#I wish I was writing DD fics instead

[getitoutofmymindwrites]

Petrichor. | joel miller x f!reader, 4.1k

Summary: You underestimate yourself but Joel doesn't like what's his to be degrated. Unless, he's the one doing it. He makes sure you know your place.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, allusion to suicidal thoughts BUT it's a misunderstanding, low self esteem!reader, established relationship, unspecified age gap (make it you own😏), dom!Joel, sub!reader, dd/lg vibes, pet names(darlin', baby, sweetheart, little girl, good girl), degradation kink, praise kink, size kink, daddy kink, oral m!receiving, masturbation f!receiving, dacryphilia, pussy slapping (quite a few), deepthroating, facial, cum eating, aftercare, as always let me know if I missed anything!

A/N: First of all, thank you for your love on my little drabble Take me, I didn't expect it at all and I'm so glad you liked it, it really means the world! 🙈 Now, for this fella here, I swear to god it was supposed to be a drabble, I even named its draft as such, because I'm so decisive and steady.😂 I don’t know what happened, it started as a pwp but of course I had to go and pepper it with some feelings.🙄 And then @iamasaddie had a smut fic prompt including “Baby, you know, Daddy only hurts you because you look so pretty when you cry.” line and it fitted so damn well, like Joel's cock fits in reader's pussy, so there's that. 🥵🥵

P.S.: I hate summaries, I hate them, I wish someone else would write them for me. Ok, I love you all, let me know what you think!

Song on repeat: The kooks - Sway

Divider by @saradika-graphics

Maybe this is your favorite sound in the world, you think as you hear the rain drops hit the -floor to ceiling- windows of your loft.

Your mind wanders to your childhood memories searching for confirmation. And you think that, yes, this is it. So, it makes perfect sense that your favorite scent is that of the soaked soil after raining. Petrichor. You smile softly to yourself.

He seems to notice that. But then, he always does.

He’s on his side facing you, all 5’11” of his magnificent naked body laying on your bed, his head resting on the pillow. One hand under your neck, as you lay flat on your back, the other reaching for your jawline, turning you to face him instead of the window.

You turn to him, gladly, because this, this is your favorite sight in the world. Him. The soft glow from the lights outside is the only source of illumination and he couldn’t be more beautiful than right now. He makes your heart ache instantly. His calm and safe presence in your life is such a juxtaposition to the shadows of your past, it brings a lump in your throat. You swallow it down.

“Why the smile, baby?” he speaks carefully, like he feels the antithesis of the emotions inside you right now. And there it is, at last. This is the answer you’re looking for. This, this is your favorite sound in the world. His voice.

Your palm lands on the hand petting your cheek. “No reason,” you smile to him, “just feeling content.”

“Are you, though?” he insists after a minute, “feeling content?”

“I-, yeah, of course I do, you know that.”

“Do I?”

“I hope you do. You know what you mean to me, what your presence in my life means to me, right?” your voice is lightly wavering, the lump in your throat lurking still. “And- and I’m so happy with my job and my new place and everyth-”

“Why did you choose this place?”

“You don’t like it?”

“I didn’t say that. From all the places we’ve seen, why this? I saw in your eyes it did something to you.” And if you ever entertained the idea that maybe some things get past him, you do not anymore. You can’t hide from him. And you find that, oddly, liberating.

“Because it’s everything I'm not; I wanted to challenge myself.”

He’s curious now. After all these bits and pieces over these past few months you’re giving him something more. He knows there’s more. “How so?”

“It’s just-”, you roll your eyes in frustration, trying to compare a space to a person, “so open, so bare, no hiding spaces, you know, open floor and everything, I remember when I first walked in it made me feel uneasy, insecure, intimidated. So I rented it.”, you shrug like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Why would you feel all that?”

He raises his head supporting it on his palm as he studies your profile from his side, seeing your struggle, the waterline of your eyes glassing over, the vein on your forehead bulging. There’s so much you want to tell him, confide in him, confess to him, but you don’t know where to begin. How to sum all this shit up.

“I just- I have lived my life without actually living. I just- existed. I compromised, backed down, let myself be led by people who were supposed to be my family and now-” your lips are trembling and you bite your bottom lip to stop it, your throat is closing, you feel this ache, this burning sensation inside of it, like acid through your veins, making you unable to breathe, let alone speak. Your face turns pinkish, the tears threatening to spill now, the sob ready to explode deep from your chest.

“-I just hate myself-” you mouth through an inaudible cry, still deprived of air in your lungs that they feel like they’re gonna collapse.

His legs straddle yours in a moment of panic, his eyes wide, his pupils blown, his body stiff, ready to engage in some kind of fight. He’s leaning above you, his long torso shadows over you, his huge hand cupping the back of your neck and pulls you in a sitting position underneath him. Your hands grab his forearms in confusion. It -he- makes you feel so tiny, which you are compare to him, but even more so, now that his knees are pressing down on the sides of your hips, holding his weight above your lap so he won’t completely crush you, making your body sink deeper into the mattress and suddenly you’re so small, so insignificant, so unnoticed to the rest of the room, of the apartment, of the world. Except from him. His eyes, raging fires, burning yours as they search for meaning, answers, reassurance. His fist is closing and tugging harshly at the hairs on the back of your neck, demanding all of your attention. The tears run freely down your cheeks now on their own volition, years of restrain and pain unleashed in a blink of an eye.

“Tell me I don’t need to fuckin’ worry about you.” he demands in a harsh tone, his expression painted with anger, desperation, agony.

You open your mouth to respond, but you are at loss for words, your thoughts hazy and confused.

“Tell me!” his voice high and urgent, now mirroring his expression, almost breaking.

And you get it now, you really do. The smell of fear, the fear of loss, the loss of existence.

Your eyes widen, your lips trembling again, “No, no!”, you shake your head violently, his grip on your scalp tightening more, in warning. His expression is torn, like the two faces of Janus, his jaw clenched in disbelief, but his eyes pained, begging, pleading for trust.

Your hands fly around his middle, squeezing him, your fingernails nearly tearing his flesh, “I swear Joel, no, that was not what I meant!” you’re desperate now, how could he think that, doesn’t he know what he means to you?

He doesn’t budge, he doesn’t move a muscle, his eyes keep scanning, keep searching. You try to rest your forehead to his stomach now, how massive he is above you and he allows it. His fist unclench from your hair, cupping your neck again tenderly, his mouth kissing the top of your head. Your arms hug him tighter now, pressing your face to his sweaty skin, inhaling his scent, grounding you, your fingers caressing his broad back up and down. “I swear, I swear.” you keep muttering on his skin, your nose deeply pressed against his firm chest now, barely breathing.

He moves both his hands to the sides of your neck, simply holding you and tilting your head up to look at him. He bends forward to touch your lips with his in a soft kiss, just flesh touching flesh. His forehead resting on yours, he sighs deeply, letting all the weight of the world go through his nostrils. “Don’t you ever-”

“I’m sorry Joel, I’m so sorry, that’s not what I meant, I promise.” you apologize, pressing your chin to his skin, looking up at him. But his eyes are still searching, not letting this one go.

“I’m just pissed it took me so long to wake up. I’m scared I fucked my life up. I’m scared I missed my chance. I’m scared-” you shake your head slowly in disappointment as you try to explain and Joel keeps his eyes on you, waiting. He nods, he’s listening, he’s here. He’s got you. “I’m scared I’m so broken; there’s nothing left of me to be loved.” you hide your face back to his chest again.

He holds you tight, whispering at the crown of your head, “There’s so much left my darlin’, so much left. And I’m here to pick each and every piece of you up and mend it back together.” And you know he is. You just don’t know if you’re worth the trouble.

Suddently your senses are so overloaded, you just need something to ground you. Hard. His natural musk mixed with sweat and sex from earlier that night hits your nostrils, his soft now cock practically under your nose, on your lap. And there is another answer for you. This, this is your favorite scent in the world. His scent.

You inhale deeply, your forehead pressing on his skin, feeling the sparse hair of his chest and the steady beating of his heart. “I need you Joel.”

He tugs your hair gently to raise your head and looks at you. Really looks at you.

“What do you need, sweetheart?”, he moves his hands cupping your cheeks softly.

“I need you to punish me.” you plead with your eyes closed, embarrassment creeping in.

His breath is hitching in his throat, his eyes darken immediately, “Yeah?”

“Yeah..”

“Use your manners then and ask for it, properly.”

“Please sir, I need you to take control, put me in my place.” you feel your skin shiver, your core warming up again.

He just stares at you, making your heart flutter.

You can feel him hardening, his heavy cock brushing against your stomach. You go to palm him, stroke him to his full potential but he grabs your hand and swats it away.

“You're asking for two different things sweetheart and that tells me you're in a delicate headspace. So, I am taking control from you and I am not going to punish you.” he settles.

“But I wa-”

He raises his brows “Are you sure you want to finish that sentence, little girl?” and that effectively shuts you up and turns you on. He doesn’t speak again, he doesn’t say anything else, he just puts his hand on your throat, resting it there for a second, observing you and then he’s guiding you down on your back.

He straddles you higher, on your chest, now hard in all his glory. He’s a sight to behold. Naturally imposing, no pretenses, it’s just who he is. From his gaze to the sound of his voice and from the broadness of his shoulders to the thickness of his thighs, he’s all man.

You must look awestruck because he smirks softly. You open your mouth to -actually you don’t know what you want to ask, he just caught you off guard, but he beats you to it, explaining the situation clearly.

“When you disrespect yourself, you disrespect me and I will not have that. I will not, under any circumstances tolerate that kind of behavior. Do you understand that?”

You just lay there, mouth agape, eyes confused.

He slaps your cheek not hard enough to leave a mark but enough to sting a bit, to snap you out of your trance.

“Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good girl. So..” he brushes his thumb over your lips, pushing it in slowly, pressing down your tongue, “I’m gonna fuck some manners into that mouth, baby.” Oh, shit. “From now on, when you’re chocking on your tears, it’s gonna be because of me ramming my cock down your throat like it deserves.”

Your breath hitches at his vulgarity, your pupils are blown wide and your slick is running down your ass cheeks now. You suck around his thumb, your thighs pressing together in need of some friction.

“You like that, you little whore?”, he removes his thumb allowing you to respond.

You don't know where you find the nerve but, “I thought you said no disrespect.” you blurt out, you can’t help it, you want to rile him up.

“Oh, she speaks now!”, he raises his eyebrows in amusement. Or in a challenge, you’re not totally sure if you want to find out.

He breaths a laugh, shaking his head in a mockingly condencending way, “I don’t think you understand your place here little girl, so let me break it to you.”

His eyes are glazed over, some sort of wickedness mirroring in them. “Only I get to call you names. No one else. No one. Do you know why that is?” He leans in and looks above your head, a sign that he’s expecting an answer.

“Nnn- no.”

“Manners.”, he shakes your head, your jaw grabbed between his fingers.

“No, sir.”

He’s nodding his head slowly. “That’s because only daddy knows what you need.” You know there's more coming, so you stay silent.

“So, when I say you’re a whore, what do you say?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And when I say you’re my good girl, what do you say?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And when I say you’re gonna take whatever the fuck I give you, what do you say?”

“Thank you, daddy.”

“Damn right.”, his cock twitches in front of you.

“Please, daddy.” You start whining and squirming underneath him, all needy and wet.

Yes, this is right. He is right. This is how you need it. This is how it should be. If your throat’s gonna hurt and burn and swell it’s gonna be from the invasion of Joel’s cock and not from the insecurities caused from your past.

“Please..” you keep whining.

“Manners, ‘mnot gonna ask again.”, he demands sternly. “And quit your whining, it won't get you anywhere good; got it?”

“Please, sir, let me touch you, pretty please.” you try with a steadier voice.

“Now, now, that’s a good girl right there, hm?” that seems to satisfy him. “Ok, baby, go on.”

Your trembling hands roam slowly all over his chest, then his stomach and the swell of his belly, moving all the way down to his thighs and finally up to the v of where they meet with his pelvis, massaging, caressing and squeezing him softly, circling your fingers around the base of his thick cock.

You're threading them through his pubic hair, your thumbs caressing lightly under him, on his scrotum. He inhales sharply, shivers raising the hairs on his forearms. You press his waist down on you more, resting his weight on you, his warm balls touching your sternum, his hands flat on his thighs.

Joel's eyes are trained on your face, studying you, recognizing the same want, the same desire and thirst that he feels, as you worship him. You raise your head trapping his cockhead under your chin, giving hot, open mouthed kisses to his base and his veiny shaft like you would make out with his mouth. You let him slide to the side of your face, his precum painting your cheek as you bring his cock above you, kissing and licking his underside, lightly sucking his protruding vein.

His eyes darken, enough of your teasin’. He fists his cock, stroking it slowly once, twice, his thumb pressing it down to guide it into your salivating mouth. He swipes his tip across your lips, smearing his precum all over them.

“What do you do if you want me to stop?”, he checks with you.

“Joel..” you drag the vowels of his name on your tongue.

“Show. Me.”, he demands, so you move your hand to his thigh and you tap three times.

“Good. Now, open.”

You just want to consume him, suck his soul out of his perfect slit. So, you obey, sticking your tongue out. He taps his wide head on your wet muscle one, two, three times and then he invades you, moving his hips forward.

There’s something so undeniably erotic about the movement of his pelvis, like a statement, I choose to give and you accept to take, a balancing of the dynamic between you; you could watch him thrust into you forever.

You take him in as far as you can manage without chocking. The feel of every vein and ridge filling your mouth, dragging on your tongue, is driving you crazy.

You hollow your cheeks and start bobbing your head back and forth in rhythm with his thrusts, while your tongue swirls over his delicious pink head, so soft and velvet, your cunt clenches at the memory of it stretching your tight cunt.

You exhale loudly through your nose, and you’re in a frenzy now, you can’t keep a pace or build him slowly up as you’d normally do. You need him now, all of him, as fast and hard as you can, or you’re gonna die, you think. Your eyes roll back and you’re moaning so loud, Joel feels the vibrations from tip to base.

“F-fuck”, he’s taken aback from your fervor, his jaw slack and his brows pinched together from the intensity of your pace.

“Mnot gonnghhhh-”, he groans deeply, every thought of dominance long gone when you’re giving him head like this. Normally, he’d punish you for attempting to take more than he offers, but your neediness is overwhelming. His breathing is faster, louder, in an effort to level himself. His hands fly to your head, like he would hold to your hips if he was fucking you from behind. He’s taking control now for both of your sake.

His fists tighten on your head, keeping you steady and compliant, his little rug-doll, like you’d go anywhere anyway. He’s all the way in now, your nose brushing his pubic hair, his scent driving you wild. He’s fucking himself into your tight throat harder and harder, the noises from your choking on his massive length and the drooling around your mouth might embarrassed you in another life, but not in this one, not now, not with him.

You take everything because he’s everything. Nothing else exists beyond him. He blinks; you see, he moves; you shift, he laughs; you bloom, he breathes; you live.

You don’t even think of your pleasure until he palms your cunt with one hand and your juices cover his fingers. He slows his pace, thrusting into your mouth almost sensually.

“Sucking daddy’s cock made you this wet, sweetheart?”

He starts to rub your swollen clit up and down, knowing how much more intense the sensation is for you this way. You’re already so close, you can feel your lower belly tense with a familiar warmth. You moan around his cock while you begin to grind your hips against his deftly fingers. You should know better.

He slaps your pussy, the wet sound of his palm on your soaked folds making you feral. “Mmmmm” you groan, arching your back unsuccessfully under that mountain of a man above you, rolling your eyes back, your hips never stoping their movement. You're so far gone, it should be embarrassing.

He slaps you again, harder this time and then a third time in quick succession. The impact with your clit sends waves of arousal all over your body, your cunt gushing your slick all over the sheets now.

Your body tenses, your hands squeeze his ass so hard, little moon-shaped indentations mark his skin and your legs are trembling. Tears start running from your eyes to your temples from the intensity of the act.

“You’re a wild little thing, aren't you?”, still slow-fucking your face, his middle and ring finger tapping quickly on your swollen bundle of nerves. “Playing coy and innocent until my cock’s in your mouth, only to come on my palm, hm?” And then he slaps your mound again.

“Mmmmm” you moan desperately, your face contorted in pleasure, tears pooling in your ears, your whole body covered in a thin sheen of sweat. You feel him twitching in your mouth while you swallow around him. He’s hard and hot inside you and that makes you drool even more as you suck him off with everything you got. Your neck hurts, your jaw hurts, your lips are stretched to their limit, but you’re not stopping for a second.

You start to whimper and his hand leaves your hair to thumb your tears, bringing it to his mouth. You watch him trapping his digit between his plush lips and sucking on it, tasting your saltiness and everything feels so intimate, sobs start shaking your chest, making it almost impossible to breathe.

You try to push him away to breathe but Joel keeps fucking your mouth. “You know what to do if you want me to stop.”

You keep struggling to breathe but you are not going to tap his thigh.

Joel doesn’t stop, either. “You either tap, or you fuckin’ take it.”, he warns, but you shake your head in denial. “Then I guess you can take it, little girl.”, he concludes while he watches you still struggling and sobbing.

“Baby, you know, Daddy only hurts you because you look so pretty when you cry.” he says softly and you squeeze your eyes shut in an effort to calm yourself, more tears spilling out, nodding at the best of your ability.

“That’s how you gonna come for me”. You didn’t expect that.

You’re not sure you can do it and your body stiffens. It hurts good, what he's doing, leaving you panting and wanting, but you fear it's not enough to make you come. He can read that on you and he feels your hesitation.

He moves his thumb to your cheekbone, caressing it gently. Then he moves it lower, to the corner of your outstretched mouth, feeling himself sliding in and out of you. “Fuck, baby, you take me so good. You’re doin’ so good for me,” he’s panting and you know he’s holding himself back, “your mouth was made for daddy’s cock. Just let go baby, don't fight it, ok? I got you, you’re gonna be ok.”

He starts fucking your mouth roughly now, his heavy balls slapping on your wet chin, the sounds echoing in the room nearly pornographic. His hand resumes rubbing your clit in tight circles now, building you up, then tapping it a few times to bring you close and then slapping it once to bring you back from the edge, before he starts all over again.

Circling. Tapping. Slapping.

Circling. Tapping. Slapping.

Circling. Tapping. Slapping.

The bastard is fucking edging you.

He did exactly what you asked of him. He took control, left no room for thoughts, for decisions, for questioning. You just lay there and you take it.

“Daddy needs you to come, right fuckin’ now darlin’; be my good girl and give me what’s mine.” he commands and you obey, because there is no other way.

Your orgasm is explosive, your cunt spasming violently, your eyes rolling into your head, Joel’s pulling back his cock from your open mouth to let you breathe properly but you’re holding your breath in. “Theeere she is, there she fuckin' is..”he smirks in satisfaction, his fingers keep circling your overstimulated clit to prolong your high while he jerks himself fast above your lips.

You exhale loudly when you remember you need to breathe, the air is coming out of your lungs forcefully, hitting Joel’s tip and he comes instantly, thick ropes of milky cum painting your cheeks, nose and lips, running down to your jaw and neck. There’s so much of it, its warmth on your sweaty skin making your pussy keep clenching.

All because of that gorgeous man above you. Because it’s a part of him and he’s gifting it to you.

Joel brings his hand from between your legs to the side of your head, steadying himself, leaning above you, his head resting low between his shoulders, his breathing erratic and loud. His eyes are closed shut, his face wrecked, his muscles still convulsing from his intense orgasm.

Please, open them, let me look at you and he does open them, making you realize you said it out loud. His gaze is one of adoration and something else you don’t dare acknowledge. The edges of his mouth are curled up in a soft smirk.

His fingers caress your face, gathering his seed from your skin and feeding it to your starved mouth. You suck around his thick fingers, your tongue swiping everything clean. He places a soft kiss on your lips tasting himself on you, before he stands to fetch a warm washcloth from the bathroom to clean you up.

You close your eyes and just lay there, still, utterly content and satisfied, lighter than ever. In peace. You feel the mattress dip under his weight again and him gently cleaning your face and neck, then between your legs, discarding the cloth on the hardwood floor when he’s done and laying on top of you, peppering soft kisses all over your face.

“Good?” he whispers against your lips.

“Yes, thank you daddy”. You bring your hands on the sides of his head, kissing the space between his earlobe and jaw, then his jawline, his bottom lip, the edge of his mouth, the apple of his cheek as he smiles, the tip of his nose.

It’s how you know to say thank you, I care about you, too; I love you.

For now.

[hoseoksluna]

BERRIES | jjk ft. jhs

pairing: ex-boyfriend!jungkook x oc (feat. hobi)

genre: angst, tiny fluff, itty bitty smut

word count: 6.0k

summary: your ex-boyfriend shouldn't have this much influence over you when you have a new man, should he?

playlist: berries / pinterest board: berries

warnings: depression, daddy issues, use of titles, oc has dirty thoughts about hobi (do we blame her? no, we do not), slowburn, implied sex, dd/lg, soft argument

note: this took every last bit of my strength, so i had to split it up. i'm sorry if this is a piece of absolute shit, but as you all know work this week squeezed everything out of me and i'm so exhausted that i'm not even sure if this is worth posting. i struggled a lot with this fic, rewrote it multiple times, and i'm so very happy that it's finished. i hope you all enjoy the start of a new series, this time a slowburn that will have more parts, more depth and everything. and surprise! it features hobi, my beautiful husband. it was my first time writing about him and he's missing so terribly from my soul that it was one of the reasons why i struggled so much. i wish it weren't like this for my first time with him, but oh well. i hope you, guys, enjoy. please, let me know what you think. <3

The satiny material of your cream-colored dress must be the one and the same that these sculptures had worn centuries ago. You can almost imagine the softness kissing your fingerprint instead of the cool stone as you graze your touch against each and every immortalized angel of loveliness. You’re stirred by a sense of poignancy—that you’re alive and they’re not and yet you believe that as you stare at them, feel what they’ve been through the more you study their eternal expressions, they stare right back with their eternally tender eyes, see right through you, through your heart, know its contents. You wish you were in their place instead; you’re sure they would’ve handled your cursed life better than you can. 

Or you wish you were as stony as them. 

But you’re an opulent fountain of emotions that are anything but gentle. 

This thought distracts your attention from the way your feet ache in the boots you chose to wear to impress your date. Thigh high, with black knee socks underneath to keep you warm from the cruel breath of autumn. Hoseok is carrying your trenchcoat as you’re adventuring on your own in this art museum and that’s the only sliver of kindness he’s shown you this very morning. 

The only compliment you’ve received from him was a nonverbal one. An up and down look with a smirk creeping in when he picked you up at your apartment. No hug, no caress. You felt so small—and awkward a little bit, comparison rushing in. Not in the form of a wave of the sea, but in the form of a snake, its thick body tightening around your throat. An ouroboros, which made you regret going out on a date so soon. 

It hasn’t even been a month since you’ve become a single girl again, learning how to walk in this new, harsh reality, your legs wobbly, weak and too, too heavy. And the lack of comfortable physical contact made you see your ex-boyfriend before your own eyes, the memory of how he acted at the beginning of your first date. The way he picked you up into his arms due to his excitement of being with you and carried you inside his car. He put on your seatbelt for you. Drove carefully. Held your hand as he led you to the restaurant he picked for you. Even during the walk after while you talked about the stars and you couldn’t help but tell him that his eyes were filled with them. 

Hoseok did neither of those things. He had asked you where you wanted to go and you’ve wanted to visit the museum for quite a while, so you suggested it. He had agreed, no sort of enthusiasm evident in his voice muffled by the phone call. And you’ve barely exchanged a few words during the half an hour of your time spent here, let alone led an entire conversation. You should’ve heeded the warning when it was right in front of you.

Hoseok is certainly not of the artistic kind. 

Looks quite bored as you turn your head to look at him, your coat dangling from his arm so terribly devastatingly. And when you focus your gaze to your right, where a dark wine-tinged room, with golden frames of paintings, awaits you and where you’ve longed to go the moment you stepped a foot inside this grand building, a distaste pools on your tongue, your former aesthetic elation ruined. 

You’re surprised he didn’t stand you up. 

You don’t even want to take pictures. As a matter of fact, you want to go home. But you can’t. Can’t ravage your only possibility and means of forgetting the person you still love. Can’t really encourage Hoseok to leave your life, not when you’re the type of person that doesn’t find love upon every corner you turn to. 

This is your only chance. And he’s the only man you’ll conceivably have in your life for quite some time. 

You walk up to him and take your coat from his arm. His eyes deepen on you, in fact they haven’t strayed from you during the entire half an hour—and that bothers you. If your ex-boyfriend were here, he’d share the beauty with you. Make you laugh so hard that the sound would echo around the vast room. Perhaps give life to the sculptures and they would laugh along, too. 

Your heart hangs heavy in your chest, sinks ever so slowly and you can’t bear it. You need to leave. Take this date elsewhere, hope for betterment to grace you—to have but a fragment of pity for you. 

“You hungry?” you ask, softly, willing your voice to be smooth and not divulge the brassy storm of your emotions to him. Hoseok doesn’t know anything about you. Doesn’t know that you yearn for another person to be standing in his place. “Did you have breakfast?” 

Hoseok needed the date to be in the early hours. Said he had a meeting in the afternoon. Would be working on a project with his colleagues until the late hours. You didn’t mind, not really, in fact it animated you—brought briskness into the sadness of your headspace, knowing it was rainy and cloudy outside. Perfect weather for the influence of the arts. That is, until you realized that it was a grave mistake to take a businessman to a museum; that you dragged a heathen to a church.

Hoseok shifts his weight on each foot, his shoulders swaying with the movement, and he licks his lip, bringing your attention to them. Small, but full—you wonder what they would feel like against yours. Wonder if he’d be gentle with you or violent. If he’d stroke your hair or grip it; fondle the ribbon you’re wearing in a half up do or untie it, entirely. Use it for another means like your ex-boyfriend invariably did. 

Your distaste grows, but not for Hoseok. It grows like poison ivy for yourself and your tendency to compare him with someone he doesn’t deserve to be juxtaposed with. 

Guilt blossoms in your sternum, the leaves of that poison ivy. Pretty to the eye, but deadly for the body. Just like you. You’re too baneful for such a pretty man like Hoseok. You’d do well to respect his boundaries and abstain from physical contact, prevent red rashes from marring his skin.

“I haven’t eaten yet,” Hoseok says, just as softly, rubbing the nape of his neck, the black cloth of his dress shirt taut over his arms—a pretty sight, one that could be hanging in the wine-tinged room for generations to gawk upon. “Truth be told, I was too nervous.” 

A brief smile adorns his slender face and you melt, the poison ivy scratching you raw. Your heart picks up its rhythm, flattery clothing it in a protective layer and you pout, your hand itching to graze his forearm. But a hidden fight rises in you, an army of darkness ready with their bows, their arrows shooting thoughts into your brain about how little you’re worthy of such kindness and favor. 

Though when Hoseok blushes upon seeing your tender expression, it gives you some sort of strength to stand tall against those demons. Despite the fact you don’t understand it, you don’t question it either and you cling to it, sensing its freedom speaking to you in a foreign language. A yearning forms in you, one you haven’t yet had the possibility of meeting. A yearning to learn its syntax and vocabulary. And when you give in to it, the poison ivy in you lessens. 

This is good. 

You reciprocate his smile and you coo. Find it the easiest thing in the world. And because you’re so grateful for what he’s unwittingly done for you, you decide to share your truth with him as well. 

“Let’s go eat, then.” Your eyes crinkle and you’d bet light flickers in them, for your whole body does, you sense it. A warm light enlarges on its axis, taking a hold of the heaviness you felt. “There’s no need to be nervous. It’s what I told myself when I was getting ready. My stomach hurt and believe it or not when I told myself these words, it stopped.” 

Hoseok chuckles, his arm slapping back to his side, but you notice that it trembles. You’re so touched by it that you become angry at yourself, self-hatred clashing with that warmth. You misinterpreted him so unfairly and what’s more, you wallowed in your brokenness and your heartbreak, when Hoseok had been nervous and timid the whole time, which now sheds light on his lack of closeness with you. 

You’re despicable. And the awareness of it transforms into that snake tightening around your throat again. Only this time, you welcome it. Long for it to take your life. It’s the least you deserve. 

But you’re not letting yourself loll in the bed of your horrendous emotions. No, you lift your hand and you caress his arm, the one that quakes. And amidst the sepulchral attention of the sculptures, you’re a witness to that trembling’s halt, to Hoseok’s visible tranquility, and you want to weep. 

You know if you were to gaze at the eternal angels of beauty, you’d see stony tears appear on their ivory cheeks, too. 

“I’m sorry,” Hoseok mumbles and you curl your brows in confusion, not knowing what he’s apologizing for. Hoseok opens his mouth again to speak, but he pauses, sloshing the words in his mouth. You feel so bad that a craving to better yourself overcomes your entire being. “I’m sorry for being such a buzzkill. If you wanna explore this place more, we can. I saw you looking at the room with the paintings.” 

He tilts his head in the direction of the aforementioned room, but you care very little about it as of now. You’d much rather take this elsewhere and get to know him better, so you don’t make the mistake of distorting him again. You’re not very keen on forcing a heathen to pray, either, however you do appreciate his willingness and attentiveness. Carry those things into your jarred heart, fold them inside its chambers, the edge pieces to the puzzle of his personality. 

“Don’t worry,” you murmur, taking it one step further and hooking your arm around his. Hoseok sighs, his shyness slowly breaking apart as he clasps his hand over yours and if you could dissolve any more, now would be the perfect time for it. His hold is strong and steady—and it creates something stable within you, an orchard of fruit trees, pink and green, and bushes of berries, a safe place you want to rest in; lay down your brokenness and woes in. “You’re good. No need to apologize.”

His blush deepens at the reassurance and he smiles, softly, running his thumb over your knuckles. And the gratefulness you feel due to the fact he’s touching you, it is the rain that freshens up the apples and cherries hanging on the twigs of those trees, guiding it into full bloom. You focus on it—focus on the thick, cottony material of his dress shirt as you rub his forearm in response. You want to acknowledge yourself with the unspoken parts of him like these, remember them, allow them to heal you and crack the plaster over your heart. 

And there you hear it. The crumble as Hoseok leans in and presses a chaste peck onto your cheek, lingering there for a second more, inhaling your sandalwood scent. And his smile widens as he looks down on you at such close proximity, erasing your touch-starvation once and for all. It’s your turn to blush now and you feel an inkling to shy away from his gaze, but you stifle it back. Curl your mouth in a smile—your heart thumping louder amidst the orchard now that it has more space to function in. 

“No, I really want to apologize. It’s been too long since I’ve been on a date and you’re so stunning that I’ve forgotten my game, so I can’t help but to be nervous. I don’t know how to act around you,” he says, mutedly, punctuating his sentence with a breathy laugh, glimmering eyes flicking to the lining of your silky neckline just below your collarbones, tracing the miniature cherub hung up on your dainty necklace plated in gold, motionless against your dress. Your own heart grows wings and momentum in its place, fluttering in haste to move closer to him. He bores his gaze back into yours, letting it stay there. “Art isn’t really my thing, but you look like you belong here. Look like all those angels around.” He nods at your necklace. “And like that angel, too. Can I take a picture of you?”

You’re so taken aback that you don’t have time to respond. Pulling out his phone from the pocket of his dress pants, he withdraws from you and gently ushers you in the direction of the closest angel, your trenchcoat slung over his arm again, vibrating with life. He positions you how he likes—right in front of the immense sculpture, your head turned slightly to the side so the wisps of your white ribbon in your hair can be seen. His touch grounds you, tells your bloodstream, your organs that everything is okay, repeats it a little louder to your headspace—all before war could be declared with you. 

Hoseok, the prince of peace. 

The prince that crouches to the dirty floor so the vastness of the angel’s wings can fit in the shot. Yours, too. You think you’ve grown a pair of your own, alongside your heart, now that your shared honesty brought you closer.

You struggle to hold back your sob, to stop the corners of your mouth from rounding, your chin from quivering—all because the lightness that you sense wrapping over your heart is one you haven’t felt in a really long time. You feel taken care of, feel like you can depend on him, and while you can’t explain why you feel that way, you consider that such an immense blessing, regardless. So much that your eyes wet for the camera, but you don’t mind. Let that be captured in the memory—the mending that occurred. And let that be safe with him. 

You smile and the flash goes off, which causes you to burst into giggles, your liquid softness forgotten, and run to him, your palm covering his phone camera so nobody sees his defiance. You look around to make sure no employee is in sight before you face him, cheeks warm, heart warm, wings warm, body warm. Hoseok quirks a brow, confused, gaping up at you from his position, and you take a deep breath to halt another inrush of laughter.

“You can’t take pictures with flash here. They’ll throw us out,” you whisper-shout, your giggles escaping your tightened mouth. His own forms into an ‘O’, fingers clicking on his screen, presumably turning off the automatic flash.

“I didn’t know,” he whisper-shouts back, mouth stretched in a lopsided grin. “I haven’t been here since I was a kid.” You shake your head, shoulders still shaking with the last of your giggles. He probably didn’t have a phone back then, which makes it even funnier. He inspects his settings again to make sure it’s all good before his hand finds your thigh and pushes you back. “Okay, I turned it off. Go back to the angel.” 

It’s your whole body that flutters now, not just your heart, both pairs of wings unfurling, and when you retrace your steps, you still feel the heat of his touch—half on the fabric of your dress, half on your bare skin. And as you smile more naturally for the picture this time, greed kisses your core. A greed for more of his touch; on the same place as well as elsewhere. 

A twinkle of where he could possibly touch you flashes before your eyes and it’s all your focal point consists of when you turn your head to your former position the way he wanted it and he praises you for it: “Good, good.” 

Your muscles clench as you imagine his hand going underneath the fabric, exploring what’s hidden in there for him. The words of praise he would utter at the discovery of your private flesh. Your ears must be red. Such a twist of events you didn’t expect. A meek form of demureness creeps in, enveloping you in a feminine sensuality and you’ve missed feeling this way. Missed feeling pretty and alluring for yourself first, then for a man second. Missed being the center of your attention like this, of someone else’s as well. 

You’ve always loved it. Perhaps due to the fact that you very seldom have it—so when it does come, it changes your life and you attach your being to it. 

You didn’t anticipate going home with Hoseok, especially not on the first date. But because you’re being fed, you don’t really care about being proper. You want to go home with him and so you simply shall. 

Can’t let the opportunity run away from you. 

And so you arch your back a little bit more, look up at the angel and give her your silent thanks, your hair flowing around your form when you flick your gaze back to Hoseok to see him concentrated on the task, his smooth features gravely serious. Your stomach flips. 

“Now from the back,” he instructs without lifting his eyes off of the screen of his phone. “Just like you were.” 

A breath lodges in your throat, the double meaning burning the poison ivy down to ashes and you swallow it, let your stomach acid consume it until there’s nothing left of it, until all that your body carries is nothing but the lightness and the seductiveness that Hoseok gracefully gave you, the comfortable heft of the wings that grew because of him. 

It’s those things that drive forth your following words with the world’s ease, unabashedly. 

“You want it from the back?” 

Hoseok’s mouth parts and the look he exchanges with you should chill your blood, but it doesn’t. If anything, it boils it. The heat that wafts off it pools in your core before ascending to your imaginary wings, leaving them dripping with sweat and the dew of titillation. Hoseok’s eyes narrow, shadowed by the furrow of his brows, encouraging it all the more. 

There is it—the heady energy shift, permeated with the sweetest of berry juices, stemming from lust, from the orchard he planted in you. Strengthening your allure, steeling you from head to toe. You submit to it; kneel into it, notionally. Your elation raises from the dead—and you grin. 

“Behave.”

A pulse in your private parts. The lengthening of your expression of delight. Your wings, your muscles clench and the same winged creatures soar to your heart from your stomach, squeezing the beating flesh. You swivel on your heels, the hem of your dress rippling, exposing more of your tender skin, the ribbon in your hair following suit. 

Hoseok sucks in a breath. Your cheeks ache from the joy’s strain and it is utterly exhilarating to you. 

“Yes, sir.” 

Hoseok coos his approval and you can’t take it anymore. You let him take a few more pictures as you move around, dancing in your own way, running your fingers through your hair, trying to distract yourself from the throbbing between your legs, but to no avail. And when you sigh and face him head-on, Hoseok is already on his feet, walking towards you with a reappearing lopsided grin that forces the butterflies gnawing at your heart to go absolutely rampant. 

You’re done for. You need to take him home. You’re not even curious about how the pictures came out—you can always look at them later. 

Hoseok seems to know about your neediness because when he crosses the distance, he cups your chin. Makes you look up at him. And his smirk deepens while your heart increases in size, wings flitting at the special attention. 

“Such a pretty girl,” he murmurs, caressing your skin with his thumb. Your eyes round and the heat you feel is sweltering underneath your clothes. All the more reason for him to take them off. “The pictures are great. Wanna see?” 

Biting your lip, you shake your head, briefly. “What I want is to make you breakfast,” you say, mirroring his tone, hoping he gets the hint. 

Hoseok waggles your chin, humming. “Oh, yeah?” 

Fuck. If his scolding already didn’t make you submissive, then his response and his actions have. You wet your mouth, teeth instinctively sinking back in, and only nod. Hoseok opens your coat and covers your shoulders in its warmth, pressing the cotton twill fabric against your sternum. 

“Thank you, sir.” 

A fond sound pours out of him and the fact that he likes to be called by that title heightens the pulse between your legs. “Let’s go.” 

He leads you towards the exit with a hand on the small of your back and you’re so happy to be touched at last that with a final look at the angels, you send out your silent love and goodbye to them, thank them one last time for the kindness you received because of them, one that you so ferociously sought after and longed for. 

They seem to bow to you, happy to be of service, and you smile so profoundly that you feel as though nothing could stain your joy and mar it all over again. They wouldn’t allow that to happen—and a tendril of hope burst open within you like sunlight tearing through clouds, one that is suffused with the notion that Hoseok would stand in the way, side by side with those sculptures, too.

And he does when you swivel your head back and catch a glance of someone you know. 

A piercing on the side of his brow, unchanged from the last time you saw him. Round eyes, murky. Ashen complexion that used to bloom with vibrant tints. Full, soft-toned mouth, ever so stuck in that pout, one you used to kiss until it bruised. 

Your bloodstream doesn’t cease its flow. Not until you notice the person beside him. 

A girl with an aura so cataclysmic that it forces you to stop dead in your tracks. An August night storm personified, obnoxiously sweet-smelling of the past summer that you spent with her companion. The hollow, funereal scent of a meadow doused in petrichor—she walks with it, her hands intertwined before her in a clasp. 

You wished for him to be in Hoseok’s place so ardently that he appeared. And now that you contemplate him, the lack of distance between him and the girl, it makes you regret that you ever did. 

Because, unknowingly, it drenched you in gasoline and his presence is a lighter, hers the hand that has flicked it to life and now serenely holds it against your skin, waiting until the flames, little by little, devour you whole. 

And the job is finished when both of their heads whirl, meeting your livid stare. 

And Jungkook, too, stops dead in his tracks. 

“Do you know him?” Hoseok asks and you find it strange that you can hear him when all you can see is red. 

And the red fades into the matching black shirt that Jungkook is wearing, into his bluntly pained mien; into the strands of his date’s short hair and her scrunched up brows as she regards you with a strong aversion that makes you scoff. And the same red weakens when Hoseok turns your attention to him by playing with the ends of your ribbon, grazing them before twirling them around his finger. 

A breath of fresh air, he is. 

You don’t know what to say. Don’t know whether to tell him the truth or come up with something that won’t devastate what you have currently going on with him. But if you lie to him, you’ll stumble into a dead end you’d much rather stay clear of. You’d see it before your eyes once you do take him home and it would ruin the newness he brought up with you, preventing it from taking root in you. 

Devastation awaits you in either case. Both you and Hoseok. 

Cursed, your life is. Doomed, absolutely fucking doomed. 

What would the angels do in your place? 

Seeking their wisdom behind you, it is not in them that you find your answer, but in the passing pair dressed in black, making their way over to the dark-wined room. He’s pretending he didn’t see you at all, walking away from you without saying a word, despite the fact you broke up on good terms. 

You worshiped him in this very building almost on your knees and he dismissed you as if you meant nothing to him, caring for the feelings of his date, instead. 

Peculiarly, the sentiments Hoseok installed in you, both of the passionate and the soft kind, turn that fire blue and it becomes the driving force that guides you to act without a single thought spared. 

“Yeah, I do know him. Do you mind if I quickly say hi to him?”

The corner of Hoseok’s mouth curls and he caresses your hair down your back one last time.  “Go, I’ll get the car ready.” 

Such a confident, strong man, broken out of the confines of his former timidness. Not possessive, nor insecure—letting you do what you want. Respectful of your personal life that doesn’t include him just yet. And for that very reason it will—as soon as you’re done putting out that fire in you. 

It’s not only you that has gone through a change upon this hour and it strikes your awe, enough for you to lean in and peck his cheek, just like he did to you. 

Hoseok makes a sound of endearment, pivots on his feet to leave you to it, but you grab a hold of his hand. Have a need to say something to him. 

His brows rise at the attention and you brush your hand across his knuckles, mimicking his previous actions, having learned them, intimately. 

“Thank you, Hoseok. Really,” you say with a smile that could magnetically pull the sunlight out of its hiding place behind the clouds and bathe this bizarre room in light. You squeeze his hand. 

A swirl of shyness flushes his face in rose pink and he shakes his head. “No need to thank me,” he assures, reciprocating the smile. “And call me Hobi. You can save Hoseok for later.” 

Your jaw falls open and Hoseok chuckles, warmly, deepening the pulse between your legs until a wet spot adorns your panties beneath your dress, one that you look forward to showing him at the aforementioned time. 

He pivots again and you watch his tall, lean figure leave. Back muscles clothed in black, straining against the fabric. He must’ve undergone his military service. 

A beautiful man. You can’t wait to taste him. Taste that manliness. 

Loosening a breath, you turn around to search for your ex-boyfriend. And much to your dismay, he’s appreciating the angel sculpture—the very one and only Hoseok took your pictures with. Fire licks at your every nerve ending, but then you notice that his date is nowhere in sight. 

A perfect opportunity to do what you want to do. 

Pulling out your phone out of your little purse, you look for his name in the history of your calls and tap on it, placing the device against your ear, your hoop earrings clashing against the screen. You watch him palm his pocket as the vibration disturbs his aesthetic pleasure and he casts a long glance at your name filling up his screen. Doesn’t comb his gaze through his surroundings. No, he seems to be transfixed by the twist of events and when he swipes his finger to accept the call, his stare begins to dig a hole into the dirty, marble floor. 

Doesn’t say anything. 

You scoff, fury grazing your fire. “You’re pretending not to know me? That’s low.” His pout rounds and the tip of his shoe traces the edges of the ruination he’s caused. Remains silent. “Who’s your little girlfriend? I thought you’d introduce me. Where is she, anyways?” 

It’s him who scoffs now and he flicks his gaze towards the face of the angel. It’s like he’s staring right at you. “You shouldn’t be doing this, little one.” 

The too familiar pet name brings agony to your heart and you would break had Hoseok not given you his strength, if the dependability of him waiting for you outside wasn’t real. And the allure and the lightness in you, perhaps the very love of the sculptures encompassing you—all of those things only vivify your solidity. You have no reason to break, you’re safe. 

“Well, I think you should be a good Daddy and meet me right there in the red room,” you seethe, glad for the anger to be lingering in you, for the utterance of the title leaving you unscathed. You’re just giving him a taste of his own poison, nothing else. 

Jungkook runs a hand through his hair and sighs, clenching his jaw. “Don’t call me that.” 

You chuckle, enlivened by the provocation. “I can do whatever I want. Besides, you started it.” 

He grits his teeth. “Not when you’re talking to me, you can’t.” 

Your fire rises in overwhelming waves, your curt response ready on your tongue, but Jungkook hangs up, making you shut your mouth, instantly. 

You hate him for that; hate him with the entirety of your being. 

What has happened to your friendship? To the sweet, weeping Jungkook who broke up with you because he didn’t want to cause you any more pain with the state of his mental health, who has been dealing with depression for so long that he’s reached a point of no return, a lightless room with no windows, where all he saw was you, and he didn’t want you to be a victim of such unhealthy attachment. So he bid you goodbye, hugged you until you couldn’t breathe and let you go. 

Three weeks ago. 

You haven’t seen him or heard from him since until now. Until you’ve found someone else and moved on with your life. That’s just your luck. 

And now the person you’re gazing at, it’s not the same one that wept against your chest. Yes, he might have been strict with you during intimate times, teased you with his fatherliness during the day even—but that invariably was imbued with the mellowness of love. 

Try as you may while his words ring in your headspace, you cannot unearth any trace of that same mellowness in it. Only bitterness, coldness and a profound darkness. 

Jungkook pockets his phone and, leaving both of his hands there, sunk deeply, he walks over to the wine-tinged room, his frown obscuring the place in gloom. Murky clouds, personified. A perfect match to the storm of his companion. Bile lodges inside your throat. 

You follow after him, your feet aching terribly in your boots, but it serves as some kind of alleviation to the tautness of your emotions, of your confusion, disgust and offence. Makes you feel better—because once you see Jungkook ogling a certain painting of a woman beaming at him softly, dressed in flowers, blues and greens as the redness akin to your fire burns in her background, the agony tries to slither its way inside your heart, but fails.

You’re a locked orchard. 

Jungkook senses your presence and he swivels, biting the inside of his cheek, pierced brow quirking. There’s a strain to his shoulders and his Adam’s apple bobbles as he takes in your appearance. The creaminess of your short, silky dress, the darker shade of the same color of your trenchcoat slung loosely over your shoulders, exposing your brown, leather, high-heeled boots, your matching purse clutched in both of your hands as you strut towards him. Calm, all of a sudden. It does nothing to you, nothing whatsoever—your heart momentarily attached to Hoseok.

“I thought you’d already left,” he murmurs, tipping up his chin. Begins to sway back and forth on the balls of his feet, the carmine hues of the room swathing him in a deeper shade of darkness. “Isn’t your boyfriend waiting for you?” 

You don’t bother to correct him. It’s none of his business who Hobi is to you, not when he treated you like a stranger.

“We were about to leave, but then I saw your actions,” you say, quite monotonously, your calmness as disturbing as it is triumphant. You yourself even wonder at it. “What the fuck was that?” 

A smirk. “Glad to know I still have some kind of effect on you.” 

You scrunch up your brows, distaste once again pooling in your mouth. “Trust me, I would’ve done this with anyone I know. You’re not special.” 

His smirk widens. “So, you’re not jealous?” He rubs the side of his jaw, staring at you, intently, and disgust comes over you like a splash of a wave, soaking you in cold sweat. 

He did it for that very reason—to make you jealous. Walked right past you, just to get a rise out of you. As much as you loved him half an hour ago, that affection turns into dust within you, sprinkling the fruit trees and the berry brushes with its gray smithereens, poisoning them. 

Ouroboros, all over again. Full circle. Anger covers your disgust. 

A voice echoes within the room. Airy and light, as feminine as it is otherworldly, and you know, without a doubt, who it belongs to. It doesn’t suit her, not in the slightest. 

“There you are,” your ex-boyfriend’s companion trails off, the clapping of her flat shoes halting. “Who are you?” 

You only turn your head to the side, signaling to her that you’ve heard her question, because you fix your stare back at Jungkook as you answer it. “It’s not something you should trouble yourself with. Can you give us a minute?” 

You don’t hear any movement, so she must be stubbornly staying where she is. All right, she can join the conversation for all you care. 

When you turn your head back around, you catch stars oozing from Jungkook’s eyes, a conveyance of adornment painting his face in gentle colors that could never be associated with this room. There it is, the face you know, so resplendent of the one you last saw. And it grazes your anger, whispers to it that it was a mistake, a game of pretense, because you’re reverently acknowledged with his soul—you know who he is. While it may explain his fucked-up behavior, you don’t soften. Not at the hint of familiarity. Not even at the hushed hint of your deduction telling you that the reason why he unmasked himself was because you chose him and didn’t run away when his companion spoiled your short time together. 

You don’t soften because you simply don’t want to. 

You don’t want to give in to any means of getting close to him. 

The chapter is finished. You shouldn’t have called him. You should’ve left with Hobi. 

You don’t wish to keep him waiting long, nor do you wish to keep sprawling in your mistake. You pivot, ready to leave, but Jungkook captures your hand. Desirousness palpitates in his eyes as if he, too, needed to tell you something of urgency. 

You’ll hear him out, but that’s the end of it. 

“Can I see you later?” he asks, pupils growing in size until they absorb his chocolate irises, his grip over your hand tight and heated. A wind blows in your orchard, sweeping away all the darkened smithereens left by the bane, freshening you up. 

You don’t really think that’s a good idea. 

“I won’t have time for you later, I’ll be with Hoseok.” 

To Hobi, you won’t lie, but the same can’t be applied to Jungkook. 

His breath hitches in his throat, disappointment weighing him down, the thought of you being intimate with someone who is not him causing his posture to slouch even more. 

But he surprises you with the words he says next. 

“I’ll wait, then. Let me know when you’re alone.” 

And you surprise yourself even more when you nod, turning on your heel and scurrying off to meet Hobi outside. 

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah.

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

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[traumxrei-archive]

【 don't be afraid to get close 】

prompt #1: He had them against the wall but now he can’t stop looking at their mouth… (ft. jamil viper + riddle rosehearts)

gn! prefect (you/yours), drabbles, word count: 737 words

a/n: i said i'd delete requests, but i figured out that writing them out as hcs was a lot faster aND more fun for me. so. the rest of my 600 followers event fics will be in hc format >:DD had lots of fun writing for mr rosehearts and mr viper, so enjoy

Riddle Rosehearts

The one thing that peeved Riddle more than anything was when a uniform was worn incorrectly. So when he saw you walking around the halls with a loosened tie of all things, he knew he had to intervene.

"Prefect?" You looked at him with a slight smile. "Could you come with me for a minute?" You followed him easily to a more secluded part of the hallway, where Riddle could finally grab at your very loose tie.

"Prefect, as i've emphasized, it is important to keep your appearance as neat as possible," Riddle lectured as he continued to tie the knot. "It not only helps with cleanliness, but also with confide–"

Riddle's gaze flitted up. Big mistake.

He tried not to flinch at the proximity of your face to his. He was definitely not paying attention to the curve of your cheek or the part of your lips. Sevens, your lips looked so soft, he wondered if–

He dropped the tie like he was burned

You raised an eyebrow, "Is this how the great Heartslabyul housewarden ties a tie?"

And Riddle went red. He was sure he was flushing down the base of his neck, but he couldn't get his mouth to work.

"Senpai," There was a hand at his arm, tugging while you innocently tilted your head. "Did you get distracted by something?"

Great Queen of Hearts, Riddle was not going to make it out of here alive.

"O-of course not," Riddle forced out, his voice coming out unnaturally high. "I was merely just...we were standing very close together...."

He shut his mouth, intent on salvaging whatever petty pride he still had left. He then grabbed the tie with shaky hands, working at it once again as if he didn't just flush his rapport with you down the drain just seconds before.

Once the tie was done, Riddle sighed with relief, smoothing the material before letting it go.

"Thanks senpai," You said, before leaning in close and– Riddle shut his eyes, a light pressure landing on his cheek. He opened his eyes to see you smiling as you waved, heading to class as if nothing happened.

Riddle, on the other hand, crouched on the ground. He would never be able to get the flush out of his cheeks.

Jamil Viper

Jamil had a love-hate relationship with rain. but today he was bordering on the "hate" side. He was completely drenched, caught off guard by the rain as he quickly ducked into an alcove, tugging you behind him.

He cursed, pulling out two towels from his gym bag, "It's clean." At your questioning look he elaborated, "I bring two because Floyd always tries to steal mine."

Jamil draped the towel over your head, helping you dry your hair out of habit. He was secretly pleased as you let him do as he wanted.

However, he didn't realize how intimate of a situation he had created for himself until he felt you reaching over with the towel in your hand to help him.

That was when Jamil's gaze slid to the wall that he had backed you into, before dropping down to your lips.

Oh.

Jamil averted his eyes, trying hard to school his expression into neutrality. He picked up his pace, swiping at the water with renewed vigor until—

"Jamil?" A small silence. "Hm?" His reply came late, too busy focusing on a droplet of water as it traced down your face, wishing it was his fingers instead.

"You...look like you want a kiss."

Jamil swallowed, throat dry because he had been completely exposed. How was it that you were able to know his feelings so easily?

He saw the nervousness flit across your expression at the prolonged silence, so he let himself speak, "And...what if i do?"

You tugged at the towel around his neck, pulling him that much closer. His lips met yours clumsily, the cold of the rain fleeing for something warmer. He couldn't help but hold you closer, bridging the gap to feel the slide of your skin against his.

As he pulled back, Jamil wasn't sure what was louder, the sound of the rain pelting the roofs, or the sound of his heartbeat in his ears.

"Was that okay?" You asked tentatively, and Jamil all but wanted to laugh.

Instead he smirked, letting his cold fingers press against the warmth of your cheek, "i think i'll need a few more of those to warm up, ya sukar."

thank you for reading this far ^^ if you'd like to see the rest of the 600 followers event, find it here, and if you want to see more of my writing, go check out my masterlist <3 (p.s. to the people asking, 'ya sukar' means 'my sugar' >:D)

[julezo]

not to be vague what if instead of a main character or the hero going back in time, it was the villain?

exhibit 1: Mori from BSD; knowing what he knows about all of it i guess but especially dazai would make it so interesting. make one of those fics where people fill in the space canon leaves around dazai meeting mori but redo it now that mori has the clear advantage. Soukoku is the main focus and the main characters but Mori knows the future yk

exhibit 2: done before and done well but Light from death note; this asshole realizes how silly it all was to an extent, half falls in love with L during some AU twist on their earliest face off, and death notes everyone in the plot except L, his dad, the Kira squad and maybe Misa (bc personally I don’t like anyone after ep. 9 or 10). bonus points for a collaborative relationship between ryuk and light as well as light having some extra skill— like shinigami eyes or not needing a face

exhibit 3: tom riddle/voldemort; this would be right after his death, he’s been to the afterlife and had his talk with dumbledore, he’s like “shit harry was a horcrux oh fuck my b” and against dd’s wishes gets on the next train outta there and ends up somewhere after book 1 (not before that’s weird).

TO CLARIFY: this is all dark.. dead dove do not eat type shit. i’m not telling you to read or write “mori gets more power over preteen suicide risk” and “magic hitler gets a redo; now with a huge age gap!” as saturday afternoon fluff. act accordingly

[birdyverdie]

Hiya! Just wanted to drop by and say hi and thanks for reaching out and saying hi on my silly little post about talking about DD :,)

I love seeing all the Paracelsus enjoyers, she is the best shrimp posture doctor. <3 Do you have any personal favourite/niche headcanons for her?

Also good luck with your exams! Are you studying medicine/biomedicine? (I did a few classes a few years ago, and kudos -- it's so much material, especially the anatomy classes.) Do you have a favourite class? :o

Hi hi! :D! I put the personal stuff under a read more because by GOD can I ramble </3

Of course! I always like saying hi to people I see in the Darkest Dungeon tag! I think your art is SO lovely too!! I adore the way you draw Dismas and Reynauld!! They're so shapely in your style <3 pair that up with a Bloodborne crossover?? you're spoiling us fans fr!!

I'm a Para enjoyer first and foremost because I relate with the thirst for random medical knowledge that Para has, and also her bird motif!! (She's bird-like in my heart and soul. And I'm a bird enjoyer <3)

I have a few stray headcanons for her, mostly everything is about her scope of practice because that's where my thought process tends to stray when I study. We know that she's named after the father of toxicology, so most of her study goes into figuring out external agents effects on the human body. Though, I like to imagine her to have side interest in hematology as well! Mixing blood with a bunch of other agents seems like something she would be interested at least. (Perhaps that's how she finds out about blood types...*cough* I've been thinking about writing a Paracelsus fic about this for literal months *cough*)

This is a personal thing of mine, but I refuse to believe that Paracelsus actually believed in Humorism. I mean, the first iteration of it was basically a glorified personality test, nay horoscopes! (Yes I know that knowledge was limited back then, but alas, I'd like to imagine her scope is more experimental than observational.)

So instead I headcanon her to--if not the progenitor of Germ Theory--then at least a constituent of it. I think she and Louis Pasteur would have really fun conversations about it.

Another stray headcanon I have is that she receives the equivalent of a newspaper subscription from historical medical practitioners/researchers. So her daily newspaper could be about Edward Jenner's vaccine studies or Ferdinand Cohn's endospores. I don't care that the two of them existed 100 years apart, if we can have a 7th century BC Roman Vestal and a 14th century Plague Doctor in the same room then I can have Edward Jenner and Andrew Wakefield ("vaccines cause autism" guy) duking it out in scientific papers that Paracelsus reads like a WWE match.

Thank you for the luck fellow science enjoyer! Are you also studying medicine :0!?

Thankfully, my exam period is finally over, so I'm taking it easy with recuperating with the post-exam burnout :P And I'm a health major with a nutrition minor, but with a program path towards perfusion! My far-future end goal is to become a surgeon, but due to life circumstances I'll have to settle for perfusion for the time being :P Which I don't mind at all! I think it's such an interesting field, and a hidden hero for many cardiac surgeries! I also really like learning about the circulatory system so I think it's a little perfect ehehe :D!

My favorite class is currently Anatomy & Physiology, I have a really good professor this year, but my god It's actually a lot more complex than I thought it was gonna be while walking in. I genuinely thought it was mostly memorizing like...the bones of the skeleton and perhaps the muscles or something like that. Nahhh it takes a lot of micrology concepts too ;; Which I don't mind! But some days I'm staring at some topics like the neuromuscular junction and wishing I never knew what acetylcholine was. Though some days I do wish to return to Medical Terminology, that class was what I imagined: simple.

Thank you so much for this ask!! It was lovely talking about it!!

[kairiscorner]

HII CAN I REQUEST NOIR X FILIPINO READER

HOLY FUCKING SHIT YES PO MAHAL KONG ANON <333 i'll make this like the previous x filipino readers, but if you babes want, i could even try making a whole ass fic about it :DD

(btw this'll be in the same time period as noir, 1930's, so if you want modern hcs too just hmu <3)

okokok now, hear me out...

he wears barong tagalogs more often around you. like, okay, if we're talking about 1930's philippines, i think he'd FUCKING DIE OF HEATSTROKE IN THAT DARK OVERCOAT AND FEDORA MATCHUP OK, he wears barong tagalogs instead bc they're light, airier, and ofc, to respect your culture :>

he was surprised to hear how well the people speak english, bc if i remember correctly, a lot of filipinos were taught how to speak english before tagalog, even in that time period. if you weren't that well-versed in english, NO PROBLEM, HE WOULD GLADLY SPEND HOURS OF HIS TIME READING, WRITING, AND LISTENING TO, AND PRACTICING TAGALOG AND/OR YOUR LOCAL DIALECT FOR YOU <333

he was a little iffy about the foods at first, like specifically dinuguan when he heard it was from pig's blood, but he came to like the colorfulness of filipino dishes and how good they really are the moment he tried them.

why do i think his favorites would be BOTH sinigang AND adobo? like if he was asked which one he liked better, he'd just go silent and say, "...well neither are purple so i think both are good options," LIKE HE DON'T BELIEVE IN FEUDING OVER THEM, BOTH ARE GOOD AS FUCK

oh and when he courts you............ WHEN HE COURTS YOUUUUU, he fr going up to the nearest manong and asking how to play a simple love song as he sneaks glances at you by your window, gazing out but not at him, the blush creeping up on his cheeks and up to the tips of his ears, LIKEEEEE

he'd spend days practicing how to harana you, HE'D HIRE A WHOLE ASS BAND FOR YOU IF YOU WANTED A GRAND, BIG GESTURE OF LOVE, but even on his own, he is AMAZING at singing and playing the guitar (you cannot take this headcanon away from me, he can play.)

and when the carinosa comes on at a party or a gathering you two are at, HE WASTES NO TIME IN EXTENDING HIS HAND TOWARDS YOU AND ASKING YOU IF YOU WANNA DANCE

"aking pinakaminamahal... maari bang isayaw kita ngayong gabi?" (shit sana tama grammar ko SORRY PERO YOU GET IT)

AND WHEN HE'S MOVING CLOSER AND CLOSER TO YOU BUT NOT HOLDING YOU YET DURING THE DANCE, HIS SMILE GETS WIDER, YOU NOTICE HE HAS DIMPLESSS

the way the corners of his lips curls when he smiles as he sneaks glances at you, wishing he could hold you as he courts you through dance, the way he blushes and how his eyes shine when he stares into yours, THE DORKY CHUCKLES HE LETS OUT AS HE WATCHES YOU TEASE HIM WITH THE FAN MOVEMENTS >>>>>

then afterwards, he takes you in his arms, holds you close, and asks you, "ano, mahal, ayos ba?" he asks with a slight accent as he blushes a bright red, hoping to kiss you right here, right now, to declare to your family and friends how much he loves you and wants to be yours

a/n: tangina binalikan ko pa mga carinosa steps BWHAHAAHA PERO KICKING MY FEET, GIGGLING, TWIRLING MY HAIR, SCREAMING I LOVE HIM <333

tags !! @thecoolerdor

[nevergonnasimpyoumikey]

What did you think of that GTA trailer???

I loved it! Looks amazing, obviously, the color and the different sceneries... So gorgeous! I already love Lucia and Jason (hot hot hot hot), can't wait to see how their story goes but the trailer song is giving me some ideas:

There was a girl I knew / She said she cared about me / She tried to make my world / The way she thought it should be / Yeah, we were desperate then / To have each other to hold / But love / Is a long, long road

Kinda hoping for some "Lucia corrupting Jason" arc??? 👁👄👁 Since she seems more dominant based on the "Trust?" "Trust." scene which had me !!!!!! btw. I know I'm easy but I don't care, I loveeeee strong character relationships and if they can just bring that enough in the actual game too, it'll be so good. I'm a sucker for difficult love stories and I'm so excited, I hope it's a really strong part of the game with maybe multiple choices on how it's gonna end.

Also Lucia going to prison in the middle of the story instead of starting from there, which is kinda traditional for GTA, would be so cool! I'd love a few prison missions.

I'm a bit sad that the rumor about it being set in the 80s wasn't true because my nostalgic ass would have loved that, but then again, there's so many current day phenomena for R* to parody that I'm okay with this :D Just as it's fun to rewatch V laughing at 2010 things like hipsters and hating hipsters, in 2030 I will watch back at VI making fun of something that won't be relevant at all anymorr. :D There’s a charm to that, the games being portrayals of their time. Even small things like playing IV and taking Niko to an internet café is so stupidly amazing to me. :"DD

Going a bit off-topic here but all this being said, I'm seeing a lot of negativity about a new game being released and "V being forgotten" which makes me a bit sad :D I guess the difference is if you're a fan of the series or just one of the games, and I'm very much a fan of the whole series — the style, the way there are nods to the other games, sometimes the stories woven together so perfectly (for example Catalina, or IV/TLAD/TBOGT diamond story line). I'd say give all the other games a chance too and don't just get stuck on one of them, there's amazing stories and characters in all of the games!

But I get it, change is scary, and yeah, the older games don't get as much attention as the newer ones, so I guess some fans are panicking about their favorite now being treated like the other games? But like... fandoms don't die as long as there's fans, so just keep doing what makes you happy and there'll be others who do the same. IV fandom is going strong after 15 years despite there being a newer game just because the love for the story and the characters is so strong, why would it not be the case for V?

I know the heartbreak of V will stay with me forever, the themes of the game will affect my writing forever, and if I just can, I would like to keep creating for the characters for years more. I rarely forget a fandom anyway but V is still so strong in me even though my writing and "online presence" has slowed down because of life being shit sometimes. But I'm also really very excited for VI and more iconic characters and the fics and the art and new people loving the series and THE ZINES (we gotta do a zine or two!!!) and everything, and I just wish I can have other people excited around me, so... please come fangirl with me 🥹🥹🥹

[mamawasatesttube]

@comphetkoncass said:

is there anything you wish other people would write about?

OH GOD SO MUCH. some of this is admittedly my own personal headcanons and desires but in my ideal world, the timkon tag would feature much more of, like:

tim hanging out with the superfam (not just kon thrown in as an accessory to the batfam)

(particularly tim hanging out with lois. they have parallels i sooo badly want to see them get up to hijinks)

transmasc tim who ISN'T written in a weird, transphobic "hes the girl in the relationship/this is just to write penis-in-vagina porn" way, but is instead like. just some guy. who just so happens to be trans.

kon being the incredibly op and highly competent guy he is. none of the bats could touch him in a fight he has both kryptonian everything AND ttk. please be serious for once in your silly lives people. this guy once dismantled every single gun in the city of LA. he is never going to be intimidated by j*son t*dd lmao

and on that note. more of the bats not being weirdly homophobic about timkon (tim is the "girl" and kon is the "boy" so they all have to threaten kon right)???? they should LIKE him. dick was literally there when he died. they had a whole heart-to-heart after kon saved him when he called for help. where are my dick & kon bonding scenarios where tim is like. dick. im trying to be on a date here. go away

ACKNOWLEDGMENT OF KONS ISSUES... he has so fucking many... please... my hurt/comfort loving ass is starving...

them having FUn together??!?!? theyre best friends i want to see it!!! i want them to visibly enjoy each other's company and make each other laugh and like... LIKE each other.

(feels wild to have to say that but i feel like there's such a high proliferation of "timkon fics that fit boomer sitcom 'i hate my wife' archetypes" you know??? where they put kon down to elevate tim and its like. stop that. tim drake would NOT stand for this)

again stuff where kon gets to be cool sexy powerful and confident. he is a juggernaut. he is SO competent. i want to see this in action more often (+ tim going 😳😳😳 about it. you know this man has a competency kink.)

works in general that focus on the two of them and their relationship and not kon just being a sexy lamp in the background of a batfam story lol. (why is like nothing in the timkon tag actually about timkon.)

fics that spell kon's name correctly ("""connor""" kent my detested. my beloathed. who the fuck is that) (this is such a low bar but lol.)

them going on adventures together!! them being a battle couple!!! trusting each other and having that good good deep intimacy!!! its best friends to lovers baybee!!!

also on the nsfw front im just saying kon deserves to get railed too :/ like cmon. its equality

i wish i could organize a timkon giftswap or week or whatever event, but like only for people who actually care about kon as a character, without coming off as a gatekeeping asshole or something lmao

[ladymaigrey]

In search of a true filter

This is a personal and rambling thought-dump. Enter at your own peril. 

TL:DR my daughter might have ADHD. And, maybe, so do I? The meaning of this label in our lives is a choice for me to make. The choice itself doesn’t scare me nearly as much as the concept that it is a choice.

I am supposed to be writing at the moment, but my brain cannot settle down into the comforting niche of torture and angst that is Matt Murdock's brain. Or, rather, maybe, it's no longer comforting? (why it ever was/can be - is NOT the question I am going to be dissecting here!)

The fact that perceptions change, though, is something that has been occupying me in the past few days, in a rather obsessive and, yep, torturous way.

See, late last week, a counsellor who has been working with my 7yo daughter to help her with some anxieties and difficulties making friends, told me that I might consider having her assessed for ADHD, because some of her behaviors were consistent with that syndrome, as it presented in girls (which is very different to the way it normally presents in boys, i.e. hyperactivity is not necessarily a feature at all). The counsellor made the comment almost offhandedly: it wasn't a big deal. If she had ADHD, it was probably on the milder end of the spectrum as it didn't drastically impact her school work and, really, in terms of the counselling work, nothing would change because counsellors deal with the presentation as is and do what works with that particular individual regardless of what label might be attached.

Which is great, as far as my daughter's counselling journey is concerned.

But it threw me for a loop, and out of kilter, and totally twisted my knickers (and what other aphorism can I throw into this?) It sent me down a whirlwind of anxiety-ridden thoughts and questions. See, after just a little research, it became bleeding obvious that, yes, my daughter certainly has some of the behaviors, but so do I. And I always had!

And, on one hand, knowing that there is a possible neurological explanation for the troubles I had as a child and still have as an adult (including my pervasive anxiety) - did spark an "ah huh!" moment, and a feeling of vindication. On the other hand - that punitive self-loathing-but-maybe-true "other" hand - what I always considered to be unique and subversively delightful about my personality - things that I took pride in even if they often triggered a condemnation (or, at least, dismissal) from the rest of the society - well, they weren't things to revel in. They were signs of "brokenness".

Yes, that's a big part of the fight that neuro-diverse community has had: to NOT be considered "broken", to stay proud of who they are and their differences and their strengths, to demand a change in the society that functions with and for neurotypicals only while dismissing the inconveniently-different.

Still, I see that most people simply don't have enough self-insight to identify their own emotions and thoughts, let alone admit to themselves their own ingrained prejudices, and be able to modulate their responses. I see that neuroatypicality means a lifetime of battling uphill against those prejudices and against the lack of accommodations/understandings that our society, by and large, has no motivation to change. The way of the majority does rule in a society - that's what a society IS. I see that, whatever I am, whyever I am so - I am struggling to function every single day, I always struggled to find people who understood and accepted me, and I do not wish that for my daughter.

And, now, I am also questioning all of my perspectives (excuses?) regarding my daughter. For example, her talkativeness. Is she a "miss chatterbox" because her dad and grandmother are just Like That, and she inherited it from them, or is that a "red flag"? Are her difficulties with spelling a sign of abnormal lack of ability to stay focused, not just the fact that she is half-a-year younger than the rest of her classmates, and that English is a truly stupid language to write in, and that she will catch up in time. Her wish to hug people, even those who are not close friends, whom she met maybe five minutes ago - is that an endearingly optimistic view of the world, which she sees as mostly kind and deserving of embrace - or is that a "hyper-social behavior"?

And, beyond all of that, I question the malleability and impermanence of "one's truth", and, though that, question any human's ability to determine the truth of anything. After all, nothing has actually changed in the last week. Nothing, but strumming of air molecules in the space between two people; nothing but a label placed on a cluster of common actions of a bright little girl in the now, and of another bright little girl in a middle-aged woman's memory.

And yet, it changed the whole filter through which I see... well, almost everything (now that I am hyperfocusing and stressing about it, and is that a symptom, too?)

I am going to speak to my counsellor about it all this week. But, I am a (trainee) counsellor, too. So I can almost predict that through questions and soft suggestions, she will nudge me towards making what probably is the healthiest choice for me: to choose for the label to Not Matter. To look at what IS in my daughter's behaviors and how it affects her right now, not what it might or might not mean underneath or in the future.

That's probably what I will have to do, for my own sanity and to continue being a mum who tries to accept her daughter as she is not as I'd like her to be.

What bothers me, though, is that it IS a choice. All our perceptional interpretations are a choice - a choice of what thoughts and emotions we nurture and listen to. The filter which we look through the world on is a choice (often one that we made before we knew we had a choice to make, but one we made as the most optimum means to survive in the environment we were born into).

And, if it's a choice - then it does not necessarily reflect objective reality (if there's even such a thing; metaphysics makes my brain leak out my ears, so I am not going there).

There's a type of 3rd generation cognitive-behavioral therapy which has proven to be quite helpful with a number of different psychological disorders: acceptance and commitment therapy (ACT). One of the ideas of ACT is to identify goals that are congruent with your personal values and learn how to keep your eyes on the goal, while managing any thoughts/emotions that are unhelpful to you from reaching your goals. There's no judgement on what the goal is, nor focus on unearthing why particular emotions are triggered. So, essentially, it's about helping you craft the filter of your choice which you think is most likely to benefit your wellbeing.

It is something I believe often works, I can see its appeal - it's a comfort and gives a sense of control.

I use emotion/thought controlling techniques every day to help me function (without them, I don't think I would be able to keep my job or continue studying, and I would be even harder person to be around for my family). I remind myself of having a choice to shape my reality, despite what anyone says (and damn the "society")...

And yet, I fear I am lying to myself every single day, and I have no way of finding the "truth".

[winterzsurprise]

꧁༺ 𝓐𝓻𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓿𝓮 ༻꧂

Date Started: 04/11/22

Last Update: 11/05/2024 || Crimson Lovers • KSJ

hello, if you're a reader of mines, thank u for your support and love on my works, I really appreciate them. I'm not a native English speaker so there's bound to be misuse of some words, I apologize in advance!!

Do tell me if there's stuff to be changed tho :3

Regarding Change My Mind, I update every Wednesday 10pm KST (KST cause we all know how to translate that by now). If I don't update, wait the next week :DD

AO3 Link

As a make-up artist, you were expected to glamorize your clients with brushes and products that cost a week-worth of food, not to befriend them outside of work, let alone have them save you from dates yet here you are five years later as one of their closest confidants. Being a stylist of the world's biggest boyband is no easy feat, someone is doing flips, someone can't stay still and one's asleep but its fine, you can work around their chaos but what you can't do is accept the fact that they're your soulmates.

BTS

Change My Mind || series, friends to lovers, eventual smut, soulmate au

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6]

KIM SEOKJIN

Crimson Lovers || one-shot, vampire! Seokjin, smut

“I'd spoil you rotten, put you in the nicest, most expensive clothing and I'd still have more to spend on you for an eternity.” Jin whispered into your lips like a promise, if it weren't for your lust addled mind, you'd believe him. “You like wealth, princess? I have plenty. My coven has a dragon, he'd spoil you rotten, he’d stop at nothing to give you everything you'd ever wanted.”

Or alternatively, your friend’s only solution to you being a broke college student with a family to feed is to attend a private feeding party where the most affluent vampires are in attendance to drink fresh blood in exchange for money and get yourself in trouble with the Kim Coven.

• Ride me? || smut

Just when you thought he's exhausted enough from chasing Miles Morales and had given you the chance to actually ride him, Miguel has other plans.

• Thirty Minutes || smut

After convincing Miguel to take a break from working, he generously granted you thirty minutes with him and you know how you'd spend it.

• Take a seat || smut

Never in your wildest dream did you imagine having your husband ask you to sit on his face.

• A New Beginning || breeding kink, smut

You tell Miguel that you're ready to have a child with him.

• Taking care of you || sub! Miguel, bondage, smut

Miguel comes home after a rough week and a half out of his universe and you decided that the only way to take care of him was to web him down.

• Playing with Fire || brat! reader, smut

After risking your life to save one spider, Miguel had enough and decided it was time to discipline you.

• Peaches and Cream || smut

There's a stark difference with how your husband and Miguel treats you, starting with how rough the latter can be.

||MCYT||

• Loving You Was A Losing Game || Angst, Us Against the World but the World Won trope

In all of the universes he has visited, why is the one where you lived peacefully have to be spent with his best friends?

• The Simulation || Wattpad link, longfic (128k+ words), fantasy, they get trapped in minecraft, horror elements during the earlier chapters, old fic so shit writing lol

To many people, content creators have been a massive part of their life. They taught you, brought you happiness and became the light that would glow brightly in your darkest days. Now, what if they started disappearing out of nowhere?

• Unholy || Smut, Religious Kink, Priest! Karl

To be a priest meant your loyalty shall rest with the lord and Karl would be a lying if he said he wouldn't want to lie with you instead.

• A deal with a demon || Demon!Quackity

Instead of dispelling a royal blooded demon like you were tasked to, you listened to his tempting deal.

༒☬༒ ꜱʜɪᴘꜱ ༒☬༒

𝙺𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚗𝚊𝚙

• The Stable Boy's Silent Wish || Fantasy Medieval Setting

In all of the years Sapnap spent with Karl, he has seen every shade and hue of his emotions. But when he gazed at pretty girls in translucent light clothing, Sapnap then realised that he has never seen him in every color yet.

༒☬༒ ʀᴀɴᴅᴏᴍ ꜰɪᴄꜱ ༒☬༒

• Us Against All || Benchtrio, Zombie Apocalypse AU!

They expected the dreadful possibility of being bitten but they never knew how painful it was to see their friend run on borrowed time.

• Blue Innocence || found father and son trope, fantasy au, bedrock bros

Every death leaves a legacy behind and his brother was no different from them, along with his journals and music sheets, Techno took upon the task of raising his brother’s adopted child, Tommy.

• My Companion, My Friend, TUB30 || detroit becomes human au, clingyduo

After the tragedy that took Tommy's brother away, he isolated himself. Not wanting his son to be a hermit for the rest of his life, fatherinnit created him an android companion.

[reilliane]

reilliane- RELI- alternate universe where Kazuha actually buries his wanderlust under the dirt and enjoys life with v!mc(who obv knows what kazuha’s doing and subtly makes him wander out abit more by sending him on errands.) for a few years, but every kazuha must submit to their desire to wander.

or, or — now this one is albedo—, rhinedottir actually made 2 prototypes. the first being a female one she created as a test and pretty much made on a whim(this one was co-created by alice. rhine did all the alchemic-sciency-frankenstien things while alice created the look and gave them a name[rhine wanted to just name her ‘prototype #1 ; test’ and alice went “NOPE :D!” slams a sheet of paper with names listed on it onto the table, “Pick a name, any name! All are lovely!”[i imagine she says it like those circus ppl who are like, advertising their show or smth].). the second (primodial) being a male and being, basically the ground layout for her most prized possession, albedo.

Both of them ([name] <- bc w/ this i dont read ‘yen’ & primodial guy) being thrown away and fed to durin</3. They both aid each other in leaving the (now dead) dragon’s stomach. Primodial goes on a path of inferiority complex and revenge or smth, while [name] just lives life🤷‍♀️. She bumps into Albedo — he legitimately froze when he saw her, he had seen his master’s notes and drawings of her previous two ‘failed’ homunculi. he thought that they were.. well, dead though. but then again he had gone through the whole ‘who’s who?’ fiasco with his bitter imposter. — and just smiles, tilting her head to the side and her eyes, though dull and emotionless, carry a familiar sparkle from his new family. “albedo” she says his name with an unsure voice, eyes never leaving his almost as if she was inspecting him. “was it? sorry, i wasnt exactly around when master planned you.”

Albedo flinches and immediately covers her mouth with his hands. To outsiders, an uncharacteristic move. To her and whomever may know of their origins, a panicked and fearful move desperate to keep it under the rug. “Sorry.” She removes his hands, “Let’s talk in that freezer-lab, yeah?”

-🦧i just love that albedo brainrot and i tried writing a fic outta it in my own blog but just ended up posting a wip😔 anyway, [Name] is alice’s ‘first’ daughter. So big sister![Name] and little brother!Albedo(+primodial) and little sister!Klee :DD (also, also, maybe [name] has a bit of alice’s personality). Mm, bed time for real now.

Kazuha sacrificing his desire to wander (albeit for a short while) in order to just live life with MC :((( my hart, my hART

Ofc MC's still aware that Kazuha probably wants to wander n all, I like to think she hints that her bro can do as he wishes. She'll be fiiiiiine~

When the time comes that Kazu prolly does want to go, he'll invite nee-san the same way he did in Resolve. Cause cmon, MC may not have a vision but she has a superpower and that's called being a nee-san-/SLAPPED

aw, kazu hungry? no worries, she can whip up a feast even out in the wild.

is that a hilichurl about to smack him?? pUNCH ‾͟͟͞(((ꎤˋ⁻̫ˊ)—̳͟͞͞o

the prICE For THiS ProDUcT Is maDLy HIgh? She didnt learn all those lessons for nothing, she about to talk business with a 🤗🤗 face

—

(i felt that reading y/n as 'yen' LMAO though in my case i read it yin JSDHAJKDHAS)

that idea is cool! just albedo gaping like "omygo i heard about you sis"

imagine primordial just showing up to enact revenge and instead finds his twin with albedo lmao 😭💀

he's like, unleashing this elsa snowstorm then sees MC along with the group and then trying to take it bacK LIKE:

"YAW WHAT THE SHUCK ARE YOU DOING OVER THERE??? GET BACK HERE WOMAN THIS INSTANT"

[llamakenma]

hi!can you write about cheating haikyuu boys?idk if you write about cheating it's okay if you don't it!incase if you do it Thank you…Thank you…(´人｀●)SOOOOO━━＼(´∀｀●)／━━MUCH!!

haikyuu boys cheating on you

(oikawa tooru | semi eita)

so instead of long fics, i decided to write particular short scenarios with them! hope you enjoy it (though it's kinda rusty djlfkaldsfkn) :DD and happy birthday to the best boi aka oikawa tooru.

oikawa tooru

-"it's okay y/n-chan, we're just going to grab a drink."

-that was the last phrase he had uttered to you as he left the house, you words of concern nothing more than mere dust he shrugged off.

-the team had won the olympics just recently, and they had decided it was time for celebration, so they ventured out to party at a famous club downtown, saying that they should treat themselves.

-you were okay with oikawa going to the club, after all, you had been with him for more than enough years to have a deep trust in him.

-yet you were starting to sit on the edge when he was still not back by midnight, your sense itching to call him despite him telling you not to wait up for him.

-"where are you tooru?" you sent a message, in hopes that he would at least respond with a "i'm okay."

-you fell asleep on the couch not long after, your eyes giving out though you very much wish to wait up for him.

-you jolted up at the slight slam of the door, your unconscious checking the clock to see the hour handle at four.

"tooru? is that you?"

"hey y/n, yea it's me."

-you shrugged off his cold tone, simply thinking that he overexerted himself with the drinks, considering how late he came back.

-that was, until you saw the red scratches and hickeys scattered on his back when he was changing. you were more than sure it wasn't your action after all, he had been busy for a long time.

"tooru? did you.. did you sleep with someone?"

-he visibly froze up, suddenly stopping his actions, before proceeding like it was nothing.

"so?"

-"so?" really? that was his response to the matter? not only did he confirm his doings but he also shrugged it off like it was nothing.

"tooru!" "what y/n? what if i sleep with another person? what exactly have you done to please me these days? it's not my fault that you were not enough."

"not enough?" you scoffed, "what about you? you are not even home nowadays! and even on your rest days you kept practising, and now? it's the first time we would've spent time together but you went out! how can i please you when you are not even with me tooru!"

he grunted, mumbling under his breath, "well maybe you could've tried harder."

"try harder?" you questioned, "haven't the thought of trying in a relationship comes from both sides? what's the use when I'm the only one trying tooru... i thought we were constant with what we have, but i guess i was just wrong.

"oh come on y/n, who would be constant with having you as their partner."

-that was a harsh blow, especially when he had showered you with nothing but compliments and told you how happy he was to be with you... but people change, right?

"leave tooru. don't even think about stepping into this place again."

"don't be fking selfish y/n, this is also my house."

"okay then, i will leave."

-you gathered your things as quickly as you could, holding back the tears that were forcing their way out, one by one.

"can't you do it faster? i need to sleep."

-a intense burst of pain suddenly flashed in your heart, your tears blurring your sight even more as your trembling hands tried to quicken the pace.

-the oikawa tooru you knew and loved for a long time was way different from the person that was leaning on the door frame, watching you pack your bags.

-turning around, you walked past oikawa, trying not to taint yourself with any of his warmth, knowing that you will break down at his touch.

-mustering your last strength, as you wiped your tears, you turned towards oikawa with a meek smile.

"well, i guess this is goodbye tooru."

-it didn't fully hit oikawa on what happened until he woke up to the feeling of emptiness beside him, sunlight warming the place as your substitute.

-he couldn't fully remember what had happened the past night, yet it was clear when he couldn't find any of your things as he rummaged through the apartment.

-that is, apart from a piece of paper with a polaroid on it.

-it was a picture of you and him goofing around at an amusement park, a piece of cotton candy above his lips with you trying to steal it. the ferris wheel stood mighty and tall in the background, contrasting against the soft skies of velvety warmth. it was on his birthday, exactly one year ago, when you were still in his reach.

-unfolding the paper, he read the words that confirmed his suspicions:

"thank you for the memories tooru, i loved you."

-what has he done...

semi eita

"don't mind the rumors, baby. the paparazzi are always looking for useless news."

"i know emi. it just bothers me sometimes you know."

-he leaned down to give you a peck on your cheek, slightly massaging your shoulders as an act of comfort.

"i gotta go now okay? we have late-night practice today."

"okay, stay safe."

-you glanced at the time, your phone signaling that it was already 7 at night. you sighed, semi had more frequent late-night practices these few months, and though you were unsure on just why the band practices only late at night.

-you decided to text your best friend, who also happened to be on the band, hoping to wish them a stroke of good luck on today's practice and ask them if it would be okay for you to drop by to surprise semi.

you: hey how long is your band practice going to be tonight?

them: band practice? we don't have one today?

you: but semi just left, telling me that he had practice.

them: he probably got the wrong date, we only have late practices on friday.

you: oh okay then, thanks.

-friday? you pondered, only friday? yet semi has been going out for at least 4 nights every week, giving the excuse that it was band practice.

-a notification popped up on your screen, the same account on twitter that follows semi around, starting rumors about him.

"singer semi eita spotted at xx, with singer ~~."

-you turned off your phone, closing your eyes before telling yourself that it was not him, or at least it wasn't what rumors stated that it was. it was the same singer again, the one that has been rumored to be dating him since about two months ago.

-you knew semi better, he wouldn't do this to you. he told you himself that the rumors were nothing but trash. he wouldn't lie to you... but you were quite uncertain after figuring out the schedule of the band practices.

-you wished to stay still and lie to yourself that everything was okay. semi is still faithful to you and your relationship with him had nothing to worry about.

-but your curiosity to know about the truth pestered you, forcing you to depart to that location and confirm everything with your own eyes: and perhaps prove yourself wrong about semi.

-you arrived there not long after, your heart pounding like drums in your chest, as you could only wish that whatever he was doing was not what you think.

-alas, you shouldn’t have believed his lies, you shouldn’t have believed his sugarcoated words that dragged you away from reality. you shouldn’t have believed him.

-under the lamppost that flickered like a firefly, on the bench where you and him would have lunch in college, sat him with another person in his arms, sharing a kiss so passionate anyone would think he was head over heels for them. perhaps he is.

-you knew you had to confront him there and then. there was just no use in waiting longer, and perhaps you should also reveal to the mistress that he was two timing- maybe you were the mistress- seeing as he didn’t mind the pictures of him and them floating around on the internet.

-just as you were preparing to approach them, semi met your eyes, panic quickly settling in them as he ran towards you.

“y/n!”

“semi.”

“it wasn’t what you think y/n. it was just a dare.”

“and? you were walking around doing a dare that involves kissing while you were in a relationship? come up with a better excuse semi-san. let’s break up.”

“wait y/n, please.. it’s my fault please y/n don’t leave me, i need you. are you going to throw away our relationship just like this?”

“you should’ve asked that to yourself when you cheated on me semi-san.”

-you could see the frustration in his eyes as he tried to find another excuse to not make you leave, yet your anger and sadness grew with every passing second.

“let go of my hand semi… please. please just don’t lie to me anymore, i’m tired of believing your words semi, so tired of being someone you could convince with some measly words.”

-tears started to flow down your cheeks, both from great frustration and sadness. you knew you should be mad at semi, you should be yelling at him and telling him just how much he had stomped over your heart, threw it away into the dumpsters like it was nothing. but you couldn’t, you were weak to the person in front of you, and as of now, you were only trying to muster up the only words you could find.

-semi knew he was being selfish, he knew he had messed things up since the moment he held another person that wasn’t you in his arms.

-then why didn’t he stop?

-what in his right mind made him think that it was okay to cheat on you: his precious you. and it pained him to see the tears flowing down on your face, yet it was caused by him, it was his actions and lies that made you feel less than you are.

-he sighed, there was no use in persuading you otherwise, he would only further hurt you and at the moment, that was the last thing he longed for.

“I’m sorry y/n, and if it will make you happy then okay, let’s break up.”

-you wiggled your hand out of his grip, wiping your tears so that he would not see them any longer.

“thank you semi, i hope you will cherish them unlike with me.”

-as you turned away, you had never felt more out of reach from semi eita than you were now, yet at the same time he had never wished for you to be with him more.

you only know you love her when you let her go~

[potteresque-ire]

Not sure if this has circulated before, but here’s a link to Henry Jenkin’s reactions to 227, largely as responses to an interview he did with Sanlian Lifeweek magazine (三聯生活周刊), a publication modelled after TIME magazine and published under China Press Publishing group (中國出版集團), the largest and state-owned publisher in China. The magazine asked for Jenkin’s opinions on the fandom-related aspects of 227 back in March, 2020. Henry Jenkins, as many may already know, is among the most renowned scholars of (Western) fan culture ... if not the most renowned.

Personally, I find this article to be quite limited in perspective, because 227 had a significant non-fandom-oriented, sociopolitical component ~ and hence its scope, its chaos, its damage. IMO, 227 stopped being a fan war, stopped being about solos, cpfs, and even Gg the moment AO3 was shut down ~ the powerful Chinese state had intervened, and the incident necessarily became a political incident. That One Fic on AO3, the conflict between solos and cpfs about whether and where That Fic should exist was at most a lighter left at the scene of what would become the blaze; it wasn’t even responsible for igniting the first fire. Most i-turtles (i-fruits?) are probably aware too at this point: if fan wars are sufficient to start 227, then there wouldn’t have been a 227 ~ because 227 would have been every date of the year.

Fan culture is fundamentally transgressive, and what that means can only be defined in the context of the subculture’s “mainstream” sociopolitical and cultural environment. I therefore find the article’s attempt to transplant Western fan culture’s observations / theories / analysis / conclusions to the incident without explicitly comparing, addressing in depth the differences of the pre- and post-transplant environment to be ... prone to rejections (as organs are after transplantations!)—exclusion from being useful or valid. And this article was very short on such comparisons or address. Jenkins being a fandom expert aside (and he was careful about not treading outside his area of expertise), early “antis” of 227 presented themselves as crusaders for the freedom of speech and, by late March when this article was published, the heated debates surrounding the incident on Chinese social media had already led to embarrassment for multiple powerful state publications. It was probably a wise choice to not make another dive into the political aspects of the incident.

Being a new(-ish) turtle who joined the fandom a full half-year after 227, I’ve been backtracking, trying to really understand the incident, which remains very much beyond comprehension in many aspects. The discussions I’ve dug up that have most fascinated me have been those in non-fandom spaces, by non-fandomers / politics enthusiasts who barely knew who Gg was, who didn’t know That One Fic involved more than one idol and had zero knowledge about solos vs cpfs. In these discussions, “antis” are not referred to as “antis” because while the action of the so-called “227 coalition” was to kill Gg’s career, that wasn’t considered its ultimate goal ~ its ultimate goal was to warn whoever tried to clamp down the freedom of expression that their opposition was strong enough, populous to fight back and take away whatever, whoever those who attempted the clamp-down care the most about. In this case, “Gg fans”—I put this in quotes because eventually, no one would know who would lurk behind those pro-Gg Weibo IDs (and the anti-Gg ones as well)—were the perceived enemies of creative freedom. Gg, assumed to be the one, the symbol of what “GG fans” cared about the most, naturally became the target of the coalition.

Gg wasn’t special in that sense ~ and that was perhaps, the saddest thing I found about this incident as a Gg fan (without quotation marks); Gg could be any idol who achieved top fame at the moment, who had enough fans to make the point known. The coalition was therefore not “anti-Gg” in its ideological sense. It was anti the fan circle culture that had cemented Gg’s popularity, that had already been known to deal extremely poorly with dissent—complaints had been abound that c-ent was no longer fun for bystanders because the latter could issue no critique, not even doubt, about an idol without the fear of being reported, torn down by fans. The coalition eventually grew to include anti the many happenings, the many censorships and imprisonments in the past few years that had silenced the creative crowd in China, happenings people dared not speak about beyond a loud grumbling ...

The coalition tried to take down Gg, because they couldn’t take down the force that had shut down AO3, that was truly responsible for the silencing. They played the Hunger Games in the Weibo arena instead of challenging Who The Real Enemy Was, because some might not have given much thought about  The Enemy; some might have thought the Enemy too invincible to be worth the effort; some might have got too carried away by their blood thirst, the cruel schadenfreude of shredding a beautiful, successful young man into pieces, and forgot why they were there in the first place ... 

And that was only the political side of 227. 227 was also widely suspected to have a commercial component, which added another layer to the symbolism behind Gg the Idol ~ pretty much as soon as 227 happened, netizens investigated, tried to uncover the chain of capital behind Gg. With the scent of money was the memory of filth associated with it, in a country not exactly  unknown for its corrupt business practices. Much like in The Book of Exodus in the Bible, the Idol is believed to be forged with gold; it is ungodly, tainted. Whether Gg the Person was identical to Gg the Idol, Gg the Symbol mattered to few. That Gg *was* a person seemed lost to many ... 

I’ll have to dive into the non-fandom aspects of 227 with more rigour. As much as I'd love to leave 227 behind, every time I see Gg, I see its legacy on his face, in his smile, and perhaps, I’m not the only one ~ ADLAD cast him as Patient #5 because of 227′s effect on him. Put it another way, 227 is already modifying, writing Gg’s career trajectory ~ a trajectory that is undoubtedly under scrutiny by many who wish to duplicate his success but circumvent his pain. And every time I see a young idol—Gg, Dd, and anyone else—I wonder if the hurt of 227 can happen to them (again) because the crux of the incident has never been resolved; the oppression and silencing have remained strong as ever. 

Anyway (sorry for the rant) ... what I found noteworthy about this article was the quotes the magazine highlighted in its published form (in Chinese), which weren’t highlighted by Jenkins on his own website. They reflected what the magazine would like to be the take-home messages of the interview. I’ve listed them below; all of which had Jenkins as the speaker:

[Pie Note: About Real Person Fiction (RPF) in Western fandoms]

“American fans often do have some shared norms about what is and is not appropriate to write, mostly having to do with protecting the privacy of other people in the star’s life. Writing about the star is seen as fair game; writing about their family members is not.”

---

[Pie Note: About GG being “cast” as a transgender woman in The One Fic that started the incident; gender in fandom]

“We write fan fiction as a form of speculation and exploration. For some people, it may be one of the few spaces in the culture where they can express who they are, what they are feeling, what they are desiring. And for others, it is a place of “what if” where they explore in fantasy things they would not necessarily desire in reality.” 

---

[Pie Note: Whether GG should be held responsible for his fans’ behaviour]

“Under these circumstances, I would not hold a performer responsible for his fans’ behaviors but the performer is responsible for their own behavior and fans may respond negatively to performers who over-react to the existence of alternative fantasies and insult or hector their audiences.”    

---

[Pie Note: About AO3 and why fans were so upset about its closure] “Keep in mind that AO3 is a particular kind of platform. Alongside Wikipedia, AO3 is one of the greatest accomplishments of participatory culture in the digital era.”

---

[Pie Note: About the “problematic” content on AO3]

“Among my findings were that fan fiction sites can be a valuable space for young people to acquire skills (and receive feedback) on their writing from more experienced writers who share these same passions ... That said, while teens have participated in fandom, a large part of those on AO3 are adults, engaging in adult conversations on adult topics.”

---

[Pie Note: About media text in the new media era]

“First, I would stress the proliferation of media texts at the current moment ... We have access to a much broader range of media content than ever before and in this context, fans play a constructive role in curating that content, helping some shows get greater visibility ...  Second, these texts have become more malleable”

---

[Pie Note: About idols not producing “good” media texts]

“Rather, the question should be what are fans finding meaningful about these performers and the texts they generate. I start from the premise that human beings do not engage in meaningless activities. I may not immediately recognize why something is meaningful but my job as a scholar is to understand why cultural materials are meaningful to the people who cherish them.”

---

My understanding of this selection of quotes is this: this state publication (as others) was quite ready to forgive Gg, to put this incident behind. It could choose to not publish this interview; it could choose to leave out certain quotes, or not do the highlighting that cast both AO3 and Gg in a positive / innocent light. But it did all these things. This article furthers my impression that the state never intended 227 to blow up the way it did, and that it did—enough for stories about it to be found in non-China websites, and in English—was what I’m still trying to comprehend. 227 was, admittedly, how I was first introduced to Gg beyond Wei Wuxian. And as I got to know Gg, like Gg, my want to understand 227 only becomes stronger, perhaps because only through comprehension I feel I can find peace for the GG fan (again, without quotation marks) in me.

Maybe I should email Dr Jenkins and ask if he’s looking for a PhD candidate. 5 years of research and thinking ... maybe that’s what it’ll take. 

I feel I’ve already started anyway. 

[daredevilexchange]

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What’s your fannish ID? Probably known as @mostly_just_jo on ins/twitter My tumblr id "flamebird" came from a phase when I was obsessed with Nightwing lol

What types of fanworks do you create? I make drawings mostly! Making fanart is what drives me to be better at drawing actually I also write fics occasionally Ohh I don't know if this counts but I'm trying to make MBTI analysis for the characters I like

What are your favourite types of fanworks, when you’re not creating? I love reading fanfics!!! I actually don't look at fanart as much as I read fics 

What do you like in particular about this fandom? My favorite characters are Matt and Frank (they're also my fav ship in this fandom)! It's all in my head, but I always like to imagine how Frank's begrudging respect and Matt's weary relentlessness tether them together. I almost like the impossibility of it, how Frank doesn't think anything remotely like love would happen to him again, how Matt can't possibly imagine a happy ending with someone as bitter and different as Frank. I guess what I really want is to see a twisted relationship evolve into something like love when neither of them can believe that it can happen. But respectively, I'm starting to feel that Matt means a lot to me personally since I look up to him in many ways. I love how he turned all that darkness, pain, and suffering into his determination to protect, to do good in this world. He has this air of "I know who I am and I've figured myself out," but in reality when he faces his adversaries, he is challenged to face his own dark side again and again. He has been broken, beaten, backed into a corner, but he has never backed down. He never lets one bad day define who he is. I love how he comes out of these challenges (not without the help of those who love him!) being even more certain about who he is. I love how he is realistic but also hopelessly idealistic at the same time. Matt sees the world as an unfair one, but he does all he can to make it better, to protect the people in it. I see how he wants to be loved but is also afraid of that love, and I like that in S3 he finally learns that love is what steadies him and gives him strength to be who he is, that he should embrace it instead of running from it. Frank is so cool I love him ;_; ok in reality I can write a whole essay about why I like him but I think I've talked enough for now haha 

Do you like participating in fan events? I have never participated in any before! Mostly because these events have a deadline (despite probably a very lenient one), and I crumble under the stress of a deadline :/

What about your creating process? I like listening to music or actor interviews while I'm drawing...but I also rant to my friends every five minutes about 1) how much I hate drawing, 2) how painful it is, and 3) how much I suck at it lol

Do you interact a lot with other fans? YES I talk to my fandom friends on discord a lot!! (as crazydiamond#0100 ) I wish I get to talk to my fav writers more but I also fear that I'd scare them off with my overwhelming enthusiasm

Is there any particular piece you'd like to showcase for this post? https://flamebird-j.tumblr.com/post/673870801083219968/catt-purdock-thanks-to-ceterisparibus116-for Probably this! Because it's my fav drawing of Matt so far 

Do you have other fandoms you’d like to talk about? Honestly I'm just into Marvel in general at the moment! I also love Peter Parker, Stephen Strange, and Tony Stark a lot (lol what an understatement)

Is there anything else you want to tell us about yourself? Come talk to me about Matt and Frank! Or any of the other characters from DD because I love them all dearly ;_;

Where can your fanworks be found? I tag "#my art" on tumblr for my drawings, but I also post more often on instagram https://www.instagram.com/mostly_just_jo /

Thank you, @flamebird-j !

banner by @context-is-for-kingpins !

[ID on a white background, four black triangles that look like spotlights from above. Each illuminates one of the Defenders silhouetted in white: Jessica, Luke, Danny, Matt. A hand on the left is holding a pen writing the words Content Creator Spotlight. There is a little Punisher skull on the pen. End ID]

[delcakoo]

hii!! i recently found ur blog and ur fics are soo good!! okay lIKE EVERYTHING IS SO WHOLESOME, SO PRETTY SO DETAILED SO REALISTIC SO... SO PERFECT 🤩 pls teach me to write like u 😭😭😭

i think my fav work of yours wld be 'nice to meet you, boyfriend' bC THE WHOLE DAY I WAS GIGGLING LIKE I WON THE LOTTERY OR SMTH PLS U MADE MY DAY it was the part when jungwon wrapped his arm around y/n waist FOR ME LIKE I WISH THAT ACTUALLY HAPPENS TO ME 🤧 NO BC ALSO WHEN U WRITE IT I CAN IMAGINE IT SAUR CLEARLY i need more writers like u PLEASEEE

ty for bringing happiness to my life ♡♡ AND giving me motivation to write as well :DD i hope we can be friends!!

AAAAAAHHGGGSJHHDJHHDK PLEASE YOU’RE SO FCKN SWEET I WILL CRY RN 💖💓🫶😭😭😭 these r literally. my favorite asks ever it makes me so giddy inside im sobbing BRO THANK YOU SO SO MICH??!! AHHHH i appreciate the compliments a lot i’m so glad you like my fics 🥺🥺 MHM i’ve been dying to write more actual fics but i had. a lot of requests for enha reactions so i’ve been working on those instead but. secret: for my 1k event i’ll finally open requests again and do more actual fic writing 😎😎

OMGGG YES NTMYB GOT SO MUCH MORE LOVE THAN I THOUGHT IT WOULD I WAS SO 😟😟💓💓 PLS AHAHDHHA IM SO HAPPY TO HESR YOU LIKED IT SO MUCH 😭😭 you’re so sweet stop im 😭😭💖💖

NO THANK YOU 🤬🤬 I APPRECIATE THIS SM U MADE MY MORNING LITERALLY <3 ofc we can be friends what should i call you?! 👊💖‼️🫶

[eyeballjazz]

First of all I've been binge reading your fics whenever I get some free time so huge kudos to ya <3

Second, I've got a fun lil ask for ya: domestic headcanons for HB/PI and SS/DD :D

how do they share all their houses' chores? We all know HB is probably an amazing cook and DD looks like an organization freak but what about the rest? Does anyone besides HB knows how to cook a proper meal? We need to know!!

Well, hell!

First of all, thank you so much this is so sweet! Absolutely makes my day to know you’re enjoying my work. I hope you get lots more time to read soon, bro!

And second I’m about to go ON so I’ll chop the post here, but I’ve got headcanons old and new cooked up for you:

As I’m sure you’ve noticed I like writing about buildings so I can tell you exactly what everyone’s houses are like. The whole Crew lives across from each other on a block in the center of their territory, Slick and Droog in a Victorian townhouse and Hearts and Clubs in a duplex that’s broken into two railway style spaces. Slick would live shoebox if it was up to him, so thankfully Droog has very opinionated taste and likes spending his husband’s money enough to buy a whole antique for them to live in. 

I don’t have to tell you that cooking is huge for the Crew. They’re a small family of Italian uncles, so cooking is a major factor of their lives. 

As skill goes Droog is the best cook out of anyone. He’s self taught but for the very basics and some old family recipes his mother drilled into him back in Tuscany. And like everything with Droog, he’s someone who grew up dirt poor and now desperately wants to show off taste and affluence by being a highbrow snob. That means his skill for cooking has driven towards very elegant, subtle cuisine, lots of French influence (he says it must have been Italian, originally, but the French got famous for it somehow), and small portion size. Think of the fanciest restaurant you've ever been to and how teeny the serving sizes were and then imagine it was cooked by someone who is ferociously closeted and you’ve got it. 

Despite all that, Droog has not had working taste buds in at least thirty years because he’s smoked two packs a day since he learned to walk. Slick, likewise, had a bad smoking habit and quit for the kids so he’s not swimming in buds either. Add to that the fact that he’s had his nose broken so many times he’s functionally lost his sense of smell and you’ve got a match made in heaven. 

Lucky them, Karkat and Aradia get the spoils of Droog’s great cooking and are the picky eaters their fathers wished they could have been as boys. Droog is very proud to have snotty kids. So it is his great displeasure when, instead of having a single scallop lightly seared in browned butter then dusted with rosemary and thyme, the kids just want peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. But both happen regularly. 

Hearts is a close second but of a very different school. He learned to cook primarily from his mother, who is a master of Southern cooking and made sure her boy knew how to do for himself before she let him leave her home. The rest he learned as a cook in the army, and then later from Droog after Hearts insisted he learn some real Italian recipes since his father never cooked when Hearts was a boy. Hearts still has a habit for cooking for a literal army and so he often cooks for the whole family. 

His food is mostly soul food/American southern and he seasons hard and often. One might even say it is dangerously flavorful, and everyone agrees it is extremely fortifying. It’s even strong enough to get through to Droog, who can (with the addition of hot sauce) taste it and secretly wishes Hearts would offer to teach him a thing or two.

Too willful to learn, Slick is a very low third place. He doesn’t care about food much and burns most things he tries to cook out of impatience. Plus, he hasn’t needed to learn since he married Droog so why start now?

Pickle Inspector, dead last, can’t so much as fry an egg. He loves food and knows the locations and operating hours of every restaurant and pub and gas station hot bar in the city. But cooking itself eludes him. He does occasionally try to go vegetarian but folds immediately when offered the chance to have a big beautiful meal he didn’t have to cook himself.

This matches up perfectly with Hearts’s master plan, which is to feed Pickle Inspector to within an inch of his life. And Pickle, like a stray cat, loves the attention and knows where the free food is. Hearts insists he’s too skinny and will often say ‘Just have a little,’ and then hand him a plate with half a lasagna on it.

HBPI is a ‘you cook, I clean’ split. Self conscious of his lack of cooking knowledge Pickle does every dish in the house whenever he sneaks in (read: breaks in) to spend time with Hearts and Tavros. And very often when he breaks in he tries to carve out some time to spend playing DnD with Tavros, with an ambition to get him and Hearts in a game so they can show Hearts a more kinetic version of fantasy than having a read a lot of books by nudists from the 60’s.

Because they may or may not be out as a couple to the Crew, Pickle and Hearts don’t get to spend a lot of time out on Hearts’s front porch together, although kicking back on the porch is one of Hearts’s favorite things to do. But, every so often, they take their coffee together out on the porch way before anyone else is awake. They watch the city all in blue together, right before the sunrise.

SSDD and chores are much more complicated.

Droog is fastidious, meticulous, and intense about cleaning. He also uses it to avoid or ignore any emotions he may be feeling so their Victorian is constantly spotless. Droog does all the kitchen chores, all the rewarding dusting of art pieces, mantles, and mirrors, and looks after the kids to make sure they learn how to keep their own spaces clean.

He dumps all the chores where you actually chance getting dirty on Slick. Taking out the trash, mowing the lawn, cleaning the bathrooms, washing the cars, touching anything weird, bugs, that’s all Slick.

Slick also looks after their garden, not for any love of plants but because he’s gotten himself into an all out war with a warren of rabbits that want to eat Droog’s spices and tomatoes. The war has been multi-generational for the rabbits and they’re too invested to pull out now. Slick is the only person who really looks after the garden, Droog assumes ownership of the plants but doesn’t care about them beyond having fresh basil to cook with.

Slick’s contempt for the bunnies and ferocity in keeping his husband’s plants alive have made him an unwitting expert on what a good spice garden needs. Like Droog, his feelings for the whole thing aren’t tied to love for the plants but instead pride and anger. Droog, meanwhile, loves seeing Slick do violence in his name and will often watch his tantrums in the backyard whenever one of the tomato plants gets chewed up.

Whew, this got long quick. Since it’s already so long, I’ll leave you with one more hc which is that Pickle Inspector knows how to juggle. Thank you again for the great questions, this was so fun!!!