#and maybe he's the only one who's allowed to have it

[cometconmain]

I have someone who comes to groom my dog because I physically can't keep up with it. He's extremely good at his job.

He also thinks Trump isn't all that bad a guy, the Democrats are the anti-human rights party, had no idea the Supreme Court was a thing/is controlled by Republicans and that's why so many human rights are being rolled back in America, refuses to actually use his privilege of having a preferential voting system to not have to vote for the two major shitty parties because he insists on believing nothing good has been done despite numerous proving points to the contrary in his own life let alone others' lives, thinks climate change is a hoax and can't wrap his head around why university studies need to be checked for a donor list and a fossil fuel company supported 'study' isn't reliable actually, hasn't even learned the most basic empathy concept of "you not suffering from a problem other people suffer from doesn't make that problem less important/you should care about people whose lives you don't experience", outright said with his full chest that maybe we should racially segregate the Olympics again actually, and a number of other toxic to downright rancid things I would have just written him off and slammed the door in his face for last year let alone a few years ago.

Don't get me wrong. Talking to him is fucking EXHAUSTING and I feel physically disgusting afterward having to just calmly listen to all these things he spouts which have historically resulted in entire groups of people being targeted for genocide and numerous other human rights abuses when left unchecked and allowed to fester at the societal level.

BUT HE LISTENS WHEN I CHALLENGE HIM.

I can see him actually seeing me as a human being worth listening to. He's older than me and definitely been down way too many right-wing rabbit holes for me to pull him onto the surface any time soon. But I'm giving him things to chew on and hopefully if we're lucky I've planted some seeds which will eventually grow into some semi decent human being plants one day. He's really ignorant and clearly under-educated and that itself isn't his fault and biting his head off isn't remotely going to make up for that gap and is only going to drive him further into the arms of whatever fucked up extremist conservative groups he's been listening to.

He is reachable. He's just also a very long project I only get to work on for an hour at a time every 6 weeks.

And some of the things I've said which I think were part of what got through to him involved showing empathy for him being a single father(? I may have mixed that up with someone else but I think he is) with a disabled kid. He shows empathy for disabled people because he's the father of one (and probably is neurodivergent himself I believe but unsupported and doing his best to give his son the support he didn't get from the sounds of it).

But yeah.

Listen: you don't have to take shit to the face if the person is solely malicious and trying to hurt you. No one is obligated to meet that with kindness and anyone saying otherwise can get fucked. There is a limit to how much bullshit someone can cop while the bullshitter acts like any emotional response to their bullshit is unreasonable/out of nowhere and that is valid on the part of the person copping the crap.

However, if you a) can handle coping long enough to break down those walls with unexpected kindness/it isn't dangerous for you to try that method (VERY IMPORTANT. PAY ATTENTION TO THOSE DETAILS. DON'T TRY THAT ON SOMEONE WHO IS ACTIVELY THREATENING/DANGEROUS TO YOU), or b) can tell it's soft bigotry/general ignorance driving the otherwise yuck things being said, do give the compassion and patient education route a try.

I've had numerous instances of me holding shitty ignorant beliefs I had no idea were actually harmful. The people biting my head off didn't get to me. The people who took the time to see I was just ignorant and under-educated on the matter (and hadn't yet developed the empathy for a group I didn't belong to) taking me aside and patiently dealing with my idiocy long enough to explain things to me in a way that got through my skull (and eventually into my heart as well) were the ones who fundamentally improved me as a person. I still have plenty of things I always have to work on. But I can tell you now I would be much MUCH worse without those patient, kind, educational interventions by people who could tell the difference between malice and ignorance.

The same applies to everyone else.

Human beings are human beings. All of us. Re-humanising each other is the last thing any of the politicians and extremist groups want us to do BECAUSE IT WORKS. IT BREAKS THE WARPED MODEL OF THE WORLD THEY PORTRAY AS REALITY TO DIVIDE US AND KEEP US ALL AT EACH OTHER'S THROATS INSTEAD OF CUTTING OFF THE FOOD SOURCE FOR THEIR WEEDS AT THE ROOT.

When we remind a hurting person that we are a person too, not the bogeyman the extremist groups paint us as, it shakes their warped worldview to the core. It makes them think. It makes them QUESTION. It makes them look at the flower the 'evil' Pride-pin wearer gave them because no one gave them flowers when their mother died and their hate begins to crack at the seams.

The things the world teaches men hurts men too. Teaching them they DON'T have to subscribe to that mentality all the way down to the roots of the patriarchy weed is the best and most effective way of cutting that mentality off at the source. Even if you struggle to empathise with men because you've been hurt; ok, valid. But it is demonstrably more effective, sustainable and long term changing to just get rid of all of it by addressing their pain and showing them how much healthier and happier they can be just in their own life let alone others' lives by casting off the system that hurts them too.

I'm pretty sure I'm just rehashing the same points here, sorry, but the concept of deradicalisation as a healing and long term change tool has been my social justice special interest this year so talking it out helps it solidify in my own head too. (And gives me strength to deal with bullshit because it reminds me it's worth copping what I can personally handle in order to get someone to think, change and grow, one exhausting person at a time).

part of the reason i love how bell hooks talks about masculinity is that she shows real compassion towards men suffering from the effects of toxic masculinity. she was conscious of how we need to unlearn the ways we talk about men + masculinity just as much as we need to unlearn the same for women + femininity. so many times ill see someone talking about toxic masculinity like (hyperbolizing here but only slightly) “these FUCKING STUPID BABY BITCHES won’t MAN UP and go to a therapist!!!” and like. i get the anger. but you see feminists recreating patriarchal manhood by only promoting good behaviors through patriarchal frameworks. any use of the term “real men” is bad because it reifies the idea that manhood is a special title you must earn, and it is something possible to fail and fake. & as important as it is to promote sexual equality + the pleasure of non-cis-men, lots of people are essentially still working with the idea that men need sexual prowess to have worth but just shifting it slightly so there is more emphasis on women’s pleasure. but I want cis men to think about their partners’ pleasure because they care about their partners, not because they need to check a box in order to keep their man card. and don’t get me started on small dick jokes– and the absolutely pitiful excuse people will use that “well, I don’t believe it, but misogynistic men get upset when I say it, so it’s okay!”

basically bell hooks is so fucking right. in order to create loving men we need to love men, simply for being alive, whether or not they are performing. as much as we need to actively unlearn misogyny (and we do), it’s equally vital we unlearn patriarchal ways of seeing manhood. we can’t just assume that taking a feminist perspective automatically means there is no work to be done there.

[gloomwitchwrites]

You've shown them as parents....but what about the 141 guys as first time dads? Like how are they during the delivery or the first time they held their baby? It doesn't have to strictly be a hospital setting, maybe it's a home birth?

Surprisingly, you're not the only person who asked this. I had two others ask for something really similar to this. So, this is me combining them all into one post!

cw: childbirth, fluff, pregnancy

Soap who is playing video games on his phone during the early stages of labor. Soap who also sets the video games aside when you go into active labor. Soap who is nervous but does his best to not show it (and does a terrible job not showing how nervous he is.) Soap who tries to dissolve the tension and anxiety by cracking jokes. This earns him a smack over the back of the head and a verbal threat of divorce. Soap who is locked in and focused during delivery, doing his best to encourage you as you push. Soap who grimaces when you squeeze his hand too hard but doesn't complain. Soap who watches the baby emerge with shock, awe, disgust, and fascination. Totally makes an inappropriate joke about it. Soap who is grinning from ear to ear once that baby is placed skin-to-skin in your arms. Soap who never stops smiling the rest of the time while in hospital and on the way home.

Gaz who supported your choice for a home birth over a hospital birth even though he disagrees. Gaz who does everything possible to assist the midwife and doula but still makes sure you have his entire attention. Gaz who does his best to speak calmly and soothingly to you even though he's anxious. Gaz who packed bags just in case you have to be transferred to the hospital. Gaz who allows you to cling to him and moan into his shoulder as you push. Gaz who cradles you in his arms as you’re handed the baby. Gaz who cherishes the skin-to-skin contact with his newborn when it’s his turn to hold them. Gaz who is realizing his whole world is starting to shift to surround this tiny human.

Price who tries to appear like he's in control of himself and his emotions Price who does his best to make sure you’re as comfortable as possible. Pillows fluffed? On it. Back rub? He won't stop until you say so. Anything, and he'll see it done. Price who severely overpacked and brought far too many things to the hospital. Price who constantly holds your hand, refusing to let go. Price who worries that the worst might happen even though he knows you have a great team taking care of you. Price who is so ready to be a father but is also terrified. Price who is in awe of you for going through this process and vows to cherish you even more every day for the rest of your lives together. Price who can't stop admiring the tiny little human that came out of you. He's obsessed with the itty-bitty fingernails and toes.

Ghost who is outwardly calm, cool, and collected, but internally is a mess. Ghost who is hyper focused on you. Whatever you need or want, you get. Ghost who is the first voice in the room to advocate for your health and safety. Ghost who appears scary and ominous to those around him, but is completely gentle and encouraging with you while you labor. Ghost who never flinches or complains when you squeeze his hand too hard. Ghost who never leaves your side during the whole ordeal. Ghost who tells you how proud he is of you while stroking your hair as you cradle your newborn against your chest. Ghost who, when he finally gets the chance to hold his child in his arms, doesn't want to put them down for anything. Ghost who realizes he now has the chance to be the father that he wishes he had growing up.

main masterlist

[tokkiwrites]

Adstrum in ruinas. | part one.

General Marcus Acacius × F ! Reader

• summary: After your father’s sudden death, the general starts spending more time with you. At first, it feels strange, but as you come to learn, he isn't that big a brute everyone thinks he is.

• kind of slow burn ??, age gap (unspecified), forbidden love, marcus is pretty positive and in love, and he's cute, mutual pining, mentions of death, lmk if i missed anything.

• tokkis note: This is the first part of a little fic i wanted to write. the nsfw smut part will be in part two since this part already has almost 4k words. i just wanted a little backstory, so who knows... if you guys enjoy this part, maybe i will make it into a short series. i have lots of ideas. anyways, enjoy!!!

The palace felt colder after your father’s death. Though the sun still danced across the walls, nothing could have warmed you.

He had always been a quiet man, steady in his craft and in his love for you. You had grown up watching his hands work leather as though it were clay, each stitch meticulous, each touch with purpose. He had poured his life into the emperor’s court, shaping beauty out of necessity, and yet, when his time had come, they had discarded him without hesitation.

Accused of theft, he had been taken swiftly, the charges flimsy, the judgment quick. You had not been allowed to speak on his behalf. No one had. And when his life ended on the blade of the emperor’s justice, the world moved on as though he had never existed. You had not cried when they took him. There had been no time, no space for grief within the stone walls of the palace. Instead, you swallowed it whole, the ache settling deep within your chest, cold and unforgiving. You could not cry. In a way, crying was admitting to the gods that he was no longer, so you did not dare slip one tear. Let the pain seethe.

No one spoke his name. To your face, at least. Not until General Marcus Acacius.

You had known his name long before you ever knew his face. The empire’s greatest general, a man whose victories had carved Rome’s borders, who had spilled oceans of blood in the emperor’s name. He was the kind of man you had only seen from afar—untouchable, his presence a thing of myths whispered amongst men. To you, he was just that: a man. A cruel one.

So when he first appeared in the apothecary, you almost did not believe it was him. “The town speaks of… you,” he said, voice filling the room like the low roll of thunder. You turned sharply, the pestle slipping from your grasp. He stood in the doorway, tall and broad, his figure framed by the dim light spilling in from the corridor. His tunic was torn, a gash running across his arm where blood had soaked through. “So I heard,” he continued, stepping inside, “if it is true—”

“Oh, yes, I—yes, it is true,” you stammered, fumbling for words. His presence unsettled you, though you could not say why. Perhaps it was the way his gaze lingered or faint something in his tone. It was different this time. “I understand. You have my condolences,” he said. You hesitated, unsure how to respond. Something in your heart fluttered. “Thank you, General.” He was not a monster. Not here with you, not now, at least. It seemed sincere enough. You looked him up and down. Why did the blood keep on trickling? For a moment, you thought he might say more, but he simply gestured to his arm. “May I trouble you for assistance?” No monster.

At first, you thought nothing of his visits.

They were sporadic, a few days apart—always under the pretense of some new injury. A cut from a sparring match. A dislocated shoulder. The aches and pains of a soldier’s life. He came to you because it was easier than seeking the palace’s physicians, or so you told yourself. But then the days stretched into weeks, and his appearances grew more frequent.

You noticed the small ways in which he lingered. The way his eyes followed you as you moved about the room, the way his voice softened when he addressed you. It was subtle at first, almost imperceptible, but as the days passed, you found yourself waiting for the sound of his footsteps in the hall.

For even when he was far, his touch still lingered, you were still drunken on his smell, and his eyes still loved yours.

One evening, as you prepared a salve by the fire, he spoke. “Your father was a great man.” You froze, your hands stilling over the mortar. “I remember his work,” Marcus continued, his voice low. “He made my first pair of riding boots. I was just a young man then.” You swallowed dry, willing your voice to remain steady. “He never spoke of you.”

“No, I suppose he would not have.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Finally, “So why are you telling me this?”

“Because he deserved better,” Marcus said simply. The words struck something deep within you. You looked away, vision blurring as the firelight flickered. Better.

He was all you could think about. Each night, from the first, you would sing sweet, mournful songs to the moon. Maybe it was because you missed your father dearly, and he filled that space up almost perfectly. Or maybe because, when he was with you, he did not seem to be the seven-headed monster all saw him as. Maybe pretending was his virtue.

But you were not the last judgment.

“Why are you always here?” you asked, voice sharper than you intended. He hesitated, his gaze flicking to the floor. “Do you not want me here?” A smile played on his lips. “That is not what I said.”

“Then why ask?”

“Because I do not understand.” You stepped closer, your heart pounding in your chest. “You never cared before. Why now?” His jaw tightened, and for a moment, you thought he might walk away. But then he sighed, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly. “It is nothing,” he said at last.

“It is not nothing,” you pressed. “You are avoiding the truth.”

He looked at you then, his expression guarded but not unkind. “And if I told you the truth, would you thank me for it? Or curse me for what I know?”

Your breath caught in your throat. “What is it that you mean?” Marcus hesitated, the words heavy on his tongue. “Your father,” he said finally. “He did not die because of the charges. He died because they needed a scapegoat. The emperor needed to remind the court what happens when you step out of line.” The room seemed to tilt, the walls closing in around you. “You knew?”

“I tried to stop it,” he said quietly. “But there are things even I cannot change.”

You shook your head, the ache in your chest threatening to overwhelm you. “I do not need your protection, Marcus. I do not need anyone’s.”

“I know,” he said, stepping closer. His voice was steady, but there was something raw in his eyes. “But you have it anyway.”

You wanted to be angry with him. You wanted to scream, to push him away, but instead, you stood there, frozen, as he reached for you. His hands were rough, calloused from years of battle, but they cradled your face with a tenderness that left you breathless. You craved it. And you will crave it until the day you are no more.

“I care for you more than I have ever cared,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “And that terrifies me.”

Whatever happened to honor and victory? It was brutal. He was brutal. Raw, bloody, and utterly inhuman. But how could he also be the quiet after the storm? The wind that travels over still waters, the sound of dawn over mountains of dead people? You had to treat him many times, but the wounds he had inside his heart came well over the ones on his skin, you think.

You didn’t want to think of him—Marcus, with his dark eyes and the way they seemed to unravel you each time they met your own. But he lingered, even when he wasn’t here. He lingered in the soft creak of the door, the faint scent of leather and iron that clung to the air after he’d gone. It wasn’t fair, how much space he took in your thoughts. How much warmth he brought into this cold, empty life. You hated him for it. You hated yourself more.

“You work too hard.” You glanced up, startled by the suddenness of his words. He was seated by the fire, his armor stripped away, leaving only the simple tunic beneath. His shoulders were broad, his posture commanding even in repose. “You say that as though there’s an alternative,” you replied, turning back to the herbs in your hands.

“You could rest,” he said simply. “And do what? Dream of better days?” The bitterness in your voice surprised even you. Marcus leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “You deserve better days.” The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard. You hesitated, unsure how to respond. Finally, you set the pestle down and met his gaze. “Better days won’t bring my father back.”

“No,” he agreed. “But they might give you something to hope for.” You shook your head, unwilling to let yourself be drawn into his optimism. “Hope is for fools, General.”

“Perhaps,” he said, his voice quieter now. “But sometimes, it’s all we have.”

He wanted to hold you, to let his body meld with yours, ask you to run away to far lands. Let him take care of you, make you have his babies. Love you until there's nothing left.

but he couldn't.

“What would you do with better days?” you asked, the words slipping out before you could stop them. Marcus’s gaze lifted, startled by the question. He leaned back in his chair, his broad frame casting a long shadow across the dim room.

“I don’t know,” he said after a moment. he did know. he'd spend them with you. oh, silly it all felt. “I stopped imagining them a long time ago.” You paused, your fingers stilling over a jar. “You must have thought about it. When you were younger, before…” You trailed off, uncertain how to finish the sentence. “Before the blood?” he supplied, his tone sharper than you expected. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I suppose I did. Once.” still.

“And?”

He hesitated, the tension in his shoulders palpable. “And it doesn’t matter. The man I am now... he has no place in better days.” Something in your chest ached at his words, though you couldn’t say why. You wanted to reach for him, to close the distance between you and tell him he was wrong. But you didn’t. Instead, you lowered your gaze and returned to your work, your voice quiet. “That’s a pity.”

The days stretched into weeks, and though you tried to resist, the threads of your lives intertwined in ways you couldn’t untangle. Marcus became a constant presence, his visits no longer marked by the pretense of injuries. He came for you, though neither of you dared to speak it aloud.

Each touch, each glance, was a betrayal of the barriers you had built around yourself. Yet, you let him break them piece by piece, unable to deny the pull that drew you closer.

One night, as the apothecary lay bathed in moonlight, he found you humming an old melody—a song your father had sung on quiet nights. The tune was bittersweet, a memory wrapped in longing. Marcus lingered in the doorway, his shadow stretching across the room.

“I’ve heard that before,” he said softly.

You turned, startled. “My father used to sing it.” He nodded, stepping closer. “It suits you. Beautiful and haunting.” You didn’t respond, your gaze dropping to your hands. “I don’t sing much anymore.”

“You should.”

He was close now, close enough that you could see the faint scar that ran along his jaw, the one you’d traced with your eyes so many times but never dared to touch. “Why?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “Because it’s part of you,” he said simply. “And I want to know all of you.” His words left you breathless, the weight of them settling in your chest. You wanted to pull away, to guard the fragile thing that was growing between you, but you couldn’t.

But people talk.

They talk in whispers that snake through the palace walls, slithering through cracks and beneath doors. Whispers of his visits, of his presence in the apothecary, of the time he lingers where he should not. They do not speak to you directly, but you can feel their words coiling around your throat, tightening with every passing day.

You hear them behind you when you walk through the halls: the sharp staccato of hurried footsteps, the low murmur of voices that stop the moment you turn. You catch glimpses of knowing glances, the way the maids shift their eyes when you enter a room, how the guards avert their gazes.

They all know, and yet they know nothing.

Because what is there to know? You have not touched him beyond necessity, have not dared to let your hand linger when you tend his wounds. And yet, the air between you is thick, suffused with something that neither of you has the courage to name.

“You should not come here anymore,” It was late. The apothecary was empty, save for the two of you. You stood with your back to him, arranging jars on the shelves in some vain attempt to distract yourself from the weight of his presence.

“I will decide what I should or should not do,” Marcus replied, his voice steady. You turned to face him, exasperation rising in your chest. “They talk, Marcus. Do you not see the danger in that? For you— for me?” His expression changed fast. “I cannot stop them from speaking,” he said finally, his voice quieter now. “And I will not stop coming.”

“Why?” you demanded, stepping closer. “Why do you care what happens to me? Why do you risk so much just to be here?”

He did not answer immediately. His gaze flicked over your face, searching for something, though you could not say what. Finally, he sighed, the sound heavy. “Because you deserve better than this,” he said. “Better than what the court has given you. Just... better." You shook your head, chest tightening. “That is not an answer.”

“It is the only one I can give you,” he said, stepping closer. “For now." But deep down, you knew better.

And you hated him for it, too.

“I see the way you look at me,” he said one night, his voice breaking the silence. You froze, your hands stilling over the poultice you were preparing. “What?”

“Do not deny it,” Marcus said, his tone softer now. “I know that look. I have seen it on too many faces not to recognize it.” You swallowed hard, your chest tightening. “And what look is that?”

“The one that says you hate me as much as you try to fight it." The words struck you like a blow, and you turned to face him, your cheeks burning. “I do not—”

“You do,” he said simply, cutting you off. “And I do not blame you for it.”

His gaze was steady, his eyes dark and unreadable. For a moment, you thought he might say more, but instead, he stepped closer, his hand reaching out to brush against your arm. “I do not deserve your forgiveness,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I hope for it, all the same.” You did not hate him. you wish you could, because falling in love wasn't what you wanted right now.

“I think about you,” Marcus admitted, his voice raw. “More than I should. More than is safe.” Your breath caught in your throat, your chest tightening as his words sank in. “You shouldn’t,” you whispered, though your voice lacked conviction. “I know.”

The silence between you stretched.

“But why?” you asked, your voice trembling. “Why do you care now, after all this time? You never gave me an answer, Marcus..."

He hesitated, his jaw tightening. “Because I see you,” he said finally. “And I see myself in you—the parts of me I thought were dead. The parts I’ve tried to bury.” You shook your head, tears stinging your eyes. “I don’tㅡ Marcus, if this is all a game to you, of things you want to rediscover within you..."

"It is not. I do not intend to play with your heart."

So why does the blood keep on trickling?

They were wildflowers, clearly gathered from the edges of the palace gardens, and they looked out of place in his calloused hands. He held them out awkwardly, his expression somewhere between defiance and vulnerability, as though he expected you to scold him for the gesture. “For you,” he said simply. You stared at them for a moment, then at him. “Why?” you couldn’t help but smile. “Do I need a reason?” His tone was defensive, but the softness in his gaze betrayed him. No monster.

Your fingers brushed against his as you took the flowers, and he flinched almost imperceptibly, as if the touch burned him. “They’re beautiful,” you said. He didn’t reply, but you thought you saw the corner of his mouth twitch— an almost-smile, there and gone in an instant.

“Are you trying to court me, General?” you asked, half-joking. The question caught him off guard, and he looked at you with something close to panic in his eyes. “No.” You laughed, shaking your head. “Good. You’d be terrible at it.” But the truth was, you didn’t hate the thought.

He started threatening the others after that.

The first time, you hadn’t been there to see it, but you heard about it from one of the maids who whispered to you in passing. “The general,” she said, her eyes wide. “He nearly broke Marcellus’s arm. All because he said something about you.”

He didn’t deny it. “He should not have said what he did,” he said simply, his tone calm but firm. “What did he say?”

“It does not matter.”

“Marcus—”

“It does not matter,” he repeated, his voice sharper now. “What matters is that he will not say it again.”

You wanted to argue with him, to tell him he couldn’t go around threatening people in your name. But the truth was, a part of you was glad. A part of you wanted him to protect you. He didn’t just watch over you—he hovered, his presence a constant shadow that both comforted and unnerved you. When he wasn’t by your side, you found yourself looking for him, craving his presence like air. And when he was with you, you felt safer than you had since your father’s death.

Days passed, and though you told yourself you should push him away, you could not.

He was always there, like a storm on the horizon—inevitable, impossible to ignore. You felt his presence even when he was not near, his voice echoing in your mind, his touch lingering on your skin.

You hated yourself for it. Hated the way your heart leapt when you heard his footsteps, the way your breath hitched when his fingers brushed yours. You tried to convince yourself it meant nothing, that it was a passing infatuation born of grief and the fact that he so happened to be there. You tried to convince yourself that the soft yearning in your chest was fleeting. A passing fancy, born of loneliness and the way Marcus had carved out a space in your world so effortlessly.

But as the days turned to weeks, the intensity of your feelings betrayed you. Every glance he cast your way lingered. Every word he spoke seemed to reverberate in your mind long after it had been said.

And every time his hand brushed against yours—whether by accident or intent—it felt as if the earth shifted beneath your feet.

It was one of those moments now. The two of you stood side by side in the apothecary, the late afternoon sunlight spilling through the windows. He was reaching for a jar of herbs on the shelf above, his arm brushing against yours as he leaned closer.

Your breath hitched, and you stepped back quickly, your movements too sharp, too sudden. “Am I in your way?” Marcus asked, his voice low and amused. “No,” you said hastily, turning to busy yourself with a mortar and pestle. “Not at all.” He did not move, and you could feel his gaze on you, heavy and unwavering. “You always do that,” he said after a moment, his tone thoughtful.

“Do what?”

“Step away.” You forced yourself to meet his eyes. “I do not know what you mean.”

“Yes, you do,” he said quietly. There was no accusation in his voice, only a gentle insistence. “You step away as if the space will make it easier. But it does not, does it?” Your fingers tightened around the pestle. “Marcus—”

“I feel it too,” he said, cutting you off. The words hung between you, raw and unvarnished. You stared at him, your heart pounding. “You should not say that.”

“Why not? Because it is the truth?” He stepped closer, his hand resting on the edge of the table. “Because I look at you and I can think of nothing else? Because when I leave here, all I want is to come back?”

“Marcus, stop.” Your voice was trembling now, a plea more than a command. “I cannot stop,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “And I do not think you can, either.” The room seemed to shrink around you, the air charged with something that felt too big for your soul to understand. “Tell me to leave,” he said, his eyes searching yours. “If this is too much, if I have crossed a line, say the word, and I will go.” You opened your mouth, the words on the tip of your tongue. But they would not come. Because no matter how much you told yourself this was dangerous, reckless, wrong. you did not want him to go.

You did not step back this time. “I cannot,” you whispered, the words breaking free like a confession. His breath hitched, and for a moment, neither of you moved. Then he reached for you, his hand cupping your cheek with a tenderness that made your chest ache. “I do not know how to do this,” you said, your voice trembling. “I do not know what happens now.”

what is this pandora box you have opened?

Before you could respond, his lips were on yours. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t tentative. It was raw and consuming, as though he’d been holding back a storm and now it was unleashed. His hands slid to frame your face, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks as his lips claimed yours. There was no hesitation, no room for doubt. And, oh, you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Your hands found his tunic, clutching the fabric as though it were the only thing keeping you grounded. His scent filling your lungs, his warmth, the feel of him, it was too much and not enough all at once.

When he finally pulled back, his breath was ragged, his forehead resting against yours. “I shouldn’t have done that,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I shouldn’t…”

“You did,” you whispered, your own voice shaky. “And I didn’t stop you.” His lips twitched into the barest hint of a smile, but his eyes remained serious. “Say the word, and I’ll walk away. I swear it.”

You hesitated, the weight of his words settling over you. But then you shook your head, your hand lifting to brush against his cheek. “I wil not say it.” His eyes closed briefly, as though your words had physically hit him. When he opened them again, they were softer, full of something you couldn’t name but felt in every corner of your soul.

“Then I am yours,” he murmured. “For as long as you’ll have me.” You leaned up, your lips brushing against his once more. A promise, a surrender, a beginning.

[two-white-butterflies]

gave you all my best me's (i)

Description: Aemond needs a fake-girlfriend. It's a good thing that he has leverage over his nephew's ex-girlfriend.

Pairing: (past! jacaerys velaryon/reader), aemond targaryen/reader

Notes: I wanted to rewrite this fanfic before writing a bonus chapter. I'm not a big fan of the old version of this: you're losing me. TWO PARTS SO COMMENT TO GET TAGGED.

It is a beautiful thing to be admired for your talents, but when the media begins digging into your personal life - it is difficult to decipher where one draws a line. "When are you getting married?" The late-night host asks.

You answer him with an awkward chuckle.

Despite your social media branding - you longed for marriage, a white picket fence, and children. "There's so much more to life than getting married," you pursed your lips into a thin line. You could already see yourself in tomorrow morning's tabloids - trending on Twitter AND Tiktok with a witty hashtag.

"I agree, but for other people, it's a milestone moment for them. Is it not in your plans to get married in the future? Or is it an if it happens, it happens kind of thing?" The man continues to inquire.

You forced a smile on your face.

You did want to get married, but it's not in Jace's plans. He's the type of man who goes from hotel to hotel - the type of man who doesn't have his own apartment because he likes to act like a cowboy. Jace is the type of man who'd wear speedos with Birkenstocks. He does not ever see himself getting married, but he sees himself staying with you forever.

"I, unfortunately, don't see myself getting married. I mean respect for the people who are married, but for me, it's not really a necessity because I already see myself staying with this one person my entire life, and for me, I don't feel the need to get married." You explained, echoing the words that Jace whispered to you last night.

"- but yeah, if it happens, it happens." You rolled your eyes.

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You placed your Le Smoking YSL Jacket loudly on the table, hoping that Jacaerys would take a hint and know that you've finally arrived. It has already been three-weeks after the viral interview, and he didn't seem bothered by the attention.

"I missed you," you smiled at him, burying your face in the crook of his neck. He always smells like vanilla. "- did you watch the interview?" You asked, pulling away from the embrace. He returns back to typing on his 3-year-old Macbook. "I watched it," he confirms.

You took a deep breath, which probably means that his family has already watched it. "I'm sorry my PR manager forgot to warn me. I seriously felt like a deer caught in headlights," you complained, pausing to see if he was mad.

Jacaerys is the oldest son of Laenor Velaryon and Rhaenyra Targaryen. He is the scion of the two oldest families in America. His great-great-great something on both sides came to this country on the Mayflower - and thus, they took extreme precautions when it came to safeguarding their privacy. Rhaenyra was already adamant about allowing her son to write his little books, and now that you were in the picture...

"It's fine, I hope they stop asking about that marriage thing." A sigh escapes his mouth, and you can hear him clacking on his keyboard - typing without an end. "Maybe it's a sign for us to talk seriously about the topic." You begin.

"Marriage is for people-pleasers. We spend a lot of money on this one celebration where everyone gets to eat and dance, but marriage doesn't mean being with someone forever." He articulates, unable to say, that he doesn't want to repeat his parents' mistakes and that he doesn't want to live in a bickering home.

"I want to get married," you blurted out.

He responds with silence. It is obvious that he is thinking of an appropriate response - but you know that the answer is no. "I have everything that I could ever want in the world, a perfect career, a perfect boyfriend, a perfect house. The only things that I want now are marriage and babies, Jace." You continued to explain, and his face dropped to the floor.

You reach for his hands, entwining them with yours. He gazes up from his laptop, and he stares right into your eyes. "We're not going to be like your parents." You promised.

"We aren't a hundred percent sure of that. I can't even promise you everlasting love, I can't even promise you that I can love you with the same strength every day." He tilts his head. Which leads you to believe that the only reason he hasn't married you yet - is because he doesn't love you at all.

"I know, but you choose me every day. You choose us every day, and that is the same thing as love." You persuaded.

You could sense the reluctance in his movements. "We're fighting all the time. I haven't seen you in almost a month. Getting married is not going to fix our problems." His voice softens. He loves you with all of his heart, but he doesn't know how to show that love without first ruining it.

"Let's break up," he proposed.

He was expecting you to say no, like all the other times before, but this time - you retreat silently. You grab your things and you leave his hotel room.

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archiebald22: OMG WHY?? DIDN'T SHE JUST HAVE AN INTERVIEW WITH JIMMY FALLON 😭

pussydaposi: This is my roman empire

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(ONE YEAR LATER)

nameofficial: I Love You, I'm Sorry OUT NOW!

liked 1,293,012 others

>comments

sacramentoLove: When are you gonna pay ur taxes 🇪🇸

Destination12: Shakira x Y/N Collab cuz they both don't pay taxes to the Spanish government

oompaloompa: Y/N singing bella ciao link in bio 😭

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"Who's the guy?" You whispered in Lucie's ears, and she turned around to look at the man who had been staring at you for the past five minutes. "Holy fuck, that's Aemond Targaryen. His family literally owns half of Texas." She whisper-shouted.

It didn't help with the fact that the man was smoking hot. Lucie stares at her phone for half a minute. "Wait, can I leave alone for just a second? Cecil forgot to bring his polo, and the receptionist is not letting him in." She groaned. "I'll be fine," you gave her a slight smile.

Lucie leaves your side, and Aemond begins walking towards you. "(Your Name)," you introduced yourself with a smile. "Aemond Targaryen," he shakes your hand.

This could be the beginning of something new...something different. "You don't look like the type of person who'd spend her weekends in old country clubs," he smiles charmingly. "I came here with my friend, Lucie. She's supposed to have a date with this guy, but he seems to have forgotten the rule of the country club." You chuckled.

Aemond tilts his head softly, and he whispers. "Always wear a shirt with a collar." He laughs.

"It's such a preposterous rule, I bet you that I'll have to hear about her boyfriend's expensive suit and how it is preposterous that he wasn't allowed inside." You giggled.

"I bet you that the staff doesn't get paid enough to deal with people like them," he led you to another part of the gardens. This part was exclusive only to esteemed members of the club, which probably means that this Aemond fellow is important. "I heard that a beautiful singer was going to be here. I had to my brother's golfcart to make it in the Clubhouse in time," his eyes narrowed.

Of course, the people that he heard those sentiments from weren't exactly appreciative of your presence. It was one of his mother's cousins who said something about these idiotic celebrities eating in the place where they were eating. "Oh please, you don't need to sugarcoat their words. I bet you that Lucie is scandalized for bringing me," you snorted.

You hate spending time around these old money folks. In your eyes, they've spent the majority of their wealth, and the only thing that they have left is their snootyness. "They're all idiots anyways," Aemond rolls his eyes, pleased that you weren't one of those cunts who'd kiss ass to the wealthy.

His phone rings, and he reaches for the call card inside of his wallet. "I'd love to take you out on dinner sometimes, not here, but you choose where to eat. Please call me as soon as possible," he placed a hand on your shoulder.

He bids farewell, realizing that his business partners were calling him already.

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It was a surprise to see that Aemond had a follow-through; the next day, he had already arranged a dinner with you. "I honestly had no idea where you'd want to eat. I mean, I'm sorry for bringing you to this small diner." You chuckled.

Rich people can be so banal sometimes, they eat at the same five restaurants, they wear the same clothes from the same five ateliers, and they all go to the same yoga studio, for goodness sake. You knew that if you wanted Aemond to consider you worthy of his attention - you needed to stick out. Which leads you to this diner, the real heart of NYC.

"It's beautiful. I've never been here before." He looks around with an appreciative smile. "I used to eat here a lot when I was a college student, I couldn't afford anything else - and the food here seriously tastes better than some Michelin restaurants. It's nice here, it feels so ... raw." You struggled to find the words.

The food was amazing, but the community that this diner constantly fed - it's a thing for the books. The cab drivers, the hotdog stand sellers, and the college students. It is home. "It must be hard being famous," he shoves a piece of pizza inside of his mouth.

You licked your lips.

"I've been famous for as long as I can remember. I don't know how to live without all of the cameras." You pierced the pancake with your fork, bringing it to your mouth. "I need your help." He places both of his hands on the table.

"Where?" Your eyebrows merged together.

"My father is dying. He says that he'll leave his entire inheritance to the first person who gets married in our family. My siblings and my nephews are fighting for that spot, seeing that my older sister doesn't want any ties with us. Now, I know that there are cases against you by the Spanish government, and I can make all of that go away," Aemond offers.

"I'd love to help you but I'm really good at making mistakes," your eyes narrowed, weighting in your choices.

His eyes softened.

"The only mistake that you've made is allowing your father to control your finances. He's in jail now, and if you're not going to fix yourself, you're going to end up there too." He says.

You play with the rings on your finger, inhaling the scent of maple syrup. "So, I marry you, and you clear up all my charges?" You inquired.

"I fake our marriage, clear up your name, and give you $10 million to start again." He corrects.

"Alright then," you hummed. "Do we have a deal?" You smile.

He shakes your hand.

"We have a deal," he confirms.

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Being in a pretend relationship with Aemond was honestly one of the easiest things that you've ever done. He makes it really hard not to fall in love with him. The way that he places his hands inside of his pockets, the way that he gives you the sweetest smile - it almost makes you think that his feelings are genuine. It is not, you remind yourself.

You flick through the rack of dresses in front of you. "What are your parents like? Are they traditional, or are they as laid back as you?" You questioned. He pauses for a while, trying to find the words that would properly describe his parents.

"My dad is a traditional man. He likes guns, and he believes in the Second Amendment. He's a senile old man. My mother, however, is trendy, and she's warm up to you." He informs.

"Tell me more about your family," you pressed.

You needed to be prepared for this battle.

"My older brother is an armchair socialist. He's always complaining to our mother about some animals dying. He's a vegetarian, although he always orders Chipotle on Fridays. His morality is a grey compass," Aemond snorts.

You giggle too.

"Helaena, my older sister. She's my second older sister. I think she's the person that Aegon thinks he is. She's too busy running this non-profit for refugees, but you don't need to worry about her, she's kind." He comforts.

"Then, I have a little brother, Daeron. He doesn't like us. He'd much rather spend time with our uncle." He turns to look away. Your eyes land on the vintage white dress you've seen in Lucie's wardrobe, it's a dress that Chanel never showed the general populace. An iconic piece, but not famous enough that it would seem tacky.

His hands snake around your waist. "What?" Your eyebrows merged together, and he pressed a kiss to your forehead, subtly pointing at the paparazzi that were standing outside of the boutique door. "Kiss me," he says, pulling your body closer - until you could smell his cologne.

"You are so demanding," you teased, reaching to cup his cheeks. Standing on your tiptoes as you pressed your lips together. The paparazzi outside of the door were caught in a frenzy, flashing lights of all colors greeted you.

He tastes like cherries and diet coke. It's intoxicating. A taste that is so different on your tongue. You pull away from the kiss - and he pretends to gasp at the sight of the paps outside of the door. "Let's go," he mouthed - pulling you into a deeper part of the store, where the media couldn't see.

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ynkittens: (fan sent the picture) Y/N L/N with mystery man in NYC. Who is this man???

liked by 92,239 others

>comments

DoodleCop: OH MY GOD I miss her and Jace ����

YNNationSupport9: Stop, you're losing me

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Aemond stares at his phone, an indescribable frown on his face as it continues to vibrate due to the number of notifications sent to his personal account. "I didn't expect your fans to be this crazy," he mumbled, seeing his face shared all around Instagram.

"You did tell me that our relationship needed to be public to be believable," your eyes narrowed. "Yeah but now they're calling my personal number," he shows you his phone.

An amused chuckle exits your mouth.

"If you can't handle the smoke, don't start the fire." You shoved a piece of pastry inside of your mouth. Aemond slumps on the blue cloud couch and turns his phone off. He has been staying in your apartment for the past month now, after the whole scenario with the paparazzi the studio apartment that he was renting was no longer safe.

"Helaena has been blasting my other phone since yesterday. She's a really big fan of you," he smiles, pulling you closer to him until you are laying on his lap. "She sounds amazing, when are we going to meet?" You inquired, reaching for a book on the coffee table.

His fingers comb through your hair, untangling the knots that your hairbrush couldn't fix. "Maybe tomorrow during the family reunion? She kind of just shows up," he says.

He couldn't deny your beauty. As time grows, he slowly finds himself loving everything about you...from your gentleness to your fickle mindedness. You weren't satisfied with making a decision without first looking at every possible perspective. When someone does a bad deed, you say well, maybe it isn't their fault, maybe it's the way that society has treated them.

Even when the situation proves to be difficult, you still choose to be kind. It's just a summer thing, he tells himself because nothing beautiful ever chooses him. All the good things wilt in his hands.

He flicks a strand of your hair away from your face. "I'm a little nervous about tomorrow," you admit. "- I've never felt like I belonged, you know what I mean?" You scrunched up your nose, and he continued to massage your scalp.

"I'm so hesitant when it comes to attending these parties because when I was a kid, my dad took us to one of his black tie parties, and my mom let me wear this beautiful unicorn dress, but apparently, the black-tie rule was for everyone, regardless of age. The host didn't want me to go inside the halls with my pink glittery dress because it didn't reach past my ankles...one of my cousins pitied me so much. She let me borrow her dress, but it was too big on me." You flinched at the faint memory.

"I had to sit beside my mom the entire time, and all of the kids were staring at me like I had a third leg." Your teeth burrowed into your lower lips. "That sounds horrible," he frowns. "Which is why I promised to never look unfashionable ever again..." You say.

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nameofficial: our secret moments, in a crowded room. @aemondtargaryensapphires

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MaybeThisTime3: Rue, when was this?

aemondtargaryensapphires: ❤️‍🔥👸🏻 - nameofficial: ❤️

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Lucerys stuffs a large amount of vanilla ice cream inside of his mouth. "Did you check Instagram?" He teases his brother, continuing to play on his Nintendo Switch - almost smearing an entire spoonful of vanilla on the screen.

"Can you stop being annoying for five seconds?" Jacaerys rolled his eyes.

"He is so bothered," Joffrey giggled while scrolling on his phone. "I am not bothered," Jacaerys gritted his teeth.

"He's not bothered, but he's turning red!" Lucerys piped in once again. "I wonder if he'll take her to the reunion." Joffrey ponders, and a sigh escapes the oldest brother's mouth. Give you my wild. Give you a child. Give you the silence that only comes when two people understand each other. Now, the only thing he's answered with is a different type of silence.

It's neither of your fault that the relationship ended. It was just too much of a chasm, your personalities were too different. You were the type of person to fight for the relationship, the type of person who disobeyed fate, and he is the opposite of that.

Because if something is meant to be, then the whole universe conspires for you to have it by your side. If it is meant to be - you wouldn't need to fight for it.

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You were wearing a white-satin dress that reached past your knees, it was embroidered with Swarovski crystals, truly a miracle that the dress ever held up. "Remember the story, I proposed on the beach, we didn't bring any cameras." He whispered, and you could sense his nervousness.

The car continues to drive inside a long entryway that curves to the side, you are greeted with tall bushes that cover the facade of the mansion. As you reach the third turn, the beautiful mansion is made known to you.

It was truly a sight to behold.

A mixture of French and Italian architecture was made even richer by the aged bricks that were used in constructing the estate. The mansion was about the same size as Central Park. It was clear that Aemond Targaryen was richer than God.

"You said family reunion," your lips pursed into a thin line. He gives you a stare, telling you that he didn't expect this many guests either. "My father must've invited his golfing buddies," he explains, regaining his composure.

He reaches for a box inside of his pockets. He opens it, showing you a beautiful emerald oval ring, a ring that is simple and elegant - a ring like you. "Are you ready to meet the vipers?" He smirks, placing the ring on your ring finger.

A doorman begins to open the doors to the car.

"If we wait until I'm ready, we'll be waiting forever." You plastered a smile on your face, straightening your posture, and exiting the car - making sure that everyone's eyes were on you.

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Jace freezes as he sees the faint silhouette of your body. His relationship with you ended on good terms; he was happy with the outcome, but seeing you a year later - brings him back to pleasant and unpleasant memories. He partly wishes that he was stupid enough to his ex-girlfriend, but he is smarter than that.

He knows that the only time that he was ever truly happy was when he was with you, and now you've left him. Now, the only thing that brings him back to those pleasant memories are the songs that you've written about him.

What a horrible day to be alive.

His jaw clenches, watching as his uncle's hands snake around your waist, the very same waist that his hand used to fit like a perfect puzzle in. He watches as Aemond leans to whisper something in your ear, and you giggle. He bets that the joke isn't funny at all.

"Isn't that (Your Name)?" Rhaenyra inquires, and suddenly, Jacaerys' hand feels clammy around the champagne flute. He desperately wants to puke. Rhaenyra's eyes softened instantly, heart heaving for her oldest son. "Oh Jace," she cooed and he forced a smile on his face - he took a lazy sip of his champagne, and the drink bubbles in his stomach.

"I'm alright, mom." He insists.

Jace still cannot understand why his heart longs for you. He has everything he wants - he has everything that you prevented him from achieving because you dreamed of marriage. Why is he missing the shackles that he allowed destiny to remove?

Aemond begins to march in his direction, a satisfied grin on the other man's face. Could he have known? Jace asks himself. "Jacey," the man teased, one hand wrapped around you, and the other hand on a glass of merlot. Aemond was absolutely glowing.

"Uncle Aemond," Jace answered.

"Have you met this lovely lady?" Aemond tilted his head, half-expecting you to smile warmly at his nephew, as you have done to all of his relatives, but he was greeted with silence. Your eyes trailed back and forth between Aemond and his nephew. "Uncle?" your eyebrows merged together.

"I'm too young to be an uncle. My sister had him early." He informs. "I didn't expect you to be here," Jace says plainly as if Aemond was not standing right beside you. "I could say the same thing," you replied, your grip on Aemond tightens.

Something shimmery on your fingers catches Jacaerys' eyes. An engagement ring. An oval emerald engagement ring - like the color that the other side of his family proudly wore. "Congratulations on the engagement," he greets, forcing himself to be happy. Marriage is the only thing that you didn't agree on with him - he found it useless, you found it monumental.

"Thank you," you and Aemond say in unison.

"When she's the one wrapped around your fingers, you have to make a fist." Aemond stares at your face. Jace could only hum in return, his throat felt dry again. "I know the feeling," he takes a sip of his champagne.

He curses himself for still having these feelings for you. He should have fought against the world to have you beside him. He should have taken you dancing, bowling, skating, singing - but he didn't, because he was too engrossed in his own little world, unaware that everything was unfolding outside of his bedroom window.

He takes another deep breath, the world is bigger than the stories inside of his laptop. He can't believe that it has taken him this long to figure that out.

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"Can you please sing something?" Helaena requests, flashing you her puppy eyes. You turned to look around you, and everyone was looking in your direction. Viserys raises an eyebrow as if asking for you to sing.

Daeron hands you one of his acoustic guitars.

"Do you have any song in mind?" You inquired, prepared to sing one of your love songs. "How did it end!" Helaena cheers, pulling Morghul (her dog) on her lap.

"That's a nice song that you've chosen," you forced a smile on your face. Of course, she chooses the one song about your breakup with Jace.

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aemondtargaryensapphires: beautiful ❤️

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helaenatargaryen: YOU ARE SO FAST WITH THESE HAHA

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Jace watches as the waiters begin to serve their food. It was a gourmet meal provided by his step-father's fine dining restaurant, the food was beautiful, and it had the right color. You couldn't help but feel out of place - like the girl who wore a unicorn dress to a black-tie event.

"I'm allergic, I can't eat this." You whispered, flashing Aemond a concerned look. "Sorry, Aemond was the one who confirmed the samples." Rhaenyra's voice sounded apologetic, and sad because she was the one who planned the entire event. "Oh, it's okay." You smiled.

"How long have you known each other?" Jace blurts out, swirling the champagne in his glass. The first thing that couples do while knowing each other - is going on a date, and if you've been on a date with him thousands of times, wouldn't Aemond know about your likes and dislikes?

"Nine months, and it's alright, you can have Aegon's salad. He only pretends to be vegan." Aemond switches your place with Aegon's who is currently occupied in the bathroom. "Thank you," you mumbled.

"Your brother is going to throw a fit once he sees that," Alicent interrupts. "Mom he won't even notice," Helaena looks at you with hearts on her eyes.

Jace could only raise his eyebrows. Nine months and, his uncle wasn't aware that you're allergic to lamb sauce. He bets that Aemond doesn't even know that your eyebrows merge together when you're angry. He bets that the other man doesn't even know that your favorite game is Overcooked, and you refuse to move to the next stage when you fail to reach all three stars.

He's losing you to a man that hardly knows you.

"Where did you meet?" Lucerys pipes in, taking a sip of his strawberry milkshake. "In the country club," Aemond smiles. He looks at you like you are the earth, and he is nothing but a moon that rotates around you. "Her friend Lucie Churchill, she introduced us to each other," Aemond lies.

Alicent smiles, a look of adoration on her face. Aemond has chosen the best possible woman to fall in love with, a woman who's mantle is heavy with her own achievements. "When are you getting married?" She chimes in, happy with the idea of having grandbabies.

"Soon, I've always wanted a summer wedding." You answered coyly. You glanced at him, and suddenly, this summer thing was beginning to look real. "The good ones never wait," Aemond smiles, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

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Jace enters the balcony, seeing that you are sipping wine on your own and staring at the French skyline. The dress that you were wearing was now slightly wrinkled, and the ring on your finger was slightly loose.

"Are you sure?" he asks.

"Sure about what?" You asked with a rough voice.

"My uncle," his lips are pursed into a thin line. He looks for a glimmer of hope behind your eyes, but it is too far.

He is too late to bring this love back to life.

"He's the only thing that I'm sure of," you answered.

"I'm sorry," he apologizes, and your eyebrows merge together. "Sorry for what?" You scoffed.

"I'm sorry that I didn't fight for us." He continues. "- it was always doomed from the beginning. I could never have asked you to make that sacrifice for me. I didn't accept it at first, but that just wasn't the life for you." You finished.

"But if I asked you back then, you would have made that sacrifice for me, so I'm sorry for not being what you needed." He says, slowly walking out of the balcony, completely oblivious of the man leaning on the door and eavesdropping on your conversation.

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nameofficial: I can't help falling in love with you... ❤️ This is the beginning of forever baby 💍

liked by 2,129,391 others

>comments

ynkittens: wait did u get married? - nameofficial: Engaged. I'm sorry for not making it clear in the caption haha 😭

JacintaRobin: "I wanna teach you how forever feels like" aint for JACK IN A BOX bcs it's for mr aemond - Bananashake44: Aemond the literal alpha male??? THE SIGMA GIGA CHAD ??? THE ULTIMATE RIZZLER

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PART TWO

@glame @xcinnamonmalfoyx @winxchesters @yentroucnagol @hotchnerswife @mxxny-lupin @mxtantrights @urmomsgirlfriend1 @kravitzwhore@sweethoneyblossom1 @introverbatim @flrboyd @kemillyfreitas

[nesepte]

Forbidden Fruit | Na Jaemin (18+)

Pairing: Brother's best friend Jaemin x fem! reader

Genre: sexual tension, angst, mind games, mutual pining, brother’s best friend, jaemin is also a tease, some more tension Warnings: smut (eventual), sexually explicit, unprotected sex, alcohol consumption, drunk sex, smoking, pet names (baby, darling), teasing Please don't read if uncomfortable xD Word Count: 2.1k words

Jaemin was handsome. Jaemin was so bloody handsome that it drove you insane. But he was also Mark’s best friend, and as much as you wanted him, he was your brother’s best friend.

Jaemin was also standing right in front of you, leaning against the door frame, his right hand holding the top for support and his left holding his jacket. His black shirt was unbuttoned till his torso, and his pants were crinkled. His hair was messy and his sighs were heady.

He was drunk. You could smell it.

‘Mark isn’t home,’ you said, hoping he wouldn’t go away.

He looked at you from top to bottom, his eyes stopping at your skirt before looking up.

‘I know,’ he groaned. ‘Can I come in?’

‘Why?’ You blocked his way. It was too risky. Behind her, on the table was the bottle of wine you had downed a few minutes ago and the flush that was creeping its way up to your face was enough to tell you that he shouldn’t be here, not when you were tipsy and alone.

He scoffed, tilting his head to the side. ‘Are you sure you don’t want me to come in?’ he mocked, stepping over the threshold.

You had met Jaemin three years ago when Mark had brought his friends home. You knew all of them except him. He was new. He was different. He did not pat your head like you were a kid, nor did he ever treat you like one of the boys. But different isn’t necessarily good and in this case, it was almost torturous.

Those accidental rub of the shoulders, those unintentional graze of your hands, the stolen glances and the lingering gazes. It was nothing, you told yourself, repeating those words over and over in your head every time Jaemin would visit, till you could think of nothing but him.

‘I can go back, if you’d like.’ His voice came out hoarse.

Without a thought, you took a step back, allowing him inside, and the moment he closed the door behind him without your protests, he smirked, spotting the empty wine bottle on the table.

‘Having a party… alone?’

‘Is there something you want?’ you asked, keeping the tremble out of your voice as best you could.

‘Hm…’ He met her eyes.

‘What?’

But he chose to keep quiet.

Stumbling, he made his way to the table and sat himself down, letting his head lean back. ‘Water…’ he groaned, throwing his jacket on the side and unbuttoning the remaining buttons on his shirt.

This is bad. This is bad, you repeated in your mind, keeping your eyes away from his chest. Your hands were shivering and your face had grown hot. You could feel the heat rising inside you and was sure that you weren’t hiding it well.

‘Here.’ You offered him the glass of water and watched him gulp it down, slowly, the droplets dribbling down his bobbing throat to his chest, drenching his shirt where it still made contact with his skin.

‘Are you done gawking?’ he said, with his last gulp.

The question angered you. It was one thing to tease but you didn’t like the insinuation that you were the only one who was holding back. You had seen him watch too. Those lingering gazes weren’t one-sided.

‘I wasn’t,’ you said, defiantly.

‘Sure,’ he scoffed.

‘As if you have never.’

‘Never what?’

‘Gawked at me.’

He liked this. You could see it in his eyes. The little game that he had just set for the both of you and how you had become a player without ever consenting to it.

‘Maybe I have,’ he said, running his fingers through his dark hair that fell over his eyes and groaned, ‘Ah, but you’re his sister. I can’t. We can’t…’

‘Hey, you alright?’

‘Jaemin was barely holding on. This whisky he had had on his way over was finally taking hold. He shook his head and took out a cigarette from his pocket.

‘Mark won’t like it if you smoke here,’ you warned.

‘Mark won’t like a lot of things I have on my mind right now,’ he slurred and lit the cigarette between his lips. Taking painfully slow drags out of the stick, he blew out the smoke that smelled of whisky, letting the ash fall to the ground.

You waited, still. And when he was done, he let go of the cigarette butt and crushed it beneath his boot.

‘No,’ he answered your earlier question.

‘Hm?’

‘I don’t feel alright,’ he said.

‘Oh, do you want water?’ you asked, knowing already that this wasn’t what he wanted but you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction by folding first.

‘No,’ he replied, his eyes steady on you.

‘Want to lie down?’ you asked and he smirked hearing the hitch in your breath.

‘No,’ he whispered. He had to be patient. You were almost there.

‘What do you want then?’

‘Why don’t you guess?’

‘I am not going to play your games,’ you hissed.

‘Don’t act like you are not enjoying this.’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

He waited, then sighed. ‘Can you rub my back for me?’ Sometimes, it’s better to take a step back to draw the other one out.

Your fingers twitched and your throat gulped dryly. It was obvious, so damn obvious and you hated how your body was reacting to his words.

‘Is there something wrong?’ Do you not trust yourself?’ he said, spreading his legs for you.

This was it. He had laid the perfect bait. Denying the challenge meant admitting to his accusation. Accepting it, meant torture.

Pressing your lips together, you took a step to him and without hesitation, ran your palm down his broad back.

There was no way you were going down without a fight.

You nudged forward between his legs as you slowly stroked his back. It was your turn to draw him out. There was no hurry, not anymore— you took your time, feeling every inch of his back under your fingers, making sure he knew who was in charge right now. Every brush, every stroke, every touch was intentional, pausing where his body reacted but lingering not more than a second. You were not going to give this to him so easily. The heat from your palms spread over his back like a drop of paint in water. He was leaning into it, sighing when he didn’t want to, groaning when he knew he shouldn’t. You pulled him, dragged him out with every rub, your own breath growing heavy seeing his gleaming eyes drooping, sensing his pulse quickening.

Fuck, what have you done.

His hands found your legs. ‘Hm…’ he mumbled against your stomach, pulling you in.

‘Jaemin,’ you breathed out as his palms found their way upwards. ‘We should stop.’

‘We should,’ he agreed with no intention of stopping.

‘This is wrong.’

‘It is.’

‘Stop it.’

‘You first.’

‘I can’t.’

‘Then don’t,’ he hissed and rose to his feet. This was enough.

He pushed you against the table, an arm holding your waist, the other bracing against the edge.

‘How much have you had to drink?’ he asked against your lips, his warm breath fanning over your face.

‘T-The bottle of wine,’ you whimpered.

‘Just that?’ His voice was desperate, his words strained.

‘Just that,’ you echoed and felt him tighten his grip around you.

‘Do you realize what I want to do?’ He pressed his forehead against you, his hands pulling the fabric of your top.

You nodded.

‘I am your brother’s best friend,’ he reminded you and waited.

‘You are my brother’s best friend,’ you replied, lip quivering against his.

‘Are you sure you want this?’ he asked.

You nodded again, your own desperation growing.

‘’No, say it. Do you want me to fuck you?’

‘I want it, Jaemin,’ you almost moaned out. ‘I want you to fuck me.’

‘He grinned against your jaw. ‘Aw, baby, look at you. You sound so pathetic, and I haven’t even started yet.’

This was when you realized how badly you had lost this round.

Shameless as it was, your gaze found his lips, and Jaemin didn’t waste a single second in useless chatter after that. He kissed you, hungry and full, his hand tangled in your hair. And oh, how you melted into him, letting his pull you closer to him.

It was just how you had imagined it countless times before— hot, messy, and desperate. He tasted of whisky and smelled of smoke. It was almost dizzying and you were sure that Jaemin was holding you up. But you inhaled him whole, not wanting to waste a single breath that didn’t pull you closer to him.

He sucked at your lips, nipped and bit when it wasn’t enough, his tongue hot in your mouth. It was almost pathetic how he bucked his hips against you, pressing his bulge, making you moan. He kissed your jaw, his lips trailing down to your neck where he marked you red.

‘Ugh, Jaemin,’ you moaned and he kissed her mouth again as if he had forgotten what it tasted like in the seconds that had passed. He had forgotten how to breathe, how to exist without you.

With a groan, he pulled back and for a moment you thought he was stopping. But when his eyes met yours, you both knew. This was it. But he had to be sure.

‘Baby…’ he whispered breathlessly.

‘Yes, fuck me,’ you cried out.

You couldn’t even make it to the bedroom. It was too far away and the walk was too long. Jaemin helped you up the table. Your hand knocked over the wine bottle and somewhere in the distance you heard it shattering to the floor, the remaining wine spilling out from between the shards behind you.

Unzipping his pants, he pulled your underwear down from beneath your skirt.

‘Oh baby, you are so wet for me,’ he panted against your lips, biting it once again as his fingers worked between your folds. ‘Such a good girl.’

‘Stop teasing,’ you whined as he rubbed his length along your warmth. It was all too much, too agonizing to bear. ‘Please…’

He pushed his way in, slowly, swallowing your moans into his mouth. Your eyes rolled back into your head as your legs wrapped themselves around his waist.

‘Mhngh…’

He waited but only for a single torturous moment before pulling out and thrusting in again, harder this time.

‘Y-Yes,’ you breathed.

His pants pooled around his ankles, his shirt drooping off his shoulders, he fucked into you again and again, your bodies falling into a rhythm of their own. The sound of your skins slapping against each other echoed in the hollow, your sinful moans marking each thrust as he plunged deeper into you.

‘Do you like me this much, huh?’ He increased his pace as you clutched onto him. ‘Have you been dreaming about me baby?’

You bit onto his shoulder, your nails digging on his sweaty back.

‘Did you picture this every time I came over?’ he teased, holding you by your jaw to make you look at him. ‘Huh baby? Did you imagine me fucking you every time you touched yourself?’

‘Jaemin…’ You weren’t even listening anymore. His arm around you, his chest against yours, his mouth sucking on your neck and his dick thrusting inside you. You were full— full of him, overwhelmed by his scent, consumed by his body. You felt small in front of his desire, yet to him, you looked the prettiest when falling apart in his arms like that.

‘I know,’ he soothed you, still fucking you into the table. ‘I know, darling. God, I have dreamed about fucking you too. You have no idea how many wretched nights I have spent touching myself thinking about you.’

‘Hm, right there, y-yes, don’t stop…’

‘Oh, don’t worry, baby. I won’t stop till I make you come.’

You threw your head back, the knot inside you threatening to unravel. You screamed his name as you clenched around him, making him groan and bite your shoulder. But he held onto you as you squirmed in his arms from your release.

‘Yes, baby, so beautiful,’ he grunted, his eyes glazed over from watching you come undone like that. He was still thrusting inside you, his own rhythm becoming sloppier and with a final clench, he pulled out, spilling his white onto your thigh.

You stayed still, foreheads pressed, panting into each other’s mouths, your hands refusing to let go of the other. There was a distant knock, probably a doorbell— you two couldn’t tell.

You looked up at him. He was already smiling, or was it a smirk. ‘Mark is going to kill you,’ you reminded him.

‘Small price to fuck you,’ he replied.

[comesatimecomesashadow]

meet the frownies *ೃ༄

pairing *ೃ༄ sunday x reader

fic type *ೃ༄ headcanons, once-shot, comfort

cw *ೃ༄ mentions of mild/severe depression (no mentions of SH or other similar topics)

summary *ೃ༄ sunday takes care of you during your hardest moments.

note *ೃ༄ i've made so many of these for different characters, its crazy | also its my first time writing 4 sunday so don't judge too harshly TwT

masterlist *ೃ༄

ᡣ𐭩 . . Sunday is already reluctant to have you out of his sight for too long, so he notices right away when you’re dealing with a particularly bad episode of depression. Being the attentive lover that he is, he studies up on your condition and equips himself with knowledge to learn how to take care of you and how to approach you during these episodes. 

ᡣ𐭩 . . He isn’t one to beat around the bush and frankly, he hates it when others do too. However, he understands if you don’t want to come with him about your mental issues. He’ll coax you into it sooner or later, you of course, won’t notice. 

ᡣ𐭩 . . Sunday won’t force you to do anything (per sé), he’ll only suggest something and make you feel like it was your choice in the first place. He’ll have the butlers and servants of his mansion tend to you with the utmost care. Craving something sweet? Or perhaps a book to read- maybe pages to color? Chances are, he’s already sent for it. 

ᡣ𐭩 . . If you have a preference for solitude, he assumes that your solitude excludes him. Whether you like it or not, Sunday will always stay at your side during these moments and make sure his dearest isn’t lacking the care they need or putting themselves in danger. 

ᡣ𐭩 . . If you can’t tend to your hair, can’t find your appetite, or just can’t bring yourself to emerge from the confines of the plush bed of your shared room — Sunday will help you care for yourself. While the Head of the Oak Family wouldn’t otherwise find himself doing such things for others, he won’t hesitate to do it for you. 

ᡣ𐭩 . . But as much as he is your lover, that doesn’t mean he isn’t a little twisted. Sunday likes it when you rely on him so in these moments of depression, he’ll find his ego skyrocketing by the way you allow him to help you take care of yourself. 

༝༚༝༚ oneshot under the cut !

   Three days, sixteen system hours and fifteen minutes. 

   That was all the time Sunday needed to realize you were not your usual self. He noticed the despondent gleam in your eyes and the sluggish air that surrounded you as of late. Surely you’d come to him sooner or later.. He didn’t want to scare you with his confrontation and drive you away, you were a fragile thing — You needed patience and loving care. 

   Sunday would bear the weight of the world for you, but even he has limits. 

   As the month passed, your condition only deteriorated which only served to concern him even further. When you left his office after reporting to him, he searched The Family’s archives high and low to learn what he should do to aid you. “-’people who suffer from depression may experience episodes of lethargy, numbness and in severe cases, may even suffer from suicidal ideation. While one cannot cure this condition, depression may be alleviated by understanding company, healthy foods and therapy in severe cases.’..” 

   Should he get you a therapist? Did you need one? Sunday smiled to himself and thought his abilities to be better than any therapist; All you needed was him and he was sure of it. He closed the book promptly and put it back in its place, he’ll have to talk to you later — It was about time that you came to him after dealing with all of that yourself. 

.

.

.

   Later that night, you withdrew to Sunday’s mansion after work. Three years of a relationship with the Head of the Oak family had provided you a warm stay at his residence and you couldn’t be more than grateful — Especially during times like this. Lately, you hadn’t been eating much and you began to get out of bed later than you usually did. The servants only looked at you with concern, but said nothing lest they incur the wrath of Sunday. 

   You sighed upon entering your shared quarters. A moment to breathe and try to collect yourself. The act of going to work and coming back was already a tiring task so you were glad none of the servants asked you anything. You wouldn’t know what to say anyway. 

   The weight on your shoulders felt lessened when you got into your sleeping clothes and crept into the inviting sheets of the king sized bed you slept in. They enveloped you whole and warmed you up after a few moments. You knew what you were going through and after so many years of dealing with it on your own, you’d believed the best remedy was to sleep it off. 

   But Sunday had other plans. 

   When he got home that night, he asked the butler about your whereabouts. After being informed that you had withdrawn to your shared quarters and were asleep, Sunday thanked him and sought you out. He wasn’t sure how he should confront you or let you sleep.. But for now he’d do the latter and address your condition tomorrow. 

   Sunday wasn’t unfamiliar with your current mental state; You were usually like this every few months but it was the first time he had seen it affect you so much. Usually you’d be back to your usual self after about a week or two; This time it had been unusually extended for almost a month. 

   Which is why he was so concerned. 

   When he opened the door, the room inside was dark, as if a black hole had enveloped it whole. The moon outside only served to dimly light the inside of it. As Sunday discarded his work clothes, he was pained upon gazing at your sleeping form. The notable signs of your lethargy were evident by your slow, deep breaths. 

   As he settled in beside you, he adjusted his position so he was spooning you. He was delighted when you turned over to curl into him, a subtle moment of vulnerability he missed seeing in you. He wrapped his arm around you, like a snare encircling its prey. Sunday placed a soft kiss on your forehead before closing his eyes and succumbing to sleep. 

   The rest of the night was quiet and soon after, the morning came. When morning crept up on the both of you, Sunday was the first to get up. Now that there was a little light in the room, he saw the prominent shadows that settled under your eyes. You seemed at peace but tired at the same time. 

   After getting ready for the day, Sunday reached out to cup your cheek to slowly lull you out of your slumber  with his soft touch. He needed you to tell him what was going on, he wouldn’t let it go on any further. After a short while, your lashes fluttered and you awoke with a soft yawn. 

   “You’re here.” You noted as you sat up and rubbed the sleep from your eyes. 

   “Of course I am, dearest. Why wouldn’t I be?” 

   You rested your head on his shoulder and closed your eyes once more, barely awake. “You’re usually at work at this hour.” 

   He smiled a little and lay his head on top of yours. A warmth settled on his heart as he took note of how perceptive you were when it came to him.  “You’re not wrong. But I have more pressing matters to tend to here than at work.” 

   You straightened up and gazed up at him lazily, “Yeah?” 

   He nodded, “Mhm.” 

   “Like what?” 

   He smiled, your curiosity was a thing that never seemed to diminish. “Your state of mind, I’ve noticed you’ve not been well, dearest.” Once you heard his words, you tore your eyes away from his, 

   “Oh.” You played with the fabric of the fluffed up sheets that covered you. “That.” 

   “I’m not going to ask if you’re fine, I know you aren't.” Sunday began, “But I want you to come to me if you’re struggling. I can’t have my lover drowning in their own issues, you know that right?” His voice had a sincere lilt to it. 

   You brought your knees up to your chest and hugged them close, as if to curl up into a ball and hide yourself from the world. Sunday hated seeing you so tired and apathetic, so caged in. 

   Like a dove in a cage. 

   “Dear you know I hate to see you hurting..” He reached out to lift your chin towards him, “Won’t you entrust me with your troubles?” 

   “I’m afraid you can’t fix this one, Sunday..” you muttered quietly. 

   Sunday smiled tenderly, “I’m not trying to fix you, dear. This isn’t something that can be fixed.” You looked up into his eyes, as if you were searching for something in them. Maybe answers.. Maybe comfort. “-But if I can help you feel better, that would be enough for me.” 

   You hadn’t been feeling much in the past few weeks, but for some reason, his words touched your heart. People throughout your life always treated your mental illness like it was a part of you to remain undisclosed, hidden from public view. It was like an interminable mistake; a blot on your person that you could not erase no matter how much you tried to correct it. 

   Sunday noticed the glimmer of emotion in your eyes, it had been a while since he’d last seen you so .. hopeful. While he did like having you rely on him.. He knew this wasn’t good for you. He rubbed your back, “I know you haven’t been eating well, your appetite has been diminishing. But is there anything you’re craving? Even if it’s something small, you should eat, my darling.” 

   You wiped the tears in your eyes that had begun to form. “Uh.. well, ..Can I have something sweet?” Your voice was low, but soft. 

   “My, my.. If you wanted to have me for breakfast you could have just said so, dearest.” He joked. To his satisfaction, you let out a small laugh at his joke. It was the first time in weeks he had seen you smile so genuinely. It wasn’t a fake one, like the one you used at work when greeting your coworkers. “Sweet treats can be arranged. In the meantime, would you like a bath?”

   ‘A bath would seem nice..’ you thought to yourself. But then, you thought about how you’d have to wash every inch of your body, the shampooing and conditioning.. Once you thought about it, it seemed like a chore you didn’t want to get into. And as if he knew exactly what you were thinking, Sunday spoke up once more. “I’m offering, dearest. You’ll just sit back and relax, hm? How about it?” 

   So one nod and a couple minutes later, here you were. 

   The water surrounded your body, the bubbles felt nice around your skin. Sunday was singing what sounded like a lullaby while he gently undid the knots in your hair. Usually, it was a feat to take care of your hair, but Sunday made it feel as if it was no trouble at all. You swore you could fall asleep to the sound of his voice, if he let you. 

   The sweet timbre in his voice came to a stop after he finished the song. “Why did you hold off on telling me about your condition..?” 

   You kept popping the bubbles around you, but at a slower pace. “..I didn’t want to trouble you, I know how busy you can get with the hotel guests and The Family.” 

   Sunday was amused by your thoughtfulness. But it still saddened him, that you rarely trusted him with issues like these. “Dearest, I’ll always make time for you.” Once he finished detangling your hair, he rinsed off the conditioner carefully. Seeing him so focused on you was something you had missed. 

   “I know, I know.. I just didn’t want to bother you with something so trivial..” You honestly thought that it was something you should just deal with on your own. It had worked so well for years, the years before him.. So it should work now, right?

   Sunday moved the stool he sat on to face you. Yellow irises met yours and you think you’ve never seen a man look so ethereal than now. “I know you can handle yourself, but I am your lover. I want to know when you’re feeling distressed, or saddened for the sole fact that, to me, it is anything but trivial. It matters to me.” His words were sincere. You knew it from the way he looked at you when he said them — As if you were the only person in his world. 

   You nodded, but that wasn’t enough for Sunday. “I want you to let me know when you feel like this, okay? I do not want to see you suffering alone. We’ll bear the weight of it together.” 

   A familiar warmth set into your heart upon hearing him. In the many years you’d dealt with your mental condition, you’d never met someone so willing to shoulder the burden that you felt you were, until now. You knew for a fact that Sunday loved you, but hearing it like this and seeing it in his actions was different entirely. 

   Overtaken by your emotions, you sprang out from the tub and wrapped your arms around his neck. The cold air nipped at your skin but you could care less. “I’ll tell you about these things more often, just.. Be patient with me.” 

   Sunday was surprised by your actions at first and he didn’t quite like being wet, but he’d bear it for you. He returned your hug and nodded. 

   “I’ll wait however long it takes.” 

[heliswife]

𝖎'𝖒 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖍𝖔𝖒𝖊 𝖋𝖔𝖗 𝖈𝖍𝖗𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖒𝖆𝖘 🎄 s.coups x reader

for: @cxffecoupx (I was ur secret santa ehe ;3)

warnings : kys jokes, enemies to lovers, roommates to lovers, i project my student council election trauma on yn, I also don't know what both college and snow are like, making out but nothing further

wc: 1.6k + 0.3k epilogue ; 1.9k total ♡

It hasn't even been a month in of your second year of college and you were already about to kill yourself.

Why exactly? Because you and your roommate, who had grown to be one of your best friends, have to leave the dorms and be separated.

“What do you mean I need to move dorms? What's wrong with this one?” You complained to your RA.

“Sorry y/n, but your dorm has a high chance of having a mold infestation, we're going to need to get mold remediation.” The RA answers with the most bullshittiest reason you could think of. Why would there be mold in your dorm? 

Okay, maybe your roommate forgot to throw away the expired cheese that's been in your fridge since last school year, but still! It was complete bullshit!

What was worse than that was that your new roommate was none other than the student council president himself, Choi Seungcheol.

If it was just any ordinary student council president, you wouldn't mind that much. But this was the guy who you ran against and lost to. By a lot. This was like rubbing salt in a reopened wound to you.

“You're y/n, yeah?” He asks as if he doesn't remember who you are once you appear on his doorstep with all of your stuff.

“Yeah. Guess we're roommates now.” He takes a few steps from the doorway, allowing you to enter.

“Mhm, guess we are,” Seungcheol carries some of your bags in the dorm for you, a kind gesture for someone like him.

“Say, Seungcheol, how's student council treating you? Would've been better with me in it.” 

His eyes narrow at your remark. “Being student council president is really fun, actually! Everyone loves me, maybe that's why I won the elections,” He taunts, a wide smirk on his face.

“Whatever, Seungcheol,” You snap, giving up on the battle you started. “Where's my room?”

“Are you usually this much of an ass? You should be lucky I offered to take you in, otherwise you'd be on the streets.” Seungcheol guides you to your room, which is also… his room? “I only have one bedroom. I wasn't expecting to get a roommate, I'll sleep on the floor.”

“I don't need your pity, I'll sleep on the floor. At least until we get a new bed.” You sit yourself down on the carpet of your new bedroom. 

You look around, and it's a pretty normal bedroom. It's decorated with some posters of bands and pictures of him and his friends, but it’s not overly decorated to the point where it's cluttered.

“This bed is uncomfortable anyways, I think you should sleep on it,” Before you could respond, Seungcheol picked you up and threw you on the bed. You bounced up a little from the impact, and Seungcheol took your place on the floor.

“I despise you.”

“The feeling's mutual, y/n. Now, what do you want for dinner?”

You were going to strangle this bitch.

Months had passed since you started living with Seungcheol, and the atmosphere was still thick (though not as tense as before) with you two. 

It wasn't as bad as before, though. The two of you found a routine and stuck to it. You two would stay away from each other, only talking when necessary. 

It felt a little odd though, seeing Seungcheol in such a domestic light. He was sort of attractive while making dinner, a silly thought in the back of your head that you'd only keep to yourself.

The air has been getting colder lately, and the snowflakes whirling to the ground, covering the once green grass in a thick sheet of white.

“The snow is nice, isn't it?” Your roommate asks, appearing by your side completely out of the blue. You perk up and turn your head to him. Though he was talking about how nice the snow was, he was looking directly at you.

“Yeah, it's pretty,” You awkwardly reply. “Are you going back home for the holidays?”

“I'd love to, but can't. You?”

“I am, it'll be a nice break, two weeks without you.” As if the world hated you, your phone dinged. You checked the notification and your smile dropped. “My flight back literally got canceled.”

“Karma's a bitch,” He says, but takes it back once he sees the sad expression on your face. “Sorry. I guess you're staying here?”

You sigh, “Yeah, I guess so. It's going to be snowing a lot today, weather told me there would be at least 20 centimeters of snow today.”

“So we can't go outside either. Meaning I'm stuck with you inside the house.” Seungcheol's conclusion was your worst nightmare. Being stuck at home alone with him for two long, long weeks. “The snowfall is getting more intense.” 

You look outside the frosted window, the trees dancing in the heavy winds. 

Then, an odd sound from somewhere in the house. “I'll go check it out.” Seungcheol offers, and comes back a minute later with a frown.

“What was it?” You start biting the inside of your cheek anxiously.

“Our heater broke.” He states. “I'll tell the RA and ask them to fix it.” 

“What do we do in the meantime? Oh god, I hate this, why did I have to move out that day..?” You pace back and forth around the living room, but you're suddenly stopped by Seungcheol's hand on your shoulder.

“Y/n. We're going to figure this out, okay? I just texted the RA and I'm waiting for a response. Go get all the blankets from our room, ‘kay?” The way he ordered you around was kind of hot though you'd rather die than tell him that.

You gathered all the blankets from the bedroom and threw them down on the floor. “Now what?”

 Seungcheol organizes the blankets so they're all in a neat stack and lifts them up for you. “Get in the blankets, and we'll huddle together for warmth.”

“I am not going close to you.”

“Do you want to die?” You don't say anything and just crawl in the pile, Seungcheol following after.

You lean to your side, resting your head on his shoulder. “You're warm…”

“Weren't you complaining about this a second ago?” Seungcheol says, but really, he likes the affection you're giving him right now. 

“Shh, you're making me feel colder by yapping,” You wrap your arm around his. 

“Good grief.”

The next few minutes are silent. Then, a few tears start to spill out of your eyes. 

“Hey, why are you crying?” Seungcheol's tone is different from the other times he's talked to you. It's more heartfelt, more sincere. Almost as if he didn't hate you. 

“I don't know,” You sniffle, “A lot has happened in the past few months, huh?”

His arm is now around your shoulder, rubbing your arm up and down in an attempt to soothe you. “Yeah, I know you didn't want this to happen, but-”

“Cheol?” You interrupt him. You move the arm that was wrapped around his to wipe a tear from your cheek.

“Yeah?”

“I think I might like you.” The words come out as a shock to the both of you. Even you hadn't expected yourself to say that.

“That's surprising. Think I might like me too,” Seungcheol deadpans, but the glare he receives from your teary eyes makes him realize: this is serious. You're being serious. “Oh shit, y/n, I like you too. Seriously, I do.”

“For real? I thought you hated me?”

“I thought you hated me?” 

You're about to say something in response, but then it hits you. You did hate him. “I did at first because I was jealous, but then when I moved in with you I started liking you and so I kept covering my feelings up and-”

“Y/n. It's alright.” It's Seungcheol's turn to interrupt. “I get it.” He smiles at you before bringing you into a hug.

“Can we kiss?” You're half-joking, half-serious, but you're really hoping Seungcheol takes it seriously. 

And he does. His lips on yours feels like a dream come true. You can feel his smirk against your lips as he slips his tongue in.

It's messy, a passionate embrace of two lovers, but it's just what you need to warm you up.

Before one of you two could take it further, there's a buzzing from Seungcheol's phone. He ignores it the first and second time, but on the third, he moves his lips and checks his texts.

“It's the RA,” He informs, wiping the mixture of yours and his drool from his mouth, “They're going to come once the snowstorm gets less intense. We still have some time.” He winks at you, butterflies getting sent to your stomach.

For once, you're not mad about it. “Okay then, let me just tell my parents something.” You take your phone out and open the family group chat you have pinned to your contacts.

“Flight got cancelled,” You write, “I won't be coming home for Christmas.” You end the text message with a frowny face before turning your phone on do not disturb. “Now, where were we?”

Maybe being moved to a different dorm was a good thing after all.

“Finally, it's Christmas,” You say, putting the star up on the Christmas tree that you and your roommate (now boyfriend since the events that day) share. “Ta-da! We finished!”

“It looks great, doesn't it?” Seungcheol replies. He's currently holding you up so you can reach the top of the tree. Once he puts you down, both you and him marvel at the sight of the heavily decorated tree.

“Mhm, I got you a present too,” You go over and dig through your bag, handing him a bunny plushie holding a heart. “D'you like it, Cheolie?”

He inspects the cherry red rabbit in his hands, “It's adorable. I got you something too.”

“What is it?” Seungcheol gives you a gift bag in your favorite color, decorated with hearts. 

You open the bag in eagerness, revealing a book you've wanted for ages. “You knew what I wanted? I love you so much,” You thank him, hugging him tightly.

“Of course I remember what you wanted,” Seungcheol gently ruffles your head, “How's your family doing?”

“They're doing good, they really want to meet you,” You tell him, and he grins in response.

“We could do that next break, but let's hope that your flight doesn't get canceled again,” He remarks, laughing at your pouty face, “Even worse if our AC breaks.”

“We wouldn't be able to huddle for warmth like last time though, I'd distance myself from you.” You punch him in the arm. 

He retaliates by putting you in a loose headlock, only letting go once you start frantically apologizing. “No matter the weather, I'd want to stay close to you, cause I love you.”

“How romantic, I love you too, darling.” You had always believed winter was your least favorite season, but starting this year, it would be your favorite.

(hohoho! 🎅 merry xmas to everyone who celebrates!)

[currentfandomkick]

Frankly i always read it as Danny choosing to take the shots for the JL’s victims as he wishes someone would do for him, and to take the blow back once he realized there would be little to no negative affect on him.

This is more from the Superman-hates-Kon or JL-is-team-Clones-are-to-be-killed as he has experience with that and doesn’t necessarily see the individual clones in their own fawn and freeze or flight and fight modes.

He sees his clone, Dani, and imagines her in that position.

Danny is more than willing to fight for others (see the show) and while he’s willing to let Mikey get bullied in his place he still winces at it and has tried to redirect Dash a few times to himself when he gets more comfortable and confident in his ghostly abilities and how low the impact will be for him long term on healing and such as a halfa and hero compared to very human Mikey.

So i always figured Danny was doing a mixed projection of his own neglect from his parents, which he absolutely sees Superman doing if he refuses to interact with Kon in any story where Kon is kryptonian (and you know, needs a fellow kryptonian to help with his powers and none were available (only superman and Kon exist) or are actively against Kon’s existence (versions where Kara is against clones existing). Danny can clock that as Severe Neglect and goes ‘wait a minute there’s no one else with his power set to help! You say you’re a hero (good, kind, benevolent) but are lying (as neglect to child/clone in need of guidance that this situation boxes you in as only option) what the fuck is wrong with you!’ As his initial reaction.

Becuase in these Kon is in a mixed parallel to Dani (clone, made to hurt creator but Danny is unaware of that) and Danny (a mildly neglected child taught to not fight back) after Danny has grown confident in his abilities to defend both Ghosts and Humans from one another and likely is working up the courage to do so with his parents or has done so already.

Danny is seeing Kon as someone Dani could have been is obvious, but Danny seeing himself in there, the neglect and (seemingly) having one option to mentor in your abilities but is not allowed to be (For Danny as Vlad demanded Jack’s death, for Kon as Superman won’t interact with him period) means Danny is doing what he wished someone did for him when he was younger and acting as that person.

Is he petty about it? Yep.

Is he also deciding to be the rudest version of a wakeup call possible in the Kon case where he’s projecting Dani and himself on Kon? Yep!

Would Danny forgive them later? Forgiveness is Kon’s to give and Danny will follow his lead, but will hold the grudge to guilt superman during backslides.

For Flash i always assumed its a longstanding grudge from cleaning up the mess to keep timelines functional and a longstanding thing on Danny’s side (possibly meeting flash out of order/non linearly) and his beef is with how many times he fixed the various flashes (as yeah. They pass the title around and have multiple flashes besides Barry and Wally. Bart’s been flash as have Jay Garrick and a lot of others. This is a borderline bloodfued with the Phantoms who keep going off to fix Flash Fuckups and see what the timelines could have been had the Flash not played musical chairs with the timelines.

The flash fam just has not learned that yet (besides maybe Bart who’s either aware and figured the rest were too, or was given an exception as Clockwork’s favorite for not playing with timelines like putty constantly).

GL idk about havent seen alot of that, atleast with his character. General ‘dont ask how i died’ things sure but usually related to summoning danny after trying ti bind him… and at that point JL usually have screwed up something else apart from summon.

Interdimensional warcrimes i tend to only see with Ghost King summonings and them demanding he do xyz or banish him from their dimension and the like. Or a deal to handle a big bad with that as Danny’s price, so it may be a matter of what our feeds are getting there.

And yeah, set up is a skill in writing that takes ages to learn (as someone who is iffy on that skill, can confirm its a bastard to learn if you’re not a writer who is good at corralling the characters and plot.)

So i assumed these were usually just drabbles and snippits and the rest was for imagination to work out esp if its mostly dialouge in character action: dialouge format 🤷‍♀️

Why is Danny everyone’s mouthpiece for their random grudges against various superheroes? Why is it SO COMMON for Danny to show up and immediately start chewing people out?

Like. Danny? Mr. ‘My Parents Shoot At Me But It’s Fine’? Mr. ‘Dates The One Ghost Hunter At His School’? Danny ‘Dash Can Shove Me Around I Guess’ Fenton? Holds a bunch of grudges against popular superheroes and tries to punch them at the first available opportunity??

I know it’s become a pretty popular characterization in fandom for Danny to be pretty testy/spiteful, I just don’t really get it

[izelthewashbear]

The one part of 3rd Life Renchantyn/Treebark we never talk about

Whenever we talk about Treebark/Renchantyn/Martn and Ren in context of 3rd Life, it's almost always about the beheading - the ultimate test of trust between them two, where Ren claimed his place as the Red King, and Martyn finally fullfilled his duty of being his loyal hand.

However, there's one part we don't talk about even half as much, while I think we should.

"On the 3rd Life server, there is a rule - that if Red attacks yee, yee may attack the Red back."

The second half of their test was to see whether they trusted each other enough to not attack each other despite being on two opposite ends of the spectrum - with Martyn being green and Ren being red. Ren passed the test with flying colors right away - despite pointing out the possibility that as a red, he could attack Martyn, he never did - he never even grabbed a weapon to attack him with.

And what about Martyn?

Immediately after Ren pointed out the rule, he was holding a cobweb in his hand - so that if Ren went on to attack him, he'd be able to trap him. He ran away and only came back upon Ren saying that he won't do it.

However, he was given a choice. Ren punched him, not even shedding any of his hearts - but as per that rule, Martyn could attack him back. He was armed with both his sword and Red Winter, he even started placing the cobwebs so that Ren couldn't run.

"Are you with Red King to the end, or will you take Dogwarts for yourself?"

He could very well slay Ren again at that moment. It would not break any rules - Ren attacked him first, so it would count as self defense. Ren was ready for that, maybe even expected that.

"No! I won't do it!"

But Martyn didn't do it. For that one moment, the guy who mostly travelled the server and didn't have the place to call home aside from Dogwarts, decided to trust his only friend and not take everything they worked for together all for himself. He allows the walls he built around himself to crumble ever so slightly, to let that one man in.

...

But what if he didn't?

I can't stop thinking about what would happen if at that moment, he hesitated. If at that moment, despite spending so much time with Ren, he still didn't trust him enough. If his survival instincts kicked in and he attacked Ren again, making the Red King the first fallen player. If he remained at Black Heart Altar alone, with Dogwarts all to himself. If he decided that if not many players trust him, it's better if he doesn't trust anyone, as well. The walls are not ready to be broken down yet.

And then imagine the rest of the games afterwards.

Last Life, where he teams up with Southlanders first - if he turns on them, he'd be outnumbered, so it's like forcing himself into submission. Him hesitating to join Shadow Alliance - he killed Ren last time, why is that man trying to put trust in him again?

Double Life, where he ends up separating from his soulmate either way. He would end up backstabbing Cleo, anyway, so it's better if he starts on his own. Ren still tries to get his attention, but why? What's up with this guy and his weird obsession with his first murderer?

Limited Life. Ren is suddenly gone, so there is nobody else around to pester Martyn. The walls gets thicker and thicker. Scott is nice enough to him, but that pisses him off even more. Reminds him of Ren. This time, he backstabs him with no hesitation, and that leads him to victory. Why trust people, when working on his own led him to his goal?

...

Anyways I have a new idea for a treebark fic, idk if you guys are interested?

UPDATE: It's here, chapter 1 is finished! Enjoy, and brace yourself :>

[bunni-v1]

Past and Future (Happy Birthday Lighter)

🍓Finished this shit at 4:30am, if y'all don't enjoy this I will kill myself. Anyway had fun writing this, it's more of me fucking around and finding out with Lighter's character, but I think it's fluffy and cute so... enjoy lol

TW: Mentions of Death; Suicidal ideation

Info: Lighter x GN!Reader; Angst to Fluff (?) Kinda?; hurt and comfort (i think??)

Word Count: 2k

December 27th. Two days after Christmas, five days before New Year's. Oddly placed on the calendar, awkwardly smooshed between two major holidays in New Eirdu. To most, it was insignificant, just another day. To Lighter it was something he dreaded each year. Between the holiday cheer and the buzz of excitement for the new year, it was nothing more than a looming cloud dampening his mood.

December 27th, Lighter Lorenz’s birthday, one of the worst days of his life.

He didn’t hate birthdays, they were nice when they were for other people. He had to admit he enjoyed getting gifts for others and seeing their eyes light up when they opened it, and the light atmosphere when everyone sang a horrendously off-key rendition of the birthday song was hard to hate. They were celebrations of the life of that person, a hurrah to cheer them into another long year until the next came around. He just hated his own.

Gifts and cake and warm fuzzy sweet nothings acted only as reminders that he was alive. He was alive, and everyone else who deserved to be wasn’t. Another marker of another year since he lost everything. He wanted to pretend it wasn’t there, maybe sleep until the 28th or run away for a while, but the girls wouldn’t let him.

They’d managed to weasel his birthday out of him about a year into his being here, and they made a point to celebrate it each year. Nothing big, they knew he wasn’t one for huge crowds outside of his fights, but still a party where they showered him with gifts and congratulations that he did not deserve. He didn’t have it in him to tell them to stop.

So, year after year he grinned and bared it with as much grace as someone as fucked up as he could. It wasn’t hard to be grateful for all they did for him, but it was always hard to smile and accept it like he deserved it. The nagging voice in the back of his head reminded him that he shouldn’t be allowed to be this happy, not when his stupidity cost the lives of good people – wonderful people, who he loved.

He usually only lasted until Burnice got out the nitro fuel, then he would quietly slip away from his own party to be alone. The quiet was easier on his mind than the distractions of colorful confetti and sweet cake made just to his taste. He liked to sit in the pain, to recede into that cocoon of hurt, as if to apologize to his friends by torturing himself. 

This year was no different, of course. Just as Burnice handed out the nitro fuel, he quietly slunk into the shadows, smiling to himself as the rest of the Sons of Calydon remained celebrating in his steed. He walked his way to his bike, sighing in the cool night air. The breeze on his skin was the only comfort from the hell in his mind.

He let the air out, hand tucking into his pocket to pull out the little thing of candy he carried around on him. The little lemon drops fall into his palm with ease, and he tosses them back with practiced ease. He rarely felt like smoking anymore, but his birthday was always a struggle. The heightened emotions made him want to take the easy route out, to fall back on his old ways and make stupid mistakes in hopes it would make him feel better. Instead of giving in, though, he sucked on those candies like a saving grace. It was the least he could do for his old friends.

As he stopped in front of his bike, he shoved the candies back into his pocket. Taking a second to himself in the quiet of the night. It was almost over, just a few more hours, and the pain would lessen back down to an ache again. A little longer and he wouldn’t have to worry about constant reminders of being alive, and he wouldn’t have to save face for everyone else’s sake.

“Lighter?” A quiet, soft, almost worried voice from behind him.

He glanced over his shoulder, eyes softening when he saw it was you. You’d been quiet about his birthday all month, not bothering him with any reminders. You knew, intrinsically, how much he hated it. You always knew everything about him, it was an infuriating quirk of yours that he would never want to go away. 

“Hey, dollface,” his voice just as quiet as he raised his arm for you to duck under, “got tired of the party?”

You press yourself into his side, enjoying the warmth of your personal heater, “I saw you leave and I wanted to make sure you weren’t doing anything stupid.”

He chuckles, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head, “Me stupid? Never. Just needed some air.”

“Is this getting some air just for you, or could you use some company?” You offer, giving him the reins.

He liked the alone time, he wanted to wallow in self-pity more than anything in the world. His head reminded him that he deserved to be alone on a night like this. Yet, your eyes flutter a little at him, and your lashes brush away those awful thoughts like nothing. 

“I’ve always got room for you,” he hums, giving you one last squeeze before helping you on the bike.

The drive is peaceful, the breeze cooling his hot skin like an apology from the world for all he’d been put through. He doesn’t think he deserves it, but he wouldn’t deny the feeling either. Your arms wrapped firmly around his middle, head pressed against his shoulder only calmed him further. It grounded him back in the present, reminding him that the past had long passed and that he still had things to live for.

The Sons of Calydon, who took him in and cared for him despite how distant he was at the start. The Proxies, who took special care to stop by earlier and give him a gift, congratulated him for being so strong and thanked him for his constant help when they needed it. The other former members of his mercenary group who, despite how much he wanted to deny it, held no ill will to him and wished him the best for the future.

And, of course, you curled against his back. You trusted him with your life, and he would easily lay his down for you – not that you’d let him if you had any say. You kept reminding him every single day that he was someone worth loving, that he was more than his past, and that he was the one who could define what his future looked like. It was hard not to picture it without you there, not with how attached he’d become to your little displays of love for him.

Displays like this, following him out of his party to make sure he wouldn’t do anything to hurt himself more than he was already hurting. He smiles warmly back at you as he eases his bike to a stop at his favorite quiet spot. You smile back pressing a kiss to his shoulder before moving to get off the bike.

You intertwined your fingers with his like it was second nature as you walked to the fence at the cliff's edge. From here you could see the endless desert, and the edge of the hollow, the moon peaking over it in an almost beautiful display. He helps you sit on the fence, placing a protective hand around your waist to keep you from falling forward.

Your hand presses his head into your shoulder, scratching at his scalp with such care it nearly makes his knees buckle. Another reminder of what he has that he couldn’t afford to lose. No one has known him the way you know him, no one has ever had the effect you have on him. It was almost enough to make all the horror of his past dissipate in his mind, but a small part of him still clung to it. Unwilling to allow himself to fully forget.

“You okay?” You ask, interrupting the quiet bubble that had formed around you.

He nods, “Thinking.”

“About…?” You urge with a raise of a brow, unbearably cute in his mind's eye.

He smiles, genuine for the first time that night, “About how much I love you.”

You shake your head at him, but you don’t argue with him about how he’s lying, or try and force him to tell you everything. You don’t need to. You always trust that he’ll tell you when he’s ready. It’s another thing about you that he couldn’t risk losing.

You let the quiet fall over you again, leaning into his chest with a content hum. He allows himself to indulge in your affections for now, preferring having you here in his arms than staring aimlessly at the skyline by himself. It was easier to swallow the ache in his throat with you to soften the harshness of the feeling, regardless of whether you knew you did it or not. 

He wonders, hopelessly, what his old friends would think of you. They would like you, he was sure of that. You had a personality that would let you fit right in with their eclectic group. The idea of you smiling side by side with them warms his chest, his heart aching as it fades away. A dream he’d never get to see.

He’s not aware that he’s crying, he’s not sure how long he has been crying, all he knows is that you turn to him and cradle his face in your hands. They wipe at his tears without needing to be asked, another quiet reassurance that you cared for him regardless of what was going on in his head.

Lighter sniffles pathetically as his eyes lock with your worried ones. You seem to know what's wrong without him needing to say it, which he likely wouldn’t be able to do if you weren’t able to deduce it on your own. You frown at him, bringing him down to kiss his forehead.

“I’m sorry it’s so hard,” You whisper, wrapping your arms around him.

He pulls you in tightly, desperate for the skinship you offered up, “It never gets easier. Everything is a reminder.”

“I know, that’s okay,” you press a kiss to the side of his face, “I don’t think you need to forget it, Lighter. I think you need to learn how to live with it.”

He closes his eyes, the hollow where they’re buried fading from sight as if looking at it would blind him now. He holds you even closer, letting your words sink in. Learning to live with it, sounded much easier than it probably was. Maybe you were right though, he’d done so much wallowing and running, maybe it was time he found a way to live with the pain.

“Mistake, failure, accident… it doesn’t matter what you call it,” you continue, pulling him back to look him in the eyes, “It’ll always hurt, but that hurt is a reminder of how human you are. You don’t want to lose that. Remember it, feel it, and they’ll never really leave you.”

You swallow, taking him in with those pretty eyes of yours. It’s not perfect, but it’s what he needed to hear tonight. He presses you into a kiss, soft and light and nervous. He was afraid you’d disappear if he was too rough. You melt into it, indulging him like he hoped you would. This was the only way he knew how to show you his appreciation, words would never be enough to display how deeply he cared for you.

When he pulled away you were breathless, face flushed from lack of oxygen, and indescribably beautiful. He smiled subconsciously at you, and you returned the look with all the love and admiration in the world.

“Happy Birthday Lighter,” You say soft as the wind still tussling your hair, “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” He repeats back, and he feels the ache in his chest lessen every second he spends looking at you. You taught him a lot since he met you. A lot about himself, a lot about those around him, a lot about you. Most importantly, tonight you taught him that despite his past, he made a future for himself that he should be more determined to remember to protect.

[cosmerelists]

Should You Invite These Cosmere Characters to Boardgame Night?

As requested by anon. :)

I've done two boardgame-related posts before this (I love boardgames): Favorite Boardgames of Each Knights Radiant Order and Should You Invite the Shards to Boardgame Knight?

In this list, allow me to provide some advice about whether or not you should invite these Cosmere characters to your next boardgame night!

1. Adolin: Yes

Adolin is a delight at every social gathering. He brings wine that somebody at the store told him was good. He has fun with every game whether he wins or loses. By the end of the night, he is somehow the best friend of each individual guest.

2. Shallan: Yes

Is she cheating? Maybe. But she makes a lot of puns and you know that if she tries to cheat TOO much, Radiant will stop her.

3. Kaladin: No

He wins everything. It's annoying. He joined Settlers of Katan twenty minutes late and STILL won. How does he do it???

4. Kelsier: Yes

At first you were admittedly intimidated, as Kelsier kept smiling to himself and saying things like "Just wait until I reveal my Master Plan!" But actually, he kinda loses games...a lot. Keeps smiling, though, so you assume he's having a good time! What a good sport!

5. Vin: Only if you like losing

Like Kaladin, Vin wins all. the. time. But unlike Kaladin, she doesn't come late & then win in a blaze of sudden glory, no. She simply...destroys you. Continuously and brutally for the entire night.

6. Harmony: No

No offense to Harmony, who's a good dude 'n' all, but man, he takes FOREVER to make his next move. It's like--we're playing Sorry. You either move forward 10 or back 1. It's just two choices! How is he thinking for like 10 billion years??

7. Lopen: Maybe

Lopen likes to play around and tease people. He MAY mock you a little too much when your attempt to "Draw 2" him backfires and you find yourself drawing 8 cards in Uno... but other than that, he's a good time.

8. Blushweaver: Maybe

You didn't realize checkers even COULD be played as "Strip Checkers."

9. Tien: Yes

Tien is mostly concerned with making sure that everyone else is having a good time. Even after he gets killed during a round of "Werewolves," he continues to grin and encourage the rest of you to have a good time. W-Wait, why do you suddenly feel like crying?

10. Skar: Yes

Like Tien, Skar also seems chiefly concerned with making sure everyone else has a good time. Bonus: he's GREAT at explaining the rules!

11. Lightsong: Depends on how competitive you are

Ask yourself this: if there's a guy there who wins every game despite clearly and loudly not understanding the rules, would that be fun? If yes, then go for it. If no, then don't invite Lightsong--he doesn't understand how to play Hearts and he doesn't care to, yet he has shot the moon TWICE.

12. Nale: No

No one likes a rules lawyer.

13. Shai: Yes

Shai knows all of these obscure, complicated games that actually turn out to be really fun!

14. Hoid: No

Hoid knows all of these obscure, complicated games and while he does explain the rules, you can't shake the feeling that he's actually playing by an entirely different set of rules that he's not being totally honest about...

15. Elend: Yes

Elend was born to participate in board game nights weekly.

16. Telsin: No

She cheats 100% of the time. You didn't even know it was POSSIBLE to cheat in Connect 4, but she somehow found a way...

17. Raboniel: Well...

Raboniel is ENORMOUSLY competitive and cares very deeply about winning...but she also respects the game. She is surprisingly gracious about losing despite her eyes blazing with the heat of ten million suns as she slapped down that 7-letter word in Scrabble. Yet when you responded with your own, better 7-letter word, clinching the victory, you could tell that she respected you for it.

...But on the other hand, you've been clammy with fear sweats for 45 minutes now.

[shysuccubusstuff]

Bodyguard! Mr. Scarlatella:

Content: Yandere! Mr. Scarlatella but he is actually human + assassin + farmer! scarlatella; non proof-reading; female anatomy + dubcon/noncon + kidnapping + usage of substances (once for the kidnapping) + mindbreak + lovesick! Mr. Scarlatella; cunnilingus + breeding kink + baby trapping + possessive! dom + overstimulation + orgasm denial + creampie + impregnation + trophy wife! reader (kind of?)

Summary: You never imagined that the guy that was about to end your father's and your life would end up falling head over feels for you, but hey, at least you're alive, right?...

Word count: 4240 words.

Note: I just hate how my brain decides to get dry af as soon as I end with my exams/essays... btw, Merry Christmas to everyone who reads this!! I'm thinking about making a kind of pt. 2 but with Mr. Crawling, let me know if you would want to read it!! It's weird to go back to the more dark stuff when I had started to write less heavy stuff... I feel I may have gotten a bit too creative for his personality, so let me know!!

Note 2: Let me know if any content tag is missing-- I wrote this over a whole week so I may have forgotten some...

You were the daughter of one of the wealthiest so it was only natural for you to live under the feeling of being targeted by someone, even since you were a child. So when your father presented a new bodyguard for you, it was nothing out of the ordinary, just some new guy who would probably quit by the month (at most). So he arrived, long black hair falling in a cascade and deep purplish pupils that pierced you through his polarised glasses.

"Dear, this is the new bodyguard, I hope you know how to behave yourself, I don't want to keep on complaining to that damn company, they keep saying it's your fault, but it's impossible for it to be solely your fault, I mean, it's been over 10 bodyguards in less than two months... Anyways, I have to leave, Daddy has some work to do." With that, your father left, his expensive cologne lingering in the air as he slammed the door, the new bodyguard still on the entrance of your room, a slightly unsettling smile creeping on his lips as he stood there.

"So you won't even introduce yourself? Seriously, the quality of that damn company is so freaking low... Can't believe they didn't even teach you how to introduce yourself." The man bowed a bit, taking a small notebook and giving it to you. "What the...? So you're saying that you're still learning the language and don't want to mess up? Ugh, ok, whatever. What's your name?" The man with crimson hair refused to speak, stating that he had not received a proper code name yet. "Seriously? Can't even call your name cause they didn't gave it to you, well that's just perfect. Don't bother me, just stand outside or whatever, as if I care." With those last words, the man left, finally leaving you alone in your room. "What the heck is wrong with that dude? I'm gonna complain to that fucking company of security, how am I supposed to trust him when I don't even know his name..."

As time went on, you were slowly able to get to know him, getting to know that he was actually coming from Japan because of some "old acquaintance" he knew since many years ago, that he loved magic tricks and that he was actually quite... cute. It hurt to even think it, but it was true, he was a cute man, always behind you when you allowed him, always running around you with your delicious drink ready and your purse hanging off his shoulder. God, he even learnt how to do your nails, makeup and hair in case you wanted to get it done on the days you were just too lazy to get out of the house... He was even there that night.

You had waken up by around three in the morning, making your way to your door so you could get something to eat in the kitchen, soon noticing that Scarlatella (as you liked to call him in a kind of playful way because of his hair colour) was nowhere to be seen, but hey, he was human as well, maybe he just went to the bathroom or something like that. As you were about to arrive to the kitchen, you noticed that the mansion was a bit too quiet, one would even say that it would have been possible to listen to a pin dropping to the marble ground. Unsettled, you quickly made your way to your father's bedroom, but you soon found out that the bed was completely cold. Now alarmed, you run to his studio, the sound of your feet resonating all over the empty corridor as you forced the door open, soon finding a terrible scene.

It was your father, well, what used to be your father, as his body was already turning cold, his skin turning slightly blue with clear signs of choking. Just as you were about to scream, your vocal cords were unable to produce a sound, your lungs being completely filled with a strange air that made you gasp for hair before you started to feel lightheaded. As you felt your conscience drift, you silently cursed that stupid company and that useless yet slightly charming man.

By the time you woke up, you soon noticed that your whole body was intact, expect for slight marks of rope on your wrists. As soon as you recovered a bit, you took a deep breath, deciding to try and scream to the top of your lungs in case someone could hear you.

"Hey! Someone there? Some crazy jackass has kidnapped me and---!" Suddenly, the heave iron door was opened, a familiar face entering the room.

"Good morning, dearest. I'm so glad you were finally able to open your eyes, you see, it was a bit difficult to get the amount of dose correctly, as I have never tried to keep someone as tiny and beautiful as yourself." Your old bodyguard entered, the heavy door closing behind him as he brought a tray on one of his hands. "Here, I brought you a few things I know you like." You looked at the delicious-looking food, your mouth watering as you saw all your favourite desserts, together with a bunch of your most beloved fruits. Despite the confusion, you tried to keep it together, looking to the other side and refusing to do what he asked. "Dearest, you've been asleep for over t--" Before he could end his sentence, you had already hit the tray with one of your legs, sending the appetizing food.

"Why the fuck are you here? You failed protecting me-- Fuck, you left my father to die, you're lucky I'm tied here cause I would crush your fucking skull with my---" The crimson-haired man got closer, dangerously close, in fact, his warm breath hitting against your face.

"Oh dear, I always knew you had quite the filthy mouth, but you must have been quite shocked to see that pig like that... I understand, I would never stop loving you for something trivial like that... Nor for anything, to be fair." His cold hands touched your face, the callouses in his hands making you frown even more than before.

"Listen fucker---." The man covered your mouth with his much larger hand, the shivers resulted from the cold shifting into goosebumps from the fear.

"Shh, dear. I understand, no need to explain it to me. I will make sure to re-educate you so you can go back to your natural self, that pig tricked your poor mind, but I will be able to fix it for you, see? I’m being such a good man for you, after all, I was supposed to kill you, but I even decided to turn my back to my client and let you live, I even avoided someone to think that you were alive. It was a bit of a hassle, but hey, I would do everything for you, dear.” The man finally got away from your face, taking the tray that had fallen to the ground because of you, together with the food that had been smashed to the ground. “It’s ok, dear. I understand this will take some time, luckily, I have all the time in the world, you just need some… hard love. I’m sure you will start to appreciate my company and care soon enough.” With that, the man smiled one last time to you, leaving the room with the sound of the heavy iron door closing, leaving you in the middle of the dark.

Since that moment, your slow torture started. The man left you in the dark for who knows how long, covering your eyes with a soft cloth, only taking out when he was around so he could start to… kind of associate him with the light, you supposed. He kept bringing you scrumptious plates, from your favourite foods to exotic ones. Of course, that was until the… maybe over tenth time you had throw his tray to the ground. That time, he simply took the tray, taking once again all the food on the floor and leaving in complete silence. The next time you was him was after… maybe one whole day? Your stomach kept rumbling, and what began as anger quickly became desperation, then crying and finally crying while screaming.

By around two months, your mind and body had become completely accustomed to his timetable and behaviour, letting him pet you as you ate what he brought, letting his hands clean your whole body and hair, not even complaining when you felt his hands drift towards your more private parts. Scarlatella looked extremely content with his work, rewarding you with constant praises and even a “pretty” collar for you. Despite it was a clear symbol of your turn into a kind of pet, the collar was beautiful, the gold glistening under the cold light as the beautiful charm with the form of a heart made a small noise of a bell each time you moved.

“Do you like it? I wanted something to congratulate you, after all, you have finally graduated. You are now back to your natural self.” You nodded, letting your head fall on his lap as he kept petting you. “I was thinking about giving you whatever you want, you can just ask.” He waited patiently until you were able to think about something other than the warmth that was coming from his body.

“…Freedom. I want to leave this room, please.” His eyes widened a bit, perhaps surprised that you were still able to think about your freedom.

“Dear, I know this can get suffocating, but you must stay here, it’s for your sa—”

“Please! I can feel my mind… slipping. This is getting worse each day, I… I don’t want do it, but the constant darkness is making me… think about… Just give me a bigger place, I don’t need something as fancy as my house, just something bigger than this room.” Scarlatella looked at you with a puzzled expression, his hand still massaging your scalp as he thought. Finally, he answered, not before letting a deep sigh.

“I suppose that’s fine. I can think of a story to explain your sudden appearance. Give me a few days so I can get everything ready, yeah? Promise I will do it.” As soon as he said that, he got up from the sofa that was in the room, quickly leaving the place before you were able to beg him to keep his promise.

Contrary to what you believed, Scarlatella kept his promise, coming back with a small suitcase and some clothes for you to change yourself, taking your hand as he made you walk with your eyes covered by that well-known cloth. When you were finally told to take it off, you were in the middle of a beautiful flower field. All the flowers were spider lilies, making it seem as if it was some kind of blood-filled battlefield.

“Do you like it, dear? I had to pay some money so they could build this house, together with planting these flowers.” He kept his grip around your wrist tight, not hurting you, but not letting go either. As he opened the door, you finally saw the house. It was a beautiful villa, completely decorated with cottage-like furniture.

“Yes, I like it.” Scarlatella smiled, a strange sheen in his gaze.

Soon, you realised why was he looking at you like that. You had fallen completely into his plan for turning you into his wife. He had created some complex story about you being his wife for over eight years, having to separate because you had been taking care of your sick father while he worked to the bone to get you as much as he could for the moment you came back to him. Everyone in the small hometown believed him, after all, he had been working there as farmer for quite some time, using it as a mere disguise so he could plan every little detail, creating a perfect façade so everyone would simply nod and smile to whatever he said. After that, your role became the one of a housewife, making you bake, cook, and clean, keeping the house warm and tidy by the time he arrived back home.

Soon, the days started to melt together, and your deep engraved hatred for him turned into a less bitter resentment. After all, he was the one that was providing for you, keeping you all warm and cozy while buying every single thing you asked him for, never doing anything that could hurt you. Slowly but surely, your mind started to reshape once again, now seeing him as a still intimidating, yet protecting figure. With that, it was finally the perfect ground for Scarlatella to create his perfect little wife.

Since that moment, Scarlatella started to become more physical with you, helping you around with all the cooking, “accidentally” rubbing his groin against your ass while he pretended to search for something on the top shelf. Not only that, but he made sure you could see him as a capable man, carrying the animals over his shoulder with ease, other times he was simply fixing stuff around the place. But the last moment he needed for your brain to start to see him as a possible partner was when you found him around town playing with the small children from the orphanage. He was surrounded by all of them, lifting them around and making them fly across the hair, his relaxed smile plastered on his face as he tried to make them control themselves as they waited their turn. Your eyes widened a bit, surprised to see him in such a… casual scene. So when he got back home, his working shirt slightly drenched because of the sudden rain that had started quite recently. The shirt was getting clung on his body, making his lean and muscular body stand out even further.

“Hey dear, how was your day? I hope it went great. Sorry I’m late, can’t believe I got caught in the middle of the rain while I was finishing some errands…” As he said that, he made his way around the kitchen, taking off his shirt and leaving it hanging on one of the chairs, surrounding your smaller frame with his arms. “I missed you so much, dear.” You tried your hardest to pretend not to notice, but of course you did, fuck, his groin was rubbing against your ass, and even then, it was clear that he was quite… gifted, down there. Still, you simply tightened the grip on the knife, biting your lips as you kept trying to focus on the food you were cooking.

Ever since that moment, you were no longer able to control yourself, always orbiting around him with your hand tightly wrapped around his arm every single time any other persons started to look way too affectionately at him. Scarlatella quickly noticed this, looking completely pleased with how he had been able to fix your precious little brain into a loving wife. In fact, he even started to pamper you even further, kissing your forehead every morning, asking you to let him shower together… Of course, you said yes.

So then, the two of you entered the bathroom, slowly undressing each other as the water started to warm up. “Love, you look so nice like this… All naked for me… I could just eat you up.” His hand drifted around your body, making your body shiver under his hands, and even if you were about to kiss him, he got away, extending his hand so he could help you get inside the bathtub. “Let me help you, dear.”

As the two of you finally entered the bathtub, he calmly traced your body with the sponge, making sure to scrub your skin without causing any type of harm. Then, he moved to your hair, taking the bottle of shampoo and scrubbing it while he hummed a little tune. Then, he focused on himself, redoing everything he had done to you. As he did that, your naked bodies kept pressing against each other, making you squirm at the slightest touch and forcing you to let small whimpers out every time you felt his lower half rub against your back. Finally, Scarlatella lost his composure as you kept pressing against him on purpose. “Dear… I have a feeling that you’ve been quite, eager to make our relationship more physical, am I right?” His eyes were now fixated on your face, making you feel even more flustered as you avoided his gaze. “Oh sweetheart, if you wanted that, I could have given it to you any time, after all, I do believe it is time we get to expand our little family.” And despite you would have normally shivered in disgust, this idea now started to charm you. So you nodded, accepting whatever he wanted you to do at that point. “Then we should get to business, let me get you ready love.” With that said, Scarlatella finally kissing your lips, his tongue entering your oral cavity as if he had been starving for a long time. “You taste so good… I could stay like this forever.” Scarlatella kept kissing you, his hands starting to glide towards your chest, starting to play with your nipples as his tongue kept exploring your mouth. “Dear… I think we should move to our bedroom; I don’t want your first time to hurt.”

“Oh, that’s fine, not like it’s my first time, you know, I did it a few times before you became my-.” Before you were able to finish your sentence, Scarlatella was already getting the two of you out of the bath, lifting you up and carrying you over to the bedroom he had been preparing for quite some time. Despite his gaze looked a bit crazed out, he let you down softly on the bed.

“It seems I was a bit too gentle with you, that was my fault. I suppose you must prefer someone meaner, treat you as if you were a little fuck toy, I suppose your brain is still not that adapted to having a husband, that’s ok, I will fix it.” With nothing left to say to you, he got on top of you, towering over your smaller body as he started to kiss your neck. “I just wish I could have arrived earlier… Get to be your first, let you make me yours…It’s a shame we had to meet under those circumstances.”  And even regardless his almost apologising words, his actions were crude, clearly showing his uncontrollable desire to make you completely his. “… I should definitely get you pregnant, make sure everyone knows who your husband is, let’s see if any other fucker tries to get with my sweet wife.” As he kept mumbling to himself, his lips started to make a trail towards your chest, moving even further down as your moans got louder. Suddenly, he got away from you for a second, taking something from the small nightstand. Still quiet, he opened the small bottle, letting the sticky liquid help him prepare your pussy for him. “Not like you will need it, apparently you were more prepared than me.”

“Come on, it’s not like we are… fuck, I don’t know, it’s just, it’s not like you are a virgin, right? There’s no need for---”

“I am.” His hands stopped for a second, his fingers a few inches away from entering you. “I’ve been investigating so I could make it as comfortable for you as possible, but that’s ok, I will make sure our next time is perfect… Let’s just use this time for letting you know how this works.” Without further due, Scarlatella started to tease your entrance, rubbing his fingertips against your entrance, while his other hand started to move towards your weak spot, starting to tease your clit as he kept kissing your neck. As the minutes went on, you started to notice a weird warmth inside your cunt, making your tears swell up in your eyes as Scarlatella kept teasing you.

“Stop— Can’t—It feels weird, like really weird, it’s not normal!” Scarlatella smiled wickedly, his eyes darkening as he saw how your pussy kept releasing your sticky fluids, with no shame, he got his face closer, starting to leave kitty licks over your clit before he began to fuck your entrance with his tongue, making you cry due to the overstimulation as he kept stopping just before you could release. This torture kept going for a couple minutes, making you clench the sheets, biting your lips as you kept mumbling barely understandable words: “Please, please… Just—Please! Fuck, please, let me cum, please, please…” Your words kept slurring, making him smile at the beautiful portrait he had been able to turn your gorgeous face into, he caressed your face with one of his hands, his lips still curved into an amused look as your face had become a mixture of snot, tears, and saliva. Suddenly, you felt Scarlatella’s arms wrap around you, lifting you from the bed and letting you lay on his lap, his unclothed erection rubbing against your clit, rocking your body back and forth as he kept taunting you.

“I just can’t believe you preferred some random person over me, love. I’ve waiting for you my whole life, I even learnt all this… tricks to get you to feel as good as possible.” All of sudden, his tip went in, barely letting you get ready as he kept pushing it inside and out, making your eyes water as he kept tormenting you for a few minutes more, his gaze becoming more and more obscure as his erection just kept growing. “Fuck, whatever… I’ll just have to prove you that nobody will ever fuck you like I can, get you pregnant so you can only see me… love me…” His eyes lightened for a second just from the thought, and before you even noticed, your back was once again pressed against the mattress, with Scarlatella towering over you as he was finally able to gradually introduce his whole length, the stretch making you whine and cling to his back. “You feel so good around me, love… Just wait, I’ll fill you up, fill your pretty pussy with my cum so nobody ever tries to get too close to you—You’ll look so pretty with your tummy all round—” As Scarlatella’s hips started to punish your sore cunt, you were finally able to cum, eyes rolling to the back of your head as your legs locked around him, as a poor attempt on getting him to stop for a second.

“Wait—Too soon, I can’t get pregnant yet!” You pushed a bit against his lower abdomen, your hands barely stopping him as they kept shaking because of the constant orgasms that just kept pilling up, forcing your brain to become more and more fuzzy each time. It was then that Scarlatella wrapped his own hands around your waists, using them as mere handles for him to push the tip of his cock just a bit further, just enough for you to cum once more with a pathetic whine. Despite you had already cum all over him, Scarlatella’s thrusts didn’t slow down, if not growing stronger as his mind was already too far gone.

“Gotta get you pregnant—That’s all I need—Fill your pretty pussy with my cock and get you to- Fuck- cream all over my cock, that’s it baby… Cum all over your husband, make a mess on my cock, you’re doing so good love…” His words kept resonating in your mind, almost as if it was some kind of chant, and despite you tried your best to endure it, your brain gave up, after all, Scarlatella had been taking care of you so nicely… It wouldn’t hurt to let him keep doing it for the rest of his life… right? As Scarlatella kept muttering to himself, his cock was already twitching, signifying just how close he was to releasing his essence inside of you. With your mind now completely broken, you smiled, your arms and legs tightening around his waist as his cock kept hammering against your cervix, one of his hands carefully pressing against the lower half of your abdomen, causing the pleasure to just build up even further as he finally released his load inside of you, his constant groans now turning into soft praises and kisses. “You did so good, love… Let me take care of everything from now on, I will make you the happiest wife ever, no need to think about anything, just promise to tell me everything you need or want, yeah? I’ll be the best husband int the world.” His hands kept petting your hair as his cock started to deflate inside you, still remaining inside as he refused to pull out in case some of his essence spilled out. “Let’s wait a bit, love. I will prepare the bath in few minutes; I just want to make sure everything goes correctly.” He peppered a few kisses all over your face, his hand rubbing your tummy as he kept imagining that near future he had been longing for.

[smutszn]

Meeting at the bookstore

the first time you see luigi, you're at the hawaii public library returning your overdue books. you think "that guy is really attractive, but not my type." he looks like a total surfer bro. cute, but a bro. probably works in finance and is on his eat, pray, love trip in hawaii

next weekend, your friend wants to get a book to read on the beach. you love bookstores, so of course you say yes. to your surprise, you see the surfer guy from the library there again. you recognize him because of his distinctive eyebrows and his confident aura.

you make eyes with him, and he seems to have a look of recognition too. he's cute, you can't help but notice, but you're too chicken to do anything. did he look at me? you second guess yourself. just when you think it's all in your head, he puts down the book he was looking at and joins you by the contemporary fiction section, standing right next to you.

"hi, what are you reading?"

you flip over the book. kind of stunned and not even sure what you were looking at. "intermezzo, this new sally rooney book. i'm a big fan of her books."

"i've actually read her other books too," he chimes in.

you're a bit surprised, but of course he would. you feel yourself heating up. you're not used to this sort of attention. you wonder where your friend is.

"are you going to get it?," he asks

"i'm only allowing myself to buy one book, otherwise i'll be poor," you laugh. "so...no. i have my eye on "the backyard birds chronicles" by amy tan. i might get intermezzo from the library when they have it in stock." you show him the book that's by your side.

"well, i'm going to get it," he smiles sunnily. "so who can i thank for making a good book suggestion?"

"y/n," you extend your hand. "nice to meet you"

he shakes it. he has a nice firm shake.

"nice to meet you too, hopefully i'll see you around," he flashes a charming smile, winks and goes to the cash register.

that was a really nice encounter, you think. it was light-hearted, fun. flirtatious? would be nice to have more of that.

you go look for your friend. she's already rung up and waiting for you, flipping through her purchase, fourth wing.

"oh y/n," she says as you two are walking to the beach, "i forgot to tell you, but this cute guy with curly dark hair gave me this book to give to you. i asked him if he was sure this was for you and he said your name, so i figured i should just take it."

it's the copy of intermezzo you left on the table. your jaw drops.

you're at the beach, excited to dive into a new book. you look at "the backyard bird chronicles" but then decide against it. as a gift to the mystery boy, you'll read intermezzo first.

you open the book and on the inside cover you see scrawled

you never asked me my name. it's luigi. and you never asked me my phone number. call me maybe?

Who wants to continue my fluff?

[keehomania]

paradise — jjk (18+)

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ smut — loosely inspired by outer banks — friends with benefits, kook/pogue dynamic, violence, manipulative!toxic!jungkook, p in v intercourse, jealousy, creampie, car sex, degradation, jungkook is mean lol, tit play, lots of yapping, orgasm denial, spanking, drug usage

hell is other people. at least, according to sartre. everybody seemed to have their own personal perspective. you had your sartres, your tolstoys, and even your nietzsches, if that struck your fancy. that was the beauty of philosophy—everybody had their own way of looking at the glass, whether it was half-full or not. the sheer essence relied on the fact that, those who cared enough, would put their minds to great use in order to put things into perspective. it was subjective. to sartre, hell was other people. to you, it was jeon jungkook.

it was good. it was so good, every part of it that your mind knew was bad, seemed to be countered by a much more primitive instinct. it was only natural, above all else. it allowed you to indulge in your primal instincts, in a way that would raise eyebrows instead of praise. to hell with it, you didn’t need praise. you just needed to live, and if anybody was going to tell you how to do it, it was going to be you. sartre could never let himself go and become incarnated in his body, but thankfully, you were no sartre.

there was a certain division that led life on the island, one that seemed to resemble the States’ red-blue way of thinking. there was a hint of bourgeoisie to it, maybe even more than a hint. one side of the island belonged to those who managed to get by, living on scraps and making the most of them. they were the commoners who, despite working to live, still lived. the other side, though basing their entire lives on privilege and luxury, ceased to live. they merely existed. they existed, with their three-story homes, trust funds, and private schools, but they didn’t know the first thing about living.

living was what you did best, and you had nothing to regret. you could only wish to turn back time, to shed the last eighteen years of your life the way a snake shed its skin, and to start over. you’d trade the hand you were dealt at birth, every single privilege that was guaranteed, for the life you were now living. your blood ran blue, but your heart knew exactly where home was, much to your parents’ dismay. while they weren’t supportive, they were willing to look the other way. they knew nothing could replace the bonds formed—your second family, even if it was on the cut.

at times, you were in over your head. even with the first rays of sunlight making their breakthrough of the day, the smell of salt in the air, the feeling of coarse sand between your toes—sometimes, it wasn’t enough to quiet your mind. you stared into the sea, watching the boats grow smaller and smaller as they travelled down south, the corners of your lips turning downward as you did so. during moments like these, you would reminisce, and you would do it quietly. you would take a minute to grieve the life you had discarded, the friendships you had ended, and the luxuries you kissed goodbye. you were happier now, the half-full glass part of your mind would tell you, but the other still asked, what if you weren’t?

“these tides got me by the fucking balls, dude,” was the first thing to have snapped you out of your own thoughts, earning your attention in a matter of seconds. finally, you felt yourself relax. you could see taehyung in the water, wrestling with the surfboard under his arm as he gasped for air. for a second, he met your gaze, and you found yourself smiling. jimin stood over him, crouching against the floorboards of the boat—the same one he named in taehyung’s honor, the “dokdo maknae.”

you watched in amusement as he extended his hand, offering his best man help, even if it seemed like the world’s biggest struggle. “do us all a favor and just let him drown next time,” you called out, finally propping yourself off the ground and back onto your feet. despite the middle finger sent your way, you could hear seulgi cracking up just a few feet away from you. “yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” taehyung responded as he dried himself off with an old rag.

you shook your head, your grin widening as you made your way toward seulgi, who was sitting cross-legged near the cooler, sunglasses perched on her nose, sipping a beer. the sun spilled across the boat, warming the floorboards beneath your bare feet and casting golden ripples across the water. the air smelled of salt and sunscreen, a scent that always brought you peace. “boys,” seulgi said with a smirk as you dropped down beside her, stealing her beer for a quick sip. “so dramatic.”

before you could respond, taehyung, now aboard, threw the rag to the side with a flourish. “you want dramatic? i’ll show you dramatic,” he declared, heading toward the cooler with newfound purpose. you and seulgi exchanged a look, already bracing for whatever ridiculousness he was about to pull. “i bet i can shotgun two beers faster than anyone here,” he announced, grabbing two cans from the cooler.

“oh, please,” you said, leaning back on your elbows as the sun kissed your skin. “you can’t get through one can without it looking like you pissed yourself.”

“you need to learn to have a little more faith in me,” taehyung replied with a confident smirk, already cracking open the cans. jimin was on the other side of the boat, shaking his head. “this should be good,” seulgi murmured, pulling her sunglasses down just enough to watch the scene unfold.

with exaggerated theatrics, taehyung lifted both cans, the liquid already beginning to foam. “one, two,” he started, his voice trailing off as he tilted them back, the first gush of bitter liquid splashing wildly. you couldn’t help the laughter bubbling up as, true to form, taehyung managed to spill more than he drank. within seconds, beer was running down his arms, soaking his shirt, and unfortunately, spraying onto both you and seulgi in the process. “see, i can totally do it!” he exclaimed triumphantly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“you asshole,” you said, feigning annoyance as you flicked droplets off your arms. “you got us all wet!” through her laughter, seulgi added, “You’re a walking disaster, dude.”

taehyung, unbothered, gave you both a devilish grin. “i’ve got a solution,” he said, stepping closer to you. before you could react, his arms were already wrapped around your waist, lifting you off the ground and and throwing you effortlessly over his shoulder. “taehyung, don’t even try it!” you yelled, pounding on his back, but he was already sprinting toward the edge of the boat.

the impact was cold and sudden, the water enveloping you in an instant. you came up for air sputtering, pushing your wet hair out of your face as you glared at him. “you’re such an ass,” you snapped, splashing water in his direction, but your laughter betrayed you. his grin was wide and unrepentant as he treaded water, his dark hair plastered to his forehead. “and yet, you can’t get enough of me,” he teased, dodging your splash with ease. despite your protests, you couldn’t deny the truth of his words. moments like these—laughter, salt water, the sun rising higher in the sky—reminded you why you chose this life.

the sun hung high in the sky, casting long shadows on the beach as the waves crashed in a soothing rhythm against the shore. you lay sprawled on a towel beside seulgi, your sunglasses shielding your eyes from the glare, the heat of the day seeping into your skin. taehyung and jimin had ventured further down the beach with their fishing rods, their laughter echoing faintly over the sound of the waves.

seulgi was flipping through a fashion magazine, occasionally pausing to comment on an outfit or a piece of jewelry, but you were only half-listening. your mind drifted, lulled by the sea breeze and the distant hum of voices. that was, until your phone buzzed beside you. you hesitated, a pang of unease washing over you as you turned the screen over. the name flashing on the screen was both familiar and unwelcome.

do not answer: wya

your stomach twisted as you stared at the message, the three letters pulling you from the tranquility of the moment. you didn’t have to think twice to know why he was texting. jeon jungkook always had a way of turning up uninvited, unannounced, and unwelcome—yet there was something about him that kept you from cutting him off entirely. you scoffed quietly, a sound that barely escaped your throat, but seulgi noticed the subtle change in your demeanor.

“what’s wrong?” she asked, lowering her sunglasses to give you a curious glance. you forced a laugh, shaking your head as you quickly locked your phone. “wrong number, i guess.” she raised an eyebrow, unconvinced, but didn’t push further. you couldn’t risk her knowing even a fraction of what you had going on with jungkook. seulgi was fiercely loyal, and if she ever found out about the tangled mess of mistakes and emotions you had with him, she’d never let it slide.

your thoughts churned as you leaned back against the towel, staring at the sky. what had started as a drunken mistake one night at a party thrown by the rich and reckless had somehow spiraled into something far more complicated. jungkook had a reputation that preceded him—dangerous, aloof, and always out for his own gain. but with you, he was different. or at least, you’d convinced yourself he was. you thought back to the nights where he’d been unexpectedly gentle, his touch careful and his words soft, as though the walls he put up for the world didn’t exist in your presence. it was a lie you clung to, a fantasy you chased, even when his actions painted a different picture.

the resentment had been simmering for a while, but it reached its boiling point last week. you’d seen him at the golfing event, his arm slung around another girl as though you didn’t exist. it was the final confirmation you needed: he wasn’t what you wanted him to be. still, your fingers hovered over your phone, and before you could stop yourself, you typed out a response.

you: beach

you: taehyung’s throwing a party tn

the reply came faster than you anticipated, as though he had been waiting for your message.

do not answer: omw

your jaw tightened as you stared at the screen, irritation bubbling up inside you. the audacity he had was almost impressive, if it weren’t so infuriating.

you: ur not invited lol

a beat passed before his response lit up the screen, and it was exactly what you expected.

do not amswer: see u tonight

you sighed, tossing your phone onto the towel beside you with more force than necessary. the nerve of him.

“what’s up?” seulgi asked, glancing at you from over the rim of her sunglasses. “nothing,” you said quickly, forcing a smile. “just work stuff.” she nodded, satisfied with the answer, and returned to her magazine. but your mind was elsewhere, already bracing for the chaos jungkook’s presence would inevitably bring. you hated how easily he got under your skin, how no matter how many times you told yourself you were done, you always found yourself right back where you started.

the memory seemed to hit you like a wave, drowning out the warmth of the sun and the soft sounds of the beach. it wasn’t just a moment—it was the catalyst, the precise point in time when your life split into the “before” and “after” of jeon jungkook. you’d never forget the smell of salt in the air mixed with the sharp bite of alcohol, or the way the world seemed to tilt slightly as you tried to keep your balance.

that night, the four of you—taehyung, jimin, seulgi, and yourself—had made the brilliant decision to sneak off to the other side of the island. it wasn’t a small feat; the jungle separating your beach from theirs was dense and wild, and every crack of a branch or rustle of leaves had sent shivers down your spine. but the promise of free booze and a party hosted by the infamous jungkook and his equally notorious friends had been too tempting.

the house where the party raged was perched on the cliffside, its floor-to-ceiling windows glowing with golden light. music blared loud enough to make the walls tremble, and the sound of laughter and splashes echoed from the pool. you hadn’t wasted any time diving headfirst into the expensive cocktails. the smooth taste of rum burned in the back of your throat, but it only fueled the high you were chasing. “have a hit, c’mon, it’s on the house,” a voice had called out over the noise.

you turned just in time to see jungkook leaning casually against a pool table, his friend nervously fidgeting with a rolled-up dollar bill in hand. the sharp scent of chemicals lingered in the air, unmistakable even in the chaos of the party. “don’t pussy out on me now, okay?” his voice was smooth, almost coaxing, but the sharp edge in his words betrayed the threat beneath. his friends—if you could call them that—laughed on cue, while a group of girls lounged behind him, their eyes glued to him like moths to a flame.

something about the scene struck you wrong. even through the haze of alcohol, your disdain bubbled up. the scoff that escaped your lips wasn’t intentional, but it was loud enough to carry. jungkook’s head snapped up, his sharp gaze landing on you like a laser. “you get lost, whore? cut’s on the other side of the island,” he sneered, his words slicing through the air like a knife. laughter erupted around him, his friends quick to follow his lead. but you weren’t about to back down, not to him.

“you get lost, asshole? addicts anonymous is on the other side of the island,” you shot back, your words sharper than you expected. the laughter died instantly, replaced by a stunned silence. even his so-called friends seemed intrigued, their eyes darting between you and him like they were watching a bomb about to go off. jungkook’s expression shifted, his smirk faltering as he straightened, his full attention now focused on you.

“you’ve got a mouth on you,” he murmured, stepping away from the table. “and you’ve got a habit,” you retorted, moving closer despite the voice in your head screaming for you to stop.

he tilted his head, studying you with a look that sent a shiver down your spine. “let me do my thing, yeah? shit cost me a lot.” there it was—the money. it always came down to that with guys like him. you watched as he turned back to his friend, offering a look that was equal parts mocking and demanding. the guy hesitated, the dollar trembling in his grip.

before you could think better of it, your feet carried you forward. with a boldness that surprised even you, you snatched the bill from the guy’s hand, shoving jungkook aside with a force you hadn’t known you possessed. “if you’re gonna waste your money, might as well make it worth it,” you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

the rolled-up bill felt foreign in your hand, and your heart pounded in your chest as you leaned down, the sharp sting of the powder burning your nostrils. you inhaled until the line was gone, ignoring the searing pain and the metallic taste that followed.

straightening up, you turned to jungkook, your head spinning but your resolve unshaken. “you can leave him alone now,” you said, your voice steady despite the chaos in your mind. “not everyone needs coke and viagra to keep their dick hard.” the room fell silent, all eyes on you. jungkook stared at you, his expression unreadable, but there was something in his gaze—a flicker of surprise, maybe even admiration.

“you’d be surprised just how hard it can get,” he said, his voice low and dripping with amusement. your stomach twisted, but you refused to falter. “try me,” you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

his lips curled into a smirk, and for a moment, neither of you moved. then, without breaking eye contact, you turned on your heel and walked past him, ignoring the way your heart raced as you climbed the stairs. the sound of his footsteps behind you sent a chill down your spine, but you didn’t stop. you knew where this was headed. you knew it was a mistake. and yet, as you reached the top of the stairs and felt his hand wrap around your wrist, pulling you to face him, you knew you wouldn’t stop it. not tonight.

the morning after was worse than anything you could have anticipated. the headache was a dull roar behind your eyes, pulsing in time with your heartbeat, and the sour tang of regret clung to you like a second skin. the smell of sweat, alcohol, and sex lingered in the air, mixing into a nauseating reminder of the night before.

the room was bathed in the soft golden glow of the early morning sun filtering through the curtains. you blinked against the light, your senses slowly coming back to you as the events of the previous night unfurled in your mind. the party. the lines. the liquor. jungkook. shit, jungkook.

you pushed yourself upright, the sheet pooling around your waist as you surveyed the room with growing horror. his room. his bed. his things scattered around like trophies of his carelessness. and there, beside you, his arm lazily draped over the empty space, was the man himself. he looked peaceful, almost innocent in his sleep—a huge contrast to the wild, arrogant man from the night before. his dark hair was tousled against the pillow, his chest rising and falling steadily. you could make out the faint remnants of scratches on his shoulders and chest, and the sight made your stomach flip.

you slid out of his bed as quietly as you could, every movement measured and deliberate. the cool morning air hit your bare skin, sending a shiver down your spine. the ache in your thighs and the marks on your body only deepened your shame. your clothes were strewn across the floor, a chaotic mess of discarded fabric. you crouched down, gathering them quickly, trying to piece together some semblance of dignity.

the large mirror across the room caught your reflection, and you froze. you looked disheveled. vulnerable. raw. your hair was a mess, your makeup smeared, and your skin bore the evidence of his touch—purple bruises on your neck and thighs, faint scratches on your arms. it was as if your body had betrayed you, telling the story of your night with him in ways you wished it wouldn’t.

as you slipped your panties back on and reached for your bra, the voice you dreaded most cut through the silence like a knife. “going somewhere?” you froze, your heart plummeting into your stomach. of course, he was awake. of course, fate wouldn’t let you escape unnoticed.

you didn’t turn to look at him, didn’t dare meet his gaze. instead, you focused on pulling your bra straps into place, forcing yourself to appear unaffected. “clearly,” you deadpanned, hoping the sharpness in your tone would mask the turmoil inside you. he shifted, the sound of the sheets rustling making you painfully aware of his presence. you could feel his eyes on you, heavy and intent, as if he was committing every inch of you to memory.

“seem to be in a big rush,” he murmured, his voice laced with amusement. “try not to miss me too much.” you scoffed, finally pulling your top over your head. the fabric felt like armor, shielding you from his piercing gaze, though you could still feel it. “bite me,” you snapped, turning to face him.

the smirk that spread across his face was slow and deliberate, like he was savoring every second of your reaction. “well,” he drawled, his eyes flicking down to your legs, “if your legs are any indication, i think i already have.” confused, you glanced down, and your breath caught in your throat. bruises. his marks. scattered along your inner thighs like some twisted declaration of possession. heat flooded your cheeks, a mix of anger and humiliation that made your head spin.

when you looked back up, his gaze was unwavering, his fingers reaching out to brush against the bruised skin. the touch was light, almost reverent, but it sent a jolt through you nonetheless. “tell me this was a mistake,” he said, his voice soft and smooth, yet commanding. you opened your mouth, ready to deliver the cutting remark he deserved, but the words wouldn’t come. his eyes held you captive, dark and searching, and the goosebumps that rose on your skin betrayed you.

“it was a mistake,” you managed to say, your voice trembling despite your best efforts. jungkook tilted his head, his expression unreadable as his fingers continued to trace lazy circles on your thigh. “then why don’t you sound like you mean it?”

you stepped back, breaking his touch and the spell he seemed to have cast over you. “believe it or not, but i do,” you said, though the words felt hollow. he didn’t respond, just watched you with that same infuriating smirk as you grabbed the rest of your things and fled the room.

the party roared to life in a way that only taehyung could pull off. the island, once serene and peaceful, had transformed into a haven for decadence. fireworks lit up the night sky in an endless symphony of colors, their reflections shimmering on the dark water. music thundered from colossal speakers strategically placed along the beach, the bass so heavy it vibrated through the sand. people danced with wild abandon, their bodies swaying and colliding under the flickering light of bonfires scattered across the shore. drinks flowed, laughter echoed in the air, and the atmosphere was thick with an intoxicating mix of salt and cheap beer.

you weaved your way through the throng of people, the cacophony of sound and light almost overwhelming. the drink in your hand had long since lost its appeal, but you clung to it as a distraction, something to occupy your trembling fingers. your mind buzzed with unease, your nerves stretched thin under the weight of one singular thought: avoid jungkook at all costs. you couldn’t bear the thought of another confrontation, another one of his sharp words cutting into you like glass.

stumbling slightly, you glanced around for a quieter corner, somewhere you could breathe. your head was spinning, whether from the alcohol or the oppressive tension of the night, you weren’t sure. just as you thought you’d found a moment of peace, a pair of hands suddenly covered your eyes from behind. panic seized you, your breath catching in your throat as your heart raced.

you spun around, ready to lash out, only to be met with taehyung’s familiar, mischievous grin. his golden skin glowed under the light of the bonfires, and his dark hair fell messily across his forehead, damp from the humidity. “ants up your ass?” he teased, his voice lilting with amusement. “jesus, dude,” you muttered, letting out a shaky laugh as you tried to steady your pounding heart. “don’t sneak up on me like that.”

“relax,” he said, throwing a casual arm around your shoulders and pulling you close. “you’re too tense. come on, i’ve got just the thing to fix that.” before you could protest, he guided you down the beach, the noise of the crowd fading slightly as you moved further from the epicenter of the party. he stopped beside a cooler buried halfway in the sand, crouching down to rummage through it. with a triumphant smile, he pulled out a mai tai, holding it out like it was a prize.

“see how i remembered your favorite?” he said, his grin widening. “i should get some credit for that.” you couldn’t help but laugh, accepting the drink from him. “you get all the credit, tae,” you said, cracking open the can and taking a sip. the sweet, citrusy flavor was refreshing, and for a moment, you felt a bit of the tension leave your shoulders.

the two of you settled by one of the smaller bonfires, the warmth of the flames chasing away the chill of the ocean breeze. you leaned your head on his shoulder, the comfort of his presence grounding you in a way few things could. “i have to admit something,” he murmured after a moment, his voice low and conspiratorial. he reached out, brushing a strand of hair away from your face, his fingers light against your skin.

“what is it?” you asked, matching his tone. “i’m so fucked right now,” he whispered, his words slurring slightly as he dissolved into laughter. you couldn’t help it—you laughed, too, the sound bubbling up uncontrollably as the ridiculousness of the moment hit you. for the first time that night, you felt like you could breathe. but the moment shattered like glass as a voice cut through the laughter, sharp and cold.

“what’s so funny?” the entire beach seemed to freeze. the music, the laughter, even the waves crashing against the shore all faded into the background as you looked up. jungkook stood a few feet away, his dark eyes locked on you and taehyung, his expression thunderous.

taehyung was on his feet in an instant, his playful demeanor replaced by something sharper, more dangerous. “who the fuck invited you?” he snapped, his voice loud enough to draw the attention of a few nearby partygoers. jungkook’s gaze flicked to you, his lips curling into a smirk that sent a chill down your spine. “ask your girlfriend,” he said, his tone dripping with mockery. “she sure knows how to get around.”

the words hit like a slap, your cheeks flushing with equal parts anger and embarrassment. before you could react, taehyung lunged forward, his fist connecting with jungkook’s jaw with a sickening thud. “taehyung, stop!” you shouted, scrambling to your feet, but your voice was drowned out by the chaos.

jungkook retaliated immediately, his fist slamming into taehyung’s side with enough force to make him stumble. the two of them were a blur of motion, fists flying and curses ringing out as a small crowd began to gather. “knock it off!” jimin’s voice rang out as he pushed his way through the crowd, grabbing taehyung and pulling him back.

you darted forward, grabbing jungkook’s arm and tugging him away with all the strength you could muster. “let’s go,” you hissed, dragging him toward the parking lot. “shit,” he muttered, wiping at his nose. blood smeared across his hand, and he winced. “think he broke my fucking nose.”

“oh, please,” you snapped, your voice shaking with anger. “like you weren’t begging for it.” you stopped beside his car, spinning around to face him. “what the fuck is your problem?” you demanded, your voice rising. for a moment, he said nothing, his dark eyes searching yours. the silence stretched, the weight of it pressing down on you like a vice.

“you’re such a dick,” you continued, your frustration spilling over. “always starting shit, always—” before you could finish, jungkook slammed his hands against the car, the sound reverberating through the night. one of his fists hit the rearview mirror, knocking it loose. “you’re my problem,” he snapped, his voice low and dangerous.

his hands grabbed your shoulders, pinning you against the car. his face was inches from yours, his breath hot against your skin as his eyes burned into yours. “you’ve been my problem since the night we met,” he growled. “since you walked onto my property that night, flashing your shit like sharon stone.”

fear twisted in your gut, but you refused to let it show. “go to hell, you fucking asshole,” you spat, your voice trembling. “i’d take those two minutes of getting fucked by you back if i could.” to your surprise, he laughed—a dark, humorless sound that sent a shiver down your spine. he stepped back for a moment, pacing like a caged animal before slamming his hand against the car next to your head.

“some fucking nerve you have,” he said, his voice a venomous whisper. “feeling that dipshit up right in front of me.”

“what's it to you, asshole?” you snapped, shoving against his chest with all your might. his hands caught yours, pinning them above your head with one hand as his other cupped your jaw. “did he fuck you yet?” he asked, his tone sharp and cruel. “does he know who popped your cherry?”

the words hit like a punch to the gut, but you refused to let him see how much they hurt. “get lost,” you bit out, your voice shaking with rage. “maybe that slut from your golf tournament'll help you find your way back.” a bitter laugh escaped his lips as he leaned in closer. “you can’t be serious,” he murmured, his lips grazing your ear.

“why not?” you bit out. “she’s easier to get into than community college, why the fuck not?” before you could say another word, his lips crashed against yours, silencing your tirade. you tried to resist, your hands pushing against him, but his grip was unyielding. slowly, against your better judgment, you gave in.

when he pulled back, his breathing was heavy, his forehead resting against yours. “she’s my friend’s girlfriend, for fuck’s sake,” he muttered. for a second, you almost felt like an idiot, but you couldn’t let yourself feel like one. why should you? “you’re the one who wanted something casual,” you shot back, your voice barely above a whisper.

for a moment, he said nothing, the tension between you thick and suffocating. it was all because he knew you had the upper hand. then, without a word, he kissed you again. this time, you didn’t resist. you let the anger, the frustration, and the twisted desire take over, surrendering to the fire that had been burning between you all along.

his lips moved with a bruising intensity, claiming yours with a ferocity that made your knees weak. the tension between you crackled like lightning, the weight of his jealousy and your own suppressed emotions combusting into a heated clash. his grip on your wrists didn’t loosen, pinning you against the cool metal of the car as his body pressed flush against yours. his tongue swept across your lower lip, demanding entry, and when you opened up to him, the kiss deepened into something raw and consuming.

when he finally pulled back, his lips swollen and glistening, his dark eyes bored into yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch. his hand slid down from your jaw to your neck, his thumb brushing lightly against the sensitive skin as his lips ghosted over your jawline. “you think that asshole could ever make you feel this way?” he muttered against your skin, his voice low and rough, dripping with jealousy.

you opened your mouth to respond, but the words died in your throat when his lips found the curve of your neck. he kissed his way down slowly, deliberately, his teeth grazing your skin just enough to leave you trembling. you gasped when he nipped at a particularly sensitive spot, one he knew like the back of his hand, your body arching into his as your hands twisted in his shirt, desperate for an anchor.

“answer me,” he murmured, his voice vibrating against your neck. his tongue flicked over the spot he’d just bitten, soothing the sting with an intimacy that sent a rush of heat straight to your core.

“jungkook—” you breathed, barely able to form coherent words. “that’s not an answer,” he growled, his hands releasing your wrists only to find their way to your hips. his fingers dug into your flesh possessively as he pulled you closer, his thigh slipping between yours in a way that left no space between your bodies.

your head fell back against the car as he continued his assault on your neck, his lips and teeth working in tandem to leave marks that you knew would be there for days. his jealousy was palpable, woven into every kiss, every touch, every deliberate pause as he refused to give you the release you so desperately craved. “taehyung couldn’t do this to you,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your collarbone now, his voice a sinful whisper. “he couldn’t make you feel like this, could he?”

“stop,” you gasped, though your hands betrayed you as they slid up his chest, curling into his shirt and pulling him closer.

“stop lying to yourself,” he shot back, his hands sliding over the fabric of your bikini, his palms warm against your bare skin as he palmed at the flesh of your tits. his thumbs traced slow, deliberate circles down your sides as he kissed his way back up to your jawline, his lips brushing yours but never quite closing the distance. you whimpered, the sound torn from your throat as his teeth grazed your ear. “say it,” he demanded, his voice rough and commanding. “say he could never touch you like this.”

your lips trembled, torn between pride and the undeniable truth that jungkook had you under his spell, as he always had. but he didn’t wait for your answer. instead, his lips finally descended on yours again, and this time, the kiss was slower, deeper, his tongue exploring your mouth like he was memorizing every inch of you. his hands roamed greedily, one slipping under the hem of your shirt while the other gripped your thigh, pulling it up to wrap around his waist. the position left you completely at his mercy, your body pinned against the car with no escape from the heat radiating off him.

“admit it,” he murmured against your lips, his voice sending shivers down your spine. his hand slid higher, his fingers teasing the edge of your bra as his lips moved to your neck again, his teeth grazing your skin just enough to make you gasp. “admit i’m the only one whos ever gonna make you feel this way.”

you hated how right he was, how your body responded to his every touch, every word, every possessive look. your hands fisted in his hair, pulling him closer as your resolve shattered completely. “only you, kook,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the sound of your own racing heartbeat. “no one else, i promise.”

the heat between the two of you was suffocating, consuming, as his lips captured yours in a fervent kiss while his hands fumbled to open the back door of his car. he groaned into your mouth as the door clicked open, his lips never leaving yours as he maneuvered the two of you into the backseat. the kiss was messy, all teeth and tongue, a clash of frustration, jealousy, and raw desire that made your head spin.

your knees straddled his hips as you hovered over him, your breathing erratic as his hands roamed your body. his fingers slid up your sides, brushing over the thin strings of your bikini top, and he pulled back just enough to look at you. his dark eyes were heavy with lust as they trailed down your body, lingering on the way your bikini struggled to contain you. “fuck,” he groaned, his voice thick and dripping with approval. “bikini’s too small for you, doll.”

your cheeks burned under his gaze, but before you could respond, his hands tugged at the ties of your top, and his head dipped down, burying itself between your tits as they dropped out. his lips were hot against your skin, kissing and sucking with an unrelenting hunger that left you breathless.

“got the best rack on the island, don’t you?” he muttered against your skin, his voice muffled but no less vulgar. the words sent a jolt of heat straight through you, equal parts demeaning and intoxicating, because it was him—raw, unfiltered, and unapologetically possessive. “stop,” you gasped, your hands threading into his hair, pulling him closer even as you protested. “anyone could walk by and see us.”

he didn’t even pause, too busy sucking a mark into the soft flesh of your chest. “let ’em see,” he grunted, his teeth grazing the swell of your breast before his tongue followed, soothing the sting. “wan’em to see who gets to fuck you stupid.” your breath hitched as his lips traced the faint tan lines left behind by your swimsuit, his warm tongue licking over them with a softness that contrasted the possessive grip of his hands on your hips.

with a smirk that could only be described as pure evil, he slapped your left tit, the sound echoing in the car. your eyes went wide with shock and arousal, your mouth dropping open on a silent cry.

his grip tightened around your hips as he slapped the right one, the sting spreading like wildfire across your chest, leaving you trembling. “shit, you like that, don’t you?” he whispered, his voice thick with lust. “you like when i show you who’s in charge?” you nodded frantically, unable to form words, your eyes glazed over with desire. jungkook chuckled, the sound dark and sinful, as he continued his assault, slapping each boob in turn, watching as your nipples grew harder with every impact.

you watched as he hoisted one of your legs up and, to your astonishment, pressed his pelvis against the bare flesh of your thigh. at first, you almost didn’t get it, until you felt it. through his khaki shorts, rock hard and throbbing. “you feel how hard you make me, doll?” you felt it, of course you did, but just in case you didn’t, he made sure to guide your hand over his clothed dick. you allowed yourself to feel him up, to relish in the sight of him throwing his head back in bliss as you stroked his thick, solid cock as best as you could through his shorts.

his eyes rolled back in his head, a silent groan escaping his lips, and that was all the encouragement you needed. you leaned back, pressing the weight of your palm against his cock, and whispered, “fuck me, jungkook. please, need it so badly.” the words were like a spell, and he was the one under it. his eyes snapped to yours, filled with something akin to desperation. without another word, he yanked down the waistband of his shorts, freeing his cock with an urgency that made your mouth water. it was big, bigger than you remembered, and it was all for you.

his hand was on the back of your neck, pushing down as he guided his cock to your mouth, and you opened for him, eager to taste him, to have him fill you in every way possible. the tip of his dick was wet with pre-cum, and you licked at it like it was a summer treat. his hips bucked up, and he cursed under his breath. “finally putting that mouth to good use,” he murmured, his hand tightening slightly as he pushed further into your mouth. you took as much of him as you could, feeling his girth stretch your lips wide, and the sound he made was all the reward you needed.

his other hand slid down your stomach and hooked into the string of your bikini bottoms, tugging them aside to expose your drenched pussy. his thumb brushed against your clit, and you moaned around his cock. “got your panties all wet, baby,” he murmured, his eyes never leaving yours as he began to pump into your mouth with a steady rhythm. you felt yourself getting wetter with every stroke, his roughness only adding to the thrill. the anticipation of what was to come was almost too much to handle.

his hand moved from your neck to the base of his cock, and he began to fuck your mouth in earnest, his eyes never leaving yours. the smell of your arousal filled the car, mixing with the salty scent of the sea breeze that filtered through the open windows. you could feel your orgasm building, but he knew it. he knew how close you were, and he wasn't about to let you cum that easily. “you're not getting off until i say so,” he warned, his thumb pressing harder against your clit, the promise of pleasure just out of reach.

his free hand slid down to your throat, his grip firm but not painful as he began to choke you. the air grew thinner, and your eyes watered, but you didn't fight it. instead, you leaned into the feeling, letting his dominance wash over you like a wave. the pressure built alongside your need for air and the pressure in your clit, creating a cocktail of sensations that made your head spin. he knew he was close, but he wasn’t going to dump his seed anywhere but inside you.

his thumb slid down, pressing hard against your clit, and you felt the orgasm start to build. your eyes widened, and you tried to moan around his cock, but the sound was muffled by his thick shaft. “just like that, fuck,” he grunted, his eyes dark with lust. “keep going, just a little bit more.”

his other hand left your neck to fist your hair, and he pulled you off his cock with a wet pop. your mouth was left gaping, and he smirked at the sight, his dick still hard and gleaming with your saliva. “need’a get a good look at you,” he murmured, his voice gruff with need. “should see how fucked you look, and ’m not even through with you.”

you whined, your knees hitting the sticky car floor with a thud as you positioned yourself over his hips. unfortunately, he was right. your lips were bruised, chin stained with spit, your make-up smeared, and your hair a mess. it only turned him on even more, his cock was now fully exposed, bobbing in front of your face, and he stroked it lazily as he watched you, the smugness in his gaze unmistakable. “you’re so fucking eager, aren’t you?” he said, his voice thick with satisfaction. “desperate to take all of me, to let me use you like the stupid bitch you are.”

his words only served to inflame the fire in your belly, and you nodded, your cheeks flushing with both embarrassment and arousal. “yeah,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “i’m your cocksleeve, nobody else’s.” his grip on your hair tightened, and he guided his cock back to your mouth. “prove it,” he demanded, pushing inside you until you gagged. your eyes watered as you struggled to accommodate him, but you didn’t pull away. instead, you took a deep breath and took him even deeper, feeling his cock hit the back of your throat.

his hand moved to your chin, and he slapped your pussy again, the sound echoing in the car. “you love this, don’t you?” he said, his voice a low growl. “love this first class slut specialty, huh?” you couldn't speak, but you nodded, your eyes pleading for him to keep going. he slapped you again, and again, the sting turning to pleasure, making your clit throb with each impact. the sound of your own wetness filled the air as he chuckled darkly, his grip on your hair never loosening.

his free hand slid down to your pussy, his fingers sliding through your juices before pushing inside you, curling up to hit your g-spot. you moaned, the feeling of being filled both in your mouth and in your cunt too much to bear, and you felt your orgasm start to crest. just as you were about to cum, he pulled out of your mouth, his hand moving from your neck to cover your mouth and nose. “not yet,” he whispered, his eyes never leaving yours. “not until i say you can.”

his thumb found your clit again, and he began to rub it in firm circles, the pressure building until you thought you would scream. “please, fuck, please,” you whined, your hips bucking against his hand. “please let me cum, need it so bad.”

his grin was feral as he leaned back against the car seat, watching you squirm. “who’s the one in charge here?” he asked, his voice a taunt. “who gets to decide when you get to come?”

you bit your lip, your eyes pleading with him as you nodded, the words leaving you in a rush. “you do,” you panted. “you do, jungkook.” his hand stilled, and he leaned in to whisper in your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “good girl, using your brain for once,” he cooed, his voice a sweet caress that belied the darkness in his words. “now, you can cum for me.”

his hand on your clit began to move again, faster this time, and you couldn't hold back the scream that tore from your throat. your orgasm washed over you like a tidal wave, making your body convulse as you came, hard and fast, your pussy clenching around his fingers. just as you thought it was over, you felt his thick fingers wrap around your thighs, turning you over as he positioned himself against your cunt from behind.

“jungkook, please, ’s too much,” you cried out, still coming down from your first orgasm as tears filled your eyes, but he had no intention to listen. you knew it the second you felt his fat, thick tip probing at your cunt, your back arching as his hands pulled at the flesh of your ass. he taunted you a bit, determined to hurt you as much as he could, pushing his tip in ever so slightly, before pulling right back out.

you felt like sobbing, the feeling all to much for you as you held onto the car door for dear life. “beg me,” he murmured, even if he needed to resist his own urges. “beg me to split this pussy open, baby, use your words.”

you didn’t want to, but the desperation in your voice was clear as you whimpered, “please, jungkook, fuck me. please, i need it so badly."

his hand tightened on your throat, and he thrust into you with no warning, filling you in one brutal stroke. you screamed out, the pain mixing with pleasure as he claimed you, your walls stretching to accommodate his size. “fuck, still as tight as you were when i popped your cherry,” he groaned, his hips pumping into you, his grip on your throat tightening just enough to make everything feel sharper. “this is what you want, isn’t it?”

you nodded frantically, the pressure on your neck making it difficult to speak. “yes,” you choked out, your voice barely above a whisper. “yes, fuck, it’s what i need.”

his thrusts grew more erratic, his breath coming in harsh pants as he fucked you against the car door. “ass bouncing ’gainst my fuckin’ balls,” he groaned, his voice strained as he delivered a harsh smack to the flesh of your ass. how you loved knowing he'd leave more than enough marks for everyone to see. “so fucking tight. i love how you grip me.”

you felt his hand slide down to your clit, his fingers moving in a way that had you seeing stars. “you're gonna cum for me again,” he said, his voice a command. “gonna cum while i'm filling your tight little pussy up, okay?” you nodded again, unable to form words, your eyes squeezed shut as he worked your body like a fiddle, playing you into a symphony of pleasure and pain. your moans grew louder, and you could feel the second orgasm building, a storm in your belly that threatened to consume you.

his hand on your neck loosened slightly, but before you could catch your breath, his mouth was on yours again, swallowing your cries as his cock pounded into you. every thrust seemed like borderline abuse, the tip of his cock slamming against your cervix with every move. he was so big, so fucking big, filling you up, making a mold of his cock with your insides. his thumb circled your clit faster, and you felt the wave of pleasure crest again, your body shuddering as you came a second time. your walls clamped down on his cock, and he groaned against your skin, his own climax following closely behind.

his orgasm was like nothing you had ever felt before, his hot cum filling you up as he held you down, his cock pulsing deep inside you. “fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chanted, his body shaking with the force of it. “so good, baby, so good.”

finally, he pulled out of you, his cum dripping down your thighs as you slumped against the car door, boneless and utterly spent. jungkook smirked as he looked down at the mess he had made of you, his cock still half hard, glistening with your juices. “see?” he said, his voice smug. “no one else can do that to you.”

⋆. 𐙚 ˚

a/n: i have a few things to talk about all of them very important obviously.

1. loossemble disbanding is crazy work!

2. i feel like we as a society failed to appreciate the cinematic masterpiece that is malcolm in the middle.

3. i had a wet dream abt revenge of the sith anakin last night.

4. i am the only person who watched the oc ever and if u watched it i watched it better than u.

5. i know u got a fat ASS 💜 u know i love a fat ASS 💜

6. In Korea, you can't eat until the elders eat. Ningning is the maknae, which means she's the youngest, and the fact that she ate first is crazy. I'm not trying to be – I'm not trying to be messy, I promise you. I'm just saying, that's crazy.

[eleu22]

Sweaty Palms - Chapter One “The Skeptic”

Simon “Ghost” Riley x f!reader

tags: brief description of injury

masterlist

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“What? I think we could do with’a bit of a feminine touch, ay LT?” Soap smirks, turning to nudge the lieutenant with his elbow.

Ghost doesn’t reply, but the unimpressed look he fixes Soap with says enough. The briefing room is quiet, besides the scot’s incessant chatter, a few quips from Gaz and the rhythmic hum of the projector. The cool winter air slips through the poorly insulated window, but to Ghost the room couldn’t feel warmer.

There is undeniably an air of… excitement? Maybe that’s not the right word, it’s anticipatory, like the bit before a roller coaster drops, or the moment before a bomb detonates. Either way, Ghost isn’t thrilled.

The masked man tunes out the sargeants as he stares at the door, as if he could telepathically explode the next person who dared to enter with his glare alone.

When Price broke the news to them, they could all practically feel the blood clot forming in the lieutenant’s forehead.

The first thought to the man’s mind was simply, why? We are doing just fine without anyone else’s help, I’ve stitched myself more times than I can bloody count.

Secondly, how? Ghost would trust Price’s judgement with his life, he has, literally, but this? How could he allow this? Price knows better than anyone: one wrong element could throw everything off. A stranger in their ranks is a liability waiting to happen. What if she’s an enemy undercover? What if worse she’s incompetent? What would they-

Ghost’s thoughts are abruptly interrupted by the click of the door handle. Any lingering conversation is brought to an abrupt stop as the team’s eyes snap to the front of the room.

In walks Price, followed closely behind by Honey. The sound of their boots echoed sharply in the quiet briefing room. Honey walked in with a steady confident stride- not cocky, but assured. Her millitary-issued white compression shirt clung to her frame, the camo pants snug around her hips, emphasising her- okay enough. Ghost’s jaw tightens as he forces his gaze upward. She was shorter than the rest of them, shorter than him by a good head, Ghost feels his boots shift in irritation, how is she going to keep up?

They both stand at the front of the room, their figures cast in the faint blue glow of the projector. Price didn’t waste time, his voice cuts through the silence like the crack of a whip, listing off information Ghost already knew.

The lieutenant had all but demanded to read her file, Price (albiet hesitantly seeing the man’s less than cheerful disposition) handed over her file. Ghost had read it more times than he’d care to admit, trying to pick apart every line and word for some sign of… well he’s not sure what, but something. He could recite the information like a parishioner knew the words of the liturgy.

Sargeant Honey, Jesus what kind of name is that?

Green Beret, American.

Combat Medic, Useless.

grew up in Lynchburg, Virginia, oh, really, American.

SERE training, Tactical Emergency Medical Support, cross training in close quarters combat and weapons proficiency…

Even Ghost had to admit, at some level she was impressive, especially for a woman. Regardless, none of this brought the man any comfort, if anything, this was going to make her harder to shake.

As Price continued to speak, a light tap on his thigh yet again interrupted his inner hate-monologuing. Ghost doesn’t move, but he can already imagine the expression on the scot’s face. Soap was really the only one who didn’t have any reservations about Honey coming along, in fact he seemed a little too pleased at the idea of her addition.

Fuckin’ hell, Ghost internally sighs, the man acts like women are some rare commodity. Ghost looks at Soap out of the corner of his eye, who, as expected, has a toothy grin sat on his face. Well no wonder, Ghost muses the mohawk must definitely not be doing him any favours in the dating scene. The man is a fucking dog, one look at him and you’d be able to see it. This makes him a good soldier and (though you couldn’t waterboard this information out of Ghost) a good friend. But this makes Honey’s inclusion all the more a liability.

Ghost turns his attention back onto Honey. Price has finally finished and turned to her. In contrast to her entrance she gives the team a sheepish smile, her arm rubs up and down the length of the other behind her back.

Honey’s soft lips part, as she turns her eyes to the rest of the room.

“It’s a pleasure to able to work with you all… I’ve heard great things.”

Her voice drips down the back of his throat, warm freshly stirred honey. There’s something slightly awkward about the way she speaks too, like that sharp little aftertaste left behind, but warm, it's undeniably warm.

Huh, I guess her callsign makes sense.

There is something so sickly sweet about the woman, something you don’t come across in the army.

Trying to imagine her in active duty, bullets cutting through her saccharine voice, blood dripping down her soft fingertips, as she shoves the innards of some poor fuck recruit back inside of them. It’s unnerving.

Ghost suddenly feels his balaclava all too tight around his neck, his sleeves rub up against his wrists as he shifts them uncomfortably. The man simply stares ahead, ignoring the flirty wave Soap returns to her. Under the table he begins to pick at his fingernails through his gloves, as if he needed something to stop him from shoving her up against the wall and demanding her to spill, to hear her voice break, to look directly into her eyes and to disembowel every tightlipped secret she’s ever held.

Ghost bristles at the thought, weirdly, he hopes he gets the opportunity.

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okokok this is the first chapter!!!!!! lmk what yall thinkkkkk

the next one is gonna be another expositiony one shes gonna be really ethel cain core so be excited xxxxxxx

taglist: @creepingeva @identity2212 @brokenghostgirl1 @honestlymassivetrash @ang3lc

[tempests-bards-and-birds]

i think that one of the most tragic aspects of venti's character is the fact that no matter how hard he tries, no replication that he can make of the bard will ever be perfect because for a single image or concept to be long-lasting and static goes entirely against the nature of the wind.

it has been consistently emphasised throughout the game that "seeds of stories brought by the wind" will be "cultivated" by time - in other words, they will grow, but they will never remain the same as they were when they were first told; to try to remove that element of warping and artistic interpretation that is inevitable as a story is passed on is like trying to bottle up a storm and hoping that'll stop it from damaging the surroundings - instead, no one will ever know about it, and the only thing that it will have left to destroy will be itself.

venti is basically doing exactly this by trying to preserve the bard's memory - the only way to stop it from being warped would be to remove it from any kind of environment where that could happen, which would require taking the story out of circulation, which then means that he is the only living being who knows it in its whole detail and entirety. he understands, however, the fallibility of his own memory, as can be seen in how reminders of it seem to shake him; in his story quest, he seems strangely unguarded after resolving the situation with hans (whose story is massively identical to venti's for a reason - having a mirror can be very useful for storytelling, and genshin relies on it perhaps a bit too much), describing the barbatos statue as "the usual place" despite the fact that for our traveler, it is not (this ties into another theory that i am Not going into here lol). we know that venti prizes being able to keep a certain level of anonymity, with him describing the traveler's high level of intuition as "scary", so for him to show even the slightest level of disregard for maintaining his façade suggests that being faced with the reality of the impossibility of his self-imposed purpose is something that did really bother him (which tbf makes sense now that i write it out).

comparisons have been made before between venti and zhongli wherein the irony of having a god of wind whose appearance is unchanging and a god of stone who is (supposedly, if we assume zhongli's teasing about his own past forms to be reflective of the truth) in contrast constantly shifting is often key, and in a lot of ways zhongli's situation does mirror venti's in many ways; he theoretically has the ability to accurately preserve history as one would by carving it into stone, and yet it is almost as if he lets it slip through his fingers instead - he finds humour in inaccurate historical accounts and allows himself to change, not just physically but in terms of attitude (the whole point of the liyue aq is for him to be able to do this; to live as a mortal after millenia spent overseeing as a god). in many ways venti and zhongli are polar opposites, but the theme of wanting to transcend one's physical constraints, of wanting a state of existence that the other already in theory has, is consistent throughout both.

venti, however, seems to be so much more uncomfortable with this than zhongli is, and this awareness of the issue while still being so bothered by it to the extent that he pushes it away even more, causing the pressure in that jar to by extension increase too, is where the true point of tragedy lies.

maybe, though, by deciding to share the bard's story with the traveler, he is beginning to accept the necessity for change.