#Except 'dog has been fed'

[cuntwrap--supreme]

Dog has a swollen lymph node. Just one for now. Which means her cancer is getting worse already. The longer this goes on, the more detached I feel from reality.

[hoseoksluna]

LIQUID STARS | jjk

pairing: fuck buddy!jungkook x f. reader (feat. bam)

genre: angst, smut

word count: 11.8k

summary: to seal the deal, you give jungkook what he wants—your kiss, your cunt and your virginity.

playlist: liquid stars / pinterest board: wine

warnings: size kink, heavy dd/lg themes, provocation, dry humping, dirty talk, mentions of porn, oral sex (f. + m. receiving), multiple orgasms & countdown, dom/sub dynamics, reader has daddy issues (like the writer), first time, jealousy, inner child healing, plushie used during intercourse, jungkook fucks her numb & dumb, praise kink, cum eating, pet names and the establishment of a title, bondage, raw sex, tummy bulge, desperation, pain felt during intercourse, squirting

note: as difficult as it was to write this, i'm immensely thankful. this changed my life; it healed me and i'll dream about it for a long, long time. i was as exhausted as oc once i finished this, because i truly did give my all. everyone, this is part four to my series 'wine' and therefore the very end. this is the very beginning of jungkook's and oc's relationship. can be read as a standalone as there aren't any quirks from the other parts (except for bunny), though if you wish to read them now, now is the perfect time. now you can see the beautiful gradual development of their relationship. please, enjoy as you read and let me know your favorite parts bc i need to talk about this. heed the warnings as there are dd/lg themes that can be uncomfortable for some. thank you! and thank you for all the love on this series. i'll never forget it. i love you, guys. ʚɞ

side note: give some round of applause for 3D daddy provider jungkook everyone!! he deserves it!!!

Silky lilac bows adorn the tops of your pigtails that cascade down in loose braids, sprawled on the cotton of his pillow and on the soft belly of a bunny plushie. There are still traces of sunlight left on the bedding, which dissolve, little by little, into nothingness as the large star goes down, saying goodbye. It’s lightweight, the atmosphere—homely almost. And much to your surprise, you feel relatively at ease, despite the fact a man lies on top of you—a man you have a certain liking for. 

It was natural for you to end up here and you, yourself, wished for it, even. Deemed it was only right after the man took you around for a walk while his silly Doberman guarded each and every step both of you had taken in sync, especially so when he persisted in buying you a small plastic ring of the same bunny you’re lying against. He didn’t even forget about his own canine friend waiting outside patiently like the obedient dog he is, and fed him the snackies he got for him as soon as he returned from the shop. You swore Bam was as giddy as you when he received his gift. 

Now the ring glints in the last rays of the sun. His, too. 

While yours is as white as the cloudy morning sky, Jungkook’s is as black as the drowsily dozing night sky. You think it’s the perfect contrast between the pair of you. Not that you should be noting these things, considering you’re just friends. But his skin is satiny soft, painted in impressionist tattoos, while his muscles, that his well-fitted T-shirt graciously allows you to see, are strong. You’re sure he could just lift you and throw you around without much of a strain. And it certainly doesn’t help that he’s such a striking image of pure beauty. How could you not notice these intertwinings when they’re this lovely?

You like him—without a shadow of doubt. Can feel the call of an emotional attachment forming the more he studies your skin with the tip of his index finger, embellished with the Miffy ring, and it’s owed to the fact you’ve never been touched this way before. No one has ever come this close, no one has ever been interested in the moles scattered upon your shoulders, in the veins that make the pathway to the column of your neck. No one has ever gazed twice at them—but Jungkook?

He hasn’t stopped looking at them ever since he laid you down in the middle of his bed. 

How could you stop such a call? Such a lull, such a magnetic pull. You know you should, but for the meantime, you simply don’t want to. Can’t lose this moment, can’t lose this once in a lifetime opportunity—

Jungkook presses his lips against the prominent mole in the center of your left shoulder. Those pretty, puffy lips, closing against your skin, the smallest dart of tongue swiping past. It shocks you for a moment before the feeling dissolves beneath, adjusting within the freshness of your system. How could you refuse such dynamic poetry, expressed against your own forlorn body? When it’s so blatant that it’s natural, that your body willingly accepts it without a fight. 

You couldn’t. 

Stretching your fingers between the thick strands of his hair, you close your eyes to savor the feeling of being wanted. The movement of his mouth, going even as far as to the first vein rooted in your arm—following it with those half-closed pillows. Up, up until he finds the line of your collarbone. Jungkook pauses there, simply breathes against you before he interperses little pecks there, nibbles and gentle swipes of tongue. The lining of your top won’t let him go further down, so he changes direction—relies on the pathway of your veins to guide him to your neck. And there… at the first contact, you grip the roots of his hair. 

His kisses and nibbles are much harder here. And what’s worse, he takes the sensitive skin into his mouth and sucks. You fail at containing the whimpers that break out of your mouth and Jungkook reacts to them. Hums ever so deeply, rocks his hips against the mattress. You wish you were a bit bigger so you could feel the collision, but you’re just so small compared to his large form. You imagine he’s writing down the poems collecting inside of him with each cursive roll of his tongue. Wonder if there’s enough paper on your skin for all his words. 

“You sweet little thing,” Jungkook coos onto the crook of your neck, dragging his lips up and down before he stops at your jaw. You feel the warmth of his breath and his body heat seeps into yours, creating unity, blackening the ink. It feels strange, it feels so new. Brisk and springlike, like fresh air in a stuffed room. You want to stay here for a long time, tasting the wholeness of spring captured in him. You want his words to flush you red with the tinge of the entire sunlight that opens the buds of flowers during all seasons in a loop. “Can I kiss you?”

You haven’t gone beyond the innocent touching of hands with him. You brim with a tight feeling of thankfulness that he asked you such a graceful question, although something else steals your attention entirely. 

“Little?” you say, the smile on your lips pulled so taut that it quivers ever so slightly. It makes you crazy that he calls you that, but you play the game. Revel in it. “What do you mean little? I’m bigger than you.”

Jungkook cocks his brow at you, mouth falling into a lopsided grin. He sits back and you feel a whiff of coldness pass by the perimeter of your body, as if someone opened the window and let the winter air in, when it’s just his brief distance that caused it. The forming attachment in you tenses and before you can think about your actions, your hand finds his knee, his thigh and traces slow patterns there. Jungkook suddenly squeezes your waist, surprising you, and the ecstatic fluttering of butterfly wings break havoc all over your body. The solidness of his hands, their weight, their firmness, giving life to your body, meaning. You note how his fingers touch when he has his hands enveloped around you like that. And the inkling that your body matters in his hands like that slips into your mind, spreading through its axis. 

You bite your lower lip. A small ache begins to grow in your intimate parts. It’s so nice to be wanted, to be considered good enough to be touched, to be kissed. 

“You? Bigger than me?” Jungkook squeezes your waist again. Sucks in a breath through his teeth. Smiles softly; in a way that you find unbearably endearing. “No, you’re just little. Just a tiny, little bug. So tiny in my hands.” 

For the breath he inhaled, you exhale it. 

He leaves his hands there when he bends over you, hovering his lips over yours. His weight, his heat. You sigh against him in relief, in a newly blossoming excitement that he’s back again. You spread your legs wider, feet grazing his calves—

“Let me kiss you, please.” 

You’d give in, but the game is just so pleasurable. 

Your laugh is but a breath. “You wanna kiss me?” 

You exhaled, he inhaled. 

“Don’t ask stupid questions.”

“Since when do friends kiss?” You cock your eyebrow at him just like he did, prodding your tongue on the inside of your cheek. 

He hovers a little bit higher above you, hanging his head in defeat, sighing. Places his hands in fists on either side of you, caging you in. 

“Premium friends do,” he mutters, lifting his head, face all serious. You dig your toe into the toned muscle of his thigh, twirling sweet little circles, gliding up and down. Watch as his eyes lid and he tries to control it. “Don’t do that or I’ll fuck you.” 

Your body panics, but you will it to relax. 

“Does that come with the premium subscription?” 

Jungkook purses his lips, supports his weight on one hand as the other, the tattooed one, grips your jaw. He squishes your cheeks, bites his lip once—seemingly ponders whether he should play your game or not before he lets go of your pout, but still keeps his hand there. He traces the shape of your lips with this thumb, feeding his desire to kiss you with scraps. 

“Yes,” he utters. “Kisses, orgasms, my dog. It’s all—”

Orgasms, not just sex. Orgasms. 

“I get to take Bam?” 

Jungkook tuts at you. “You get to take me,” he corrects you. “Though, can even such a little thing like you take me?” 

Probably not. Definitely not. 

“But what about Bam?” 

He looks at you as if he couldn’t believe the words you’re saying, turning his head slightly to hear you better. Then, he scoffs, running his tongue across his lips swiftly, letting them express the enjoyment of your provocation by stretching into a smirk. He places his hand back on the right side of you, thinking over his words. 

“Bam is mine, but you can pet him. You can kiss him.” You can hear the feigned venom in that word as he spits it and you grin, pleased with yourself. You enjoy doing this to him. “And if you’re good, I’ll let you take him out for his walkies.” 

You gasp slowly, fingers absentmindedly gripping his thigh. Butterflies buzz you with a mere hint of arousal and to convey it, you wet your top lip with the tip of your tongue. The dominance, the principle of proving to him whether you’re deserving of something. Your heartbeat quickens, reaching for him with each swell. 

Oh, you’ll be good. You’ll be good until he’s sick of it. 

It seems he’s as pleased with himself as you were with yourself, reading your body language as he beams down at you, dimples poking holes in his cheeks. You want to stick your fingers there, pinch the skin at the corners of his mouth. Feel them, kiss them—

“Deal.” 

Jungkook blinks at you. He most likely expected you to be difficult. You like the look of surprise on him. A sweet kind of glint perches itself upon his irises. You’re at awe of how he manages to be so adorable and alluring at the same time. You could never understand it. You deem he must be otherworldly. 

“A kiss to seal the deal?” he tries, raising his brows, lowering himself to his elbows. 

He skims his lips across your cheek, descending to your neck. Places one, singular kiss there. Lifts his head to hear your answer, a soft curtain of hair falling across his forehead. 

You make a face as if you’re thinking about it. 

Jungkook groans. 

It’s cold, the way he turns away from you and it startles you—but then he slides his hands under your back and lifts you with ease, sitting you down on his lap. He moves you from the muscles on his thighs to the hardness of his intimate parts and you groan at the feeling of it. You’re wearing an airy short skirt with tights and knee socks underneath, the barrier so thin that you feel the solid, thick shape of him right under your femininity. 

You rock against him once. Jungkook lets out a sound akin to yours, fingers flexing—hands almost reaching for your behind before he decides against it and keeps them planted against your back. 

He desires your consent. And that makes you feel light-headed. Tipsy on the wholeness of him, on the pleasure coursing through your body. 

You rock your hips again—and this time, Jungkook whimpers. 

You take your hands and, slowly, you make a pathway down his chiseled chest. He twitches against you when your fingers pass by his nipples, his body following and squirming along. And once you reach the definition of his abdomen, your hands rise and fall against its quickening movement as his lungs heave. You’re mesmerized by his reaction to your touch. It’s as if it was his first time as well and something about that makes you woozy, savage and absolutely feline. 

And something about the way you’re allowed to do as you please, whereas he’s not, strengthens that state of mind, enriches it, thoroughly worsens it. 

You want him. 

It began with a ring and ended right here. 

And the process of your decision starts at his hips, finalizes at the pebbles of his nipples and finishes completely at the sides of his neck. He gives you the same, if not better, reaction, his manhood moving against you, and it’s settled. 

The giving of virginity to seal the deal, not just a kiss. 

Hovering your lips against his, you slip your hand to the place where you’re connected to feel up the shape of him. You moan onto him, vigorous power seizing you, propelling you to wrap your fingers around him. The breaths Jungkook emits are desperate, tortured, wafting over you, intoxicating you. It fills you with confidence unlike any other that you’re able to coax such a thing of beauty out of him—that you, the artist, have the upper hand momentarily while he doesn’t. 

And he waits, depends on you. You want to cry due to how happy it makes you, due to the way it suffuses an empty part of you, left abandoned by someone who should’ve taken care of it a long, long time ago. 

Because of that—if it’s kisses that he wants, you’ll give him as many as his body desires as a thank you. 

“You’re so hard against me,” you whisper. 

Jungkook grips your waist hard. 

“If you want it, you have to seal the deal,” he mimics your intonation, voice deep, tingling your tummy. 

“I want it.” You clutch both of your hands on his jawline, thumbs finding the invisible dimples. 

“Kiss me, then.” 

You whimper at the longing to do so. Your tummy clenches, butterflies inside swarm around and—

When you close your lips against his top lip, they burst into smithereens. Jungkook sighs in relief, enveloping you in his warmth. 

The kiss is hungry. You expected his first taste of you to be careful, contemplative, but he goes all in. Takes charge of the lip lock, swallowing you whole, moving against you, uttering low sounds that make your head spin and you just comply. Accept that you’re the one who submits to his craving and you find yourself liking it; find yourself wanting to deepen your submission. 

You wrap your legs around his waist, your head tilted as you reciprocate all of those hard kisses. When he comes up for air, he just gazes down at you, out of breath. One hand still on your back, the other cradles your cheek. There’s something puzzling in his eyes, as if he was fighting something within. You’re radiated by that energy, heavied down by it, letting him pet you like a puppy while you wait for the next step. 

“You’re so good that I’m considering letting you take Bam out,” he breathes, curling a wisp of your hair behind your ear. “Sweet little thing.” 

He pecks you once. You grind against his manhood and as he shortly groans onto your mouth, you splutter into giggles. Behind you, as if he heard him, the dog peeks his head out of the door, giving his Daddy a questioning look. Jungkook chuckles. 

“Bam, house.” 

The dog leaves and Jungkook sinks his fingers into your hair, sighing. Kisses you, again without tongue—only does what you’ve allowed him, but you overflow with the desire for more. He’s so considerate, so respectful and while you’re grateful for it, you want to break it. Your trust in him, made whole by all that he’s done for you, settled within you, made a bed in the sensitive parts of you that now shine. He doesn’t need to remain there—you want to go beyond that. 

“Touch me, please.” You look up into his eyes as you say it, willing them to see with all your energy how much you want him. 

He rubs soothing circles on your back. “If I touch you, I’ll fuck you, sweetheart.” 

You lift your butt ever so slightly and bounce down on him, your skirt furling. Jungkook moans, pleasing you to the core. It’s bratty of you, but it serves him right for being so stubborn, so firm in his control. You want to break him. 

“Can’t you see how much I want that?” you purr, bunching the cotton of his T-shirt in your fists. 

He merely shakes his head, licking his lower lip, fucking with you. He tugs on one of your braided pigtail, the other hand gliding to your hipbone. “This little girl is horny? I couldn’t tell.” 

A yellow light, sleepy in nature, spills through the blinds, latching onto the side of your neck. His eyes flick to it and his teeth sink into the wetness of his lip. He looks back at you when he says, “what was it that made you horny? The neck kisses?” 

He straps both of his hands to your hipbones now, adjusting you so your sweetest spot rests against his cock, rocking your hips like he wants them to. He swallows down his noises, makes room for yours. You figure he wants to hear them. 

You think about what made you horny. His respectful behavior. An electric spark spasms in your core at the memory and you roll your body against his at the impact—nipples pebbled, grazing below the hardness of his pecks. You moan loudly. He breathes heavily, can’t for the life of him contain that, gripping you with strength that will surely leave bruises. You add it to the list. 

His control—the momentary, delicious lack of it, too. The dominance that follows it. His noises and how unrestrained he is when it comes to them. The allure and the attractive charm of his looks, blended with that insufferable cutesiness. His hard cock. The neck kisses, too, of course. 

You summarize your answer and you tell him, “you.” 

A hitch in his throat. “Fuck.” 

Fuck, indeed. Fuck the steady rhythm—Jungkook speeds up your movement, the pace so fast your pigtails and your ribbons bounce, tits following suit. Your breath falls in step, moans echo within the walls of his room. He kisses you harshly, but that doesn’t silence you. He swallows your noises down, grunting. 

“You wanna know what made me hard for you?” 

You nod your head, lips forming a natural pout at the loss of contact. 

“Those fucking pigtails of yours. The knee socks. How tiny you are in my hands. Seeing you lose your fucking mind when I kissed your neck. Those marks I left behind, hm, fuck yes. Those marks made me crazy,” he mutters, staring you down. “And you know what else?” 

You wait for his answer as white flashes blind you, your roaring orgasm beckoning you close. He doesn’t stop rocking you against him, not once. Fills your brain with emptiness with his words coated wet by his dominant energy. You feel your own wetness soaking the fabric of your panties. 

“Your brattiness,” he says. “I want to fuck it out of you and make a good girl out of you that won’t misbehave again with her smart words.” 

A faint part of you, half affected by the pleasure he gives you, arises to stand up for you. “But I was good and you said so.” 

He clicks his tongue, disapprovingly shaking his head. Slows down the pace so you’re able to hear him loud and clear, your orgasm backing away. “You see the thing is with little bratty girls like you, even when they act good for me, there’s still that dark little side of them that hides. Unless I fuck it out of them, they play with me. And trust me, I like the game until I don’t.” 

You frown at him, but a moan betrays you. A fight throngs inside of you, his dominance yet again permeating you, causing you to flourish, but on the other hand, you don’t like being added to the mix. You want to be the only one—and it makes you angry that he had someone like you before you, that he even said it altogether. Though unfortunately, that’s something you can only keep to yourself. 

The forming attachment breaks, splitting into two, with the knowledge that your wish is futile. You understand he said it for the sake of the role-play that you both naturally, wordlessly established through sexual attraction, but you still have a lot of getting used to within the dynamic. He’s experienced, you’re not. Though, when you think about it, he doesn’t know a thing about your purity. You never told him. 

You blame yourself for your own pain. It’s your fault—you should’ve had a conversation with him about it before you let him do anything to you, instead of playing flirty games with him. You wouldn’t have gotten hurt, if he knew you were a virgin. The thought of what you’ve done stains you, makes you feel filthy, but you will it to kneel inside of you like a wounded animal. You need to be strong if you don’t want to storm out of his room in tears. 

No attachment, no liking. 

Just sex. 

There’s still a frown to your face, despite the fact you set yourself free with your decision. Jungkook chuckles at it, oblivious to your internal storm. 

“You didn’t like that, did you?” You didn’t like being compared to other girls he’d been with; there’s nothing to be said of the like about the role-play aspect. Being called bratty did rouse a moan out of you. “You prove my words right.” 

You roll your eyes. Jungkook grips your ass hard and spanks you. As the sting reverberates, along with it comes the realization you got what you wanted. 

You broke him. 

And now you have to face the repercussions. 

Good thing you’ve sobered up from the stupefaction of your arousal. 

You cradle his face and kiss him deeply in effort to change the narrative. No feeling of affection from earlier hangs upon your heart and you find that it’s easier like this. No strings, no pain. It relieves you—so much that you sense a layer of lightness to your body and tiny, manageable tears well in your eyes. You get to enjoy this after all. 

There’s radiance to your eyes, rooted in hope, and true softness to your words when you say, “I want you to fuck it out of me. I want you to be my first.” 

You want to be different—your pride is uninfluenced by your decision. If he fucks it out of you, the new narrative you’re longing for will fully take place and make living through this bearable. You know you can’t have him the way you’d like, but if fate wrote that you’re to have him this way—you don’t mind altering it to the little desires you’re allowing yourself to have. 

Once in a lifetime opportunity. You can’t lose it. 

Jungkook is left astounded by your words, eyes widening, shock evident on his features. Like your words, he softens, unclenching his fingers from your suppleness, the darkness in his irises making a way for gentleness to come through. He rubs the small of your back, hands ascending to your spine, feeling the clip of your bra, until he finds the nape of your neck. He holds you there, tenderly, as if you were a porcelain doll he now was careful not to break. 

The change in his demeanor is stark. It surprises you as well—and like everything that has happened within the hour, it isn’t something you expected from him. The emotion that emerges from the roundness of his eyes touches the hardness of your decision, tries to get through, pokes a gap inside, letting the light in. 

He tucks his darkness back inside. Strokes the back of your head, the silky ends of your ribbons sifting through his slender fingers. You relax against him and your body does it for you. It welcomes his tenderness, glad for the truth to be out. You fight against it—against yourself, willing your decision not to break but remain firm. 

No strings, no pain.

But to no avail. The light spreads. His light. Celestial twinkles of stars, small parts of him that make him who he is. 

“You’ve never had anyone before me?” he husks, regret glossing over his eyes, holding your head firmly as he awaits your answer. More stars spill like liquid. 

You shake your head ‘no’, your chest tightening. 

He kisses you and there’s something different about the way he does it. Now you can sense the carefulness you searched for earlier and you taste the primal core of loving care in the movement of his lips. The kisses are long, deep. As if you’re a different person now, a girl unlike any of the ones he mentioned. Someone who matters, someone who’s solid. You’re back at the beginning. 

A lump forms in your throat. 

“You sure about this?” he asks. 

One part of you, greater and illuminated by his stars, wants it gently like this, with flowers of innocence and purity besprinkled across his features, never leaving you out of his sight, taking care of you. But you fear that if you allow him to be tender, your heart will choose him again and cling to his side. The other, more faint part of you, affected by your decision, thinks it’s better to stick to the role-play, for there’s the aspect of illusoriness that will not bruise anyone’s hearts, especially not yours. It will make you horny, Jungkook will get you off and, glowing, you’ll go home.

You can’t decide. It’s too much of a heavy weight to bear on your shoulders. You can’t do it.

You need him to say the word. You need him to decide what will be the face of the trajectory of your premium friendship. 

Flowery or deceitful? 

A small candlelight in you hopes for gentleness and purity before your fear unfairly puffs it out. 

“Yes, I’m sure. I want you.” 

Jungkook lays you down and, at last, you feel his manhood against you. He bends to pepper apologetic kisses along the column of your neck and you feel the authenticity of his regret, thrumming against you warmly. Your breath hitches in your throat, the principle of the candlelight in you not being a high hope after all—

“I’m sorry. I should’ve gone about this better.” A kiss to your cheek; you stifle your sobs. “I should’ve checked in with you, but I jumped straight in. This was a mistake on my part. I’m sorry.”

He blames himself, not you. 

You want to remain stoic, but his authenticity beckons yours to come out and envelop him whole, gives access to your emotions and you can’t stop the miniature teardrop from flowing down the side of your nose. Neither can you stop the words that follow its footsteps. 

“I should’ve told you first,” you whisper, sniffling. Jungkook furrows his brows at the expression of your pain in tender emotion, wiping it away. “But I was bad—reckless.” 

He chuckles softly, caressing your hair. “You’re an angel. Sent to my side for me. You weren’t bad. I didn’t mean what I'd said.” 

His words, his touch, the kiss he adds to your cheek to punctuate his sentence—Jungkook erases everything that has just happened. 

Newness rushes in your chest, the pouring of spring into summer permeates your whole being. You hear the birds sing, the rustle of flimsy flower petals on tree branches as the warm wind grazes it with its touch. Jungkook seals this feeling by pressing a kiss to your sternum. 

He said it, so it must be so. You trust him. 

The firmness of the cage around your decision unlatches. Doesn’t fly away like the birds. Is a little bit afraid of peeking out. The candlelight returns to light up the room around that cage, blossoming into the sun. 

“We don’t have to do anything, if you don’t want to,” he says, looking up at you from the place where he dragged your top down to kiss your skin. 

The sun rays in you absorb all of the darkness. The firmness extends one wing. 

You run your fingers through his hair. Figure the only thing the summer in you is missing is the heat. You want him, you want sex and you don’t want to think about feelings or consequences. You don’t want to choose between anything anymore. You just want to enjoy yourself. 

“I meant it when I said that I want you to be my first,” you say, fingers curling around his ear. Jungkook leans into your touch and it’s as if he’s massaging the wing to alleviate it from a cramp due to being tucked in for so long. 

“Okay,” he sighs, taking your hands and pinning them on the pillow and bunny above your head. He sits up, examines you and you wonder if he can see how truly fragile you feel. “Do you trust me?” 

He’s had half a year of going out with you, mingling his life with yours, spending money on you and treating you like an absolute treasure to build your overall trust. And what he did just now? How he erased your pain? Your nod is immediate; you don’t need to think twice. 

“Of course I trust you.” 

“Good.” A soft smile. “I’ll make sure your first time will be beautiful for you.” 

Your heart thuds. His words steal all the breath in your lungs, smoothing out the surface of your body for his stars to fill. Tears prick at your waterline. 

“Are you scared?” 

You’re an empty canvas. 

“Not anymore.” 

Jungkook nods, gladness pulsating off of him. “I’ll be here the whole time. I won’t leave you, not even once, okay?” 

“Okay.” 

He finds the zipper on the side of your skirt and yanks it down. “How many times do you wanna come?” 

The ridiculousness of the question makes you laugh and you hide your face beneath your palms. “To be honest, I don’t expect to come at all. It is my first time after all.” 

You marvel at the honesty seeping out of you. His work, no doubt. 

Jungkook frowns, ridding you of the skirt, fingers hooking under the hem of your top. At the reveal of your pink, flowery, see-through bra, he stops altogether, stunned. He fondles the material, grazing over your soft nipples, at last reaching the embroidery of the small petals. He gasps in wonder, eyes flicking to your intimate parts to see if you’re wearing a matching set. 

The same flowers adorn the suppleness of your tummy. 

Jungkook smiles at his discovery. Is hasty as he drags the nylon of your tights down your legs, along with your knee socks. 

“I’ll decide how many times you come for me, then.” 

Heat pools in your femininity. There it is, the dominance that you love. Yet this time, it’s laced with his gentleness. Heaven on earth—a meadow full of flowers in the middle of summer. Like the ones on your lingerie. 

Joy grasps your heart. “Do I get to know before you start?” 

Jungkook chuckles, pressing a kiss on your tummy. “What, you wanna count them down for me?” 

You asked just because, but the idea excites you. You nod. 

Your response prolongs the rumble of his laughter and you feel its vibration as he kisses his way up to your clothed breasts. You’d think he’d focus his attention on them, but he straightens—reaches for something behind him and retrieves your white knee socks. He bunches them in his hands and puts them on you as if he were dressing a child. 

Paradoxically, goosebumps spread all over your thighs. 

Smoothing the material over your thighs, he lies back down against you, lips latching on the spillage of your breasts that your bra gives him. While it feels dizzying, you still want to know the number. You poke him in the bulging muscle of his arm and in the process, you flush his cheeks red. 

Jungkook pushes your tits together and licks over the line in the middle. The sight of the shine of his wet tongue against it drenches your pussy, ruining your pretty underwear, and you want him there, on your sweetest spot. Your nipples stand to attention and Jungkook listens to their call, thumbs brushing across them. 

You mewl, grinding your hips against his stomach. 

“Two times when I eat you out; two times around my cock,” he answers finally, awakening your butterflies. “How many times is that, then?” 

Amidst the pleasure, you do the math. “Four.” 

“That’s right. You think you can do that for me?” 

You’re not sure. In fact, you’re not sure of anything—lost in his touch, in his energy. 

“I don’t know,” you say, truthfully, skimming his face for a sliver of disappointment in his features. 

You find none. Only tenderness—round, soft eyes, brown in the light he radiates, nose and mouth buried in your tits, sucking on the skin, making you feel good. 

“That’s okay. We’ll try together. Nothing bad is gonna happen to you if you don’t come as many times. Or at all. I promise.” 

Your chest clenches. You grab his face and kiss him, licking over his bottom lip before you slip your tongue inside. Jungkook grunts, rolls his own muscle over yours, tasting you, feeling you. He inhales sharply against you, once again taking charge of the kiss, taking each and every thought and negative feeling you had and crushing it to smithereens. 

He lifts you and switches places with you, sitting you down on his lap with your back supported by his chest. He roams his hands all over you—tits, tummy, hips, sides and thighs while he busies his mouth on your shoulder. As your eyes follow each movement, you notice the marks he embellished your breasts with and your arousal grows—so much that you take his wandering hands and hook them under the waistband of your underwear, guiding them down your thighs. 

There’s a change to his breath when his index and middle finger feels up the fleshiness of your cunt for the first time. Hard, raggedy and absolutely tormented. He glides those digits up and down your dewiness, listening for the squelching sound that makes his cock twitch beneath you. 

He moans onto your neck, nose tracing the column on its way to your ear.  “How do you touch yourself?” 

A sudden shyness overtakes you and you turn your head, needing to hide in his neck this time. You remain silent, the words lodged in your throat. 

Jungkook sees you. 

“Do you rub your little clit from side to side or in circles?” he questions, helping you answer. 

“I—I like both,” you whisper onto his skin, moving your hips so his fingers slip to your clit, the sweet spot where you need him the most. He grabs the back of your thigh and lifts it, spreading you open, meanwhile you chase the firmness of his fingers.

“Just like that, ride them,” he husks, eyes dazed, fixed on the roll of your pelvis. “Feels good, doesn’t it?” 

Head on top of yours, you nod, never ceasing your movement, transfixed, just like him, by the constant way the pads of his fingers fondle your clit before dipping between your lips. The heat of the summer tightens in your lower belly and it’s a desperate litany of begging what your mouth utters, despite the fact you’re not really sure what you’re asking for, but you let him hear it. You’re close, so unbelievably close, yet still have a road to walk on before you, and you close your eyes to feel the delight of his touch more deeply, only to find that you manage to do nothing of the kind. 

When you sense his eyes on you and by instinct you reciprocate his stare, that’s when you feel the depth you sought after. Mouth parted, pupils dilated, eyelashes a drowsy catastrophe, messy hair casting a soft shadow over the planes of his blissed-out face. You want to kiss him. You want to make him feel as good as he’s making you feel—

“Let me do it now,” Jungkook says hurriedly, sensing the nearness of your climax. 

“Yes,” you croak out, halting the movement of your hips—and ‘yes’ is the word that ripples out of your mouth a hundred, a thousand more times when he spreads you wider and rubs his fingers on your clit from side to side. 

He feels the pleasure in sync with you, accepting all of your yes’, twisting his face the moment yours does, quickening the rapidness of his hand once he switches to circles to carry you to your summer-breathed paradise. 

And when you come all over his hand, he slips two fingers inside your hole.

He stills the buck of your hips. 

You widen your eyes at the new feeling of fullness and, panicking and constricting around him, you look at Jungkook, who merely strengthens his hold around you. 

“Trust me,” he says, breathing heavily. He doesn’t move his fingers past his first knuckles; he lets you adjust to the size. Gives you a kiss full of tongue to distract you. “Does it burn?”

You begin to pant against his mouth, the high of your orgasm long gone. You’re uncertain to count it as one when it was so short lived, ruined by the sudden plunge of his digits. But much to your surprise, you don’t detect any burn in your walls that he speaks of, which you realize was his intention.

“No, it just feels a bit uncomfortable.” 

He kisses you again. You feel your lips go numb, eyes lidding at the pressure you feel as he sinks his fingers a little bit deeper and begins to move them sluggishly, your slick creating another ring for him around his fingers. You try to meet his thrusts as the visceral sensation of being filled by longer, thicker fingers settles within you and takes roots. You discover that movement is the key to parting the uncomfortable feeling and it steps to the side to let the pleasure walk forward.  

Jungkook presses his palm flat against your clit, guides the pleasure to envelop your body when he plunges his fingers deeper, past the second knuckles and fucks you in swift jerks. Your mouth falls open in a silent moan and he fills in the sound, expressing his fiery delight for you at the clench of your walls against him, accommodating for him, for his desire to stretch you out, so when he finally enters you, no pain comes to greet you. 

Deeper and harder—yes, that’s what feels good. You roll your body, becoming waves of the sea as wetness and the build up of pleasure—seafoam—is all your senses wrap around. 

“Feels good, baby?” 

His need to check in with you speeds up the nearing expansion of your orgasm. Pointer and pinky finger digging into the skin of your backside, you watch the in and out motion, the digits coming out wetter and wetter each time.

“Feels so fucking good. I’m gonna come. I’m so close.” 

It’s quicker. Way quicker than your first tiny orgasm. He slips in and out of you so smoothly—you’re obsessed with the sight, ravaged by it entirely. You grind your hips and fuck yourself back, picking up the pace but slowing down instantly when you feel yourself at the peak of your climax.

You want to prolong it. You love the feeling too much to end it too soon.

Jungkook stops your movements fully.

“I want to be the one who makes you come,” he murmurs. “I want to be the one who fucks your brain out. I want to feel you squeeze around my fingers. Fuck, I want it so bad.” 

His hand drifts to your neck just to hold you there, the other, the busy one, fingers you harder, your fast approaching orgasm blinding your senses. Your drenched cunt squelches around him, the sound so lewd it causes you to seek comfort—your hand flies to his on your throat, fingers wrapping around his wrist, the tip of your pointer reaching the fat bulb of bunny’s head on his ring. 

Harder and faster. A scalding fire burns you and you just take it. Loll your head back against his shoulder, giving him the space to grip your jawline. Flames grow closer and closer, leaving a layer of sheen on your body in its wake. You feel the sudden need to pee.

“Oh my god, Gguk—” Your muscles tense. Close, so close. “Gguk, Gguk—”

“What, baby? What’s the matter?” he husks, squeezing your neck once. “You’re gonna come for me? Gonna come on my fingers?” 

You nod quickly, too quickly. Flames of the sun, licking you. Flames of the summer heat. Just what you wanted. 

Jungkook opens your jaw, swirling his tongue around yours. “Let go. Come for me. You can do it, I got you—I got you. Come for me, baby, please.”

Obeying his desperate order, you do.

A small stream of your pleasure, a faint fountain, trickles out of you and into his hand. He gasps, in unison with your whimpers, and you’re transmitted elsewhere. The wildly colorful, blooming meadow on a hill, overlooking the languorous sea and he’s there. Reaches behind himself. Offers you his hand. The wind ruffles his black hair, sweeps it back and you’re giddy—as giddy as Bam, as giddy as you were in the moment the slid the white bunny ring on your finger—to take the last two of his slender fingers, the pinky and the ring, and sit with him by the edge of the cliff. 

“Did so well for me.” 

The whisper takes you back and you awake. 

You’re different. Incandescent. Of life, of stars and its light, of growing fondness for the man you sit perched on the lap of, whose fingers still remain sheathed inside of you. He changed you. Perpetually, absolutely. He changed you and made you into something new. Something that is softer, more elegant—smaller but assertive. Alluring and kind. Indisputably good. 

He fucked everything negative out of you with his fingers. Left the vast canvas of stars inside of you.

You’re no longer a plain spread of cotton, but a living, breathing artwork. His artwork.

Once he fucks you with his cock, you wonder what further internal changes are going to occur within you.

You feel a great deal of gratitude for him—and you want to reciprocate all that he’s done for you. You want to work hard at it. Spoil him. Make him whimper. You believe he deserves it.   

“You finger yourself often? How come you took my fingers so well, hm?” 

You’re panting, unable to speak. Absorbing the sharpness of the stars, acclimatizing to the change. 

“I guess you do, huh?” he deduces. “Good little girl, preparing herself for me.” 

For the life of you, you can’t catch your breath.

Jungkook kisses your cheek deeply. Pecks you on the same spot a hundred times, slowly taking out his fingers. Lets you see your slick coating his fingers and, softly, you gasp at the little ripples of wrinkles upon the tips of his fingers, mouth parting.

And then he sinks them into your mouth. 

His hardness twitches behind you and you moan, your daintily bittersweet taste making your head spin. And when you look at him, you’re met with the utmost pink-dusted adoration painted on his face. You kiss it, inhaling it, letting it flow into your system so it suffuses your bloodstream, letting him taste you. You may not feel your lips, but the sentient poetry of the stars begins to sing in you. His stars. You feel like a flushed floweret visited by a bee. Spent, but happy. 

Happy to be wanted.

Good, because he said you were.

As if internally intertwined with him, you feel the identical heat tinge your cheeks. 

He says nothing as he lays you down and spreads your legs back to the way they were. Though when he’s graced with the sight of your bare cunt in all her glory, his face says everything that his mouth isn’t capable of. Hunger and torture—lips agape, corners of the mouth shiny with the rush of drool and Jungkook wipes it away, then lowers his fingers to your clit, to your lips, becoming more acquainted with this intimate part of you that no one had seen before him. He traces your small hole, even going as far as to your other, tinier hole and you yelp, stopping his exploration. 

Jungkook merely chuckles, eyes darting to yours. “You’re so pretty.” You grow so hot that you think you must be on fire. “Especially there.” 

You mewl, shrinking, hands looking for anything to hold and finding his bunny plushie. You take her into your arms, inhaling a scent that could never be hers. You recognize immediately whose it is. 

Musk, vanilla, wood. 

The thought of Jungkook cradling her while he sleeps moves you and you pout. 

“How we feeling?” he asks, still caressing your fleshy cunt, dripping with dew. 

Overjoyed. Overstimulated.

Heavenly.

“Good.” 

A foxy smile. “How many orgasms was that, hm?” 

You don’t know where your shyness comes from and why it chokes all of the words you want to say. You bury your face in bunny for a moment, taking a breath to fight against it, so you can please him because that’s all you yearn to do. 

You open your mouth, but no words come out. 

Jungkook stifles a laugh and it makes you feel terrible. And it’s worse when he leans over to kiss you, turns his head at the last moment and faces bunny.

“Bunny, how many times did she come?” he asks her, offering her his ear to hear her answer. Looks at you. Widens his eyes. Gasps. “Two,” he mouths. Listens some more. Nods. “I know she thought she wouldn’t come at all. Crazy, right?” Then he lets out an endearing sound. “She said she’d believed you could do it the moment you said it. She’s so happy for you. How cute,” he coos. 

You giggle, the bridge in your throat loosening, light flooding you, over and over, until you think you can’t take any more of it. You feel so full, so happy and the sensation threatens to pour out of your tear ducts. 

It heals something within you—that he treats you like this at your most vulnerable state. Your inner child flares, the stars the strength that fixes her stoop, helping her arise, stand straight, stand powerfully. 

He smiles down fondly at you. “So what number are we at?” 

You hide your face behind your hands. “Two.” 

“What did you say? I didn’t catch that.” 

You drop your hands and with as much energy as you can muster, you repeat the number. 

He purrs, caressing your cheek. “Good girl.” As a reward, as if the praise wasn’t enough, he kisses you deeply. “Will you let me taste you?” 

You swallow his desire, but speak up your own, “I want to taste you first, please.” 

Jungkook hums, curses under his breath. He straightens and kneels before your form, fingers pinching the back of his T-shirt and pulling it over his body. You catch the sight of his broad shoulders, of each dip and muscle, and your irises grown in width. Him ridding himself of his clothes dishevels his hair and as he untangles his arms from the material, he smiles down at you, noticing your stare. 

He caresses the back of your thigh before his hand flies to his hard length. He palms himself once, then continues to undress—tugs his sweatpants down to his knees, though he doesn’t bother himself to fully take them off. The shape of him is more prominent through the fabric of his white Calvins, the bulge of his mushroom wet and pellucid, and you sit up, hand itching to touch him, to join his in making him feel good, but he cups your chin—forcing you to look up at him. 

He swipes his thumb over your lips. “You want it?” 

You nod. “So bad.” 

Jungkook curses again, the sound low and rough. 

“Touch it,” he orders and both of your hands listen, wrapping around his girth, squeezing beneath the head of his cock. The thickness of him makes you see the light of the stars that you sense fluttering feverishly inside of you. Your mind is too empty, too washed out by your orgasm, by the change that you don’t even think about how you’re going to take him. Jungkook hisses, tilting his head back before he looks down at you intently. “You did this before?” 

You’ve never seen one in real life before, let alone touched one.

“I’ve never let anyone get this close.” 

Jungkook strokes your pigtails. “How come you know what to do then?” 

Instinct or memory from porn you watched—you don’t know, it all blends together within the fuzziness of your mind. And you tell him.

“I watch a lot of porn.” 

Jungkook smiles coyly and it strikes you. You’ve never seen him smile this way before or, even, feel this way before. All you know from him is dominance, dominance and dominance. 

You release him from the confines of his boxers and repress your gasp. His ever glistening tip reaches just below his navel and the thickness of his girth obscures most of his pubic hair. Along with the sound of your surprise, you also have a hard time swallowing the saliva collecting in your mouth. 

“I want you so bad,” you whisper, needy eyes looking up at him. Shy, too shy to let your gaze linger at the most intimate part of him. 

He sucks in a breath at your words, hissing. And you need him inside of you all over again. 

Fuck fuzzines in your mind. You’re fuzzy all over. Wrecked with nerves, suddenly. Your hands tremble, hovering in front of his manhood. Jungkook covers them with his, soothing you, and guides you to his shaft. Wraps your fingers around him. Doesn’t let go. 

The feel of him under his supervision is slow. He allows you to take in every ridge of him, every vein—the softness of his skin, the warmth and the weight. Round after round, up and down, until you get familiarized with him. A trickle of his male essence drips down the side of him and your tongue instinctively darts out. Like your hands, Jungkook’s breath shakes and he anticipates your next move, despite the fact he’s in charge. 

He’s been patient all this time, giving you the time you needed. But that hardly applies when you have him in your hands, when you own his neediness. His whimpers while he waits coax your slick out of you, soaking the bedding beneath you and you can’t take it anymore. 

Neither, evidently, can he. 

“Baby, please,” Jungkook croaks out. Tortured, so terribly tortured. Grip tight and clammy around your hands. 

So vulnerable. 

You ache. 

You lick up a stripe of his essence on the side of his cock and Jungkook shudders. Shifting onto your knees, you show him the milkie on the tip of your tongue and Jungkook pulls your hair, tilting your head back. Kisses you nastily, licking into your mouth. Moans, lowly. Then, he holds his girth at the base and pushes your head. 

When you take him, a mewl ripples around the thickness of him. His eyes roll back and his grasp of your hair tightens, burning your scalp, adding to the fire. He lets you feel it out; lets you figure out what to do, testing your knowledge from the porn you’ve watched. And the tensing of his stomach divulges his strained effort not to fuck your mouth. 

You go slow about it. Swirling your tongue around that rosy head of his, along that delicious ridge, licking a flat stripe across that line of his slit. Getting to know him in all those intimate places, relying on your senses—on them to tell you what he likes. Your hand begins to move on its own, gliding back and forth in tandem with your tongue stimulating his sensitivity. You try not to think about how you can barely fit him in your mouth, because if you do—you’ll ruin his bedsheets. 

But then Jungkook hums in approval, sending a gush of wetness out of you and you whimper—you whimper at the worsening ache you feel, at the helplessness that pools in your system by being just so filthily wet and horny. 

He moves your hand faster. Breath jagged, bedroom eyes zeroing down on you. And then—

Jungkook moans your name. Over and over, clenching and unclenching his hand on the back of your head. 

“Don’t have to teach you shit,” he spits. “You just watch porn all day, don’t you? Naughty girl.” 

Losing control for a split second, he rams his cock into your throat—and you don’t panic, you don’t yelp. Instead, you groan. 

He pulls you away from him with a sharp tug. Kisses you harshly. Shoves you down into the pillows with one push on your sternum.

Bending you in half, he drinks your cunt. Lips immediately suck on your needy bundle of nerves and it’s so fast you don’t even know which part of you he’s focusing on because he’s everywhere. Clit, hole, clit, hole—sucking, licking. Alternating, alternating so swiftly and deliciously that you completely lose your mind. 

And then he lifts your hips and holds them in the air, wanting you to see what he’s doing to you. Like you, he darts out his tongue and teases you, hovering the muscle above your clit. Shiny, nimble, capable of doing unspeakable things to you. He watches as your pussy drools for him and he chuckles darkly. Tongue lowering to collect it, but unlike you he never does it. He lets the dew trickle down your skin. 

“Cute little pussy. So wet. Wetter than when I fucked it. You liked playing with me on your knees, didn’t you?” 

With your fucked out brain, you don’t think it’s taunting what he’s doing. You deem it’s just him reveling in what he’s able to do to your body—in the fact that he owns it, that he teaches it new things. The glint in his dusky, lustful eyes proves it. 

Jungkook drags a long stripe on your clit, making your eyes flutter closed and your teeth to sink into your bottom lip to cage in your moans. 

“Talk to me.” 

You can’t. You don’t know how to talk. 

He stares you down. 

No answer from you. Just hard pants. Pussy drooling. 

“I won’t play with you, then.” 

Panic. “No.” 

He cocks a brow at you. “No?” 

Silence. 

He begins to lower you down but you grip his forearm. 

“Jungkook.” 

Bent over above you, head low, he merely flicks his eyes to yours. Duskiness, such blackening duskiness in those orbs. 

“Beg.” 

All your muscles tense. Wetness gushes out of you. 

Lucky for you, that word he wants is the one you haven’t forgotten. 

“Please.” 

“Please what?” 

You groan in frustration. 

“Be nice or—”

“Please, lick me.” 

That dark chuckle. You feel yourself becoming obsessed with it. 

“Where?” 

A challenge. Your throat dries up. 

“There.” 

He shakes his head disapprovingly, making a sound that expresses just how much he didn’t like that. 

“Try again. Last chance, little girl.” 

The loving smile on his face says everything about how that threat is feigned. You hear it tell you—you have as many chances as you need. He’s merely encouraging you to step out of your comfort zone. 

And something about that mellow, hidden kindness gently ushers you to do just that. 

“Lick my clit, please.” 

A hum. A long stripe on that sensitive, thumping spot. A roll of his tongue forward and backward.  

“Like this?” 

You choke out a moan. 

“Yes, please.” 

“Or—” He blows on you, causing you to tremble. “Like this?”

He shakes his head against you briskly, not yet at a full tilt. Just like his, your body shudders in his hands and he tightens his grip on your supple hips. You can’t take it, the pleasure is overwhelming and—

“Look at me,” he orders and you open your eyes, immediately. “Like this?” 

Jungkook adds more pressure and rapidness to the movement, leaving you glazed sweetly in the sheen of his saliva. He moves your hips up and down on the firmness of his tongue and you scream, taking a strong hold of his hair.

“Oh my god, yes, fuck, Daddy—”

Shocked, Jungkook groans against your pussy, slowing down to ingest what your mouth has just uttered. It’s more than natural to call him by a title like this, instinctual, innate. It fits him so well and it drenches your pussy, your slick amalgamating with his liquid love. You’re certain he feels the rush.

Your Daddy. 

You roll your hips against his tongue. Dark and more dark, those eyes of his. Bottomless pit.

“Fuck yes, call me Daddy again.” 

The whimpers you let out are pathetic and Jungkook shudders at them, groaning. You whine the title over and over again, a verdant, dreamlike litany of your feminine sexuality pampered, cared for, supervised. Jungkook accepts the gravity of it all, each declaration propelling him to suck your clit harder, bruises forming on your hips from his deathly grip, black eyes never leaving yours, hypnotizing you. 

And when you come like this, it’s unification what happens. 

You’re bound to him and he’s bound to you. 

Daddy and little girl. 

Throughout your sexual experience today, you had a hard time accepting things but this—this is something that slept inside of you all your life and just now has been awoken to a flickering canvas of bright stars. You feel it blink, adjust to the piercing light, before it smiles dolefully—happy to be conscious, happy to be caressed.

Jungkook kisses you and takes his time. The taste of your femininity, the fresh coldness of your change, the strong wine of his desire. You’re drunk. You’re slurring your mewls. 

And one thing about unification, it’s a mirror. 

You swallow down the same mewls, uttered by his throat. 

“Daddy’s gonna give it to you,” he whispers, adjusting between your legs. “Will be gentle. You’re safe with me.” 

He rakes the tip of his length along the entirety of your little sea-kissed seashell. 

“You want it? You want Daddy’s cock inside of you?” 

Jungkook looks into your eyes deeply as he asks you that question, the tip ready at your significantly smaller hole. He peppers kisses along your jawline and chin. 

“I’m scared it’ll hurt,” you murmur, brows furrowed. 

He kisses your cheek, the corner of your mouth. 

“We’ll chase the pain away,” he promises.

Your frown deepens. 

“But what if it doesn’t fit?” 

You expect him to chuckle, but he does no such thing. He absorbs your worry by kissing you tenderly. Then he glances at your body. Remembers he never took off your bra and fixes his mistake. 

“You may be small, but you were made to take me,” he says and your heart skips a beat; you wonder if he understands the gravity of his words as they take roots within you, rising to bloom into splendid flowers. “Besides, my dick is tiny. You won’t even feel it.” 

It is so far from the truth that you burst into giggles. He laughs along with you—a mirror reflected. 

Stars and flowers. Sea and freshness. You were made to take him. You trust him. 

He kisses your breasts, licking over your nipple—but briefly. Holding his shaft, he asks if you’re ready. You nod, your fingers desperately searching for his and Jungkook notices. Sinking slowly inside of you, he grabs his bunny plushie and tucks her into the crook of your elbow. 

There’s a pinch of pain, blended with the feeling of discomfort as your walls stretch around his head. 

Seeing it painted on your face, Jungkook draws close, enveloping you and bunny in his heat. Pushes a little more in. You wail softly, the pain intensifying. Fear intermingles with your features and Jungkook—the worry in his countenance makes you almost weep.

“Hold onto me,” he says, brows scrunched, so—so serious. “Relax, baby. I got you.”

You hook your arms around his neck, bunny sandwiched between your chest and his. Jungkook saves this time to let you adjust around him. 

“I know it hurts,” he whispers onto your mouth, index finger, the ringed one, stretching to graze your cheek. “Just relax your muscles for me. It’ll feel good soon.” 

You nod, trusting him. 

He pecks you. Smiles. 

“How many orgasms are we at?” 

You roll your eyes, your own smile threatening your lips. “Three.”

Jungkook hums. Pecks you again. You feel your walls loosening, little by little.

A smug smirk. “You didn’t expect that, did you?” 

“You obliterated my expectations.” 

“Just wait until I fuck you properly.” 

You blush, eyes twinkling. 

“Pretty girl.” He kisses you and you feel your attachment forming again, though this time—newly. As light, as free as an entanglement of seaweed upon seashore, you and him. Connected. Bound. No fear, not even a hint of it. “I heard you watch porn.” 

Your flush deepens. Jungkook sinks a little deeper. A faint pain—nothing bad. 

“Who told you?” You laugh, the sound ridding you of your shyness. 

But Jungkook grows solemn.

“Tell me what kind you watch,” he whispers, angling his head to give you a tiny kiss. 

Your cheeks hurt from the smiling, from the onrush of emotions within you, sloshing to and fro. You feel hot all over.

“The one where all the focus is on the girl,” you whisper back. “The guy uses all kinds of toys on her and she just takes it. Comes so many times and there’s a countdown for it.”

Humming, he begins to nibble on the skin beneath your jaw, making your breath shallow. He pushes in another inch—and the pain is worse. You tighten your grip around him.

“And how many times do you come when you watch it?” Deep, deep is his voice, the calmness to your nerves due to the pricking you feel. 

“I don’t stop coming.” 

Jungkook swears under his breath and clenches his digits into a fist beside your head.

“And you finger yourself?” 

You nod, confidently. Another inch. He smiles at your confirmation of his deduction.

“How many fingers?” 

You scoff. “Just one.” 

“Well done,” he praises, kissing you once, keeping his mouth on you even as he asks, “ready?” 

You nod, again, even though there’s fright to your eyes. He sees it and he brushes his eyelashes against your eyelids while he kisses you, taking it all away. And he doesn’t stop, even as he pulls out and thrusts back into your heat. Gently, so awfully gently. 

He didn’t break his promise. 

Jungkook rocks his hips in slow, sensual, prolonged staccatos, moaning into your parted mouth. You’re so focused on him—on the bulging of his muscles on the either side of your head, the broadness of his shoulders, the slick sweat dripping down his neck, right from the top of his tattoo; on the sheerness of his pleasure as he moves in and out, carefully so as to not frighten you, that the pain quickly subsides. 

And there you feel it. 

The sensation unlike any other. 

He rams into you, seeing the wrinkle between your brows smoothing, the lust clouding your eyes as the delight spreads all over your body, bringing along little dots of goosebumps. The night sea, windless, still hot from the afternoon’s goodbye kiss. You feel it—and you feel it deeply, sinking inside of you with every inch of his manhood. So much that you meet his thrusts. 

“That’s it, baby. Fuck yes,” Jungkook murmurs, enraging the waves within. “Feels good, doesn’t it? Being fucked?” 

Stars and its light. He picks up the pace, hooking your leg over his shoulder, entering you deeper and deeper, giving you more than half. The thrill of feeling so full—you curse, you moan, you can’t hold it in, even if you tried. And Jungkook coos at your conveyance of the pleasure he’s giving you, never lifting his eyes off of yours, off of your features, your emotions. Surveying you, controlling you, making sure you’re okay—more than okay.

You sense the pressure coil deep within your core, the sense of your climax approaching and you’re astonished at how quick it is. You halt your own movements, needing—wanting him to be the one to get you there, the one who owns your orgasms. 

“Gguk, Gguk, fuck—”

“I know,” he breathes. “I’m gonna make you come all over my cock.” 

He fucks you harder, making you cry out. Deep, deep staccatos, so different from the slow, languid ones. You can’t catch your breath, the sea within you sloshes violently and then—

Softly, you sprinkle him with your fountain of pleasure. Not enough to drive him out, but sweetly enough to force him to groan against you and pound you harder into the mattress. Continuing as if you hadn’t come. 

You don’t have the time or the space to think about what just happened—he fucks each and every thought of you. 

“My little squirter,” Jungkook mutters, kissing you. “One more, baby. One more for me and I’ll paint you with my cummie. Hm, you want that?” You’re gone, flung out of this world into a tranquil island. The palm trees, the sea and his cock. Your emotions are numb, body limp. All you feel is his cock, ramming and ramming into you. “Or you wanna swallow it for me like a good girl?” 

“Swallow, please,” you croak out and Jungkook makes a sound of approval. Rewards you by giving you the full thing, filling you balls-deep. 

“You feel me?” He kisses you, tugging your bottom lip with his teeth. 

Glorious, glorious delight. You can’t breathe. Too much. 

“I feel you—” You lift your head to look down where you’re connected. “I—I feel you in my stomach.” 

Sitting back, he lifts your hips and palms the bulge just a little bit above your mound. Feels it move under him once he resumes fucking you. He replaces his hand with yours, keeping you distracted as he undoes the ribbon in your hair and ties your wrists with it. Right there above the bulge, where he fucks you. Then he latches onto your hips and jackhammers his cock into you, watching as your tits along with bunny bounce with each slam. 

“You look so pretty like this, tied up for me, taking all that I’m giving you,” he says, thumbing your clit, making you cry out. “Such a good fucking girl for me. I’m bringing you up so well.” 

“Daddy,” you call out and Jungkook nods.

“Yes, that’s right. Daddy is fucking you so good.” 

White flashes. Seafoam. The pressure in your tummy deepening and deepening. The roar of the night sea and your body following—you come all over him, painting him iridescent with your dewiness. His joggers, dragged halfway down his thighs, his boxers are all ruined—pelvis, thighs and cock glistening. It’s such a beautiful image to you that it suffuses you with energy and you begin to speak. 

“Please, come for me.” 

Surprised, Jungkook chuckles. “Don’t you have orgasms to count down?” 

The ever persistent need for control. You kiss him, slip your tongue into his mouth to shut him up and you struggle against your ribbon, for the feeling of kissing him without your hands makes you feel iffy.

“Five. I came five times for you just like you wanted,” you whisper. “You fucked me so good. I’ll never forget it.” 

And it’s the truth.

Jungkook pecks you once deeply, humming into the kiss. He pulls out of you and whilst he strokes his cock, his fingers tug down the ribbon around your wrists. You take your place on your knees, gazing with awe and hunger at his shiny length. And as if he needed it, he plunges his fingers into your mouth for more lubrication. Then, grabbing your jawline gently, he pulls you in towards his cock, letting your lips play with his tip the way you like it as he jerks himself off. You flick your tongue under the ridge of his head and his length twitches, stunning you. You do it again, more rapidly, and you don’t stop until Jungkook begins to tremble. Pulling him inside your mouth, then out, flicking faster and faster. Repeat. 

Jungkook grunts. 

“Yes, like that, princess. Fuck, I’m gonna come for you.” 

He announces it, but it still comes as a surprise when the first rope of hot cum spills onto your flushed cheek. You suck him harder for a moment before you stick out your tongue, eyes flick up, as he empties his balls for you, his hand never ceasing the swift tug on his length. 

And he just keeps coming. Rope after rope. Liquid star after star.

And you swallow it all. 

Spent, sweaty and breathless, he helps you swallow it. Dragging his fingers to the places your tongue can’t reach, he feeds you his cum and you suck on his digits. Your heart thuds in your ribcage, especially when he begins to play with your tongue, smiling down at you in that dopey way. 

He pats you on the cheek once you show him you’ve swallowed it all. 

“Good girl. Good little princess.” 

That you are. A changed person for all eternity.

“Is your tummy full?” 

You nod, beaming vehemently up at him, the aftertaste of the bitterness of his liquid stars still wafting through your senses.

The three forbidden words rise in your tongue, even though you don’t believe them—you think it’s just the opulence of new emotions and experience that forces those words on your tongue. But they remain adamant when he bathes you clean, when he brushes your hair and gives you his clothes to wear to bed. They provoke you right there on the tip of your tongue when he gives you his zipper hoodie to wear on his balcony once you tell him you need a smoke and he joins you, giving you his pack of cigarettes. 

And they come off the edge, in a different form, when you tell him of how he changed you while you hold his hand and he caresses your damp strands with a cigarette propped between his index and middle fingers, kissing your cheek. The smoke fixes a makeshift halo around both of your heads. One body, one halo. Bound.

“You’re such a lovable person, Gguk.”

What you don’t know is that those mere words changed the entire trajectory of his life. Yours, too.

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

BACK to masterlist / read part one, read part two, part three

[kairawrites]

sweet escape.

🌺 masterlist 🌺

pairing: lewis hamilton x his wife

requested: A kiss that tastes of the food/dessert they are eating.

summary: It's your turn to host the sleepover, and the house is crawling with kids. All Lewis wants is to enjoy his favorite snack in peace, but someone else has beaten him to it.

words: 1.7k

It was your turn to host the sleepover, and Ariel and Mason, along with their friends, had been buzzing with excitement all week. Their friends always claimed that you hosted the best sleepovers, and tonight was no exception. The living room had been transformed into a comfort kingdom, a cozy haven that would make any child’s sleepover dreams come true.

The sofa was covered in blankets and pillows, perfectly prepared for you and Lewis to cuddle up later. Roscoe was already settled in, burrowed into one of the blankets. Air mattresses, each adorned with fluffy blankets and an array of pillows, covered the remainder of the living room floor. Pressed together and ready for the kids, they formed cozy nests. String lights hung from the ceiling, casting a warm, twinkling glow over the room, and each air mattress had a customized snack basket placed at the foot, filled with treats specially chosen for each child.

In the kitchen, boxes of freshly delivered pizza sat waiting on the island, their aroma mingling with the sweet scent of the homemade treats you had prepared. After picking up the kids and their friends from their respective homes, Lewis had returned to find this magical setup already prepared and waiting for the night’s festivities. The sight of it had brought a smile to his face—this was exactly what a sleepover should be.

Once Ariel and Mason, along with their friends, were fed and changed into their pajamas, you managed to get them to agree on a movie. They were going to watch Monsters, Inc., a classic that never failed to entertain. The kids settled into their cozy nests of blankets and pillows, their faces illuminated by the soft glow of the string lights as you switched off the overhead light. Lewis watched in awe as you effortlessly managed all eight of them, your voice calm and soothing as you adjusted the volume and made sure everyone was comfortable.

You were wearing pajamas that matched Ariel’s and her friends’—a cute set in soft pink with Hello Kitty prints scattered across the fabric. Lewis, on the other hand, was dressed in black pajamas adorned with Spider-Man prints, matching those of Mason and his friends. His pajama top was emblazoned with the superhero’s web design, while the pants were red with a Miles Morales pattern.

As the kids finally settled into their makeshift beds, Lewis watched you walk over, a smile playing on his lips as you let out a breath, clearly relieved that the evening was under control. He reached out, his fingers lightly touching the hem of your shorts. “Cute pajamas,” he noted.

You giggled as you glanced up at him. “Thanks, but you’re one to talk.” You gestured to his Spider-Man pajamas, and he grinned.

“Hey, don’t be mad I got the better pair,” Lewis said with a chuckle, leaning down to steal a quick kiss.

“I have something for you,” you said, reaching around him. Lewis’s eyes lit up with curiosity and excitement as you produced a personalized snack basket just for him. “The kids wanted to try the peanut butter bites, so I had to give you only two,” you said with a playful grin.

Lewis’s grin widened as he took the basket from you. His hand instantly moved to retrieve a peanut butter bite. A soft moan of appreciation was muffled as he bit into the sweet treat. He’d been looking forward to this moment all day, from the moment he found you pulling out the ingredients in the morning.

“You always spoil me,” he said, giving you a quick kiss before moving to join Roscoe on the sofa, ready to enjoy the treats.

Lewis was sprawled comfortably on the sofa, Roscoe resting contentedly against his chest as he scratched behind the dog’s ears. The kids were thoroughly engrossed, laughing at the antics of Sulley and Mike.

However, something felt off. The absence of your laughter was unusual. You were always the one who laughed the loudest at this film. Lewis lifted his head from the armrest behind him and scanned the room, searching for you.

Seeing that you were nowhere in sight, he figured you might have slipped upstairs for a bit of peace and quiet. With a small smile, he reached into his personalized snack basket, hoping to grab another peanut butter bite. To his dismay, he found that there were none left.

He set the basket aside and rose from the sofa, leaving Roscoe to stretch out in his spot. Lewis headed to the kitchen, opened the fridge, and checked every shelf and corner for any remaining peanut butter bites. His search proved fruitless, leaving him mildly frustrated. He sighed, shutting the fridge.

A thought crossed his mind—maybe, just maybe, there was one last stash hidden away in the pantry. You had the habit of storing treats in the pantry when you wanted to keep them away from the kids.

Lewis opened the pantry door, only to stop in his tracks. There you were, standing in the small pantry, looking a little too guilty for someone just grabbing a snack. Your hand was tucked behind your back, your eyes wide with surprise as you met his gaze.

Lewis raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. “So, this is where you’ve been hiding?”

“Just…getting a snack,” you replied.

Lewis’s gaze passed over your face, his eyes lingering for just a moment. He had known you long enough to recognize the subtle signs when you were hiding something. The way your eyes shifted slightly to the side and the faintest of smiles that didn’t quite reach your eyes were all dead giveaways.

He could tell you were trying to play it cool, but he could see through it. “What are you hiding back there?” he asked, a teasing edge to his voice. His expression was one of playful suspicion, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of his lips, his arms crossing over his chest.

“Nothing,” you said quickly, but you took a step back as he advanced.

Lewis leaned in, the familiar scent of chocolate and peanut butter widening his smile. “Is that the last of the peanut butter bites?”

Before he could say another word, you quickly stepped forward, covering his mouth with your hand. “Shh!” you hissed, glancing over his shoulder at the kitchen as if expecting the kids to burst in at any moment.

Lewis chuckled, his laughter muffled against your hand. You guided him by the front of his shirt, pulling him inside the pantry as he reached back to shut the door behind him. The small space felt even smaller with the two of you squeezed inside.

You tried to maintain your composure, but with him this close you failed.

Finally, with a resigned sigh, you looked up at him. “Alright, fine,” you admitted, unable to keep up the pretense any longer. “I took the last of the peanut butter bites.”

Lewis’s eyes lit up with a mix of triumph and amusement. “So, you were hiding them?” he asked, his voice full of mock surprise. “I thought you made these for me.”

Your eyes rolled, yet you allowed him to take a bite out of the bar in your hand. “What if I want them for myself?”

Lewis paused, a mock-serious expression on his face. “Then you shouldn’t have made them so good.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head as you watched him take a second bite. “Guess that’s on me, huh?”

“Yeah, means you gotta share.” Lewis leaned in, his smile widening as he kissed you softly.

You broke the remainder of the bar in half. You held out one piece to Lewis.

“You know,” he said with a chuckle, “I didn’t kiss you just to get that bar.”

You giggled, raising an eyebrow. “Really? I find that hard to believe.”

With a mischievous grin, Lewis leaned in closer, his nose brushing against yours as he placed a second, more lingering kiss on your lips. The sweet taste of peanut butter lingered between you. You could feel the warmth of his hand against the back of your neck.

As he pulled back slightly, his eyes locked onto yours with a playful glint. “Maybe that's all I'm after,” he mumbled, lips brushing against yours again.

Despite the warmth of your husband's lips against yours, you can't help but giggle. “Why are we hiding snacks in our own home?”

The sound of your laughter pulled a smile to your husband’s lips.

“Have you seen the way those kids look at me the second they realize I have food?” His brows raised, Lewis popped the last of his bar into his mouth. “They’ve got their mother’s eyes—big, innocent, and impossible to say no to.”

The two of you stayed there for a few more minutes, savoring a few moments of quiet. Eventually, the sound of muffled laughter pulled your gaze to your husband’s.

“Thanks for sharing,” he smiled softly, gently cupping your face, leaning in for a kiss.

You found yourself pressed against the pantry door, your breath catching as his lips moved against yours with a slow, deliberate intensity. His touch slipping beneath your pajama top.

When he finally pulled back, you were both slightly dazed, your heart racing in your chest. Lewis rested his forehead against yours, his voice a low murmur. “Whose idea was it to invite a bunch of kids to our house again?”

You giggled, remembering the enthusiasm in his voice when he suggested it. “Yours.”

He groaned, shaking his head as he kissed you again, a little less serious this time, more playful. “Remind me to never get any bright ideas.”

“Don’t let them stay up too late,” you warned with a smile. “Or you'll have to wait until tomorrow to get what you want.”

“They’re not the issue,” Lewis teased, his voice soft as his fingers traced your jawline. “Keeping you quiet is.”

You gently rolled your eyes at his teasing, but your heart fluttered as his gaze drifted back to your lips.

“Get rid of the evidence,” you whispered, your smile widening as you reached behind you to open the pantry door.

But before you step out, you stood on your toes and kissed him quickly, a soft, sweet peck that was over almost as soon as it began. Lewis watched you go with a lingering smile.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Ok but what if

What if Ghost was a knight (again) and then there's a spoiled, presumptuous lady who's bored (again)

She's the kind of princess who was dearly loved because she was a girl. No one knows why, because everyone knows girls are a liability. But she has been treasured and sheltered all her life, she always got everything she wanted, and now she's stupid enough to fall for Simon who has lived a life full of war and torment and who is not the kind of stray dog you would want to feed.

Our poor lady doesn't know she's playing with fire when she's toying with her father's (Price?) most loyal soldier: a brooding, tall, broad man who got his knighthood after this campaign or that. This outlander, Simon, catches her attention because he rarely speaks and never smiles, but makes her smallclothes wet because he has an ill look about him: a broken nose and a thin lipped, downturned mouth. This sir is looking everyone from under his brow like they're mere children in his eyes. The only time she's heard him speak is when he's barking orders in the courtyard.

She teases and teases and teases him: flirting every chance she can get, giving him soft brushes that barely remain within the bounds of propriety. She bestows heated stares that linger a little too long, she licks and parts her lips when they walk past each other in the cold, dimly lit corridors of the castle. He never returns any of her flirts.

Except the stares.

She can feel his eyes on her even when she's not looking. That coal-like stare is fixed on her wherever she goes: it's hot and cold at the same time, like embers that are kindling under long-forgotten ashes.

He's interested… But only in a way that a hungry, beaten, suspicious dog is interested when it's staring at a meaty bone, trying to decode if it's a treat or a trap.

He finally has enough one day when she dares to smile at him: softly, knowingly, like a whore in a tavern.

The gauntlet closes around her neck like an iron collar. She can smell the horses and the sweat and the dirty leather as the man she has dreamed of seizes her and pushes her back against a wall.

"Is this what you want? Hm?"

She finally hears him speak: dark, gravelly, and borderline exhausted from all the games she plays. Were he to hold her a little more tightly, she would call it a choke, a soft and slow strangling. The intensity is enough to make her heart flutter and her stare escape somewhere to the grey stone wall. There's no way she can meet that heated stare, now filled with flames and lust.

The knight she used to fantasize about is about to snap. The stoic, cold man is about to lose control at any given moment, and she's about to lose her maidenhood along with that shattered self-control.

He presses his whole body against her: leather and steel and hardened muscle, all that rough, well fed, thick flesh forged in countless battles is pressed against her frame like she is nothing but a flower. Her woolen dress is a poor shield against all the hard ridges of his armour, the pommel of his sword digs into her side painfully, but she pays it no mind. There's something equally as hard and demanding pressed against the apex between her legs. She's forced to rise to her toes from the way he drives his swollen cock up her cunt, and even if there's layers and layers of clothing between them, she can feel the heat of him.

"'S not a good idea to tease a starved dog," he snarls while watching her lose her confidence. All of it, because it was only ever a charade. A silly daydream of a silly young woman, just an attempt to distract herself, a pastime game that happened to turn into a dangerous obsession.

And he growls. He actually growls like a hound when she's suddenly so weak she can't even provide him with an answer. It's a dark rumble that meets her chest, a hot, slow breath that passes across her frightened skin. She feels like floating: his cock raises her from the ground as he tries to fuck into her through their clothes. The ironclad hand has never even seen mercy as it turns her head to the side for him to have a good sniff of her neck and hair.

"Sir," her lips tremble; her whole jaw is making it clear that she's about to cry soon. There's not enough stones on the wall for her to count if he decides to take her here. "Simon…? Please, sir. I'm a virgin…"

[slowd1ving]

hello!! Your fic is so cool and if your request is open, can I request DG x male reader when DG still in his James lee era while reader is the King of Busan

XENIA ゜゜・DG

Xenia, noun: the classical concept of hospitality to strangers. This, unfortunately, includes a wandering dog and his conniving owner—a most irritating, tooth-grinding conundrum the King of Busan has with Charles Choi and his boy-genius. sorry for the wait anon I was away from my laptop for the past week or so! and I couldn't write :'( first meetings and onwards for this particular work haha chicken and egg problem.. haha introspection on business and corruption... haha capitalism pairing: dg (james lee) + male reader warnings: male reader, canon typical violence, arguing (bickering) wc: 3.3k

LOOKISM MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

In the lengthy chronicles of Charles Choi’s grand plan—to mould the precarious South Korean underground into something far more profitable—James Lee finally came across his very own cause-and-effect conundrum. 

What came first, the chicken or the egg? Plutarch initially posed this question in The Symposiacs: a symbolic tug of war between creator and creation. James supposed, in his bored sort of way, that this question described the relationship between cities and Kings as well. Chronically, objectively, the cities existed first—tall structures and unique ecosystems that forged shadowy figureheads to rule the violent underbelly. But poetically, it was rather hard to ignore the hands etching—pummeling—a pathway for the power to flourish. Without those in charge, what were the cities? And without the cities, who were the people in charge?

Parsing the matter, it distilled into who influenced whom.

Of course, the dazzling sprawl of Busan refracting from the glass under his feet was no exception. Even he, who satiated his youthful wanderlust with blood on his fists, couldn’t deny his reluctance to sully this city more. But, what did it matter? The second most important city in South Korea (some would froth at the mouth and argue it was the first for its gateway to Eurasian trade, or at least for its world-class ports) was built from perfectly respectable trade; but alack! it was also protected by its snarling underworld. It had already been befouled: polluted by fists no better than his, trodden by legs more filthy than his own. Blood and toil smeared its golden sand, and its money was just as dirty.

 Sure, the city was propped up by honourable (hah) commercial deals, but it was shielded by the illicit ones. 

A defiled aegis, if you would.  

It was clear the current glitzy glamour of Busan night-life was carefully orchestrated by someone: from the specific mouthfeel the night air had, to the businesses that ran late into the witching hours. Those mythical beings and chaebols who fed and extracted money from this place, in endless loops, were culpable for these towering skyscrapers and glittering lights. 

Creators. 

In turn, the city cradled your grimy little body—chubby hands wrapping around index fingers of the metaphorical hounds—and made you. 

Did this metropolis represent you, or did you represent the metropolis?

It was not in a polite setting that James Lee scouted the venerable King of Busan: arguably the second most esteemed figurehead for the Kings of South Korea. In theory. In theory, since Busan’s reputation as a hub for trade and exalted trade (rather than the mere cold, hard cash ill-reputed other cities offered Choi) entwined with your own. Except, in practice, you were a far more reticent King than anyone could imagine. A shadow to fade into obliquity more than any other shadow. 

Underbelly, yes. This was the turf you were most at home in; he could forget all about the glamorous, illegal casinos in basements, he could forget about eavesdropping on business moguls and their lackeys, he could forget about waiting in the entertainment districts for the proverbial snake to finally rear his head. 

You were the fucking microcosm of this city: draped with expensive fabric and chainmailed with gold, but the blood on your knuckles stank of impurity. In a parking lot nestled on the outskirts of Busan, he witnessed the King in his court: complete with the luxury, the opulence, and the hamartia of brutality that came with capitalism. Yes, Busan had minted you as a shadowy side to a glitzy coin—as your eyes snapped to where he lounged against concrete, he couldn’t help but observe how your imaginary hackles raised. 

Thwomp. Casually, you tossed the grunt beaten black-and-blue to the frigid asphalt, with the magnanimity of tossing breadcrumbs to ducks in a pond. Like the lackey was the bread and James fucking Lee himself was the duck. A bloodied cheek squished into his sneaker, but you merely stared at him owl-like. No, cat-like, because it seemed to be the same nonplussed stare a cat would give someone after bringing them a dead rat. 

“Nice city.” Since you clearly had no intention of speaking first. Deftly, his fingers unravelled the mystic plastic of a lollipop: popping the cherry-flavoured candy into his mouth to soothe the acerbic irritation he tasted. “You treat all your guests like this, or do kings not follow xenia anymore?” 

It was a rather futile attempt to lighten the mood. After all, if he could help it, he’d rather negotiate to pave the way for the second generation before resorting to throwing his fist. No, that was a lie. His flexing fingers wanted nothing more than to curl into a fist to let off some of the steam he’d garnered from searching for you in this uselessly big city, but fate had him making stupid jokes based on The Odyssey he’d read just last week for his Classics competition. If he rummaged in his pocket, he could probably find the gold medal clanking against hard sweets. 

Your expression changed minutely—a slight disturbance in your brows. They furrowed, and for a brief moment James Lee thought his joke fell flat. With all the blood soaked into your expensive garb, maybe you just valued fists over Homeric hexameter. Violence over prose. Brawns over brains. You slinked like shadows. Crude. Ominous. He could barely see your face even with the city lights flashing neon in the backdrop, but when your loping gait came to a halt, there was an exasperation that afforded more subtle nuance to your character. A bitterness to tinge what he thought was mindlessness. 

“Mr. Lee.” Your voice curled low in your throat, as quick and elusive as mercury, and perhaps just as poisonous. Shadow King of Busan, the man who never introduced himself to you noticed. Silence was golden, and he suddenly understood why Charles Choi so badly wanted sway over the young King in charge of this port city. “I hope you’re aware that beating my subordinates would invalidate any sort of hospitality between us. You’re no god amongst men either, so ritualistic hospitality is a very weak premise to coerce my amiability with. Try again.”

Deity in the flesh. Perhaps James Lee was the closest thing to breaking the limits of humanity, but all men were fallible. That wasn’t what caused his brow to rise though; going in blind may have been risky, but it was worth it to find someone with a silver tongue like this. 

You looked about his age—treading on the precarious cusp between First and Second Generation, fists stained as red as his hair—but you spoke as if you were triple your years. 

“You wanna transfer to my school? It’d be fun to have you in the Debate Club,” he said on a whim, but it wasn’t really a whim either. His instructions were expressly to negotiate with Busan—the city was far too volatile to create a power vacuum in. For cities like Ansan, struggle was welcomed; but Charles Choi had too little of everything to contend with Busan, of all places. Just like in Seoul, the situation would resolve itself, and it was far too soon for the HNH Group to meddle in a place like this. “You talk like a teacher.”

His tone was as syrupy as his candy, but there was half-provocation, half-probing-curiosity entrenched in his cadence. Go on, it coaxed, throw a punch. Argue back. Unorthodox was his means of securing cooperation, but he’d have to be a little unorthodox to secure the deal old man Choi had painstakingly written out. A contract between Elite and the capricious man before him, between HNH Group and the microcosm of Busan himself; it sounded like every capitalist’s wet dream. 

“Good question, kid,” you smiled, but it was less of a smile and more of a sneer as you ghosted closer to him. Kid, like you weren’t one yourself. 

Crack. You stepped, heavy, on the hand of the man you’d pummelled—only his unconscious groan of pain re-alerted James to his existence. “The term isn’t over. You should still be in school. Playing around like this makes me far less likely to listen to whatever you’ve followed me for. Try again.”

The thick scent of metal invaded his personal space as you peeled your black gloves off; the rings beneath them were tinted with the blood that had seeped through the material. Just like that, you callously tossed the garment onto the slumbering man under your feet—though he truly wasn’t sure whether it was a final affront to a beaten man or throwing down the gauntlet towards James Lee himself. 

It was a reminder, once again, to not be hasty. There was the real possibility of fucking Charles Choi several times over if he didn’t get this right, but the thought of his imminent doom didn’t seem all too unappealing. On the contrary, he found his heart beating faster—pulse hot on his tongue as an intriguing challenge presented itself before him. 

“I’m sure your informants have relayed more intel than just my name,” he mirrored the jagged stretch of your lips. The Legend of the First Generation. The Genius. The original, associated with the base moniker of the Ten Geniuses to show just how unparalleled James fucking Lee was. “Take a guess as to how my scholastic life is going, then consider the opportunity that I’m bringing you.”

Ambiguous. His words were dusted with just enough information to seem straight to the point, but vague enough that it was tantalising. A hook to ensnare the snake of Busan himself. And rather than sating the itch in his fists, he found himself looking forward to a parley instead. 

You studied him, appearing to consider his words seriously. Syllables phrased like he was the one with the upper hand, when in fact the HNH group was still tentatively unfurling and in the process of negotiations with both yakuza and Triad alike. He awaited your favourable response, hearing the stats roll into your mind as you calculated the preliminary gains and losses to joining hands with Charles Choi. 

Bloodied fingers tapped a rhythm into your jacket absentmindedly. He watched, anticipating your invitation. 

“Fuck off.”

“Huh?” he spluttered. Maybe he misheard you. Maybe he finally choked on his candy and induced a coma in which he was now dreaming of your response. 

“Your boss sent a high-schooler to broker a deal with Busan.” Your fingers now drummed in irritation against your forearm, but he was just as irritated. He took care of every other prefecture and province, only to have this guy who was his age, nonetheless, tell him his presence wasn’t good enough. Like, what? “Tell old Choi to come himself to negotiate if he wants any sort of foothold in my city. If he truly wanted a respectable contract, why would he send you as a messenger?”

“Excuse me?” If he wasn’t restricted from fighting you—the only exception was valid self-defence—he would’ve made the asshole in front of him eat shit. Alas, Choi wasn’t that generous or lenient. “He sent one of the Ten Geniuses, the primero, for this. I’m one of his greatest assets.”

“Are you a damn car or a person?” you snapped, and it suddenly felt as though he was looking upon an ancient wizard as he lectured a troublemaker outside his tower. His eyelid twitched, and he was finding it quite hard to keep a cool head. “Talking about assets… can’t believe Choi’s sent the guy who’s fucked up all the smaller provinces to deal with us.”

The latter sentence was more grumbled to yourself; it appeared he annoyed you just as much as you annoyed him, which he found a delighted satisfaction in. 

“Tell Elite to come himself,” you uttered finally, not even letting him get in a word edgeways as you ambled back into the shadows—not even sparing a glance for the pile of bodies left in your wake. 

And despite his objective, despite the imminent yelling he’d no doubt face, he couldn’t help but stare at your blood-soaked coat fluttering in the frigid coastal wind. 

Out of hatred, obviously. 

・゜゜・

Charles Choi was a conniving bastard. You already knew it, but seeing him in the reception hall really drove the image home. He was polite, a little too polite; yet as soon as you slid that manila folder across the mahogany table, his demeanour prickled into something knife-like. 

Snake of Busan, you were nicknamed, but this guy was something else entirely. Once he sank his teeth into your determination to keep Busan flourishing, you could practically see his pupils contract into thin slits. Of course you’d dealt with tricky deals. Weaving through negotiation as though it were a riptide was how you clawed your way to the very depth of Busan’s underworld—navigating until you finally found that crown mired in cess. 

Or, more accurately, it was Miss Crystal Choi who’d pierced her venom right where it hurt. A Genius of Business, her father had called her—and boy, did it take all your wit to match her expertise in trade. 

But did he really have to bring that guy along?

The scion of the Geniuses was also in your office, leaning against the wall far behind Elite and his daughter. And though nobody asked for his input—not even old Choi spared his prodigy a glance—it still irritated you to no end that he’d tagged along. A bright, cheerful grin cast the sun against the city nightlife on the top floor of your building—one directed right at you, considering the only other two people he knew had their backs facing him. Quite the foolish move, but you weren’t one to concern yourself with people who were basically daylight robbing you. If the dog they’d raised bit them, all the better.

Or maybe he was beaming right at your bodyguard-turned-assistant, who stood discreetly in the shadows of the blinds: slatted light gently cresting over his tall build. Well. It certainly was one of the less strange things Mr Lee had done.  

Still, for someone who’d been glaring at you just a week ago, the change felt far too eerie to ignore. 

“—and onto the temporary personnel exchange section—” A feeble attempt to pry open the walnut that Busan was, which would only end with the unfortunate bastard failing. You’d choose a loyal subordinate, they’d select someone who was doomed to only grunt work—far from the impenetrable fortress of this building. Boredly, you tapped the pen on the contract, before freezing up at Miss Choi’s next words. “—we’d like to recommend James Lee to transfer to this office.” 

A pen snapped, and ink spilled onto the page. Dumbfounded, you barely registered her sliding over a fresh sheet, as though she knew full well this would happen. 

No, it was no recommendation. Her very mention of his name was a forceful shove of him into your office. No wonder he was grinning like the devil. No wonder he was here in the first place. At that moment, you wanted nothing more than to leave Busan behind. 

Your eye twitched. 

He kept smiling—an ominous prelude to the brimstone and fire you were sure to experience promptly.  

・゜゜・

“Aren’t I a better bodyguard than that useless one you keep around?” 

James Lee had been a bit too quiet these past few days; duly loping around behind the lower-ranked subordinates as they made their rounds, never crossing the proverbial line when you’d handed him his duties as interim grunt. Though, whenever you passed him, his eyes followed the shadows of your fluttering hem—two pinpricks of an arid glare sweeping on your back. 

But James Lee was a dog, and whatever command Elite gave him, he’d obey. Heel. Roll over. Serve under the King of Busan for a month. A jester, if you would, with a leash around his neck that kept drawing more and more blood from him. What were the limits? Just how far would he go for the man with a crimson shadow?

“No,” you said. He stood, far too proud, on a summit of lackeys that had been sent your way by one of the companies who’d attempted to cheat their way to getting a more favourable deal. It would’ve been a simple ambush—one doomed to fail—fated to end with you tossing blood-soaked gloves right on them before you postponed the meeting you were on your way to. 

But not today. It appeared the limit of the dog of Elite was passing up petty competition with the man two paces behind you.

“Unlike you, Song’s actually pleasant to listen to.” Yes, Song wasn’t the most useful of bodyguards point-blank, but it wasn’t like you particularly needed someone to take care of protecting you. He made people lower their guards. And he made a mean cup of tea. “I don’t have any use for you, so you’re still worse.”

“Semantics,” he shrugged. “I made your life much easier, did I not?”

He was smart. Too smart, but you already knew that from the intel that had not yet been erased. Hushed up, because of course Elite would painstakingly conceal his cards. 

And unfortunately, you were always drawn to a risky hand. A pleasure far removed from the mundane violence of your everyday life—a heart-pounding thrill of betting all your chips in a hazardous (though not desperate) gamble. 

“Maybe.” For it was one day removed from the multitudes of late meetings and burdensome glove changes. Your hands weren’t seeped in oily red, sliding and dripping onto your expensive clothes that were tailored—though still felt so fucking ill-fitting that it made you sick—right to your body. 

You considered the man toeing carefully past the dogpile located against a cargo container: donning what could’ve been your life. A beige school uniform, pinkie slightly indented from books and study, pen marks still dotting his fingers. Closer. He ambled lazily to your direction, and as he approached with the dying sun behind him, you could see his smile. Just as languid as the day you first met him, and just as irritating. 

Closer. Strawberry candy laced the iron odour, though you could faintly taste lemon in the profile too—testament to the yellow wrapper stuck crudely on one of the men. Closer—he was far too close now, standing chest to chest while he stared directly at you. 

If there was one thing that came from this ill-fated encounter, it was probably the permanent furrowed brows that decorated your perplexed face—the bloodhound had been reduced to this fluffy thing demanding your attention. 

And it was just as unfortunate that your impression had been chipped away for him too—a King whose expressions were utterly delightful to witness. A straight mouth, grinning ever-so-slightly when a deal went your way. A routine rhythm to your biro tapping your notepad. Eyes that shone with practical constellations as you breathed the briny air of the port in. 

A particularity to the way you treated others, steely to the strong, awkward with the weak. So utterly flustered, when it came to tiny kids tugging on your long coat, or the grandmas you lent your arm to on the streets. If he had to compare it, he’d attribute your personality as a non-Newtonian fluid: your very own mix of cornstarch and water. Tough with pressure, all soft without. 

Like now. 

“Come on,” he whined. Psychologically, he was doing a damn good impression of pitifulness—even if you’d just witnessed him commit a beatdown so one-sided that you could feel the second-hand pain. And little by little, he was watching you falter: breath caught in his throat as he watched your brows default to their furrow once more. “I saved you a good few minutes, didn’t I? Don’t tell me Busan can’t even acknowledge hard work and effort.”

“Fine, whatever,” you crumbled just like that, under the heavy weight of his triumphant eyes. “Good job.”

So cute, he thought, then froze almost immediately the moment the words came to mind.

Fuck. 

・゜゜・

[op-81-lvr]

F1 X Reader; Role Reversal series Masterlist

~

I keep seeing these and I am such a whore for them so I though I might give writing one a go! If anyone has any ideas I could add feel free to drop them in my inbox is open

Reader is a driver in all fics, they pretty much just steal their partners career because it’s just easier to make things flow instead of rejigging the grid completely.

I have a million other works I could be posting right now but this idea has been plaguing my thoughts

~

~ 💶 Teamprincible!Max Verstappen x Fem!reader

Formula 2 retiree Max Verstappen becomes the new team principal for Red Bull, making him the youngest principal on the grid. He comes with the goal of getting you your fourth championship.

~ 💪🏻 PhysicalTherapist!Oscar Piastri x Male!reader

When you get into a pretty horrific crash that costs you the rest of the season Oscar is there to pick up the pieces and help nurse your leg back to health.

~ 📸 Photographer!Lando Norris x Fem!reader

Lando Norris is a famous photographer for TIME magazine. It just so happens that his girlfriend wins woman of the year the year he is set to take the photo shoot.

~ 💍 TrophyHusband!Charles Leclerc x Male!reader

Charles Leclerc-(L/N) lives a lavish life, he has his dog and his rich husband whos job allows him to travel around the world. He gets on with the other WAGs and becomes something of an icon.

~ 🧁 Baker!Carlos Sainz x Fem!reader

Carlos Sainz owns a sweet little bakery in a small little town in Spain, you being in Spain for the Barcelona GP decided to go exploring and stumble across this quaint little bakery (Much to your nutritionalists distress) .

~ ✂️ Stylist!Lewis Hamilton x Male!reader

Your PR team is fed up of their 7 time world champion showing up to the paddock dressed in nothing but team kit so they hire a stylist for you.

~ 🔪 Profiler!George Russell x Fem!reader

(Changed from Journalist!George Russell)

You and George have tried to keep your relationship under wraps what with you being in the public eye and him working for a government agency. That is until drivers begin being targeted at Silverstone. (Loosely based on my current criminal minds obsession except George works for the NCA and not the FBI)

~ 🍜 Food blogger!Yuki Tsunoda x Masc!Reader

While traveling around the world with you for Grand Prix Yuki takes advantage of the different cultures and cuisines to add to his food blog that he runs.

~ 🐾 Veterinarian!Alex Albon x Fem!Reader

Alex Albon is the best boyfriend anyone could possibly ask for. He is such a softie especially around your two cats and especially when he’s taking care of them while you’re travelling for work.

~ 🎞️ Actor!Daniel Riccardo x Male!Reader

(Request!) Daniel Riccardo meets you at an event and instantly just assumes you are another product of nepotism (which may not be totally incorrect). However as the night goes on and you become closer (and drunker) Daniel is absolutely smitten with the F1 driver before him

[m1ssunderstanding]

so my husband is a roadie and he's out on show right now with a guy who did sound for Paul in 89. My husband and this guy are barely acquaintances so he's not going to bug him much more, but here's what we got.

Paul and Linda "forced" their crew to eat veggie (knew that. They just didn't want to buy meat and they fed their crew for free which not everyone does. You always have the option to go off site if you want to buy something else.)

The crew had code words for when Paul and Linda were coming so they'd act right around them

Paul was nice, cool, one of the guys etc but Linda was a bitch (rolling my eyes so hard I'm beating Paul at eye yoga)

They would turn Linda's piano down because they thought she was so unbearably bad. (She had been playing keys on hit records and sell-out shows for almost twenty years stfu) They would've just muted her only Paul would be like "can't hear Lin, could you turn her up a bit mate?"

One rigger was so pissed at Linda (didn't give any reason except that she was controlling of Paul, which idk what that has to do with you, rigger, unless you wanted to fuck him or something and you think she's the one standing in the way of that but whatever) that he quit and before he left he put a bag of dog food by Linda's piano to be like "here's some food for your puppy dog". (They definitely got kinky with that that night I guarantee Paul loved being her good boy.)

But really, the shit Linda put up with for the entirety of their marriage. Heads would've rolled.

[alien-slushie]

Oh my GoD hear me out! Wolf Beastman!Kim Rok Soo

I know, sounds kinda weird but just shush and listen!

So, KRS goes wooooop~ all the way to the TBOAH[calling it BOH for short] world, but instead of swaping with Cale he instead becomes his own 'character', and is in fact a member of the Black Wolf Beastman Tribe. Why black? Because black wolves are rad as hell and KRS just gives me "Black Wolf" energy.

NOW! At first, KRS doens't know that he's in the BOH world, because he woke up alone in the forest. Is he the last member of the Black Wolf Tribe? Was it even a tribe at all? Was KRS actually from a differnet tribe but got kicked out due to his rare/ominous fur color? I haven't decided on that yet, but either way he's now a Lone Wolf![I've decided. It's part of the edit]

KRS is pretty much just living his best Wolfy life, he's traveling, adjusting to his new body, learning how to hunt and shift, and he gets to sleep whenever the fur he wants so he's actually enjoying himself more than he thought.[except he is so so lonely. Wolves should not be alone, Lone wolves suffer a lot due to their need of pack so even if KRS won't admit it, hes suffering emotionally]

After making a small territory is a seemingly quiet forest, he smells smoke and blood and hears screaming, and because he "doesn't want to chance the fire getting to his territory", he goes to check it out and finds the Blue Wolf Tribe already slaughtered, excpet for the children. Now, because KRS is too soft, even if he won't admit it, he tried to help the kids. They're wary of him, since obviously he's a stranger, but he brings them food and healing herbs he was able to sniff out. It isn't until KRS sees Lock that he realizes he's in BOH.

After the pups seem well fed and healed from any injuries, KRS tries to leave. He knows being around Lock will get him pulled into the plot, and he wants no part of. Except now the pups have come to see him as their new caretaker....Kim Rok Soo: you are the father!

Still thinking about what would happen after this though. Any suggestions?

How do you guys feel about KRS being able to have a wolf form? I know the Blue wolves don't seem to be able to shift like On and Hong can, but I really want Rok Soo to be a huge wolf with like 15 kids dog piled on top of him...

Edit:

So for this timeline I think I've decided that; the Harris Village attack and the Wolf Tribe attack dates were switched. So instead of "the unknown organization" attacking Harris first, they did the wolf tribe first.

I've also decided that Black Wolf Tribe was a thing, but the "Unknown Organization" got to them first, and the reason KRS is alone in the frist place is because he was the only survivor, similar to Lock in the original timeline.

Rok Soo isn't aware of this change though, and thinks Harris Village has already been destroyed so his plan is to go to Harris Village and rebuild so the pups have a new home, and the KRS will start a small Village or something there.

Lock does go berserk as in Canon, but with nobody else around KRS is the one taht has to take his attacks, pretty much cementing their bond.

.

.

.

.

*slowly starts pulling out a word doc* I might have to write this.

[hussyknee]

Libs are like, "YOU CAN'T LET TRUMP WIN JUST BECAUSE BIDEN IS COMMITTING A GENOCIDE! THIS IS NOT THE TIME FOR SINGLE-ISSUE VOTERS", when the fact is that people are already really fucking angry at him for funding two wars during a severe cost of living crisis. Biden's pet dog has already gotten Israel and the US embroiled in a steadily escalating conflict with Houthis and Hezbollah in Syria and Lebanon, and now Netanyahu is trying to ethnically cleanse two million Gazans by pushing them out of the country into Egypt, one of the countries the US gives billions of aid money to make nice with Israel and help them trap the Palestinians. Egypt is already mad about this (although Idk what they expected lol) and if Israel creates a border conflict with them, Iran might press their advantage and then the whole region descend into an all-out war in which the US is embroiled. At which point oil prices will jump, the US economy get even worse, more tax money funnelled into TWO wars, one of which is due to the genocide.

People might not care about Muslims living thousands of miles away, but they have some very strong opinions about putting food on the table. At this point there's a pretty significant shift in the Black community towards Trump because Biden has INCREASED funding for police, is supporting Cop City that someone DIED protesting, and hasn't made a dent in mass incarceration (the marijuana pardon was fucking hilarious in a depraved way). The right has also been weaponizing Black people's resentment against Latino "illegal aliens" and Biden's "concessions" towards them, when actually his immigration policies have barely been less draconian than Trump's all this time. The reason he's making those concessions is that he has to look more progressive than him, except he's also been slowly escalating ICE crackdowns, keeping kids in cages and building a border wall. So the Latin voters are entirely fed up with him too.

So far, he's lost the Muslim vote, the Latin vote, the Black vote, the youth vote (people of ages 18 to 35 are the most outraged at the genocide in Gaza), and they're hemorrhaging the working class votes. These are the extremely angry and betrayed people the liberals are currently working overtime screaming at about Trump "bringing the death of democracy", like democracy means anything to them compared to losing jobs, money, visas, family members, health (Biden's first and ongoing genocide is disabled people due to his COVID policies), social infrastructure and money.

Y'all said Blue Not Matter Who and elected a career racist and known incompetent who supported segregation, was an architect of mass incarceration, got Clarence Thomas elected to the Supreme Court and spewed rhetoric against Arabs so genocidal that motherfucking Menachem Begin was like "....bro." And you got exactly what you paid for. If Trump gets on the ticket next year he's going to win, and no amount of screaming at people online is going to change that. So I suggest you start organising now. The age of trying to create a revolution at the ballot box is over.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA for calling animal rescue/welfare on my mom who loves her pets?

My mom has 2 cats and 1 dog. I want to start off by saying that she doesn't physically abuse her animals.

They're in a weird state of being really emotionally spoiled and completely physically neglected. The dog sleeps in bed with her and is always on the sofa, doesn't get told off when he pees and poops in the house, and the cats are always getting cuddles. The cats are getting kinda fat because they're fed a lot.

My mom is an alcoholic and she doesn't look after herself or her home at all. It's been years since she showered or bathed, she goes weeks without changing her clothes except for when she works, her house is genuinely falling completely apart. Cupboard doors are falling off at the hinges and propped up with buckets, doors don't close, carpets are coming up off the floor, wallpaper is peeling, the shower door fell off and shattered, the toilet lid is cracked in half, the floors are too dirty to step on without shoes, the entire house STINKS of animal urine and there are stains everywhere. A couple of years back she had an insect infestation in one of the bedrooms.

Now, my mom loves her pets and really emotionally relies on them. Ever since I moved out she's been alone and has regressed even worse because when she's at home she has nothing to do but drink and watch TV. The pets are her only company most days.

However, her bad hygiene and home care translates to them. It has been YEARS since the dog was walked, and months since he even got a cursory trip over the road to the small grass area outside her house. His fur is always matted, and he recently had fleas (god knows how when he doesn't leave the house but there you go). He has bald patches of fur missing. He pees and poops all over the floors and carpets because he just doesn't get let outside to do it enough - and he runs away or hides when you find it so he 100% knows he's not supposed to, he just doesn't have a choice because he's not able to go into the garden. His claws are always so long they're bothering him when he walks, and as gross as it is to describe there have been COUNTLESS times I've visited and he's had literal shit caked onto his fur around his tail because he's had diarrhea and when I've pointed it out that he needs to be washed my mom brushes it off with "It's only a little bit" and continues to let him onto the bed/couch.

The cats are mildly better off because they can clean themselves, but their litter trays are always OVERFLOWING - like, genuinely, mountains of cat poop piling up in the trays to the point where they're going on the floor because they don't have room in the tray - and one of them is sleeping in a bed that is Caked in vomit stains, clumps of hair, other miscellaneous marks, all of that.

I've called someone about it before when I still lived there, and a woman did stop by to check it out and told my mom that the cat litters were unacceptable, but my mom just lies to them. According to her the dog gets walked twice a day without fail, gets a ton of enrichment, everything, and you can't really prove her to be lying. The woman told her she'd drop by in a week to check on the litters, my mom kept them clean until she came back and gave the okay, and then just went right back to neglecting them and nothing was done about it.

I have no idea what to do anymore but I want to call again and really impress upon them that they're not being cared for. I sent photos and video evidence last time along with an explanation, but it doesn't seem like it got me anywhere at all. I just don't know what else to do. I've brought up the idea of taking at least the dog with me to my new place (it's very nearby so she'd still be able to visit him and I'd be able to walk him up to her house), but she VEHEMENTLY objected and told me she'd never be able to let him go.

I'm not sure what it would do tbh, even disregarding that she'd probably just get a new pet I would be genuinely worried she'd lose all interest in life if they were taken away.

TL;DR Mom's alcoholism means she doesn't look after her pets and they're not being cared for at all, but taking them away would severely impact her mental health.

WIBTA for calling animal services on her again?

What are these acronyms?

[jubileemon]

Loona started off as a fan favorite, but as the series progressed, some hate her for being your typical "misunderstood teenage goth girl" who is bratty, temperamental and mistreats others around her as little more than nuisances, even her adoptive father, Blitzo.

Background and Trauma

Loona exhibits a complex personality shaped by a traumatic upbringing. Her behavior is rooted in her experiences at the Hellhound Adoption Foundation, where she was raised by uncaring caretakers. Devoid of affection and subjected to violence for disobedience, Loona's formative years were marred by isolation and mistreatment. This harsh reality of her childhood in the orphanage left her with deep-seated trust issues and an inability to properly give or receive love, influencing her interactions with others, including her adoptive father Blitz.

The so-called "adoption center" looks like a cross between a run-down dog pound and a juvenile detention center, with most of the hellhounds Blitzo sees looking malnourished or deformed. When he sees Loona, her cellmate is threatening her with a bloody nail bat before she flings him at the bars, growling and then she starts crying, looking more like a frightened, feral dog than anything. The social worker's indifferent description of her in her emotionally dead tone doesn't help, saying all this directly in front of Loona's cell, and only highlights how lonely Loona's life had been for almost eighteen years.

Loona's living space gets more tragic the longer you look at it. The back and side walls are covered in tally marks scratched into the tile. And there's a typical "Hang in there!" poster ripped with obvious claw marks, making it clear Loona had long given up hope of being adopted into a family. There are some drawings on the walls of Loona with storm clouds above her head and a giant version of her stomping on a city. Either they were drawn by Loona in which case they show just how frustrated and fed up with the world she has become over the years, or they were drawn by the other hellhound kids who only see her as a vicious monster.

The fact that this place is essentially a pound and not an adoption place paints Loona's situation as much grimmer. They're not treated as individuals but as animals and would normally just leave as rescued dogs. When the social worker mentions that Loona will age out it's implied that it doesn't mean that she's exactly leaving safe & sound.

You can also see that Loona takes a look at her tally marks, and as it lines up with the social worker's statement on her aging out, it wordlessly states Loona knows about this. Whether she's put to sleep or kicked out ownerless, it's a cloud of pitch-black dread she can do nothing about except countdown to.

The social worker's dialogue makes it clear how hellhounds are treated in this world. They're not treated as sentient individuals; instead, they're valued for either being strong laborers or cute family pets. Loona is both strong and beautiful, but being a self-actualized person with internal struggles and self-preservation instincts makes her undesirable. For an imp, one of the lowest creatures in Hell's hierarchy, to be able to adopt a hellhound as a pet or servant shows that despite their strength, they're seen and treated as even lower than imps.

If Blitzo hadn't adopted her, Loona would apparently have "aged out of the system" and been "out of the kennel's hair". This could simply mean that Loona would be kicked out, but given a mix of how scared she looked, the way hellhounds are treated in this setting and what sometimes happens to real dogs when they're deemed too old for adoption…

Personality

Loona's past manifested in various aspects of her demeanor. Her reluctance to perform her job may stem from a newfound appreciation for freedom, contrasting with her previously constrained life. Her agreessive nature, particularly towards characters like Moxxie, can be seen as a defensive mechanism, a way to assert control in situations where she might feel vulnerable.

Blitzo's adoption of her before she aged out ensured her gratitude and was why she didn't leave him. But years of hardship have made it hard for her to open up to him properly. Despite her tough exterior, moments of genuine vulnerability reveal her social awkwardness and desire for connection, which she struggles to navigate due to her lack of social experience.

Loona is shown throughout the series to have a strong aversion to being touched, reacting either with threatening growls or violence. However, her aversion to being touched might've stem from her past in the adoption center, yet she can handle being touched when she's the one initiating the contact, as seen when she allows Octavia to hug her and then holds her hand through the portal. That being said, she never reacted aggressively to Blitzo's affections beforehand, so this felt out of place, even for her.

Social Skills

Loona seems to be hiding some deep insecurities and feelings of loneliness, having never had any friends before meeting Vortex and briefly glancing with visible sadness at a picture of an happy family in "Murder Family", which implies Loona does wish to have good relationships in her life, but is unable to due to her tendency to see the bad in people and vent out her frustrations on others, including (and, arguably, especially) those who try to be nice or fatherly to her, like her adoptive father Blitzo.

However, after having been friend-zoned by Vortex, Loona didn't resent him and kept in touch with him, becoming great friends with him and going to parties with him, which might be making her more open to people and less hostile, as she's gradually becoming less rude and apathetic towards her co-workers.

Father-Daughter Relationship

Blitzo is her adoptive father, but she almost always refers to him by his name since she doesn't like showing the fact that she cares about him. That said, there are times where she slips up: on Instagram, she was so worried about him being kidnapped that she straight out called him "dad", though she immediately tried to walk it back out of embarrassment by claiming she was just upset that food was running low in their home. In "Spring Broken", she was so flustered with seeing Vortex that she almost slipped and called Blitzo "dad" before catching herself.

Once, she showed to be more than capable of both showing affection to and taking care of Blitzo: when he became severely intoxicated at Vortex and Queen Bee-lzebub's party to numb his pain after having rejected Stolas, she drove and carried him back to I.M.P. headquarters, set him on the couch and covered him with a blanket. When Blitzo shared his insecurities regarding loneliness and asked her if she'd be by him once he met his end, Loona promised him she would, showing her seriousness and true care by willingly calling him "dad".

Sisterly Bond

For the longest time, Loona and Octavia never met each other, only being connected to each other through their dads being in a rather complicated relationship with each other. This changed one day when Octavia snuck into I.M.P.'s office to obtain her father's grimoire so she can watch a meteor shower on Earth on her own. Loona actually spots Octavia trying to sneak in, but deliberately chooses not to say anything (partly because of lingering anger from a discussion she had with her father earlier).

As Loona approaches Octavia when she finally finds her, she's incredibly gentle with the girl and even compliments her on her photos. Loona rags on Blitzo at the beginning of "Seeing Stars", even physically assaulting him. But on Earth, she ultimately does do what he wants in finding Octavia, confiding in her that she recognizes that Blitzo is trying to be a good dad to her. It's as close as Loona gets to admitting that maybe things with Blitzo aren't as bad as she's ever gotten.

When Loona asks Octavia if she's ready to go while extending her hand out to her, Octavia gives the grimoire over to Loona and hugs her, glad to have someone who listened to her and can relate to. Previous episodes have shown that Loona does NOT like physical affection, shown most often with Blitzo. Yet here, Loona accepts and even returns Octavia's hug with no resistance whatsoever. It's even better since Loona was the one who initiated the contact. She holds her hand out to Octavia twice as though to help her stand up and looks a little confused when Octavia instead hands her the book the first time.

Conclusion

So far, I can see that Loona's character among fans is kinda mixed. While some viewers are sympathetic with her traumatic past and understand her defensive behavior, others find her attitude off-putting, which is understandable. It's also understandable that due to her recent absence and lack of dialogues during the second season, Loona's VA was probably given time to grieve due to the losing her partner and probably a busy schedule with other projects.

[vastderp]

I Had A Baby Brother

My brother was found dead last tuesday in his apartment.

He died anywhere from Sunday to Monday, and his landlord got worried and checked up on him and found him on the floor with one hand over his face. There was an open jug of methanol nearby. My sister thinks he drank it, I pray he didn't. It was an ugly, fucked up death.

He was in declining health this past decade because he was a paraplegic and uncontrolled diabetic. There are systems in place to help with low income people in his condition, but they were barred from him as he was a convicted felon.

He went from learning to walk again in the physical therapy pool to drinking a gallon of vodka per day, growing more hostile and bitter as the pain got worse, until his body just gave out. He drove away his friends, he drove away his family, and then he hit the floor and never got up.

I was meant to view the body with my sister and her grown kids, but the funeral home couldn't tell us where his body had been sent, and stopped answering the phone on friday before memorial day weekend, and then we had to wait for someone to follow up on my sister's dozens of phone messages, which they finally did, to try and make their little profit.

My sister, who has been handling all of this along with my niece, selected a different funeral home for the cremation because the first one was disgraceful with my mother's death in 2007, and they're disgraceful all over again with my brother's now.

At one point today they finally established contact, and asked how my sister wanted to handle the arrangements for her "father". O how casual the not giving a fuck goes! Dude pressed to make a sale even after she told him how unhappy we were with their work.

All this to say that I have a car full of inherited possessions, unused medical gear, and the shitty fucked up remnants of my brother's shrine to Mom.

Good old Mom may have died almost 20 years ago, but her gentle, loving mission to smother her only son to death (and probably into eternity) is finally successful. Of all of us, I've often wondered who got it worst: The golden child, the scapegoat, or the parentalized invisible middle kid. Now that one of us has effectively committed suicide, I guess it's for the scapegoat and me to hash out who gets second place. My mother crippled him long before his car accident, in one long and winding but uninterrupted line of consequences from his birth to death. I consider it a murder-suicide. Which was which? They were both the killer, and both the victim. Enmeshment is a motherfucker.

I'm super bitter, really fucking sad, and incredibly proud of what's left of my family for how they're coming together now. (Except my dad, who is in another state, petting his dogs, because I don't think he can really deal with this shit).

So what's left? To go put some cologne on his corpse when they finally let us go view what's left of him. He always liked to smell nice and he probably doesn't right now.

They'll cremate him, and give us a ridiculously heavy cardboard box of ashes that we'll have to carry out, knowing it's all that's left of a lifetime of struggling and pain. Probably we're gonna mix his ashes with Mom's, and make that lifetime of enmeshment official.

I hope if they go to the same afterlife, he kicks her in the cooter. I hope she kicks him back. I hope they can see each other with eyes unclouded by trauma, and forgive each other for the choices they both made. I hope they forgive me for still being mad at them both for not being stronger. I hope I will forgive myself for a lifetime of resentment and blame. I sure got enough time for that.

Jason was funny, weird, secretly really smart but never made a point of it. He was stylish. He was a broken man who could have made better choices and didn't, who was happily fed poison until he couldn't live without it, who was basically his own whole ass Pink Floyd song. His violence sent me running into a better life. His death sent me trudging back into a damaged family with gaping holes like torn out teeth, into the arms of my sister, and we reconciled. There's just us two left now, and it's our job to make something beautiful come out of this jerry springer childhood we shared. We're doing our best.

Dozens of catheters still in the package. Leakproof bed padding in a plaid pattern. Gallons of creams, antacids, fiber supplements by the jar, pressure sore ointments, fungus treatment creams, lidocaine pads, antibiotics, antipsychotics, a hash pipe or two.

An entire apartment hoarded with moist towelettes, pressure garments, and cleaning supplies. An entire life choked with mental damages and crying relatives. I put on CeeLoo Green's "Robin Williams" and sobbed until my face felt burned. It helped.

All the usable/safe to give away medical equipment is being distributed to the other impoverished disabled people in his apartment complex, who will hopefully put it to good use. I got his old manual wheelchair because sometimes I can't walk. I'm terrified of becoming more like him, so back to phsycial therapy I go.

The rest?

The memories, the pity, the jug of methanol that I pray he never actually drank, the stain he left on his floor after a lifetime of compulsive tidiness, the shrine to the woman he killed who also killed him? All these things I will keep with me forever. I will honor him. He could have been so much more, for so much longer. He had a whole story I'll never know. He contained incredible kindness and generosity, and also a rage so deep it was fatal. He was only 41.

If you can spare a couple bucks for the gofundme my niece set up, it'd really help make the financial side of this horseshit a little more bearable while we do all the shit that comes with a death. Thank you for taking the time to read this post, for your sympathies, and for reading my fucked up family trauma dump. Rest assured there will be more.

Dear god, will there ever be more.

Send help. Send pizza. Send sad hip hop. Hail Atlantis. Hail Jai.

[scary-lasagna]

HEYY! Wondering if you do everymanhybrid and if so could you write a HABIT x reader headcannons? Relationship in general I don’t have specifics in mind

I might have mentioned him in passing before, but I'll definitely write something about him for his place in my AU, it's a bit ooc from EMH but it's very interesting.

HABIT

Habit is...not mentally stable in the slightest.

The only time he would fall in love is if it either a.) benefited him or b.) you were smokin' hot and he obsesses over you

And be prepared to hear him mull and complain over both Slender and Zalgo, both who equally piss him off but he's forced to be nice to one of the two.

But when Habit falls, he will fall hard. You will sit on a royal pedestal, and HABIT your knight in shining armor. There would be nothing he is against doing for you.

He grovels at your feet, swearing to always protect you, to keep you fed, to keep you safe and warm, to-

“I KNOW you only asked for Kirspy Kreme, but darling my point still stands.” And he pulls his unsettling, ear-to-ear grin out of his back pocket to plaster on his face.

But all-in-all he’s your little guard dog.

Most of his working hours are spent obsessing over Slender’s history and origins, striving to find any bit of information that will lead to his downfall.

The rest of his work day is spent over tea with Zalgo, not that he ever drinks any, he’s really just there for the lemon squares and latest celebrity news that haven’t hit the 6 o clock channels yet.

After all, Zalgo has close ties to all of the higher ups. He always has the best gossip.

He might shove some pastries in his pockets for you if anything looks of your taste, but they’re usually melted or crumbled by the time he gets home. Usually he licks the remains out of his pocket (gross).

There’s also a room in your shared space that you are never allowed to go in, two if you’re counting the closet.

A room filled to the brim with ancient texts, books, artifacts, and knives hold a red herring for a closet in that same room filled with many different types of guns, weapons, cursed artifacts, and a haunted McDonalds coupon from 2008.

HABIT and Evan function similarly to Liu and Sully, however HABIT has the upper hand in the body. It’s a once in a blue moon occurrence that Evan will peek through and attempt to escape the house and/or try to kill you, thinking you kidnapped him.

Freaked the hell out of you the first time it happened before HABIT managed to grab hold of the reigns.

Safe to say, Evan was properly dealt with that night in the dimension of HABITs brain, being held in a void of endless whispering and torment while you sat with HABIT, watching Twilight just to make fun of it.

He’s also kind of…not the brightest. He always has the right idea, but never quite sure how to execute it properly. This is the explanation of the many failed assassination attempts toward Slender and his brothers.

He has been sucker punched more times than he can count by 3/4 of them. Splendor just talks him down with a therapy session and it works in more ways than one.

But this also applies to relationships. You want roses? He gets you daisies because they look better, even though you specified roses.

A fancy restaurant date? Takes you on a cruise. You didn’t want or pack for a cruise. Neither did he. Don’t ask where he got the money.

Right idea, wrong execution.

He’s also extremely clingy, even though it’s been implied, but he will quite literally hover around you, waiting to be acknowledged or asked to do something for you, because if he’s not working, he doesn’t have anything else worth tending to except for you.

You’ve once asked for alone time and he quite literally sat in the floor of the kitchen and twiddled his toes until you got peckish for a snack and stumbled on him.

“Why are you on the floor?”

“I was waiting for you to ask me to get you a cookie.”

[twosdays-trash]

my brain has been hooked on the animal versions of the VR45 Academy drivers + Marquez bros and ive been cooking up ideas. specifically a shapeshifter!AU with some pack dynamics

the Marquez brothers are both cats, Marc is a black cat and Alex is tuxedo (x). it makes sense in my mind that because they are siblings they shift into the same type of animal. i initially was thinking that they should be torties, where Marc is a regular black/orange one and Alex is grey tortie (x). they have tripped each other at night multiple times since they blend in with the dark so well. they also get along very well with their dogs in their shifted form.

heading into the VR46 Academy, i think that Valentino would definitely be that rat dog that has been circulating twitter. i also think that its incredibly funny that even though hes tall as a person hes a tiny dog shifted. he also acts like a little rat dog, always cranky but somehow is able to run at mock 20 when theres the space. the type of dog to grows and howl at being picked up but once put in a warm blanket is out in less than a minute.

I also agree with the masses that Pecco is a rat, more specifically a fancy rat, he seems like the kinda guy that would shift and hide in the other academies pockets in order to avoid talking to people. he also low key seems like he would a clean freak, and rats are notoriously an animal that trys to keep clean. he has destroyed the toilet paper in the main bathroom on multiple occasions in order to get a more comfortable and warm nest, eventually everyone gets fed up of going to the bathroom only for the toilet paper to look like its been to hell and back and gives pecco proper bedding/his own personal toilet paper to destroy.

i saw someone mention that Bez would be a raccoon, and i agree! i initially was deliberating whether he was a tanuki/Japanese Raccoon dog or a plain raccoon. Tanuki as supper fluffy and more dog shaped, but they are solitary animals unless they are mated. I figured with Bez very much NOT being a solitary person, that wouldnt work, so i went with raccoons. he would walk over (shifted) and just put his hands up asking for uppies, steal the food of whoever picked him up, then run away. scares the shit out of valentino one night because he just stood in the door way staring at vale like a kid who just threw up (x)

Franky would absolutely be a bull terrier. when i saw a picture of a bull terrier i immediately thought that it looked like Franky. kinda scary on the outside but an absolute cutie on the inside. theres also this picture of a bull terrier carrying a rat on its head and i think that also personafies Franky and Peccos relationship. he is the type of guy that would be riled up. it would be the classic dad/Vale saying "dont rile up the dog" then Bez absolutely riling up Franky. He has also, on multiple occasions, slid-hit the wall at the end of the hallway while playing.

Luca, unlike the Marquez brothers, isnt the same species/a dog like Valentino is since they have different dads. it took me a while to figure out what Luca would be, i searched for so long trying to find a good representation and i finally landed on a Eurasian Lynx. i first was going to go with a ferret but i figured that it didnt fit that well. sometimes when hes shifted he freaks out the others for fun with his growls and screams. the others dont think its funny because every time Luca screams they think that hes hurt (x) when he is in fact just sunbathing 90% of the time.

finally, the girl-fail himself, Cele. i also had a pretty hard time trying to figure out what animal he would be. i was going to go with a green eared parakeet, but then my sibling showed me the asian golden cat and i just had to go with that. spends his time either sleeping or rough housing Luca, but it just ends up looking like those videos of cubs trying to fight their mom or something, except they are basically the same size so its a little funny to watch.

i imagine there are some other shifters in the paddock, maybe Enea as like a bear, jorge being a maine coon maybe (i feel like he would lay around Aleixs neck like a scarf when theyre relaxing), probably some others that i cant think of right now would also be shifters or are human but apart of some shifter packs.

all that aside im thinking of writing some short fics of the VR46 pack reconciling getting to know the Marquez pack/bros. ideas are bubbling and im going to try and pump them out! also please tell me if im missing anyone from the academy or if theres someone you want to specifically see in the AU

[teecupangel]

Concept: Imagine if Altaïr had a habit of adopting birds of prey and stuff.

Ezio did the same thing except with cats (including a lion cub, if you know the reference to Da Vinci you'll get it)

Connor adopted canines constantly.

Desmond inherits all of these and takes in every single stray animal he finds. It doesn't matter if it's even safe to keep as a pet. He just adopts every single animal in sight.

In other words, through genetic manipulations, the Isus have created the ultimate savior of humanity:

A Disney Princess.

And it all started with Altaïr accidentally turning one of the towers in Masyaf as an aviary that only housed Birds of Prey.

No one knows how he did it.

They were pretty sure he started doing it after his father died and no one had the heart to tell a grieving child to stop adopting birds as a coping mechanism.

By the time Altaïr had been initiated, the aviary and its occupants have become just another staple in Masyaf.

Is it weird that they only listen to Altaïr?

Is it weird to hear Altaïr have a full blown conversation with them?

Very much so.

But it was Altaïr.

He was as weird as he was talented.

So people just left him be.

Time passed and Altaïr became a legend in the Brotherhood.

There were whispers that he could command any kind of birds of prey to do his bidding.

Perhaps he could.

Perhaps he could not.

No one found out the truth.

Ezio, on the other hand, was known as a hoarder of cats.

He gives food to even the dirtiest stray cats that could be found scurrying in the streets.

And they would follow him back to the Brotherhood’s hideout where some poor servant or recruit would have to bathe the cat, suffering the scratches and bites.

Only to be rewarded by the cat purring contently when it is presented to Ezio who holds it in his arms and calls it bella or bello.

And then… Ezio managed to get a hand on an illegally smuggled lion cub who grew up to be quite… large.

A very spoiled large cat who always loved it when Leonardo would come to visit because he would give the lion treats so it would let Leonardo study it.

Now, Ratonhnhaké:ton didn’t plan to adopt any animals. It just so happened that he joined a wolf pack in taking down preys once and now he was considered a… ‘kindred spirit’. They would join Ratonhnhaké:ton whenever he was off hunting and wouldn’t take his kills.

When he left the village, he saved a dog being mistreated by Red Coats and the dog just followed him to the homestead.

While he was sleeping the barn, he saw another dog, all skin and bones, rummaging the containers where the old man keeps the horses’ food for any scraps it might eat and he felt sorry for it so he would throw it a bit of the meat he would prepare for him and the first dog that kept following him.

By the time, Achilles finally agreed to train him, the wolf pack that he had hunted with near his village came to the homestead and… just followed him around.

Achilles thinks it’s a gift.

That there have been Assassins that had a close kinship with animals like Altaïr with his birds and Ezio with his cats.

The wolf pack stayed in the homestead when Ratonhnhaké:ton went with Achilles to Boston. The dog that Ratonhnhaké:ton fed also stayed because they learned that he was already quite an old dog.

Achilles didn’t say anything but the grief in his eyes made it clear that the old dog’s owner had been one of the many dead Assassins that Achilles knew.

When Ratonhnhaké:ton returned from Boston…

Not only was he accompanied by the first dog he adopted, he apparently adopted 3 more dogs along the way.

Achilles has himself to blame for that one.

And so, time moves on and Desmond Miles is born.

The window to his nursery was always close because birds and squirrels would come inside an open window and surround his cradle.

His mother had been worried that those squirrels and even some of the birds might carry something that would make a baby sick.

When he grew older, his friends were the animals in the woods surrounding the Farm and the guard dogs that Farm used.

The other children thought he was weird because of his affinity to animals.

Many adults found it to be a bit disturbing but also a sign of the greatness that Desmond would achieve.

Why else would he have the same ‘skill’ as Altaïr and Ezio, after all?

Then Desmond showed… to be lacking in training.

He wasn’t bad.

He was even better than a lot of the other kids.

The problem was…

Everyone expects him to be more than that.

And Desmond couldn’t take it.

So he ran away.

And the animals ran away with him.

And Desmond finds an abandoned farm where he finally carves out a place of happiness for himself and his friends.

… Desmond has no idea where the bear came from but he became docile after Desmond scolded him for destroying the trash bin and eating spoiled food.

[icycoldninja]

I don't know if you do Cloud but ik you do Sephiroth and lately I've been seeing a lot of Cloud x Sephiroth and I've been thinking of a love triangle or like both Cloud and Sephiroth are very protective over reader.. so do you think you can write sum like that? (if you have the time ofc and if you wanna ^_^)

Well, I don't normally write for Cloud nor do I do love triangles, but I'll make an exception and a few adjustments in this case. Hope you enjoy!

Note: This is NOT polyamoury in any way, simply headcannons regarding how these characters would protect the Reader individually.

Protective!Sephiroth + Protective!Cloud x Reader headcannons

♡ Sephiroth ♡

-Sephiroth is extremely possessive over you, questioning and doubting nearly anything you do.

-It's borderline toxic, but at least he has the decency to be polite about it.

-Yes, he's very nosy about your activities, but he asks his questions nicely, even if his tone and choice of words could use some work.

-Gets very jealous over anyone that dares to lay their unworthy eyes upon his precious, and yes, that does go for children and small dogs.

-Eventually he gets fed up with other people "oogling" you and either locks you up in his home or moves in with you so as to be able to monitor you better.

-He'll keep you well away from any danger, too. You're crossing a busy street? Hold his hand, tightly, and stick close to his side, he'll use his wing to shield you from traffic. Going near a hot stove? He'll be standing at attention, ready to put out the fire that he's sure will arise.

-Won't even let you set foot outside the house when it's raining because he just knows a storm is approaching, and to have you outside is folly.

-Despite all his attempts to keep you safe, Sephiroth's the one most likely to kill you since he strangles you with hugs in his sleep.

○ Cloud ○

-Cloud's just an inch away from becoming a yandere; that's how obsessed he is with protecting you.

-Very, very mean to everyone you know, including your closest friends and family.

-He does this in the hopes of shooing them away so they don't pose any more threats to you.

-Likes to situate himself between you and any person you happen to be talking to. The dork thinks this will establish dominance but really it just makes him look like an upset kitten.

-While he does work hard to keep injuries, heartbreak, and illnesses at bay, Cloud can sometimes push you away, harshly.

-It's not that he's trying to be mean; the man's lost so many people close to him in his life, he doesn't want to lose another.

-With some work, you can get him to calm down and accept that he's stuck with you for life, but if you do, he'll just double his efforts to protect you.

-It's sweet, in a way, since he's just trying to show you how much he cares, but at the same time, it's annoying as hell, especially when he won't even let you open the front door without him being there.