#but for the opposite of they get along TO well

[hoseoksluna]

STRATEGY | jjk

pairing: yandere!jungkook x female!oc (feat. police officer!taehyung)

genre: smut; angst

rating: 18+

summary: due to his reasons, jungkook can't get close to you—but when you show your tits to him through your window, he might just teach you a lesson.

word count: 6.0k

warnings: dark content not to be romanticized — stalking, manipulation, slight gaslighting; mental states of — anger, anxiety, depression, dissociation, daddy issues. sexual content — mentions of male masturbation, dd/lg, dom/sub dynamics, discipline, the threat of punishment, use of belt, making out. other — insecurities, smoking, mentions of drugs, of parental neglect, inner child in the form of an animal.

FORMAL WARNING: jeon jungkook written in this work is a figment of my imagination and does not reflect the living person and his family.

luna's note: the first chapter of this year's first series is here. you're all gonna scream. oh my god. i worked so hard on this, i need my babies to know that. as much as i struggled with writing, this was a wild ride that i enjoyed. i'd like to give my thanks to my ruru, @tkslovechild, who fixed my mind well enough and inspired me to open the last doc of many. if it weren't for her, this fic wouldn't be alive. this chapter is a taste of what's to come. you can expect a whole lot of smut in the next one. i hope you enjoy. sending lots of kisses MWAH.

𓂃 ౨ৎ

taglist | join here: @jjk7k, @tkslovechild, @euphoricmyth, @cinmmongirl, @ririkookiemonster, 

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Jungkook’s cigarette is wet.

The paper, encased around it, is nearly translucent enough to expose the leaves of the tobacco inside, the very tethered parts of his burning soul. The rain pelts down on him hard, brisk and icy like bullets, but its droplets soften and grow warm once they seep inside the thick, thumping vein along the column of his throat. His hair is soaked, a few of his freshly cut strands rounding over his forehead clouding his vision. Normally, he’d get one long and thorough look at you, finish his cigarette in but a few sucks and return to his car, but tonight he can’t. Neither can he afford to get sick, not when he’s studying exhausting hours deep into the night just to secure your financial well-being and freedom, but right now, despite the risk, he can’t take his eyes off of you. 

You’re playing a dangerous game. As a matter of fact, you’ve always been with your flirtiness and your delicious perversion, but the boss-defeating level he finds himself to be in is not something he can handle so easily. It’s blanketed in a light layer of the possibility of his life permanently changing, and he can’t run from it. Not when he’s frozen in this speed of time while his wobbly, jelly limbs long to be in your proximity.

In any textbook image example of his romantic relationship with you suggests the very opposite of this sketch he’s being drawn into by your hand. Before all else, the charcoal pencil should’ve been in his tattooed fingers. The big bad boss should’ve been him, and you should’ve been the brave princess with her sword, small before him, but more powerful with her spirit and fearlessness, getting impaled on his dick time and time again before you conquer him, at last. 

In this ashy, starless scene, you’re the boss and he’s the princess. 

You’re flashing your tits at him through the window of your bedroom and he’s sporting a boner so astronomical that he couldn’t sit down inside his car even if you, yourself, asked him to. Made puppy eyes, put your palms together and rubbed them in a childish gesture, pleading him with the pout that he knows you’re very capable of doing. The pout that started this habit of his—driving up to your street, despite the fact he lives an hour away, just to ensure your safety, just to be certain that you’re well and not staining your pillow with black mascara tears. 

There’s enough blackness in your heart from the wrongness and unfairness that life feeds you, and he’s decided to take the spoon and fill it with something sweet. Like attention, like protection,  like your dreams and wishes fulfilled. Because he saw you as a small kitten, underfed and yet loaded with such a large burden of ill-luck that every morsel of his being just couldn’t stand to see it anymore. 

He met you in a strange place at a strange time.

Jungkook wasn’t supposed to be in Gangnam that day, but one of his soon-to-be pawns in the city of Seoul unintentionally let him in on one of the underground crimes that have been going on in that district. His plan for the night was supposed to be filled with driving around Hongdae just to make sure all the girls were safe. It was Friday, the most sinful day of the week; 9:30 pm, the start of all depraved entertainment, brought out from the depths of all the dark souls of empty people. The girls needed him, but when Jungkook heard from Taehyung that the little bitches called men have been dealing drugs in the bathroom of Starfield Library, the girls had to be good and they had to wait. 

The heart inside his inner child ached at the thought that the place, where he used to spend his happy days before they were gone, was getting stained by something so horrendously evil as drugs. Taehyung was putting on his police uniform as the information slipped past his lips and while Jungkook’s heart stopped, it became burdened by his secret, not so secret in reality, dream even more heavily than ever before. He no longer saw him as a pawn—truth be told, he wanted to become a police officer ever since he saw Kiki’s Delivery Service as a young boy before things got bad and having him as his best friend and a neighbor at the same time just offered a crevice of open space for his dream to come true. But Taehyung stalled… until he didn’t. 

Upon seeing the look on his face, he tipped his head low, sighed, and told him to come with him. And together they drove to Gangnam up to the COEX Mall. All the while Jungkook bounced his knee and sensed a dreadful feeling slithering down his sternum for a reason he couldn’t simply figure out. 

He couldn’t shake off his nervousness even as they got out and he lit up his cigarette. Taehyung told him off, reminded him that the library closes soon, and, nodding, Jungkook took two more puffs before he let the instrument of sweet death plummet to the ground. His better-knowing murmured to him that he should’ve left his heart behind, too, but being loyal to the wretched flesh, Jungkook never learned the language of his logic. 

He saw you long before you saw him, going up the white keys of stairs beside Taehyung, taking two at the time. Your short limbs were reaching a shelf above your head, trembling in tension, your form elevated by the way you were standing on your tippy toes. The higher he went, the clearer his glimpse was of your thighs, embellished by a black cotton to keep them warm in the cool spring. The band digging into the flesh entranced him, trapped him to you as if by ropes of mercifulness because that was the most beautiful sight he was graced to witness. He had seen many pretty girls during his late night drives of heroism, but none of them possessed such a pure, alluring kind of beauty that made his heart tighten in his chest. 

And the flesh was outright asphyxiated by the following cognizance of your full outfit. 

Lifting his foot over the last step, Jungkook perceived that your thigh-high socks were held up by thin slits of garters, uncovered by the riding up of the skirt of your dress. There was no air in his lungs, no command in his brain to keep on walking after Taehyung. There was an absolute silence between the synapses as he stood there, unbreathing, his eyes skimming over the smooth skin of the back of your thighs, the well-fittedness of your short dress, which had an open back beneath the waterfall of your long hair. But it wasn’t bare, not by any chance. As if the thickness of your strands wasn’t enough, you filled the gap with a white shirt, and Jungkook was stunned. 

The spell was disrupted when the books, one by one, began to fall over your head, despite the fact you succeeded in getting the one you wanted. Disrupted and not broken because while he knew Taehyung was inching closer to the crime scene, his instinct won over his stupefaction and gave the order to his legs to rush over to you. It felt natural to him, the act of grabbing your arms and pulling you flush to him, to a place of safety, although he was a stranger, a guy and he had no right to touch you like that. Anyone in his shoes would just shout at you to move away, but the spell didn’t allow his logic to filter through his actions. You gasped, nearly tumbled down to the ground along with him, but Jungkook was stronger. Jungkook didn’t let you plummet to the ground like his cigarettes—he held you steady to him, balancing you on your feet, and his heart began to ache, like it did when he heard of the drug-dealing, and age when you lifted a palm and placed it over your forehead, mewling a pained noise through your pouting mouth. 

He wasn’t fast enough. An overgrown bush of overprotective roots took form in his black lungs, tangled in the long strands of your hair as you softly trembled like a kitten in his arms. He was no longer a boy, delirious with his need to color the streets with justice and safety; he was a man of fatherly compulsions, organic instincts to never let you disappear from his secure hand again. It happened that quickly—it happened that devastatingly that he himself was dumbfounded by it all. 

Dumbfounded and… much to his surprise: pleased.

Jungkook didn’t cleave to love. While his heart hungered to envelop its love around that special person it wished for, he simply couldn’t conform. Couldn’t open the chambers of his heart and let out the horrors—the fights, the violence, the blood, the silent screams and the ungratified needs, left abandoned by those closest. He was afraid to allow himself to be loved; and he was afraid of being only capable of sharing the darkness in return, not his love—the small, wounded bunny hiding somewhere in him, every day concealing itself deeper and deeper. That was why he never even looked twice at the girls he saved, let alone touched them, let alone allowed them to bathe him in feelings that were pleasant.

Strange, the moment that was uncoiling. His actions and their unfolding, and his lack of carefulness and detachment. 

The toppling misfortune finished its course, the dull sound of the books hitting the floor halted, and within this abrupt silence, Jungkook felt the hammering of your heart, kicking against his upper abdomen, softening him. And in spite of everything, he turned you around to examine your reddened forehead as if he weren’t Jungkook at all, but someone else. Someone healthy and full of light within his mind, heart and soul, who doesn’t create boundaries and doesn’t hiss and thump his legs back when someone crosses them. This new person eyed the pebble-sized bump poking through the skin, which wrinkled through the furrow of your brows. His lips downturned in pity for you, but he knew pressing the injury with a packet of frozen veggies would fix it by the morning. You were lost in the pushing acuteness of the pain, perhaps not even realizing that you were saved. Your set of wispy eyelashes were quivering like the rest of you and while this new person was desperate for you to look at him, it wasn’t until Taehyung called his name that you did.

But it was too late, the moment was too brief, and the old Jungkook settled over him like a layer of dust. 

However, the mutual meeting of eyes kickstarted his dead heart, bringing forth life through the chambers and the vessels like a petal drifting upon the smooth surface of a river. Jungkook fought it with his old weapons, but as the seconds ticked, he became smaller and smaller, the power of the connection looming over him, scaring him and soothing him soon after by the way your eyes widened in surprise and melted right after. As if into his; as if into him. 

The old and the new Jungkook began to coexist within him, closing over the bunny. 

He didn’t realize he was gone and no longer holding you until Taehyung grabbed a hold of his shoulder, stopping him from colliding his fist into the small-postured drug dealer’s face, who was momentarily stuffing a plastic bag of evil into the toilet tank. It was rage that simmered between the halves of his two personas fading into each other, a yin and yang, not because the abomination was caught as is usually the cause, but because the light and the dark merged within him, bringing him out of his comfort zone into a zone he blanched in panic in. 

He didn’t know that you watched the entire time. That you watched him curse at the boy, take the drug from him and nearly flush it down the toilet, if Taehyung hadn’t stopped him. He didn’t know that you’d stick around just to talk to him, had the library not closed. 

And he didn’t know that he would meet you again. 

And again. 

At dangerous places, where you didn’t belong—like his mind when he was ceaselessly fist-fucking his cock before dawn. At safe places, where you painted the walls with your gentleness and simultaneous misfortune, your own yin and yang. 

He didn’t expect you to make the first move each time, gazing up at him with a soft smile, making small talk that was more flirty than it was polite. It was hard for him to handle as the strange, fatherly and tender feelings he carried for you, belonging to the new half of him, brewed in him like loose pomegranate tea leaves. Each question you threw his way was that leaf, and the intonation you used, the curiosity, the roundness of your eyes and their constant melting was the fragrance of that fruit, cutting through him until he was nothing but a fragment of a boy in love.

He couldn’t leave. The yang of his split persona wouldn’t give the blessing to him in order for him to do that. And what’s more, he dreamed revolting dreams about shattering your heart with his fluid absence and presence, the black and white easing into one another, and it helped him stay put. He feared sleeping, he feared hurting you, and so he just abused his cock, releasing the endorphins that his body needed in order to sustain this whole newness. 

And therefore like the boy he was chiseled into, he took your first moves once the time was right and undisturbed. Took them higher. Took you out for ice cream, where your flirtiness shifted both of you to this point of your love story. All because of the way you licked the sweet delight. 

You swirled your tongue along its dissolving perimeter. Ivory in color, its drops dribbled down the cone, resembling the essence of his everlastingly drooling manhood that he had wasted many times prior this date, trying not to picture you in his mind. He cursed the ice cream shop as much as he blessed it for having a vanilla flavor so well-made that it rolled your eyes back during the conversation you spurred about his dreams that shone a dimmed light in his heart. He was hard, unable to speak in a steady flow, pausing between words, watching you, always watching you, enjoy your dessert while not having his own. Watching you half listen to him, half making love to the milky substance with your eyes, your focus diverting back and forth—silently gushing your gusto, silently apologizing to him with the bat of your eyelashes for not adequately paying attention. It made you adorable enough for him to fight the crawling inkling to take this an inch higher, bending you over any nearby surface away from people—because he loved the way you constantly spoke your innermost thoughts, your flirtiness especially, through the different expressions of your eyes. They spoke more profoundly than the vocabulary of your mutual mother tongue could ever achieve. 

But he couldn’t follow through with his desire. His sixth sense muttered over his arousal, reminding him there was always a danger close by. By its own sinister will, it interrupted, in an excruciating staccato rhythm, the sensation of heat, pressure and energy he felt, putting it on the back burner. A place he liked to linger because it made him feel alive—the unyielding push and pull of temptation, the fight, the guilt because the fatherliness always won. But his sixth sense was right. Jungkook caught a vulgar string of words about you from the table behind him in a short moment of quietness within his brain. He turned his head to the side, listening, and when the meaning of the words multiplied with the description of you, he banged his fists and impulsively acted out, getting up to his feet. 

He flipped the table. Grabbed the collar of the boy who stole his guilty pleasure and made it his own. Seethed in his sweaty face; threw words at him that made him tremble in fear until he begged to be let go. Jungkook saw a vibrant red—he didn’t see how he startled you, how all the people in the sitting area stopped whatever conversations they were having just to stare, how all the employees gulped behind the counter, but didn’t dare to step in. That was the face of his wildness, molded by all he went through, shown to you ahead of time—or perhaps at the right time. He wouldn’t know, and he was too reluctant to contemplate it. 

He didn’t calm down until he made the boy apologize to you. Then, he fixed the table and put it to its original spot. Then, he made you feel better by brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear, grazing his fingers down your arm until he found your hand, murmuring a soft sorry for scaring you. Then, he went to the petrified employees and apologized to them, too, for the commotion. 

You also wanted to make him feel better. 

Inside his car, you caressed the tense muscles of his thigh. Just once—a slow, downward motion of your palm that made him twitch. He noted the milky flakes of the dessert you had discarded dried on your lips and he hoped your eyes hadn’t strayed to his private parts—that you didn’t notice the agonized twitch of his cock that regretfully longed for you. 

In this area of your relation with him, the yin won. 

He put your safety above his own arousal and need, minimizing it. Grabbed the hand that had the candy-coated intention to make him feel better and kissed it in polite thankfulness, knowing your soundness that he had taken care of did the job already.

You pouted at his declination, and his heart crumbled into pomegranate seeds. 

Had he known this would start off your irresistible perversion, he would’ve somehow make it so he could let you do whatever it was that you wanted to do with your hand. Because the fatherliness, which he tried with all his might to preserve in utmost purity, darkened the more you wanted him. 

Darkened the more you teased him. 

With your garters and your knee socks. With your short skirts that exposed the lines of your bubble butt, which he tugged down many times, his heart racing, afraid any of the horny fucks with wrong intentions walking by would see. With your innocent smiles, mischievous eyes and light touches on the places of his body that he discovered were of utter sensitivity—the crook of his elbow, into which you liked to dig your nails, the left side of his ribs, where you somehow detected his mole, his nipple that you enjoyed teasing just to watch him convulse, and his thigh, the straight pathway to his arousal. Sometimes you went higher, sometimes you went lower—and it tested his patience every single time. 

All broke loose once you conveyed, with your words, how much you wanted him after some time passed. 

You let him know you were hungry. It was the warmest spring evening you had in months and Jungkook was on his patrol. Seeing the text, he turned the car around and drove up to your street. Picked you up, asked you what you were craving and beside the Subway sandwich, you mentioned that you were craving him, too. As if it were the most ordinary, casual thing in the world. 

He stomped on the break so hard that the vehicle behind him honked at him. 

Scolded you in a fatherly way that coaxed an endearing giggle out of you. You can’t say things like that, he said, shooting you a glare that made you clench your thighs—and Jungkook wished that he hadn’t noticed. 

That he hadn’t noticed being bad turned you on even more. 

Then the touches were prolonged. The eye contact was intensified, the interlude of silence between you and him was boiling to such a hot temperature that he sweltered beneath his clothes in your presence, sporting a stony hard-on, which was difficult to get rid of. 

And then the confessions began. 

The more detailed confessions of your desire, of your liking in terms of his countenance. Of what your fingers were doing in the middle of the night because of your sentiments. 

Jungkook didn’t respond. Not at first. He fought so hard to stay pure, stand behind the boundary of purity, unwilling to stain you with his own desire. He was a boy, marred by the times, with a caretaker’s heart, aged by many years, with a soul that brings death. He was afraid of what would be created, if his death mingled with your misfortune. If the bunny of his love had a glimpse of your melting eyes. If his own desire collided with yours. If he cut the ropes of his restraint and broke himself loose along with the trajectory of his untitled relationship with you. 

Hell would envelop you. Hell would embrace you so tight that you’d start to despise him. 

Because he wasn’t a good person. All the evil he had witnessed clung to him like second skin, peeling off of him like scales, like dirt. The evil he had  consumed while living with his family; the evil he had stepped into in order to bring goodness. Jungkook would feed spoonfuls of it to you because every morsel of his being embodied it. 

He said this to you, in less harmful words, upon an ordinary car drive through the night when you were starting to get jittery. It would be better if I just took care of you without touching you. He never added the fatherliness he felt towards you into the stream of his speech—he was too shy to do so. He was already flushed in the face; he worried confessing it would trouble his composure. And he needed to be a strong wall for you. 

But you were a smart girl. 

Devouring his words, you lifted the hem of your skirt. Your legs were still, no hint of jitteriness to them at that abrupt cusp of unraveling desire, when you parted them on the passenger seat and showed him the circle of your arousal on the center of your white panties. This is what you do to me when you talk about treating me like a father. 

His blood flow halted. His heart leaped to his throat, the aroma of pomegranate filling his mouth. He edged to the border of his restraint and thought about, briefly, how he would edge you for your smartness. How he would drink the sweetness of your seashell when he would finally let you come; how it would refresh the tobacco of his soul, make him a better person, a better partner. He imagined how the smell of your arousal would linger in the car for days—how it would be a reminder that there’s goodness for him in this world while he would go on doing his job of saving it. 

The black and white conclusively coalesced, creating a shade of gray that densely clouded his reasons and his morals. 

And because this notion occupied his stomach with hundreds of butterflies, the decision was made. Hasty, and probably catastrophic, but he no longer cared. He fell in love with the idea of him being saved, even if it meant decorating your pretty thighs with scars. Give me some time, he said eventually. I’ll rub your scars with a healing oil, he didn’t promise.

And the detachment, which he was so inquisitive about all those months ago, nestled between you and him. The conversations, which used to be so abundant with passion and liveliness, echoed with the low tones of the trees, of the soft songs of the birds and the ringing of his mind as he completely descended into an abyss of dejection. He didn’t know why he entered this state; it just happened on its own. He no longer had the energy to save the girls of Seoul, nor did he have the strength to face you and be a man. The little life he had left—he used it to fulfill his obligations: he drove to your place after he had done his daily dose of studying and homework. Picked himself up just to make sure you were all right. And if your room lacked any light, it would motivate him enough to go into the streets and look for you. 

He’d find you each time, envious and disheartened that you weren’t spending time with him. Go home and cry his colorless tears. 

And now he’s here, standing underneath the foreboding downpour, in the present time after a month of idleness, in the middle of the night. His car is parked behind him, the headlights filtering through the thick shafts of rain, illuminating him. His pallid hands are bearing two things in each. A wet cigarette, a spoon that has been washed off the original poison of his life and that is now overspilling with everything nourishing. All because of your pressed-up tits against the window, the fast-paced rivulets of rain blurring the view. 

You’ve yanked the time by its throat. You’re the boss and you’ve decided that all waiting is over. 

He’s not sure what he’s feeling right now. If it’s absolute fury that is invigorating his system or if it’s distilled passion that is constricting his muscles so much that it’s causing him to quiver. There’s some kind of need in the heart of it all, which smudges all of his attempts at analyzing until they get swept away with the current of the rain. In this very second, there’s no ticking of danger, no deafening silence of dejection, no promise of evil. There’s only one singular thing.

The ropes are torn: he has to have you. 

You did this. You cut them instead of him, and that’s all that is pulsating in his mind as he takes the last drag of his sodden cigarette and lets it plummet, lets it burn away to nothingness. His steps are heavy and his steps are furious—and you seem to know because you unpeel yourself from the coolness of the window and skip away beyond his sight. He trusts that your smartness leads you to open the main door for him, and he’s not disappointed when he reaches it and hears its ringing song, inviting him inside. 

The song of fate. 

You’re waiting for him between the panels of your door on the third floor, dressed in a short nightwear dress of ivory and lilac, lace and bows. Entering your presence, Jungkook is made pliable by the strong cognizance that he’s missed you. Your hair cascades in waves down your bare shoulders, the barest he’s ever seen them, nuzzling into your cleavage that advances his softness and his concurring arousal. You’re pristine and fragrant while he drips in sweat and petrichor laced with cigarette smoke, but he wants you and he wants to punish you for putting him in this position so audaciously. 

And for not wearing your thigh-high socks when he wishes you were. 

The furrow of his brows deepens, knitting in the middle, and once your eyes flick to it, you breathlessly gasp, those pretty thighs of yours crossing to make friction for your little pussy. It feels as though you were all naked and he’s overwhelmed, he’s furious, he’s frustrated and—

His hand presses against the middle of your clavicles and draws you inside, kicking the door shut. 

He’s tender, however, despite his impulses. He’s tender as he pushes you down onto your couch, his fingers latching onto the lacy neckline. The feeling of a warm home he never had sticks to his fingertips from your skin—and it’s clearer to him now than it ever has been before: you’ve become a four-walled home for him through all the time he spent with you on innocent dates and car drives, protecting you and consoling you from the impact of your engraved misfortune. The sensation on the pads of his fingers jumps to the other ones and tingles as they wrap around the buckle of his belt, capturing the interest of your eyes that widen and very quickly and very quintessentially melt. 

You see how hard he is for you. 

Good. 

Now you can. Now it's yours. 

He swiftly tugs his belt out of the loops with one hand, bending the leather in half. Your smile rises at that, and while you rake your hand through your hair at the crown of your head and arch your cold chest into his other hand, Jungkook watches you part your legs for him. And time stops when he expects there to be a cloth of any pastel color covering your pussy and finds there to be none.

None at all. 

Mustering all of his strength, he rips his gaze away. Points the belt in your face. He can’t see your little pussy, not just yet. He has to punish you first for stealing his first move for the second time around, for triggering his flight or fight response because he wasn’t ready for this—he wasn’t ready to have his control taken, for his detachment and restraint to be broken so promptly. He should’ve laid it down at your feet, having cut it himself. Then, it would've been pure; it would’ve been right.

Nothing about this is of those attributes. 

This is dark, this is sinful, and you’re gonna pay for it.

“Repeat back to me what I told you the last time I saw you,” he orders, bringing your eyes back up to him as he towers over you, stinging your lips with the coolness of the wet leather, seemingly coaxing out your words. Your breath shivers at the contact, changing the temperature, mouth parting like your legs as he moves it down to your chin. You run your tongue along its bottom pillow as soon as he drags the belt down the upper of your sternum, the very place he touched with his own hand. He stops at the swell of breast right next to his fist bunching up your nightdress, the accessory lifting and falling with your short intakes of air. 

The rain pelts harder against the window. You evidently mull over your answer, blinking slowly at him, dazy from it all—and it’s funny to him. He hasn’t even started, and he’s way too far away from being finished with you. 

“You mean what you said to me a month ago? How am I supposed to remember?” you question, the words oozing with every particle of provocation that exists within this irredeemable world. Jungkook knows more than he knows himself that you’re bluffing and he sucks in a breath, his frustration piling up on top of his clenched muscles. His hand longs to lift and spank your visibly stiffened nipple for your smart mouth, but he holds himself back—the time isn’t right yet. He wonders if your pointed beads are still cold from the window or if he needs to suck them into his mouth to warm them up. 

His cock flits. Jungkook struggles to contain his noises, growling hushedly under his breath. One corner of your mouth tugs to the side when they encompass you, producing your satisfaction, and it pisses him off even more. 

His fist unclenches, letting go of your neckline. The fabric is wrinkled and stretched, ruined until the next wash, and that fact likens him to you, cooking the ingredients of satisfaction for him. Power seizes him, and therefore he stoops to your level, bending at the waist to look you straight in the face. The belt follows suit, stopping at your flushed cheek. 

It wasn’t that long ago when you were mewling in pain, the same redness spreading across your forehead. Where is that meekness of yours, your girlishness, your softness? Where has his detachment gone again and why does your malleability madden him so tremendously? 

His fatherliness unfurls in full glory, his need to discipline you consumes him alive. 

“Watch your mouth,” he spits in undertone, patting your cheek with the belt just once. Light flashes in your eyes, a candle swished by the wind. “I know you remember well, you can’t trick me, so again I tell you. Repeat back to me my last words to you.”  

And you do the most unimaginable thing, setting him on fire. Word for word, you repeat back the sentence he uttered but a half minute ago. A serious delivery, with a static contortion, camouflaging your mischief, and he becomes the image he saw in your eyes. 

A tall candle, melting. 

His fury and frustration should continue on. Should grip the belt hard and paint welts on the flesh of your thighs and bum. But the more your perversion radiates him, the more he loses. The bunny of his love gazes back at you from its hiding place, casting its first glimpse at you, and makes the first move to slightly exit the deep darkness. 

First move; first step. Curiosity eclipses the white fur of the bunny, the white dot across the blackness of the yin half. Its wide, almond eyes are unblinking, captivated by you, by your forcefulness, stubbornness and your immaculate beauty. By the way you breathe evenly, by how unafraid you are. So full of everything adventurous, like the books you read, which fill every space of your apartment. 

The animal is smitten with you. Jungkook stands outside of his own body, wondering if there’s any line at all between the grayness that has been created. If there’s any backing away from the blatantly obvious fact that he loves you. 

That he can’t stay mad at you. 

That his need to discipline you truly stems from his profound love for you. 

“You think you’re the Daddy?” he mutters, at last, the correction of dynamics coming naturally out of him. He silences you with his question, creasing your features, and his satisfaction is a finished meal. The first bite you’ll ever have; the first spoonful. “I’ll show you who’s Daddy.” 

And then he grips your throat and forces your lips to collide with his. Breathing in your skin is the first intake of fresh air he’s ever had. This is his first kiss, his first life—and when you reciprocate his kiss and submit to his feverish rhythm, it is the first warm, home-cooked meal he’s ever devoured. The sky falls and is born again, and he, too, is born anew. 

You lean back, relinquished, and Jungkook straddles you, his knees making dents on either side of you upon the plush of your couch. The belt falls, his walls fall, and he has to touch you. His fingers crawl up from your ears into the garden of your hair, gripping the roots, moaning into your mouth and you respond just the same. Opening your mouth, you give him access to your tongue and your spit—and he drinks, he drinks as if it were the angelic fountain that had the expertise to cleanse him of his old life. And he lets it. 

Clenches and unclenches his fingers, tangled in your hair, the symbol of his green light because he’s safe with you. 

He’s safe with you. 

Your hands blindly find your favorite spots on his body. They knead his thighs as he sucks on your pout, his abstained dream come true. They ascend to his clothed ribs under his jacket, lingering there, ostensibly seeking the bunny, not knowing that the animal has begun to look for the way out. Your moans gain volume and sensitivity, and Jungkook knows you can’t take it anymore. 

Neither can he. He’s hard to the point of bursting. 

And when he latches his mouth onto the side of your neck and your moans lighten to little mewls akin to those he missed, he doesn’t allow you to sink your nails into the last place you love on him. He pushes you face down onto the couch and grabs his discarded belt. 

He’s going to make that little girl stay. 

© 2025 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved

BACK to masterlist

[crushpunky]

actress!reader helps drew rehearse a scene

masterlist | actress!reader masterlist

based off this ask <3

“‘Their lips touch hesitantly, they pull away, then they continue intensely. It looks as if the two are trying to eat each other’?” Drew reads, an exasperated expression on his face from the opposite end of the couch. He had been reading through the scene he was supposed to begin rehearsal for next week. When he auditioned for Queer, he knew that it was going to be something intense, like Luca’s other projects and unlike anything else he had worked on. Sure, he’d done explicit scenes in the past, but nothing quite as intimate or personal as the ones Luca had written for Queer.

“So like biting or…?” Y/n quirked a brow, looking up from her book as she listened to Drew’s occasional comments on the script.

“I think it’s more of a like… consumption thing, y’know? Like wanting to have the person wholly, I think.” Drew nodded, adjusting his glasses as he looked over the words again. Y/n nodded, biting her bottom lip as she watched Drew, her book now long gone on the coffee table in front of them.

“‘The two hit back and forth, almost a dance of push and pull. It’s messy and intense, but beautiful and clean’. How are you supposed to act messily and cleanly? With fuckin’ Daniel Craig, let alone?” Drew sighed, running a hand through his hair as he tossed the script down. 

“I think it’s like the act itself is messy and intense, but it’s also a beautiful and almost perfectly clean and serene moment of realization.” Y/n propped her elbow up on the back of the couch, her other hand coming to rest on one of Drew’s legs that stretched across the couch. She soothed her hand along the skin of his calf, watching as he looked off into space as he thought, running the scene through his head. With a sigh, he ran a hand down his face before slinking down into the couch.

“I get it, I just… it’s gonna feel strange showing that level of intensity with someone else...” Drew chewed at his bottom lip before his eyes fell back on y/n, who had a sort of smirk on her face. 

“I think you’ll do just fine, Drew.” Y/n tried to stifle a laugh. Drew shook his head, a light chuckle leaving his lips as he sat up, his arms reaching out around y/n and pulling her to sit against his chest.

“With someone else that isn’t my girlfriend.” Drew clarified, running a hand along her side as she looked at him.

“Well, what would you usually do? Let’s start there.” Y/n sat up, across from Drew, their legs entwined as they looked at each other.

“Well, it says they touch hesitantly so—” Drew pressed his lips quickly to hers before pulling away slightly, his eyes looking down at her lips before flicking up to meet her own gaze.

“Then…” Drew mutters, a hand coming up to rest on her neck as he hesitantly leaned in before opening his lips wide… too wide. He pressed his lips to her face, his mouth open as he nearly took a bite out of her nose which caused her to sputter a laugh into his mouth. He pulled away quickly, his eyes wide as he looked at her with a slight cough.

“What are you doing?!” Y/n laughed, wiping a bit of slobber off her mouth.

“I don’t know! I panicked! I– It said ‘like the two are trying to eat each other’ so I just went for it and—” Drew groaned. How was he supposed to do this? Let alone with a highly regarded actor and director? Why was he having such a hard time kissing his fucking girlfriend? He was usually a professional at that.

“You’re overthinking it, baby.” Y/n said, taking one of his hands. “Just… relax. It says it’s a dance. Just feel it.”

Drew nodded, running a hand through his hair quickly before straightening back up again. He took a deep breath as he brushed his lips across y/n’s lightly before pulling away. He only pulled far enough away to look at her through his thick lashes, his breath fanning across her lips before he cupped her jaw with one hand. He pulled her lips to his in a searing kiss as his other hand wrapped around her torso, pulling her flush to his chest.

The two of them continued, pushing back and forth as the kiss grew more intense and sloppy. Y/n’s hands rested on the back of Drew’s neck, her fingers burrowing in his hair as he opened his mouth widely, practically consuming each movement of her lips. Drew squeezed his eyes tightly as he continued, focusing on the moment and each and every movement the two of them made in their intricately beautiful dance. With a sudden gasp, the two of them finally pulled away from each other, gazes low, lips swollen, and cheeks flushed.

“I think you’ve got it.” Y/n whispered breathily before the two of them broke out in laughs and wide smiles. Drew pressed a quick kiss to the top of y/n’s head before falling back down on the couch, both of their chests heaving as they came down from the high of the intense moment.

“Yeah, me too.” Drew sighed.

[lovelygrav]

ok ok ok for the remaining Eeveelutions-

Phoenix for sure has a Leafeon and gets a ton of plants around the office and his apartment to make it happy (it gets along really well with Maya’s Umbreon and always tries to encourage Phoenix to play with them but he refuses because he doesn’t want to get clawed or nipped)

Miles has a Glaceon and takes it on walks in the snow and keeps his office at like 50 degrees so it’s comfortable (also get it because Leafeon is grass and.. and Glaceon is ice… and um.. yeah opposites attract… Phoenix and Edgeworth are ga-)

Maya has an Umbreon that used to be Mia’s that loves to cause mischief with her and is only loyal to members of the Fey family (Phoenix is lowkey terrified of it because it just sits in a corner and stares at him for hours at a time but then whenever Pearl comes over it’s all cuddly and sweet)

Pearl has a Vaporeon that she adores and takes it to any lake or pool she can find to swim and splash around with it (her clothes are always wet because it loves to playfully mist her with water but she doesn’t care) and it never turns into a puddle around her because when she was younger it tried to prank her and she cried so hard because she couldn’t find it and then the Vaporeon never did it again

Aaand finally Klavier has a Jolteon that rocks out with him in practice and on stage and gets so hype during shows that it sometimes causes a power outage and it’s always an iconic moment for fans (also it really likes Apollo and gives him little shocks when it sees him which Apollo does NOT appreciate. It’s messed up his hair at least three times)

khura'in + eevees

[prettycopperpennies]

They Take Care Of/Comfort You When You're Sick

Anonymous asked:

Could I request a Squid Game preference (with the usual characters) where the reader has a cold/fever or something and they take care of them, or vice versa?

Squid Games x GN!Reader

Including: The Frontman/Player 001/Hwang In-ho | Player 230/Thanos/ Choi Su-bong | Player 388/Kang Dae-ho | Player 333/Lee Myung-gi | The Recruiter

The Frontman/Player 001/Hwang In-ho

~Hwang In-ho would hear the sniffles when you called asking for a favor and he would immediately check in on you

~”Darling are you alright?”

~Even over the phone he would be able to clock you were sick before you asked him to bring you cold medicine

~You could tell him all you wanted not to worry, to just bring it whenever he was free, but he would drop everything to come over. As he showed up within half an hour you would know he had done just that

~You could try to apologize or insist he didn’t need to go out of his way for you. You could have waited till he was free

~But as he tucked a hair behind your ear, your guilty resolve would quickly melt away

~He would mean every word, and wouldn’t hear anything against it. You can’t keep him away when you need help. Even if the situation is as lowkey as a simple cold

~”How do you expect me to get anything done when I know you’re here suffering?”

~If you warned him you might get him sick, he would still keep the same attitude: insisting he wanted to be there for you

~Every soothing smile and gentle hand on your back, arm, shoulder would weaken your argument. You both knew you wanted him to stay

~You would end up asleep in his arms, your head resting on his shoulder

~And he would be happy to pamper you through your cold

Player 333/Lee Myung-gi

~He would notice your red nose and fever flushed cheeks and would immediately feel a little tug on his heart

~No matter how much you insisted he should stay away because you didn’t want to get him sick, he would be able to tell you really didn’t mean it. He knew you well enough to be able to clock when you didn’t want to be left alone

~You two would end up on opposite ends of the couch, as a feeble attempt to keep himself healthy, playing video games

~But thanks to your cold your mind would be too foggy to really focus, and after the millionth time losing at Mario Kart you would finally quit

~You’d make him change the video game over and over again, not liking how much energy each took. He’d go along with it, not complaining. 

~You had no idea the amount of power you had on him at that moment. He wouldn't be able to say no to anything you wanted, feeling too bad for how miserable you seemed thanks to your cold

~It would be awhile before you admitted you actually wanted to sit and watch him play something instead

~As time would go on, he wouldn’t be able to ignore your sad, sick state from the other side of the couch. You would finally notice his state when he sighed loudly. You could ask him what was wrong, but he would only answer by pulling you onto his lap.

~”You’ll get sick.” “Yeah, I know.”

~You’d smile as he rested his head atop your own and wrapped his arms around you to keep playing the video game.

~If he noticed you getting at all amused by him finally caving, he would of course have to defend himself

~”You were sitting there looking miserable! It’s emotional blackmail.”

Player 230/Thanos/ Choi Su-bong

~Choi Su-Bong would come and get you the second you called, no matter where you were or what he was doing.

~He couldn’t be able to stop himself from getting anxious when you first called; sniffling, telling him you feel awful, and you need a ride

~He would show up in a matter of minutes. It would be so quick you could only presume he had sped to get to you. Of course, you’d already be feeling better as he smiled at you from the driver’s seat through the front window

~If you apologized, explaining you didn’t feel good enough to drive or didn’t want to take the bus, but he would shut that down immediately

~”Baby, I’ll come get you whenever.”

~He’d hold your hand the whole ride. It didn’t matter if he was driving with one hand or two, he wouldn’t ever signal (it was an argument you two had a million times). So you would let him intertwine his fingers with your own as you two would make it home

~He would of course make a pit stop along the drive at your guilty pleasure bakery. He would keep the car running after noticing your shivering so you could keep the heat going as you waited for him to come back

~Within minutes you would have a bag of baked goods on your lap as the two of you went home

~If you want medicine you’d have to remind him to grab that along the way too. Su-bong wanted to help you feel better, but the logical approach is not necessarily at the front of his mind

~If your cold got to you, and suddenly you were tearing up over how nice he would find it amusing. You would be met with a large smile and a laugh

~”You’re weepy when your sick”

~After some lighthearted teasing he’d wrap a hand around the base of your neck to bring you in for a kiss. You’d try to warn him, but he’d of course say he didn’t care

~And you both would spend the next few days getting over a cold together

Player 388/Kang Dae-ho

.

~Kang Dae-ho would come over the second you called asking for his company while you tried to get over your cold

~”I think I’m getting sick. Maybe… Do you think you could come over? I don’t want to be alone.”

~He would be at your place even before you hung up, which wouldn't surprise you even a little. What would surprise you even less is the arm fulls of cough drops and the tea he brought with him

~You wouldn’t have a chance to get out of bed before he was wrapping his arms around you in a hug. You would be lifted up a little bit as he tightened his grip around you and dropped his head into the crook of your neck

~”You definitely have a fever”

~Your close proximity would let him feel the fever radiating off you. He wouldn’t care though, immediately following up the hug by telling you to scoot over

~He would wrap an arm around your shoulder, telling you that you were stuck with him all day

~And he would stay true to his word. He would be hanging around, making you warm/good for you food, watching popcorn movies, and whatever else he could think might make you feel better/distract you

~Every time you reacted to his sweet gestures with even the most miniscule of happiness, he would feel immensely pleased with his efforts and how it was making you feel at least a little better

~And by the time night rolled around you wouldn’t really need to convince him. He’d stay over, more than happy to appease you in your clingy state

The Recruiter

~As soon as he finds out your sick he’d be showing up to bring you to his house

~He’d find it very amusing if you warned him you would definitely get germs all over his house. He would point out you did get in his car, so how worried could you really be?

~Either way, warnings or not, you would end up on his couch buried under blankets with your guilty pleasure tv show playing

~He would be lounging on the other side of the couch, his arm resting across the back, and biting back a smile as he pretending not to notice how often your gaze wandered over to him

~He knew how clingy you could get when you were sick, but he couldn't help but wonder if you would admit it yourself if he was patient enough

~And eventually you would mention you were cold, and he would offer more blankets or to turn up the heat. You’d give excuses for every offer till he would finally ask you flat out if you had anything specific in mind

~As you refused to cave with a sniffle and a “I guess not”, he would be the one to fold. He couldn't watch you suffer through a cold and pout on the other side of the couch

~He’d be pulling you over to cuddle, letting you bury him in your blankets as well, with an amused chuckle over how you absolutely did not fight it

~”But you don’t want me to get sick, right?”

~If you feigned innocence or pretended not to hear him over the tv show, he wouldn’t call you out further. He wouldn't’ have it in him to argue with you (even playfully) when you feel so under the weather

[scoupsakakitty]

Snowflakes | idol!Jeonghan x Reader | fluff

It all started as a spontaneous trip. Y/N had been a little surprised when Jiwoo, her best friend, invited her along for a ski weekend, but what really caught her off guard was the twist: Jiwoo’s boyfriend, Seungcheol, had insisted that Jeonghan come along too.

“Jeonghan?” Y/N raised an eyebrow when Jiwoo mentioned the name. “Why him?”

“Well,” Jiwoo said with a teasing grin, “you know how the fans can be. Seungcheol thought it would look less suspicious if Jeonghan came along. Plus, we need to balance it out, so I figured I’d ask you to join!”

Y/N laughed softly, appreciating Jiwoo’s thoughtfulness. “Sounds like a setup for a reality show or something.”

Despite the oddity of it all, Y/N agreed. And soon enough, they were all packed and on their way to a cozy cabin in the mountains, surrounded by the winter wonderland of snow-covered trees and icy peaks.

The first day of skiing was pure chaos everyone falling, laughing, and trying to get their bearings on the slopes. By the evening, they were all back at the cabin, warming up by the fire. A big pot of hot chocolate was waiting, and the group decided to pass the time with a friendly game of Uno.

“I’m warning you guys now,” Jeonghan said, winking, “I’m a professional Uno player. Don’t try anything funny, or I’ll catch you.”

Y/N smirked from across the table. “You’re the one who should be careful, Jeonghan. I know all the tricks.”

“Ah, is that so?” Jeonghan raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “We’ll see about that.”————————————————————————————-The atmosphere was light, everyone was deeply involved in the game, and the laughs kept coming. But Y/N, ever the observant one, started to notice something off about Jeonghan.

She watched as he casually slipped cards between his legs, thinking no one would notice. But Y/N wasn’t that easy to fool.

“Stop! You’re sitting on your cards! Stand up!” she suddenly shouted, her eyes locking onto Jeonghan’s suspicious behavior as she snatched the remaining cards from the table.

He blinked in confusion. “What? Me?” he asked, acting innocent, but it was too late. Y/N had caught him red-handed.

“Stand up, Jeonghan!” she repeated, a mischievous grin spreading across her face, and everyone stared at him in anticipation.

He slowly got up, and as he did, two cards fell out of his ass. With a loud plop, they hit the floor, and the room erupted in laughter.

“Oh my god, really?” Jiwoo cried out, clutching her stomach as the group burst into uncontrollable fits of laughter.

Jeonghan stood there, utterly stunned, while Y/N was bent over, practically in tears from laughing so hard. “Seriously? You thought I wouldn’t notice?” Y/N gasped between giggles.

“I… I don’t know what happened!” Jeonghan stammered, his face turning bright red as the group continued to laugh at his expense.

It was a moment they would never forget, and as they calmed down, everyone couldn’t help but tease him for the rest of the night.————————————————————————————-After their game, the group settled in for the night. But there was a problem: the cabin only had two rooms, and since Y/N and Jeonghan were the last ones to claim the second room, they were forced to share it.

“We’ll just sleep on opposite sides of the bed,” Y/N said with a shrug. The bed was large enough for the both of them to keep some space.

However, the problem was the cold. The old cabin didn’t have central heating, and the night air was bitterly cold. Y/N pulled the blanket closer around herself but still found herself shivering under the weight of the chill.

Jeonghan lay still in the darkness, hearing the soft clattering of Y/N’s teeth. He hesitated for a moment, unsure if he should say something. After all, they weren’t close like that… yet.

“You cold?” Jeonghan finally asked, breaking the silence.

Y/N let out a soft, embarrassed sigh. “Yeah, a little. It’s freezing in here…”

Jeonghan turned his head slightly, his voice soft. “Well… I guess there’s no harm in sharing some warmth. Come here.”

Y/N blinked at him in surprise, but without much thought, she scooted closer to him. The warmth from his body was a welcome relief, and she felt her shivering slow.

“Thanks,” she murmured.

Jeonghan, noticing the awkwardness in the air, decided to break the tension by talking. “I’m not great at keeping people warm, but I can at least tell some stories to distract you.”

Y/N chuckled. “I’ll take stories over nothing.”

Jeonghan smirked, his voice turning light-hearted. “Okay, well, I have plenty of stories from the tour. Like the time DK tried to cook for everyone and nearly set the kitchen on fire…”

Y/N laughed, imagining the chaos. “I can totally picture that.”

And so, the conversation flowed, from funny tour mishaps to embarrassing moments. But eventually, Jeonghan couldn’t help but ask, “So… how did you know I was cheating at Uno?”

Y/N grinned. “Let’s just say, I’ve used the same trick before. You weren’t as slick as you thought.”

Jeonghan snorted in disbelief. “So, you’re a cheater too, huh?”

Y/N shrugged playfully. “Only when necessary. You should’ve seen me beat Jiwoo at Monopoly once.”

“That’s my girl,” Jeonghan said, laughing softly. The atmosphere had shifted, and it no longer felt awkward. They were just two friends in the middle of a snowy mountain, sharing warmth and laughter.

Suddenly, without thinking, Jeonghan blurted out, “You have a really cute laugh.”

Y/N froze for a second, her heart doing an unexpected little flip. “Um, thanks,” she said, her voice a little quieter. She turned her face away, not sure if it was the heat from being close to him or the compliment that was making her blush.

There was a long, comfortable silence after that, and soon they both fell asleep, the crackling of the fire the only sound in the room.————————————————————————————-The next morning, they all piled into the car to head back, exhausted from the late-night talks and the skiing. Y/N, still tired, leaned against Jeonghan’s shoulder as the car bumped along the mountain roads. Within minutes, she was asleep.

Jeonghan, too, had his eyes drifting shut. Slowly, he leaned his head onto hers, too tired to care that it might seem strange.

Seungcheol, who was driving, glanced at the rearview mirror and caught sight of the two of them. A small smile tugged at his lips as he nudged Jiwoo, who was sitting beside him.

“Looks like our friends are getting pretty cozy,” he whispered, his voice amused.

Jiwoo peered at the backseat and smirked. “They definitely are. Maybe we’ll go on double dates soon?”

Seungcheol chuckled, nodding. “That’d be nice. But for now, let’s just let them have their moment.”

Jiwoo secretly took a picture of the sleeping pair, capturing the peaceful scene. It was a quiet, content moment one that neither Y/N nor Jeonghan had expected but would both remember forever.

As the car drove through the snowy mountains, the two friends slept soundly, completely unaware of the subtle change between them. Perhaps it was just the beginning of something more.

————————————————————————————-

[v6quewrlds]

HIGH MAINTENANCE, JUSTIN HERBERT.

pairing⠀⁎⠀justin herbert x reader.

summary⠀⁎⠀the cliche, "opposites attract" seemed to have been made for your relationship with justin. the internet seems to have trouble keeping that in mind.

author's note⠀⁎⠀requested by an anon <3, my brain is fried so take this smau as an apology while i recover. ik the first pics are from a rams game & the tweet dates make no sense, let's use our imaginations <3 pictures from pinterest & instagram.

nflwagsdaily just posted .ᐟ

nflwagsdaily: looks like herbie's officially off the market! 🚨

eagle-eyed chargers fans spotted a new addition to the herbert family suite during the team's earlier home game. herbert's new belle appeared quite comfy-cozy with his family, donning chargers blue & dark tresses. our faithful internet sleuths immediately got to work, and through some careful instagram research and some very convenient follows, it seems we've tracked her down.

treat miss yourusername well, justin. we're all watching.

view all 183 comments.

user1 and they said my qb couldn't pull

user2 another athlete, another influencer... when will they learn

user3 this poor girl's notifs 😭 -> user4 let's hope she privates her account bc his fans will never let her rest -> user5 NEVER

user6 this is old news? 💀 -> user7 fr deuxmoi has been saying he's off the market since at least march -> user8 since when do we listen to deuxmoi hello??? -> user7 well she was right so now what... 🥴

user9 ominous ass caption what the fuck is going on in nflwagdailylandia? -> user10 deadass 😭😭😭

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justinherbert just posted .ᐟ

justinherbert: not much to say other than #boltup

view all 1,273 comments.

simifehoko13 taking the stairs ⚡ liked by author

user11 my qb is so majestic man

yourusername 💙⚡ liked by author -> user12 well there it is... -> user13 they think they're soooo sneaky lmao

user14 look at me, i'm justin herbert. i'm an elite quarterback in the nfl. jim harbaugh is my biggest ride or die. my girlfriend's mysterious and gorgeous. i have amazing hair. i'm a 6'6" multimillionaire who graduated with a 4.0 in biology. man fuck you. liked by yourusername -> user15 dawg 💀 -> user16 u made it big bro -> user14 wanna thank bolt nation for this moment

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yourusername just posted .ᐟ

yourusername: well, what do you say we get thrown out of an applebee's?

view 56 comments.

user17 is this a movie reference? 😭 -> user18 a will ferrell reference at that -> user19 of course it is, they're soulmates 😭

yourbestie1 what does he have that i don't? 😔 -> yourbestie2 a stable paycheck and a fat ass -> yourbestie1 ykw -> yourusername 🫷😌🫸 now now ladies we can all get along -> justinherbert i call primary custody -> yourbestie1 no ❤️

user20 not even trying to be messy or anything but what could they possibly have to talk about? -> user21 nfl quarterback... pretty girl... i don't think they do much talking no shade -> user22 i don't think she's trying to be an influencer so maybe she has a job? -> user23 "maybe" 💀

yourbestie2 hair 🙂‍↕️ -> yourusername ty for putting me on bae <3

justinherbert that sound like a good idea? liked by author

user24 i'm sensing a vibe no lie -> user25 travis hunter, now justin herbert. maybe jayden daniels' mom has the right idea 🤷‍♂️ -> user26 she ain't even speak yet? -> user27 she will eventually. -> user28 grown ass men in a gross ass man's business 🙂‍↔️

yourusername has limited comments .ᐟ

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nflwagsdaily just posted .ᐟ

nflwagsdaily: justin herbert's girlfriend, yourusername, seems to have had enough of the opinions about her relationship. after limiting her comments last tuesday, she made sure to update her bio before going private. we think this gets the message across quite clearly, don't you? 👏

view 242 comments.

user29 that's how you clear a bitch! 🙂‍↕️

user30 she heard the gold digger allegations and had to let y'all know what's up lmfao -> user31 be fr, a software engineer is not making $50 mil a year, she could still be interested in his money -> user32 if that's the case then good for her lmfao

user33 what exactly does this prove though? -> user34 u ppl r never satisfied -> user35 found y/n's burner

user36 mind you the internet sleuths could've just found her very public linkedin profile but whatever it takes lmao -> user37 4.0 from berkeley and they were smearing her name... oh my shayla 😩

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yourusername just posted .ᐟ

yourusername: year two <3

view 20 comments.

yourbestie1 pls tell me you didn't go to applebee's for your anniversary dinner -> yourbestie2 you know better than to ask a question like that -> justinherbert you mean the place we met? bffr -> justinherbert did i use that right? -> yourusername very proud j ❤️

yourmom congratulations you two ❤️❤️❤️ liked by author

yourbestie2 @ justinherbert where are my season tickets -> justinherbert aren't you a rams fan? 🤔 -> yourbestie2 @ chargers your qb is questioning his fans... action must be taken -> chargers season tickets on us? (we'll take it out of justin's paycheck 🤫)

patherbert5 five big booms liked by author

user38 the people would like to know if you were thrown out of the applebee's? -> yourusername no... but we'll try again next year 🤗

justinherbert happy anniversary beautiful 🌹 -> yourusername and hopefully so many more 💞

[capellla]

What is the reputation of your future spouse?

Choose whichever you are drawn to. This is a general reading and there is less options so this may not suit everyone. Take what resonates only.

Pick an Image

Paid Readings Feedbacks

1

This person is definitely a playboy and someone famous for his relationships. I definitely didn't expect to see this energy so clearly on the cards. Maybe meeting you will change him, maybe you're not attracting the right people right now. This person is someone who gets bored easily and sees people and his relationships with them as games. Additionally, this person is known for being rebellious and not listening to what people say, especially sincere suggestions. He does whatever he wants and no one can restrict him, even with good intentions. This person is also known for his wildness and lack of seriousness, he has a strange sense of humor. They have sharp eyes and draw you in, and it's hard not to be drawn or impressed by them. And those eyes are always on the people he attracted to and examining them. I can see why it's attractive. This person may also be famous for his relationship with his mother (for some of your future spouses). He may be working with her and may be notable for his relationship with her. This person has very advanced and big dreams. And he doesn't hesitate to follow them. This person may not like his father and may be doing his best not to be like him. This person is known for his luck and possessions.

2

This person is known for his financial acumen and the right choices he makes. This person is very well-read and knowledgeable. He may have completed more than one university. This person is also known for being distant from his family. Maybe he doesn't get along well with a sibling. This person is known for his serious relationships and taking his relationships very seriously. Additionally, this person may be an animal lover and whenever he sees a living creature on the street, he cannot help but love it. This person may have had difficulties in his youth and lived life a little more on the edge. Or, on the contrary, he may have spent his youth alone and questioning with a lacking perspective. This person respects the opposite sex. He has a broad perspective and is known for it. People also respect him, but some also pity him. (You shouldn't take people too seriously at the end.) This person is also known for a significant relationship, sex life, or empathy. (may vary for everyone.) This person will worship you and show you great respect (I had to write this message).

3

I don't know why, but Van Gogh comes to my mind. Maybe this person is known for his art, his diversity, his hard work, and yet he does not receive enough attention. He may have too many relationships. But this may be related to him not finding the right person or not believing that he will find her. Gorgeous, that's the word I hear and I see the sun card. This person is amazing. Very authentic and distinctive. He has a lot of potential and has a significant destiny. Many people may oppose this person or have difficulty understanding him. Because he is sincere and has a very different world. And it's a very special world. That world has deep oceans and bright stars that ordinary people cannot see or feel.

[shortbcofkoffee]

CW: Cursing, child abuse via parentification

Bruce didn’t cry. He never cried. Bruce whined and sulked, but he never cried. Tim hated it when Bruce whined and sulked. He hated when Bruce acted like a kicked puppy because he had to take care of him. Tim thinks Alfred is happy he doesn’t have to do it anymore. Bruce is well into his 40s; he shouldn’t need this. Either way, Tim is closing Bruce’s bedroom door behind him and turning to the man in bed.

“Alfred wants you to come to dinner.” Tim sits on the foot of the bed, placing a hand on Bruce’s calf. The man is facing away from him, lying down but not pretending to sleep.

“I’m fine.”

Tim sucks his teeth and furrows his brow. “What’s wrong?”

Bruce shrugs and curls into himself. 

Tim purses his lips. “C’mon, chum. You can tell me.” Tim swallows and his stomach twists. He tells himself that it feels numb on his lips. He’d says he’s long past feeling gross, disgusted with himself, as he gently runs his thumb back and forth over Bruce’s calf. Bruce needs this, he reminds himself. He needs me.

“It’s nothing, I just-... It’s nothing.”

Tim frowned, Bruce wasn’t usually one to share but still. “Is it a case?” He knew Jason had mentioned one. Something about a seemingly normal family leaving their kid with the Falcones before the parents were murdered. It wasn’t the type of thing to stress Bruce out but it was the only one Tim could think of. Bruce didn’t answer. “Okay, well, you don’t need to tell me. But let's get some food in you, yeah?”

Bruce shifted but made no attempt to get up. Tim sighed.

“Alright, chum, I’ll bring dinner to you. Just wait here.” Tim patted his leg and stood up.

“Thanks, Dad,” Bruce said as Tim reached the door.

His eye twitched. “Anytime.”

When he steps out of the dark bedroom, he’s Brother Tim, the Tim the rest of the Waynes like. He makes his way to the dining room where everyone is filing in. Luckily it wasn’t everyone tonight. Just Tim, Dick, Cass, Jason, and Damian. They all sat at the table in their unofficial spots. Tim usually sat between Bruce and Dick with Cass right across from him. He eyed his seat, thinking maybe he could ask Alfred to bring the plate. He wanted to sit down and eat. Dick raised an eyebrow as Tim passed his chair.

“You’re not gonna sit down?”

Tim shook his head. “I will in a minute, Bruce isn’t coming down so I’m bringing him food.”

Jason scoffed. “Why do you need to bring it, ask Alfred.”

God, he wanted to. “Alfred does enough, I’ll do it.”

He could feel their eyes as he quickly moved past them to the kitchen. Alfred is there, garnishing a casserole. The Butler meets his eyes and frowns.

“I assume Master Bruce has elected to stay in his room?”

Tim nods. “I’m gonna fix him a plate.”

Tim thinks Alfred knows because Alfred somehow knows everything. Maybe he doesn’t know how far it’s gone, but he knows. He also needs Tim, but not for himself like everyone else. He needs Tim for Bruce. 

Alfred hums. “Master Timothy, please come here. I want to show you something.” Tim stepped closer, watching as Alfred cut a perfect square out of his casserole. “Master Bruce has a very particular way he likes to be served. You’d do well to memorize it. All foods must be separated by one-third of an inch, vegetables should be opposite the meat. He drinks milk right after his water, if he plans to sleep right after dinner crush two valium pills and mix it well into his milk. If they’re fully dissolved he won’t notice the difference.”

Tim nodded along. God, this was so final. He already knew most of this but Alfred never took the time to actually teach him. It took the butler less than a minute to finish Bruce’s plate, he placed it on a tray with two glasses of milk and water. He handed Tim the tray and sent him on his way.

Tim felt eyes on him again as he passed back through the dining room. There’s a pang of anxiety in his chest telling him they know, they know. He doesn’t know what he’d do if they did. They’d be disgusted, disgusted with Tim for going along with this for so long. They’d think he’s a freak, that somehow he enjoys this. Tim doesn’t know how he’d handle it. 

The walk to Bruce’s room was quiet, the whole manor was quiet. Tim had mixed feelings about long, quiet halls. It meant he was alone; either for the moment or months on end. It was lonely but there was a freedom in that emptiness. He didn’t have responsibilities, he could do whatever, whenever, however. No one was watching him, he didn’t need to be anyone. Tim took a deep breath in. As long as he was in this hallway, he’d be fine. Unfortunately, he was only a few yards from Bruce’s door.

He balanced the tray in one hand and opened the door with the other.

“I’m coming in, chum.”

Bruce turned over in his bed and sat up. “What did Alfred make?”

“Hamburger casserole, broccoli, and turmeric rice. If you want dessert, though, you’ll have to come downstairs.” Tim placed the tray on Bruce’s lap. “Spend time with your kids.”

Bruce stared blankly at his food. “What’s for dessert?”

“Tiramisu, I think. Your favorite.”

Bruce nodded and started to eat. 

Tim ruffled his hair, letting Bruce lean into his touch for a moment. It’s… a lot. “Come down when you’re ready.”

Tim was two steps from the door when Bruce spoke again.

“Wait. Dad…”

Tim turned around and shifted his weight onto one leg. “What’s up, bud?”

Bruce didn’t meet his eyes and poked the food. “Recently I was made aware of… a situation.”

“Uh-huh.” Tim walked back to the bed next to Bruce.

“Jason has let me know about a development in a cold case involving the Falcones.” So he was right. “There was a child involved. I found him, he’s… traumatized. He saw them kill his parents, he told me and I just- I… He doesn’t want to leave the Falcones. He told me he loved it there, they were nice to him. And I just left him. He wouldn’t come with me, he fought so much, I left him.” 

Tim pouted. “I’m sorry that happened, bud. You think you’ll go back for him?”

Bruce leaned onto Tim’s shoulder. “Jason said he’d deal with it. I just wish I did some more. I could’ve, I can, I just. It’d be encroaching on Jason’s territory. Where they’re keeping him. I should do something. I can.”

Tim wrapped an arm around Bruce’s shoulder and scratched his scalp. It felt weird, warm. Bruce had probably washed it earlier, poorly, but at least it was washed. “Yeah, Jason has been on edge with you hasn’t he?” Bruce nodded. “It’ll be alright, bud. Jason can handle this, and besides, this case could be a lot for you. I think you should sit this one out instead of beating yourself up about it.” Tim unwrapped his arm. “Okay?”

“Alright.”

“Good. I’m gonna go eat dinner, you can come down for dessert.”

Tim finally got away, slipping off the bed and out the door. When Tim steps outside the room again and walks a few feet before leaning against the wall. He pressed his forehead against the red wallpaper and placed a hand over his stomach. He doesn’t want to touch anyone ever again. His stomach is churning with that familiar weird feeling. It’d go away soon, a few minutes to a few days, but it’d go away. This wasn’t weird. This isn’t- Bruce needs this, he needs this. As long as Bruce needed him, Tim would be there. He couldn’t just abandon Bruce. His hand gripped his shirt and he took a deep breath. He was okay. Tim stood up straight and walked back to the dining room.

He slid back into his seat next to Dick and Bruce’s empty chair. Alfred already put his plate out, just how he liked. Tim looked around the table at the subtle differences on the other’s plates. He wondered if they noticed and if this would be his life from now on, learning the specific ways he needed to care for everyone. If it’s like that he’s happy only Bruce needs him. He was prepared for a few questions, it’d be weird if he didn’t get any. Bruce’s kids would be worried about him even if they hated to admit it.

“You’ve been fussing over the old man a bit much lately,” Jason started.

“I guess,” Tim shrugged as he began to eat. Had it been more than usual lately? It felt a little less frequent. 

“Is he okay?” Dick asked.

Tim frowned. “He’s upset about a case.” He nodded at Jason. “One of yours, actually. About the kid with the Falcones. He’s eating himself up because he wants to help the kid but he doesn’t want to piss you off. I told him you could handle it.”

“Thank God,” Jason huffed. “That asshole keeps straining my alliances every time he steps foot in the alley.”

“How old is the kid? We don’t need him trying to take another kid in,” Dick joked.

That seemed to satisfy the table as they all went back to eating and their individual conversations. Mainly small talk and meaningless arguments, Tim wanted to contribute but he still felt weird. He felt awful. The food didn't settle the churning in his stomach, unfortunately, the feeling was here to stay. Begrudgingly, his thoughts wandered back to Bruce. What would he need next? When? He could feel the man’s hair on his hand still. It was warm and a little greasy from product that hadn't been washed out. Tim roughly swallowed. He didn't like this feeling. He should be grateful, if it wasn't for this he wouldn't be needed here. Of course, he was CEO of Wayne Enterprises but his professional relationships weren't fulfilling enough to replace personal ones. He needed Bruce to feel useful. Bruce needed him to feel better. It wasn’t weird. It wasn’t disgusting. Tim was okay with it.

He didn't want to finish his dinner. He didn't want to be here when Bruce came down for dessert. Oh God, he’ll probably have to put him to bed if he’s still upset after dinner. He stood with his only half-empty plate and started to the kitchen. Cass grabbed the back of his shirt and tapped him twice, asking where he was going.

“Ah, I'm done eating. Wasn’t too hungry anyway.”

Cass frowned but waved him off but Dick stopped him too. 

“Hold on, Timmy, dude, you barely ate.”

“I'm not hungry,” he reiterated. “And besides, I have a meeting with some shareholders tomorrow, I need to prepare.” A lie so quick it surprised even him. “Do you want my food?”

Before Dick could answer Damian slammed a hand on the table. “Drake! Give me your vegetables!”

Tim quickly dumped his food on Damian's plate and walked to the kitchen. Alfred was still there, preparing dessert, and to Tim’s luck, it was actually Tiramisu. So now he didn’t accidentally lie to Bruce. 

“Should I throw this out or keep the leftovers?” He asked Alfred.

The old man looked between him and the plate a few times. “You only ate one thing.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Just place it on the counter, I’ll deal with it.”

Tim muttered a thanks as he did and left. Unfortunately, always unfortunate for Tim Drake-Wayne, Bruce was there. Smiling at his kids, carrying his tray to the kitchen. Tim didn’t have to look closely at Bruce anymore. Every line crinkle was there whether he liked it or not. He could read Bruce’s face better than anyone he knew and he hated it. Bruce’s smile faltered a little when he was Tim but no one seemed to notice. It wasn’t weird , he reminded himself. He brushed past Tim with a “hey.” The interaction was short and impersonal but it didn’t make the feeling go away. Tim left the dining room. Bruce would probably go to the cave tonight, to look over whatever he’s working on. By tomorrow morning only Dick would be back in Bludhaven and Cass and Jason would be back at their apartments. Tim hoped he wouldn’t have to scold Bruce for staying up too late. 

Tim’s lungs felt light like the air was barely tickling them. He wanted to sleep, he’d set an alarm for three and if Bruce was still up he’d drag him to bed. Soon enough he was in a quiet hallway again. Just alone with no one watching. He jumped as high as possible, fingers barely touching the high ceiling. Tim liked being alone for these small bits of time when he felt like this. It gave him just a little release when he did little things with no one else around. He jumped again. He wants to go on patrol. He wants to jump from building to building and breathe in the night air. He should do it soon, tomorrow maybe.

Tim reached his room, set his alarm for three, and let himself relax into his pillow. Bruce has been better lately, this case was gonna be a huge setback, especially if it involved Jason. Tim hated to say it because it wasn’t true but every problem he had with Bruce was because of Jason. Tim knew it wasn’t fair to blame him, he had no stake in how Bruce would mourn him, but if he never died in the first place… That was so unfair. It made Tim feel disgusting for even thinking that. Bruce wasn’t entirely to blame either, no one is how they mourn. Tim took the role of caretaker quickly and easily, it was a lot, especially for a thirteen-year-old, but Tim could take it. Tim could take everything. He did and will.

Tim didn't know when he fell asleep or if he had a dream but the alarm clock on his bedside table was screaming. Tim groggily rolled over and hit it off. If Bruce wasn't in the cave Tim could go back to sleep sooner. If he was, Tim would have to drag him to bed. Bruce needed as much sleep as possible, the holidays were coming up and that always put Batman on overtime. Tim got out of bed and dragged himself over to Bruce’s room, but of course, he wasn't there. Tim groaned, dragging a hand down his face. He found his way down to the cave and followed the sound of typing to the Batcomputer. 

“It's late.” Tim came up behind Bruce.

“I'm working.”

“And you'll have time to work tomorrow. The sooner you sleep, the sooner you wake up.” He put a hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “C'mon let's get you to bed.” 

Bruce made no effort to move and Tim leaned on his shoulder. 

“I’ll go to bed soon.”

Tim pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Listen, bud, I’m not going to sleep until you do. And I’m tired.”

“No one is asking you to do that.”

“I know you’re tired too. You’re not at your best when you’re tired, you could slip up and miss something.”

“I won’t. I slept yesterday, I’ll be fine.”

Fair, Bruce could easily stay awake for three to four days without shutting down. Unfortunately, with the aforementioned holidays, sleep would be few and far between. “Yeah, well I’m not asking. We’re going to bed.” Tim looked up at the screen. “What are you even working on?”

“I told you. The case with the Falcone kid. I haven’t updated the report yet.”

“I thought I told you to let Jason deal with it.”

“I can help.”

“He doesn’t want your help.” 

Bruce paused his typing for a moment before resuming. “Did he tell you that?”

“I told him that I told you to let him deal with it. He didn’t thank me but he was appreciative.” Tim pulled away from Bruce’s shoulder making the man twitch. “Besides, I don’t want you working this case. It won’t be good for you.”

Bruce just grunted, an unintelligible one that meant he was acknowledging but ultimately ignoring you. It’s like a toddler throwing a quiet tantrum.

“You know I’m right. C’mon, chum, let’s go to bed,” he tried again. The man didn’t answer. “Okay?” He said with more force. Bruce silently saved the report he was working on and logged off. “Thank you. See that wasn’t so hard.”

“Sorry, Dad,” Bruce grumbled. 

“Mm-hm.” Tim held out a hand and pulled Bruce from his chair.

Bruce held onto his hand as they started to walk, he seemed like he needed it. He didn’t let go until they were halfway to his room. Bruce, for someone who craved it so much, hated physical affection. He only accepted it from certain people. Alfred was one since he raised him practically by himself. His kids, obviously, he’d never turn down a hug from one of them, he actually hoped for it. Though Tim had never personally seen it, according to others Bruce didn’t seem to mind being touched by Clark Kent. Lastly, there was Tim. Tim was the only person Bruce reached out to first for affection. Usually just a hand on his shoulder or arm but sometimes Bruce wanted a hug or a hand to hold. It was always over quicker than it happened when Bruce acted first. 

Once he got Bruce to his room it was 3:14. He could still get a good amount of sleep and still be good in the morning. He yawned as he walked the dark halls back to his room. Sleep would be good, Bruce was exhausting. TIm just wanted to melt into his pillow and disappear forever. Tim jumped, almost yelped as he turned a corner and came face to face with a mop of white and black hair. Jason stared at him quietlywith his jaw locked in anger. Neither of them spoke but Jason nodded in the direction of the library. Jason was here, why was he here? Tim hadn’t noticed him come in so it must’ve been when he was dealing with Bruce. 

Oh, God, had he seen him with Bruce? The seeing wasn’t the hard part Tim knew how to lie and deflect. He could say that he asked Bruce to hold hands. It wouldn’t explain why it looked like he was guiding Bruce but it was a start. The hearing was the bad part. If Jason had heard the end of their conversation Tim doesn’t know. An inside joke maybe? That was the only thing Tim could think of at the moment. He bit his lip nervously. The disgusting feeling was back. His hands and feet felt heavy. Tim was tired, he just wanted to sleep.

“Why are you here?” He asked nervously.

“Left my commlink in the cave. Came back to get it,” Jason said.

“Ah.”

So he was in the cave. When they entered the library Jason sat down in one of the lounge chairs and motioned for Tim to sit across from him.

“The fuck was that?” Jason started.

“What was what?”

Jason leaned forward and sighed. “Okay. Are you… okay?” He asked through gritted teeth.

The question felt weird coming from Jason. “Fine. Why?”

“I heard you talking to Bruce.”

Tim is pretty sure all the color left in his face drains. He’s pretty sure Jason noticed it too. “Oh.”

“So are you okay?”

Tim pinched his fingertip with the opposite hand. “Yeah. I’m fine. Just- just forget what you heard, okay? It’s nothing weird, just an inside joke, y’know?” Tim feels a little stupid for deflecting immediately. He could’ve played it off better, but the mental exhaustion was getting to him.

“It didn’t sound like a joke.”

Tim pinched harder, sinking his nails into his skin. “Then you misread the situation.”

Jason leaned back, splaying his arms over the back of the chair. “Alright humor me. What’s the joke then.”

“If I explained it it wouldn’t be very “inside” anymore. It’s private.”

“Kay, so how long have you and him had this private “joke.””

Tim grimaced. “Don’t make it weird.”

“I’m not. Just answer.”

Tim scoffed. “Why do you care? It’s a joke me and Bruce have, that’s it.”

“Why do I-?! Why do I care?! You know I kill abusers?”

Tim took a deep breath in and rolled his eyes. “Don’t call it abuse just because you think it’s weird. I get it, you don’t buy the joke thing but that’s all it is.”

Jason was quiet for a moment before his eyes widened. “Oh my God, is that why he listens to you? Because you have this dad thing going on?”

Tim’s stomach churned. God, he wanted to throw up. He wanted to run away and hide under his cover until this was all over. “Nothing’s going on, leave it alone.”

“Listen, I’m trying to help you.”

Jason? Help Tim? When he was the reason for this in the first place? Tim couldn’t help but smile at the irony. “Yeah right. I don’t need any help, it’s fine. If it makes you feel better, I started it, not Bruce.”

“So, what, you started calling Bruce “ chum” and shit.” Tim almost gagged. “And he just went along with it?”

“It’s complicated, okay? Bruce needs someone to deal with him.”

“Why not Alfred? That’s literally his job.”

“It’s different-”

“Is it? Alfred’s practically raised him and I don’t see Bruce calling him dad.”

“It’s different,” Tim repeated. “You weren’t there, you don’t know.”

“Okay then explain it. I’ve got all night.”

Tim clenched his jaw and glared at Jason. “I’m going to bed.” He started to stand but a throwing knife stuck into the bookshelf behind him, barely missing his head.

“Sit. Explain.”

Tim sat back down. “Fine. What do you want to know?”

“When did this start?”

“Four or five years ago.”

Jason hummed. “That’s what you meant by I wasn’t there. Alright then, why is he calling you dad?”

That one was loaded. Tim wasn’t a psychic, he couldn’t read Bruce’s mind. He only had his best guess. “He likes to be parented. Talking to him like he’s a teenager sometimes helps when you need him to do something. Like shower or eat.”

“So… you act like his dad because he’s an overgrown teenager.”

“No. He only acts like that when he’s depressed, or stressed, or wasted.”

“Bruce doesn’t drink.”

“Not when you guys are around. He used to drink himself stupid after you died. That’s also why it’s me and not Alfred. Alfred was grieving too, Bruce wasn’t something he needed to deal with.” 

“So you took Alfred’s place.”

“Only when he needed it.”

“But it never stopped. You’re still doing this weird shit just to make him feel better.”

“He still needs me. I can’t abandon him.” Tim shifted uncomfortably.

“Tim, you’re 17, Bruce isn’t your responsibility.”

“He is. I need to take care of him. You don’t understand, you don’t get how bad he needs me.”

“You’re right, I don’t. He’s grown, he doesn’t need you.”

“Well he does, okay? And I’ll do it until he stops needing me.”

“Do you think of him as your son?”

Tim was silent. He didn’t like to, it made him feel gross to say it so he’d never actually verbalized it before. “It… can make it easier.”

Jason shook his head. “I don’t get you. Both of you know how fucked up this is, you kept it a secret this whole time. You’re clearly feeling shitty about it, you just never said anything. He’s not threatening you, is he?”

“He’s not threatening me, I just… He needs me. That’s all there is to it.” Tim was tired. He wanted to go to bed. “We didn’t tell anyone because we knew you would react like this. You’d think it was weird.”

“It is.”

“You’re not even making an effort to understand. You don’t get it.”

“Oh, believe me, I get it. I get all there is to get. Tim, I’m sure you know this, but I don’t like you. I think you’re a stain and you never should’ve been Robin. But I’m on your side, I’m trying to help you . Because I’m supposed to protect people like you.”

“I’m not a victim, Red Hood, I’m telling you, I’m just taking care of him.”

“You don’t need to.”

“We’re talking in circles. It’s fine if you don’t get it, just don’t tell anyone and keep it alone. Me and Bruce are fine, this has worked for years. If I left Bruce wouldn’t be able to pick himself up again. I can take care of him as long as he needs me.”

“Do you want to?”

Tim rubbed his arm. He didn’t, he liked feeling needed but he didn’t want to do this. But that’s how it was, it was how Bruce needed him. Since he couldn’t, he wouldn’t change a thing. “Yeah.” He felt disgusting.

Jason raised his hands in surrender. “Then I’ll leave it alone. But if I find out something I don’t like, I’ll act. Trust me, I will.”

Tim finally pushed himself out of the chair. “Thank you. I’m going to bed, it’s late.”

Jason stayed behind in the library leaving Tim alone in the long dark hallway. He was alone again, he exhaled a breath he didn’t know he was holding before his chest sank again. Oh God, someone knew. Jason knew, probably the last person Tim wanted to know. Jason had called Bruce an abuser and threatened to kill him. That’s the last thing Tim needed. He wanted to sleep, he should sleep.

.

Read the rest here and read the fic that inspired it here

[utopiastri]

Hi, hello!!!

May i request sleep deprivation for the fic prompt, pretty please???? To be honest I'd be so happy with any ship (bc im obsessed with ur writing), but mayhaps landoscar or maxcar???🥺🥺🥺

Hope you are having a wonderful day!<3

-💫

💫 anon!!! hi lovely! thank you for the prompt! i hope you're having a lovely day too and i hope you enjoy some maxcar!!!

Of all the people that Oscar expected to bump into whilst walking around Monaco at 5am, he wouldn’t have bet on Max Verstappen.

Or, well, he wouldn’t have bet a lot on Max Verstappen – Monaco’s tiny and Max does live here, so it’s not entirely unreasonable to run into him. But still.

5am.

“Oscar! Mate, hi!”

Oscar does his best not to wince at how cheery Max is. From the way Max’s face falls slightly, he’s guessing he doesn’t do a particularly good job of it.

“Hey, Max,” he says quietly, giving him a tired smile.

“What are you doing up so early? I wouldn't have guessed you were a morning person.”

“Just, um, going for a walk, I guess.”

Max frowns. “Hm.”

He doesn’t elaborate any further. Oscar prays that the street lighting is dim enough for the dark circles under his eyes to stay hidden.

Eventually, when it becomes clear that Max isn’t going to say anything else, Oscar says, “Right, uh, I’ll see you.”

Oscar’s barely even turned around to start walking in the opposite direction when Max calls out, “Wait! What are you doing after your walk?”

Living the Monaco high life, Oscar thinks to himself, going back to bed and tossing and turning for another six fruitless hours.

“Nothing much,” is what Oscar actually says. In fairness, it isn’t exactly a lie.

“I was just finishing up my run. You should come back to mine for some breakfast,” Max suggests.

Oscar gives Max an assessing look and notes that he looks more like a person about to go for a run than one just finishing one up. Max folds his arms and raises an eyebrow, as if daring Oscar to call his bluff.

On another day, maybe Oscar would. But he feels so tired his bones are heavy with it and giving in is the much easier thing to do.

“Yeah, ok.”

-

Oscar doesn’t realise that the breakfast invite is a trap until he’s blearily blinking his eyes open a few hours later. Or, maybe ‘trap’ is the wrong word. ‘Trap’ implies that there was some trickery or persuasion involved. Max didn’t exactly have to do much convincing to get Oscar to take a seat on his sofa. And Max certainly didn’t have to do much convincing to get Oscar to let his eyes flutter shut, since they were very much doing that of their own accord.

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” Max calls from the kitchen. Oscar slowly begins to register where is. He bolts upright when he realises that he managed to fall asleep on Max’s sofa when the poor man had only invited him in for a pastry and some coffee.

“Shit, Max, I’m so sorry,” he says, trying to stand up from the sofa and only managing to almost fall flat on his face, his legs getting twisted in a knitted blanket Max must’ve thrown over him. His face flares bright red and he refuses to look in Max’s direction.

Unfortunately, Max has other plans. He feels Max’s gaze burn into the side of his face until finally Oscar looks up and meets Max’s eyes. He’s smirking ever so slightly.

“No apologising. You needed sleep and, for whatever reason, you cannot get it at home. So you slept on my sofa.” Max says it so matter-of-factly that Oscar almost finds himself nodding along.

“No, wait,” Oscar shakes himself and reminds himself that this is ridiculous, “Max, it wasn’t fair, or, I mean, it was rude of me to fall asleep on your sofa.”

“No, it wasn’t, I didn’t mind.”

Oscar groans slightly. “Well, maybe, you should mind.”

A calculating look appears on Max's face. “To clarify," he says, "You object to the part where you fell asleep on my sofa?”

“Yes,” Oscar says firmly.

“Fine. I agree you should not fall asleep on my sofa.”

“Good.”

“You should fall asleep on my bed.”

“What?” Oscar splutters staring at Max, “Hang on.”

However, Max is too busy grabbing Oscar by the arm and frogmarching him through his flat to take heed of Oscar's request for him to hang on. Oscar’s so bewildered by this turn of events he doesn’t even fight the manhandling that much. Before he knows it, he finds himself sat down on Max’s giant bed, staring up at him.

Max is smirking again.

“There, problem solved. You can’t fall asleep on the sofa if you’re asleep in my bed.”

“Max,” Oscar starts.

Max raises an eyebrow ready to counter whatever Oscar’s next argument will be. Oscar sighs.

He knows when he’s beaten. Max smile grows even wider.

“I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me." He turns to leave but Oscar, almost without thinking, grabs his hand before he can.

His skin starts tingling where it's touching Max's and he does his best to ignore it. Oscar swallows. “Stay?” he asks, voice nothing more than a whisper.

Oscar thinks he might have found the one thing to say that would catch Max off-guard, even if that wasn’t his intention. His expression doesn’t shift, but Oscar can just about make out two dots of pink high in Max’s cheeks.

“Are you sure?”

“Stay,” Oscar repeats, less of a request and more of a command.

Max takes a second but eventually nods and crawls into the other side of the bed. Oscar carefully arranges his body so it's not touching Max's at all and then has to do his best not to react when he feels Max reach out and gently interlock their fingers. “Sleep,” he whispers.

Oscar convinces himself the kiss he feels pressed to his forehead is purely induced by sleep deprivation.

[miamc]

i don’t think most people realize just how suffocating the pressure to be “normal” and conform was in the 80s. especially in a small town like hawkins.

even today it is very common for queer people to go years or even their whole life without coming out. how is mike having a girlfriend for like a year proof that he is straight? it’s completely invalidating of real queer people’s experiences.

even setting aside the mountain of evidence that mike is queer… what about just listening to queer people? surely we would know a thing or two about being gay and everything that comes with that. if we can recognize something in mike that relates to the queer experience why should that be ignored?

we shouldn’t be holding will’s experience as the golden standard that mike must meet in order to be gay. mike and will have different experiences and that’s reflective of real life.

will was bullied because other kids noticed he was gay, probably before he even did. his interests, behaviour, and choice of clothing was scrutinized his entire childhood. this did not happen to mike. mike did everything he was “supposed” to do. he got a girlfriend. he put on a performance of heterosexuality. and yes, i say performance, because even if you believe mike is straight, there are moments that are undeniably a “performance” like the whole s3 break up and the monologue where again, whether you think he’s straight or not, he did lie.

just because mikes experience is different than wills does not mean that he is not gay.

a lot of mlvns are totally out of touch with the past and even the present. i saw a mlvn comment that along with all the other ships (excluding byler of course), robin and vickie should get married at the end of s5. i also saw someone say that will should find a boyfriend and be openly gay in hawkins.

it’s a stark reminder that even well intentioned people don’t understand what it’s like to be gay, not even on a surface level. it seems as though the very concept of internalized homophobia (and dangerous homophobia from other people) is too complex for them to wrap their head around. and yeah it does annoy me. because even if you don’t “ship byler” or whatever, as soon as you dismiss the queer experience, i’m not listening to you. if you are not willing to understand these concepts then you have no place claiming that mike is not gay. you are just not equipped with the basic level of knowledge needed to see it. how can you understand queer people’s pain if you don’t understand that you are the source of that pain?

that’s why the idea of people saying that byler is out of nowhere genuinely haunts me because i know it will happen. no matter how they present it there will be people who think it’s just totally out of nowhere and oh my god wasn’t mike straight just a minute ago?

what i look forward to the most is mikes queer experience broadening the GA’s perspective. i want them to see that yeah, your preconceived notions and stereotypes about gay people are shitty. queer people are people and their lives and experiences are more complex than i like the same sex therefore i am going to date the same sex and i like the opposite sex therefore i am going to date the opposite sex. it’s not that easy. not today, not in ten years from now, and certainly not in in a small conservative town in indiana in the 1980s.

[fanganfessions]

I believe Wolfgang was a genuinely good, but misguided character.

And I believe if he hadn't died in chapter 1, he only would've become more misguided. But in a way that's entirely justified from his POV but terrible from Damon's and Eva's.

For example, imagine that he reads into Damon and Eva's speech from chapter 1, and how they think group bonding is only a way to get other people to lower their guard (at least from them). He also sees them being apathetic to idea of murder. He then sees Damon and Eva getting along with the others and participating in bonding moments they themselves basically deemed only useful for potential killers. Wolfgang overthinks this and spends the whole night up awake worrying about everyone else.

Heck, about Eva, he'd be correct in the case of canon, her bonding moments with the larger group (gaming tournament) were only a cover-up for murder. But this isn't canon, and we're basically going off of the AU idea that Eva spends more time thinking about the killing game tuan the postee, gets dragged to the tournament by Diana who isn't busy that day, and has fun and bonds with the group, especially Cassidy with their niche favorite video game (You could also have Eva not bond with the group, but just not commit murder as well for this AU).

But Wolfgang doesn't see this. He only sees people who deemed bonding moments murder opportunities engaging in those exact moments. He overthinks this so much that he distorts his own perception of Damon and Eva, from classmates who accused people of being potential murderers and sabotaged the group's spirit (still a horrible thing to do, but not as horrible as what he thinks they are in this AU), to possibly cold-blooded murderers who are taking their opportunities (big emphasis on possibly here, he doesn't see them as monsters, but he also doesn't really see them as people due to his twisted perception).

And he starts doing what he thinks is right. He begins asking Diana and Kai whether they feel safe at night, whether they'd like to switch rooms to room with eachother or Grace and himself, that its fine for them to ask to do so and no it won't inconvenience anyone in the slightest, he asks Toshiko to stay away for them, as shes in potential danger because of her age, he asks Desmond to keep an eye on them as Desmond's a marksman and he'd surely be able to defend himself incase anything happened, he starts being a little more vocal about them being suspicious then more and more, he keeps an eye on them every time he sees them with the group, whenever they're close to being left alone with only one other person he makes sure to stay behind so nothing happens.

But just because he's the hero of his own story, trying to protect his friends from people he thinks are going to hurt them (to reiterate, this isn't entirely ungrounded in fact, Eva did murder him in canon) doesn't mean he's not the coldhearted villain of another. Damon and Eva don't see these action as "harmless" or "preventative". They see him trying to ostracize him, asking Desmond to basically stalk them, making Toshiko run away, sabotaging their relations with their respective roommates to make them alone and less safe at night, never letting them be alone with one of their classmates and fostering distrust between the group while preaching the exact opposite. They see him as a giant hypocrite who is entirely delusional.

in short, I really think villains who are nice and kindhearted to everyone but the protagonist are cool and should be featured more.

(Most of this is AU but I think it could've had a decent chance to become canon if Wolfgang and Eva were long-term characters)

⠀

[plotthotrobin]

I’ve talked about the polite neutrality between the three lords during White Clouds, but I have another point about friendships in this game to make. The Golden Deer are the only house that feel like something close to an actual friend group to me - but that’s not a complaint or me saying that GD is objectively the best house. (There being a ‘best house’ actively defeats the point - and I actually like more of the students from the BE.) It’s just neat to compare and contrast.

Despite most of them having known one another from a young age, the Blue Lions feel more like the reunion of kids who played together during their parent’s work meetings. They’re stiff and awkward around each other a lot of the time despite being more familiar. They get along because they have to for the future of their kingdom. Hell, I think at least half of their interrelationships are at least initially born out of obligation. And that isn’t to diminish the sincerity of some of the friendships that do blossom, but that energy overall never really goes away. I think it reflects the tone/culture of Faerghus and Dimitri both really well, actually, since there are a lot of themes of tradition and doing what is socially expected of you.

The Black Eagles are kind of a weird mix of strangers and friends when they start out. I read them as being more individually isolated than the other two houses. Because the unspoken obligation of the BL’s isn’t there, this group falls into almost the opposite camp. Dorothea, Ferdinand, and Petra are on good terms with almost everyone - but aren’t actually close to anybody. Linhardt and Caspar are childhood friends of sorts, but a lot of it seems like the former merely tolerating the latter (especially during WC) - and neither of them are really close to anyone else. Bernadetta is… well, Bernadetta. Edelgard and Hubert are the one exception since they are very close, but even then they are princess and retainer - not ever really friends on an equal level, even though they have a deep love and respect for one another. The house as a whole, though, doesn’t feel very tight-knit. Again, none of this is a complaint. I can’t say much when it comes to Adrestia itself, but I do think it reflects a lot of Edelgard’s individualistic mindset on a personal level as well as her overall approach in Crimson Flower.

Other than Raphael and Ignatz, none of the Golden Deer seem to know each other by much more than name at the start of the game - which means that they’re all getting to know each other at the same time. I truly think that different foundation makes them growing together feels a little more organic in terms of friendship. I can easily see this group naturally sitting around a campfire and swapping funny stories. While, again, I can’t say much in terms of Leicester’s culture or anything, I think this works extremely well considering Claude’s whole thing is wanting to tear down walls and bring people together. It’s really nice to see. (Quick disclaimer: I don’t believe Claude truly sees them as his friends until post-timeskip during VW specifically, but do think most of the others view him as a friend pretty early on.)

It’s interesting how these setups affect their respective routes. 😊

[starcurtain]

More Phaidei Fics I Want to Read

1. Obligatory "fish out of water" fic (mostly AU because the timeline would probably not match canon, but we do what we want here!), taking place after Mydei and the Kremnoans first make it to Okhema. Okhema is already harsh on outsiders, let alone on a conquering "barbarian" tribe infamous for bringing strife to so many other city states. Mydei doesn't know the local customs at all, and while he doesn't care the slightest about how these pathetic Okhemans see him, the trouble he keeps getting into is affecting the reputations of innocent Kremnoans too. He's got to find a way to blend in, at least enough to stop costing his fellows any chance of finding paid work... Too bad the only person who is willing (and has time) to help is Phainon (who isn't native to Okhema either but done a much better job of learning to get along with the locals). The guy thinks he's the Titans' gift to Amphoreus just because he beat Mydei in a duel once. It was only once! And why does it matter whether we eat standing up or lying down? What are you laughing at, Savior Complex?! Or, tl;dr: The culture clash comedy one where Phainon and Mydei teach each other entirely opposing sets of manners, and come to learn a lot more about one another in the process.

2. Also obligatory omegaverse where Mydei is an omega born with a unique constitution: he's built like an alpha, snarls like an alpha, and dominates his opponents like an alpha. He even smells like an alpha, especially when he's in heat, so the only people who ever figured out his secondary gender were his doctor and his parents, all of whom are dead now. The whole world thinks Mydei is an alpha, and his reputation as an indomitable warrior prince pretty much hinges on people continuing to believe that. The problem is, Mydei wouldn't actually mind getting to live an omega's life, at least the part about finding a mate and starting a family. Only, who in the world would want him for a mate? Any alpha hunting for an actual omega would never think to look in Mydei's direction, betas would just be confused, and even those few alphas who are attracted to other alphas would only end up disappointed after discovering Mydei isn't one. He's nobody's ideal partner, and he'd mostly made peace with that--until Phainon. Until that upstart alpha from the middle of nowhere knocked Mydei down in a brutal spar and then pulled him up with the gentlest hand, and suddenly it mattered that no one would ever want Mydei. It mattered a lot. (Of course, the long and short of it is that Mydei is the man of Phainon's dreams, and after a series of setbacks and miscommunications and lots of silly angst, they'll find their way to a happy ending.)

3. After discovering Mydei's weakness for sweets and cute things like pink pomegranate juice, Phainon decides to engage in a bit of light-hearted teasing: He starts sending Mydei exceedingly adorable gifts and fancy candies under the guise of a "secret admirer." The joke is on Phainon, however, when it turns out Mydei finds the gifts quite charming and is determined to discover the identity of the mysterious gift giver. A reasonable person would quickly give up on the joke to avoid getting caught, but Phainon has always been weak to chasing thrills--and maybe this whole thing about being Mydei's "secret admirer" isn't too far off after all... (The real joke is that Mydei, realizing immediately who the gifts were from, invented an entire "hunting my admirer down" story just for the fun of watching Phainon squirm--and, well, because keeping the whole thing going, being showered with attention by his rival, doesn't feel too bad at all.)

4. The opposite fic: The one where Mydei's completely mismatched online personality accidentally catfishes Phainon and causes some very silly drama. Mydei's (anonymous) teletweet account is full of cutesy chimera kitten memes, aesthetic pictures of food, heart emojis, and overly punctuated (with exclamation points) recaps of shopping trips in Okhema's market... Can anyone blame Phainon for thinking this is the account of a cute girl who is refreshingly earnest about her love for chubby seals and pink milk tea? But as Phainon becomes closer and closer to "Fig Stew" online, things get more and more complicated--because he's also been getting closer and closer to his real world companion Mydeimos lately. Both Fig and Mydei are wonderful, and Phainon can barely bear the thought of losing either of them in his life. Trying to get closer to them both would be way too dishonest, but choosing one over the other... What should he do? Meanwhile, Mydei is in trouble. He wasn't planning to set up some secret identity or anything; it's not his fault Phainon mistook him for a girl online! There's nothing weird about dudes posting sparkling kitten gifs, godsdammit!! But now the charade's gone on way too long to come clean, especially since Phainon seems so invested, and... well, can you blame Mydei for not wanting to give up on the closest thing to a relationship he's ever managed to start? tl;dr: Online mistaken identity hijinks fic.

5. The required-in-every-fandom time travel fic (with bonus fake dating)! Through an outpouring of Oronyx's power, Mydei and Phainon end up in the bodies of their future selves, who, it turns out, have not only managed to end Amphoreus' war and revive Castrum Kremnos, but... appear to have also... gotten married?!! Now Mydei and Phainon have to not only find out exactly how their future selves managed to save the world (so they can accomplish the same task) then look for a way back to their own time--they've got to do all of that while also pretending to be a happily wedded pair of rulers to avoid raising everyone's suspicions. This would be a whole lot easier if either of them knew the first thing about being actual kings... or about relationships. The slightest slip up could create ripple effects that change the entire timeline permanently, but--no matter how nerve-wracking it might be to admit, after seeing the future in store for them together--there's nothing Phainon (and Mydei) won't do to make sure things go exactly as they should.

[creatortheoc]

Oh boy question Time! Okay

1. How did they get to ES?

Chara is from a genocide timeline, where they actually moved on to another world. They find themselves in Earthspark as a consequence.

However, LOVE does not exist in Earthspark. As is described in the game, LOVE makes it easier to hurt others and not care about it. Chara was at max LOVE, so they were completely and utterly detached from the murders they help commit. That quickly changed.

2. Does Hashtag know them?

For the sake of not making ES META, no. However, enjoy this.

Before I get into character stuff, I want everyone to know. Chara is NOT a reliable narrator. They project onto the ES gang, HARD. Especially the Decepticons, connecting them with Monsters when Decepticons DEFINITELY weren't innocent. Chara has the same problem as Flowey in that regard.

4. Are the close to any of the Terrans?

They like Thrash though!

4. Why aren't they allowed near Megatron?

It's. Bad for both their recoveries.

5. What do the Maltos think of them?

Robby and Mo are. Creeped out the most by them. This is a consequence of Chara hating humans- they're scared of them, so they overcompensate by trying to scare them back.

As for the Terrans, it's a mixture of "they're pretty weird, but so are we? " to "They also creep me out."

Dorothy and Alex are really the only ones advocating for them, in the early days. Chara is very very reserved- they mostly watch rather than join.

Please ask me more! I am autism.

[the-random-phan]

Ectoberhaunt Day 13

Isekai: Old Hero New World

[messiahzzz]

assorted morena dekarios headcanons:

she possesses a sharp wit and is very perceptive, but is also incredibly kind and gentle

strong presence & really eclectic taste. she loves bright colors, extravagant patterns, collecting paintings, and all kinds of knick-knacks. her house is a reflection of her personality: warm, welcoming, and cluttered with ✨precision✨

has a penchant for big jewelry (especially necklaces)

gale deems her “unavoidable” because she has a way of seeing right through him, sometimes even going beyond motherly intuition (and because you’d spot her everywhere)

she always strongly supported gale’s individuality and wanted to give him every opportunity to grow into the person he wants to be

this often clashes cause she does worry about his safety constantly

on that note: would do absolutely everything for her son

her ex-husband had little interest in raising gale and deemed him too exhausting/high maintenance. morena eventually encouraged his decision to split, knowing his presence would do more harm than good

loves books but doesn’t bother to keep them in good condition (much to gale’s horror)

as he got older their dynamic grew to resemble a friendship, which is also why he refers to her by her first name

they banter a lot and it is very entertaining to watch/makes their similarities even more obvious

surprisingly strict whenever the situation calls for it. it’s a sudden 180. don’t mess with morena dekarios

claims she’s not interested in gossip, but is very curious nonetheless

possesses extensive mixology knowledge, but hates being drunk. life needs to be experienced to the fullest with all senses at all times

she’s a natural dancer despite not having a whole lot of practice

very welcoming to a romanced!tav and the rest of gale’s new friends. she has already been filled in by tara and withers. naturally, as long as her prince is happy she is as well

almost rivals gale in the duration of his crying during his own wedding. once he begins to read his vows she’s immediately brought to tears

actively tries to get to know a romanced!tav and makes sure they feel included in their family whenever possible, but will also respect if there’s no interest/some apprehension

she is very respectful of gale’s privacy and knows when to step back, albeit no less worried

she has dark, long, curly and thick hair that is hard to tame. (the envy of all her neighbors her age) she usually puts it up in a claw

tara has her own corner in morena’s sitting room, including her very own cozy armchair. no one else is allowed to use it.