#and i’m not saying they are not within their rights of disliking and feeling repulsed by people who abuse others

[an-ivy-covered-summer]

i think that some people have fully lost the plot. maybe i’m just a cupcake, but idk, i personally think that if you want to abolish prison and death penalty and you want rehabilitative justice to exist, you kinda shouldn’t rejoice when people who were in clear need of help and who were victims of abuse in a toxic environment before they became abusers themselves die.

like, i don’t know, but i do think that death is kind of a fucked up thing to wish for people who fucked up if you preach about changing the system, making the world a better place, owning up to your wrongdoings and the harm you’ve caused and becoming a better person, and redemption. whether you like the people or not.

maybe it’s just me, but it does feel hypocritical and makes everything you say about social justice performative at best. but what do i know!

[x-avantgarde-x]

Oooh, as both a V for Vendetta and Phantom of the Opera devoted fan I feel the need to share my thoughts on this one! Though I’m mostly gonna be explaining V’s character and his dynamic with Evey (Natalie Portman), I have to agree with you that both V and Erik have a resemblance to one another.

Getting on with the explanation: set yourself on a absolutist regime, where the government has taken completely over the people, it has killed them, isolated, taken their loved ones, lives and freedoms and installed a fear within them far too strong to make them even think of a way out. V and Evey are both it’s products, they both have lost themselves because of their government and have been created by this government and the atrocities it has done to them.

But unlike Evey, V believes himself to be too far gone. He lost his humanity to this people and what remains is no longer a man (or so he claims), and upon meeting Evey he sees himself in her. In their time together he finds in Evey a girl lost in fear and oppression, but also that there’s still hope in her and for her.

Though his methods are brutal and twisted (mind you, their whole lives have been brutal and twisted from second 1), they are nothing but the the truth. V does nothing that those leading their country wouldn’t have done to her, and by doing so he opens her eyes to the reality of it all and gives her the tools to fight them back. It’s cruel, it’s dark, it’s not easy to stomach, but it is the wake up call she needed to liberate herself from the ties that held her and her humanity down. And in cutting them she builds herself again and finds once more the person that she is (free, powerful, strong, etc).

On Evey coming back to V, we have to take two different matters to take into consideration:

Even if everything that V did to her was repulsive and hurt her, it was the biggest act of love he could have done for her. Dark and horrendous as it is, he gave Evey her freedom and self back to her (or gave her the tools to reclaim them as I rather see it). V cared for her enough to not let her wither away and saw in her something that Evey herself did not see.

In the time they spent together, much to Evey’s delight and V’s dismay (sorry babe, you are still a human being) as well as V saw the woman hiding behind Evey’s fear, she saw the man behind his hatred and ideals. Evey met the man behind the mask, what he liked and disliked, his hobbies and weird fixations. She saw the man V had long forgotten he was.

And that’s why she fell in love with him the same way he fell in love with her. That’s why she came back to him, because she loved him and believed that he could have a life after all the revolution happened, just as V had seen a feature for her (and mind you V too wanted it, motherfucker wore a fucking steel cuirass in hope’s to survive don’t think I didn’t catch that). Evey loves him, evil and bad as he is at times (because fuck it, it was evil).

Same as Christine went back to Erik to give him back his ring after all he had done, because despite the ugliness she too fell in love with the man she found. (Ugliness as in murdering people for his own benefit or because he thought it right, no pun intended lol).

If you ever take into consideration reading the comics, the original source of V for Vendetta, you’ll see V’s and Evey’s more in depth and will come to understand their characters and relationship quite better (though they are quite different from their movie selfs, as usually happens in adaptations). Also, to everyone reading this, keep in mind that this is a commentary on the movie adaptation, I have far many more and way different things to say about the graphic novels.

I hope this wasn’t too much of a rant and was enjoyable to read! I tried to make it as enjoyable as possible while at the same time covering everything I thought important💕💕

I watched V for Vendetta for the first time today.

I loved it! It was a really gorgeous movie and the story was really interesting

I see so many parallels between Vendetta and Phantom, it was even pointed out to me out loud!

I like the idea of V. He’s well spoken, well-versed in art, and his costume is just super cool to look that. I like the idea of freedom that he represents too.

However, just like with Phantom, his character by himself is where I show admiration. When I see him in relation to Natalie Portman’s character, I can’t help but feel conflicted about him. The guy’s a straight up sociopath so his methods of helping her realise the taste of reclaiming your autonomy weren’t easy to watch.

I stopped empathising with him after the fake prison scene honestly. I was conflicted about the kidnapping to begin with but overlooked it because she would have been detained had he not done that. I can’t help but wonder why she came back to him. I had a feeling that she realised that she liked what he could have been when she watched his favourite movie but I wasn’t about to agree with falling in love with his potential since he put her through a simulation of his imprisonment.

Regardless, this movie’s a cool thought process on what freedom actually means, to not allow yourself to be held down by outside forces out of your control.

I wanted to talk about it since it had similarities with Phantom. What do you guys think?

[forehead-enthusiast]

Checkmate

Pairing: Haechan x Reader

Genre: enemies to lovers, fluff but it gets slightly steamy at one point (still totally sfw)

Word Count: 6k

Summary: You and Haechan get engaged, because anything is better than the process of trying to get engaged. That being said, having a fiancé you hate isn’t that much better.

Author’s notes: remember me???????? I’m alive, yeah. I’m super proud of this fic, I think it’s my best ever, so please give it a read!!

.

Haechan inhaled the overwhelming scent of floral perfume, and barely managed to stifle a gag. His father arranged for him to meet more and more foreign princesses every week, and he wondered where the man even kept finding them. Were there even this many countries? The prince’s surroundings were beginning to blend into a blur of painted smiles and emotionless eyes. He cursed that stubborn old man in his mind, and questioned furiously why it was even so important that he find a bride any time soon. Still, no matter how much he despised it, he knew his father wouldn’t accept anything less. 

He looked into the sea of lace gowns and resigned himself.

Maybe he’d just choose someone. Anyone. He smiled morosely, knowing all the women there were only after their shot at the throne anyway. They were here to use him, why shouldn’t he use them too? The apathetic thought left a bad taste on his tongue. Still, in his exhaustion at his circumstances, it seemed more and more reasonable the longer he considered it.

He searched throughout the crowd of giggling princesses, unable to distinguish between their faces. 

One after another, they approached him, with candied smiles and words that were far too practiced. One after another, they convinced him a loveless marriage with someone half-decent was far preferable to enduring this a moment longer. One after another, they revealed themselves to be absolutely unbearable, and Haechan grew more and more desperate to find someone that didn’t make him want to throw himself off a balcony after three sentences.

You stood at the back of the crowd, prodded by impatient elbows and sneered at by women hiding their smirks behind fans. You rolled your eyes, unable to understand this need, this hunger to marry someone they’d never met. That was your problem, according to your parents. And your advisors. And your tutors. According to everyone, really. You’d been to so many different kingdoms, trying to seduce unfamiliar princes, but could never bring yourself to actually put any effort into it. The carriage that shipped you to each one was beginning to feel more like home than the castle you’d left.

You watched girl after girl leave the ballroom, looking thoroughly dejected. It was hard not to relish in their failure just a bit, but you dreaded whatever high standards this prince was going to judge you with. You had little to offer. Your background, your kingdom, your land- none could remotely compare to his. Your parents were completely insane to even think you had anything that would make you lucrative as a bride to him.

Maybe they’re hoping he’ll behead me. You chuckled.

Still, the crowd continued to thin, and you couldn’t put off meeting him forever. A few of the weaker-hearted girls nudged you forward, suddenly less eager to meet the sharp-tongued prince. 

You sighed, and decided to get it over with.

.

Haechan rubbed at his temples, barely even looking at the girl who approached him now. He’d made up his mind to find a bride today, but his prospects weren’t looking so good. His eyes caught the hem of this princess’s dress. It was unadorned. He’d go so far as to call it plain. Many princesses were after his riches, but he’d never seen one that was so blatantly poor. Most at least tried to disguise their lack of wealth, so as to make them more desirable in terms of growing power. He half-chuckled, half-sighed. His gaze traced upward lazily, until it came across the first unsmiling face he’d seen all day. It shocked him so much that his hand dropped from his face, and he stood up instinctively.

“Your highness, thank you for allowing me to meet with you today-”

It was the most monotonous, disinterested introduction he’d ever heard, and his heart soared. You hadn’t even noticed he’d stood up. Incredible.

“Let’s get married.”

“I hope- excuse me?”

“Let’s get married. Can we go right now?” The question was directed to the attendant beside him, who sputtered at the prince’s sudden enthusiasm. No one, however, was more surprised at him than you. Your skirts were still clutched in your fists, your knees still bent in a curtsy. You couldn’t even manage to feel happy that he’d chosen you.

If anything, you felt angry.

He was rattling off instructions to his attendant about the wedding he’d already begun to plan, completely ignoring you. You hadn’t even responded to his proposal, if you could call his demand that. You tried to get in a polite word in time and time again, only for him to not even acknowledge you, until you got so sick of him talking you couldn’t stand it anymore.

“No!”

Finally, he turned to you.

“No?”

“I don’t want to marry you.” You ignored the consequences of your words, and avoided thinking about the awaiting rage of your parents.

The prince blinked. 

Then he scoffed.

“Of course you do.”

You cocked an eyebrow, your expression not betraying how absolutely pissed those four words had made you. Instead, the first smile you’d shown him spread on your face. It was chillingly false, your eyes boring deep holes into his face as you sweetly replied:

“I’d burn down this castle before I married you, your highness. Good day.”

And with that, you turned and left the ballroom.

Haechan didn’t move for a few moments as he watched you stalk away, a picture of grace even in your anger. The women who remained and witnessed began to whisper, snapping him out of his shock. His head flicked around the room, trying to comprehend what had just happened. Then, just as you vanished around a corner, he took off after you.

He’d been turned down. How? Why? He was rich. He was influential. You were neither. He felt a nagging pang of guilt, but suppressed it. You were poor. His proposal was a generous offer, for you and your kingdom. You were the one losing out by rejecting him. So why? Why was he the one chasing after you? He cursed under his breath as he caught sight of your back.

“You! Wait up!”

You heard him calling, but only sped up. 

“I will call the guards if you don’t stop this instant! I-I command you to stop!”

You did. Then you turned on your heel, with a glare that would send armies fleeing, and stomped towards him much faster than he knew a princess could. He flinched as you were suddenly toe to toe with him, taller than he expected. You seemed smaller when he was sitting on his throne. You sneered at his reaction.

“Do you need your guards just to take care of one woman, little prince?”

He flushed, but you didn’t let him respond.

“You don’t even know my name. I’m not, ‘you.’ I don’t know why you want to marry me, but if you want me to agree, maybe learn that first.”

“You-” Haechan fumbled, unused to someone being blunt with him. He flared up, unable to think straight.

“You’re lucky to get an offer like this, you know.”

He saw the way your eyes widened in indignation, but kept digging his own grave as if he’d find treasure eventually.

“You won’t get an opportunity like this again. And, for your information, I only want to get married so I can finally be done with all,” he gestured towards the direction of the ballroom you’d both just left, “this.”

Despite your anger, his reason struck a chord within you. Not that that made your tone any less cutting.

“So I’m supposed to be grateful that you’re using me?”

“We’re royalty. We’re all getting used by someone, aren’t we?”

You bit the inside of your cheek, and he could tell you didn’t find the idea all so repulsive. He pressed forward.

“You’re tired of it all too, aren’t you? Or do you want to keep getting shoved at princes? We’d both get our parents off our backs. It’s a good deal.”

It was frustrating, but your desire to stop meeting spoiled princes was beginning to outweigh your immense dislike of this one. And as much as you hated it, he was right when he said you wouldn’t get an offer as good as this one ever again. Maybe that’s why he chose you, you supposed. He knew you couldn’t afford to say no. (Not that that had stopped you.) It just angered you that he saw you as someone so desperate, so needy, so pitiful. 

“...Fine.” You stuck out your hand in impersonal assent. “But. I don’t want to marry you.”

“Yeah, me neither.”

“I’m not done, little prince.” He restrained his scowl and motioned for you to continue. “Let’s just get engaged. That’s enough reason to end all the marriage meetings, and then if it turns out I really just cannot stand you, we’ll call it off. Fine?”

“Fine.”

He shook your hand firmly.

Despite the way you both glared at each other, neither of you could deny how pleased you were with this arrangement. 

While you sent word to your family, he went directly to his, who were thoroughly, almost obnoxiously happy that he’d found someone. He forced a grin and made up some lies about how he’d fallen for you at first sight. They weren’t exactly excited about your less than impressive background, but weren’t about to reject the only girl who’d managed to catch their discerning son’s eye.

Within a day, it was announced throughout all your fiancé’s kingdom that he’d found a woman to wed. You managed to laugh about how all the other princesses must be incredibly jealous of you at this moment, but couldn’t quite get over the fact that you were one foot into a lifelong commitment with the rudest man you’d ever had the displeasure of meeting. It was a troubling internal conflict. On one hand, he was the worst. On the other, the same could be said for just about every other prince you’d ever met. So really, it was an overall win that this one didn’t expect you to love or fawn over him.

At least, that’s what you repeated to yourself as you received the list of engagement events you were expected to attend alongside him.

.

“Do we really have to do this?” You groaned.

“Just shut up and smile, they’re about to see us.”

You reluctantly did as he said, forcing an exuberant grin onto an unwilling face. Your carriage turned into the courtyard, and crowds cheered wildly, as if they actually cared about your wellbeing in some way. You waved gently, relieved your upbringing was so ingrained within you that you could play your role without ceasing your fantasies of punching your fiancé in the face. As you reached your places of honor, Haechan offered a gallant hand to help you down, and you almost admired how well he played the part of a loving gentleman.

It was such a truly lovely banquet being thrown for you, it almost made you feel bad for lying. Haechan seemed to be thinking similarly, and, forgetting to be vindictive, leaned over to whisper jokingly in your ear.

“Poor fools actually think we’re in love.”

You laughed brightly without thinking. Both of you then remembered you hated each other, and stared at each other in shock before looking away sharply. You waved again, happy to be doing something that made sense to you. The hordes of celebrating nobles clapped and called out their congratulations again as soon as they saw you move, not wanting to get on the bad side of what they assumed was their future queen. That was a pretty nice feeling, and you accidentally smiled sincerely.

Haechan, still stunned by the sound of your real laugh, wasn’t prepared to see your real smile. His eyes widened. It was more beautiful than he expected, and didn’t threaten him with cavities the way every woman in his life’s did. If they were processed white sugar, you were honey with all the real sweetness in the world on your face. He hazily tried to remember when he last smiled genuinely. You turned to him with a gleam in your eye, and he took your hand before rationality could persuade him otherwise.

The smile dropped off your face, and your gaze flicked to your intertwined fingers, then to his expression, which seemed even more confused than yours somehow. He looked boyish and bashful, and you wondered if your haughty fiancé had a far more charming twin.

Lucky for Haechan, the crowd cheered yet louder at the sight of your supposed affection, and he tilted his head towards them as if to say, See, that's why. Normally, you wouldn't have believed it was part of his plan, but it was easier that way. You let him lift your entwined hands in some playfully bragging way, and rolled your eyes.

.

“Alright, so I get the bed.”

“That’s funny. No, I get the bed. It’s my kingdom!”

“You are not being very gentlemanly right now.”

“And you didn’t seem like the kind of girl who’d enforce those kinds of antiquities.”

You scowled, and Haechan looked smug, which only intensified your frustration.

“Fine. Then let’s decide fairly, little prince.” You loved to call him that, just to see him pretend it didn’t irk him. “If I beat you in chess, I get the bed. And vice versa.”

“...Fine, small princ- annoying- um- pret- dum-”

You couldn’t help but grin at his attempts. “Nice try, but I’m not immature enough to be annoyed by a silly nickname.”

Your fiancé grimaced and got out the chess board.

.

Hours later, you were still playing the first game of chess.

“Y/n… Can we… Can we…” Haechan yawned enormously, which of course prompted you to as well. “Can we maybe… call a truce for tonight? It’s a big bed. We have to be up early for a garden party.”

You wanted to rejoice in his surrender, but your eyes were teary with exhaustion. Instead of the easy win you expected, you’d been in the longest game of your life. It seemed like you two were well matched for one another.

As opponents, of course.

“Fine… But just- just for tonight. We’ll play again tomorrow.”

And with that, you both crawled into the truly extravagant bed, falling asleep before your heads hit the pillows. 

Many nights passed, with an unfinished chess game at the end of each. It grew into something of a habit, a nightly chess game, always accompanied by bickering, of course. Neither of you ever managed to truly best the other, with every game ending the way the first did. As they continued, the bickering smoothed into mocking conversations, and sometimes you weren’t even mocking each other, but a common enemy. You would never admit it, but the pair of you started laughing together more often than you did at each other these days.

On some fateful Tuesday, for the first time ever, you saw a clear move to checkmate. The king was unguarded. For the first time, he was vulnerable. It was glaringly obvious, and you snuck a glance at your opponent’s face to see if it was a trap, but were taken aback when you found him already staring at you. He didn’t look triumphant or concerned, but he somehow looked… nervous. Or maybe expectant? And then you realized. He was far too good a player to make an error like this one. He was offering you a choice, from one royal with too much pride to admit they enjoyed the other’s company to another. It would be easy to end this game right now, and banish him to the floor.

You chose another move, and the game continued.

.

“So what’s on the agenda tomorrow?” You asked, with a tone more befitting of a business partner than a fiancé. The two of you had gotten pretty used to the whole routine of feigning adoration, and typically planned cute moments to perform in advance. 

Haechan looked over at you and sighed in a way that might have been more amused than exasperated. 

“Would it kill you to sit like a lady?”

You looked down at yourself, eating a biscuit you’d pocketed from today’s lavish banquet, with your legs criss-crossed as you lounged on the bed in your nightgown. The white fabric was hiked up above your knees to accommodate the posture, and catching all the crumbs that fell.

“Aren’t I?”

Haechan couldn’t mask his amiable laugh at that. You felt strangely proud when you made him truly laugh. It was one of the few times his shoulders really relaxed, and he looked like the cheerful boy he might’ve been without the pressure of royalty on his back.

“So… what’s on the agenda?”

Haechan didn’t answer right away. He was still looking your direction but seemed zoned out. 

“Haechan?”

He flinched, always shocked when you used his real name instead of a mocking nickname.

“W-what? Oh, we’ve got a ball.”

“Ugh… Boring. You better not leave me alone with all the gossiping hags.” 

“Yeah, sure. Uh, for real, could you sit properly?”

“Whaaat, I’m comfy.”

“Seriously.”

That irked you. You were just sitting, and while you hadn’t fully realized it, Haechan was someone you'd grown comfortable being yourself around. You didn’t need another person in your life telling you the way you behaved was wrong, and against your will, you had begun to expect more from him. You felt something too close to heartbreak as you wondered if he was just another person who disapproved of you.

“No, I don’t want to.”

“It’s not a big deal, why can’t you?”

“Because you’re right. It’s not a big deal, so why do you seem to care so much?”

“Can you just do it?!”

“No! Didn’t you get on me for- for ‘enforcing those antiquities’ or whatever? Now you’ve got a problem with the way I sit or how I dress-”

“It’s not- it’s not like that!”

“Then what?!” You flared up at him further, as did he, but he seemed less angry and more... agitated. You laughed mockingly. “Whaaaat are you shy seeing my legs or something-”

“YES! They’re- they’re. Um. Well…” He looked at the floor, and you could’ve sworn you heard him whisper, “pretty,” before he flicked his head back up and stammered the marginally less embarrassing, “distracting.”

Your anger instantly dissolved when he confessed that, and you flushed in a way you didn’t know you could. You stared at the ground, tugging your nightgown gently down. You’d always hated being treated like a lady, but you’d never been treated like a woman, and you found you didn’t hate it quite as much. This might’ve been the first time in either of your lives that the two of you were ever actually lost for words. Neither could formulate some witty remark or snide comment, and you just boiled in the unfamiliar atmosphere neither of you sought to create.

“Uh,” Haechan broke the silence masterfully. “I-I think I’m going to turn in early.”

“Yes. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

.

You might have climbed in bed early- no chess game for the first time in ages- but you both woke up exhausted. Four feet apart, two fiancés had stayed up late replaying the night in their minds and subsequently panicking.

“G-good morning.”

“Good morning.”

The day whirled by, with most of it being spent simply getting dressed for the evening ball. You spent most of the day slapping your face and reminding yourself of how you used to act around him, and when you heard a knock at your door, you were ready.

He told himself he was, but he wasn’t. 

Haechan took a deep breath and let his gaze trail up from your skirt to your face, and he stiffened. He’d grown used to his fiancé looking beautiful in the luxurious dresses she wore daily- even though it stunned him more than he’d admit the first time. This dress was no different, no more extravagant, no, but the pink tinge on your cheeks was a beauty he couldn’t have imagined.

“You look… decent.”

He celebrated internally for managing to say something an unflustered him might have said, although some tiny part of himself wished he could pay you a compliment normally.

Your sigh slid into a laugh, and you found your rhythm in your rapport again.

“And you look just adorable, little prince.”

He glared, but was relieved to hear the dig. He offered you the crook of his elbow, and you clapped your hands to your cheeks once more before taking it. He flinched at the sharp sound, and observed your cheeks grow red again from the impact.

“Youch.”

“It’s not that bad, honestly. I’ve been doing it all day to wake myself up.”

Haechan hummed a response. He couldn’t form words; all his brainpower was focused on figuring out why that statement had just disappointed him so. As he rounded the corner towards the ballroom, though, he shook it from his mind.

You entered the ballroom to the usual thunderous applause. Haechan led you down the immaculate gold staircase, and you clung to his arm, the perfect image of a lovestruck princess. No one noticed you holding on a little tighter than usual tonight. The band struck up a song, and you took the hands of possibly the only person you'd ever considered a friend. He led you to the center of the floor and began to waltz. It was always a satisfying feeling to watch the crowds make way for you. You looked everywhere but at your partner, and aimlessly wondered if you’d even been in this ballroom before. Just when you thought you’d seen every room in the massive castle, you’d be led to a wing you didn’t even know existed. The idle thoughts occupied you, which was probably for the best, since it meant you didn’t notice the way Haechan was looking at you.

The dance ended, and you went separate ways to entertain people who made you feel like your brains were melting. Seriously, one day your mind was just going to leak out your ears and spill onto the polished floors. It was amazing how you could spend hours talking to one person night after night, but half an evening with these sycophants made you contemplate faking your own death.

Finally, your reprieve came in the form of an attendant, whispering in your ear that the crown prince was requesting your presence.

“So sorry ladies, my future husband and I are just inseparable.”

They gave you condescendingly knowing looks, their eyes practically screaming, Just wait a few more years, child, you’ll tire of each other. You had to turn away quickly so they didn’t catch you sneering at them. Whatever. You wouldn’t be with him in a few years anyway, you would have gone your separate ways by then.

Right?

Something about that thought didn’t feel right. Not even sad, just… not right. You thought rapidly as you let your attendant guide you. What was your original agreement? If I realize I… Wait… If I end up still hating him, then the engagement’s off? Those were the terms. Which meant, if you didn’t hate him, then inevitably you’d end up mar-

“Y/n!”

You looked up sharply, not realizing you’d crossed the ballroom already. However, even when looking forward, you didn’t see the person who’d just called your name. Your eyes flitted about, searching for the familiar face. You took a few steps in no particular direction, massively confused, and then suddenly terrified when a hand reached out from behind a curtain and pulled you to join its owner. Not the type to lose composure and scream, you clenched your jaw so tight it almost broke until you saw your fiancé's face shrouded in the shadows of the velvet drapes. 

“What took you so long?”

His question wasn’t at all rude, as it once might’ve been. It was one of genuine relief to see you, as if you were his solace amongst all the fools at the ball. You met his eyes for maybe the first time this evening, and they were bright and warm and looked at you the way no one ever did. Like you mattered. Like he wanted you there. Not the facade you put on for everyone, he wanted the real you. 

Oh God, I don’t hate him at all.

“Earth to y/n?” He chuckled as you snapped to attention. “Finally, you’re here. Is this the worst ball yet or what?”

“Yes! It’s seriously unbearable.”

“I knew you’d agree. By the way, have you still been slapping your face? You shouldn’t in front of guests, they’ll think you’re crazy.” He teased you over your red flush without giving it a second thought. You hadn’t touched your cheeks in hours. The realization only made you blush even more. He leaned in close, and you stood stock-still with surprise.

“Do you want to vanish for a while?”

“What?” The absurdity of the idea finally overwhelmed all other distractions from your mind. “How can we leave, we’re the guests of honor?”

“Please, nobody cares. They’re all busy trying to climb the social ladder anyway. Besides, we’ve got this great hiding spot.”

You stifled a laugh. “Yeah, squeezing between a window and some drapes is what I call ideal.”

“Hey, it’s got, like, enough room for us!”

That was a bit of hyperbole on Haechan’s part. You both barely fit in the narrow space, and you thanked the stars you hadn’t worn a larger hoop skirt tonight. Suddenly you were back to evading making eye contact again. A hush fell over you as you thought about how incorrect his statement just was, and you both grew acutely aware of how you couldn’t position yourselves in any way that would allow you to put some distance between your bodies. You cursed yourself for not postponing your life-shattering revelation about the man before you until after this little endeavor. Haechan’s mind raced as he saw the red on your skin remain even in the dim light.

You could only avoid each other’s gazes for so long. 

He locked eyes with you, and you envisioned pieces moving across a board, your king running out of ways to escape its fate. There was only one end, and you were starting to love the idea of surrendering. You whispered harshly in the sarcastic way that felt comfortable to you, still too prideful to admit your defeat.

“So are you going to kiss me, or am I going to kiss you?”

Haechan answered by pressing a palm to the back of your neck and pulling you towards him perhaps too eagerly. A second later, you’d both pulled away, frantically looking around to see if anyone was peering in on you both. You relaxed when you confirmed no one has discovered you.

“This isn’t... a good time, Haechan.”

“I could not agree more. Way too risky.”

Neither of you waited a moment more to lunge towards each other again. His lips found yours roughly, his breath already ragged with overworked patience. You grabbed his lapels, no less desperate for this moment, your lipstick smearing onto him. Your fists crushed his boutonniere, and his fingers wove into your hair and ruined the curls. There was no party beyond the curtain. You and him were alone, both desperate to memorize the taste of each other, and nothing else mattered but that. His lips parted, and yours followed suit. His tongue just brushed your lower lip, and you felt a thrill run down your spine. Your arms wrapped around his neck unconsciously, trying to get closer to him than was possible, but nothing could stop you from trying. You caught his lip between your teeth, your instincts running wild, and you wondered how either of you had endured up until this point. Now that you’d gotten a taste of each other, it seemed almost impossible not to get addicted. He gripped your hair, his other arm wrapping around your waist and not letting go. It slid down to grab your thigh and wrap it around him, your dress’s layers barely inhibiting him. Every inch of you was so aware of where it made contact with him, and you hungered for more. All facades were shed. You were both just heat and teeth and desire, without a shred of nobility between the two of you. You’d never experienced anything so perfect.

The two of you finally parted, your lips wet and the rest of you looking disastrous. He pressed his lips to your cheek, getting your own lipstick on your face, and you pulled his palm up to kiss it over and over again. Too breathless to continue and too worked up to just stop, you let the clock tick by as you left soft kisses all over each other.

“What are we going to do?” You whispered, half concerned but half amused. Between sentences, you still found places on his face yet unkissed, and remedied them. “We can’t go back out looking like this.”

“What are you talking about? I look great.” You were both too elated to remember you should be worried about your predicament, but he did seem genuinely proud of the pink smears adorning his face and neck, the teeth marks framing his lips, the fierce creases in his lapels. He brushed his fingers on your cheekbones, and looked even prouder of the mess he’d made of you. It felt like a dream to be touching you like this. Even more unreal to know that he was the cause of your disheveled hair and your chapped lips. He may or may not have imagined a moment like this before, late at night when he couldn’t stop his mind from wandering, but it was buried in the back of his mind and nowhere near as euphoric as this reality.

“No, but seriously, we can’t go out like this.”

“No yeah, for sure, you’re absolutely right.”

.

You managed to escape thanks to the tight-lipped attendant who’d led you to a curtain concealing a prince in the first place, but found yourselves rather tight-lipped too. Once you’d both washed off the lipstick and the teeth marks faded, you didn’t know how to face each other. You just crawled into bed and discreetly squirmed as you thought about all that had happened. What was more embarrassing, that you realized you might, maybe, possibly, have feelings for each other, or that the other person might know about them? It was already late when you turned out the lights, but you both stayed up longer, plagued by worries.

They must be so smug since I was all over them, I’m such an idiot.

God, I can’t believe how intense that was. What if they hated it? What if I was bad at it?

Did they only kiss me ‘cause of how much I was kissing them?

Are we like… friends? They probably don’t hate me, so…

That was really unbelievable.

I think I might really… feel something for them.

I hope they feel the way I do.

The hurricanes of concerns led to a restless night, and a mortifyingly awkward day afterward. You couldn’t even look at each other, let alone speak. Even the servants seemed to notice the tension, and you could hear them giggling when they’d disappear into the corridors. You tried to tell yourself that that was great, that it really sold your act as a couple of lovebirds, but that just embarrassed you all the more. Your fiancé was just as tormented, the blush that was sparking gossip reaching all the way to the tips of his ears.

Eventually, someone had to break the silence. If not with words, then with the slamming of a chess board down on the usual table. And that’s exactly what you did, not that who slept in the bed was something that still concerned either of you. No, now it was just routine, something you enjoyed and shared with each other, and something you were going to use to discuss your current feelings.

“C-come play, little prince.”

Even the nickname didn’t manage to get him to flare up. He walked over, still with the air of importance that was second nature to him, but his pounding heart almost echoed against his ribs. You set up your black pieces and he took the white. He moved a pawn towards you.

“So…”

“Yeah.” You slid a piece across the board. He nodded, his cheeks burning. You both knew what you had to say and what the other person was going to say, but that only made it all the more difficult to verbalize.

“I guess I don’t hate you. As much as I used to.” You said hurriedly, your voice forcibly steadied.

“Oh, what an honor.” Haechan’s snarky response was accompanied by a trembling hand moving a rook. He yelled at himself internally, and attempted to be as honest as he could. “I… suppose you’re not unbearable.” The biting words didn’t sting, nor did they flow the way they once did. It saddened both players, even though it had only been a day since you both had been without the banter of your best friend. Slowly, you started to regret the night before, the ecstatic memories being clouded with the fear that you might lose the most important person to you because of it. 

“I-”

“I-”

“Oh, sorry, you start-”

“No, you-”

“No-”

“Okay, fine!” You huffed, accepting the initiative. You pushed your rook straight forward. “I… have always hated the idea of getting married. Everything about it- the formalities, the responsibilities, the princes, ugh. Awful.”

“Gee, thanks.” 

“I’m not done, okay!” Pieces shuffled around the board as you tried to organize your thoughts. “If I… had to marry someone…” Your sentence trailed off, and Haechan leaned forward, ears itching to hear the conclusion. You stared at the board, and he steeled himself. It would’ve been a blow to his persistent pride if he just waited for you to say everything.

“I’m…” What did he need to say first? His mind blanked, and he just let the words fall from his lips. “I’m sorry.”

Your eyes widened, but remained fixed on the game. “For what?”

“For not listening to you. The first day we met. I didn’t… treat you the way I should’ve. I’m sorry for that. But I’m… also glad it happened. If I’d acted differently then maybe you wouldn’t be in front of me. That would be, uh, not ideal. But I’m sorry.”

“Um. Thanks. I’m glad it happened too. Otherwise we might still be pretending to be well-mannered in front of each other.” Haechan snickered, and you did too. You could feel your shoulders relaxing, and he could feel himself growing bolder. He moved his queen across the board, closing in on his target.

“Man, where would I be without my unladylike, insufferable fiancé?”

“Probably whining like a child to some other pitiful creature who deserves better.”

The clouds in your minds began to clear as you exchanged snarky remarks. It felt right- pretty words didn’t like to be forced from your lips. He smiled. You looked up, your line of sight lingering on the lips you knew well before finding his eyes. You left your king unguarded, ready for it to be captured.

“I guess I wouldn’t mind marrying you, little prince.”

“Do it then.”

You swept the unfinished game off the board, feeling like you’d won, and he met you in the middle. He kissed you, barely more composed than the night before, but you had no problem with that. The two of you smiled against each other’s lips, incredulous that somehow you had found someone to love, something you used to believe was impossible. Little bursts of laughter interrupted the kiss as giddiness took over.

“Didn’t I say something like I’d burn down this castle before I wed you?”

“Just let the wedding planner know,” Haechan sighed with joy as he gave in to the temptation of your lips again.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Omertà👄5

Warnings: noncon sexual acts (sexual intercourse); tags to be added throughout series

This is dark!Bucky and dark! Loki and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your father was a bookie and taught you everything you know about numbers. After his death, you were taken on as a bookkeeper for Loki Laufeyson, resident crime boss in Manhattan. But can you keep your place in the background when a man from Brooklyn threatens to drag you to the forefront?

Note: Stay positive and be healthy, y’all. Might have a surprise for ya later.

Hope you enjoy it. Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

Loki’s grimace was terrifying. You lowered the sparkling panties back into the box and the diamonds tinkled just a little. He watched you fold the tissue paper back over them and lift the lid. He raised his long index finger as he stood.

“No,” He breathed. “That’s no way to accept a gift.”

You frowned as you hovered the lid over the box. “What--”

“Well,” He smirked. “It would only be proper to make sure they fit.”

“I have no intent of ever wearing those,” You shoved the lid on. “I’ll have them sent back.”

“You will not do that,” He tutted. “Now, let’s see--”

“No,” You said staunchly. “I’m tired of this. It’s ridiculous. Childish!”

His nostrils flared and he pursed his thin lips. He reached beneath his jacket and pulled his gun from his holster. He didn’t hesitate as he brought the muzzle to face you.

“I rather dislike repeating myself but more, I despise your disobedience. Now, your life is mine and at this point it would seem more profitable to end it and this bounty. So I won’t say it again.” He snarled. “I’ll even be so generous as to close my eyes. I like a surprise.”

You stared at him and the gun twitched. He smirked and closed his eyes, his arm still extended, ready to pull the trigger. You shook the lid off so the box fell loudly onto the desk. You tossed the lid aside and hiked up your skirt. You pulled your panties down your legs and bunched them up atop the desk.

You took the diamond pair and bent to hook your feet through them and shimmied them up your legs. You stood and straightened your skirt over them. You smiled and leaned on the desk.

“They fit,” You said tritely.

He opened his eyes and his face fell. He marched towards you and pressed the barrel to your chest. You swallowed but held his gaze. He let out a hot breath.

“You know what I meant.” He pushed the neckline of our shirt lower with the gun. “Final warning, darling.”

This time he kept his eyes open. You gritted your teeth and reached to the hem of your shirt. You ripped it over your head and threw it in his face. He barely flinched as he caught it and backed away just a step. You found the zipper on the back of your skirt and pushed it down. You rolled it along your legs and stood straight as it pooled at your ankles.

He raised a brow as he tongue slipped out and he focused on your bra. You looked down and reluctantly grasped the back of your bra. You unhooked it and paused just a moment as you raised your head. He lowered the gun slowly and you let the bra fall. It slipped from your arms as you dropped them and stood in nothing but your heels and the extravagant panties.

“Divine,” He wisped. “Darling, you do continue to delight.”

“You’re disgusting.” You sneered.

“If I were so disgusting, I would drag you down to that repulsive club and have you show all those men what’s mine,” He slithered. “And you understand that you are mine. You will never be his. Ever.”

His face turned dark as his breath rose in his chest.

“But for now, you will sit and finish your work. Just. Like. That.”

His eyes roved over your body and you shuddered. You sat and pulled the chair closer to the desk. You acted as if he wasn’t there, as if you weren’t as good as naked, as if you didn’t feel entirely sick. 

You lifted your pencil and ran it along the margin. You sensed him as he came closer and his hand appeared in the corner of your vision. His fingers closed around your former panties and dragged them away. You bit down but said nothing and made no move. He snickered as he strutted the perimeter of the room and hummed.

“Temperance is kindred to pleasure,” He said. “Little tastes make the dessert sweeter.”

👄

You left work roiling mad. You’d never been so livid in your life, not even when your father had duped you into running bets in middle school. 

Yet you didn’t dare to goad Loki further though. He was a man of limits and he was almost past his. Each man insisted on raising the stakes higher and higher though you could not see anyone paying but yourself.

You stomped out of work, the heels of your shoes nearly bending beneath you on the pavement. You checked the time on your slender silver watch. He hadn’t returned your panties and you refused to keep the others on and so you felt even more exposed as you made your way down the street.

As you turned the corner, you nearly toppled. Your path was blocked by an unexpected obstacle. Rather a man who seemed to be awaiting you. He smiled down at you as his golden hair shone in the later blooms of sunlight. You scowled and tried to sidestep him. He moved with you and blocked your path.

“Ah, running away?” Rogers taunted.

“No, you’re in my way.” You hissed.

“I’m here to do you a favour,” He grinned. “My boss awaits your thanks.”

“Then he will be waiting for a rather long time,” You tried to evade him again and he moved once more in front of you.

“You don’t want to leave him waiting,” He warned.

“Get out of my way.” You huffed.

He considered you and shook his head. He rolled his tongue along his bottom lip and shrugged. 

“Alright, girlie,” He held up his hands and stepped aside. “Have it your way.”

You scowled and continued on. You were exhausted. You stormed around the corner and onto the next. You walked to work most days, lost yourself in the crowd in your moments to yourself. At that point, you’d love to just disappear altogether

A sharp honk sounded and a car pulled up along the curb, slowing to follow you as the window descended. You glanced over and went on as if you hadn’t seen the man within. The motor continued to mutter as the car rolled slowly along.

“Sweetheart, don’t do this to me,” Bucky begged. “And after such a lovely present.”

“You can have it back,” You snarled.

“Only if you're in it,” He said. “Come on. Get in. I wanna talk.”

“Well, I don’t,” You snapped.

“If I gotta get outta this car…” He warned.

“You don’t gotta do anything,” You countered. “Nothing but go away.”

He sighed and the window rolled up. The car pulled in entirely and idled at the curb. You heard the door open and close as you passed it entirely and the leather clad footsteps which followed you. You swung your elbow back as you were grabbed and you struggled with the man who had stopped you only a few blocks earlier.

The blond henchman gave no heed to the other pedestrians as he wrestled you over to the car and they pretended not to see him. You kicked out as he wrangled you with one arm and grunted as he opened the door. You nearly knocked your head as he forced you down and shoved you inside. Your purse drooped on your arm as you landed on the leather.

You cursed and shot your foot back at him as you fell into the seat. He caught your ankle and his grip made your blood turned cold.

“Steve, don’t,” Bucky ordered from behind you, “I’d like her in one piece.”

Steve clung to you as his eyes shot past you. He nodded and pushed your foot away. You barely pulled your legs inside before he slammed the door. You righted yourself on the seat and grumbled at the man beside you.

“So… did you like them?” Bucky asked as Steve climbed in the front.

“Not really my style,” You said evenly as the car pulled away from the curb.

“Well, neither is this,” He tugged on your skirt. “I kinda liked the suits.”

“What do you want?”

“I know you’re not that clueless.” He chuckled.

“And I know you aren’t either. How many ways can I say no?” You uttered.

“You can say it as many times as you like, sweetheart. It only adds to the fun.” He played with the hem of your skirt as he slid closer. “I know what he’s doing. I know this game. I know he hasn’t had you. He just wants to poke the bear.”

“Both of you are just--” You stopped yourself and peered out the window. “I’ve had a long day. Can we please not?”

“I wonder what he would do, hmmm?” He gripped your knee. “If we just--- if he found out that I got you first.”

“Why did you settle with him if you’re so eager to start another war?” You tried to push his hand away but it didn’t budge.

“Business is business. It’s not about personal feelings,” He slipped his hand from beneath yours and tickled up your leg. He pressed against the bottom of your skirt and edged it up as he groped your thigh. You squeezed your legs together as you tried to stop him. “He can talk himself up but I know he can’t afford another. Not so soon.”

“Bucky…”

“Oooh, say it again,” He tried to force his hand higher.

“Get off of me,” You punched his shoulder and then his chest. “Get--” You reached around and blindly dug your hand into your purse. You flipped the blade out and brought it to his chin. “Stop!”

“Think about this, sweetheart.” He purred and cold metal touched your thigh. You looked down as he dragged the gun to your stomach. “You’re not that interesting.”

You glared at him and slowly lowered the knife. He took it from you and replaced his gun in his holster. He admired the blade as he leaned back on the seat then dragged it lightly over your thigh.

“Now, I know what you’re gonna say because you’ve said it before. And you can keep it up and hold out and be miserable or you can give in and get your kicks.” He winked as he pulled the blade up beneath your skirt and split the fabric from crotch to hem. 

“I’d be miserable either way.”

“Maybe,” He flipped the knife up and pointed it at your nose. “Maybe you would but if your boss even thought you were truly sneaking around behind his back well, I hate to imagine the consequences for you, sweetheart. What a waste,”

You blinked at him as if he was stupid.

“Let me lay it out. You continue this little coy act and I let on that you ain’t so loyal as you pretend to be. See if you’re so useful to him then.” Bucky smirked. “Or you give me what I want and he thinks he’s got what he wants. He gets his pride. His empty victory.”

“He’d never believe you.” You said.

“I can be very convincing,” He hummed. “Those panties are just the beginning.”

You swallowed your revulsion and his eyes descended to your sliced skirt. You followed them and pulled the fabric back together as it threatened to bear your nudity. You kept your legs together as you shifted in the seat. You chewed on your predicament and let out a weak breath. 

Seeds of doubt sprouted easily, especially in this life. Suspicion was as good as guilt.

“Fine,” You muttered. “You bastard.”

He snickered and the car drew to a stop. You looked out the window to your building and blanched. He hadn’t even asked for your address. Well, you supposed he could’ve just asked his minion in the front seat.

“Good girl,” He purred. “Tomorrow, you should come see the club at night, it’s something else.”

You nodded as the bitterness choked you.

“Can I go?” You asked.

“Can you go…” He cupped his ear dramatically. “My men call me sir or Mr. Barnes. It’s a show of respect.”

“Can I go… sir?” You forced out.

“Eh, so demanding. I know you have manners, sweetheart.” He licked his lip.

“Can I go please?” You said. “Sir?”

He grabbed your chin suddenly and pulled you close. Your eyes rounded and he pressed his lips to yours. He devoured you with a messy kiss and parted with a nibble of your lip.

“You can,” He said softly. “Don’t forget the panties.”

He released you and you grabbed your purse. You held your skirt together as you opened the door and climbed out carefully. You closed the door without looking back and stepped up onto the sidewalk. You walked hunched over to your building, afraid your skirt would split at any move.

When you stepped inside, you felt as if he could still see you. As if his lips were still on yours and his gun to your side. You felt completely trapped. Entirely hopeless.

[vorta-whore]

Transition of Power, ch. 3

The two of you go for a stroll.

Weyoun 5 x female reader

Chapter 1: An Introduction | Chapter 2: A First Date | Chapter 3: A Walk Together | Chapter 4: A Night on Bajor

---

You don’t consider yourself a particularly religious woman. You have always had faith in the Prophets, of course, and you attend weekly services whenever you can afford the time. But in all your years aboard the station, you can’t recall ever stepping foot in the temple outside of service hours simply to pray.

You’ve done so three times this week.

The silence and stillness of the shrine seems to help, for a moment. As you kneel onto an empty pillow and bow your head, your chaotic thoughts begin to subside, replaced by a single, focused prayer.

Prophets, you think, though you sometimes sense you’re talking to yourself more than to them. Please, guide me. I didn’t think I had a choice, at first, with this man. He wanted me and I could not deny him, for fear of what would happen to me. But the more we talk, the clearer it is that he isn’t forcing me into anything. I’m continuing it of my own free will.

You lace your fingers together and squeeze your eyes shut in concentration.

I know he’s a dangerous man. An evil one. He represents the empire that could tear the Alpha Quadrant apart. And I know he must have committed atrocities of his own as well. I shouldn’t want to be with him – I should be repulsed. But I can’t help it. When he leaves, I miss his presence. I think about him as I lie awake at night. I wonder what kind of a man he is, under that diplomatic persona. I want to get to know him. And I...I like how I feel around him. He makes me feel interesting. And wanted. Desirable, but respected. He treats me kindly, with a gentleness I never thought him capable of, that I’ve never experienced from another lover. And I know the right course of action is to end this before it begins, to reject his advances before they can go any further...but I feel in my heart that I would regret it forever.

A heavy sigh falls from your lips.

You gifted us with the ability to love so we could appreciate being bathed in your holy light. It is the purest, most powerful force in the world. So how could it ever be wrong? Would I...be a collaborator if I continued this? Is the only moral course of action to forget this affair? Or is this part of my fate – to capture the heart of a powerful enemy and help save his soul, and maybe some lives in the process?

You pause, your heart laid bare, and wait for a response. But you don’t really expect one. The Prophets have never spoken to you – not directly, at least – and you don’t expect them to start now. Even if you are in terrible need of guidance. For a moment you consider asking the vedek for advice, but you suspect he won’t give you an entirely unbiased answer when he realizes the object of your affections is none other than the station’s Vorta oppressor.

The musky scent of incense swirls in the air around you. Quieted but still frustrated by your own uncertainty, you take a moment to breathe and center yourself as best you can before heading back out to the Promenade.

The serenity you found inside the temple begins to fade away as soon as you leave it. You pause to survey the station inhabitants shuffling to and fro, their heads bowed, their faces weary. As much weighs on their minds as on yours. 

A sudden call snaps you out of your reverie.

“Y/N!” comes the excited, familiar voice, and you turn with surprise to see Weyoun flanked by his Jem’Hadar guards. Caught off-guard, you gape for a moment as he approaches.

“Hi,” you manage. He beams at you in response.

“Will you walk with me for a moment?”

Your answer follows before you can give it even a moment’s thought: “Of course.”

The Vorta turns and you fall in tow as the four of you cross the Promenade. You’re not entirely pleased to be seen in public with Weyoun – you keep glancing about as though fearful of the judgmental glares you’re bound to receive – but the majority of people you pass seem entirely uninterested in your little rendezvous. Beyond, of course, the usual uneasy glances they direct at Weyoun.

“I really did enjoy our dinner last week,” he says with a hum. “I apologize for not contacting you sooner.”

“It’s alright. I’m sure you’re a very busy man.”

“Oh, you have no idea the extent of it. I’ve rarely a moment to myself, let alone time to enjoy the company of others. Which brings me to my point.”

He pauses in front of a window and turns to gaze out at the stars. You do the same, and a faint wistfulness tugs at your heartstrings as you stare at the space where the wormhole hasn’t opened in months.

“I’d like to see more of you,” Weyoun says softly.

You look over at him with such a panicked haste that he quickly adds an addendum: “If that’s alright.”

“I – you – yes, of course it’s alright,” you stutter, and feeling sheepish, you avert your eyes and tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ears.

You can hear the smile (and notes of what sound like genuine relief) in Weyoun’s voice as he replies. “I’m glad to hear it. As it happens, my meeting with Gul Dukat later this evening has been fortuitously postponed – and I can think of no greater way to spend my suddenly free time than in the pleasure of your company.”

You glance up to see he’s turned from the window to face you, and his wide eyes glimmer with anticipation as he awaits your response.

You hesitate. Something within you is begging to say no, to run away – but you can’t fathom the possibility of extinguishing the spark of excitement in those amethyst eyes...

“Unless...you have a prior engagement?” he prompts at your hesitation, and the way his eyebrows raise and his lips tug into a frown has you scrambling to comfort him.

“No! No, I’m free. I’d love to join you,” you assure, quite earnestly in fact, you realize, and Weyoun’s expression melts back into a pleased smile.

“Excellent. I was thinking perhaps a change of scenery this time; I’ve already taken the liberty of securing a holosuite reservation. I think you’re going to like the program I’ve selected.”

Before you can inquire, Weyoun reaches for your hands, and the feeling of his soft skin brushing against yours steals the words right out of your mouth. You find yourself helpless under his gaze once more as he strokes his thumbs over the back of your hands, and in that simple, paralyzing touch you completely forget the two of you are in the public eye.

“I’ll pick you up from your quarters at eighteen hundred hours. Dress for warm weather.”

He presses a quick kiss to one of your hands and then is gone, leaving you breathless by the window.

No one had been paying you much attention before. But after that public display of affection, you notice several pairs of eyes quickly dart away as you turn back toward the Promenade.

You suppose you’d better go find a dress.

---

The door-chime rings at eighteen-hundred hours exactly, and you wonder if Weyoun had perhaps been standing there waiting for the precise moment to strike. With one last glance in the mirror to straighten your hair, you answer the door, and the sight momentarily stuns you.

You hadn’t seen Weyoun in any outfit other than his typical – was it a uniform? That strange, asymmetrical garb he always wore. But as an ambassador, it made sense that he would have a variety of clothing suitable for multiple climates, and he had donned one such outfit here for the occasion. It resembled his usual attire, in all its intricately-patterned, multi-textured glory, but revealed much more skin than you were used to seeing on the Vorta. Lapels of thin leather stretched out to just barely cover his shoulders, leaving his arms completely bare. The pleated mauve undershirt (though you doubted it was its own garment entirely, more likely just a piece of fabric sewn into the vest for modesty) dipped down low to reveal both collarbones, and the asymmetrical hem of the garment jutted out just above his hips. His trousers – a shade more form-fitting than usual – were cuffed at the shin, revealing a sliver of calves between the hem and the ankle-high boots he wore.

You had worried about feeling a little too dressed-down, in your flowing sundress and delicate sandals, next to the stiff and regal Vorta. But the casual outfit assuages your fears and you both grin – you a little giddily – to see the other in a new light.

“You look stunning as always, my dear,” Weyoun notes, “but especially so tonight.”

You hesitate as he offers you his arm, but the reality is that after this morning, the whole station likely knows about the two of you; there’s no point hiding this courtship anymore. You take his arm.

“I could say the same of you,” you tease, a little emboldened by the feeling of walking on the station commander’s arm. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you show quite so much skin.”

A smirk tugs at the corners of Weyoun’s lips, and you sense he’s debating saying something, but quickly decides against it. He simply chuckles. 

“I’m glad you like it.”

A thought occurs to you and you voice it tentatively as the two of you (followed, as always, by the Jem’Hadar guards) make your way down the corridors.

“Weyoun – is it true your people don’t have a sense of aesthetics?”

“Yes. The Founders did not deem it necessary for our purposes.”

You think you detect a hint of bitterness. But he continues on cheerfully: “Personally, as a diplomat, I do see the advantages; every culture has its own unique sense of style and taste, and if I had my own personal preferences among them, I might find it more difficult to establish relations with races whose appearances or architecture I disliked.”

“I guess that makes sense,” you mutter, not really agreeing. “I just wondered – you always compliment my appearance…”

“Ah,” he chuckles, “yes. I assure you those are genuine.”

At your look of confusion, he furrows his brow, trying to find the easiest way to explain. 

“...Allow me to illustrate it for you with an example. If you showed me two dresses – one horribly tacky, the other beautiful and elegant – and asked me to label which one was which, I wouldn’t be able to tell you. To me, they’re both slips of fabric in various colors and patterns woven together to make a garment. I cannot detect whether certain colors clash with one another, or if certain shapes are unflattering on one’s body. But what I can appreciate is the woman wearing the dress. Her whole demeanor often changes when she slips into a garment as beautiful as she is; she becomes more comfortable, more open, more in tune with her inner light. When I compliment her, I’m voicing my appreciation for things like...the way her smile lights up the room. The tinge of color on her cheeks and the spark in her eyes. The grace with which she carries herself. Her confidence in flaunting such a flawless appearance.”

He pauses to drive his point home by setting his free hand gently over the one you’ve laid on his arm and meeting your eyes with a suave smile. Your foundation does nothing to hide the blush that rises to your cheeks, and you to your horror a giggle bubbles up from your lips.

“Regardless,” Weyoun sighs, pleased at the response he’s elicited, “I can certainly appreciate the effort you’ve expended going out of your way to gild yourself for my enjoyment.”

Heads turn as you enter Quark’s, and for a moment you avert your eyes and stare to the ground in embarrassment – but Weyoun doesn’t falter an instant, and the sheer confidence with which he carries himself bolsters you. You lift your head with some effort, clinging just a bit more tightly onto his arm. 

Quark has the data rod with your holosuite program in his hand as you approach the bar; his expression is unreadable. Weyoun thanks him and takes it, and you continue upstairs.

“I do hope you like it,” he says, a little more loudly over the noise of the bar, as he slots the data rod into the panel. “Having never been to Bajor myself, I can only hope it is a faithful reproduction.”

You turn to fix him with a questioning look, but he only bows and gestures for you to head inside.

“After you.”

The doors part and you immediately feel a blast of warm air, a welcome feeling on your bare, goosebump-prickled skin. You step inside – followed closely by Weyoun – and the Jem’Hadar take up post outside the holosuite just before the doors slide shut.

The program, to your wonder and delight, is a perfect re-creation of one of Bajor’s most famous forests. Your home planet is well-known for its natural splendor – sprawling mountains, rolling hillsides, breathtaking falls – and this woodland is a shining example. Impossibly high, purple-barked trees stretch toward the endless sky, their leaves casting a shimmering dappled shadow upon the needle- and moss-covered ground. A brook winds and weaves through the web of tree trunks and their gnarled roots, its water crystal clear, its shores adorned by smooth pebbles and stones. Small woodland creatures dart to and fro throughout the underbrush, and you watch with quiet fascination as one of them – a long-eared, round-eyed lagomorph – pauses to nibble at the bud of a crimson sunset-lily.

You’re sufficiently awed.

“I take it,” Weyoun says softly from behind you, and you startle a bit, having all but forgotten he was there, “the program passes muster?”

“More than,” you reply, and turning to face him, you offer a genuine smile of gratitude. “I feel like I’m home again.”

A warm smile touches his lips, creases the corners of his eyes.

“I’m pleased to hear it.”

As the two of you approach the trailhead, Weyoun slides a graceful arm around your shoulders. He holds you firmly, but not tightly, and his embrace – the tingling sensation of his soft skin on your bare shoulders, the feeling of safety under his grasp – transforms you into a blushing maiden, clinging onto your shining knight. You wrap a reciprocating arm around his lower back as you both begin down the dirt path.

“I’m glad to be able to see some of your homeworld,” he muses after a few moments of contented silence, interrupting the cheerful sounds of birdsong. “Even if it is only a facsimile. My occupation, unfortunately, does not allow me much vacation time.”

He says this with a chuckle, intending the comment to be light-hearted, but you can hear an undercurrent of bitterness – the same subtle tone you noticed in your earlier conversation. The polite thing to do would be to move on; talk about the places in Bajor he should visit if he ever gets the chance. But you know it would be an empty gesture. There’s an opportunity here, and you’d be remiss to let it pass you by.

“...Weyoun,” you start carefully, and he glances over to you, attentive at your sudden tone of concern. “Do you ever…wish things were different?”

“I’m not sure I know what you mean,” he fires back, a little too quickly. His eyes slide back to the path in front of you.

“Yes, you do.”

Silence stretches out between you as Weyoun contemplates his answer. His arm around your shoulders has slackened a little and you aren’t sure if this risk is paying off the way you intended it to. After several long moments, he heaves a sigh, laden with a burden you sense he’s reluctant to acknowledge.

“Sometimes…”

He stops himself. You try to decipher the expressions crossing his face but they’re entirely unreadable. He glances back to you – looks down – sighs again. When he speaks, his words are deliberate, chosen with laborious care.

“Sometimes, I do harbor thoughts of what life might be like if circumstances were...different. There are many pleasures in this world unknowable to me; the taste of a home-cooked meal, for instance. Art in any capacity. Music, especially, I wish I could appreciate.”

“You can’t even enjoy music?”

“When I listen to a song, it’s as if I’m…” – his hand dances about in the air, searching for an apt comparison – “...looking at a sheet of mathematical equations. I can pick out the individual instruments, note the changes in their pitch, recognize patterns and motifs. But the whole of the song, the heart of it, escapes me.”

You both ponder this sad reality.

“I do think it would be nice to be able to carry a tune,” he laments after a long moment. “Or to dance. I’m a truly terrible dancer.”

The image of lovely, graceful Weyoun stumbling around a dancefloor elicits a burst of laughter from you, despite the heavy subject matter; Weyoun laughs along, relieved his attempt at cutting the tension was successful.

“That’s a shame. I don’t know how the Vorta usually woo their women, but on Bajor, dinner and dancing is usually part of the package at some point.”

“Well, I’ve managed to woo you without having to resort to dancing just yet.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” you retort, grinning.

Weyoun agrees with a hearty chuckle.

“Let’s hope not.”

---

The two of you make your way down the winding trail, enjoying the sights and sounds of the woodland as you go. Weyoun, ever the gentleman, leads you by a hand over the fallen logs and stepping-stones that serve as bridges across the stream, his grip a comforting assurance. He waits ever so patiently when you pause to beckon to the furry little creatures eyeing you from the underbrush, and he is adequately fascinated by your explanations of the various flora and fauna, even humoring you when you pick the occasional flower and offer it for him to smell.

“Do you even have a sense of smell?” you question him at one point, twirling the stem of a flower between your fingertips; those of your other hand are laced comfortably with his.

“I do,” he assures, a little amused by the question but understanding of its necessity. “Scent plays a pivotal role in making good first impressions; it’s one of the first things a person notices. I find it helpful, actually, to tailor my own scent to match the preferences of those with whom I wish to establish good relations. It’s a subtle enough gesture, but effective.”

“Is that why you always smell so sweet?” You give him a light jab to the ribs.

He grins at your playful tone, shoots you a look of mirthful defeat.

“You caught me.”

“How did you know I’d like that scent in particular?”

“Well…”

Weyoun trails off, and in the span of that one word the tone of the conversation has shifted to something decidedly less lighthearted. Your attention is drawn to him as he withdraws his hand from your own and clasps it with his other; you wonder if that might be a nervous habit.

“Being station commander has its...advantages. There is very little that goes on here without my knowing, and likewise very little information inaccessible to me. If I wish to know...say...a particular occupant’s work schedule...or shopping habits...”

“You stalked me!” you accuse, and although the offense rings clear in your voice, you can’t honestly say it runs all that deep. Either way, you aren’t surprised.

“Stalk is a strong word!” Weyoun insists, the pitch of his voice rising as he hurries to defend himself. “I merely – gathered some basic information – to give myself the best possible chance of ensuring the outcome I wanted.”

“Which was?”

He looks at you a little strangely. The answer is obvious, of course, but you want to hear him say it.

“To win your affection. Which, it seems, I have. Or am I mistaken?”

His turn to ask the obvious question. You smile and lower your gaze to the ground.

“You have.”

“Then the ends justified the means.”

The trail opens up into a clearing, and you come upon the shore of a vast lake. There’s a stretch of fence close to the shoreline and you lean against it as you take in the sight: the rippling surface of the water glimmers like so many gemstones, reflecting the deep orange and violet hues of the Bajoran sunset.

It occurs to you that your Vorta friend may not be able to enjoy this painterly scene to the same extent you can. You glance over to him – and startle to see his gaze is fixed intently on you. It doesn’t waver as you meet it, and the unabashed eye contact brings a sudden warmth to your cheeks.

“What?” you finally ask, a little sheepish.

Weyoun’s smile grows just a shade deeper as he answers.

“You enjoy looking at the sunset. I enjoy looking at you.”

The simplicity of the statement only excites the butterflies in your stomach. You smile nervously, self-conscious, as Weyoun studies your face with a sudden, urgent interest; his smile fades and his brow creases with concentration. He’s searching for something – and whatever it is, he’s desperate to find it.

You’re just about to ask what’s wrong when his hand lifts to your face, and the gentle hold he takes of your cheek steals your thoughts away completely. His palm is soothingly cool; his touch, comforting and still. You notice his eyes slide down to your lips and you realize with paralyzing clarity what it is, exactly, he wants.

The next few moments happen in slow motion.

You allow the hand cupping your cheek to guide your face upwards, and Weyoun’s head tilts to the side, making room for you. You spare a glance down to his lips, then back up to his eyes, tender and heavy-lidded; your lips part and you suck in a small, quiet gasp of air, the last you’ll get for the next several seconds. As Weyoun leans down to close the last inch of space between you, your eyelids flutter shut – and an infinite, breathless moment passes before you feel his soft lips press, tender and sweet, into yours.

He lingers there motionless for several moments, the pad of his thumb stroking your cheek, before beginning to pull away – but you don’t let him. The instant his lips leave yours, your hands shoot up to grasp the sides of his face and pull him back down for more, and he obliges, gladly; you press up into him with more force, mashing your lips together in a hungry bid for intimacy, and he exhales heavily into the kiss, returning every ounce of passion. His hand slips from your face and you feel his arms wrap tightly around your middle, pulling your body into his, and for several long minutes the only sounds around you are the distant calls of the waterfowl and the lapping of gentle waves at the shore.

Neither of you wants to end this perfect moment. But, inevitably, one of you must break for air, and of course it happens to be you. You pull back just enough to breathe; your eyes blink open to meet Weyoun’s, and as you relocate your hands from his face to rest upon his shoulders, you notice with some amusement the faintest tinge of purple in his cheeks.

“Wow,” you exhale, lightheaded.

“Wow,” he agrees.

His grip on your waist loosens and, self-consciousness returning, you turn back toward the lake and allow the cool breeze to soothe your burning face. Weyoun releases you to instead rest a hand on the small of your back, and you lean into him, heart aflutter.

A few minutes of silence – of perfect, serendipitous peace – draw to a reluctant close as the automated voice of the computer informs you your holosuite reservation is at an end. You release the fence posts just as they disappear from beneath your hands and frown as the beautiful expanse of forest before you gives way to the cramped and machinery-cluttered interior of the holosuite.

“A pity,” sighs Weyoun, turning to you and taking your hands in his own. “I was hoping that hour might break the rules of spacetime and stretch out just a bit longer.”

It’s a little cheesy, but you giggle anyway, and he grins to have gotten to you. Lifting a hand to his lips, he presses one of his signature kisses to the back of it, and you sigh, squeeze his hand in return.

Emerging from the holosuite on Weyoun’s arm once more, you cringe at the din of the bar, so cacophonous compared to the quiet of the forest. But nothing can shake the absolute serenity now instilled within you. You practically float down the walkway, and though pairs of eyes follow your progress as they did before, this time you find it quite easy to pay them no mind.

Weyoun notes your confidence with an approving hum. “Not so self-conscious now, I see.”

You grin a little, shrug your shoulders. He responds with a chuckle and teases you in that lilting, singsong voice of his: “I wonder why.”

The walk back to your quarters is shorter than you’d like it to be, and before you know it you’re standing at the entrance to your quarters. Frowning, you turn to face Weyoun, not quite ready to part ways.

“It was a pretty short hour,” you say.

“Indeed it was.”

“It doesn’t...have to be over so soon. You could come inside…”

“I’m afraid not, my dear,” he sighs, and there’s genuine disappointment in his voice as he cradles your hands in his own. “I’m due elsewhere on the station in five minutes’ time.”

He soothes away your dejection with another quick couple of kisses to the back of your knuckles – and then, with a coy smile, one to the very corner of your lips. You turn your head to try to catch it full-on, but he dodges you deftly – ever the tease. You understand the purpose behind this tactic of leaving you wanting at the end of each of your encounters, but it frustrates you all the same, and Weyoun grins infuriatingly at your pouting.

“Try not to fret too much. I promise I’ll be in touch again very soon.”

You can only swallow, nod, and linger on his gaze as long as politely possible before allowing your hands to slip from his and turning with great reluctance to enter your quarters.

Sleep hasn’t been coming easily to you these past few weeks. But tonight, it greets you kindly, and you drift into an easy slumber with a smile on your lips.

[the-blue-fairie]

My experience as a multishipper in the Frozen fandom

I’m writing this because a post crossed the dash of my other blog insinuating that people are using “multishipping” to “use and manipulate” people to like F2 when they don’t want to and to get people to turn from their preferred ship and create for other ships instead.

If people are trying to force others to like F2 or disregard their preferred ships, that is bad, but what struck me about the post was the way it treated multishipping as an evil that the individual could not abide.

It got me to thinking about my personal experience as a multishipper in the fandom and about how the Frozen fandom is an emotionally exhausting place for a multishipper.

To discuss this, I’m going to have to be open about my other blog and about all my ships. Although I’ve opened up to friends here about my two blogs, and even written another post about my multishipping, it’s not common knowledge that I have another blog - and partly that’s by design. This blog is focused on general Disney things and less controversial ships. I want to be mindful and respectful of my followers and not make them feel uncomfortable. I also am scared of receiving hate if my other blog were common knowledge.

But I cannot be reflective of my time in the fandom without being completely open and honest.

I’ve been an Elsanna shipper since 2014, and I made an Elsanna-centered blog in 2015. Just typing that out on this blog scares me (even though I’ve typed it out before here - as recently as when I was venting the night before last.) I lost a few followers that night. I’m probably going to lose more now. I’m sorry if I’m shattering an image you had of me, but I hope, if you’ve enjoyed my blog and appreciated my presence here, you’ll remember the goodness you saw in me and remember also that I never wanted to hurt or offend you.

Truth be told, Elsanna is still the ship that’s closest to my heart. I love Kristanna, I love Elsamaren, I love Helsa, I love Rydoff - but Elsanna is special to me. Some may find this hard to believe who weren’t there in 2014-15, but Elsanna was kind of like the Elsamaren of its time - a ship populated by scores of energetic young people who deeply connected to the characters and wanted to figure themselves out. It was a breathtaking wellspring of creativity and to this day I love the ship - while at the same time loving Snow Sisters within canon and Frohana.

There were ship wars between EA and HE back then, with one side crying, “At least our ship isn’t rooted in murder and manipulation!” and the other side crying, “At least our ship isn’t incest!” I’ll admit, I was dubious about Helsa when I first came to the Frozen fandom - but by a happy quirk of fate, I managed to reach out to people who shipped Helsa. They became my friends, and I started to realize that, whatever my misgivings about the ship, Helsa shippers were among the nicest people in the fandom. Many of my closest friends in the Frozen fandom now are Helsa shippers. And the more time I spent with them, the more I realized, there is beauty in the ship. I love the beauty of Helsa art, the talent of Helsa artists, and I value the friendships I’ve made.

There were ship wars between EA and KA back then too - and, as an Elsanna shipper, KA shippers back then would block me on sight, even if I never interacted with them. Some have told me since that it was nothing personal; they just didn’t want to be exposed to incest. But, in the moment, it stung - because I’ve always loved Kristanna and I wanted to be a part of the ship, share the oneshots and the drabbles I could write, share any of the beautiful things I could give. 

So I made this blog - so I could share in the joys and the fun of KA without making anyone uncomfortable, and share in the larger Disney fandom (because if I ever dared follow a Disney blog from my main, chances are I’d be blocked on sight because, “Ewwww, that ship is repulsive.”)

I took that to heart a lot. “It’s okay, they’re within their rights to block me, one of my ships is repulsive, I just have to grit my teeth and endure it.” And gradually, my mind went from “one of my ships is repulsive” to “it’s okay, I’m repulsive, I understand that.”

It meant I felt incredibly guilty when I made this blog. I felt like I was being selfish - doing it partly because I wanted it for myself, wanted to be part of a group. But at the same time, having a separate blog meant that I wasn’t imposing my one ship on people who wouldn’t enjoy it. So I was also looking out for the wellbeing of any followers I got here.

It also meant that, for the longest time, I was absolutely terrified of anyone finding out I had my other blog. I told a few close friends and, while my name and bio information on both blogs were the same if anyone looked at both, I discreetly tried to... well, never confirm my identity directly. I didn’t even tell fellow EA shippers, outside of my close friends, because I didn’t want word to spread across a vast group of people and for someone on this blog to realize I shipped EA. 

Looking back, that was an overreaction born of anxiety, but it had unfortunate consequences.

A friend who shipped EA found out I had this blog and felt betrayed about it. When I stood up for KA shippers at certain points, she accused me of “playing both sides.” During that debacle, I was called an “enemy of Elsanna” - which hurt me.

I regret not opening up to that friend about this blog. I didn’t know not doing so would hurt her - but also, being called an “enemy” of a ship that I love stung.

From the Kristanna side, a young gentlemen with a particular hate for EA eventually put two and two together and realized that I had two blogs. He stalked my EA blog. He sent me messages excoriating me and threatening to expose me. Then he sent messages to countless people, including friends of mine on here, “exposing” me as an Elsanna shipper. That was exhausting. My friends, however, were left as exhausted by him as I was and did not heed him.

Other KA shippers were far kinder. Eventually, certain folks in the KA ship told me that they knew who I was for a while now and that it didn’t bother them - as long as I was keeping Elsanna out of their faces. That was a great relief to me and very reassuring. 

Still, certain KA shippers have a particular dislike for Elsa as a character and leap to demonize her, something that makes me uncomfortable. Moreover, a KA shipper I conversed with once made a contemptuously dismissive comment about Snow Sisters fans, saying that they didn’t care for Snow Sisters because “Snow Sisters and Elsanna are the same ship; one just has sex.” Which... um... I dare you to say that to a Snow Sisters fan’s face; I am almost certain they would be angry.

For all my reservations about certain aggressive KA shippers, however, the aggressiveness of certain EA shippers has been... really something else. I have already made a post discussing the belligerence of a particular person (who shall remain nameless here because they scare me and so I don’t want to cross paths with them again.) But this person compared me to fascists... because I was uncomfortable with their intense behavior. Also, when I mentioned how this person drove a dear friend and multishipper away from the Elsanna ship, this person replied, “I didn’t drive her away, her multishipping did.”

As though to say, “If you have multiple ships, you can’t be a part of Elsanna.” Even if my friend was in the ship from the beginning and made beautiful things to celebrate it before feeling like she was no longer wanted. As though to suggest you don’t fit their vision of what a “True” Elsanna shipper is.

Look, being a multishipper doesn’t make you want to part ways with a ship. In fact, being a multishipper means you have an emotional connection to multiple ships that you want to show your love to.

I can’t speak for all multishippers. And again, if there are people trying to insidiously push others to like F2 when they don’t like it or make art for ships they don’t want to, that’s a bad thing. (Always look into the evidence for and examine the source of such accusations, however - any accusations.) But personally, as a multishipper, I don’t want to force my will on anyone. I don’t want to make anyone like F2 if they don’t want to. (For the record, although I personally like F2 overall, there are parts I dislike - and I’ve actually criticized the film several times on this very blog - respectfully, I hope, and with strong supporting evidence for my points, I hope.) And I don’t want to impose my other ships on anyone. That’s even part of the reason I have two blogs.

I’ve been... scared... writing this out. I felt I needed to post it to this blog because I’ve so often... cowered... here. Maybe it wasn’t cowardice, but it was a kind of... uncomfortable learned silence born partly out of respect for others and partly out of fear for myself. I could speak more freely on my other blog, which is why I commented on my perspective on fandom dramas there - even though speaking out on my other blog meant being compared to fascism when I ventured to say that people should be nicer.

I’m being vulnerable here. I know that some will say, “How are you being vulnerable by admitting you ship a problematic ship? Stop trying to play for sympathy because you ship incest!” - just as certain EA shippers will judge me for shipping other ships in the fandom.

Maybe it’s just my nervousness, but sometimes I feel like I’m damned if I do, damned if I don’t. If I stay silent about shipping different things, some will say I’m manipulating people through my silence. If I speak up, people will say I’m obnoxious and never shut up about it and claim that obviously I have some agenda. (That’s what they’ll say about this post, won’t they?)

Maybe it would have been better if I had just kept one blog - but then I’d be blocked on principle by certain KA and EM fans - or asked not to interact, and being respectful, I wouldn’t. (Does that mean I’m disrespectful by having this blog? Oh, I don’t know anymore.) Damned if you do, damned if you don’t.

I hope that, when I write further analyses and critiques and make comments on the things I like and dislike about F2 now, people won’t dismiss my commentary by saying, “Oh! Liza has reservations about the film’s ending because she’s an EA shipper, that explains it, I might have known.” My reservations about the film’s ending come more from issues in story structure and my attachment to found family tropes and Frohana - not so much EA. EA might play some part - but judging things based on ships rather than nuance and the complexity of other people’s points is what’s so exhausting about the Frozen fandom. Don’t judge people based on ships; judge them by their actions and the soundness of their arguments. And besides, for all my reservations about the ending, there’s a place in my heart for it. I’m an Elsamaren shipper too after all. :)

This is so very long and deeply personal, but I needed to give it voice. I hope that those who have befriended me on this blog and didn’t know about my other blog will remember that I’ve always done my best to be kind and caring, regardless of my ships. 

Thank you for your friendships. Thank you for your kindness. Thank you.

[oftenderweapons]

Stress Reliever - Jin

Pairing: Seokjin x reader (nicknamed Angel)

Wordcount: 2.9k words

Genre: smut, angst (very), fluff

Rating: 18+

Hi everyone! I’m back with a new scenario for the “Stress Reliever” project, or how the guys would blow off some steam with their s/o. 

And this time, it’s all about Jin!

Let me warn you, this is smutty and filthy and dirty in more ways than one, so read at your own risk.  Also, in my scenarios, Jin and his s/o have been frequently discussing and getting to know more of their preferences in the bedroom, I see this as the official turning point within their relationship where Jin decides to get kinkier with his partner. You’ll see more of this in The Conversations.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Jin gets dommy. Like dom dom. Like hard dom. It just happened, I don’t know why but I sorta liked that??? And idek because normally I see him as vanilla as it can be? Anywaysss... unprotected sex in and established relationship (wrap it before you tap it and GET CHECKED REGULARLY!) slight bdsm, sub!reader and sir!seokjin, quite angsty at the beginning but I swear it’s super soft at the end (yay, aftercare with Jinnie), a bit of a degradation kink, nothing too extreme, Jinnie is a bit mean, tho. Cumplay, handjob (both male and female receiving), the smallest mention of oral (male and female receiving, if you squint), also, big dick Jin (’cause we all know it), jackhammering (he can, and he would), y/n discovers she can orgasm without touching her clit and levels up ;))))))))

About 2900 words.

Here is my masterlist, enjoy!

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

The mood was right. Everything felt right. Jin was always dedicated to creating the right atmosphere, making sure you were relaxed, not a care in the world as he laid you down on the sheets, kissing you fondly, brushing his nose against yours. But sometimes all you needed was a surprise, a twist, a change of habit. 

Sometimes making love to you was good, some other times you just wished he took you down like a hurricane. You wished you didn’t feel like you had to hold back not to scare him off, and you wished he still wasn’t holding back, even though your conversation about sex had opened up a little after him discovering your toys and you watching him getting himself off, which showed you exactly what he was capable of with his hips. 

“Are you feeling good?” He asked, his hands climbing under your shirt, massaging your breasts from over your bra. 

“All great.” You caressed his face, pressing your thumb against his lips. The background instrumental was quiet enough to ease any embarrassment, covering the quiet but also letting you hear each other. 

“Do you need me to, I don’t know, grab something for you? Close the blinds? Change music? Anything?”

You giggled. “It’s perfect. I would shut the candles though, unless they’re battery operated.” You hand-combed his hair.

“All battery, no risky open flames in this bedroom.” He reassured you.

“Anything else?” You offered. Rather than you relaxing, you needed him to relax. He was a bundle of nerves. Probably because he was using tonight to make amends for upsetting you the other day over something absolutely dumb. You didn’t even remember what it was, you just had a major fight on it, ending with him smashing the door as he went out, reminding you of your various shortcomings and mistakes. 

“No. If you’re good, I’m good.” He kept delicately kneading your breast. “Is my hand too cold?”

“Jin, it’s june, I’m sweating my soul off, your hand’s nice.”

“Maybe it’s sweaty, clammy. Do you--”

“Quit it.” You playfully reprimanded him. “We’ve been together for months, why would you worry about all of this.”

“I really don’t know, I’m trying to make it good for the two of us!” He snapped. 

“Then stop being so doubtful of everything and get down to it? Maybe?”

“You see, you’re always so controlling!” He snapped. “I’m trying to be gentle and you just barge into it, diving into stuff headfirst.” He sat up, moving his hand away from under your shirt. 

“Why do you need to always be so careful?” You snapped right back, kneeling at his side, now at eye level with him. 

“I’m trying to be a gentleman, making it romantic, right for you. I’m trying to make it perfect, every single time. And you don’t even consider it. I help you around the house, I cook, I do the laundry whenever I can, I iron my own clothes, I clean after myself-”

“That is not the point and you know it. Housekeeping has nothing to do with sex.” You argued, eyes wide and voice slightly louder than before.

“I hold myself back, I keep my needs at bait to make it loving and perfect and romantic--”

“I don’t fucking want it.” You screamed. At that he stops, absolutely still. He makes to stand up but you stop him. “I have never wanted it perfect.”

“Then why the hell--” He started screaming back, but you threw him against the sheets, shutting his mouth with your hand, straddling his waist. 

“I want you to be real with me. Not perfect. I want to see you lose it. I thought we had come clean with this last time we talked it out.” You took your hand off his face, now that he looked calmer. “We said we would lead each other through this. We would discuss likes and dislikes and fool around more.”

“I don’t wanna fool around. I want you to lose your mind because it’s so good.” His eyes were pleading, but also dark and demanding.

“Then just take what you want, you fool.” You offered in return, caressing his face.

“Stand up.” The volume of his voice made a shiver run down your spine. You obeyed. Everything suddenly felt ice cold, but at the same time vibrating in anticipation. 

“I don’t intend to stop until you use your safeword. What is it?” 

You marvelled at him needing a safeword. You marvelled at him even knowing its existence and knowing what it was. After a few seconds of meditating the right word, you replied: “Vanilla.”

“Good. So if you want me to stop, what do you say?”

“I say vanilla, sir.” You bit your lip.

“Good. Now kneel.” He ordered, spreading his legs as he sat on the bed. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Let’s see if you’re worth all the fuss.” He was furious. He was tired of feeling too soft, too plain, too normal for you. He had been trying to make it perfect and with every step he thought he was taking towards perfection, he was actually stepping away from what you needed, frustrating himself in the process. 

He undid his trousers with nervous tugs and twists, making you almost feel like you should be helping him. You motioned towards his button, but he swatted it violently. “Stay put.”

You once more marvelled at the complete turn of events. “You said you wanted me to get what I want.” He finally freed his erection from his boxers and trousers. “Then you’re gonna watch me. So you can see whether you can handle this. And you’ll see why I wanted to be nice with you.”

“Yes, sir.” You said for confirmation. The sentence slipped out naturally, just like you’ve used before. The title didn’t feel like a taunt, but more of some sort of small way to protect yourself from his sudden change of character.

“You’re ridiculous. So easy for you, sir this, sir that. You love it, don’t you?” He started touching himself. “I know you got some lube for when you fool around with your toys. Just hand it over.” He said coldly. 

You rummaged in your bedside table, fishing out a bottle of vanilla scented gel. In the meanwhile he had undressed, now deliciously naked from head to toe. 

He smirked sardonically. “Keeping it in the bedside table, ready for whenever you fancy. Makes me wonder how often you use it. How often you take care of yourself instead of coming to me.” He poured some on himself, smiling at the scent. “How fitting for it to be vanilla, uh?”

He closed the lid and gave it back. “Look at you, you’re so eager to watch me. Wishing my hand were yours.” His strokes were slow and powerful, a pained groan coming out when he reached the tip. “Take off your shirt.”

You felt like complying to his every request. Your chest now covered only by your bra, you noticed how he stared at its movements, at the rhythm of your breathing. 

“Will you let me cum there? On your tits?” He asked, his strokes intensifying in pace and tension, hips moving slightly to deliver what his hands couldn’t. His size had always fully satisfied you, thickness and length making your mouth water -- and also thank every deity that made him repulsed by deepthroating: he was too big for you to handle that safely. You knew he was nearing the edge, his chest blushing, his eyes crinkling shut, teeth clenched, and his palm focused on the tip. 

“Open up.” Your eyes blew wide as he addressed you, bringing the tip of his cock to your lips. “You better make it good.” As soon as he felt the opening of your mouth he slipped in, stroking his shaft while he pushed the blunt head past your teeth, you eagerly sucking on it. His breath grew quick and loud and before you knew it, he was pulling out, spilling over your lips, chin and chest. The loud shout he let out was absolutely uncharacteristic, much like his uncontrolled orgasm. 

“You like it, uh? Is this what you wanted? For sir to cover you up in his cum? You wanted it dirty? Is it dirty enough for you? Or am I still too vanilla?”

“Anything you want, sir.” You replied obediently.

“Then lick it up clean. I don’t like dirty girls.” The statement hurt you slightly, a side of you feeling called out by those words. You proceeded licking your lips, reaching out with your tongue as far as it went. “How can I clean my chest, sir?”

“You’re the one who wanted it. Work it out.” The coarse answer made you clench your teeth in irritation. You undid your bra, your chest now entirely naked. with your fingertip you collected the white blobs of liquid and brought them to your mouth. 

“Do you like it?” he asked, looking down at you. 

You nodded. 

“Little rascal.” He dragged you to your feet, pulling at you through the waistband of your sweats. “Come here.” He undid the ribbon there, dragging your trousers down. “No vanilla yet?”

“No, sir.” You murmured. 

“Then I might as well test your limits.” As you stepped out of your sweats, he licked from your navel down to your hips, placing his open mouth over your pubic bone, your panties still in place. His lips looked almost too erotic, plump and soft against the plain cotton. And you lost focus when he started teasing you with his teeth. “But you like it, don’t you, little devil?”

You nodded eagerly. 

“Such a shame tonight it doesn’t matter. Tonight only what I like matters.” He parted his face from your crotch and stood up, now towering over you, obstructing your visual with his wide shoulders. He gripped your arms and spinned the two of you around, throwing you on the mattress quite violently, your body slightly bouncing. Next thing you knew, he was tugging at your underwear, finally undressing you entirely. 

“Not a sound. Only thing you can say is your safeword, understood?”

“Yes, sir.” The reply was going to be indented on you by the end of the night. 

“Good, now quiet.” He threw your legs apart and kneeled on the bed, between your parted thighs. His palm cupped your intimate parts, lightly massaging up and down, feeling the slickness there and finally letting a finger slip into your warmth.

You bit your lip to keep quiet, Jin’s eyes fixed on your face, almost expecting you not to hold back. After a couple minutes, his touch lost any mercy, turning into a full on assault, the other hand pressing against your belly to add pressure on your nerve endings, but also to tame the buckling of your hips. 

“Look at this little devil. All you need is a scolding from sir and your dirty mouth shuts up.” He reached your cervix and teased hard, strong circles around the soft spot there. “I’m almost tempted to let you talk, so I could see what a babbling mess you become with nothing but my fingers in your cunt.” He scissored his fingers inside you. “A devil. That’s what you are.” You pushed your hips into his hand hopelessly.

“Move them one more time and I’m going to stop.” He warned you. 

You were absolutely still after that, pretending that the lack of friction due to your overly wet folds didn’t bother you. His ruthless attack on your clit, his thumb dragging it sideways while his middle and ring fingers teased your g spot, finally shoot you towards your first orgasm, after what felt like a century, but was at worst ten minutes. Your hands gripped the sheets as your body receded into some brainless state. “Eyes on me, lest you forget who’s getting you hot, ____.”

You did everything you could to keep your eyelids from closing, but your eyes sort of crossed for the pleasure, his fingers relentless as he kept gripping you, without any intention of letting your writhing body go, until you escaped his torture, shaking your head and pressing your knees together, hands crossing over your legs.

"That good, uh?" He laughed at you. "You're almost ridiculous." He brought his fingers to his mouth, licking up the taste of you. "Do I need to remind you that you asked for this?" He was laying at your side, propped on an elbow, looking down at you with half closed lids, lust unadulterated in his eyes. "How about I take what I want most?" 

You nodded, almost desperate by now. 

He snickered. "As if I cared about your answer. Let me think, do you deserve to see me as I come apart? Do I want to look at you as you cum? You were such a sorry mess right now."

That was mean. And hot. But still mean. You didn't know he had such a talent for degradation. You probably would address this later. 

"I'm feeling kind. Open up. Let me claim my nasty devil." 

Grabbing his hard-on, he stroked it a couple times, laying on top of you, one elbow propping him up as he aligned himself with your entrance and sinked in with one smooth motion. He hardly ever allowed himself to, since you were quite tiny and the stretch could result difficult and almost unpleasant. With a breathy moan he stilled inside you, holding there until your grip eased a little, allowing him to slide out and settle in again. The first few thrusts were patient and pained, but at the fifth or sixth slide of his hips you moved slightly against him. He looked at you tentatively, his anger momentarily subdued by his insecurity and the mild discomfort creasing your brow. However, as your face relaxed and you offered a little nod, searching for his hand, he nodded back, picking up his pace. 

You let out a sudden breath, as if someone had punched your stomach, the pain dissolving into the pleasure contorting Jin's face. His pace turned manic, with fast jabs of his hips, upward and forward, the angle and force making the tip of his cock show on your belly. You couldn't help but look at where your bodies joined, the vision almost too much to handle. 

His brain was suddenly devoid of words, and his talkative foreplay turned into an almost silent fucking, nothing but the sound of skin and the bed creaking at your anthem.

Unexpectedly, before you could start touching yourself, you felt the familiar pull of an orgasm, Jin himself looking at you with a surprised face when you crumbled out of the sheer force of his thrusts. The tightening due to your climax made him stumble and impossibly quicken his rhythm, a cathartic scream announcing his own undoing. 

He fell heavily on you, his hair drenched, his hips deadly still as the muscles of his behind twitched after the prolonged effort. 

And then suddenly he broke out of character, blinking as if he had been possessed before and was now finally himself again. 

"Oh my god did you just?" 

"It-- I thought I couldn't, I swear. Usually I don’t cum without my clit--" You were at a loss yourself. 

"This was the best sex we've ever had." He whispered. "I mean… It's not like it wasn't good before but���" 

You smiled kindly. "I know what you mean. This was--" you searched for the perfect word, "earth-shattering."

He laughed his lovely laugh, then suddenly turned serious. "I was very mean to you, though. In my defense, I was a bit furious, but still I was mean. I said very bad things, my love." 

He lifted his head to look you in the eyes. 

You nodded. "A couple things were sort of… Harsh." You caressed his hair. "It hurt to hear you say you don't like dirty girls. I feel a bit dirty when I'm with you. You sort of expect me to like all that," you thought about the wording, "that vanilla stuff. I guess I get uncomfortable. I feel bad for liking nasty stuff. Ashamed."

"I'm so sorry, love. But I'm glad we can start from here now." He kissed your lips. "I missed kissing you. But I felt like if I did, I wouldn't be able to keep the scene up." 

"It's okay." You kissed him again, with more fervour and adoration. 

"I feel like I need a shower. And I feel like taking care of you now." He kissed your shoulder. "I feel a but guilty."

You laughed. "I feel guilty too. Like I tricked you into this."

"I loved every second of it, though. So if you tricked me into this, I'm glad you did. Next time trust me, I won't need convincing." He giggled.

"I loved you breaking me, so don't apologise and don't feel guilty. If it had bothered me, I would have used my safeword. But please now cuddle me cause I think I can't properly move. My body is currently resetting to non-clitoral orgasms."

He outright laughed. "Do you think it can reset while we take a bath? My soul needs cleansing."

"Let's go. But please carry me."

"So bossy." He teased, picking you up and heading for the bathroom. 

"Says you, Sir." You teased right back. 

He blushed to the tip of his ears. "Careful." He said pinching your butt playfully, once more turning into your funny, charming boy next door.

[masteroftheblade]

What are your favorite and least favorite animes? Why do you like/dislike them?

oh god here we go lmao 🤠👍 prepare for an entire novel as always lol

my favorite animes atm are Naruto, Dragon Ball, Attack on Titan, and Claymore. Overall, my favorite genre of anime is shonen (and in case you dont know what that is, its basically shows that are marketed to young boys. it'll have shit like superpowers and poorly written female characters). My least favorite genre is Shoujo (marketed at young girls). I honestly don't hate the entire genre, I just hate how much romance is in there since im pretty romance-repulsed. If there were more Shoujo series like Claymore, I'd probably be in love w/ it. I'll start talking about these shows individually, starting w/ Naruto.

1. Naruto.

Honestly, the only reason I started watching Naruto was because my friends peer pressured me into doing it, and it actually differed from what I expected it to be story-wise. The beginning of the show started off amazing; it had excellent world building, magic systems, interesting characters, and it attempted to address how messed up the whole shinobi system is. But then Naruto got on the front page of Shonen Jump, and everything went down from there. It started to focus more on cool fight scenes than the actual plot. I wont get too much into that, because you can literally find entire blogs dedicated to dissecting that, but Naruto killed itself w/ its own popularity. That said, I love the characters and world building and I can look past most of its flaws anyway.

Would I recommend reading/watching it? Yes, but only to say you did it for bragging rights. Don't go into watching Naruto if you want deep looks into imperialism and militarized governments, because you will get the complete opposite of that :P Also the best way to watch it is to watch it with friends.

2. Dragon Ball.

I only started watching DB about a month ago, so take what I say with a grain of salt, but I think its a garbage series. The fight scenes have little to no weight to them, because no matter what, the protagonist of that episode will always succeed in some way. For example, when Goku (a 12 y/o boy) was fighting Giran (a 10ft tall godzilla man) and was getting his ass beat until Goku just... randomly grows back his tail that was cut off earlier and wins. We are never told why he grew back his tail, and i think he only gets it back so he can have a cool fight scene in a later episode. Goku can literally be battling genocidal gods and he will still always win. The show also goes out of its way to sexualize/show a female character being harrassed. Every. Fucking. Episode.

That said, it is a fun show, and I really enjoy watching it. Like Naruto, I really love the characters and the world they are in, I just hate the way it was handled, and its painfully obvious that DB was made by a bunch of old men in the 80s. Unlike Naruto, however, I really appreciate how simple it is. It doesn't force a narrative about space genocide or whatever being bad, and I'm very thankful because that kind of narrative would be absolutely botched in this kind of series. It's also nice to have a show that doesn't take itself too seriously. Shows like AOT are amazing and important, but those shows can be overwhelming with their heavy subject matter. I would only recommend watching DB if you want to see some really good art/character design. Don't take the show seriously, and you'll have a good time.

3.Attack On Titan.

This anime was actually the first I've ever seen! I saw the very first episode when it aired in 2014, so I'm definetely biased in that regard, but I still try to look at this show in the most objective way I can. This show does almost everything right. The pacing, the characters, the art, the plot, you name it. It takes a concept that looks silly on paper and turns it into this grueling story about war, politics, and the trauma of being a soldier. It never treats it's characters like they're only one-dimensional, or like they are there just for one purpose only. These characters feel human in a way Naruto and Dragon Ball could never be. But there is one thing that has me concerned about this show, and its about the weirdly anti-Semitic undertones it has.

You probably heard the controversy already, but it really effected the way people on the outside of the fandom view the series. The show is heavily inspired by European culture, specifically that of Germany, and there are an ethnic group of people called The Eldians in the show that are pretty anti-Semitic in this kind of setting. The Eldian people have the capability of turning into Titans, and the Titans are what divided the world and killed millions. As a result, another group of people started doing the shit the Nazis did to Jewish people, basically making the Eldians into this weird allegory for the holocaust??? Which was kind of a shock to me when I first realized that was the angle they were going for. I genuinely did not expect that considering what the series started off as. The foreshadowing is there and all, I just didn't think they'd use real-world events as inspiration.

Now, this actually has the complete opposite problem Naruto and DB had. Naruto and DB had amazing ideas and concepts that went to shit, AOT's whole holocaust narrative was trash from the beginning.

The show could have easily had a different kind of social/political commentary without even going near the holocaust narrative. It comes off as kind of a half assed idea that people put way too much effort in, so it's kind of in this weird grey-area between "modern anime masterpiece" and "what the fuck were they trying to get across with this show?". If you asked me what the moral of the show was, I wouldn't be able to tell you.

Now, because of the fact that the Eldians can literally turn into man-eating beasts, this makes the comparison of Jewish people and Eldians very racist, and it doesn't help that Japan is still full of legitimate Nazis, making the whole situation look even worse. Since I am not Jewish, I wont speak for other Jewish people. There is a very heated debate on whether the show is racist, and frankly I don't think it's within my right to say if it is or isn't. What I will say, is that I really loved the show and appreciated the social commentary it provided, and I think a lot of people would benefit from watching it, but I think it's also important to listen to Jewish people's views on the show. For this reason, I specifically avoid reblogging AOT stuff, but I do love that show and I wont hate on people who do reblog stuff from it. It's definitely not a light watch, but it does provide a lot of thinking material.

4. Claymore.

This. Show. Was. Amazing. But. Underrated.

First off, this is a shonen show that is led by a majority female cast and a female protagonist, and all of those women are badass swordwielding lesbians and I love it. Second, the art style is beautiful. Third, the story is really interesting from so many angles, so much so I am not even going to mention what its about because you dont need to know, you just need to watch it and see what happens. The first season was an absoloute ride of a show, and if you love shows like AOT or Berserk, you'll love Claymore. Honestly, this show was what AOT should have tried to be. It also has its fair share of militarized imperialist commentary, but this is the only show on this list that actually fucking critiques imperialist ideals and has a main character that actively refuses to participate in that kind of oppressive system, choosing to fight it all together.

But the show got fucking cancelled right before the first arc even finished. You can thank shows like Naruto for that 🙃🙃🙃

10/10 Would reccomend, but just be prepared to be left on a major cliffhanger. You can try reading the manga, but it's kind of hard to follow since all of the warrior girls look the same.

[starlightinhumanform]

Midas

Fandom: Sanders Sides 

Ship: Romantic Loceit, Background Platonic Logincality

Summary: Greek myth tells of King Midas who could turn anything he touched to gold. Damian hates New Years but when his friends drag him to a party, he meets a man makes everything around him just a little better.

Warnings (in order of strength): A lot of drinking/alcohol mentions/partying (none underage), Mild language throughout, (please tell me if anything needs to be added)

Genre: Fluff, Mild Angst with a happy ending, Human (college) AU 

A/N: Deceit’s name is Damian in this fic :) ALSO I know there’s quite a few younger kids in this fandom and if you’re reading this (first of all, hi I love you) please please PLEASE do not take this fic as an inspiration to abuse alcohol. Underaged drinking/partying can be extremely dangerous. Ok enough being serious!! I hope you enjoy! Love you all 🖤✨

Ao3 Link    Fic Masterpost    Fic Request Info

Damian wasn’t a fan of New Years. It shouldn’t mean anything- he knew that. It was just another random day; the fact that people liked to put special significance on it didn’t actually do anything.

But all the talk of new times got into his head, made him think. It made him think about how many things had changed- the friends he had lost, the goals he had once held dear now thrown away. It made him think about how little he had grown- the bitterness he held onto, the stagnation that had settled across him. He was in his third year of grad-school; soon he would be shoved out into the real world with no academic purpose to shelter him.

“New Year, New Me.” Damian didn’t even know who he was.

If there was one thing he hated more than New Years, it was New Years parties. He would go so far as to say the things were the bane of his existence. The music was bad, people got loud and overly exuberant, and strobe lights were used were used far more than ever reasonable. Alcohol always floated around with disturbing prevalence. He hated how fuzzy it made his head- throwing off his balance and slowing his thoughts- but at least it made the party easier to handle.

Damian threw back a shot of cheap, bight blue tequila and winced as it hit the back of his throat. Disgusting. Just because he was trying to get drunk didn’t mean he lacked class.

He set the glass down on a table behind him so he could pretend he hadn’t touched the repulsive thing. He was sitting on a sofa tucked against the back corner of a living room in a house he had never been to before. Next to him, someone was already passed out. They would be starting their new year with a killer hangover.

Across the room, he could see the friends who had dragged him to the houseparty. Roman and Patton were dancing in a crowd of other students, broad grins painted across both of their faces. At least they were happy.

A young man weaved his way through the crowd and threw himself onto the sofa next to Damian with a mixture of disdain and defeat. Damian had seen him around a few times; they had a philosophy class together the last semester. What was his name? Lucas? Landon? Bradon?

“Hey,” Lu-nd-on elbowed him in the side, “You want some champagne?”

Damian raised an eyebrow as he turned to face the man, “Excuse me?”

He pulled a bottle of champagne from somewhere in his coat. The gold foil at the top was already ripped away and he popped the cork off with ease, taking a swig before offering it.

Damian tried not to stare incredulously, but it was a difficult task when his brain was short-circuiting, “Did you just drink out of a champagne bottle like it was a beer?”

“Sure. Why not.”

Damian reached out hesitantly to take the bottle. He was beginning to doubt that this actually was the guy he had shared a class with. That one looked like the type who wouldn’t have been caught dead at a party. The only similarity was the way they dressed- round wireframe glasses, a corduroy jacket over a black button down, and black skinny jeans. His hair- dark brown and pulled into a long ponytail- was the same too.

“Did- did we have a class together?” He took a drink. It was good- expensively good.

“Historical philosophy. You probably don’t remember me- my name’s Logan. You’re Damian, right?”

“Yep. I hear I’m kind of hard to forget,” Damian waved his hand at the dark red birthmark that stretched messily across the left side of his face.

“No. Well, yes. That is, I remember you for a different reason.”

Logan stared at him like he was supposed to understand what that meant. Damian stared back, hoping to convey the fact that he, in no way, understood what was going on.

“So, uh,” Damian searched for something to keep the conversation going, “can I ask about the champagne?”

“You’re asking why I have it?”

Damian nodded, “I am, yeah. Also why you pulled it out of your jacket?”

“As for the first question: people seem to have made a tradition out of getting wasted on New Years Eve and I decided to join them this year.”

Damian had never heard someone speak so matter of factly about getting drunk. He shook his head, laughing, “So you bought an entire bottle of champagne? There are easier methods, you know that right?”

“If you’re referring to the blue monstrosity everyone keeps offering, please know that I’m not a heathen.”

“Oh, so you tried one of those awful things too?”

Logan rolled his eyes with a ruthful smile, “I may have made that mistake.”

Damian handed the bottle back to Logan who took another drink before locking his gaze on Damian’s eyes. He stared like there was a problem in them and he just couldn’t figure out how to solve it. Damian was used to people staring, but not like this. Usually, they would take one look at him and their eyes would glaze over. Whatever the conversation might be, they would always be partially focused on the splatters some god had painted on his face long before he had a say in the matter. It wasn’t that Damian disliked his birthmark. He just hated the way people always saw it instead of him.

But Logan. He was looking at him. Into him, through him. He had no idea what to do with that.

Damian laughed nervously, “What are you looking at?”

Logan cleared his throat and stared out into the crowd, “Anyways I had it in my jacket because these people are all animals and I’d prefer they didn’t rob me of my 35 dollar champagne.”

Logan had handed him the bottle back and Damian choked on the mouthful he had been trying to drink, “I’m sorry, what? So let me get this right: you bought a champagne bottle which is worth more than I usually spend on food for a week. And now you are sharing it with me of all people?”

“Why not you of all people?”

Logan was staring at him again like answers to all of these riddles were obvious.

Damian blinked back, feeling more lost than he had in years. Even that stupid Advanced Geometry course he had decided to take in his freshman year hadn’t screwed him over this badly. Maybe the alcohol was finally getting to him. It would explain why he couldn’t hold a single coherent thought and why he was so hypnotized by the pale freckles that dusted Logan’s nose and cheekbones. They were so light they nearly melted into his skin and seemed to be phasing in and out off existence as the dim lighting played against Logan’s face. He had never noticed them before. Then again, he had never gotten this close before. It was a shame; Logan was mesmerizing. Damian wished he could get closer.

“So what are you going to do after we get out of here?”

It took Damian a moment to realize Logan was asking about a career and not what he would be doing after the party once they left- apparently together. That would have been strange; it was weird his brain even jumped to that conclusion.  Maybe he should stop drinking that damn champagne.

He sighed as his mind returned to the actual question. He wanted to make something up, hide behind a lie of certainty and determination. But it was too much work to weave that fabrication together. Especially on the spot. Especially with how his head was feeling. Especially in front of Logan. He hung his head, “Honestly I have no clue. I’ve always been interested in social sciences but beyond that... no plan, no clue.”

A beat of silence played out between them.  

“So what about you?” The forced brightness in his voice tasted fake and bitter in his mouth.

“I want to teach sciences,” Logan’s eyes glittered.

“A college professor, huh? I could definitely see it,” Logan handed him the bottle and Damian threw yet another swallow back. Didn’t he say he was going to stop?

“High school level, actually.”

“Really? That doesn’t seem-“ Damian pointed at the champagne bottle in an attempt to remind Logan of what a bougie, extra bitch he was, “ -sophisticated enough for you.”

Logan shrugged, “I kind of have a fascination with high schoolers-“

“Ok, that’s creepy.”

“Not like that! I mean the culture, the slang, the way it’s its own little society interacting within a larger one!” Logan’s face had split into a grin as he talked, waving his hands excitedly.

Damian didn’t even resist urge to smile back. Seeing Logan like this, well, there was something contagious about it. He couldn’t help but feel slightly in awe of the passion he saw in Logan, “You really like this stuff, don’t you?”

Logan nodded vigorously, “Do you know the new word high schoolers today have invented and are using?”

“Hmm?” Damian prompted. Anything to keep Logan talking like this. Damian wasn’t sure why he wanted to keep Logan talking. It had something to do with the way warmth was spreading out from his core in a way that was far gentler than anything drinks could do.

“Yeet.”

In the adjoining room Damian could see two groups standing on opposite tables chanting “Yeet, Yeet, Yeet, Yeet” as they tossed a smaller student (who looked like they were having the time of their life) back and forth.

“Uhh, I think college kids use that too,” Damian didn’t want to burst Logan’s bubble but he felt like he was losing his mind. At any moment he was going to start cackling.

Logan paused, giving him a pointed stare, “Maybe you do.”

Damian broke. He collapsed forward, glad he had handed the bottle back as he wrapped his arms around his shaking body. He could hardly breathe but he couldn’t stop laughing either. His head was light and buzzing warmly. It wasn’t necessarily a bad feeling, but as tears started streaming out of his eyes, he knew he was officially drunk. Who gave a shit? That had been his goal, right?

He fell all the way down, letting his head land on Logan’s knee. He still couldn’t stop laughing even though it had developed solely into wheezes at that point.

Damian felt a hesitant hand tap on his back before actually settling there, “Are you ok?”

Damian sat up and wiped away the tears that had gathered at the corners of his eyes, “Bro, you’re so judgmental.”

Logan’s face shifted from concern into a scowl, “Oh. Sorry.”

The heavy bass of whatever song was playing took over the space between them. Damian kept thinking about destroying that gap. All he would have to do would be lean over, rest himself against Logan, maybe fall asleep. Maybe it was the overpriced buzz in his head talking, but he felt safe around Logan.

Out of the blue, Logan stood up, adjusting the hem of his jacket as he turned to face Damian, “Well, I won’t be bothering you anymore. Maybe I’ll see you around campus sometime. You can finish that if you want.”

Damian looked down by his feet where Logan was pointing to the champagne bottle, “Wait, I don’t understand. You’re leaving? Where?”

Logan glanced around, looking anywhere but Damian’s face. Damian was used to that but this felt different. Logan was different. At least under usual circumstances, he knew why people so adamantly refused to acknowledge his existence. He made them uncomfortable; he didn’t like it, but he got it. Here, he was absolutely clueless.

Logan finally managed to make eye contact. He was trying for a smile but as an expert liar, Damian could see straight through to the grimace beneath, “Oh, I’m sure I’ll find someone else who will tolerate my presence for a few moments.”

“Hey,” Damian acted on impulse. After all, Logan’s hand was just hanging there. It was far too empty. And at the moment, reaching forward to grab Logan’s wrist was Damian’s only way to insure that Logan wouldn’t walk away. He knew Logan was a smart guy and would probably see his honeyed whines as deception, but he had to try, “You’re really just going to get me drunk and then ditch me? Who knows what could happen?”

Logan’s eyebrows creased but he didn’t say anything. He looked like he was in pain, eyes sharp and teeth clenched behind a grimace. It was enough to make Damian drop his hand.

“Logan, it’s entirely your choice but if you would like to stay with me, I would enjoy that very much,” Truth wasn’t his strong suit, but he figured it was worth a try.

Logan squinted at him, confused or at least doubtful, “I thought you disliked my judgmental attitude.”

Damian groaned, “Dude... I didn’t mean it like that. I thought it was funny. I think you’re funny.”

“Oh,” Logan looked like he was having a hard time processing Damian’s words. It made him wonder just how many of those tequila shots Logan had thrown back before walking over. He had to be drunk. It was the only way to explain why he was acting so strange.

Damian reached out again and slowly pulled Logan back. He was hesitant but didn’t resist. Logan sat down next to Damian as if he didn’t understand his own actions. His eyes picked Damian apart like he was looking for the fine print.

“You’re sure you don’t mind me?” Logan’s expression was completely open. He was looking for the truth and Damian didn’t think he’d be able to lie if he wanted to. It was a good thing he didn’t need to.

He smiled, “Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Oh. Ok,” Logan settled back into the couch but his eyebrows were still weaved together. Apparently his programs finished running because he suddenly turned to Damian, grinning brightly, “I’m glad.”

Damian smiled back. He was happy to see Logan with that sparkle back, if a little confused as to how he had caused it, “You’re glad... I don’t mind you?”

Logan nodded, “Some people think I’m a little strange.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Damian winced and tried to rush out his next words, “Not, like, I think you’re strange- I think you’re really cool. I just mean people think I’m strange too.”

Damian swore he could map constellations in the stars floating in Logan’s eyes, “You think I’m cool?”

He shrugged, “I mean, yeah. You always seem to have it all together and you have determination and goals and it’s so obvious that you’re going to reach them. That passion is rare to see any more. I mean, I don’t have any of that. You don’t know how much I looked up to you in that class.”

Logan blinked at him like a deer in headlights for a moment before he began frowning, “But you’re incorrect.”

Damian looked up from where had been trying to see how much champagne was left in the bottle, “What do you mean?”

“You obviously have passion. You always had points to bring up during discussions and it was clear you had deep interest in the topics. You don’t know how in awe of you I was. You always found the least likely angle to take and still managed to make a convincing argument,” Logan took the bottle out of Damian’s frozen hands and took a drink, “It was art.”

Damian opened his mouth but all memory of speech had escape him. He looked away, trying to find something safe to stare at while he tried to gather his thoughts. His head was full of fragments, dulled glass shards that floated through fog and bumped against the edges of his mind. It hurt to try to put them all back together into one piece.

So Logan had noticed him in that class. And had remembered him; quite clearly it seemed. Except the way he was talking... nobody had ever spoken to Damian that way before. He was tempted to ask Logan if he had mistaken him for someone else.

He found his eyes wandering down to the space between them. More accurately, he was staring at how little space there was between them. When Logan had sat down the second time, he had done so right next to Damian. Like, right next to him. Now their legs were pressed together, hips and knees bumping together every time one of them shifted. Damian marveled at the fact that he hadn’t noticed before.

“Damian?” He looked up into Logan’s concerned face. God, they were so close, “Are you ok? Your eyes kinda glazed over.”

Damian laughed. It sounded breathy and far away, “Yeah, I’m good.”

From another room, someone started yelling, “LAST 15 MINUTES OF THE YEAR!!”

Logan squinted down at his watch before glaring in the direction of the voice, “There’s only five minutes left.”

Damian chuckled, watching the lines of Logan’s frown as he grimaced at the sea of people around them. There was something endearing about the blunt disdain Logan had for the idiots around them. It was nice to know he didn’t fit into that group, that he had- by some miracle- managed to fit into Logan’s bubble.

“So... you usually celebrate New Years like this?” Logan had suddenly become quite fidgety, wringing his hands in his lap. Damian tried to ignore it. He was having a hard enough time working on his own thoughts; he couldn’t even begin picking apart Logan’s thoughts.

Damian shook his head, “You mean a party? Nah, I usually don’t even celebrate. What about you?”

“Same. I don’t generally go to parties at all.”

Ah, so Damian’s original impression had been correct, “So what are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Logan deftly avoided the question with a smirk. Damn, he was good at this.

Damian rolled his eyes, “Some friends dragged me here. Now you tell me what a straight-laced nerd like you is doing in a place like this.”

Logan snorted, “Don’t remember the last time anyone described me as straight- anything.”

“What?”

“What?”

Damian wanted to shake his head like a dog getting out of water. Maybe then, the pieces would fall into some sort of pattern he could recognize. So Logan wasn’t straight. Why did that make him so happy?

He ran his hands through his hair and tried to gain some composure, “Ok, so what is someone like you doing in a place like this?”

Logan looked out across the crowd, his mouth a tight line. On the other side of the room someone took a running start and flung themselves on a pool table that had currently been in use. The thing cracked in half.  

“I was-,” Logan paused, hands tapping quickly against his leg, “-convinced.”

Damian raised an eyebrow, “I’ve never heard someone talk so ominously about going to a party; what is that even supposed to mean?”

Logan winced. His hands were doing full cardio now, clenching into fists over and over again, “I was told someone was going to be here. I just really wanted the chance to talk to him again.”

“But you’ve only talked to me.”

“Yes,” Logan gave him that stare again like Come on, dude, the puzzle pieces are right there- just put them together. He rubbed his eyes in his hands, “Maybe this was a mistake. I didn’t mean to get you drunk. I thought you’d still be able to figure out-“

Click.

Damian’s mouth fell, “Wait, I’m the one you wanted to talk to?”

Logan gave him a small smile. It was the first time Damian had seen him look unsure of himself, “Well, yeah.”

“Oh,” Damian’s head was swimming. He could have blamed it on the champagne or how late it was or the way the lighting had began strobing, flickering between bright neon shades. But he knew that wasn’t it. He couldn’t lie this time- not even to himself.

Logan’s eyes were wide, staring into Damian. Not into his eyes- him. It was unnerving in the best way possible. The shifting light played across his irises, making them every colour of the rainbow.

“Is that ok?”

Logan’s voice startled him back to the present. He had leaned forward, supposedly to be heard above the shouting that had started. Amongst all of the raised voices, Logan’s had only gotten lower. His breath played against Damian’s ear.

Damian looked up, startled slightly but smiling, “Yeah, yeah, that’s good. That’s great.”

Logan smiled, “Yeah? Great?”

He was definitely leaning forward.

Damian huffed out a sigh but smiled even wider, “Shut up. I’m pretty sure you’re drunk.”

Logan scoffed, “And you’re not? You’re a total lightweight.”

“Shut up.”

“TEN!”

The entire house shook as the ridiculous number of students began screaming in unison

“You know, it’s also tradition to kiss someone on New Years,” Logan looked infuriatingly smug.

“NINE!”

Damian usually hated this part, everyone around him creating one huge voice- everyone but him.

Damian raised an eyebrow, “Are you asking to kiss me?”

“EIGHT!”

What he always hated most was the way the entire world seemed to be celebrating- without him. The whole damn planet filled with joy for one tiny moment and he could never figure out why.

Logan smiled like the Cheshire Cat- except the Cheshire Cat had just won the lottery, “Maybe.”

“SEVEN!”

At this point, his heart rate usually would have been spiking, feeling the pressure of “new opportunities” pressing all their expectant eyes on him.

Damian laughed, “Did you come over to talk to me just so you could get a kiss tonight?”

“SIX!”

There was always a part of Damian that would scorn him for not being happy, question why he had turned out to be such a sad, useless lump while everyone else was happily looking forward to the future.

“No,” Logan set his jaw like a stubborn toddler, “I came over here to talk to you so I could get a kiss from you tonight.��

“FIVE!”

No matter what he did, the New Year would plague him. His whole apartment complex would rattle as chanting counted down. The first hours of the year would often find Damian wandering through empty streets, desperate to escape the celebration.

Logan slid his hand onto Damian’s knee, “So can I? Kiss you?”

“FOUR!”

The whole event was just one monstrous reminder. It was an ugly mar on the calendar that whispered Look at all the things you’ve ruined. Look at how far you’ve fallen. Look at how little your future holds.

Damian nodded dumbly. His heart was pounding in his ears.

“THREE!”

New Year made him think of his parents. He always put on a bright mask for them, feeding them lies of empty aspirations and opportunities that didn’t exist. How would they feel to know their son was barreling headfirst into a dead end?

Damian was learning he didn’t need alcohol; Logan was intoxicating enough. The shine in his eyes, the self-satisfied tug to his lips, the way he kept getting closer and closer- it made Damian’s thoughts slow to a halt and everything around him lose focus.

“TWO!”

Every year, the day after would be exactly like the day before. Everyone else seemed to be determined to make themselves better. As much as he searched, Damian could never find the ways to change. New Years was usually taunting, reminding him that he would always be broken and would never be able to fix himself.

Logan’s hands played across his chest, smoothed over his shoulder, ran through his hair. His eyes found Damian’s soul. Damian couldn’t remember how to breathe.

“ONE!!”

Damian had always hated New Years.

Logan leaned all the way forward and his lips were on Damian’s. It was deeper than Damian was expecting, both of their mouths slightly open. Logan kept surging forward with his whole body, destroying the few inches left between them. Damian happily followed his lead, mindlessly falling into synchronous rhythm as Logan kept moving his lips. Except it wasn’t just his lips; Logan kissed with his whole body. He leaned against Damian and his hands were always roaming, leaving little touches as they danced over Damian’s body.

Sure, Damian had kissed other guys before. But he was pretty sure this was the first time anyone had kissed him.

One of Logan’s hands found its way to Damian’s face. His fingers tapped lightly across his birthmark. Damian remembered the kids who stared without shame, the eyes that would dart away as soon as they saw him, the way he could never hold a conversation without his birthmark joining as an unwanted guest star. Logan hadn’t done any of that. Damian had no words to describe what that man was but he liked it.

Damian broke away, completely out of breath. He had no idea how long they had been kissing- it could have been hours for all he knew- but his lungs didn’t have the same luxury of losing track.

Logan’s chest was heaving as it pressed against Damian’s side. His eyes were wide and glazed, staring a million miles away.

“Hey, Logan?”

Logan’s eyes regained their sharp focus. He smiled brightly, “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while now.”

“You’re a dork. But really,” Damian sighed, “thank you.”

Logan gave him a puzzled smile, “What for?”

“I’m pretty sure this is the first New Year I’ve ever actually enjoyed,” Damian snuggled himself closer to Logan, smiling when he felt an arm wrap around his shoulders.

Logan spoke with measured, careful words, “If you like, we could, you know, make our own New Years tradition out of this.”

Damian could feel his eyelids falling and rising every time he blinked like the great velvet currents of a theatre. They were heavy and he was warm and his head was a vague haze. He yawned widely and wrapped his arms around Logan’s waist, “I don’t think we have to wait until New Year to do this again.”

He fell asleep listening to Logan stuttering out some happy response. Maybe New Years wasn’t so bad.

If you want to be added to my Sanders Sides fic taglist just send me an ask or reply to this post :p 

~ @phan-fander @abi-beehive ~

[tearsofsyrup]

dirty showers

— One of many nights when you’re catching your breath alongside Jungkook while splayed out across his damp sheets, head spinning due to the problems you wish you could shower away. 

pairing. jeon jungkook / reader

genre. drabble, mentioned smut, angst, friends with benefits au

word count. 1.7k

warnings. mentions of sexual activity, brief profanity

notes. my first piece of writing on this blog, so please tell me what you think.

-

Another mistake committed, piling up on your long list of identical ones.

You barely registered the bed bouncing beneath your weight as Jungkook fell onto its surface beside you, your brain occupied with returning your breathing to a regular pace. Vision still dazed and unfocused, you felt your heated body twitch subtly while still coming down from your high, two sets of heavy breathing the only sounds occupying the dark room.

The quiet that followed felt heavy and pregnant, consciousness and sense returning to fuel your brain once more and making you tense at the awareness of the person beside you. How that could still happen after so many times, you did not know.

You already felt dirty. And you knew that it wasn’t due to the perspiration sticking your skin to the sheets below. The feeling usually didn’t overcome you so quickly afterwards. Why was tonight any different? Why did the filth coating your skin feel so much more repulsive?

Thus, a desperate need for a wash was born.

“I wanna shower.” Your statement was louder than you had been prepared for as it cut through the silence, almost making you cringe. You wondered if your obscure discomfort was obvious.

Jungkook’s delayed response caused you to suspect he had fallen asleep already. You found that you nearly wished he had.

He displayed he was still conscious as the weight of his hand suddenly fell across your waist, a strained groan crawling out from within his chest.

“Why?”

Because I’m disgusting, you thought. You didn’t say it, or anything for that matter. So he continued.

“Stay.”

You didn’t have time to ponder whether that meant more than it was supposed to, because your heart squeezing familiarly in your chest demanded all your attention. The feeling had become a regular occurrence, but only since a handful of weeks prior. Considering your position, the unsettling sensation should have plagued you from the first moment you kissed Jungkook. But it hadn’t. Did that make you a bad person?

Dirty, vile, gross, despicable-

Stopping your train of thought dead in its tracks, you took a deep breath, averting your attention to the comforting forearm relaxed over your stomach. You didn’t want to think of your horrible decisions and mistakes at that moment, refusing to acknowledge them as they tried to force their way into the forefront of your mind.

You had grown skilled at denial over the past couple of months, almost able to turn your emotions and awareness for responsibility on and off. The upsetting thoughts left when you told them to. The feeling of being dirty still troubled you, though.

You finally dared a glance in Jungkook’s direction.

His eyes were closed, ruffled and damp hair laying prettily across his sticky forehead. The familiar image caused a calm wave to wash over you but also your heart to churn uneasily. The opposing feelings left you conflicted.

“I’m sweaty and sticky. Stinky,” you finally reasoned. “I wanna shower.”

Jungkook’s eye opened lazily to observe you. You guessed that he was wondering why you were being so adamant, as you usually waited until the morning after to clean yourself properly. But you couldn’t tell him it was due to the overwhelming feeling of filth that seemingly coated you from head to toe, because you didn’t know what it meant yet.

Possibly you had just grown sensible, at last.

“I don’t mind the stench.”

You knew his mumbled comment was a lighthearted take on a statement meant to comfort, but his words caused your chest to sting with hurt. You understood he hadn’t intentionally meant it as you perceived it, but you couldn’t help the way your throat tightened a fraction as self-awareness threatened to drown you in the harsh reality of how many meanings could be rightfully jammed into that remark. Even if the young man next to you didn’t know what his words really alluded to, you knowing was enough. Worse, even.

Sitting yourself up quickly, you let Jungkook’s arm fall off of you.

“Well, I do.” You felt your problems and responsibilities creep up on you with the honesty of your quiet reply.

To your surprise, the springs of the mattress whined as Jungkook shifted beside you.

“You okay?”

No, I’m not. And you shouldn’t be, either.

The tips of your fingers digging into damp sheets, you turned your head to meet Jungkook in the darkness.

“Yeah, I’m fine. And dirty.” Dirty.

Jungkook huffed a haphazard snort.

“Right.” He paused as his head hung over his shoulders, allowing you to try swallowing the burn that was attempting to clime up your tight throat. “I’d shower with you but I feel like Imma pass out.”

You averted your gaze, the memories of Jungkook washing your hair making your heart roar again.

“It’s fine. I’m a big girl, I can shower myself.” You hated yourself for being able to act playful in your situation. Fucking filthy.

“Mhm,” Jungkook mumbled lazily, the soft kiss that was suddenly pressed against your shoulder blade forcing you to stifle a visible shiver. Then the bed bounced lightly as he fell back down onto it again.

How he could stand himself, you had a hard time fathoming. It almost made you dislike him, momentarily.

Your muscles fruitlessly protested as you made your way into Jungkook’s bathroom, squinting dramatically as you flipped the light switch. Hasty steps brought you to the shower as to avoid looking into the mirror above the sink while passing it, as if doing so would kill you. Because part of you thought it just might.

Foul and unpleasant.

You weren’t sure for how long you had stood with your forehead and palms pressing into cold tiles, warm water traveling down along the tense slopes of your naked body, when the feeling of hopelessness really made its presence known. Because the water wasn’t washing your stench away, unable to penetrate the steadfast layer of dirt that blanketed your skin and seeped in through your pores to eat you whole. You couldn’t get rid of it and it made you panic.

Heavy breathing, heart pounding, cheeks inflaming. Your knees grew weak and eventually hit the floor, but you couldn’t feel the pain. Not the physical kind. But the emotional kind was suffocating you as your reality hit you harshly across your sour, wet face - you weren’t sure whether tears had become a part of the equation then. And the worst part was, it was all your fault. All of it.

Eyes wide and staring through the wall in front of you, your lips quivered, nails digging into the tiles helplessly.

How could you do? How could you? How could you? How could you? How co-

A gentle call of your name broke your manic mantra. And you despised how just the sound of his voice could comfort you so easily, the booming of your heartbeat in your ears immediately turning less unbearable.

“What’s wrong? Is every- Are you hurt?”

No, not me.

You nearly flinched at the palm that landed on the space between your shoulder blades, but the soothing strokes that followed made you lean into his touch.

“(Y/N)?”

Only then did you realize that you were shaking, trembling.

You refused to avert your stare from the tiled wall, finally able to control your breathing again. Heart steadily returning to a healthier state, you sighed heavily, feeling as though you deflated in the process. A new kind of hopelessness encased you; the exhausted kind.

“Please, talk to me.”

For a split second, you wondered why he even cared. You wondered how he didn’t already understand. You wondered why he wasn’t feeling the same way you were.

Maybe his skill in denial was more advanced than yours.

But pondering over all the different questions and possibilities was too tiring, so you gave up, half-lidded gaze dropping to the floor.

Jungkook scooted closer, hugging you close to him and you didn’t have the energy to deny yourself letting him. Letting yourself bask in the way his body felt against yours. Happiness was a very foreign and unfamiliar feeling then, but you thought that Jungkook holding you was the closest you could come to it in that moment.

You relaxed into him, closing your eyes as you buried your face in his taut shoulder.

“Are you hurt?”

I’m not the one who is hurt, you fucking moron!

“I’m fine.”

You could imagine Jungkook’s eyebrows pinching at your obvious lie.

“(Y/N)...” You loved the way your name sounded falling from his lips, making you want to smile and cry, all at the same time. “Did I-... Did I do something?”

Yes, we both did.

“No, I did.”

You felt Jungkook leaning back a fraction, wanting you to meet his eyes with yours. You didn’t budge, knowing that seeing him like that would hurt too much.

“What do you mean?” A slow pause. “What did you do?”

You couldn’t suppress your scoff then, the sudden urge to push Jungkook off of you awakening. It withered away just as fast as it had come.

I did many things. I intentionally never let Taehyung know when I started texting you regularly. I never told him I spent all my time with you during Hoseok’s party in January, because it felt like I had done something wrong. I pretended like I barely knew you when you came over for a pregame at Taehyung’s apartment. I didn’t stop you when you kissed me at that other party in the beginning of March, when Yoongi turned twenty-something years old. I went home with you only a week later, letting you undress me and fuck me in any way you saw fit. I kept doing it ever since then, letting Taehyung feel undesirable and like he was the problem as I was busy fucking you instead of him. I started letting myself stay the night at your place, falling asleep in your arms instead of texting my boyfriend goodnight from my own bed at home. I let myself fall in love with you and out of it with the man that had said he wanted to marry me in the future.

I’m sitting here now, wrapped in your arms while Taehyung is in his bed alone, probably wondering where he went wrong.

You felt numb, figure slumped into Jungkook as he held you tightly against his chest.

“Nothing.”

[gayregis]

As someone who found the witcher through twn can i just say thank you so much for this blog you have like,,, genuine good takes about characters that i lowkey (& highkey) disliked in the show and like,,, give me a reason to continue liking the witcher outside of just novelty. And also the fact that you're calling out (? Idk if that's the right word here) the rampant horniness in the twn fandom like yeah!!! Like im both a minor & hella ace and the mentality of Everything Must Be For Horny Reasons that seems so prevalent in the fandom made me so uncomfy ADJFHSKFJSKFJDJ so yh ty 🧡

hey, i’m glad i can! a large part of why my opinions are the way that they are is because i remember when i was a minor in fandom, and although i did make some good friends who looked out for my safety, i was largely unsafe in the fandom and it was all normalized, so i didn’t think anything was wrong with it until i look backed on it later. 

i knew of internet safety (as a zillennial i guess) but just knowing internet safety and practicing good internet hygiene doesn’t protect you from the entire culture of a fandom that is completely okay with sharing and discussing porn with minors. and as a minor then, i didn’t even see why that was a bad thing, in fact i felt indignant when adults tried to keep p*rn from me... i knew i probably shouldn’t be interacting with adults about it, but i thought i had the power to keep myself from being creeped on... yeah, no, a stranger adult trying to talk about p*rn with you in your DMs is already being creeped on. im really lucky then for my friends i had who were adults that wouldn’t let me have their p*rn blog urls and wouldn’t talk about explicit content with me.

so now as i’m recently an adult i’m trying to spread more awarenss about how casual p*rn and assuming consent and adulthood from everyone is not okay, because many in fandom are minors, are sex-repulsed, or just simply didn’t want to see it and that’s their decision which should be respected. i think it’s important to point it out so it won’t be so normalized, and then that will hopefully allow some to “wake up” and realize that it’s not okay at all to be subject to a culture like this... so im glad i can take a stand, call it out!! it needs to be, and i’m now in a position as a 20 yo where i can do it.

similarly, i take a stand against netflix because disliking it is an “unpopular opinion” and tbh i might have shut up about it within a month or five if no one agreed with me that it was bad, but i’ve received a lot of feedback saying “i disliked it too, but i didn’t know how to say it / i was too afraid to say it” , which makes me want to say it even louder, so no one has to feel like they’re alone and weird/wrong for having a dissenting opinion, even about as something as trivial as a netflix show. i think we agree that feeling alone re: important parts of your personhood, like race or sexuality or gender, is really shitty and can lead to feeling isolated. so why isn’t it also the case for less important aspects of your life? if you feel isolated and like you can’t talk to anyone in ANY part of your life... that’s difficult and you don’t deserve that. this is NOT me saying that fandom is as important as race LMFAOOOOO, i’m just saying everyone deserves to feel understood and respected in all aspects of their life.

and thank you for the ask <:) your support makes me keep wanting to be on here and not hide my head in the sand

[makeste]

so i’m guessing mr mouse killer, dr child killer and grape pervert are the three characters you hate then

actually, no! well yes for Re-Destro, but not the other two, surprisingly. with Ujiko, even though he’s obviously a terrible, horrible person (possibly the worst person in the entire series; I think he even gives AFO a run for his money) and I hate his guts, as a character he plays a really important role as AFO’s Guy In The Chair and as the architect of all these evil sciencey plot things like the Noumus and the like. and crucially (for me, anyway), Horikoshi makes no attempt whatsoever to try and portray him as likable or sympathetic in any way. he’s an unrepentant creep through and through, which is honestly kind of a relief. I can despise him without feeling any sort of guilt or conflict. so in that respect I think he’s a very satisfying villain character, and I can appreciate that he does a good job of fulfilling his designated role in the series, which is to be Very, Very Evil.

with Mineta, I don’t really hate him so much as I hate Horikoshi’s handling of him. it’s very annoying and frustrating that we’re still dealing with comically perverted tropey characters in 2020, and that it isn’t seen as anything serious, and that people will defend it and be all “oh lighten up” and insist that it’s no big deal. even if Mineta always gets hit with some kind of immediate and deserved retaliation for his attempted gropes and such, it’s still very telling of the culture that it’s portrayed as a nuisance or an unavoidable occupational hazard, rather than sexual fucking harassment. I feel like we ought to be long past the point of this being something to joke about, but yet here we are.

anyway that turned into a rant, but having said all that, I guess it’s kind of weird but I have a tendency to try and separate this phenomenon from Mineta’s actual character nowadays. like, rather than “Mineta did something perverted”, I perceive it more as “Horikoshi wrote Mineta doing something perverted again.” he is a victim of the author treating him as a vessel to pour all of his dumb horny energy into, rather than treating him as an actual character. I guess what I’m trying to say is I don’t hate Mineta because I’m constantly wishing that we would get to see him portrayed as an actual character with a personality beyond just “I really like boobs.” he has an interesting quirk, and the potential is/was there to have him be a character who at first just wanted to become a hero for superficial reasons like money and fame, but over the course of the series gradually grows as a person and becomes someone who genuinely wants to help others. that’s the kind of character I think he could be if Horikoshi wasn’t constantly beating the “guess what, Mineta’s still a perv!! so funny!!” horse, which was in fact dead on arrival and never funny to begin with. anyway so I’m not sure if any of that makes sense but oh well.

so now getting back to the original topic of “characters I dislike”, the other two besides Re-Destro are Overhaul, and Stain. and there are a lot of reasons I dislike them, but I guess probably the biggest one is that in both of their cases, they’re characters who are treated within the story as being super charismatic to the point of inspiring fanatical devotion in a ton of people, and I guess I just don’t really see that at all, myself. like, for Stain, everyone in-canon kept going on about how even if they didn’t agree with his ideas, they all found him super intimidating and compelling. and I kind of got the impression that we the readers were supposed to have this impression of him too, except that I just didn’t. at all, lmao. to me he just came off as very annoying and hypocritical and child-murdery. I felt like it was a total swing and miss as far as the attempt to build him up into a character where we could see where he was coming from and empathize with his ideals even if we didn’t agree with his methods.

basically I dislike him because to me he fails at hitting the marks for either “likable as a character/person”, or “admirable as far as being well-written and serving an important function in the story.” he does serve an important function in the story, mind you, but that’s part of the problem -- that someone who serves as this huge catalyst and is in a way responsible for the creation of the LoV reads to me as such a hollow and disappointing shell of a character, and we’re basically just forced to accept that he’s the type of person capable of attracting this huge cult following. however, pretty much all of this is totally subjective and YMMV and that’s fine! like if you happen to be a big Stain fan or whatever THAT IS FINE lol, this is all just my own dumb opinion.

and with Overhaul it’s pretty similar to Stain I guess. except that with him, you also couple in the fact that almost right from the start we already know that he is torturing a little girl (and I mean like literal torture?!), and has absolutely no problem with that. and the thing is, as soon as that’s revealed, there is basically no coming back from that. this is never going to be a sympathetic character. this is never going to be someone the audience is ever going to look at and be like “okay, but otherwise he’s actually a really nice guy” or even “this sad thing in his past makes me feel sorry for him.” because bro. he is torturing a little girl. and manipulating her and gaslighting her into thinking she deserves it, and keeping her locked in a cell in the basement, and only interacting with her when it’s time to torture her some more. THIS ISN’T A NICE GUY. THIS GUY IS SUPER DUPER EVIL AND BAD.

which would be absolutely fine if, like Ujiko, he was treated as someone we were supposed to find repulsive! but then Horikoshi for some reason started giving us all these flashbacks showing his various lackeys being “saved” by him and them being all “he was the only person who gave my life any meaning even though he clearly treats me like garbage” for whatever reason (I mean, ??? this is still inexplicable to me). and then later on giving us these childhood flashbacks of him trying to explain that in his mind what he was doing made sense, and he had convinced himself it was all for his boss’s sake, and so in a strange and deeply fucked up way it was out of love for him, and so forth. and that just did not gel with me at all. like, I can respect the attempt to try and make him a more fleshed-out character, but at the same time, you showed him torturing a little girl. do you think we’re really going to feel sorry for him?? or that (in the case of the flashback where he was implied to have put his boss into a coma) we really needed to see yet more examples of how terrible of a person he was? anyway so to me his flashbacks felt like just more dragging-out in an already-dragged-out arc, and more or less fell flat in terms of expanding his character. like, yes, he’s a sociopath, we already got that. we figured it out. we’re good.

again though, it’s subjective! others may have found him a more compelling character, and have been more receptive to Horikoshi’s attempt to give him a backstory and provide more context for his actions! and that’s fine. but for me, it was just a big No all around, and I can’t say I was particularly sorry about his ultimate fate at the end of the arc. definitely ranks among my top ten limb amputations in a series which is surprisingly rife with them. anyways! so thus concludes my unnecessarily long post about my disliked BnHA characters. I’m just glad the series is good enough that there are only three, haha.

[astertataricvs]

Akaza x Reader || Nostalgia

"Hey, miss, want to come with us?"

"P-Please let m-me go."

Akaza was peacefully walking through the alleyway of the Kabukicho district until he heard voices coming ahead of him. As he ambles towards the unknown voices, he saw two men cornering a girl who was coughing constantly.

"Huh? But it's a shame if you won't go with us. It will be fun, I assure you," he whispered in your ear maniacally while your eyes shut closed.

You don't like being cornered on the wall especially by some random guys who are desperate to keep their hands under the women's skirts. Although you wanted to punch their faces and pummel them into the ground but in your state ー you cannot.

Since you were born, you have a very vulnerable body and you're easy to get sick. Although you're really a sarcastic woman who likes to burn them with your words, you can't do it since you don't want them to pick on you any further due to you having a frail body. Now, these bastards were trying to get in your pants, well it's your fault in the first place for walking around during the evening, specifically that you live within the area of Kabukicho. What do you expect of the district who has lots of repugnant men lurking around until the sun rises?

Ahh, you really could be an idiot sometimes.

"P-Please, I n-need to go."

'You disgusting fuckers! Let go of me or I'll smash your butts on the ground and kick your balls so you won't ever impregnate anyone! These motherfuckers!' If only you can say it out loud, why do you have to be born with such a weak body? Although you don't want this and didn't wish for it, it still fated to you ever since you were inside your mother's womb.

Speaking of mothers, you grew up being an orphan and was adopted by an old woman who's living all by herself. She doesn't have any relatives to count on due to her one and only daughter died because of her illness. Thus her husband deserted her for some prostitute in the district.

You really pity her for enduring that kind of depressing moments. She had a hard time sustaining those painful circumstances that occurred in her life. That's why she's beyond pleased when she raised you and be her own daughter despite that you're not related by blood. You're really grateful to her for taking you in the garbage when you're still a baby, though you know you're trash yourself.

"Don't be so fussy, miss, we're being good guys here inviting you over to a very fun place," he snorted that makes you scrunch your face in disgust.

Surprisingly, the tall guy grasped your wrist causing you to stumble forward because of his dynamic attempt of dragging you with them. Striving to struggle from his hold was all in vain, your body was too frail to even break free from his clutch. Although you wanted to kick him in the balls, you couldn't since forcing yourself to do things that are beyond of your body's strength can cripple your health. Also, your coughing fits were preventing you to struggle with much of your strength.

Meanwhile, at Akaza, he was annoyed that humans were blocking his way. Should he kill them at once? However, he was disrupted from his adverse thoughts when he saw you coughing strenuously while struggling to break free from the grip of perverted men. Perceiving you from trying to release yourself, a wave of nostalgia lingers through his wellbeing.

A sudden of shockwaves struck his mind and paused for a moment. It feels déjà vu for him but, he has no clue about what it was. Is it his memories when he once was a human? Oh, how he doesn't want to remember it anymore whether it's a pleasant one. He already had a new life so he shouldn't dig any more to his past. He felt his head throb and felt livid at the same time, seeing those men forcing a frail woman to come with them seriously pisses him off. However, he shouldn't concern himself with a human right? He's a demon and he doesn't like humans who are weak, he despises the weak, specifically that you're the perfect illustration of what he resent the most.

On the contrary, his guts told him to save you from those men despite that he really doesn't want to aid you because of pity. He solely doesn't like humans blocking his path and their repulsive action aggravates him. To be precise, he wanted to annihilate and devour them this instant even you, if only you weren't a woman. He has this kind of perception that he dislikes killing or eating any woman he would come across. Even though Douma encourages him to eat women because they have more nutrients inside their body, he still refuses to eat and kill them.

Sighing, he ambles closer to the men and you. "Oi," Akaza meddled and before the men can look at him, the demon already kicked their bodies onto the wall with an unhuman strength causing their spines to crack and make them unconscious.

You, who watched the scene only gawked in astonishment and your jaw fell to the ground. Seeing the crack of the wall just because of a kick really amazes you yet terrified. You swiftly gaze at the man in front of you with wide eyes. As your eyes landed on his figure, you noticed the trail of lines imprinted on his body and he's fair as fuck! He's paler than you! Also what stands the most about him are his pink hair and blue eyes ー wait! You can see his fine abs! What a sight to behold!

"What the hell are you looking at?" His voice snapped you out from your fantasies and quickly looked at him in the eye.

"A-Ah! N-Nothing!" Then afterwards, you cough again.

Oh, how you despise yourself when you're coughing so much that it bothers everyone surrounding you, to their point of view, they don't want to get closer to you considering you might have a contagious illness running in your blood that can ruin their health. It's not your fault for having such a weak body!

"You do realize that you're in the red light district, right? You shouldn't wander around during the night if you don't want anything nasty to happen to you," he deadpanned before turning his heels to leave you behind.

"W-Wait!" You called out which you successfully caught his attention. Akaza peered over his shoulder and raised his eyebrow.

"Thank you," you sincerely said then beamed him a tender smile. Momentarily, you felt light-headed and your breath ragged all of a sudden. Then subsequently, darkness consumes you and didn't know what happened after.

•••

You were awakened by the cold gust of wind gush through your body. Groggily fluttering your eyes open, instead of seeing your dull cream coloured room, you saw shimmering stars above the cold night. Seconds of staring at the exquisite scenery, you realized that you fainted earlier when the enigmatic man saved you from those bastards.

"You're finally awake." You hastily whipped your head at the man who saved you earlier.

"A-Ah, where am I?" You asked with fear. Even though he's your saviour, you're still cautious of him. What if he's one of those bad guys whose lurking around the busy streets?

Also what made you alarmed is that he's body was printed in lines like a typical thug you always encountered in the streets. But despite him looking like a thug, he really has handsome features that every woman wants for a man.

"We're on the roof," he answered you to which your mouth fell open.

"E-Eh?!" You quickly sat up from your lying position and you found out that you're really on a roof. You can spot the people walking underneath you, not noticing your presence which only above them.

"W-Why are we here?" You queried and the man gives you a side glance before answering you.

"Do you prefer sleeping on that alleyway where hundreds of perverts passing by or here where no one can touch you? Choose."

"But you can book a room in a hotel, there are lots of here actually," you countered and Akaza glared daggers at what you asserted.

"Do you really think I would do that? What are you? A spoiled princess who can get all the things that she wants?" He snorted causing you to sweatdropped at his harsh reply.

Deliberating your answer earlier, you apprehended that your statement was actually rude and really self-indulgent. Since when did you start being selfish? You're not that kind of person.

"Thank you for saving me earlier, I owe you a lot," you said your gratitude to him as you bowed in front of him.

Akaza merely stared at you then scoffed. "If only you're not a woman, I can kill you this instant," he threatened which give chills through your spine. You can sense the intimidating aura he gives and how his fiery eyes pierced right into your soul.

His appearance really does intimidating, although you just met him today; you can feel the confidence he gives off and you're cognizant that he's indeed strong after you beheld how he handled those men with just a kick of his. In spite of knowing how dangerous this man was; you can feel that he's not that bad just like how his appearance seems to be. Your instincts said so and you can't help but trust this man in front of you even you don't know his entire personality.

Unbeknownst to you, the men who tried to harass you beforehand was killed and eaten by him just like how he usually does to every single person that he comes across to.

"I'm sorry if I caused you trouble, I was just going back home but they abruptly blocked my way," you spoke, not looking at Akaza beside you.

The upper demon glanced at you before darting his eyes at the people walking by. "I'm not interested in hearing how you almost harassed by those assholes, it's your own imbecility that leads you from that predicament."

You weakly smiled. "Is it stupid to buy some medicine for your health in order for you to live longer?"

Akaza's body stiffened upon hearing your statement. Gradually, he turned his head to gaze at you who has this kind smile crept on your face and coughing for a moment.

"I have a frail body and I can get easily sick. I don't know how did I even live for this long despite that my body can't keep up any longer," you explained in a gentle tone. "I was thinking of scenarios of how my mother took care of me when I was still inside his womb. I don't even have any idea who she was and I was adopted by an old woman who was passing by on that day then found me in the trash. She's the one who raised me up to this day despite that I can no longer live that long."

Akaza only listened at your storytelling and didn't bother to look at you. He can hear you sniff and how your voice wavered in every sentence you say. He doesn't even know himself to why he's still staying with the likes of you who he despises the most. He should be elsewhere right now, trying to find some human to hunt and eat. But his conjectured plan was interrupted when he stumbles upon a weakling like you.

He was keenly listening to you that really made him baffle. Why is he staying with you? He can't point out to why but he has this sense of nostalgia crawling through his body. Akaza was agitated, it frustrates him why he's suddenly feeling this kind of emotion. He also felt it earlier when he saw you being harassed by those bastards. Although he digs dipper into his memories, he still can't. The enigmatic sensations he was feeling has still settled.

Akaza resembles you to someone he knows but he can't decipher who it was. His mind was in full chaos just because he met a weakling runt.

"I-I'm sorry if I suddenly confide about my past with you, it's just that... I feel I can trust you even though we just met," you bashfully said as you tilt your head to the side for him not to see your flustered face.

Akaza stared at you for half a minute before responding. "Why do you even trust someone like me? You don't know who I am and mostly, you don't know what I'm capable of," he grimly remarked as he spins your body to face him and leaned his face closer to you, intently looking into your eyes.

You gasped at his sudden move and breath hitched due to the close proximity of you having.

Now that you can see him up close, you discovered that his eyes were a shade of yellow and there's a writing that says upper moon three. You were bewildered to why he has writings in his eyes but... amidst, you were mesmerized to his eyes. Studying his facial features, you deemed how gorgeous this man was even there are blue marks surrounding his body. His eyelashes have the same colour as his hair. His appearance really is peculiar for someone living in Japan but, you can't help but be stunned at how beautiful this man in front of you as if your eyes were blessed or something.

Staying in that position, you subconsciously, glided your hands on his pale cheeks. This causes Akaza to snap out from his trance and menacingly glared at you. However, you weren't even terrified of how the way he sinisterly looked at you. The only reason why you still had the tenacity to hold him like this is because of his enthralling eyes that you can't avoid your gaze at it.

"You're really beautiful," you absentmindedly said.

Akaza's lips separated to what you had told him. He didn't expect that someone will say such pleasant words to him despite that he's a demon. He killed thousands of people and eat them, hence, he doesn't deserve that complimenting word you just spout. He wants to pull his body, however, half of him wants to feel the warmth you're giving him on his cheeks. For some unidentified reason, he felt comfort in between your hands. he felt this kind of sensation before, but when?

"Oi," he called to which you blink your eyes several times and return to your senses.

When you realized that you're holding his cheeks, your face steamed in embarrassment and frantically removed your hands on his visage.

"I-I'm sorry! I didn't intend to--"

"What's your name?" He abruptly asked.

"Eh?" You blink, still not processing his words.

"I said what is your name?" His voice becomes stern.

"(Name)! (Name) (Last name)! But you can call me, (Name)," you piped and Akaza nodded in acknowledgement.

Then to your surprise, the pink-haired man carried you bridal style and jumped on the roof to descend on the ground. The people passing by was surprised at the sudden appearance of you and him and afterwards, Akaza releases you.

"You should go home, I don't want to save your sorry ass again," he spat which causes you to chuckle.

"Gladly, but wait, what's your name before we depart."

"Akaza," he simply said and you hummed.

"Okay, Akaza-san, thank you for saving my butt there. I hope we can meet again." You bestow him your tender smile then the said man elicits a scoff before turning his back at you.

"Whatever." Was all he said before disappearing into thin air.

You gasped in shock when he suddenly vanished in front of you. You wandered your eyes in order to see the man but he was nowhere in sight.

Meanwhile, at Akaza, he was on the roof of one of the buildings in Kabukicho while watching you searching for him. Clicking his tongue, he decided to go back where Muzan and the other upper demons at. Before he departs, he glances at your figure who's now walking through the streets to return to your home.

"Okay, Akaza-san, thank you for saving my butt there. I hope we can meet again."

The upper demon replayed your statement earlier. Absentmindedly, the side of his lips curved upwards.

"Surely we'll meet again, (Name), until I find the answers of these nostalgic feelings I'm feeling," he said to himself thus started to return back to their hideout.

[blakelywintersfield]

Aromantic? Alloromantic? Roman'tic?

Aromantic -- to have no romantic attraction to people. Think “butterflies in your stomach”, the “I want to build a life with this person / these people in it forever”, that “live with this person and have a family together” kind of feelings. Romantic-type feelings. It's also an umbrella term like asexual is. Some people that identify as aromantic may be grey-aromantic / greyromantic (romantic attraction is extremely rare and very unlikely to happen, but there is a very slim chance it could). Some people are demi-romantic (only feel romantic attraction after a very deep platonic / sexual / etc. bond is formed). Some aromantics are romance-positive, meaning they are comfortable with romantic things around them, discussing romantic things, being romantic with others (even if they don’t feel romantic feelings), etc. There are also romance-repulsed aromantics, that dislike romantic subjects being talked about around them, do not wish to participate in romantic activities, etc. This can go into the Split Attraction Model (or SAM), which I‘ll explain last. Alloromantic - The opposite of aromantic! Just like allosexual is the opposite of asexual. Alloromantic refers to people who experience romantic attraction at a societally considered “normal” level (thus not necessarily including grey-aromantic / demiromantic people). If you’re not under the aro umbrella, you’re alloromantic! Roman'tic -- a song by Britpop artist John Helix. Split Attraction Model (or SAM) - Just as everyone has a sexuality, everyone has a romantic orientation too! The majority of people’s sexuality and romantic orientation is the same, so they tend to just use a singular label (straight, gay, lesbian, bi, poly, pan, omni, etc.). However, not everyone’s sexual and romantic orientations line up, so some people use the Split Attraction Model, or SAM for short. People who are asexual may just say they’re ace and bi, or an ace lesbian because it’s implied that, if they’re ace (asexual), then obviously that second label is the romantic attraction. Some people are on the opposite, where they’ll say they’re pan and aro, or an aro gay because the second label then implies the sexual orientation. And still, there are others who are neither ace nor aro who use the SAM! I personally know an individual who is pansexual, but gyneromantic (only attracted to women -- they’re also nonbinary and I don’t know if they’re comfortable being referred to as a lesbian still so I’m going to avoid it just in case). They have literally dated cis and trans men and women, and nonbinary folks too, and have only felt a romantic attraction to women. Sometimes this can be a result of trauma -- which in no way invalidates a person’s orientation. Others just... don’t feel romantic attraction towards certain genders. And that’s okay! Just like some people don’t feel sexual attraction towards certain genders. The SAM was introduced by the ace and aro community but extends to all who wish to use it. Not all ace and aro people use the SAM, too -- some people are fine staying under just one label, and they are completely within their rights to do so.

Hope this helps!

[gccdnews]

Did you see JESSICA DREW from MARVEL walking around Limbo? The CISFEMALE looks like ALICIA VIKANDER, and is NINETY SEVEN years old. I’ve heard she can be VIRTUOUS & WITTY but also COCKSURE & REACTIVE. When I think of them I think of HELPING THE INNOCENT BY HOSPITALIZING THE GUILTY, RAISING SPIDER-BABY, THE GREATEST QUIPS OF ALL TIME BITCHCAKES. They’ve been here WITHOUT their memories as an PI & FIGHTER at BAKER STREET INVESTIGATIONS & UNDERGROUND FIGHT CLUB for SIX MONTHS. I heard they’re seeking a sanctum.

// whew. jess has a history™. it's long af and spans nearly a century so im not gonna go into crazy detail, but it's still lengthy. and i'm also gonna modify just a bit to fit in with the mcu for plotting reasons and stuff. if you don’t really care about her full history then there’s some bullet points toward the bottom.

she was born in england in 1924 and brought as a small child to the transia (it's a small, fictional slavic country) where her father was conducting research. unfortunately due to her being a small child, she contracted uranium poisoning from her father's work and had to be placed in a cryogenic chamber and treated with radiation and a highly experimental serum derived from the blood/genes of various species of spider.

she spent decades in stasis, educated subliminally with special tapes. when she was finally awakened she had only aged into her early teens, but she'd developed superhuman abilities.

grew up, moved away, met a dude, fell in love, then accidentally killed him with her powers. so yeah that kinda torments her still to this day. well, when she still remembered it anyway.

got recruited into hydra who she was led to believe were the good guys, had her memories suppressed, was told the high evolutionary basically a "god" figure, idek evolved her from a spider into a human woman, had an agent pretend to fall in love with her, etc etc. basically got gaslit and brainwashed into becoming a high ranking member until she was put out on a field assignment and told to assassinate nick fury. during the mission he told her what hydra really was and she dropped their asses.

got her memories back from mordred the mystic, then lived in a shitty apartment in london for a while. ended up breaking into a convenience store across the street at one point to get some food, but got noticed by shield agent jerry hunt who pretty much hounded her until she dyed her hair and created a secret identity to hide from him

did the hero thing for a while, moved to l.a., dated jerry, became a bounty hunter, moved to san francisco, became a p.i., superhero'd some more, met carol danvers 😍

went on a mission to finally take down longtime archenemy morgan le fay, and did so, but not before some morgan did some magic shit and separated her soul from her body ?? so she goes to the sorcerer magnus and has him cast a spell to make everyone who ever met her forget she existed.

not long later she was found and revived by two hero pals, breaking the spell, but she was left comatose. dr strange gets involved, abra cadabra, jess ain't a cadava'. but she is however, powerless.

continued working as a p.i. until an encounter with the new spider-woman mattie franklin somehow restored her powers, which came back slowly and were very unstable. meets jessica jones, accidentally zaps tf out of her, then works with her to save the new spider-woman.

eventually struck a deal with hydra to spy within shield so she could get her powers back but the skrull queen veranke was behind it and manipulating her so she could learn to perfectly impersonate jessica. jess ended up held captive for two years aboard a skrull spaceship while veranke took her place.

she and the rest of the captives got saved but because of the havoc veranke wreaked, she didn't exactly receive a warm welcome back.

spent some time rebuilding her reputation until she was invited to join the avengers (for avengers 1 in the mcu, let's say). they did some good work and she eventually fell for clint/hawkeye. they dated a while but things went sideways when he cheated on her (but obvs that's subject to change depending on who picks him up, just leaving that in for now bc it seems kinda noteworthy).

skipping comic spider-verse stuff bc how does that work with the rp, idek.

left the avengers after that and mostly stayed out of their business so she wasn't around for ultron or civil war and instead got back to her roots with some good ol fashioned p.i. work. may have crossed paths with the defenders and other street level heroes during this period.  

then of course, came the snap. jess was one of the ones that vanished. using this instead of her death during secret wars in the comics. when everyone came back she joined all the others to fight thanos and damn right she was part of that moment with all the female heroes like she should have fucking been irl.

when things settled down after y'know, dying, she realized that she wanted to be a mother and raise a child, and almost never got that chance. instead of waiting, she got herself artificially inseminated. which was good too tbh because like, look at her luck with men and imagine getting stuck in one of those relationships she'd been in so far. way better off doing it on her own smh

got invited to an alpha flight maternity ward by her captain marvel but when she went there it ended up getting overrun by skrulls and being super fucking pregnant she called carol for help, but the maternity ward was apparently in a black hole?? bc ofc it was lol. so jess protected all the women there, had an emergency c-section to give birth to her son gerry, then popped right off the table to finish kicking skrull ass. carol got there just in time for jess to collapse into her arms after the fight. headcanon — there was always a crush there but this was the moment jess fell hard.

had a liiittle teensy falling out with carol tho so she ended up kissing roger gocking/porcupine right in front of her during a battle that ended up repairing their friendship. then she went on to have a party announcing she and roger were dating but lbr she did most of this sub/consciously hoping to get a rise out of carol. but her spider-baby ended up crawling out a window and roger was the one to find and save him and there were some actual feelings there too, so. complicated. she kind of distanced herself from everything else to focus on p.i. work and raising her son.

not much later, jess realized her radiation immunity was gone and her powers were killing her, so she had roger take gerry to an upstate farm in case her condition could potentially harm her son, then set out on the search for a cure. that search of course, leading her to limbo city, nevada.

upon her arrival however, her memories quickly started to fade and by the time she woke up the next morning she had no specific recollection of memories. just innate and instinctive knowledge like her emotions toward people she was familiar with, emotional trauma that manifests mostly in her dreams, maternal instincts/yearning, her abilities both physical and learned, her interests and likes/dislikes, etc. things that come naturally to her, for the most part.

interestingly though, the town’s magic seems to have cured her??

gonna say she speaks english, romanian, german, hungarian, symkarian, russian, bulgarian, polish and spanish fluently, and knows a bit about a number of other languages.

incredibly intelligent, she is after all the daughter of a genius, raised among scientists conducting research, and her knowledge/intelligence was only maximized by her stasis education tapes.

exudes a high concentration of pheromones that can attract or repulse people, to put it simply. and ignore the original heteronormative connotations bc women aren't typically the ones she wants to repulse, and men arent always the ones she wants to attract. it's difficult to control but she learned over the years. even now without her memories she has innate control over it, but if she manages to work up a sweat (which isn't all that easy for her tbh) or misses a shower or two, well… it's gonna kick in.

she probably can't do it anymore in limbo because she can't remember how, but with her pheromones she learned to control them so well she was able to elicit fear, anxiety, attraction, hatred, pleasure, etc. and even used them to convince the hulk to make her a sandwich once.

fucking loves butter. she's been known to eat the stuff straight up. and a lot of it. lucky thing she has a spider-metabolism.

hc: she loves making puns, especially spider related ones. she also likes to annoy her spider-friends by spider-throwing the word spider in front of everything though it's obviously a joke, unlike in her cartoon where im pretty sure she was dead serious lol

hates rats. so much. she will tear down a whole skrull army but if one shapeshifts into a rat it's over okay, she already lost.

allergic to flerkens. which is great for visiting her bestie/crush, and her pet flerken chewie.

still has her suit but hasn’t worn it yet in limbo. she found it under her bed a couple days after “waking up” in limbo but put it right back because she figured it was probably some weird sex thing and maybe wasn’t even hers so, gross, yknow?

[sweetwritertanya]

Dormant Heart (Part 2)

Summary: You get closer to the strange Dormant as you try to figure out why he was different from the rest. Close enough to risk the somewhat peaceful life you had now in order to protect him.

Warnings: still a lot of fluff! May change in the next part, though.

Word Count: 4006

The next time you went to the underground cells, you took your sweet time before reaching the end of the hallway, where the last cell imprisoned the bizarre Dormant that spoke to you. You walked very slowly, trying to make the least amount of sound possible. Searching frantically inside the cell to see where he was, you found him sitting at a corner, looking at the wall.

You had tried to do some research, to find out more about Dormants and if they were able of speech and understanding. Everything pointed towards no, the virus being too strong and destructive. However, you were smart enough to know that the scientist didn’t have all the answers yet, that maybe there were some exceptions. Like the boy on the other side of the metal bars.

When you moved further into the room, his glassed hazel eyes moved to your plump figure and you watched in amazement as he got up from where he was, moving closer to the bars, a smile tugging his chapped lips. You had never heard of a Dormant smiling before.

“Y/N…” he sighed, hands curling around the metal bars.

You crossed your arms under your chest, tilting your head as you scrunched your eyes at him.

“For how long have you been able to talk?” you demanded to know.

It was his turn to tilt his head, confused look on his face, eyebrows coming together above the bridge of his nose. Really, if it wasn’t for the abnormal blueish pale skin and glazed eyes, he would look like a normal human.

“No… know” he confessed.

“Okay… Then, can you tell me your name?” you pressed, trying to gather more information from him and seeing how far you could push him. “I’ve told you mine, it’s only fair you tell me yours.”

His eyes seemed to move slightly to the side of your head instead of your eyes, as if he was trying to remember. When he focused back on you, it was a disappointed expression he had as he shook his head, eyes falling to your feet.

“You can’t remember?” your voice was softer now, subconsciously trying to soothe him. “You can remember my name but don’t know your own?”

Again, he shook his head. You felt bad for him, having lost something that was so intrinsically personal. People had lost a lot during these past couple of years, but your name was something no one could take away.

“It’s okay. Can you remember anything at all? Where you came from? Why you were at the bridge? Who you were?” You tried to entice any memory from him, but he just shook his head.

Exhaling deeply, you sat down in the middle of the room, facing the cell but with a good distance in between you two. The boy moved to sit too, leaning his face against the bars as he stared at you.

“You said you don’t talk with Ralph. Why not?” you questioned, crossing your ankles below your hands.

“Only Y/N” he answered.

“But why?” you persisted.

“Y/N pretty” he stated, as if it was obvious.

You chuckled dryly at that, rolling your eyes and shaking your head.

“Yeah, right. Either the virus messed with your eye-sight or you just don’t remember what the other girls look like.”

You saw him frown again, pouting his lips slightly at your words.

“Y/N pretty” he repeated himself.

“I’m way too tired for this” you murmured, laying down with your back to the floor, gazing at the ceiling. “I haven’t slept at all because of you. Trying to figure out why you are different” you told him. “I thought about telling the people in the labs, but…” you turned your head to look at his sitting form, conflicted feelings bubbling up “If I did, they would probably take you and do all sorts of experiments with you. And I know how that ended up for the other Dormants.”

Feeling the exhaustion take over you, your eyelids covered your eyes and you fell asleep. What could have been minutes or hours later, you woke up feeling cold. Sleeping on the floor was not the best when it came to warmth. You shivered and rolled to your side, lazily opening your eyes, feeling like you could sleep for a more couple of hours.

When your eyes focused, your foggy brain registered the sight before you. The man had laid in the floor of his cell too, facing you, an arm stretching beyond the cell bars in your direction, extending his fingers the most he could, half-closed glassy eyes staring longingly at you.

Although he was nowhere close to touching you, for you still had about two feet distance on him, the rational side of you knew you should get up and step back, urging him to recoil back to his cell. However, maybe because you were still sleepy, or maybe because you had a hard time recognizing the man in front of you was dangerous in any way, you found yourself raising your arm and, with as much carefulness as you could muster in this situation, brushing the tip of your index finger with the tip of his middle one.

He gasped loudly, closing his eyes momently only for him to open them wide after, hazel eyes burning into yours. He struggled to stretch his arm and fingers even closer, although he was at max level already.

“Y-Y/N…” he whispered roughly. “More.”

You came to your senses and pulled your arm back, earning a displeasured groan from him.

“No” you said firmly.

“Why? Y/N, more.” He was basically whining, pressing himself to the bars to get as close as he could. You should really be a bit afraid now, but you weren’t. You remained laying on your side, observing him.

“Because you can kill me.” You weren’t sure if you were responding to him or just reminding yourself of what was at stake here.

“Never” was his automatic response, stopping his fruitlessly movements to stare deeply into your eyes. “Never hurt Y/N.”

“You say that now, but if I got closer the virus would force you to attack me. It would be out of your control.”

“Never” he persisted, a determined expression. “I prove. I prove, Y/N. Touch.”

He turned his hand so his palm was facing up, in invitation. You cursed your hammering heart, finding it so tempting to just graze your fingers against his pale skin. But you stood your ground, knowing it would be close to suicidal to give in to his wishes. For all you knew, it could be the virus speaking, trying to get you within reach.

“I can’t trust a Dormant, I’m sorry” you said, still feeling guilty.

A pained look came over his face and he pulled his arm back, still on his side facing you. You put your hands under your head, allowing yourself to take in the strange specimen in front of you. His eyes were jumping in between yours, a distracted look behind them.

“Liam” he suddenly said, much to your confusion.

“What?”

“My name… Liam” he explained to the best of his abilities. You sat up at that, parted lips looking in amazement at him. Following your lead, he sat back up again too, eyes never leaving yours. “No trust Dormant. Trust Liam.”

You smiled warmly at him, somehow feeling incredibly proud he remembered his name.

“Well, Liam, it’s very nice to meet you.”

For the next two months, you tried to pry into Liam’s memories, hoping for him to remember something else about himself and where he came from. Unfortunately, he was unable to recall anything more besides his name. He did, however, slowly recover his speech, still talking with a bit of difficulty but clearer.

You did, nevertheless, managed to figure out a few of his personal interests and likes and dislikes based on his reactions and requests. You learned that he liked books too, or at least he liked the stories. Whenever you opened your book to read, he asked for you to read out loud, so he could listen. He made a repulsed face at some of the food that was brought to him, mostly if it had carrots or peas. So, you started taking those out before giving him his tray. He listened to every word you said, no matter how boring your day was, he always listened like it was a new fairytale for him and remembered everything about it.

One day, you were putting on your booths, already on your cargo pants and white t-shirt with a camouflage jacket on top, protecting you from the cold weather, when your brother knocked on your door and entered with a big smile on his face.

“Y/N! Good news, I’m taking you with me on a trip” he announced, smugly.

“What?” You frowned, completely confused. “John, I’m starting my shift in the cells in fifteen minutes, I can’t-”

“No worries. You have been doing so well, I decided to spoil you and got someone to cover you for the next three days” he explained, coming to sit next to you on your bed. “We found this awesome spot not too far from here, no zombies nearby. You are going to love it, it’s like an oasis” he assured you, bumping into your shoulder.

You thoughts immediately turned to Liam, your heart clenching at the thought of leaving him for three days. But John was smiling at you with such pride, the way he used to before the apocalypse and you just couldn’t say no. It was like having your older brother back.

He made you pack a few clothes and took you under his arm to the truck he was driving. You were a bit disappointed when you saw that it wasn’t just you two, like you hoped. Two more guys and a girl were going too. But you tried to smile and enjoy yourself anyway.

It was, in fact, a beautiful space that they had found. It was next to a waterfall, surrounded by nature, where no zombies would go in search of humans. You declined your brother’s invite to swim with them, being too cold in your opinion and also feeling self-conscious of your body next to all of them, who were in perfect shape. Instead, you walked around the waterfall and eventually found a deep cave behind the water. You would have explored it if it wasn’t your last day there, meaning you had to get ready to go back to the city.

With their hairs still a bit wet from the dive, they were all surrounding the front of the truck as you placed your bags on the back.

“So, it failed. But we seem to be getting close” the girl said.

“If it dies, how is that getting close?” one of the boys asked.  

“Even if it was just for a few seconds, the virus did receded. The brain waves came back to almost normal levels and the heart started beating again. Just a few more tests and we may have a cure” the girl continued.

“Or you’ll end up killing all the Dormants and we’ll have to start experimenting on real people” the other guy said, skeptic.

That perked up your interest, your attention now focused solely on them as you pretended to go through your backpack.

“Don’t be so pessimistic. Anyway, we need a young subject for the next experiment, we think it may be able to withstand the intrusion of the solution better than an older Dormant. So we are probably using the one you guys found a few months ago” she said.

Your heart sank to your feet. She was referring to Liam. He was the youngest Dormant in the cells, one of the few left. They were going to start their experimentations on him. They would probably kill him.

“Hey, Y/N, are you okay?”

Your head snapped up at the sound of your brother’s voice, wide eyes staring at his concerned ones. Trying to mask your panic, you twitched a smile at him and did your best to maintain your voice calm.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just sad we have to leave so soon” you lied. All you wanted was to go back to the city as soon as possible. You had to go and see Liam.

“Don’t worry. I’ll bring you here as often as I can, deal?” he offered, ruffling the top of your head.

“Sure, deal” you agreed, getting inside the van, hoping everyone would follow your lead and get in too.

The trip back seemed longer than normal, your hands clenching and unclenching the fabric of your jacket, nerves making you slightly nauseous. When you entered the city, you almost jumped out of the moving truck and quickly got your stuff.

“What’s the rush, Y/N?” Your brother seemed frustrated at you.

“Hum… Toilet! I need to go real bad, sorry!” you lied again, breaking a bit of your heart that you were deceitful to your brother. But it was not like you could tell him the truth.

You went into your building, feeling John’s eyes follow you all the way, and opened your room just to leave your bags. You then went out the backdoor, running through the city until you made it to the underground cells. Knocking on the metal gate, Ralph opened it up for you.

“Hey, I still have another four hours on my shift” he informed you.

“That’s okay. Consider this a thank you for allowing me to have the last three days off” you persuaded him. He smiled and handed you the keys and gun, much to your relief. You could not wait another four hours to see Liam.

“They already ate for today. Well, all except for the new one on the last cell. That one as refused to eat for the last days” he told you, concern overtaking you again.

You bid him goodbye and, after closing the gate, basically bee-lined to the end of the hallway, going straight to Liam’s cell. Panting from the run, you watched his lying frame, pushed against the wall of his cell, facing away from you.

“L-Liam…” you called, softly.

His body tensed up at the sound of your voice. Carefully, slowly, he sat up. But he didn’t move to turn your way.

“Liam” you called again. You noticed the tray next to his cell’s door, the food all still on the plate. “You need to eat, Liam, I told you before-”

“Left” he interrupted, his voice lower than usual, breaking your heart just a bit further. “You left” he articulated better.

He finally turned your way, only for you to see the anger and hurt beyond his glasses eyes. Liam had never, ever, been mad at you. But he was now. And you couldn’t blame him. You felt selfish for going on the trip, leaving him behind when you knew you were the only person he talked to. In his eyes, you just stopped showing up for three whole days, the only human interaction he had. It was unrealistic of you to think you could just come back like nothing happened.

Taking a deep breath, knowing you needed to have his full trust in order to protect him from what was coming, you stepped closer to his cell. You needed to trust him too.

His eyes widened at your simple action. This was closer than you have ever been to his cell. He stood up and walked to the bars, watching silently as you stepped closer again.

“I need you to trust me on what I’m about to say, Liam. I’ll never leave you” you confessed, close enough that if he raised his arm he could touch you.

“Trust me?” he asked, you nodding in response.

Twitching cold fingers stretched up past the bars of his cell, nervously brushing against the skin of your hand. You trembled slightly at the contact, but didn’t miss the way he shuddered as well, breath hitching on his throat and eyes rolling back before he closed them, pressing his forehead against one of the metal bars.

“Y/N…” he breathed out, opening his eyes to your shy face. “More” he asked, hand making its way up your arm, tongue sticking out to lick his lips.

He was about to touch your cheek when you stepped back, resulting in a whine from him, frowning at the distance you increased.

“Eat, Liam. You need your strengths” you asked him, keeping your restless hands behind your back. Truth be told, you were a bit scared. Not of him killing you, for he would have done that already if that was the case. But of how much you liked the feeling of his digits on your skin.

“No. Want to touch more” he shared, stretching his arm towards you. Biting your lip, you tried to reach a consensus.

“If you eat first” you decided.

Grunting, Liam bent down and picked the bread on the tray, giving it a big bite as he looked back at you in defiance. You laughed at his childish behavior, sitting in front of him with your legs beneath you. Watching him devour the food as fast as he could, you almost told him to slow down. But time was not on your side, so you just made sure he didn’t choke.

“Done” he growled, cleaning his dirty lips with the sleeve of his red sweater.

He then stared at you, an expecting look behind his eyes, but his body tense as if prepared for disappointment. You got up then, reaching for your pocket with shaking hands.

There was no going back from this. If anyone found out what you were about to do, you would be doomed. They would probably throw you to the zombies themselves. You were risking everything you had left, all for a Dormant. One that could lose control at any moment and end up killing you or worse, turning you into one of the monsters.

But you looked up and there were hazel glazed eyes staring back into yours, a mixture of concern, confusion and yearning behind them. Liam was not a monster. At least not for now. And you wouldn’t allow them to treat him like one. You wouldn’t let them kill him, under the false pretenses of finding a cure.

With a lot more determination, you took the keys out of your pocket and entered the correct key in his cell’s door, opening it with a few clicks of the metal. You threw it wide open, waiting for him to get out. You frowned when he didn’t move, just stared frozen at you, wide eyes.

“Liam? C’mon, let’s go” you urged him. He still wouldn’t budge. Paranoid about how much time you had, for you didn’t know when they would come to fetch him to the labs, you went inside the cell and pulled on his hand.

That seemed to wake him up. Growling loudly, you were suddenly pulled into the wall by two strong hands on your wrists. For one split second, you thought you made a mistake. You thought he was about to smash your head and eat your brains. Instead, he held you against the wall and placed his forehead against yours, his heavy panting hitting your face with how close he was.

“Not… Not afraid?” he asked, his voice at least two octaves lower than usual. You swallowed dryly, unable to raise your eyes to meet his, focusing on the collarbones exposed underneath his sweater.

“N-No. Not afraid of you, Liam” you assured him. And it was true. You weren’t afraid of Liam, the one you’ve grown close to the last few months. You were afraid of the virus he had.

“Can… Can…” he seemed to be battling internally to speak. “Can I touch now? Touch Y/N?”

You looked up at that. He was so close, forehead still pressed to yours, that you saw details your bad eye-sight didn’t notice before. Like how long and dark his eyelashes were. Or how his hazel colored eyes grew darker at the edges of his iris. You licked your full lips and his gaze lowered to them.

Instead of responding, you took one of his hands in between yours, marveling at the way his body quaked and the shaky breaths that escaped him, blown dark eyes following your movements as you raised his cold hand and held it against your cheek, where he wanted to touch you just a few moments ago. Liam seemed completely awe-struck at the feeling of your skin under his hand. When you smiled up at him, your cheeks raising up beneath his fingers, he seemed to wake up again.

His other hand joined your other cheek and his thumbs stroke the skin beneath them. Before you could react, he had closed his eyes and was now kissing all over your face, small pecks on your sensitive skin with his chapped lips. While kissing your cheeks, the hand that was in the way moved slowly down, following the warmth of your skin down your neck, into your invisible collarbone and then content in moving against your clothed side, stopping at your plush hips. The other hand soon followed a similar path down your other side, his lips taking its place on your cheek, but instead of your hip, this hand moved to your lower back, pressing your chubby figure as closely as possible to Liam’s chest, catching you by surprise.

You gasped when he pulled you in, your hands grasping at his shoulders, unsure of what to do. A little voice told you that you should get moving, but that voice was quickly silenced by the moving lips against the sides of your mouth and a gratified moan escaped you.

“Y/N… Y/N…” he repeated absentminded as he pecked the sides of your mouth and your chin.

Having covered all the skin on your face with his lips, he was still not satiated. And neither were you. He had started a fire inside of you that demanded some kind of satisfaction. When he finally hovered his lips above yours, but still wouldn’t press them down, it was you who pulled him down by his neck and finally connected your lips to his.

Groaning against your mouth, he lost no time in moving avidly against your soft skin, pressing and nibbling at your sweet lips, his hands clinging on to your flesh as if he was afraid you would disappear if he didn’t. Tingles overtook you from the back of your neck to the end of your spine, and you were sure your skin had goosebumps on your arms and legs.

When you felt his tongue brush your bottom lip, you gasped at the unfamiliar sensation and he took advantage of that, his hunger as persistent as ever. He moved with a determined will of exploring every crevice inside your mouth, tongue dancing slowly with yours, provoking moans from deep your throat that he swallowed and reciprocated in even measure, if not more. Your body felt like it was burning from the inside, an insistent throbbing on your lower stomach getting stronger each second.

At one particular swirl of his tongue, you whimpered and lost strength in your legs, making him have to hold you up as you hid your heated face against his chest. You didn’t even notice he was doing the same against your shoulder.

“L-Liam…” you whispered when you were able to breath and form coherent thoughts again. “Liam, we have to go.”

You pulled slightly away, as much as his stone-strong hands would allow you to. He raised his head from the crook of your neck to look down at you, frowned eyebrows with confusion. You took a moment to observe how dilated the pupils of his glassed eyes were, and how much pinker his lips seemed after absorbing the warmth of yours.

“Go? Where?” he asked, voice still raspy.

“Somewhere safe. Somewhere away from here.”