying not to feel too disheartened, Izaya grabbed the plate, scraping the untouched meal into the trash. He pushed in the chairs, going about the process of cleaning off the table and starting water for dishes in the sink. Each solitary action made the already sinking feeling in Izaya’s gut heavier. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t foreseen this outcome, but assuming the worst and having it brought to reality were two different things entirely.

By the time 10 o’clock rolled around, Izaya was convinced Shizuo had ghosted him. It made sense. If Izaya was being honest, he was surprised the other had taken this long to show his true feelings on the matter. He collapsed on the couch, an arm thrown over his face dismissively. He tried not to let the crushing disappointment weigh him down, but it was difficult. He felt his eyelids drifting down slowly as the exhaustion from worrying caught up with him. Sleep took him soon after that, a welcome relief after the disaster of a night.

 “Iza? Are you awake?”

The info broker startled at the soft, but tense voice, and jerked forward, nearly headbutting Shizuo in the process. Shizuo caught his shoulders before he could, however, smiling apologetically.

“Hey.”

Instantly, Izaya was bombarded by a rush of relief at the other’s presence, though it was quickly followed by annoyance. “So. Dinner wasn’t important then?”

Shizuo’s shoulders slumped, as though he had been hoping the other wouldn’t bring it up. “Yeah…. I’m really, truly sorry about that. I got caught up with work and then my phone died and I couldn’t call you—” he broke off, guilt creeping into his voice. “I shouldn’t excuse it, though. I should’ve been there. Or found a payphone. Or something.”

As Izaya listened to the other’s ramblings, he felt his irritation disintegrating and a shy happiness rising in its place. Of course Shizuo wouldn’t miss out on their dinner. It seemed simple now, with the knowledge assured. He squeezed the fabric of the couch, resisting the urge to grin like a fool.

“It’s fine,” he said, attempting a casual tone as he knocked his foot against the other’s leg in reassurance. “I’m sure I’ll find it in me to forgive you one day. It’s a shame though—you skipped out on a wonderful gourmet meal cooked by yours truly. Not everyone gets the honor.”

“I’m sorry to have missed it.” Shizuo replied, coming to sit beside him on the couch and quirking an eyebrow playfully. He was temptingly close now, and goosebumps scattered over Izaya’s flesh as he thought of all the ways to make up for lost time.

“If only,” Izaya started slowly, his gaze coming to rest on Shizuo’s lips. “There was some way for you to repay me for forgetting our date tonight.”

“Oh, so it was a date then?” Shizuo pressed him down on the couch, grabbing his hands and pulling them over his head with an ease that sent shivers running down Izaya’s spine. “You know, I think I have just the thing.”

“Is that so?” Izaya replied breathlessly, trying not to sound too excited.

Shizuo smirked, and Izaya squeaked in surprise when instead of a kiss he was met with a shock to his nerves as Shizuo squeezed his hips suddenly with his free hand. He jerked on his arms, attempting to block the other’s touch, but found himself powerless against the other man. He bit his lip, trying to block the trembling laughter rising quickly in his throat.

“A-Ah, wait, p-pfft, heh, Shihizuo!” Izaya giggled, squirming weakly underneath him. Shizuo worked skillfully to tweak and pinch his sides in such a way that the other was soon in stitches. Izaya couldn’t tell if he loved or hated that his boyfriend (if that is what they were) knew his body so well that he could play him like an instrument. “T-Thihis ihihisn’t whahat Ihihi hahahad ihihin mihihind!”

“It’s not?” Shizuo rose an eyebrow in mock surprise. “Really? Is this not cheering you up?”

Izaya kicked his legs out, whining pitifully as Shizuo’s fingers traveled under his shirt, getting at bare skin. “Plehehehehease!”

“You’re not saying no.”

Izaya blushed, averting his gaze. “Yohohou’re insuhuhufferable!”

“I’m well aware. I’m also aware that you love it.”

Izaya squeaked as nails scribbled under his arms, arching back against the couch. The two stayed like that for quite a while, the apartment filled with the sounds of laughter and gentle teasing.

In the end, it wasn’t the worst way that the night could have ended. 

[spicysoftsweet]

Kinktober: Week 2

Illumi x Fem!Reader - Earned It (NSFW)

A/N: trigger warning, your boy is on some dom shit and this toes the line into dubcon. Anyway Illumi loves his wife (you).

Song: Earned It by the Weeknd

Make sure to check out my lovely mutuals (@trash-writings, @hisokapegger​ @mynameseri​ for the rest of today’s Kinktober posts!)

---

I'ma care for you

I'ma care for you, you, you, you

---

You were suspended in the air, bound and blindfolded, with nothing to ground you to the very earth except the sound of your husband pronouncing your name.

The single utterance seemed to bounce around the room unstably, or maybe you were just disoriented by the very slight spin you were taking. Your heart stopped, then restarted almost as quickly with your moment of realization - you were floating, rotating slowly and somehow purposely around a point. 

One fact was obvious. That point, that focus was Illumi. Illumi was - had always been - your center.

That you would have to depend on himself for your sense of the world at this very instant was only right. Good, even. Illumi’s calm, neutral voice was the gravitational force that kept you tied to the very earth, after all. He was the reason why you existed the way you did, living in luxury, showered with the finest of clothing, provided with the most exquisite of meals, plush surroundings, constant security, devoted servants…

You were but a vase of fine flowers after all; he watered you often and intentionally so that you could continue to display beauty and bear fruit. All you had to do was to smile and nod (when appropriate and prompted to, of course), letting your natural grace shine through on the few occasions you left the manor to accompany him on business. It was a simple task and you played the role perfectly, and Illumi normally rewarded you heavily afterwards for being his good little wife. 

But were you still his good little wife tonight? The infinitesimally small edge to his voice, something you had trained yourself to detect over the years could suggest otherwise. 

For now, you could only wonder what you had so royally fucked up this time to find yourself horizontal against gravity, ropes intricately but more importantly, securely, looped over every joint and curve.

“Illumi... are you there?” You called back to him tentatively, the mixture of fear and nervous anticipation mounting inside you evident in the very timbre of your reply.

Illumi’s voice, lowered three octaves, called out your name from a point you could not identify. You shivered, and only then could you deduce you were as bare as the day you were born.

“Are you ready to accept your punishment?”

---

You make it look like it's magic (Oh yeah)

'Cause I see nobody, nobody but you, you, you

I'm never confused

Hey, hey

I'm so used to bein' used

---

Cold fingers lightly drum the skin of your inner thigh; you let out a single shallow gasp, acutely aware of how your legs were parted just so, knees bent such that your ankles were in some way you couldn’t identify bound to your wrists.

Exposed.

Your arms immobilized behind you, you could do nothing, not even squirm as Illumi’s frigid fingers continued to thread closer and closer to that waiting, wanting spot in the center, your center, trailing up your left thigh. But instead of leaving ice in their wake, you felt your skin start to burn passionately at his touch.

Then without warning, his other hand came down firmly on your right inner thigh and a flash of white replaced the dark before your tearing eyes as the impact of his palm hitting your skin reverberated in the room with a loud slap. 

You cried out, and you could almost feel him revel in your anguish, as he gently rubbed the pain out of the still searing skin.

“You always seem to be misbehaving, my love.” The term of endearment came out drawn out and harsh, but not as harsh as the rough stroke of his tongue attacking the space between your legs. You writhed in something like pleasure, letting out another sharp gasp as he drew his tongue across once more, applying firm pressure on your thighs the entire time. 

You began to whimper as you felt the sting of his nails digging into your soft flesh, but he began his onslaught on your clit, your lower vulva and everything in between peppering it with kisses and penetrating you with his soft, pink tongue rendering you into a whining, convulsing mess. 

Your head spun as he ravished you, and with nothing to hold, to squeeze, to center you, you found yourself screaming. “I-Illu! Illumi, p-please… stop, it’s too much!”

Too much of what? Something… Everything...

Illumi had long since grown unaffected by any pleas for amnesty, but for you, his good little wife, he paused just briefly enough to give you a short reprieve, where you had a moment to catch your breath but his touch remained constant. You could tell he had not moved from his spot when he spoke as his breath settled on your wet lips and sent a sensation like ice throughout your lower half.

He was just getting started, you could feel his hunger in the air, and he rocked you slowly, just a couple centimeters to and fro from your harness, safe and secure (and really not safe at all) before stopping your movement abruptly, and pressing his lips against your lower lips, forcing another shiver down your spine.

“Do I need to tape your mouth shut too, my love? You’re interrupting an exquisite meal.”

---

So I love when you call unexpected

'Cause I hate when the moment's expected

So I'ma care for you, you, you

I'ma care for you, you, you, you, yeah

---

His fingers were just as unforgiving as his mouth. A single finger teased your slick entrance while he grabbed a handful of one asscheek, and pierced into you keeping time with soft but hungry kisses on your lower back. As your walls started to clench around the single, slender finger boring into your vault, his hands began to rub circles around your bottom, and he began to suck and nip harder at that curve of your spine. Your breathing grew heavy and moans began to slip out of your throat, the quickening pump of his single digit intensified by your lack of input from your other senses.

A second finger slipped in and curled, tapping just at the little bit of flesh that shot pleasure through you and you cried once more, unable to stay silent for him.

“I~Illumi!”

“Keep quiet.” He admonished harshly, without hesitating to add a third finger to stretch out your already dripping cunt. His fingers were moving too quickly now, and with every slide in and out, tears formed and flowed, your eyes trying to resolve the overstimulation he was giving you. Nipples hardening, heart pounding, you could even feel your lips getting fuller, you were so painfully aroused, or maybe you were just biting your lip too hard in order to stay quiet… You weren’t quite sure of anything really, a fog seemed to descend even more, dulling your already deprived senses and all you could feel were Illumi, his fingers, his kisses, his other hand now squeezing and then slapping your ass hard enough that you swung forward, his lips nipping and sucking at your clit expertly, sending waves of pleasure through your entire body from your toes to the tips of your nose.

“I-Illu…”

“Shhh, let me take care of you, like this.”

---

'Cause girl, you're perfect

You're always worth it

And you deserve it

The way you work it

'Cause girl, you earned it, yeah

Girl, you earned it, yeah

---

“Illu~ ah!” Your words were cut off by the abrupt intrusion of something, much, much larger than a set of fingers and his ever so slight groan filled the air as he made his way inside, filling you so deeply you were certain you could feel him in your stomach. Despite the confident way in which his cockhead slipped so effortlessly past your walls and found a home deep within your guts, nice and snug between blankets of clenching, crying flesh, you felt a jolt of discomfort, and he paused mercifully for a moment to let you adjust to the deep yet pleasurable stretch.

A low, almost primal, moan escaped your throat and his hand reached for your scalp, letting his soiled fingers dance through your hair. Another hand looped around your waist to tease and play with your taut nipples. The moment of rest to adjust to him inside you was meant to be reassuring, to give you time before he really started to wreck you, but your body ached for him to move, your core pulsing and crying out for him.

“I-Illu, please,” you whimpered, your voice coming out as a shaky, high whine as his body stayed pressed to yours. You could feel his cock throbbing inside you, settled with a rhythmic throb, and the most terrifying thought to you at this time was that he wouldn’t move, he wouldn’t ram you to death, and you would stay like this, aching to feel pleasure, to feel him.

“Do you want me to move? Do you crave me, my little sexy wife?”

“Y-yes, Illumi...”

“Say it.” His arms wrapped around your back, groping both breasts, teasing both nipples between his second and third fingers as he brought you securely against his chest.

“Illumi, I want you.”

---

You know our love would be tragic (Oh yeah)

So you don't pay it, don't pay it no mind, mind, mind

We live with no lies

Hey, hey

You're my favorite kind of night

---

“Oh, just want?” A single twitch of his cock inside you sent another wave of pleasure through your core and hunger, desire, lust continued to burn inside you.

“Illu, I need you…,” you croaked out. His lips brushed over your neck slightly.

“Just need?” He said, his tone amused. You knew he could do this all night, he was much stronger than you were, in all respects, even this. Frustration started to build.

“Illu, please...” Your panting grew heavier, it was getting hard to breathe with this fog inside you deepening even further. His hands were traveling up your chest to your throat, and now he was moving you, angling you upwards something like 45 degrees, or more, you weren’t sure. His hands still securely but gently around your throat, he now bit at your earlobe.

“Please what?” He whispered between bites, traveling down your neck.

“P-please fuck me!” You couldn’t take this much longer. You didn’t know why he was doing this to you, everything had been good, you had played your role so perfectly, why was he edging you so harshly?

He pulled back inside you just a single inch only to slam into you hard once, so hard you saw stars, but inside you craved more.

“Are you turned on?” He was still again, and your body yearned for him.

You let out another moan.

“Please… more… again…”

“I need you to know how hard it is for me to wait,” he hissed, still kissing, still nipping, still edging you. His shaft, still impressively hard, maybe even harder the longer he tortured you, continued to nestle inside you, pulsing, twitching every so often as though to remind you of the power it held to ruin you, if only it decided to.

You were now whining incomprehensibly and he began to slowly rock you back and forth on the suspension, cruelly making sure not to unsheath himself a single inch to deny you pleasure.

“You know, you made me hard in public,” he said. “In fact, it’s so hard to concentrate any time I see you. There’s just something you do-” - he rammed into you once again to accentuate the word, “- to me, and it’s just so…”

He didn’t finish his sentence, instead angling you downwards back into the horizontal position, shifting his hands from your neck to grip your waist instead in seconds, and it was almost as if he himself no longer could resist.

“Ridiculously lewd.”

It was like a dam had broken inside him, and now he was pounding into you mercilessly, a low growl escaping his lips as he sheathed and unsheathed himself into your tight pussy, the force of your body slamming into his hips accentuated by the momentum of the ropes from which you dangled. 

“You’re so fucking tight for me, as usual,” he hissed, clutching at you once to stop your swings, forcing himself so far forward inside you that once again, you saw the entire galaxy. In two quick movements, your bindings at your wrists and ankles were freed, and he stood you upright so that he could press you tightly against him.

“I want to do so many naughty things to you, you despicable woman,” he whispered into your ears. Through your drunken haze, you found the strength to respond.

“Do anything you want to me, Master Illumi.”

---

On that lonely night (Lonely night)

We said it wouldn't be love

But we felt the rush (Fell in love)

It made us believe it was only us (Only us)

Convinced we were broken inside, yeah, inside, yeah

---

He ripped off your blindfold and spun you around to face him. Your wrists may not have been bound to your ankles any longer, but he quickly raised your arms to the ceiling and bound them together, then proceeded to pull the rope down so that you were suspended just the right height, his eyes on you lustfully the entire time.

Your husband’s beautiful features, usually neutral, were now twisted into lust, hunger, anger, fascination, all because of you… the sight made you burn up with a licentious heat. This time, without him having to prompt you, you swung forward to wrap your legs around his waist, and standing now, he bounced you up and down his cock, maintaining eye contact and pausing intermittently to envelop your lips in a hungry, all-consuming kiss.

“You bewitched me,” he whispered between kisses. “You should be punished.”

You had done no such thing. In fact, you’d fallen first. You had always loved him first. Illumi was the only thing that you needed, that you would ever need.

“I-if this is the - ah - punishment for taking - ah - your heart, I’ll a-accept it many... many times over,” you choked out, your arms aching to wrap around his neck.

Illumi rarely smiled, but this time, his lips curled into a devilish, excited grin as he sped up.

---

‘Cause girl, you're perfect (Girl, you're perfect)

You're always worth it (You're always worth it)

And you deserve it (And you deserve it)

The way you work it (The way you work it)

'Cause girl, you earned it, yeah (You earned it)

Girl, you earned it, yeah (You earned it)

[jimlingss]

Sugar and Coffee [13]

Chapter 12 - Chapter 13 - Chapter 14

➜ Words: 4.3k

➜ Genres: 99.5% Fluff, 0.5% Angst, Pâtisserie school!AU

➜ Summary: It isn't hard to be a pâtisserie chef, but it's not a piece of cake either. It seems like for you in particular, life keeps throwing in one wrench after another. It always finds ways to make your sweets bitter. The cherry on top is Jeon Jungkook — a rival with a sensitive sweet tooth who always finds ways to complain about you.

cr.

“I’m in love with you,” he asserts.   “Gross.”   Your answer is instinctive. But you’re not disgusted with him. Your features don’t twist. Your lips don’t become lopsided. Rather, the word is stated blankly. Impulsively. After all, you’ve conditioned yourself to respond like that — like anything in relation to romance is now awful.   “Yeah.” Jungkook sighs, hair shagging over his forehead as he looks down. “I know. I’m pretty disgusted with myself too. But it doesn’t change the fact that I’m still in love with you. Fucking head over heels and all that crap.”   You’re rendered speechless, about to ask him if he’s fucking with you, if this is some kind of sick joke.   But then suddenly, Jungkook sighs loudly, startling you. His rigid body deflates, the tension in his muscles leaves and he knocks his head back, taking a deep breath. “God, it feels so good to be honest. With myself and with you.”   The sun is setting over the horizon, the warmth soaking into his skin and softening his edges. The pair of you face each other in the middle of the empty sidewalk on an equally empty campus. There’s nowhere to run, nowhere to take cover.   You wonder how long he’s felt this way for.   You’re conflicted, unsure what to tell him. “Love’s a strong word, Jungkook.”   “I’m aware.”   “H-How are you even sure?”   The dark-haired man looks you in the eye, his own becoming half-lidded. His breathing turns shallow, heavy in his chest and out his parted lips. “I’m sure.”   You know Jungkook well enough to recognize his earnest sincerity. There isn’t a shred of doubt in his gaze nor his expression. He doesn’t waver once in his bold conviction. There’s only truth.   “Well…...shit.” The words sink into you. The claws and pointed ends of each syllable nick into your flesh. In an instant, your impassiveness is torn from you — your placid state taken — your stoic face uncovered. “Fuck. Fuck!”    You scream up into the sky, turning around, hands in your hair. What he’s saying registers and you hate it. You hate that love has to mess up every single relationship that you have. Goddamn. You can’t keep that disease away from affecting the people you care about most.   Jungkook watches you have the small meltdown with widened eyes, not sure what to do or say. But then you whirl around after a moment, determination set in your features. All of a sudden, you grab his hand, patting it with your other firmly as if you were a doctor coaxing and comforting a patient.   “We can overcome this together.”   “What?”   “It’s okay. This happens. If you’re friends with someone from the gender you’re attracted to, it’s natural you end up having a crush on them. It’s expected actually, considering we spend so much time together and interact so much. People encounter this issue all the time, but we can overcome it, Jungkook. Together.” You put your hand on his shoulder, eyes sympathetic. “I’ll help you get over me.”   Jungkook can feel his left eye twitching.   Of all responses, he did not expect this one. You’re acting like his therapist and that he’s got some kind of illness. You even end up thanking him for telling you the truth.   Jungkook might actually need to see a therapist after talking to you.

Infatuation only lasts so long. Personally, in your humble opinion, you aren’t hot shit anyway. You’re not that great. Jungkook will get over himself when he sees you for how you really are.   If anyone’s ever liked you, they won’t for long — you have evidence of that.   “Hey, buddy!” You give finger guns as a greeting, making sure to not get too close to him.   “You don’t need to patronize me.”   Your voice releases stiff laughter. “Alright, bro.” You put your fist out for a fist bump, but Jungkook completely ignores you. He walks right past you with his hands in the pockets of his open coat.   “Are you coming or are you going to stand there like an idiot?” he asks, briefly glancing over his shoulder.   You scoff.   Ever since the whole traumatizing confession, nothing’s changed. But at the same time everything has.   Jungkook doesn’t act any differently — he still glares at you, calls you stupid and a witch. But you also begin to notice how affectionate his physical gestures are, when he taps your arm, when takes your shoulder to guide you away from a crowd, when he pats your head.    And your efforts of keeping things as platonic as possible inadvertently makes everything awkward. It’s even worse now that you’re literally spending so much time with Jungkook. Exclusively. It’s just him, and for the months to come, it will only be him.   You’ve already decided within the first minute that you won’t ignore him or distance yourself. You can’t. Not with the upcoming internship, and not when you’ve had that happen to you. You won’t do such a cruel thing to someone else. Jungkook will always be your friend no matter what and you’ll make sure of that.   You catch up with him. “You know, I haven’t showered in days. This is like three-day old hair. Greasy, right? I just get so lazy showering.”   “Right.” He ignores you.   It goes silent and you noisily clear your throat. “Man, I had the worst shit today. It was explosive, dude.”   “You really think toilet humour is going to make me stop liking you?” Jungkook stops in his tracks and you halt in a delayed manner. He shifts towards you, glaring. “What do you take me for?”   You pout. “At least I’m trying.”   “Try harder.” He pauses. “For the sake of both of us.”   You’re befuddled over his answer and when he starts walking again, you quicken your pace to match his. “What? You don’t want to like me?”   “Not if you don’t want me to. I just wonder what’s more difficult,” he hums thoughtfully, “You trying to get me to stop liking you or me trying to make you like me.”   “I already like you,” you mumble.   “See?” Jungkook points out abruptly as the corner of his mouth quirks into a subtle smile. “That’s not going to help with my situation.”   “Sorry.” Your cheeks puff in your pout.   “Neither is that,” He says and when you quirk your head to the side, brows furrowing, he grins boyishly. “Stop worrying about it before you give yourself wrinkles. Save your energy for the internship. I’m the least of your concerns.”   He’s wrong.    Jeon Jungkook is the biggest thing on your mind lately.

Kim’s Wedding Cake Company sits in the middle of Imlings Avenue.    It’s a bakery played in between two small boutiques. It has tan brick walls and the shop’s sign is slightly worn around the red letters, but still legible. The doorway is narrow and crowded by two large glass windows on either side that invites onlookers inside for a session of cake tasting.   The bell chimes as Jungkook pushes the door open, keeping it wide until you’re able to step in.   The cream walls and the floorboards create a cozy atmosphere like you’re home. But what sets it aside from an intimate abode is the paintings of wedding cakes on the walls and the rounded tables with chairs around them for customers to sit at.   A counter is curved at the corner of the room, cutting off the main area from the back. The moment the bell stops ringing, a short woman comes frantically stumbling out from the doorway.   “Welcome!”    She grins and the wrinkles around her eyes crease. Her brunette hair is in a bun, strays falling to frame her face. The woman is maybe around her early forties. “Congratulations on your engagement!” She grabs her binder and starts flipping. “Do you have an appointment?”   “Oh no! He and I…” You point at Jungkook and then back at yourself, flustered. “We’re not like that.”   Jungkook is holding back laughter, watching you flounder about. You’ve suddenly become so anxious at the idea that the pair of you are engaged. He turns away to look at the woman. “What she means is that we’re your interns.”   “Oh, thank god.” The woman sighs, stepping back. “For a second here, I thought I had completely forgotten about an appointment.” She turns on her feet, placing her hands on her hips and shouts, “Namjoon! Honey! We were supposed to get our interns today?!”   From the other room, a man’s voice screams back. “What?!”   She goes closer to the doorway, shrieking, “Our interns! Were they supposed to come today?!”   “No! They’re coming in a week from now!”   “Then why are they standing right here?!”   “What?!”   “Why are they standing here?!”   You exchange a look with Jungkook, not sure what’s going on. At the same time, a stocky, tall man in the traditional chef's uniform emerges — white double-breasted jacket, black pants and an apron. “I heard you, I heard you.”   “Did you mark it wrong in the calendar again?”   “I swear I didn’t—” The older man’s eyes widen as they catch the two of you standing there awkwardly. You lift your hand in salutation and he laughs. “Well, what do you know! Here they are, today! Welcome to our home!”   Namjoon opens the wooden separator, comes out and wipes his hands on his apron haphazardly to shake both of your hands. His wife sighs and follows closely to greet you. “You must be Y/N and Jungsook?”   “Jungkook,” he corrects in dismay while you try to hide your giggles.   “Right, right. My bad. My name is Namjoon and my wife here is Sejeong.”   Sejeong smiles. “I’m glad you’re both on board. Do you have any experience doing wedding cakes?”   “No, we haven’t.”   “It’s alright,” she reassures, “We’ll teach you along the way.”   “We need all the help we can get.” Namjoon sighs. “Ever since Soohyun went on maternity leave, we’ve been swamped up to our chins. Doesn’t help that it’s wedding season.”   “Auntie.” A four foot eight girl comes out from the back, her long black hair tied into a ponytail at the crown of her head, and coral apron tied around her body. “The chocolate’s melted—”   The girl freezes on her spot, big eyes pinpointing onto Jungkook. You glance at him, and he looks at you with a small shrug.   “Has it?” Sejeong smiles and brushes past her. “I’ll go check.”   The younger girl doesn’t move and Namjoon smiles. “Oh, this is my eighteen year old niece, Yuna. She’s working here part-time to help out, mostly on the weekends when she’s not at school.”   “Nice to meet you.” She timidly approaches Jungkook, clearing her throat and batting her lashes at him.   Jungkook blankly shakes her hand. “Hi.”   You extend your own hand and it’s only then that she seems to notice you and reluctantly shakes it. “I’m Y/N and this is Jungkook.”   “Jungkook,” she murmurs after you. “So you’re going to work here till August?”   “Yes, they will.” Namjoon laughs heartily. “You should go help your aunt look at the chocolate, Yuna. You can only learn if you know what you did wrong or right.”   “Fine.” She exhales and drags her feet away, throwing a fleeting look to Jungkook over her shoulder.   Namjoon re-directs his attention to the two of you with a softened smile. “Let me show you around!”    The back area is a short hall that splits into three. The door to the left is a room with a table and chairs, posters of wedding cakes on the walls and happily married couples on their wedding day. “This is our only private room we have. It’s just in case a couple has a large party with them or would like some privacy when we have our consultation.”   You peek your head into the room across from it. “That is our staff room and our bathroom and where our offices are. You can always eat your lunch or take a break here.”   Namjoon leads you the other way and it’s to the place you know best — silver countertops, stoves, ovens, and sinks galore. “And this is our kitchen. We have a fridge here where we keep our cakes, a small fridge, our pantry. You’ll get yourself familiar pretty soon, don’t worry.”   You return from the tour back to the main area, asking questions along the way which Namjoon is happy to answer. The pair of you also offer more insight into what you know and he’s pleasantly surprised that his two interns are more experienced than expected.   “It can get pretty hectic around here during the wedding season. Some days we just have appointments and cake tasting all day. Other times, we’re rushing to make a wedding cake for the following day or we might be at the wedding venue getting it all set up. We usually open up shop around eight in the morning and you guys are let off at four.”   “Don’t worry, if we have to stay late to catch up on work or finish a cake up, you’ll get paid handsomely.” Namjoon grins. “We work five days a week. Sometimes you’ll have to come in on the Saturday if we have a wedding on Sunday, but it’s not often. Any questions? Comments?”   “Um…” You exchange expressions with Jungkook. “No, not really. I think we got it.”   Suddenly the older man bursts out laughing, startling you both. “You two don’t have to be so anxious! I was a student once too. Don’t they say wedding cake internships are one of the hardest ones you can take?”   “Uh.” Jungkook gingerly smiles. “We’ve heard of that.”   “Yep.” The older man bobs his head. “That’s what I thought. But don’t worry, it’ll be a lot of work, but it’ll be fun. Just don’t get on my wife’s bad side and you’ll be fine and dandy.”   “Are you talking badly about me?” Sejeong comes from the back, glaring at her husband.   “Oh, there she comes.” In spite of his playful warnings, Namjoon laughs, dimples marked on each side of his cheek. He leans over to plop a kiss at the top of her head and waltzes into the back, leaving her sighing.   “That man. Hopeless, I swear. Anyhow...I hope you both are ready!” Sejeong claps her hands together. “No time like the present to start learning and diving into it! We have a couple arriving in an hour for a consultation and I want you guys to lead. Should be easy enough!”   The two of you nod, preparing yourselves.   //   Both Namjoon and Sejeong give you a few moments to yourselves to breathe and not be overwhelmed. But you’re kind of excited. It’s a bit surreal that one moment you’re sitting in a lecture hall learning about theory and the next, you’re in the real world, about to apply all the knowledge you’ve gathered. For a while now, you’ve missed working and being more hands-on.   You glance down to your coral apron they gave you. Jungkook is in the same one and while he grumbled about not wearing much pink before, he looks cute in it. You wanted to take a picture but he didn’t let you. Self-conscious Jungkook is one you’ve seldom seen and admittedly, endearing.   “They seem really nice.” And in love. It’s pleasant to see. Even with how disgusting romance is.   It just isn’t often that you can look at a couple and not think about their inevitable doom.   “Yeah, they are. Thankfully. God knows how many strict head chefs are out there.”   You wonder what it’s like to own a business with your husband and work together all the time — though you don’t voice your question aloud. You have an inkling Jungkook would flirtatiously answer ‘that could be us’ and you don’t need to be distracted by him right now.   His presence is a distraction enough.   “How about Yuna though?” You elbow him lightly in the ribs, giving a nudge while wiggling your brows. “I think she likes you.”   Jungkook’s expression blanches. “She’s still in high school.”   “I’m just kidding—”   “And some other girl showing up is not going to stop me from liking you any less than I do,” Jungkook says nonchalantly, stating it like it’s a fact. He’s unaware of how your face heats.   You quickly take a drink of water in an attempt to cool down. Goddammit — he’s being a distraction already without you having to set him up.   “You still owe me that favour.” You clear your throat, changing the subject. “Remember? When you challenged me saying you could pipe better than I can temper chocolate.”   “I thought we called it even.” Jungkook grins, cutely with the mole dotted underneath his mouth.   “Nu-uh. That’s not fair and you know it.” You put your foot down. “We agreed the loser would have to cover for the winner when they go on break or make a mistake. And you lost, Jeon.”   “Already planning on making mistakes?”   You sulk. “No. I just want you to have my back.”   “You already have that,” Jungkook says tenderly with a smile. “And a lot more.”   Your mouth is filled with cotton. The corner of his mouth curls even more, relishing in your surprised expression. He doesn’t even bat a lash and merely looks away when the bell to the front entrance rings. “Welcome to Kim’s Wedding Catering Company.”   You tear your eyes away from Jeon Jungkook’s profile. “Do you have an appointment?”   “Yes, we do.” The woman smiles, dressed in a white beret and trench coat, her cheeks blushing. She’s accompanied by another woman in a leather jacket who’s holding her hand. “It should be under Lee.”   “You must be Sungkyung and Victoria, congratulations on your engagement.”   The both of them glance at each other, sharing giddy smiles. “Thank you.”   “Right this way.”   Jungkook leads them to one of the wooden tables, setting out a book as you grab the slices of cake on the plate from the back, all decorated and labeled. Sejeong who’s been watching at the counter gives an encouraging thumbs up.   “So your wedding is being held during the beginning of September?”   “Yes and we’re planning to cut the cake during the evening,” Sungkyung says as Jungkook jots it down on his sheet.   “Will this be an outdoor or indoor wedding?”   “We’re planning to have it outdoors in a garden.”   “That’s nice.” Jungkook smiles. “Do you have any themes in your wedding? Any colour scheme?”   “We have butterflies and we have green and purple as our colours.”   “And how many guests do you have?”   “About a hundred.”   “Okay.”   You come to the table with the long plate and two forks. Both of the women are excited, eyes lighting up as you place the cakes in front of them and take a seat beside Jungkook.    “This one is vanilla cake with buttercream. It’s simple, but a classic. This one is coconut cake with coconut cream. Red velvet with cream cheese frosting, chocolate with ganache, lemon with custard filling and fondant, strawberry with salted caramel filling and fondant, and the last one here is carrot cake with butterscotch sauce filling and chocolate buttercream icing. Take your time.”   “I really like this one,” Victoria whispers to her fiancée, fork points to carrot cake. “Or at least the icing part.”   “I prefer this one.” Sungkyung indicates the strawberry cake and takes another bite.   “We can always mix and match,” you tell them with a smile. “It’s possible to do strawberry cake with buttercream.”   “Buttercream usually tastes better than fondant, but if it’s hot outside, it might melt.” Jungkook’s brows knit together and you look at him, humming for a second.   “Well, we always put a layer of fondant over the buttercream so they also get that smooth look and we wouldn’t have to worry about melting.”   The boy nods. “Yeah, that would work.”    “That sounds really good.” The two women smile at each other. “How much would it cost?”   “Ummm…” Jungkook flips through the binder, memory failing him. He finally finds the table of all the prices on the tenth page. “For us, it depends on what kind of cake you end up choosing and how many tiers it’ll be, but it should be around four hundred to five hundred. For a hundred people, I’d recommend…..uh…”   “Three to four layers.” You finish his sentence and Jungkook looks at you gratefully.   You leave the two of them to finish up the cakes and to discuss with one another.   Sejeong who’s been waiting at the back has her compliments prepared. “Great job, you two. Couldn’t have done it better myself!”   It’s stressful to remember the details, but luckily Sejeong is merciful and allows the two of you to shadow her as she goes out to explain the designs, possible flower arrangements on the cake and discuss how they want it to look. She also goes more into detail about prices, providing the women with a write-up of what it would look like.   When the consultation is finished, there’s not a moment to breathe.   You’re ushered into the kitchen where Namjoon is working on a wedding cake.   “So I already baked these babies yesterday and let them cool down in the fridge. I’ve also made the buttercream just now. Today we crumb coat our cakes and colour fondant. Tomorrow, we’re going to cover the cakes with fondant, put dowels in and stack our tiers, and decorate, then it’s all ready for delivery! Easy, huh?”   “Umm…”   The older man laughs noisily from his chest. “I’m guessing you two know how to crumb coat cakes?”   “Yes, we do.”   “Great. Then this is all on you. Make sure not to mess up! It’s the bride and groom’s special day! People only have a wedding once...hopefully.”   There’s not any pressure whatsoever.   Namjoon leaves, coming in and out to help with his wife and niece cleaning the front and watching over your shoulder. But he has little to say to both you and Jungkook when he finds your techniques sufficient.   The cakes are placed on a turntable, bench scrapers and offset icing spatulas in hand. You add a thin layer of frosting to trap cake crumbs and prevent them from popping up in your finished cake. And while you crumb coat two layers, Jungkook does one and goes to colour fondant.   Namjoon teaches him, rolling the fondant into a ball and kneading until it’s soft and pliable. A small dot of pink is added and he kneads the colour until it’s blended.   Once you’re done with the cakes, you help Jungkook with another ball of fondant, kneading until your arms are sore. Afterwards, the two of you assist Sejeong and Yuna, organizing the shelves of baking pans, various coloured ribbons, and bins of cookie and cake cutters.   It’s tiresome, but you feel rejuvenated when they let you try some of the spare cake slices they offer. It’s delicious, melting on your palate and Namjoon jokingly quizzes both of you on what kind of icing works best with what cakes and what ingredients are in each of them.    You’d like to say you won.   They also teach you how to answer emails and phone calls, and both you and Jungkook arrange a few appointments for next week. The day is over before you’ve realized.   “Good work, you two!” Sejeong praises. “You’re very fast learners.”   “I heard you rank high at your school.” Namjoon smiles in spite of your modest protests. “I believe you know her as Miss. Kang. She speaks highly of you two and I’m not disappointed.”   “Jungkook, I heard you wanted to be a Chocolatier?” Namjoon asks and the boy is like a deer in the headlights, doe eyes rounded. He nods slowly.   “Yes, that’s my long-term goal.”   “When we have a moment then, I’ll work on something with you,” he promises with another dimpled smile and Jungkook is visibly enthused. “Anyway, I hope nothing was too overwhelming. Get a good night’s rest and we’ll continue tomorrow!”   They close up shop as the sun sets over the horizon and Yuna waves wildly, bidding Jungkook farewell. “Bye, Jungkook!”   He makes a noise, a small ‘bye’ to her before the two of you turn away after waving to the married couple. You walk down the street together, towards the bus stop where it’ll guide you home.   “That wasn’t bad.”   “Yeah.” There’s a pause. Jungkook smiles at you. “It wasn’t.”   Silence eventually falls in between the spaces.   You can feel your eye bags deepening, your bones creaking with every movement. You’re exhausted from the long day, unable to utter a single word, but the quiet that settles is comfortable rather than awkward.   Your feet are moving on their own against the pavement, the sounds of cars moving past shaping the white noise of the city. It’s a long way back home, but as you glance at Jungkook, walking alongside him with your footsteps synced together, you’re glad he’s here.   The two of you have each other for support.   You’re unknowing to how Jungkook shares the same sentiment. He takes a glimpse of you when you don’t notice, stealing glances like he’s stealing candy. The smile on his face softens.   His own words echo back to him— “I just wonder what’s more difficult,” he had hummed thoughtfully, “You trying to get me to stop liking you or me trying to make you like me.”   It occurs to Jungkook that he’s found his answer. He realizes he can’t ‘overcome’ his feelings. He can’t get over you like you think he can. 

If you rejected him, his concern of making you uncomfortable would far outweigh these simmering emotions inside of him, but you didn’t. The fact of the matter is that Jungkook knows your aversion is towards love, not him. And with such uncertainty and possibilities, it’s impossible to get over you.

It won’t work. Not when you’re you. 

So Jungkook chooses the other path — the other approach.    He makes the decision right then and there. Instead of idly standing by and allowing you to sprout nonsense and drive him even more crazy, he’s going to act. He’s going to actually do something about his feelings—    Jeon Jungkook is going to court you.

[stickyy]

could i get a reader x ururaka where the reader kidnaps her and forcibly 'protects' her by coddling her and keeping her in a soft room with everything she could need and not letting her leave, even if it means restraining, or even injuring her? tysm! i'm really looking forward to seeing your blog grow! (btw if you cant/dont want to write ururaka, midoriya or shinso are also good!) ♡

thank you so much for your kind words!! :D i hope you enjoy, i kind of went for a more somber tone bc i like Angst, so this was moody and fun to write!

warnings: yandere!gn!reader, kidnapping, very mildly graphic mutilation (hands and ankle), drugging mention, very vague vomit mention, angst, best friends to lovers (gone wrong) /s

word count: 1.5 k

note: the scene describing mutilation is sandwiched by two dashes (-), incase u dont want to read it :D

AFTERMATH

The pattering of rain against the kitchen window is loud, accompanied by the sizzle of food on the stove and the distant chatter of news anchors coming from your TV in a domestic cacophony of sounds. It’s a Saturday morning, and it would be a pretty relaxed one if not for the deep pit of dread in your stomach. You had a rough night, to say the least. Trying to keep yourself present, you rub the dark bags under your eyes as you tend your routine of making breakfast every morning. Maybe a meal between the two of you will fix things. You hope so, at least. You tune into the television in an attempt to distract yourself.

“... are still in search for missing Hero, Urav-”

You’re suddenly uninterested, shutting the cable off with haste. Breakfast is as good as finished, anyways. 

The house is quiet, save for the rain, and the silence settles as a sickly chill under your skin. Taking your time to ensure your footsteps are quiet, you head towards the door at the end of the hallway. The normally innocuous door frame looms over you and you want to shrink away, go back to a time where things were okay. You place the tray on the small table outside of the room, fishing for the keys in your pocket. There are 3 locks; two require keys, while the other is an opposite facing deadbolt. You make quick work of opening them, daily practice rendering you nimble. With the door open and the keys back in your pocket, you grab the tray and push the door in with your hip, your stomach dropping and your heart fluttering simultaneously at the sight of Uraraka, still sleeping peacefully.

You place the tray on her bedside table gingerly, opening the curtains to her window afterwards. The dim, muddy light wakes her, her form stretching under the plush covers.

“Good morning!” you chirp, over enthusiastic as you sit on the edge of her bed. Her hair is messy, skin splotchy from laying in one place all night (you give her sleeping pills at night, and they tend to keep her in one place). She rubs sleep from her eyes cutely, sighing before speaking to you.

She hums in response. Even when she’s angry, she’s always so polite, sweet enough to offer you any response after what you did to her. Her gentle voice, no matter if she’s laughing or talking or screaming or crying, is music to you. The noise does more to set you at ease than you’d like to admit, her voice like stitches to your wounded heart. You can’t help but smile, warmth spreading over your skin. You love her so much, it’s why you do what you must to keep her safe.

“Did you sleep well?” you ask, as you do everyday, setting up her breakfast in front of her. She’s silent. You expect as much, yet it still stings, and you spare a glance at her to see an expression you can’t quite read and don’t quite like. That’s all it takes for the pit to return, guilt and remorse stirring through your veins. You can only muster offer a soft noise in response, sitting back with your own plate of food. You start first, choosing to focus on the flavor of the food, the softness of the duvet, the rain- anything but the silence. 

But it’s so difficult; you want nothing more than to be able to ignore her, to not feel so attached and needy and sorry. She burns so brightly, even when she’s upset, and you’re a moth to the flame, unable to look away for long. You don’t even realize that you’ve scarfed down half of your food, but it’s glaringly apparent when you look to Uraraka’s food to see it untouched, cooling rapidly. You glance at her face yet again, and her forlorn expression prompts you to break the thick silence.

“Does it still hurt?”

She flinches but doesn’t respond, hugging her arms to her chest and turning away from you. The rain is deafening against the window, and you notice you’re not hungry anymore.

“I told you I was sorry,” you say softly, eyes unconsciously darting to the bandages on her hands, trailing down to her legs, obscured by the covers. She continues to ignore you. You can’t take it, you need to hear her say something, anything.

 “You know I hate hurting you. I hate it, but you tried to run again. Why? We’ve been doing so good, I thought you were happy! I thought you finally understood! You have everything you need here, and even if you don’t, I can get it for you. I’m not even mad, not anymore, so please just-”

“Just let me leave,” her voice is hoarse, and you can see stray tears trailing down her flushed cheeks, pained eyes trained on your face. You swallow, using all of your willpower to turn away from her gaze. You stand suddenly, taking a deep breath before heading into the bathroom, grabbing the first aid materials you left in there. You make the executive decision that it would be better if that conversation never happened, so you pretend as such when you return to the room, replacing your somber expression with a warm smile.

“Let’s get this cleaned up,” you peel back the covers and take a look at her ankle. 

-

Her shin is twisted slightly straightened yet still awkward in angle, absurdly swollen, skin littered with large splotches of wine purple, faded blue, and putrid yellow bruises. It looks like it hurts, and you feel yourself deflate, guilt chewing at your insides yet again. You’d never meant to do this to her, but you had no choice. Last night, while you were cooking dinner, you figured you’d let Uraraka keep you company as you chopped vegetables, seeing as she had been extraordinarily compliant recently. That was a mistake, as you had to act quickly when you heard the screech of the chair pushed back suddenly and the loud stomp of feet against hardwoods. You caught her before she could reach the front door, threw her to the floor, and in your irrational fit of panic you stomped hard, once, twice, three times, over and over until the sickening, dull crunch of bone snapped you out of your frenzy. In all of your time with Uraraka, both pre and post living together, you’d never seen her cry quite like this. Her loud, pained, fearful sobs made your stomach turn, and no matter how hard you tried to console her, she wouldn’t stop, thrashing to get your arms off of her. She couldn’t move far, and so you had to wait and watch her writhe in agony until she tired herself out, chest heaving, face covered in tears and snot and drool. You helped her to her room and quickly wrapped the wound, leaving her alone for the rest of the night. You were unable to sleep, hunched over the toilet for the majority of the early hours due to waves of nausea, crying spells ebbing and flowing.

(The bandages on her hands are different. Ridding her of her quirk was the only way to ensure she’d stay put. You’d had a few drinks, taken the largest kitchen knife you owned, and did what you had to. The wounds were cauterized and healed, but you kept the bandages on so she wouldn’t have to look at the scar tissue where the last ligament of her pinky fingers were missing.)

You clean her ankle, gently caressing the distorted flesh with rubbing alcohol. She returned to her reticence, save for small (cute) pained noises when you pass over a particularly tender spot. You take solace in the moment, cherishing the chance to take care of her. 

(When you rewrap the wound, you’re deliberate in doing it incorrectly. It will heal, but it will heal wrong, and then she’ll have to rely on you to get anywhere. The idea is tantalizing, and you suppress a shiver.)

-

“There, all done,” you grin up at her, surprised to find her looking back, expression exhausted but aware, awake. You pack the materials up quickly, climbing back onto the bed. You take note of her breakfast, undoubtedly cold now.

“I can heat that up for you.”

“‘M not hungry.”

That’s that, then. You decide not to push, instead opening your arms in a gesture of peace, knowing how much she loves (tolerates) your cuddles. She gives you a scrutinizing look, before nodding once, the only invitation you get. You move the tray to her bedside table, quickly scooting next to her and wrapping your arms around her gently. She doesn’t quite reciprocate, settling for just leaning against you, but you’ll take anything you can get. Your nerves are set alight, and you vow to yourself that you’ll never hurt her again. You know you did the right thing, keeping her fed and pampered and safe. You’d make up for it, devote yourself to seeing her smile again, even if only once.

“You’re not mad at me, right?” you can’t help but ask, always seeking her approval. 

She’s silent. The rain doesn’t stop. 

[chokemeanakin]

First Kiss - Anakin Skywalker x gn Reader

Summary: Anakin treats you to your first kiss ;)

masterlist

Read it on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22469749

It happened on Tatooine. Anakin didn’t want to come back, but you had begged him to show you where he grew up.

“I grew up with Obi-Wan, travelling the galaxy,” Anakin corrected, a scowl clouding his face. “Not on Tatooine. I was just a slave there.”

“But it’s got your history,” you argued. “It’s where Qui-Gon found you. It’s where you build C-3PO. It’s where your--”

“It’s where my mother died,” he bit, jaw tense and eyes shadowed. “I know.”

“Maybe we could visit her.”

Anakin closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He did that a lot, ever since he came back from the dark side, to calm the anger inside of him. His hands clenched over the controls of the pod, then suddenly relaxed. When he opened his eyes, he was considerably less tense.

“Okay,” he agreed. “I think she’d like that.”

*********************

“I hate sand,” Anakin muttered as he hopped down from the ship. His boots landed on the ground, sending dust to cloud up around him. He swatted it away from his face.

“Oh, quit pouting,” you take his flesh hand, then raise it over your head with both of yours. “You’re home!”

“This is not my home,” he tried to sound angry, but his face softened when he looked at the smile on your face. He could see you were excited-- for what, he still didn’t understand. You would have to stay in the remote parts of the planet because Anakin would never be welcomed back after what he did to the sand people. You wouldn’t even be able to see the market or Jabba the Hut’s pub, or the place he used to live. Not that Anakin ever wanted to go back to any of those places, anyways. They came for one reason-- to see his mother.

Anakin led the way to the grave. It was just a plank of wood sticking up from the sand, so you weren’t sure how he even knew this was hers. But it was the only thing out here for hundreds of miles, and the somber look on his face was proof enough. This was his mother.

You sat on the sand in front of the wooden plank, drawing shapes in the course minerals. You didn’t say anything, and neither did Anakin as he sat down beside you. The silence was comforting, and just being there was enough. Anakin closed his eyes and his face was peaceful.

You watched him, his face unmoving, as you thought about Anakin and his past. This was where his life began, as a slave, working in a junk shop while his mother struggled to get by. He built his own pod and would race because he was good at it. He built his mother a robot so she wouldn’t have to work so hard. He could still speak the language, as sometimes he would mutter what you were pretty sure were swears under his breath in the foreign tongue.

This was where the sweet, unsuspecting, hopeful little kid who loved flying and wanted to be a Jedi grew up with his mother. He had left her to do just that, and that was the beginning of the end. He never got to see his mother again before she died in his arms. The Jedi Council consistently underestimated his power and belittled him. They alienated him from the one thing he was destined to be. No wonder he turned to Darth Sidious, who was the only person who seemed to trust him in those harrowing times. He had fallen, like Icarus from the sun, like an angel from heaven, and fell and crashed and burned.

But now he was back. He was here again, that same sweet, hopeful boy who just wanted to be a Jedi. And he was sitting before you, with his mother-- a family again.

You were there for hours, until the suns began to lower in the sky. A gust of wind blew sand in your direction, and Anakin cracked an eye open.

“We should get to higher ground,” he said, standing and holding his mechanical arm out for you to take. He helped lift you up, and then brought you in close so he could share his cloak with you, shielding you from the sand. “The wind should let up as the suns go down. For now, we can watch them set from the pod.”

The two of you climbed on top of the ship and sat with your legs dangling off the edge, watching the double-suns inch toward the horizon. The sky seemed to bleed when the lower sun crashed into the sandy mountains, but then melted into a melon-orange glow as the higher sun followed in its wake. Soon, the whipping sand clouds calmed and the sky turned to a deep purple, then black, dotted with thousands of stars. You wondered how many times Anakin had watched this sunset as a kid, and if it’s changed at all since then.

“You’ve come a long way,” you told him, breaking the silence. He lowered his head and looked at his hands.

“I’ve made a lot of mistakes.”

“But you always come back,” you said. He lifted his head and his eyes connected with yours, but they were far away. He was deep in thought, and there was something warring behind them. Guilt.

“I left you,” he said, and it’s barely above a whisper. “We were friends, but as soon as Padme came along, I left you. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“You were happy with her.”

“I was happy with you, too.”

The confession caused an eruption of warmth to blossom in your chest. You smiled at him, a genuine, delighted smile, and knocked his shoulder playfully with yours.

“You have me now.”

At this, Anakin lifted his arm and wrapped it around your shoulder. He pulled you close for a moment, then relaxed with his arm still around you. For once in your life, you didn’t move away.

Anakin was warm. You basked in the weight of his arm around your shoulders, the feeling of his torso pressed against your side. Your thighs were touching and you realized that this is what you needed, this is what was missing all along, this warmth. Suddenly, you felt complete.

“Why haven’t you ever been with anyone?” Anakin asked suddenly. You tried to fight back the blush from your face at both the question and the fact that his fingers seemed to be absentmindedly tracing patterns on your arm. Suddenly he paused. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“No,” you told him, and he resumed the patterns. “I just… have a hard time connecting with people.”

“Because of your mother?”

“Because of my mother,” you confirmed, and he coaxed every bit of information out of you on how your mother was strict and mean and cold and judgmental, and your father watched as she stripped your humanity away. He listened attentively as you told him of the suitors you’ve failed with in the past, and his arm tightened around you.

“I just get nervous,” you frowned, twisting your fingers in your lap. “Like the closer someone gets to me, the more they’re going to realize I actually suck.”

“I don’t think you suck,” Anakin said, his voice that sweet, comforting timbre with a gentle rasp that you loved so much. He always sounded like that when he’s spitting off orders to R2 when piloting, or late at night when he’s half asleep and doesn’t know what he’s saying. He also had that stupidly soft look in his eyes, and that half smile you’ve only ever seen directed at Padme.

God, he’s so pretty, you groaned inwardly, unintentionally tensing up when you realized just how close you were sitting. And he was looking at you so deeply, and man, his eyes can be so intense sometimes-- your face burned and you ducked your head so he couldn’t see.

He caught your chin with his gloved mechanical hand, cradling your chin between his index finger and thumb. He turned your face to look at him straight on, right in the eyes, and all you could see was Anakin. He was so close, and he was getting closer. Your eyes shifted to his lips, the same ones you had fantasized about for years, and hoped he couldn’t notice what you were thinking.

“Have you ever been kissed?” you could feel his breath on your lips, your heart pounding against your ribcage. You blinked madly, breathing erratic, palms sweating. Every single atom in your body was buzzing with energy-- excitement, nervousness, fear. You wanted to pull him in and kiss the living daylights out of him. You wanted to push him away and run as fast as you could until you got to a cliff high enough you could jump off and never wake up. You wanted to explode.

“You’re trembling,” Anakin’s eyes shifted across your figure for a split second. “Do you want me to let go?”

“No,” you begged him, your hands shooting out to hold onto him without your permission. They landed on his thighs, and your face burned harder.

“Do you want this?” his thumb stroke your chin. There was nothing you wanted more.

“Yes.”

You weren’t sure how he even heard you, as you barely uttered the word. But before you could do or say or think anything else, Anakin was leaning in. Your eyes closed on instinct and you felt, very softly, the brush of his lips against yours. The volcano was back in your chest, spurting lava all over your insides as you realized, holy shit Anakin Skywalker’s lips are on mine. Holy shit, Anakin Skywalker is kissing me!

The feather light touch tickled more than anything, and you could feel his mouth twitch into a slight smile as your hands’ grip tightened on his legs.

“This okay?” he pulled back a centimeter to ask. “You want more?”

“Yes,” you said again. It was the only thing you could manage to say, the one syllable word, and you began to wonder just how much of a lost cause you were if a simple brush of his lips against yours could render you brain dead.

He muttered an ‘Okay’ and then brought his flesh hand up to cup your face, fingers sliding along your neck and locking into your hair as his thumb stroked your cheek. You shivered, goosebumps staining every inch of your body with the touch. His gloved hand stayed on your chin, tilting it up toward him for easier access.

You closed your eyes again, and he leaned in, and this time he really, actually kissed you. He applied the slightest bit of pressure, then he did it again, shifting his head and capturing your lips in his, pulling back slowly only to do it again.

You were in heaven.

You forgot to respond at first. All you could think of in your short-circuited brain was how Anakin smelled so good and his lips were so warm and he tasted like the stars. Oh, he definitely knew what he was doing, with the way he was moving his lips and the confidence he did it with. You had no idea what you were doing, so you let instinct take control.

You unclenched one of your fists from his leg and raised it to place on his shoulder, pushing just a bit to get a bit of leverage, get a little bit closer so you could respond in earnest. You opened your mouth and closed it over his lips, your stomach cartwheeling as you hoped you were doing this right. It felt right. It felt good. So you kept doing it, and Anakin’s metal arm dropped from your chin and fell to your waist as you rose onto your knees, hands finally tangling into the soft curls of his hair, kissing him like you’ve wanted to kiss him for years.

When Anakin pulled back for air, you realized just how starved you were for oxygen as well. You didn't even notice. You panted, fingers loosening in his hair, lips tingling and burning. Anakin was looking at you like you were everything he wanted, and his eyes caught the twinkle of the stars. This is right where you belong, you realized, right here in Anakin Skywalker’s giving arms. Your breathing evened out, and you seemed to be thinking the same thing.

You leaned back in.

[hhjs]

saudade. (holding on. letting go.)

pairing ⇁ lee know x reader.

genre ⇁ angst, borderline fluff.

trope ⇁ exes to lovers. (again, i know. but it’s a good fit for him imo idk why)

word count ⇁ 1.6 k.

It was an awfully precarious position that you put yourself in, that was most certain. In that childish, scary feeling that comes with loving someone but loving them anyway.

And yet, in retrospect, you concluded, you'd do it all over again.

"Keep it."

You stared up at Minho's glossed over stare, the blinking light above contributed to rendering a vague view of his rubicund face, the little ornaments glued on to complement his sparkly eyeshadow, the extravagant looking satin shirt and you concluded, if the strong stench of alcohol didn't already give away that it was certainly not complete sobriety with which he was speaking, everything else did.

Underneath the act of being confused about the packaged banana bread he'd passed to you from across the counter while you bagged the rest of his groceries, you took the luxury of staring at him in an unabashed way - the newly dyed black hair unkempt, the narrow jut of his nose, small set of lips, completed by big, feline-like eyes - which seemed to be stand out amongst all the aforementioned features- and you waited for it to hit you suddenly for the umpteenth time since your awfully confusing dynamic had begun to flesh out, like a rush of blood to the head it came, a realisation, a secret, - that you want this to mean something, you want this to mean something so bad it hurts.

"What?" His bored frown was quickly replaced by a set of pouted lips at your reluctance.

You wanted to hate Minho for it, his proclivity to be hot and cold that ever so often served as a reminder that this split wasn't at all cut and dry - now, you reasoned, aren't drunken gestures supposed to convey sober feelings? Or was it just nothing more than wishful thinking on your part? "It's your favourite."

Minho said this with such unwavering certainty, even in his inebriated stupor, that you wondered when he'd come to know you so well. If he knew everything about you. And when you let him. If you let him.

Your idle fingers made a quick move of shifting your cap down to shield an expression of fluster once you managed to tear your gaze off of his face. "Yeah." You cleared your throat, slowly repeating, "It's my favourite."

(He smiled lazily, slowly dragging his fingers to brush them against your cheek, in an unhesitating manner that conveyed touching you was a habit. And you begin to ask yourself where it all began, how it all started, how it got to this, you imagined holding a map before your perplexed face and looking for the routes, the passages, the oceans, the rivulets, the cities and every little thing that plotted your falling so miserably in love with Minho. All over again.)

...

When the engines rumbled again.

You were positive about two things; one, seven minutes in heaven had outlived all its contenders in the department of shitty alcohol induced games college students thrived on - and two, this wasn't the first time you were seeing Minho behind his moody barrier that initially gave you a different impression from the awfully cheerful personality he was around your miniscule circle of friends.

Through the course of being his ex partner, spending much time in his apartment, in his bed; maintaining a poor recreated "friendship" even after the breakup, you'd begun to understand that it was not intention that led Minho to assume the position of a renowned tsundere - 

But it was only just that he didn't know how to express himself. 

Though that wasn't true for your encounters. You were too familiar with him for his own good, not failing to notice the way he seemed to slacken around you, despite the big change in your dynamic, a permanent crack through which you could make out the unknown territories of his heart. 

That, to a great extent, satisfied you. 

There was a great opportunity to rekindle. Because in hindsight, it was merely a stupid fight that brought you to where you are; and frankly, with the kind of pride both of you had, it was impossible to know who’d take the first step.

Now that you think about it, it’s almost as if your friends put you up to the transpiring events, the setting suspiciously working in your favour.

Before your turn came up, you took note of Minho's unwillingness for the game when he tried to get up halfway but Jisung yanked him down with a sly grin on his face, like it was an apparent punishment for poking too cruel jokes at him; so now, you paused, partially hopeful, partially scared, watching Minho, if he objected with being paired with you, this was his chance to show it and you would tap out.

But Minho didn't say anything, sticking to simply following you behind through the famiiar territory of your flat. His footsteps mimicked yours, growing louder and louder. Softer and louder. Louder and softer.

After staring at the cracked paint of a wooden door that was now secluding you from the rest of your friends, an attempt to gather enough courage to let the situation sink in was being made - you were alone now, you could recognise his scent, under the fabric softener and after shave and cheap cologne, a distinct fragrance that solely belonged to him. It's the first time you'd been so close after he'd decided to break it off, the warmth radiating off of his body felt at a daunting proximity.

His long fingers ghosted along your shoulders in a smoothing down motion as he leaned forward to say something, his breath tickling the back of your neck.

You made a quick, impulsive gesture to flaunt how you were completely unfazed by this movement.

Minho gasped, the noise passing through pursed lips. His stare flickered between the now emptied solo cup in your hand to the purple stain on his sweater, blinking gaze scanning you with judgement, he held his arms up from his body and your interest for this game mitigated as fast as it surfaced.

"I told you not to carry drinks around the house. You always spill." He chided, shaking his head in dismay. It was impossible to think of a manner to immediately treat the stain in here, where accessing detergent was a distant remedy since you’re only surrounded by boots, heels and sneakers. You groaned, running your hands over your face, looking up at him through the gaps of your fingers, “Just take it off before it gets on your shirt, will you?”

He grumbled under his breath but resorted to slow compliance, pulling the dark fabric over his head, balling it up in his hands to set it atop a shoe box.

The blinking studio light above was on the verge of giving out but its fading colour still succeeded in bringing his sharp features to an intimidating exposition, dull gold dousing the tip of his nose, his high cheekbones, his mouth, his chin and the jut of his Adam's apple in thick, frequent splatters, out of reach in areas where his long eyelashes casted thin streaks of shadows.

It was only when Felix made an announcement of the remaining minutes you had at hand that you were pulled right out of your trance.

There was a faint blush pooling into his cheeks whilst his gaze flitted between your eyes to your mouth as if to communicate that he was making an attempt to gauge your intentions. He shoved his hands inside his pockets, assuming your stationarity for reluctance. "This is stupid." He huffed.

You rolled your eyes. "You act like we haven't done worse."

Minho avoided your gaze, his face only seemed to deepen in colour, "That's why it's stupid."

"But you’re blushing though!" You cooed, reaching out to pinch his reddening cheeks, which only seemed to aggravate the colour and subsequently prompted Minho to grab a hold of your wrist, pulling you close enough for you to make out the distinct black of his eyes, not a single speck of another colour visible in them.

"No, I'm not."

It was then that you decided to act on temptation, in a memorised manner. But also, not really. Because it's daunting, every time, you've to remind yourself that it's just as easy to let go of Minho as it is to hold onto him.

And in spite of this, it has always meant something so much more to you. So much more than you've allowed yourself to express.

No, you told yourself, you want him to come to you this time, you want him to tell you how he feels without making you wonder. You want him to want you for good or not at all.

But that doesn't stop you.

Minho raised an eyebrow, watching you attentively. Completely unsuspecting.

You placed your hands on his shoulders and pecked his parted lips briefly before returning to your position with a nervous tick of rubbing your hot nape over and over again.

The sudden act seemed to have deemed him speechless, his lips were still pouted, giving away that he hadn't quite recovered from the unanticipated kiss, blinking momentarily until his expression morphed to something indecipherable, giving away that a sudden thought had hit him.

He made a quick move of cupping your face with his hands as his thumbs swiped across your cheeks, kissing you in a proper fashion. You reached out to tug at his raven strands in an endeavour to deepen the gesture which elicited a deep throaty groan from him, prompting the act of bumping your head accidentally against the door.

You should've pushed him away, should've fed him some made up litany about how you were completely "over" him, like you'd practised in your head over the months -

But you didn't. You hadn't. You couldn't.

And maybe, just maybe, you didn't want to.

[itsmariemccurdy]

It’s been 87 years, and I’m still rewatching Black Sails and parsing out S4, primarily the break down of the Flint-Silver-Billy triad. Primarily because this season could have used a few more episodes to both set up and flesh out this conflict as it came to its head. I love this show, the writing is close to perfect, but S4 was rushed.

Billy hates Flint re: possibly letting him fall overboard, Gates, and chronic lying often at the expense of what he views as the crew’s welfare.

Flint likes Billy and Silver insofar as they are going along with the program and, in Silver’s case, insofar as Silver can talk him through whatever the issue is.

Billy gets x amount of time on the island as more or less a captain with a crew 10x the size of any Flint ever led. Billy has more than a taste of being the one in control and can no longer abide standing by as Flint goes on about his business.

Silver is in love with both Flint and Madi, however Silver is and always has been Not a True Believer. 

Madi falls in line with Flint’s thinking that it is somehow possible to overthrow the entire English Empire (?!?!?!) to create a new world order.

Silver still ultimately wants to support Flint (bc ya know, he does love the guy) while also protecting Madi from what he views (thanks in large part to Billy’s insistence on the topic) as Madi’s inevitable downfall due to her closeness with Flint. He sees no outcome for this scenario in which either Flint or Madi get what they want, so throughout S4 he continues to back Flint’s play while working out a play of his own where he can save at least one of them from certain destruction.

This puts him at odds with both Billy and himself, as Billy wants the only feasible solution (aside from Max’s, which, I mean, none of them are that smart so it’s the only feasible solution *to them*), which is to turn Nassau into a glorified maroon camp. Since Silver recognizes the folly in Flint and Madi’s plan, I have to assume that some part of him must agree with Billy on this topic. But Billy had already shot himself in the foot where Silver was concerned.

Billy fucks up with the Underhill Plantation. Big time. Not only does he shatter any trust the slaves might have had with the pirates, but he also makes a direct attempt on Flint’s life and, intentionally or unintentionally, put Madi’s life in danger. Short of crawling to Silver on his hands and knees begging for forgiveness and promising to never do it again (which Silver more or less asks him to do shortly before the Spanish attacked) there was nothing Billy could have done at this point to garner Silver’s agreement. If Billy told him the sky was blue, Silver would have argued it was red just to make a point. Once he endangered both Madi and Flint at once, Silver was never going to let him back into the fold.

Seasons 3 and 4 deal heavily in the idea that everyone is just going along with Flint’s war on civilization just because they’d already invested too much to turn back. Silver grapples the hardest with this internal conflict, compounded by his affection for Flint. Unfortunately, even Flint seems to sort of what an excuse out.

Billy forces Silver to pick between him and Flint, and this is the part where Silver fucks up (though his fuck up is sort of shunted aside and then later resolved by the Maroon queen). We got some foreshadowing about what would have been the right choice to make in S3 when Silver handled the Mr. Dobbs situation like a master. When Mr. Dobbs fucked up royally with a Maroon, Silver handled it himself. More accurately, Madi facilitated this, so it might ultimately be Madi’s fuck up, too, for telling Silver he needed to hand Billy over. Because Madi didn’t turn Dobbs over to her own men to mete out their justice, she forced Silver to handle it in house. When Silver handled it in house, he not only corrected the situation, but he, with one order, turned Dobbs into a loyal follower. When Billy fucked up royally, on a much larger scale, Silver did exactly what he did the first time with Dobbs: he handed him right over to those he’d offended, only there wasn’t a Madi present among Julius’ men to remind Silver there was a much better way and Madi herself had pushed for it. By handing Billy over, Silver fucks up the alliance with Julius, who takes it as confirmation that pirates can’t be trusted. Why, they not only hand their own people over, they hand over people they call their friends.

At this point the triad is completely fractured, only Flint doesn’t know it because he doesn’t know that Silver has been quietly working out an alternative solution, actively working to take him off the board in the name of saving Madi from herself. The irony here, again, is that Silver and Billy want basically the same thing: Flint out of the picture so Silver can move on and Billy can take control of Nassau. But Billy’s actions at the Underhill Plantation rendered him incapable of earning any sort of agreement from Silver.

The real tipping point at which Silver chose Madi over Flint was Madi’s hostage situation. I think up to that point, the ideas Silver’d been working out to remove Flint had been just that: ideas. When Flint dragged his feet on rescuing her, it was all over for him. He knows then that he must choose one or the other, he cannot have it both ways. Remember, Silver’s choices are a big sticking point this season (”Fuck Flint, don’t fuck Flint. Fuck Billy, don’t fuck Billy, but fucking choose.” “You chose, live with it.”). He chooses to fuck over Billy in the name of protecting Flint and Madi, supporting their war. Then he chooses to fuck over Flint and Madi, in the name of saving Madi, knowing Flint will never make that same choice, even as Flint says the right words.

ANYWAY, that’s my long-winded breakdown of why Julius was right, you can’t trust none of these sheisty hoes.

[blackjack-15]

Are You Poe-ndering What I’m Poe-ndering? — Thoughts on: Warnings at Waverly Academy (WAC)

Previous Metas: SCK/SCK2, STFD, MHM, TRT, FIN, SSH, DOG, CAR, DDI, SHA, CUR, CLK, TRN, DAN, CRE, ICE, CRY, VEN, HAU, RAN

Hello and welcome to a Nancy Drew meta series! 30 metas, 30 Nancy Drew Games that I’m comfortable with doing meta about. Hot takes, cold takes, and just Takes will abound, but one thing’s for sure: they’ll all be longer than I mean them to be.

Each meta will have different distinct sections: an Introduction, an exploration of the Title, an explanation of the Mystery, a run-through of the Suspects. Then, I’ll tackle some of my favorite and least favorite things about the game, and finish it off with ideas on how to improve it.

If any game requires an extra section or two, they’ll be listed in the paragraph above, along with links to previous metas (or not links, as tumblr is freaking out with links).

These metas are not spoiler free, though I’ll list any games/media that they might spoil here: WAC, mention of Sabrina the Teenage Witch (the OG live-action show not the horrible CW monstrosity); discussion of the Poe short stories “The Imp of the Perverse” and “The Black Cat”.

The Intro:

It’s time to go to school, y’all — and not just any school; a rich, elite, all-girls school. Welcome to the jungle.

Warnings at Waverly Academy is one of two games that I don’t sort into a category (like “Expanded” “Jetsetting” or “Odd”), the other being the game that follows it (TOT). There are a few reasons for this — the next category really doesn’t apply, but neither does the previous category, WAC and TOT both feature a gradual shift in tone and approach to the games, etc. If I really had to pick a designation, I’d say that these are the “Growing Pains” games, where the world gets a little bit more open — but not all at once, the characters get a little more fleshed out — but not by much, and a few new things are tried with our character rolls — to varying degrees of success.

On the whole, WAC tackles its efforts far better than TOT does, but it does make for a slightly less interesting meta if one was just to focus on what WAC does wrong and what it does right. Instead, we’re going to take a look at how brilliant WAC is tonally and thematically, and how its source material — not kept secret in the game — builds it up and makes it better and better upon replays.

Before I begin, it’s fair to warn you all that my thesis was done on Poe and adaptation theory (and its relevance towards detective novels but I won’t touch much on that part of it), so I might get a bit nerdy. Hopefully it’s still exciting and relatable enough to the game that it’ll make for interesting, rather than academic, reading.

WAC uses Poe’s stories — specifically “The Black Cat” (obviously) and “The Imp of the Perverse” (in my slightly expert opinion) — as thematic (what the game means) and tonal (how the game feels) touchstones, not to mention their inclusion for some of the events in the plot. A brief summary of both is probably important when looking at how they relate to WAC.

“The Imp of the Perverse” is an essay-like short story by Poe that basically states that inside of every person is the desire to do something wrong or incorrect simply because it is wrong or incorrect (not morally, but in terms of self-interest).

In the story, a man commits a clever murder and gets away with it, receiving the inheritance that he wanted from the dead man. The man cannot be caught — there is no evidence of any wrongdoing, let alone any that points to him — unless he confesses. The idea of confessing — not out of guilt, but just because it would be the wrong thing to do — plays on his mind until, driven half-mad with his preoccupation, he confesses and is imprisoned and executed. The titular “imp” is basically a devil on the shoulder who wants what would be worst for our own self-interest, simply because it is the worst.

MENTIONS OF ANIMAL CRUELTY FOR THE STORY OF THE BLACK CAT. PLEASE SKIP IF THIS BOTHERS YOU.

“The Black Cat” on the other hand is pretty much a proto-“Tell-Tale Heart” — an alcoholic man becomes emotionally distant from his cat (a rare sentence, I know) because he things the cat is judging him for being a drunk; one night in a drunken rage, he cuts out its eye and kills it. A fire catches his home, leaving an imprint of the hanged cat upon the only standing wall.

END OF DIRECT MENTIONS OF ANIMAL CRUELTY.

The man and his wife move, and he, after a period of guilt, makes friends with another cat — a cat nigh-identical to the first one, even missing an eye. When he (drunk, as per usual) and his wife are walking down the cellar stairs, however, he nearly trips over the cat and becomes enraged, trying to kill the cat, only to be stopped by his wife. He instead kills his wife, burying her behind the wall of the cellar and bricking up the hole.

When the police come by they find nothing, and the cat has disappeared, so the man feels safe. The police come back to investigate the cellar, the man taps on the wall to boast of how well the house is made — only to have horrific screeching start up behind the wall. The police break the wall down and find not only his wife’s body, but the black cat sitting on it as well. The man breaks down, overwhelmed by his own guilt, and the story ends.

END OF BLACK CAT STORY SYNOPSIS.

It’s pretty clear what influence “The Black Cat” had on WAC — not only does the villain name herself after the titular cat, but WAC is also a story of guilt, hidden crimes, and personal weaknesses that manifest in rage towards other innocents.

It’s actually really interesting that Corine takes the mantle of “The Black Cat” up when she begins targeting other valedictorian candidates; the black cat in the story is sort of a symbol of the man’s sin — a reaction to his sins and misdeeds, and sort of a catalyst of justice. This ties into how Corine sees herself — someone rejected and mistreated by those who are “filthy” themselves, and who must then show others the things they hate about themselves.

It’s Corine’s self-identification as a victim that starts all this, and it causes her to victimize others in potentially fatal ways. The black cat stands for guilt, for the sins of others, and yet it leads Corine further and further away from any justness herself.

The story of “The Imp of the Perverse” has a little bit of a more subtle tie-in to the game; in a way, each suspect does exactly what they know they shouldn’t.

Rachel and Kim are obvious — they really shouldn’t switch back and forth so regularly, nor should they be so sloppy at informing the other as to what they did and who they met that day. Leela, who should be studying if she wants to keep her spot in the race, instead passes the time by playing sports. Mel knows that the cloak-and-dagger meetings are to be an absolute secret, yet wears hair bows that she constantly loses to one. Izzy has her future meticulously planned out, yet refuses to back up an incredibly important paper (and also relies on being popular, yet pursues other girls’ boyfriends).

Even Corine falls under this; by targeting Nancy, she’s ensuring that suspicion will fall on her, as 2/3rds of the victims would then be her roommates. She’s also cutting her chances of being valedictorian by not working hard for it and instead relying on other, riskier methods. Every move she makes leads to it being more and more obvious that she’s behind them — and yet, she continues anyway, just like the man in “The Imp of the Perverse” — leading from a few small incidents to attempted murder.

Ignoring WAC’s ties to Poe renders it as a good, solid mystery without anything remarkable about it (other than the pendulum, of course). Exploring its ties to Poe not only helps set up exactly who the villain is, but also sets the tone for the mystery. This isn’t a mystery of Nancy foiling a villain through her smarts; instead, it’s a story about how guilt and a perverse desire for self-destruction leads a once-promising valedictorian candidate to more and more severe crimes, culminating in the exact opposite of what she was working for.

The Title:

It’s pretty awesome, full stop.

Warnings at Waverly Academy is honestly a great title for a Nancy Drew mystery; it gives us location, a sense of the world we’re in (scholastic), and a vague yet not too vague sense of what’s going on. The alliteration is good, the abbreviation amuses me — it’s just solid all the way around.

There’s not much else to say; sure, you could strengthen it by finding a punchier “w” word to begin with, but that’s just quibbling. It’s great, I love it, let’s move on to the Happenings at Waverly Academy (which, by the way, would have been a terrible name for the game).

The Mystery:

Called in as a professional undercover detective, Nancy’s just young enough to hide in plain sight at Waverly Academy, an upper-crust private school for those girls fortunate enough to be both rich and smart (aside from a few scholarship students, who are simply smart). Nancy’s called in due to a few near-death experiences by students, punctuated always by notes simply signed “The Black Cat”. It’s only a few days until break ends, so Nancy must work quickly to stop the sabotage, find the Black Cat, and solve the mystery before anyone dies.

Nancy, as always, finds quickly that not everything is so cut-and-dried. Each valedictorian candidate has the motive, means, and opportunity to get the other girls out of their way, and all have something to lose. Add in a secret society, the threat of demerits from an overly zealous RA, and the sneaking feeling that there might be a greater mystery behind all of these incidents, and you get a case mostly unlike any that Nancy’s had to crack before.

Oh, and Ned is on the phone, serving the player up with the single punch of testosterone in the game (aside from the hunky Mr. Harris, of course).

As a mystery, WAC is honestly super solid. Lots of characters, lots of clues, lots of red herrings, lots of mini-mysteries going on inside of the larger mystery…it’s everything you want from a Nancy Drew game, and it doesn’t really drop any of the balls it juggles. Sure, the pendulum might be a bit much for you if you’re not up on your Poe, but I think it’s a lot of fun, and for sure a very different type of ending puzzle — not drowning or running out of air or any other ending that Nancy Drew games likes to do.

Let’s go to the movers and shakers behind this mystery, then, shall we?

The Suspects:

Mel Corbalis is the fan-favorite character, so let’s start with her in this huge, estrogen-laden cast. Distinctly of the goth persuasion, Mel is a fantastically talented cello player and a Waverly Legacy, despite the fact that no one at school wants to be caught dead near her. She’s not an outcast the way that Corine is, however, because of her simple insistence on being exactly who she is, and not trying to hide or apologize for it.

Go Mel.

As a suspect, Mel is slightly more suspicious than most other girls, on account of Megan being her roommate, but otherwise sits on fairly equal standing with them all. She’s by far the most outwardly aggressive, but also comes across as simply no-nonsense (a welcome thing in any girl’s academy, believe me). She also has the least of Poe about her, despite her taste in fashion, and is in general a breath of fresh wind.

Next up is Leela Yadav, athlete extraordinaire. She sure can bounce that ball, at least. Izzy’s roommate and just as much a social climber (though in less in-your-face ways), Leela wants it all — popular, athletic, and valedictorian. It’s a lot for any girl to handle, much less one who can’t seem to keep it all together.

As a suspect, Leela’s not bad — she’s as even as (most) anyone else throughout the first half of the game, but falls off a bit when Izzy isn’t specifically targeted by the Black Cat (as most of her gripes are against Izzy, particularly). Leela’s more there to increase the number of students and throw suspicion around, but she does a darn fine job of it, and is well-rounded enough to be genuinely enjoyable.

We’d be remiss not to mention the queen bee (and my personal favorite suspect) at Waverly Academy, Izzy Romero. Snobbish, arrogant, and with apparently the smarts and people skills to back it up, Izzy is the first Waverly girl that Nancy (as Becca) meets, and boy does she set the player up for what Waverly is really like. Izzy’s smart enough to know when she should put in the effort and clever enough to delegate it when she can, and that alone endears her to me, even leaving aside her hilarious dialogue and general vibes.

As a suspect, Izzy is the sole girl who really isn’t set up to be much other than what she is — a girl with more than enough smarts to get power, and enough power to pretty much do what she wants to do. Sure, Nancy can catch Izzy doing stuff she shouldn’t do, but she’s never really a heavy-hitter when it comes to the Black Cat stuff. I love her for that, too. She’s a lot like Libby from the original Sabrina the Teenage Witch show; a bit nasty, but hilarious and effectively harmless — and I’ve always liked Libby-style characters.

And her stint in the Blackwood Society is aces too. Man, this girl does not quit.

Rachel Hubbard, is, of course, actually Rachel and Kim Hubbard, and they are the plot point that WAC is most known for. They actually have marginally separate personalities too, with one being far snappier than the other, and having strengths in different subjects.

Part of the reason I love the Hubbard twins so much is that their presence is so...Poeian. Poe was all about duplicity and mirrors, and the Hubbard twins show off both themes. It’s just a wonderful little bit of a nod to the source material (thematically speaking) of the game, and I adore it.

As suspects, the Hubbards aren’t bad at all; they’re lying, sneaking around, and blatantly “forget” what they’ve said to people, all of which adds up to be very untrustworthy. Were it not for Nancy (and Corine) sneaking around, they might have gotten through their Waverly experience without anyone figuring it out — and that’s something to respect, even if it does make them prime targets for blackmail. And speaking of blackmail…

Corine Meyers is both Nancy’s roommate and 100% our villain this time around. Obsessed with becoming valedictorian and knowing she probably won’t get it, Corine basically puts out self-assigned hits on each of her fellow candidates, attempting to get the title by violence rather than by being worthy. She’s even cunning enough to blackmail the Hubbard twins into doing some of her dirty work, throwing people off her scent. Sure, Corine is a rather pathetic (in the non-sympathetic sense) person who I have little respect for, but she does make a good villain in a Poe-ish story.

As a suspect, the game actually makes a pretty good go at not assigning the blame too quickly to anyone, so Corine does manage to hide out in the shadows. Sure, one of the girls who went home was her roommate, but the other was Mel’s, so suspicion isn’t centered right on her. I also love that she’s actually punished for what she does — no amount of sad pictures at the end of the game changes that. Corine actually has the cleverness that CUR tries (but doesn’t succeed) to give Jane, and I think it’s wonderful.

I’m not going to give Megan Vargas or Danielle Hayes their individual chunks, but they are present here as well, standing in as victims so we know that this teenaged effery very nearly had a body count. They really help to give a sense of…well, purposeful disconnection to the game, where the setting and the snow and the fact that these are high school girls doesn’t stop the crimes from being deadly.

The Favorite:

The first thing that I have to say is that I love how the tone and crimes of this game contrast so well with a lot of the games (especially, sorry, CUR). This takes place at a school, your suspects are all teenaged girls…and yet the game doesn’t shy away from how horrific things really are to get Nancy called in. Two girls have nearly died in quick succession from one another, and the girls are going on chasing acclaim. It’s a messed up situation, and the game doesn’t shy away from pointing that out.

These crimes are treated with severity, and the culprit, despite things that might have softened her ending under lesser writers, is punished with total removal. WAC in some ways is a spiritual successor to SCK, in that it takes place at a school, lives are endangered, Nancy is (mostly) undercover, and the culprit is not above killing Nancy messily solely for personal gain. The difference, of course, is that SCK is not done well, and WAC, on the whole, is.

As mentioned above, I have a soft spot for Poeian detective stories, and so I enjoy WAC probably more than I would had they modeled it after, say, Holmesian detective stories instead. The ideas of duplicity, mirrors, guilt, the Imp of the Perverse — the self-destructive tendency to do what we should not simply because we should not do it — these are all present and accounted for in WAC from different girls and facets of the plot (Corine and the secret society both represent duplicity, the Hubbard girls are mirrors, Waverly’s own guilt towards the students it failed, etc.).

My favorite puzzle has to be WAC’s resident cooking minigame, where Nancy prepares hot lettuce sandwiches and definitely underdone cookies to the delight of the gossiping horde. It’s like TRN’s cheeseburger minigame writ large, and every second of it is wonderful — the gossip, the food-making, the unexpected panic of a teacher order — everything. It also helps Nancy keep her head above water, should she be caught sneaking around after hours, and I think that’s great as well.

My favorite moment of the game is when Nancy comes out of the wall in Mel’s room and Mel isn’t having even one iota of her excuses to cut and run. It’s not often that a non-villain will press Nancy so intently when Nancy does something Inherently Untrustworthy, and I think it’s great that a 17 year old girl behaves exactly as one would, demanding an explanation and not letting Nancy wiggle her way out of it. Sheer perfection and the moment, I would guess, that Mel became a lot of people’s favorite WAC character.

I also love everything to do with the Blackwood Society. Nancy goes so…metal there and we really don’t get enough of Metal Nancy. It features one of the few moments of absolutely, unequivocally brilliant voice acting that Lani stumbles upon (the conversation about the bow), and it’s a wonder to behold.

The Un-Favorite:

While WAC certainly has great things about it, it’s not by any means a perfect game. It wouldn’t sit in my top 10, and possibly not even in my top 15, though it would depend on the day. The reasons for this?

A big one is my least favorite puzzle: taking the pictures. It’s a good idea — a gofer quest to help Nancy get to meet each student, talk to them, etc. and make sure no one gets lost in the shuffle (like with what usually happens with Guadalupe in ICE, for example) — and is also great for acquainting Nancy with the Hubbard(s). However, in practice, the interface makes it incredibly obnoxious to do, what with having to retake pictures because the pan or zoom is slightly off, and having to jump around from place to place. It’s a good idea, but could have been implemented far, far more smoothly than it actually was.

My least favorite moment in the game is actually the whole deal with Izzy’s paper being deleted. It’s a dick move — and I have no problem with that, honestly, but the fact that she has no backup is just like…girl, what on earth are you doing where you don’t back up your work.

Adding to that is the fact that even in the far-off yesteryear of 2009, Word autosaves (as did many, if not all, word processors) and a copy definitely would have still been retrievable on her computer, and that the teacher would almost definitely have a previous rough draft or at least outline…it’s a pretty shaky thing to have happen (the not-having, not the deleting), and it does break the game down a bit. I know it’s not that big a deal to most people, but it seriously hampers my ability to stay within the world of WAC and to take the mystery seriously.

The Fix:

So how would I fix Warnings at Waverly Academy?

There’s honestly not too much to do; while not a perfect game, WAC is perfectly solid, accomplishing what it needs to do properly and well, without too many little flaws to mar its reputation.

In other words, it’s a bit like an unsuccessful valedictorian candidate; well-rounded, but not a standout when compared to others that burn a little brighter.

I would, however, re-work the picture task; I’m not sure how you could make it less clunky, mechanically speaking, but it definitely needs it, along with a way to know if it’s a good picture or not before you go through all the effort of going to the library and plugging in the camera. I love the idea — just make the idea work better.

I’d also change the “deleted paper” storyline and go a little more destructive — give the computer an awful virus instead. Sure, her paper is backed up (in 2009, probably on a USB drive, or saved to her email or something), and she has her stuff, but that locks away all personalized notes, study sheets, etc. It’s something that would be pretty damning for a Valedictorian candidate, while also still being firmly in the realm of believability.

And on a smaller note, remove the ability to call Bess in this game. It always goes to voicemail and serves no purpose. Why even include it?

Where WAC really shines is its individualistic approach to each girl and in its permeation of Poeian themes; that’s what makes it special as a game, rather than any of its individual parts. Sometimes, you need to take a break from haunted mansions and carousels and museum thefts and marriage troubles and friends who are always in need of help – and you just need to play a game with gossip galore, hot lettuce bagels, and an actual death-bringing pendulum to round it out.