#The fact that I managed to finish it at all with my attention span is honestly a miracle.

[darkspace7]

[ - II - ]

That which takes the energies of this world and allows them to play in their garden.

[ The Magician ]

[askhezureviews]

We will all know your thoughts on season 2 of HB soon. I don’t know if you waiting was in response to people saying”you have to wait to see the whole season before judging it” but do you think there’s any ever case where this could apply to reviews?

Actually, that is typically what I prefer to do. I like to binge watch media to their completion for a more rounded review. I know my 45+ min videos are annoying to most, I can't blame them since I too have a short attention span- as well as a terrible tendency to waste half the review summarizing the plot (I'm working on fixing that for my future reviews, apologies for that) but I typically prefer to judge things on an overall basis rather than part 1, part 2, episode 12, season 3, season 6- simply for the sake of video cleanliness. The phrase of "wait until it finishes before judging" is a major player for all media. Absolutely the case with Arcane, because season 2 they had an unreliable narrator as well as a structure designed to withhold information from the audience.

The Owl House and Steven Universe didn't actually even... start their plots until their second seasons, they had a very slow start.

I'm also gonna wait for more episodes of Monkey Wrench and The Amazing Digital Circus before making a youtube review, since they're still pretty early on in production. There's a lot of character information and plot we simply do not have yet- regardless, I'm loving what I'm seeing thus far.

The reason I made an exception for Helluva Boss: They already had at least one season established, and episode 1 of season 2 completely changed the storyline season 1 was heading for. You could see an immediate change in storytelling and pacing due to the fact that the writer changed, as well as the show's priorities shifting to focus on the ship pandering.

If I had been watching Tangled the series in real time, I probably would have also made an exception video regarding Cassandra's villain arc immediately because the set up for that was nonsensical, and true to the start, it remained nonsensical to the end of the show. Helluva Boss had problems before, but the comedy genre allowed wiggle room for making mistakes because it didn't take itself seriously. But now that it has dedicated itself as a romantic drama, investing in character angst and connections, it starts dragging on as plotline traumas start repeating and becoming more dramatic. It is now taking itself too seriously.

Changing Stolitz from a business partners with benefits to childhood friend soulmates was a red flag that stood out to me, because this decision changed the trajectory of the show and omit our characters from any wrongdoing. I've never seen a show flatten their characters like pancakes in a single episode before, it was astonishing.

While some of Helluva Boss's season 2 episodes managed to redeem some nice writing or character moments, regardless, this season has continued to end all stakes for our characters through plot armor as well as humiliating the villains they introduced in season 1.

If you have at least one established season for your show, and your writing suddenly: 1. Drastically changes prior interaction & depth of characters 2. Changes the show's trajectory, focus, and genre 3. Presents the above in a nonsensical manner / no believable set up Then that's a red flag to indicate the show is gonna go down hill, as previous fans are now left confused to the sudden change. There's a high probability you'll lose views/support/money because of these changes. While the show may attempt to backtrack in later episodes, as Helluva Boss has, this creates a separate problem of contradicting itself, leaving the audience confused as to how they're meant to interpret these scenes as the tone flip flops every other episode. (and actually leads to more fandom drama)

I've been waiting for season 2 to end because the initial plot change shock was over, as they continued to double down on their decision. As well as my realization that a different writer was actually now on board, which explained a lot. Thus, I want to go back and review Helluva Boss season 1 and season 2 as a whole instead of the episode reviews I was doing, to help put things into perspective for people and actually get to talk about what Helluva Boss did right so I can lead into where it went wrong.

[elisysd]

The List – Maisie Peters

Masterlist - Previously - Next Chapter

So can you talk? You know I'm stacking up Until the night I'm not enough And you're just someone else I disappoint

Monaco was becoming bearable to Lyanna. She wouldn’t say that she liked the city, but she was warming up to it. There was something special in its air. In the span of three weeks, she managed to make two new friends. Charles obviously, she was starting to see him as a friend more than an acquaintance, and Kika. They instantly clicked during the dinner at Charles’. They had so many things in common. They both loved fashion, old movies that no one knew about, and random facts about animals. They were both career oriented and pretty independent. They quickly exchanged their phone numbers and promised each other to stay in touch and to organize something if they both landed to be in the same place at the same time.

As for Pierre, she didn’t have much time to get to know him. Truth be told, he was intimidating to Lyanna. He had such a big persona. The way he carried himself with such confidence was something she admired. If only she could be a little more like that. But she knew that she could learn to be his friend, at some point. After all, they had a huge common point, as they were both French. Obviously, this brought them closer.

Lyanna also admired Kika and Pierre’s relationship. They were like two sides of the same coin. They were laughing at the same things, finishing each other sentences and had the exact same look on their faces whenever they were looking at each other. It was cute. When she shared her thoughts with Kika, the young woman had admitted that it was not that easy at the beginning. She got a lot of hate because of the age gap between them. She felt alone but Pierre had never given up on her. He could have, it could have been easier. The hate was strong and she knew that it had also been a difficult time from the Frenchman. But in the end the experience had only strengthened their feelings for each other. Somehow, she was glad that it happened this way. Now it was okay, she was still receiving nasty comments from time to time, but it was easier to manage.

Naturally Kika had asked to Lyanna if she had someone special in her life, to what the actress had confessed that she didn’t have the time to date. She wanted to focus on her career, that was the most important thing to her. She had been single for three years now, and she was fine with it. She was still learning to appreciate her own company.

“My last relationship ended up with my heart shattered in pieces and a psychotherapy that is still ongoing. I don’t want to go through that again. I’m fine with me being alone. It’s not as bad as people make it out to be.”

“Yeah obviously. But still, wouldn’t you like to have someone you know you’re going home to?” asked Kika.

“I don’t even know what home is. I’m always away. I’m renting an apartment in London that I barely occupy; you know. I’m living more in my suitcases than in my place. And it’s fine, I chose it. I don’t regret it.”

“As cliché as it’s going to sound, sometime home is where the heart is.” Kika murmured, her head naturally turning to Pierre.

That night, Lyanna fell asleep with a smile on her face. It had not happened for a long time.

The days passed again. Lyanna had started filming and it was going relatively well. A little better than she had expected. David continued to behave like a total moron and some of his remarks towards Lyanna were inappropriate, but the young woman didn't pay much attention to them. She knew how to put him in his place when he needed to be put in his place, and even if this sometimes weighed on her, it did not make the atmosphere on the set intolerable. But she was wary anyway, she couldn't shake off that sick feeling in her stomach every time she met his eyes when the cameras were off. 

But after a few weeks of working almost non-stop she finally had a break. She was not needed for the next three days and she was looking forward to a good sleep and doing nothing. On her way back she met Charles who was heading back from his evening run. Naturally, she asked him if he wanted to hang out, she had become accustomed to the presence of the driver in her life.

“Since you're free tomorrow, would you like to come with me so I can show you the most beautiful view of Monaco?” He offered her.

She accepted with great pleasure. However, what the Monegasque failed to mention was that he would be knocking on her door at dawn the next day.

“I knew you would have said no if I had told you that I would wake you up at 6am but trust me you won’t regret it.” He excused himself.

“Just like you oh so conveniently forgot to mention that we would have to walk. I hate exercising Charles!”

He just laughed while she tried to find in her bags and closet something appropriate for a hike. Once ready to go they headed to the underground parking lot to take Charles’ car. When they were both ready to go, Charles took a banana, a carton of juice and a croissant out of his backpack. No way was she going to walk on an empty stomach, he told her. The last thing he wanted was to have to walk back carrying her because she had a hypoglycemic episode.

“You would deserve that Leclerc. You woke me up to make me walk I don’t know for how long; you deserve all my grumpiness.” She told him.

And indeed, how grumpy she was. She decided to complain all the way. At some point Charles suspected that it was more to annoy him and tease him than real complains. For almost two hours they walked along the small footpath. Charles was ahead of Lyanna and had to stop often to check that the young woman was following him and had not turned back. When Lyanna wasn't stopping regularly to catch her breath, she was admiring the speed and ease with which Charles was moving.

Soon enough they finally reached their destination and Lyanna’s breath was taken away.

“Welcome to La Tête de Chien, the place where you can have the best view of Monaco” murmured Charles.

From where they were, they overlooked Monaco. They could see the Marina and its yachts and the mountains in the distance. The sun was not yet high in the sky and the air was breathable, so Lyanna understood better why Charles had insisted that they go there so early. There was something peaceful about this place.

“It’s absolutely beautiful. Thank you for bringing me here.” Lyanna said in awe.

Charles smiled gently and his hands in his pockets he approached the edge of the path and sat down on the small wall, motioning Lyanna to do the same. She looked like a little kid to him, trying to see everything all at once and absorbing every little detail.

“I want to stay here forever.”

Charles felt a sense of pride but didn’t mention it. There was something really beautiful about watching Lyanna truly appreciate Monaco for the first time and he didn’t want to break the magic of the moment. Instead he took his phone out and took a picture of the view before posting it as a story on Instagram. He also took a picture of is friend while she was not looking. He wanted to keep a trace of the instant.

Lyanna decided to do the same. It was time to announce that she was shooting a new movie and what better way to do it than by showing this beautiful view. A story with a quick caption would be enough, she didn’t need to do more. The marketing team of the movie would be a better job than her but still, she liked to keep people up to date with what she was working on.

What they both did not know at the moment and did not expect was that two simple stories would make everything go downhill.

Twenty-four hours after the hike, Lyanna received an unexpected call from her agent. Sophie never called her when she was shooting a movie and when her name popped out on Lyanna’s phone, she immediately knew that something was wrong.

“Do I have to sit for what you’re about to announce me?”

“Lya, good to hear you. And no, I don’t think so. But we have a B type problem on the way.”

A B type problem meant that it was related to Lyanna’s private life and that it was still under control. It was more like rumors and it didn’t involve the press. Yet. In that case it was a A type problem and signified that Lyanna’s privacy was going to be deeply impacted and turned into a shitshow. But still, B type was not good.

“What happened?” She asked.

“Do you by any chance, know the Ferrari racing driver Charles Leclerc?”

“How did you…”

“Someone on Twitter that is following both of you on Instagram pointed out that you posted the same landscapes at almost the same time. You can easily imagine wat they are deducing.”

Lyanna gulped. She didn’t imagine that something like that could happen. It was naive from her; she knew Charles was popular and she was too. Statistically, it was bound to happen that they would have followers in common.

“We are not dating, if it’s what you’re implying. We’re friends. He’s my neighbor actually, there’s nothing going on between us.” Justified Lyanna.

“You do what you want with who you want Lyanna, my job is not to monitor you. I’m just saying that for now it’s rumors, but you how fast things can escalate, I’m not going to teach you that. You do wat you want from this information. I’m just saying that he has a huge fanbase, he draws a lot of attention from the media, I checked him online. And I know how you feel about being involved with people like that.”

Another mistake that Lyanna did was that she never checked is social media presence. She should have, she could have but she never thought about it. She was not a social media person; it never crossed her mind to search Charles on Instagram or on Twitter or anywhere to be honest. She quickly typed his name on the Instagram search bar and almost choked when she saw the number of ten million followers. That was almost as much as her with her twelve million.

“Oh shit.”

“What do you want to do?”

She hesitated. A huge part of her valued er relationship with Charles. It made her feel good, she felt herself with him. Not Lyanna Michel, the actress, but just Lyanna. And it had been such a long time since that happened. But another part of her, smaller but more vicious could not help but reminder what happened the last time she was involved with someone famous and how it turned her life upside down and not in the good sense of the term.

From Charles’ end, it’s his little brother Arthur who taught him the rumor by texting him.

You didn’t tell me that you were involved with Carla’s favorite actress.

What do you mean??

Check Twitter.

And Charles did. And Charles first thought was, what did he do in a past life to be involved in two dating rumors in the span of a few weeks? His second thought was directed to Lyanna. He tried to call her but he went straight on her voicemail. He insisted two, three time but no answer. He texted her but no answers as well. He then went to her place. He knocked and waited but still, no answers. He insisted on knocking louder but nothing changed. And e knew she was there, he could hear noise from inside. She was shutting him out. And it made him upset.

“Lyanna, open the door. I know you’re in there.”

Still nothing but if she wanted to be stubborn, so was Charles. Two could play that game.

“I won’t leave until you open this door. I will knock and knock again until you talk to me. I know you saw Twitter. We have to talk about it Lyanna.”

Finally she opened. A little, just a crack but enough for Charles to slip through the gap left by the opening. And then she was there, observing him, not saying one thing. It was like all the progress he made with her; all the trust that took a little time be built vanished. All of his work reduced to nothing. She was acting like a scaredy cat. She didn’t say a word to him.

“We’re friends Lyanna. Don’t shut me out.” He began.

“You are more famous than what I thought.”

Charles didn’t understand what she meant by that and how it was a problem.

“I’m still Charles. Famous or not. I didn’t change between yesterday and today.”

“You’re drawing attention. People have expectations. People are talking.”

She was rambling and on the verge of a panic attack. Naturally Charles made a move toward her but was surprised when she backed down.

“Lyanna, it’s not because that we are both under the public eye that we can’t be friends. We are human and human have friends.”

“I don’t want famous ones. I want my peace and quiet. Going out with you was a mistake. Posting on social media was a beginner mistake. Now, people are making up stuff.”

“I don’t care about what people think.”

“I do care!” She yelled. “I do care about my privacy being displayed online as entertainment, I will care when the press sees that as an opportunity to twist the truth and creates a story that I have no control over.”

“You can’t always control everything. You have to trust people. You have to trust me. We are both impacted here. I don’t care about the rumors; I only care about the truth and both you and I know it. And it’s enough. I won’t hide Lyanna. I’m free to do whatever the hell I want to do, no matter what people think. You should do the same, you have to. This is why you accepted to play Sally, right?”

“Well excuse me, but in the equation, I never thought to add going out with a celebrity.”

“Stop giving me that celebrity image Lyanna! I never thought of myself as such nor did I ever think of you the same way!” He snapped. “And I could have. But I didn’t because it’s not fair. I know you and…”

“That’s the thing Charles.” She cut him “You think you know me, but you don’t. We have known each other for what, three maybe four weeks. You can’t pretend to know me. Just like I can’t pretend that I know you.”

“Let me get to know you then. Let me know why you’re acting this way, let me know why you’re so scared that you don’t let me come near you! I want to Lyanna. But you don’t let me.”

“Maybe because I don’t want to! Maybe because if I told you all the twisted things I have been through, you would not understand and then you would leave me alone.”

“Don’t make this decision for me. Let me understand.”

“And for what? People leave when someone baggage is too heavy. And then what will I have left? Nothing. I won’t take that risk.”

“You’re not being fair. You have you own demons to face, I get that and I want to be there for you. But I won’t if you don’t help me understand. I can’t be a good friend then.”

“You would not understand Charles! Why are you so stubborn?”

The conversation was starting to be heated. Both of them refusing to meet halfway.

“You are scared and you’re acting as a coward Lyanna. I don’t know what you went through but you can’t let past events dictate youre life and your choices.”

“As if you knew something about hard times Charles! You grew up here, in a privileged world. You live the perfect life. You are not going to make me believe that you know something about traumas. You don’t know what it means to lose people.”

That hurt Charles more than anything. Scared to say something that he would regret and because they were not both in any state to have a real and appeased conversation, he decided to leave. He looked at her one last time before closing the door.

========

taglist - if you want to be added let me know @zendayabelova @purplephantomwolf @ru-kru @dakotali

[scatterbrainedart]

The biggest struggle with ADHD for me is how much time everything takes. A good example of that is schoolwork and writing. I'm a writer, a write a lot. I like it, I'm good at it. Yet, my 500 words long text took me a full weekend to write which included me staying up late pretty much every day to write. I've also been writing the same book for four years now (albeit I did start over after 50000 or so words).

Last book I read was Frankenstein. Loved it, but it took me over a year to finish. Today, my only goal was to finish writing my notes for this one assigment. I wrote four sentences in about 6 hours (after another 4 hours of procastinating). Drawing also takes me a very long time compared to others. And is very much not supported by my short attention span and lackluster motivation.

The fact that it hasn't always been this bad is the worst part, I think. I like school and studying, I like learning things, but things are always too slow or too fast for me. I'm glad I'm a fast learner and can compensate for my attention span and godawful working memory with those streghts I have. But it is not efficiant and it will not work forever, and I'm like 99% certain it's the reason I get so quickly overworked and burnt out.

The second worst part is when people overlook this and think I should be able to handle it just because I'm "old enough to take responsibility" of these sort of things now. Which, yeah, I guess. But I'm also a full-time student who is doing her darndest to balance school, friends, student associations, hobbies and every other responsibility, obligation and commitment that may be thrown her way. Which, realistically, I would be able to handle on their own. Seperatly. Aaaghh. Anyway.

It shouldn't be unreasonable to ask for a bit more time to manage it all. Dropping the ball doesn't mean I'm not trying hard enough. If I could choose between it being easy and it being hard, wouldn't I choose for it to be easy?? Like,, cmon

[theromaboo]

Hi! What are your thoughts on the show domina?

Hello!

I apologize for being a little late to write this but I've recently been dubbing Peppa Pig in Latin so I've been a little busy.

How engaging it is: 9/10

Personally, my attention span is like 0. I really struggle to finish shows or books, so it's honestly extremely impressive that I managed to finish this show. I did get kind of bored at the last episode, but it's a miracle I only got bored at the last episode.

Character's appearances: 7/10

I absolutely love Domina's choice of actors. Everyone looks exactly like they look in my head. Apart from one person. Augustus! He doesn't look that bad in the later episodes; the only major thing I don't like is hair color. But in the first two episodes, I could not get over his hair. what is that haircut im gonna cry

I'm sorry, that is not Octavian.

I just don't know what happened. Like, they could've gotten any random blond twink off the streets to be Octavian and I would be happy. But they really had to make Octavian look like that, huh.

But I do have two things I like about the young Octavian. Number one, his actor is actually the right age for once. The actor is in his twenties, so he's actually around Octavian's age at the time. Which is an actual miracle. Movies always use much older actors for people like Octavian and Britannicus. Number two, he's much smaller than Agrippa! Eeeeeee! I give that detail the 100% historically accurate stamp!

Which leads me to Agrippa. HJKFDKJHFSKS I love the actors they got for Agrippa. Both young Agrippa and old Agrippa, they look perfect! Words can not describe how much I love Agrippa's physical appearance in Domina.

Meanwhile, for older Augustus, I can look at him and go "Huh, I understand that this is Augustus" but I don't like his appearance.

I like how everyone else looks. Tiberius is a little too hot to be Tiberius, ngl.

Dialogue: 8/10

A lot of people complain that all the characters use the f word all the time which is anachronistic because the word "fuck" was invented after ancient Rome or some other dumb reason like that. But the fact they are speaking in English is anachronistic! I'm sure if the ancient romans had that word they would've used it all the time. Anyway, my only problem with the entire thing is that they literally don't use any other swear word. Come on, if the ancient Romans had English, I'm sure they would be more diverse in their choice of swears.

Overall, not counting their overuse of fucks, I quite like the dialogue. I'm still thinking of this part:

[Context: Augustus is really sick and was "speaking" with the dead]

Augustus: I just saw my mother.

Livia: Your mother? How is she?

Augustus: Oh, you know. Dead.

Augustus and Agrippa: 4/10

They hug a few times, I guess. And they're cute together sometimes. And occasionally they just have a moment that reminds me that they're besties. But it's not enough for me. I know I'm sounding picky or critical but you'd understand if you watch it. I'd actually like to show you some statistics.

(by the way, i was an ABOSLUTELY AWFUL data collector. there is no guarantee that this is going to be 100% correct, but it's close enough)

In the Domina fandom of AO3, there are around 3 fics where Agrippa is shipped with Octavian and around 8 fics where he is shipped with someone else.

Meanwhile, in every fic with Agrippa, excluding ones in the Domina fandom, there are around 22 fics where Agrippa is shipped with Octavian and around 5 where he is shipped with someone else.

Something is clearly wrong here.

(I'll probably make another post about these statistics and in that post I will count better so I'll know for sure what the numbers are. But for now, these are the numbers I counted but you shouldn't put too much faith in them)

Historical Accuracy: ???? I forgot but I think it wasn't bad.

Well, of course, Domina is very Livia-centric, so I shouldn't expect many good Augustus and Agrippa moments. But that's pretty much what I signed up for. I would like some more Augustus and Agrippa. I'm not even close to finishing Masters of Rome, but I quite like how they were written in it (apart from the MILLION times Colleen just had to remind the audience that augustus and agrippa were Totally Not Gay. listen, i heard you the first time) So maybe the writers of Domina should've taken inspiration from there.

But I'm not really mad though. This is just a little personal thing that I would've liked to see. But Domina can do whatever it likes. And there *are* cute Augustus and Agrippa scenes in Domina. Just not many. It's fine.

I didn't watch for the historical accuracy, so I honestly forgot if there were any big issues or not. But, it's a drama, not a documentary, so I'm a lot more lax. I'm totally fine with them adding new characters and changing up events as long as they don't make a historical mistake that makes me cry (if the characters of domina went to the colosseum, i would honestly cry) It's a drama. As long as it isn't pretending to be factual, I'm fine with them taking artistic license. But if you were watching for the SHEER accuracy of EVERY event, you might not like it.

Family friendliness: 2/10.

It's not a bad thing that it got such a low number, but I'm just saying that you shouldn't watch Domina with your mom or your kids or something. I'm pretty sure only actual porn has more sex than Domina does. If you watched HBO Rome, you'd understand. And like, there's no warning. One scene is totally normal and the next scene is gay sex.

I think I should do math about this. How many sex scenes are in each episode of Domina? (and hbo rome if i got the time) And what's the average amount of sex scenes per episode? I'm guessing 7. Reblog with which number you're guessing! (guys if you actually reblog with which number you're guessing I will actually be forced to calculate it so make sure you do)

General prettiness: 10/10

The entire show is so beautiful. I could take any screenshot and make it my phone background or something.

Overall: 8/10

I managed to finish it, and I quite enjoyed it. I love how Agrippa looks. I love how beautiful every scene looks. Storytelling-wise, I'd say it was good. My main problem is Octavian's appearance. But it isn't really a big groundbreaking problem (okay actually young octavian is an earthshattering sin. the ghost of julius caesar himself will haunt you forever if you can look at him and go "this is fine") And I'd also like more Augustus and Agrippa scenes. But overall, I'd recommend this show.

[not-orphaned-account]

You, Only You - Chapter 3

They're both very straight, trust me.

One of the things everyone loves about Suguru is that he has the patience of a saint. Shoko has said it enough times watching him put up with Satoru’s antics—though Satoru thinks it has less to do with Suguru’s patience and more to do with the fact that he is awesome and funny and charming all the time—but it’s the most apparent when he’s with the kids. He puts up with a lot, only really scolding them when they do something dangerous or unkind, never for wasting his time or asking silly questions. To be fair, that can be said for most of them, as no one really has the heart to actually discipline them, and they’re still pretty much kids themselves. But Suguru takes it the extra mile, always putting their best interests first, doing his absolute best to help them grow and thrive.

It’s because of this that Satoru tends to find him in situations like this.

“What’s going on here?”

Suguru opens one eye, peering up at him. He’s sitting cross-legged in the grass, Tsumiki and the twins kneeling behind him in a sort of train: Suguru, then Tsumiki, then Mimiko and Nanako.

“Tsumiki’s teaching us how to braid!” Nanako says, holding up the loose, messy braid she’s managed to do in half of Tsumiki’s hair. Mimiko doesn’t look up from her half, expertly weaving Tsumiki’s hair in an intricate-looking pattern.

“I learned it from one of my roommates,” Tsumiki says with a sweet smile. “She’s got hair all the way down to her hips!”

“Wow,” Satoru says, plopping down on the grass beside her, “seems like a hassle. Hey, have you seen Megumi?”

“He’s reading in the dorms,” she says. “Why?”

Satoru watches her fingers move, reaching beside her and grabbing a flower from the pile she seems to have picked before weaving it into Suguru’s hair with practiced motions. He thinks his bed frame, and the suspicious gnaw-marks on one of the legs that look an awful lot like the work of a poorly-trained demon dog.

“Just wondering,” he says. “That looks good, Miki.”

She beams at him, and he’s helpless not to smile back.

“Thank you,” she says politely. “Geto promised he’d keep it since he doesn’t have any missions right now.”

Satoru looks over her handiwork, at the delicate flowers tucked into the braids that span the back of Suguru’s head, letting the rest of his hair fall in smooth waves and drape over his shoulders. It’s pretty, and something about it makes Satoru’s heart twist strangely in his chest.

“Want me to show you how?”

Satoru starts, looking over. Tsumiki was watching him—for how long, he doesn’t know. He shakes his head.

“No, thanks,” he says with a little laugh. “Not really my thing.”

Tsumiki squints at him for a second before nodding.

“That’s okay,” she hums, going back to her task. “It’s kind of hard to pick up at first, so it’s not for everyone.”

Satoru splutters.

“Are you saying you don’t think I could do it?”

Tsumiki shrugs.

“I didn’t say that.”

She yelps as Satoru bullies her aside, squeezing next to her and holding his hands out expectantly.

“It can’t be that hard,” he challenges. In front of him, Suguru snorts, catching his attention.

“What?” he demands. Suguru raises his hands.

“I didn’t say anything,” he says with an audible grin. Satoru huffs.

“Too many people not saying things,” he grumbles, ‘accidentally’ pulling the section of hair Tsumiki hands to him and smirking when he grunts in pain.

As it turns out, the braid is surprisingly simple, especially with Tsumiki guiding his hands. He takes over after a few minutes while she handles the flowers, and by the time the hairstyle is finished and the flower pile is gone, he has to say that it looks pretty good.

“Thanks for helping, Gojo,” she beams, even though he’s pretty sure that having to teach him was more of a hindrance than a help. He pats her head, making sure not to mess up Mimiko’s braiding.

“Thanks for teaching.”

“You picked it up quick!”

“Well, of course,” Satoru says, tossing imaginary hair over his shoulder. “I’m good at everything.”

“Tsumiki,” Nanako whines from behind them, “I’m bored.”

Tsumiki looks over her shoulder.

“Oh?”

“I wanna play,” she says, resting her chin on Tsumiki’s shoulder and giving her best puppy dog eyes. “You promised you’d play with us!”

“Well, is Mimiko all done?”

Mimiko nods silently.

“She’s done,” Nanako supplements, “so can we please go play now?”

“Alright, alright,” Tsumiki laughs, getting up and brushing the grass from her skirt. “Thanks, Geto.”

“It was my pleasure,” Suguru says, smiling up at her. “You girls have fun.”

With that, the twins drag Tsumiki off across the grounds, one clutching each hand. Satoru watches them go, unable to keep himself from smiling.

“She’s so good with them,” Suguru says, turning to face him. “I do feel sort of bad, though; she’s hardly had a moment to herself since break started.”

“I’m sure they’ll settle down soon,” Satoru says. “Remember last summer? The novelty of having the other kids back will wear off eventually.”

Suguru hums.

“That’s true.”

He stretches his arms out with a jaw-cracking yawn, then flops back with his head in Satoru’s lap; Infinity lets him past with ease. 

“You’ll mess up your hair,” he scolds without any heat. “And after we worked so hard on it.”

“I’ll be careful,” Suguru murmurs, eyes closed and hands folded over his middle. “It’s hot out, I’m tired.”

“You’re such a wimp about the heat,” Satoru teases. He cracks one eye open and looks up incredulously.

“Oh, am I the wimp? Mister Suguru-buy-me-four-packs-of-popsicles-right-now?”

“They’re an essential summer staple!” Satoru argues. Suguru snorts and closes his eye, relaxing further into his lap as if in defiance.

“You’re an actual child.”

“Takes one to know one,” Satoru shoots back intelligently, wholly disproving his point.

He leans back on his hands, turning his face to the sky and closing his eyes. The sun is warm on his face; it’s still early enough in the summer that the heat isn’t unbearable, and the air up in the mountains always smells fresh and clean. It’s a good day.

“So, do you think we’ll be able to get to the exchange event without a mission?” Suguru asks. Satoru snorts.

“Funny.” 

Suguru sighs, and he tilts his head down to look at him.

“Why, you wanna watch?”

Suguru shrugs a little.

“It’s Haibara and Nanami’s last year,” he says. “Thought it would be nice to cheer them on.”

Satoru snorts.

“Yeah, sure. It’ll be funny to watch Nanami get his ass handed to him.”

“And why do you think they’ll lose?”

Satoru rolls his eyes, pinching Suguru’s cheeks together.

“Because we’re not playing. Duh.”

Suguru opens his eyes and gives him an unimpressed look, the effectiveness of which is greatly lowered by the fish lips he’s giving him. He bats Satoru’s hands away and reaches up to flick his forehead.

“I’d say you were full of yourself,” he says, half-heartedly swatting at Satoru’s hand as he tries to get to his face again, “but I think those words have lost all meaning.”

“You love it.”

He doesn’t know how, but their fingers end up tangled together, hands hovering in midair between them. Satoru stares at them, at Suguru’s olive, slender fingers interlaced with his own pale, knobbly ones. Suguru has nice hands; it's not the first time he's thought it, and he doubts it'll be the last. When they first met, his palms were calloused and his fingernails were dirty from doing work around his parents’ farm; now, they're not so calloused, but they're strong and muscled from fighting, and the dirt is gone, but often replaced with curse residue. His nails are clean now, though, and Satoru smiles a little to himself as he runs the pad of his thumb over the smooth ridges.

“What are you doing?” Suguru sounds amused, but he doesn’t pull his hand away. Satoru shrugs, watching the slight ripples of his knuckles under the skin as he flexes his fingers.

“Nothin’,” he says, then frowns when Suguru moves their hands and knocks his knuckle against the bridge of his glasses. “Ow.”

“You should get those adjusted,” he says, unfolding his fingers enough to push the glasses up Satoru’s sweaty nose. “They’re gonna keep falling down.”

“It’s fine,” Satoru whines, but his voice comes out less whiny and grating than he means it to, sounding almost soft in his own ears. Or maybe that’s just because of his sudden muffled hearing, ocean waves filling his ears and muting the sounds of the garden around them.

“You’re so stubborn,” Suguru murmurs, and his voice sounds similar, though it flows with the rushing tide instead of being swept under. His fingers extend, not dislodging from Satoru’s hold, but stretching towards his face, brushing cool and soft against his skin. He’s hot and cold, now, and he feels like he’s shaking but from the inside, and he instinctively melts into Suguru’s familiar touch.

“You love it,” he says on reflex. Something in Suguru’s eyes sparkles to life, and he can feel himself grinning, and he doesn’t realize he’s been leaning down until they meet in the middle.

Suguru’s lips are chapped; he’s been biting them again, probably not drinking enough water. They’re hot, warmer than Satoru’s, and he suddenly realizes that he’s never actually kissed anyone before. It feels fitting that Suguru is his first, honestly, as trying to think of kissing anyone else in this moment feels tangibly wrong.

And then he realizes that he’s been thinking during this whole kiss, and Suguru’s lips are leaving his and no, he didn’t even get to enjoy it. He opens his eyes, unaware of closing them at any point, to see Suguru looking up at him with something in his expression like horror, and he looks like he’s about to do something stupid, like stop touching him, so Satoru takes matters into his own hands and kisses him again.

This time, he makes a conscious effort to keep all the thoughts he can out of his head, letting himself be guided on feeling. Suguru’s hands are hovering, like they do when Infinity is too far out, and Satoru can tell he’s being hesitant. He curls his fingers under Suguru’s jaw and pulls him up, further into the kiss, doing his best to make him stay. Slowly, he can feel Suguru’s hesitance melting away, and finally he brings his hand up to slide it around the back of Satoru’s neck, pulling him closer.

Their noses bump, and suddenly Satoru’s glasses slip, falling off his nose and onto Suguru’s face. They slide to the ground as the two of them part, surprised.

They stare at each other for a few moments before Suguru’s mouth screws up, eyes squinting as he tries to hold back his laughter. He’s unsuccessful, and his nose crinkles as he lets out a loud, full laugh, eyes squeezing shut with the force of it.

Satoru just watches him, for once not put off by the obvious ridicule. He brushes a strand of hair away from Suguru’s face, breath hitching a little when Suguru opens his eyes and grins up at him.

“I heard they’re flying Mei Mei out to help monitor the team battles,” he hears himself say. “Maybe she’ll let you watch if you ask really nicely.”

Suguru snorts.

“I don’t think I have enough digits in my bank account to ask Mei Mei nicely.”

The sun is warm, and the air is clear, and Suguru’s weight in his lap is comforting and familiar, and his lips are tingling a little as he grins back, pinching Suguru’s cheeks together again.

[rigaudon]

highly controversial (esp for tumblr) take under the cut, brought to you by me, less than 24 hours after running out of my antidepressants

i hate the continued trend of "quirkifying" (thing i made up just now) mental illness, but I especially hate how recently tumblr has latched onto, specifically, adhd and autism and turned them into personality types that people slap on a name tag to show off how unique they are. I hate that being neurodivergent has become the go-to excuse for terminally online people to justify their shitty behavior. I hate the sentiment that being unmedicated is something to be proud of. I hate that wanting to be fucking normal is a cardinal sin, because ew why would you want to be like those boring neurotypicals.

I hate it. I want to be normal. I started taking medication for ADHD when I was four years old and I have never, not once in my life, thought it was a Fun Thing To have. I hate that I've spent the last 15 years slowly coming to terms with the fact that I'm probably--no almost definitely--autistic, but am still vehemently opposed to it and unable to reconcile that fact despite all the evidence. I don't want to be autistic. I don't want to have adhd. I don't want to make these things a part of my identity that I share with people in the same breath as I talk about my favorite video games or dnd class.

It's not fun. It's not a cute, exclusive club you get to be part of.

It's miserable and alienating and people don't take it seriously. Because you're just lazy and not trying hard enough. Why haven't you done this task you promised you'd do six months ago. Why did you fail out of college? Why did you squander that once-in-a-lifetime opportunity? Why don't you finish anything you start? Having a low attention span isn't an excuse to not communicate like a normal person. I've had to tell you this five times why can't you just remember? Why can't you save any money? Why are you so fucking weird? Don't you ever think about anyone other than yourself?

Why can't you Just Be Normal?

I would give anything to just be a shitty, irresponsible person who makes bad decisions out of carelessness or lack of empathy. I would give anything to be a "boring neurotypical". Because I could work on that. I could become a better person. i could learn from my mistakes and have that actually mean something practically rather than just cognitively.

It's an overwhelming feeling of hopelessness. Accepting that my brain just does not work correctly and no amount of positive thinking, or bullet journaling, or time management skills, or even medication will fix it. It will always be a struggle. It will always be a ten ton weight shackled to my ankles that I have to drag behind me through any task that doesn't result in instant gratification. There will never be a permanent solution. I will never wake up one day and suddenly be able to do these basic fucking tasks that everyone else does without issue. I will always have to remind myself to brush my teeth, or to eat breakfast, or to take a shower, or to make sure my cats get fed. It will always be an ordeal to get the mail or to go grocery shopping or to keep myself from sabotaging every good thing in my life for the umpteenth time.

It's exhausting. I'm so tired. I'm so sick of fighting against myself every waking moment of every single day. I'm so sick of being told that I don't deserve any kind of accommodations or allowances or compromises and there is no excuse because "everyone else has to do these things and you don't get special treatment".

I don't want special treatment. I don't want everything different or "wrong" with me to be painted on my skin in bright red ink for everyone to see. I don't want to be reduced to a bunch of boxes so people can just glance at the labels and decide that's all they need to know about me. I don't want to stand out. I don't want to be different. I want to fucking blend in and be unremarkable and boring.

I just want to be fucking normal.

[punkass-diogenes]

17, 25, 61, 100, 119.

17. a book with a yellow cover

This book is a very old favorite of mine. I first heard of it when I read one of the stories in The New Yorker in a doctor's office when I was 13. It resonated with me then in a way that few things do or ever have. I bought the book and read all of the stories many, many times over the subsequent years. The best way I can describe the tone of this book is magical realism meets Southern gothic (Florida gothic, specifically). The stories all focus on the loneliness and alienation of its characters, who are mostly children, in a world that is simultaneously dreamlike and magical, and grungy and disappointing. And, oftentimes, truly scary dangerous. It taps into the liminal space between childhood and adulthood in a way I have seen few works do. I have also experienced the stories losing resonance for me as I have gotten older (and am not older than the author was when she wrote them), which is sad but also perhaps fitting.

25. a book by your favourite author

Exhalation by Ted Chiang. Particularly the story "The Life Cycle of Software Objects." Chiang is everything I want to be as a writer - cerebral and soulful in equal parts.

61. your favourite horror novel

The first thing that comes to mind is not a novel but a short story (seeing a trend?) called "Divided by Infinity" by Robert Charles Wilson. This story is a masterpiece of existential horror that tackles what I consider to be one of the most terrifying concepts in philosophy. I won't say anymore about that! If we are going to go with actual novels, I would go in a different direction and say Sharp Objects by Gillian Flynn. This book is not technically classed as horror - it is a psychological/crime thriller - but, at its heart, it is a gothic horror story, and it makes my skin crawl. Flynn does an amazing job of creating the most nauseating, suffocating atmosphere of total dread and exposing the unspeakable grotesqueness that writhes and festers beneath the ideals of femininity. I literally felt sick to my stomach after finishing this book, and there are parts of it that made me feel real sweaty-palmed terror. The fact that none of it is fantastical only makes it scarier.

100. your favourite gothic novel

Again, I have a tendency to veer toward short-form here. "The Yellow Wallpaper" and "The Cask of Amontillado" come to mind as my favorite works of classical gothic fiction. Both of these have been very influential on my own writing. I have a hard time with 19th century language and my attention span, which is why I have not read many of the classical novels from this period. However, a modern gothic novel that I really liked was The Secret History. Nothing beats stories of a group's collective descent into Dionysian darkness and insanity. And "beauty is terror" lives in my mind rent-free.

119. your favourite summer read

I don't have any books that I particularly associate with summer, but maybe The Expanse series, which I am still working through. Also shout-out to the works of Blake Crouch, which are super fun mind-fucky high-concept page turners that also all manage to casually feature some of the most nightmare-inducing apocalyptic scenarios. Also any collection of Bradbury stories. Summer for me means sci-fi.

[theveryfirstnight1313]

Fuckit

Couldnt feel more goddamn frustrated. Diagnosis check. On new meds check. Are they doing good things?

yeah

but No one wants to listen when I say its not addressing a major issue. Its nice having some motivation, not feeling like Im going to be stuck in a sit pit all day however...

This isn't address my attention span. This isnt addressing any memory issues, or the fact that I jump from task to task all day long feeling productive only to end up exhausted by 6pm and the house looks like NOTHING has been done because I couldnt manage to actually finish a task...

Theres help for this somewhere...

[guillemelgat]

I'm only a month late but here's the yearly review! These goals were actually quite reasonable, and though I didn't hit most of them, they were good guides to have.

For Catalan, I did manage to find a Catalan speaker in this city (WILD story but we don't have time for that), who confirmed my suspicions that there just are no Catalans here by the fact that they know exactly two other Catalans. But I also might have an in on two professors who might be Catalan, and could also talk to, which would be exciting. Meanwhile my Catalan is quickly atrophying, but I did at least find people, which I'm very happy about. In terms of reading, I had a feeling I would read way less than 30 books, and I was right about that: I read 7 (I would have read way more if I was capable of finishing a book; alas, that skill is escaping me at this moment). But I still think that the challenge was absolutely worth it, and I'd like to do it next year, too. I'll write up a longer post about that, though.

In terms of Welsh and Basque, I wouldn't say that I followed these goals at all. But for both of them, I think I did put in a lot more effort and kind of got a reality check on how I should go about studying them. For Welsh, I started listening to a whole bunch more music. For Basque, I got to go to the Basque Country for a weekend and stay with a friend and speak in Basque the whole time, which was a huge challenge, but also really made me understand what I need to work on (comprehension/vocabulary/more advanced grammar). I didn't end up watching much Rownd a Rownd or Eskamak kentzen, but I think that I've had a lot of problems with attention span (and also realistic expectations) this year, and I'm slowly starting to figure out how to create a language routine that works with what I've got.

For Malayalam, I did start taking classes, and this is one of the few goals that has really worked out. Malayalam has gone from being something really frustrating and emotionally taxing for me to a language I feel like I'm starting to have a grasp on. The class has been very intensive (we learned the alphabet and all the noun cases in the first semester, and were reading simple texts by the end), but it's been good for pushing my limits. Unfortunately the time is a little rough, especially with a full class load and TAship, but it's so rewarding that I think I'm going to stick through this semester as well.

Alas, I didn't get to try Russian immersion. I still think this would be really funny, though.

As for Anki, I tried pretty hard at the beginning of last year to get into it, but unfortunately it takes so much time to make your own cards (if you're silly like me - I could probably put them together in a less complicated way) and eventually I just decided to stick with Memrise for now. We'll see, though. Maybe I can simplify my template or something - I just need a quicker way to set up large amounts of cards.

This year was a long and very heavy year for me personally, but also a very meaningful year in some ways, and I think it taught me to think much more about what matters to me, and to clear away what doesn't. I've been studying all four of these languages for a significant amount of time now, and I want them to continue be a part of my life and my world. Hopefully 2025 will be yet another year in which I continue to grow into them, and them into me.

Language Goals 2024

Another year, another set of goals! This year, in the actual spirit of my very reasonable 2022 language goals, here are my plans for language study.

Catalan

First and foremost, my goal is to find Catalan friends in my new hometown, because I really need to speak Catalan with people at minimum once a week or I get very sad, and currently I’m not speaking it with anyone at all. This goal is pretty chill though—I just have to actually sit down and put in the time to find people.

My main goal is to read 30 books in Catalan. I’ll make a proper post about it with a list of books that I’m thinking of and how the challenge itself is going to work, but overall I’m trying to pick a mix of styles and genres, so expect anything from medieval literature to YA novels to academic texts. I have a lot of books that I’ve been meaning to read for a while, so hopefully this will give me a chance to chip into some of them. 30 books is less than other versions of this challenge that I’ve seen, but it’s also many more books than I’ve read in Catalan possibly ever and I think it’s more reasonable in conjunction with a full class load. Hopefully it ends up being just the right amount!

Welsh & Basque

This year I really want to work hard to actually get these two to an upper intermediate level, because I’m so close if I put in the work. For both of them, I have two main goals: (1) go through the textbooks/workbooks that I started going through casually last semester (Basic Welsh: A Grammar and Workbook by Gareth King and Standard Basque: A Progressive Grammar by Rudolf P.G. de Rijk) so that I can continue to review and learn new grammatical structures, and (2) watch one episode of a TV series each week in each language. For the TV series, I’m going to be watching Rownd a Rownd on S4C (which is available outside Wales/the UK! Huge win!) and Eskamak kentzen on EITB. If I have time, I’ll try to go through episodes more thoroughly and note down new vocabulary and such, but the main goal is to make a routine of it and watch consistently so I’m trying to keep it simple. I’d also like to use both languages with other people more often if I can, but I think finding a consistent language partner will perhaps be a goal for another year.

Malayalam

I’m planning to focus the first half of the year on Welsh and Basque, and then next fall, I’m hoping to be able to take the Malayalam classes offered by my university and to get into studying my home dialect (or rather, my extended family’s home dialect, since I didn’t speak it at home) as well. Since this will be later and also classroom learning rather than self-study, I’m not going to go into details, but overall, after my trip to Kerala (which I have stuff about, it’s on the docket!), I’m generally feeling much less alienated and much more motivated to study the language. I’m also looking forward to being able to take real classes, which I think will help keep me focused and on track.

Russian

This is a minor goal, but at my friend’s house over the summer, her mom was joking that if they just spoke to me in Russian while I stayed at their house, I’d probably be able to understand it by the end. That led us to concoct a plan where I study a bit of Russian vocab, then go there and do intensive Russian immersion for a weekend or so. This is more of a silly goal, but I’d like to try it because I think it could be fun.

Anki

This isn’t a language goal per se, but rather a general resolution to spend this year learning to use (and tweaking and configuring) Anki. Anki has a notoriously high barrier to entry, and from everything I’ve seen it should be treated as a long-term, intensive project—I’ll hopefully reap the rewards later if I take my time and set up everything right in the early stages. With that in mind, I’m hoping that by the end of the year I’ve figure out a set up for my decks and cards that really works for getting me to remember and be able to use vocab and grammar. I’ll focus on the languages here for the start, but I’m hoping that with habit and time, if I get a good system going I can use it with other languages too.

And that’s it! It’s been a bit since I was systematic about studying languages, but I’ve found that I really miss it and want to go back. I feel like I’m at a really good place with all of these, and I’d like to continue to make progress, so I’m really trying to focus on consistency and hitting the sweet spot of just challenging enough to get myself out of my comfort zone while not burning out. Hopefully I’ve set this up in a way to build habits and make me excited to keep immersing myself with these languages in the coming years, which is really the key to learning any language in the long term—I've realized that I speak Catalan so well because it's fully integrated into my life, and I'd like all these others to be as well. Here’s to a good 2024, and I wish all of you luck with your own goals as well!

[dominantslasherking]

Hannibal with a boyfriend (reader) who is js like...absolutely smitten and is so in love with him and will do anything for him

Hannibal Lecter with With Dominant Male S/o

My Stories are meant for the much more mature audience, 18+.

"My love, are you alright?" You gently asked, taking ahold of Hannibal's jaw to bring his attention to you, as you pulled him into a kiss.

Hannibal leaned into the kiss enjoying the extra flavor upon your lips, savoring your taste once you had pulled away from him. "I am...quite all right...Just a few rude patients that have been...occupying my mind." He spoke with the truth.

Both of you stared at each other for a bit, until a sly smirk slowly made its way to your features, "Perhaps, I shall go grab him for you? Just tell me an address, and it shall be done, I'm afraid we are after all running low on stock." You uttered, watching Hannibal relay a curious glance toward you.

"That would be....much appreciated...if you do manage to, get him--well I'm sure you will: I wonder what reward I shall gift in return for your time." Hannibal hummed out with a thought, as you slowly leaned into him, letting your lips place a kiss on his cheek, "I believe A make-out session is due? Once I get the job done." Your voice held a bit of eagerness, in fact, it enthralled you to see Hannibal get all messy when it came to you ravishing his lips (and any other part of him).

Hannibal nodded his head a smirk crawling up to his lips.

<<>>>><<<>>><<>>>><<>>>

You pushed Hannibal against the wall, fondling his ass with your hands as both of your lips were completely enraptured in one another, You knew, Hannibal wouldn't be in your intensive 'care' for long since, he had guests coming over soon, and he liked to be prepared because he was a gracious host.

However, you did make sure to leave marks on his shoulders and somewhat on his neck, the ones on his neck easily hideable with formal collars of course.

"My love--I--" Hannibal's voice was cut off by your lips tenderly kissing his your hands tugging on his waist. "Yes...yes I know," You slowly purred out, as you pulled away, Hannibal was dazed for a split second before fixing his outfit. It was also the rare occasion that you would join Hannibal's little dinner parties, with other guests.

For you, the dinner was slightly a blur, as you didn't pay attention to the guest's rude chitter chatter, you were immersed in staring ahead at Hannibal, while takin bites out of the food he had made.

But what did catch your attention was one of the guests had blatantly disrespected the food, commenting this isn't what they had requested Hannibal to make, as if he was some type of personal chef.

"I mean c'mon, look at this...I can barely stomach to look at it." Altogether there were four guests, and let's just the single one had doomed them all. Slowly lifting your knife, in a span of a second or two, you had jammed it right into their temple.

You had slipped the knife out swiftly, a gentle smile on your face, as your gaze had never left Hannibal's even when blatantly killing the man. "I must say, that this food, might be one of the bests you have made." Your voice rang out, dealing with the woman on your other side.

Hannibal was swift to deal with the other two, all four of the guest's dead bodies had laid at the dinner table, their faces planted into their own respective plates of food.

Upon finishing your last bite of the meat, you set your napkin down and spoke, "Let us deal with the mess now."

Hannibal let out a low hum in agreement, as he set down his fork and knife, with exceptional table manners: As he normally would display.

[spidersanonymous]

There was a soft knock at their door. Caretaker looked up from their mountains of paperwork, eyebrows furrowing as Whumpee fidgeted in the doorway.

“Hello, Whumpee,” they greeted smoothly, “is there something you needed?” Whumpee didn’t tend to stray from Whumper’s side, Caretaker could only imagine what they might need. With a glance at their emancipated figure, probably a hot meal and a bed.

“Caretaker, i-” Whumpee bit their lip, shakily stepping further into Caretakers office, “I need- help. Your help,” they finished lamely, shifting on their feet as they awaited Caretaker’s response.

Caretaker rose an eyebrow, a record amount of seven words in a span of all of twenty seconds, “Okay?” they set down their pen, giving Whumpee their full attention, “Here,” they stood up from their chair, the old metal shrieking, “i think you need a seat, yes?”

Whumpee’s lip curled down but they still crossed the room and sat down, the chair groaning quietly under their weight. They hugged their arms around themself, head bowed as they anxiously glanced at the door.

Caretaker hummed, eyes tracing over Whumpee before making a decision, “I could close the door if you’re that concerned about it,” they nodded towards the doorway.

“Don’t,” Whumpee rasped, eyes widening as their words registered; still, they continued, “it isn’t- it’s not- it’s… fine.” their frown deepened as they stammered through the words. Caretaker could sympathize.

“If you’re sure,” Caretaker shrugged, leaning against their table with as much casualty as they could manage, “so, you needed my help with what, exactly?” they asked, not unkindly.

“Um,” their arms tightened, “i need- you help victims um, escape from their abu-abusers, right?”

Caretaker leaned forward with rapt attention, eyes sharpening as they drank in Whumpee’s quivering lips, tight posture, the way their nails picked at the fabric of their shirt. Caretaker never saw Whumpee at lunch, nor did they ever come to the employee hang-outs on weekends. Something forced the ever elusive Whumpee to come out of hiding. “Right,” they nodded, “I do.”

“Okay,” they nodded once, twice, “Yes, there was a case- Jorgie May, and her sister,” they picked furiously at a view loose threads, avoiding Caretaker’s eyes as their gaze darted across the office space. There wasn’t much to see.

Caretaker hummed agreement.

“Their mother,” their voice strained, throat bobbing as they forced the words out, “she was- erm- abusive,” their eyes suddenly found Caretakers, “how did-” they licked their lips nervously, “how did they get help?” What did they say to make people believe them? Was left unsaid.

Whumpee’s words lingered in the air for a moment as Caretaker considered, leaning closer as they dropped their voice to a whisper, “They gathered evidence, took pictures of their injuries, recorded arguments they had with their mother, things of that nature. One night their mother was drunk, so she took all of the evidence -and her sister- and went to the police,” they leaned out of Whumpee’s space, “bit hard to claim two malnourished kids covered head to toe in bruises were liars.”

Whumpee shuddered, squeezing their eyes shut as they exhaled forcefully.

“The fact the neighborhood didn’t have the highest opinions of their mother probably helped, as well,” they mused to themself.

“Thank you,” they whispered, “that’s-”

“A lot?” Caretaker suggested, eyebrow raised.

“Sure,” they shrugged, glancing at the door, “i should probably get going-”

A quiet knock interrupted Whumpee’s words as Whumper slipped in from the ajar door, “Ah,” they hummed, eyes narrowing, “Whumpee and… Caretaker. How curious.”

Not even a hello, “Hello, Whumper,” they greeted as smoothly as they could manage, “was there something you needed?” even then, their words were curt.

“There’s no need to be hostile, Caretaker,” they chastised with a frown, stalking further into Caretaker’s office, “I’m just here to collect my charge, I am responsible for them, you know,” their lips curled up, as if letting Caretaker in on a joke. Caretaker hated the look on them.

“Of… course,” Caretaker agreed, words sour, “is there any chance we could take a minute and chat?” and maybe, possibly, knock you over the head with a baseball bat?

“No, unfortunately,” they crooned with false pity, smiling sickly-sweet, “Whumpee and I have a meeting to attend, and we simply don’t have the time for any further conversations,” they spat the words, expression darkening as they grabbed Whumpee’s wrist and harshly pulled them up.

Whumpee, for their credit, didn’t yelp at the pull, even though they looked like one strong wind took knock them over. They grit their teeth, allowing themself to be pulled to Whumper’s side. Whumper curled an arm around their shoulder, looking painfully smug.

Caretaker wanted to wipe that look off their face.

“If that’s all, Whumpee and I really do have to be going,” they dragged Whumpee out the door, “it was lovely speaking with you, Caretaker.”

Can’t say the same for you, “Likewise.” They managed to spit out.

With one last smug smirk, they both disappeared behind the door, finally shutting closed with a click.

Caretaker only wished they gave Whumpee their number.

___

kind of insane about this idea tbh. not sure what about it is so good but… ohh boy. wrote this in a span of two days, lightly edited. also let me know if anyone wants to be added to a taglist lol

[cat3ch1sm]

Yeeey! what would my last request be like in Jujutsu Kaisen? only with the cute and beautiful Itadori, Sukuna and Gojo! S/O having communication problems and having their diaries read by them, and reaction to seeing this! ( S/O with Komi san personality with Itadori, Sukuna and Gojo? 🤔😳 )

🍵| ofc ofc<33 i really appreciate ur patience:DD also i have yet to finish the anime do forgive me if i don't characterize these guys right!!! im going off of what i have RN, im about halfway finished with the anime<333

pov: reader s/o is very shy and hardly talks at all, what happens when their partner finds their diary?

itadori yuuji

༊* don't get me wrong, itadori is literally in love with you more than anyone else probably ever will be. but with his personality, sometimes he really wishes you would talk!!! more!!! often!!!

༊* so he goes to one of his friends, say nobara and megumi, and he's like "why do you think y/n doesn't talk??" and nobara's like "idfk bruh but she probably has somewhere else to 'express herself.' like a diary or smth"

༊* "so does that mean fushiguro has a diary too??" *deadpan voice from across the room* "no."

༊* now that itadori has this idea in his head, he goes off to look for one. and after searching in these dumbass places like the toaster or some shit he finally finds it in an obvious-ish place like under your bed

༊* "wow! y/n has a diary! i didn't know that.. wait, should i be reading this? probably not..." *looks guilty for two seconds* *opens the diary*

༊* when he starts to read it, he's surprised by the eloquence of your writing- tbh it makes his brain hurt. but itadori keeps reading anyway

༊* he is also surprised because you seem to feel a lot despite not conveying any of it whatsoever. he reads how you worry when he goes out on missions, he reads how at peace you feel whenever you're with him, he reads how you get angry when sukuna threatens to harm itadori, he sees how you wish you could show him more affection than you are able to, and he reads about how you wish you were able to be real friends with his friends. he even gets to know about how you felt about him even before you started dating, and how shattered you were when you thought he had died

༊* also, it makes itadori so happy when he reads the way you write about him throughout your relationship. all this time he had never been totally sure how you felt about him, but now he's relieved and absolutely thrilled to know that you love him as much as he does you. he only wishes you had shared all of this with him personally

satoru gojo

༊* okay. let's start with the fact that this man has the attention span of a celery stick

༊* you probably left the house for ten to twenty minutes to run and errand or two. and knowing that satoru is a literal child, you put something interesting on TV for him to watch so he doesn't blow the place up

༊* but yeah, no, that didn't work. 0.0005 seconds after the door locks behind you, he's all over the place. and of course he ends up in your room, where he unashamedly snoops through your things until he comes across a little journal

༊* "what's this? a diary???" *opens it up immediately and starts skimming through pages*

༊* sooner or later though, satoru is forced to actually start really reading when he doesn't find what he expected. he'd kind of been counting on some long, depressing sob story that would maybe explain why you were the way you were or something sappy like that. but a lot of your experiences don't seem so different from his- you just take them more slowly. your way of viewing things is a lot less quick than satoru's- while he kind of blasts through everything with a smile on his face and cracking stupid jokes, you stop to observe everything, and he can see this clearly in your writing.

༊* you need a medal fr- you managed to keep your mental boyfriend occupied for more than three seconds at a time??? and he's actually enthralled??? what the heck?!?1!1!1!1?!

༊* he doesn't even bother covering up tbr fact that he read your diary tbh. chances are when you open it up again to the last page you wrote on, there'll be a little teasing note from him or a stupid but affectionate doodle in the margins

༊* anyways, in the future, when satoru annoys you and you try to act mad, he'll just bring up your diary and quote something sappy you wrote about him just to make it worse

ryomen sukuna

༊* sukuna knew you had a diary. he sees you writing in it all the time when you think he isn't around

༊* to be honest, at first he couldn't care less. so what if you had a diary? diaries were for children- it was weird that you didn't talk to begin with. if he wanted to get something out of you, he would. that was all there was to it. he didn't care. sukuna didn't even want to hear about your thoughts and feelings and experiences.

༊* well... until he got to thinking. why were you scribbling all of your thoughts and feelings and experiences on paper when he was right there, anyway? of course, it wasn't like sukuna cared. no, not at all. but still. you should've been telling him these things, not rambling in some silly journal.

༊* he had a right to your mind, didn't he? why was sukuna even dating you if he didn't have access to your thoughts? no, this wouldn't do. he would just have to read the damn thing himself.

༊* so that's what he did. once you'd finally gone to bed, sukuna slipped into your bedroom and pulled your diary from its hiding place. he was surprised to feel no cursed energy radiating from it- that seemed uncommon for a human diary. somewhat curiously, he opened it and began to read.

༊* instantly, sukuna sees why there's nothing cursed coming from your notebook- but tbh, he doesn't necessarily understand how. in your writing, you seem to omit the negative things he was sure you'd include. he's not the "king of curses" in your eyes- he's just sukuna, your eccentric, sarcastic, and occasionally murderous boyfriend. you don't really bring up his "thing" with itadori, either, though you write a little about the boy himself as well as the teachers and students you've met while attending the academy with him. your character analysis is certainly nothing to sneeze at despite barely knowing many of the people you mention in your diary. you write about things as if they're flowers- sukuna's surprised that that's one of the first things that pops into his head as he's reading. frankly, he thinks it's sickening. but something stops him from closing the notebook

[xiaq]

CHAPTER 4 IS UP ON AO3

“Do they all just seem impossibly young to you?” Potter says after several minutes of silence.

He’s looking at the dance floor, eyes dark and fathomless.

Draco follows his gaze to the colour-spangled, undulant crowd: a tide of bodies moving with the pulse of music—heads thrown back, teeth white in the black light, skin slick with sweat. Couples lean against the walls and each other, hands spanning backs, mouths to ears, lips to throats. The dance floor is a study in unrestraint. 

Draco can feel the bass in his lungs.

On another night he might actually enjoy it. Tonight, it hurts.

He sips his drink and lets the rim rest against his bottom lip, tongue against teeth and teeth against glass. He exhales.

“Perhaps we’re just old before our time,” Draco says. He feels ancient, most days, like he’s lived a lifetime already. “Children aren’t supposed to go to war, after all.”

“And yet they keep ending up there,” Potter murmurs. He tips his drink, finishing the last of the liquid, and breaks an ice cube between his teeth. “The papers keep talking about healing and returning to normal, but I don’t think—do you ever feel like maybe you’ll never be normal again? That there’s no coming back from the things we’ve seen.The things we’ve done.”

For a moment, Draco is plagued with indecision. Because he doesn’t want to answer honestly, not here, not to Potter. But then he’s been trying to stop taking the coward’s way out in difficult situations, and there’s no time like the present.

“Sometimes it feels wrong,” Draco says slowly. “To enjoy things. Just simple things. Like eating the first biscuit in a new package or sliding under the duvet on a newly made bed—listening to music in the car. Because there are so many people who won’t ever enjoy those simple things again. And I was, at least partially, responsible for some of their deaths. I think I may live the rest of my life trying and failing to repent for my sins.”

Potter doesn’t attempt to gentle Draco’s self-loathing.

He does, perhaps, do something even worse, though.

“Sometimes I dream about the people I indirectly killed,” Potter says. “During the war, but also the trials afterward. So many people went to Azkaban to die.”

Draco sets down his glass.

“It was easier when I could pretend they were bad people,” he continues, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Draco is struggling to breathe.

“Weren’t they?” Draco manages.

“Some, yes. But what about the ones like you? Like your mother. Except they didn’t have the money to buy mercy. ”

Draco closes his eyes but it doesn’t make the words go away.

“Coerced or not,” Draco says, opening them again, “when it was time to choose sides, they chose the wrong one.”

Potter laughs: a sharp and terrible thing. 

“Forgive me if autonomy makes a big fucking difference in my judgement of good and evil.”

Draco looks away, attention caught again by the dancing bodies around them, moving with abandon to the throbbing music. For a moment, he is intensely, viscerally, jealous.

“They’re not like us,” Draco says, more to himself than Potter. And then, realizing he’s said it out loud, scrambles to clarify what he means by “us”—because he and Potter aren’t the same. Their experiences are not equitable and he doesn’t mean to imply they are—he wouldn’t try to place their trauma in the same genre. He can’t seem to formulate the words, though.

“No,” Potter agrees, meeting his eyes. “They’re not like us.” 

[1kook]

crunchyroll & rail

the 10th installment of my netflix & chill series !

SUMMARY Never mind the fact you really like Sailor Moon, or that you really want to pay attention to every little detail; the moment becomes Jungkook and his big smile and his red cheeks and the tiny box he produces from within his pocket. WARNINGS smut in the forms of making out, jk nipple play, some 69 action, cunnilingus, blowjobs, brief choking, jk trying his best to listen to oc but he doesn’t rlly :/, fingering, missionary bc his eyes are pretty, unprotected fuckin raw, its romantic but when is it not… MISC fluffy and domestic <3, weekend getaway <3, the Big Question, shy jk, sailor moon supremacy, jk makes this big elaborate speech about the sun and moon, mentions of 240p YouTube quality, RATING m (18+) WC 8.7k

NOTE (!) the smut in this chapter is relatively short ! I was more concerned with writing this monumental step in their relationship, so sorry to all the lads who come here specifically for the p0rn but today we focus on the l0ve <333 anyway nc 10!!!!! Can u fuckin believe….

Jungkook mentions it at the dinner table one night. You’re not eating— well, you are not eating; Jungkook has been stocking up on his protein intake like a madman —but finishing up some work you had brought home. Your back aches, your eyes burn. The mere sound of his soft voice has all those feel-good endorphins shooting through your nervous system like a shot of adrenaline. “We should take a trip,” he says, fork clattering against his plate to signify the end of his feast. 

Your fingers tap across your keyboard, eyes flickering between an Excel sheet and the report you’re typing out. It takes you a moment to respond, a delayed, “huh,” that even Jungkook doesn’t find convincing.  

In the background, you’re listening to what has to be one of the worst voiceovers of the original Sailor Moon series in a language you don’t even understand. But you know the series like the back of your hand, know what exactly is happening even if you don’t understand what they’re saying, because you’ve watched it only about a million times. It’s mostly just there for background purposes anyway, some white noise to try and replicate the noisy soundtrack of your office. 

To make matters worse—complicated?—, you had been too lazy to get onto your usual pirating sites and had settled for the five minute, five part, 240p clips of Sailor Moon on YouTube (you know the ones), and Jungkook has to wait until Episode 74: Part ⅖ ends before you grace him with a proper response. “Where do you wanna go, baby?” you ask, giving your eyes a break from the data as you move to scour YouTube for Episode 74: Part 3/5. 

He’s stretching back now, arms wound up above his head. His hair— god, his hair —is an ashy color now, a faded version of its golden ancestor from a few months ago. Soon, he’s planning on going back to brown, claims he’s getting too old to be dying his hair, whatever that means. For now, you watch his inked fingers run through his scalp; he looks delectable. Maybe you’re hungrier than you initially thought. Or at least thirstier. “A cabin,” he suggests, and he offers this little half shrug that would otherwise seem normal had you not been well-versed in the art of Jungkook Body Language. His front teeth nibble at his lip, eyes laser focused on his empty plate. Even now, he still gets nervous asking you out. That thought alone makes your ego soar as high as an airplane. “Just something small.”

Usually, “something small” with Jungkook ends up being something big and, in most cases, something expensive. Which you’re totally not opposed to— you’re at the point in your relationship where you don’t even bother trying to dissuade Jungkook from showering you with gifts. It’s one of his many, many, many, many forms of loving you and, well, he knows you like the back of his hand. He rarely misses. 

Lo and behold, it is a grander affair than a simple cabin. “Well, it’s more like a resort,” he confesses, reaching across the table for your hand. Immediately, his thumb finds itself rubbing over the simple band of your promise ring. “Just wanna do something nice for you. I know you’ve been tired lately,” he adds on, voice a quiet murmur that nearly gets lost under the intensity of the pout that appears whenever he becomes even the slightest bit bashful. 

You smile, the fondness in your heart skyrocketing to impossible heights when he lifts your hand to press those pretty petal lips against your knuckles. “Well, just let me know when,” you tell Jungkook. “So I can request time off from work.” 

Episode 74: Part 3/5 starts playing after an ad, and you’d pause it for the sake of preserving this moment with Jungkook, but it’s hidden under so many tabs on your laptop that you lose it the second you leave the tab. Jungkook’s head tilts to the side, sending his ashy locks cascading beautifully. “You know that show is on Crunchyroll,” Jungkook says, seemingly moving past his bout of shyness now. “And you have the password.” 

“Do I,” you murmur, but he’s lost you once more, your true talent of typing with one hand showing itself as you return to your Excel sheet, the other still firmly squeezed in his grasp. Jungkook releases soon enough anyway, cleans up the table quickly, and disappears off into the kitchen. He sings when he washes the dishes, likes to pretend he’s a terrible singer even though you’ve told him countless times he could easily take X Factor by storm. (And you know exactly what it takes to wow those judges— you spent the entire last month psychotically watching multiple X Factor seasons from multiple different countries, nearly considered joining the damn audition yourself.) The horribly dubbed Sailor Moon is yelling now, shrieking really, and Jungkook calls from the kitchen, “don’t forget to take your contacts out, sweetheart.” 

It’s domestic and it's nerve-wracking. 

You want Jungkook, that much is a fact. Aristotle and Socrates and that other guy could debate the philosophical intricacies of the world, turn this dimension in on itself until it was a scrambled mess of emotion and thought, but the one thing they could never change, could never even question, is your love for your boyfriend. You want Jungkook badly, but more importantly, you want Jungkook forever. 

And you’re sure Jungkook probably, maybe, hopefully feels that way too. But the way you feel is… slightly concerning to say the least. For starters, you’re convinced your love for Jungkook was meant to be, and that’s saying a lot coming from you. You’re not one for cheesy, soulmate tales— that was more Jungkook’s thing —but the more you think about it, the more you become convinced that you and Jungkook were destined to meet. Like the planets aligned one year, the stars conferred, a tectonic plate somewhere in California shifted; whatever it may have been, something happened somewhere that led to the birth of this beautiful romance of yours. 

Lately, being with Jungkook has this inexplicably fiery feeling blossoming in your chest, these waves of emotion that sometimes have you fantasizing about the weirdest of scenarios with him. Like yelling at him for not taking the garbage out on time, or bumping into each other as you make dinner in the kitchen, or buying a new rug together. 

(Most drastically, the other day, you had a dream where you were pregnant and Jungkook was there and there was a house and a dog and an annoyingly friendly neighbor and this god-awful tile in the bathroom.) 

Long story short, you’ve been fantasizing about a forever with Jungkook. The concerning part is the timing; was this too early? You’re nearly halfway through your second year with Jungkook now, and you know most people date for many, many years before the mere thought of union even occurs to them. In another life, maybe you were the same, would have held off until the very last moment. But with Jungkook things just feel right (at least for you), like there wasn’t going to be anyone else after him. And you sincerely hoped there wouldn’t be. 

You slump back into your seat, eyes fluttering shut. Too many thoughts swirl around your mind, and the screech of the Sailor Moon voiceover on screen certainly doesn’t help. How you managed to spiral that far down your thoughts in the span of one 240p, five minute clip of a larger episode amazes even you. To add onto your worries, the clip abruptly ends and Episode 74: Part ⅘ is nowhere in sight, a fact that draws a frustrated moan out of the already sensitive you. 

Luckily, Jungkook eventually returns, standing closely behind you. His presence is enormous, the room suddenly overflowing with a shit ton of those feel-good endorphins all over again, except this time they reach an all-time high when he leans over and quietly shuts your laptop. “Come sleep,” he says softly, and it’s a pleasant mixture of his genuinely caring voice and that horndog purr of his that lures you into bed. And it’s that same voice that croons softly into your ear, fingers nestled between your folds until you’re orgasming yourself into a deep slumber. 

Much to no one’s surprise, the cabin turns out to be quite the luxurious lodging; two floors of dark oak everywhere you turn, a stunning stone fireplace in the bedroom, and a truly breathtaking view of the resort’s snowy hill (read: front row seats to watch all the snowboarders and skiers wipe out in the snow). Jungkook had splurged quite the pretty penny on it, so you make a point to clap it up for him when he first opens the door to your temporary home for the weekend. 

The main bedroom is beyond words. It’s got an attached balcony (that you doubt you’ll be using in this chilly weather), and a wooden canopy bed that makes you feel like a royal (that you will certainly be using). It’s separated into two areas, the bed space and a tiny entertainment area on the other side of the room. Perhaps the best thing about the room— and the cabin itself —is the huge, smart TV mounted above said stone fireplace and the fact it allows the phone mirroring option in lieu of not having any streaming sites. And as is with every and anything to do with televisions, Jungkook is the most excited of the two of you. “Baby, look,” he beams, pointing excitedly at whatever he’s got mirrored onto the television this time. Knowing him, it’s probably another documentary. 

You had the forethought to finish your work before the trip, spent two days in the office going absolutely ham on this month’s final reports until your department head promptly sent you home to finish the rest there. You had given yourself a fright upon entering the bathroom that night, the state of your under eyes so severe, you feared it was sufficient cause for a national emergency. Similarly, Jungkook had done the same with his work, cooped himself up in his study until he was free from the shackles of capitalism for the weekend. All this to say you’ve missed him these past few days. 

But even though you’re sorely malnourished in the affection department and craving a good kiss or two, you wouldn’t dare interrupt one of Jungkook’s little nerdy, tech-induced fanboy moments. They’re cute, in their own geeky way, providing some insight to a mellower side of your boyfriend who looks on with childlike wonder; Jungkook’s eyes always get so big when he talks about nerdy stuff. You get to work hanging up the silk shirt he packed for tomorrow night’s fancy dinner at the resort, listening to some British narrator’s detailed description of the functionally extinct Northern white rhinos living under 24-hour surveillance in Kenya.  

(Jungkook’s really into nature documentaries again, had spent a few nights sniffling as he watched that one Koko the gorilla film.) 

The original plan was to head to the nearest store and whip up something small to eat at the cabin. But Jungkook is a little tired from the long drive, slumps down into the couch in front of the now lit fireplace like a limbless blob as he tunes into his documentary. His nose is a little red from the outside chill. It’s so cute. He’s so cute. You love him so much, you fear you’ll accidentally squeeze his cheeks to death. It’s a thought that occurs more times than you’d like. 

According to the pamphlet on the nightstand, the resort has its own room-service to order from. Normally you would do that, but not this time; you had gotten into a bit of a squabble with the man at the front desk after he had tried to withhold Jungkook’s reservation for arriving two minutes past your check-in time, called each other all sorts of names before he backed down and gave you your room key. So you’re still a little salty, to say the least. Instead, you settle in for some pizza in front of the huge TV, calling up the nearest place to order some of Jungkook’s and your favorites. 

You plop down beside him, instinctively cuddling closer when he wraps an arm around your shoulders. “So,” you start, flipping through the rest of the resort’s introductory pamphlet. There’s a loud roar on screen. In all honesty, you didn’t even know what Northern white rhinos sounded like until then, and you probably never would have if not for the man beside you. “What are you in the mood for tonight, sweet boy?” 

You’re not sure if it’s the fatigue or the overall relaxed vibes he’d been exuding since the moment you entered the cabin, but Jungkook is weirdly cooperative today. “Whatever you want,” he responds, head on your shoulder. He even places the remote in your hands, gives your enclosed fist a gentle tap as if he’s just handed you the secret to eternal youth. In other words, it’s a rare sight to behold. “This is your trip, pretty girl.” 

You appreciate the sentiment, but feel the need to clear the air, tucking your feet up onto the couch as you snuggle closer. “Our trip,” you clarify, and snatch the remote anyway before he changes his mind. 

Jungkook releases a quiet huff of laughter, head rolling back against the couch cushions to display his thick, juicy neck that definitely doesn’t awaken any vampiric tendencies in you. “We can even watch some anime if you want,” he murmurs, casually throwing an arm around your shoulders in a way that would have made any teenage girl in the early 2000s squeal with excitement. It’s one of those barely there touches, but the way he holds you makes you feel so safe and warm and loved. So loved and in love. “The ones on Crunchyroll, though.”

For the sake of preserving these good vibes (and your ears [and Jungkook’s sanity]), you navigate to the Crunchyroll app on your phone, quickly finding your latest obsession and mirroring it onto the big television before Jungkook can react. “Sailor Moon?” he asks with a tone that implies a feigned interest, mostly out of respect for you; he’s, sadly, still not the big dorky anime fan you had hoped to convert him into. 

“In the name of the moon, I’ll punish you,” you recite dutifully, snatching up the throw blanket on the end of the couch. It’s barely big enough to cover the both of you, has Jungkook’s outstretched legs and your booty subject to the chilly air. Who cares, Jungkook is a furnace anyway. 

He snorts. “Punish me,” he mumbles, as if he doesn’t believe it. His snarky comment wins him a playful pinch against his doughy cheek, not that he particularly defends himself against it anyway, eyes fluttering shut as you tug at the pale skin. 

“Don’t fuck with the moon, Jungkook,” you warn him, snuggling closely against his side as your favorite opening song begins filtering through the speakers of the television before you. It’s infinitely better than the 240p YouTube clips you had subjected yourself to the entire last week, the graphics scarily clear. 

“Right, of course,” Jungkook says, but a hint of amusement seems to curl around the sound anyway. Nevertheless, he lets it go, cuddles into your side as you pour your full focus into watching yet another group of ragtag teenagers with supernatural abilities kick some ass. 

You can tell Jungkook isn’t really into it, and you’re torn between just snuggling him into a well deserved nap or taping his eyelids open so he can become a fan of this show with you. 

The loving, caring, adoring side of you says Jungkook deserves the entire world and more (the more in question preferably being a fluffy blanket and a nap). He worked hard this week, just like you, and on top of that he was the one who planned this entire weekend getaway for the two of you to enjoy. You want him to rest up.

The obnoxiously in love girlfriend-slash-best friend in you says Jungkook is sorely missing out on one of the greatest shows on planet Earth and that naps are for the weak. 

Your jumbled thoughts are interrupted by a loud sound on the television, a yelp from Ms. Sailor Moon herself that has you jolting up in surprise. Jungkook welcomes you deeper into his embrace, chuckles at your little fright. “Scared?” he teases in that low voice that makes you feel like you’re going crazy, really. So crazy and irrational, and the only thing that stops you from bombarding him with an unexpected outpouring of love is that hard and sharp thing that pokes your side when you get too close to him. It’s not Jungkook, sadly, but something in the front pocket of his hoodie instead. 

And for some reason, part of your brain is stuck all of a sudden, rewinding the last two and a half years like a broken cassette tape that had the tape reel hastily stuffed back inside by a toddler. It’s choppy to say the least, and it certainly doesn’t help when Jungkook calls your name softly, tenderly. “__,” he murmurs. It’s a little weird; it’s not often he says your name, mostly referring to you with one of the many pet names from that part of his vocabulary that focuses exclusively on terms of endearment. Your heart skips a beat. 

Now, if anyone were to ask, it’s approximately around this time that you begin to spiral. The pink curve of his bottom lip is just too close, the mole on his nose too prominent. Paired with the obnoxious tittering of Usagi on screen, you can feel your thoughts begin to overlap, bumping into each other within the realm of your brain until all that comes out are the messiest of messy thoughts. 

They go like this: 

Most episodes of any anime run for approximately thirty minutes. Take out the commercial breaks, the opening and ending credits, and it becomes something closer to twenty. Twenty minutes per episode, filled with plot and gags and tears and whatever else necessary to make you feel something, anything really. 

“What’s in your pocket?” you ask tentatively. 

In contrast, it takes approximately two seconds for Jungkook’s lips to quirk up— first the right side, always the right side —and his eyes to crinkle. Two seconds for him to smile, a sweet expression that reminds you of Netflix and college and quiet laughter and tattoos and silly YouTube videos and cookies and cell phones and job applications and blond hair; two seconds to make you feel everything all at once. 

“There’s nothing,” he says, but his cheeks are pink, and it’s not from the cold anymore. His smile is so big it makes your own cheeks ache just looking at it. You can’t even hear the television anymore. Never mind the fact you really like Sailor Moon, or that you really want to pay attention to every little detail; the moment becomes Jungkook and his big smile and his red cheeks and the tiny box he produces from within his pocket. “It was supposed to be for tomorrow,” he admits, unwrapping his arm from around you. 

It’s a little funny, somehow, because his hands are covered in ink, in tiny doodles and intricate pieces of swirls and words that ooze this aura of strength and toughness. But they tremble when he opens it, as unsteady as a wispy dandelion on a windy day, fumbling with the box. And when you look closely, he’s been biting at the skin along his thumb again, that nervous habit you’ve been trying forever to help him overcome. 

Someone is saying something on screen, something important to the plot. The volume is loud, but not as loud as your heart. Not as loud as Jungkook’s quiet murmur when he speaks again. “Will you marry me?” he asks softly, looks at you with flushed cheeks and big eyes and his heart on his sleeve. 

The answer has always been the same, hasn’t changed since the first time he planted the seed in your mind. Still, it catches in your throat, nearly loses out to a surprised and emotional sob that you barely manage to bite down. You had just been speaking, had just been ready to deliver a whole spiel on the importance of him watching Sailor Moon with you. But when you try now, it’s raspy and dry, as if you haven’t used your voice in years. “I— yes,” you exhale, surprised by the lonely tear that trails down your cheek. You go to wipe it away, but Jungkook beats you with a gentle hand cupping your cheek. 

His smile is wobbly, patches of red blossoming across his face that eventually consume his entire appearance as he leans his forehead against yours. Only then do you realize he’s crying, and you laugh out of reflex. “You’re crying,” you say, and Jungkook snorts. 

“You cried first,” he sniffles, smiling. “You made me cry.” 

He looks like a wreck, but, like, a hot wreck. An engaged, hot wreck who’s eyes flicker back to the TV to remind you to pause your anime, always so considerate. You do, hastily smashing buttons on the remote before remembering it’s controlled by your phone, hands flying back and forth as your nerves actively work to retire themselves after Jungkook’s proposal. “Easy there,” he soothes, eventually catching your hand in his, drawing it up for a kiss against your knuckles. 

The ring fits perfectly, snuggly. Vaguely, a memory drifts through your thoughts of Jungkook and Doyeon on a rampant mission to reorganize your jewelry box a few months ago, but it disappears as quickly as it came. You’re taken by the ring, a simple band with a pretty diamond on top. It’s a good mixture of you and him; flashy yet mild. 

“You love me,” you marvel, a revelation you’ve had the honor of experiencing time and time again with Jungkook. Still, it never fails to render you speechless. He hums. 

“I do,” he says, taking your hand in his. “It’s the easiest thing for me. Like breathing, or existing. I think I was made to love you.” And normally, you’d be the first one to correct him. Jungkook was made for so much more, a fact he’s proven time and time again with his abilities and the sheer size of his heart. He was your golden boy, could do anything he set his mind to. Always amazing you, always making you fall in love all over again. 

But now, with the weight of his words sitting heavy in the air, you find yourself incapable of negating the fact, instead sniffling at the meaning. 

Pleased with your silence, Jungkook places another chaste kiss against your ring. “I love you, __,” he confesses, voice nearly a whisper. Your entire body feels as if it is doused in gasoline, lit aflame over and over again. Your heart threatens your rib cage, pounds away with the strength of a world renowned boxer. Jungkook’s hands curl around your wrists carefully. “I used to think we were like the moon and the sun,” he admits, “that you were my sun and I was your moon. In love but always separated by those thin veils of the sunrise and the sunset.” He pauses, nuzzling sweetly against your palm once more before gently guiding them down between the two of you. “But that really sucks— saying goodbye to you every night? I hate that, __. I hate watching you leave, I hate watching you run off in the mornings or halfway through the day, having to drive back and forth from your place to mine. I hate having to be away from you when all I wanna do is hold you. I— I want to be by your side,” he rambles, eyes nervously meeting yours. They’re still glassy, dark lashes framing his chocolate irises wonderfully. “Forever.” 

Your heartbeat stutters, the simple word looping itself in your mind like that night in his dining room all over again, all the fantasies of having a forever with Jungkook bubbling to the surface. Jungkook pushes on. “You are my sun,” he says softly, mostly to himself. “But… I don’t wanna be the moon anymore. Being the moon means, eventually, I’ll have to say goodbye. In the night or in the morning, it always comes to an end. And I don't want there to be an end with you,” he insists, clutching your hand tightly. “I wanna be another star, the closest one to you. The one who gets to be with you forever. I wanna be by you and shine with you and—“

“Explode into a gazillion little fragments of cosmic dust with me,” you offer, and Jungkook nods along eagerly, too amped up on his speech to bother scolding you for your playful comment. 

“Yes, I want to— to—“ The words catch in his throat. So much emotion from the man you once thought was the dictionary definition of calm and collected. “To—“ 

“Marry me,” you fill in, and Jungkook practically blows a fuse from how emotionally fired up he’s become, exclaiming a resolute, “yes!” that leaves you stupidly grinning back at him. 

His outburst leaves him with flushed cheeks. “I do,” he reiterates in a softer tone, averting his gaze from you as if embarrassed by his cheesy outpouring of emotion. Usually, it’s the other way around; you make all the corny declarations of love and Jungkook laughs along suavely. It feels nice to have the tables turned. 

There’s so much to say, but the words all fade away when Jungkook shyly looks at you again. You settle on tackling him back onto the couch cushions, taking his surprised little yelp in stride as you suffocate him in your embrace. “Save those words for the big day, superstar,” you giggle, peppering his red face with tiny kisses that make him scrunch up cutely. “I can’t wait to blow up into one huge supernova with you.” 

Beneath you, Jungkook groans. “I’m sorry,” he huffs, voice muffled against your shoulder. Begrudgingly, his arms come up to envelope you, pulling you closer until the blanket scrunches up uncomfortably between you two. “That must’ve sounded so lame.” 

Leaning back so you’re not completely squishing him, you carefully push his silvery hair away from his forehead. “Don’t be,” you assure him, placing one chaste peck against his pouty lips. “I thought it was cute. I didn’t know you were into astrology.” 

A sigh. “Astronomy,” he corrects, “astrology has to do with zodiac signs and placements.” 

You run your thumbs over his cheeks, collecting any of the drying tears that paint his face. “Oh, like how you’re a Virgo and I’m a“— 

The TV remote you had lost somewhere along the way is suddenly rematerialized beneath your knee, sends the speakers blaring to life with a deafening screech that has both you and Jungkook leaping up like two frightened cats. “You always do this,” he laughs, that loud boyish sound that makes you feel like you’re sitting on a cloud. He watches you with a gentle smile as you hurriedly shut off the television, the remote haphazardly tossed somewhere behind you afterwards. You return to his embrace, wrap your arms around his waist and snuggle into his warmth. His heart thumps a steady rhythm beneath your ear. 

“You’re gonna be stuck with me forever,” you warn him, clutching at the fabric of his shirt like he’ll suddenly disintegrate before your eyes.

Above you, Jungkook hums, placing a kiss against the crown of your head. “I look forward to it,” he responds, pulling you impossibly closer, until you can feel the wrinkles in his shirt imprinting themselves against your cheek. He’s back to being that suave bastard again, and you find yourself wishing you had milked those big crocodile tears out of him for just a little bit longer. 

Fingers gently press against the muscles in your nape, push themselves in deeply until you can feel all the tension seeping out, turning you into a limbless blob over Jungkook. “Jeez,” you sigh, eyes fluttering shut. “And you wanted to wait until tomorrow.”

He huffs out a laugh. “I just thought you’d rather get engaged at a fancy restaurant with a pretty dress,” he defends, and you can hear the grin on his face. “For the photos.”

“Fair point,” you concede, eventually pushing yourself up so you’re not entirely squishing your boyfriend beneath you. Jungkook is already looking at you when you lift your head, has got this funny double-chin from this angle that makes his normally sharp jawline disappear. You find yourself tapping a finger against his chin, on the chocolate chip mole that hides itself beneath his plump bottom lip. “If anything, just propose to me again tomorrow at the restaurant.”

It wins you an eye-roll. “I’m not gonna propose to you again tomorrow,” he laughs, doesn’t even push you away when you become annoying and start tapping your fingers against all his beauty marks like you’re playing Whack-a-Mole. 

“Booo,” you frown, but let it go soon enough, foregoing your little game to press your lips against his. “Then I better make this a night to remember,” you murmur, tilting your head to the side.

Your hands dip into his luscious locks, fingernails tracing thin lines along his scalp that are certain to send tingles down his spine. As predicted, Jungkook releases a quiet groan soon after, a sound that’s muffled against your own lips. He’s pliant tonight, but not in a way that would elude fatigue. Pliant in a way that suggests he wants you to take the reins tonight, exhaling softly against you as he parts his lips. 

“Let me take care of you,” you hum, the hand that had been mindlessly hovering along his cheek drifting down to caress the side of his neck. Jungkook nods, his irises swimming in lust. You smile at his silent compliance, give his throat a light squeeze that makes his breathing hitch in surprise. 

He’s always at his prettiest when he’s beneath you like this, limbs moving in slow motion as you guide him along. You can already feel the beginnings of his arousal stirring beneath the front of his sweats, his cock slowly making its presence known against your thigh. You press your lips against his once more, making sure to make it rougher than the first kiss. Your tongue is met with little resistance, slips past his lips and dips into the hot cave of his mouth where Jungkook releases another trembling breath. 

Two hands come up behind you, trail themselves over your back and down to your ass, where he gives the two globes a tight squeeze. It draws a whimper out of you, one that Jungkook greedily swallows up. His tongue rubs up along yours, the wet muscle daringly pushing back against yours. His rebelliousness is only quelled with another press of your fingertips around his throat.

“Slow down,” you tell him. The first roll of your hips against him is slow, cruel in that you cut the motion short just as Jungkook begins to push back. A bratty huff escapes him, swollen pink lips pushing out into that endearing pout you love so much. It makes you grin, releasing the grip around his throat to carefully brush a stray strand of hair away from his eyes. 

It’s a gesture that works to soften Jungkook as well, the petulant look on his face melting away as you trail your pointer finger along his cheekbone. It’s replaced with a more tender one, dark lashes blinking up at you slowly. “Open,” you command upon reaching his mouth, finger pressing down against his pink lower lip. Jungkook obeys, opening his mouth until you can see his pink tongue and the dark abyss that leads down his throat. Your finger pushes itself in, and Jungkook certainly doesn’t try to resist. His lips suction around the digit fairly quickly, tight enough to keep you there but loose enough for you to slowly draw your finger in and out, each short plunge pressing down against his tongue. 

It’s a rather short affair, one that comes to an end when he accidentally bucks up against you, pressing his hardened member against your core. You retract your finger.  “Can you,” he tries, but his cheeks are stained red and he refuses to meet your gaze. “Just…” 

You intercept him with a chaste peck, maneuvering your legs until your knees are firmly pressed into the couch cushions beneath him, his thin waist trapped in between. When you sit up, you feel drunk on power and the way Jungkook looks up at you certainly doesn’t help. “Can I sit on your face?” 

He chokes. “I— sure, please,” he blurts out. His gaze follows you as you slip off of him, quickly discarding your pants and top on the floor. One pat against his thigh has him hurrying to shimmy out of his clothes, his sweatpants caught around his ankles. 

“You’re excited,” you laugh, stripping him of his bottoms when the frustration takes him over. 

Jungkook scoffs. “Well, yeah,” he mumbles, tugging his shirt off with one smooth motion. The ink around his bicep is as dark as ever, contrasts wonderfully against his warm face. “My fiancée is gonna sit on my face.”

The title makes you preen, quickly finding your place on his lap once more. With your clothing out of the way, Jungkook really does become a furnace. Every inch of his body is hot to the touch, soft too. “Fiancée,” you giggle, hands on his chest. They slide down, fingers playfully nudging his brown nipples. Jungkook flinches at the touch. “Gonna sit on my fiancé’s face,” you parrot back, delicately pinching one nipple between your fingers. A moan spills from his lips, his cock pushing against your thigh once more.

It’s the reminder you need, pushing back dutifully against him as you continue to toy with his chest. He’d look pretty with piercings, you find yourself thinking, watching on in fascination at the way his pert nipples stand at attention. Beneath you, Jungkook begins to grow desperate, his hands finding their place on your waist to encourage you to grind down against him once more. 

Jungkook swears up and down that he’s not particularly sensitive about having his nipples touched. But when you’ve got him like this, sinfully laid out before you, you can easily confirm that his claims are nothing but lies. He loves having his nipples touched, squirms beneath you impatiently with each playful tug and twist you bestow upon them. 

You duck down, pressing a kiss against his pectoral, just beside his nipple, and Jungkook’s entire body shivers. A few careful drags of your tongue against his warm skin only serve to string him along further, the prettiest whimper pulling itself from his lips when you finally envelope one of them in your mouth. “Wait,” he gasps, clawing at your clothing as if he both wants to push you off and push you closer. You grin, brandishing one mean nip at the sensitive nub. 

Eventually, your incessant need to play with Jungkook’s chest is fulfilled. “Lay back,” you instruct, watching as he shuffles down flat on the cushions, silver hair tumbling away from his eyes. He’s so red, eyes hazy. Your panties are discarded, joining the ever growing pile of clothes on the floor. 

Once upon a time, the idea of sitting on Jungkook’s face had terrified you, filled you with nightmares of crushing his windpipe or breaking his nose. For the most part, they’re pretty unrealistic fears, ones that can be easily shut down after one careful Google search on safe sexual practices. These days, it’s all too easy; in the mornings, especially, it’s become natural for him to guide you on top carefully, holding your hand as you whimper and sob over his face. 

In the current moment, you find yourself stroking a hand down the side of his face, completely enamored with the huge puppy eyes he levels your way. Jungkook likes having your pussy in his face just as much as you do, loves making you feel good in any way he knows how. But there’s a separate matter at hand, one that stands at attention beneath his black boxers and successfully wins your attention. 

Truthfully, there is no dilemma to ponder over; you want both to ride Jungkook’s face and suck him off. The solution?

“We’ve never done this before,” Jungkook mumbles in amazement, his voice slightly muffled from his position beneath you and slightly behind you. Still, his arms dutifully wrap around your thighs, guiding you closer to his mouth where his hot breath fans against your glistening folds. You rock back willingly, hands preoccupied with pushing his boxers down and away from his engorged cock. 

“Really?” you ask, suddenly feeling overwhelmed with the cock before you and the tongue that gently laps at your folds. Jungkook makes a sound, something between a hum and whimper, his mouth slowly getting to work against your folds. “M- Maybe,” you stutter, all thought processes coming to a halt as you carefully take him in your hand. 

His cock is hard and long, his tip an angry shade that weeps with precum. From this angle, you get to watch Jungkook’s huge thighs twitch at the sensation, the tattoo that marks up one of them doing little to hide the fact. Your hand squeezes him, watches in awe as another fat droplet oozes out of his tip. A moan tears itself from his throat, and it’s so goddamn sexy it nearly drives you insane. 

It’s one particularly long lap of his tongue over your clit that sends you into action, back arching at the tingles that shoot down your spine. Wasting no more time, you guide Jungkook’s cock into your mouth, let your own tongue shower his mushroom tip in kitten licks that have him bucking upwards. He releases your clit with a lewd pop, hot breath fanning across your lips. “Fuck,” he gasps, voice harsh. 

Admittedly, it’s more difficult than you thought it would be. 

You’re not one to be easily overwhelmed (says you), but with Jungkook’s twitching cock in your mouth and his teasing tongue dipping into your entrance, it becomes hard to juggle your attention between the two. Even Jungkook, who is quite frankly the master of cunnilingus, seems torn between the two, his breathing shallow and quick against your folds. 

With each slow descent around his cock, he shudders, thigh muscles tightening in anticipation. It causes a lull in the pace of his tongue, the generous kisses and licks against your folds subject to a somewhat uneven pace that, surprisingly, leaves you more on edge than you’d ever expected it to; right when you think he’s about to suck your clit into his mouth, you’re met with a harsh exhale instead, one that makes your lips flutter. 

You’re both disappointed in yourselves for never having tried this mind-blowing position before, and equal parts understanding as to why you haven’t tried this position before— it’s a lot. His cock is halfway down your throat when it twitches, sends a gush of precum into your mouth that has your eyes rolling backwards, a whine slipping out around him. Jungkook appreciates the vibrations, letting it fuel him as he plunges his tongue into your hole. It’s a two way street, you realize, one that is constantly experiencing traffic. 

“Baby,” you gasp, pulling off of his cock with a slick sound, hypnotized by the trail of saliva that connects your lips to his tip. Jungkook’s tongue prods along your slit, makes your eyesight go blurry when the tip of his nose brushes along you as well. The idea of his cute nose buried deep someplace it shouldn’t be has you grinding down on him. “We can— we should stop,” you stutter, your trembling hand reaching forward to grasp the base of his cock. 

He’s slick with your saliva and his precum, and your hand makes a squelching sound upon contact. It must feel good, because Jungkook moans against your folds, his thighs unconsciously falling farther apart as you slowly jerk him off. You think you might’ve heard your name slip from his lips, but your mind is fuzzy, lost in your lust as Jungkook licks a sinful line from your hole to your clit, curling his tongue at the end. “J- Jungkook,” you cry, flinching away because it’s become too much, your toes curling as the beginnings of an orgasm threaten you. 

Before that can happen, he relents, leaning back with a heavy exhale, his hands loosening their grip against your ass and plopping back down against the cushions. “Fuck,” he pants, his cock twitching in your hold. A lonely droplet of precum trails down the side, your knuckles coated in the glossy substance. Beneath you, Jungkook rubs one soothing palm against your hip. 

You slink off before he can get any funny ideas, maneuver yourself around until you’re kneeling between his parted thighs, his fat cock standing at attention between the two of you. From here, he looks ravenous, and you begin to question who exactly is taking care of who. Jungkook looks like he’s a second away from pinning you down and swallowing you whole, a thought that makes your toes curl. 

It’s with a cautiously horny hand that you reach for his cock again, holding him with both hands. Jungkook growls, head lolling backwards until all you can see is his neck and his chin, thick veins protruding along his skin. Jungkook doesn’t waste a moment longer. “C’mere,” he purrs, hauling you up until you’re clumsily leaning over him, palms framing his face. A lone finger runs down your spine, its faint touch making you arch forward. “Sorry,” he says, securing an arm around your waist. “I know you wanted to take care of me, but…”

You roll your eyes, submitting yourself to his clutches as he masterfully rolls the two of you over. The couch is soft beneath your back, and Jungkook looks pretty from above too. “You just can’t sit still, can you?” you murmur playfully. 

Jungkook’s forearms find their place beneath your thighs, the fold of the back of your knee perfectly slotted against his warm skin as he shuffles closer. “Maybe another time,” he laughs along sheepishly, his hard cock gliding over your slit, teasing your clit. You gulp, eyes scanning over his lean build as if it’s the first time. “Sorry,” he repeats, but he’s got this stupidly dopey grin on his face as he glances down at your pussy; he’s insane, he’s got to be, what man makes heart eyes at a pussy?

Your man, apparently. Grasping the base of his cock, Jungkook takes care to drag it along your folds collecting your wetness along his length, a deep shudder wracking his body through it all. “I knew you would do this to me,” he mutters, so low you nearly miss it under the thundering sound of your heartbeat.

“Huh,” you mumble, and you’d like to defend yourself and say you weren’t as cock-crazy as Jungkook was coochie-crazy, but that would be a lie. You’re staring at his cock as if it holds the secrets to the universe right now.

Jungkook juts his head to the side, a motion similar to the one he does when he’s trying to crack his neck. His tongue prods along his cheek, eyes laser-focused on the point where your two bodies meet. “From the moment you walked into my house,” he grunts mindlessly, finally lining himself up with your entrance. He chances a glance up, meets your gaze with a patient look, “all good?”

“All good,” you hurriedly reply, fingers finding their place against his broad shoulders. With the way he had prepared you earlier, mouthed along your clit and your folds until you were pleasantly aroused, the glide now is too easy. Tight, but easy, has the two of you releasing twin moans that echo off the wooden walls of the cabin. 

Jungkook’s forehead is covered in a thin veil of sweat, one that glistens when the evening sunset pours in through the balcony doors, highlighting him in a golden light that makes you dizzy. The angry tip of his cock sinks into your walls, Jungkook’s ashy strands sticking to his forehead and his cheeks. For some reason, you find yourself reminiscing on the aforementioned moment Jungkook had spoken of. Of the soft sweater he’d worn that day and the dinner he had made, the blond tips on his chestnut hair and the way he’d clung onto every word you’d said. 

It makes you tear up, and, after laughing at Jungkook early for crying, you quickly turn your face away. 

Jungkook isn’t dumb. “What now,” he chuckles, though his breathing is labored, every inch of his cock that penetrates you further bringing with it another rush of adrenaline. At the hilt, you’re embarrassed to say there’s multiple tears streaming down your face, so you can’t even play it off as you usually do. “Crybaby,” Jungkook teases, but his voice is so soft and tender you don’t know what to do with yourself. 

“Just move,” you bite out, shamefully covering your face with your hands. Jungkook leans over you, the movement pushing his dick deeper inside of you, your walls clenching around him. A kiss is placed over your knuckles, just shy of your engagement ring. Your chest lurches with a silent sob. “Jungkook,” you whimper, sinking further into the cushion, “please, just—“

“I got it,” he assures you, placing one final peck against your handmade (literally) shield. And then, so quietly you almost miss it, he makes sure to whisper, “love you,” before unsheathing himself. 

You shudder, your heart feeling so full, you fear it’ll burst. You both love and hate when he treats you like this, like an ice sculpture in the scorching heat that has him doing everything he can to keep you solid. His touch is soft, the roll of his hips too slow for your liking. You feel so small and vulnerable— too pampered. “Harder,” you beg, your voice an airy whine that has Jungkook chuckling above you. 

He lives to please you, hiking your leg over his shoulder with a renewed vigor. His hands find themselves on your waist, forcefully pinning you down against the couch cushions as he sets upon fulfilling your latest request. The next series of thrusts are jerky, have you jostling in his grip as Jungkook pounds into you with an all new mindset. “Lemme see you,” he huffs, thumbs painfully digging into your skin. You tremble in his arms, heart swayed by the quiet plea in his voice. “Let me see your face, pretty girl.”

Reluctantly, you do, brandishing your tear-stricken face his way. Jungkook smiles, that stupidly handsome smile, his hips snapping into you roughly. “Fuck,” he moans, the expression never leaving his face, even when run your nails over his chest harshly. “You’re so pretty.”

You ignore him for the sake of your already weakened mental state, focusing instead on the brutal force of his hips, the way his cock stretches your walls out. Each push has you seeing stars, thighs quivering from the sensations that shoot up your spine and down your toes. “Oh,” you mewl, hands gripping his biceps as you lose yourself to him. Your eyes roll back, vision a mess of colors and nothingness all at once. 

“Is this hard enough?” Jungkook husks out, and he sounds so close. His proximity is confirmed when his mouth slots against yours, his harsh breath mingling with your own as he continues to frantically buck into your inviting heat, each new round of thrusts leaving you weaker and weaker than before. “God,” Jungkook cries, the sound nearly lost beneath your own moans and whimpers. “Gonna k- keep you forever,” he spits, tongue slipping into your mouth.

He’s messier than usual, moves with unrefined movements unlike his normal self. You don’t care, you love him all the same. His sloppy kisses turn into desperate ones, matching the pace of his hips. “Kook,” you sob, arms wrapping themselves around his neck, pulling him close until his thrusts are reduced to a shallower depth. 

“I’ve got you,” he croons, lips against your jawline. His cock presses in and you swear you feel it alongside every inch of your walls, a warmth blossoming in your stomach. He’s layering messy kisses down your face now, lips sucking dark marks any chance he gets. 

True to his word, Jungkook indeed has you. His cock pistons in and out at an astonishing pace, each surge into your folds making you dizzy over and over again. It’s a feeling you fear you’ll never grow tired of, in fact, it’s a feeling you fear you’ll begin to crave even more in the future. The good thing is, that future will extend into forever. 

You yank him towards you, swallow his low laughter with your lips. Jungkook doesn’t complain, lowering himself until he’s practically squishing you beneath his beefy body, cock ramming in and out despite all that. His tongue glides along yours, makes it his mission to muffle each of your cries. 

It doesn’t take long for you to be fulfilled. Given the fact you had sucked him off like a lollipop whilst having him eat you out, you’re not entirely surprised. That and the emotions of tonight have you melting into him sooner than you’d like, his name falling from your lips as your thighs clamp down around his waist. Jungkook takes it in stride, slows the maddening pace of his hips to cradle you in his arms. You’re like jelly, practically flop back into the cushion when he slips an arm beneath you. “You’re so good for me,” Jungkook praises, lavishing your throat in tiny pecks as his orgasm circles around. “My pretty girl.”

“Love you,” you sigh, and your body feels numb, his intrusion but a small touch now that he’s tired you out once more, your walls tender and raw. Jungkook presses a smile against your throat and, moments later, releases inside of you. 

Even minutes after the deed, the feeling refuses to return to your legs. He didn’t go that hard— well, you’re not entirely sure. The memories always become blurry toward the end of your escapades. Everything rushes back in waves, and for some reason, your first thought is, “where’s Sailor Moon?”

Your post-rump conversations have never been the most coherent, usually filled with pretty weird thoughts and ideas. Still, more grand things have happened tonight for you to be worried about a magical anime girl. Jungkook draws himself out of your core with a huff of laughter. “On the TV,” he answers, unfazed by the oddity of your question. 

That’s how you know he’s a keeper.

It takes a while, but eventually Jungkook responds. “Avocado toast,” he says, though his answer is dripping with uncertainty. He’s naked as the day he was born, snuggled up beside you in bed. He’s propped up on one arm, looking down at you over the ample swell of his manly bosom. It takes everything in you to keep your hands off his chest. 

“Correct,” you respond, “and what movie did we watch?”

Without missing a beat, “Transformers, the first one.”

You nod, glancing at the ceiling as you rack your brain for any other trivia questions to ask your fiancé. “The title of the playlist you made?”

A flush paints his cheeks. “Date Night playlist,” he answers through a pout, reprimanding you for bringing up such a memory with a flick to your forehead. You wince. “I was young and silly,” he defends.

You beam, cuddling into his side until he’s forced to lay back down. “Yeah, yeah,” you tease. “We’re only gonna get older from here,” you lament. You’d say it’s difficult to picture him with a gray head of hair, but his current silvery locks don’t leave much room for your imagination.

Jungkook pulls you close. A beat of silence passes, and then, “so who are we telling first?”

Definitely Namjoon.

Copyright © 2021, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.

[the-rule-of-beasts]

Yet another fic that took WAY TOO LONG to finish. I hope it turned out well, but I am incapable of mustering the attention span to proofread any of my writing so,,, we once again die like men in Leshy's cabin.

Anyway, I am once again announcing my love for Leshy. My beloved- old man. Beautiful.

Also shout out to both @kakusu-shipping and @your-stoat-stands-unopposed (I hope you guys don't mind my tagging you, lemme know if you do please!!) for being the inspiration for this one. I love how both of you write Leshy and I,, he deserves to be loved, okay?? I wanted to contribute to the 'making soup for the skrunkly' vibes.

Anyway!! Here ya go!!

New Slang (Leshy x GN!Reader)

In which you share a meal with the Scrybe of Beasts.

At this point, you had a bit of a sixth sense when it came to Leshy. You had known him long enough by now to be well aware of what he needed to survive, and to know just what he needed to thrive on top of that.

Annoyingly however, Leshy himself did not seem to be aware of these facts.

For example, Leshy did not necessarily need to eat. It certainly helped, but it was not a necessity for him. What he needed was sunlight and fresh air, just like a plant. This was something Leshy tended to forget, much to your ever present concern. He spent so much of his time in the dark that it felt a wonder he hadn’t gotten seriously ill by now. You imagined the things he did eat helped with that, but it wasn’t as good as some good old fashioned time in the sun.

And as far as eating went- while he did not need to, it was one of the habits that helped him feel his best. Frustratingly, the man only ever seemed to eat raw meat. Rather bloody raw meat, at that. You would admit, you weren’t exactly sure what a Scrybe’s dietary requirements were, but you imagined that only consuming piles of raw meat of varying sizes could not be the healthiest thing for him.

And that’s where you came in- more specifically, your plan for today.

It had been a long time since you had first arrived in Leshy’s forest realm, longer than you could truly recount. You had come as a challenger, then- vying to replace him out of all the Four and to finally amass some amount of power in this world. That aspiration had not lasted very long, though- it had ended the moment you sat at Leshy’s table and played your first game with him.

Not that you had lost, no! You had actually managed to beat him fairly handily.

No, what had happened was that he had smiled.

He had smiled, rather sweetly at that, and had gently congratulated you on the good plays you had apparently made. He praised you, and expressed his gratitude for having finally met a worthy match.

And you just… didn’t have the heart to keep going after that.

So instead, you decided to settle down in his woods. You made a little home for yourself, surrounded by trees and next to the river. You could hear the waterfalls at night, along with the rustling of trees and the faint song of the wildlife. Bushes of berries grew around the walls of your tiny cottage, and you had started a tiny garden out of vegetables and fruits you had managed to forage across his lands. You were finally at peace- and you owed all of that to Leshy.

Which was perhaps one of the reasons why you were so stubborn to make sure that the man would take some actual care of himself every once in a while.

It was late morning now as you approached his cabin, a wicker basket slung over your right arm and your left hand resting on the colorful quilt that rested atop the contents. It was blessedly cool, a pleasant moisture in the air hinting at a drizzle you may be getting later in the day. You smiled, your feet crunching against dirt and undergrowth as you walked the familiar path to his door. You did not even bother to knock anymore, you knew that he did not mind you showing up unannounced, instead shouldering open the door and setting your basket down on the table next to it. You scanned the room, your eyes almost glancing over Leshy’s looming form hunched over his table. His tail gently swayed back and forth, the tip occasionally twitching and thrashing- a sign that he was deep in thought. You glanced around the room proper, taking note of the very cold hearth and the exceedingly melted candles. He had obviously been up all night, likely working on a new encounter or something. And as admirable as that work ethic was, you could not help the worried sigh that escaped you.

You quietly closed the door behind you, moving towards the Scrybe and calling his name in a gentle voice. He did not seem to notice you until you placed a hand on his shoulder, his eyes coming back into focus and his head lifting from its bent position. He blinked a few times, readjusting to his surroundings before he looked down at you. You smiled as he took a second to process your presence, squeezing his arm as a smile of his own graced his features.

“Morning, Leshy,” you said, moving away from his side to examine the objects littering his table’s surface, “How long have you been up?”

He hesitated for a moment, his brows furrowing and his clawed fingers tapping against one another, “I am not sure. If it is morning already, then…”

You sighed, crossing your arms and leaning your hip against the table, “You’ve been up all night, haven’t you?”

He at least had the decency to look sheepish as he nodded.

You rolled your eyes, the gesture not lacking fondness and moved to thread your hand within his. He looked at you, a tad owlishly, cocking his head to one side and allowing you to playfully tug his arm.

“Well, come on then!” You said, pulling him up from his seat and towards the door, “It’s a lovely day, and I won’t abide you sitting alone in the dark for another minute.”

“But-“

“No buts!” You snapped, grabbing your basket from its resting place and once again shouldering the door open, “You are coming outside with me, and you are going to like it! Do you understand me, young man?”

That got a chuckle out of him, a deep, velvety sound that you could never get enough of. You smiled to yourself, leading him down the beaten path and towards the spot that you had picked out just for today.

It had hit noon when you both arrived at your destination, golden sunlight streaming through the trees and flickering upon the ground like candlelight. The clearing was painted a perfect shade of green, the sound of rustling leaves and distant birdsong adding a sweet warmth to the surroundings. In the very center, overgrown with moss and vines, was a toppled tree- long overtaken by the wilderness and blending in rather well with the dense undergrowth of the area. You had thought this place rather beautiful when you had first seen it, all idealistic and golden like a painting of old. You had picked it specifically for today, deciding that this would be the perfect location for your impromptu date with the Scrybe. You smiled up at him, watching Leshy’s wonderstruck expression with a warm sort of softness. His gaze swept across the landscape, eventually settling back on you when you gave his arm a gentle tug.

“Come on,” came your soft voice, Leshy finding himself unable to do anything but to follow you to the overgrown log. He sat besides you, finding that his chest clenched and his heart stuttered when you finally removed your tiny hand from his own. It took quite a bit of effort not to simply grab it back and force you to hold his hand for the rest of the day, and he was rather impressed with his self restraint- all things considered.

You weren’t quite paying attention to Leshy’s lovestruck expression as you unfolded your colorful quilt, laying it across the grass and beginning to lay out the feast you had carefully prepared for today. Fresh bread wrapped in embroidered cloth, blackberry jam, little bowls of blueberries and raspberries, venison you had bought from the Trapper, seasoned to your liking with sage and rosemary. There was honey wine, a project you had spent nearly the whole year on, infused with elderflower and berry. You set all this out with a careful hand, stealing a glance at Leshy’s surprised face and trying hard to hide your smug smile. You had planned this day for a whole week by now, and you hoped that a good meal would serve your beloved Leshy well.

You met his eyes with an adoring smile, placing a wooden plate before him and filling an earthen mug with your honey wine, sliding it next to the plate, “Eat as much as you want!”

He did not reply for a long moment, looking over the spread with an expression that was almost… teary. He shifted slightly, an uncertain hand reaching out until it hovered just above your own. He seemed to be lost completely in thought, his eyes darting between you, the food, your hand, and then back to your face. You smiled to yourself, shaking your head fondly and making the decision for him. You leaned up up and up, taking a moment to appreciate just how tall the Scrybe was even when sitting, and cupped his cheek in your hand. He snapped out of his reverie, looking rather like a frightened fawn, his eyes wide and his lips parting ever so slightly in his surprise.

It was during times like these when you remembered just how strangely cute Leshy could be.

You gently pulled his head towards your own, pressing your forehead against his and closing your eyes for a moment. It was only when you felt him finally relax in your hand that you opened them again, studying his contented expression and the fluttering of his eyelashes against his cheeks. You trailed a languid path with your thumbs, reveling in the feeling of moss and brush tickling your skin. You smiled, you did that a lot around Leshy, exhaling a breathy laugh and finally- finally doing the very thing you had wanted to do since meeting him.

You kissed him, gentle as rain and as sweet as your honey wine, your eyes closing and his form all but melting against you. Neither of you knew how long the kiss lasted, and neither of you particularly cared. It was the here and now that mattered, the dappled sunlight dancing across your tangled limbs like starlight on a crystalline lake.

Leshy did not let go of you, even after you finally managed to pull away from each other. His side pressed against yours and his long tail wrapped around your waist. He ate and drank, mumbling thanks and sweet nothings in a language that sounded like music. And when the meal was finished, when the wine was drunk and the sun had begun to paint the sky a soft and luminescent pink, he laid himself down on your lap, reveling in the feeling of your deft fingers combining through his wild hair, gently picking dead and dying foliage from the mass.

If there was ever a moment in time he would want to immortalize, he thought, it would be now. Now, with his dearest and most beloved. Here, where he was loved and cared for in a way he had never experienced before.

And you? You were more than happy to continue to care for him. He was the sun in the sky, and you would happily pluck the stars for him, move mountains, turn the very moon in the sky into a ring befitting of his beauty.

But all that could wait. For now was for soft quiet. Now was for an old love blossoming at last. Now was for an ancient song’s swelling, joyous refrain.

Now was for you and Leshy, and you would not change that for the world.