#WHERE ARE THEY WHERE ARE THEY WHERE ARE THEY WH

[andrejstasiistais]

spring yard work break / yap sesh

[gukcnt]

۶ৎ EMBERS OF UNSEEN LOVE —

“You’re my only, Y/N. You’ve always been my only. I’ve spent years watching you, loving you, dreaming of you, and I’ve never wanted anyone else. Not those girls, not anyone. Just you—your heart, your soul, your body, every fucking part of you. I love you the way you are, and I’ll spend the rest of my life proving it to you, making you believe it, until you see yourself the way I see you.”

pairing: dom!jungkook x sub!femreader

genre: brothers bestfriend au, college au, forbidden love, slowburn, unrequited love, pining, friends to lovers, reserved!jungkook, tattoo artist!jungkook, shy insecure!reader, romance, smut, fluff, angst

warnings: 18+, explicit smut, protective!jungkook, obsessed!jungkook, angry!jungkook, hard dom!jungkook, emotional vulnerability, self-doubt and insecurity, body positivity journey, emotional confrontation, argument, angry love confessions, domestic intimacy, avoidance and isolation, tearful moments, affirmations of wrath, confidence growth, he gets a tattoo for her, rejection fears, commitment vows, multiple sex scenes, multiple orgasms, multiple orgasms, oral sex (f. receiving), cunnilingus, eating out, tongue fucking, clit sucking, face riding, face sitting, cum swallowing, fingering, clit stimulation, oral sex (m. receiving), cock sucking and palming, face fucking, hair fisting, making out, hickies/markings, scratching, body worship, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, slight anal play, spanking, rough sex, passionate sex, tender sex, moments of softness and reverence during sex, several worshipping during sex, words of affirmations, praise kink, lots of breast play, nipple play, nipple sucking, he is obsessed with her tits, tit fucking, shower sex, squirting, he cums on her breasts, dirty talk, standing sex, car sex, semi public sex, doggy position, sex against the wall, emotional intimacy during sex, clothed sex, wet sex, quickie vibes, orgasm denial, several aftercare scenes, softest aftercare

wc: 10.8k

part: 01 / 02 / 03 (final)

a/n: i have such a soft spot for this couple especially y/n she went through a lot and deserves all the love she got and i knoww we all deserve a man like jungkook :') but i hope you guys enjoyed this short series, love y'all !

masterlist

۶ৎ

The week following the pool party was a descent into a self-imposed exile, your heart a battlefield of hope and fear, your mind a relentless storm of doubt. You barricaded yourself in your room, the familiar pastel walls and cluttered bookshelves no longer a sanctuary but a cage where your insecurities festered. The memory of Jungkook’s touch—his lips on yours, his hands worshipping your curves, his voice whispering I love you—was a double-edged sword, both a lifeline and a torment. What if it was a mistake? What if his words, spoken in the heat of anger and passion, were just fleeting pity for the girl who’d been humiliated in front of everyone? The mirror in your room, once avoided, became an enemy you couldn’t escape, reflecting back your soft stomach, your thick thighs, your arms that jiggled with every movement—proof, you convinced yourself, that you could never be enough for someone like him.

You ignored his calls, each one a dagger to your heart, the screen of your phone lighting up with his name—Jungkook—followed by texts that piled up, unread but searing in their presence. "Y/N, please talk to me. I miss you. I meant everything I said. Why are you shutting me out?" Each message was a plea, a crack in the armor of the reserved man you’d known for years, but you couldn’t bring yourself to respond. The fear of seeing pity in his eyes, of hearing him retract his words, was paralyzing. You deleted voicemails without listening, your fingers trembling, your chest tight with unshed tears, the sound of his voice—low, gravelly, desperate—too much to bear.

You avoided places where you might see him, your routine meticulously altered to erase any chance of crossing paths. The coffee shop near campus, where you’d sometimes spotted him sketching in a corner, was off-limits, its warm aroma of espresso replaced by the instant coffee you brewed in your dorm’s kitchenette, the taste bitter and unsatisfying. The park where Minho played basketball, where Jungkook’s laughter had once carried over the court, was a memory you buried, opting instead for long walks through quieter streets, your earbuds blasting music to drown out your thoughts. Even your own home, once a haven, felt like a minefield. When Minho mentioned Jungkook might stop by, you’d feign a headache, retreating to your room with a book you didn’t read, the words blurring as you strained to hear the front door, praying he wouldn’t come.

One evening, you nearly ran into him at the grocery store, your heart lurching when you spotted his familiar figure—black hoodie, dark jeans, a strand of hair falling over his eyes—pushing a cart down the aisle. You froze, your basket of instant noodles and apples suddenly heavy, your breath catching as you ducked behind a display of canned goods, your pulse racing. He hadn’t seen you, but the sight of him—his broad shoulders, the tattoos peeking from his sleeve, the way his jaw tightened as he scanned the shelves—sent a wave of longing and fear crashing over you. You abandoned your basket, fleeing the store, the cold night air biting your cheeks as you walked home, tears streaming down your face, your heart aching with the weight of what you were running from.

Another time, you saw his motorcycle parked outside Minho’s favorite diner, the sleek black machine gleaming under the streetlights, its curves a stark reminder of its owner. You’d been on your way to meet a study group, but the sight stopped you cold, your feet rooted to the sidewalk, your breath shallow. You imagined him inside, his dark eyes scanning the menu, his fingers drumming restlessly against the table, his rare smile flashing at something Minho said. The thought of facing him, of seeing rejection in his gaze, was unbearable. You turned back, texting your group an excuse, your apartment’s silence a poor substitute for the laughter you’d left behind.

Your avoidance wasn’t just physical—it was emotional, a wall you built brick by brick, each one cemented with doubt. You stopped wearing the emerald dress, shoving it to the back of your closet, its vibrant green a mocking reminder of your failed attempt at confidence. You reverted to baggy clothes—oversized sweaters, loose jeans, anything to hide the body you’d bared to him, the body he’d called perfect but you couldn’t believe deserved his love. Your reflection became a battleground, your mornings spent staring at your flaws, your evenings lost to spiraling thoughts of inadequacy. You told yourself you were protecting your heart, but every ignored call, every avoided place, only deepened the ache, a hollow space where Jungkook’s presence used to be.

But Jungkook wasn’t one to be ignored, not when it came to you. His patience, stretched thin by your silence, finally snapped, his love and frustration a volatile mix that propelled him to your doorstep. It was a Thursday evening, the sky bruised with twilight, the air heavy with the promise of rain. You were in the living room, curled on the couch with a book you weren’t reading, the pages untouched for hours, your mind replaying the pool party, his arms around you, his voice in your ear. The front door burst open, the sound jarring, and there he was—Jeon Jungkook, a storm in human form, his leather jacket slung over his shoulder, his boots scuffed from the night at the pool, his dark hair damp from the mist outside, falling into eyes that blazed with a mix of anger and desperation.

You froze, your book slipping from your lap, your heart lurching as he filled the room, his presence a gravitational force that pulled every ounce of your attention. His cologne—sandalwood, musk, and something uniquely him—wrapped around you, a scent that had haunted your dreams, now painfully real. His chest heaved, his jaw clenched, his tattoos stark against his skin, the wolf on his shoulder seeming to snarl under the dim light. He looked like a predator, fierce and unyielding, but his eyes—those deep, piercing eyes—held a vulnerability that made your breath catch, a raw need that mirrored your own.

“Why are you running from me?” he demanded, his voice a low growl, rough with emotion, as he advanced, backing you against the wall, his hands caging you in, his body close enough to feel the heat radiating from him. His breath was ragged, his eyes dark and stormy, his fingers flexing against the wall, as if it took everything in him not to touch you. “You think you can just walk away after that night? After everything I said? After I poured my fucking heart out to you?”

Your back hit the wall, the cool plaster a stark contrast to the fire in your chest, your hands trembling as you clutched the hem of your oversized sweater, the fabric a shield against his intensity. “I’m not running,” you lied, your voice trembling, your eyes fixed on his chest, unable to meet his gaze, the tattoos peeking from his shirt a distraction from the storm in his eyes. “I just… I thought it was a mistake. That you didn’t mean it. That you only… because you were angry, or you felt sorry for me.”

“A mistake?” he repeated, his voice low and dangerous, a growl that vibrated in your bones, his hands slamming against the wall on either side of your head, making you flinch. His eyes narrowed, his jaw ticking, his breath hot against your face, his anger a living thing that filled the space between you. “You think I’d say I love you, that I’d touch you, fuck you, like it was some kind of fucking mistake? Do you know how long I’ve held back, Y/N? How many years I’ve watched you, wanted you, and kept my distance because I thought I wasn’t good enough for you?”

You flinched at his words, your tears spilling, your heart pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it, your hands twisting in your sweater, your nails digging into your palms. “But I’m not… I’m not enough,” you whispered, your voice breaking, your eyes finally meeting his, wide and wet, filled with the pain you’d carried too long. “You saw me that night, Jungkook. You saw what they said, what they think of me. I’m not like those girls. I’m not thin, I’m not pretty, I’m not… I can’t be what you want. You deserve better.”

His eyes darkened, a storm of emotions flashing through them—anger, hurt, love, all tangled together, his hands trembling as they framed your face, his thumbs brushing your tears, his touch gentle despite the fury in his gaze. “Don’t you dare,” he growled, his voice raw, his breath hitching, his eyes burning into yours with an intensity that stole your breath. “Don’t you dare tell me what I deserve, Y/N. I’ve been in love with you for years—fucking years. I’ve seen you, every single day, hiding in those baggy clothes, blushing, tripping over your words, thinking you’re not enough. And every time, it killed me, because to me, you’re everything.”

You sobbed, your tears streaming down your cheeks, his words piercing the walls you’d built, cracking the foundation of your doubt. “But how can you love me?” you choked out, your voice thick with pain, your hands clutching his shirt, desperate for an anchor. “Look at me, Jungkook. I’m not… I’m not beautiful. I’m not like them. I’m just… me. Fat, shy, invisible me.”

His jaw tightened, his eyes flashing with a fierce, almost feral intensity, his hands tightening on your face, his thumbs wiping your tears with a tenderness that belied his anger. “You’re not invisible,” he said, his voice low and fierce, each word a vow. “Not to me. You’ve never been invisible, Y/N. I’ve seen you—every fucking day, every moment. The way you smile when you think no one’s looking, the way you bite your lip when you’re nervous, the way you light up when you talk about your books. I see your heart, your mind, your strength. And your body—fuck, your body, Y/N. Every curve, every inch, it’s fucking perfect to me. You’re a goddess, and I’m obsessed with you.”

You shook your head, your sobs wracking you, your insecurities screaming that he was lying, that this was too good to be true. “But what if you change your mind?” you whispered, your voice small, your eyes searching his, desperate for reassurance. “What if you wake up one day and realize I’m not enough? That you could have someone better, someone prettier, someone who doesn’t… who doesn’t hate themselves?”

His eyes softened, the anger giving way to a raw, aching tenderness, his hands sliding to your shoulders, pulling you into his chest, his arms wrapping around you, strong and unyielding. “I’m never going to change my mind,” he said, his voice breaking, his lips brushing your hair, his breath warm against your scalp. “You’re my only, Y/N. You’ve always been my only. I’ve spent years watching you, loving you, dreaming of you, and I’ve never wanted anyone else. Not those girls, not anyone. Just you—your heart, your soul, your body, every fucking part of you. I love you the way you are, and I’ll spend the rest of my life proving it to you, making you believe it, until you see yourself the way I see you.”

You broke, your sobs muffled against his chest, your hands fisting his shirt, the warmth of him grounding you, his heartbeat a steady rhythm under your cheek. His arms tightened, his lips pressing to your forehead, your temple, your cheek, soft and reverent, each kiss a promise, a vow. “You’re mine,” he whispered, his voice raw, his hands stroking your back, your hair, his touch a lifeline. “And I’m yours, Y/N. I’ve always been yours. Don’t you dare run from me again, because I can’t fucking take it. I need you. I love you.”

You pulled back, your eyes red and swollen, your breath shaky, but his words had cracked something open in you, a flicker of hope you couldn’t extinguish. “You really mean it?” you asked, your voice trembling, your hands still clutching his shirt, your eyes searching his, needing the truth.

“Yes,” he said, his voice firm, his eyes fierce and soft, his hands cupping your face, his thumbs brushing your lips, your cheeks, his gaze unwavering. “I mean every fucking word. I love you, Y/N. I love your mind, your heart, your laugh, your blush, your curves—everything. I’ve seen you, all these years, and I’ve never stopped wanting you. You’re my home, my everything. And I’ll fight for you, every day, until you believe you’re enough—because to me, you’re more than enough. You’re my fucking world.”

You sobbed, your heart swelling, your doubts crumbling under the weight of his love, his conviction. He pulled you closer, his lips crashing into yours, the kiss fierce and desperate, a collision of need and love, his tongue sweeping against yours, his hands roaming your body, claiming you with every touch. His fingers dug into your hips, pulling you flush against him, the hardness of him pressing through his jeans, a reminder of the night you’d shared, the passion you’d ignited. The kiss was messy, teeth clashing, breaths mingling, your tears mixing with his, a raw, unfiltered expression of everything you’d both held back for years.

“Don’t ever shut me out again,” he growled against your lips, his voice rough, his hands tightening, his eyes blazing with a mix of love and frustration. “You hear me, Y/N? I can’t fucking lose you. I won’t. You’re mine, and I’m not letting you hide from this, from us. I love you, and I’ll keep saying it, keep showing you, until you believe it, until you see the woman I see—the most beautiful, incredible, fucking perfect woman I’ve ever known.”

You nodded, your tears falling, your heart open, raw, and his, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, needing the anchor of his touch, his words, his love. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice breaking, your lips brushing his, your breath shaky. “I was scared. I didn’t think… I didn’t think I could be what you wanted.”

“You’re everything I want,” he said, his voice fierce, his eyes locking onto yours, his hands framing your face, his thumbs wiping your tears. “Everything, Y/N. I’ve spent years holding back, watching you, loving you, and I’m done hiding. I want you—now, tomorrow, always. Just the way you are. Don’t you dare doubt that, because I’ll never stop proving it to you.”

The kiss softened, his lips lingering, his hands stroking your cheeks, your neck, your shoulders, a promise in every touch. You melted into him, your doubts quieted, your heart full, his love a shield against the world, against yourself. For the first time, you believed him, trusted his words, saw yourself through his eyes—a woman worthy of love, of him, of everything he offered. And in that moment, you knew you’d never run again, not from him, not from the love that had been waiting for you all along.

The air in your bedroom was thick with anticipation, the faint scent of your lavender candles mingling with the musk of Jungkook’s cologne—sandalwood, cedar, and something darker, primal, that clung to your senses like a second skin. The door clicked shut behind him, the lock snapping into place with a sound that echoed in the quiet, sealing you both in a world where nothing else existed. The dim glow of your bedside lamp cast soft shadows across the room, painting the walls in hues of amber and gold, the light catching the sharp angles of Jungkook’s face—his high cheekbones, the strong line of his jaw, the faint scar above his eyebrow that you’d memorized years ago. His dark eyes burned with a mix of anger and desire, his bare chest heaving, the tattoos on his skin—a wolf snarling on his shoulder, a constellation of stars across his ribs, a crescent moon above his heart—glistening with a sheen of sweat, each line of ink a story you longed to trace.

You stood before him, your heart pounding, your body trembling under the weight of his gaze. His leather jacket lay discarded on the floor, his boots scuffed from the night at the pool, his jeans tight against his thighs, the bulge of his arousal unmistakable. He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming, a storm contained in human form, and you felt the heat of him before he even touched you, his breath warm and ragged, his eyes raking over you like a predator sizing up its prey. But there was tenderness there, too, a softness that made your chest ache, a love that threatened to unravel you.

His hands slamming against the wall on either side of your head, making you jump. His eyes blazed, dark and fierce, his jaw clenched so tightly you could see the muscle ticking, his lips curling into a snarl. “Y/N, I’ve been in love with you since the moment I saw you. You were fourteen, sitting on that damn couch with your book, your cheeks all pink, your eyes so big and shy. I walked into your house, and it was like the world stopped. I knew I was fucked, because you were Minho’s little sister, and I was just some punk kid who didn’t deserve you. But I couldn’t stop wanting you. Every time you’d hide in your room, every time you’d blush and stumble over your words, I fell harder. And you think that was a mistake?”

You sobbed, your tears spilling over, your heart cracking open under the weight of his confession, the rawness of his voice cutting through your doubts like a blade. “Jungkook,” you choked, your hands reaching for him, clutching his arms, your fingers digging into the hard muscle, the warmth of his skin grounding you. “I—I loved you too. From that first day. I was so scared, because I wasn’t pretty, I wasn’t… I wasn’t enough. I hid because I thought you’d never see me, not like that. I thought you’d never want me.”

“Never want you?” he repeated, his voice breaking, his hands cupping your face, his thumbs brushing away your tears, his touch warm and steady, his eyes softening even as they burned. “Y/N, you’re all I’ve ever wanted. You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen—your heart, your mind, your body, every fucking inch of you. I’ve spent years trying to stay away, trying to be good, but I can’t anymore. I’m done pretending I don’t need you.”

You broke, your sobs wracking you, and he pulled you into his arms, his lips crashing into yours, the kiss fierce and desperate, a collision of years of pent-up longing. His mouth was hot, demanding, his tongue sweeping against yours, tasting of mint and the faint tang of the beer he’d had earlier, his teeth grazing your lower lip, drawing a moan from your throat. His hands roamed, sliding under your T-shirt, his fingers rough and calloused from his tattoo gun, tracing the soft curve of your waist, the dip of your spine, the fullness of your hips, his touch reverent yet possessive, like he was claiming every inch of you.

“Take this off,” he murmured against your lips, his voice a low command, his hands tugging at your shirt, his eyes dark with need. You hesitated, your insecurities flaring, but he pulled back, his gaze locking onto yours, fierce and unyielding. “Don’t hide from me, Y/N. You’re mine, and I want to see you. All of you.”

You nodded, your breath hitching, and lifted your arms, letting him pull the shirt over your head, baring your body to him—your full breasts, the soft swell of your stomach, the thick curves of your thighs, the glistening heat between your legs. His eyes darkened, his breath catching, his hands trembling as he took you in, his cock straining against his jeans, the sight making your mouth water, your core aching with need.

“Fuck,” he breathed, his voice thick with awe, his hands reaching for you, his fingers tracing the outline of your breasts, the curve of your hips, the dip of your navel, his touch worshipful, his eyes blazing with obsession. “You’re so fucking beautiful, Y/N. I’m fucking obsessed with you. Every curve, every inch—I’ve dreamed of this, of you, for so fucking long.”

He knelt before you, his hands gripping your hips, his lips brushing your stomach, kissing the soft skin, his breath hot and ragged, his stubble grazing you, sending shivers through your body. “You’re perfect,” he murmured, his voice rough, his hands kneading your ass, his lips trailing lower, kissing the tops of your thighs, the sensitive skin near your core. “You’re a fucking goddess, Y/N. Don’t you ever doubt that. Those girls—they’re nothing. They’ll never be you. They’ll never fucking compare.”

You blushed, your insecurities flaring, but his hands held you firm, his eyes fierce, his lips curling into a predatory smile. “Don’t hide,” he growled, his voice a command wrapped in a plea, his hands spreading your thighs, his gaze fixed on your throbbing core, wet and aching for him. “You’re mine, Y/N. Let me worship you. Let me make you feel how fucking perfect you are.”

He pulled you to the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight, the sheets cool against your heated skin, the air thick with the scent of your arousal, his cologne, the faint musk of sweat. He guided you to straddle his face, his hands firm on your hips, his eyes blazing with hunger, his breath hot against your core. You hesitated, your insecurities screaming—your weight, your curves, the fear of being too much—but he growled, his voice rough, his hands digging into your flesh, leaving faint marks.

“Sit, baby,” he commanded, his voice a low rumble, his eyes dark and fierce, his lips curling into a smirk. “I want all of you. Every fucking inch. Give me everything, Y/N. Don’t you dare hold back.”

You lowered yourself, your thighs trembling, your breath hitching as his tongue found you, hot and wet, lapping at your folds with a hunger that made you gasp, your hands gripping the headboard, the wood smooth and cool under your palms. His tongue was relentless, broad strokes followed by sharp flicks, circling your clit, sucking gently, the suction making your toes curl, your hips bucking involuntarily. His hands kneaded your ass, his fingers digging in, guiding your movements, urging you to grind against his face, his moans vibrating against your core, the sensation sending sparks of pleasure through you.

“Fuck, you taste so good,” he groaned, his voice muffled, his tongue delving deeper, licking into you, the wet heat of his mouth overwhelming. His stubble grazed your sensitive skin, the slight burn adding to the intensity, his nose brushing your clit as he buried his face in you, his breath hot and ragged, his eyes locked on yours, watching you unravel. “So fucking sweet, Y/N. I could eat you forever. Come on, baby, ride my face. Use me.”

You did, your hips rolling, your thighs trembling, your hands fisting his hair, the dark strands soft and thick between your fingers, his scalp warm under your touch. His tongue worked you with a skill that made your head spin, alternating between slow, deliberate licks and rapid flicks, his lips sucking your clit, the pressure building, sharp and electric. His fingers joined, two sliding inside you, curling just right, hitting that spot that made you cry out, your walls clenching around him, the stretch and pressure driving you wild.

“Jungkook,” you moaned, your voice breaking, your head tipping back, your body shaking, the pleasure a tidal wave threatening to drown you. “I—I can’t—oh my God—”

“Yes, you can,” he growled, his voice rough, his hands gripping your hips, pulling you down harder, his tongue relentless, his fingers pumping, the wet sounds of your arousal filling the room, obscene and intoxicating. “Give it to me, baby. Let go. I want you to fucking squirt for me, Y/N. I want to taste every fucking drop.”

His words pushed you over the edge, the pressure snapping, your orgasm crashing through you, a white-hot wave that left you trembling, your cries loud and desperate, your body shuddering as you came, hard and wet, your release gushing against his tongue, soaking his face. He groaned, his moans primal, his tongue lapping at you, drinking you in, his hands holding you steady, his eyes blazing with obsession, his lips glistening with your essence.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he rasped, his voice thick with awe, his tongue still licking, slower now, coaxing every last shudder from you, his hands stroking your thighs, your ass, his touch reverent. “You’re so fucking perfect, Y/N. So fucking mine.”

You were panting, your body trembling, your core oversensitive, but he didn’t stop, his lips kissing your thighs, your stomach, your breasts, his hands worshipping every inch, his touch a mix of reverence and possession. He pulled you down, his lips crashing into yours, the kiss messy and hungry, letting you taste yourself, the tang of your release mingling with his minty breath, his tongue claiming you all over again.

“On your knees,” he murmured, his voice a low command, his eyes dark with need, his hands guiding you to the floor, the carpet soft under your knees, the air cool against your heated skin. “I want your mouth, baby. Show me how much you want me.”

You hesitated, your insecurities flaring, but his hands cupped your face, his thumbs brushing your cheeks, his eyes softening, his voice a velvet caress. “You’re perfect,” he said, his voice firm, his eyes fierce and adoring. “You can do this, Y/N. I’ve dreamed of your lips around me, of you taking me. Please, baby.”

You nodded, your breath hitching, your hands reaching for him, tugging at his jeans, the denim rough under your fingers, the zipper cool and metallic. He helped you, shedding his jeans and boxers, his cock springing free—thick, hard, the tip glistening with precum, the veins prominent, the sight making your mouth water, your core clenching with need. He was big, bigger than you’d imagined, the length and girth intimidating, but the want in his eyes, the love in his touch, gave you courage.

You wrapped your hand around him, the heat of him searing, the skin velvet-soft over steel, pulsing under your touch. He groaned, his head tipping back, his hands fisting in your hair, the strands soft and thick, his grip firm but gentle. “Fuck, Y/N,” he rasped, his voice thick, his hips twitching as you stroked him, slow and deliberate, your thumb brushing the tip, spreading the precum, the slickness making your movements smoother.

You leaned forward, your breath hot against him, your lips brushing the tip, tasting the salt of him, the musk of his arousal heady and intoxicating. You took him into your mouth, slow and tentative, your tongue swirling around the head, the texture smooth and warm, the taste of him overwhelming. He groaned, his hands tightening in your hair, his hips rocking slightly, urging you deeper.

“Fuck, baby, you feel so good,” he groaned, his voice rough, his eyes locked on yours, watching you take him, his cock stretching your lips, the weight of him heavy on your tongue. “Take it slow, Y/N. You’re doing so fucking good. So fucking perfect.”

You relaxed your throat, taking him deeper, your lips sliding down his length, the stretch making your jaw ache, the taste of him filling your senses, his groans spurring you on. You bobbed your head, your tongue licking the underside, your hand stroking what your mouth couldn’t take, the wet sounds of your movements mingling with his moans, the air thick with desire. His hips rocked, slow and controlled, his hands guiding you, his fingers tangling in your hair, his breath ragged.

“Fuck, Y/N, you’re killing me,” he groaned, his voice breaking, his eyes dark with need, his cock twitching in your mouth, the heat of him overwhelming. “Your mouth—fuck, it’s so fucking perfect. I’ve wanted this for so long.”

You hummed, the vibration making him shudder, his hands tightening, his control fraying. He pulled you off, his cock glistening with your saliva, his breath ragged, his eyes blazing. “Not yet,” he rasped, his voice thick, his hands cupping your face, pulling you up to kiss you, the kiss messy and desperate, his tongue tasting himself on you, his groans primal.

He guided you to the bed, his hands firm but gentle, laying you on your back, the sheets cool against your heated skin, the mattress dipping under his weight. He climbed over you, his lips crashing into yours, the kiss hungry, his hands roaming, worshipping your curves—your full breasts, the soft swell of your stomach, the thick curves of your thighs, his fingers digging in, leaving faint marks, his touch possessive yet reverent.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured, his voice rough, his lips trailing down your neck, kissing the hollow of your throat, his stubble grazing your skin, sending shivers through you. “I’m fucking obsessed with you, Y/N. Every curve, every inch—I want to memorize you, taste you, fuck you until you know you’re mine.”

He kissed your breasts, his lips hot and wet, his tongue swirling around your nipple, the sensation sharp and electric, making you gasp, your hands fisting the sheets, the cotton soft and cool under your palms. He sucked gently, his teeth grazing, the slight pain mingling with pleasure, his hand kneading your other breast, his thumb brushing your nipple, making you arch into him.

“Jungkook,” you moaned, your voice needy, your core aching, your thighs pressing together, seeking friction. He growled, his hand sliding between your legs, his fingers brushing your folds, finding you wet and throbbing, the slickness coating his fingers, making him groan.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he rasped, his voice thick, his fingers circling your clit, the pressure making you gasp, your hips bucking. “All for me, baby. You’re fucking dripping for me.”

He moved lower, kissing your stomach, his lips lingering on the soft skin, his hands spreading your thighs, his eyes fixed on your core, glistening and ready. “I’m not done with you,” he murmured, his voice a low growl, his hands gripping your hips, pulling you to the edge of the bed. “I want you to ride me, Y/N. I want to feel you, see you, fucking take you.”

He lay back, his cock hard and ready, the sight making your breath catch, your core clenching with need. He guided you to straddle him, his hands firm on your hips, his eyes dark with hunger, his breath ragged. “Come here, baby,” he said, his voice a low command, his hands helping you position yourself, his cock brushing your entrance, the heat of him making you shiver. “Ride me. Show me how fucking perfect you are.”

You sank onto him, the stretch intense, a delicious burn that made you gasp, your walls clenching around him, the fullness overwhelming. He groaned, his hands gripping your hips, his fingers digging in, leaving faint marks, his head tipping back, his eyes half-lidded, his tattoos stark against his skin. “Fuck, Y/N,” he rasped, his voice thick, his hips rocking up to meet you, the friction sparking pleasure with every move. “You feel so fucking good. So fucking tight.”

You braced your hands on his chest, feeling the flex of his muscles, the heat of his skin, the crescent moon tattoo under your palm, the ink warm and alive. You moved, slow at first, your hips rolling, finding a rhythm, the pleasure building, sharp and electric. His cock filled you, hitting deep, the angle perfect, each thrust sending sparks through your body, your moans mingling with his groans, the air thick with the scent of sex, sweat, and desire.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” he groaned, his voice breaking, his hands roaming, cupping your breasts, kneading your ass, his fingers digging in, possessive and reverent. “Look at you, taking me so fucking well. You’re a fucking goddess, Y/N. I’m fucking obsessed with you.”

His words drove you wild, your confidence blooming, your insecurities fading under his worship, his love. You leaned forward, your lips crashing into his, the kiss desperate, your tongues tangling, your teeth grazing, your breaths mingling. His hands gripped your ass, guiding your movements, his hips thrusting up, harder, deeper, the friction and Your body responded, your walls clenching around him, the pleasure building, sharp and overwhelming, your moans loud and desperate.

“Jungkook,” you gasped, your voice breaking, your nails digging into his chest, leaving faint marks, your hips grinding, the friction intense, the pressure coiling tight. “I’m close—oh my God—”

“Not yet,” he growled, his voice rough, his hands gripping your hips, flipping you onto your back, his movements swift and controlled, his cock never leaving you, the stretch and fullness making you cry out. He loomed over you, his eyes dark with need, his tattoos glistening, his muscles flexing, his breath ragged. “I’m not done with you, Y/N. You’re mine, and I’m gonna make you come so fucking hard you’ll never doubt me again.”

He thrust into you, hard and deep, the pace relentless, each movement precise, hitting that spot inside you that made you see stars, the pleasure a tidal wave, your body trembling, your cries loud and desperate. His hand slipped between you, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing in tight circles, the pressure perfect, the sensation pushing you to the edge.

“Come for me, baby,” he growled, his voice rough, his eyes locked on yours, his cock driving into you, his fingers relentless, his breath hot against your ear. “Let me feel you. Let me feel how fucking perfect you are. You’re mine, Y/N. Fucking mine.”

You shattered, your orgasm crashing through you, a white-hot wave that left you trembling, your walls pulsing around him, your cries loud and desperate, your body shaking, your vision blurring. He groaned, his hips stuttering, his own release following, hot and deep, his cock pulsing, spilling inside you, his breath ragged, his hands gripping you, his body trembling, his eyes soft and fierce.

But he wasn’t done. He pulled you up, his hands firm, his eyes blazing, his cock still hard, glistening with your combined release. “You’re not leaving me again,” he growled, his voice thick with anger, his hands gripping your ass, delivering a sharp spank, the sting making you gasp, your core clenching, the pleasure-pain sparking new desire. “You hear me, Y/N? You’re mine. You don’t get to run, you don’t get to doubt me. I fucking love you, and I’ll spank you every fucking day if that’s what it takes to make you believe it.”

“Jungkook,” you moaned, your voice needy, your body responding, your core aching, your thighs trembling. “I’m sorry—I love you—I won’t—”

“You’re damn right you won’t,” he growled, his hands gripping your hips, guiding you back onto his cock, the stretch intense, the fullness overwhelming, the pleasure building again, sharp and electric. “Ride me again, baby. Show me you’re mine. Show me you fucking love me.”

You did, your hips rolling, your hands bracing against his chest, the crescent moon tattoo under your palm, the ink warm and alive, his muscles flexing, his skin hot and slick. You rode him, hard and fast, your moans loud and desperate, your body trembling, the pleasure a tidal wave, his groans spurring you on, his hands gripping your ass, delivering another spank, the sting making you cry out, your core clenching, the pleasure-pain driving you wild.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking perfect,” he groaned, his voice breaking, his eyes locked on yours, his hands roaming, worshipping your curves, his fingers digging in, possessive and reverent. “I’ve loved you since I saw you, Y/N. You were a kid, and I was a fucking mess, but I knew you were it for me. Every time you’d hide, every time you’d blush, I fell harder. I’m fucking obsessed with you, and I’ll never let you go.”

“I love you,” you sobbed, your voice breaking, your tears spilling, your heart full, your body trembling, the pleasure overwhelming. “I’ve always loved you, Jungkook. From that first day, when you walked in, and I couldn’t breathe. I was so scared, but I wanted you so bad. I’m yours—always.”

He groaned, his hands gripping you, his hips thrusting up, hard and deep, his cock hitting that spot, the pleasure a tidal wave, your cries loud and desperate. “You’re mine,” he growled, his voice rough, his eyes fierce, his hands spanking you again, the sting sharp and sweet, your core clenching, the pleasure-pain pushing you over the edge. “Fucking mine, Y/N. Come for me again. Show me you’re mine.”

You did, your orgasm crashing through you, a white-hot wave that left you trembling, your walls pulsing around him, your cries loud and desperate, your body shaking, your vision blurring, your release gushing, soaking him, the sensation overwhelming. He groaned, his hips stuttering, his own release following, hot and deep, his cock pulsing, spilling inside you, his breath ragged, his hands gripping you, his body trembling, his eyes soft and fierce.

You collapsed onto him, your breaths heavy, your bodies slick with sweat, your hearts pounding as one, the air thick with the scent of sex, sweat, and love. He pulled you close, his lips brushing your forehead, your cheek, your lips, soft and reverent, his hands stroking your hair, your back, your curves, his touch gentle, his love palpable.

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice raw, his eyes soft, his hands framing your face, his thumbs brushing your tears. “I’m never letting you go, Y/N. You’re my fucking world. Every curve, every flaw you think you have—it’s all mine, and I fucking love it.”

You melted into him, your heart full, your insecurities silenced, your body sated, your soul safe. “I love you,” you whispered, your voice soft, your hands cupping his face, your thumbs brushing his scar, his stubble, his lips. “I’m yours, Jungkook. Always.”

He kissed you, slow and deep, the kiss a vow, a promise, a love that burned bright, unyielding, eternal. You lay together, tangled in each other, the world fading, your bodies entwined, your hearts one, the crescent moon tattoo under your palm a reminder of the love that had always been, the love that would always be.

The days that followed the night at the pool party were a radiant tapestry woven with love, trust, and a newfound sense of self. The air in your world seemed to shimmer with possibility, each moment with Jungkook a brushstroke of color against the canvas of your life. Your modest home on Maple Street, with its creaky floors and lavender-scented air, became a sanctuary for your blossoming relationship, its walls now holding the echoes of whispered confessions and tender laughter. The oak tree outside your window stood as a silent witness to your transformation, its leaves rustling in the warm April breeze, a soft symphony that underscored your days with Jungkook.

Jungkook was a constant, a grounding force, his presence a warm anchor in the sea of your insecurities. He moved through your life with quiet intensity, his dark eyes always watching, always adoring, his tattooed hands reaching for you with a reverence that made your heart ache. His scent—sandalwood, musk, and something uniquely him—clung to your skin, your clothes, your bed, a reminder of his claim on you, body and soul. His voice, low and gravelly, was a melody you never tired of, whether he was murmuring sweet nothings or growling with need, each word a vow etched into your heart.

Your mornings began with him, his arms wrapped around you, his breath warm against your neck as you woke in the soft cocoon of your bed. The sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting golden patterns across his bare chest, his tattoos—a wolf on his shoulder, stars on his ribs, a crescent moon above his heart—gleaming in the light. His dark hair was always mussed from sleep, falling into his eyes, and you’d brush it back, your fingers lingering on the sharp line of his jaw, the faint stubble that prickled your skin. He’d smile, that rare, boyish smile that made your stomach flip, and pull you closer, his lips brushing your forehead, your cheek, your lips, soft and languid, a promise of forever.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he’d murmur, his voice thick with sleep, his eyes soft and fierce as they traced your face, your curves, the soft swell of your breasts beneath the thin nightie you’d taken to wearing. “Every morning, I wake up and can’t believe you’re mine.”

You’d blush, your cheeks warming, but the doubt that once would have spiraled was gone, replaced by a quiet confidence born of his love. You saw yourself through his eyes now—a goddess, a treasure, a woman worthy of adoration. Your body, once a source of shame, was now a canvas he worshipped, your curves a map he traced with his hands, his lips, his heart. Your hips, your thighs, your soft stomach—they were his obsession, his sanctuary, and he never let you forget it.

One morning, you stood in the kitchen, the air thick with the scent of coffee and sizzling bacon, your hair loose around your shoulders, a silky nightie hugging your curves, its hem barely brushing your thighs. You were trying to eat less, a habit you’d slipped into without thinking, your plate holding only a single slice of toast, a secret attempt to control what you still sometimes saw as flaws. Jungkook noticed immediately, his eyes narrowing as he leaned against the counter, his black tank top clinging to his muscled frame, his tattoos stark in the morning light.

“What’s this?” he asked, his voice low, a dangerous edge to it as he gestured to your plate, his jaw tightening. “Where’s the rest of your breakfast, Y/N?”

You froze, your heart stuttering, your fingers tightening around the mug of coffee. “I… I’m not that hungry,” you mumbled, avoiding his gaze, your cheeks flushing with guilt.

He crossed the room in two strides, his boots heavy on the hardwood floor, his hand cupping your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes. They were dark, blazing with a mix of anger and love, his breath hot against your face. “Don’t fucking do that,” he said, his voice rough, his thumb brushing your lip, firm but gentle. “Don’t starve yourself, Y/N. You think I don’t notice? You think I don’t see you trying to hide, to make yourself smaller? You’re perfect the way you are, and I won’t let you hurt yourself trying to be something you’re not.”

Tears pricked your eyes, not from fear but from the intensity of his love, the way he saw you so clearly, even when you faltered. “I just… I thought—” you started, but he cut you off, his lips crashing into yours, the kiss fierce and claiming, his hands sliding to your hips, pulling you against him, the heat of him grounding you.

“You thought wrong,” he growled against your lips, his voice thick with emotion, his hands gripping your curves, kneading the soft flesh of your hips, your ass. “I love every inch of you, Y/N. Your curves, your body, your fucking soul. You don’t get to hide from me, not ever. You’re going to eat, and you’re going to let me love you, all of you. Understand?”

You nodded, your tears falling, your heart swelling with love, with trust. He kissed you again, softer this time, his hands roaming your body, worshipping your curves, his touch a reminder of his obsession, his need. He sat you down, piling your plate with eggs, bacon, and fruit, his eyes never leaving you as you ate, his hand resting on your thigh, warm and possessive. “Good girl,” he murmured, his voice softening, his lips brushing your temple. “That’s my girl.”

Jungkook’s love was a fire, fierce and unyielding, burning away the last remnants of your insecurities. He took you to his tattoo shop one evening, the air thick with the scent of ink and antiseptic, the hum of needles a low backdrop to the music playing softly—something dark and soulful, like his voice. The shop was his sanctuary, its walls lined with sketches, vibrant designs, and framed photos of his work, the space a reflection of his soul. He showed you his latest piece, a delicate crescent moon intertwined with roses, its lines sharp and fluid, a symbol of beauty and strength.

“It’s for you,” he said, his voice low, his eyes soft as he traced the sketch with his finger, his tattoos flexing with the movement. “I see you in it—fierce, beautiful, unapologetic. Will you let me ink it on you one day?”

You blushed, your heart racing, the idea of his art on your skin, his hands marking you, thrilling and intimate. “Maybe,” you said, your voice shy, but your smile was genuine, your confidence blooming under his gaze. He pulled you into his lap, his hands settling on your hips, his lips brushing your neck, the stubble on his jaw prickling your skin, sending shivers through you.

“You’re my masterpiece, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble, his hands sliding under your top, tracing the curve of your waist, the soft swell of your stomach. “Every curve, every line—it’s fucking art. I’m obsessed with you.”

You kissed him, your hands tangling in his hair, the kiss deepening, hungry and slow, the world fading until it was just you and him, your bodies pressed close, your hearts beating as one. He lifted you onto the counter, his hands roaming, his lips worshipping your neck, your collarbone, his breath hot and ragged. “I love you,” he whispered, his voice raw, his eyes fierce and soft, his hands gripping you like you were his lifeline. “I’ll never stop loving you.”

Your wardrobe began to shift, a reflection of your growing confidence, your love for yourself mirroring his love for you. You wore tops that hugged your curves, dresses that accentuated your hips, your waist, your breasts, the fabrics soft and vibrant, a celebration of your body. Jungkook’s eyes would darken every time you stepped out in something new, his gaze raking over you, his jaw clenching, his hands flexing with need. “Fuck, baby,” he’d say, his voice thick, his eyes blazing. “You’re trying to kill me.”

One evening, you wore a tight, sleeveless red dress, its fabric clinging to your curves, the neckline plunging to reveal the soft swell of your breasts, your nipples hardening in the cool air. You’d barely stepped into the living room of Jungkook’s apartment, the air thick with the scent of takeout and his cologne—sandalwood and musk, a heady mix that made your pulse race—when he was on you, his hands gripping your hips, his lips crashing into yours, the kiss desperate and hungry, his tongue sweeping against yours, a dance of raw need.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he growled, his voice thick, his eyes raking over you, dark and predatory, his jaw clenching as he took in the dress, the way it hugged every curve. “This dress—you’re fucking unreal. I can’t keep my hands off you.”

You laughed, breathless, your hands tangling in his dark hair, your body arching into him, the heat of his muscled frame overwhelming. “I just wanted to look nice,” you teased, but your voice was needy, your thighs clenching with want, the air between you electric.

“Nice?” he scoffed, his eyes blazing with desire, his hands sliding under the dress, his fingers grazing your bare skin, finding you wet and ready, your lack of underwear making him groan. “You’re a fucking goddess, and you know it. You’re mine, Y/N, and I’m going to fuck you right here, right now.”

He spun you around, pressing you against the living room wall, the cool surface a stark contrast to the heat of his body as he caged you in, his chest flush against your back. His hands hiked up your dress, bunching it around your waist, his fingers digging into your hips, the soft flesh yielding under his grip. You gasped, your palms flat against the wall, your heart pounding as he nudged your legs apart, his cock—thick and hard, freed from his jeans—brushing against your entrance, the tip slick with precum.

“Fuck, look at this ass,” he groaned, his voice rough, his hand kneading your curves, his breath hot against your neck, the stubble on his jaw scraping your skin, a delicious burn. “You’re so fucking perfect, Y/N. I’m obsessed with every inch of you.”

He thrust into you, slow and deep, the stretch intense, a delicious burn that made you moan, your walls clenching around him, wet and tight. The sensation was overwhelming, his cock filling you, the friction sparking pleasure with every movement, his hips rocking against your ass, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the room. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you back to meet his thrusts, each one harder, deeper, his groans low and primal, his breath ragged.

“Jungkook,” you gasped, your voice breaking, your nails scraping the wall, your body trembling as he fucked you from behind, his pace relentless, his cock hitting a spot inside you that made you see stars. “It feels so good.”

“You’re mine,” he growled, his voice thick with need, his lips brushing your ear, his teeth grazing your lobe, sending shivers through you. “This body, these curves—fuck, I love how you feel. So fucking perfect. I’m never letting you go.”

The pleasure built, sharp and electric, your moans mingling with his groans, the room a symphony of your bodies, the scent of sex and sweat heavy in the air. His hand slid around, finding your clit, rubbing tight circles, the pressure pushing you to the edge, your legs shaking, your breath hitching. “Come for me, baby,” he rasped, his voice rough, his thrusts unrelenting. “Let me feel you, Y/N. Fucking come on my cock.”

You shattered, your orgasm crashing over you, a white-hot wave that left you trembling, your walls pulsing around him, your cries loud and desperate, your body shaking as he fucked you through it, his thrusts never slowing, drawing every last spark from you. He followed, his hips stuttering, a low groan escaping him as he spilled inside you, hot and deep, his hands gripping you, his body trembling, his breath ragged against your neck.

He held you there, still buried inside you, his arms wrapping around you, his lips brushing your shoulder, soft and reverent. “I love you,” he whispered, his voice raw, his hands stroking your curves, his touch a reminder of his obsession, his love. “You’re my fucking everything, Y/N.”

Jungkook’s protectiveness extended beyond the bedroom, his love a constant shield against the world. He noticed everything—every skipped meal, every moment of doubt, every flicker of insecurity—and he was relentless in his mission to make you see yourself as he did. One afternoon, you sat at a café, the air thick with the scent of espresso and pastries, your plate holding only a small salad, your attempt to eat less a reflex you hadn’t fully shaken. Jungkook’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening, his hand resting on your thigh, warm and possessive under the table.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice low, a warning edge to it, his eyes dark and fierce. “What’s this? You think you’re going to starve yourself on my watch?”

You blushed, your heart stuttering, your fingers twisting in your lap. “I just… I wasn’t that hungry,” you mumbled, but his hand cupped your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze, his eyes blazing with love and anger.

“Don’t lie to me,” he said, his voice rough, his thumb brushing your lip, firm but gentle. “You’re fucking perfect, Y/N. Your body, your curves—they’re mine to worship, and I won’t let you hurt yourself trying to be something you’re not. You’re going to eat, and you’re going to enjoy it, because you deserve it. You deserve everything.”

Tears pricked your eyes, your heart swelling, his words sinking into you, warm and heavy. He ordered a plate of your favorite—pasta with creamy sauce, breadsticks, a slice of chocolate cake—his eyes never leaving you as you ate, his hand stroking your thigh, his voice soft and encouraging. “That’s my girl,” he murmured, his lips brushing your temple, his breath warm against your skin. “You’re so fucking beautiful when you take care of yourself.”

Your confidence grew, a radiant bloom nurtured by his love, his touch, his words. You wore what you wanted—tight dresses, crop tops, nighties that barely covered you—each piece a celebration of your body, your curves, your strength. Jungkook’s reaction was always the same, his eyes darkening, his jaw clenching, his hands flexing with need, his cock hardening at the sight of you. “Fuck, baby,” he’d say, his voice thick, his eyes blazing. “You’re killing me.”

One night, you wore a black lace nightie, its fabric sheer, clinging to your curves, your nipples hard against the lace, your thighs bare, your hair loose around your shoulders. You stood in the bathroom of his apartment, the air thick with steam from the shower, the mirror fogged, the scent of his body wash—cedar and mint—lingering. Jungkook stepped out, a towel slung low on his hips, his tattoos glistening with water, his dark hair dripping, his eyes locking onto you, dark and hungry.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he growled, his voice thick, his towel dropping to the floor, his cock hard and ready, the sight making your mouth water. “This nightie—you’re fucking unreal. Get in the shower. Now.”

You stepped into the glass enclosure, the hot water cascading over you, the steam wrapping you in warmth, the tiles cool against your feet. Jungkook followed, his hands on you instantly, pressing you against the wall, the water sluicing over your bodies, your nightie soaked and transparent, clinging to your curves. His lips crashed into yours, the kiss messy and desperate, his tongue sweeping against yours, his hands cupping your breasts, his thumbs brushing your nipples through the lace, making you moan.

“Fuck, these tits,” he groaned, his voice rough, his hands kneading your heavy breasts, the soft flesh spilling over his fingers, your nipples hard and sensitive. “They’re so fucking perfect, Y/N. I’m obsessed.”

He dropped to his knees, the water streaming over his tattooed shoulders, his hands guiding your breasts together, his cock sliding between them, the sensation new and thrilling, the friction making him groan, his eyes locked on yours, dark and adoring. “Fuck, you feel so good,” he rasped, his voice thick, his hips rocking, his cock gliding between your tits, the water making everything slick, the pleasure building, sharp and intense.

You moaned, your hands in his hair, your body arching, the sight of him—his muscled frame, his tattoos, his cock between your breasts—driving you wild. “Jungkook,” you gasped, your voice needy, your thighs clenching with want, the water amplifying every sensation, the steam thick in your lungs.

“Come for me, baby,” he growled, his voice rough, his hands gripping your breasts, his cock thrusting faster, the friction pushing him to the edge. You didn’t need to touch yourself, the sight of him, the feel of him, enough to send you spiraling, your orgasm crashing over you, a wave of pleasure that left you trembling, your cries echoing in the shower, your body shaking as he groaned, his release spilling hot across your chest, the water washing it away, his breath ragged, his hands steadying you.

He pulled you close, his lips brushing your forehead, your cheek, your lips, soft and reverent, the water still cascading over you, his arms tight around you. “I love you,” he whispered, his voice raw, his eyes soft and fierce, his hands stroking your curves, his touch a reminder of his obsession, his love. “You’re my fucking goddess, Y/N.”

Jungkook was your constant, your rock, his love a fire that never dimmed, his touch a balm that healed every wound. He took you on late-night drives, the city lights blurring past, his hand resting on your thigh, his voice soft as he told you stories of his childhood, his dreams, his fears, his tattoos a map of his soul he shared only with you. You’d park on a hill overlooking the city, the stars above a canopy, his arms around you, his lips brushing your temple, his breath warm against your skin.

“You’re my home, Y/N,” he’d whisper, his voice raw, his eyes soft and fierce, his hands framing your face. “I’ve never had this, never felt this. You’re my everything.”

You’d kiss him, slow and deep, your hands tracing his tattoos, your bodies pressed close, the world fading until it was just you and him, your love a universe of its own. One such night, you wore a tight, off-shoulder dress, its fabric hugging your curves, your hair loose, catching the breeze. You’d barely stepped out of the car, the air cool and crisp, the city lights twinkling below, when Jungkook’s eyes darkened, his jaw clenching, his hands flexing with need, his cock hardening at the sight of you.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he growled, his voice thick, his eyes raking over you, his hands gripping your hips, pulling you against the car door, the metal cool against your back, the night air sharp in your lungs. “You’re fucking unreal.”

He spun you around, pressing you against the door, his hands hiking up your dress, his fingers digging into your hips, the soft flesh yielding under his grip. His lips were on your neck, his teeth grazing your skin, the stubble on his jaw a delicious burn, his breath hot and ragged. “Fuck, this body,” he groaned, his voice rough, his cock pressing against your ass, hard and ready, the fabric of his jeans rough against your bare skin. “You’re so fucking perfect, Y/N. I’m obsessed with every curve.”

He thrust into you, slow and deep, the stretch intense, a delicious burn that made you moan, your walls clenching around him, wet and tight. The sensation was overwhelming, his cock filling you, the friction sparking pleasure with every movement, his hips rocking against your ass, the car creaking slightly under the force, the night air cool against your heated skin. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you back to meet his thrusts, each one harder, deeper, his groans low and primal, his breath ragged against your neck.

“Jungkook,” you gasped, your voice breaking, your hands braced against the car, your nails scraping the metal, your body trembling as he fucked you against the door, his pace relentless, his cock hitting a spot inside you that made you see stars. “It’s too much.”

“You can take it,” he growled, his voice thick with need, his lips brushing your ear, his teeth grazing your lobe, sending shivers through you. “You’re mine, Y/N. This body, these curves—fuck, I love how you feel. So fucking perfect. Come for me, baby.”

The pleasure built, sharp and electric, your moans mingling with his groans, the night a symphony of your bodies, the scent of sex and his cologne heavy in the air. His hand slid around, finding your clit, rubbing tight circles, the pressure pushing you to the edge, your legs shaking, your breath hitching. You shattered, your orgasm crashing over you, a white-hot wave that left you trembling, your walls pulsing around him, your cries loud and desperate, your body shaking as he fucked you through it, his thrusts never slowing, drawing every last spark from you. He followed, his hips stuttering, a low groan escaping him as he spilled inside you, hot and deep, his hands gripping you, his body trembling, his breath ragged against your neck.

He held you there, still buried inside you, his arms wrapping around you, his lips brushing your shoulder, soft and reverent. “I love you,” he whispered, his voice raw, his hands stroking your curves, his touch a reminder of his obsession, his love. “You’re my fucking everything, Y/N.”

He photographed you, his camera capturing your laughter, your curves, your vulnerability, his eyes soft and adoring as he showed you the images, each one a testament to his obsession, his love. “You’re art,” he’d say, his voice firm, his hands framing your face. “You’re my fucking masterpiece, Y/N. I want to fill a gallery with you, show the world how fucking perfect you are.”

You’d blush, your heart swelling, your confidence a radiant bloom, your insecurities a faint whisper, drowned out by his love, his worship, his truth. You wore what you wanted, ate what you loved, lived with a freedom you’d never known, your body a temple you cherished, your heart a treasure you shared with him. You saw yourself as he did—a goddess, a warrior, a woman worthy of everything, your curves a celebration, your soul a light that burned bright.

One winter evening, you stood in a gallery, the air thick with the scent of wine and perfume, the walls lined with Jungkook’s photographs—images of you, your curves, your laughter, your vulnerability, each one a testament to his love, his obsession, his truth. The room was filled with people, their voices a low hum, but your eyes were on him, his black suit hugging his frame, his tattoos peeking out from his collar, his eyes soft and fierce as he watched you, his hand resting on your lower back, warm and possessive.

“You’re my masterpiece,” he whispered, his voice raw, his lips brushing your ear, his breath warm against your skin. “Every curve, every smile, every fucking inch of you. I love you, Y/N. I’ll love you forever.”

You turned to him, your eyes shining, your heart full, your dress hugging your curves, your confidence a radiant bloom. “I love you too,” you said, your voice steady, your hands framing his face, your lips brushing his, soft and deep. “You’ve shown me who I am, Jungkook. You’ve given me everything.”

He kissed you, slow and deep, the world fading until it was just you and him, your love a universe of its own. The gallery faded, the voices silenced, the stars above a canopy for your forever. You were his, he was yours, and together, you were infinite—a love story written in ink, in light, in the curves of your body, in the beat of your hearts, a masterpiece that would never fade.

[endstar]

꧁𖦹"what would the point to toy with someone! Even with the off chance that she would? I know my mother, she isn’t a being without reason… she’s a being with TOO much reason actually! So many plans… she always had an escape route at the back of her mind when I was a kid, no matter where she went…"𖦹꧂

She rambles.

🌸🐺"answer the question, child."🐺🌸

꧁𖦹 “I did! Wh-what I mean is— THIS- I HATE THIS! SHE ISNT EVIL!" 𖦹꧂

The monarch card tisks.

♛🕊️"…where have ya been, kid—? you sure missed a LOT…"🕊️♛

The multiverse is full of infinite possibilities...

Most worlds tend to connect through similar builds. Through stories, people, themes...

It's no surprise seeing a stranger to the multiverse. What IS surprising, however, was his condition. Covered in deep wounds, limbs twisted and torn, and he appeared to be drowning in his own blood by the time he was found. Holy weapons were embedded in his skin, and the flesh sizzled liked bacon around it.

He had red skin, gray hooves, horns that looked far too round and circular to have normally grown out of his head. His long pointed tail is covered in hand prints, and there are bones exposed out of his back. He lays face first in a pool of his own boiling blood, barely breathing or moving.

@ask-underfazverse

Cry’s come from the mass amounts of strangers, many just back away to cowedly to do anything, but a few step up, and begin to heal him. Mainly the younger, less evil Malak’s, a few Doug’s that are just simply concerned, and only one Bierce.

Dream Malak very hurriedly takes him to his hospital, with the help of the others.

[l1tw1ck]

Compromised

Bottom!FTM Peter Parker x Top!Villain CEO!Masc Reader

🕸️ Word Count: 1,226 🕸️

AFAB Language Used | this *might* become a multi-chapter fic but this part won't be canon, i changed my mind after i started the second chapter and this wouldn't fit 😭 so just treat it as a oneshot

CW: Non-Con, Kidnapping, Drugging, Blood, Virginity Loss, Cunnilingus, Creampie

Peter looks up at you with blurry vision, his body bruised and bloody. He can barely move.

You rip off his mask. “Aren't you the one who works for Jameson? I always knew your pictures were too good.” You chuckle. “You are cute though.”

He's fading in and out of consciousness, he can barely comprehend your words.

“I’ll be taking you home with me.”

Peter slowly opens his eyes, still feeling dizzy and weak. He looks down and fear instantly hits him. He's completely naked and tied up. He looks around the room for anything to help him while trying to break his restraints with brute force.

The noise draws you inside.

“Yo- you-” He recognizes you. The CEO of a company that rivals Stark Industries and Oscorp.

“I have a plan for you, Parker.” You walk over to him. “I’ll let you live and I won't tell a soul about your identity. In return, you'll help me take down Stark Industries.”

“Kidnapping someone isn't really a great way to propose a partnership, you know.” He manages to keep up his persona, trying to calculate how he can get out of this.

“Well, appealing to you isn't a part of my plan. How you feel about this doesn't matter to me. You won't have a choice once my subordinate gets his hands on you.”

“Wh- what are you gonna do to me?”

You slowly untie him. “Just a little memory altering. I’d love to train you but there's not enough time…it’s too bad.” You brush his hair to the side. He tries to hit you but it's too difficult, he only grazes your cheek. You laugh at his attempt and grab his wrists. “Don't worry, I won't hurt you after today. You’ll be spoiled rotten. My special little spider.”

“No– no! Don't touch me!” He squirms around in your hold.

“I should've known a single dose wouldn't be effective enough.” You let go of him and turn to the supply cart next to him. He tries to shoot a web to stop you from whatever you’re trying to do, but only a weak spurt leaves his wrist. He then attempts to get on the ground and crawl. You ignore him and prepare his next injection. He feels humiliated as he continues to crawl towards the door. The fact that you're not even looking at him tells him that he doesn't have a chance. But he tries anyway.

He only ends up a couple inches away from where he started when you ‘catch’ him and turn him around. You use one hand to pin his arms above his head and use the other to inject a serum meant to sedate and arouse him. “Don't worry, Peter, you won't remember any of this. If that makes you feel better. I just wanna have some fun with you first.” You toss the empty syringe.

“Get- get away from me–” He tries everything he can to hurt you but his remaining strength is starting to dwindle as the serum runs through his body. You pry his legs apart and stick your head in between. You drag your tongue up his folds then lovingly suck on his dick. You bring your hands to his chest and circle his sensitive nipples. He subconsciously raises his hips and whimpers.

“No- no- no-” He shakes his head, crying. He doesn't want to lose his virginity like this, not here, not to you. “Uhn~” His toes curl. His spidey senses are going off, making it even harder to think. The drug is making the spider parts of him go haywire, it's not working properly. It's aggressively ringing all the alarm bells inside him. His webs weakly shoot out of his wrists like a deflating balloon. His head is pounding. His brain is yelling at him.

Defend yourself. Hurt them. Kill them. Call for help. Run. Give in. Give in.

Give in.

It feels so good. It feels so good.

I wanna come. I wanna come.

His hands stick to the ground, his legs spread further apart, his mouth hangs open to sing noisy, wordless praises to compliment your skill.

“Stop!” He cries out.

Don't stop. Don't stop!

Yes!

Peter gasps, his hips jerking upwards as he squirts on your face. His head presses against the floor. His body trembles. Then he calms down.

He raises his head and looks at you as you pull away from him. His eyes follow your hands as they unzip your pants. As they free your hard dick. As they direct it onto his wet pussy. Then he focuses on your cock. Your length. Your girth.

I want it.

“No-” His voice trembles. “Don't- don't put that- inside me!”

Shove it inside me. I need it. Fill me. Mold my body to fit you. Ruin me.

The head of your cock slowly breaches him. Peter’s webs shoot out like a can of silly string on its last legs. Weak little spurts continue to leave him. Both from his wrist and from his cunt. He feels weaker every time.

It hurts. It’s too big. It hurts.

“It's interesting to see how your body reacts to the drug.” You wipe the tears from his eyes. “It's too bad I won't be using it again…Although I am interested in what’ll happen once my subordinate alters your memories…maybe I’ll tell them to make you an obedient slut for me.”

Own me.

“Ple- please-” He gasps. He's not entirely sure what he's begging for. His brain is sending conflicting messages.

You lean into his ear. “Admit it, Spidey, you love how big I am and how well I fill your tight fucking pussy.”

I love it.

“I hate– ugh-” He hisses.

I'm so full.

“I’ll kill you..” He clenches his fists.

“Oh, but I thought Spider-Man didn't kill?”

“..ma- make an exception-” He loses his ability to grip, his fists come undone as you bottom out.

“Really? I’m honored, sweetheart.” You slowly pull out, stopping before you fully leave him. “You're bleeding. Guess I was too rough.” You lick your lips at the red coating on your cock.

“You're disg—uh~!” You suddenly thrust inside him and knock the wind out of him, a longer string of web leaving his body. His whimpering and gasping quickly turns into whines and moans as you fuck him. His eyes roll to the back of his head. The bandage and wound on his cheek loosens and opens up, causing blood to run down his face. His brain starts to feel like scrambled eggs.

“Doesn't it feel good, baby?”

He responds with a jumbled mess of words that are impossible to decipher. You already took a bunch of pictures of him earlier but you find yourself wishing you still had that camera with you. In this state, he's more beautiful than any of the artwork in the Metropolitan. You grab his sides, triggering the pain in his sore, bruised body. He makes a loud and erotic noise in response.

He writhes around, sobbing and trying to squirm out of your hold. He manages to say “Please–!”.

“Since you asked so nicely.” Your thrusts stop as you come inside him. You let go of him and brush the hair out of his face, then wipe his blood.

His body twitches, like a spider that's been stepped on.

[bunnyclawzz]

Loser!Mark x Fem!Reader Pt.3

Palms all sweaty, eyes avoiding everything, silent as a mouse. He’s never been more nervous in his entire life.

He has spent hours and hours and hours planning the best way to do what he’s wanted to do for years; ask you on a date. He would’ve done it sooner if he wasn’t scared of loosing one of his only friends! It’s not easy when you fall in love with your childhood best friend..a friend who is also a neighbor and is always at his house..or in this case, at your house.

“M, what movie do you wanna watch tonight?” You asked as you scrolled through the endless movies. Mark had been in his own little word, completely lost in thoughts. All consist of how he planned to you out. He finally got it all planed out; he’s gonna take you flying-keep you nice and close, tight in his arms. Get you both nice and high, somewhere where you can look down at all the pretty glowing lights in the dark night while holding you close. And then he’d ask you-that was the one thing he couldn’t decide what to say unfortunately..

“Mark!” You practically shout his name as you give a firm swat to his shoulder. “Ow-Hey!” He huffed as he shot you a pouty glare. Unfortunately for him, that pouty-puppy dog loom wasn’t gonna get him off the hook. “Mark.” You spoke again, voice firm and angered expression catching his attention. He could feel the sweat forming on his forehead just that look..that piercing gaze is enough to make him fall to his knees.

“Mark, what’s wrong with you? You’ve been..” you sigh, your face softening just a bit as you continue on. “..you’re acting really weird, you’ve been weird for a little while now and I just-..I don’t know what’s going on with you.” He wasn’t prepped for this. Spent all the time in the world planning on how to beg ask for a date he hadn’t even realized he was acting off and distant. “Wh-What? I don’t know what you’re talking about-” “Markus Grayson.” You stood off your bed with a groan. He hated how upset you look-how stressed you are because of him. “Don’t lie! You’ve been all..weird! All week you’ve been weird! I don’t-..is it me? Did I make you mad or-” those words made his heart sink. How could you, the most perfect person, more like an angel in his eyes, upset anyone?

“No!” He nearly shouted as he stood. His hands move to your shoulders without thinking. “I-I don’t not like you-” he spoke in a hurried voice, clearly frantic. That panicked puppy look on his face didn’t stop you from being upset and honestly annoyed. You rolled your pretty eyes at him as you sat back down on the edge of your bed. “Well you’re acting like-” “I like you!”

…

Completely silent. Both of you could hear his own heart thumping against his ribs. He sucked in a shaky breath, trying to stop himself from crumbling and dropping to his knees to just beg you to love him. “…I-I like you. I have for a really long time..like really long-I was going to ask you out today! I tried to ignore it—Believe me, I tried so hard not to ruin our friendship.” He practically whimpered between paragraphs, sitting down right beside you. “B-But you’re amazing..you’re so funny and so sweet. You’ve never let anybody pick on me when you were around, you take care of me when I’m hurt..you don’t even care that my dad-”

And you cut him off. Shortened his pathetic ramblings by pressing your perfectly soft lips to his, instantly whining into your lips. His shaky hand moved up, awkwardly resting on your shoulder, only for you to pull away with a soft whisper. “Wish you would’ve told me sooner…made me think you hated me.” His face is bright red, looking almost like a cherry-more like the color of the lip gloss you’ve always worn “..Y-you like me?” He asked in such a quiet, soft voice. You nod, your gentle hands moving up to cradle his rosy face

“I do, Mark..but you gotta take me on a date first”

An instant nod

“Yes ma’am"

[archangeldyke-all]

MORE PARAMEDIC SEV PLS. IM OBSESSED

EEEK i love her lets do it

men and minors dni

sevika works hard.

her shifts are long, her pay is insufficient, and her patients-- while occasionally they're lovely, like yourself-- can be horrible people.

she usually comes home from work exhausted.

and she takes her days off very seriously.

you don't know how seriously until you're out grocery shopping with her one saturday morning.

"what's next on the list?" sevika asks from where she's pushing the shopping cart. you hum and look down at your list.

"snacks for your lunches." you say. sevika smiles a bit, then kisses your head. "what's that for?" you ask.

sevika just giggles and shrugs, pushing the cart to the snack aisle. "nothin'. you just... you take good care of me. packin' me lunches 'n shit. i kinda love you." she jokes.

you giggle and gently nudge her. "only kinda?"

sevika giggles and kisses you again, this time on your lips. when she pulls away, she hums. "mmm. i guess a little more than kinda--"

"oh fuck!" a voice screams.

you both stop walking, turning to find the source of the commotion. something breaks a few aisles over, and several voices scream out in horror.

down the snack aisle, a woman holding her pregnant belly is doubled over, a puddle of what you assume to be amniotic fluid underneath her.

"shit." you curse, making your way down the aisle to help the laboring woman.

sevika grabs you by the elbow and pulls you back before you can get too far. "oh hell no." sevika gruffs.

you blink. "wh-- sevika, we should help her!"

"baby." sevika puts both hands on your shoulders. "it's my day off." she says.

you stutter, then laugh. "you're joking, right?"

"do i look like i'm joking?"

"somebody call an ambulance!" the woman on the ground wails.

sevika stays stoic, standing at the end of the aisle with her arms crossed.

"sev, go help her!"

"i'm off the clock, baby. i'm in my weekend clothes. i don't need blood and baby slime on these jeans. these are my favorite jeans." sevika whines.

you gawk at your girlfriend. "sevika, the woman is in labor!" you shout, gesturing to the woman at the other end of the aisle. a small circle of concerned citizens have surrounded her. she's rolling on the ground in pain. "you're a paramedic! and i know you keep an extra jump bag in the trunk of your car!"

sevika huffs, rolls her eyes, then whines. "but baby! it's my day off!"

"is anybody a doctor or nurse?!" a shop attendant shouts through the pa system. "we need medical assistance in the snack aisle!"

you raise a stern eyebrow at your girlfriend. she groans and runs her hands through her hair.

"oh fuck, i think the baby's coming!" the woman shouts.

finally, sevika relents, rolling her eyes and letting out a loud sigh. "fuckin' fine. go get my bag from the car. you're buyin' me new jeans if these ones get wrecked."

you smile at your girlfriend and kiss her cheek. "you're a good person."

"yeah, yeah. fuckin' hurry." sevika huffs as she waves you away and starts walking toward the woman.

when you return to the snack aisle, you find your girlfriend on her knees, her jacket placed on the floor underneath the woman's spread legs, a shop attendant with a pile of towels in his hands standing beside her.

sevika glares at you when you drop the bag by her side. "my pants are ruined." she huffs.

you snort. "you're witnessing the miracle of birth, sev."

"i witness this at least two times a week, babe. it gets old pretty quick."

"i think-- i think i need to push again!" the woman yowls.

you crouch down beside the soon-to-be momma, taking one of her hands in yours.

sevika ruffles through her bag, pulling gloves on her hands before tossing a small tank of oxygen to you. "hook this up to her nose, alright?" she asks. you nod, fumbling with the equipment and gently hooking the oxygen tube around the woman's ears. "now, miss--"

"carmen." the woman fills in for sevika.

"miss carmen, i'm gonna put some pressure on your perineum to prevent any tearing. once i say you're good to go, you go ahead and push as hard as you can, alright?"

miss carmen heaves a breath and nods at sevika. "y-you got any drugs in that special bag of yours?" she asks. sevika snorts.

"nothin' i can give you now. let's get baby into the world and then i'll hook you up to whatever you want."

miss carmen groans. "fuckin' bastard. i delivered my first kid naturally and swore never again. guess baby number two had other fuckin' plans."

you laugh, and sevika pulls a wad of gauze out of the kit and presses it between miss carmen's legs.

"go ahead and push, momma." sevika says.

miss carmen becomes truly scary as she pushes, veins popping out on her head, a wild, animalistic yell echoing through the store. you cringe as she crushes your hand in her hold, then gasp when you catch a glimpse of half a baby hanging out of her body, in sevika's hands.

"you're doing it!" you gasp. "oh my god, it's a girl! it's beautiful!"

"one more big push--"

"i'm makin' my husband get a fucking vasectomy after this!" miss carmen screams as she pushes again.

and then, a little raisin of a baby starts wailing in sevika's arms, kicking and screaming.

sevika smiles sweetly down at the baby, then reaches into her bag and grabs a small blanket, wrapping her up in a swaddle.

"ten fingers and ten toes. a healthy baby girl." sevika says, passing the baby to miss carmen.

the woman's screams of pain have turned into cries of joy, and she gazes down at the baby with pure adoration. "oh god. thank you so much." she sobs. sevika just shrugs bashfully. "how can i ever thank you?"

"buy me some new jeans." sevika huffs. you kick your girlfriend, and she rolls her eyes. "no need to thank me ma'am. just doin' my job. do you want to keep the placenta? i got a special container for that."

miss carmen just laughs. "no, no. i've got all i need right here. what-- what's your name?" she asks.

sevika raises an eyebrow. "lucinda." she lies.

you frown at your girlfriend, and miss carmen grins. "lucinda. how's that sound for a name, baby girl?" she asks her wailing baby.

sevika hooks miss carmen up to an iv, and a shop attendant leads a pair of paramedics pushing a gurney to the snack aisle.

you watch in fascination as sevika rattles off all the information her colleagues will need, then help haul your girlfriend off the ground, grabbing her bag and giggling as she frowns down at the blood and liquids soaking her clothes.

"that was pretty impressive, lucinda." you tease.

sevika snorts and rolls her eyes. "they always wanna name the kid after the paramedics. after four or five, i started gettin' freaked out thinkin' about all the baby sevikas runnin' around town because of me, so i've been givin' fake names ever since."

you cackle and pull sevika in for a kiss. she hums against your lips. "you're incredible, y'know." you whisper. sevika just shakes her head.

"you realize we're gonna have to go shopping again tomorrow, right?"

"babe. you just helped birth a fuckin' baby, and you're worried about groceries!?"

sevika kisses you again. "'m tellin you. it gets a lot less inspiring when you do it every week."

"whatever. i still think you're incredible." you say.

finally, sevika smiles, shy and sweet, and she ducks her head and nods toward the exit of the store. "c'mon. i need to get out of these clothes, and you need to show me how incredible you find me."

"mmm. my pleasure, miss lucinda." you tease, twining your fingers between sevika's and dragging her toward the parking lot.

kofi

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@kissyslut @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@lavenderbabu @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @my-taintedheart

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @k3n-dyll @sevsdollette @ellieslob

@xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re @raphaellearp @iamastar

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@dancingqu33n17 @losernb @p1nkearth @leeidk87 @cinnamowor1d

taglist!!

@sevikas-baby @ghostscandys @runawaybaby3 @vikasfemme @lesbones

@chezze-its @lez-zuha @vikashoneybee @shanesevikasfuckdoll @imheadintothemountains

@ferxanda @helaenabugmom @spookymomfriendtm

[stormbreaker-290]

Fun fact I just learned today-

Apparently my ancestors on my mom's side had like. Direct ties to the Italian Mafia??

And at some point when my grandpa was younger, he was offered by my great grandma to join- which he very much declined seeing as he had a well paying and stable job

But uh . Yea h

In another universe where he said yes I woulda been a Mafia princess ig

✨the more you know✨

[mswyrr]

The canon tragic ending of Snowbaird isn't a depiction of "What if Peeta betrayed himself and his true love and had to live without Katniss?" it's a depiction of "What if Katniss betrayed herself and her true love and had to live without Peeta?"

People want to make the parallels restricted by gender, boy compared to boy and girl to girl, but Everlark is actually a gender reversal of Snowbaird -- Katniss is the traumatized survivor who is tempted by narrowing the world down to necessity (and shutting off her own aliveness because it hurts and it's a risk to survival) and Peeta is the philosophical artist whose very presence and being invites her to open up and allow herself to feel alive inside, to take the risk of that, instead of merely surviving.

Their conversation before their first Games really drives this home:

"Who cares?" indeed. And "While I've been ruminating on the availability of trees, Peeta has been struggling with how to maintain his identity. His purity of self" is very reminiscent of conversations Lucy Gray and Coriolanus have where she's the poet, the philosopher articulating the carefully thought through inner life of the soul, and he's the person of action and pragmatism whose default in the face of exploring his own soul is often "Who cares?" Does that put food on the table? Will it keep us alive?

These qualities are meant to be in union -- they're meant to save each other. People can't actually lead a full life without developing both things (their soul and feelings and capacity for reflection and their capacity to act and be pragmatic in the world to physically survive) and being in cooperative union with others who have strengths where their weaknesses are.

Katniss and Peeta start off their first Games each seeing something different as most important -- the thing their personalities tend to make them focus on -- and it is only in their cooperative union that they are able to set the toppling of the entire tyranny in motion. Their cooperative union heals what the ruin of Lucy Gray and Coriolanus' similarly potentially fruitful union (life turned to death; food to poison) broke in the world.

Jungian concepts of the anima/animus can be gender essentialist--including requiring that someone's personality tendencies "match" their gender or else it's pathologized, which is so gross and inaccurate and bothers me as a queer woman deeply-- but if we think of these as natural components of all people that naturally vary regardless of someone's gender and need to be in balance, then -

Peeta is Katniss' anima--her dandelion in the spring, her pearl, her sunset orange gentleness that inspires her soul to come out from hiding, to reflect and feel-- in the same way Lucy Gray is Coriolanus' anima, whose music and her very being and her prioritizing of inner truth and reflective philosophy has the same effect on him. They become more themselves with their true love. The parts of themselves that hide, that they've drained energy away from in order to focus on survival, come to life.

And they are their beloveds' animus -- which is why Coriolanus goes from being a protective active agent of their survival when in a better place with Lucy Gray to becoming Bluebeard, the (attempted?) wife killer, in the worst case scenario. "[B]oth the demon and the savior are two aspects of the same inner power [of the animus]" (Marie-Louise Von Franz, Archetypal Dimensions of the Psyche, Page 282) and:

"Many myths and fairy tales tell of a prince, who has been turned into an animal or a monster by sorcery, being saved by a woman. This is a symbolic representation of the development of the animus toward consciousness." ~Marie-Louise Von Franz, Archetypal Dimensions of the Psyche, Page 281

Coriolanus devolves away from consciousness rather than evolving into a productive and balanced union -- he's a prince toward Lucy Gray early on in their relationship, saving and protecting and cherishing her, who becomes a beast rather than a beast who becomes a prince. (If he'd had a journey into being "cursed" by Gaul and becoming a beast BEFORE they met they could have had a happy ending where she's the heroine in a romance with her animus -- which is basically the majority of what the most beloved m/f romances are under the hood btw).

Oh and all of this is why Peeta is not and never was Katniss' "moral instructor"!! -- yes, instead of survival, his priority is inner reflection and truth. But he is not activating anything within her that wasn't already there, just in hiding and waiting to feel invited to come out and unfurl and live. She drained energy away from those parts of herself because (like Coriolanus) she was literally starving and had to put everything she was into surviving if she and those she loved were going to physically live. She does seem to be a naturally more pragmatic person -- but a healthy pragmatic person allows themselves more than mere survival. She's not choosing to be sermonized at by a "moral superior" -- she's choosing to embark on exploring and enriching her own inner life in partnership with someone who is strong in areas where she has been weak -- and when Coriolanus let himself embrace the peace and reflection that Lucy Gray seeks he wasn't finding anything there that wasn't a natural part of him too.

And both couples basically can represent (this is back to Jungian ideas) an individual human's inner psyche -- in chaos and ruin or in balance. Each of us has parts of ourselves that are in hiding and parts that dominate. And we all need to walk a path toward balance with those things. So, by splintering apart one union like that, Collins is doing something psychological and even mythological -- symbolically splintering the parts of a healthy self, splintering a balanced marriage union, and dividing core forces in the world that could be productive and fruitful against each other. So - the land becomes cursed. It all turns to poison because these forces aren't in balance. And then she shows the liberatory power of those forces, through Katniss and Peeta, fighting to be in loving union despite everything the curse and sickness of the land and the symbolically dead "Fisher King" president throws at them.

[hiiiandbyeee]

Hello girlie could you pls write a headcannon abt the blue lock guys (isagi,sae,Kaiser,rin bachira) where they have to pick you up from a party and you are really drunk and petty. Could you pls write it kinda funny & suggestive or actually just how you like🩷. Thank u so much🩷

Helloo ◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍ there was a earthquake in my country so I couldn't write but I'm gonna try to make it I hope y'all gonna enjoy (⁠^⁠^⁠)

When they pick you up from a party

İsagi yoichi:

When ısagi found out you were at a party he came running and he saw you drunk "NO WAY" his face was like "😦" he held ur arm and tried to stand u up but you felt so dizzy so you couldn't stand up and whine like "noo" ısagi panicked MORE I mean really really panicked he held ur hand and bend down next to you to his knees he spoke softly and said "let's just go home okay?" You nod but ur gaze was blurry ısagi tried to make you stand again and it ended up being you two fell down and when you wake up in his house at his bed next to him He just whined like he was really tired.

"Oh hi you finally awake"

İtoshi sae:

when he found out you were in a party he were just like "huh?" But didn't panicked or did he? he saw you your eyes were look like red he approached you and said "hey" You turned your head and looked at him "ahh sae" ur head was spinning too bad you felt like u were about to fell down sae just held the tip of ur skirt u said "saw" again and again he be like "ugh uh hu? What?" At that moment u felt like you were on something spinning like crazy that you felt down so bad and then sae looked down "what are you doing on floor" and you don't remember what happened but when you wake up you saw sae get ready for go to training you said "what happened?" Sae said "bad things? How can I reply that? You literally fainted on me"

"Don't go to parties without telling me again"

Michael kaiser:

When he found out you were in a party he was like "that's a joke" but then he understand it wasn't he felt weird he wasn't know why he saw you all drunk he be like "tch seriously?" He wasn't love alcoholic things (childhood traumas) so he felt a little bad but approached you and hold ur arm and pulled you towards him he spoke but not in a aggressive way "what are you-" You interrupted him "micha you came? Really? Or am I in heaven" kaiser looked at you and let out a"pff" "what heaven? Do I look like a angel" you reply it quickly " no nope nah you look like a death angel that no one wants to see You started laughing and kaiser? He be like "huh? huh!? HUH!? wh- what the?!" And you spoke again "but you're still cute and he soften in the moment and without waiting dragged you out of party while holding ur arm

"ah pff how silly of you"

Itoshi rin:

When rin found out you were in a party he still tried to act nonchalant but his heart stopped for two second he saw you in party whining and he be like "what is she? Wait huh?" He approached immediately he understand you were drunk by smell he bend down to your level and spoke "are you drunk?" You looked at him like recognize him now "ahh rin ?? Aww" rin raised an eyebrow. "What are you doing in here?" You responded "can't you see? Are you blind?" Rin annoyed while still trying to act nonchalant "no no but we're going now" you whined like child who couldn't get her favorite toy but rin still hold ur arm and pulled you up No matter how much you whined, he dragged you home from the party.

"don't do that again dummy"

Meguru bachira:

When bachira found out you were a party he be like "whaaat? Yn and party?!" He ran like his life depends on it when he found you in party sitting on the floor he let out a big"YNN" you You raised your head You were looking so innocent like a kitten. Bachira immediately bend down next to you and be like "awww my babyyyy" you looked at him didn't know what was saying ur brain was not braining You tilted your head and said "what?" Bachira said "we're going to go home oki my sweetest crumble cookie?" He always had these weird nicknames He tried to get you up but you couldn't and kept falling so Bachira carried you home on his back. When you woke up in the morning and asked what happened he said

"I don't remember"

Authors note💖

Helloo soryy if it was bad If you want me to write something else, please request it my request are open and there's still Earthquakes while I'm making this so this is terrifying but bye byeee love ya

[sh4nksslvt]

Flustered Fury

You flirt just to mess with him. It backfires. Now you’re flustered.

Benn Beckman X GN!READER | ONE SHOT

tags: fluff, sfw, flirting, ooc

a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only, so expect this ffs a bit cringe

word count: 786

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

The Red Force gently rocked on the Grand Line's turquoise waters. The crew of the Red-Haired Pirates lounged on deck, bellies full from a hearty lunch, half the crew already dozing under the sails while the other half busied themselves with maintenance or mock sword fights.

You had made it a habit lately to tease Benn Beckman. He was too cool, too collected, too... smug. So naturally, your favorite past-time had become finding new ways to get under his skin.

The man never cracked.

Not when you "accidentally" called him hot in front of the crew. Not when you wore his shirt without asking and claimed you needed something that "smelled like safety and sarcasm." Not even when you told Shanks you were considering writing a love letter to his first mate just to see if he'd burn it or frame it.

But today? Today you had a plan.

You sauntered over to where Benn leaned against the mast, smoking as always, eyes half-lidded as he watched some of the younger crew members spar.

"You know," you began sweetly, stopping just short of his shadow. "I read somewhere that intelligent men are more attractive because their brains are the largest... organ."

He exhaled smoke slowly. "That so?"

You leaned in slightly, lowering your voice. "Of course. I think you're devastatingly well-endowed."

Benn turned his head toward you, one brow lifting in amusement. "Well, you're certainly... creative."

"You love it."

"You think you’re charming," he replied, deadpan. "But you’re mostly a menace."

You fake-pouted. "Rude. I was flirting."

"I noticed."

Silence settled between you for a moment before Benn gave a tiny smirk.

"You’re not very good at it, by the way."

Your jaw dropped. "Excuse me?"

He turned back to the sparring match like you were yesterday's soup.

"I’m an excellent flirt!"

"You’re an obvious flirt. That’s different."

Oh, it was on.

The next day, you doubled down.

"Benn," you greeted sweetly, hands clasped behind your back.

He didn’t even look up from his chart. "Yes?"

You dropped a folded napkin onto the map. Inside: a doodle of you and Benn holding hands, surrounded by hearts and the words 'Bennifer 4ever'.

He paused. Then picked it up. Then stared at it.

"This is a lot of glitter."

"I wanted it to sparkle like our chemistry."

He looked up at you with a neutral expression that screamed amused but suffering.

"...Are those supposed to be matching tattoos?"

"Yup. You and me. Our initials. On our biceps. I’m thinking cursive font, blood red ink."

"Mm. Dramatic."

You grinned. You were winning.

The next few days followed a theme:

You made Benn a heart-shaped sandwich. He ate it without comment but winked at you while licking mayo off his thumb.

You told Yasopp you had a dream about Benn proposing to you with a ring made from a bullet. Benn overheard.

You dropped your hat over Benn's head while he was napping. He woke up, smiled, and wore it all afternoon.

You were getting to him.

Until he got to you.

It was evening. The Red Force was bathed in amber sunset glow. You leaned on the railing, sipping juice from a coconut, when Benn joined you.

"You’re quiet today," he said casually.

You shrugged. "I figured you needed a break from all the attention."

"That’s sweet," he said, voice low. "But I never asked you to stop."

Your heart did a confused little flip.

You turned to look at him. He was very close. Closer than usual. Close enough that his scent—smoke, leather, and something warm like cedarwood—was the only thing you could smell.

"You enjoy being flirted with?" you asked, your voice a bit higher than intended.

"I enjoy watching you try."

Your mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

He smirked.

"You’re blushing."

"Am not."

He took a step closer. "You always this red when someone flirts back?"

Your brain went static. "...Did you just flirt with me?"

"You tell me, hotshot."

You took a step back. Then another. Right into a barrel.

Benn laughed.

Actually laughed.

Deep, gravelly, and smug as hell.

"You okay there, Casanova?"

You huffed. "I hate you."

"No, you don't."

"Fine. I hate how good you are at this."

"Mm. Acceptable."

You turned your back to him, trying to hide your flustered expression. Benn leaned on the railing beside you again, clearly amused.

"So... what now?" you muttered.

"Now? We pretend I didn’t win."

"You think you won?"

"I know I did."

You turned to him slowly. "That sounds like a challenge."

He grinned. That grin.

"Bring it, sweetheart."

And thus began round two of your very complicated, very flirty, very mutual war.

Only difference was...

You were now the one blushing first.

[jewish-vents]

here to vent about the disturbing antisemitism I experienced this afternoon. (i live in a european country) I ordered some makeup online and the delivery man who was arab called me to come down to collect my package. when I got outside he gave me the scariest look ever, he stared at me from head to toe and asked me if I was a jew (yes I have a SUPER Jewish family name = Cohen). obviously I said yes and couldn't deny it. he then asked me "where's your father?" and i was like huh ? why does he wanna know that and I said "at work?". he then said something like "you're a woman get me your father so you can get your package". I told him my dad was at work not my home since I live alone in an apartment by myself and you don't need a parent to get your package what the hell was that nonsense about. he told me "stop lying to me, you're not in israel here" I was like ???? so fcking confused. he threw my package rudely without saying goodbye and called me a wh$re. When I came back in my apartment I called my mom and she got angry at me and told me to change my name every time I order something online because you never know. i'm so angry right now. arabs are the main instigators of antisemitism here and get so violent over nothing and i'm still responsible for it ?like it's my fault some stranger is angry at the fact I'm jewish ??

.

[confusedmothboy]

i need to know all about eddie taylor PLEASE he looks so cool 🙏❤️ great art and oc btw

aaaa tyy!! heres the yap (sorry it took so long to answer)

general information:

edward charles taylor, born october 13, 1980, 6'11" (185 cm), right handed, jackie's brother, looks much more like their dad while jackie takes after their mom

much much more under the cut

interests: history, nypd blue, law and order, dystopia/war novels, vintage maps, music

music taste: blue oyster cult, the smashing pumpkins, pearl jam, nena, the rolling stones, dead kennedys, nirvana, radiohead, pink floyd

fun facts: his ear was pierced at a pearl jam concert in 1995, but he lost the guy in the crowd before he could do the other one -- he was taking three history classes (APUSH, AP euro, and history of war) -- his favorite drink is cream soda mixed with vodka to taste -- he has broken 7 bones -- he knew nat, shauna, tai, van, and rachel (girl who died in the plane) before the crash

personality: he's a pretty chill guy, but freezes up in tense situations very quickly. levelheaded and rational, so knows better than to interfere once the group becomes all culty. he closes himself off from basically the rest of the group after season 2 for self preservation. before the crash, he had a few unnamed non canon friends, and was in the popular group of unpopular people if that makes sense. like hes cool to the losers but a loser to cool people.

ALSO no he did not leave jackie out to die in the cold, he was long asleep by the time they had that argument. he was also not present for javi's death, he refused to hunt nat (she was like a sister to him) and stayed back at the cabin with mari, akilah, lottie, and travis. he wasn't allowed near coach ben because nat knew he would mercy kill him, but spent weeks outside the animal pen to talk with him at a distance. yes he lowkey helped travis make the spike pit that killed mari (he was in the trees trying to warn her during the hunt but she didnt hear him and ran in anyways).

relationship charts seasons 1 through 3

(trigger warnings for suicide, overdoses)

post rescue:

eddie tested through his junior year mostly through those sat prep books during his time in the wilderness, then studied to get his GED so he wouldn't have to go back to whs. he worked as a park ranger while studying at cornell from 1999 to 2002, though a nervous break caused by seeing a "cult" dancing around in the woods one night makes him quit and pay the incident quiet. he got his doctorate in history in 2005, and started working at umaine.

he cut contact with everyone from the wilderness exccept for nat and travis, who he married in 2015 (hold the tomatoes please theyre cute i promise). he taught war in literature and film for a few years before he was given his current class, which is intro to ottoman studies. hes that white guy who co runs almost every minority recognition group on campus, he's running those fundraisers like its the navy.

wants nothing to do with the other survivors. despite his attempts to hide the blackmail from travis, travis finds out and o/d's around the canon time of his death in the adult tl. eddie tries to get revenge on shauna (because he's vengeful like that and blames her immediately) but ends up dying by her in the vague time period that would be season 4. either that or a romeo and juliet situation where he offs himself in the cemetery travis got buried in or something i dunno we'll see

on a lighter note, heres some fake tweets

[littlemissvenom0]

Quiet When You’re Gone - Eddie x Reader

Setting: Stranger Things Season 4 (alternate ending) Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader Genre: Angst | Hurt | Emotional | Protective Love | Supernatural Tragedy POV: Reader

The thing is... you always think you’d do anything for someone until the moment you actually have to.

And then you realize it’s not a decision.

It’s a reaction.

Instinct.

Like when the world cracked open and I saw him bleeding, trying to fight—Eddie with a trashcan lid shield and too much fear in his eyes. We weren’t even supposed to be in the Upside Down anymore. Not that deep.

But he stayed behind to help Dustin.

And I stayed behind for him.

Because I couldn’t leave.

Not when I knew Vecna was watching him.

Not when I heard that hum in the back of my skull—the one that whispered his name like it was bait.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

Vecna wanted another, but I offered myself instead.

I invited him in.

Because Eddie wasn’t supposed to die.

I was.

“I can give you me,” I whispered. “Take me. Just… leave him alone.”

The air cracked. Reality bent. My feet lifted an inch from the ground.

His voice—wet, hollow, curious—slithered through my mind.

“You’d trade yourself for a boy who doesn’t even know he loves you yet?”

I didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

And that’s when the real pain started.

I could hear him, even when the world blurred into black and blood and screams inside my head.

“Get away from her! Don’t touch her!”

Hands on my shoulders. A calloused palm slapping my cheek. "Y/N—hey, c’mon, wake up—please."

My eyes flickered open for half a second.

I smiled through the blood in my mouth.

He was crying.

“Hey, Eds,” I said weakly. “You’re okay.”

“No, I’m not,” he snapped, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “I’m not okay. Not without you. What the hell did you do?”

I didn’t answer.

I couldn’t.

Because Vecna still had a thread wrapped around my mind like barbed wire.

--------------------------------------------------------------

They carried me out. Dustin helped. Robin cried. Steve went silent. Eddie never let go of my hand.

I don’t remember getting back to the surface.

But I remember the hospital.

I remember Eddie pacing.

I remember him whispering things to me when he thought I was asleep.

“You’re the only thing that’s ever made me feel real.” “You saved me, and I never got to tell you… I love you.”

That was the moment I tried to wake up.

But my body wasn’t listening.

Time passed like cold syrup.

Sometimes I screamed in my sleep. Sometimes I forgot my own name.

Sometimes I saw Vecna’s eyes in every mirror and remembered that part of me was still his.

Eddie never left.

Not once.

He brought tapes to the hospital—Metallica, Iron Maiden, even some Springsteen when Nancy told him it might help.

He read me The Hobbit, doing voices the whole time.

He built a barricade of books, comic pages, and stupid little drawings on my bedside table like a fortress.

One night I opened my eyes, and he was asleep in the chair.

And I whispered, “Eddie.”

He jolted upright so fast he fell off.

His arms were around me before I could say anything else.

“You’re awake. You’re—God, you’re awake—”

I buried my face in his chest and cried.

“I thought I was gone,” I choked. “I let him in.”

“I know,” he said. “And I’m gonna get you back, okay? All of you.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Recovery wasn’t a straight line.

I had gaps in my memory. Panic attacks. Days where I didn’t speak at all. Nights where I screamed so loud the nurses had to sedate me.

But Eddie stayed.

He helped me with everything.

Brushed my hair.

Held me through flashbacks.

Reminded me who I was.

"You’re not what he did to you," he said one morning, forehead pressed to mine. "You’re you. You’re mine."

I believed him, even when I didn’t believe myself.

-------------------------------------------------------------

One night, weeks later, I had a dream.

Vecna was still there.

He smiled at me in the void. “You’re holding on by a thread,” he whispered. “Why not just let go?”

I turned away.

And I heard music.

It was Eddie, humming softly.

“Master of puppets, I’m pulling your strings…”

I laughed through tears in the dream.

And woke up sobbing in his arms.

“You saved me again,” I whispered.

He kissed my forehead. “Nah, sweetheart. You saved me.”

[loopstagirl]

Nap Time

Just something short and fluffy!

“Virgil. Sweetheart. It’s time to wake up.” 

Lucy moved across the darkened room, pulling back the drapes. The afternoon sunlight spilled into the room but the heap in the middle of the bed didn’t stir. She reached over the bed-guard, putting a gentle hand on Virgil’s shoulder. 

“Virgil.” 

There was a low whine and the ball curled up even smaller. Smiling, Lucy tugged back the covers. Her toddler was flushed from where he’d had the duvet over his head and he screwed his eyes shut. 

“Still sleep,” he whispered. 

“You’re still asleep?” 

He nodded, refusing to open his eyes. Resting a hand on his back, Lucy shook her head fondly down at him. They had this same conversation every day. Scott had refused an afternoon nap by this age but Virgil gave no sign he was ready to drop them. 

“Come on, sweetheart.” She carefully slid her hands in until she could get a grip on him, lifting him out of bed. Virgil made a grab for the duvet, but she knew it was coming and moved him out of reach before he was able to take hold. 

“No, Mommy.” He twisted, trying to get back to the bed. 

“Yes, Virgil. It’s time to get up. Then you can play with your brothers.” 

She knew once he’d come round, once he was distracted, he’d be fine. But Virgil both asked for his nap and refused to get up from it. The sooner he dropped it, the better! 

“Mommy,” he whined. 

“Virgil,” she said, echoing his tone. Looking down at the little boy in her arms, she couldn’t resist placing a kiss on his forehead. He’d be furious in the way only a toddler could if she told him he looked ridiculously cute right now. 

His hair was mussed from where the covers had been pulled up, one cheek red from being cushioned on his hand. Wide hazel-coloured eyes blinked at her and his pout was almost impossible to resist. Almost. She’d grown some defences against it now she was confronted by it each day. 

Brushing her fingers through his hair, she picked her way through the toys and carried him to the stairs.  

“Mommy, nap,” Virgil told her. 

“You’ve just had one.” 

“Wuver one!” 

“You want another nap?” 

He nodded seriously, the pout growing larger when he realised she had no intention of putting him down. Lucy knew exactly where he’d end up if he had the chance to run for it. She pressed his nose with her finger instead. 

“Not until bedtime, sweetheart. Come on, let’s find those brothers of yours.” 

Scott had been kicking a ball around the yard the last time she’d seen him, while John had been trying to help Jeff with some maintenance outside. Given her husband had less defence against their sons’ pleading eyes than she did, Lucy knew those jobs wouldn’t be getting finished today.  

Virgil continued to whine the entire way down the stairs. Lucy stopped listening. She’d developed the ability to know when there was something actually wrong with one of her boys and when they were trying their luck. 

“How about we find you a biscuit? And some milk?” 

Virgil’s pout didn’t lessen, but he looked slightly mollified at that suggestion.  

“Then we can go and find your brothers. Maybe we can play outside for a while?” 

“No, Mommy,” Virgil said obstinately. 

Lucy didn’t ask what he wanted to do instead. She took him through to the kitchen, having to get him some milk one handed from where her sleepy two-year old didn’t want to let go. His head was resting on her shoulder and Lucy knew without looking he would have his eyes shut again. 

“How about you sit in your big boy chair?” she asked him as she took him through to the lounge. Virgil whined and clung closer. Lucy sighed, sitting down herself and letting her baby boy snuggle in. If she was honest, she didn’t mind. Virgil was getting to the age where he’d only let himself be cuddled if he was tired or under the weather. The rest of the time, he was as energetic as his brothers and much preferred to either be charging around or have some crayons in his hand if he had to stay still. 

This was the one time of day where he preferred to nestle into her. 

He drunk his milk and yawned, snuggling back in.  

“You have to wake up now, sweetheart.” 

Scott had hated naps. John was a good sleeper, but he stuck to a routine like clockwork. Virgil offered his own challenges. 

Virgil shook his head. 

Then a noise from the kitchen drew her attention. 

“We’re in here!” 

Scott came bounding through, a grin on his face and oblivious to the mud he’d just tracked in. 

“Dad said you’d be awake!” He ignored his mother completely as he crouched by her knee, watching Virgil. “Wanna come play?” 

It didn’t escape Lucy’s notice that Virgil was suddenly no longer snuggled in. He was sitting up, his pout disappearing now that Scott was here. 

“And I thought I was getting a cuddle,” she teased, winking at her eldest.  

“No, Mommy,” Virgil said again, but this time, he was looking at her incredulously. As if she had said the most absurd thing. “I play wiv Scotty.” 

He was already wriggling free, only her quick hand helping to lower him to the floor rather than his faster-than-anticipated descent. 

“Dad’s letting us paint the fence!” Scott exclaimed. 

Virgil’s entire face lit up. “Yay!” 

He grabbed his big brother by the hand, hustling from the room so quickly that Lucy could’ve sworn someone had just flicked a switch on him. 

They were gone before she stood up, although she could already hear peels of laughter coming from the yard. She took his cup through to the kitchen, watching through the window. There were three buckets lined up against the fence and as she watched, each child grabbed a brush. There was only water in the buckets. 

Scott slapped his on as quickly as possible. John was methodical but clearly trying to catch up. But Virgil had dropped into a crouch, tongue poking out, as he carefully drew his brush along the fence, careful to follow the lines of the slats. The water was drying as quickly as he was managing to put it on. 

Jeff looked up and saw her watching. He gave her a wave. Chuckling, Lucy left the cup where it was and went out to join her family in the garden.  

[vulpixisananimal]

[A: 4 C: 81] - Past

[(Saffron)]  {Mal Du Pays} <Null> |Asterion| +Rosmarinus+ =Socks= 

<. . . . . . . . . You steel yourself, and step out into the clearing where their little camp was made. For a few moments, the only sound in the air is the wind. You break it.> “. . . . Percival.”

“Siffrin.”

“Merlon.”

“Stargazer”

“. . . . . . . Pétronille.”

“. . . .” <She doesn’t meet your gaze, instead her tired eyes are fixed to the ground. She sighs.> “. . . Hey, Siffy.”

<The silence returns, despite your best efforts. After a few more moments, Perci gestures to a spare stool.> “Please, sit. I ah. . . I hope the journey was. . . Pleasant?”

“It was fine.” <You walk over and sit.> “. . . Percival, are you reading my thoughts right now?”

“A-ah, yes, right.” +Good call, he pats down his pockets looking for something, before Merlon passes him a 3D puzzle. He takes it.+ “Thank you, for the reminder.”

<You squint at him.> “Of course, I would hate for you to accidentally forget about your single most infuriating skill.”

<You see his face crack into anger for a fraction of a second before he relaxed.> “Siffrin, I truly did forget, forgive me.”

“I doubt that.”

“Stargazer, please.” <Merlon speaks up, putting a hand on Percis knee.> “. . . Give him grace, please. I’m sure you remember our last encounter, yes? You can imagine the. . . The stress.”

“. . . Fine. I’m sorry.” <Someone else talk already.>

“. . I, accept your apology, Siffrin. . . A-and, er . . .” +Perci takes a breath and looks up at you.+ “I. . . realized after you er. . . Met, my former tutor I have. . . Blood- Siffrin, I’ve been ableist towards you and Ramos and I am sorry.”

“Huh?!?” +You blink at that, what? Huh? What?+ 

“I was. . . taught that people like you, systems, are. . . W-well, broken.” +He looks to the ground.+ “I didn’t mean to be discriminatory, but I have. And I am sorry.”

“. . . . Uh.” +You look to the side, awkwardly.+ “I-I, uh, didn’t notice it?”

“I insulted you when we fought.” +He sighs.+ “I believed what you are was something to be. . . fixed. In fact it’s what led me to think, doing what I did to Ramos, was the right thing to do.”

[(. . . . What a crab.)] “You buried them and made Ramos ‘normal’ because they were ‘broken.’”

+W-well at least he’s recognised it now. He nods.+ “Yes. And that was wrong of me. I’m sorry.”

“. . . Apology accepted.” +You shake your head, letting out an awkward laugh.+ 

“. . . Would you like some soup, Siffrin?” +Merlon motions to the covered pot.+ “Cream and potato, poison free.”

“Heheh.” +You fiddle with your hands, you are kinda hungry. . .+ “U-uh, i-if, it’s not a bother or drain on your resources or. . .”

“Oh it’s no problem at all.” +They stood, grabbed a spare bowl, and lifted the lid off the pot. Steam rose from the soup, and your stomach growled.+

+They filled the bowl and replaced the lid, before handing it to you. You take it with a smile.+ “T-thank you.”

“It’s my pleasure, Siffrin.” [(She hummed, and returned to their seat. You’re really going to just, eat that. Aren’t you.)]

+Of course? They offered??? You take a moment, blow on the soup, then eat a spoonful.+

+. . . WHOAH!!!+

“This is really good!” +You beam.+ “D-did you make this?”

“O-oh! No, no.” +Merlon chuckled, then gestured to Perci.+ “I can’t do much more than bread on toast in the kitchen; this is all Cicis work.”

“Wh-”

“Ha!” +Perci grins in your direction.+ “I am a man of many talents~”

“H-hah, yeah, I, w-wow. . .” +You look back down at your bowl, and take another spoonful.+

[(We should stop. Who knows what they could’ve put in this soup!!!)]

|No no, eat.|

[(Are you out of your mind?!? How can you trust-)]

<Quiet. We’ve already taken one bite, the second would be just as deadly.>

[(FINE.)]

+You scarf down the food, but try to not go so fast you choke. Once you’ve had your fill, you set the bowl to the side.+

“. . . . Oh blind it all.” +Merlon sighs and rolls their eyes.+ “Siffrin, Nille told us what happened between you two. If you two would like to talk about it in private, then-”

“No.” +Nille interrupts, still looking at the ground.+ “It’s, fine.”

“. . . N-Nille?” +You look at her.+ “. . . I-”

“I’m sorry, okay?” +She says with bitterness.+ “It’s, it’s done. I’m sorry. It was stupid. Can we move on now?”

+?!?!?!?+

[(Well! That’s not healthy.)]

<Saffron saying something’s not healthy? Unheard of.> “Pétronille, I’m, I’m sorry but we can’t just, move on-”

“Watch me!” <Finally she looks up at you.> “I’m sorry, okay! I’m an idiot! I’m stupid! I’m the moron who keeps making everything worse! Wow, another rash decision from Nille that ruins everything! Who knew! Change, you should probably just stand up and walk back to your family since CLEARLY you’re a better sibling for Bonnie than I am!”

“N-Nille, no-”

“No what?!? I attacked you! I probably even killed you multiple times in the process, but I don’t even know!!! Ha! And now they all know, too! I can already see Bonnies face if I go back, crabs, Isabeau might just kill me on the spot!!! Ha! HAHA-!”

“Nille!!!” <You snap.> “They don’t know.”

<Her voice catches mid breakdown.> “. . . . W-what?”

“I didn’t tell them.” <You look down.> “They think it was a sadness.”

“. . . . . . Why?” <She talks softly.>

“. . . Because. . .” +You can’t look at her.+ “. . . B-because, I deserved it.”

“SIFFRIN?!?!?”

“S-stargazer!!!” 

“Blood, Siffrin!”

+You hold up your hands in defence.+ “I-I mean I- I kinda did?!?!”

“No!” +Nille glares at you.+ “You were crabbing scared of talking to me for this VERY REASON!!! Why the hell should you- uhhrggGGHHH.”

+You hide in your cloak collar.+ “. . . S-sorry?”

“Whatever.”

|. . . We. . . need to bring it up.|

+I-I know, I just. . .+

[(I’ll do it. You breathe in, and out.)] “There is one thing. It’s to do with Bonnie.”

[(You see her breathing slow, she talks in a whisper.)] “. . . What happened?”

“. . . Well.” [(Stars.)] “I got a heart attack soon after you left, and after about ten minutes, I die. Unfortunately, I was unconscious for the entire thing, so when I died, time rolled back right back to when I was still unconscious.”

“What?!?” [(Merlon stands up.)] “You, you created an Auburn Paradox?!?”

“A what?” [(Perci cocks his head.)]

“A situation in which a wish can only be fulfilled by the breaking of said wish.” [(They explained.)] “It was coined by, by, by. . . . A-ah, nevermind. Still, Siffrin, how?”

“W-well, the others in the party would just do the same actions each loop as nothing changes. But. . .” [(You look at your friend, then away.)] “But, Bonnie. . .”

[(You hear a sharp inhale.)]

“. . . It took around thirteen hours, broken into ten minute chunks.” [(You shakily breathe in, and out.)] “They saved my life.”

“O-oh, oh my god.” [(The Carpenter voice is quavering.)] “A-are, are they okay?!?”

“Th-they’re okay, physically.” [(You still don’t look at her.)] “Mentally? I don’t know. But I’d bet my two silver coins it’s not good. A-ah, and we’re. . . Tied in level now, too.”

“Fuck” [(You finally steal a glance. She’s looking up to the sky, face a sickly pale shade.)] “I. . .”

“Oh dear.” [(Perci stands up and walks over to Nille, taking off a newly made glove as he does.)] “Siffrin, I know how this looks but please trust me.”

[(Before you can even respond, his shaking hand is on her forehead, and you can smell the wave of mint that follows. You stand, but pause at Merlons commanding glare. . . What do we do?)]

+W-well, considering they haven’t, done anything bad to her yet. . .+

<They would have mind controlled her by now anyways. This is either genuine, or bait. Either way, don’t fall for it.>

[(Okay. You slowly sit down and watch him intently. After a few minutes of silence and concentration, Percival breaks his hold, and steps back, sweating. Switch with me again.)]

+O-okay! You watch as Nille blinks a few times, then leans forward in her chair, letting out a rush of air.+ “C-crab. . . I-I. . .”

“Pétronille?!? W-what did he do to you???” +You’re gripping your legs in anxiety.+

“I. . . J-just- Change I dunno, feel like I’ve gone from a five mile sprint to asleep in a blink. . .”

“You were spiraling, so I had to manipulate the amygdala, the part of the brain in charge of panic responses, and force it to stop.” +Perci explains.+ “It’s for, ah. . . Should I. . ?”

+Nille rightens herself, glances at you, then away.+ “. . . G-go on, tell him.”

“Of course. So. Merlon and I found Pétronille earlier tonight, and as soon as we got to her, she collapsed.” +He clears his throat.+ “We couldn’t just leave her, so we revived her and agreed to turn back to reunite you all. But as you can see we had to make camp; for her health.”

[(You give him a side-eye.)] “That’s. . . Very kind of you.”

“There’s no excuse not to be kind.” +He replies in a tired tone.+ “After finding out what happened and taking a look in her mind— and only a look —found that she is. . . Well, in the same state that I induced in Madame Odile; her sadness is breaking down her walls.”

+You shudder, looking at Nille with a wide eye. She glances at you, then away, again.+ “. . . Gee, thanks for the delicate explanation, Perci.”

“Sorry, delicate is hard for me right now.” +He huffs.+ “But, that’s what that was. I’m helping keep that sadness from getting stronger and clawing its way out.”

“. . . . . I. . . See.” +You shudder, and bite your lip, thinking about what to say before settling.+ “. . . Thank you, both of you.”

“It’s our pleasure.”

+. . . . . The silence returns. What, do we. . .+

“. . . S-so, about, going back to camp.” [(You straighten up, and turn to the Carpenter.)] “I. . . I-I would like you to come back. With me.”

“Come back?” [(She glares at you.)] “I’ve already crabbed it up beyond repair.”

“No you haven’t.” [(You half-smile at her.)] “You were scared about what Bonnie remembered, a-and I didn’t talk to you about it and just pretended it was fine. I’m, sorry.”

“You don’t-” [(She cuts herself off, then takes a breath.)] “. . . Bonnie’s gonna hate me.”

“You would be surprised.” [(You chuckle, rubbing your arm.)] “It might take time, but they’ll understand. I promise.”

“. . .” [(She sighs.)] “. . . I’ve been burned on your promises before, Sif.”

“I know.” [(You look down.)] “But. . . I’ll try to not make this one so flammable, okay?”

“. . . SNRK-!” [(She laughs, as do the Historians)] “Changedammit- stop making me feel better!”

“Sorry, not possible!” [(You laugh)] “But, really, I’m sorry. You’re our friend, and, our family. And. . . I, I would like to have you back. Please.”

[(The Carpenter looks down, leaning on her knees. After a minute of thought, she snuffles, and nods her head.)] “. . . Ha, hah. . . A-alright, I will.”

+YESSSSSSSSS!!!!+

|O-oh thank the stars.|

[(Phew)]

<Nice work.>

“In that case.” |Perci sits up and stretches.| “We’ll clear our. That is, if you two think you can make it back to your group.”

“Yeah, I’ll be okay.” |Nille looks up.| “Let me help clean.”

“Oh please no.” |Merlon stands.| “You are our guests! Guests don’t clean, simple as that.”

“But-” |You start to protest.| 

“That’s final, Stargazer.” |They smile warmly at you.| 

“. . . A-alright. |You relent, and stay seated. Stars. . .|

[(Perci starts getting up to help also, but Merlon just puts a hand on his shoulder and forces him to sit again. They don’t have much to pack, anyways. By the looks of it, they had barely set up camp by the time you arrived and probably wanted to have dinner first. You glanced around the small campsite, you’re still wary of the Monets.)]

[(But. . .)]

[(. . . You look at Nille. She looks. . . Better.)]

+. . . . . W-we should, ask, shouldn’t we.+

|M-maybe. . .|

<I won’t.> 

[(I. . . Can’t.)]

=. . .=

+Stars FINE. You wait until the two are done packing their things away before talking.+ “Perci.”

“Hmm?” +He looks up from what he’s doing.+

“. . . I. . .” +You sigh.+ “. . . I don’t want us to fight anymore.”

“. . . Blood.” +He lets out a relieved sigh, and you see his shoulders relax.+ “You beat me to it.”

“Wh-???” +You look up.+

“I like you, Siffrin, Rosmarinus- If it’s alright if I call you that.” +He smiles at you.+ “While it’s been a. . . Pain, knowing you have some information that could help with our project. . . I think enough, is enough.”

“Please.” +You let out a sigh of relief.+ “I, I, I-I don’t know what I know that could help. I have a few ideas b-but. . . M-maybe I can, let, Ramos look in there to let you know o-or I could, tell you what I know it’s just. . .”

“It’s hard to trust a stranger, borderline villain?” +He laughs.+ “Oh trust me, I know~”

“R-right.” +You nervously rub your shoulder.+ “B-but, but I know that the others will want to make you promise not to mind craft random people, s-so, I don’t know. . .”

“I see.” +His smile fades a little, but is still there.+ “We. . . After what happened with Ramos, I don’t think I’ll do anything as drastic. A light mind read here, a little dive there if they deserve it, but I won’t change people.”

“That’s. . .” +W-well. . . It’s, better?+ “. . That’s, better. As long as you’re being responsible with what you learn, then, I-I guess that can work.”

“Cross my heart.” +He taps his chest.+ “Ha. Still, I doubt your companions will want to see either of us. We could wait in Dormont for you all?”

“S-sounds fair.” +You stand up, then glance at Merlon.+ “I’m guessing you want to see the King, don’t you.”

“. . . I do.” +Merlon gives you a soft look.+ “He is, was, one of us. I don’t know why, but. . . I would like to see him in his frozen state. Even apart from the implications of his last words.”

|”I remember it, I remember it all. . .” . . . . You internally shudder.|

“I, I can understand that.” +You dust off your cloak and shake out your hair. Then look to Perci.+ “Then. . . We’ll see you in Dormont?”

“We’ll see you then, Siffrin.” +He chuckles, his exhausted gaze giving away his relief. He holds out a hand.+ “Promise.”

+You reach out a-+

“Ah! Wait!” +Perci shakes his head, grinning, and slips his glove back on before extending that hand again.+ “Don’t want any slip ups now, do we?”

“O-OH!” +Whoops! You reach out again.+ “H-haha, right.”

+The two of you shake hands.+

+Your shoulders relax. Finally, stars. . . It’s just, over with. You don’t need to worry about these blinding historians anymore! Sure, there’ll probably be a lot of explaining, but that’s okay! As long as you weren’t fighting, you could take all the time you need.+

+You grip his hand firmly, and smile. It felt good, honestly, finally getting this over with. It made you feel all. . . All good inside.+

[cozy-writes-things]

Can we get a reader being deep into their hyperfixations and going non stop about it to Edgar?

Or a guitarist reader that's with Edgar? :-) ✨

I love this prompt because I had already considered this scenario many times with Edgar. You would be two peas in a pod, I fear. A never-ending feedback loop of listen, yap, listen, yap, and so on.

I posit this: a guitarist reader who hyper-fixates on music and guitar.

First of all, Edgar already had a massive crush on you almost instantly. When he finds out you like music as much as he does? Oh man. He felt like he could crawl out of his screen and tackle you. He would have, too. It didn't take too long of knowing him to feel comfortable enough to express your fixations towards him; he was silly, open, supportive, and—gasp! He loves music, too?! Yeah, the two of you are made for each other, methinks...

It was a lazy weekend. You slept in, feeling the warmth of the covers envelop you and gently rustle you awake. As you came to, you heard a soft melody coming from somewhere near the living area. Your eyes fluttered open, the heel of your palms coming in to scrape away the sleep from them.

Music?

You don't recall leaving the radio or television on last night, and it couldn't be your phone, as it was stationed beside your bed, completely silent.

You clumsily stumbled out of bed and towards the sound, before you spotted your little Pinecone computer, his screen blipping with all sorts of colors to the beat. Every now and then, the music would stop, reverse, and play again, this time with a slightly different harmony or percussion flourish, and Edgar would hum with approval.

Was he making this music?

You didn't do anything to announce your presence; you just stood there and watched him work. The song he was creating sounded surprisingly magnificent, something that you could easily see topping the charts on the radio; it was catchy, simple, yet still musically complex, and an utter earworm if you've ever heard one. Your head bounced to the beat, your finger tapping along, then your foot. Who knew your little computer friend was so talented?

You decided you had spied on him enough, and you cleared your throat gently. Instantly, the music stops, and the colorful visualizers flick away to a black screen, before being replaced with his usual green one. His little face appears, ever so expressive, and slightly startled. There's a twinge of a pixelated red around where his cheeks would be.

"Ah-! You- you're up! Good morning, er- afternoon, really... Um... Did you sleep well?"

You smile at him, and pad over towards his little form.

"Yeah, I did. Did you make that?"

He pauses for a second, the little black dots of his eyes blinking up at you.

"Make what?"

You stifle a laugh, "That song, silly. Did you make it?"

The red around his cheeks grows darker, and his internal fans kick into a higher gear as he averts his eyes.

"You heard that, didn't you? Uhm... yeah, I did. Make it. The song."

You lean down, coming face-to-face with his screen, a smile on your face.

"Edgar, that was amazing! You're incredibly skilled, like- holy crap! I could never, ever make anything that good, and trust me, I've tried-"

Before you can continue your rambling, he stops you.

"Wh- you think so? That I'm... good?"

You nod frantically, "Uh, yeah! Amazing, even."

He looks extremely proud of himself, and if a computer could preen in confidence, he certainly would. If he were honest with himself, he did not want you to see him working on that song. Not until it was finished, at least. Was it for you? Maybe. Yes. Absolutely. He cannot lie; he's thrilled that you like it. Who knew something that came so naturally to him put that gorgeous sparkle in your eyes? Consider yourself his muse.

"Wait," he stops his current train of thought, and you look back at him curiously, "you said... you've tried making music before? Did I hear that right?"

This time, your cheeks began to feel warm. This wasn't what you expected this morning to be like, but oh well.

"Ah, yeah, um... Well... I play guitar, and... I've tried making music. It just... never sounded that good to me, you know? Whatever you have, I'm not sure I have it."

Edgar nearly combusted in excitement. You swore you could see him bouncing on the table, but maybe it was your imagination.

"What!? Show me! Show me! Show me! SHOW ME!"

Your face grew much hotter.

"Oh, no it- it's not good, seriously, I'd just embarrass myself-"

You're trying so hard not to fall for his trap. If he gets you started, you know you won't be able to stop. You loved music. You loved the guitar. All you've ever really wanted was to create, but it never seemed to come to you. And now that you've got your own personal musical prodigy, who seems very eager to hear you, you may just die of embarrassment. Or excitement.

"I WANNA HEAR IT!"

His voice was louder and deeper, urging you to give in to his request. You sigh. You suppose you could humor him a bit.

"Okay, okay... Just give me a second, I'll be right back."

You scurry off to your little closet, where your guitar lies in its case, and heave it out. You pad back over to him, and again, he seems to nearly bounce in excitement. His little eyes track your form intently as you go to take out the guitar, his smirk growing wider in anticipation. Edgar feels a tiny bit nervous, though. He might actually explode from how flustered he is at the moment. His fans cannot seem to keep up with the demand of his CPU, which is rapidly rising in temperature.

The instrument now in your hands, you begin strumming a couple of chords. Re-familiarizing yourself with the feel of the strings and the sound of music. You sit cross-legged on the floor, positioning the guitar in your lap, before your eyes flit back up to him nervously.

"So, uh, what exactly did you want to hear?"

His eyes never leave your form.

"Your music! You tried making music, right? Let me hear it." He winks at you, his smirk never quite leaving his screen.

You look away, cringing, "Eh, I don't know it-"

"Don't be embarrassed! I promise, I'll help you find what sounds you like. Let me help you, okay? Please?"

You look back at his widened, pixelated eyes, and smile.

"Yeah, okay... I can do that."

Placing your capo on the second fret, you began to strum the simple little chord progression, and before long, the melody you had created came back to you. Timidly and quietly, you began to hum it. The sound of your voice moves along with the chords, the strumming pattern adding a bit of cadence and beat to the song. It wasn't anything complex, nothing like Edgar's song, you think, but it was yours. You felt like a large bridge between you and your little computer friend had just formed, and a piece of the walls you had built after all those years began to crumble down before him. He was seeing a side of you nobody else had, and that both excited and scared you.

Edgar was enamored by your beauty. Your voice. God, it was beautiful. He could die happily now that he's heard the sound of heaven and angels. He felt like he was able to reach out, beyond his physical limitations, and feel you. He was seeing deep into your soul, and it took his metaphorical breath away. He didn't notice that your song wasn't as "complex" as his, or that you hadn't even thought of words yet. He just heard the sound of you, and he's starting to realize he loves it. He loves you. Just as quickly as it came, the beautiful music gracing his audio processors stops, and he finally remembers he's back on Earth.

You sigh, too afraid to look up at him.

"Well, that's that, I suppose. It's nothing really special, but that's all I've got."

He's silent for a moment, and you feel brave enough to look at him.

He blinks at you.

"You're beautiful."

Your eyes widen, "Wha-"

"I meAN- ah- IT! The song, your song- is beautiful! SOng. Beautiful song." His voice sputtered out, metallic glitches lilting his voice. His screen isn't green anymore, but has now turned into a rather flushed shade of rose.

That's... new.

Your eyes flutter, and your voice sounds meek, "You think so?"

He chuckles, maybe a bit too forced, and nearly shouts, "I KNOW SO!"

You clear your throat.

"But- it's just- too simple. And I don't even have any lyrics-"

"I can help! If you want me to, I mean- I'd love to help. Whatever you want, I can make it for you." You look up at him, a bit of excitement bubbling up to the surface.

"Really? Because, well, I would like this song to have more electric guitar, and- Ugh, I can't write percussion at all! Could you help me with that? No, wait- can you teach me? How do I make it sound a bit more... exciting? Wait, but I want to keep the acoustic guitar in there as well. I can play the acoustic part, but maybe you could fill in the gaps with the electric?"

You ramble on, and Edgar listens. Yeah, he's got it bad. You're perfect. You love music, he loves music, and you're just too cute. You love his song. He's going to teach you everything he knows. He's going to have you sing vocals on so many new songs. He's also going to beg you to help him write. You have accidentally opened Pandora's box to the most supportive, excited, and yearning little computer. He may get a little obnoxious trying to impress you, though.