#also his whole perspective on trying to be something you’re ‘not’ damaging others

[fellhellion]

It’s time for your hourly tunes thoughts on miguel but like. So interesting to me that there’s an element of self-centredness to his empathy regarding people and situations that hit too close to his guilt and anger at himself.

It’s not as if he’s utterly emotionally distanced from the average person simply by fact of the multiverse; he cries out when the renaissance Vulture strikes the helicopter and sounds genuinely distressed.

But I think the reason he at first denies Jess recruiting Gwen is strictly because of her relation to Miles, since there’s other Spiders around the same age in the society. But I also think the reason he finally relents is because she reminds him of himself when she says in that small unsure voice that she has no idea how to fix this. That’s what his weary response about joining the club says to me at least. And he sends her home because she voices a doubt I think he has himself.

His “Do you want to find out?” response to Gwen’s question of if he’s certain Miles will cause harm by changing canon doesn’t exactly ring of certain knowledge to me, only fear and anger at the possibility of it all happening again.

Regarding Miles as well, I think both the anger and eventual empathy regarding Miles losing his father are both tainted by Miguel seeing himself in each aspect. He’s utterly unable to evaluate Miles’s actions separately his own trauma.

[literary-illuminati]

2024 Book Review #28 – The Dead Take The A Train by Cassandra Khaw and Richard Kadrey

Oh I wanted to love this book so very much. On paper it’s basically made for me – incredibly messy fuckup of a heroine, cosmic horror through the idiom of wall street corporate sharks, grimy and gory urban fantasy full of knifing people in back alleys, the works! For the first fifty pages or so, I thought I was in love – which just made the disappointment as the wheels came off all the more bitter.

The book follows Julie, ‘barbed wire magician’ (it’s at least as unpleasant as it sounds), professional monster hunter, and all-around personal disaster. Her life takes a turn for the even messier when a) her best friend/comically oversized unresolved crush shows up at her door begging for help running from her abusive husband and b) unrelatededly but more or less simultaneously, her ex-partner-and-also-boyfriend, looking up to clean up embarrassing loose ends on his rise up the elldritch corporate ladder, baits her into trying to summon a guardian angel from a sabotaged tome and ends up releasing a metaphysical parasite that starts murdering its way through the city’s occult underground. From there things just get messier.

Drilling down as much as I can, my issues with this can be summed up as it feels like a first draft. There’s stuff there on the page – character arcs, relationships, bits of scenery and action setpieces, even themes! - but it’s all just..there. Exaggerated line sketches no one ever went back and turned into full illustrations. It’s most painful with the characters – every one of them is a caricature, precisely and exactly what they first appear to be with the same beats hit again and again every single time they appear on screen. Which more or less for the quirky supporting cast but like – we get multiple chapters from the perspective of the aforementioned abusive husband, and something like a fifth of the book is from the POV of the sleazy corporate striver ex. At no point does either one get the slightest bit of nuance or pathos – Tyler’s chapters in particular end up reading like bad SCP field reports, with so much self-destructive instituional backstabbing and betrayal it all ends up being slapstick.

Sarah the love interest gets a special anti-shout-out here. Like, I know I’m just picky about and have a low tolerance for romances, but I swear – the single most important dynamic in the book in terms of both wordcount and narrative signposting is her and Julie’s romance, and it is just So. Bad. Every single scene she’s in is dedicated to rubbing your face in how fragile and traumatized and selfless and adorable and good-hearted and damaged she is, and the entirety of the romance is essentially one of those jokes about how lesbians will spend six years living with each other awkwardly waiting for the other to ask them out but stretched across 400 pages. I spent half the book patiently waiting for any hint of hidden depths or surprising twists to her character, but nope! Just a perfect domestic angel.

The setting actually has something of a similar issue. It feels like an exaggerated pastiche of urban fantasy, assuming the reader is already familiar with all the tropes and conceits and making only the most perfunctory possible gestures towards exploring or justifying them. This can absolutely work, but if you’re doing it you kind of need to use the genre as the background or setup for something else that the book is actually about – deconstruction or satire or character study or Wacky Hijinks or something. When what’s gruesome action and drama is supposed to be the star attraction, the grounding and verisimilitude of the world is actually pretty key.

A really tight, tense plot could have absolutely redeemed the whole but, well, nope. The literal entire plot hinges on Tyler, in the course of one conversation several drinks in at a crowded bar, baiting Julie into looking for a particular type of tome from a particular store so she’ll try the ritual he had swapped out with one to curse her – but then also that he didn’t know what the ritual he swapped in actually did. The big evil wall street law firm has a corporate culture that should have collapsed about 48 hours after it was founded, and absolutely nothing about it makes sense for a place with lasting institutional power. Everyone’s morality and perceptiveness changes as the plot requires. The pacing feels like they had to pull a happy ending out of their asses at the 2/3 mark and shove the rest of the book into a sequel. It’s just, it’s bad!

Also the prose starts at fun and evocative and keeps pushing into Lovecraftian levels of adjective-addiction, and neither the A-Train nor the dead are actually at all important to the story.

Just, argh. This could have been good! The first 40 pages were a really fun schlocky monster-of-the-week story! The first ritual summoning the Proctor was basically perfect! I wanted to love this!

[pixies-and-poets]

I was thinking about Woodrow and his poetry (y’know, as one does constantly if you’re me) and I think it’s important to point out that he’s not writing universally beloved works that just so happen to be followed up with misfortune. Because then, other people might say hey, all the disaster is totally worth it because he’s SO GOOD AT POETRY and that’s just the price of art. No: a lot of his fellows think his poems are bad too. They don’t like them!!

Each time Woodrow read a poem, tragedy would strike. Residents of Palette Prime naturally blamed him.They would forbid him to write poetry again, citing billions in property damage and "his use of clichéd metaphors."

Not only does Beep-0 quote other residents of Palette Prime, but he seems to not be a fan himself, via his commentary:

And if you look at a lot of the illustrations, the people he’s reading his poems to (including his ex-girlfriend!! he deserves better!!) are reacting negatively before anything catastrophic even actually happens.

Most people don’t appreciate his work for whatever reason. They probably judge it too melodramatic, pretentious, and simply superfluous. Most people must wonder: why does he keep doing it?? It’s not like it’s bringing him widespread love and acclaim. It’s bringing him only danger and suffering!! Does the world NEED poetry at all? Especially his?

But here’s the thing. Every so often, someone comes along for whom his poetry does resonate. For whom it means something. Jeanie is one such person. For her it meant a lot. 

In my effort to "translate" the poet-warden Woodrow for the Heroes, I studied thousands of his poems. More than just a combination of rhythmic verses, I found them powerful, even moving - expanding and rewiring my neurotransmitters with each prosodic cue. Few things have contributed to my emerging emotional literacy like poetry. Perhaps I should try writing my own one day.

Here we see one of Beep-0 and Jeanie’s many differences. Now, as much as I love Beep-0, he is very much snide and snarky and dismissive of things he doesn’t understand or appreciate, including a lot of rabbids’ natural silly antics. But Jeanie is open-minded, eager to better understand a world that is new to her, and tries to learn something from everyone she encounters. As she is just learning about emotions, she has no reason to find Woodrow’s poems cliché or overdramatic. To her they are fascinating and perspective-expanding.

Headcanon-wise, I think Phantom would also have that deep connection, as he is himself a being forged of art and melodrama.

And this to me sums up why Woodrow is such an inspiring character and one of my favorites. He keeps doing what he does because, well, he must feel he has to. It’s how he communicates with the world. And he does so in spite of not only the universe punishing him, but his fellow people often rejecting his work, which probably stings far worse. Because every now and then, EVERY NOW AND THEN, you find someone for whom you can make a difference, someone who is touched.

And that’s art. That’s the point of the whole thing. That’s what it’s all about.

That’s why I love him!!

[gaveldefy]

     it’s an old rule, based in all the wrong ideals of testosterone and repressed emotions, but women and children were always off limits.  no matter the violence, no matter the reason, it all stayed far away from them.  didn’t matter if they knew how to shoot like his mother did.  didn’t matter if they knew how to protect themselves.  club business didn’t damage those who weren’t members of the club.  jax always held it close to his heart.  from a personal perspective, that rule extended to anyone outside the club that held a place in his heart.  so, as astrid ( astoria? ) tells her story it’s hard to stay quiet.  after she takes a step back to put distance between them again, jax sees the way she’s trying to curl in on herself.  this isn’t someone proud of what they’d done.  this speaks to years of trauma and damage, which angers him to an extremely violent level.

     good thing all this started halfway across the world.  if any of these assholes were closer jax would’ve gone on the road to end them himself.  he hoped the rage etched into his features wasn’t translating into any anger at her.  all he can focus on is the idea of using a teenager, a small teenager, to do your fucking dirty work for you because you’re too god damn incapable of making a living for yourself.  he’d set them on fire and roast marshmallows over their screaming bodies.

     at one point he needs to run his palms down over his face.  something to do with his hands.  jax wanted to reach out and bring astrid back in but he also knew that some things just needed to get out.  there were times when his own emotions were so volatile he didn’t want anyone touching him as he was vomiting them onto the floor.  last thing he wanted was to interrupt her story or make her feel self conscious for telling it so, he shoved his hands down into his pockets and let his fingers skim over the cool metal of the zippo.  the smooth, cool sensation helped him keep focus rather than run away with his rage.  if this were a club matter she wouldn’t even need to finish the story because they’d be riding out to make things right.  unfortunately, it sounded like this whole thing was going to need more finesse they as a group usually facilitated.

     he can’t decide whether or not the mother deserved to go, too.  astrid said he was allowed to ask any questions he had but these would stay with him.  did she know what happened to her daughter?  did she even give a shit?  people like wendy cared but didn’t necessarily have the circumstances that allowed for staying a parent.  based on everything he’d just heard jax is inclined to think her mother didn’t give a shit which told him all he really needed to know about the majority of her family.

     his lips part so he can, at the very least, answer that last question for her but as soon as he does the backdoor of the kitchen flies open.  half-sack runs through like a confused bat out of hell.  “ hi, “ he waves,dazed as he ever is when looking at either gemma or astrid.  hale steps in behind, filling the frame in a much more lithe way then opie tends to.  at times jax is certain the taller man is part cat.  his fingertips wedge above the door frame so he can lean forward without his feet passing the threshold.  with his eyes focused on the prospect it takes an extra second for him to see astoria standing there.  the blonde shakes his head and nods his chin back at the third biker.

     “ we didn’t have to break the door or nothin’.  window, “ half-sack shakes his head.  “ we didn’t have to break the window.  it’s all good. “

     “ thanks, man. “

     purse and keys are held up in offering.  it’s like he’s suddenly starting to wonder if he’d walked into the middle of a fight.  jax can see the wheels turning behind those eyes.  “ i’m just gonna- “

     “ let’s go, limp dick, “ hale finally enters the kitchen to grab the other by the back of his kutte.  right before a tug pulls him back the purse and keys are set at the edge of the table.  jax started following the other two men step by step with the intention of locking a door that should’ve been locked to begin with.

     “ tell her to call me when you’re done, “ hale yells from outside the house.  “ so we can gossip about what an asshole you are.  love you.  mwah. “

     the door lightly slammed on the kissing noise followed by a low click that was accentuated by jax’s sigh.

     “ some days i worry about being a father and then i remember i’ve been a dad all along, “ he shakes his head.  whatever his frustration, however, it was the relief he’d needed to calm the fuck down.  focus on the important thing standing right in front of him.

     jax plants himself right back in front of astrid.  his posture is relaxed and his head tilted to observe everything he can.  “ good girl, “ the blonde whispers in reference to part of the story that didn’t need to be elaborated on.  one hand reaches out to experimentally land on her hip.  “ nothing’s changed, red, i can promise you that.  you ran to protect yourself.  if stahl’s desperate enough to use it then we’ll deal with it later. but, i want you here.  i like you in my shirts.  i like you in my bed. “  a gentle squeeze on her hip is punctuated by a playful grin.  “ thank you for telling me.  it means a lot.  and, if there’s anything i can do, anything at all.  i want to do it. “

Little princess prompts a laugh, uneven and hiccuping though it is, and she lets her hand fall from her mouth to rest against his chest, fingers curling possessively in the fabric of his shirt. Astoria hesitates, trying to sort out what to say to all of this—it's a fine line to walk, giving him the information he needs without giving him anything that could come back to bite him in the ass. He has a son to think about, too, and her thoughts fall on Abel in the NICU, how small he'd been the few times she saw him, the grip of his little fist around her finger while she sang him nonsense songs as Jax and the doctors discussed his progress.

She's about to get into it when she catches a few words clear as day—so, you didn't kill anybody, right? It prompts another laugh, this one nervous and humorless, and she clears her throat, flattens her palm against his chest and pushes gently, just enough that they can meet each other's eyes. "I'll answer any questions you have," she says slowly, hand coming back to her lips, fingernail resuming its earlier movement. "And I'll tell you anything you want to know, but you have to say you want to know it. I'm not doing anything that might come back to haunt you, not without you knowing exactly what you're signing up for.

"Some of it's a matter of public record. Most isn't, but—mm. I moved to London when I was fourteen. I was living with my godparents, at the time. I'd only stayed with my mother until I was seven, but she didn't want a kid, and it was clear. My father didn't know about me until I was about twenty. So from my mother, I went to my grandparents, and just before I turned fourteen my grandmother died. And my grandfather, he wasn't—he wasn't right, for a little while after that. So when my godparents offered to take me, they managed to convince him, along with my mother, that this was the best for everybody."

She shivers, though not from cold; it's simply an unpleasant story to tell, and as much as she would love to sink into him and beg for comfort, she thinks that if she's touched, she'll fly into a thousand pieces. "For a few months it was fine, and then it wasn't. I was a pretty teenager," she says suddenly, and her expression twists into something almost animal, eyes burning with fury, lips drawn back in a snarl. She settles after a breath, but the hand at her mouth stills and her other hand clenches into a fist, fingernails digging viciously into her palms. "Delicate. Smaller than I am now. And it was clear I came from money. At first I didn't know what was happening, not really, but cops, they don't stop girls who look like I did to search their bags. And suddenly Evander and Elyssa got in with people who hadn't looked twice at them before."

She feels her fingernails pierce the skin of her palm, leaving bloody crescent moons behind, and she lowers both hands and stretches her fingers wide. All that does is make it visible when they start to shake, and she crosses her arms over her chest again, gripping the fabric at her sides as though she's clinging for her life. "If I asked questions, or I said no to something, it—went badly. So I learned to be obedient, and the other thing about girls who look like me is that if you're quiet and you don't give anyone reason to think there's anything in that pretty head, they don't—they don't really pay attention. And they say an awful lot more than they should. I was fifteen when I graduated from delivery girl to bait. I didn't look like a threat, and Evander had a temper, even when I didn't talk back, so they could use me to get someone's guard down if, say, somebody didn't pay back money owed, or sold subpar product." She pauses, then clears her throat, and her voice is thicker when she speaks again.

"I'm only saying this because it's all part of my legal record. Things escalated." She smiles suddenly, crooked and tired. "That—" She tightens her arms around herself, and her fingers press against the scar on her back, before she tips her head to that side. "Wasn't a bar fight like I said. They stitched me up after. I was seventeen. And not too long after that healed, it got worse, and I ended up with a compound fracture in my left elbow that needed surgery. The doctors obviously suspected something, but they didn't do anything at that point, not yet. And when I got home—"

She pauses again, casts him an inscrutable look. "This is on the record, too. See, they were starting to rack up their own debts, and things were getting tense. And one morning I come into the kitchen and Evander, he's dead." Her voice has changed, now—it's dispassionate, detached, even cold. "The coroner said it was rat poison. When the police got there Elyssa was gone and I had a few new injuries to show for it. When Elyssa's things were searched, and it lead to a few arrests with her colleagues, it seemed pretty clear she'd done it. Deal with some of that debt by eliminating anyone she had to split her take with."

She clears her throat, and she offers him a listless shrug, but her gaze is steady and sharp. "I mean, what malnourished teenager in a sling could manage all of that on her own? And I guess I seemed pretty pathetic, because after a few minutes of talking to me they'd eliminated me as a suspect. I was a witness. I couldn't tell them much. And my grandfather came to London, and I went back to school and spent ages in therapy and going to support groups, and Elyssa never turned up." She pauses. "And then four months ago she was standing across the street when I left my apartment building. Took me two days to get a good enough look to see it was her, and then another two days to finish packing everything and getting the documentation I needed to be Astrid Vogel. My grandfather wants me back because he's worried and he loves me, but—well, you can't let slip information you don't have. If he gets a call, I don't doubt she'll find out about it. And then it's a matter of time before she's here."

Astoria's quivering hand settles against his chest again, and she pushes herself away from the sink and closer to him. "Anything change yet? I won't hold it against you if it has. You didn't sign up for all of this."

[knowlesian]

i already wrote here about karl and buttons (and why i don’t think karl’s a pet/birds as a fairly universal metaphor for freedom) but since i had More Thoughts in a connected if you’re in my brain but barely related outside of it vein i wanted to yes-and myself.

so, first off: i love the bitter irony of the difference between a bird guy and the pet rule, because the pet rule assumes both ownership and dominion over life and death whereas a bird guy is a guy who is friends with a bird and does not own the bird; the bird chooses to come hang out or leave as he so pleases.

also: the bird’s name is karl. KARL. if that’s not a reference to karl marx on a show THIS concerned with class and the rot at the heart of capitalism, i’ll eat my fuckin hat.

stuff like that is why i really think trying to leave the implications at the door when it comes to stede’s wealth and where and how generational wealth like that accumulates misses the ballgame; this show is capable of handling nuance like a fuckin champ. look at the plant! it is both a metaphor for growth and stede’s own blossoming as well as one for his privilege and need to change. he made it grow stronger and it was in better shape when we see it in e9; he stole it from poor fishermen and never considered if that was perhaps a wee bit fucked up and punching down to do so. it’s a symbol of triumph and growth AND blind spots and growth still left to do. both these things are true, and both inform who stede is. 

sitting in the discomfort of untangling something complex like ‘stede’s love of fancy things is not bad; all that ill-gotten money he had to buy those clothes, though...’ is what this show is for, honestly. it’s not bad he had them or loved them, and i can’t wait for him to obtain more (because stede’s journey to self-expression involves embracing his own version of masculinity vs the traditional version, so ...kind of literally in order to keep thematic coherence stede has to obtain more of the pretty things that made him so happy, only this time through his own merits) but it’s simultaneously pretty fuckin’ Not Great how the money he was born into got where it’s at.

i think writing stede off as just a rich guy is clearly not the point— the show itself puts nearly those words in his father’s mouth, so we are clearly not meant to see it as true.

but he can be a rich guy, without being just a rich guy; it’s not a binary, and part of stede’s arc is getting to throw off the thematic weight of generational wealth and go full class traitor by giving it all away because it came from a rotten system (which... clearly, is not a viable 1:1 in our real world but that’s how theatre logic works) so the nuance where the money gave him the means to do things he needed to do/the money was poison fruit from a poison tree is all over stede’s arc. 

similarly piracy as a metaphor on the show absolutely has positive angles and aspects, but i think it’s a mistake to only ever look at things the ‘piracy as refuge/safe place for queerness’ angle. ed’s ship is that, in some ways, but it’s also perpetuating toxic learned cycles in an easy to spot way. stede and the revenge is the same, only those toxic cycles are harder to spot because they’re implicit, not overt, and they don’t involve physical violence. so it’s both, depending on which angle you study or talk about at any given moment; they don’t negate each other and hold equal importance to the show! 

it’s like the lighthouse; if you look at it from the angle of stede being a lighthouse alone, it stands in for the stifling and unfair expectations put on his performance of masculinity and the weird fuckin ideals and damages of patriarchy. stede and ed becoming a lighthouse together is this whole other side of the metaphor that’s beautiful and about solidarity and seeing things a new way via considering someone else’s perspective and then melding it with your own to create something even better! it can always be both.

which is one reason why i love the idea of the revenge as a liminal space: it’s not an endpoint, it’s a doorway. at the beginning of the season, stede has thoroughly identified the toxic bits of pirate culture, but not his own. by the end, he’s checked off that second box and whenever and however ed and stede reunite and share space, they get to build a new pirate culture that learns from the mistakes of both their old ones.

[sir-adamus]

i’ve seen a number of posts and replies here and there implicitly framing Vi as the bad guy during the final confrontation and baselessly asserting that she doesn’t and can’t love Jinx, only Powder (ignoring that Powder and Jinx are still the same person and acting like there’s no continuity between them when that was part of Jinx’s whole struggle through Acts 2 and 3, and also blatantly ignoring Vi’s own assertion at the end of Act 2 that it’s okay that Jinx has changed, because they’ve both had to do what they needed to do to survive), when the only person who claims that is Jinx, who has a very warped perspective on things

and let’s just run down the things Vi did “wrong” in that scene:

1) have zero context for how Jinx’s mental state has deteriorated over the years and the defense mechanisms Silco has encouraged to ensure she never deals with her guilt or the consequences of her actions so any fond memories of her loved ones are buried beneath monsters in her mind

2) not saying anything when Jinx effectively demands that Vi enable her behaviour the way Silco does because that’s what her warped idea of unconditional love looks like thanks to his shite parenting (not that his love actually was unconditional because it was solidly dependent on her living up to the concept of Jinx, which is what he actually loved, not her as a person)

Vi has no idea what’s going on because nothing is explained to her, she’s not spent enough time with her to know how damaged her psyche really is (across Acts 2 and 3, she spends all of about ten minutes conscious in Jinx’s company), she can’t help that and treating that as her being the bad guy in the situation is fucking absurd

and of course she loves her sister no matter what - she’s constantly trying to reach out and reconnect and everything else keeps getting in the way. but that doesn’t mean she’s just going to enable Jinx and let her just do whatever the fuck she likes with no consequences - that’s not love. love is the hand that grabs yours, pulls you back and tells you when it’s time to stop, when you’re doing something that is hurting the people around you

like i know it’s a tragic and heartbreaking event but Jinx was being an asshole in that scene. terrorising Vi by intentionally making her think she’d killed and beheaded Caitlyn. putting a gun in Vi’s hands and trying to blackmail her into killing Caitlyn with a promise of getting Powder back if she did. intentionally baiting her with the two chairs and finally blaming Vi for everything as if she’d played no part in it. Vi ultimately never had a chance because every opportunity got ripped away before she could even start unpacking what’s been going on - it’s a tragic situation, that’s kinda the whole point

and those assertions are often paired with statements of Silco being a good father (absolutely the fuck not) because “he loves Jinx the way she is” (so... not wanting remotely what’s best for her, trying to kill someone she loves so she only has him to lean on - because no, get out of here with that ‘he knew Vi wouldn’t help her’ shit -  encouraging her to carve away and repress the parts of herself in desperate need of healing and in general forging her into a mirror he can see his narcissistic reflection in because only then is she ‘perfect’ in his eyes. fuck he doesn’t even want her to be happy)

yeah i am deeply concerned about basically all of that

Jinx is a defense mechanism. that is ultimately all Jinx is - she’s a way for Powder to hide from the guilt of unintentionally killing her family, because Silco was not a support network that allowed her to healthily process that guilt and grief, and so that trauma just buried itself deeper, poisoning everything because those open wounds were just left to fester - and because she’s still haunted by that guilt she buries herself further with explosions and violence to try and drown it out. she has no healthy coping mechanisms

and it’s soured her other relationships - Ekko was left to grieve for Vi and the others alone because Powder went all in with Silco and avoided dealing with her grief because he would enable that, because Silco’s a manipulative prick and that would be a tempting situation for a traumatised child who has no idea how to deal with something so overwhelming - isolating her (which was by design, Silco is a selfish asshole, and wanted her all to himself - and that’s reflected in her jealousy of Caitlyn because that’s what she’s learned from him, that love is selfish and singular) and preventing her from having any connection to anyone (hell most of Vi’s old contacts don’t even seem to know what happened to her except Ekko), again, no support network. and when Vi came back into the picture, Silco immediately tried to get her killed before Jinx found out for precisely that reason, reconnection might destabilise the mirror he’s tried to make her into, and she might heal and, shock and horror, start growing into a happier and better adjusted person with the aid of a proper support network and people who really do love her unconditionally (and most importantly will call her on her shit when she goes too far)

which as tumblr’s many posts on the matter have informed me, is Bad because of Reasons and Silco trying repeatedly to kill off someone Jinx loves is actually just him being The Best Dad who Loves Her the Way She Is and does nothing to actually help her mental or emotional health beyond making her so thoroughly dependent on his approval that on even the implication that she’s disappointed him she goes and kills people (seriously, that’s pretty fucked)

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

ruined, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: Why is there a mostly shirtless man in your bedroom and why is it Kim Namjoon's, your roommate's, fault? All you want to do is play League of Legends, not be visually attacked by ridiculously attractive Jeon Jungkook as his six friends perform living room karaoke at the top of their very drunk lungs.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; classic Namjoon ripping clothes; you don't have to know how to play LoL, I explain most of it; smut (fem reader, dirty talk, begging, scratching / marking, nipple play, edging / orgasm denial, handjob, (unintentional?) voyeurism, little bit of cum-eating, choking, cowgirl, cock warming); non-idol!BTS – purple-haired, kind-of-a-brat, sub!Jungkook x gamer, noona, dom!reader, ft OT6 being chaotic in the background XD

@yn-the-reader linked me in this and I was already writing about him. a prophet, maybe? XD

--

“WHY ARE YOU SHIRTLESS?”

You died.

Not literally, but also literally.

“Fuck!”

Now you had thirty-seven seconds of gray screen to figure out why the fuck Jeon Jungkook had busted into your bedroom on this cheerful night with his black dress shirt three-quarters of the way unbuttoned, revealing most of his – oh, sweet Satan, very muscular – pecs and the upper half of his abs. He was holding something in his hands, looking helpless and sad, while you were panic buying Liandry's Anguish and experiencing a special form of anguish yourself.

“Noona, um–”

That’s right, because you were in the middle of a League of Legends game, playing Cassiopeia, the Serpent’s Embrace, also known as half-snake lady or the lamia of the champion roster or a mean version of Monster Musume’s Miia (if you know, you know, and if you don’t, be glad you don’t). Your roommate was having friends over after going drinking. All this was fine and dandy with you, because you were going to spend all night wearing headphones and playing League of Legends, therefore ignoring the outside world, until the outside world came to bother you in the form of Kim Namjoon’s – your roommate’s – mostly shirtless friend Jeon Jungkook.

He wasn’t mostly shirtless most of the time, only right now.

“Noona, Namjoon-hyung ripped my shirt…” Jungkook whimpered hesitantly, chewing on his lip. He looked awkward and distraught despite his long dark purple hair giving him a rather fierce, bad-boy look.

Namjoon was a great roommate. He was smart, conversational, and insightful. A chat with him usually led to an enriching, open-minded perspective. He was relatively clean, considerate, communicative, nonjudgmental, fun to be around, and only set the kitchen on fire twice.

The second time was your fault.

You shouldn’t have let Namjoon in the kitchen the second time.

Also, Namjoon with his friends was a wildly chaotic time. All of his friends, especially drunk, were fucking nuts. Normally, they were probably relatively calm people (maybe not Kim Seokjin or Jung Hoseok, they were very excitable), but together they were a mess. You often wondered how they could function as a group.

Currently, however, you were trying to collect your brain cells as you had mere seconds before respawning onto the platform and were forced to play again. Timing in League of Legends was very important. Seconds can mess up wave management of minions and wave mismanagement can lead to game losses if you weren’t careful. The nuances of the game were often ignored by casual players.

You were, in short, a nerd about it.

“Fucking s-shit, what h-happened?” you sputtered out, turning back to your screen, unable to look at mostly shirtless Jungkook because he was MOSTLY SHIRTLESS. Honestly, he had quite nice pecs, and you should not be thinking about that, but it was incredibly distracting, just like how it used to be distracting when Namjoon was shirtless, but several years of living with him made you accustomed to his impressive pectoral muscles, to the point where you could joke about them with him.

But this was not Namjoon – this was his younger friend Jungkook and you had no idea Jungkook was ripped, mostly because you didn’t pay attention to Namjoon’s friends.

There were too many of them and you were too introverted for that.

“I don’t know, he just grabbed my shirt and it ripped and I managed to find all the buttons, but, but…”

Cassiopeia respawned on the platform and you couldn’t ignore the snake lady any longer. You had to play the game because four random people on your team were counting on you and you couldn’t exactly type, sorry, there’s a hot man in my room with his shirt practically off and I don’t know what to do with my life, so you had to suck it up and play the damn game.

Right-clicking and keeping your eyes only on your computer monitor.

Half-listening to that trembling, silvery voice coming up behind you, making your hairs stand on end even though all he was doing was dumping the tiny buttons on your desk.

Oh, fuck me, you thought to yourself.

“Can you repair it? Please? My mom bought me this shirt and Namjoon-hyung said you can sew, so maybe you can sew them back on? Please?”

“Yes, Jungkook, I can, just not right now, I’m in the middle of a game,” you rambled, suddenly trading damage with the enemy Viktor, trying to avoid the laser from the Machine Herald, swearing under your breath as you stutter-stepped and stunned him, poisoning him quickly enough with your abilities to avoid dying. “I will help you, I just – fucking shit, get the fuck away from me Udyr, fuck!”

“Wow, you curse a lot, noona. It’s kind of funny.”

“I – fuck– I mean, sometimes, and what are you guys doing out there? It sounds like a deranged cabaret club,” you remarked, ticking your head towards the direction of your bedroom door.

“Karaoke!” Jungkook replied brightly, still standing behind you, why was he standing behind you, it was freaking you out a little, but Ocean Dragon was being taken and a team fight was about to happen, so you had to ignore it and support your teammates in chasing down the enemy support.

Seokjin hit a high note that was so shrill that you heard it through your headphones.

“… Wow, he’s got some lungs on him.”

“Do you wanna join us, noona?”

“I can’t sing.”

“Neither can we.”

“Pretty sure all of you can sing better than I can, even Yoongi and Namjoon. I’m fucking terrible.”

“I’m not that good.”

You barely survived with thirty hit points after that debacle of a team fight, but your team had the dragon and you all were slowly on your way to victory. You pressed the ‘B’ key to return to base, but kept your eyes on the screen, lest Udyr, the Spirit Walker and serial bear stun-slapping enemy jungler, ran your ass down and killed you.

“Jungkook, your voice is absolutely heavenly. Fucking beautiful. I’m sure every human being on Earth would want to be serenaded by you.”

Silence that you didn’t notice was awkward for him because you were too busy letting out a sigh of relief and building your next item, typing quickly to your teammates. You all were about to set up for vision around Baron Nashor, a large purple worm-dragon monster that when killed provided a significant, sometimes game-ending buff.

“R… really?”

“Yeah, and you’re handsome, gorgeous, and hot as hell too, so the whole damn package,” you responded absentmindedly, realizing the enemy were trying to split-push and trade objectives so you sent some pings to your teammate to take care of that as you accompanied the main group to help clear waves of minions.

Heat.

You heard him shift beside you and suddenly his face was next to yours, watching your screen closely.

Side-step, cast your ultimate, cast your Miasma ability to ground the enemies and prevent them from dashing away, switching between auto-attacking and piercing them with Twin Fang, all in the span of a mild freak-out because why was Jungkook so FUCKING close?

“Wow, you’re so good at League.”

“I’m Diamond rank, so not that good, but definitely better than all seven of you combined.”

“Haha, true, we’re all pretty bad,” Jungkook laughed next to your ear and, oh, shit, is warm breath feathered on your neck, why weren’t you wearing a turtleneck or something and not your self-cropped oversized band t-shirt and slinky black leggings, why weren’t you cocooned in layers of clothes, because you were quickly highly aware of how attractive Namjoon’s friends were.

To top it all off, you were in the middle of a game, so you just had to tolerate it and stay calm for the sake of your teammates and your elo.

“Maybe you could teach us and we’ll teach you something in return.”

“You guys don’t even listen to each other, why would I assume you all would listen to me?”

“I’d listen to you, noona.”

Now your team was doing the Baron dance, skirting in and out of vision, daring the other team to make a move, daring each other to make a mistake so the other could capitalize on it, slowly, slowly, watch the waves, watch the minimap. Careful. You could control the situation if you were calm and not too trigger-happy. Tension in your fingers and tension in your neck because your roommate’s friend was right next to your head, observing your every move.

His violet hair brushed your shoulder.

Soft, delicate strands against your skin.

“You’re more experienced, so you would know what to do.”

Your support snap-engaged a fight and you were immediately in the zone, right clicking rapidly, cycling through your abilities, keeping track of the opponents’ spells, determined not to let any of them get away, following your teammate’s calls and not hesitating, because hesitation as death and loss, and you were so close to winning you could taste it, going after it with passionate vigor and a slow-forming grin, seeing and hearing the in-game announcer declaring, QUADRA KILL.

You didn’t kill all five of them because someone took the pentakill from you.

You might have cared about that except your ear exploded into clapping as Jungkook excitedly applauded for you, cheering you on, reminding you that a mostly shirtless man was standing right next to you.

Thanks, Namjoon, you thought sarcastically.

“Wow, you played that so well, dodging the Viktor ult and stunning three people like that–”

You felt your cheeks heat at the compliments, busying yourself with your team killing Baron. You didn’t usually have someone commenting on your games. Your eyes flickered to the small buttons on your desk.

Especially not a mostly shirtless guy.

Mostly shirtless hot guy.

Back to screen, seeing your jungler’s typed instructions, suggesting you all to destroy as many structures as you could and then prepare for the next fight for Ocean Dragon Soul and – oh? Your eyebrows raised as the screen abruptly jerked to the enemy base, the nexus inside exploding into shiny gem-like fragments that became the VICTORY banner.

“They surrendered?” you uttered with surprise, clicking on the CONTINUE button. “Why?”

Your eyes flickered to the kill score.

“Oh, thirty-two to nine… maybe that’s why….”

Your team had the nine deaths and the opponent team had thirty-two so, well, maybe that’s why they surrendered the game.

“Aw, that’s no fun,” Jungkook pouted as you clicked on the damage screen. Second most damage. Okay, you could take that. You were a little distracted.

“So, about your problem–”

You spun around to, ack, realize that, yes, Jungkook’s shirt was still flapped wide open to expose his chest like an unwrapped piece of caramel candy. He seemed to realize it too, making a surprised face and yanking the sides closed, as if you hadn’t gotten a damn eyeful already.

“I can resew the buttons back on, but you should borrow a shirt from Namjoon in the meantime,” you managed to say, clearing your throat. “Because I, ah, can’t really sew it when you’re still wearing the shirt.”

“Oh… Oh, right, yeah.”

Then he started yanking his shirt out of his slacks.

UMMMMMMM.

Usually, you didn’t care about this stuff. Men were men. They had chests. But you had things you liked too. Just like how men like tits and ass, you liked well-built pecs and forearms. Actually, you appreciated a nice ass and thighs too. And cute faces. Fuck, you loved a cute face.

“Uh, Jungkook…”

He looked up, questioningly. Big round brown eyes, his violet bangs framing his chiseled jaw, parted pink lips, the small mole underneath his lower lip looking so, so kissable, quivering slightly.

Fuck, Jungkook had a cute face.

His shirt was very open.

Fuck, his lightly tanned skin.

He was hesitating around a button, his deft fingers flexed, ink black tattoos standing out on his knuckles and the back of his hand. Your legs were slightly spread, thighs flush to your gaming chair. Half a second and Jungkook’s eyes flickered back up to your face, pretending he hadn’t been looking.

You raised your eyebrows.

“Are you really just gonna strip in my room and walk out asking Namjoon for a shirt and hope none of the six guys think anything about it?”

His eyes shifted around your room. Bed with black sheets and black velvet duvet. Television with your gaming consoles. Your collection of character figurines from various games. Your black denim jacket hanging on a hook, covered in monotone patches that you had sewn yourself, mostly occult-themed, skeletons, skulls, cats, ghosts, potions, eyeballs, that kind of thing. Back to your desk.

Your legs.

Really staring at your thighs, hips, and crotch.

Up your torso, your hands, your exposed collarbones.

Your face.

Guarding his expression, testing the waters.

“Maybe,” Jungkook said slowly. His eyes darted away and back, teeth catching his lower lip. “I really am hoping you can fix my shirt.”

You watched his face carefully, the flare of darkness in those brown orbs, a hint of naughtiness, dancing with danger. Jungkook had a mischievous streak. You could tell by the way he interacted with his hyungs, listening but talking back, helping them with things but not without a roll of his eyes or a smart remark added, probably because all his friends were older and he was the youngest. He knew he could get away with it.

In short.

Brat.

“What would you like in return, noona?” Jungkook purred, smile dancing on his lips.

Honorifics were supposed to honor you. Show a sign of respect and all that shit.

All I wanted to do was play video games, you grumbled internally. Not suddenly have a thirst fest for one of Namjoon’s best friends. You narrowed your eyes a little, seeing the smirk on that perfectly shaped mouth. He’s not stopping either.

Outside your room, something fell with a loud crash. Probably Namjoon by the depth of that startled yelp. Everyone else started laughing and a very loud, cheerful melody was blasting from the living room television. Nobody was coming to investigate you and Jungkook.

Yet.

“Turn around and ask for a shirt,” you sighed, waving a hand. “Then take off your shirt in the bathroom and then, only then, do you come back and give me your dress shirt.”

You saw Jungkook frown, not expecting that as your answer.

“Oh. Okay.”

He seemed disappointed, lowering his hands.

The silky fabric of the dress shirt slid off his right shoulder, partly revealing his tattoo sleeve and fully revealing his right collarbone and shoulder.

You sucked in a breath, eyes flickering to it. Then his face. Then back to his body. Fuck. Fuckity fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck fuck. Jungkook jumped, startled by the fallen fabric and reached over to grab the fallen collar. Your hand moved faster than you had time to think. You had good reaction time. It was the gaming obsession.

You slapped his hand down.

Jungkook squeaked, head snapping up, purple hair floating around him, gold chain on his neck glittering as he swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bobbing. Strangely, his chain resembled your sterling silver choker that you were wearing right now, except you also wore another necklace with a circular white gold pendant with your zodiac sign.

Not that anyone was ever close enough to inspect it.

“N-Noona?” he breathed, sounding strangely winded.

Shit.

You hadn’t meant to do that. Your body reacted faster than your head.

Shit.

Fuck, he had a nice body. His pecs. Even had a nice dark nipple – well, he probably had two, but you could only see one at the moment – and it all trimmed down to a slim waist and shapely hips. You could tell because of his tailored black slacks. He had been wearing a blazer earlier in the evening too. It was probably on a chair somewhere in the apartment.

Shit.

What did Jungkook need to look so damn good for?

“Where did you guys go to be dressed like that?”

Yes, you were really just going to interrogate him with his shirt dangling off like that.

Jungkook chewed on his lower lip, the tiny mole underneath bouncing up and down as he spoke. “We went to a fancy hotel rooftop bar to celebrate Yoongi-hyung’s award that he won at the music show for producing that song–”

“Ah, right, Namjoon mentioned that earlier today.” Dress code must have been black tie.

Those dark brown eyes found yours, observing you carefully.

“I would have liked to see you there, noona.”

You stopped staring at the tattoos on his bicep and made eye contact. Fuck. Those eyes. Sparkling with deviousness. Trying to see how far he could push your buttons.

“I wonder what kind of dress would you have worn?” he murmured, musing to himself. “I bet you would have looked hotter than any girl there.” Jungkook smiled, playful and boyish. He wasn’t being sleazy about it. Every word was light and honest. “A tight little black dress? Maybe bright red? Short, because you have incredible legs. It would be a crime not to show them off.” He was only complimenting you. His tone wasn’t trying to be suggestive.

Yet.

You didn’t close your legs. You had nothing to be shy about.

Instead, you leaned back in your gaming chair as if it was a throne, resting your left elbow on the armrest and your chin on two fingers, thighs wide open, and your other hand in between them, fingers curled inward to your inner thigh.

Jungkook’s pink lips curved ever higher, ever more roguish.

“Whatever you would have chosen, you would have looked so, so sexy.”

You ticked your head.

“I know.”

Because you did.

Look here, Jeon Jungkook, I’m here minding my own damn business and you’re here inserting yourself into my life, so if you can’t handle me knowing my self-worth, you can fuck right off.

He reached up and tucked a bit of his purple hair behind his right ear, grinning at you.

“You sure you don’t want anything from me?” he asked, a slight flicker of pink tongue between white teeth. “I can give first and then you can decide whether or not you want to help.”

Honestly, those sultry eyes could stop a heart.

You removed your hand from your chin, tapping the air with those two fingers in a dismissive manner.

“Hm.”

Outside, Kim Taehyung and Jung Hoseok were singing a soulful duet and Park Jimin was hooting at inappropriate moments to ruin the atmosphere as much as possible. That raspy, breathless laugh was Min Yoongi, who was probably doubled over on the floor in his expensive suit. Classic genius music producer of the year behavior right there.

Jungkook tucked his hands in his pockets, shirt sleeve falling down, revealing his blacked-out inner elbow. Mountains with a dark sky. It must have hurt, doing something like that. Still, he did it. For aesthetics?

You heard the smirk rather than seeing it, mostly because you were looking at his body.

“I would look so damn good on you, noona.”

Alright.

You closed your eyes slowly and reopened them to look directly into those dangerous, dangerous eyes.

“Lock the door.”

Not really an order. More of a statement. Jungkook could do it or not, you knew. He couldn’t be coerced to do anything. He did things because he wanted to do them. He was nice because he wanted to be nice. He was childish when he wanted to be childish.

And.

Jungkook was obedient when he wanted to be obedient.

He turned around, went to your bedroom door, and locked it.

Well then.

He came back and stood in front of you. A little closer now.

You cocked an eyebrow. “They’re going to come looking for you.”

Jungkook smiled down at you. “I’m sure they will.”

You frowned, lowering your hand to tap the end of the armrest. “They’re going to think I started this.”

“You kind of did.”

Your eyes narrowed sharply. He grinned, taking a step closer.

“Because it’s not my fault you look so good,” Jungkook breathed, voice deepening, leaning down, your expression unchanging, not pulling back but not encouraging anything either. “Not my fault your body is hotter than a summer. Not my fault your confidence is the biggest turn-on I’ve ever had in my life.”

Your thighs were still as open as his shirt.

Jungkook put his knee in between them.

His dress shirt was basically almost completely off his body now, falling off the left shoulder too and dangling off his forearms, exposed collarbones and shoulders, tan skin taut over muscle. A delicious body line, so fucking close to you that you could feel the heat. You still didn’t do anything. You weren’t going to do anything. You didn’t prompt this. You were simply minding your own business commanding a snake lady to victory, not expecting to get seduced by a mischievous bunny-like smile and a tiny black mole under a cute pout.

“I can’t help myself around you.”

You usually didn’t say more to Namjoon’s friends than a mere hello, not wanting to bother them with your presence. They were all men after all. You expected them to want bro time or whatever. Also, you were too busy being obsessed with men that didn’t exist in real life to pursue men that did exist in real life.

At least League of Legends had 3D models so no one could say you lived only the 2D lifestyle.

That didn’t mean that you didn’t partake when the dinner laid themselves out to be eaten. They often had to, because you wouldn’t pay attention otherwise.

Purple hair drifted into your vision, surrounding you in a curtain of violet and dark brown eyes, warm exhale and trembling pink lips, trapping you in Jungkook’s gaze, but you refused to relent, keeping your gaze even. Steady breaths to disguise your racing heart.

You kept your hands closed to prevent him from seeing your shaking fingers.

“Every time I see you, I want you to touch me,” he whispered, trying to hide the edge of nervousness by lowering his voice, enticing you to lean in to hear him better because someone was wiping a damn window in the living room outside your door or was that Kim Seokjin laughing?

There was no difference.

Jungkook’s forehead touched yours and you stopped thinking about Seokjin.

“I just want you to feel me up, rip my clothes off, and fuck me until I can’t think straight. Use me, abuse me, wreck me, ruin me,” he shuddered, definitely thinking about it, and one blink and you spied the obvious tent in his pants.

“Maybe I’m a lazy girl,” you finally said, touching your nose to his, inhaling his breath, a little bit of alcohol, a little bit of fruitiness, and that hint of cologne, fresh, clean, and intense. Something else too. Musk, maybe his pheromones or something like that. Whatever it was smelled fucking delicious, just like you. What did your perfume smell like? Spiced fire blended with addictive sweetness.

You shrugged casually.

“Maybe I’m a pillow princess.”

Jungkook chuckled.

“I can tell you’re not.”

You had to smirk.

Of course, you weren’t.

You closed your thighs around his knee and squeezed, raising to your tiptoes. He gasped softly, shivering at the simple touch of your soft thighs pressing around his muscular leg. It was disturbingly noisy out there, but here it was silent, pared down to your breathing and Jungkook’s breathing, mixing together, blazingly hot, closer, closer, doing the careful dance, daring each other to make the move that was so obviously going to happen.

“What are you gonna say when they ask you where you’ve been all this time?” you whispered, avoiding letting your lips brush against his.

“The truth.”

His tongue flickered out and barely touched your lips.

You didn’t make a sound.

Jungkook moaned, the sound drifting into your throat, and you could taste his desire.

“I tripped and fell into your lap.”

Your lips curved into a smirk.

He kissed you.

His hands on the armrests of your rolling chair, pushing it back into your desk, pressing his lips to yours, inhaling deeply, wanting to breathe you, wanting to taste you, wanting you, shivering as you finally touched him with your hands, but this was you, and your first touch wasn’t going to be wasted on a conventional innocent touch.

Your fingers closed in on his rock-hard erection and stroked him through his pants.

Jungkook moaned your name right in your mouth, eyes half-lidded, his violet hair encircling your face as he rolled his hips into your palm, whining deep in his chest.

“Fuck, yes, noona, play with me…”

You flitted your tongue between his lips and he chased it, begging you for more, and yet you continued to tease, light flicks between those soft pillows, nipping at them, even pushing up his lower lip so the tip of your tongue could draw a small heart around that mole, kissing it, so gentle, so delicate. His entire body shook, your hand palming his hardness through his pants, nails scraping against his balls, caressing all of it, acting like you owned it. Jungkook was certainly humping your hand like you did.

“You only want me because I didn’t want you,” you taunted, not bothering to hide your smirk and your slight disapproval.

“That’s not true,” he panted, attempting to get you to touch his chest, pushing you back into your chair, and yet you kept the fingers of your free hand on the cusp of what he wanted, heat close but no contact, causing him to whimper every time your fingernails barely nicked his skin. “I want you because you’re pretty, gorgeous, and hot as hell.”

Hm, that sounded familiar.

“I want you because I love watching you play your favorite games,” he chuckled, kissing the side of your lips, nose to nose. “I want you because I love that little smirk you make when you do something good. I want you because I love that aggressiveness that comes out and how you seem to lose your filter. Shit, it’s so fucking hot when you’re focused. Makes me wanna see your face when you’re pinning me down and having your way with me. Makes me want to obey you and disobey you at the same time, because I want you to reward me and punish me, I just can’t decide, fuck, you make life so hard for me.”

He punctuated hard by violently humping your hand, rattling your desk with his force.

Outside you heard Namjoon yelling “CANNONBALL” and throwing himself onto that giant gray furry beanbag you paid far too much for about six months ago. It was now a household party favorite, due to its massive size and fluffiness. At the moment, it sounded like a pile of six guys in semi-formal clothing was beginning and, instead of watching this heap of hot dudes being constructed, you were making out with the seventh guy’s face and grabbing his dick.

You’ll take this trade.

You felt Jungkook’s hands groping around, undoing his pants and the zipper, trying to get you to touch more, more, desperate for you to be all over him.

“P-Please… please, I don’t know when they’re going to notice…” he pleaded. “You’re so close, so close, ah, I can’t think, please…”

“Shh…” you soothed. “The door is locked.”

Your fingertips finally touched his chest, not disappointed in the slightest when you touched those delicious-looking pecs. They felt just as nice under your palm, his pounding heart and wanton moan vibrating up your arm.

“Aren’t you a needy little brat trying to distract me from my games, hm?”

Your fingertips hooked over the waistband of his boxer briefs.

“You’re going to have to face the consequences, Jungkook.”

You said his name like a delicious sweet about to be eaten, growl in your throat as you yanked down his underwear, capturing his lips, robbing him of his cries as you clawed down his chest, grasping his cock and pumping him, long, complete strokes from base to tip, curling your fingers around his balls, juggling them with your fingers teasingly as he squirmed and groaned. Your free arm shot around his back, digging your nails into his spine, not letting him get away. His black dress shirt was falling, falling to your floor, his bluish-purple hair in your face and his strong hands on your shoulders, sliding down, kneading your breasts through your clothes, whining that you were still wearing a bra – of course, you were, six dudes were coming over and they didn’t need to see your magnificent nipples on display, although clearly one of them wanted to see – and he was trying to get to the hem of your shirt, but you smacked his hands away, building the pressure and speed, pre-cum leaking between your fingers and adding slickness to lessen the dry friction.

Fuck, you could smell him and he smelled so fucking good.

“Noona, please…” Jungkook gasped, hands on the armrests of your chair, tipping his head back at the pleasure, pants at his fucking knees, chest, crotch, thighs on display. “This is… embarrassing…”

He meant him being mostly naked and you being dressed.

You shrugged, acting indifferent. “Not for me.”

He whimpered at your words, so noticeably dominant despite not using an aggressive or commanding tone. Either that or he was very invested in you jacking him off. You suspected it was a combination of the two, considering how eagerly his cock twitched when you answered.

“What should I do, Jungkook? Should I let you cum? Or should I play with you and stop, make you put your clothes back on and walk out there, desperate to be finished off?” you mused aloud, running your nails up his back, not that hard, but he leaned back into it so they sank into him, wordlessly begging you to do it harder, so you did, setting your jaw and scratching at his back, forcing him back into position. His cock throbbed in your hand, pulsating wildly.

Hm, he really loved it, huh.

“P-Please… wanna cum, please don’t be mean…” he gasped, thrusting his hips into your punishingly tight grip.

“Hm, why does it matter? You’ll just run to the bathroom and finish yourself off anyway, right?”

“Want you to do it, please,” he begged, his long hair curling around his jaw, dark purple locks framing the sharpness, lashes fluttering as you rubbed your thumb against the underside of the head, smearing pre-cum over the slit. “Your hand feels so good, so fucking good, better than I thought, please, I need you to touch me or I can’t get off, please…”

You removed your hand.

Jungkook cried out in denied despair, pitch hiking, the sinful sound clearly audible despite the debaucherously loud ruckus outside your bedroom door that included not one, but two people howling like werewolves for some unknown reason. At this point, you were mildly curious.

But you had a job to do.

He grabbed the front of your shirt, almost sobbing with need. Somehow his violet hair was a mess and you hadn’t even touched it. It cascaded over one of his eyes, an indigo curtain, the other chocolate orb shaking and pupil dilated, black prominent in the dark brown.

“Please don’t–”

You shoved two fingers from your right hand into that pleading mouth and raised your left.

He choked, gagging a little on your fingers.

You stuck your tongue out and licked your palm, slathering it with a thick layer of slick saliva.

Jungkook’s eyes widened at the dirty action and then rolled back into his head as you wrapped your hand around his aching cock once more, now covered in saliva, swiftly and fervently jacking him off, hard, fast, tight, nearly choking his cock, pushing his chin up and his chest to your hungry mouth, tongue and teeth and lips, all over those dark nipples hardening under your persistent touch, heedless to his rising moans, so very obvious now what was happening in your bedroom.

It didn’t bother you at all. Jungkook walked in here and asked you to wreck and ruin him, so you did exactly what he asked you to do, leaving harsh bite marks and slippery saliva all over his soft skin, your perfume rubbing off onto his body, coating his chest in your scent and his pulsating thick length with your spit, and he was so fucking hard that you were impressed, feeling his mouth suck on your fingers desperately and wetly, your name a messy garble above your head.

“Fuck, yes, umpf, oh fuck, I’m so close, so close, gonna cum, goona cum for you…!”

“Jungkook?”

You had no idea who called his name through your door, because the next second Jungkook was pitching forward and shooting his cum up your thigh and chest, thick white strings painting your leggings and band t-shirt, soaking into the fabric and creating a sticky mess on your skin, your head lifting in response to his movement to avoid knocking into him, your fingers sliding out of his lips, strings of saliva snapping as they left, and suddenly Jungkook’s face was in your face, his lips on yours in a passionate kiss, rutting into your hand to increase the sensitivity, shoulders and hips flinching, whimpering gratitude and ecstasy into your mouth, his hands in your hair, kissing you deeper, more ravenously, ignoring the questioning voices, lost in the pleasure of his orgasm.

You heard Namjoon say outside your door, “I think he made his move.”

You asshole, at least warn me, you thought irritably.

“You’re so good… so good, exactly what I need… I knew you would be… fuck…”

You thrust your tongue into his lips once and backed off, chuckling as he whined for more.

“Go ask for a shirt.”

Jungkook shook his head rapidly, violet hair flying everywhere. Your hand was still wrapped around his semi-hard cock, his cum dripping onto your wrist. His ears were turning red.

“I can’t… They know something is going on…” he mumbled, scooting closer to you, as if your body heat could somehow mask the fact that you just jacked him off with six of his friends standing outside your bedroom door whispering.

“Maybe you wanted them to know.”

You squeezed his ass and he trembled, clutching your shoulders.

“Easy way to tell them that you want to be owned by me, right?”

You could tell by the way his eyes were darting around rapidly that the thought crossed his mind more than once.

“Jungkook.”

You said it loud enough for a keen ear to hear it if they were really eavesdropping. You looked up at Jungkook, his eyes immediately fixating on yours because of your tone.

In control, not to be questioned.

“Get on your knees.”

Dead silence outside your bedroom.

“B… but…”

His cheeks flushed pink.

You took his chin and pulled him down to your face, murmuring to that mole under his lips, pecking it daintily, almost innocently, his wispy moan drifting over your nose. Your words were barely above a whisper, only for him.

“You made a mess. Clean it up.”

You stroked Jungkook’s chin with your thumb, your other hand tucking his long hair behind his ear.

“I’ll let you sleep in my bed tonight, so be a good boy for me right now and I’ll let you be a bad boy in bed.”

His head tilted and Jungkook whispered your name into your mouth, drenched with desire.

You smirked, stroking his jaw fondly.

He got to his knees, in between your open thighs, leaning forward, subservient eyes on your face as his pink tongue extended, licking at his own cum staining your clothes, eyes closing at your hand on the top of his head, not directing the movement, but reminding him who was in charge here, reminding him with nails in his scalp that he was going to be fucked until he couldn’t think straight.

Used, abused, wrecked, ruined.

-

“I don’t wanna.”

“We both know you do.”

“But I want to fuck you,” Jungkook protested, speaking softly because everyone was sleeping, or at least it seemed that way, not that either you or Jungkook cared, because you were forcing him to his knees on your bed, pushing his torso back, nails digging into his chest, towering over him, his naked body already covered in your bites and scratches, focused on his inner thighs and chest, none on his neck because that’s where he wanted it the most.

And you knew it.

“Noona, please…”

He said please a lot for someone who did not, in fact, want to be pleased, but tortured.

You grabbed him by the chin, cocking an eyebrow.

His hands were behind him, arms shaking as they held him up, shivering delightfully under your petrifying gaze.

“Please what? Hm? Saying please when you come crawling into my room, begging for dirty things with your friends right outside, saying please when you interrupt me and distract me, jeopardizing my chances to win my game?”

You leaned in close, you knowing you were only crafting a scene, him knowing that you didn’t actually care, but Jungkook wanted to hear the words, wanted you to put that malice in your tone to caress his ears, wanted you to cannibalize his sanity and put him in a different headspace, his cock already responding to it, bobbing in the air, purple-red and achingly hard from multiple orgasms, and he still wanted more.

“Saying please so you can say please when you’re under me, helplessly begging me to let you cum?”

You could hear his whines vibrating under your fingertips, pupils blown wide, lower lip trembling, begging you already, such a needy little thing, those lovely brown eyes full of submission, muscles tense with anticipation, every passing second spiraling him into increased frustration, because instead of doing anything, you were only smirking wider and wider, pushing his head back.

“Well? Tell me if you’re a dirty boy or not. Maybe I’ll do what you want.”

His violet hair cascaded to his shoulder blades, his low moan coursing through your fingertips and the heated air of your bedroom.

“Y… Yes, I’m a d-dirty boy…”

“Noona,” you prompted.

Just because you could.

His lips curved into an open smile, two of your fingers hooked over his lower lip, fingertips rubbing his tongue. Your thumb nail pressed into his mole.

“Noona.”

You ripped the condom open with your teeth, which was not advisable unless you were the kind of person that practiced that for hours on end, spending an obscene amount of money on unused condoms to perfect your technique, because nobody wants a broken condom or lube in their teeth. Why would you want to learn such a thing? You were a stickler for details. A perfectionist in perfecting a perfect display of raw dominance.

You spat out the torn corner onto Jungkook’s chest and he whimpered, unashamedly amazed.

Your left hand removed the condom from the package and your right slid out of his mouth and encircled his neck.

You inspected the condom, lazily turning it to the correct position, fingers pressed to the sides of his neck, leaving plenty of space for his trachea between your thumb and forefinger. You didn’t bother looking at his face. Instead, you spread your legs, poised and naked over him and his throbbing cock.

Your right hand started choking him.

Your left hand started rolling the condom down his thick, hard length.

Your name leaked out of his lips in a thin gurgle, his eyes rolling back into his head.

“Say please, Jungkook.”

A sharp, distinct order.

“P… Please…” he gasped out, chest shuddering.

Your hand tightened around his throat and your pussy clenched around his cock as you forced yourself down on him.

“Oh, fuuuuuuuck…”

You didn’t bother asking if he liked it. His vicious fisting of your sheets and trembling body, cries and cock included, told you everything you needed to know. You only watched the color of his cheeks, knowing there were limits to how long you could choke him. Therefore there was no time to be wasted, already starting your favorite pace, rough and hard, filling yourself with that delicious cock built to take your abuse, jaw set, gripping his throat, blood pounding under your fingertips, slapping hips to crotch, heat sparking though your veins, hotter, hotter, your smirk growing more and more smug, tongue tracing your lips as you witnessed Jungkook’s descent into sin, raising his head so he could watch you bounce on his cock with hazed brown orbs, mouth open, tongue lolling out, circulation thinning, purple hair wild around that cute, distressed face.

You let up the pressure on his neck, dark snicker rumbling in your chest.

“This pussy worth it, brat?”

The rush of missing blood into his brain, the suffocating pleasure of your pulsating walls wrapped around his twitching cock, your authoritative growl and merciless words tearing through him – you saw it all taking over Jungkook, forced to respond honestly from pure instinct because there was no time to compile pretty words or a smart comeback.

“Yes, noona, yes, I love it, I love it, this brat fucking loves what you do to him…”

You immediately choked him again and slapped your pussy onto his cock like you were whipping him.

His eyes rolled back and a wild moan tore out of his chest, cut off by your hand.

The bed creaked under you, bearing the weight of your roughness.

“I know you love it,” you snarled, leaning in, fucking him into your bed with vigor, straining his knees, so uncomfortable and so comfortable for him at the same time, pain and pleasure, clearly something he craved and loved from how hard he was. “You said you need me to touch you or you can’t get off.”

You knew that couldn’t be true.

Jungkook probably got off hundreds of times thinking about you, otherwise he wouldn’t be so ecstatic about you violently riding his dick right now.

His teeth sank into his swollen lower lip, staring at you through his lashes, his voice a thin whisper laced with insatiable need.

“I can’t cum without you anymore.”

You removed your hand.

Your hips stopped abruptly, fulling sheathing his cock inside you.

“No!”

His shout was so loud and desperate that you had to conceal your surprise, not expecting the frantic ferocity of his tone, nearly an agonized sob as he grabbed your upper arms in a crushing grip, his indigo locks crashing into his high cheekbones, sticking to his sweaty face and sharp jaw. It took everything in you to stay calm, everything to not give in and let him have what he wanted. Maybe it was stubbornness, maybe it was knowing the role you were playing, maybe it was the sadistic side of you, who the fuck knew, but there was only a beat of hesitation, a second of you staring into those beautiful dark brown eyes, so perfect.

Just perfect.

Perfectly wrecked, willing to do anything in this moment for you to continue.

Before he could utter a peep of a plea, you shook out of his grip and seized his head, crashing his lips onto your neck.

Jungkook bit you.

Instant, searing pain, taking out all his sexual frustration on your neck, sucking at the skin, hot tongue lapping, groaning, moaning, half-crying because you didn’t move. You just sat on his dick and forced his mouth onto your neck, gleefully savoring his despair, closing your eyes and allowing yourself to feel the pleasure, his hands and nails digging into your waist, his teeth latched to the side of your throat, his stiff cock shuddering inside you, your tight heat keeping him hard but not letting him cum, repeatedly squeezing the engorged head brutally, driving him insane.

Insane.

You could feel his lips move, but you muffled his words, pushing his head into your neck.

Please.

Deep inhale, his wonderful scent filling your nose.

Please.

Riding the high that was Jungkook’s desire for you, fingers tangled into violet strands.

Please.

He felt so, so good, spoon-feeding the dom in you with his tiny whimpers and distraught sniffles.

“P… Please…”

You pressed your lips to his hair, murmuring his name sweetly.

“Jungkook.”

No quiver to your tone, only serene calm.

“Noona…”

His hands slid up your back as your hips began to rock, slow, so painfully slow, building the frenzy layer by layer, his hardness swelling inside you, his soft lips pressed to his hickey onto your neck, even more turned on because he knew you let him mark you, he knew in this moment you were his and only his, everything he wanted and more, his hips rising to meet yours, deepening your thrusts, matching your force, burying his face into your skin and your scent, wanting nothing more than your command over his body.

You turned his head, tucking his hair behind one ear, speaking dark whispers into that curve.

“You look the best when on your knees for me, Jungkook.”

He shivered, your name falling sloppily from his lips, drunk from your power and lost in his service.

You let go of his head and grabbed his shoulders instead, putting all of your weight onto him, now letting yourself chase it, chase the orgasm that you had been building for yourself all this time, letting yourself feel Jungkook and feel the full force of the pleasure he gave you, because, yes, of course, you served him first before you, even if it didn’t seem like it.

Because when it came down to it, Jungkook came to you, opening himself petal by petal to show you his vulnerable side, testing the waters, hoping, wishing, praying that maybe, just maybe, you were the kind of person that he was expecting, wanting, needing, and you, knowing how difficult that was because, well, you had made it difficult, only focusing on games and not on those longing eyes that watched you whenever you came into his view.

Eyes that you looked into now.

Half-lidded, glazed over, fucked-out, still honest.

His large hands were still on your waist, holding you to him as you rode him with furious slaps, muscles flexed in his chest and arms, tattoos on his right arm tense and taut from holding this position for so long. He looked so good. Felt so good. Had an amazing cock.

And fuck.

Jungkook had a cute face.

You genuinely smiled.

“I’ll take care of everything,” you drawled, injecting your words with conviction and adoration.

That did it.

His lips parted, low groan emitting from his throat as his head tipped back, purple waterfalling onto his back, thrusting up into you and shooting into the condom with fierce jolts, unable to hold back any longer, his entire length flinching uncontrollably, sweet whimpers at his release, feeling sorry that he didn’t let you cum first, but that didn’t matter, because you rode through it, already there, falling, falling, your sigh like laden smoke as your orgasm slammed into you, welcoming the bolts of cruel pulses flying through you, concentrated onto your core, Jungkook’s moans hiking into pitched ecstasy at the convulsing clenches of his oversensitive, overused cock, arms embracing you tightly, hugging you for dear life, chest to chest, pounding heart against yours.

Your fingers tangled into his hair.

His hand fitted around your head.

Lips to lips and you took care of everything, claiming that mouth as yours, holding him up even though you were the one in his lap, your kiss onto that perfect mole under that pretty pout, cherishing every mumble of your name, lowering him onto your pillows, soft kisses in between. You took care of everything, lifting yourself off him, chuckling as he whined, pawing for you to come back, but you rapped his knuckles and calmed him, removing the condom and cleaning him off gently with a towel, soft kisses in between because he wanted the attention, deliberately not closing his eyes until you crawled back into the bed, tucking the covers around you and him, Jungkook immediately turning and yanking you into his chest, nose against your skin.

“Who’s the pillow princess?” you teased, ruffling his long violet locks.

His lips pressed onto your hickey, his mark on you, and he sighed in content, drifting into sleep.

-

In the morning, you found a pile of five guys in the living room sleeping in various positions on the giant gray furry beanbag and the sofa. Jungkook was in your bed, passed out. The last guy, Min Yoongi, was in Kim Namjoon’s room, sleeping on his bed, because he was a smart man and took advantage of a perfectly good bed that five drunk hooligans undoubtedly forgot about.

You chuckled and rubbed your neck as you brushed your teeth, seeing yourself and the large purple hickey Jungkook had made last night in the bathroom mirror.

You went back to your room after retrieving the sewing basket from the living room, spending the morning calmly stitching the small buttons back onto his black dress shirt as the seven guys in your apartment continued to snore away.

Then you went back to playing League of Legends.

Ah, Cassiopeia, I had an eventful evening, but I have returned to you.

-

drabble morning-after hungover breakfast

--

masterpost

[soreiya]

Sorry for the belated response. Honestly, if I didn’t take a break to collect my thoughts, I’d probably go crazy from the anxiety of it all. Haha Unfortunately I know quite well that I’m not very good at expressing my emotions or feelings in ways that other people can easily understand. I get frustrated since to me it’s all clear as day, but from the perspective of a mega fan anything potentially damaging to a ship is going to put them into an offensive defense mode of sorts. Ya gotta protect the things that you enjoy. I respect that. Especially when the perpetrator of such blasphemy is someone such as myself. Just because I'm opinionated and criticize some things. For whatever reason they see me as some big bad monster of sorts. Here is the thing though. Bias is blind and when you’re surrounded by like minded people it can be manipulative as well. Hopefully after they cool down they can begin to understand the full message here.

I don’t blame anyone for not being able to see things from the perspective of other fans who don’t ship their OTP. They think that we’re all inherently different or have some skewed moral compass leading us astray. Though if they can take a moment to see that we’re all just regular fans trying to have fun then perhaps things can change for the better.

Though to expand upon this further, let me go into more depth.

I have an OC named Lowen Elger (I call him Loner.) that I’ve had since 2007. His story and look have changed numerous times throughout the years, but at his core he is the same character. What I’m saying is that professionals often do the same. They form attachment to their creations and they become extensions of themselves.

If Hugo was simply being used as a prop like archetype like many of the other OC’s in Vat7K. Then why did the creators draw shippy fanarts of him with 14 year old Varian? What reason could there possible be to deny that these people were fans shipping characters for fun? Is it because the implications of this ship being self insert wish fulfillment? Do they see that as cringy or something? Or is it a fear of seeing these respected individuals as pedophiles? Since I can assure everyone that they are not. Ya don’t have to have bad intentions when changing character ages for a story. Though if you look down on other fans that do this then here is the proof of the hypocrisy. This is the point that I’ve been trying to make. Characters don’t have to be official to be aged up or down for AU’s. The implications that this is somehow different is absolutely ridiculous. I am sorry if I have stepped on anyone's toes. I know that my presence is an annoyance to the fandom as a whole. It's hard on me to face the negativity head on, but I also don't want to leave? I'd like to be friends and make fan content as much as anyone else. I genuinely do not want to be at odds with the Vat7K fandom. I wish there was some way to make peace. Though that would take a lot of hard work and effort on both sides.

What do you think?

The creators of Vat7K absolutely shipped their 24 year old OC Hugo with 14 year old Varian. What other possible reason would have lead them to reuse this particular OC for an AU ship if they didn't? o__O; (And people get pissed when I call him a self insert wish fulfillment character. *sighs*) All logic points to this conclusion being an undeniable fact, but fans of the ship will vehemently deny it because they are afraid of being looped in with or potentially viewed as worse than Varipunzel or Cassanrian fans who age characters up for their respective ships. I mean a 10 year age gap is on level with Eugene x Varian. Hugo is pretty much portrayed as Flynn Rider 2.0 anyway. I don't ship it, but if they like it then they like it. It's all personal preference. Which should be respected. Though if they ever consider harassing fans of other ships for any age related reasons then they are nothing more than delusional hypocrites.

[favefandomimagines]

Oh (e.b.)

Summary: buck runs into his ex fling, taylor kelly, leaving you to feel like nothing but a second choice

AN: inspired by the winter finale of 911

You were a catch. You were smart, had a good job, beautiful. Guys were lining up to date you and yet the man you wanted to be with didn’t want you.

It seemed to everyone around you that the two of you were meant to be but to Buck, it wasn’t that obvious. He didn’t see how you looked at him, didn’t hear how you talked about him. Clearly, he didn’t know how you felt about him.

So, you stuck it out. You put your feelings on the back burner and just decided to be his friend. If he wanted to be with you, he would.

But you couldn’t ignore the feeling in your chest when he told you he was having dinner with Taylor Kelly.

“We got to talking at that call and then Albert said him and Veronica were having dinner and I just, called and asked if she wanted to come.” Buck explained. “And she said yes?” You asked.

“Yeah, she seemed on board. Maybe this is the universe telling me something.” He said. “The universe? You’ve never believed in that stuff.” You told him. “But this is Buck 3.0. I’m all for a change.” Buck answered. “When is this dinner again?” You asked. “Wednesday at 6.” He said. 

“Oh.” You muttered quietly. Wednesday was your birthday. And it seemed that Buck was caught up in bettering himself and finding someone that he had completely forgotten about you. But you had enough trying to remind him and get him to see that you were right there the whole time. 

You swallowed the lump in your throat as you looked at the mug in your hands. “You okay?” He asked. “Uh, yeah. I think I’m gonna head home. I have a long shift tomorrow.” You said, rising from your seat.

“You just got here.” Buck pointed out. “Buck, I just, I gotta go.” You said in a more stern manner. He looked at you with furrowed eyebrows and watched you leave his apartment.

You let out a large sigh as you got in your car before the tears came.

How were you so unlucky that the guy you were head over heels for, wanted someone else? He wanted someone else so much, he forgot about her birthday. When you were right there through everything? You were there through Abby leaving, Ally breaking up with him, the lawsuit against the department, his parents, everything. And yet you were left on the back burner. 

You always put his feelings above your own, not because you felt like you should. But because you cared about him and if he was happy, you were happy. Though, the more you thought about it, the more you realized that he sometimes didn’t give you that same courtesy. 

Your day was like the day from hell. Everything that could go wrong in your line of work, went completely wrong. To make matters worse, you had lost one of your favorite patients. She had stage 3 leukemia but she never let that change her personality. 

She made going to the hospital after shifts worth while because at least you got to spend time with her. But the cancer was too aggressive for the chemo and she died in her sleep that night. You tried not to let losses get to you but she had been your patient since you started volunteering at the hospital. You were really hoping you’d see her remission but the universe had other plans. 

All you wanted to do was lay on the couch with Buck and just cry. You got in your car and dialed his number, getting a few rings before he picked up. “Hey, you!” He greeted you. “Hey, do you maybe want to come over later? I’ve had the worst day. I lost a patient and-” You started before he cut you off. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N, I can’t. I have a date tonight, trying to put myself back out there.” He said. “I can come over after.” He added. “No, forget it. It’s fine.” You said. “You sound upset.” Buck said. “I’m fine, Buck. Enjoy your date.” You replied before hanging up the phone. 

Since that evening, you had been avoiding Buck like the plague. On shifts, you wouldn’t talk to him. Sticking to Chimney and Hen like glue to avoid any conversation with Buck. 

You went so far to ask to ride in the ambulance to calls, rather than in the fire engine like usual. It wasn’t odd for you to be in the ambulance because you were an EMT but you usually rode with the rest of the team.

“Does anyone know why Y/N won’t ride with us anymore?” Buck asked his crew. “Are you that dumb?” Hen asked. “Hen,” Bobby started. “It’s because of you, dude.” Eddie answered. “Me? What did I do?” Buck questioned. “Well, you blow her off all the time, completely ignore her feelings and ditch her for dates and you’re so oblivious you can’t see that she’s totally in love with you.” Eddie explained. “When you were hurt in the hospital, she didn’t come to work for days because she didn’t want you the throw a clot. She had to work triple shifts just to make enough to pay her rent because of all the days she missed sitting with you. Did you ever thank her for that?” Bobby added. “Well, no, but-” He started. 

“And when she lost her favorite patient, Emily, did you ask her if she was okay?” Bobby asked. “I-I couldn’t I had a date. And she didn’t say it was Emily.” Buck said, trying to defend yourself. “If you don’t reciprocate her feelings, that’s fine. But she’s your best friend. And as her best friend, you are supposed to be there when she needs you. She shouldn’t have to explain herself.” Bobby concluded. “You also forgot her birthday.” Chimney added as they all got out of the engine. 

The rest of his shift, Buck tried getting you to talk to him. But it was always, ‘I’m busy, Buck’ or ‘Can’t talk, we’re working.’ He’d given up when he tried to stop you after a call and you had given him a look he had never seen before. 

The guilt was eating him alive. He was a terrible friend to you and he thought being with you was a pipe dream. Until Hen and Eddie told him you loved him. But regardless of your feelings for him, you had done so much for him and he didn’t realize it until you were gone. 

That night, Buck went over to Taylor’s to gain more perspective on what he could do to fix what he royally screwed up. 

“I don’t know what to do. She hasn’t talked to me in weeks. We’ve never gone this long without talking.” Buck explained to Taylor.

“Well, you did forget her birthday. And not give it a second thought that she was hurting over the loss of a patient.” She said. “That’s not helping.” He replied. “You asked for my help and I’m being honest. You really hurt her. She almost got evicted because she was so worried about you. The first person she wanted to be with after her friend died was you and you went on a date instead.” Taylor said. “I know. I tried to talk to her but she won’t answer any of my calls or texts. She won’t even look at me anymore.” Buck said. 

“You are so stupid sometimes.” Taylor laughed. “What?” Buck asked. “She has feelings for you. Why else would she get so upset? If she only saw you as a friend, you would be getting screamed at not avoided.” She explained.

“Everyone keeps saying that but there’s no way Y/N has feelings for me. She’s...perfect. Perfect doesn’t fall for damaged goods.” Buck rebutted. “Trust me, she loves you.” Taylor told him. “And do you love her?” She asked. “Of course I do. But being with her seemed like it was too good to happen so I tried to move on. I guess I tried so hard I ended up hurting her anyways.” Buck answered. 

“Then tell her. And do a whole lot of graveling while you’re at it.” Taylor said. 

Buck quickly left the apartment and got into his car driving like a bat out of hell. When he arrived at your apartment, he didn't even bother to park in the parking stall correctly, his main focus was just getting to you.

When he finally reached your door, he knocked on it rather harshly and heard the sound of your urgent footsteps coming to find out who it was.

"Buck? What are you doing here?" You asked. Buck couldn't even find the words to answer because he was more focused on what you were wearing.

You had on a formed fitting red dress, your hair was curled and flowing over your shoulders and you looked beautiful.

"Wh-Why are you dressed like that?" He stammered. "I have a date." You answered. "You have a date? With who?" Buck asked. "Emily's brother. We became close when Emily had chemo and after she died we kept in tough. Why are you here?" You questioned.

"Don't go on the date. Please, for the love of god, don't go on that date. Because I love you, Y/N. I was too stupid to see it until you weren't around anymore. And I was terrible to you. I was supposed to be your best friend and I was so worried about my own life I dnd't even ask you how you were doing and oh my god I missed your birthday." Buck rambled.

"Slow down, Buckley, and talk to me at a normal rate, please." You said.

Buck took a deep breath and looked at you intently. "I'm in love with you. I-I always have but being with you always seemed like a pipe dream because you're perfect. You have always been perfect and you know that I'm not." Buck explained.

"Exactly. I've seen you at your worst and I still love you but even as your best friend you never gave me the time of day. Missing my birthday to go to dinner with Taylor Kelly. Brushing me off after Emily died because you had a date." You laughed bitterly. "I have stood by you no matter what. But god forbid I need you once in a while." You added.

"And I am so sorry, Y/N. You have every right to be upset with me, I'm upset with me. I'm pissed off at myself because I didn't realize what I had until it was too late." Buck replied. "Evan, do you understand the situation you just put me in? I get to go on a date with a great guy, one who actually pays attention and then the man I've been in love with for years, shows up at my doorstep to tell me he loves me back." You started.

Buck's facial expression fell, fearing the worst and anticipating you telling him that you'd moved on and he was too late.

"And I have to call that guy and tell him that I can't make it. Because the person I actually want to be with is right here." You finished.

The light in Buck's eyes returned at your words, looking at you with a gentle smile.

"Really?" He asked. "Yes, really and please don't make me regret it. You've screwed up a lot lately, let's not add us to the list." You said. "So there's an us now?" Buck questioned. "I-If that's okay with you." You stuttered. "It's absolutely okay with me." Buck said with a smile.

"I guess I got all dressed up for nothing." You sighed, letting Buck inside your apartment.

Buck was quiet for a moment as he watched you take your heels off and your earrings, placing them on the table by the door. "Then let's not make it for nothing. Let me take you out on our first official date." He said.

"Besides, I need to see you in that dress more often." He added a smirk on his face. "Alright then, Buckley. Take me on a date. You have a lot to make up for." You smiled, offering him your hand.

Buck took your hand in his, happily, and held you steady as you put your shoes back on. “Trust me, Y/N, it’ll be the best date you’ve ever been on.” He said. 

In the moment, you laughed at his words but after the date had concluded and all was said and done, it had indeed been the best date you have ever been on. 

[theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin]

"Tom Riddle effectively destroys the country from the inside out, which I believe was his true goal the entire time" (c) wait a second, so you think that he wasn't going to really take over or anything, just destroy the fuck out of w britain?

I have avoided this ask long enough.

I’ll start by saying that asking me about Tom Riddle is like staring down into a bottomless rabbit hole. We could travel down that path, but it is a dark and perilous journey, and by the end of it I will come out looking like the Mad Hatter.

It also requires a few prerequisites that you’re just going to accept as true (or else got off the crazy train here).

We know very little about Tom Riddle or Voldemort

What we do know of Tom Riddle comes to us from suspect sources

I’m just going to go out there and start with the basis that Tom is not crazy

Elaborating a little on number 1. We never actually see much of Tom Riddle or Voldemort directly. He’s a bit like Thanos in the MCU, or Palpatine in the first two movies of the Original Trilogy, he’s this looming threat that we pass by and glimpse every once in a while but never really get quality time with.

Generally, Voldemort makes an appearance in a moment of crisis.

He and Harry fight over the philosopher’s stone for Tom’s very survival. He and Harry fight over the diary for Tom’s very survival. He resurrects himself with Harry as a witness. We get those very strange dreams from Voldemort’s perspective (half of which we later learn are fabricated).

None of these really lend to our, or Harry’s for that matter, understanding of Tom Riddle. There’s too much going on, it usually happens far too fast, and there’s usually something Tom Riddle desperately wants or needs that eclipses all other concerns or else he has an audience.

This is part of the reason we get those Halfblood Prince pensieve lessons: Harry knows nothing of Tom Riddle and doesn’t understand him at all.

Which leads us, of course, to number 2, most of what we know about Tom Riddle comes from Dumbledore. I’ve talked about this before, so I won’t spend much time on it, but Dumbledore has a very clear agenda in relaying these memories to Harry. Dumbledore already has strong suspicions of what objects are horcruxes and where they’re located, he already has Snape as a very reliable agent to continue work when he’s gone, his job here is to convince Harry there is no path but suicide. And that involves portraying Tom Riddle as the most evil man who ever eviled, was born eviler than the antichrist, and will die eviler than the antichrist. 

Now, does this make Tom necessarily good or bad? No.

However, it does mean when Dumbledore tells us things like, “See, Harry, an impoverished child was upset when I lit all his belongings on fire! What a monster!” (especially given that, in a similar situation, Harry thought it was hilarious when Hagrid gave Dudley a permanent physical deformity and Harry was told he was an angel child) we should take it with a very large grain of salt.

Right, so, with all that backdrop what I’m getting at is that a) we can’t take Dumbledore at his word b) even if we could he could be wrong c) Harry doesn’t have the introspection to be able to figure himself when a or b is happening. I won’t elaborate on this last much, suffice to say that Harry’s world is very black and white, divided into the camps of those who personally like him and those who don’t.

So, why do I think Tom’s goal was not to rule the wizarding world but instead to destroy it?

A few things.

First, there are so many easier ways he could have ended up ruling the wizarding world. More, even when he effectively does rule the wizarding world in book seven, he takes very strange actions so that he’s never directly in power.

Second, I never really bought Tom’s racism. It’s too convenient and too contradictory with his backstory.

The second first, because we’re going out of order today. I’ve gone over this before, but I don’t believe Tom had minions early and I think he was effectively treated as a muggleborn (see here and here) until he took on the Voldemort persona many decades later. I’m hard pressed to believe someone as intelligent, angry, and proud as Tom Riddle would willingly believe and accept he was inferior to the likes of Abraxas Malfoy. More, even if he wished he was a halfblood, I think the evidence of him being muggleborn would be stacked too high against him to deny even to himself (and when he finds out it’s not true, he has maybe a month or so before he realized that he’s the bastard son of a squib). 

And it’s just so convenient. All the people with the power, with the money, who are itching for a cause against a threat that doesn’t really exist believe in blood purity. Ergo, Voldemort shows up suddenly espousing over the top blood purity rhetoric (rhetoric that directly clashes with his “there is only power” philosophy at that). 

In other words, I think Tom Riddle gave himself a line that he knew would get him places very quickly.

And now for the first. For a guy who has had the entire country in the palm of his hands twice, one time taking it over in a bloodless coup, he’s really big on causing collateral damage and really small on actually doing the ruling thing.

The first wizarding war, Tom Riddle as Voldemort has the backing of the heirs of the most prestigious and wealthy noble houses save a select few. These are people with seats in the Wizengamot, which has a frightening control over the government itself (including the minister of magic). I imagine, in 1980 had Tom Riddle wanted to be elected as Minister of Magic, he would have been elected as Minister of Magic. If he wanted a friendly face in office then he probably could have made that happen to.

More than even this though, by this point, Tom had already won. By having control over the majority of the Wizengamot he owns the government. He’s done, it’s over, it’s finished, and many of the characters admit as much which is why Harry Potter was such a miracle. So why all the seemingly random, exceptionally pointless, terrorism? 

One answer is that Voldemort is crazy bananas. And sure, I guess we can go with that, except for someone insane he’s oddly effective and very consistent. 

I believe Tom was systematically destroying the very foundations of the country through its core aristocratic families. Within a few short years Tom decimates the Black family, it goes from having five heirs to none, and while some of this isn’t Tom’s fault he does take care of quite a few of them. He brands Lucius for life, while Lucius rises high in politics he never escapes the stigma of being a known Death Eater and in the end cannot escape the consequences for his actions. The Malfoy family is very nearly destroyed by the end of the series, had Draco died in the Fiendfyre. The LeStrange family, presumably decimated as well.

More, this is mostly me headcanoning, but I imagine Tom fuels an extremism that the Wizarding World had never contemplated. I imagine, previously, anti-muggleborn sentiment was probably fairly rampant among purebloods. Oh, some were very pro-muggleborn I’m sure, but I think most were fairly “eh” on the people and felt they were a drain on society (such as requiring constant funding for the obliviation department).

However, when Diagon Alley starts getting blown up every other week, when muggleborns start being tortured and murdered, when purebloods who aren’t anti-muggleborn enough are being tortured and murdered, this starts wigging people out in a way they’ve never wigged out before.

By the time we get to Harry Potter’s canon, it is now only a minority that are anti-muggleborn, and they’re perceived as raving lunatics. Nobody wants to be grouped with these people. Which, just goes to show, how much Voldemort rattles the wizarding world in a very small amount of time.

Then there’s Deathly Hallows, rather than become minister himself Voldemort installs a puppet minister. He shows no signs of wishing to change this and instead does things like destroy the sorting hat (which again shakes the very foundations of the wizarding world as whta will we do if we don’t know who’s a Gryffindor anymore?!)

So, where is this ramble going?

Given the results we see, that more than any others it seems to be the purebloods and often Tom’s own followers that suffer colossal losses, I think Tom’s actions are, in part, a means of vengeance against the entire damn wizarding world (but especially the purebloods).

He makes fools of these people, brands them as his slaves, and has them participate in the most over the top ridiculous rituals (the cloaks, the masks, the entire theatrics of it feels like Tom got drunk one night and planned this whole thing out). He destroys them entirely, and better, enables them to completely destroy themselves and the country they believe they’re trying to save.

Basically, I think by the time the series begins Tom is fueled by a nihilist rage that knows no bounds. But dammit all, the wizarding world is going to burn.

[astaroth1357]

How about the brothers + diavolo reacting to an mc that smokes cigarettes, but only when stressed out? I hope this ask doesn't make you feel uncomfortable. 🙂

So this is interesting for me because I'm actually an asthmatic and cigarette smoke is one of my triggers. Naturally, that means I'm not the biggest fan of smoking (because I like breathing air) but I'm going to try not to turn this into a straight PSA. I assume if you smoke, you already know what's up and if you don’t, you're probably not considering it and leave things at that. I imagine what you want is the characters' perspectives and not mine, so I'll do my best to give that to you here. I hope you like it!

An MC Who's a Stress Smoker

Lucifer

Not the biggest fan of their habit, but mostly due to smell. Actually needing that bit of stress relief - he totally gets.

After he found out that they smoke he set a lot of ground rules: "No smoking in the House; No smoking at RAD; No smoking in uniform" yadi-yadi-yada… but he never straight up banned them from doing it.

If he catches the MC out smoking, he'll usually keep his distance until they've finished (and ideally changed clothes) before calling them in to ask what's wrong.

If they can't keep to the rules, that's when he's going to start having a problem. Cigarette/cigar smoke gives him a headache and he really can’t tolerate it for long…

If they start smoking in places they're not supposed to, then he will try to ban them cold turkey so better stay mindful about it. It wouldn’t take many slip ups unfortunately…

 

Mammon

Yeah… I know some people HC that Mammon smokes too. I wouldn't go that far, but I'll say he's most likely done it before.

Mammon picked up smoking for a century or so from his trips to the human world (humans freaking loved tobacco for some reason) but eventually stopped because the smell annoyed Lucifer and it has some weird effects on Diavolo…

When he caught the MC smoking on their balcony the first time, he was a little surprised because he didn't peg them for the type, but throwing stones in glass houses and all that… Who is he to judge?

Mammon actually likes to stick around during their outdoor smoke sessions. It's a pretty relaxing, dare say intimate, affair. He'll grab a cigarette himself and just let them vent about whatever's bothering them. Zero judgment about it all.

He will warn the MC about Lucifer’s dislike of the smell though… They have to be careful or he'll start getting on their case, you know?

Leviathan 

Smoking is fairly common among badass characters in anime so it's not like he has a super negative image of it to start with, anyway. 🤷‍♀️

Surprisingly understanding of their coping mechanism, I mean, this man has made a life out of his own.

If he sees that they’re out smoking he may pop out to go ask what's up. He won't be much bothered by the smoke unless they blow it right in his face or something (which is a little rude anyway).

Will be a little disappointed that the MC only does it to calm down and they're not actually some kind of secret badass (or maybe they are, I dunno) but he gets the need to have some kind of grounding more than most.

Isn't nearly as bothered by the smell as Lucifer, but not about to jump in and join them like Mammon… He's pretty down the middle about it.

 

Satan

Though he can't fault them for looking for relief, he's done enough research into human health that he really can’t condone this method…

Satan, bless his black soul, is going to be the nag of the family. He will bring up how unhealthy smoking is and he will urge them to try and find a different habit.

To be fair, he did the same to Mammon too - but to a lesser extent because demon bodies can cope with the toxins a lot better. Since the MC is human, he feels a lot of urgency… it comes from a good place.

The MC should expect to have to hide from Satan if they’re out smoking because he will crash their de-stressing with a mini-lecture. He won't go as far as to take the cigarette from their hands, but he will ask them to put it out.

He's not blind to their feelings, though. If they’re smoking, he'll ask what's wrong and how he can help so they can just stop for the night. If they do want to quit, then he's more than willing to support them through the transition. He won't leave them high and dry, but he will make his thoughts known. Be aware of that.

 

Asmodeus 

Uh, don't they know what smoking does to your skin? Your teeth?? Oh no, honey, you gotta try something else!

Yeah like Satan, Asmo isn't a huge fan but unlike Satan he's mostly worried about the physical damages alone. Poor guy can't understand why someone would actively do something with those negative effects when there are much healthier options!

He will pretty much be on a mission to give them other stress relief outlets like massages, bathes, music, meditation, or whatever else he can think of. He'll keep throwing stuff at a wall until it sticks. 🤷‍♀️

Again, it comes from a good place (albeit a somewhat more shallow one) but he cares deeply about them and always wants them to always look their best.

Unfortunately, Asmo's not even coming near them if he sees them smoking. He knows secondhand is a thing and he wouldn’t risk it, but he may call them or text them while they're out there to see what's wrong.

 

Beelzebub 

Beel's pretty easygoing one way or another so I see him accepting the MC's choice with little judgment. Their life and all.

Being an athlete, I also can imagine he may have a bit of knowledge about why it's not good for you but he won’t hammer it in like Satan. He might remind them once or twice if they start coughing because he worries… but that’s about it.

If there's anything he's going to be sad about, though, it's if their smoking habit starts to diminish their sense of taste… There’s so many foods he wants to share with them, he hopes they can enjoy it all… 😥

If Beel sees them out smoking, he'll pull a Levi and just come out to see what's wrong. He may not stay long because he doesn’t want to breathe in too much secondhand (still an athlete and all) but he'll still check in on them… Such a sweet guy.

 

Belphegor 

The smell did take some getting used to, but he used to nap around Mammon all the time so it's not like it's unfamiliar. He can adapt.

Really can't give two shits on whether or not their habit is healthy for them. In the long term, that may bite him in the ass, but that’s also kind of Sloth's whole deal so…

More or less would treat them the exact same way, smoking or not, because that doesn't much affect him or his chances to cuddle them.

If there's anything that is going to bother him, it might be coughing when he's trying to sleep... But that won't be a serious concern unless it gets BAD.

If Belphie sees them out smoking, he'll ask what's wrong… but also if they want to just come inside and sleep the problem off. He's trying to help… in his own way. 🤷‍♀️

 

Diavolo 

Daddy Devil smoked and you can't convince me otherwise.

The smell of cigarettes and cigars kind of give Diavolo a knee-jerk familiar reaction - like when you smell a food or soap that you associate with your childhood. It may not be a good smell or one you even like, but you're drawn to it anyway for the memories.

Doesn't matter how many times the MC has changed clothes or how long they scrub their body for, he can still smell it on them and it's like hitting a lightswitch in his brain - he knows that smell and it's oddly comforting…

Diavolo is going to hover around them a lot. Expect a lot of hugs or just standing a bit too close so he can get a good whiff. Lucifer is going to be utterly confused by his actions but Barbs knows what's up.

The MC is strictly forbidden by Lucifer to smoke anywhere near Diavolo, but that’s hardly going to matter. He can pick up when they've done it recently and he'll ask what's wrong… probably while hugging them because he's looking for that comfort too.

[we-are-all-of-legend-now]

In chapter 9, Anna and Ashton had sex without protection, she felt guilty about Jack, never thought about Carter, and the chapter ended with Ashton going off to meet Anna's dad about arrangements for next week while Anna took off in her car alone to go to Jack's grave

Chapter 10:

"~ Ashton ~"

Why are we randomly in Ashton's POV again?

¯⁠\⁠(⁠◉⁠‿⁠◉⁠)⁠/⁠¯

"I couldn’t keep the triumphant smile off of my face."

Triumph? That's a weird word choice for having sex with the women you allegedly have feelings for

¯⁠\⁠(⁠◉⁠‿⁠◉⁠)⁠/⁠¯

"Sure she was damaged, but maybe I could fix her."

With your magic penis, I presume

¯⁠\⁠(⁠◉⁠‿⁠◉⁠)⁠/⁠¯

"I’d only known her for three days."

WAIT A FUCKING SECOND

Three days?

It's only been THREE days?

Christ on a pogo stick.

¯⁠\⁠(⁠◉⁠‿⁠◉⁠)⁠/⁠¯

"I had a feeling I was going to love her too – I was already half way there and I had only known her for three days. I’d never believed in love at first sight until I met Anna."

But ... But it's not love at first sight if you still don't love her ...

¯⁠\⁠(⁠◉⁠‿⁠◉⁠)⁠/⁠¯

"Oh yeah, it boggles my mind too alright! I bit my lip to suppress the smile that was trying to escape at the thought of the contact I just had with her, and hopefully would have with her again in a little while."

HER FATHER IS TRYING TO EXPRESS GRATITUDE THAT YOU'VE BEEN ABLE TO REACH HIS TRAUMATIZED DAUGHTER AND BRING HER SOME JOY, ASS WIPE! YOU DON'T NEED TO BE THINKING ABOUT HER VAGINA RIGHT NOW!

¯⁠\⁠(⁠◉⁠‿⁠◉⁠)⁠/⁠¯

~ Anna ~

Now why are we switching POVs mid chapter? This POV switching is stupid. Moseley can't figure out how to integrate some information into Anna's perspective so she willy nilly jumps over to Ashton's to reveal things to the audience. Never mind that we could also be building tension by having Anna not know things but suspect Ashton is keeping secrets from her while she's trying to fight her own instincts and trauma to learn to trust him ...

But no.

We can't have interesting things here.

¯⁠\⁠(⁠◉⁠‿⁠◉⁠)⁠/⁠¯

"After breaking the speed limit the whole way to the cemetery,"

Hey, a consistent character trait! I'll take the win where I can

¯⁠\⁠(⁠◉⁠‿⁠◉⁠)⁠/⁠¯

"It was like my new near guard had some kind of spell on me."

Don't tease with something interesting we know you're just horny.

¯⁠\⁠(⁠◉⁠‿⁠◉⁠)⁠/⁠¯

"I cried harder because the reactions he caused in me were both unconscious and unwelcome."

Then tell him to back the fuck up until you can get some therapy and do some healing! You're clearly not ready for this and from that squicky peek into his head, he's ready for a LOT more

¯⁠\⁠(⁠◉⁠‿⁠◉⁠)⁠/⁠¯

"“You’re a little bitch!” he spat, his face radiating anger. He grabbed my arm roughly and pulled me to stop. I flinched, thinking he was going to strike me."

So this is Dean, who has been her guard for years, been putting up with her shit for years, and who we've never seen this kind of behaviour from, suddenly snapping at her when Ashton is conveniently there to rescue her and put himself back in her good graces after their fight? Mmkay.

¯⁠\⁠(⁠◉⁠‿⁠◉⁠)⁠/⁠¯

"he was obviously annoyed that I’d suggested I’d get him fired."

Okay but first time you interacted you basically said you chased everyone off. Why is he surprised? Hurt, maybe, if he weren't an automation

¯⁠\⁠(⁠◉⁠‿⁠◉⁠)⁠/⁠¯

"Somehow, him using my title like that showed me how angry he was with me."

Which is the whole point! God, you're dumb.

¯⁠\⁠(⁠◉⁠‿⁠◉⁠)⁠/⁠¯

"When I was finally in control of my emotions"

I've yet to see that. Go to therapy!

¯⁠\⁠(⁠◉⁠‿⁠◉⁠)⁠/⁠¯

"Wanting to somehow take the pain away, I bent my head and kissed it gently."

After all that, you're still going to mount him again this chapter! What the fuck is the point of this book? Seriously.

¯⁠\⁠(⁠◉⁠‿⁠◉⁠)⁠/⁠¯

"No! Tell me what’s wrong. Let me in, please? I swear I won’t hurt you! I swear.”"

Ashton, it's the same shit that was wrong with her 20 mins ago and you figured that out! You two don't know each other at all. She feels like she betrayed her murdered ex boyfriend. You knew that two pages ago!

¯⁠\⁠(⁠◉⁠‿⁠◉⁠)⁠/⁠¯

“I know you still love him"

After you were told. Literally a paragraph ago you had forgotten.

¯⁠\⁠(⁠◉⁠‿⁠◉⁠)⁠/⁠¯

"“Your Jack died, Anna. You can’t have him.”"

Ouch, man.

¯⁠\⁠(⁠◉⁠‿⁠◉⁠)⁠/⁠¯

Currently reading: I was broken, numb to want and desire, but then he came along...

Three years after the tragic events of Anna’s sixteenth birthday which saw her boyfriend killed and her kidnapped by his sadistic murderer, she’s no longer the happy-go-lucky girl that everyone used to know and love; she’s now cold, hard and suffers from night terrors.

Carter is currently serving time for the murder of Jack–a conviction that Anna helped secure–but his retrial is coming up because some key evidence appears to have been tampered with.

Needing to ensure his daughter’s safety, presidential candidate, Senator Spencer, tasks in Ashton Taylor, a newly qualified SWAT agent, to guard the broken girl and keep her safe until the end of the trial.

For three years Anna has refused to feel emotion or pain. Can Ashton help her rebuild her life and finally deal with the grief of losing her childhood sweetheart? Will he be the one to make her see that life is, in fact, worth living and that not all men will hurt her?

Author's note: This edition contains Part 1 (Guarding the Broken) and Part 2 (Blurring the Lines) and combines them into one novel of epic proportion!

[solarmorrigan]

43. “YOU DID WHAT?!” for whichever pairing suits your fancy :D

Christiiiiiiine <3<3

Thank you for the prompt! I decided I fancy Newmann because I've missed writing those goons over the last few weeks. I also did not try to keep this one short at all, honestly. I had an idea and I ran with it. It was very much fun to write!

#43. “YOU DID WHAT?!”

-

Hermann has absolutely no idea what’s come over him, but he’s chosen a deeply inconvenient time to completely lose his mind.

Clearly, he’s been spending too much time around Newton. That must be it. Spending years in close quarters with that man and his kaiju bits has damaged Hermann’s psyche.

It’s just not like him to give into impulse.

(Never mind that his application to the Jaeger Academy had been something of an impulse – that had ended with Hermann firmly installed in the PPDC, doing good for humanity. That had obviously been a wise decision. This, on the other hand – there is no way this will end well.)

Hermann barely registers his morning trek to the lab, bypassing the mess hall entirely, too anxious to consider stomaching breakfast. He had hoped that a good night’s sleep might provide a solution to his problem, or at least put it into better perspective, but sleep had been elusive and things seemed just as abysmal as they had before he’d put on his pajamas.

When Hermann arrives, Newton is already set up at his work table, abominable morning person that he is, and Hermann gives him the briefest of acknowledging nods on his way to his desk. He is absolutely not in the mood to deal with Newton’s nonsense this morning; he needs to come up with a solution to the… situation he’s created for himself.

Not unlike the way cats always manage to home in on the person who least wants attention from a cat, however, Newton seems to sense Hermann’s reticence and decides to poke at it.

“Dude, you look rough. Did you sleep at all?” Newton hollers from his station.

“Did you?” Hermann spits back reflexively (it’s a fair question, after all, as Newton pulls frequent all-nighters – it’s not a childish comeback in the slightest).

“I did, actually. Like, five whole hours,” Newton reports proudly. “So what crawled up your ass?”

“Perhaps it’s your charming turns of phrase that have put me in this mood,” Hermann replies.

“Nah, you walked into the lab looking ready to kill someone.” A miniscule sliver of concern works itself into Newton’s tone as he goes on, “You’re not sick or something, are you?”

“If only,” Hermann mutters, and there is a near instant flutter of activity from Newton’s side of the lab.

Tools clatter against the metal tray, nitrile gloves snap with removal, and the quick one-two stomp of Newton’s boots sounds off as he approaches Hermann’s desk.

“Okay, I was just kind of teasing before, but now I’m seriously curious,” Newton says, leaning one hip against the desk like Hermann has told him not to do a thousand times. “What happened?”

“Don’t you have work to be doing?”

“Nice try, but it’ll keep. Tell me what’s going on.”

“It’s not actually any of your business, you know.”

“You made it my business when you came grumping into the lab, and if you don’t tell me I will become more annoying than you could possibly imagine,” Newton says gravely.

He reaches out, one finger extended, clearly angling to poke Hermann in the side, and Hermann smacks him away.

“If you must know, I had a phone call form my father last night,” Hermann snaps.

“Oh.” Newton’s face falls. “What’d that jerk have to say?”

Herman drops his head into his hand with a sigh. “Just the usual. I’m wasting valuable time, the PPDC is a drain on the world’s resources, the Wall of Life is where I should be focusing my energy and… so on.” He waves his free hand in a vague et cetera motion.

Somewhere above him, Newton huffs. “What kind of insecure dick has to schedule a phone call with his own kid just to gloat about his shiny new doomed project?”

Hermann allows himself a tiny, momentary smile at Newton’s indignation on his behalf. “Yes, well. I was doing just fine with the usual non-answers, until the topic became more familial.”

Newton is quiet this time, but Hermann knows that he’s still paying rapt attention.

“It seems Bastien—my younger brother—it seems he’s gotten engaged. And of course, Dietrich has his wife and the twins, and Karla has had a serious partner for a few years now, which makes me the last of his children without any… romantic prospects.” Hermann frowns at the mental replay of the conversation. “And he intimated that perhaps I wouldn’t be alone if I weren’t squandering my talents and disgracing myself with loyalty to dying project, and if I were simply to apply myself–”

“What an asshole!” Newton exclaims. “I hope you told him to fuck off!”

“Not… precisely, no,” Hermann says slowly.

Newton tilts his head in acknowledgement. “Yeah, I guess that’s not really your style. Well, I hope you at least told him to mind his own goddamn business.”

Hermann clears his throat, sinking down a bit in his chair. “Not as such.”

“Well what did you tell him?”

Pursing his lips for a moment, Hermann turns his head and mutters the answer into the palm of his hand.

Newton nudges him. “Dude, what?”

Hermann moves his hand and instead mumbles his answer at the surface of his desk.

“Oh my god, Hermann, just tell me,” Newton groans, nudging him harder this time.

Hermann snaps, slapping his hand down on the desk and barking up at Newton, “I told him that I do have a partner!”

“YOU DID WHAT?!” Newton practically shrieks in return, delighted and shocked in equal measure. “You lied? Wait– was that a lie? Are you actually seeing someone?”

Hermann pinches the bridge of his nose, as if that will stave off the enormous headache this entire production has become. “No, Newton, I am not seeing anyone. I lied to my father.”

“Nice! That’s kinda badass, man.” Newton grins down at him. “Did that shut him up?”

Hermann says nothing, and Newton’s grin slides away.

“Lemme guess: not precisely.”

“As it turns out, he’ll be in Hong Kong at the end of the week on business,” Hermann says. “He happens to have some free space in his schedule on Friday evening, and he’d like to have dinner with me… and my partner.”

“Oh, shit.”

“Indeed.”

There is a moment of stunned silence.

“So… what’re you going to do?” Newton asks at last.

“That is exactly what’s put me in such a foul mood,” Hermann says. “But I suppose I’ll just have to find a way out of dinner. It’s not as though I’d be able to find a date in time, much less someone who I might pass off as my partner.”

There is another moment of silence, and then:

“Dude.”

Hermann looks up at Newton, who is grinning again and has his arms spread out at his sides, as if to say “look”.

There is something about this Hermann is meant to understand, he’s certain of it. Unfortunately, he has no idea what it is, and he spends a long minute staring at Newton in blank irritation.

Curling his fingers in, Newton points both of his thumbs towards himself and raises his eyebrows.

All at once, Hermann catches the meaning.

“Good god, no.”

Newton ignores him. “I am totally free Friday night, and I could totally be your fake date to fool your dick dad!”

“That is a terrible idea,” Hermann says firmly.

“Dude, we’ve known each other most of our adult lives. I am uniquely qualified for this shit!” Newton insists.

“We have never managed to pass a twenty-four hour period without getting into an argument.”

“That sounds like an exaggeration.”

“We’re arguing right now!”

“Because you’re being a stubborn dick!”

“And now you’re calling me names. Yes, that’s certain to fool my father!”

“Oh my god, Hermann,” Newton groans, dragging his hands dramatically down his face. “Look, you’ve got two options. One, you can pretend to be sick or buried in work or whatever and skip dinner, and then never hear the end of it from your dad, or–”

“Or, I can engage in an ill-conceived hoax pulled straight from a schlocky romance novel,” Hermann drawls. “Yes, Newton, what an excellent idea.”

“Ill-conceived. Psht,” Newton scoffs. “Obviously we’d come up with a great backstory.”

“Newton–”

“We wouldn’t even have to change that much–”

“Newton–”

“Just invent a romantic relationship for, what? The last year or two? Kinda serious but not too–”

“Newton, this is nonsense!” Hermann finally snaps

“Jesus, don’t you want to shut your dad up just once?” Newton snaps right back.

“I–” Whatever Hermann had been about to argue dries up in his throat as he considers the possibility; yes, he would very much like to concretely prove his father wrong, prove that he isn’t undesirable and alone, but this…

Sensing weakness, Newton pushes on. “Besides, it’s, like, hardly even a lie! I mean, no, obviously we’re not dating, but we’re… I mean, friends, right? So you’ve got someone and you’re not actually alone and your dad’s full of shit and we could shove it in his face!”

It’s official: Hermann has absolutely lost his damned mind.

“You realize he’ll want to go to a formal restaurant,” Hermann says. “None of your usual dives, or ramen bars, or what have you. You’ll have to dress nicely.”

“I am eighty-five percent certain I remembered to take my suit to the drycleaners after our last fancy-dress ass-kissing party,” Newton replies with far greater confidence than Hermann thinks is warranted.

“You’ll have to be on your best behavior,” Hermann insists.

“Yeah, yeah, sure, whatever.” Newton waves his hand, as if he can shoo away the limitations imposed on him by polite society. “So does this mean you’re in?”

Hermann sighs, draping one hand over his eyes. “Unfortunately.”

“Yes!” Newton laughs, and Hermann knows without having to see that he’s just punched the air in triumph. “I’m gonna dig up my suit, and we can come up with a backstory – we should have dinner tonight, or something, so we can go over details. Make sure we’re on the same page. This is gonna be great, Hermann, you’ll see!”

Newton’s voice echoes back towards Hermann as he returns to his own side of the lab, and Hermann allows himself to relax just a little in his chair. Perhaps this isn’t the worst idea Newton’s ever talked Hermann into.

“Hey,” Newton calls across the divide, “you don’t think your dad remembers me from the time at that one gala when I, like, accidentally-on-purpose spilled punch down his shirt, do you?”

Hermann groans. This is going to be a disaster.

[luimagines]

He reacts to seeing you Sick/Wounded Part 2

Masterlist

Part 1 Part 3

Scenario under the cut! Blood ahead so be warned.

Twilight

Twilight looked around the group for what had to be the umpteenth time, searching for you.

You had left awhile ago and had yet to return.

If it was Wild or Hyrule he wouldn’t have put much thought into it. The two of them were notorious for wandering off if something shiny caught their eye and they could be gone for hours.

Not you though.

If anything, you were the one to insist on keeping the group together and to avoid “splitting the party”. as you’d say. You even had a song to go with it, a catchy little tune from your world and he caught himself humming under his breath more than once when he realize someone was gone.

But you were gone long enough now that you even missed a meal.

Twilight started bouncing his knee in anticipation, the worse scenarios coming to mind at what could be happening to you.

“I’m going to find them.” He said, standing up and walking away from the group.

He waits until he’s far enough away to take out the necklace he’s been carrying around since the start of this adventure.

Twilight activates the charm and feels the magic wash over him, his vision and senses sharpening as the worlds color fade and his perspective changes.

There’s always a little discomfort as the beginning of each transformation so he takes a second to compose himself.

Twilight then starts sniffing the air and catches your scent, following where it leads. The path is pretty straight forward and he can almost reconstruct how long it took for you to reach the destination. Twilight travels a little farther than he was expecting, it’s way farther than hearing range, even with his advanced ears.

It’s a little concerning because even if you were to scream for help, there’s no way any of them would have known.

He’s trying to be optimistic. Twilight has seen you fight. He has seen you treat your own wounds. He was personally seen your resourcefulness in tricky situations. There’s little, he thinks, that can actually keep you down.

But then his worst nightmare comes to his nose and he takes off in a sprint. 

It’s blood.

It’s yours.

And there’s a lot of it.

He follows it as far as he can until he hears a pained whimper.

Twilight then follows the sound and comes to a stop, shocked at the sight before him.

You’re sitting up against a tree, the top half of you looks fine if only a little ragged and there’s tear streaks down both your cheeks. Twilight follows the line of your body and sees that there’s no injuries on your arms or torso even if your hands are covered in blood.

But at sight of your leg, he knows what’s happened.

There has to be people nearby, that’s the only explanation.

It’s metal trap with sharp jagged teeth that penetrate the skin and muscle in order to keep the prey from escaping, and they’re incredibly hard to break out of if you don’t have the right equipment. They’re also known for breaking bones if they hit in the right places.

It’s also clamed just above your ankle, blood weeps through still and has travels through the fabric of your pants un to your knee, pronouncing the injury even more.

“Wolfie...” You whimper and try to smile at seeing him. “Yay, you found me. I knew you’d come get me at some point. I tried calling but I think I’m too far away.”

Twilight’s heart bleeds for you and how scared you must have been before he showed up. And he wishes he would have gone looking for you sooner.

You sniffle and whip your face and nose with your sleeve, avoiding the mess on your hands. “I can’t get out. I tried but it’s stuck.” 

Twilight pads closer and sticks his nose by your hands but you pull them back. “I know it looks bad but my hands aren’t hurt...It’s all from my leg. I don’t want to get blood on your pretty fur.”

Twilight doesn’t take time to process the compliment and instead is focused on the choice he has in front of him.

Transform and reveal his secret to you, enabling him to help you here and now or go back and get help, leaving you to the mercy of whatever finds you in your vulnerable state.

It’s a pretty easy choice actually.

Twilight calls off the magic and lets the transformation wash over him. As per usual, the change is disorienting and it’s always hurt more to turn back human than it did to change into a wolf, so he takes a moment to breath before he looks at your ankle.

“Tw-Twilight? You’re Wolfie?” You splutter and try to wrap your head around what you just saw.  “It’s been you this whole time?!”

But he’s ignoring you.

He takes a good look at where the trap is and begins to prod ever so slightly.

“H-HEY!” You cry and try to reach for him. “Don’t! It hurts!”

He doesn’t have the key to unlock it and he doesn’t have the right tools at his disposal to try and pick the lock.

“Twilight please say something.”

“I’m going to get you out. Just hold on a little longer.” He glares at the metal for a moment before placing both his hands around it.

If there’s one thing he’s always been confident in, it’s his strength.

With both hands secured on the device he forces all of his weight to pry it open. He ignores how you continue to make sounds of pain, how his finger tips immediately become moist with your blood and how difficult moving this stupid thing to get you free actually turns out to be. 

After a battle of wills between man and the artificial, it moves and he tilts his hands to keep the momentum going until he’s moved enough of it for you to pull your leg out.

“Go. Get out.” He says with the strain in his voice.

You push away with your hands and your good leg to the best of your ability and slowly (well slower than Twilight would have preferred) to move your leg out of the trap and far enough away where he can simply let it clamp on itself again without fear of losing any fingers or hurting you again.

You gulp and try to move your pant leg to see the damage but it’s clear that doing that hurts you as well.

Twilight it quick to cut off the fabric with his trusted pocket knife and he peels it away.

Bones have definitely been broken.

And there’s certainly a lot of blood to deal with.

He twists the fabric slightly and wraps it above and around your injury to try and stop the flow of blood. Twilight can feel the glare he’s giving to your wound and refuses to look you in face so you can see it.

“Twilight?” You call to him. Your voice is small, weak, tired and afraid.

He can’t leave you to your own thoughts like he wants to so he takes a breath to calm himself and looks at you with as much gentleness and care as he can currently muster.

“You’re going to be just fine, ok?” He says with a small smile. “You’re actually pretty far from the others so it’ll be a bit of a trip but then we’ll get Hyrule to look at you, clean you up... find you some new clothes... You’ll be back to where you were in no time.”

Twilight’s not sure who he’s trying to convinced. It looks deep.

He hopes your foot won’t need to be cut off and that infection hasn’t already set in.

He moves towards you and stops on your good side, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. In one swift movement he hooks his other arm under your knees and picks you up bridal style and begin to walk away from the mess.

You sniffle again and wipe your bloodied hands on your shirt. “Thank you Twilight.” You say. “I won’t tell anyone, I promise.”

“Well you’re going to have to tell one of us what happened.” He responds. “The other are going to ask what on earth happened to you.”

“I meant about you being Wolfie.” You smile. “I’m fully prepared to explain my stupid decisions.”

The easy way you make that claim nearly makes him skip a step and send you both to the ground but Twilight is quick to readjust himself so that it never happens.

He had actually forgotten about that.

“I’d appreciate that.” He nervously chuckles.

“Don’t worry. I’ll cover you when you’re gone. I was starting to suspect something was related because your stories never matched up but I had no proof and no idea where to start. You’re... really not the best at it.” You say and pat his head. “So you save me, I save you. Sound fair?”

“That works for me.”

Time

Time had let Warrior lead the group because he seemed to be the most familiar with the terrain, even if he claims that this isn’t his Hyrule.

With someone capable taking the point, he hung back and let the other walk before him.

He had noticed that you were... weren’t yourself. Like you were hiding something.

You weren’t really interacting with anyone, and you kept your head down, something he hasn’t really known you to do. On another note, you were actually at the back of the group where he was currently stationed.

You always liked to be in the upper middle, talking and entertaining the younger ones and keeping up the group’s moral.

So the fact that you quiet and trying to go unnoticed, arms crossed and head down, worried him.

“Rupee for your thoughts?” He asked you as you walked.

You glanced up at him but you didn’t meet his eyes.

Something was wrong.

“I’m not really thinking about much of anything.” You admitted and shrugged. “I’m just a bit under the weather. I’ll be fine in a bit.”

“You don’t feel good?” Time frowns and stops the both of you with a hand on your shoulder. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“And slow down literally everyone.” You raise an eyebrow at him and he takes a quick second to catalogue your pink cheeks and red rimmed eyes.

Something is wrong.

“It’s just a headache.” You insist. “We’re already behind by how knows how long and it’ll go away on its own. I appreciate the concern but I don’t want to be a hinderance more than anything think I am.”

“For one thing, no one thinks you’re a hinderance.” Time says, taking off his gauntlet and he presses the back of his hand against your forehead, then your cheeks and the back of your neck. “If any one of those boys has told you that, you tell me and I’ll set them straight.”

He doesn’t miss the way you lean and hum in relief from his touch.

Truthfully, you’re actually burning up more than your skin seems to show and his concern sky rockets beyond the moon and back of this proverbial saying.

“I appreciate the thought but it’s not that important.” You say and he catches the way you frown in displeasure when he pulls away.

“Who told you that?” He asks in lieu of bringing your illness to light.

“No one.”

Time frowns some more and says your name in his stern commander voice that he knows you hate.

“No one.” You insist. “No one here anyway.”

From your previous adventure perhaps? Time puts the information away in the back of his mind and vows to vanquish the thoughts from your head when he can, but your health takes precedence right now.

“I think it’s about time to take a break anyway.” Time puts his gauntlet back on and begins to walk forward, leading you with a hand on the small of your back. “Maybe the Champion would be willing to make something for lunch.”

“Think he can cook something up for my headache?” You sigh and massage your temples in a way that seems reminiscent.

“That and more, if you ask him.” He replies easily and lets out a loud whistle that has become their cue to set up for the midday break.

It takes a while for your duo to make it to the others but at least you weren’t so far gone that no one would have heard Time’s signal.

You instantly take a step down and sit on the ground, cradling your head in a way that looks more like you’re crying than merely resting.

Time feels his heart clench at the sight and makes his way over to Wild. He tells them what he found out and asks if he can make something special for you. Something to keep you going.

Because as much as he wants to, this is not the place to stop for the night and with your pride on the line, he doesn’t want the others to crowd and bring more attention than you’d be comfortable with to your predicament.

“There’s a town about three hours from here.” Warrior’s speaks up, having eavesdropped on the conversation Time was trying to have on the down low. “We can hit it before night fall and let them rest in an actual bed for the night.”

Time nods and agree with the notion.

The others seem to catch on that you’re not feeling well and Time discourages them from getting closer than they should, less they get sick as well.

The break is quiet and uneventful for a change and Time is quick to get the group up and moving again when it’s over, choosing to keep you company on the way to the town and trying to make it as painless and comfortable for you as he can.

A part of him thinks that he should just swallow his pride and yours and carry you to the town as you deteriorate on the walk, but it’s not like you’d let him.

He’d just have to satisfy his concern when he eventually takes watch over your bed side, just to make sure you wake up feeling better.

Wind

Wind was sure that you’re hiding something.

You’ve been shifty eyed and nervous, jittery and uncollected.

So unlike the you that he’s come to know, rely on and appreciate.

It scares him a little, to see you so unlike yourself.

Wind makes a calculated guess on why you’re so weird after walking by your side for most of the journey. 

You’re hurt and trying to not let anyone else know.

He can tell by how you’re trying to curl in yourself and fold over but have to keep righting your position. You’re having to walk with one foot on your toes because if you tried any more normally, you’d be limping. You’re a bit slower than your usual walking pace but you’ve been arcing your stride a little to the side so that it matches in length what you wouldn’t be able to make up for in number of steps.

He’s almost impressed by how well you’ve been hiding it.

But it’s drowned out by the irritation of your stubbornness. You could have just told someone, anyone, and they’d help you in seconds. You wouldn’t have to be in pain or having to stop every other second to hide a wince or a grunt or-

Wind is this close to just stopping everything to scream in your face.

He takes a small glance over to you as you walk, and sighs. He knows you won’t listen to him if he tries to say something. And you’d probably be irritated at him instead for trying to make a fuss about it.

Wind doesn’t know what to do, or how to help you, without being pushed away.

You trip.

Wind is too shocked by the outcome to even try to stop you from falling face first into the ground. 

Ok, not face first. You manage to twist yourself just in time to avoid a face on collision, but you land on your side in the process.

Your bad side.

You yell in pain which alerts the whole group ahead and behind you. But you don’t seem to care about that anymore. You finally give into the urge and curl in on yourself, rolling over so that the ground is against your good side and nothing is irritating whatever hit you’ve been hiding.

Wind has to nearly smack himself out of it before he makes it to your side. He can hear the other catching up, their footsteps thundering mutely on the dirt but he’s more focused on you and where your hand seems to be cradling your side.

He’s quick to peel your hand off and lift your shirt.

You’re too shocked and stunned from the pain to stop him. Enough so that you’re brain doesn’t even register it, so you don’t fight back.

He gasps at the the sight and his stomach turns ever so slightly.

It’s a massive bruise, from up to your ribs that are highlighted in a toxic green, down to your hip and it’s not even black and blue. It’s so bad there’s more red on the surface than purple and it makes it look like you’re covered in blood even if the skin hasn’t been breached.

He knows what caused this. 

Two days ago the group had found themselves in the middle of a fight with not one, but three infected monsters and one of them had a nasty looking club. You were fighting with him and on one of them and had taken a hit directly to your side. It was strong enough that it sent you spinning through the air and right into a tree. He didn’t think much of it since you simply bounced back like nothing happened and proceeded to stab the thing through the skull, but if he tries hard enough, he think you hit the same side on the tree as well.

But you didn’t drink a potion, he doesn’t think he even saw you being healed by Hyrule. Which means that you just had this on you for so long and you just- weren’t going to tell anyone?!

Wind can feel his heart clench in tandem with his first, your shirt nearly ripping since it was trapped in between his fingers. “HYRULE!”

“What happened?” Warrior makes it to his side first and stops mid-step when he catches sight of it. “I’ll... go get the Traveler.”

There’s a few seconds in between before you shake off the pain and rip your clothes out of his grip, forcing yourself to get to your feet again.

Everyone is too shocked by what they’ve seen verses how you’ve acting that they almost let you but Wind has been next to you, watching you, and he still is. He catches that your arms are shaking as you put your weight on it, and when you try and compensate for your bad side, you nearly throw yourself over again from your bad balance.

Wind pushes you back down and keeps his hands on your shoulders so keep you from trying that again.

Hyrule takes his cue and slides on his knees until he reaches your side, his healing spell fluttering around his fingers and into the nasty bruise.

“Guys, I’m fine.”

“Cut the bullcrap.” Wind says, knowing that Twilight and Time are behind him with Sky not too far behind. He hopes they let that one slide at least. “It’s looks like you were stabbed fifty seven times and poisoned to top of it all.”

You look up at him then and sigh, the fight leaving instantaneously. “Whatever.”

“It’s not whatever!” He argues but you cut him off.

“It’s just a bruise. It’ll heal in a few days and nothing is broken. But because it’s you holding me down, I’ll let you heal me.” You try for a half smile but Wind thinks it falls flat. “I’m not even going to try and fight a pirate in my state. Take your victory for now.”

“You didn’t have to let it get so bad.” Hyrule scolds you and you don’t even have the decency of at least looking apologetic.

“It was the fall that really made it hurt.” You clench your jaw when your shirt gets lifted higher for Hyrule to heal the bruise on your ribs. “It was just awkward before that.”

“No it wasn’t” Wind frowns even harder. “You were walking funny. It hurt like hell back there too and for a while as well. Why didn’t you get treatment with the others? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Wind.” You say with as much patience you can muster. Your face begins to relax as the pain fades and the bruise changes to a more normal shade of purple with black spots. “We have no potions left. And Hyrule can only do so much healing in one go.”

“Speaking of...” Legend steps in and yanks Hyrule back by the shoulder, stopping the healing process.

Hyrule takes a minute to reorient himself and he steps away from a minute to catch his breath.

Wind takes another look at your injury and winces. While it looks significantly better than it did seconds prior, it’s not completely healed and would likely have to take more magic to heal on its own. They could just leave it there for the days it’ll take for it to heal naturally but Wind doesn’t like the idea of leaving you hurt for more than necessary.

“How were none of your bones broken?” Twilight asks in a quiet shocked voice.

“Oh no, there were many fractures, believe me.” Hyrule shakes his head. “Mostly minor but it’s crazy how they were able to still be standing, let alone walking. Didn’t any of that hurt?”

Wind takes a sharp breath and has to look away from you. 

You were really good at hiding it then.

He misses the pained look on your face as he turns away and can’t see the hand you reach out to him. “Wind?”

“No.” He gulps and stand up. “This isn’t ok. You can’t do this. Say something next time, or I’ll never speak to you again.”

The second he says it, he feel childish for coming up with that threat in particular and while he wishes that there’ll never be a next time, he knows better.

Occupational hazard and all that jazz.

Your face morphs into one of sadness and you take your hand back. “Ok. Ok. I’ll be better next time.”

He supposes the threat worked after all.

[crumbledcastle28]

Chapter 10: A Weapon

Warnings: injury, yearning, softness, violence. Karga bleeds a little. The child saves the day… as always lol

Author’s Note: We are over halfway! This experience has been incredible so far, and thank you for all the support!

(I can’t remember where I got this gif from so if it is yours please lmk so I can credit you!!)

The rest of that morning went surprisingly smoothly.

The blurrgs were placed in the Razor Crest’s cargo hold and the three of you were now preparing to meet Karga.

From what you had gathered, he seemed very untrustworthy. To be fair, you would see yourself as pretty untrustworthy if you were looking from an outside perspective, so you were trying to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Just protect and survive. That’s the only way you can prove yourself to Mando and Cara.

Cara, Kuiil, and IG-11 (who Mando surprisingly didn’t kill overnight) were all settled in the ship with the blurrgs.

You put out the fire from breakfast earlier and were getting the child settled in his pram, when you saw Mando walking towards you in your peripheral vision.

Is he holding… a weapon?

He walks to you and hands you what looks like a big stick with a pointy end. You hold it in your dominant hand, standing awkwardly with a curious look on your face.

“This is a longspear,” Mando says. “I tried to find something with a structure you would be familiar with to protect yourself, but I don’t really have anything like yours,” he says, referring to your lightsaber.

“This is the best I have,” he says, and he begins to walk away.

Where do you even begin? Mando handed you a weapon, hours after finding out you had been lying to him for weeks. Hours after finding out you aided in destroying the galaxy. Hours after learning you could have been feeding his information to the Empire this whole time.

For all he knew, you could plan to stab him in the back (literally) as soon as you had the right moment too.

You feel yourself choking up again.

I am so sick of crying over this man, you think to yourself. And he hasn’t even made me sad cry!!

“Mando,” you say, which causes him to stop in his tracks.

He turns to look at you, and you wish you could express your gratitude in any other way than stupid words. They are never enough.

“Thank you. I will use this with honor,” you say. “And I will not let you down.”

You try to steady your breathing, because you honestly feel lightheaded. You hope he responds with something. It doesn’t really matter though, he has already proven he trusts you. If you’re being honest with yourself, you just like hearing his voice.

“I know,” he says, and you hope you have as much confidence in yourself as he does.

He has given so much to you. Now, it was your turn.

~~*~~

The journey to Karga from Kuiil’s home planet wasn’t long, but it just felt tense.

You tried to give Cara as much space as possible. She deserves her boundaries. You had hurt her enough. She probably feels like she’s been betrayed by two friends today.

When you finally make it to Greef, he has a trio of bounty hunters at his side.

You rode on a blurrg with Mando, while Cara and Kuiil had their own. Your eyes were on the child floating in his pram the whole time, and you held up your longspear to make it known you were ready.

Greef proceeded to make awkward conversation, which you didn’t really pay attention to, but when he asked where the “little one” was, your senses went up in flames.

Not today buddy, you thought to yourself. Not today.

You turned around to look at Mando, silently asking him what to do.

“It’s ok,” he mumbled, and you nodded apprehensively.

You pressed a button on your wrist gauntlet (which was brilliantly engineered by Kuiil by the way) and the child was revealed to Greef in all his glory.

You honestly didn’t even hear what he was saying your ears were ringing so bad. He picked up the child, and your chest puffed while the grip on your longspear was causing the metal to almost bend.

If he even scratches the child, he’s dead.

Luckily, he doesn’t, and this unlikely crew is on their way again.

~~*~~

The team traveled for a while on Nevaro, but you didn’t mind the quiet. The silence was actually quite calming. Karga hadn’t tried any funny business yet, but you were still not convinced.

The sun set quickly, and so you all gathered around a campfire.

You helped Kuiil feed scraps of meat to the child, who was obviously pretty hungry.

“I guess the little bugger’s a carnivore,” Karga chuckled. “Never seen anything like it.”

He leaned in a bit closer to take a look at the child, which also meant he leaned closer to you. You felt his energy surrounding you, and you felt pretty uncomfortable.

“They were ready to pay a king’s ransom for that thing,” he said, but it almost sounded like a whisper in your ear. His closeness was starting to freak you out more, and you just wanted him away from you.

“Let’s go over the plan again,” Mando said, and you gave him a light smile in gratitude. He could see you were uncomfortable, and he got Karga distracted. You wondered if Karga’s closeness to you made Mando uncomfortable too?

Karga proceeded to sketch out the steps. The plan itself wasn’t bad at all. The team would go to the public house with the child as bait, while you stayed with Kuiil and the blurrgs to ensure their safety, and to make sure the Empire didn’t double cross you. You also didn’t want to get recognized, but Mando didn’t mention that to Karga. Mando would kill the client, and if there were any complications, Cara and Karga’s hunters would take care of it.

“Trust me,” Karga said, “nothing can go wrong.”

But of course, they could go wrong. Very very wrong.

As if on queue, a huge winged creature came flying out from the dark sky and Karga screamed in pain. He lurched backwards, and utter chaos ensued.

Blaster fire erupted all around you, and you immediately shut the child in his pram. You turned around with your longspear in hand, and you allowed your training to flow back through you.

You swung at any creature that came your way and cut through their skin if they came too close. Mando and Cara were doing some good damage too, but nothing seemed to make the creatures want to go away.

You heard a blurrg screech in pain and Kuiil yelled “drop her!”

You turned to your right and saw one of the creatures flying away with the blurrg. You took aim, and threw your spear directly into the creature’s neck.

It screeched and dropped the blurrg as it felt to the ground, dead. This was good, but you were left without a weapon. Lucky for you, Mando raised his arm and torched the creatures until they finally gave up.

Silence came over the camp, and it felt strange and eerie. The only thing you could hear were the sounds of pain Karga was making, and the tiny whimpers of the child.

You opened the pram and took the child in your arms, comforting him and stroking his head.

You looked up to see Cara and Mando rushing to Karga, and the wound in his arm looked bad.

“Hold still,” Cara said while sitting down and breaking open a medpac. “They got you good.”

“How bad?” Mando asked.

“Bad,” she said, “the poison is spreading fast. This isn’t working!” she yelled in frustration.

The child in your arms was squirming to be free, so you set him on the ground, and he immediately booked it to Karga.

You trailed behind him, and Cara gave you a glare.

“Get this thing out of here,” she said, and you went to reach for the child again.

“Wait,” Kuiil said, and you backed away. You had no idea when Kuiil was thinking, but he had some years on you, so you trusted his experience.

“He’s trying to eat me,” Karga moaned while looking at the child, whose hand was pressed directly on Karga’s wound.

Karga’s groans of pain were slowly becoming quieter, and he stared at the child in disbelief. The wound was slowly healing, until soon enough, it completely disappeared.

The child collapsed on the ground and you scooped him into your arms.

In all your training, all your pain, and all your hard work, you had never seen something like that. The shocked look on your face said it all.

Mando tilted his head up to you and said, “Have you ever seen something like this?”

“No…” you said, shaking your head in utter disbelief. “Never.”

Tag list:

@leahkenobi @pinkninja200 @farfromjustordinary @bookloverfilmoholic @440mxs-wife

[eirikaanemo]

Can You Keep A Secret?

Warnings: imprisonment, mentions of starvation and sickness

Note: I haven't actually played Dvalin's quest but I tried to keep it as close to canon as possible. Feel free to leave a comment or message me if you see something wrong.

Venti x GN!Reader

1.9k Words

Your soulmate is secretly Barbatos... now what?

Everyone has a soulmate. And everyone is born knowing your soulmate's biggest secret. For most people it’s really unhelpful, but for some people it helps them find their soulmate. You’re in the latter group, because yours gives you a name.

You've known your whole life that your soulmate is secretly Barbatos. It's… interesting, to say the least. Of course you'd never dare to tell anyone. Thankfully, asking someone what their soulmate’s secret is isn’t very common. It’s considered to be very rude, so no one asks you what your secret is. They'd think you're crazy!

Barbatos hasn't been around for centuries and you're a mortal. This is the sort of thing you would read about in trashy romance novels! But even though it’s crazy and kind of overwhelming, you know it's true. You don't know if he'd ever accept you or want to be with you, in fact, you’re pretty sure he won’t, but you want to try.

Once that’s settled, you just have to find him. If he's anywhere, it's probably the city of Mondstadt. That’s where he seems to have shown up the most in the past, after all. So you move to Mondstadt. It’s a nice place and the people are friendly. Finding a job with the Knights of Favonius was fairly easy and it paid pretty well.

Unfortunately, the 'Storm-terror' problem starts shortly after you move. He throws the whole city into chaos the first time, and then proceeds to keep doing it regularly. The fear is all encompassing, but that's fine, you try to convince yourself. It will all be worth it when you find him. ‘If you find him’, your traitorous mind whispers.

It's been months, a year even, and you're starting to lose hope. How were you expecting to find Barbatos anyway? Shout from the rooftops for him to reveal himself and whisk you away? He hasn't been around for a long time and you knew that. And to be honest, at this point you've given up.

Going home is the logical thing to do, it’s where your family is after all. But you stay because you made yourself a home here. You have friends: Jean, Lisa, and Kaeya. You have come to love the city: music, freedom, and camaraderie. Well, you love the city except for the 'Storm-terror' attacks. Those aren't very lovable.

What concerns you the most though is that 'Storm-terror' is a dragon. And dragons trend to be important (like, archon important). But no one seems to remember this one. So you research. You visit the cathedral and speak with some nuns. You dedicate some time to listening to bard’s tales, asking them if they know any songs about dragons. One does, and it's surprisingly informational. You spend time at the library, pouring through book after book. And after all this investigation, you've come to the conclusion that 'Storm-terror' is actually Dvalin of the Four Winds. Not that anyone actually believes you

It didn't stop you from telling people your theory though, and being more respectful in how you refer to him, despite all the damage he's caused. Eventually they do start considering it and the city starts catching on. If you keep doing this, you may be able to change the city's perspective of and reaction to Dvalin.

The abyss mage catches on to this, and he just can't let that happen. It could compromise the whole plan. So one day he has Dvalin abduct you and locks you up. And true to your luck, this happens out of the blue while you’re taking a walk that you’d finally convinced Jean to go on with you. Which, of course, reverses all your progress and makes the situation even worse than it was before. Incidentally, this also does the exact opposite of what you’d been trying to do by stressing out poor Jean more.

The abyss mage doesn’t care about anything other than making sure you’re not able to go back to Mondstadt. The mage does not care about human necessities. Who cares if you die? Not him. He hates humans. It's kind of part of his job description.

Your prison is where Dvalin retreats to when not attacking. And the mage has to go report to someone else sometimes, giving you opportunities to speak with Dvalin. He never responds to you, but you can tell he eventually starts listening. You start by rambling about various subjects; then talking about how you know he's Dvalin, and that you're sorry he was being treated like he was, once you know he is listening. Because while you don’t know the whole situation, you know that he feels hurt by how humans have treated him.

After several days of talking to him, he slowly starts warming up to you. It’s a strange sort of bond that grows stronger as time goes on. He starts responding and the two of you actually have conversations instead of just you talking. Eventually you even mention how you know your soulmate is actually Barbatos and that you've kind of given up finding him.

He gives a thoughtful hum, lets you vent out your feelings, tries to think of an appropriate response, then allows you to drop the subject once you’ve worn yourself out emotionally. It’s becoming obvious that your health, physical, mental, and emotional, is degrading faster as time goes on.

One day Dvalin and the mage both disappear for longer than usual. After the mage makes sure you won’t be able to escape, of course. It’s not like you would’ve been able to leave anyway. At that point you’re not able to do much at all.

Little did you know that only Dvalin would be returning. They ended up facing the traveler and their companions in battle, and Dvalin was freed from the mage’s influence. The first thing Dvalin does is take them to help "the one decent human, that he actually cares about". You're in bad shape at this point, starving, sick, and weak. But you’re aware enough to hear Jean call your name and feel someone gather you in their arms before blacking out.

When you wake up you're at the cathedral and are feeling much better. Certainly you are not fully recovered, that will take weeks. That one bard who was able to play you a song about Dvalin is always there. You vaguely remember him being there when you were found. He doesn’t really interact with you much, he’s just kind of there, but he does play peaceful music that helps you fall asleep when you’re struggling to rest.

Then the day comes for you to go home. They’ve done all they can for you and you’re past the worst of it. But you’re well enough to be out and about. “Now you take care of yourself,” Barbara lectures you. “Don’t push yourself, get plenty of rest, drink lots of water, and eat three square meals a day, got it?”

“Got it,” you confirm. “Thank you for taking care of me, I really appreciate your help.” She smiles, wishes you well, and returns to the cathedral. You take a moment to breathe and just appreciate being back home, free of your prison and the small cathedral room they’d kept you in while treating you.

Taking a deep breathe you start on your way home. “Hey!” You hear someone exclaim behind you. “Could you hold on a second?” Turning around, you see the bard quickly excusing himself from a street performance before running to catch up to you. Once he’s caught up, he gives you a smile.

“Hi! I’m Venti the bard! Would you be willing to speak with me about something? It’s kind of private so we would need to go to windrise or something, but you’ll want to hear this, I promise.” He says. “Alright,” you agree, “but I can’t make it all the way to windrise. Would my home do? I live alone so we’ll have privacy.” He nods, “that’ll work great!”

The walk home is quiet but comfortable. The bard’s content to hum a tune as he follows you through the streets. Soon you’re home, unlocking the door to let you and your guest in. You lead him over to the couch where you both sit down. “So,” you say, “what did you want to talk about?”

“Well, I was talking with Dvalin a day or so after we freed both of you and he said you mentioned you came to Mondstadt searching for your soulmate. And that you said your soulmate’s biggest secret, the one that you know, is that they’re Barbatos,” he explains. You feel a pang of betrayal at Dvalin’s actions and some guilt for sharing your soulmate’s secret in the first place.

It probably showed on your face because he quickly spoke up again. “He didn’t just tell me for no reason though. You see, I am Barbatos. I’m your soulmate.” Your head, which had been drooping with the weight of your emotions suddenly shot up as you fumbled for a response.

Apparently that showed too because he continued, “And I’m sorry I made it so hard for you to find me. I’m sorry I almost made you give up on me. Most of my waking time is spent incognito so I can watch over everyone while not being put in a position of authority. I didn’t anticipate meeting you ”

There’s a moment or two of silence as you gather your thoughts. “It’s okay,” you assure him. “I understand why you did what you did and I’ll never hold it against you. How were you supposed to know I was even born yet, not to mention that I’ve been in the area searching for you.”

You take another moment or two to gather your wits. “I will also understand if you don’t want to do anything about this,” you state. “I don’t want you to feel forced into having a relationship with me if you don’t want to. The last thing I’d want to do is be responsible for making you miserable. And that’s not to mention how you’re an archon and I’m just a mortal.”

Your talking speeds up as you start rambling, losing control of the conversation as you feel more and more nervous. Once you realize you’re rambling you shut your mouth with a click. “Sorry about that,” you mutter. “I do that sometimes when I’m nervous.”

When you chance a glance at him, he honestly looks a little offended but mostly just really sad. “Is- is that really what you think I think about this?” He asks softly. “Because it’s not. I absolutely want this. I absolutely want you. I’ve been looking forward to this moment for millenia and I wouldn’t give this up for the world.”

He reaches over and slowly, hesitantly, so as to give you time to escape if you want, gathers you into his arms. You realize that he’s the one who picked you up to bring you home. Your ear rests against his chest as lean against him, and his heart skips a beat as you gently grab one of his hands and kiss it. “I’m glad,” you breathe. “I’m glad too,” he voices softly.

You yawn, feeling the exhaustion from your journey home and the rest of the day hit you. He pulls you close and whispers in your ear, “Sleep well, my cecilia, I’ll be here when the sun comes up and when you wake up.” You fall asleep to the sound of his heartbeat.